The Motorcycle and the Mountains: Chennai to Ladakh and Everything in Between

The whole idea of owning an automobile originated somewhere in November, 2015. If it was ever going to be a motorcycle, it would have to be a Royal Enfield - those machines with the thump and the machismo. Point to be noted here is that I did not know how to ride properly back then. "But motorcycles are not safe" my father told me. "Besides, will you take us around on a motorcycle when we visit you?" added my mother. Buying a car made a lot of sense. And then there was my then love interest. Let's call her ABC and protect her identity here. I asked ABC as well for her opinion and even though there was nothing conclusive, ever hopeful that something will work out, I finally decided to buy a car. A few test drives and new car launches later, I had booked a vehicle for delivery in the next week. I was in the office when a colleague congratulated me on hearing about the booking and asked me, "so have you decided to settle here?" I was taken aback thinking if I had really "settled". The dealer called me the next day saying the car could only be delivered after 2 months of waiting time. That was the final nail in the coffin. Parents had already visited, took them around in Uber and things were not quite looking up with ABC. At this point now, it only mattered what I wanted to do. So I cancelled the car booking, and a booking for a black Royal Enfield Classic 350 was made.

From one of my first late night ride in the city. Chennai. April, 2016

Cut to April 2016, the motorcycle is ready for delivery but I am not. I cannot see myself driving it in the traffic. I call Lakshay and tell him it's ready for delivery. He comes with me to take the delivery and drive it home. Intimidated first by the sheer weight of this machine, I take some time to practice, start driving around on the roads, roam the streets at night, take it for spins on the open East Coast Road and within no time the romance has begun. I call it Mr Tambourine Man but ABC gifts me this leather belt key chain that has the word "Maverick" engraved on it so to honour that, from that day, Mr Tambourine Man was aka Maverick.

To think of it, I actually took to Maverick as that was also my alias for all gaming purposes, inspired obviously from Top Gun. How the name occurred to ABC has always been lost on me.

Riding with the Royal Mavericks, New Delhi.
January, 2017

By late 2016, I had made friends with a couple of other bullet owners and the conversation about a Ladakh ride had begun. And then it was time to move to New Delhi. Closer to the Himalayas? Sure, I will move and take my motorcycle along. I joined the Delhi Royal Mavericks club and in pretty much every conversation Ladakh came up at least once. Now I had heard so much about Ladakh from my father and I had a motorcycle that is made for a ride in that terrain so I was dead sure to make this happen at some point. 

February 2019 is when 20 months of non-stop travel ceased for me and I started having withdrawals. After all this time with the high-paced life, when I actually get the time to look back, I realised I had to forego a lot of things and I wanted to do something meaningful. I looked up my options and pre-booked a slot on a Ladakh Motorcycle Exepdition for June 1st.

It was somewhere around mid-May when my tour organiser called to inform me that 18 out of the 20 who were supposed to go had pulled out. A pause followed and I thought the tour would be cancelled, but to my surprise, I was told the tour would still go on with me, the other guy and the leader they would have appointed for the ride. So there were three motorcycles now but no backup vehicle. To be honest, this is how I had wanted to do it instead of going in a group of 20 so I had nothing to complain about. 

I met Ronald, Salman and Parismita on day 1 of the ride. Ronald, who would later be known as Sir Ronald, was a Goan who had come down from Doha. Salman had been to Ladakh 43 times in the past 9 years, Parismita was pillion with Salman and taking care of the logistics on this trip for the company. I had my orientation the previous day - basically about all the bad things that happen to riders - either when they are unruly or the nature is. To name a few mishaps - hands freezing and not being able to pull the clutch, falling off and hanging by cliffs because you were not patient and tried to overtake that truck from the left, getting washed away due to the current at water crossings etc. On day 1, however, in the sweltering north Indian heat at about 46 degrees Celsius, "cold" problems seemed very far-fetched. Ludhiana was our first stop.

Starting from Qutub Minar for the Ladakh Expedition.
New Delhi. June, 2019

I would not want to go rambling on about each day. It was a 14-days expedition and gave me enough time on the road for thoughts worth content for a book. I mean this piece of writing to be more about my relationship with the motorcycle, the adversities and the shift in perspectives that a trip to the mountains brings with it.

Not like any day was easier than the rest, but it was the ride from Patnitop to Srinagar when the magnitude of the challenge ahead of us "hit" me. The roads were absolutely bad in Jammu and the traffic was crazy. I had this tempo honking from behind and I gave him a pass to overtake. It was carrying some tent equipment with a tarpaulin roll hanging. Before I knew it, the tarpaulin roll unfastened and came flying and hit me in my face. I got dislodged from the bike, fell head first and then on my butt. In what seemed like 5 minutes at that time, some shock and confusion ensued. I opened my eyes to see Salman attending to my bike, my worst fear was a possible injury to my leg and I moved it and it seemed fine, thanks to the gear. So I got up and asked Salman if the bike was fine. He said it was good to go and so I said "let's go" like nothing had happened. They asked me how I was doing, I said that I was fine. And then I ask Parismita if I had an accident and I fell. I also looked at my shoes and said that I didn't remember wearing them. This scared the three of them till I started regaining sense of what was happening. I could feel some pain in my butt but nothing that would prevent me from riding the motorcycle. After I regained memory and these guys were assured, we started out again. On the same day later on, we braved some hailstorm on the way and I realised that my front wheel rim was bent and the handle was wobbly as a result. Due to all that craziness and the traffic, we reached Srinagar later than anticipated and I could not get the wheel fixed.

On the way to Kargil from Srinagar, before Zoji La. June, 2019

Next day was supposed to be the start of our ascent into the mountains. Zoji La was the first mountain pass that we would face. I looked it up the previous night on Google. With a bent wheel and a hurting butt and legs, I was not very sure how I was going to do it but it was not worth backing out. The morning it started drizzling in Srinagar. One would ideally wait for the sun to come out but we had to cross the Zoji La Pass as they might have closed it for vehicles if it rained and there was a landslide. So we started ascending. The visor was getting foggy and the roads underneath had turned to mere gravel and it was slippery because of the water flowing down. There was mud to traverse and for me especially, a wobbly handle to manage on legs that would hurt when the bike went off balance and the legs had to take on the weight of the motorcycle. In all of this, I lost my patience and revved up the motorcycle only to skid a little and pull the brakes just in time when I am about a feet away from the cliff. I opened the fogged visor for better visibility, saw how stupid I just had been and then took it from there - a bit slower from here on. In the distance somewhere were the other two - struggling just like me.

Maverick at the Zoji La Pass.
Zoji La. June, 2019

We go through all of this and reach the ZoJi La where we stopped over under a shade for tea and gathered around fire for heat. It hadn't stopped raining so we decided to make a quick exit except some water had now seeped into my gloves. And here comes the first snowfall I have ever seen! On my motorcycle, snow falling with all the white glaciers around - it would have been a pretty picture if the hands weren't freezing. I felt all the movement from my hands disappearing, almost becoming brittle. But there was no point stopping. I decided to ride till the check post which was about 20 km down. I reached there and took my gloves out to see my hands almost blue - I thought a frost bite had happened. I kicked the check post door open and put my hands near the fire, praying it would come back to life. The heat worked and I managed to get my hands working. We then drove from there to Kargil via Dras - one of the most beautiful stretches with great roads on the trip.

At the mighty Khardung La. June, 2019

Kargil to Leh the next day was a very peaceful ride compared to what had been happening on the expedition so far. Nice winding roads, sun shining, picturesque terrain that shifted every 15-20 odd km. I felt like I was 6 years old and listening to my father describing Ladakh from his time as I rode through that beautiful terrain. We reached Leh and spent a day there acclimatizing. Also in Leh I got my wheel repaired but worse was yet to come. We had to go to Nubra valley via Khardung La. Now, I had seen pictures of people posing at Khardung La - one of the highest motorable roads in the world, so I was not very concerned, especially after having taken on the Zoji La. However, snow had started falling in South Pullu itself - about 20 km from Khardung La. What it meant was when we reached the top, a horde of motorcycles and cars were queued up because there was ice on the road which made it extremely slippery for vehicles to drive and the army asked people to wait till they cleared it out. I saw motorcycles here not just skidding but spinning and crashing, seasoned riders crying and giving up finding ways to return. It was not just how difficult driving was but also the challenge of the altitude that does things to your will and grit. To spare all the dangerous details of what ensued, let me just say that it is advised to not stay for more than 15 minutes at that altitude, and I ended up spending an hour on that fateful day. We rode down to Nubra despite all of that and met a sandstorm on the way. I was not looking forward to coming back again to Khardung La the next day but it turned out to be much easier - perhaps because we had seen it already and were prepared for what it could look like.

In the next couple of days, we went around to visit the Pangong Lake - a landscape so surreal it had me in tears and led to a catharsis. I thought about all that I had endured on this trip, all the conversations, and the people that led me to this and was just thankful for having made it there. I thought about how it took more than just driving skills - perhaps luck or some sort of protection from above that kept me in one piece to be able to witness that spectacle before my eyes. The locus of control which had always been internal had shifted slightly outward.

Motorcycles covered in snow in Kargil.
Kargil, June, 2019.

The original plan that had been to come down to Delhi via Manali had to change. The Rohtang Pass was still not open due to snowing and we decided to come back via the same Kashmir route. Familiarity breeds comfort and I thought it would be easy but mother Nature had other plans. On the Leh to Kargil highway, we met another bout of snowfall and landslides which made it the worst riding day on the trip. With your hands and feet freezing and snow on your eyelids, with the rocks falling, there is very little you can do. At one point, I had to stop my motorcycle and ask an approaching Innova to help me unzip my jacket for me to be able to put my hands in my chest and get some body heat, amidst the falling snow. I then put my hand on the bike silencer for warmth but the silencer also was running cold. In all of that, there was no other option but to just ride to Kargil and find shelter in the hotel. All the gear was wet, and we heard there was 3 ft of snow in Dras which would keep the road closed for another 2 days. That was the end of the expedition. I made arrangements to reach Leh again next day and took a flight back, leaving my bike behind in Kargil, with the assurance from the organiser of a safe delivery of my bike back to Chennai.

I got my bike back only towards the end of July and that's when the trip actually ended for me. The motorcycle had returned with some dents and repair work to be done - and so had I. For about two and a half weeks back into the city life, I had a tough time adjusting to routine. Nightmares of glaciers trying to devour me and waking up to feeling cold because I had known that feeling of having been chilled to the bones. I attended workshops on leadership and decision-making at work, all the time thinking at the back of my mind of those decisions that would have made the difference between life and death or at least would have come at the cost of a limb. I remember having continued walking through the rain while others stopped under the shade, in the first couple of weeks since coming back. Why? Because it was only water and I knew I would be home in 15 min so there was nothing to worry about - not like my hands were freezing and the spirit crushed because I did not know if I would be making it back or not.

So that is the story of my motorcycle and me so far. What keeps you alive?  

Incomplete Stories

In the second last year of my school life, I worked on coming up with my own humble novel. It was around the same time that I started this blog. A little appreciation for my writing worked wonders and I was very encouraged to work on a plot. I developed characters from my observations of people on the train to and from Mumbai. It all went well for about a month and a half until I reached a deadlock where it was too complicated to proceed. I don't know if that happens to a lot of people, but I was frustrated and I deleted the MS word file that contained the story. I think that is perhaps the reason why professional writers use a typewriter. No matter how frustrated you are, the volume of your effort is always visible and so you never want to destroy and waste it.

After that failure, I have not had the motivation to attempt another novel and as the frequency of the posts on my blog would show, haven't been into writing much. I shifted to academic writing for a while, wrote a few short stories here and there, continued my "poets and pancakes" debate with those who could write poetry, never conceding that prose was for the less creative people, and mostly reading other people's works. Now that my time allows me to turn my thoughts into words, I feel like writing again and keep the scope open for both - academic as well as creative writing (if this is what this freestyle of writing could be called). In my experience so far, I have found academic writing to be much easier than the creative form. With a little training and experience, analysing data and forming hypotheses is a lot easier than designing characters and their environment. Most of all, academic writing allows you to be objective about the data, whereas you cannot be objective about a character that you create in a story. 

Coming back to the point of this post, as I looked through the dashboard of my blog, I found a good number of drafts that I could never finish. I admit to having a weakness in terms of writing conclusions. I never know how to end things - in writing as in life. However, on reflection, I have found that I focus more on the characters than the plot. Once I have a fair idea of the character and I begin to like them, it becomes very painful for me to see them in a mediocre plot. And controlling the plot is not very easy unless you are thinking of something really bizarre and you want to confuse those who chance upon reading the thing. So I eventually have to give up the story and that's how they remain incomplete. I find it kind of hypocritical that we let our stories in real life fade with time without conclusions but are hesitant to accept a piece of writing without a proper conclusion. To think about it that way, I feel that it ultimately boils down to what Alvy Singer, Woody Allen's character in Annie Hall, says towards the end, "You’re always trying to get things to come out perfect in art because it’s real difficult in life." I guess that's the way we work. 

Chennai So Far

Most of the travelogues on Chennai start with a description of how horrible the weather is. Irony of the situation is that I am pointing it out too, so that leaves me no different than others who have written about this city. They say Chennai is a city, Madras is an emotion. It's been over a year but I am still not so well acquainted with either that emotion or the city so I will go with Chennai.

Aerial View of Chennai. PC: Google

In my experience of about about a year and a quarter, however, Chennai has turned out to be nothing like they told me when I decided to move and pursue my PGDM here. I was warned about everything being different here: the people, the language, the food, the music, the weather (the starting point for virtually every article on the city). None of them seemed legit even before I came here. Why? My best friends in Baroda were south Indians, and I have loved masala dosa more and longer than I have loved any person. I don't hate what I don't understand so that made me pretty much indifferent to the music here. The weather indeed is a bit of a problem in the months of April and May, but God bless the 21st century, we have air conditioners! And contrary to the popular belief, you can manage to get around in the city with English and Hindi; Tamil has not been a necessity. So all the people telling me that the city would be hostile has proven ridiculous. Like any other city, this one comes with its own set of flaws: auto rickshaws that charge you meter "plus" Rs 10-30 depending on the driver's mood and your level of desperation, a name for each nook and cranny to confuse the hell out of you, road blocks because the celebration demands that the stage be set up in the middle of the road, vadas and only vadas for street food, etc. All said and done, I think Chennai has grown on me. 

Unlike the Marine Drive or the Bandra bandstand in Mumbai, Chennai offers you the Marina and Elliot's beaches where you can sit on the beach without the traffic snarls from behind. Marina has a serious cleanliness issue but Elliot's is a good option for those who like the sea. I am not a "let's go to the mall" person but Express Avenue and Phoenix I guess would make up for a good sight for those who are. Movie tickets are sold for Rs 120 perennially. That perhaps is the reason why it's so difficult to get one but when you get it you are a happy man. I have not been able to bring myself to liking the tea that we get on the road side tea stalls but I am a big time fan of the filter kaapi. Perhaps the best thing about the city for me has been finding joints that sell dosas in just about every corner of the city. Unlike a lot of people who come from the Northern states, I have liked the south Indian food. For those who couldn't, there are plenty of other options available. The people here are as ridiculous and as nice as anywhere else in the country where I have lived. The transportation and conveyance is convenient if you are lucky not to bump into that one auto driver who is having a bad day. Chennai basically gives you all the comforts and opportunities of a metro without the pace of a metro city. The people here are not always rushing, the kind you see in a Mumbai or a New Delhi or even Kolkata for that matter.

I have had complaints about the city in terms of lack of places to eat and hang out for students, the language has also been an issue in talking to people at times but my overall experience with the city has been just fine. Chennai, if nothing else, has reinforced my belief that everyone has a story to tell but to know a place you have to experience it on your own, and  I plan to explore more of both - Chennai and Madras. Until next time!

The Castaway Nomad

...On the morning of February 5th, I found myself on a whole new island. You tend to become indifferent to places when you move a lot, see a lot, observe a lot. This, however, was not a destination I had picked, and I could feel a sense of, for the lack of a better word, trouble. Once a nomad, always a nomad, I began my exploration of the new island only to find that this one was as deserted as the deserts that I had been travelling in. To be honest, I was comforted by the presence of this pattern initially. However, problems have begun to surface lately. To have a clearer understanding of the trouble, I suppose it would be good if I gave a brief account of how things were before I arrived here and also as to how I got here. 

Before the boat wreck brought me here I was travelling in the deserts of the mainland. You develop a certain kind of connection between you and your surrounding when both have something in common. I was never a believer of time and I could feel the same about the sands around me. And so I travelled far and wide, without any sense of urgency until I met a tribe of people who told me about this vast body of water called the ocean. It was water, after all, that got me moving in the first place. I found myself giving in to the temptation of exploring this vast body of water and decided to head in the direction of the ocean, picking up things along the way that would come in handy for this new experience. What the tribesmen forgot to tell me about was the dangers that came with the ocean. So on a bright sunny day when the water seemed calm, I set out to sail. The water seemed as timeless as the sand and again I travelled wide into the ocean, far from the mainland. And then the last thing I remember, I was caught up in a storm that had me struggling for days before my boat gave in to the wrath of the ocean and I was swept ashore here.

Perhaps nobody knows better than a nomad that there comes a time when the place you seek shelter in runs out of resources that sustain your existence and that is the place's way of telling you to look for a new haven. This brings me to the trouble that I mentioned. The main challenge that an island poses is not survival but the resistance against the craving for mainland. If you look at it that way, there are hardly any modes of escape, unless you are a trained seafarer and you know how to make rafts and boats. I, however, am a seasoned nomad of the mainland and I can't think of an escape route through the ocean that surrounds this island. That is my trouble. I climb the highest cliff on this island everyday to look for an approaching ship. I scream at the top of my voice from the cliff in order to hear my voice echo through the hills and make believe that I am not the only one here. To be fair, that has been the only thing that has helped me after the island started showing signs of denunciation towards me. The adversity I am sure has shaped my ideas better than my journeys through the deserts on the mainland but I believe my time to move to a new place has come, if only my destiny allows me to get out of here alive...

A wanderer of deserts, farer of the sea

Craves to embark on a new journey 

If all they say about hope is true

Where is his ship and where is the crew?

Blog! What?

A new found interest in the libertarian philosophy saw me creating another blog enthusiastically titled, "The Liberty Mill". With "The Liberty Mill" I tried putting down an amateur account of whatever I had read (and continue to read), and share it with people because that is something that I felt was needed to be shared and promoted. Now, for the promotion purpose, I created a facebook page for the blog. Problem? Well, I do have a good circle of friends and tend to make a lasting impression on people I meet but I would not really describe myself as a people's person. When it came to sending out the invites, I found it too embarrassing to ask people to 'like' the page when all that my blog had was probably one article that I had written as an introduction to the blog. However, I did send out a few invites to close friends asking them to 'like' the page and stay updated on the blog. I also shared the link to my blog on my facebook timeline for anyone else who might be interested.

Three months into the creation of the blog, I find it with just three posts (one each for every month). While this is no desperate call, it has been rather disappointing for me not to have been able to find the mantra to keep people coming to visit my blog. As a result, I could never keep up the enthusiasm alive. I have invited suggestions from friends who run comparatively more successful blogs and websites and I have been asked to make it 'fun'. Again, I do not see the point in posting plagiarized fun pictures or jokes on my blog when the sole purpose of the blog is to promote the idea and the philosophy of liberty through what I am apparently good at - writing. I have had the privilege to write and present research papers at conferences in different places. I'm not sure how many people read what I had written or if it was even worthy of being called a contribution to knowledge as we know it, but that has been a more satisfying experience for me than the story of my blogging experience.

Why am I posting all this on this blog? Because this thought process marks the return of the nomad! I would take a break from posting all the amateur content on "The Liberty Mill" and focus my attention on learning and academic writing till I get the knack to attract audiences for political literacy, if not by writing then by other means. Until then, for the adventure of it, hoping for a world without borders! :)

Hobby of the Masses: Music

"I live on music" would be quite of an over statement because it so happens in my case that I exist more because of food and water. But yes sir, I do follow music like anything. In a recent incident when people were being asked about their hobbies, 99.9% answered that their prime hobby was "listening to music". The person asking the question did not seem to be impressed with this "common" hobby; I could, to some extent, make out what was so disappointing about this answer.

A sad but true fact: people around us are inherently lazy. Most people are likely to be either busy or asleep. Being awake is being busy for most of the people, the rest of us struggle with finding what we know as "hobbies". Some people read, some do gardening, some collect stamps, some write, and the remaining (99.9%): we 'listen' to music. I would however like to distinguish myself from the average listener who won't be able to tell you what genre he likes. On being asked about the artist, he will show total ignorance. On being asked about the lyrics, he will show a lack of understanding. On being asked about what actually pleases him about a certain kind of music, he will tell you it's the tempo or the beats without knowing precisely what it means.

I am, on the other hand, a bit more categorical about music. I listen to whatever pleases me and at the same time ensure that I am aware of the details I talked about just now. A friend of mine recently told me that I had a song for every occassion. Quite pestering my voice could be but I did realize after it was brought to my notice that in every conversation I found one song that would apply to the situation. So, I sing till I am tolerated, sometimes joined by others, sometimes stoned by others. 

So what was the whole purpose of writing all this? Let's see, although it may sound a little stupid but music has proved to have a healing touch. It must be taken in, imbibed into the soul. Music must be "listened to" and not "heard of". Music is an expression of a thought, it should be understood like a piece of conversation, like a book read well. If such is the approach to music, I think it well deserves to be called a hobby.    

Maturing With Mumbai

I had the pleasure of being in Mumbai last Sunday after almost a year. Leaving the city at night as I boarded the train back to Vadodara, I had a flashback of the first memories of the city. My first trip to Mumbai was in April 2004 when my sister and I accompanied my father to Mumbai. Living in the northern part of the country, Mumbai had always seemed to fascinate me. So, as the milestones on the road started reading 50,40,30 km and so on, that city popped out of nowhere, and from the car window I saw those huge towering structures, the ones we see in "big" cities. There were luxurious cars on the road, quite fashionable people, youngsters with their girlfriends on their bikes - a scene too fascinating for a boy aged 12 from a city in the so-called North. I went to Mumbai on a few more occasions in the next year, again accompanied by my father. This time I looked to get a glimpse of a film star, not sure if it was really him, but I guess I saw Ritesh Deshmukh somewhere. 

In the year 2006 when the flood hit Mumbai, I happened to be in Panvel for a school camp. As we travelled from Panvel to Mumbai Central in a BEST bus, I had a glimpse of what is called Resilient Mumbai. It was quite an experience to see how the people of a city who remain indifferent even to their neighbours had come out to help when time had called for it. My first visit to South Mumbai happened to come much later in January 2008. It was the day of the Mumbai Marathon and traffic was not allowed on the road, so we walked from CST and reached Marine Drive, sat there for a while, I found the city less crowded for once.

2009-10 was the period when I figured out the city much by myself. I had to make excursions to the city almost after every fortnight in order to take mock tests. Until now I had always come by road, so I did not have any idea about how the transport in the city worked. On one or two occasions I hired a cab or auto rickshaw, and then it was my turn to experience the city's lifeline - the local trains. The more I travelled on my own, the more places I figured out, the more people I met, the better feeler I got. 

Sitting on the Marine Drive under a moonlit sky at 10 PM last Sunday, I realized I now knew the city better. Seeing celebrities or the lustre of the city was no longer important. Fascinations had drowned but the charm of the city remained intact. I could feel that in a subtle way, the city had emboldened me, taught me what reality meant, gave me ambition, and slowly but steadily, imparted a little of what I call wisdom.

Lust For Lokpal: My Stand

I don't think I'll find a day better than this to put forward my view and my stand on the Lokpal Bill and on Annaji, as I feel more patriotic than ever in the run up to the Independence day!

Anna Hazare took the country by storm as he sat on his fast-unto-death to have the Lokpal Bill enacted as soon as possible and to have all the PJ Thomases, A Rajas and Kalmadis brought to book. Fight against corruption began after the emphatic World Cup '11 win by India. Millions joined in, media covered it like anything, status updates flooded the news feeds and pages were made on facebook. Ann-shann became the talk of the town.

When I first heard Anna Hazare was going on the fast, I followed it like I would follow any other piece of news. As people joined in, I grew more inquisitive. On going through the details, I grew against the Lokpal. Why I am against the Lokpal is because it will create a parallel bureaucracy, putting the government and the general public in hassles. Team Anna would put in every effort to prove me wrong by saying that it will be directly accountable to the public but then they must realize every government machinery is indeed, and in ideal conditions, accountable to the people. The idea of Lokpal then becomes cynical and naive. Cynical, because it does not trust the system of administration; naive because nobody can ensure that the Lokpal itself will be corruption-free. If you love your country, the lust for Lokpal will seem unhealthy.

It would be quite appropriate to say that Anna Hazare's integrity is unquestionable but then the government cannot just give in to every angry old man's demand! I would rather like to to see reforms being carried out in what we already have to check corruption. Get the CBI and CVC working to their fullest. Make the government machinery more easily accessible. Enforcement is, after all, more necessary than enactment. And how long, I ask, would we need a law to guide our conscience? Be honest, preach honesty. That's the best you can do for your country. Have faith in the system and in the Constitution that has been designed by learned patriots and freedom fighters. This democracy is as equally yours as Anna Hazare's and as a parliamentarian put it, it faces it's worst peril from the unelected and the unelectable. Choose and vote for the right people, India will prosper. Jai Hind!

The Kolkata Experience

I had not been blogging because of my preoccupations with the work for which I was in Calcutta (Kolkata). This blog post is an account of my experience, keeping the purpose of my visit under cover. Here goes the city, Kolkata or Calcutta whatever you please:

My train entered the Howrah Railway station a few hours later than the actual arrival, which is not really a new thing here in India. I stepped out of the train and after having followed the crowd for a while on the biggest railway station I have seen, I found my own way towards the prepaid taxi booth, hired one of Calcutta's classic Yellow Cab and moved out of the station premises. From the place where I could see the gigantic Howrah Bridge, I could also find myself in a traffic jam. And then started the drizzle as the taxi driver played FM on the radio which would change stations automatically every time the ignition was turned on amid the traffic jam. I reached my place of stay in an hour watching the drizzle, the ruckus in the streets and sights of men at work in a state that has seen virtually no economic growth in the past few years.  After an hour's nap, I moved out to get a feeler, so I walked to wherever my feet took me, tasted food which I was ecstatic to find cheap and tasty at the same time. Came back to my room, slept like a log.

The next day I dedicated to what I call "sight seeing". So I had my backpack ready and the weather Gods seemed happy. It was humid but all in all fine. I used the metro rail service to get to Park Street. Disembarking from the train, I decided to walk in the vicinity and found the Victoria Memorial and other few landmarks. Concrete structures don't really please me but the whole thing was nice. Then I took the city bus, the trams, the cycle rickshaw to reach places I had never heard names of before. 

The next day was the day for work. The thing got over in the evening and the same night I left Calcutta. Now, if you feel this was the worst ever post, especially when all the possible excitement was expected from a travel experience on a blog that is titled "Nomadic" Diaries, here's the best part: On my way back, I wanted to feel the wind in my hand, so I flung my hand out of the train window; someone was done chewing his pan and perhaps he felt the urge to spit it out at the very instant that my hand was out. I, not only felt the wind in my hand, I also felt the pan in my hand! 

Hoping to make altercations in my mood and consequently in the post. Till then,

Move On...

All Hail The Queen

This post has nothing to do with the Elizabeths and the Victorias of England but it deals with something which is a significant part of their lives. When I say significant I refer to the language they speak, the very language which I will use to convey my views.

The British ruled India for some 200 years and thus influenced the Indian culture and lifestyle to a great extent. With the Queen’s proclamation in 1858, India became a part of the commonwealth and we were now Her Majesty’s subjects. Telephones and trains were introduced, social reforms were carried out and there was this change in the education system: English was introduced. The resilient Indians had no problem in adopting this language as invasions were not new to us. We had allowed Hindi to evolve from Sanskrit, learnt Urdu and Arabic from the Mughals and had plenty of our own mother tongues. English was something we did not mind, not at all.

Come to the present age, look around you and you’ll find the seemingly illiterate person greeting someone on his phone with a “hello” in English. The next part of his conversation is none of our business but I am sure he will have a few English words which have made their way into Hindi quite easily, in his dialogue. So the bottom-line comes to the fact that we are now quite proficient in a language which claims to be the most widely spoken once the sun rises in the Western part of the globe (Chinese being the rival in the East).

People generally have a tendency to learn something that is special and then brag about it as much as they can. English, unfortunately holds a “special” place among languages in many parts of India, I have experienced. Speaking English has been associated with standards and superiorities. I have often noticed people (and myself too) making blunders in Hindi but then brushing it aside with a proud ignorance of the language but when it comes to errors in English, we feel embarrassed; if we don’t feel so there will of course be someone to initiate that sheepish grin on our face, with his/her remarks. Some do it for fun purpose which is quite okay & entertaining while others do it for the sake of pride. Whereas this mentality is quite common, there is also this outlook in some places which does not care what language it is and with how many errors it is being spoken as long as the meaning (even in partial measures) gets conveyed.

As for my personal opinion, languages were developed and continue to evolve to make communications easier and not to induce complexes and differences. Norms and regulations of a language should be adhered to, so that the meaning does not get mutilated. Knowledge and ignorance of languages do not promote or demote us socially; after all, being ignorant is not so much a shame as being unwilling to learn. Every effort has been made to avoid any grammatical errors in this particular post and I hereby request to bring to my notice, any errors which might have crept in. The title comes from the fact that it must take a lot for a foreign language to occupy such a position in any society or culture, the credit must go to the Queen for the state of English in the Indian society.

“Her Majesty is a pretty nice girl, some day I’m gonna make her mine!” – The Beatles 

Boredom: Principles and Causes

Nomads are not boring people and they generally don't get bored. The constant change keeps breaking the monotony of life and keeps it vibrant. We can always find them with a new story or two. I am bored today. I will dig deep into boredom, just out of boredom. 

Boredom does not actually have a principle, let alone the plural "principles". It is inherent and embedded into the human thought process just like happiness, sadness, anger etc. Boredom involves being a little annoyed, finding nothing to interest you. Even things that would give you ultimate pleasure can look mundane. Let's look at the causes: 

Isolation: You must have lived all your life in the company of people who may be categorized as "interesting". Their physical presence (presence, I believe, is physical only) has occupied your thoughts for a long time but now they have left. You look at stray animals who have a pleasant company, remember the good old days, feel blue and get bored due to this empty, hollow feeling.

Routine: Routine can be interesting and boring at the same time, depending on how we perceive it. Some people work all day, some people do nothing. People who work all day get bored because they lack that element of surprise. People who do nothing are prone to being "disturbed" by those who think they should not be just lying around. This keeps up the element of surprise in their lives. Doing nothing is difficult, achievable but can lead to isolation too as it takes endurance to resist the public demand to work. 

Extra Excitement: Extra excitement is dangerous too. You may have this amazing one day in your life and then the next day feels so boring. I have often heard people being bored a day after a rocking rock concert, a late night party, a fantastic cricket match etc. Extra excitement should not be avoided due to its repercussions, I emphasize here.

Mr. B: We all have a Mr. B in our lives. Mr. B is that not-so awaited person who was born to bore us. There is a Mr. B made for all of us. There could also be a Ms. B but hardly it so happens that men find women boring, I add here that I am an exception to that. I can't deny the presence of a Ms. B. I'll focus on Mr. B however. So, Mr. B will find you however hard you try to avoid him. Mr. B will make sure you get those needed breaks from happiness and feel bored, it's his duty to do so. He will just poke into the fun part of your life. You are listening to your favorite music and he will crack the worst joke (fact, according to him) that offends your sentiments. He will ask you for the title of the book that is entertaining you at the moment and try to make out and tell you some story which he believes could go with the title. He will kill the suspense of a thriller movie. He will just "talk" when you don't want him to. And finally, people who use the mass media (blogs for eg.), like me, are special Mr. Bs, we are born with a greater purpose: that of saving the human race from the routine called "happiness".    

On that note, I conclude hoping that I have been successful in doing my bit. Till the next time, 

"May you live in interesting times!"

-Ancient Chinese Curse

Being April Fool

I was born in April. I celebrate April Fool's Day like my birthday. I cut cake, wish others believing it is their birthday as well. I have not really been a prankster but I have been fooled a lot of times and done foolish things. Although I have grown quite smart now, autorickshaw drivers, fruit sellers and other smarter species continue to fool me, not just in April. I won't go about insulting myself much. This article will proudly boast of things I have experienced which have been quite foolish. Comedy comes from tragedy, here's my side: 

On a bright summer sunny day in Kanpur (just for the effects) I returned from school quite excited. I had been informed about the supposed first summer camp. So, as always (and with a bit more enthusiasm that day) I started telling my elder sisters about what I was told, word by word as I remembered. "Pata hai, summer camp me swimming sikhaane wale hain!", said I beaming with exuberance as if they were paying me to advertise. My sister, I fail to understand how, asked me with some surprise element, "Accha Ankie! Kaha par?". "Paani me", I replied. I had wanted to say "river" but then I just blurted out whatever I felt like.

Then on a not so bright day, the computer needed to be shifted to some other place in the house. I guess I was in second grade then. My father always knew I was intelligent and took keen interest in electric equipments and procedure etc. (reference to the shock incident). So, he asked me to check if the power socket was working. I peeped into the hole, looking for "electric sparks" which I was sure to find in any working electric socket. Sadly it wasn't there, but to my amazement the socket worked like wonder! 

Foolish is as foolish does.

"Think about yourself at least once in your lifetime, otherwise you may miss the best comedy in this world!" 

- William Shakespeare

Where the Civilization Stands Today

Time and again to this nomad inside me, it has occurred to know the whereabouts of the human civilization. I have been bored to think about others as such for I have lot to ponder about myself as of now. In the literal sense, I have often seen the human civilization standing : in queues at the railway stations, bus stops, during admission processes, concerts, cricket matches, football matches, protests, revolts etc. etc. We as humans have always loved standing, be it by force or by choice.

Well this of course is not about the literal standing thing but would certainly need some serious consideration.

Picture: Statues of Ahu Akivi 

Let's see: at the current figure of about 6 billion people inhabiting the earth, we surely outnumber any other mammal species if not insects and rodents. As the population figures have grown, we have seen civilizations emerge and form kingdoms and nations. We have also tried and succeeded to some extent in reclaiming land from the seas. Food production has grown and so has its demand. Unlike some 70 odd years earlier, we now have global economies and open markets. The scope for a world war has certainly reduced and we have nuclear weapons for mass destruction. Science has made the unthinkable quite possible but the population explosion still remains a concern. Population explosion and global warming. Natural calamities can still not be dealt with easily. Time and again these disasters inflict great damages upon us. And then we look at other "human" problems; corruption at its height gives a clear picture of declining honesty levels. We are not really in serious trouble because the good old days have always been good. These days as well would be considered good in the coming years hopefully.

So, although just like other futile posts this too makes no sense, I would like to emphasize that our civilization must be looked upon with greater concern. Of course we have all the time in the world to save tigers, pandas and elephants from vanishing if we can first avert potential dangers that face us. Consider this, we claim to have stepped on the moon and we have got a spacecraft on Mars and yet we stand on the earth which gets crowded as you read on.

"Civilization is the limitless multiplication of unnecessary necessities."
- Mark Twain

If Poetry was Prose

I don't know why but I had to do this. I wanted to write a stupid poem so here it is, test your tolerance:


If poetry was prose 
It would not convey meanings
Neither hard in dealings 
Nor any place for subtle feelings


If poetry was prose
I would have written at length
I would have added some depth
I would need no more strength


If poetry was prose
The number of lines wouldn't matter
Expression would certainly be better
Words would not sound to chatter


If poetry was prose
It wouldn't have the smell of a rose ...

For the Heart, By the Heart, To the Heart

The human heart is four chambered, no wonder it gets broken. It has a terrible shape to add to the vulnerabilities and in size is only as big as the person's fist. People blame it on excess consumption of oil and fats that deteriorates the functioning of the heart, I blame it on the poets and lyricists. Having become a subject of all depressions, miseries and love songs, it is tired. They say love is a drug and then they subject their hearts to such dangerous things. If you think it's easy being a heart try doing what it does everyday. What the heart can do you can't even dream of ... how many times have you pumped blood, and managed its delivery all over the human body!

Even philosophers love the heart so much. How easy it is for them to preach 'follow your heart' and be praised for the advice of a lifetime! Nobody asked cardiologists what they have to say about the heart unless some malfunctioning was found in the same. Anyway, if you'd know, the word "awesome" was ruled out of the dictionary for its over-usage but still continues to be harnessed. One day I hope humans will become cyborgs and the heart will be left alone. In case I have not been clear on the "over-usage" thing, let me illustrate: 

A boy named Lakshya studied with me in my class during my primary education years. Lakshya was very normal - normal lifestyle, normal hairstyle, normal eating-style, normal dressing style ... abnormal name. Not that his name was bad but if you might have figured out by now, it's easier saying Lux than Lakshya, so what if it's a popular soap brand. So we had a soap brand in our class. Poor kid was so disturbed, he changed his school but before that, he changed his name to something else, very insignificant compared to Lux.

Moral of the story is not that we shouldn't be teasing boys with unconventional names (or perhaps that could as well be one of the morals), it's about the over usage that we subject things to. 

Every love song will have a worthless mention of a heart. Before you say "I love you with all my heart", try seeking permission from your heart; it won't allow you, it won't stop you. It'll do just what it ought to : pump blood. People might perhaps one day start associating intestines with love - large intestine for friends, small for the beloved. I won't mention the heart again.

This is the last paragraph and it's going to be short, you may heave a sigh of relief. What has turned out is instant : no thought process, no nothing, very much like other blog posts that were written out of insomniac compulsions. If you're bored and you know it, clap your hands (and pretend to be an idiot for a while, it won't kill you). And for the quote, here's from "The Scientist" by Coldplay : 

Questions of science, science & progress do not speak as loud as my heart!  

Facebook, Cell Phones and the Like

I was once sitting outside the college canteen when this idea struck me. As I sat alone in one of the corners with some music playing on my earphones and surfing through Facebook, a classmate of mine came and sat beside me. I hadn’t known him very well but we knew each other just as classmates. After having acknowledged each other, we got busy with our respective cell phones. I had a call on my hands-free and I said “hello”. Having heard me and assuming that it was for him, he greeted me back and then he felt embarrassed. It was something new for me. At the school we were not allowed to carry cell phones with us and that had positive results, nobody sat alone. Groups of students huddled up to have fun, remaining uninterrupted by cell phone message beeps, calls and other disturbances. 

I am neither against technology nor its implications but it strikes me and I believe it should strike everyone to see how social interactions have dwindled to silent texts and smileys. A psychological study that I came across after a few days of the aforesaid incident had my mind thinking over and over. According to the study, human interactions remain “incomplete” if there’s no face to face contact. To get a message conveyed complete in all respects, we need to have an eye contact. The more we interact virtually, the more we hollow ourselves from within. The electronic chats that we engage in, entertain us for the time being but in the long run spell despair because of a talk that has remained incomplete somewhere. An empty feeling in the mind is generated.

There’s nothing wrong in making acquaintances in the virtual world but an attempt to remain indifferent to the influence is required. Since the probability of meeting these people is very low, a detachment is necessary. Think about it, when was the last time that you talked to someone ‘real’ without having been interrupted by your gadget?

"So if you have a minute why don’t we go, talk about it somewhere only we know. This could be the end of everything, so why don’t we go… Somewhere Only We Know" - Keane 

Sit-a-While

On the way to my village by road is a place of mythological significance, Valmikinagar. Valmikinagar is said to be the place where Sita, after being ousted from Ayodhya, lived with Maharshi Valmiki, the sage who wrote the Ramayana. It is now a place with dense forests and a few hutments can be observed in fringes in the middle of these jungles. The story told hereby, takes place in one of these houses.

I had been vacationing at my native place once during the summers which was quite a routine for me. As a city dweller, the serene country side can do wonders to your tired soul. Being a part of a Zamindar family, I was one day asked to go to the nearby town and look into some matter pertaining to the land. I agreed without hesitation as it wasn’t going to be a hard ordeal. It was certainly a matter of an hour or so but as destiny would have had it, it took more than the time it should have taken. It was getting dark and hence it was decided that we should be heading back to the village, only to come back the next day again. I was reluctant but not being fully aware of the repercussions, I decided to obey the advice of the person who had accompanied me. So we set out in the jeep. 

Within an hour of our journey, we were on the road through the jungles of Valmikinagar. As I tried to focus on the beauty of these old yet strong trunks of the trees that were silhouetted by the full moon’s glare behind them, the jeep started showing signs of a breakdown. And among the hooting of the owls and the sullen silence of the night, there we were standing next to the jeep, a grey smoke emerging out of the engine. The driver went in search of water while my wise accomplice who knew we could not fix it that night, asked me to accompany him to find a shelter in one of the huts. We happened to find one decent two storeyed house among a group of about six or seven hutments. My accomplice first introduced himself to the owner of the house and then pointing towards me, he told the owner that I’m the son of the Zamindar in my village, after which the owner was quite pleased to have us as his guests for the night. A decent meal was served to us and after a light chat about the work that I had gone for, we all retired to our beds. I was given a bed in one of the rooms on the second floor which used to remain empty most of the time. I fell deep asleep as soon as I lay on the bed.

At 3 in the morning, my eyes opened to a sound. I checked my cell phone for the time, and to illuminate the room a little to find out if everything was fine. As I turned to the right flashing my phone, a woman had appeared dressed half as a saint and half as a woman belonging to the royalty. After having been back to my senses from the sudden horror, I tried to sit up in my bed and greet the woman and ask for the purpose of her visit at this hour. I couldn’t. I was fixed at my spot and this woman came and sat at one corner of the bed. Then she started pressing my feet. I could not feel the touch but I sure could behold the sight. And then came a song from her unmoving lips, a sound so shrill it could literally crack window panes, but it didn’t. It was a melody. So I lay there in juxtaposition of the bed and the woman, trying helplessly to move, to save my life if it were meant to end now. I could not do anything, I knew it somehow. Around 5:30 in the morning, the sun’s first rays came into the room. And there was another sound; I took a look at my cell phone again, got a confirmation of the time. The woman stood up, smiled and walked out. I got out of my bed, tried to pretend as if nothing had happened. When I went down, the owner of the house looked at me as if he knew what had happened that night; he asked me if I had any strange dreams. It was not a dream. I don’t remember them so clearly… 

The Story of the Overhaul

My blog "Nomadic Diaries" (formerly, nomadic aspirations) had been lying dead for quite a time. As the blog description reads, I hoped my mind would find it a frequent visiting destination which did not come up as expected. A few posts out of anxiety and then I remained still without reason. I know I've been lost and begging for more.  

Talking about the overhaul, the biggest observable change would of course be the name. I reflected upon the name only to find out that I have almost settled with the "aspiration" part of my life. Nomadic Diaries comes up as my posts would continue to be my views, this time with a little more insight into issues and entertainment. To be writing essays, critiques or analyses is not my idea of blogging and hence to suddenly shift over to these would be quite a task for me. I will, however, go into matters that I find worth talking about and this time I hope these are matters which would be supported by readers (whatever fraction I can gather). Overhaul, yes I have gone through the physical appearance and layouts as well. I must admit that a friend's blog which he calls The Pucca Critic has been quite inspirational for me to go ahead with the changes in appearance. But my blog still remains simple in outlook and I hope to catch on gradually. 

Not with this post that I'll hit the panic button but I will certainly try to pursue blogging a little more seriously. Till the next time (soon, i.e.), it's a goodbye. 

"I reckon it's again my turn to win some or learn some..." - Jason Mraz

  

A Tryst With Television

Writing after a long while is certainly a pleasure. Not very much into the idiot box anymore (after the year 2008 or so), I may not be the right person posting this but after all this space is mine. So let me have the the opportunity to elucidate the series of events that pushed me towards this painful activity.

I lived a normal life with all the modern facilities (the internet, basically), food and water (for thirst as I have always maintained, is a very dangerous thing) till one day when the internet started behaving human. As the world comprises of much more smarter people today than ever before, I reckon it is unessential to elaborate the working of the internet and servers on which it works. By the way, I think that even I might get confused in the process of explanation. So, in  the vernacular of the common man, the servers were down. I looked behind to ensure that the food and water were safe enough. For a couple of minutes, I played with the idea of dozing off for the whole day but it wouldn't be fruitful as the pain of separation from all the three essentialities would be unbearable. Hence, I looked for alternatives. In the vicinity, I heard a sound, a strange but familiar one. I tried to recollect where I had heard this one. In a flash, it occurred to me that it 'might' be the television. I still remember watching it ... in the days when people believed cartoons were real, and cellphones were mythological instruments of communication (I am good with exaggerations).

So I decided to live, only to die another day as James Bond would have said it. A long battle with the family members earned me the remote control. The remote control is one fine instrument and hence the battle, I must add. Within no time, I saw myself surfing through the channels. There were a lot of them, sports channels, entertainment channels, kids' channels, music channels, channels airing bull-shit, yes literally, it was certainly there on some channel that egotistically called itself an Animal Planet. Fascinated, I watched them, one after the other. Something called "daily soap" was very interesting. From that old lady who must have been in her grave by now to the kid who created all the nonsense that the show required, the supposed thirty minute show was something inexplicable. Why the middle aged woman cried was a mystery and the child artist's over-acting was history (perhaps in the making). Then I chanced upon something new, a Discovery in the sense of the word. There were humans, there was science, there were animals and there was a battle among the three. Nobody won, except the commercials in between. Commercials were categorical : boring, intriguing, funny, and some meaningless, nonetheless. I missed watching cartoon serials, the ones I used to see as a kid, but the best part came from a familiar territory, that of music. I listened to some good music that was occasionally interrupted again by commercial advertisements. Sports channels put up a dismal performance as there was nothing LIVE on them. There were movies on some entertainment channels but I didn't have the required time to spare.

And hence ended my tryst with the television. It may have sounded like a lifetime but I'm afraid (elated, rather) that it lasted not more than two hours. I do chance upon to see the television once in a while now. We are good friends now but not the best and none of us really care, I guess, for both have busier schedules now. For such a post, a perfect conclusion can do wonders but I am in no mood for any further extravaganzas. I would only like to quote Ralph Waldo Emerson for the ending as :

We aim above the mark, to hit the mark. Every act hath some falsehood of exaggeration in it.

Silence Please !

Now through this post I would try to figure out why I had been keeping quiet all this while, now that I actually have nothing to do.

Let me start with the initial days of the supposed 'vacation' period. This 'vacation' (no inverted commas hereafter as they weren't as substantial as I had wanted them to be) was not merely a summer vacation but one that had been welcomed long before it had actually arrived ... it was after all, the end to my school life. Now as per the academic traditions here which don't spare you even a single holiday without a homework, I had, like many of fellow classmates across the country, some aspirations to fulfill, some goals to reach, and so I replaced the books on the table with my brains and started to mug up things as vehemently as possible ( studying would have been a better term, but I shall justify why I use 'mugging' ).

Starting off with the State Common Entrance Test for engineering early April , I found myself getting unexpectedly better on my birthday that co-hosted the IIT JEE exam. I would have talked about the other exams as well but pardon my tendency to speak only of good things. Hence I stop. Were the goals achieved ? Later please.

So the whole of month of April had to pass in these tedious ordeals. Just when I thought May would be better, I had my board exam results. Psst ! They were awful. Well actually, you expect a lot when you work hard on something. The same was with me. The results rendered me numb for a few days and so did the results of the various entrance exams ... I turned out to be a complete failure when it mattered the most. Nobody told me that but you expect things from yourself too at times. The aspirations unaccomplished. Done with May.

June, has by far been the best in the past three-four months ! Not because I conceded any victory but because I didn't concede any failure either. Things look pretty well in shape right now, no signs of any further damage.

Diverting from the topic of discussion hasn't always been entertaining to me but because I hadn't planned on writing this one, I guess things turned out to be bad and utterly boring. Everybody loves a heroic story, whereas only few relish upon miseries. So what was it that actually kept me away, I wondered and found out that there were quite a few factors. Studying for the boards and entrance exams is so exhausting on the mind that you lose the creativity required to carry on with the task of writing. Then, I chanced upon to give myself a facebook account and that has also been occupying my mind to some extent. The status update feature serves the purpose of a micro blog and you get more followers so complacency was bound to take its toll. Doing nothing, was I guess the most important thing done during this tenure. 

On an ending note ... I hope to be back to blogging as soon as possible. The vacationing period would end soon and I'll be busy again but I guess I am better with the blog while busy. So let's see how it turns out to be.