An Unforgettable Night

For this particular entry, I shall go back in time and narrate an experience from the past. It was my nineteenth birthday and my friends & I decided to head out of town for the weekend to explore a new place. We had no destination in mind and were going to figure it out once we reached the bus stand. On reaching, we saw an over night bus leaving for Chandigarh, and hopped on to it for no rhyme or reason. The next morning, Tolia, who was familiar with the place, took the lead and became our guide for the day. We visited the rock garden (which has statues made out of bathroom fittings- classy right?), went boating in the lake and ate authentic Punjabi delicacies.

Sometime in the afternoon, Tolia suggested that we should go to Manikaran, a place with hot springs. With the winter setting in, none of us had any issues with the idea. The plan was to board the 9 pm bus which would take us to Bhuntar, a village in Himachal Pradesh, and from there change buses to reach the final destination. After getting on to the bus, we tried to sleep, but it was nearly impossible to do so as the ride resembled that of a roller coaster, with the only difference being that the bus journey lasts more than just a couple of minutes. As the driver pushed the engine to its limits in the hilly terrain, the machine moved like a raging bull, and we tossed and turned and fell on each other, and our stomachs made noises which I had never heard before. Our topsy-turvy trip finally ended when the driver brought the bus to a halt at about three in the morning. We had reached Bhuntar. The bus dropped us and sped away continuing its wild ride.

We were expecting a bus stop, a chai wallah ( a tea stall) maybe, but all we saw were a few huts, and a desolate fork junction, with one road leading to Manali and the other to Manikaran and the Beas river flowing in between the two. There was no trace of anyone except two burly guys, Hilly & Billy, standing next to a van waiting for a parcel. I wonder which courier service delivers at such an unearthly hour. Chinki, Roy, & I started chatting with them to figure out our next steps to reach the hot springs. The bad part - there were no buses for another two to three hours. The good part- there was a Gurudwara, a Sikh temple, one kilometre away where we could take refuge until morning.  After taking note of the directions, we set out on foot. Tolia was not happy at the prospect of speaking to strangers as he did not trust them but we told him to chill out and relax. Just as he was getting calmed, a van stopped in front of us (yes, it was similar to the sets of a shady movie in which a van with tinted windows screeches to halt and out come the kidnappers). Hilly had picked up his parcel of boxes and was offering to drop us, but we politely declined. He insisted a couple of times, and in the end we reluctantly climbed inside. Apart from the fact that we were in a van with two strangers and each of them, twice as big as any of us, was capable of knocking us out unconscious, there was no reason to worry.

Minutes into the drive, it was Billy's turn to be hospitable. He told us to come to his place where he would prepare some freshly brewed tea. We declined again, but unfortunately they don't take no for an answer in Bhuntar. We reached Billy's house and he asked us to follow him to a staircase which was going down to a room in the basement of a building. Hilly followed closely behind. I kid you not, moments later- Billy lifted a shutter to open a room, and proudly announced it as his shop. And no, I am not imagining any of this. Why were we going to a stranger's shop, which had shutters, in a basement to have tea while the entire world was sleeping? Was I the only one freaking out? A quick glance at my friends' faces told me the story; I was not alone. Needless to say, I was not very keen to go in. As my friends went inside, I stayed out on the pretext of an incoming call (the phone did not even ring). Fortunately the two men did not doubt that someone else was awake at this hour and wanted to speak to me at the precise moment when I was about to step inside the shop. In about five minutes, things settled down and the drama ended. No, there were no fist fights, kidnappings, escapes and chases; that would have been a little too much. In any case, Hilly & Billy turned out be nice guys and as we sat sipping piping hot tea, which I must admit was really nice, Hilly told us stories about his life. Nearly an hour later, we bade the two good bye, thanked them for their hospitality, and started walking towards Manikaran. It was a moon lit night with beautiful scenery - hills on one side of the road and the Beas river on the other. At about six in the morning, nearly three hours after we had gotten off from the bus, a pair of headlights approached us and we put out our hands to stop the vehicle. It turned out be a truck and not a bus. True to the hospitable nature of the region, the driver offered us a lift. Given that we had sat in a stranger's van and gone to his friend's shop to have tea in the middle of the night, we had no qualms travelling by a truck. Contrary to what people think, trucks are extremely comfortable. There was a bed behind the driver's seat with a really soft mattress and within minutes the four of us dozed off to catch some much needed sleep. On reaching Manikaran, we gave the driver some nominal amount as a token of appreciation and left for the springs. And thus, came to an end, a very eventful night.

The rest of the day, we bathed in the hot springs, took an hour long ride on the roof of a bus to Kullu, where we did white water rafting, went to Manali to see a Dusshera fair and finally headed back to Delhi in the night. On reaching my room the next morning, I thanked my stars, crashed on my bed and slept peacefully for hours together as I had spent the previous three nights in those crazy buses.

The Sound of Silence

Have you ever traveled in a bus or a train and sat next to a person who goes on chatting about an issue in his/her life to someone on the phone? It is an annoying experience. The characteristics of such a person are: he/she does not talk softly, does not bother about the choice of words, and talks endlessly oblivious of the fact that other passengers exist. Thankfully, aircrafts don't allow use of cell phones on a flight, but I am afraid that day is not far when technology will enable us to connect to our dear and loved ones even when we are thousands of feet above the ground.

Recently, I took a train from Mumbai to visit my maternal grandparents in Surat. The journey was not a planned one, and as a result I did not have a reserved ticket. So I reached about half an hour prior to the train departure to figure out a way to travel. After asking around, I came across a guy who was selling a ticket at a premium. This guy also served meals on the very same train I was about to board. I paid the money, and took my seat next to a lady in her late twenties or early thirties. When I sat down, she gave me a disgusted expression. Maybe she was expecting her Prince Charming to come sweep her off the feet, and I wasn't him. But that was not the reason why she was upset, as I soon found out. 

She dialed a number on her phone and started talking. I was not at all interested in her phone call and stared out of the window engrossed in my thoughts. Now, I can be very absent minded, and sometimes not even know what is happening around me. But this woman, who I shall call "Chatter Box" (for obvious reasons), had taken upon herself to deprive anyone in the radius of ten feet of any peace what so ever. I am not one to pry upon others' conversations, but the pitch of her voice, the choice of language and animated expressions caught my attention. She was telling a friend of hers (I pity him) about how a guy ("The Dog"- one of the many things she called him) in her office had not been courteous and chivalrous and how he had abandoned her on Woman's Day. Initially I thought he had dumped her. But that was not the case. The Dog had booked his train ticket, but not hers. And for this blasphemous act, she wanted to crucify him and report him to his superiors. Although I have heard girls swear before, I was not expecting a lady of the age of Chatter Box to go all guns blazing in three different languages at the stroke of dawn. Talk about waking up on the wrong side of the bed. In any case, after about thirty minutes she finally cut the call, but by no means was she satisfied or at peace with the situation. Still furious, she picked up the phone, punched in some digits, woke up another friend out of deep slumber, repeated the same story, only with different cuss words, apologized for waking the poor chap up, bade him goodbye, kept the phone and dozed off to sleep herself. After what seemed like an eternity, the train coach was finally peaceful. I must say, a very polite woman. 

While all this was happening, I had taken out my diary to pen down the events for a blog entry. I finished scribbling minutes before reaching Surat. As the train approached the station, I packed up my belongings and got up to go near the exit. Chatter Box too had to get down, and was standing behind me. Just before stepping out, she said to me: "Excuse me... I never thought anyone would write about me....but I think you could have done better." Realizing what had happened, I smiled at her, told her it was my first draft and got down.

The Wild Bunch

The trip had been planned months in advance. Three of my friends were flying/ driving down to Mumbai for a weekend. I shall call them Tiny Tim, Uber Cool, & Wily Coyote. Initially, we were planning to make a road trip to Goa, but decided to stick around Bombay since a weekend is just not enough for Goa. So once all of us had met up, we headed to my apartment. And although I live in a Jain society where one is not allowed to consume alcohol, it was nonetheless decided that we should have a drinking binge. For some reason, Tiny Tim wasn't in a mood to drink that night. But that did not stop the rest of us. So through the night, the three of us consumed a bottle and a half of vodka & rum. At about 5 in the morning Tiny Tim, Uber Cool & Wily Coyote drove down to South Bombay to see the beach and the sea. I on the other hand, dozed off on the makeshift bed in the hall. I finally woke up at about 2 in the afternoon, not in the hall but in the bed room. Apparently Uber Cool had just flung me over there to create some space for the 3 of them. I was also told that, sometime in the morning, I woke up, stood up on the bed and was looking to charge towards my closet. Had it not been for my flat mate who was getting ready to go to work at that time, I probably would have cracked my skull and knocked myself out with a big bump on my head. The surprising thing is that, I have no recollection of this. And I don't think I was trying to run a 100 m dash in my dreams as well.

Now, the four of us have known each other for the past couple of years at college. For some reason, Tiny Tim always liked picking on Uber Cool. Tiny Tim has a habit of speaking fast. So by the time Uber Cool would comprehend one line, Tiny Tim would have already spoken another 3 or 4 sentences and all Uber Cool could do, apart from being lost, was to give a 100 watt smile. It was Tiny Tim's way of messing around with Uber Cool. Coming back, we went out for lunch to an Italian joint close by. They were showing the Australia vs England cricket match. The Aussies were doing pretty well, but the match was not over and there was a chance that England might pull off a victory. Following was the conversation that went on for a couple of minutes:

Tiny Tim   : If I bet 100 bucks and England wins, will you give me 100?
Uber Cool: Ya
Tiny Tim   : Would you give me 150 if I bet 100?
Uber Cool: Ya
Tiny Tim   : What about 200?
Uber Cool: Ok
Tiny Tim   : and 300?
Uber Cool: No
Tiny Tim   : Why?
Uber Cool: Because thats a lot for an England win
Tiny Tim   : That means somewhere between 200 & 300, you think that it is not worth betting against an England win. So you should turn it around and bet on England to win at 300 right?

Uber Cool: I guess so
Tiny Tim   : Fine, you bet 100 and if England win, I will give you 300. Is that cool?
Uber Cool: No
Tiny Tim   : Why?
Uber Cool: No
Tiny Tim   : What happened?
Uber Cool: ............
Tiny Tim   : What?
Uber Cool: (A sheepish smile)

It took 5 minutes for Uber Cool to realize that his logic was flawed. To which he replied, "I don't want to bet on England".

Moving on, the following night, 6 of us (2 friends had joined us) went to a pub just before it was closing. Two tables away, there were 3 girls and 2 guys sitting. One of the girls was talking at the top of her voice. We dared Tiny Tim to go and tell her to talk softly. Don't let the name fool you, Tiny Tim is a real confident ass whooper. So, without batting an eye lid, he got up, went to the table, told something in the ear of the guy (let's call him the Villain) sitting next to the loud mouthed girl, came back & sat down. We asked him as to why he did not say anything to the girl, to which he replied assuredly "You never tell a girl that, always tell the guy with her". We were quite impressed. About five minutes later, the Villain got up from his seat, came close to Tiny Tim and gave him an earful. The expression on Tiny Tim's face was no longer a picture of confidence. Tiny Tim was raging with anger. The Villain had apparently abused Tiny Tim and told him to meet him outside after drinks. Three people (including me) on our table had stayed in Bombay for six months, but no one had any "pull" or "connections" in case things go out of hand. On the other hand, the Villain was making call after call on his cell phone, probably trying to get people to back him. Everyone (except Uber Cool & I) was boasting as to how they could have taken care of the Villain in Delhi. Tiny Tim realized that it would not be a wise decision to challenge the Villain on his home turf and kept on saying "kat gayi yaar" (read: "we are screwed"). To his credit, he was not scared of the confrontation and was even willing to take a punch and get a black eye. Thankfully, none of that happened, and after having a shot of Tequila, we quietly slipped out without making a fuss.

All this while, Wily Coyote has been out of the picture. He is a simple man who I am sure one day will be mentioned in the same breath as Captain Edward Murphy (the great mind behind Murphy's Laws). I remember a couple of years back, while driving his car, he said very philosophically:- "katna hai ...toh kategi" (read: "if you can be screwed, you will be"). He is a guy who would probably be the first to run from a confrontation (like the one I mentioned before) and shoot a video of everyone else getting beaten up so that he can have a hearty laugh later. You see, he likes to remain out of the spotlight. This happens to be true when one has to pay the bill also. It was an understood fact that the four of us would be treating each other for at least one meal. Or so we thought. Wily Coyote, the escapist he is, brought not a Visa, not a Master Card, but a Maestro debit card with him on the trip. The only problem:- Maestro is not accepted by most restaurants, and as it turned out, in none of the places we went to. So whenever it was time to clear the check/bill, he would flash his Maestro as if he could buy the entire place with it, only to realize, that it was of no value. In fact a couple of times, he even went to an ATM. And guess what, even the machine refused to accept his card.

In the middle of trying to kill one self, becoming bookies, picking bar fights and taking the ad campaign- "Visa Power: Go Get It" to a whole new level, we had a ball of a time and laughed our hearts out.

ummm...I can explain Officer

The incidents that I am about to pen down took place about 6 years ago. My cousins, a couple of friends and I had gone on a trip to Ranikhet, a hill station in Uttarakhand. It happens to be a beautiful valley with lots of creeks surrounded by vegetation. In the month of December, the place is very quiet and serene. There is not much to do over there apart from seeing the natural beauty and going on treks in the nearby hills.

As far as I remember, we went trekking every day. On one of those days, we decided to pack our lunches, and head out into the wilderness. After spending time on a small waterfall, climbing down on broken trees, taking snapshots of each other, we decided to head back to our hotel. Unfortunately, with all the twists and turns that we had taken throughout our trek, we did not remember the way back. It did not bother us too much as we could see civilization in the distance. After about an hour or so, we came across some abandoned military posts and shooting ranges. At about six in the evening, we reached a military academy which seemed quite deserted. This was the first time I had been on the inside of a military academy and I was quite fascinated by the equipment and the training facilities they had. One thing that comes clearly to my mind, is a rope hanging from a cross- bar. My friends and cousins took turns to hang on the rope and pull themselves up. Now, I have seen many a Bollywood/ Hollywood movie where the hero is hanging by the rope and he pulls himself up by the sheer strength of his arms. Even though I am very thin with no muscles whatsoever, I had confidence in my abilities and decided to give it a shot. In a moment or two, I realised that I was no Tom Cruise in a Mission Impossible movie so I decided to have fun and started swinging on the rope and at the same time making a lot of noise. At this point, I saw two soldiers charging towards us with guns in hand, shouting at me to get down. Our entry had apparently caused a security breach and the military wasn't exactly happy with us. After telling them our story, which they thankfully believed, we finally did head for our hotel. We had a nice dinner sitting next to a bon fire and went to sleep.

Me-Swinging in the military academy

On our way back from Ranikhet, we had to go to Delhi to board a flight for 'namma Bengaluru'. We reached the airport about 3-4 hours prior to the departure. There were nine of us including my aunt, uncle and my friends' parents. We completed all the formalities, checked-in our luggage and were then waiting in the lounge area. After about half an hour, my friend's dad brought my attention to an announcement. The announcement went something like this: ''There is a black bag lying near the x-ray machine. Whomsoever's it is, please pick it up. This is the final call, we will remove the bag from the area for security reasons.'' I was very sure that my bag was checked in but since I was bored, I just went along with my cousin to see what the whole fuss was about. Fortunately, it turned out to be my bag. Unfortunately, there were three men guarding the bag with guns. I claimed the bag to be mine, started to pick it up, and at that point one of the burly men stopped me and said, "Saab ke paas chalo". I was then taken to a room where I was told that my unattended bag had caused a bomb scare in the Indira Gandhi International Airport. Apparently they had passed it through the x-ray machine thrice but could not confirm anything. They were on the verge of calling the Delhi Bomb Squad to check for any explosives. Sheepishly I apologised and told them that it was a genuine mistake. The matter was closed with a hundred rupee note (this was not a bribe- I was actually given a receipt which I seem to have misplaced now) and I was allowed to go home.

And thus came to an end a very peaceful holiday involving the army, lots of guns, security personnel, but thankfully no ka-BOOM!!!

Adventure n Stupidity- all in the same day

A couple of days back, a colleague at work asked me whether I wanted to try out 'Waterfall rappelling' i.e. climbing down a waterfall using a rope. An adventure group, 'Yuvazhep' was organising a day trip to Vihi waterfalls, about 100 kms from Mumbai. The idea seemed very exciting to me as I had never done anything like this before. I decided to give it a shot. So on a Sunday morning I woke up before four with blood shot eyes and caught a local train to reach the pick up point at Borivali. After innumerable delays and a bus ride of four hours, we finally reached our destination. The location was fantastic with two waterfalls in series and a hundred foot gap with rocks and water flowing between them. The first fall was fifteen feet tall and thirty feet wide and the second one, a hundred and twenty feet tall and twenty feet wide with water flowing with tremendous force due to the ongoing monsoon. Surrounding this amazing place was a forest with lush green trees, wet and cleaned up by the rains.

I had seen videos of people rappelling down cliffs, buildings, waterfalls, etc. and always thought that there was not much to it. I was completely mistaken. Once the safety harness was in place, I was on my own. I had to first go down a slope of forty feet and then a drop of eighty feet. I am extremely terrified of heights, but before starting my descent, I made a mental note to look down every once in a while and see the plummeting drop below. I wanted to feel the rush. Although, there is no risk in slipping as there is a safety harness in place, but there is a chance that you might get hurt when you hit the wall. With moss growing on the wall, it tends to be very slippery and is tough to keep your footing right. The entire descent was an out of the world experience with the water falling on my head while I was hanging by the rope, concentrating hard and trying my best not to slip. Midway, with about forty feet to go, I lost my bearings and was left suspended by the 10 mm nylon rope. At this point, I remember saying to myself, 'I don't want this experience to end, but at the same time I don't want to keep hanging'. When I tried looking up, my vision was blurred by the rain and the falling water. After a couple of moments I regained my balance and was off again. The entire journey took me less than fifteen minutes, but it was one of the most exhilarating experiences I have had.

It does not end there. Once everyone was finished, we headed back to civilisation. I got down at Thane, and took the train to go home. By the time I reached the station it was one in the morning. As the train was slowing down, I saw the platform exit pass by. Any fifth standard kid will tell you that you should never jump from a moving train, and even if you do, always jump in the direction of the train. My clothes were wet, I was cold, my mind had switched off and I just wanted to be home tucked inside my bed. It was then, that I jumped, not in the direction of the train but in the opposite one (towards the exit). In the air, which was probably for a second or two, I knew I had made an incredibly dumb decision. I did not have too much time to ponder over it as I tripped on landing and hit the concrete very hard. I am sure, people watching me were just taken aback by my sheer stupidity. As I lay motionless on the cold platform floor for a couple of minutes, two gentlemen came and tried to lift me and it was then that I felt a shooting pain in my shoulder. My knee and elbow were bruised, but most importantly I was not able to move my arm at that moment because of the impact. I somehow got up, reached home, swallowed a pain killer and slept. I went to the doctor the next day fearing a hair line fracture but was relieved to find out that it was just a 'soft tissue' injury and no bones were cracked or broken.

All in all, it was an unforgettable day with me getting hurt while climbing down a train and not a 120 footer waterfall.

Me? I'm not a racist!!!

A couple of years back, in the year 2008, Indian cricket was threatened by a huge controversy. The Sardar from Punjab, Harbhajan Singh, was accused of racially abusing Andrew Symmonds. The situation spiraled into a major issue when Symmonds claimed that the off spinner had called him a monkey, something which he considered a racial slur. After several meetings with the officials, the issue was settled when Sachin clarified that it was not monkey but 'maa ki', an abuse to one's mother.

Indians back home were flabbergasted with the situation for two reasons. They just could not comprehend how a word like monkey be considered derogatory and racist. Once, while passing some people on the roads of New Delhi, I could not help, but hear one of them saying, '' abe hum toh hamesha ek dusre ko bandar, kutta, aur kya kya nahi bulate hai, isme kya problem hai..aur Symmonds bhi ajeeb hai, jab Sachin ne bola ki woh ek gaali thi, toh gore ko koi problem hi nahi hui..'' There was another reason for the bewilderment of the Indian janta. How dare a gora call us a racist when we ourself have faced racism for several hundred years and continue to bear the flak even now? It seemed that the victim had become the culprit.

We Indians, sorry for the generalisation, feel outraged when a racist incident occurs against our 'brothers' in a far-off land. But we never realise that, in some sense we are even more racist (towards the same brothers) than the goras who ruled us for centuries.

Let me give you some examples. Ask a guy in Delhi, what is the first thing that comes to mind when he thinks of South India, and he will not even blink before saying 'garmi, madrasi, idli, sambar and dosa'. He will forget that he lives in the frying pan of our nation which burns at 45 degrees every summer, but he will not forget to connect South India with heat. Mind you, if the same question is asked to a Bangalorean about North India, it will elucidate an equally racist remark. One of my friends has been called a 'tribal who lives in the jungles of Andhra' because his place of birth is not heard by many people. Another has been laughed at, why quite simply because he hails from Bihar. I have to admit that all these remarks were always made in good humour and to the credit of my friends never taken in the wrong sense. I have handled a fair bit of 'racism' myself. It's quite expected considering I am a gujarati (having no idea of my family's 'native place'), who speaks marathi at home, lived in Bangalore, studied in Delhi and now working in Mumbai. I have been named Maddu (read as Madrasi), when I have actually been to Chennai only twice. On the other hand, I have also been called 'Dilli wala northie' and what not.

To be honest, I am guilty of laughing, poking fun at my friends, who come from different cultural and social backgrounds and propagating this racism. But, what is amazing is that we Indians do not bother so much about the racism within our own country; we will call one another names, make fun of each other's eating, dressing and speaking habits, but will turn red when some phirangi jeers at us. And at that point, you will hear a collective voice from all corners of the country saying 'teri *#@ ki'.

My First Pay Cheque

I have been working in a firm in Mumbai for about a month now. By the looks of it, I will be here for about 2 years or so, unless of course they have reasons to fire me. Well, let us hope that does not happen. I have always thought of myself as an independent person, taking my own decisions, doing whatever I feel like. But, that was restricted at times by the fact that I wasn't financially independent. It just did not feel right to blow one's parents money all the time. Now there is nothing to stop me. There is one thing; the size of my pay cheque.

A couple of days back I received my first salary. And rightly so, I was thrilled. My bank account, which had resembled Aryabhatta's discovery, was now like a healthy beating heart. As I write this blog, I look back on the one month that has passed and the amount of work I have put in to earn my bread.

I was told that the company I was joining would make me work like there was no tomorrow. I had prepared myself mentally for the struggle I would have to go through. I was ready to put in all those hours and burn the midnight oil. I should consider it my good fortune that, in the past month, I have not done even an iota of work. The only thing I have done so far sitting in my thousand pound chair ( by the way, my salary is less than that) is to watch videos on youtube, connect with my other job less friends and well, start writing this blog. I have sat on the balcony overlooking the Arabian Sea for hours together feeling the gush of wind go past my face. I have pained my fellow colleagues by constantly going over to their cabins and engaging them in mindless conversations. It has been a nice 'honeymoon period', as my envious colleagues call it. And as many would point out, after the honeymoon, it can only go down hill. Nonetheless, I shall cherish this lovely phase and feel lucky to have got the 'phokut ka paisa'.