Shot In The Back

Imagine for once a life which would have been much different than what you have ever lived or for that matter have even desired to ever live. A life with a different possibility. These lines should be far more sufficient for an average literature enthusiast to think what i would be talking about. But for more scientific and practical individual, imagine the possibility of a parallel universe wherein there is one more you, but living in a different place and timezone altogether. And that sets the tone of a story I am going to tell you.

So now, imagine yourself living in a different world. A real world. But a world where your community is still living under the threat of a more powerful one. Where civilisation has deepened its roots enough for two individuals to have a sensible talk between two men but not enough to erase the authority of a person with a gun. A land where he who has the gun wins all the arguments. And you being a part of a lesser privileged community, which is being oppressed and exploited by a more powerful ones, are nothing but angered and frustrated. Aggression flowing through your veins, but does not get a chance to show its colours. You sulk and yet have no way to explore the realms of your anger. Atleast not with the world around you.

This feeling was so predominant amongst our pre independence indians, who lived under the oppression of the British. But even before that, there has always been oppression. Of some or the other community. By a self proclaimed higher section of the society. Power play has always been about stronger weapons, more education or simply more money. Even the naxalite movement is a reason of some oppression somewhere by more powerful one on to the weak. The feeling of oppression is evident amongst so many communities. Imagine what if even the farmer decided to rebel instead of hanging himself. That becomes yet another movement.

And with this searing feeling of oppression, one day you decide to rebel. With no option in mind, you choose to face your fears. You choose to rebel against the pre defined status quo of the society which was simply bestowed upon you, without even the slightest consent. You were labelled as the weaker section for no fault of yours.

Now imagine you being a part of such a weaker section. And you have rebelled. For once imagine a life beyond the closed walls of your fancy life. A life of a rebel. Avoiding the law, fighting the system which was meant to further oppress you. Fighting an enemy who is so difficult to be identified as a sole source of your apathy. And to give acceleration to your rebellious movement, you leave your loved ones behind. You get engrossed into the fight. Even though you are a person who would have happily slept on a grass field looking at cloud for hours, and now you are here fighting a war, which has made you a completely different person. Your wishes to live a normal life has got buried deep down in the fate which destiny planned for you. Never to return back.

And now imagine, while fighting your war against this oppression, this enemy, and running away from the law, one day, in broad daylight, may be running through a paddy field like a freedom fighter, you get hit by a bullet in your back shot by one of the lawkeeper. A bullet which has pierced your back and left you a wound which is going to kill you for sure. You just have few more dying moments on this earth.

You stumble on the ground and your entire life flashes in front of your eyes in a moment. You think that you never wanted all of this. You never wanted this fight. It was not you who chose the fate of your own destiny. You never got a chance to choose. You just followed the path laid down by your destiny. a fateful destiny. And you know that this bullet has cost you your life. In some time, your eyes will close forever. And at that time, you so damn wished the life to have been something different.

You would wish something better. More peaceful. In those last dying moments, you would imagine those never spoken words you always wanted to tell to your loved ones. Or probably a dream or passion you always wanted to pursue. And all this would just be a thought as you would be dying. All you would want from life in those dying moments would be one chance to change everything and live a peaceful life. 

And you breath for one last time. And you are gone. Into the oblivion of past tense like so many lives before you on this planet earth.

Story Ends.

The best part about this story and all the imagination you did right now is not that you died being a freedom fighter. But that you still have a life wherein you can still fulfil all those dreams and passion you always wished for. And you can still say everything you ever wanted to say to someone or anyone. You are living a much better life. Its really worth putting it to a good use. Otherwise even in this life your dying wont be any different than dying with a bullet shot the back.

A child is born

A child is born. All it has is its innocent consciousness. The tiny tiny legs, when they crawl on the concretised footpath, they don’t know the embarrassment of it. Its mouth and hand dabble for the touch and feel of its mothers body. Not caring about the smell of the sweat it might carry. The sweat, which has been persistent companion of its mother as she might have been begging in the scorching sun the whole day. The nipples of her breast, which might have gone dry due to her own dehydration. The child doesn’t understand this science and society. Why its mother has to suffer in such a way. Why the nipples, its only hunger relief, should be deprived of the basic means of resources, in this world, which is overflowing with resources. Even the question of why does not arise in the child’s mind. Because all it has is its innocent consciousness.

The child grows a little. It can barely walk. It can feel the hunger and deprivation. Still it does not know the reason. It demands the basic love and care like any other child. It longs to be pampered like any other child. And yes, it does have started living the world with a better emotional quotient. But it still doesn’t know why it has to cry so many times in a day. Even for as petty thing as a piece of bread, piece of cloth or a piece of love. Life seems to be all in bits and pieces. It feels like a punching bag for the frustrated parents. Afterall its always much easier getting angry on the weak. Parents are weak due to poverty. And they find the weaker person in the child. The child takes the brunt of everything. Hunger was always its companion. Now anger and frustration have also joined it. It doesn’t know what it love. The love accompanied by richness. But still the child is oblivion to the huge wall. The wall which separates its family on the footpath and the people in the vehicles just 2 feet away. The wall is nowhere to be seen. But the wall will always be there to be felt.

The child grows a little more. It can run. And understand the injustice the life has thrown at it. But the child still is unable to understand why the kid in the car is always smiling back. The child never has an emotion to smile back. The child does seldom smile back out of human nature of mirroring the other person. But then never does it happen that the door of the car opens up and the smiling face comes over to play. It will never happen. But the child probably does not know this yet. The child also does not know why it always is deprived of a toy. Are rocks the toys? Are tree branches toys? Or is it the piece of small wood which probably has a shape like none other. Is this the toy? Probably the concept of toy has not occurred to the child. Again deprived of a basic necessity.

The child grows a bit more. The child is now a girl. A little girl. Brought to this wretched world to carry the burden of work and taking care of her younger brothers and sisters. She is entitled to take over the legacy of her mother. The legacy of begging on the same street. But thats not what she wants. She also has a little aspiration of combing her hair. Hair, probably which are silky soft and not the dirty mess she has been endowed with. She also aspires to have a clean dress. She probably may never ever get into a car which she has seen forever from the living room of her home. What else do you see when the living room and bedroom is a namesake footpath? She will understand very later in life that the concept of equal opportunity never existed in this world. She was destined to be poor beggar. But for now, her understanding is all about the pennies she collects all day long from the strangers in the vehicles. She has never know any other way of life. Her idea of this pennies is that more she collects it, her life will become better. Better food, better cloths and better love from parents.

But then the unthinkable happens. She grows a little bit more. And gets sucked into the vicious cycle of poverty even deeper. 

What the life has in store for her, she never wanted it. And probably, she never deserved it.

The Thirst

A warm sunny day. A “hot” sunny day would be a more appropriate word.

I was already very thirsty from the 80km bus journey in that half city half village land in some remote location in Karnataka. What we call as interiors of Karnataka. But the topic isn’t about my thirst. It cant be at all. Coz the experience of being thirsty is practically a myth for us living in cities. We are a generation who either have a water bottle always tucked into our bags or always have the privilege to quench our thirst for 15 to 20 bucks. So easy.

This story is about something which I saw, observed and then it made an impact on me. Not that reading the same story would make an impact on everyone. But then we never know what creates an impact on our lives. However small or however big.. If it makes you think, makes you feel, its impactful.

So there I was, after my 80km bus journey. The bus had just dropped me near the busiest junction of that dreadful town from where I was expecting another pick up on bike from my associate. I was on a trip to understand details to be used in making a corporate film for one of my client. The bus which had just dropped me, simply zoomed past into the dusty cloud created by its own karma.

When the cloud settled, I could visualize the panoramic site of the place from where I was standing. To my one side, there was a bus station. To my other side there were rows of shops selling all sorts of things. The road besides me was bustling with auto rickshaw and people. And the people were poor.

Though being poor is not at all demeaning in  any sense. Its neither a crime nor is it infectious. But still the way a rich looks at poor, the whole idea of being poor becomes so unwanted. I have met poor people. I have lived with poor people. But never once it occurred to me that they are any less happy than their richer counterparts. Richness cannot assure you happiness. There is no proof of richness guaranteeing peace of mind. But still when the Poor looks upto a rich person, there creeps in a feeling of being ashamed. Ashamed of being poor.

So the poor ashamed people whom I was looking at where busy in their own routine world. World oblivion to my gaze. And in that moment, my eyes focused on a family. A family of Four. Had just alighted from a shared auto rickshaw. The father, a fragile man with worn out shirt and pants to call as cloths was struggling to count the coins which he had to give to the autoriskshaw driver. May be he was resisting within himself to part ways with the money he had. There was a young wife with a newly born child in her arms. Struggle from tiredness from handling the newly born was clearly visible on her face. And still she was trying desperately to shield the baby from the sun rays with the help of her saree’s loose end. The baby lay peacefully in loving caressing arms of his mother, oblivious to the classification of rich and poor which he has to face for this life ahead.

And the fourth member of the nuclear family was a young girl, around 5 years old. A tiny frock on her body which was probably so over used that she had outgrown it long back. But still it was being used for obvious reasons. The bottom end of the frock was barely reaching her thighs and the poor girl had got used to this. The girl was without footwear. Now on a hot sunny day, when the tar road was hot enough to make people walking on it break a sweat or two, the sight of a 5 year old girl walking barefoot on that road made me sick. Emotionally.

The father, who till now had done away with the rickshaw fare, guided the family to a nearest footpath. And immediately left the family in the scorching sun to get something. The wife was with the task of sheltering her new born, who was by then getting restless due to the heat. The heat and the struggle of the new born which will make him so resilient in years to come. Or rather years of struggle to come. And that’s what makes our maximum population so resilient. But the rich never understands. They still wonder, why the population does not protest. Why they do not raise their voice. The rich, who are used to crying as a child even when they don’t get their favorite icecream flavor, how can the same rich understand the deep rooted cause of being resilient of the poor who as a child were not even able to manage a shade in the sun, let alone the distant dream of an ice cream.

The little girl also stood close to her mother. Trying to hold on to her saree as if that was the only solace left for her in this world. And indeed it was. No toys, no chips, no games, the saree was the solace of that 5 year old.

After about 10 min of waiting, I began to imagine whether the father had deserted them to find their own destiny. I was becoming impatient. The site of those three lives, still standing on that footpath with nowhere to go, under that 12 o clock sun, was something I can never forget.

And then the father appeared, with 2 coconuts, each in his each hand. One for the wife. One for the daughter. Even in that apathy, his sense of realization of his families thirst was paramount of human love. Of family bond. 

I smiled. My own thirst was somewhat quenched at that very moment. 

Is God A Woman!!!

A few days back I was just waiting for my train to arrive and there was a crowd of women standing around me. May be the next train was a ladies special. All different! Some old, some young, modern, amazingly traditional, some jain sadhvis who had shun the worldly things! A motley crew of women!! Suddenly an idea struck me. What if God is a woman?

The food for thought was enough to feed the intellect while I waited. What qualities do we attribute god with?

Love.
Compassion.
Non-violent.
Unmanipulative. (If there is a word like this :)
Beautiful.
Care-taker.

These are just a few. I am sure there are many qualities that I have missed but these are the basic ones!!
And I wondered, it was women that one could identify more with having these values than us men! 

Love: 
It's a mother that has boundless love for her children. Not that the father is any less, but mother had a greater attachment to children. She knows them better. 

Compassion:

She would cry when she sees suffering, At least more than the opposite sex. We have Mother Teresa!! No father Teresa as of yet!! It’s a known fact that women out do us in this department!

Non-violent:
Hands down it’s the women in this category. No women have started or fought in any war. They are not murderers, serial killers, terrorists, dictators, etc. even if some of them do fall in the preceding categories I am sure that it would be a fraction of 1% of all the males in that group. 

Non-Manipulative:
I don’t take the manipulations in the Saas-Bahu serials to be that harmful. It doesn’t kill anyone. Am sure no woman has been manipulative enough to fool a country to fight a war. Women do manipulate in other ways but that would rarely lead to a riot!! 

Beautiful: 
I don’t even have to say anything!! Beautiful from the heart and the body!! 

Care-taker: 
Moms are the best example. 

I am in no way portraying that men are useless! They are as much important as the females in the creation. It’s just that I am stating the obvious! I believe a woman is much more strong that a man, not in physical terms, but in a whole lotta other ways. 

But then I am saddened by the way women are being portrayed today. On TV, in the media it’s the foul mouthed, nonsense talking women that are getting the mileage. Which by the way constitute a minuscule % of the total women population (read chicks on reality shows.)
Rarely do we see a woman of morals being praised in these times?? Where has the respect gone? U might call me old fashioned but a lady commands respect and we should oblige that! 

And I don’t buy the argument by some women that it is the men who have degraded their character. These reasons are given by those minorities of women who actually have lost all the charm, the sanctity, and the decency of being a woman. They themselves are weak and blame others for the fiasco. Most women would be annoyed if a guy around them either talks foul or acts indecent. I respect them. I believe that’s what a woman should be like.

I believe that women are the best creation by god and I would love them to stay that way!! And in every sense it seems true that the creator is a Woman herself.

The Cherishable Moment

 We all are drifters. Some are travelers.

A thin line that differentiates the two is if we have lived an experience worth cherishing for times to come in any journey or have we just visited some place since we had the money to do so.

I believe myself to be a traveller. And have spent enough amount of time and money just to prove it. From local beaches to far flung mountains to the dense jungles to the technology deprived villages to the ghostly temples. Been there experienced that. And still the world will never cease to get explored. I know this. Not a single person can ever say that he/she has travelled everywhere. That would be the dumbest thing to say. A statement of ignorance.

So how much should we travel to have travelled enough? Don’t know, cant say, cant conclude. But somewhere the answers is about collecting memories. Our every travel is all about collecting memories. Memories which, when we look back give us glimpse of moments which can be cherished for ever. No wonder we see so many snaps being clicked in every holiday and outings. Capturing memories. These days even a simple dinner with friends will have so many snaps getting clicked. I guess people think may be the dinner might become memorable in some way and the snaps can be cherished forever. (But Incase of teenagers, they simply want to upload the pics on FB. Damn with memories crap. HAhahah)

But not all moments can be captured in those megapixels and get permanently dumped in the hard disk of our laptop/ hardrive. Such moments can only be felt. And this blog is all about one such moment which changed my perspective in a big way. And such experiences make me more of a traveler than a drifter.

The journey starts on a railway station in Mumbai. Waiting for a train to arrive. Those anxious moments at the start of any journey. Wish I can always be in that state of anxiousness. Jammu- Tavi Express arrives in style and I am off to Jammu. Long distance train travels always amuse me in the sense that so many people; all having so many different stories; are bought together for that brief moment of time where all their stories are running parallel to each other. And somehow all the stories get bonded together with every one having a common goal to reach from point A to point B. That’s the magic of long distance trains. But most of us fail to see this as we are so much used to being into ourselves. So much that train travel probably becomes just like an elevator travel. You get in, you get out without ever knowing anyone.

So my train travel ends as smoothly as an elevator travel. Jammu arrived. The land of beautiful people. The first thing one notices when they reach Jammu is that people are blessed with beauty. Natural beauty. Every girl or guy seems to be perfect for becoming the next big Bollywood star; cant comment on their acting skills though. So the cold weather and the beautiful faces, makes you more than happy about the trip. From Jammu station, a 4 hour “death scary” bus journey takes you to katra, base camp for my travel destination: Vaisho Devi.

Vaishno Devi Mandir, the second most visited pilgrimage place in India after Tirupati Balaji, is nothing but 3 rocks (pindies) located in a small cave. And that cave is located between 3 mountains some 14 km from Katra. And it’s only the belief of people which makes them climb this 14 km mountainous road, bracing the ever changing weather from cold to rain, and reach the top for just one glimpse of those “3 rocks”

So post half a day rest in Katra, my ascent to the 14 km unending mountainous track also begins. You start climbing thinking that probably these 14 km would be covered in no time and no tiredness. But those first 3 km are enough to make you realise that it wont be a rosy journey afterall. So you start counting the kilometers covered. And with every one km covered you rejoice with a sense of pride and simultaneously sulk about the remaining distance. It’s a mixed feeling climbing the mountain of Vaishno Devi. People going by Helicopter and horses would never know this. At one point of time the gigantic mountains start playing on your mind. We start realising the insignificance of a teeny tiny human being in front of these beautiful creation of nature. During the whole climb, one will keep hearing the favourite phrase of Vaishno Devi devotees, “Jai mata Di, Saare bolo, Jai mata di, zor se bolo, jai mata di, aree aage wale, jai mata di, aree peeche wale, jai mata di, baache bole, Jai mata Di…..” And this will continue till mentioning all the gender and age group is finished. But slowly slowly one start loving the chants. And it becomes a motivating factor of the climb. Those chants somehow sync with our will power and we see human spirits crushing the barriers of pain and tiredness. It may sound exaggerating at this point of time when you read it in this blog. But up above the Katra mountains, when one has reached more than half the distance from where its futile returning back, the power of chants and human will power can be actually seen. May be not in a youth. But definitely in an old person. And there are so many of them who cant afford a helicopter or a horse ride, but still manage to reach the top, all by walking, all because of will power.

So with many many many steps and 5 hours later, I reached the temple. To be precise a cave located in the middle of 3 beautiful giant mountains. One needs to enter the cave to take Darshan of Vaishno Devi. No Statue, No Photo. Just 3 rocks. So after reaching in front of the “divine” rocks, I follow the normal protocol of an average enthusiastic Hindu, for which we have been programmed from childhood. So I joint my hands in Namaste pose, mumble a prayer and did those typical gesture of touching the forehead first, then touching the lips and finally touching the chest. To this day I don’t know why we Hindus do that. Also whats the logic of mumbling a prayer. Plus we cant tell what we prayed for to anyone or else it wont come true. As I mentioned, we have been programmed to believe all this from childhood. So post my personal rituals my turn of seeing Vaishno Devi was over in seconds. All the hard climb of 5 hours for this glimpse of 5 sec. I was leaving.

AND JUST THEN the “The Moment” happened, for which I have written this 500 words plus blog. As soon as I was leaving the cave after taking the Darshan, a complete stranger middle aged lady with 2 kids who was all this while standing right behind me called me out and shared with me the Prasad she had just received from one of the priest. I must mention that the Prasad, which was directly from the bowl kept near the divine rocks, was not given to all the priest. Randomly to select few, may be because of limited nature of the Prasad in the bowl. And that Prasad was nothing but a single piece of Kish Mish (dried grape). But the even more surprising thing was that the noble lady was sharing that single piece of kish mish between me, another stranger guy behind her, her 2 little kids and herself. That Kish mish got torn into so many tiny pieces that further division was almost impossible. And still that one sixth piece of a kish mish felt so filling in my mouth.

It made me wonder that it would have been the easiest thing for the lady to just give the Prasad to her kids. Or just herself. But still she chose to share. SHARE whatever she had. Till the point she could share no more. And when you get a Prasad right from the feet of Mata Vaishno devi, that too after climbing a 14 km stretch of 5 hours, sharing could be the last thing on one’s mind. But still she shared. Without any obligation, she shared. That too with complete 2 strangers.

This was my moment of realisation which I never got to capture in photo. Nor did I ask the lady her name. She was so enthusiastic about the whole affair of visiting Vaishno devi, that I wonder if she would have stopped to even answer, had I asked her name. But that moment gave me a reason to cherish that trip forever. It gave me an experience which makes a traveler out of everyone of us. Because travelling without an experience is nothing less than just drifting like a piece of wood in a sea.

Udaipur Dairies... Never forgotten!!!

It was a Saturday. Office was supposed to be half a day. The so called “half day”.  My previous company The Hindu, had this ridiculous way of fooling the employees that they are supposed to work only for half a day on Saturdays by allowing the employees to leave only one hour before the usual time. And in-turn the employees used to fool the company by not even working half of what they usually worked. So on one such Saturday, I planned impromptu to go on a short trip all by myself. I like to use the word impromptu but actually the trip was planned two days prior. Location chosen was Udaipur, City of lakes. Also coz it was hometown of one of my best friend, Raghuveer Singh Lodha. “I know,  the name sounds like someone royal, right?? That’s why I call him rags. This de-royals him enough to be my bets frnds”.  Before going to Udaipur I always thought of it to be city of dessert and after visiting it, I would always remember it as a city of beautiful girls. But the main thing about that trip was that it was jinxed from beginning with lots of misadventures, near death experiences and above all to be remembered as one of my most memorable trips ever.

So coming back to the “you-make-me-I-make-you-fool” Saturday of The Hindu. After lunch all seniors used to have a conference call meeting. I slipped out of the office the moment they started the meeting. I know it was not a college, but that’s how I was at my first job, carefree. It was raining heavily outside. Did not expect it to. Hence my ordeal began the moment I stepped out of office. Now with a heavy luggage and a namesake windcheater, I faced the heavy rain in the hope that somehow I would manage to keep myself dry from tip to toe. After some 15 min, I was all wet.

I completed the hour and a half long journey to reach Borivli Bus stand from where I had to board my pre booked bus to Udaipur. Even though wet, the happiness of reaching on time made me forget the harsh time rain had showered on me, literally. I entered the bus tour office only to realize that I had forgotten to carry the money I had kept aside for this trip at my home. I so wished at that moment that if only I had a nagging wife who would have reminded me to take the cash. Never mind. Anyways, you don’t get into bigger trouble to avoid smaller ones, do you? So after forgetting to carry the cash, now I only had to find an ATM and get the money. Mission scout-search-locate-withdraw began. You know guys, in life in later stage; we come to realize that those so called 5 min tasks usually take 20 to 30 min. Like “hey, just 5 min, I will have a shower and have my breakfast”. Or say,” hey, just give me 5 min to complete XYZ report” etc etc. So that day I realized that so called searching an ATM at unknown place in heavy rain with an equally helpless rickshaw guy is NOT AT ALL a 5 min job. It took me a good half an hour and I missed my bus.

Now all the buses were full. So the look on my face when I got a single ticket in a sleeper coach bus was same as that of bride on her wedding day. Emotionally happy. The bus came and I just grabbed my seat cum bed. It’s was a sleeper coach bus you see. So now almost evening and my journey begins to the land of beautiful girls, I mean Udaipur. At around 10:30, the bus reaches some place in Gujarat and halts for the usual refreshment break. After dinner there I return back to my seat only to find a couple loitering on my seat. With extreme curiosity, I ask them to find their own seat. But they claim it to be their seat and a chaos erupts. The cleaner who doubles up as a conductor, came to resolve the issue. The couple immediately produced their set of tickets. When its my turn to do the same, as luck would have it, I lost my ticket. Till this day, I term that situation as the biggest coincidences of my life. Look at it this way. Conductor sitting in Borivili issue 2 tickets for the same seat. Coincidentally one was issued to me. And even bigger coincidence, I lost that ticket at a crucial moment when the fate of the seat was to be decided. Now I am on this bus without a ticket in the middle of a town in Gujarat at 11 pm. It’s a bad situation.

The driver was a genuine guy and he accepted the error of double booking. He allowed me to sit besides him till he could arrange for another seat. And it took 3 hours for another seat to get vacant. Guys, but those 3 hours were undoubtedly an awesome experience. Reason: looking at the road from a drivers perspective. We hardly get time to look at daily mundane jobs from perspective of people who make them happen day in day out. Like, train driver, air hostess, teacher, gym instructor, mall sales person and all. The life is too short to try to fit in everyone’s shoes. But all we need is a perspective. The open wide highway road, the relentless quest to overtake every vehicle ahead of you, the music from cassette player drifting across to keep you alert and the funny stupid conversations with the cleaner. I made few friends and that’s all you need on a trip. After 3 hours, I finally got a seat and just crashed on the bed. I hope you haven’t forgotten that it was a sleeper coach bus. “warna fat se dialogue aayega, yeh bus mein bed kaha se aaya?” Next morning the first view of a beautiful rocky mountain through the bus window. I leaned my body out of the bus window and wanted to scream “HURREY” at top of my voice. Then refrained from it as it looks good only in movies. But still I leaned out of the window and screamed in my mind. But that day I realized that leaning out of any bus window on a highway is a bad idea. The realization happened 3 hours later when I reached my friends place all covered in dirt on my face. The moment I reached my friends place, I noticed that his house was filled with relatives. Ofcourse they were not there to welcome me. Wish they were actually not there. Coz I was at my shabbiest best. But later on I realized an even bigger goof up. It was as if it was a day of realizations. Will come to it later though.

Now one thing I would tell about myself. And I will be frank. I HATE DOG. The HATE word can very well be replaced by FEAR. Meri faat ti hai boss. Ekdum. My friends are live witness and testimony of the fact that I have danced on sofa, only because I was hell scared of the Pomeranian puppy on the floor. That’s the level of scariness I am talking about. So when I reached my friends place, I froze in horror on seeing a giant German shepherd growling and showing his teeth to me. Rather he should have been happy that GOD has sent him a live chewing toy. But he was growling. And that was enough to make me say a small good bye note to all the people I loved, ask GOD for forgiveness for all the sins I committed and picturised one last time how beautiful this world is. But my friend Rags, owner of the dog, came to the rescue. And that was the only moment ever when I did not take him for granted at all. Rest of the time you know how best friends are supposed to be taken for granted. For the rest of my stay, I had to continuously endure the thought of being bitten/ chewed/ attacked/ mauled/ torn apart/ eaten live etc etc by a German Shepherd. As I entered the house past that “dinosaurous” German shepherd, I was to find out another big blooper of the trip. Remember people, when I mentioned earlier about lots of relatives at my friends place. They were actually there for my friend’s birthday. The Birthday which I had so categorically forgotten. And after travelling for 12 hours had landed at his house on his birthday without “ANY GIFT”. Now that’s a goof up you would want to avoid in your lifetime.

Post the dog terror, public embarrassment and personal guilt feeling, I settled in my friend’s room. Had the much need bath and relaxed. My friend has very beautifully decorated houses I have been to. This has nothing to do with the blog subject, but I am sure my friend will feel happy reading this expression of admiration. One more step towards forgiveness for forgetting his birthday. So back to the story. Post the welcome session and moments of relaxation, it was soon lunch time. Oh ya.. Lunch se yaad aaya, I must say one thing, the so called “Dal Bati Choorma”, the famous Rajasthani dish, is way too over hyped.

Now time to explore the city. Now when you are in one of the most beautiful cities in India, what do you do? Try to see maximum of the city beauty, ideally on a bike or something, right? But this doesn’t hold true in case of two young lads who were at peak of their hormonal effects. Definitely we took our 150 cc bike but only to chase around the 80 cc ones. And that’s the beauty we tried to see all day long. And that’s the case in whichever city you are in. The routine was set. And I loved it. Ofcourse city tour was one of the agendas too. Udaipur is a city of lakes. I being from Mumbai, a city which has view of untamed wild water body in the form of sea, the soothing calm beauty of lakes was completely mersmerising. And the Palaces, being in Udaipur, one is sure to end up in city palace. The sweet shops, having a sweet tooth I just hogged on them. The vibrant colours which the city is draped in, the rich cultural heritage the city encompasses, the narrow swift lanes and bylanes  and carvings and artistic nature of every building gives Udaipur all together a heritage royal feel which altogether have a different charismatic experience as compared to the concrete jungle of high rises, I come from. Just didn’t feel like coming back.

During one such day of doing nothing much, me and Raghu were driving in his vintage car. “I have to term his Padmini Premier as Vintage. Who has it these days, except the taxi guys” So 2 “not so” royal lads in “not so” vintage car, (now the interesting part) following 2 chicks on a scooty. Udaipur being a small city, you tend to encounter same faces every now and then. So we had been following these 2 chicks for quite a few hours and were a bit optimistically hopeful too. And then the blooper happens. We decided to take a short cut to encounter them head on with hopes of exchanging actual smileys. Not the virtual ones which kids these days are used too. (Kids now days will put scores of smiley on whats app and FB, but will go stark blank when meeting face to face. Also their LOL’s are only alphabets coz I hardly see people laugh out loud who do maximum use of LOL. Strange) So back to the story. We encounter the chicks head-on for obvious reasons. Our car and their scooty cross paths. And suddenly there is sound of a splash. It was a rainy season and raghu forgot to notice a pool of water on the road. The after effect of this splash left the girls all wet. Shit. I could see my optimistically hopeful chances getting vanished into the thin air. And then came a wave of curses/ bad words. Never ever in my life have I experienced such bad words from the fairer sex. All we could do was to race ahead with full throttle and the 2 “not so polite” girls screaming at the top of their voice. We didn’t venture out for the rest of the evening. But decided to have dinner outside. Only to realize later that staying at home would have been a better idea.

We went for dinner at a local restaurant. Decent one. The restaurant was jam packed and so we had to share our table with another 2 gentlemen, typical practice in India. I must mention that people to the north of India are loud during their conversation. So were the 2 gentlemen. Little did this fact help us in having a peaceful dinner. We were subjected to topics ranging from one guys financial crisis to second guys marital crisis. We had our sympathies with both but more for the guy troubled by his wife and in-laws. I thought that this nuisance was pretty ok as compared to the incident that happened in the afternoon. And then suddenly to our horror, the fan attached to the adjacent wall came crashing right on to our table. With plates being flunged here and there, glass of water getting spilled on the table, wetting our clothes, we still had smiles on our faces, because of the realisation that we were so close to getting seriously injured on head or shoulder and we got saved. The hotel authorities did apologise profusely, but we just wanted to finish the dinner and leave. And we did just that, with thought of heading straight home for we did not want any further mis adventure. But it’s funny how we encounter situations on paths we take to avoid them in the first place. And that’s what happened in next 10 min with another near death experience.

As soon as we came out of the restaurant, Raghu interrupted me with option of having a pan. I waited, thought over it and then negated the option and we headed straight for our bike. We got on the bike, kick started it, and were about to zoom by. All this while I was sitting pillion and was gazing at one of the cow strolling on the road a little ahead of us. A very common site in small cities in India. From my vantage point, I could see that after starting on our bike, we would cross the strolling cow at 90 degree and with just the enough speed, would narrowly cross just before we collide with the animal. A fairly routine thing for motorists on junctions, crossing with animals, people or other vehicles at 90 degrees with fair manipulation to either go first or go later depending on each other’s relative speed. “I hope I am not sounding like I am explaining a chapter of physics here”. But just trying to give an exact picture of the whole scenario. Because what happened next was shit scary hilarious experiences. Our bike was about to cross the cow. And suddenly out of nowhere, a mighty strong muscled bull came charging from behind the cow and mounted her with the same momentum with both his front legs on the cow’s back. For all the non science students, who are still clueless of what I am talking about, the bull was trying to mate with the cow. But such was the force of this testosterone charged animal that the cow and the bull hurtled past us in front with the tail of the bull brushing on Raghu’s face. If our bike would have been a little more ahead of where it was at that moment, we would have got trampled by both the cow and the bull. And I am sure the bull would have given a damn about it. Coz all his mind was thinking about at that time was “you know it”. With enough crap incidents which happened on that day, I rightfully presumed that my quota of misadventures was over. And all that I was left with was peaceful holiday experience. But life is a result of endless permutations and combinations. And sometimes all worst combination is delivered in same trip.

Next day it was same lovely routine of endless chasing through lanes and bylanes of the royal city. Evenings were strictly reserved for sitting by the lake fatesagar and sensible (mostly senseless) introspection of our lives. No sage, psychologist or for that matter God himself can sort the complexities of your life the way a best friend does. Coz they explain you things with weird logic's, and when the logic's fail, they batter you with words, curse you and even beat you to make you understand. But you know it’s worth it. And how can I not mention the gossips. It’s said that only girl’s gossip. But the fact is I feel guys gossip a lot more. The only thing that makes guy-gossips not so girlie gossip is the topics. We guys gossip about hardcore facts. “No pun intended”. For example, we gossip about cars, bikes. What manipulation can you do in those facts? We gossip about girls and their statistics which are visible. So what manipulation can someone bring in those. But girlie-gossips revolve around people’s behavior, style, fashion etc. These topics are never too well defined with constant factor of subjectivity. Hence they irritate. At least to “hardcore facts” loving guys.

So one such late evening of introspection and gossiping around Lake Fatesagar, we decided to return to my friend’s place which is very close to lake. We were also discussing about a secluded spot on the other end of the lake named “Rani Road” which we decided to just zoom by on our bike. “BTW, what were the locals thinking before keeping such a fishy name”. Anyways, so we headed towards that road and after a good amount of ride, reached there. Now remember the logic given by Columbus when he wanted to discover India. Since the earth is round, go around in opposite direction and one can still reach India. Similar logic struck us and we decided that if Rani Road is around the border of the lake, we should reach Raghu’s place within few minutes if we keep on moving ahead in the same direction. So with a bike which was already on reserve for the whole day, we merrily started going ahead on the road notoriously famous for thugs, robbery, rapes, bad road and no street light at all. (And it was a pitch dark). But these factors didn’t bother us as by our calculation, it was going to be a merry ride of just little over 10 min. AND IT WAS NOT.

So while on the bike, in that chilled night on Rani Road, Raghu started narrating incidents for which the Road is famous for. And in full detailed version, he told me about how motorists were killed by robbers for money, road accidents in which cars just rammed bikers and went, of how thugs would stop bikers with barricades and go away with bike leaving people in middle of nowhere, incidents of rapes  etc etc. The blabbering went on and I kept on listening. Then came the stories of ghosts. Slowly and steadily, both the listener and the narrator were getting gripped by fear of unknown. And then suddenly and simultaneously it occurred to us that we had been riding for more than 20 min. And still no end of the road was to be seen even far away. The area was pitch dark with only the headlight of the bike to show the way ahead. Not a single car had passed us for last 15 min. And not a single light to be seen till our eyes stretched. Now the possibility was either we had got on the wrong path or that we had HIGHLY miss calculated the diameter of the lake. Now going back could have been disastrous as we were least sure about the fuel we had in our bike. We needed the bike running to get us out of that place and also headlight switched on. Darkness was scary. So at that time the last thing we would have wanted would be for the bike engine to cease running. AND THE ENGINE STOPPED.

We freaked. Scared out of hell. A stalled bike, pitch dark location, chilled atmosphere, constant fear of unknown treat, no network in cellphones and no help in sight. Fatt gayi boss. Literally. Me and my friend took turns to kick start the bike. And like a silver lining in a dark sky, the bike just started in one of the kicks. The only thing I remember after hearing that sweetest sound of start of engine was zooming on that Rani road with full speed and wind in our hair. The idea was simply to reach maximum distance before the bike gets stalled again. But luckily after more 10 min of speeding, we were on a familiar road within city limited again. That was a big relief and big adventure too. (Which was so close to miss adventure)

During the whole trip, there were many more non mentionable miss adventures. And I guess biggest was waiting to happen at the end. Like an icing on the cake. It was my last day of stay in Udaipur. With a great farewell and due adieu to Raghus lovely parents and not so great adieu to Raghu’s monstrous dog, I headed to bus stand on Raghus bike. The bike was comfortably carrying the load of 2 guys and my 2 bags, one backpack and another small hand bag. As usual I was late. Being late being my trade mark. So we were speeding. On the way I decided to withdraw some cash from an ATM. Stopped at one and it was a quick process , not like the one in Borivili during the start of the journey. We were back on the road towards the bus stand and reached there just in time. With my heartfelt bye to Raghu, I boarded the bus. This time the seat was pre booked without any margin for error. Reached my seat and followed the usual protocol of keeping the hand bag at one corner. And then I realized that something was missing. OH GHOSH!! My backpack which was carrying my camera ( with photos of the whole trip), my wallet (with all the essential crap), my souvenirs etc. How could I be so dumb to have forgotten the backpack in the ATM is till today a puzzle to me? I reached out of the bus window and in a panic mode, shouted at Raghu the distress situation. And in no time he was gone to fetch the bag on his bike. His disappearing figure was like that of a batman on his bike zooming on for a mission. Mission to retrieve the bag. That is, if it was still there in the ATM. Who would not want to take away a bag with camera and wallet and gifts? But my last realization of the trip in Udaipur was that in smaller cities, less people use the ATM as compared to bigger cities. Atleast that was the case I would like to believe. Coz the bag was still there. And waiting at the bus stand with guilt of having been so careless and contemplating the implications of this loss, I was on cloud nine when I saw Raghu coming towards bus stand, riding the bike with one hand and holding the bag high with another to showcase the victory of the mission. That scene simply got inscribed on my mind for ever.

Later on after many years , I realized that more that the happiness of not losing my bag that day, my happiness was more because of coincidence which turned that disastrous moment into a sweet laughable moment. And that trip to Udaipur was full of such coincidences which turned many would-be disastrous moments into sweet memories. I guess that’s all we need and expect out of any trip. That the usual itenary would somehow turn out to be full of surprises and we would have the experience of our lifetime.

Article : Good read

Guys and gals. I came across an article and really found it damn interesting logical point of view. Specially when I am at a age where I need to choose a bride for myself. So I have pasted the article on my blog page for all to read.

Note : This is not my blog. I have just pasted it coz its a good read. Enjoy reading.

ARTICLE

A 25 year old girl wants to get married. And Ofcourse to a billionaire as most of the girl's out there want to. So here's an article she puts up in a newspaper for an upfront answer :

THE POSTED LISTING

"What am I doing wrong?

Okay, I'm tired of beating around the bush. I'm a beautiful (spectacularly beautiful) 25 year old girl. I'm articulate and classy.

I'm not from New York. I'm looking to get married to a guy who makes at least half a million a year. I know how that sounds, but keep in mind that a million a year is middle class in New York City, so I don't think I'm overreaching at all.


Are there any guys who make 500K or more on this board? Any wives? Could you send me some tips? I dated a businessman who makes average around 200 - 250. But that's where I seem to hit a roadblock.


250,000 won't get me to central park west. I know a woman in my yoga class who was married to an investment banker and lives in Tribeca, and she's not as pretty as I am, nor is she a great genius. So what is she doing right?

How do I get to her level?

Here are my questions specifically:

- Where do you single rich men hang out? Give me specifics- bars, restaurants, gyms

-What are you looking for in a mate? Be honest guys, you won't hurt my feelings

-Is there an age range I should be targeting (I'm 25)?

- Why! Are some of the women living lavish lifestyles on the upper east side so plain? I've seen really 'plain Jane boring types who have nothing to offer married to incredibly wealthy guys. I've seen drop dead gorgeous girls in singles bars in the east village. What's the story there?

- Jobs I should look out for? Everyone knows - lawyer, investment banker, doctor. How much do those guys really make? And where do they hang out? Where do the hedge fund guys hang out?

- How you decide marriage vs. Just a girlfriend? I am looking for MARRIAGE ONLY


Please hold your insults - I'm putting myself out there in an honest way.

Most beautiful women are superficial; at least I'm being up front about it. I wouldn't be searching for these kind of guys if I wasn't able to match them - in looks, culture, sophistication, and keeping a nice home and hearth.


It's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 432279810

THE ANSWER

Dear Pers-431649184:

I read your posting with great interest and have thought meaningfully about your dilemma. I offer the following analysis of your predicament.

Firstly, I'm not wasting your time, I qualify as a guy who fits your bill; that is I make more than $500K per year. That said here's how I see it.


Your offer, from the prospective of a guy like me, is plain and simple a crappy business deal.

Here's why. Cutting through all the B.S., what you suggest is a simple trade: you bring your looks to the party and I bring my money.

Fine, simple. But here's the rub, your looks will fade and my money will likely continue into perpetuity in fact, it is very likely that my income increases but it is an absolute certainty that you won't be getting any more beautiful!


So, in economic terms you are a depreciating asset and I am an earning asset.

Not only are you a depreciating asset, your depreciation accelerates! Let me explain, you're 25 now and will likely stay pretty hot for the next 5 years, but less so each year. Then the fade begins in earnest. By 35 stick a fork in you! So in Wall Street terms, we would call you a trading position, not a buy and hold , hence the rub, marriage.


It doesn't make good business sense to "buy you" (which is what you're asking) so I'd rather lease. In case you think I'm being cruel, I would say the following.


If my money were to go away, so would you, so when your beauty fades I need an out. It's as simple as that. So a deal that makes sense is dating, not marriage.


Separately, I was taught early in my career about efficient markets.

So, I wonder why a girl as "articulate, classy and spectacularly beautiful" as you has been unable to find your sugar daddy. I find it hard to believe that if you are as gorgeous as you say you are that the $500K hasn't found you, if not only for a tryout.


By the way, you could always find a way to make your own money and then we wouldn't need to have this difficult conversation.


With all that said, I must say you're going about it the right way but in trading terms this is a classic "pump and dump."

I hope this is helpful, and if you want to enter into some sort of lease, LET ME KNOW."