10 Tips To Become A Rockstar

The unabashed author in a rare moment of concern for people's feelings, would like to start the post with a disclaimer that the following is a sarcastic take on the vox populi and is not directed against any particular individual.

1) Listen to the marketing gospel. Consumers' affection towards their near and dear ones is directly proportional to the number and value of gifts presented by the former them to the latter them ensuing in purchase of exotic items which may or may not have any practical use except of course for that most-critical, all-encompassing phenomenon called social acceptance.

2) Master the pose. It is most important survival skill in this big, bad world of cameras, which keep getting deadlier by the day. Photographs also known as pictures or shots or snaps can institute or  destroy one's image. And then there is that wild monster called the selfie. The brave warriors who embrace it wholeheartedly are the selfless guardians of the planet and the true upholders of humanity.
 
3) Upgrade like there is no tomorrow. Because frankly there isn't. How can you settle for a 37,563p resolution in your TV when the 38,291p model is out in the market? How can you even look at yourself in the mirror when your mate at the gym drives a sleeker car? How can you sleep at night knowing that your tablet weighs a couple of milligrams more than a bird's feather? You are what you own, aren't you?
 
4) One needs to know things on the lines of the most fashionable lounges to hang around with the most happening crowd, best places to try the latest foreign cuisine doing the rounds, fanciest holiday destinations with the highest brag value and maximum photo opportunities et al. If not you might as well lock yourself up in the house and live like the social outcast that you are.  

5) The mobile phone needs to be venerated with an unwavering dedication and a staunch attention, as it were just a glorious extension of the hand with a mind of its own. Any and every human in the vicinity needs to be treated with the disdain a speck of dust in an inexhaustible universe deserves. After all the bloke opposite to you is but a tiny fragment in the fascinating cosmos, which is your holy phone.

6) Life, in the true sense of the word is what one experiences on the weekend. The other days are just fillers spent reminiscing about that splendid getaway with those fun friends to other friends who also had a splendid getaway themselves with another set of fun friends last weekend. And then there is the endless planning and endless discussions for that house party this coming Sunday where all those fun friends will feature.

7) You are in a race. An arms race. You need to acquire as many things as you possibly can. The wardrobe is never complete. It is just a blackhole which needs to be replenished as much as possible, as frequently as possible. And then there are gadgets. And their accessories. And the multitude of things that are needed for them to sync and connect and share and enhance and integrate. And their accessories.

8) Futile information is the highest form of wealth. Cram yourself up with all sorts of facts and factoids which can be fed to unsuspecting friends and family members and make you come across as the brightest light in the chandelier of your social circle. Like the horoscope of the week for Capricorns or the number of calories you burn by batting your eyelids 20 times in a minute.

9) Get your priorities right, mate! Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, Latest-Media-Sharing-Platform, Quirky-Fun-Addictive-App, Some-Random-Useless-Utility, Food, Water, Sleep...... in that order. Don't listen to those schizophrenics who claim that there is a world outside the seductive maze of online applications and social media overload. There isn't. And even if there is, it isn't worth it.
 
10) Manufacture your interests based on what is perceived as chic and hip. Your choice in books and music and movies is to be influenced by what makes you come across as the cool cat that you are. After all what sort of weirdos pursue hobbies out of genuine personal interest? So get that swanky electric guitar or that revolutionary DSLR which will give an interesting edge to your already razer sharp personality.

What are you doing reading this trash? You need to get that fabulous dress for that unmatchable deal on that slick fashion e-commerce portal to wear it for that adorable selfie which when posted on that omnipresent social networking platform would garner that much sought after currency in the form of likes and followers, which if everyone around you is to be believed is worth a lot and then a lot more. What are you waiting for? Chop Chop...

   

Anatomy of a Road Trip!

The Plan : The plan is conjured originating as a twitchy seed in one's mind and snowballing into a monstrous collective apparition as the travel date approaches. The ideas floated go through a demanding screening process filtered by various criteria including novelty, timelines, stamina, resources. Depending on the group dynamics, the plan can be as intimidating as the will of the strongest member or as moderate as the view of the weakest link. And what emerges is the skeletal structure of the rough-edged game plan, with the details fleshed out during the actual trip itself.

The Driver :  The driver is the lord of all that he surveys. The immediate fates of all the inmates of the car are dependent on his effective functioning. He needs to be at the zenith of instinctive reflex and cutting-edge execution at all points of time. The finesse or the lack of it in the recalibration of the driver's driving mode from the inviting highways to the plodding inner streets is one of the key deciding factors in the safety and comfort of the ride. The driver is the ultimate machine in absolute cybernetic synergy with the automobile. The road is his bride and he is it's star.

The Navigator : Underrated and unappreciated. Doing the thankless job of providing the directions for the road ahead, the navigator is expected to be right every single time with demonic accuracy. Anything less is chastised. Perfection is neutrally tolerated at best and smugly downplayed at worst, with silent non-acknowledgement in between. The navigator doesn't have the luxury of switching off even for a split second. Apart from the real or perceived probability of missing a turn, there is the added threat of the driver losing his concentration. The navigator is not a hero. He's a silent guardian. A watchful protector.

The Passenger : Unburdened without expectations, the passenger goes through the motions in quite the figurative and literal sense. Having all the time in the world, he is spoiled for choice with options ranging from stealing short naps, shooting with the camera and pondering about that surreal phenomenon called life while staring out at the flora and fauna the passing place has to offer. He can be like the pesky house guest, demanding the choicest of music numbers and frequent breaks as per his whims and fancies.  The passenger is the prodigal son, the wasteful prince.

The Pitstop : A term rather giddily adopted from the world of motorsport, the pitstop has come to denote any stop-over for reasons not necessarily being changing tires, refueling or any other mechanical adjustments. A break for responding to the nature call or for bringing the phantom legs back to life or for the consumption of stimulants to reinvigorate the drowsy mind is also referred to as a pitstop. It is the blissful oasis in the ocean of hazy blur for the disoriented inmates to reaffirm to themselves that the world is still there and it is stationery. 

The Enablers : In the distant past, around the Stone Age, there were these huge rectangular sheets of paper we would spread out and immerse ourselves  in to figure out where we were heading in relation to the general direction of the immediate stop point. This was of course before Skynet plotted every damn place on the planet and spoon-fed unsuspecting humans to the last t with interactive charts and seductive voice commands. Screw you, Google Maps! Even you can't comprehensively chart every intricate detail of my impenetrable country and you can never fully replace the supreme confidence with which the friendly stranger advises us to go "seedha".

The Destination : As cringingly cliched as it may sound, the journey itself could be the destination. That is not to say that the end-point is not something one should look forward to,  but a thoroughbred enthusiast with a passion for the open road would never treat the journey as a necessary evil. On the contrary, for the free-spirited rover the travel fits into the theme like a hand in glove and amplifies the overall experience. And more often than not, the trips are round in shape and nature and therefore one goes through the experience two times. I like to think it's twice the fun.    

The Aftermath :Are you still unsettled and disjointed from the extensive travel undertaken? Are the images of the hills, roads, dhabas, clouds, strangers, lakes still haunting you? Do you feel like the experience has changed you psychologically and you are richer and stronger for it? Has the trip further fueled your appetite for travel or are you repulsed at the very thought of getting into the car anytime soon? If no, you are probably just a tourist who undertook the trip to show off to your friends or to get some good photo ops.

If yes, you are a true-blooded road trip aficionado.



Miner's Wife : "Are you looking for work?"

Ernesto : "No, we are not looking for work."

Miner's Wife : "No?...Then why are you traveling?"

Ernesto : "We travel just to travel."

Miner's Wife : "Bless you....Blessed be your travels."

Early morning flights! : Or how I learned to stop worrying and tolerate the neck pillow.

Making small talk with the cabbie on the way to the airport. Mimicking the facial expression of the picture on the identity card at the terminal entrance. Conveying the preference for an emergency exit on the aisle at the boarding pass counter. Posing as the Vitruvian Man for the security scanners. Trying to balance without holding any support as the shuttle bus swerves around to the plane. 

The eyes are heavy and puffy, the dark circles betraying the rude awakening from nightly unconsciousness.
The mind is on a disoriented overdrive. Thought and imagination lack coherence and clarity.

"Ladies and gentleman! I am your chief attendant and on behalf of the captain and the entire flight crew, I welcome you aboard".

Bloody hell! Stuck. And stuck for quite some now. I look around and secretly hate all the co-passengers who are blissfully asleep. But I am too proud to admit. Not to myself. Not to any other soul. Who needs to sleep in a flight, anyway? Sleep is for suckers. The brave and the honourable stay awake.

And afterall, this is the only time you get  to do the things you wanted to do but couldn't find the time. Not a bad idea to resume reading the book from where you left off in your last flight ride. Not a bad idea at all. I am not a teenage girl to play Candy Crush on the dumb phone, nor a humourless suit to follow the financial times. Too bad that the mind refuses to fully grasp the words being read.

The eyes are rubbed, the head is shaken and the mind is willed to make sense of it all. Between the longing stares out of the window, the forceful cracking of joints and the wishful daydreaming of an inviting bed, a few pages are flipped with partial comprehension. 

"Excuse me. Would you like to have something?" 

"I would like to have a sprawling castle on the banks of Scotland" is what I would have liked to say. "A glass of water, please" is what I manage instead, with the blood red eyes and a forced grin probably disconcerting the air hostess. The realisation of me momentarily slipping into blankness before being awoken strikes. And the thought is swiftly dismissed with the blame being laid ironically on the lack of sleep. 

I then start pondering about one of these great mysteries in life. As to how after every return from a trip, there is a truckload of work which magically manifests and every pending task suddenly acquires critical importance and becomes top priority. It is going to be a long day and I won't be hitting the bed anytime soon. Damn it!

"On behalf of the airlines and the entire crew, I would like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Good day."



The neck-pillow was considered a boon to the frequent fliers. But to me, it represented the touristy way of life. Preplanned and packaged. The neck-pillow sucked the variability out of the flight ride by coddling one into a beatific dream. And I hated it with a vengeance. It was everything I stood against.

The broken-doughnut-shaped monster was to be seen at most airports. On display in stores in the retail arena of terminals and hanging from the dragged luggage of hurried passengers. And it was to be seen more and more, its presence greatly multiplied in colours and absolute numbers over the years.

Soon it would consume everyone. An entire generation of travellers would fall prey to its alluring charm. But not me. I always considered myself to be the influencer rather than the influenced. So no amount of eulogizing by any of the die-hard loyalists of the ever-growing cult of the neck pillow, would make me change my mind.

I would resist it. I would protest against it. I would fight the good fight till the very end. I didn't need to snooze on early morning flights. What if I didn't get more than a few winks of sleep the previous night? What if the the body was stressed and strained?  And what if the mind was drained and fatigued? After all, I have survived all those innumerable travails in all those ungodly hours. And doesn't whatever that doesn't kill you make you only stronger?

A particular item was billed at the WH Store at the Terminal of the Rajiv Gandhi International Airport.

"Your boarding pass, please. Have a pleasant flight, Mr Varma"

The eyes are heavy and puffy, the dark circles betraying the rude awakening from nightly unconsciousness.
The mind is on a disoriented overdrive. Thought and imagination lack coherence and clarity.

"On behalf of the airlines and the entire crew, I would like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we look forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Good day."

Now....where was I?

Of 22 men chasing a ball for 90 minutes

It was that summer again when people all around seemed excited about the funny game where a bunch of guys in shorts pursue a round lump around a rectangular field.

When the football jerseys of various nationalities were worn for aesthetic hollowness rather than enduring honour.

When the players were more often venerated for the sleek coiffure they sported than for their silken touch of the ball.

When the games were followed for the fodder they provided for imaginative updates and not for their tactical plots.

When the aliases of teams were bandied about in foreign tongue for topical charlatanism and not for historical perspective.

When the undivided loyalty to a team was purely on the basis of the recent success on the pitch rather than original affiliations.

A lot of things were said of the teams and players, which the fastidious purist in me ached to hear.   

The Hidekguti, Kocsis and Puskas triumvirate of the Magic Magyars couldn't overcome the steel of the resilient Die Mannschaft at the Miracle of Bern in 1954. That was a Mean German Machine. The current side resembles a fun and slick joyride in comparison.

The humiliation of the Seleceao in the semis wasn't entirely due to the crack in the vertebra of a certain lanky 21 year old bloke and the subsequent national mourning. There was also tactical naivety at play with the buccaneering full backs showing scant regard for their primary job role and leaving spaces for the opposition free-roaming bohemians to exploit throughout the tournament, crescendoing into the massacre at Belo Horizonte.

Lionel Messi for all his unbelievable exploits for "Mes Que Un Club" has not shone at the international level like some of his luminary compatriots of the past. Speaking of him in the same breath for the La Albiceleste as the electrifying Maradona or the prodigious Kempes would be blasphemous.

The long-haired retro stars directed by Rinus Michels and featuring the irrepressible
Johan Cryuff showed the world the beauty of harmonised attacking flair and the unadulterated joy of Total Football in the 70s. The Oranje side of 2014 rely largely on the pace and cunning of their two nimble left footed forwards.

Who cares for the decade and a half of watching the game being played across various leagues, countries and tournaments. Who cares for the infinite time spent going through the previews, reviews, analysis, reports of the innumerable matches. Who cares for the insights gleaned from watching and re-watching the official documentaries of many a competition. Who cares for the numerous books, articles, editorials read in an attempt to assess and understand the beautiful game in all its glory.

Who cares, when your flashy mobile app gives the popular predictions and the funny tit-bits. Who cares, when the sports section of your favourite newspaper shares oversimplified stats and juicy WAG stories. Who cares, when you have a hilarious joke about the Suarez bite or the secret diet of the sculpted Ronaldo.  

It wasn't enough for me to back France, the team I have supported since inception or the secondary inclination to Italy courtesy of the Juventus connection. I was expected to support one of the two teams in every match played. That was the whole point of watching the contest. After all what sort of a person would follow a match for the clash of opposing tactical philosophies. What sort of a person would view the game for the defensive solidarity and passing proficiency exhibited. What sort of a person would see the contest for the skill and technique on display. After all what sort of person follows the sport for the sake of sport.

The vast majority would have preferred to see the dream contest of a Brazil Vs Argentina or the galactic clash of a Ronaldo Vs Messi in the finals. It wasn't to be. Instead it was going to be a battle between two golden generations cultivated over the last few years by meticulous harnessing of alluring talent for collective brilliance. Only a faithful bore like the author could see the beauty and romance of such a match-up.

After all, football is a simple game. 22 men chase a ball for 90 minutes and at the end, the Germans always win.

I sell, therefore I am.

Any role, strictly speaking can be broadly divided into a handful of key activities. The following is my rather vain attempt to define what I do for a living.

Market Visits : The body creaks under the accumulative strain of hundreds and hundreds of kilometers traveled. The road is the unflinching constant as you pass one unpronounceable town after the other, as the unapologetic sun beats down in the day and the understated moon looks down upon the stillness of the night. The unappetising concoctions of multiple cups of tea/coffee/almond milk/ buttermilk/coconut water/all sorts of fruit juices/all sorts of fruit juices mixed and matched et al offered by business partners and consumed over the course of the day, motivated by a combination of factors including, but not limited to thirst, obligation, fatigue, respect leaves one feeling a teeny bit more than a weeny bit uncomfortable. And it is all about conversations. Conversations full of communication, appreciation and negotiation, with a range of emotions/expressions from laughter to frowning thrown in for good measure. And at the end of the day, the shoes are dusty, the clothes are creased and the mind is tired as you lay down on bed cajoling yourself that it is all worth it in the grand scheme of things.  

Office Time and Personal Life  :
No casual Fridays. There is nothing casual about any day of the week. Sales is more than a job. It is a mindset. It is an inclination and a state of being. And it is never just about the good, bad, ugly of sales. It is also about distribution, marketing, operations, people management, customer centricity, administration not to mention trip planning, motivational speaking and inter-functional liasoning. 
No gossiping over lunch. If in the office, you don't have any option other than meals from Venkateshwara Mess. If on a market visit, God knows. The things that are discussed over lunch with the team members (apart from silly humour) are generally along the lines of the current reported temperatures in Miriyalguda or the turnout at the recently conducted influencer meet in Jammalamadugu.  
No partying over the weekends. You work yourself to the ground throughout the week including Saturday and try to recharge on the Sunday for the grueling week ahead, assuming you are not traveling for a meeting or attending some function of a business partner. And an interesting question is, who would you party with even assuming you were inclined so?   
No socialising over social media. No posting of funny pieces eliciting likes from enthusiastic friends or sharing adorable pictures prompting a flood of responses. Only good old mails, phone calls, SMSs conveying information, sharing tactics, inquiring market intelligence and inspiring action at all times of day and night. 

Meetings and Business Trips : The meetings are many in the many headquarter locations, where the higher powers that be preside. The melange of the spreadsheets showing the confessions of the tortured data and presentations presenting the insights gleaned from all sorts of sources create a surreal environment, especially with the guy controlling the temperature plotting to freeze you to death. There are vociferous contentions and suggestions as you crusade for the rights of your stakeholders, powered by the excessive consumption of the delicious cookies. The travel and accommodation served up by the airlines and hotels of the highest star accreditation, scheme to keep upgrading you to higher tiers of the self-serving loyalty webs, whilst convincing you that you are the most unique, privileged gift to mankind, amongst a bunch of the most unique, privileged gifts to mankind. And then there are the trips to exotic locales within and outside the country for the purpose of higher-order work and controlled play, complete with configured experience and staged drama.

Peaks* and Month-Ends : The numbers are chased. With an addicted obsession and an indefatigable persistence. My good friend, Praneeth and I always joke that life is measured in peaks* and month-ends as a sort of a rebutted mockery of the 100 Pipers Ad which asks "Is life measured in trophies...In frequent flier miles, miles per hour...In con calls...Time line crunches, in business brunches...Is life measured in Oxford shoes and Prince drapes in corner offices..." It is safe to assume that the canny copywriter of the above ad campaign probably never spent long nights desperately willing the sales numbers to move that little bit closer to the intended target line. The month-end is the time when you feel like the captain of the ship fighting the strongest of tides; the leader of the expedition with an impossible peak to scale, but which must be conquered nonetheless. It is the classical Us vs Them, the romantic Good vs Evil as you put the finishing touches to the month-long campaign to outwit and outmuscle the competition and outperform your peers in other locations in the region/division/country. And assuming a strong finish, the aftermath sees you basking in the imagined glory of victory, which tastes that much sweeter considering that every ounce of intellect, energy, spirit and soul has been expended in a battle that was fought like there was no tomorrow. Only there is a tomorrow and you have to come back tomorrow for more.

*For the uninitiated, peaks are intermittent points in a month, when there is a push for higher sales to the immediate downstream buyer group in the marketing channel on account of the closure of a certain benefit, thereby resulting in a spike in the graph plotted for sales vs days. Different sales organisations use different terminology for the same.

But then, there are few jobs where you are overcome by the happiness experienced by a team member who got promoted and is profuse in his gratitude for your support. Or where you experience the ultimate high of winning a team contest at the stroke of midnight by a handful of additional units sold. Or where you are sheepishly embarrassed at the elaborate felicitation extended by a shop dealer and even more sheepishly embarrassed when you receive a DVD of the video portraying you as a celebrity, complete with a background score. Or where you are extremely humbled by the night guard soliciting your advice for his son's future education  

I conspire to sell paint in obscure parts of Coastal Andhra Pradesh. I sell, therefore I am.
 
The author dedicates this blog post to all those who worked in sales, and especially to those who have experienced the deadly combination of B2C Sales + Upcountry Location.

An Ode to Age Of Empires

For all the places I lived and travelled to, it was my first visit to the land of my kindergarten hero. In one of those strange work hazards, I was to indulge in touristy sightseeing to the palace which was worthy of the great warrior. And then it all came back in a flash. 

Srikanth - Sauron

Vamsi - Vams

Varun - Chinna

Udayan - Knight

Rahul - Jing Bang

Me - Tipu Sultan

The all-conquering villainous dark emperor of Lord Of The Rings was Srikanth's alias. Sauron appealed to his preference of  brute power and mismatched domination. 

Vamsi, who was never accused of being too creative when it came to names, (will save the incredible story of the naming of his pet labrador for another day) kept the alias Vams.

Varun was the no-nonsense chap, who couldn't be bothered to come up with a novel alias. His nickname sufficed for him. 'Chinna' meant the 'little fellow'. 

Knight, which is a horse-mounted cavalry military unit symbolised valour, pride and a staunch dedication to cause. Udayan aspired for all these values in his game. 

Jing Bang is the sort of ridiculous slang term only someone like Rahul could come up with. It signifies a crowd, and assembling one in the game wasn't ironically his strong point. 

Age Of Empires 2 was the greatest LAN Video Game to have ever been made. And it was worth spending every last penny of pocket money we had at Reliance Web World. We would reach the place a good couple of hours before it even opened in the morning, unable to contain the anticipation to try out the brilliantly thought-out strategy of the sleepless last night. So persistent we were that the closing hours were often extended and exclusively for us. 

 And when we exhausted the last penny of pocket money we had by the penultimate year of our engineering course, we set up our own gaming network, alternating between Vamsi's empty penthouse room and Rahul's  mom's makeshift office. A laptop was considered a valuable tool for learning and no responsible parent could deny his/her son this tool. Needless to say that this sentiment was exploited for a good cause. And so many a night were spent carefully building civilisations, raising armies, devising strategies and then going into battle till only one team remained. 

We were not one of the millions who played that mindless Counter Strike  across college campuses in the country. Neither were we part of the sordid group, who gamed Age Of Empires with a sort of mechanical efficiency,  which prized speed of fingers over sharpness of the mind. 

We were the unabashed purists, the dreamy philosophers who played the game the way it was meant to be played. For us, Age Of Empires was an elaborate battle of the wits, a game of chess stretched to its extreme limits by pondered craft and  guiltless imagination. 

Having long archers protected by  multiple front lines of pikemen infantry and flanked by Saracen mounted camels is an effective defence strategy against an advancing horde of Persian war elephants, complimented by bombard cannons and cataphract cavalry. And that is not the sort of pulsating  wisdom, you pick up in Switching Theory and Logic Design or some other crappy course like that. It wouldn't be too far-fetched to say we learned more in those 'virtual' battlefields that we ever did in the 'real' classrooms. (The words 'virtual' and 'real' to be interchanged?)

Prologue:

Tipu Sultan, with his pencil moustache, despairing at the advanced infiltration of the British troops sits down for a meal on the  insistence of his subjects. As he is about to keep the piece of bread in his mouth, the messenger enters hurriedly and conveys that the main gate of the palace has been breached. Tipu, places the food back in his plate, his facial expression betraying the slightest hint of exasperated helplessness and crestfallen resignation. But it quickly changes into a cold, steely stare into space, the fiery spirit of royal defiance flooding back into him. He reaches for his famed sword, swaggers to his feet and marches into inevitable death. And immortalised martyrdom. 

I watched this scene in black and white on a CRT, on the Doordarshan Network as an impressionable 5 year old. I went to my mother and told her that I was going to be Tipu one day. 

The Most Awesome Bunch Of Chaps Ever

July 2011 to February 2013. 1.58 years. 19 months. 580 days. I couldn't go on without coming across as weirder than I am. The blazing heat and the intolerable humidity made it seem like much, much more though. Never mind I couldn't speak the local language, the place was cruel to the 'outsider'. The looks of bewilderment were etched across the faces of the team members when I was first introduced as the new unit head. I had no bloody business to be there in the first place, forget handling the team.

How time changes views, attitudes, perceptions! Work, despite being chaotic and frustrating at times, was entrepreneurial and challenging. It gave scope to create and institutionalize. The transitions to processes, personnel and place of work were taken into stride. We were in the madness together. And ironically, it was the only thing which kept me sane. I did my very best to take the unit forward while trying to make a positive difference to my team members. I like to think, I did quite well.

In the fall of 2013, it was felt that my work in Chennai was done and it was time to move onto another challenge. (On a side note, the blazing heat and the intolerable humidity it seems were not done with me just yet. They were going to follow me to my next destination). And so a team outing was planned as my tenure was coming to an end, coinciding with my farewell. After the fun and games during the day, there was a surprise planned for me.

As I stood in the middle of the circle formed by the 60 guys who were my life for the last year and half, words were hard to come by. After a few minutes I regained my usual penchant for eloquent speeches. And then went to share quirky tit bits and funny anecdotes regarding each and every one of them. And after what seemed like more than 2 hours, I had covered the last team member. And then each of them had some very kind words to say of me, of which I must admit, am totally undeserving. Fire crackers were lit and then Vinod had slipped a gift-wrapped box into my hands with his usual grin.

No one had ever gifted me anything worthy of mention. Not that I care for that sort of pansy gestures. But this was truly amazing. I hastily removed the wrapping and held up the object. The New iPhone shone in the receding rays of the Mahabalipuram sun. I was truly humbled and could only manage a low, uncharacteristic 'Thanks'. It was from that moment on going to be my precious. And it would be treasured forever.

And then the mass music was put on and I was implored to join them to shake a leg. I could never ever dance to save my life, the absolute lack of rhythm in my body making it close to impossible to indulge in this supposedly natural bodily expression. But this was their last wish from me and I couldn't deny them. Never mind that I moved like an inebriated primate, they still encouraged me with their rowdy laughs and loud screeching as the night drew to a close.

The next day, after sending away the last of my luggage, I handed over the keys of the house to the landlord and left the scene. I was leaving the city and for good. And I was going to make a stop over at my office where my team members were waiting to greet me farewell. After finishing the last of the handing-over formalities to the incoming unit head, I made my way out to crack a few jokes with my team. And as the time of the departing flight drew near, I went about the individual goodbyes. And it felt surreal as I waved to my team, sticking out of the cab window, as it sped away.

The bewildered looks of the start were long replaced by those of cheer. I still couldn't utter a word of the language. But I was truly accepted. I was now one of them.And there are few sentiments more pure and privileged than that.

There was respect. Respect which no money could buy.
There was loyalty. Loyalty which no gesture could engender.
And the feelings were mutual.

To My Boys @ APHS Chennai. The most awesome bunch of chaps ever.

APHS Sales Conference, Kerala (December 2012) : There were some games organised for the respective teams in the spirit of competition. One of them was a simple, indoor version of football. As the drama would have it, the last kick needed a goal for our team to win. The ball was placed. After a few anxious moments spent switching gaze between the ball and the goal mouth, I went for it. The next I realised, I was being hoisted in the air and was then paraded around on shoulders. 

There was snow. And then some more.

There was snow. It was everywhere. It was dazzlingly and brilliantly white. And then some more.
The stream water was freezing. It numbed the hands and face when splashed. But it was pure and tasted divine. 
The winds were ghostly at night. They howled and kept us up hoping that the tent wouldn't blow away.

We obviously weren't in any sort of physical condition to undertake the trek. Also it was impossible to summit the peak at this time of the year, owing to the snow capping of the mountains. The same was communicated and the same was acknowledged. But then, when did such trivialities ever discourage us? Only a misguided overestimation of our capabilities and a gross underestimation of the challenges would convince us to go ahead with it. And there was never any shortage of that.
 
When we weren't crossing streams on sketchy tree trunks or hopping up and down boulders, we trekked. We trekked till our muscles ached and our lungs gasped for air. And then we trekked more. And it wasn't just about the stamina.  One's survival instincts make one ignore the cold biting the fingers as one claws into the snow for the much needed support. One would crawl on all fours when needed to fight gravity and compensate for friction. After all, one does what one can to ensure one doesn't tumble down into obscurity.

It would have made for a romantic tale, if we had against all odds scaled the peak and planted the flag of victory at the very top. It was not to be. The mini avalanches, the ever increasing gradient of the ridiculous terrain and the sighting of a bear needed us to to pull back at around 11,000 feet. But it didn't feel disappointing. We had punched way above our weight. It was good enough for now. It was endured. It could/would/should be conquered at a later stage.

Apparently, getting the necessary traction in the soft snow requires a measured approach. The boot needs to be planted into the ice at an angle of as close to 90 degrees as possible to the gradient surface, with the heel playing the role of the anchor. And sledging on your backside on the descent, when done in a controlled, technical manner can be real fun. But it sure as hell doesn't feel comfortably numb. We can now vouch for it.

We made the final descent from the camp to the pick-up point after saying our goodbyes on the Sunday morning. As we surveyed the valley from the vantage point one final time, there was a sense of satisfaction. The thighs were strained. The knees hurt. The calves ached. The ankles were bruised. But we were standing tall.


Location : Manali

Stage : The Hampta Pass

Cast : Srikanth 'Snow Leopard' Reddy, Udayan, Peehu, Madhu and The Captain's Armband, Mr Bear

Directors : Rohan 'Ra's Al Ghul' Jain, Jai aka Govind aka Meena (Renok Adventures)

Special Thanks To : Kama (Guide), Issu (Cook) and the gang

Acknowledgements : i) Special praise reserved to Peehu for being adamant and having the bottle to do the strenuous trek despite being down with fever and cold. Mrs Singh is now formally and ceremoniously inducted into the group. ii) The good people at Renok Adventures for their support, patience, sucking at Uno and being good sport in general.    

Peeche Aao - Deleted Post 1

DELETED POST 1

A couple of posts were deleted earlier. One of them (the one below) was available in draft and is being republished in original. (First published in late 2009)
 
10-0. It is the scoreline of a football match I was involved in last weekend. Although it seems exaggerated, it is not. And what might seem even more phony, this wasn't the first time I had the fortune or misfortune of playing in football games with such ridiculously one-sided score lines.

*Winding back the clock*

Name: Madhu Varma

Position: Center Forward/Trequartista

Role: Captain

Team: Goka Juniors

Well, that was me and my team back in my engineering days. And while the rest of the students were doing whatever they were doing in the afternoons (typically attending lectures), the members of Goka Juniors would be crazily running around a ball (an exercise which vaguely resembled what the Americans refer to as soccer) in a woefully inadequate rectangular piece of land, which by the way was supposed to be the playground. Braving the weather, risking rebuke, we would religiously play the game, with a dedication and passion one would associate with an Olympic Gold Medal winning team.

The 'blood and sweat and tears'

[blood: I perennially fell down while playing and hurt myself.

sweat: We played football. So obviously we sweated.

tears: Well, I suppose I am getting a little carried away.]

we put in, would gain relevance when we participated in tournaments and played against opposition teams. This was the time when all of our investment (time and pressure) would be put to test.

# A typical scene after a match in the tournament#

Uday and me are laughing like maniacs for no apparent reason. Reddy is shaking his head in disgust. Varma is giving the post-match analysis to Srikanth, who is ruing everything that happened before and during the game. Aashish and Rishi are frowning. Muddam and Putchu have blank expressions on their faces and seem disinterested about life. Bharan is looking around for food. Vamsi is wondering, what just happened, while Rahul is abusing him and everyone else.

The scoreline: Goka Juniors 1-11 Opposition

* Winding the clock to the present *

MDI 10-0 FMS. I am finding it quite difficult to digest the score. The scoreline has an all too familiar feel to it, but for the first time I am not on the wrong end of it. I am on the winning side which mauled the opposition and not the other way around.

Those who watched the game were quite amused to find me celebrating during the game as if I scored the winning goal in the World Cup finals. And I celebrated like that 3 times. The home spectators found it hilarious and the away ones found it condescending. But then, they didn't know how much the hat-trick and the victory meant to me. But then, they didn't know about Goka Juniors.

Acknowledgements:

->The MDI football team. Especially Tushar (for sharing my penchant for crazy, peculiar goal celebrations) and Ikam (for the countless times he set me up, only for me to incredibly miss the simplest of sitters).

.

The hat-trick is dedicated to:

To my beloved Goka Juniors, the best footballing team ever. And to 'Peeche Aao', of course.

Note:

*To those who aren't aware, Boca Juniors is a world famous Argentine football club team. And the first half of the first word of the name of my engineering college is Goka. So that's how the name of our team, Goka Juniors came about. (How original and creative!)

*During the matches, our defenders never used to let Adnan (who played the position of defensive midfielder) go up. Whenever he would venture a little forward, they would shout to him, 'Peeche Aao'. And that used to irritate Adnan a lot and was a source of silly humour for the rest of us. It is difficult for the readers to appreciate this, but take my word for it. It used to be really, really comical.

.

Anyway, whatever.

PSYCHONESS RESURRECTED

Long ago there existed impatence, insanity and inflated egos.

And these qualities manifested themselves in various shapes and sizes.

But somewhere down the line, as time passed, the 'psychoness' went into hibernation.

However, good things never die and like the Joker says, "Madness is like gravity. All it needs is a little push".



Srikanth and his never ending tryst with the mirage known as GMAT has been a matter to deep annoyance to him (and a constant source of entertainment to the others).

Vamsi's quest for making it huge in life has not yet reached a logical conclusion. The Jag has brought him fame but the 'gold mine' continues to be elusive.

Udayan's fascination with the West seems to have dimmed and is now pining for a peaceful life back home. Well the 'home' bit might happen, but the 'peaceful' bit seems a little tricky with recent developments.

My asocial tendencies have been amplified by the surroundings and situations. The frustration levels (and therefore the cribbing levels) are at an all time high.



There are 'axes to be grinded', 'bridges to be be burned' and 'demons to be faced'. All of this necessitates the awakening of the dormant monster inside. And what better way to do so than to...............................................


The ridiculousness of ideas, which has always been the hallmark of the group needs to be brought to the fore again.

And I believe that the audacity (or stupidity, depending on one's perspective) of going ahead with them is still strong.

So it's time to take out those those travel guides and road maps. It's time to make calls and call favours. Because, it's time for 'PSYCHONESS'. Again.


The open roads are calling, my friends. And so are the highway dhabas, the 'seedha' people*, the obscure sign posts, the rustic surroundings et all

Staying true to the spirit of Balayya's movies, I say 'Tiyyandra Bandlu'.**



*These are people who say 'Straight' irrespective of their cognisance, when asked for directions to a particular place.
**'Tiyyandra Bandlu' loosely translates to 'Start the engines'.

It Begs The Question

Why am I blogging again?

Maybe because I am listening to that track 'Losing My Religion' - a song I used to listen to quite a bit while posting ignorant, despicable garbage on this forum.

Could it be that I feel the urge to type away (or should I say touch away) at this inexplicable thing which is more inexplicably called a tablet.

Maybe it's because I feel frustrated with various things (which sadly are quite mundane) and need a vent for my pent-up anger.

Or is it that I am under the illusion of being an awesome writer whose ramblings are most eagerly awaited by a sizeable bunch of die-hard loyalists.

What if there is actually a small part of me which finds it dispiriting to be spending a late Saturday night doing nothing 'fun' (whatever that is supposed to mean).

Or maybe, just maybe, I haven't had the opportunity to talk about myself these days and find this blog a convenient place to obsess about Mr Bhupatiraju.

Actually it could be that an year and a half of absence from this space has made me miss making a mockery of men, mentalities, meaningless things and myself.

Maybe because I got thrashed by Real Madrid with Bayern Munich (in FIFA 2012 on my X-Box) by a margin of 4 goals or more in the last 3 games and I needed a distraction to get my mind off the humiliation.

Is it possible that I am enamoured by those corny Royal Stag ads on TV which prod one to ask oneself one's 'kareeb savaal', mine being 'Why am I blogging again'?

Or maybe it is just because I want to feel normal again.

Before I go on, I believe I should re-introduce myself for the sake of courtesy.

'I am still self-centered, egoistic, cynical and highly prejudiced. I have a bad attitude and I like to think that that is cool.'

Anyway, whatever.

That state called Uttar Pradesh

The following is the review of my 40-day stay in Eastern Uttar Pradesh:

Madhu Varma was that chap at school who was awful in History.

I was at the place where sometime in the early 1920s, the police station was set on fire, resulting in the calling off of the Non-Cooperation Movement. I had my market visit in the city most famous for the disputed site which got divided into 3 parts as recently as 7 days back. I lived for a few days in the world's oldest city and visited the town which has a pillar from which the National Emblem of India is inspired from.

'Look, Mrs Devanapalli, now you have to believe me. I did pay attention in a few of your lectures'.

Madhu Varma was that kid who couldn't pack his school bag to save his life.

I had to pack/unpack luggage and change hotel rooms more times than the number of zeros in a quadrillion. I have now become an effective packer with keen sensibilities in optimal space utilization and time reduction.

Look, Ma. I can pack better than even you.

Reaching inaccessible places by travelling in a tractor, listening to village elders discussing politics under a big banyan tree, watching little kids fool around under the not-so-strict supervision of a disgruntled and disinterested school teacher made me feel like the character Mohan in the Bollywood movie, 'Swades'.

But then, it wasn't as romantic as it was shown in the movie. Well, on all the journeys, the passenger next to me was very sleepy and irritatingly, his head kept falling on my shoulder every now and then. And well, the village elders conversed in Bhojpuri and they weren't exactly in awe of the well dressed (ahem!), well educated (ahem! ahem!) city boy and they weren't exactly looking up to him to solve make their problems. And well, I wouldn't have been able to do a better job than the resentful, public school teacher even if I did try.

I've spent countless hours stuck in traffic (Eastern Uttar Pradesh seems like, is home to half the world's population). I have skipped more meals in the last one month than I have over the past one year. I got sick of seeing thousands and thousands of grass-chewing cows and paan-chewing humans.

Also waiting on a railway platform (populated by monkeys) for 12 hours in Azamgarh, travelling in the woeful local buses on woeful roads in Sonbhadra, riding a Bajaj scooter for 200 odd kilometers in heavy rain in Mau & Ballia on my birthday, convincing a group of prostitutes that we (myself and a company sales executive) weren't interested in what they had to offer while passing through the red-light area of Basti weren't exactly pleasant experiences. The power cuts in Gorakhpur, the heat in Deoria and the insects in Mirzapur were all killing.

But then the place had its charm. The crudeness in the language, the sun-burnt faces of the people, the earthen cups of tea.....

I hated Hubli then and I hate it now. Although living in Eastern Uttar Pradesh was quite a struggle, I look back fondly on my time there.

And when my TSE from Varanasi called me up in the evening and asked me about my well- being, I replied in my broken Hindi, 'Yaar, UP ki bahut yaad aata hai'.

Anyway, whatever!

S.O.S.

'My name is Madhu Varma. I am a survivor living in Hubli. I am broadcasting on all AM frequencies. I will be at the Court Circle everyday at mid-day, when the sun is highest in the sky. If you are out there.....if anyone is out there.....anybody.....please'.

My mutual hatred with Bangalore continued as the city kicked me out on the 8th of July 2010. Most unkindly this time. (**** you, Bangalore). A very, very last minute change saw me posted in Hubli instead. And after speaking to my friend who did a bit of research about the place online, I remember thinking "It has an airport. It can't be too bad."

Wikipedia: Hubli is a major city in the state of Karnataka in India.

You live bang in the middle of the place and you go around looking for a bar of Dettol soap. A sympathetic shopkeeper would offer you a soap called 'Det-Mex'. Well, it looks like a Dettol and even the first 3 letters are the same. You would be greedy now, if you wanted anything more.

And if you wanted to pass your time by doing some light reading, you would find all the books you always wanted to read. Second hand books on engineering, commerce and law. A reader's paradise. Wouldn't you agree?

Wikipedia: Hubli is well connected by air, rail and road.

Well, of course. Reaching Hyderabad by air is a simple matter of around 11 hours. You have a quick break at Bangalore or Bombay and arrive at your destination in no time.

And even if you take the road or the rail, all you need to do is change a station or two at some unheard-off places (which even Google would find difficulty in locating) and before you know it, you are there.

And before I go on singing my praises about Hubli, let me introduce my friend, Bailey. Bailey is a chap of few words but he always reflects my moods perfectly.

Me: This place is getting to me, Bailey. I don't know how much longer I can take this.

Bailey: * Looks half-empty *

Me: It's time for our daily walk, Bailey. Hop on.

Bailey: * Looks half-full *

I keeping replacing Bailey with a new himself everyday,but he never changes.

And when I crib about my stay here over the phone, I most often hear "Come on. It's only till the 20th August".

That's another 27 days, 23 hours, 53 minutes and 36 seconds.

The damn cosmos was created in lesser time. Anyway, whatever.

'My name is Madhu Varma. I am a survivor living in Hubli. I am broadcasting on all AM frequencies. I will be at the Court Circle everyday at mid-day, when the sun is highest in the sky. If you are out there.....if anyone is out there.....anybody.....please'.

S.O.S.

'Psychoness' Continues [10 in 10 Contd...]

Trip Review

Day 1: The pig was the most sighted animal on the journey from Delhi to Jaisalmer. An uncomfortable ride on a camel and a bonfire in the Thar were followed by a few hours of sleep.

Day 2: After sightseeing a couple of forts, we were on our way to the land of Gujarat. The truck drivers in the state had impeccable traffic sense. (Any link with alcohol prohibition, I wonder).

Day 3: The asiatic lion in the Gir National Park didn't seem too pleased to be disturbed during its afternoon siesta. We reached Diu (of Daman & Diu) by evening and explored the entire place.

Day 4: We drove till we got sick and tired. And then, we drove some more. Without going into any details, I would like to say that our stay in Dadra and Nagar Haveli was pleasant.

Day 5: Pictures clicked during the drive through the Western Ghats were a few too many. We were particularly surprised to not find food anywhere at midnight. I mean, it was Goa afterall.

Day 6: Beaches and hippies were to be seen everywhere. The trek up and down a hill for a certain Aguada Fort was very tiring. The view from the top made it worth the effort though.

Day 7: Spending a 2nd day in the same state was inconsistent with the theme of the trip, but we did anyway. And on New Year's eve, while the other 3 were partying, I slept.

Day 8: We were back on the road again and the return journey began. The Mumbai-Pune expressway was delightful, but the same couldn't be said about the roads in Karnataka and Madhya Pradesh which we would cross the next day.

Day 9: Had a couple of hours of sleep in some really shady hotel in Thane. Crossed Gujarat again, but we still couldn't have the elusive 'dhoklas' and 'theplas' (do you even get these there?).

Day 10: The Chittorgarh fort seemed like a place we wouldn't mind living in. Rain, fog and traffic delayed us, but we eventually reached Delhi.

Random observations about the trip:

1) A certain bird by the name of 'Grey Tit' is found in Gir. We passed through a town in Maharashtra known as Lanja. (Lanja means whore in Telugu).

2) The song 'Arambh Hai Prachand' from the movie 'Gulaal' was played the most number of times in the car. It was like the official song of the trip.

3) We used to take 'pee' breaks on the journey (most of which were at my behest). Vamsi would blame these breaks for everything that went wrong and therefore me.

4) The 'daal' in Gujarat is terribly sweet. You get a dish made of 'sev' and 'tamatar' in Rajasthan. It is called 'sev tamatar'. Udayan fell in love with it.

5) Srikanth and me toyed with the idea of building a toll road between India and Japan and charging 1 billion dollars as toll. (Courtesy: no sleep, motion sickness, poor sense of humour)

The car was brought to a stop, the music was turned off and at 5:57 pm on the 4th of January 2009, it finished.

We were physically and mentally exhausted and drained. All the travelling had left us disoriented. So much so that, we felt like stationary things around us were moving. ( You see things moving past you for the past 10 days, your eyes and more importantly your mind gets used to that). We desperately needed some rest. We really, really did.

But we didn't take rest. Keeping true to the spirit of the trip, the 4 psychos went for '3 idiots' that evening.

Anyway, whatever.

10 in 10

THE PSYCHO TRIP

Mode of Transport: Road

Distance: 5934 kms

Days: 10

States: Delhi, Haryana, Rajasthan, Gujarat, Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Madhya Pradesh (8)

Union Territories: Daman & Diu, Dadra & Nagar Haveli (2)

The Psychos:

1) VAMSI

2) UDAYAN

3) SRIKANTH

4) MADHU

'I find I'm so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel, a free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain'.

Not really. It was the start of a really, really long journey alright. And the conclusion was most certainly uncertain. But I am not too sure about the excitement part. And I had my reasons. Well, I didn't get a wink of sleep for the previous 21 hours, was tired as hell and it was bloody cold.

After the last of the bags were loaded into the boot of the 'White Diamond' (that's what we named Vamsi's Swift for the trip), we were good to go. We got into the car.

Srikanth was contemplating adding more places into the already watertight schedule. (Srikanth is never ever satisfied).

Vamsi was complaining about my excessive luggage. (Despite our long association, my idiosyncrasies still continue to deeply annoy as well as amuse Vamsi).

Udayan was charged up and raring to go. (Although he doesn't accept it, we feel that it doesn't take too much to get Udayan enthusiastic).

I was cribbing about how I didn't get a wink of sleep for the previous 21 hours and how I was tired as hell and how it was bloody cold. (Cribbing comes as naturally as sleep to me).

It was classic us.

The thought of going on a trip originated as early as October. Consulting with travel agents, googling of places, toying with maps, flipping through holiday guides were some of the activities which went into the planning. Ideas as frivolous as driving down to Thailand and as normal as holidaying in Rajasthan were extensively explored with feasibility analyses (an extremely high level of tolerance was afforded) and detailed estimates of time and resources. Trekking in Uttaranchal, skiing in Himachal Pradesh, relaxing in Kerala, exploring the North East were all considered in isolation and in various combinations. Countless hours of discussions didn't get us any closer in finalising the trip. Everyone had a different agenda, a different set of conditions and constraints, different preferences. What we had in common - impatience, inflated egos and insanity (what we would like to call 'psychoness'). We weren't even sure of whether we would go on a trip till the last minute, let alone where would we be going and what we would be doing.

The car was brought to life, the music was blasted on and at 4:19 am on the 25th of December 2009, it began.

To be continued.....................

'Peeche Aao'

DELETED POST 1

A couple of posts were deleted earlier. One of them (the one below) was available in draft and is being republished in original. (First published in late 2009)
 
10-0. It is the scoreline of a football match I was involved in last weekend. Although it seems exaggerated, it is not. And what might seem even more phony, this wasn't the first time I had the fortune or misfortune of playing in football games with such ridiculously one-sided score lines.

*Winding back the clock*

Name: Madhu Varma

Position: Center Forward/Trequartista

Role: Captain

Team: Goka Juniors

Well, that was me and my team back in my engineering days. And while the rest of the students were doing whatever they were doing in the afternoons (typically attending lectures), the members of Goka Juniors would be crazily running around a ball (an exercise which vaguely resembled what the Americans refer to as soccer) in a woefully inadequate rectangular piece of land, which by the way was supposed to be the playground. Braving the weather, risking rebuke, we would religiously play the game, with a dedication and passion one would associate with an Olympic Gold Medal winning team.

The 'blood and sweat and tears'

[blood: I perennially fell down while playing and hurt myself.

sweat: We played football. So obviously we sweated.

tears: Well, I suppose I am getting a little carried away.]

we put in, would gain relevance when we participated in tournaments and played against opposition teams. This was the time when all of our investment (time and pressure) would be put to test.

# A typical scene after a match in the tournament#

Uday and me are laughing like maniacs for no apparent reason. Reddy is shaking his head in disgust. Varma is giving the post-match analysis to Srikanth, who is ruing everything that happened before and during the game. Aashish and Rishi are frowning. Muddam and Putchu have blank expressions on their faces and seem disinterested about life. Bharan is looking around for food. Vamsi is wondering, what just happened, while Rahul is abusing him and everyone else.

The scoreline: Goka Juniors 1-11 Opposition

* Winding the clock to the present *

MDI 10-0 FMS. I am finding it quite difficult to digest the score. The scoreline has an all too familiar feel to it, but for the first time I am not on the wrong end of it. I am on the winning side which mauled the opposition and not the other way around.

Those who watched the game were quite amused to find me celebrating during the game as if I scored the winning goal in the World Cup finals. And I celebrated like that 3 times. The home spectators found it hilarious and the away ones found it condescending. But then, they didn't know how much the hat-trick and the victory meant to me. But then, they didn't know about Goka Juniors.

Acknowledgements:

->The MDI football team. Especially Tushar (for sharing my penchant for crazy, peculiar goal celebrations) and Ikam (for the countless times he set me up, only for me to incredibly miss the simplest of sitters).

.

The hat-trick is dedicated to:

To my beloved Goka Juniors, the best footballing team ever. And to 'Peeche Aao', of course.

Note:

*To those who aren't aware, Boca Juniors is a world famous Argentine football club team. And the first half of the first word of the name of my engineering college is Goka. So that's how the name of our team, Goka Juniors came about. (How original and creative!)

*During the matches, our defenders never used to let Adnan (who played the position of defensive midfielder) go up. Whenever he would venture a little forward, they would shout to him, 'Peeche Aao'. And that used to irritate Adnan a lot and was a source of silly humour for the rest of us. It is difficult for the readers to appreciate this, but take my word for it. It used to be really, really comical.

.

Anyway, whatever.

IL CORVO

Contrary to what it seems like, the pigeon is not my favourite bird. I was gleefully fascinated by its ways in Europe and more particularly so in London, but that wasn't enough for usurping the top position which was, is and will always be occupied by the crow (the common raven). So, there wasn't an iota of doubt as to what I would name the second beast in my life (the first one being Adolf).


'IL CORVO'


Well, getting it wasn't exactly the easiest of things. If there was one thing, my mom would never let me have, it was this. Convincing her that I wasn't going to get killed by the 'monster' was awfully difficult and is arguably my greatest achievement ever. It is amazing what time and pressure can do. And a whole lot of cribbing, of course. This entire episode has given me so much confidence that I now feel that I can even convince the British to stop employing the word 'royal'. (I would never do that, of course. All I am saying is that, I beleive I could do so, if i wanted to).


Everyone I have spoken to regarding it, have tried to reason with me and appeal to my rationality. And when I didn't change my stance, the conversations typically ended with me being labelled, senseless and/or crazy. (A certain few were too polite and called me brave instead). If there ever was one thing for which I was unwilling to listen to absolutely anyone, it was this. Like they say, I was as 'obstinate as a mule'.


Taking a slightly different approach, Praveen made me feel inadequate to have the 'monster'. He said, one had to be bulky, wear white 'khaddar' clothes and be adorned with thick gold chains, bracelets and the like to deserve it. I appreciated his humour, but there was no way, I was appreciating his point of view.


So, as I paced around in the hall restlessly, the phone rang and this time it wasn't a friend who just called up to say 'What's up?'. As I went down the lift, all the trouble I had gone through over the past few weeks to have it, flashed in my mind. The endless hours of dreaming, arguing, defending, selling and convincing had finally borne fruit and here was I asking myself,
'IS IT WORTH IT?'.


At 21:01 on the 24th of September 2009, I laid my eyes on it for the first time. It was darker than the night. As deadly as sin. Royal and regal.
I brought it to life. 'Thump..Thump..Thump..Thump..Thump..'


TOTALLY.


Anyway, whatever.


I usually end my posts with the 'Anyway, whatever' or ta da (or some other version of it). Since the 'Anyway, whatever' is done with, the reader can put himself or herself out of his or her misery at this point, by navigating away from this post and doing something else or something better. (Anything would be better than reading this rubbish, so essentially there is no difference between 'something else' and 'something better').


But in case, you have read up to this point, you might as well read the next few sentences and waste a little more of your time.


As a certain someone asked me, "Why did you get a bike? You don't even know how to ride it?".
I replied,
" It doesn't matter that I don't know how to ride.
And for the sake of everything under the sun, it is not a bike.
It is a motorcycle. It is a Bullet. It is a Royal Enfield Bullet Electra 5S.
It is. My 'IL CORVO'. "

Anything and Everything under the Sun

The following conversation, (which took place at a devilish time of half past 7 in the morning the other day) has been replicated (as much as possible) as it actually panned out. Minor alterations may have been made, taking the sensitivity of the readers into account.


Index
*.......* : Action
#........# : Comment


Udayan: Wake up, you bastard!

Me: Huh!

Udayan: *Whacks me with a pillow.*

Me: Mother fucker!

Udayan: Wake up. How much time will you sleep for?

Me: Dude, I just slept for like 8 fuckin hours. And I got up a couple of times in between.

Udayan: Fuck you! You sleep like a pig everyday and then you crib.

#We associate pig with gluttony, greed, sloth and every other vice, since it is convenient#

Me: Fuck you! *Wakes up with a groan and curses everything under the sun.*

.........................

.........................

Udayan: Dude, I was just wondering as to why people celebrate birthdays.

Me: #Comment deleted due to its inappropriateness.#

Udayan: I mean, with every passing year one only gets closer to death। So the birthday isn't
actually an occasion to celebrate.

# A brief note on the author at this point would help the reader better appreciate the rest of the conversation. I have an annoying habit of countering opinions (and sometimes even plain facts), just for the heck of it. The low general awareness necessitates me to come up with unconventional (or ridiculous, according to most people I know) arguments all the time.#

Me: Screw the ‘celebrations’ part. But well, I am not too sure about the ‘getting closer to dying with every birthday’ part.

Udayan: What are you blabbering? Let’s say one has a life time of 70 years. Isn’t he closer to 70 when he is 40 than when he is when he is 39.

Me: Dude, but it is not decided beforehand as to how long one is going to live.

#I don’t believe in destiny, fate and other gay stuff like that.#

Udayan: Let us not get into whether it is pre-decided or not. Irrespective of everything, one is nearing the end as time passes.

Me: Not necessarily. Doesn’t the passing of every year alter one’s chances of further survival?Isn’t the time one has survived till date a factor which influences how much longer he would live for?

Udayan: Dude, cut the crap. *Shakes his head in disgust.*

Me: The probility of one living till the age of 70 when he is 40 is different from the probability of his living till the age of 70 when he is 39. The fact that he survived for another year should increase his chances of living till 70.

#The usage of the word ‘probability’ elicited laughter from both parties as we reminisced the idiosyncrasies of that wierdly strange professor who lectured us on probability during our 11th and 12th standard years.#

Udayan: I will slit your throat open right now and then we will see how probability works.

Me: Whatever. Fuck you!

Udayan: Fuck you! *Goes to the wash room.*

Me: *Lies down on the bed again and curses everything under the sun.*



The following are certain things I wanted to report:

1) Luthra is on a roll in snooker. He recently thrashed my opponent (who, if you remember from the earlier post, thrashed me) by a margin of 40 odd points with 3 balls remaining. This makes me look even worse. Bloody relativity.

2) Keshav is carrying 4 mobile phones with him these days. When I asked him, ‘But, why?’, he replied that using 4 phones would give him expertise in multitasking. I shall refrain from commenting on this.

3) And finally and most importantly, Atul ‘I-don’t-give-a-fuck-for-anything-under-the-sun’ Jain has secured arguably the best internship of the MDI PGPIM 08 batch. His status message on Google Talk now reads as ‘CITI NEVER SLEEPS’. Killer!


Anyway, whatever.

Why I hate Relativity. And the Beastly Beauty.

1) Damn my mind for not being able see the Absolute

The other day, Luthra and me had gone to a snooker parlour to catch a game or two. All the tables were taken up and since we weren't too keen on waiting, we agreed to join others. The dashing gambler that Luthra is and the egoistic, arrogant prick that I am, we individually agreed to the challenges posed by our respective opponents (who we realised by then were bloody good at the game) with monetory stakes.

Luthra lost by the margin of a few points, but gained the respect of his opponent.

Although the following account might suggest othewise, I am not too bad a player (courtesy of the fascination with the game during my 11th and 12th standard). Here was my opponent who seemed like snooker was the only reason for his existence and here was I, having not played the game for quite some time and it being my first time to that particular parlour and therefore that particular table(for those, who aren't very accustomed to the game, note that prior playing on a table gives a slight advantage).

I wish I could write that I fought the good fight and emerged victorious against all odds. But sadly that wasn't the case. I was losing by 50 odd points with the last 3 coloured balls to be potted. Like one of those losers who try to salvage whatever little they can, I thought to myself that I should keep the margin under 50. And in the end, I lost by 32. It wasn't as bad as losing by 70 points, but 32 is pathetic enough.

And disgustingly, I was happy.

I had a gleeful smirk on my face, although I had just got embarassingly outplayed and my wallet was a couple of hundred bucks lighter.

Fuckin relativity.

2) The Beauty and The Beauty

Beauty, 'they' say, lies in the eyes of the beholder. ['They' incude the self-important dorks who make such well-sounding (but totally retarded) statements and the 'dull' people who quote them to validate their opinion. I shall be quite 'dull' myself here and do the same. I will show the applicability of this proverb in a certain personal context and then generalize it as a universal truth].

Adolf, to Udayan and me is the most beautiful thing ever. There is nothing which is even comparable. But that is not exactly the opinion anyone who has had the 'privilege' of laying their eyes on him have . In fact, it would be the exact opposite. It scares the day lights out of everyone and we are quite confident that certain people, when in close proximity to him would actually faint. The sadists that we are, we plan to test our presumptions.

Adolf, by the way is Udayan's rotweiller. I am Adolf's godfather (I christened him). I had left him as a 4 month old 'puppy' (I am using the word 'puppy' out of lack of other words. He was quite a beast even back then.) only to find him become a fearsome monster 5 months later. It has been around a couple of weeks since I have been around and I am still skeptical of 'fooling around' with him. For everytime, he has the chance, he ravages me. His ramming with brute force, pricking of my feet and gnawing at my arms (fortunately, he still doesn't know how to bite forcefully) could be construed as friendly playfulness or ruthless hatred. I like to believe that it is the former. And actually hope as well.

All in all, Adolf is frightening (there are few sights scarier than that of Adolf in the dark with his glowing eyes), destructive (the broken windows in the house are a testament of that) and untamable (he is not taken for a walk, he takes the holder of the leash on an unpleasant ride).

But then, he is the most beautiful thing ever.

Anyway, whatever.

Beyond the scope...

The first sentence of any post of my blog is the only one which needs some thought. The rest of the post writes itself. The reason I am mentioning this is to escape even that minor inconvenience.

Now that that has been taken care of, I can now move onto other things. What other things? I can’t think of any other things. I am at my ordinary best these days. So what the heck? I will just fill this post by mentioning the awfully uninteresting events and things in my rather boring life over the past few days.

29/7/09 and 30/7/09: The return flight from UK to India.

I just can’t get myself to sleep on a flight. And add to it an annoying co-passenger sitting beside you, the TV screen in front of you not working and having a 4 hour transit stop. Can you script a more perfect disaster?

31/7/09 and 1/8/09: Can’t remember.

I would most probably have been glorifying the Queen’s country and rubbishing my very own (UK is so clean, India is so crowded and other idiotic statements like that). How I wish someone just punched me in the face during this time!

2/8/09 and 3/8/09: I re..re..re..really love gaming [Ladha style].

There are few things more beautiful than FIFA 09 on the X-Box 360. With updated summer transfers, my beloved Juventus FC team looked strong on paper (or should I say, screen) and I went wild with all my crazy formations.

4/8/09 and 5/8/09: Things getting back to being exactly as they were always.

My criticism of my mom’s cooking, haunting coffee shops, obsessive following of football news, rubbishing everything and everyone under the sun. I even performed my routine ritual of torturing myself (which is watching a Telugu movie). [Telugu is the funny-sounding language, I speak at home].

6/8/09 and 7/8/09: Something else and the gentleman’s game

It’s been quite some time since I played cricket, but as always I came across as someone who has a good batting technique. I typically achieve this by tapping the bat on the ground and playing classy, imaginary shots in the air after every ball

8/8/09 and 9/8/09: A visit to the zoo and something else

The reasons for us going to the zoo are beyond the scope of this blog. Anyway, the sloth bear did gross injustice to its name by running around like a maniac in its enclosure. I was disappointed. The hippo was absolutely delightful, though. The next day was the 9^th of August 2009.

10/8/09 and 11/8/09: qwertyuiopasdfghjklzxcvbnm

Posters of 'The Godfather', debates over and about ice creams, bitching about my engineering college were the common themes. A few words about the mundane things like life and future might have figured in the discussions, but were promptly discarded and forgotten.

Oh, boy! I am disgusting myself now with all this rubbish. And so I shall put an end to this.

Anyway, whatever.

Before I forget, I just want to mention unlike what some might suspect, Ta Da is not a stylised form of Ta Ta (which means bye). What Ta Da means is beyond the scope of the reader.