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!