The summer that was ...was not?

I haven't logged in to blogger for a while, for one American summer to be precise. So I have the perfect excuse for being erratic this time around - SUMMER VACATION !!

At the first hint of green around me, I had made plans to hit the road again - Partly to make up for the time that I lost all winter and partly to lose the sense of suffocation that I was feeling from being within four walls; and hit the road - I did, with a mad dash across florida logging almost 2k miles on the road in 4 days, and getting totally sunburnt (imagine skin peeling off).

June came and with it rain too - supposedly, typical "New England weather". For a change, I managed to do something about my interests, rather than just bragging/blogging. Me and the Pentax enrolled ourselves in an amateur photography course - a course that I religiously completed, every single assignment included. For someone who is prone to chronic disillusionment, this achievement is something that I am really proud about. Though I have been photographing for a long while now, it feels nice to have a good grasp of the subject ...rather than spraying and praying that the image comes out as I want it to.

July again was pretty rainy, but then didn't stay home even for a single weekend. White water rafting - will do it tonnes of times again, what a rush!!!
-Watched all the super hero flicks that came out - In the theatre, Batman in Imax :-)
-Hiked a few local trails and swam in freezing water at 6 in the morning , in a reservoir, that was not exactly meant for swimming - but then we are Indian, so sab chalta hai..hai na??
-A scavenger hunt through Boston - a group of 10 people, almost totally random, walking all day, up and down the town . Worth every ounce of fat burned (for people who do not know me, I value fat very much)
-All you can eat icecream for 5 dollars.

Rain brought with it August as well. And as they say the good times definitely do end. Beginning with my Photography class. As my instructor wound up the class with a preview of what was to come in the fall for another $250, a course on documentary journalism really caught my eye. But caught between that and the "bigger picture", I made my choice and moved on. Friends who have been my travel companions in the US decided to move on - back to India. I have chosen to stay on for a while - the "bigger picture" again. Homesickness, nostalgia all come swirling at me as I say my farewells. And as the reality sunk in that another summer has passed, which makes me 25 by the way, I settled down to a routine that I hope will get me through the next few months - crucial, nailbiting and hectic months.

It has been a hectic summer alrite. All said and done, I still managed to complete one year in the US with not much damage except for a few thousand dollars burned in "Pursuit of Happiness". I have also learnt a few things about myself ( will try and avoid making this sound like a cliche, so keep reading). From grinning like a little boy, when shamu the whale splashed water on me , to relishing the spirit of adventure as I barrelled down rapids in a tub to feeling a fleeting moment of total freedom as I swam in a pristine lake all by myself, I have realised that despite being numbingly routine in my everyday life, my passion for the things that I love has not diminished one bit. As my Chinese friend with his piece of Zen wisdom says - "Yo!! Just roll with the flow...Duude!!". And that realisation is really heartening to carry into the winter.

A few more totally tangent thoughts that I can't squeeze into another post

-Offlate I have been getting comments from a lot of people who really care about me - that I am indifferent, aloof, cynical et all. All I thought I was capable of doing was lame self deprecating humour. So people thanks for the complements :-). I will try and not disappoint you.

-I got nominated as a "junkie" at my work place. Totally damaaged by an idiot who left out a critical piece of info from my "award". That actually can make another post. So expect one soon


-Today is onam and I had sandwich and fries for my onasadhya. Not good, especially when the last thing you need is another wave of nostalgia. The thing is I do remember onam as a wonderful time of the year, but for some reason this year, onam seems a lot more special. I guess it is just the Nostalgia acting up again. So I better hit the bed then..

Racism

Being in a different country, an entirely different kind of people, can sometimes be a real test of your values and beliefs. Growing up in a small town can mean that sometimes you grow up with a sense of a rigid order in society that has been followed since the time of the fire. That is how god intended it you are told. You grow up knowing people as Nairs, Menons, Pattars, Chettiars, Iyengars, achayans, mapplas and what not. And once you come into the big city, you also learn to put in another level -northies, southies, gujjus, marwadis, of course - bongs, mallus, tamilians, kannadigas and again what not. This is all fine, because whenever you talk about the "others", it is always to people within your own "herd". In essence, closetting anything that is offensive and presenting a front that is perfectly agreeable. Also, there is no way of identifying who belongs where just by looking at them (we are not even talking finance here) - except for the Chinkis and the Sardarjis maybe. So as long as you are in a society where everyone accepts that no one is equal, you are safe in a bubble of beliefs - about your political correctness and moral highroad; giving you all the credibility you need to criticise the zionists and racists in far away White man's land.

But when you actually get down to the middle of the action, realisation can sometimes come with a thud. You land up in a hodge-podge of races and you do not have a significant herd to bounce your thoughts off and constantly reassure oneself. By default, the moment you set foot on the jersey shores, you become a desi. Your fellow desis tell you, that you need to be wary of the goras, scared of the kallus, indifferent to the mexicans as they are all illegal, obviously. And this is the classic "to be or not to be" as far as I am concerned. I could become a part of the herd and find my own little group somewhere in there or else I could choose to walk the talk.

Things become even more complicated when you see the stereotypes being turned on their heads - Desis can sometimes stab you in the back as well, Goras are not racist bigots - most of them are genuinely nice people, Kallus are not necessarily only - murderers, gangsters and thieves, they are a people with a zest for life that is quite unmatched. And mexicans, for all I can gather, are indistinguishable from Indians in their beliefs and family values.

Walking the talk, is not easy my friend. Not easy at all.......

FILTH!!

It was during one of my brain-trawling sessions that something strange struck me, make that two. I am suffering from, for lack of a better phrase,information overload. And two, I am married to my laptop. After 4 years of "working" and not really much reading, I tried getting back on the habit. I did get myself a few books in all earnesty, among them "The argumentative Indian". An unbiased, lucidly written , highly thought-provoking collection of essays. I read them with rapt concentration, only to wake up the next morning to realise that I couldn't recall much of what I read. Instead, what came to my mind was Britney being rushed to the hospital and Saif and Kareena's "Nikkah"...I know...WTF??

I begin my morning routine and settle down at work with the US, UK and Indian editions of google news. And every edition screams at me with news designed to capture eyeballs, literally. I was happy with the sports and the front page in "The Hindu" and the occasional filmfare featuring Vidya Balan and off late Ms. Padukone and now I can't seem to find what I want anywhere. It is as though every snippet has tentacles, that go deep into your eyes. And the fittest survive. I can only scream in helplesness - FILTH!!!!

There is so much filth around these days. Now, don't jump the gun yet. I am not a member of the moral brigade and I do enjoy titillation when done correctly. But that is besides the point. Filth is all the information out there that I do not need and yet information that is being shoved down my throat. Surely, the human brain obeys the laws of physics and to top that,it doesnt have Moore's law in its favour. Result - rejection. It plainly quits and I am thinking that is what is happening to me.

I forced myself offline for extended periods of the day, reading up on things that really matter. Tried starting off with a fresh clean slate and Mark Twain. The ever reliable Calvin and Hobbes. All to no avail. And then I stumbled upon Einstein and his thoughts on creative expression. Creative expression that has the power to cleanse one's soul and free the mind.

And here on, I am laying bare all the filth in my mind, on this blog for the few of you to see. In the fervent hope, that I cleanse my mind and free up some RAM inside my head - Space that is reserved for my imagination.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge... knowledge is limited, but imagination encircles the world. To see with one's own eyes, to feel and judge without succumbing to the suggestive power of the fashion of the day, to be able to express what one has seen and felt in a trim sentence or even in a cunningly wrought word... is that not glorious? When I examine myself and my methods of thought, I come close to the conclusion that the gift of imagination has meant more to me than my talent for absorbing absolute knowledge.” --Albert Einstein

P.S - I am no Einstein and I harbor no ideas of becoming one. I am too busy right now and will not be able to handle the extra attention. But anyways thanks for the suggestion.

Soul Music - Part 1

This post is an offshoot of an earlier one about meditation , but don't you worry. This one will not ramble on and on about nothing and finally lose the plot. Hopefully.

It all started one morning, when I woke up to a humming prelude on my roomie's laptop and I immediately burst out in full throated vigor, even as I lay in bed - "Usilampatti penkuttyyyyyyy muththupechchu"...All i had heard was an initial couple of seconds of the instrumental to a song that i had loved, then hated and forgotten and not heard in a long time. I was wondering where that sudden recognition had come from and thus began an interesting quest and a few hours of thought.

I thought, on the bus to work, about the songs that I liked, about the ones that I loved....It was all one big clutter. "Kaatrin Mozhi" from the morning playlist was still running in my head. The soothing voice, coupled with the cool morning breeze wriggling in through the window, can be an unbelievably lulling way to start the day. I sat back and let the song take over.

The wooded pennsylvanian landscape and the moist greenery all around, felt like the lush green slopes of wayanad or Munnar back home, in all their rain drenched glory and me smack in the middle of it, taking it all in with arms wide open. And thinking about Kerala, brought back a song that asianet plays every now and then - "shyama sundara kera kedhara bhoomi".Along with it visions of dancing paddy fields, rolling clouds and coconuts. And as always managed to bring on a few nostalgic goosebumps. Strangely uplifting on an indifferent morning, I felt ready to take on the world. Felt like setting off on a long journey into the wilderness...."Jane kya doondtha hai yeh mera dil, Tujhko kya chahiye zindagi".

I must have been in a semi-dreamy state by then 'cause I felt my self spinning around on my feet, arms wide open, the sky spinning around me. I could feel the rain drops on my face, like the first refreshing drops of the monsoon unlocking the scents of the earth after a parching summer. Summer that reminded me of younger days of abandon. Cricket, tender coconuts and "Nongu" and "Veyil odu vilayadi" which again brings on nostalgia by the loads - .....A raptorous song that races through a few cherished memories, and brings to life the dust bowl that Palakkad is in summer.

A few quick shakes to my shoulder and reality hit me again. My roommate again staring at me - "Enna da, cycle gaple oru mayakkama, vazhiyuthu - thodachchukko, Stop vandhidichchu". Quickly gathering my bearing, I wipe the drool off and get back into my "professional" alter-ego. But there was this spring in my step that I felt really nice about. Sadly as the saying goes, good things don't last for ever. But I promised myself then, that I will dedicate some more time to dreaming. I mean in addition to the 8 to 10 hours that I already do.

I did not have to wait too long to fulfill my new resolution. A big can of strawberries and raisins dipped in creamy yogurt for lunch, can be one potent dream-inducer. Combined with an Ipod with a wicked brain of its own, "Happy-place" is just an earphone away....[To be continued]

P.S - Start dreaming. It does wonders.

Marginalised

This is one post that has been languishing in the drafts for a looong time. Something that hit me in the face back home, Something that left a feeling of utter helplessness..Feelings that had, in hindsight, touched a raw nerve. A sore that I mistakenly felt had healed in the rush to make a life.

Ever since the travel bug hit me, the day I first grabbed that pricely copy of outlook traveller at the Aluva railway station, "travel" has been the operative word in my life. Travels that have created some wonderful memories, Nature in all its splendour, People vibrant. Faces that made sparkling conversation. Faces that had wizened from years of toil, toil that was possibly the only story of their lives.

It was the sight of one such old lady, on a desolate railway platform, that caused my thinking to go haywire. A hunched, greyed bag of bones who wouldn't have merited a second glance on a quicker day. Not a beggar, yet. With nothing much else to do, out of equal measures of curiosity, revulsion and sympathy, I stared at her a few times. And sensing a chink in my armour, she approached me - arms stretched. I tossed a coin reluctantly. She did not go away. Arms still stretched, emotionless, blank face.I tossed in a currency note and she quickly left. I felt as though I had been taken for a ride. Why in the world would anyone in their right mind, give alms to anyone? Let alone to a lady who was borderline between a beggar and a cheat. I felt bad.

I boarded the train later and after sometime was ruminating on this again. But from an entirely different perspective. Something that came on after observing an apparently happy elderly family in the same coach.

I began wondering. Did she have a family? Of course yes. Where were they then? How must her life with the family have been? What would have prompted her children to abandon her? Was it that her family was so poor, that one less mouth to feed, made a whole lot of difference to them? These were questions that began to pop up regularly every time I saw someone who looked destitute.

What I saw shook me up. India, where we pride ourselves on our family values, seems to be filled with people like her. And I am not even considering the people who were born poor, or as the government likes to call "under the poverty line". The old waiter at the Sangeetha in Adyar, who has to bear the blunt of high-flying IT "professionals" and still manage to smile. No tip anyways. The security guard at many of the apartments, making do with a single pair of uniforms. Spending sleepless nights guarding the Indian upper middle class, which cares only about development and India shining.

Soon it became apparent that it was not just the poor elderly who suffered. As India moves from its villages to towns and cities, it leaves behind an India that has been sucked dry by the current generation. Working mostly as clerks for the whole of their lives, people who squirreled away whatever savings they had to the family. Now well off, with money sent in regularly, long distance telephone calls and for the lucky few, a video conference on yahoo. But yet I am sure most of them have quite a few regrets. Maybe that movie they missed. A festival that came and went without the least bit of self-indulgence. That pair of glasses which needed to be changed. The wrist watch that needed to be changed, not repaired.

I do agree everyone needs to venture out to seek their lives. But then are we so busy making a living that we can't manage to find that odd day or two for the elderly in our lives? Better still make a life that involves them more than the annual visits? Not even stopping to wait for the old lady to cross the road? I really don't know. It really feels as though an old unwritten cycle of life is being broken today. Take a visit to an old age home to realise what I am talking about. For people in Chennai, Vishranthi on the ECR is an old age home that is doing a decent job. Look it up sometime. There are a lot more who can use all the help they can get.

And why this post, a whole 3 months after I left India? Well, what I see here looks like a natural extension for India in the next 50 years. Elderly, who are fierecely independent. Going about their routine. But still look as though they are on a long wait. A wait for someone ...... something rather?

My First impression

I have been in the US only 2 weeks now but my first words to myself are still echoing in my head. Words that get reinforced, every passing day. "Boy!! everything is so big around here." Right from the moment, I stepped into the cab at the airport, there has been that feeling of "Shock and awe". There I was - a slender 5' 11, lean and mean, being smothered by the cushion around, with barely my neck sticking out of the seat straining to catch the scenery.

The hotel rooms were thankfully small (normal size by indian standards), but there ends the exceptions. The size was what caught my eyes everywhere, and in some cases caused overloads at the business end of my digestive system as well.

Jumping from "3 Idlis-one limited meals with curd - samosaa/cutlet - and a relaxing dinner of rasam/thayir saatham" to "3 eggs,potatoes and pancakes - 2 eggs,toast and fries - cappucino - and a relaxing dinner of belgian waffles/foot long subs"........I guess this was what people were refering to as "Jet-Lag"(It is not that i had choice when it came to choosing the meals, these were the ideal choices considering the "Investment vs Return" tradeoff). It took me over a week to "settle" things down...whew!!

Not ones to take things lying down, we decided to get things moving along by cooking our own food - Target Walmart. Result Disorientation. An hour and a half later all we could select was one packet of bread. And as we stood before the unending rack of vegetables, me and my roomie, exclaimed almost at the same time - "Even the peas are so big....SIGH!!".

Considering the amount of food that goes into an average american, generations over generations, the girth is only natural. And on a boring day waiting for a bus, as one LARGE human being walked past , I was tempted to go "entha kadayile nee pizza vaangare"...

Well you can call that desperation at the effortlessness with which all the fat tends to get concentrated around a few waists, while the rest move along at a Hindu rate of growth. A classic case of the fat getting fatter and the poor getting poorer. hmmmmm...

As the days went past, the shrinking feeling inside me kept growing. But it was Liberty mami who came to my rescue. A sign board quoting the designer and architect who staked his claim to the liberty - "Everything is so big in America - even the peas". hmm, Wise people do think alike. What say people?

mmmmmmmm!!!!

It was well into the night and my dinner was done. The window was open and a nice cool breeze was bristling through my hair. The lights were dim and I could only see the silhouette about an arm's length from where i lay. The occassional flicker of the tubelight near by revealed that magical golden skin tone, in a teasing-tantalising kind of way. Exactly as described in the tales of yore. In fact even better. The look on my face would have given me away, but the shadyness of the setting saved the day, rather the night. The pod was playing

"Chandan sa badhan"

Chanchal chithu van

dheere se thera ye muskaana...

and I could hold it no more.

I slowly moved my arms and for the first time felt how perfection felt. Full and plump, and a tad juicy, I couldn't but thank god for his creation. And more importantly, for putting me in the right place at the right time. With all the time in the world on my side, I began ruminating on the happenings of that eventful night leading up to that perfect moment.

I was travelling from Chennai to Kerala on a day train. A tiring journey in the hot indian summer, inside a tin can, that doesn't allow the liberty of sleep. The monotonity of it all got to me an hour or so into the journey and I am sure a little delirium set in too. It was Katpadi I guess, where I got down to stretch my legs and grab a cuppa, only to lay eyes on that beautiful little thing. The delirium was gone, giving way to a yearning hugely unbearable. The hours passed and the yearning only grew. My dinner was done but i was staring out of the window, waiting for people nearby to fall asleep and dim the lights. The occasional lone light streaking across the window as the train sped through the dry landscape, only adding to my agony. But the fear of people catching me in the act restrained me, though the proximity was all the more tempting.

Time flew by and pretty much the whole compartment was asleep. But now the freedom to let myself go brought with it the ultimate conundrum. I could do this only once and once I was through nothing would be left of it. So how do I do justice to the beauty. Do I wait for the journey to complete, all the while admiring the interplay with the lights? Or do I dive right in and give my senses the treat of a lifetime?

As I lay contemplating, the soft texture of the skin against my fingers made me take it in my palms...and I slowly sat up. leaning my back against the sil and watching the glow. How do I do justice to thi wonderful creation. And i smelt that sweet scent one last time, as I bit in to the seasons first - Alphonso. And the next 5 minutes was bliss. And all that was left were the fibres struck between my teeth and a licked clean seed which soon found its way out of the window.

Being from a "corporate environment" and a well disciplined family, I have often been instructed that fruits are to be eaten with forks after they are cut. But I chose to ignore all that. Today there was nothing between us - No knife, no peeling, no slicing. My teeth doing the work as tastebuds that were long comatose, sprang forth with life.

I owed that much to god didn't I?

Saraswathi shabatham - Eastman colour

Long journeys by bus is something that i really love, but a few experiences of late have made me rethink. The first was a long trip to chennai from kerala in a not so comfy bus.And a movie Devathaiye kandein starring dhanush plying on the telly. For the uninitiated, Dhanush happens to be Rajinikanth's S-I-L and that is pretty much all that is about him. On a given day, out in the streets of chennai, u wouldnt be wrong, if u mistook him for an autodriver. And a heroine, with negative emoting skills, and cornier dialogues and crassier comedians, it was one of the most claustrophobic experiences of my life. My Ipod was on full blast but it couldnt drain out the "Din-chak, Dak-chak, dan-da-naka, da-daka-daka", that so characterises tamil music these days. Add to that the sight of a scrawny hero, thrusting his pelvis and gyrating in the name of the dance, the expreience rather the torture was complete. So it was with a little trepidation when during my trip to the sabarimala, the TV screen flickered to life. It read "Saraswathi Shapatham", Eastman colour..

The movie startedoff with a long monologue by the producers, who it seems had made the movie to arrest the crass materialism in society and to lay to rest the debate on wealth Vs knowledge Vs Authority/power..Well atleast they said so themselves in a lengthy monologue at the beginning and with the gods in technicolour filling the screen, the atmosphere was set for the story to unfold. Shivaji as Narada...and a whole whos who of the 60s tamil filmdom was on show...fully decked up...The next 3 hrs were sort of an eye opener for me.....a glimpse into what Edison had in mind when he invented cinema in the first place....religious propaganda.....maybe

The next 3 hrs was one long riot of colours, the whole pantheon of hindu gods, song and dance and over-the-top emoting ending in a technicolor SHUBHAM. But the piece de resistance was CHEVALIER SHIVAJI GANESAN

He owned the screen from the moment he entered as narada. His slender gait, gait that would put a beauty queen to shame...the hips shaking as though doing a catwalk. And emoting that would give a complex to a kathakali artiste...millions of facial muscles twitching, twirling to bring togethor that perfect expression taht would last only a fleeting moment to be replaced by the next perfect one. and when coupled with the dancing eyebrows, it shows what acting is all about...or is it what it is not about...never mind....but that sure did cure me of my phobia for long bus journeys

Religion and a pilgrimage - Part 2

Sabarimala, the shrine surrounded by verdant green all around. A dip in the crystal waters of the river Pampa, a mere jungle stream at Pampa. and a refreshing trek through lush evergreen shola. If this is the image that u had of the temple shrine, I pity you my friend. If you are looking for an example for how man cannot make a habit of coexisting with nature, look no further..
With the uncontrolled influx of devotees from the southern states except kerala, the ham handed development activities at Pampa, the tonnes of garbage, filth, and byproducts human and otherwise, flooding the stream making it a big pile of slush. The travancore Devasvom board makes it a point to bring in water tankers to pump water into the river to dilute it. Filth everywhere and devotees camping on top of it. We were among the lucky lot as we managed to get a roof over our head, a room barely the size of a classroom, with a makeshift kitchen at one end. The heat was initially a comfort but the smoke soon took over. But with me having had an inkling of things earlier, i was not going to complain about mere smoke singing my eyes. And the icing on the cake was the location of the room - right behind the pampa govt hospital letting its innards out in full glory, first thing in the morning. The bath in the Pampa is a part of the ritual and is meant to cleanse away all the sins. With daylight hardly and hour away, I decided to take a dip in the darkness, as waiting for day light would have meant that i might have given the dip in the river a miss. Freezing cold and icier water, meant a dip was a big ask. In and out in a flash, I made a beeline for the start of the trek, the Pampa Ganapathy.
Stepping the few steps upto the temple, brought forth a sight that i could never have imagined, a sea of humanity sleeping on the ground, and a small line snaking its way through to the trekking path. A few sleepy policemen guiding us through. The first couplf kilometers was a very steep climb, over sharp paved concrete and railings for support. My Softened software-feet were screaming full throat, but the fear of getting caught in the crowd coming behind meant that we, (oh yeah i got a fellow devotee for company), pushed ahead without a stop. The climb done, i was looking forward to the rest of the walk. only to see a huge queue on the mountain side all the way the eye could see. A good 8 hours later we made it to the sannidhanam, an ever bigger pile of filth, spoiling the experience. With the lower half of my body, numb by then, i had stop bothering. time was 3. With the Rava uppuma that i had for breakfast long digested, the grumbling was only acute as we waited for the jyothy which was still a good 3 hrs later. Managing to get a vantage point courtesy of my new friend, I stood there and dozed off. Though with nothing to hold on for support, I did not have to worry as it was too jam packed for me to fall. I still wonder whether it was sleep or a momentary lapse in conciousness...whatever it was i got up only at 5... slightly refreshed, but stinking all over, with sweat, mine as well as the bare chested kannadiga's, who i think supported me. with me standing at an elevated point, the sight was one to behold, a hill top with every possible inch crawling with people. The tension was palpable as people began to get excited and stir about in the maddening crowd. Well past 6.30 and no jyothy yet, the cries of the throng had gotten to a dearening roar. And when the jyoty appeared as 3 brief flashes, it was an experience that will last my life time. Electrifying yet hysterical. It was a culmination of all that suffering in something good. Hope that kept the drive to walk alive. And with a deep throated "swamiye" that reverberated around the hills, a call to the heavens, the collective throes of a mankind for release from the mudane rigours of life. It opened my eyes to what religion is all about- HOPE. Hope that reflected in the tears streaming down the now smliing bare chested Kannadiga.
And as the adage goes "Zindagi mein ek baar sadari yaathra chalo chalo"

Religion and a pilgrimage

For a guy born and brought up in a typical agraharam, being religious is supposed to be a default setting. And the default setting remained that way for 17 golden years and then college happened and a period of self discovery :- 4 years of freedom. And with freedom came the natural side effects - indiscipline and irreverence. Not that i hated it, but still..
Out of college and 2 years into the job, things hadn't changed much. I was hating the job and was at a crossroads with the prepping for the CAT. It was the auspicious Mandalam and as the D-Day got nearer, my belief in myself was begining to wax and wane. And a day before the exam, got out of home looking to lay the waxing and waning to rest and ended up, maybe inevitably, at a temple. It was the proverbial lightning striking twice that day. In the half an hour that i sat in the Ayyappa temple, my thoughts were going haywire. Only to be reigned in by the thoughts of my first visit to sabarimala. All of 12, my grandparents taking me in tow. All that i remember being the sight of the golden deity electrifying my half asleep brain and body. A lot of water has flown under the bridge since that day. But the experience has remained. There had been 3 later visits, all in a lot more comfort, but none matched the intensity of the first. And so, at that very moment decided to make one more trip to see the lord, on the day of the Makaravilakku. 41 days of clean living and austerities.
It was a challenge for me and a chance too, to piece myself togethor again and feel what discipline feels like. And it did feel nice, the first few days i mean and then the craving kicked in. A lil more while in the bed, a coffee before the bath, a bed rather than a mat on the floor....But i outdid myself and found myself at the end of the 40th day on a bus, part of a conducted trip to the mala. Attired in black, the mala around my neck and the transformation i felt was evident. A sense of standing on the verge of something big. And we were off..
Six hours in the bus went of quickly. But a loose window ensured that i remained sleepless in the chill. And to keep me company, all that i had was "Saraswathi Shabatham" running on the telly. (That is an entirely new story which can form a later blog maybe.). Enroute, we passed the Thiruvabharanam being carried on foot and that signalled that we were nearing Pampa, in pretty good time. Only for all such hopes to be dashed by the Kerala police. We were asked to alight a good 35 kilometres from Pampa (Base camp for the uninitiated) and then start walking.
There we were, a bunch of over 50 people, in pitch black, shivering in the winter, smack in the middle of a reserve forest, and only the full moon to guide us. Someone in the group had the foresight to pack a torch and he led the way. With the group being made of a lot of age groups, we soon scattered. Me somewhere in the middle, with no light immediately, not even knowing the person walking next to me, retorting with the odd "Ayyappa" to the "swamiye" from somewhere up front.
A good hour would have passed, maybe more and the sound of a bus behind us cheered the group that had by now fallen silent. That was a scene that i welcomed with a special enthusiasm, as the jagged tar road had by then begun taking its toll on my foot. It was a bus alright, and in its headlight I saw a sight that sent a slight lump down my throat. The entire road was full of devotees on foot, the numbers belied by the silence of it all. and the Bus went on its way, without as much as slowing down even. And the walk continued. and from the milestones and the occasional police outposts, the distance that i had covered surprised even me. A good 12 kilometres. But then the lord didnt want anything more from me. Atleast not at that moment i thought, as i managed to get onto a bus that strangely was not crowded and stopped right before our motley group of around 10. And sitting on the steps, I managed to catch a few good winks before we reached Pampa. It was hardly 5 and the cold was biting down to the bone. And that was a moment when i had a moment of introspection, rather cursing myself for having decided to do the pilgrimage on that particular day. Moments that were littered thru the course of the 3 days....

Tom yum goong!!!

Was down and out one of these days....no particular reason...one of those days when u feel totally depressed ..ust like that...and my DVD collection came to the rescue...a 3 cd collection -
"Aung bak"...."Tom yum Goong" and one more thai movie...but that is not the point...
"Tom yum Goong"...wow was totally blown away..now that is what u call a movie....It starts of with a lovely intro about a man and his elephant...his kid and another baby elephant...The baddies kidnap the elephants...look at the originality in the script and all this is over in 15 mins...
from then on for the next 1 hr and 30 mins...the guy sets out to rescue the elephants...spell binding martial arts...thai style...called "Muai Thai"...and the beauty of it is you dont realise that the movie does not have a story until 3 days after the adrenaline rush drains away
and this movie kindo puts in perspective y tarantino went ahead and made "Kill Bill"...
but at the end of the 2 hrs i was fresh ...with adrenaline pumping in my head .....was ready to go out and pick a fight with the first person that i met...was such a nice feeling...
I am thinking of patenting this therapy ...looking for a name and other supporting facts :-)
do lemme know if any of u had similar experiences