Winds of change

Change is the only constant they say
And therefore its time;
From one lovely garden city to another sunny city, I move
A traveler with Hope as my pillion rider and a song across my speedometer

O winds of change, what course would the road take!

Melancholy

The worries of yesterday seem laughable today
The love of yesterday seems foolishness today
The God I believed in seems non-existant today

The games He plays, calling it lessons
To Him am just a pawn, to be toyed with
But am a prodigal son, I love defying Him.

I'm a Wild Cat, how do you compare? Personality quiz - Youniverse.com - Be Understood

I'm a Wild Cat, how do you compare? Personality quiz - Youniverse.com - Be Understood

Love

The music of raindrops
The solace of Silence
And a reassuring hug of a friend
"Love" as I call it!!

Today am a Fountain Pen

Like lovers in arms; the flow almost surreal

Embracing the gentle caress of the hand

A Faithful lover through the memory lane

If you handle my worst, I give you my best

Unleashing the fire within

On Streams of papyrus

I am a window to the soul; I hold no pretense

Flowing as one; mind, body and ink

A symbol exquisite; Mont blanc, Cartier or Paul E Wirt

I am a fountain pen, handle with love and care.

(A feeble attempt by yours truly)

The monsoons, cuppa chai and I have a pleasant relationship. Nothing makes me happier than the sight of rain falling through my balcony. One such recent afternoon, I decided to restart writing my diary. Call me old school but it makes me happy scribbling away random thoughts or reading through my ol’ diaries. And to go with, my fountain pen had been a faithful companion all through my life. I guess in a way, the transition of a boy into an adult teen is culminated by the usage of a fine fountain pen.

As kids, our return from school indicated soiled shirts with colorful patterns of ink all over our white shirts and our thumb and forefinger bearing deep impressions of ink. As we grew, we moved from using pens of all shapes and sizes and one graduates from using pencils to ball point pens, gel pens, various cheap ink pens to finally laying hands on an exquisite fountain pen.

Born into a middle class family, we had to earn the right to own fountain pens. I had a strange fascination for collecting pens and carefully saved up on the weekly pocket money of Rs 5 which was given to buy various paraphernalia such as pen, pencil, white sheets of paper for various tests which formed a regular part of our growth plan. The start of my school post holidays would be the time when we could beg and negotiate with parents into buying us brand new pens.

As I said, one is still considered a boy until he sets his hands onto a fountain pen. Fingers have a strange connection to a fountain pen which perhaps a computer can never understand. My first fountain pen (a Parker with a gold plated nib) was a gift from my grandfather. Grandpa used to work at the post office and had a passion for writing. This meant he owned several different pens for different purposes. As I was entering high school, he gifted me this prized possession of his; one he used since his college days. It remained a prize possession until someone flicked it at school.

One of the craze I had was over a particular brand of fountain pen called “Hero” which came with a “Made in China” tag to it. Priced around Rs 25 and unlike most Chinese products, this was a very fine pen. Its nib was perfect and rarely blotted, even on the most porous of papers. It came in two colors, green and brown and most kids from my generation (1992-1998) would agree they owned one or still treasure one.

The thing about fountain pens is that it’s a very personal possession and requires dedication and care. Whatever little I know of these pens, the nib grows with you. The pressure and angle which your hand creates, defines how much ink ejects out thus creating a beautiful pattern on to the paper. I believe, it also enhances your calligraphic ability to an extent. No one would lend you one coz if they do, the pen’s nib would never be the same again. So a fountain pen lent equals a fountain pen lost J

None of us can have as many virtues as the fountain-pen, or half its cussedness; but we can try.
- Mark Twain

I grew up to the notion that the prettier the handwriting, better the impression you create onto the minds of the examiner resulting in higher marks. Obviously there is little truth in it. As I moved to the university, writing letters became a regular part of life. Hostel life makes you miss friends and loved ones and a handwritten letter has its special qualities to convey love. Unlike current age where one can delete or update their typed words, a handwritten word had to be carefully thought into as to what you want to convey before putting thoughts into ink. The last thing one wanted was a lot of strike-through. The whole process of communication had several charming aspects. First one needed to go to the nearest post office to procure supply of inland letter, stamps and postcards. Then came the act of writing itself which took considerable time as the process of putting one’s thoughts on to paper to convey its truest sense isn’t an easy one. The final bit encompassed waiting for the postman and the art of reading the reply itself. All the letters were treasured for posterity and the postman’s entry into our hostel was a much awaited event of the day and the person who received most number of letters was looked upon with a certain degree of envy.

Inland letters have a mystery around them, the smile it brings as you acknowledge the writer’s handwriting and the joy of reading through the letter. One simply can’t stop by reading it just once and every letter is usually read at least twice for sheer pure joy of it. Perhaps, a letter read again and again shows glimpses into the veiled emotions of its writer.

Though most of these letters lie in some corner of my home (hopefully), a few of them I still remember as if it happened yesterday.  They pop into your life and reveal a glimpse of your past as if it happened yesterday. Recently found an old un-posted letter which I had written to my 1^st crush and I couldn't stop smiling at the idiot in me.

Fountain pens evoke many emotions, perhaps coz they witnessed my past and were a part of some lovely memories. A hand written note communicates a deeper form of communication which a typed email can never match and as long as this is true, a fountain pen would continue being a cherished possession.

Cruise Mode, along random trails - Day 2

The alarm on the phone started buzzing at 6:30 AM. Sujith asked me to get up and went back to sleep. We had wanted to hit the roads by 7:30 but my friend was refusing to budge. Over the years, you learn a few tricks to wake your friends. Some need careful nudging, as they would wake up startled with a ghost-like expression, making you jump out of your skin. Others need water sprinkled on to their faces. But Sujith is special, nothing else can have the desired result but the call of tea/coffee.

I opened the door to see a plate of plantains and biscuits on the porch kept by Mr. James (our host). He served me with some hot coffee and we briefly chatted up on our lives. Came to know that he had returned from the US a year back to settle down in his hometown and do things he always wanted to do before age catches up with him. He had big plans to open up a few more guest houses, where people could feel at home and bring in 12 odd dirt bikes for the adventurous kinds.

During our conversation we learnt that there were 2 routes to Chikmagalur (our next destination). One, the route we had taken the night before (scenic but bad roads) and the other through some coffee estates (usual). We decided to take the former, on James’ advice. As we started riding upwards, came across a Y- junction where we had taken a wrong diversion. Kemmanagundi is very scenic with several flowers dotting the area but also very touristy. A couple of waterfalls Kallahatti and Hebbe are present in and around 10 km distance, but we decided to continue on our bike.

Kemmanagundi

The craters

The ride through the hills was narrow with bad roads but the beauty around made it “Heavenly” :-). It took us 3 hrs, just to cover 60 odd km coz the roads were tricky and we made several pit stops for shooting photographs.

Mullayanagiri (6330 feet) is the tallest peak in Karnataka. We ran into a few sharp showers over our ride but it wasn’t bad. We reached Chikamagalur (land of coffee) around noon and bought some special coffee. So next time, you come home…you know what’s in store :-).

Our next pit stop was at Belur, the early capital of Hoysala dynasty. The Chennakesava(meaning handsome Kesava) temple has mind blowing miniature art work made out of a particular type of stone called “soapstone”.

Our plan to taste the local flavor (Raagi mudde- millet balls) at Belur was a flop, as the mess (suggested by locals) had shut down. We finally had to settle for lunch at a random village (forced to stop coz of the rain), and I finally laid my hands on some local “Raagi mudde” but could hardly eat it as it practically tasted like bland dough. Apparently, it has to be swallowed and not chewed but the paste wasn’t going anywhere beyond my throat and finally had to be discarded. On the other hand, since my friend and food go a long way, he can eat anything and the truth only got reaffirmed.

We had 225 odd km to be covered to reach Bangalore from Belur and the inevitable happened. We ran out of petrol. The road from Hassan has very few petrol bunks and I couldn’t find one in a stretch of 60 odd km. After 15 min of reaching out for help, a fellow biker obliged to help. I went with him to the nearest petrol bunk and his bike decided to run out of petrol too. We reached the petrol bunk and as I was filling petrol in a small can, I could hear the biker negotiate for petrol. On enquiring, I learnt that all he had was 20 bucks with him and was giving away his mobile phone in exchange for petrol. I offered him a 100, after all I couldn’t have reached this place and he in turn offered to drop me back (a 10 km distance). Lucky again :-).

We finally reached Bangalore around 9ish in the evening carrying our battered bodies but a very fresh mind. I guess travel has that effect on you.

Signing off for now, until next time! 

Cruise Mode, along random trails - Day 1

A conversation with a friend, 

Me: dei, let's get out. Bike trip. Tomorrow. Where? 
Friend: Anywhere. Wherever the road goes. 

And this was the flavor of our 2 days bike ride spanning 760 kms across random locations.

I usually do some kind of search over the destination point but for some reason I consciously decided to let the roads decide where it would lead us. In a way, it practically summed up my mood. I wanted to get away from the city, the usual life around me and the clutter it brought.

Day 1:

Who are we – A faithful Honda bike, a dear friend and yours truly

We started our trip at 6:45 Am on Saturday. My friend Sujith had done a little search on the area we would be covering. The 1^st location he had zoomed on to was Shivgiri, a small temple up Baba Budangiri hills in the Kadur taluk of Chikmagalur . Shivgiri is about 230 km from Bangalore. We took the usual picturesque Nandi Infrastructure Corridor Enterprises (NICE) road towards Tumkur on NH4 and NH 206. We had breakfast at a random restaurant at Tumkur and proceeded on NH 206 towards Shivgiri. There is nothing spectacular about the temple but the muddy road leading to the top of the hill makes it a nice ride.

Initially, when I started doing these long distance trips, it was to prove to my dear friends that I can do so just as they do. By now, I guess I have no one but myself to prove a point. Travel acts as an antidote, one I need every now and then to clear just the toxins inside and free the mind.

What is it about bike rides? At the end of it, all you are gifted with, is a nice butt-ache, back-ache and cramps in every possible corner of your body. So, why? A few feelings come close to that of the wind whistling its tunes through the visor of the helmet - bliss!

I frankly do not know the real reason, does love need a reason? To me, the joy of travel and bumming around, can never be explained only experienced :-). Ok, am not too much into philosophy, but watching life go by along unknown territories on either side of the road, infuses a Socrates even into a joker like me. Perhaps I feel humbled by life’s simple lessons. You are reminded that you are just another cog in the big wheel; you learn to take both the good and the bad roads with a pinch of salt (bads roads for the obvious, while good roads for its speeding risks) and you learn to encounter the harsh sun, rain, shade and dust with the same breath as its all temporary. I was lost in my thoughts about something bothering me when my friend screeched the bike to halt! I looked down and saw a little kitten close the front wheel, bang in the middle of the road, wondering which direction it should move. The road perhaps makes you understand the meaning of being in the present; you are practically forced to be in the present (no choice, else u get to see the hospital). Be it the vigilant you or the beauty you soak yourself in on either side of the road; you have no time for the past as it’s over or the future as it hasn’t manifested. I would need to learn to do that more often. 

"On a cycle the frame is gone. You're completely in contact with it all. You're in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming." 
— Robert M. Pirsig


We reached Shivgiri by 1ish, bowed our heads to its deity and returned to Birur for lunch. After brief conversations with a few, we decided to go over to Bhadra National park – a distance of approx 35 km from Birur. The road to Bhadra is very scenic dotted by several small water bodies with lotuses in bloom all around. On reaching Bhadra, all our dreams to stay in a jungle lodge or visit the sanctuary evaporated, courtesy our uptight forest officials who sing only to the tunes of the Rupee. So we decided to give the tigers of Bhadra a skip; anyway they seem to be folklore nowadays. We checked out the Bhadra reservoir. My friend commented – Looks like this is an abandoned reservoir but on closer look Bhadra revealed its truer self (pic below). Makes me think - Are we too quick to pass our judgments?

Refilling our tanks, we came across a road sign which said, Kemmanagundi – 36 kms, Mullayanagiri – 70 odd km and Chikmagalur 90 odd km. As it was already 5ish, we decided to halt at Kemmanagundi for the night as my friend wanted to spend the night up the hills.

The road up Kemmanagundi in failing light was treacherous and it only kept getting worse as we rode higher up. My friend cautioned me not to look to my right as the road fell off into a deep valley. At some point, we learnt that we were lost :-D; no sign of civilization, shivering, and over roads that had been replaced by craters. So we had no choice but to head down(wrong diversion was the root cause we learnt the next day). Night halts at such locations in usually a nightmare without prior booking and it was no different this time. My friend went to enquire about acco at a home stay and came back gushing more details on the owner’s pretty daughter (Christian kutti + Coorg-y it seems is a bombshell combo :-)). . After some search, got a vacant place but was expensive for our budget. By then, we had met a couple of boys who wanted to help us. They introduced me to a Mr. James, a jolly old chap. I asked James for a place to crash to which he replied, “aah its 9:30 PM and at this hour I doubt you would get a place just to crash. Come, let’s see what I can do for you”. He took me to his 5 acre estate and showed me around. The place was beautiful and he could have easily charged us over 1000 bucks (as we learnt about the charge later on). I told him that money would be a constraint as we were low on cash and wouldn’t be able to afford much. He then replied, “You are my guest and guest is like my God, you can stay at my place for free, feel comfortable and I thank you for deciding to spend the night here”. We bid the 2 young guys adieu and they refused to take any sort of baksheesh and felt hurt in a way that I decided to exchange money for their love. Humbled by the events, all I could do was thank Him for blessing us.

We had a simple dinner of rice and dal with some rotis and sabji at a nameless shack and decided to shut down for the day. Just as we lay down our tired bones, it started raining, perhaps indicating that the Rain Gods had used the pause button just so that we reach safer territories. Rain on those dark, hair pin bends would have been :-)

....just for the record - the speedometer’s read 404 km (covered)

Second Innings...

As the title goes, am blogging after a long gap. A lot has transpired since my last post 2 yrs back. I guess I was too lazy to write or bored. Or perhaps life just got busier, got myself another degree, then the pressure of graduating into a recession and the impending job search. Finally when I landed with a job, it was new environment, friends and last but not the least...a death-eater of a boss and all that Blah!

What did i do in the last 2 years. Hmm..I got myself another degree. The trinkets a degree can offer is perhaps important, More money of coz, people tend to listen to you(sometimes :P) and assume you can do magic and u get fed well and made to feel important. So why not? Think of it as a brownie point in a CV or an added skillset. After all to sense bullshit or awe everyone thru bullshit....is something not many have.

On a different scale, am proud and feel privileged about the little things life has been generous enough to offer me.

The friends with whom I sat on my graduation day are my friends for life. They would open their homes to me with both arms in whichever corner they live in; from Bogota, Sao Paolo, Jerusalem, India or be it Tokyo. They are the one's I turn to in times of trouble. People who have been kind enough to accept me and my idiosyncrasies. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experiences of our time that would never come again. And of course, am proud to be an alumnus of 2 great schools that try to make the world a better place in its own way by enlightening you with concepts such as "time value of money" which imply that U were a fool to do an MBA, but thank u for filling our pockets. That the opportunity cost of doing an MBA is way too expensive than the returns you might dream of and that u were much better off pre-MBA :-). Of coz...we convince ourselves by saying we are here for the knowledge bit and such crap.

I am richer in many ways. Richer to experience 2 recessions in full flow. It tests you no doubt...these vicissitudes of life but only for the better. I am a survivor from two recessions and am ready to face the third :-D. The first one in 2002-2003 was the biggest challenge as I was a toddler gasping for breath, nervous and scared. The second one in 2009-2010, was a different kind of experience(more debts) but I knew it was just a matter of time before I swam across it. In both cases, hope and trust were always my companions I guess. I also learnt how to do a really expensive International degree without a penny in the pocket :-). After all, what are friends for ? To get your flight tickets sponsored, a really expensive MBA sponsored and post MBA jobless life sponsored, u must be a lucky son-of-a-bitch. Blessed, I am.

And now Where am I. Bang! Yes sir, I am in love. It is not the first time but its been a while too see this side of me. Its a special feeling that cant be expressed but has to be experienced. To be in that moment admiring her with her imperfections is possibly a trance-like effect. Perhaps it shows me a side which I don't see very often. I learnt to enjoy the journey and just be myself without bothering as to where it would lead to. I erred, loved, did little crazy things, felt the skipping of a beat and got hurt. All this in one simple swing of the Cupid's touch. I know not where this would lead to. Is the destination all that important when I have no control over it? It's a 2 player game and I believe all one can do is open the door, and allow the person to walk in and experience your good and bad. If the person judges u by your imperfections then I guess the person hasn't known you at all. But if the person likes u in spite of u...u r a lucky son of a gun. Still if someone asks me if I were to do it all over, would I? I would say, Yes! without a blink of an eye!

I am back to living in India and I feel at ease knowing that I am here to stay where the heart is for a while. I made this conscious decision a while back and it took some time and effort to take shape and fall in place. It feels good to know that I can meet my lovely friends and family whenever I want to and share the little things in life.

I guess, there are times in your life when it does not matter how many people you are with, but who you are with. The number of people who you meet as you walk the course of life increases yet your inner circle of friends shrinks. You begin to understand more of you as a person and what you stand for. And somewhere along the journey U also become a better person....at least that's the hope. So here is a big "Salut" to a 2nd innings at life with hope and dreams of a lovely tomorrow...