Lying on stained, wretched sheets with a bleeding virgin
We could plan a murder
Or start a religion.
- Jim Morrison
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
In memory of Farhad
How do you explain the death of a 20-year old boy, who died of a heart attack while he was out for his morning jog? How do you console your younger sister when she's just lost the boy she was falling in love with?
I couldn't have dealt with it. It's hopelessly tragic.
There isn't much you can say.
I couldn't have dealt with it. It's hopelessly tragic.
There isn't much you can say.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Potty about Potter
Very silly title again. It's very easy to create them.
Anyhow, I love Harry Potter. It's been a while, though, since I've been consumed by Potter fever, but I feel it coming. It's very near.
I never tire of going back to how it all began. I remember coming across a list in Bombay Times. Some list to the effect of Must-Read Books of the Week or something. 4 out of 5 in that list were the Harry Potter Books. And this was not a children's book list. I was very intrigued. Hadn't heard about the series until 4 books were out.
I was in class ten. At our next 'open house day' (when you get exam results), school hosted a book sale. Now, generally the practice at home was if you do well in your exams, mum would buy you a book or two. I don't think I'd done too well in my exams. I still got mum to buy me a book. And as I could only persuade her to buy one, I picked the fattest Harry Potter book. HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE.
So that's how it all begun. And here's what's so amazing about Potter.
The entire series is very engaging and easy to get hooked to. The plots are complex, interwoven, thrilling and brilliantly thought out. The characters are so real that I'm in love with at least 5. Her imagination (even if she's borrowed and tweaked a lot from other stories) is excellent and fascinating. I've tried my hand at fairy tale writing and I can't confess how difficult it is to come up with any kind of 'fantasy-world' that is plausible and amusing and as exciting as Hogwarts and the magical world of Potter is. Well, I could go on forever.
But more than anything, I owe a lot to those books. This part is very corny, but yea, when I was going through some rough phases, and I'd often burst into tears, I'd find solace in my Potter Books. It's true. I could, and still can, open any of the books, to any page, and get hooked instantly and certainly get a chance to laugh in the first 4 minutes of reading.
There was also this time, when I took upon myself this difficult task of converting people to read and love the Potter books. It was easy in some cases, when people were keen to read, I'd just lend them my books or urge them to borrow them from somewhere. I've also gifted the set to a couple of precious friends.
But this task often turned ugly when I came across people who had great disdain and resentment for the Potter books. There was a time when I'd like to have punch them. But soon, I realized it was no point. People either loved the books or hated the idea of them. What was unfortunate, was that these guys hadn't given Potter a chance. I've been exasperated and so frustrated in numerous arguments about how they should at least read a few pages. But then I figured it was pointless. So, I decided I'd have nothing to do these snobs.
It got so bad for a while, that when I was in a situation where I'd have to make new friends, inevitably, when we ran out of small talk, I'd ask the person I'd be talking to if he/she read the Potter books. And it influenced my making friends with that person or not decision.
But, some close relationships were formed because of Potter.
Pooja Shah - I was sitting next to her one day in the first week of Math class in my pre-12th standard preparation classes. The class was full of aliens. So far I hadn't met one person I could exchange words with. She, however, had an expression that revealed to me that she felt the same way about being where we were. A frustration that bordered on disbelief. It really was that bad. So, after a few minutes of what's your name-s, I asked her if she read. She did. And she was just reading a Potter book. I fell in love, and from then on, we were two humans in that sea of aliens. But we didn't notice them ever again.
Shammi - My ex-boyfriend. One of the ghosts in my life now. But, yea, our first conversation was about Potter too. Again, I was sitting next to him in college, first week at Xavier's and he held in his hand, a magnificent hard-bound copy of Book 5. I'd read it already, and immediately gushed off into 'you wont believe what happens to Sirius in the end!' And he read the expression on my face and guessed correctly 'what happens to Sirius in the end!' I was horrified, I hadn't meant to re
veal it. And I simply had to apologize profusely.
But, besides all that, the Potter Books are precious to me. They'll always be special. Now, I can imagine the pressure that J. K Rowling must have gone through when she wrote book 5 and 6 after the immense success of the series. Imagine - the whole world is commenting, guessing, requesting, begging, discussing, ordering, predicting the content of something you're trying to write. And you have to write it well enough to shut up the critics in the first place. Crazy. Commendable.
I'm dying to read the last book. Of course, am sad that it is the last book and apprehensive about what the end is going to be like, but yea, it's about time.
Anyhow, I love Harry Potter. It's been a while, though, since I've been consumed by Potter fever, but I feel it coming. It's very near.
I never tire of going back to how it all began. I remember coming across a list in Bombay Times. Some list to the effect of Must-Read Books of the Week or something. 4 out of 5 in that list were the Harry Potter Books. And this was not a children's book list. I was very intrigued. Hadn't heard about the series until 4 books were out.
I was in class ten. At our next 'open house day' (when you get exam results), school hosted a book sale. Now, generally the practice at home was if you do well in your exams, mum would buy you a book or two. I don't think I'd done too well in my exams. I still got mum to buy me a book. And as I could only persuade her to buy one, I picked the fattest Harry Potter book. HARRY POTTER AND THE GOBLET OF FIRE.
So that's how it all begun. And here's what's so amazing about Potter.
The entire series is very engaging and easy to get hooked to. The plots are complex, interwoven, thrilling and brilliantly thought out. The characters are so real that I'm in love with at least 5. Her imagination (even if she's borrowed and tweaked a lot from other stories) is excellent and fascinating. I've tried my hand at fairy tale writing and I can't confess how difficult it is to come up with any kind of 'fantasy-world' that is plausible and amusing and as exciting as Hogwarts and the magical world of Potter is. Well, I could go on forever.
But more than anything, I owe a lot to those books. This part is very corny, but yea, when I was going through some rough phases, and I'd often burst into tears, I'd find solace in my Potter Books. It's true. I could, and still can, open any of the books, to any page, and get hooked instantly and certainly get a chance to laugh in the first 4 minutes of reading.
There was also this time, when I took upon myself this difficult task of converting people to read and love the Potter books. It was easy in some cases, when people were keen to read, I'd just lend them my books or urge them to borrow them from somewhere. I've also gifted the set to a couple of precious friends.
But this task often turned ugly when I came across people who had great disdain and resentment for the Potter books. There was a time when I'd like to have punch them. But soon, I realized it was no point. People either loved the books or hated the idea of them. What was unfortunate, was that these guys hadn't given Potter a chance. I've been exasperated and so frustrated in numerous arguments about how they should at least read a few pages. But then I figured it was pointless. So, I decided I'd have nothing to do these snobs.
It got so bad for a while, that when I was in a situation where I'd have to make new friends, inevitably, when we ran out of small talk, I'd ask the person I'd be talking to if he/she read the Potter books. And it influenced my making friends with that person or not decision.
But, some close relationships were formed because of Potter.
Pooja Shah - I was sitting next to her one day in the first week of Math class in my pre-12th standard preparation classes. The class was full of aliens. So far I hadn't met one person I could exchange words with. She, however, had an expression that revealed to me that she felt the same way about being where we were. A frustration that bordered on disbelief. It really was that bad. So, after a few minutes of what's your name-s, I asked her if she read. She did. And she was just reading a Potter book. I fell in love, and from then on, we were two humans in that sea of aliens. But we didn't notice them ever again.
Shammi - My ex-boyfriend. One of the ghosts in my life now. But, yea, our first conversation was about Potter too. Again, I was sitting next to him in college, first week at Xavier's and he held in his hand, a magnificent hard-bound copy of Book 5. I'd read it already, and immediately gushed off into 'you wont believe what happens to Sirius in the end!' And he read the expression on my face and guessed correctly 'what happens to Sirius in the end!' I was horrified, I hadn't meant to re
veal it. And I simply had to apologize profusely.But, besides all that, the Potter Books are precious to me. They'll always be special. Now, I can imagine the pressure that J. K Rowling must have gone through when she wrote book 5 and 6 after the immense success of the series. Imagine - the whole world is commenting, guessing, requesting, begging, discussing, ordering, predicting the content of something you're trying to write. And you have to write it well enough to shut up the critics in the first place. Crazy. Commendable.
I'm dying to read the last book. Of course, am sad that it is the last book and apprehensive about what the end is going to be like, but yea, it's about time.
Ghosts
Things you thought you'd buried, get unearthed so easily.
Defences you'd built, let you down.
Wounds you thought were healed, make you cry again.
Just for a moment. When the ghost visits.
Defences you'd built, let you down.
Wounds you thought were healed, make you cry again.
Just for a moment. When the ghost visits.
Daddy's Girl
That's me. I'm my daddy's girl.
He's the best in the world. I look like him, I think. He looks like Yanni, I think.
Of course, I've not been the best daddy's girl. In fact, at times, over time, I've annoyed him so much, that he'd close his eyes and breathe deeply to calm his head every time I was around. We've rather different ideas.
He's been supportive, maybe not encouraging, but that's because of my alarming ideas and ambitions. But, when I look back from where I'm now, it's been a worthwhile journey. I've broken his rules and begged him to accept mine. And now we respect each other's.
He lent me a lot of money, recently, to buy my fancy new camera. I have to pay him back, and I will, 'if it's the last thing I do.' He's glad am working for Google. He wants me to do an MBA. I want to be broke and make pictures. We'll find a truce in time.
Now, I miss him. I know he misses his girls too. I see his face brighten up whenever we visit home. He laughs at my jokes in accepted amusement, at least he's not alarmed anymore. He's taught me a lot, but I also think he's changed and grown as he brought us up.
I just hope I never let him down.
He's the best in the world. I look like him, I think. He looks like Yanni, I think.
Of course, I've not been the best daddy's girl. In fact, at times, over time, I've annoyed him so much, that he'd close his eyes and breathe deeply to calm his head every time I was around. We've rather different ideas.
He's been supportive, maybe not encouraging, but that's because of my alarming ideas and ambitions. But, when I look back from where I'm now, it's been a worthwhile journey. I've broken his rules and begged him to accept mine. And now we respect each other's.
He lent me a lot of money, recently, to buy my fancy new camera. I have to pay him back, and I will, 'if it's the last thing I do.' He's glad am working for Google. He wants me to do an MBA. I want to be broke and make pictures. We'll find a truce in time.
Now, I miss him. I know he misses his girls too. I see his face brighten up whenever we visit home. He laughs at my jokes in accepted amusement, at least he's not alarmed anymore. He's taught me a lot, but I also think he's changed and grown as he brought us up.
I just hope I never let him down.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
a-MUSE
Watching a bunch of boys roar over a violent game of Foosball is a very easy way to rid yourself of stress.
Goa
The past 24 hours, as I traveled some 700 km in an uncomfortable semi-sleeper bus, I've been dying to get to my blog. Some 6 different posts were born and discarded in my head. This one is just to announce:
1. I'm just back from a holiday to Goa.
2. I notice that the sunlight in Goa is different from anywhere else. And every place in the world has a different light.
3. I love my glorious golden tan and I feel like a medieval european princess.
Goa pics here.
1. I'm just back from a holiday to Goa.
2. I notice that the sunlight in Goa is different from anywhere else. And every place in the world has a different light.
3. I love my glorious golden tan and I feel like a medieval european princess.
Goa pics here.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Friday, February 09, 2007
Of Boards and Arrows
Kala Ghoda Festival. Bombay, 2005. Spotted a chap selling very interesting-looking bows and arrows. Always wanted to be Robin Hood and so went up to the chap and bought the stuff. He said 'authentic adivasi weapon' in adivasi gibberish. I understood at once. Had to have this. Rs.100 for the bow and Rs 20 for an arrow.
Very pleased with self. The Bow seemed strong and long, and the arrow firm, but not with a pointed tip. Blunt, hard tip. Not bad. Went to college next day with bow and arrow. Classmates very amused. As yet, hadn't had a chance to try and use the B&A.
Nasty boys wanted to try first. Made huge noise in the foyer and tried the bow and arrow in The Woods. All very impressed. Quite powerful shots. Went to class. Boys still playing with bow. Interesting scene:
Boy 1: I bet I can catch the arrow in mid-air. I'm very quick.
Boy 2: Bet you can't.
Boy 1 challenges Boy 2. Experiment progresses. Boy 1 stands at a distance from Boy 2 and Boy 2 gets ready to aim the arrow close to Boy 1. Everyone watches.
Boy 2 shoots.
Arrow whizzes sweetly past Boy 1 and lodges itself firmly in the blackboard. Everyone laughs.
End of experiment.
(Boy 2 and Boy 1 with Hole In The Blackboard)
Day 3. College Principal calls me to his office. Two teachers gravely look on. I wonder how they know. Principal asks me if I own a bow and arrow. I admit the proprietorship. I am asked to purchase a new black board. I'm horrified, aghast.
I protest: But, but the black board can still be used! There's only such a small hole. You can write all around it!
Teachers smile. And does Principal. Just don't bring it to class again, they say.
Certainly! I say.
Went to college this January. Went to class. Little hole is still there of course. Stuffed with chalk. Happy, happy memories.
Very pleased with self. The Bow seemed strong and long, and the arrow firm, but not with a pointed tip. Blunt, hard tip. Not bad. Went to college next day with bow and arrow. Classmates very amused. As yet, hadn't had a chance to try and use the B&A.
Nasty boys wanted to try first. Made huge noise in the foyer and tried the bow and arrow in The Woods. All very impressed. Quite powerful shots. Went to class. Boys still playing with bow. Interesting scene:
Boy 1: I bet I can catch the arrow in mid-air. I'm very quick.
Boy 2: Bet you can't.
Boy 1 challenges Boy 2. Experiment progresses. Boy 1 stands at a distance from Boy 2 and Boy 2 gets ready to aim the arrow close to Boy 1. Everyone watches.
Boy 2 shoots.
Arrow whizzes sweetly past Boy 1 and lodges itself firmly in the blackboard. Everyone laughs.
End of experiment.
(Boy 2 and Boy 1 with Hole In The Blackboard)
Day 3. College Principal calls me to his office. Two teachers gravely look on. I wonder how they know. Principal asks me if I own a bow and arrow. I admit the proprietorship. I am asked to purchase a new black board. I'm horrified, aghast.
I protest: But, but the black board can still be used! There's only such a small hole. You can write all around it!
Teachers smile. And does Principal. Just don't bring it to class again, they say.
Certainly! I say.
Went to college this January. Went to class. Little hole is still there of course. Stuffed with chalk. Happy, happy memories.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
The Jungle Book Story
My all-time favouritest film, and one that's my earliest memory of watching anything on TV is Walt Disney's Jungle Book. Man, I grew up watching it. My cousin brother and I'd watch it every single day, I think even before we began school. When my sister was born and we moved to Andheri, we took the precious video tape with us. And then I'd watch it after school, with my baby sister.
We knew the songs by heart. I'd laugh every time I saw it. And of course, cry at the sad parts. Then, as time passed and school took up more time and going downstairs to play with the boys gradually became more important, that old video tape stayed gathering dust (and fungus on the film.) We had to eventually throw it away when the VCR was replaced with a VCD player.
Many years later, around 3 years ago, I had a severe heartache in memory of the film. The songs would play in my head and mom would keep narrating bits from the film to remind us of the days when we'd spend every holiday watching it. I decided I had to see it again soon.
It took a while to find, but when I eventually got my hands on a pirated DVD near Fort, I was super-thrilled. The family gathered together that evening and saw the film once again, after years. I was amazed by how much I remembered. And by how fantastic, engaging and brilliant the script, the characters, and dialogues were. Are.
I saw it again, the next day, with subtitles on. And the tiny little subtle jokes that were otherwise missed were discovered for the first time and once again I enjoyed every second of the film.
For anyone who hasn't seen it, you must. It's 40 years old (1967), but I promise anyone of any age will love the film.
Recently, I saw the making of the film on Discovery Channel. It was funny how the film grew, out of a book, into rough sketches, and then slowly the characters took on characteristics of the Voices of the characters. Baloo the bear, for example, looks like Phil Harris, who 'lent' his voice for Baloo.
Kaa, Baloo, Bagheera, Mowgli, Sher Khan, King Louis, the elephants, the vultures - each of the characters are hilarious and so well developed. Well, I could go on and on about the film and I was reminded about it right now cos I just heard a couple of songs off the soundtrack. Ah, did I mention the excellent soundtrack?
We knew the songs by heart. I'd laugh every time I saw it. And of course, cry at the sad parts. Then, as time passed and school took up more time and going downstairs to play with the boys gradually became more important, that old video tape stayed gathering dust (and fungus on the film.) We had to eventually throw it away when the VCR was replaced with a VCD player.
Many years later, around 3 years ago, I had a severe heartache in memory of the film. The songs would play in my head and mom would keep narrating bits from the film to remind us of the days when we'd spend every holiday watching it. I decided I had to see it again soon.
It took a while to find, but when I eventually got my hands on a pirated DVD near Fort, I was super-thrilled. The family gathered together that evening and saw the film once again, after years. I was amazed by how much I remembered. And by how fantastic, engaging and brilliant the script, the characters, and dialogues were. Are.
I saw it again, the next day, with subtitles on. And the tiny little subtle jokes that were otherwise missed were discovered for the first time and once again I enjoyed every second of the film.
For anyone who hasn't seen it, you must. It's 40 years old (1967), but I promise anyone of any age will love the film.
Recently, I saw the making of the film on Discovery Channel. It was funny how the film grew, out of a book, into rough sketches, and then slowly the characters took on characteristics of the Voices of the characters. Baloo the bear, for example, looks like Phil Harris, who 'lent' his voice for Baloo.
Kaa, Baloo, Bagheera, Mowgli, Sher Khan, King Louis, the elephants, the vultures - each of the characters are hilarious and so well developed. Well, I could go on and on about the film and I was reminded about it right now cos I just heard a couple of songs off the soundtrack. Ah, did I mention the excellent soundtrack?
Untitled
How can it be that I have nothing to say? But I don't.
Should get to bed on time.
Thursday. 8th February 2007.
Should get to bed on time.
Thursday. 8th February 2007.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Missing Trains and Mad Cows
I like silly titles. The missing train part is real. I personally thought that all the cows in Hampi were mad, but unfortunately, I have no evidence. Not even a single photo of the dratted things.
Anyhow, coming back to the Missing Trains half, it was hilarious. Rather, it is, in hindsight. To start at the starting, Mr Nanga Swamy was in charge of 'tout l'affairs.' He booked our tickets to and fro, booked rooms, a cab to take us around and the works. We were impressed and let things rest in his skilled reigns. So, the afternoon of departure arrived. We got our luggage and office cabs were ready to take us to the railway station, like an orchestra at Swamy's fingertips. We stuffed our bags with a whole load of chips, fruits juices, chocolates and soft-drinks (courtesy Google) and made our way downstairs, with Mr Nanga Swamy shepherding us. Very impressive.
All excited. I was new to this bubbly group and i kept mum, listening to very noisy girly giggling and I wondered to myself about my fate. Next, we alighted at the station, bid farewell to our cab and waddled our way into the station, waiting for the last cab. Hmmm. I think, some detailing is required here.
Damn, introducing the group is difficult, but I'll try. So, there's Mr. Nanga Swamy. The photo will explain him. Then, there's three bad boys - Varun, Swarnesh and Jeetu. They live together and have private jokes - very rude. Then, there is Nandita and Maria, who're best friends and Priya and Mariam, who're very crazy and funny. They were the giggling girls I was stuck with, and I was still making up my mind about if i could handle them or not. And finally, Mrinalika. The hottie. Very fun girl.
So, Swarnesh, Maria and Nandita's cab wasn't there yet. The rest of us decided to go onto the station and check how much longer for our train. According to Mr. Swamy's careful calculations, we had around 15 minutes before the train came. Sufficient, I thought, to get us to the required platform and find our boogies, etc. What we didn't expect, of course, when we asked the Ticket Collector, was that we were at the wrong station completely.
Yes, inaccurate, incorrect station.
The train didn't see this part of the railway tracks in her happy meanderings at all. We were all stunned beyond words. I felt a great urgency of rushing and running anywhere... to set things right. I looked at Swamy's face and my heart broke. He was shattered, helpless and looked like he would cry. And all of a sudden, he sprang, like a bull set loose in a bullfight, and ran out of the station... We followed our sprightly guide. He ran straight towards our disappearing cabs and with impressing sprinting, along with lap-top and luggage, caught them and got them to stop for us. We jumped in, into 2 cabs, the others would be notified over phone to come to the correct station. This correct station was around 20 minutes away. The train 15 minutes away. The traffic - horrible. I cursed at every signal. Ashen faces around me, and I laughed in my head, 'Oh, we possibly can't miss the train. These things don't really happen.'
We got to the correct station, ran like possessed characters in a film. And pitiful faces told us the train had just left. 2 minutes back. These things don't happen and hadn't sunk in yet. Blood still rushing in our heads, we turned around and bumped into these rickshaw-walas. They said, "Missed the train? Have no fear. Super-rickshaws are here." These guys were super smart. They promised us that they would take us to the next station before the train got there. I was game. What did we have to lose?!
They said, 'If we don't get you there before the train, don't pay us.' Even better. We jumped in. The last cab (Maria, Swarnesh and Nandita) were still on the way. We just called them and told them to make their way to "Lingampally" - the station far, far away, I think some 30 km from Hyd.
Once we were in the rics, there was nothing we could do but hope. This time, i was in the ric with Jeetu and Varun. And soon we were laughing and feeling excited. I was amazed by the rickshaw guys. They took control of our lives, our holiday and our fate. With insane swerves and superspeeds, they promised we would get there. Tiny lanes he knew, to beat the traffic and soon we were on the highway on our way to the outskirts of the city. He said that this was their daily business. They stood by the station, waiting for people to missed the train, and took them to Lingampally. I was awed, and hopeful.
The ride was awesome. The weather got chilly as we got out of the city and this guy was driving like it was a video game. It was thrilling.
As we raced against time, I grew more and more impressed by this guy's ability to keep us alive. I wondered how much we would have to pay him for this emergency ride. We'll give him a hundred rupees, I decided. The road went on and on. Hmmm, I thought. A hundred rupees each, I figured. A nice wholesome sum. Didn't say it aloud. When we got to the station, we first ran out, and checked if the train had left. 10 minutes for it to arrive! We were gonna make it!
The rickshaw guy had followed us to the platform. So, we asked him how much we owed him. Rs.1000 he said. I nearly fainted. And felt mighty indignant. We tried to bargain. He didn't budge. We were swindled to the amount of Rs.500. That's what we paid for that wild ride across the city. What a story.
The next rickshaw arrived. This was the girls - Priya, Mariam, Mrin - and Swamy. They paid their guy Rs.1000. We didn't talk about it. It caused acute heart-burn. The rickshaw guys vanished in seconds. We were here now.. before the train! Oh, except, the other three in the cab.
It had dawned on me, that Maria, Nandita and Swarnesh should have left the cab and got into another of these rics. Becuase these rickshaw guys did this shit everyday. Only they could beat the train. Not our poor cab driver.
In horror, we heard that the cab was lost. They helplessly described what they saw around then and we hopefully tried to imagine that they were 'nearly here'. Aaarhgh, this couldn't happen man. Swamy was nearly in tears again. He was in conversation with the railway master. Begging him to hold the train for a few minutes and give directions to our friends. We were all near panic and foot-stamping. The train arrived. We stood near the door. We stepped in and looked out of the door. I was convinced this would be so filmy. That we'd see them come running on to the platform and they will run and catch a slowly moving train.
Swamy was still talking to the railway master. I was looking at the signal. It stayed red. For longer, i suspect, than usual. In spite of all his protests about losing his job, the railway master kept the train waiting for as long as he could manage. Finally the train driver blew the bellowy horn. And the signal went green. We stepped off the train. No one came. The train left.
What a tragic story and what a very long post. I'm sorry.
Anyhow, so those guys came a few minutes later. By then, we were all miserable. But when we saw Swamy, we couldn't help but want to cheer him up. We hugged him and kissed him (that worked) and made him pose with us for photos. That worked too. He then asked us to gather around him and in solemn words apologized for his mistake. His speech was so funny that we were all laughing and felt much better. So, bright ideas began again. There has got to be another train! We could take the next train, I voted.
That was voted out because the boys decided that it would be too unsafe for so many girls to travel in an unreserved boogie. I didn't agree, but the others didn't seem keen about it. So we left it at that.
Well, we decided we'd still have a nice weekend. Watch a movie. I was certainly getting smashed. Probably go for a drive somewhere the next day.
Until, darling Nanga made some phone calls. And hey, presto. We had bus tickets to Hampi. And a bus to catch in 30 mins! We caught it. And the trip was one of the best that I can recollect.
Full marks to Mr. Nanga Swamy.
Hampi Photos! here.
Oh, these were taken with Swamy's camera by me. And there's a story. I took approximately 200 photos (and good ones, i was sure) and then i bumped the camera a bit. Accidentally. Then, the photos vanished. All gone.
I couldn't believe it. They had to be on the memory card. But we couldn't find them. All that was there on the camera were some (strange) photos of Swamy's home. Which he clearly remembered deleting 2 days ago. Pathetic, I felt.
Until, a month ago, when he managed to recover them. Accidentally. Potty camera, I say.
Anyhow, coming back to the Missing Trains half, it was hilarious. Rather, it is, in hindsight. To start at the starting, Mr Nanga Swamy was in charge of 'tout l'affairs.' He booked our tickets to and fro, booked rooms, a cab to take us around and the works. We were impressed and let things rest in his skilled reigns. So, the afternoon of departure arrived. We got our luggage and office cabs were ready to take us to the railway station, like an orchestra at Swamy's fingertips. We stuffed our bags with a whole load of chips, fruits juices, chocolates and soft-drinks (courtesy Google) and made our way downstairs, with Mr Nanga Swamy shepherding us. Very impressive.
All excited. I was new to this bubbly group and i kept mum, listening to very noisy girly giggling and I wondered to myself about my fate. Next, we alighted at the station, bid farewell to our cab and waddled our way into the station, waiting for the last cab. Hmmm. I think, some detailing is required here.
Damn, introducing the group is difficult, but I'll try. So, there's Mr. Nanga Swamy. The photo will explain him. Then, there's three bad boys - Varun, Swarnesh and Jeetu. They live together and have private jokes - very rude. Then, there is Nandita and Maria, who're best friends and Priya and Mariam, who're very crazy and funny. They were the giggling girls I was stuck with, and I was still making up my mind about if i could handle them or not. And finally, Mrinalika. The hottie. Very fun girl.
So, Swarnesh, Maria and Nandita's cab wasn't there yet. The rest of us decided to go onto the station and check how much longer for our train. According to Mr. Swamy's careful calculations, we had around 15 minutes before the train came. Sufficient, I thought, to get us to the required platform and find our boogies, etc. What we didn't expect, of course, when we asked the Ticket Collector, was that we were at the wrong station completely.
Yes, inaccurate, incorrect station.
The train didn't see this part of the railway tracks in her happy meanderings at all. We were all stunned beyond words. I felt a great urgency of rushing and running anywhere... to set things right. I looked at Swamy's face and my heart broke. He was shattered, helpless and looked like he would cry. And all of a sudden, he sprang, like a bull set loose in a bullfight, and ran out of the station... We followed our sprightly guide. He ran straight towards our disappearing cabs and with impressing sprinting, along with lap-top and luggage, caught them and got them to stop for us. We jumped in, into 2 cabs, the others would be notified over phone to come to the correct station. This correct station was around 20 minutes away. The train 15 minutes away. The traffic - horrible. I cursed at every signal. Ashen faces around me, and I laughed in my head, 'Oh, we possibly can't miss the train. These things don't really happen.'
We got to the correct station, ran like possessed characters in a film. And pitiful faces told us the train had just left. 2 minutes back. These things don't happen and hadn't sunk in yet. Blood still rushing in our heads, we turned around and bumped into these rickshaw-walas. They said, "Missed the train? Have no fear. Super-rickshaws are here." These guys were super smart. They promised us that they would take us to the next station before the train got there. I was game. What did we have to lose?!
They said, 'If we don't get you there before the train, don't pay us.' Even better. We jumped in. The last cab (Maria, Swarnesh and Nandita) were still on the way. We just called them and told them to make their way to "Lingampally" - the station far, far away, I think some 30 km from Hyd.
Once we were in the rics, there was nothing we could do but hope. This time, i was in the ric with Jeetu and Varun. And soon we were laughing and feeling excited. I was amazed by the rickshaw guys. They took control of our lives, our holiday and our fate. With insane swerves and superspeeds, they promised we would get there. Tiny lanes he knew, to beat the traffic and soon we were on the highway on our way to the outskirts of the city. He said that this was their daily business. They stood by the station, waiting for people to missed the train, and took them to Lingampally. I was awed, and hopeful.
The ride was awesome. The weather got chilly as we got out of the city and this guy was driving like it was a video game. It was thrilling.
As we raced against time, I grew more and more impressed by this guy's ability to keep us alive. I wondered how much we would have to pay him for this emergency ride. We'll give him a hundred rupees, I decided. The road went on and on. Hmmm, I thought. A hundred rupees each, I figured. A nice wholesome sum. Didn't say it aloud. When we got to the station, we first ran out, and checked if the train had left. 10 minutes for it to arrive! We were gonna make it!
The rickshaw guy had followed us to the platform. So, we asked him how much we owed him. Rs.1000 he said. I nearly fainted. And felt mighty indignant. We tried to bargain. He didn't budge. We were swindled to the amount of Rs.500. That's what we paid for that wild ride across the city. What a story.
The next rickshaw arrived. This was the girls - Priya, Mariam, Mrin - and Swamy. They paid their guy Rs.1000. We didn't talk about it. It caused acute heart-burn. The rickshaw guys vanished in seconds. We were here now.. before the train! Oh, except, the other three in the cab.
It had dawned on me, that Maria, Nandita and Swarnesh should have left the cab and got into another of these rics. Becuase these rickshaw guys did this shit everyday. Only they could beat the train. Not our poor cab driver.
In horror, we heard that the cab was lost. They helplessly described what they saw around then and we hopefully tried to imagine that they were 'nearly here'. Aaarhgh, this couldn't happen man. Swamy was nearly in tears again. He was in conversation with the railway master. Begging him to hold the train for a few minutes and give directions to our friends. We were all near panic and foot-stamping. The train arrived. We stood near the door. We stepped in and looked out of the door. I was convinced this would be so filmy. That we'd see them come running on to the platform and they will run and catch a slowly moving train.
Swamy was still talking to the railway master. I was looking at the signal. It stayed red. For longer, i suspect, than usual. In spite of all his protests about losing his job, the railway master kept the train waiting for as long as he could manage. Finally the train driver blew the bellowy horn. And the signal went green. We stepped off the train. No one came. The train left.
What a tragic story and what a very long post. I'm sorry.
Anyhow, so those guys came a few minutes later. By then, we were all miserable. But when we saw Swamy, we couldn't help but want to cheer him up. We hugged him and kissed him (that worked) and made him pose with us for photos. That worked too. He then asked us to gather around him and in solemn words apologized for his mistake. His speech was so funny that we were all laughing and felt much better. So, bright ideas began again. There has got to be another train! We could take the next train, I voted.
That was voted out because the boys decided that it would be too unsafe for so many girls to travel in an unreserved boogie. I didn't agree, but the others didn't seem keen about it. So we left it at that.
Well, we decided we'd still have a nice weekend. Watch a movie. I was certainly getting smashed. Probably go for a drive somewhere the next day.
Until, darling Nanga made some phone calls. And hey, presto. We had bus tickets to Hampi. And a bus to catch in 30 mins! We caught it. And the trip was one of the best that I can recollect.
Full marks to Mr. Nanga Swamy.
Hampi Photos! here.
Oh, these were taken with Swamy's camera by me. And there's a story. I took approximately 200 photos (and good ones, i was sure) and then i bumped the camera a bit. Accidentally. Then, the photos vanished. All gone.
I couldn't believe it. They had to be on the memory card. But we couldn't find them. All that was there on the camera were some (strange) photos of Swamy's home. Which he clearly remembered deleting 2 days ago. Pathetic, I felt.
Until, a month ago, when he managed to recover them. Accidentally. Potty camera, I say.
What am doing, where I've been and why my life sucks.
Geez, I am so ashamed. This was supposed to be my disciplinary exercise. Pathetic behaviour.
Well, to catch up, I've been upto loads of things. Travelling. Being alone. Buying a super-expensive camera and already dreaming about what I need next. And being lazy.
About the travel and photography, will put up pics. I've been going down to Mumbai very regularly. Am used to sleeping on an upright bus seat and skipping dinner. And waking up to see the sun rising and then counting kilometers to home. (Both ways - Hyd and Bombay). It's nice to think of Hyderabad as home. It is, of course. My first own home. And, I have been living alone. Ever since one roommate left for home on account of an illness and the other left for her boyfriend's home on account of love, I've been living alone. And, I've liked it.
Of course, it's been lonely and has often resulted in me missing dinners (and weekend meals too) but i've liked having my space and mostly, I've learned a lot about how to manage a home. I could do everything by myself now. Nothing to it, I say. I've imagined it to be a 'training' phase. Like for something in the future, and I'll be grateful for the experience.
Anyhow, that's all nonsense. So, the travelling.
Not too much, but Pondicheri, Hampi and a little fort called Bhongir. Pondicheri is fantastic. Especially the drive to there from Madras - The East Coast Road. Have to go there again. Hampi is awesome... Fantastic place to visit, shop, eat and take photos at. Nice weather, incredible landscape and very exotic clothes to shop for. The trip was super successful, and very exciting because we missed the train and chased it for 30 km. And missed it again. It was so much fun, it deserves an entire new post and the consequent musings.
That leaves Bhongir. Sweet little fort not far from here. We took a secret route (said the cab driver, coz we had no idea) to avoid the RTO cops who would have objected to the number of us cramped up and crumpled in the car. We sang songs and tried to drown out the noisy protests of the driver. So Bhongir was a nice climb to the top. Caught the sunset and lazed at the top. Imagined what it must have been like some 300 years ago and if any crocodiles had lived in the moat. I took loads of photos and pretended to be a professional travel journalist. Didn't pull it off too well. Photos here.
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