The worst part of a really hard week is the weekend. No, I’m not kidding you! It’s really like that! All the work that you have to do for yourself somehow finds a way to just pile itself out, and leave you with no choice but to deal with them on the two days that you hope to catch up with some shut eye. God alone knows how this happens! Well I think that’s exactly what every chronic procrastinator’s going to give you.
Anyways, this weekend was one of the worst I’ve had in the recent past. It was Diwali. So there was loads to do at home. And then there was the freelance that you never find time for during the week. So, deadline on head, I work from 10 am Diwali morning to 8 am the next day, finish it, deliver it by 12, and get down to edit a film at the studio. (Which, by the way, found exactly that very day to go horribly wrong.) Work all night again, and get the first glimpse of the bed at 9 am the next morning.
That’s 48 hours non-stop.
Ok. So I finally hit the bed. Then what. 2 hours in, the phone (@#%&@!) decides to scream its tonsils out. Up again. I deal with the phone, something else comes up. It’s evening soon and there’s that hot girl waiting for me to catch a movie. So I catch the movie, down a couple of beers and head home at 3 am to hit the bed. The next thing I know, it’s 7 am on Monday and time to rush back to the grind.
Status now. Awake: 64 hours. Asleep: 6 hours.
Now, like all Mondays, this one was a bitch. And I ended up getting screwed around till 2 in the night. And then I hit bed. It’s 6 am and mom needs something real bad. So off I am scratching my backside, running errands with dog breath.
Situation. Awake: 96 hours. Asleep: 10.
By now, I feel completely out of my skin. I have goose bumps every 7 and a half seconds and yawn every other minute. I decide for the 37th time in 2 minutes to tear the pharynx out of Himesh Reshammiya. I hate tube lights, my art partner’s ultra sonic sneezes, laughter, the sound of a mouse click, and the entire species of client servicing. And I feel like I’ve had 71 cups of coffee.
Again, the day has a mind of its own. And I reach my bed at around 4 am. I decide that you have to be really demented to take clothes to sleep and sleep with my left shoe on. 7 am, and the damn alarm. Arrgh!
Awake: 120 hours. Asleep: 13 hours.
It’s 10.32 pm on Wednesday right now. And I have not the faintest how and where I’m gonna end this.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Electronic implants in the brain
Found this here.
Jose Delgado’s development of the Stimoceiver in the 1950s brought intelligence agencies’ ultimate dream of controlling human behavior one step closer to reality. The Stimoceiver—a miniature electrode capable of receiving and transmitting electronic signals by FM radio—could be placed within an individual’s cranium. And once in place, an outside operator could manipulate the subject’s responses. Delgado demonstrated the potential of his Stimoceivers by wiring a fully-grown bull. With the device in place, Delgado stepped into the ring with the bull. The animal charged towards the experimenter – and then suddenly stopped, just before it reached him. The powerful beast had been stopped with the simple action of pushing a button on a small box held in Delgado’s hand.
Dr. Delgado, a neurosurgeon and professor at Yale, received funding for brain electrode research on children and adults. He did research in monkeys and cats, and in one paper describes the cats as “mechanical toys.” He was able to control the movements of his animal and human subjects by pushing buttons on a remote transmitter box. In 1966, Delgado asserted that his experiments “support the distasteful conclusion that motion, emotion and behavior can be directed by electrical forces, and that humans can be controlled like robots by push buttons.”
An 11-year old boy underwent a partial change of identity upon remote stimulation of his brain electrode: “Electrical stimulation of the superior temporal convolution induced confusion about his sexual identity. These effects were specific, reliable, and statistically significant. For example, the patient said, 'I was thinking whether I was a boy or a girl,' and 'I’d like to be a girl.'" After one of the stimulations the patient suddenly began to discuss his desire to marry the male interviewer. Temporal-lobe stimulation produced in another patient open manifestations and declarations of pleasure, accompanied by giggles and joking with the therapist. In two adult female patients stimulation of the same region was followed by discussion of marriage and expression of a wish to marry the therapist.
Brain electrode research was also conducted independently at Harvard by Dr. Delgado’s coauthors, Drs. Vernon Mark, Frank Ervin, and William Sweet. Mark and Ervin describe implanting brain electrodes in a large number of patients at Harvard hospitals. A patient named Jennie was 14 years old when they put electrodes in her brain. In their book Violence and the Brain, photographs show 18-year old Julia smiling, angry, or pounding the wall depending on which button is being pushed on the transmitter box sending signals to her brain electrodes. The mind control doctors saw their patients as biological machines, a view which made them sub-human, and therefore easier to abuse in mind control experiments.
Dr. Robert G. Heath, Chairman of the Department of Psychiatry and Neurology at Tulane University, placed brain electrodes in a young homosexual man and fitted him with a box. A button on the box could be used to electrically stimulate an electrode implanted in a pleasure center. During one three-our period, the patient, referred to as B-19, stimulated himself 1,500 times. “During these sessions, B-19 stimulated himself to a point that he was experiencing an almost overwhelming euphoria and elation, and had to be disconnected, despite his vigorous protests."
Dr. John Lilly describes the technique of electrode implantation. “Electrodes could be implanted in the brain without using anesthesia. Short lengths of hypodermic needle tubing equal in length to the thickness of the skull were quickly pounded through the scalp into the skull. These stainless steel guides furnished passageways for the insertion of electrodes into the brain to any desired distance and at any desired location. Because of the small size of the sleeve guides, the scalp quickly recovered from the small hole made in it, and the sleeve guide remained embedded in the bone for months to years. At any time he desired, the investigator could palpate [rub] the scalp and find the location of each of the sleeve guides. Once one was found, he inserted a needle down through the bone. After withdrawing the needle, the investigator placed a small sharp electrode in the track made by the needle and pressed the electrode through the skull and down into the substance of the brain to any desired depth.”
Jose Delgado’s development of the Stimoceiver in the 1950s brought intelligence agencies’ ultimate dream of controlling human behavior one step closer to reality. The Stimoceiver—a miniature electrode capable of receiving and transmitting electronic signals by FM radio—could be placed within an individual’s cranium. And once in place, an outside operator could manipulate the subject’s responses. Delgado demonstrated the potential of his Stimoceivers by wiring a fully-grown bull. With the device in place, Delgado stepped into the ring with the bull. The animal charged towards the experimenter – and then suddenly stopped, just before it reached him. The powerful beast had been stopped with the simple action of pushing a button on a small box held in Delgado’s hand.
Dr. Delgado, a neurosurgeon and professor at Yale, received funding for brain electrode research on children and adults. He did research in monkeys and cats, and in one paper describes the cats as “mechanical toys.” He was able to control the movements of his animal and human subjects by pushing buttons on a remote transmitter box. In 1966, Delgado asserted that his experiments “support the distasteful conclusion that motion, emotion and behavior can be directed by electrical forces, and that humans can be controlled like robots by push buttons.”
An 11-year old boy underwent a partial change of identity upon remote stimulation of his brain electrode: “Electrical stimulation of the superior temporal convolution induced confusion about his sexual identity. These effects were specific, reliable, and statistically significant. For example, the patient said, 'I was thinking whether I was a boy or a girl,' and 'I’d like to be a girl.'" After one of the stimulations the patient suddenly began to discuss his desire to marry the male interviewer. Temporal-lobe stimulation produced in another patient open manifestations and declarations of pleasure, accompanied by giggles and joking with the therapist. In two adult female patients stimulation of the same region was followed by discussion of marriage and expression of a wish to marry the therapist.
Brain electrode research was also conducted independently at Harvard by Dr. Delgado’s coauthors, Drs. Vernon Mark, Frank Ervin, and William Sweet. Mark and Ervin describe implanting brain electrodes in a large number of patients at Harvard hospitals. A patient named Jennie was 14 years old when they put electrodes in her brain. In their book Violence and the Brain, photographs show 18-year old Julia smiling, angry, or pounding the wall depending on which button is being pushed on the transmitter box sending signals to her brain electrodes. The mind control doctors saw their patients as biological machines, a view which made them sub-human, and therefore easier to abuse in mind control experiments.
Dr. Robert G. Heath, Chairman of the Department of Psychiatry and Neurology at Tulane University, placed brain electrodes in a young homosexual man and fitted him with a box. A button on the box could be used to electrically stimulate an electrode implanted in a pleasure center. During one three-our period, the patient, referred to as B-19, stimulated himself 1,500 times. “During these sessions, B-19 stimulated himself to a point that he was experiencing an almost overwhelming euphoria and elation, and had to be disconnected, despite his vigorous protests."
Dr. John Lilly describes the technique of electrode implantation. “Electrodes could be implanted in the brain without using anesthesia. Short lengths of hypodermic needle tubing equal in length to the thickness of the skull were quickly pounded through the scalp into the skull. These stainless steel guides furnished passageways for the insertion of electrodes into the brain to any desired distance and at any desired location. Because of the small size of the sleeve guides, the scalp quickly recovered from the small hole made in it, and the sleeve guide remained embedded in the bone for months to years. At any time he desired, the investigator could palpate [rub] the scalp and find the location of each of the sleeve guides. Once one was found, he inserted a needle down through the bone. After withdrawing the needle, the investigator placed a small sharp electrode in the track made by the needle and pressed the electrode through the skull and down into the substance of the brain to any desired depth.”
Monday, November 05, 2007
What is Lorem Ipsum?
Again, I pulled this off the web. Unfortunately, I do not remember where I did that from. If you do, pls msg back!
What is Lorem Ipsum?
Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum.
Where does it come from?
Contrary to popular belief, Lorem Ipsum is not simply random text. It has roots in a piece of classical Latin literature from 45 BC, making it over 2000 years old. Richard McClintock, a Latin professor at Hampden-Sydney College in Virginia, looked up one of the more obscure Latin words, consectetur, from a Lorem Ipsum passage, and going through the cites of the word in classical literature, discovered the undoubtable source. Lorem Ipsum comes from sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 of "de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum" (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC. This book is a treatise on the theory of ethics, very popular during the Renaissance. The first line of Lorem Ipsum, "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..", comes from a line in section 1.10.32.
The standard chunk of Lorem Ipsum used since the 1500s is reproduced below for those interested. Sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 from "de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum" by Cicero are also reproduced in their exact original form, accompanied by English versions from the 1914 translation by H. Rackham.
Why do we use it?
It is a long established fact that a reader will be distracted by the readable content of a page when looking at its layout. The point of using Lorem Ipsum is that it has a more-or-less normal distribution of letters, as opposed to using 'Content here, content here', making it look like readable English. Many desktop publishing packages and web page editors now use Lorem Ipsum as their default model text, and a search for 'lorem ipsum' will uncover many web sites still in their infancy. Various versions have evolved over the years, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose (injected humour and the like).
What is Lorem Ipsum?
Lorem Ipsum is simply dummy text of the printing and typesetting industry. Lorem Ipsum has been the industry's standard dummy text ever since the 1500s, when an unknown printer took a galley of type and scrambled it to make a type specimen book. It has survived not only five centuries, but also the leap into electronic typesetting, remaining essentially unchanged. It was popularised in the 1960s with the release of Letraset sheets containing Lorem Ipsum passages, and more recently with desktop publishing software like Aldus PageMaker including versions of Lorem Ipsum.
Where does it come from?
Contrary to popular belief, Lorem Ipsum is not simply random text. It has roots in a piece of classical Latin literature from 45 BC, making it over 2000 years old. Richard McClintock, a Latin professor at Hampden-Sydney College in Virginia, looked up one of the more obscure Latin words, consectetur, from a Lorem Ipsum passage, and going through the cites of the word in classical literature, discovered the undoubtable source. Lorem Ipsum comes from sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 of "de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum" (The Extremes of Good and Evil) by Cicero, written in 45 BC. This book is a treatise on the theory of ethics, very popular during the Renaissance. The first line of Lorem Ipsum, "Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet..", comes from a line in section 1.10.32.
The standard chunk of Lorem Ipsum used since the 1500s is reproduced below for those interested. Sections 1.10.32 and 1.10.33 from "de Finibus Bonorum et Malorum" by Cicero are also reproduced in their exact original form, accompanied by English versions from the 1914 translation by H. Rackham.
Why do we use it?
It is a long established fact that a reader will be distracted by the readable content of a page when looking at its layout. The point of using Lorem Ipsum is that it has a more-or-less normal distribution of letters, as opposed to using 'Content here, content here', making it look like readable English. Many desktop publishing packages and web page editors now use Lorem Ipsum as their default model text, and a search for 'lorem ipsum' will uncover many web sites still in their infancy. Various versions have evolved over the years, sometimes by accident, sometimes on purpose (injected humour and the like).
Thursday, November 01, 2007
What I found on the Web: Why does hydrogen peroxide foam when you put it on a cut?
Where I found it? Here!
Hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) is something you can buy at the drug store. What you are buying is a 3-percent solution, meaning the bottle contains 97-percent water and 3-percent hydrogen peroxide. Most people use it as an antiseptic. It turns out that it is not very good as an antiseptic, but it is not bad for washing cuts and scrapes and the foaming looks cool.
The reason why it foams is because blood and cells contain an enzyme called catalase. Since a cut or scrape contains both blood and damaged cells, there is lots of catalase floating around.
When the catalase comes in contact with hydrogen peroxide, it turns the hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) into water (H2O) and oxygen gas (O2).
2H2O2 --> 2H2O + O2
Catalase does this extremely efficiently -- up to 200,000 reactions per second. The bubbles you see in the foam are pure oxygen bubbles being created by the catalase. Try putting a little hydrogen peroxide on a cut potato and it will do the same thing for the same reason -- catalase in the damaged potato cells reacts with the hydrogen peroxide.
Hydrogen peroxide does not foam in the bottle or on your skin because there is no catalase to help the reaction to occur. Hydrogen peroxide is stable at room temperature.
Hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) is something you can buy at the drug store. What you are buying is a 3-percent solution, meaning the bottle contains 97-percent water and 3-percent hydrogen peroxide. Most people use it as an antiseptic. It turns out that it is not very good as an antiseptic, but it is not bad for washing cuts and scrapes and the foaming looks cool.
The reason why it foams is because blood and cells contain an enzyme called catalase. Since a cut or scrape contains both blood and damaged cells, there is lots of catalase floating around.
When the catalase comes in contact with hydrogen peroxide, it turns the hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) into water (H2O) and oxygen gas (O2).
2H2O2 --> 2H2O + O2
Catalase does this extremely efficiently -- up to 200,000 reactions per second. The bubbles you see in the foam are pure oxygen bubbles being created by the catalase. Try putting a little hydrogen peroxide on a cut potato and it will do the same thing for the same reason -- catalase in the damaged potato cells reacts with the hydrogen peroxide.
Hydrogen peroxide does not foam in the bottle or on your skin because there is no catalase to help the reaction to occur. Hydrogen peroxide is stable at room temperature.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Stockholm Syndrome
I think I finally understood why most women think men almost have a right to beat the shit out of them.
(An excerpt from here)
The Syndrome
Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage shows signs of sympathy, loyalty or even voluntary compliance with the hostage taker, regardless of the risk in which the hostage has been placed. The syndrome is also discussed in other cases, including those of wife-beating, rape and child abuse.
The syndrome is named after a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden, in which the bank robbers held bank employees hostage from August 23 to August 28 in 1973. In this case, the victims became emotionally attached to their victimizers, and even defended their captors after they were freed from their six-day ordeal, refusing to testify against them. Later, after the gang were tried and sentenced to jail, one of them married a woman who had been his hostage.
A famous example of Stockholm syndrome is the story of Patty Hearst, a millionaire’s daughter who was kidnapped in 1974, seemed to develop sympathy with her captors, and later took part in a robbery they were orchestrating.
(An excerpt from here)
The Syndrome
Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage shows signs of sympathy, loyalty or even voluntary compliance with the hostage taker, regardless of the risk in which the hostage has been placed. The syndrome is also discussed in other cases, including those of wife-beating, rape and child abuse.
The syndrome is named after a bank robbery in Stockholm, Sweden, in which the bank robbers held bank employees hostage from August 23 to August 28 in 1973. In this case, the victims became emotionally attached to their victimizers, and even defended their captors after they were freed from their six-day ordeal, refusing to testify against them. Later, after the gang were tried and sentenced to jail, one of them married a woman who had been his hostage.
A famous example of Stockholm syndrome is the story of Patty Hearst, a millionaire’s daughter who was kidnapped in 1974, seemed to develop sympathy with her captors, and later took part in a robbery they were orchestrating.
Friday, October 19, 2007
(What I found on the Web) The Smart Set: A Lonely Heart in Bhutan
(An excerpt from here)
As I’m packing I feel myself resisting, resisting, resisting, thinking to myself that I really would prefer staying home, that home is very nice, that I have everything I want at home, that I can just take it easy in my very own living quarters and eat my very own familiar food and have no difficulty using the telephone/getting cash/finding my way around/understanding things, and that this travel business is just a headache.) And yet, I still go, and once I’m on my way I feel like I’m sitting in a Phenomenon-a-tron, where everything is incredibly interesting – the shape of street signs, the clothes people wear, the way things smell.
... travel is not about finding something: It’s about getting lost – that is, it is about losing yourself in a place and a moment.
As I’m packing I feel myself resisting, resisting, resisting, thinking to myself that I really would prefer staying home, that home is very nice, that I have everything I want at home, that I can just take it easy in my very own living quarters and eat my very own familiar food and have no difficulty using the telephone/getting cash/finding my way around/understanding things, and that this travel business is just a headache.) And yet, I still go, and once I’m on my way I feel like I’m sitting in a Phenomenon-a-tron, where everything is incredibly interesting – the shape of street signs, the clothes people wear, the way things smell.
... travel is not about finding something: It’s about getting lost – that is, it is about losing yourself in a place and a moment.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Two bums on a bike. In Chattisgarh.
Is raat ki subaah nahin!
How long can you keep something down? Sooner or later it will break free. One way or another.
This was exactly the case with us. It was about 5 months and a little more since our last time out in the wilderness. And we are at it again. Off to, quite literally, a new land. Chattisgarh.
The trip actually began late one Thursday evening. With the name of a state we knew practically nothing about (and knew nobody who knew something more either). And with a little debate. Was it going to be Karwar or was it Chattisgarh. He said this. I said that. We weighed, we debated, and we tentatively decided in favour of that.
But what was out there? We jumped out of our chairs. Got home. And onto the one place we knew for sure we’d get dope. The in-fallible Google.
Pages after pages, promises overflowed. We were riveted. Links leapt across Yahoo Messenger. We were seeing the same things, at the same time. And not one of the four eye-balls and two brains could believe the amount of adventure there was to be had. We made the decision. Chattisgarh could no longer be hidden.
Reluctantly, we slept.
Let the Games Begin!
My next morning began with a leave application. Went straight to Mark, my Creative Director, and told him. All my instincts were screaming their tonsils out. I had to go. He contemplated for all of two and three quarters of a second and said, “Go”.
I am not really quite sure what kicked in. Was it adrenalin, or was it testosterone. A shiver just ran through the spine. I knew I was on the way. I was ready to go.
Pruthvi then called. Bapu, the only guy who had a Royal Enfield Electra, fell the previous night after a drink too many and broke his collar bone. Now, where were we to go now and ask to borrow his most precious possession (apart from the one he carefully hides in his rather copious pants). How on earth were we to convince him to trust us with his bike after what we did to it on our last trip! If not him then who? Where hides our steed?
We were so mad, we would have bought a bike, right then. Fortunately, things turned around a bit, but not without pushing us into further confusion. What and how, we’ll get to in a bit.
Now, we knew it was Chattisgarh. The hunt for maps began. Internet was a source indeed. But the resolutions or even details for that matter were atrocious.
Turns out, a few more people in Hyderabad apart from us two blokes needed to understand geography. Which is, I’m told, exactly why Odyssey keeps a stock of maps. When we asked them to dig out those maps for us, the guy got out an industrial sized duster. To reduce the weight of the maps we needed by about 73.8%.
Armed with maps of Chattisgarh, AP, Maharasthra, and Indian Roads, we sat in Café Odyssey to make a few critical decisions. Like our route and stuff.
Call us Cassidy and Kidd.
Chattisgarh is home to a bunch of rather colourful band of characters. They now call themselves Maoists, thanks to his Excellency, the Chief Minister of Andhra Pradesh, Dr. Yeduguri Sandinti Rajasekhara Reddy. And why it’s thanks to him is another debate altogether. But the point is, they’ve been called a menace in AP and are actively being driven out of there. Which means, if not AP, they have to go somewhere. Somewhere like Chattisgarh.
These guys – we’ve been repeatedly, emphatically and quite convincingly told – are both extremely active and extremely ruthless in Chattisgarh. To cut to the chase, this band of brigands united, to almost derail our so far invincible plan.
But then, here we were. Two guys with balls for brains. In what was a rather nonchalant swipe of the left hand, we brushed it aside. Called is hogwash. And moved on. Tut tut.
Troubles. More Troubles. And Miracles.
Over the next few days, almost anything we started just fell to pieces as soon as it began. We froze on a plan, and found an almost too-good-to-believe train that started somewhere and went somewhere else but touched both Hyderabad and Bilaspur – a town due north of central Chattisgarh. We wanted to unload the bike there and get started driving.
Unfortunately though, for all our enthusiasm, the train wouldn’t ply on the day we wanted to leave. The alternate we were left with was Nizamuddin Express till Nagpur and change over to an I-can-never-manage-to-recall-what-it’s-called express that touched Bilaspur.
We booked tickets. Nos.266 & 267 on the waiting list. We were heavily banking on the virtuous Mr. Kannam Naidu to help us get them confirmed. But, again unfortunately, he was away, in Goa. After a barrage of calls, missed calls, bad signals and near-deaths for cellphones, we reached him and got the process underway to have our tickets confirmed under Emergency Quota.
Now that the tickets were out of our hair, we went hunting for tents and sleeping bags. Chaitanya Bailey, a really fat friend of mine carrying a hernia in his pants for God knows how many years, promised to arrange for the gear through his uncle, a Zoology professor at the NG Ranga Agricultural University and a resource with the WWF. Only, and once again unfortunately, his tents and sleeping bags were tattered and so he guided us to the local WWF office in Hyderabad so we could take a shot at our failing luck.
Then, a miracle happened. Kavita Kella. Bless her soul, she flew a tent down from Dubai. What would we have done without you!
Almost…
The status:
One tent. No sleeping bags. Unconfirmed tickets for transporting a bike we still didn’t have. Promise of a teeth shattering winter cold. Gaping holes in all four pockets. And two incredibly brave/stupid blokes.
What we did have was a never-say-die determination to change this status. And so we turned Hyderabad upside down and inside out, searching for tents and sleeping bags.
WWF. Every adventure tour operator in Hyderabad. Abids. General Bazaar. Lakdi-ka-pool. Four Square distributors. E-bay (these guys had everything but couldn’t deliver in the time we had and/or the quality they had to offer was suspect).
At the end of it, we found two sleeping bags that were passable and a strong recommendation for everyone in Hyderabad looking for things we looked for. There’s nothing here. We authoritatively and affirmatively state, there’s not a thing here. You’d be better off making a small trip to Bangalore or Delhi or Mumbai than spending on petrol in Hyderabad.
We decided to go in with the one tent. And went on to gather other things. With some invaluable help from Anoop (the only doctor we had for a friend), we put a comprehensive first-aid kit together. We were almost ready. Sparing the bike.
By then, we had evaluated all the options (as in all the people who we could borrow a bike from) and discarded all of them, but Bapu. Putting all our shame, guilt, pride, and affiliated inhibitions aside, we asked him.
Someday Bapu, regardless of all the other things in life you do, you will go to Heaven. We will personally see to it that there’s a berth reserved for you there. Even if we have to kill Naidu and to do it in the Emergency Quota.
We were ready. Ready to go. Dying to go.
Indian Railways Ki Jai!
Finally, the day came. Pruthvi got the bike booked in at the station. After all the goodbyes, the plan was, I’d go to Mrinal (another fat friend who’s also a classmate from college, a great friend and a real pain in exactly the place that you don’t want it). Mirnal would load me and my bag into his car. All three of us would drive to Pruthvi’s. Load his bag and him in. And then go show our faces at a classmate’s (Uma’s) engagement. And then get dropped off at the station.
But our luck continued. Thanks to our man Mrinal driving the car off road and on to a saintly little boulder, quietly sitting, off the road. We got the car back in its rightful place, on four wheels, with the help of a few good bystanders. The result: we were late. We had to skip the engagement, got an earful from Uma, relieved Mrinal, got into Pruthvi’s car and had his driver drop us off at the station.
Confirmed tickets (thanks again to Naidu) in hand, we went off to a cafeteria and grabbed our dinner. Once we were done, we went across to the platform and strolled in towards to luggage loading area, to check on the bike. The train was expected on the platform any minute now.
Surprise, surprise! No bike in the loading area! I froze and Pruthvi ran, screaming over his shoulders that he would check with the luggage office. Recovering a little, I started my enquiries with the loading guys and their clerk. All they had to say was that everything that was to be loaded on to the train was already here.
The train rolled in.
And so did Pruthvi, towing the bike along. It had been left orphaned at the end of the platform. Together, we went around the clerk again, hoping to push the bike in. All he had to say was a flat “Get Lost”. Out of options, we promised one of the labour guys 500 quid to have it loaded. He agreed. He assured. And he pushed the bike ahead. Into the melee of the loading process went the bike. Time was running out but the boxes that were being loaded showed no signs of relenting. Till all room in the luggage wagon was accounted for. Our man pushed the bike in and offered a cut to the clerk. And in what was an immediate and vicious response, met the same fate that a mosquito would at the mouth of an All Out mosquito repellent frog.
The bike wasn’t loaded.
And, we stood there, staring at the big, red X on the last wagon of the train. Till it was an X no more. Plan A, followed by Plan B, and C and D and F and G… all went straight to the mercy of a dog.
About three minutes after the monstrosity of the betrayal sank in, we made a promise. First to ourselves. Then to each other.
We would not turn back. Not now. Not after all that we had to put in. And all that we were put through.
Over the next one hour and fifteen minutes, we cancelled the tickets, and the bike’s booking. We rolled the bike out, found a shop that would sell us a length of nylon rope, tied the bags in, got the bike filled, and unleashed the thumper.
The plan was, there would be no plan. We’d drive to Warangal. And we’d go on.
And so began a journey. A journey that’s been a life-changing one. For both of us. A journey that I’ll describe in the parts to follow.
As for now, I… We, have just one thing to say.
Indian Railways ki Jai!
How long can you keep something down? Sooner or later it will break free. One way or another.
This was exactly the case with us. It was about 5 months and a little more since our last time out in the wilderness. And we are at it again. Off to, quite literally, a new land. Chattisgarh.
The trip actually began late one Thursday evening. With the name of a state we knew practically nothing about (and knew nobody who knew something more either). And with a little debate. Was it going to be Karwar or was it Chattisgarh. He said this. I said that. We weighed, we debated, and we tentatively decided in favour of that.
But what was out there? We jumped out of our chairs. Got home. And onto the one place we knew for sure we’d get dope. The in-fallible Google.
Pages after pages, promises overflowed. We were riveted. Links leapt across Yahoo Messenger. We were seeing the same things, at the same time. And not one of the four eye-balls and two brains could believe the amount of adventure there was to be had. We made the decision. Chattisgarh could no longer be hidden.
Reluctantly, we slept.
Let the Games Begin!
My next morning began with a leave application. Went straight to Mark, my Creative Director, and told him. All my instincts were screaming their tonsils out. I had to go. He contemplated for all of two and three quarters of a second and said, “Go”.
I am not really quite sure what kicked in. Was it adrenalin, or was it testosterone. A shiver just ran through the spine. I knew I was on the way. I was ready to go.
Pruthvi then called. Bapu, the only guy who had a Royal Enfield Electra, fell the previous night after a drink too many and broke his collar bone. Now, where were we to go now and ask to borrow his most precious possession (apart from the one he carefully hides in his rather copious pants). How on earth were we to convince him to trust us with his bike after what we did to it on our last trip! If not him then who? Where hides our steed?
We were so mad, we would have bought a bike, right then. Fortunately, things turned around a bit, but not without pushing us into further confusion. What and how, we’ll get to in a bit.
Now, we knew it was Chattisgarh. The hunt for maps began. Internet was a source indeed. But the resolutions or even details for that matter were atrocious.
Turns out, a few more people in Hyderabad apart from us two blokes needed to understand geography. Which is, I’m told, exactly why Odyssey keeps a stock of maps. When we asked them to dig out those maps for us, the guy got out an industrial sized duster. To reduce the weight of the maps we needed by about 73.8%.
Armed with maps of Chattisgarh, AP, Maharasthra, and Indian Roads, we sat in Café Odyssey to make a few critical decisions. Like our route and stuff.
Call us Cassidy and Kidd.
Chattisgarh is home to a bunch of rather colourful band of characters. They now call themselves Maoists, thanks to his Excellency, the Chief Minister of Andhra Pradesh, Dr. Yeduguri Sandinti Rajasekhara Reddy. And why it’s thanks to him is another debate altogether. But the point is, they’ve been called a menace in AP and are actively being driven out of there. Which means, if not AP, they have to go somewhere. Somewhere like Chattisgarh.
These guys – we’ve been repeatedly, emphatically and quite convincingly told – are both extremely active and extremely ruthless in Chattisgarh. To cut to the chase, this band of brigands united, to almost derail our so far invincible plan.
But then, here we were. Two guys with balls for brains. In what was a rather nonchalant swipe of the left hand, we brushed it aside. Called is hogwash. And moved on. Tut tut.
Troubles. More Troubles. And Miracles.
Over the next few days, almost anything we started just fell to pieces as soon as it began. We froze on a plan, and found an almost too-good-to-believe train that started somewhere and went somewhere else but touched both Hyderabad and Bilaspur – a town due north of central Chattisgarh. We wanted to unload the bike there and get started driving.
Unfortunately though, for all our enthusiasm, the train wouldn’t ply on the day we wanted to leave. The alternate we were left with was Nizamuddin Express till Nagpur and change over to an I-can-never-manage-to-recall-what-it’s-called express that touched Bilaspur.
We booked tickets. Nos.266 & 267 on the waiting list. We were heavily banking on the virtuous Mr. Kannam Naidu to help us get them confirmed. But, again unfortunately, he was away, in Goa. After a barrage of calls, missed calls, bad signals and near-deaths for cellphones, we reached him and got the process underway to have our tickets confirmed under Emergency Quota.
Now that the tickets were out of our hair, we went hunting for tents and sleeping bags. Chaitanya Bailey, a really fat friend of mine carrying a hernia in his pants for God knows how many years, promised to arrange for the gear through his uncle, a Zoology professor at the NG Ranga Agricultural University and a resource with the WWF. Only, and once again unfortunately, his tents and sleeping bags were tattered and so he guided us to the local WWF office in Hyderabad so we could take a shot at our failing luck.
Then, a miracle happened. Kavita Kella. Bless her soul, she flew a tent down from Dubai. What would we have done without you!
Almost…
The status:
One tent. No sleeping bags. Unconfirmed tickets for transporting a bike we still didn’t have. Promise of a teeth shattering winter cold. Gaping holes in all four pockets. And two incredibly brave/stupid blokes.
What we did have was a never-say-die determination to change this status. And so we turned Hyderabad upside down and inside out, searching for tents and sleeping bags.
WWF. Every adventure tour operator in Hyderabad. Abids. General Bazaar. Lakdi-ka-pool. Four Square distributors. E-bay (these guys had everything but couldn’t deliver in the time we had and/or the quality they had to offer was suspect).
At the end of it, we found two sleeping bags that were passable and a strong recommendation for everyone in Hyderabad looking for things we looked for. There’s nothing here. We authoritatively and affirmatively state, there’s not a thing here. You’d be better off making a small trip to Bangalore or Delhi or Mumbai than spending on petrol in Hyderabad.
We decided to go in with the one tent. And went on to gather other things. With some invaluable help from Anoop (the only doctor we had for a friend), we put a comprehensive first-aid kit together. We were almost ready. Sparing the bike.
By then, we had evaluated all the options (as in all the people who we could borrow a bike from) and discarded all of them, but Bapu. Putting all our shame, guilt, pride, and affiliated inhibitions aside, we asked him.
Someday Bapu, regardless of all the other things in life you do, you will go to Heaven. We will personally see to it that there’s a berth reserved for you there. Even if we have to kill Naidu and to do it in the Emergency Quota.
We were ready. Ready to go. Dying to go.
Indian Railways Ki Jai!
Finally, the day came. Pruthvi got the bike booked in at the station. After all the goodbyes, the plan was, I’d go to Mrinal (another fat friend who’s also a classmate from college, a great friend and a real pain in exactly the place that you don’t want it). Mirnal would load me and my bag into his car. All three of us would drive to Pruthvi’s. Load his bag and him in. And then go show our faces at a classmate’s (Uma’s) engagement. And then get dropped off at the station.
But our luck continued. Thanks to our man Mrinal driving the car off road and on to a saintly little boulder, quietly sitting, off the road. We got the car back in its rightful place, on four wheels, with the help of a few good bystanders. The result: we were late. We had to skip the engagement, got an earful from Uma, relieved Mrinal, got into Pruthvi’s car and had his driver drop us off at the station.
Confirmed tickets (thanks again to Naidu) in hand, we went off to a cafeteria and grabbed our dinner. Once we were done, we went across to the platform and strolled in towards to luggage loading area, to check on the bike. The train was expected on the platform any minute now.
Surprise, surprise! No bike in the loading area! I froze and Pruthvi ran, screaming over his shoulders that he would check with the luggage office. Recovering a little, I started my enquiries with the loading guys and their clerk. All they had to say was that everything that was to be loaded on to the train was already here.
The train rolled in.
And so did Pruthvi, towing the bike along. It had been left orphaned at the end of the platform. Together, we went around the clerk again, hoping to push the bike in. All he had to say was a flat “Get Lost”. Out of options, we promised one of the labour guys 500 quid to have it loaded. He agreed. He assured. And he pushed the bike ahead. Into the melee of the loading process went the bike. Time was running out but the boxes that were being loaded showed no signs of relenting. Till all room in the luggage wagon was accounted for. Our man pushed the bike in and offered a cut to the clerk. And in what was an immediate and vicious response, met the same fate that a mosquito would at the mouth of an All Out mosquito repellent frog.
The bike wasn’t loaded.
And, we stood there, staring at the big, red X on the last wagon of the train. Till it was an X no more. Plan A, followed by Plan B, and C and D and F and G… all went straight to the mercy of a dog.
About three minutes after the monstrosity of the betrayal sank in, we made a promise. First to ourselves. Then to each other.
We would not turn back. Not now. Not after all that we had to put in. And all that we were put through.
Over the next one hour and fifteen minutes, we cancelled the tickets, and the bike’s booking. We rolled the bike out, found a shop that would sell us a length of nylon rope, tied the bags in, got the bike filled, and unleashed the thumper.
The plan was, there would be no plan. We’d drive to Warangal. And we’d go on.
And so began a journey. A journey that’s been a life-changing one. For both of us. A journey that I’ll describe in the parts to follow.
As for now, I… We, have just one thing to say.
Indian Railways ki Jai!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)