World 10K Bangalore

All the hype and hoopla that surrounded the street marathon named, "TCS World 10-K, Bangalore" seems to have come and gone already by the time I type this out. I'll put my thoughts on virtual paper before they vanish into the oblivious recesses of my memory.

Firstly, the name itself is a piece of work. It somehow reminds me of the saying, "World famous in Bangalore."

The registration procedure involved filling a form on-line that would have passport applications pale in comparison to its length. After wrestling with several pages, one has to deal with the agony of server malfunctions and Captcha stubbornness until your lucky stars finally see you through.

Prior to the run, we were to pick up our running numbers and goody bags from the National Games Village in Koramangala. The organisers had strategically located in the middle of an exhibition that sold expensive merchandise tweaked a little to be passed off as sporty. They deliberately placed the counters quite deep inside this customer-trapping maze with its twists, turns and pretty sales girls.

The powers had hired a bunch of Bengaluru youngsters to deal with the registration. It seemed to me that they were instructed to reply in English no matter what. After repeated attempts at trying to enquire in Kannada, I settled for broken English replies.

The face to face registration process, contrary to its on-line prelude, was extremely well organised. We got out to receive our "goody bags" less than 10 minutes after our entering the auditorium.

The term "goody bag" is placed in quotes for a reason. I'd expected at least a use and throw T-shirt. Instead I was met with the following items. I've tried to put them in the ascending order of their awesomeness.

1. Volini pain relief cream sachets (Very logical)

2. Quaker Oats Porridge mix (This truly was No 2)

3. Revitalate Protein ( "PDCAAS Score of 1.0" it says)

3. Tetley Tea Satchet (Tied for 3rd position)

5. Sugar Free Gold (Its all downhill from here folks!)

6. Hippo Round Round Cheese Munchies (To maintain the Calorie Balance)

7. Itchmosol Anti Itch Cream ( An itch in time saves nine seconds)

8. GoodKnight Mosquito Repellant ( With moisturising protein pearls)

9. Gatsby Water Gloss hair gel (Heading the list of male targeted cosmetics)

10. EverYuth Menz Oxy Active Face Wash

11. EverYuth Menz Face Scrub (Extra Skin Care for Men) *Flinches*

12. Polycrol Xpress Relief Antacid

13. Revital Senior (Whoa!)

14. Revital Women (As if No 13 wasn't bad enough)

15. A bag full of Piramal Healthcare medicines

16. VLCC Fairness Facewash for Men (Racists! The worst product by a mile, 10km rather)

They probably expected a predominantly male population with the average age of 65 to participate. Moreover, after they have the fairer sex eating off their hands, these cosmetic honchos are after our virility. I rest my case.

Anyway, the run happened on the morning of last Sunday. The relevant enthusiastic junta skipped their Sunday morning slumber to turn up at the Kanteerava stadium in hordes. I thought that the crowd was managed pretty decently.

But that illusion only lasted until it was time to start. When that hour was nigh, the seemingly civilised, docile folks of Bangalore unleashed the beasts within. All manners of acrobatics were employed in scaling the chain link fences that separated them from the start line and before you knew it, the whole stadium's inhabitants flooded the running track. Open defiance of baffled security guards ensued. There was also the friendly pat administered with police lathis on unsuspecting, well endowed bottoms whose owners had overestimated their ability to scale chain link fences in the spur of that exciting moment.

The aforementioned flood burst out of the gates of the Kanteerava stadium, like a river in spate, after the start whistle was blown. Unfortunately, the track seemed to narrow into a bottleneck during the first hundred metres or so and most of us were left standing behind the inching horde, the clock ticking mercilessly away.

This traffic jam of human bodies continued to affect spirited runners. There was no clear running path for two whole kilometres owing to walkers, standers and other undesirables. It is a frustrating sight where people who register to run 10 whole kilometres start walking after a mere 100 metres or so, just outside the stadium.

Two kilometres saw the horde diffuse away and the roads open up for people to run at their desired pace. Frequent water points with tiny bottles were present at regular intervals. However, they had dustbins right beside the serving table. It was beyond the organisers' fertile imagination to think that some people might want to continue running with bottles in their hands. Hence, there were no dustbins to be seen till the next water point was at hand. The most irritating sight, however, was that of some people who defiantly chucked their finished water bottles far away, giving themselves the arrogant air of superior beings wholly indifferent to the lesser folks who have to clean up later.

On the brighter side, there were a couple of percussion crews drumming up support for the runners passing by. There were some people on the streets who selflessly cheered the runners on. Having thought that the country sorely lacked the ability to encourage anything to do with the appreciation of true sport, I was not as disappointed as I thought I'd be.

The running itself progresses through various degrees of panting. It starts of with normal nasal breathing and progresses to panting with increasing frequency until it hits a saturation rate. This state of equilibrium took about 4 km to reach and stayed with me for the rest of the race. After about 7 km, the body falls into such a wonderful rhythm that it seems to be able to run in that pace forever while your mind screams out, "Bring it on!"

Somewhere around the 7 km mark, while passing alongside the Chinnaswamy stadium, I happened to run past this yellow shirted guy with shades who quite resembled Rahul Bose. Any doubts that the instinct threw up as to his true identity was mercilessly crushed by the rationale which reasoned that Rahul Bose was much fitter than I was and he'd never give me the opportunity to outrun him. I'd half-a-mind to scream out "Rahul Bose lookalike" at the man in question, but nothing of that sort happened.

Running through the Cubbon Park and Vidhana Soudha on this cloudy morning whose weather was all but perfect for the activity, one couldn't help but think how beautiful Bangalore really is without its bustling traffic. Anyone who thinks otherwise hasn't seen it in the proper light. This image, however, was continuously dented by each of the plastic bottles that some uncouth being threw away to litter the beautiful lawns of Cubbon Park. So much for it having been The World Environment Day.

Finally, it was 1 km to the finish. I had vaguely remembered that the finish line was inside the Kantaeerava Stadium's running track. I pushed on in the final kilometre and was surprised to see quite a few people sprinting past me even before the stadium's entrance was in sight. The road then turned into the stadium. Surprise! Staring at me, hidden from view by the turn, was the finish line. I was only around 10 m away and was aghast as I'd stored some energy for the final sprint. I finished the race in 51 mins and 44 seconds, feeling a little foolish that I didn't sprint the last part. The people in charge could've done well to give us boards that announced, "200m left" and, "100m left" etc. instead of this sudden termination.

The aftermath saw me navigate through a small line and pick up a few refreshments along with a neat little medal that was given to everyone that finished. I then roamed around, seeking Chinmaya who'd come along with me on that glorious morning. On reuniting, we proceeded to rest and kill time for a while, criticising the lack of drinking water after the finish line. When I decided that it was time to go, I asked him if he'd collected his medal. On his claiming absolute ignorance in the matter, I showed him my medal. It turns out that the aforementioned small line had swelled to a huge size by now. After finishing the race in about an hour, I ended up waiting for another so that he could collect his black painted trinket. The passage of this hour was made easier by finding some old friends leading me to bask in the petty glory of knowing a significant number of people in this random sample of Bangalore's fitness frenzied.

On returning home, I was met with a family that had had glued its eyes to the television diligently in hopes of sighting the spirited youngster of their household. Instead, they were given a huge dose of this film actor called Rahul and his foreign reporter friend. I casually asked if this Rahul happened to wear a yellow shirt to which my mother replied in the affirmative. The memory of having seen a freaky haired foreigner for whom Rahul Bose's lookalike had seemed to be waiting for, put to rest a lot of unanswered questions.

I'd initially thought that I'd be able to pull the feat off in forty five minutes. I'd planned to give the event one week's training until I managed to sleep through every morning in the hopes of starting the next, until the big day dawned. Next time, I'll look to train and keep my three quarters of an hour hopes up while keeping goody bag content hopes down.

Thick Forests, Thin Air Part 2

Part 1 can be found here: http://pomusing.blogspot.com/2011/05/expedition-sar-pass-13800-ft-4200-m.html

A Note on Signal Catching:

On the mountains, the golden rule is that the simpler your phone, the more adept it is at "catching" signal. This practice of catching signal is an art in itself. It involves seeking out those specific areas where the mountains have chosen not to get in the way of the transmitting tower. But that is just step one. Once such a spot has been found or shown to you by the locals, you've to hold your phone in the same place without moving an inch, lest you let a mountain disturb this surgical operation. So we found a bunch of people huddled closely near these choice spots trying desperately to catch signal. By the looks of it, a movie on the Zen of Signal Catching might be catching on somewhere.

And we also found all the cheap phones winning the battle hands down! All the 1100s were having a field day at the "cost" of the hapless E5s, HTCs and the Galaxies whose owners felt like throwing the overpriced gizmos down the cliff. The soap boxes also had batteries that lasted through the trek while the big guns were all juiced out in one session of signal catching. So on a trek, a 1100 = win!

Day 6: To Nagaru

The morning exercise on Day 2 was more strenuous than the trek to Nagaru. No sooner than we started, we found ourselves at lunch point, waiting for everyone to gather and kill time till the afternoon was spent, on a precarious ledge with barely enough space to seat our bums. To make matters worse, the lunch point happened to be a signal catching hotspot.

On reaching lunch point, we all went through the customary sipping tea slowly and gobbling Maggi fast routine. We then switched to signal catch and tried to let our near and dear know that we're still alive. One man, who'd just said hello and heard the same thing in response before his call was cut, was satisfied that his family at least knew he existed somewhere. We didn't want to ruin it for Mr Silver Lining by pointing out to him that it might as well have been an echo or feedback.

Further killing of time was getting harder and we resorted to Hannibal's phone with its mix of music that was fairly well known to all of us. We hit the end of the playlist and had even started playing Bhaja Govindam. Finally, gloomy clouds approaching gave us the necessary leverage to egg everyone ahead. We finally inched our way to the Nagaru camp.

Nagaru was supposed to be one hell of a camp. The doomsday prophet at Base Camp had warned us of gales with wind speed hitting the hundreds frequently. The fine weather, however, made it looked benign and as an ideal location for snowball fights. Chinmaya and Pom made the most of their first encounter with snow, much to the annoyance of... you guessed it! Dadhies.

Nagaru Top

Day 7: Through the top and to Biskerithatch

After a rather sleepless night in the thin mountain air, rattled by hailstorm and sharp winds (both of the natural and the man made kind), we woke up at 3 AM to set off early. We were saved from trekking in pitch darkness thanks to ample moonlight and the ability of ice to reflect this light well enough. We trudged through ice led by Sherpa guides specially summoned up for this day's trek. The rush of adrenalin through our bodies made us forget for a few moments all the niggles and catches that would otherwise have been a big deal.

Just after day break, we reached the summit. The normal routine of how humans do abnormal things when they achieve such feats was played out with people running around in exhilaration. Sadly, routine makes for boring reporting.

After the cold cut short the lives of various overused camera batteries, they were vigourously rubbed between the palms of desperate camera persons to warm them into a few more snaps.

Through Sar Pass

The next phase of the trek involved sliding down rather steep faces of ice. This was sheer fun except for the part where ice gets into every bit of clothing (I really mean every bit!). The sliding was usually followed by some dance routines enacted to get this ice off your body. Yet, some people silently let the ice melt away inside and chose to preserve their dignity.

One of them huge slide downs

After a series of slide downs, we reached lunch point. Hannibal, who'd stolidly endured melting ice inside him, really wanted to get a move on and secured permission for us to go on without having to wait for the rest of the group. On going a little further, it was a little unclear as to what the route was. Pom wanted to desperately get a move on. The others, looking at further sliding action below, were a little more hesitant. Heedless, Pom pushed on. He was followed, much to everyone's surprise, by Supreeth who slid down after. The rest stood back, watching these two go away, making wisecracks at the expense of their hapless fates.

After a while, a 70 year old man from the group who much resembles Osho looked at these bunch of youngsters lounging away while waiting for the guide. He then stated, "I don't know about you guys but I'm going on." Thus needled, the young guns kick-started their engines and finally got to camp Biskeri.

Biskerithatch might as well carry the sobriquet The dhobighat of Himachal for the display of clothes the trekkers arranged on its lush lawns. Sliding on one's arse down steep slopes of melting snow is a wetting affair indeed!

The fiery argument between Hannibal and Pom surely deserves mention here. Its seriousness was such that it would have easily passed off as a glorious debate which was to decide the fate of two races locked in a feud for thousands of years. Both sides brought in a lot of colourful history, debated pros and cons, and gave up ground of their own in pursuit of strategic leverage. This entirely commendable, marvellous exercise was to decide whose version of the card game "bluff" was better, surely a matter that warrants at least this amount of seriousness if not more.

"My bluff is the real deal"

Day 8: Bandakthatch

Rumoured to be just as much the Switzerland of India as Khajjiar and Dalhousie are, Bandakthatch was a camp sitting on a sprawling lawn replete with breathtaking sights, patrolling Egyptian vultures and mule loads of mule dung. "How better to use this place than play lagori?",

suggested the camp leader. When no one bothered about it, he personally went to every tent and goaded people out into the lawn.

For the uninitiated, lagori has one team trying to pass a rubber ball and get the other team out by throwing it at them. The only catch in Bandakthatch (rhymes if you say it right) is that you've to dodge the generously laid out manure too or learn to like cutting cakes, as Hannibal refers to the act.

As if this wasn't complicated enough, the game, played with several variations across the country, sparked off debates every round it was played. Soup time ended lagori, coming to the rescue of Pom's hapless team which managed to lose every match that was played.

The lawns of Bandakthatch

How Koti cried Wolf

Nightfall brought with it pitch darkness and a need for Koti to step out into the woods. After availing of the woods' facilities, he came into the tent, all excited. He claimed he'd seen a fox or a wolf prowling about the lawn at which the dogs were continuously barking. Pom rushed out of the tent in sheer anticipation. On reaching the lawn, he looked eagerly out of the camp, where rumours were spreading faster than the winds atop Nagaru. A few seconds there and he started reasoning that wolves would never make it to that spot and that foxes were too timid to venture into a camp and linger on boldly. We wonder where his incisive reason was when he rushed outside previously. The mystery of the shining eyes in the dark, however, remains unsolved to this day. Skeptics claim it must merely have been a rival dog, but if they are to be believed, the world would be a very boring place without its ghosts, Yetis and Extra Terrestrial abductions.

Day 9: Back to filthy human surrounds

Every trek, especially the ones which put us in complete isolation of habitations for prolonged periods involve this shock period where we are reunited with the filth that we're actually products of. The whole experience screams "Your vacation is over! Time to get back to you crappy lives, buster!" And no city screams those lines better than the national capital itself.

In our case, the trek ended at a dusty, grimy dam construction site. We then got back to Kasol, spent two days in its forgiving, hippie pace before we made our way to Delhi. Just before parting with the mountains, we happened to try our hand at rafting on the Beas and Parvati that happen to run through their laps. That didn't live up to expectation thanks to the Ulsoor Lake like odour that emanated from the rivers. The expert in our boat didn't help our cause either, taking us through particularly tame parts of the river and avoiding many an exciting rapid while constantly reminding us of how much he hated Indians.

All in all, it was this tremendous experience that offered enjoyment, thrill and goodness in Himalayan proportions.

Thick Forests, Thin Air Part 1

The Expedition: Sar Pass, 13,800 Ft (4,200 m) starting from the hippie town of Kasol and coming full circle, organised by the YHAI.

The Characters:

1. Chinmaya

Crazy about photography and can do marvels with his four year old obsolete camera which is on the verge of giving up. But this boy's talent lies in turning anything you say to imply something dirty

Codename: Pervy

2. Hannibal

Logical genius par excellence. Is also known as the 13th day Adventist given his legendary ability to contradict nature when it beckons to him each morning.

Codename: Dopist

3. Anirudh

Fun loving dude known for his uncanny abilities to unleash torrents of profanities fiercer than Siberian blizzards when irked. Doesn't bow down to anyone save one character. Frequently chants Waddup! in characteristic falsetto.

Codename: Dhadies (Thadis in Palakkad parlance)

4. Supreeth

The only dude with the capacity to bring Dadies to his knees. His greatest asset is his ability to establish contacts even in uninhabited reaches of the Atacama desert. At any given time, you'll see him reclined in an Ananthashayanam pose in the most favourable spot around.

Codename: Five star

5. Shankz

shankar_cool_s as his id dictates is quite the cool dude and more importantly, the owner of the famed 20X zoom camera. He prefers to swearing in foreign tongues so as to get away with it even in front of unsuspecting mothers and awe-struck children.

Codename: Shaitze

6. KoTI

Everybody knows who's KoTI. Spelled thus for his unswerving loyalty to TI going as far as to defend Texan IQs. Has the ability to unhinge Dhadies' toxic tongue more often than there are seconds in a minute. Also known for his not having taken offence in 11 years.

Codename: Gotakeashower

7. Yours Truly

Bird crazy rambler who pissed Dhadies off by deleting some of his pics to make way for birds (of the feathered kind of course). Quite the nature boy considering he never missed his 5:30 body alarms. Doesn't take tips from Hannibal in this regard.

Codename: Pom

Day1: Reporting to Base Camp

The crew reached Kasol, the base camp, on the afternoon of the 11th of May and chilled out for the day. Everybody save Pom was aghast at the sweet Poha that welcomed us there and immediately deemed base camp food uneatable. Other than the field director's doomsday prophesies, the day passed rather uneventfully.

The night did not! It started with all of us chewing our nails, sweating and promptly disowning Koti for his nearly profane joke during "culture-time". Only when it ended, cleaner than we'd expected, did we all release nervous squeals of laughter and looked at each other in sheer relief.

During the early hours of the 12th, Shankz felt something against his body. Suspecting his tent neighbour Pom, he was surprised until he figured out that the culprit was something little, fuzzy and had proceeded to lick him awake. He then endeavoured to rid the tent of its uninvited canine guest when he was accused of animal cruelty by Koti. On observing its affinity to Chinmaya's chappal, Pom threw one of the pair outside the tent and promptly closed it once the pup charged after it. He then slept well, proud of himself for having outsmarted a creature whose undeveloped brain was the size of a walnut.

Ze Base Camp

Day 2: Rock Climbing, Rapelling and the Sneaking out for dinner

Next morning, it dawned upon everyone in the tent that Chinmaya's chappal, which was used to bait the little pup, was missing. The walnut sized had had its revenge!

The rude 5:30 AM awakening, done by opening up our tent so that cold shivers shake us awake, was followed by morning exercise. In spite of the gruelling nature of the above mentioned activity, the base camp food did not taste palatable, leading us to discredit the age old saying, "A hungry man has no bad bread" and leading us to append "except at the base camp." It also made us determined to sneak out that night for dinner, the stringent 7 O' clock curfew notwithstanding.

The said sneaking out did happen after a session of rock climbing and rappelling. It also helped us give culture-time a well deserved miss and gave us a wonderful dinner in return. Expecting some action on returning, we were pleasantly surprised to figure out that YHAI had given up on reforming us already.

Rappel down

Day 3: To Grahan Village

53 pairs of legs used to much pampering in mostly urban areas were getting a gruelling reality check as we trudged our way to Grahan village. The bunch of us were quickly ahead of the pack, but kept pushing on under the assumption that some people were ahead of us. Koti fell behind owing to his obsession of clicking every leaf on every tree that we passed by. We reached the next camp way before time to meet a Gujarati uncle and his son, also part of our trek, displaying apprehension with regard to entering the next camp for the fear of scoldings. We cockily brushed his suggestion aside and swaggered in only to the chagrin of a bloodshot eyed uncle who felt very bad that we didn't trek with the rest of the laggards. At a later date, we found out the reason for the bloodshotedness. Hic!

Our discovery of Maggi stalls at these altitudes added refreshing variety to the camp food offered. We were also delighted that Maggi was to be our constant companion throughout the trek leading us to blow up more than 1.5 grand on Maggi and tea alone!

The discovery of the wisdom in the Arabian way of eating off the same plate saved us a lot of washing duty through the trek, starting from here. We also cherished the Christian custom of drinking off the same cups, leading us to unwittingly launch a secular movement of sorts.

Cricket Grahan style where a sixer = Match Abandoned

Koti's query:

After trekking through barely navigable routes for five hours, we were met with Koti asking us if Grahan village had a bus route. He claimed that his question was justified by the presence of one on Mt Washington.

Day 4: The padhyatra to Padri

The trek to Padri emphasised the term "painfully slow," something that would haunt us for the rest of the trek. We couldn't make it ahead even if we wanted to, owing to our dependency on the guide's knowledge of routes through the forest.

We encountered tilled patches of land fenced off by thorns and fallen trees in the jungle and learnt later that they were actually weed farms. Waddup!

La Lune from Padri

Day 5: Rathapani

The trek to Rathapani would've been normal if not for Pom spotting this neat walking stick, all by itself, on a seemingly treacherous slope. Given his tendency to foolishly defy authority, Pom coolly went off the normal path in an attempt to salvage the prized stick. On finding it, he proceeded to chuck it onto the normal path and make his way back. This attempt, however, resulted in it landing short and sliding down further along the slope. Chinmaya claimed that the stick was lost for everybody now. This irked Pom enough to go back further down the slope to recover his prize and slip a few feet in the attempt. This caught the attention of all the trekkers that were making their way to the slope, and for everyone who missed it, Supreeth offered exaggerated running commentary. Pom, already adrenalin pumped, started screaming back at Supreeth to shut his trap in an embarrassing display, which is quite comic in hindsight.

It was not so much for the possession of the stick as it gave Pom an excuse to do something crazy that this act was attempted. The stick was later donated to a fellow trekker looking for one at the camp site.

Camp Rathapani

Photo credits go to Chinmaya and Dadhies.

The next part of this post will detail how Sar Pass was passed through and later happenings.

For more pics of the trek, especially the birdlife, see

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.174480839274608.43203.100001380800740&l=df227072f3

For all the Jan Lokpal doubting Thomases

There have been many views on how much good this movement to initiate the revamp of the Lokpal bill has done and many counter arguments exist that question the legitimacy of this movement while prophesying the creation of a group of all powerful, legitimate vigilantes. Let us look at what the critics have had to say.

1 Do Anna Hazare/Shanti Bhushan represent the civil society? Who made them the representatives?

Let us remember that we're not dealing with low down, selfish people with vested interests like KCR, who are making these demands. These are people who've spent the better halves of their lives selflessly serving people. We aren't talking about Karunanidhi and his half-a-day air conditioned fast. We're talking about Anna Hazare, Kiran Bedi and Arvind Khejriwal.

As far as civil society is concerned, it is obvious that no one in civil society has a problem with the ends that the Jan Lokpal bill is achieving. Its ends are undoubtedly to do much needed and much approved good to the people. I agree that there isn't a legally binding mechanism that makes them the representatives of the masses. But this protest is very much under the ambit of the spirit of the law which rises much above the written words that try to convey it. Objectively speaking, people may point fingers. But sadly, the world is extremely subjective in its approach.

There is also the fact that the affair of politics in our country has become so sullied that corrupt elements have crept in and conquered, preying on the ignorance and poverty in the country which is extremely prevalent. A free colour TV for every vote, votes for cash and various other false promises constitute a huge bulk of the parliament's votes today. This is a protest by people who aren't, at least, remotely as ignorant. It strives to see that these practices are rooted out, for the benefit of the poor and the ignorant. So essentially, they have their say.

Anyway, democracy still has its say. This is merely a plea for drafting a bill. The passing of the bill through the houses of the parliament will give it the fiat of the people of this country. The act of recommending what is to be implemented is well within the purview of the citizens of a democracy.

2. This sets a very bad precedent in a democracy where a person merely has to go on a hunger strike to bring the government to its knees.

Well essentially, its not just merely a person fasting. The success of these movements depends on who's skipping his meals. Nobody cared for KCR's sham fast. We're as close to Telangana as we were to before he started. While I deeply regard Irom Sharmila, who's not had a morsel of food for 11 years now, I'd like to bring to attention that merely threatening to fast doesn't move mountains.

Besides, every measure possible was adopted before resorting to fast unto death. It's just that the "elected representatives" were apathetic enough to completely ignore everything until it came to a Gandhian fasting for 5 days.

3. The people of this country will get demoralised if this fails.

Yeah. That's probably true. So let's not attempt to do anything while the country gets systematically looted and systemically conquered. Let us also not attempt any significant achievement in our lives. The possibility of failure is a far greater price than success itself.

4. The bill will give the Lokpal unquestioned and complete authority

There are seemingly learned people who've posted snippets from the proposed Lokpal bill and have interpreted it as one that grants dictatorial power to the Lokpal. I'm not very well versed in the language of the framing of laws and cannot evaluate how relevant these arguments are. When it comes to this matter though, I'd rather trust people who've spent their lifetime serving humankind than a few armchair political scientists who prophesy doomsday on their blogs.

Either way, I'm sure that the final draft is yet to be arrived at and that the drafting process must right a few wrongs that might have crept in. It is only fair to judge the merits of these arguments after the completion of that process. All we are saying is give these a chance.

The middle class, especially the thinking middle class has always been living in the established paradigm that the system is impossible to change and that anything done in that direction is merely a waste of time, akin to "throwing rocks at slush" as one such has described. It is obvious that it will continue to live in this paradigm and that it will fiercely defend its point of view to stay there.

Sure, this bill has its share of shortcomings, like any other bill. However, I deem that this movement is much worthier than sitting on our asses and watching the country get looted. Everyone who takes part will get sensitized against corruption. Once that happens, it is less likely that they'll resort to corrupt means themselves. It's just a means to changing society as a whole. It is symbolic of the good that we've always wished to see.

As for me, I'm crossing over from the side of cynics who believe that nothing can ever change and throwing my bags in. After all, a great soul once proclaimed "Be the change that you wish to see in the world."

Crash Course

This happened about 2 months ago.

Our family, along with a couple of family friends, was returning from ISKCON. We'd taken off our footwear before entering the temple and had left it in the car. We entered the car and I took the wheel. I usually drive with footwear on, but on this day I decided to go barefoot.

Soon after we started, we noticed a strikingly pungent odour in the car. While wondering what the source of this odour was, we opened the car windows to let in some fresh air, but to no avail. Malodourous air continued to trouble us.

The car was moving on the traffic choked west of chord road where the metro barricades stifle traffic worse than we were choked on that fateful night! At the same time, people inside the car started speculating about the cause of this stench. It was agreed up on that the most probable cause was someone's footwear. Driving as I was without footwear, my dad tugged at the sandals that lay by my feet to examine them. So conscious and insecure was I of whether it was my footwear that was causing this problem, I got distracted and took my eyes off the road. The vehicle must've been doing 20-25 kmph. I got alerted by a voice in the backseat. I lifted my eyes to see a Canter truck right in front of me. I pressed hard on the brakes, or thought I did, for my feet, usually inside footwear while driving, hadn't compensated for their absence. My feet slipped down without applying the brakes. However, the impact did.

*CRASH*

It wasn't a dangerous impact seeing as how traffic was so slow. It was devastating, nonetheless. The canter's rear was at such a height that it directly impacted the delicate innards of the car, just under the bonnet which deformed like crumpling paper before my eyes.

The impact cost us around forty two thousand rupees after insurance coverage.

While returning from the service center, we noticed that foul smell was still in the air. It must've been some industry in that area causing the air pollution. This still doesn't explain how there was foul odour inside the car as soon as we started. At a later date, it was discovered that the latter was caused by a problem in the A/C unit.

Obviously, the accident was entirely my fault for having forgotten the primary duty of a driver - never lose the road. However, let us look at the remarkable turn of events that led to this accident.

1. I decide to drive without footwear.

2. A problem with the A/C unit decides to prop up right then, stinks up the air inside.

3. I've worn the same sandals I wore to work.

4. The polluting factory stinks up the air outside.

5. My dad decides to inspect the nature of my sandals. As a result, he too has taken his eyes off the road.

If any of these things hadn't happened that day, that accident might have been avoided. Anyway, now it feels like I just paid forty two thousand rupees on a 2 second course that screams out loud what I'd dismissed as so redundant a platitude - Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel.

A tribute to the poet

The last hour or so has been filled with bursts of pure emotion, has presented startling revelations and has instilled deep admiration of creativity so sublime that it produces the most humbling effect of how far one is from any semblance of greatness.

I happened to finish Tagore's Farewell My Friend while on the bus ride back home.

It started off as a classy rendition, replete with metaphors and such figures of speech as strike that unique combination of being startlingly relevant to their context while not compromising on the beauty that they were invoked to deliver. The story flowed easily enough. The poet appealed to me, giving me samples of how to say exactly what one means, while at the same time, appealing to one most artistically. He seemed to me, reimposed on that image we're all led to have of him through our text books and our elders, a wise bearded teacher whose calm appearance is steeped in knowledge.

As the stone rolled on, it began to gather quite a bit of moss. The book got heavier and gradually became a little harder to read. While the paragraphs proceeded as beautifully and artistically, they seemed to have acquired a cryptic nature. The poet ventured to the very extremes of creative expression. However, while enhancing the poetic nature of these sentences, they seemed to lack the relevance that they earlier possessed. He now represented that which almost every genius has ventured into - eccentricity. He now assumed a mysticism that is frequently synonymous with one of an appearance so outré.

One is reminded of a jigsaw puzzle consisting of many pieces, pretty themselves, but separated from the whole. The preceding paragraphs had presented to me those pieces, leaving me unsure as to whether the writing was too hard for me or if it was in the poet's nature to leave his readers minds murky as when one does when he steps into a crystal clear pond that is bottomed in alluvium.

The conductor continues waving his baton, to the inexperienced eye quite the same as before. However, the music seems to change as surely as a mathematician, having tackled a demoralising deadlock, hurries to the end of his proof as if it were child's play. The pieces of the puzzle came together to reveal the grand scheme that this grand old man had in his enlightened mind all along, the precision and the murkiness, all its participants. The story moves on quicker than ever but at the same time, one's mind wages a battle with his own hungry curiosity to slow down and grasp the sheer magnificence of what has his emotions strung up like a puppet. The purest of feeling surged through my nerves and would've gotten the better of me if it were not for the crowded bus. The book ended fast, slowed down with the pleading of a lover who begs to change the mind of one who is determined to leave him forever.

The emotions, tragic and deep though, do not compromise the author's ability to teach, the lessons of a nature so pure that they leave the very soul stirred. In their manner, so harsh and heated, one is reminded of the divine blacksmith Hephastus, whose striking blows have made creations so legendary. When you step back to look at his masterpiece, the poet's eye twinkles with the mischief he has wrought on you, like Lord Krishna's, while his mind reflects the knowledge of the all knowing.

Farewell My Friend is one of the best books I'll ever read.

The original version of Farewell My Friend was actually written in Bengali as Shesher Kabita (The last poem). The version I read was translated by Krishna Kripalani, quite skillfully at that. If a translated version can be so inspiring, one is staggered at the thought of how good the original must be.

Women measure; Men pleasure

A friend at work asked in passing as to why it was that women were judged mostly on their looks while men were given a more well rounded dealing.

In the course of time, it so happened, unfortunately, that men enjoyed a more celebrated status in human society. It was evolution's course that the alpha-male took over the tribe.

Hence, the best of males could fend for themselves and women, to them, merely turned into objects of selfish pleasure. They looked not for anything that would surpass the pleasure of their gluttonous senses.

Women, on the other hand, were dependent on their men for survival. Hence they went for a more complete package, one that started off as the strongest in the tribe, and has evolved into one that has the best standing in human society today - viz. money, power, fame etc. Iconoclasts quite frequently went unwed. It would also be of merit to note that bestselling authors quite frequently invoke these instincts to milk the feminine crowd off romantic novels with uncaring alpha-males.

In summing up, the selfishness of man and the subsequent vanity of women has dealt them a rather unidirectional judgement, while the dependence of women, and their generosity resultant, has given men a more holistic faring.

In today's times, when women are lifting the heavy thumbs that men have had on their lives for centuries, sweating it out, in the process, with men alike, I surely hope our standards of judgement shift favourably too.

I, for one, am more generous.