How To Waste Your Saturday?

Let us get this clear first. It is important that you decide you are not going to waste your weekend. Unless this decision is taken, all other things that you do, words that you speak, shows that you watch, are simply meaningless in every sense. Why? Simply because, the absence is felt only when you know something should have been present. We mourn for people who died, not for those who were never born.

Hmm. So this Saturday, you were planning to pay those bills, once for all, finally. The government gives a shit about your work timings. It does not care if you need to be at office from 9 to 9. All it cares about is the money that you cough up for the service that you normally do not receive. Which is why, you end up paying for the broadband internet which is either too slow to respond or too bothered to respond. So what is wrong with the online payment? REALLY?! Why do you think the bills are pending for the last how many ever months they are pending for? You see, the online payment system just almost always has some severe fault lines and only those people who have suffered at the hands of this atrociously inefficient form of bill payment system know what kind of a health hazard it is. To explain with an example, let us see what usually happens on a step by step basis.

1. You are in love with the internet. After all, it allows you to pay your bill online. Which means, you do not have to go in the horrible sun to stand in the horrible queues, look at the man behind the counter who is taking your money and giving you that horrible attitude.
2. You login. You still have that smug smile which says, "Fuck the queue. Long live internet"
3. You type in your card number. You type in your name and passwords. And with a content look on the face which can beat that smug, proud face of the teenager who has just experienced his first kiss, you click on submit.
4. You realize that there is an unexpected error.
5. You also realize that money has disappeared from your account.
6. Now you wonder, if it is not in your account and if you have not received the payment receipt, where the hell is your money !
7. After all the ramblings, the whines, the curses, and the load of anti-everything statements, you pledge that you are going to do something about it soon, probably next Saturday.

Half of your Saturday is now chopped and the bits thrown to the dogs. You see those blood thirsty mongrels pounce on the half that was thrown to them. The half that is not thrown but as ravaged as the eaten half stares at you like your parents who have just caught you making out with your girl. Ewww. Sick. Why could they not just leave?!

You have an urge to do something about the wasted half, you search for any washed clothes that you have so that you can go out, find that there aren't, which is unsurprising as you have not gone near the washing machine for exactly 33 days now, abandon plans to go out, and firmly tell yourself, "This is it. I am washing everything TODAY. NOW". You search for the pile of unwashed clothes, which is not hard to find as there is a small mountain of dirty, stinking, greyish brown clothes in the dark corner of the smelly room. You grab them all, carry them to the washing machine, pour a handful of extremely powerful detergent liquid, fill water, and switch the machine on before you dump the clothes in.

The machine doesn't run.

You switch it off. Check the wires. Check the connection. Gently tap the machine and switch it on again. The machine does not make even a sound. No whizzing. Nothing. You shake it, softly at first, very hard later, and still it stays the same. Silent. It just does not show even a semblance of life. Dead. As simple as that.

Exasperated, tired, depressed, you trudge into your room and slump on the floor like a wet towel. So, the bill cannot be payed because the internet hates you, you cannot go out because the clothes hate you, you cannot wash the clothes because the washing machine hates you, and you muse, "Why oh why, the world has so much hatred, i feel like a stale fish fry".

You decide against calling the repair man. You shudder at the prospect of trying to call him, being unable to reach him, and believing that even he hates you. No. That is for tomorrow. For today, you are just going to rest your tired back, lean it on the couch, take control of the remote, and watch Doctor Who. Ah. At least, he does not hate you. Phew !

So, by the time the shows are over (the obsession is not just with Doctor Who, which leads to the fact that there were many shows that captured your attention which led you to be in a reclining position till 9 in the night), it is 9 ! It is 9 !!!! The sun has set and you did not even realize. You killed your Saturday! You utterly loathsome son of a lovable mother! You strangled it to death! Why don't you cremate it? At least you can respect your dead Saturday in its death! You cruel Jabberwocky... Off with your head!

You are not a party animal. Well, since you are a cruel Jabberwocky, it's obvious that you are not a party animal. Anyway, since you are not a party animal due to various debatable reasons, you finish your dinner in a place run by Vijay Bhayya who has come from Uttar Pradesh - sometimes you wonder if he is a god sent person as he provides you those hot samosas with scalding tea - which is another debatable question, and you leave it at that. You walk back to your house, cursing yourself all along for the time that you wasted just by relaxing, lying on the comfortable couch, watching Doctor Who decimate the Daleks, and then you stumble across the question that you stumble across on every Saturday night....

... well.... I did relax, didn't I?

Wish You A Happy (?) New Year (&#@!)

It is that time of the year again.


There are celebrations marking the death of the year. Some claim that the death had occurred precisely 360 days ago, but in this world of conspiracy theorists, happiness-shredding-optimism-chopping sadists, professional party goers, these sort of claims do not tend to seep in. After all, if you cannot celebrate the death of the year where your resolutions died a natural death - probably 360 days ago - what can you celebrate? Death of your wife ? You got to be kidding. Do you really think she will leave you alive after that ?


This is that time of the year when there is a general optimism around the normally sulking cubicles. The smiles are radiant, the faces are hope-seeking (yes, it was supposed to remind you of heat-seeking missiles), the tone is very much sing-song, the walk almost looks like a foreplay for a dance. Secret Santa invariably makes his presence, whether some of the 'What the heck are we celebrating' people really give him a damn or not. Gifts fall from the skies, from 'Landmark's, from the 'Fancy and Gift Shop's, and from the old cupboard where the old gifts were stored. Well, don’t cringe. It is the spirit of giving that matters. Not the spirit of newness.


No. It is not that I hate this time of the year though. I don’t love it, and I don’t hate it too. In that regard, I am like an atheist who is interested in understanding religions even though not keen on joining any of them. An outsiders perspective of something that is unexplainable and illogical is always more refreshing than being a part of the queue which is leading to the school of irrational studies. December 31st to me is no more exciting than November 30th or February 28th. It is much more exciting than September 20th though, for the simple fact that I get paid on December 31st while September 20th for me is still ten days away from an exciting event. The dawn of yet another new number that is going to stay with you for fifty two more weeks, give and take, is to tell it in a very frank way, is more or less as exciting as saying, "This is the girl you are going to live with for the rest of your life and you can do nothing about it". If you are the 'Yay!' types, you have my sympathy for you know not what you are getting in to. If you are the 'Aarrggh' types, you have my sympathy too for you know you have been sentenced to death as the constitution very specifically bars your existence.


Now, in this short outburst of agony, surprise, and probably as you might have started wondering, ignorance, if I have managed to spike that glass of 'I am happy' drink with some god-knows-what bitter potion, I have done my job. I know that these bunch of thoughts look half cooked, under baked, malnourished, incomplete, but right now - I am just too bothered to even think about the new year that every one is really ecstatic about. It is enough hard work writing, it is a thankless job writing about things that you hate thinking about, and you expect me to go gaga about the new year celebrations? Huh. By the way, is it ok if I hate Lady Gaga as much as I hate new year celebrations too ? Because I really do.


Wish You A Happy (?) New Year (&#@!)

Digging goes bonkers

You pull out some boulders first. Then you find out that under the boulders are iron rods which are rusting. There is also a cement mixer, a sand-loaded lorry, a top-blown bus, a wheel-missing auto and a headless body of a young man.



"What am I digging here? Is this a historical site or a man-machine graveyard?" you ponder.



You also discover some pieces of marble. That white-stone which has made Taj the moon on earth was a surprise you are not prepared to receive. But then, you are not even prepared to find a body under the boulders when all that you are looking for is some copper coins and bronze vessels. Well, if you are lucky you might stumble upon coins made of gold and silver, but yeah, that is that. You don’t really want to discover a tomb full of jewels, nor do you want to uncover a truth which might change the world, that is not what you are digging for. A few not-so-precious possessions is all that you desire, for the more precious things you possess the less precious is your life and the lives of others connected with yours.


There are some pieces of plastic which have remained the same after all these years. God knows how long they have been here, you have dug pretty deep now, dug under the headless body. They still seem fresh, like they were manufactured a couple of months back in a brand new plastic factory which also manufactures plastic for those nauseatingly perfect, rather, trying to be perfect, Barbie dolls. You look at them with disgust, you now know why people in general, green people in particular love to loathe it. It just never goes away. Even if you dig deep. Even if you burn well. Even if you dump them in a sewage which ends up in the pristine blue ocean. It just never ever goes away.



You dig deeper. You don’t intend to find skeletons in a cupboard. You actually don’t expect to find cupboards there. But there it is. A nice, shiny, grown-up human sized cupboard. You don’t want to open it. You have strongly smelling suspicion that opening it will open a can of worms which will only multiply once they come out. There is an urge to still peep into it, but finally your mind wins over your heart. You push it aside, without opening the doors and dig deeper.


You dig deeper till you realize the dug hole is so deep you cannot get yourself out of the hole. Damn it. You aint got a rope. You aint got a ladder.


You look up and scream. You hope there is someone who will listen.


You despair. You realize.

 Before you get in, ponder. Have you brought a long enough ladder?

What you know, Is your problem. Period.

Overheard outside a meeting room which wasn’t big enough for 20 people, but then, that’s not the purpose of a meeting room, I mean, to accommodate. The purpose is to meet, if they wanted to meet. If you think that they could have met anywhere other than  a meeting room too, like probably in a lavatory as that is where meetings unofficially happen, that is completely your problem.

----------------------------------------

“This is awesome”

“I agree. I have never seen anything like this in my 30 agonising years”

“I mean, look at it. Who would’ve thought we could grow like this. Look at the graph. Rising and rising like a.. a.. you know.. say something..”

“As you said, awesome is the word”

“Isn’t that the word!”

“Yeah.  I guess you got it right this time”

A soft, gentle, almost-on-the-death-bed, doubtful voice crept across the meeting room like a sperm whale in the big bad beautiful blue ocean.

“Pardon me for my transgression here, but, aren’t we looking at the expense chart?”

“I have never seen anything like this in my 30 agonising years. Shoot the messenger”

DHISKYOON !

THE FALL in Ghatikallu

Strange things happen to men when they are faced with hot women and cool weather. Stranger things happen when there is cold water.

Our gentle giant Bala let out his Mowgli-Tarzan-Whoo cry. It was a sign of happiness bordering on delirium.

NHNT Pawan let out a soft howl through his tightly clenched, albiet grinning, teeth.

I did not know how to react. I love water. I hate water. I love the feeling when the weather is cool. I love it more when it is cold. I absolutely hate it when the water is cold though. So you know, the contradictions, they make a man happy, they make a man go crazy, they make a man a little ecstatic, the reason being he does not know if he likes it or not, and I was in that state of not knowing what to say or what to think. As I said earlier, I did not know how to react.

Tukku, being the gentleman he generally is, preferred to reserve his comment. He plucked his comment from inside his mind, placed it on the stone which was nearby, climbed a bigger rock which stood next to it and jumped on the comment which he had placed, breaking the comment into countless different pieces. Only after some research that took a very long time did we realize that the relationship between him and water was never good. No, they were not divorced. They were not even married. For heaven's sake, they were not even lovers. They just didn't get along well. That's all.

We were coupled with red life jackets which really didn't fit any of us. It was too loose for me. I saw Tukku and realized it was too loose for him too. It was 'I-don't-think-it-is-comfortable-enough' for NHNT, and was too tight for the GG(Unsurprisingly, i hasten to add). Now if your question is, "Did you guys really need that jacket? Its such a fuckin' small pond! Aren't you ashamed?", all I can say is, "I really am not a fan of life in general, but in general, death by water is not a good way to die too! If you don't know how to swim, and yet value your pride, you can go and drown yourself. I love my red jackets."

We wore the jackets, a little apprehensive, just a little bit ashamed, as happy as a dog which has just been unleashed, and got into the water.

A minute later we were back on the land.

"Friggin C..O..LLL.DDDD". Someone said. I am pretty sure it was me, but well, the other guys told it too, in a lot of different ways. Doesn't really matter. What matters is this. It was such a 'I-can-cook-dosas-on-this-rock' hot day and the water was cold. So cold ,someone could have used it to chill beer (Ooops.. I hope I haven't given any wrong ideas to anyone who matters!). The guide who brought us there had a smirk on his face (oh, didn't I mention him? Damn, i always keep forgetting about these guides. I think they will banish me soon) which was wide enough to force me not read between the lines which said, "These people from cities.. so spoilt, so soft". Soft. Yeah. Soft as in 'that girls' skin is soft', 'ooo... baby, you are so soft', 'this sofa is soft'. Mind you, men never like these 'softs' when it is on them.

This pond was created by a waterfall which fell from around 40 feet (i am not very good at these assumptions. So you can either google it and find it out for yourself or take my word for it). It was not a big one, but well, one that was surprisingly adequate to play around. So happy were we with this fall, I can even go to the extent of saying that our stay in Ghatikallu (News: Ghatikallu is not a name that the people here identify their place with. Ghatikallu is the result of just another marketing strategy) was such an enriching experience because we spent some time under this fall (and also because we dragged ourselves to the mudfort, which you might have read about). Do not burden me with your question - "What is the name of this fall?". How the fuck does that matter when a rose by any other name is still a rose?


Argument with an unsound logic you say? I agree. 


A rose by any other name is still a rose. The point is, there is something that you can call it with. So let us not overly complicate this with names that are hard to remember. Let's call this fall, THE FALL.

On the way to Horanadu from Mudigere, just take a few rights, a few lefts, climb that steep hill, roll down again, and there you are - you are standing in front of THE FALL. We took an easier route though. We just stayed in Ghatikallu homestay. Our guide, who incidentally owns this Ghatikallu homestay, carried us in his gypsy, through the previously mentioned, right-left-up-down terrain and just when we were wondering if we were anywhere near the Sri Lankan border, the gypsy stopped. After the gypsy stopped, it was our turn to take a small right, a minor left and roll downhill to arrive at the pond.


And right next to the pond was THE FALL.


And that's where this writing began.

Oh yeah. We got into the pond anyway. While the gentle giant used his enormously huge limbs to plough through the water and reach the other side of the pond where the waterfall was, lesser mortals like us had to use the same enormously huge limbs (not ours... the gentle giants' !) to reach it and feel its force. Of course Tukku was not there. It is not right on our part to speculate the reason for his absence. We already know it.

After three agonizing cold minutes under THE FALL, the lesser mortals - myself and NHNT - decided to swim away (the right word is float away, we don't know how to swim, but we have embarassed ourself too much now). We swam, I showed what a creative person I am by rotating clockwise and anticlockwise in the pond, Tukku was still emotionally detached with the capricious water lady, NHNT was just beginning to get all warmed up in the cold water, Bala threw himself around dwarfing even the giant fall, and the guide still had the smirk, courtsey the panic we created just because there was a water-snake trying to catch a dragonfly.

Bloody soft spoilt city guys.

I spent the next ten minutes trying to catch my breath (I think the cold water was so cold, my breath started solidifying. A pile of bullshit you say? I completely agree) and the others spent the same ten minutes getting all dressed up. We bid goodbye to the water snake which created panic, bid goodbye to the red jackets, and wished to bid goodbye to the bunch of beautiful girls who were just coming in to enjoy the pond. With a towel on my head and a sunglass on my eyes, I hiked my way back to the gypsy. Tukku walked like a gentleman just a few metres away from me - with a towel on his shoulders. The gentle giant had already disappeared with his camera while Pawan (yes, yes.. the NHNT), I guess, had made a few jumps like pawan putra hanuman and got into our vehicle the moment that snake had come out of its home to have its brunch (i hope so, he wasn't with us, and I don't think he was with the bunch of girls.. or was he???).

Disclaimer: All that has been written here might factually not be 100 percent accurate, but the essence of the story remains true to the happenings of the day. If the reader thinks it is necessary to bring to my notice that some of the things could never have  happened or has never happened, he can take the water-snake from the pond and stuff it inside his noise so that it can remove the blockade which might exist between his brain and his 'sense-of-humour-nerve'. Thank you for your patience. Have a good day.

Mucking About in the Mud Fort - In Ballalarayana durga

The 3 men were climbing the hill from a long time. The knight in purple was named Nikhil by his father and Tuks by his friends. The man with the white cap was Pawan (which means 'wind', but we never hear him howling nor talking) and the man in the extreme right is a giant who is around 6 feet and 3 inches and has a long name which matches his height. He was named Balasubramanya , a name which becomes even bigger when he adds his fathers' name to his name - the full name reads Balasubramanya Ramachandra. It is a different matter altogether that, we lazy asses shorten even the shortest possible name - so the long name Balasubramanya Ramachandra becomes Bala, which in Kannada language can mean a tail and which in Sanskrit can mean a kid. 


Ok. I digress. 


The 3 men were climbing the hill from a long time. The goal was to reach its top which supposedly had a fort (ok ok, the fort was not SUPPOSEDLY there, it WAS there) built by one Ballalaraya, a small time chieftain some time in once-upon-a-time, whose only claim to fame being his death in the hands of Tipu Sultan (is he the lost-in-a-different-dimension-brother of the great Genghis Khan?). The websites had waxed eloquent about the breathtaking view of the hills and valleys they would be bombarded with at the top of this hill. Their guide (his name is long lost in the mist of hopelessly non-linear time) had promised them, once they reach the top of the hill, shade from the scorching sun and place to rest, but they were in no position to completely believe him nor dispute his claim of being the messiah of the shade. The trek in its 4th hour, the sun beating down mercilessly on the top most point of their head, the not-so-cool-wind blowing on their face with the same vigor of a  20 year old trucks' exhaust pipe, the climbers were in a very delicate position. The Purple Knight was as silent as a girl who is making love to her man in a dark room filled with snoring men. Pawan, the non-howling-non-talking wind, still was in a no-howling-no-talking mode, and the Gentle Giant was wondering aloud about the giantness of his body and its pros and cons...well, mostly cons.


Ok. There were 4 men climbing the hill. Not 3 as was claimed in the beginning. Of course I failed to count in the guide. My mistake.


The March sun can be very unforgiving to people who are unprepared. NHNT (Pawan, the non-howling-non-talking) had a white cap on his head but he was not prepared for the brightness his eyes were coping with. If his eyes had a mouth, his ears would have heard a lot of howling and talking which he would not have liked very much, but then nature in its infinite wisdom did not provide eyes a mouth, so well, that is that. The Purple Knight was not protected by a cap nor by sunglasses, so the less said about him, the better. Bala was protected by his sunglasses, but well, what problem can be bigger than the bigness of his physique, especially when he is climbing a big hill in the middle of a FUCKIN' HOT DAY? None. 


And yet they persevered. Feet by feet they  conquered. They bent their backs, put their heads down, wiped the overflowing sweat on their face, and walked like men possessed. Well, it wasn't all that serious and mystical, but yeah, they did walk like they had an important goal to reach. Sorry about the exceedingly exaggerated 'walked like men possessed' part though. Thinking about the burnt grass, the still green forest, the brown soil under their feet, they hiked. And then they heard the sentence they were all waiting for.


"There is the fort. Another 10 minutes and we are there". The guide was relieved that they were there. Not because he was tired. Well, he was tired of the silent whining. But yeah, even though he physically wasn't tired, he was relieved that he would not have to carry any almost dead person to the top of the hill and the way back. (Talking about the way back, the 3 men had seen that movie 'The Way Back' just a week before their trek to the mud fort and all the 3 were secretly wishing that they would not meet the fate of those in that movie who were fated to die. Yes. I am exaggerating again.)


The Purple Knight squinted to see the fort. He did not. The sun was bright and his eyes were not open enough. But he knew it was there and that was enough for him.


The NHNT wind silently gazed. By the look of his eyes and by the grin on his face it was clear that he had seen it. 


The Gentle Giant let out a 'Whoop'. It meant he was happy. It also meant he was relieved that he can rest his huge body under a tree which only he could see. It also meant that he would rest there until woken.


The rest of the walk was a stroll. It wasn't exactly a stroll, but you know how it is with men and their energy when they are filled with hope. The gait had a spring in it and the sun suddenly became cooler by two degrees or so it seemed. The ten minute walk was reduced to 2 minutes (you know how it is with the crazy non-linear time) and the small tree at the top of the hill suddenly grew to a huge tree which gave shade to travelers from prehistoric times.


Oh Ok. There were 5 men. I was the 5th. Did you really think I could write this without being the 5th? You should be mad to think that way !!


So yes. The first line should read like this. 


The 5 men were climbing the hill from a long time. The name of the 5th is immaterial, but well, we anyway know who it is.


To mention, the top of the hills did give a very mesmerizing view of the surrounding forest and the valleys. Just that we went there in the wrong month. November should be an excellent time. Even December and January should be fine. If you are going in February or March, do send me a mail so that i can say "Are you fuckin' mad??!!"

Vinayaka Rama and his Poor Wretched Soul

Vinayaka Rama had a very bleak outlook towards life. In fact it was so bleak, even dusk seemed a lot brighter and cheerful. Even the best of the torches miserably failed in their endeavor to lighten him up.


 "There is nothing wrong" he used to say when people asked him in a concerned voice if everything was alright and he would continue, "There is no point in anything being right or wrong. Anything that happens, happens and we are no one to say if it is right or wrong".


Any sensible man would at that point leave Vinayaka Rama to himself and get back to whatever important that he was doing. Some people think they are more compassionate and decide to help the poor wretched soul.


"Don’t be negative. Don’t be pessimistic"


That was all Vinayaka Rama needed. He started with the supposed myth of optimism, debunked every piece of it, proved how life has no meaning, tore apart every positive nerve in the compassionate person’s body and finally left him a poor wretched soul like himself.


Sometimes his soul would take exception when it heard the 'poor wretched soul' part because it thought souls were energy.


"Energy cant be wretched" it energetically used to think.


After repeatedly hearing 'poor wretched soul' and understanding that it cannot change the way people perceived Vinayaka Rama, it got used to the phrase and thought of killing itself due to the dissatisfaction it was experiencing in Vinayaka Rama's mind, before realizing to its horror that it can’t die.


"Energy cannot be destroyed" sighed the PWS (Poor. Wretched. Soul.) very de-energized.