This Ride.

I have been on the road since January the 18th, 2015. Started from Ahmedabad, been to almost as many as 17 states, numerous cities, exotic locations, small villages, mind-blowing roads, people, food, experiences, and what not. Many of my friends are looking up to me for the kind of life I have today, saying I am living the dream. They keep checking for my posts on social media, and keep tabs of my escapades. They do not fall short of telling me how proud they are of me and what I am doing with my life. They go to the extent of branding me an inspiration. Being trapped in their careers and corporate lives, they look to me as someone who, finally, has found a way not to get lost in the wide world out there. They call me up more frequently these days, in comparison to my prior life when I was more free, and ask me of my latest experiences on the road.

But has it been easy? I can not really answer to that question earnestly.. No good adventure, they say, starts, or ends for that matter, on a note that 'everything went as planned'. No Sir, it did not. And unplanned experiences have a peculiar way of knocking on your forehead right about the moment you think everything is actually going as planned. The open road, with a million dollar view, a mild breeze, and a good song in your head, your motorcycle vrooming at 90 and suddenly you have a puncture in the middle of nowhere. Whats next, you are dragging that 200 kilos mammoth uphill, hoping to spot a puncture-wala down the road. And a puncture, I'd say, is easy. Those are perhaps the smallest of hurdles you find on the road. An engine that just spluttered to a stop, that might be a bigger issue. But problems, also, have a peculiar way of presenting a solution in your face, sometimes in 5 minutes, some times in 5 hours, but eventually they always do. So are these hurdles really so troublesome? Not really. What then is the more difficult part of the journey, you might ask?

Unfortunately, the problems with being on the open road are quite similar in many ways, to the job I get back to every alternative month. And that is the isolation. Isolation from your family; isolation from your friends; isolation from your loved ones. That has got to be one of the top problems that I have been living with in the past 8 months. Yes, they are just a call away. But isn't the same. Yes, they understand the nature of my work, and the passion for my ride, and my love for them hasn't ceased, so hasn't their's. But still, it isn't the same. Yes, the long wait to meet them is totally gonna be compensated the moment I meet them, and that is a good enough consolation. But still, it isn't the same.

The ride has blessed me with so many new friends that I have almost lost count. How could I have not, some of them I do not even know the names of. A face that lingers in my memory, for a good deed they did to me, a selfless gesture with which they touched my life, is all that I treasure deep in my heart, perhaps for a really long time, if not forever. And that is something not everyone is blessed with. Not everyone has a similar chance to do such a thing, I am completely aware of that. And yet there is something, that pinches you time and again, reminding you of the gone-by days, the close ones, the good old days. It's definitely not the same.

But this ride, sure has given me one thing that I will, forever cherish in my life. It makes me happy. It gives me hope. More on that next time. Time for a bidi.

Till next then.

Ciao

To see or to sense?

Do we sense things beyond the world we construct from our ‘five senses’? I am sure we do, and there is enough scientific data to prove that. But does our reliance on our ‘five senses’ hinder our ability to truly sense things. Are the yogi’s right when they say that we should shut out the world to truly ’see’ the world.

All of us have had such experiences, and most of us deny ourselves those experiences, by calling it a play of imagination. But in my experience, these moments have been of extreme simplicity and clarity. The sensing is of the unity of all things beyond analysis and understanding, in the realm of experiencing. These are meditative moments that force you into the clarity of ‘now’. Not always in meditation – but events that can lead to that which meditation is hoping to achieve.

In one such moment I actually decide to write at random, about my experiences with the 'beyond'. I do not meditate, not the conventional way, anyways. And its not exactly meditation that's the aim here. I am trying to get to where people get to with conventional ways of meditation, but just without meditation. Your senses will react to the surroundings by default. It is when you take full control over all your senses, your sense of sight, the touch, the smell, when you are totally in control over all your senses, that perhaps is when you have attained the desired result of meditation. To meditate, is to look into yourself, feel every molecule in you, every movement inside your body, every sound it makes, the feel of owning yourself and at the same time, being fully aware of your surroundings. And people have numerous ways to do that. I ride.

And it isn't something I have done for a very long time, but long enough to understand that I was born to do that. I was born to ride. Most people find it an activity they have to do in their lives to move from Point A to Point B, as part of their lifestyle, a compulsion of sorts. I somehow, find solace while I ride, whether it be for work, or any other purpose, I seem to always look forward to it, At 3 in the noon under the scorching sun, or be it too windy, or be it 5 in the morning on a particularly chilly winter, it always seems to lighten my mood, and cheer me up. But we are not here to see me be cheerful. What happens after, is what intrigues me.

Whenever I take a long ride, I mostly go for an open face helmet, a light backpack with my camera, phone charger, a change of clothes and chocolates and just leave. And there are stages to what I feel. I will probably check on the health of the motorcycle at first. Then I will start enjoying the wind, be cheerful. But then after some time, the difference between 'happy' and 'sad' somehow seems to dissolve. There is no emotion. No thoughts too, for that matter. Just the moment. That very moment. And it feels like a long empty bridge that connects your senses to you. And you look at yourself. 

It's something I tell you. surprises me all the time. I would not be particularly concentrating on the road, to ensure a safe ride, its like the subconscious takes care of that by itself. What happens to the conscious, you'd ask? I think, and it is just a hypothesis, the conscious surrenders to the subconscious. Your senses are so much in sync with each other, they feel and sense as one single unit, in perfect harmony. And I think in that particular moment one is fully in control over their senses, even though consciously they aren't making any effort to do so whatsoever.

And that brings us to the final question. What we see and sense in regular life, is that all a lie? I ask because it is quite different from what I see when I have that clarity of thought. It's like our senses are somehow muddled during our day to day lives, while we interact with people and situations around. What do we believe in, and what not? And in our 'busy' lives is it too much to ask for a clarity of thought every once in a while, a little solace for ourselves?

Till next then
Ciao

A Rider's Promise.

The other day I was having a conversation with a colleague about investing in a motorcycle. According to him, it was utterly foolish of me to invest in a Royal Enfield at such a young point in my career, where I could have started saving early. I could only smile. And it got me thinking. I, and him, had a very non-intersecting set of ideas. About ourselves. About our surroundings. About our lives. And then I wrote.

A motorcycle to me is beyond transportation. It's something else because it connects me with Life.

A bike is a soul ship. Biking, bridging, it's freedom, it's energy, it's expression, it's fear, it's controlling that fear, it's adrenaline, and you're gonna experience all these things in just one day being on a motorcycle on an open road. 

We humans tend to build up our lives into boxes. And the older you get, the more boxes you have. But these boxes tend to get smaller. And some start to have regrets. Motorcycles actually get you out of that box. Cause you are exposed, you are connected. Connected to the whole world out there, every life you come across, every stray breeze you fly by. Someone has aptly said:

'Riding is the closest a human can get to flying'

And so what if you melt into the crowd? So what if you dont have that one Chai-wala that you go to everyday after office? So what if you dont have the same home to go back to, the same bed, the same arm-chair for a while? So what if you have to get a banging from office if you leave on a trip all of a sudden? So what if the world out there is waiting to deceive you? So what..? It's really a perspective here. I like a little spicy in my pudding now and then. As a matter of fact, I love it. I hate to know everything every damn time. I like surprises. Nothing can always go as you have planned. Where is the fun in that anyways. Hitting a turn you least expected, is how I like it. 

So here I am. On duty. Somewhere in the middle of the Arabian Sea. Hunting for Liquid Gold. On a job, some would say mundane. Many would even doubt on this way of life. What's in it for me? It gives me the push down the cliff, so I can fly. It gives me that moment's thought, all that is required for me to go wild with my imagination, and my actions. And they set me free.

It's still early, some would say. But to me, it's time. To get out. To be impatient. Life is not a highway. It is a road made of intersections. Twists and turns. Created by nobody else, but you. Don't settle. Go. Ride. Find your own pack. Is your engine running? Embrace the head wind. Feel how it can change direction. Just like you can. And here's a promise. Wherever you're going, it won't be boring.

Happy 2015 Ya'll

Till next then

Ciao.

P.S: Thank You Komal.

The Tiger was just being a Tiger.

A comment on Tuesday's incident at Delhi zoo.
Technology has diminished the common sense of people.
What I have read in the newspaper and saw on the videos also there was full 5 minutes when the person fell in and the time tiger attacked.
Few points to ponder

1. People were busy taking pics n videos.. The basic common sense would have been to take him out.. How???
Few persons would have taken off their clothes tied them and would have taken him out.. No one thought becz the basic common sense has been highjacked by technology.

2. Media is talking about the tranquilizer shot was not available for the tiger.. Did any one think or reported about the availability of a rope, to take out the person if some trips off.

3. The guy fell because he was leaning too much to get a clearer pic of the tiger..

Analysis n lessons:

We as a society have become slaves of the technology.. Using our gadgets is reducing the basic common sense..
Our problem solving capacity is getting reduced.

Advise to all: Do not make our next generations slave of technology..
Do not buy gadgets for kids, and if you do, do ensure they know what they are getting into.... Or maybe, just maybe U could be killing their problem solving attitude.

A Whimsical Letter to My Replacement

Dear Replacement,

There are a few things I think you should know, as you are now the object of her affection. Don’t let it surprise you, how quickly you fall for her, and don’t be apprehensive in letting yourself fall. She'll be there to catch you. Don’t let my Facebook page intimidate you. There were a lot of pictures of us, and while I hate to admit it, the pictures are a thing of the past. She’s taken down most of them by now. She may not talk about me to you; she didn't talk to her friends about it when it ended, so I don’t know if they will know either. It was a beautiful, one-sided love story of the past, but you are her future now.

We don’t know each other, and I am sure you already don’t like me. I resented you slightly when I first found out, but we do have something very wonderful in common, and it connects us whether we like to admit it or not.

I won’t text her or like her posts on social media. I can’t tell you every secret because it took me time to figure that out myself. But just trust that there are reasons she doesn’t say what you want her  to, and there are reasons she doesn't do what you want. She will spoil you from time to time, but she is wise with her expenses; she spends money only when she needs to. You are going notice how she gets excited like a child when it comes to certain things and learn to hear giggle in her laugh.

You’ll find out her favorite movie and she’ll make you sit through it; I know I couldn't without falling asleep. You’ll notice how she loves watching movies and how she might do it more than going out. You will see her out drunk and she’ll get mad sometimes. She has a temper, as I’m sure you have noticed, so don’t take it personally. When she storms off, let her go and trust she’ll always come back with a smile and her bright eyes that make you look away.

When she falls in love with you, let it not scare you when she cries because that’s the one thing that triggers those emotions in her. When she falls in love with you, you’ll notice you sleep better at night, and when it rains, her touch simply will vanish every fear. When that happens, you’ll almost look forward to simple things, such as walks because she’ll reach for your hand and you’ll blush because no glove has ever fit it so well. She’ll do whatever you ask of her and you’ll rarely fight. She doesn’t like advertising things like relationships and feelings, so don’t expect that of her, just know she does love you. She may not think of you at every moment, but you’ll cross her mind often enough.

She has bigger dreams than she is confident enough to believe in, so it’s your job to tell her every day how beautiful  she is and how smart she is and that she is capable of it all. She won’t believe you, but don’t stop saying it. She’ll make you see the world in a new light, and you’ll start questioning things you never knew. She can’t cook, so don’t expect her to. You’ll find yourself laughing at her little catchphrases, and if you do something she doesn't like, one eyebrow will raise and she’ll look at you without blinking.

When you two are out, she’ll watch you the whole time and it’ll seem like you are the only one in the room. When you dance, it’ll seem perfect. Let none of this scare you and love her the way she deserves. She’ll tell you about the past and her mistakes, so it’s your job to take her hand and let her know you’re not judging her.

She is a better person because of all of that, and she’s found you because of failed relationships in the past. I hope you love her the way she deserves and I hope she loves you as deeply as I thought she did me. I hope she’s honest with you in a way she never was with me, but most of all, I hope she gives you the perfection I thought would once be my life.

Also: Remember that I don’t dislike you, but if I’m being honest, I am jealous of you. I have found acceptance, but I’m also happy someone else gets a chance to experience what I did. I hope one day I can properly meet you. Like I said before, we have a connection that no one else can say they have and I’m sure you are a wonderful person. She looks at who a guy is first before falling in love with his appearance. It’s a rare quality in a woman.

I only ask one thing of you: Don’t hurt her the way she hurt me. I believe in karma and I believe people get what they send out to the world, but I never wish that pain upon anyone, especially her. You are dating the woman of our dreams and I truly mean it when I say I hope it all works out for you.

Sincerely,

The Other Guy

P.S: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

The Firefly in my Room.

So there I was, tired from the long hot day's work, back to the tiny 10x7 room I call my bedroom for half a year. The day was hotter because of the rising tempers everywhere. I tell you, one bad apple does rot the rest. Tempers, voices, hands, skyrocketing in every direction you look. It's fun. Really. Lots of fun. Watching red angry eyes and heavy tools in their arms, and that too over petty issues. Well, matters don't remain so petty when they happen to you, do they?

Having finished the day, I cleaned up. Every day after the shower I feel like I shed a layer of my skin, all greasy and mucky and sweaty, and I feel like I walked out of what felt like an hour long shower.

Dinners are light. Today they attempted to make an Indian version of Quesadilla, with chicken sausage stir-fried stuffing. A helping of juice to wash it down works wonders everytime. Conversation is always light at the Galley. Half of them are getting off workafter a long hard day. The other half grim at the thought of the day's work ahead.

I came back to my room, was very sleepy that particular night. Changed into something comfortable, turned down the lights, hit the bed, pulled on the quilt.

Going to bed always puts me into a pensive mode. My mind whirls into life and images and videos from my past flash by. An open door, & no one beyond it. A dark movie theatre, A watch I saw the other day on Flipkart. The F-22. NOS. The Monalisa. Mad. Appi. Rob. Yaush. Juu. Resha. Vibs. Sam.

And then suddenly I see, what looks like a Firefly inside my room. The chain of thoughts was brought to a screeching halt.

A firefly. In my room. Aboard a Drilling Rig. More than an hour's ride from Mumbai city. On a Chopper.
Blinking at me at a steady pace. I almost reached for the light when it lit again. Jonakee, as it is called in my mother-tongue. It just stood there. Still. And what followed, I can only hope to write in full here.

It felt like the temperature inside my skull plummeted by at least 10 degrees. And in slow motion Isha Deol started running towards me in her bare essentials towards me, bouncing everything (that is whatever there is to bounce) after a bath on a sea shore. Oh wait, that's the scene from Dhoom that I put on repeat the other day I was in the Recreation Room on the rig, all alone.

Mount Abu. The Bullet trip I made with my 'gang' of 40. We were on a night-trek. Unlike all camps in movies, ours unfortunately, did not have a guitarist. Nor a guitar. Only hoarse and detuned biker rumbling. Lots of fun. Fireflies we would see, we were promised. Sadly we saw none.

Monsoons will soon hit the Arabian Sea. Work becomes pretty challenging during those 3-4 months. Work never stops on a rig. Never. 24x7. Literally. What else do you expect the work would be like on a giant oil rig like ours that charges over 12 Million rupees a day as rent?

But monsoons remind me of pipping hot Chai and Aloo/Pyaaz Pakodey. Hey, they named that movie Kaminey. Maybe Shahid should feature in a movie named Pakodey - releasing this Monsoon.
And fireflies. Monsoons remind me of fireflies. I remember when I was a kid, and I was told that that glowing insect was called a firefly, I instantly knew where Fire came from. But biology ruined my life, seriously. A chemical that lights on the insect's ass? Sheesh!!

Temperatures kept plummeting inside my skull. I guess I was getting groggy. Another day's work ahead of me after I wake up. And then 25 more days. The hitch had just started. But there will be a lot of time to think about that. Lot more stories will take root on this Rig in that time. Now, it's sleep time.


Oh and did I forget to mention, what I thought was a firefly in my room, was only the smoke detector.!!

Till next then.
Ciao

The Darkest Hour.

          3rd day into this hitch. And the heat is on already. But my recent endeavors seem to have brought in a fresh change of perspective in the eyes of almost everyone who matter over here. And their new perspective, gives me one as well. And when I say this, I know that every individual goes through this phase in life. Some soon, some a little late. Luckily or not, for me, I think I hit home early.

You either love your job or you don't. And if you don't know..well you better sod off. Now! When I take a pause from the present vantage point, I realize that I have had the occasion and opportunity to work with some of the best in this field, and some of the worst, how-much-ever less experience I might have. I often look back and ponder on what I now know, and what I did not know then. There is grief in knowing, let me tell you that. And there is calamity within the cloud of mediocrity too. Although, there is joy in greatness, no matter how personally you have defined it. However, my personal greatness eludes me. The hour before dawn is usually the darkest..

But some say the Mexican drug cartel has a 400 mile long dark tunnel.!

Till Next then
Ciao!

3 Stories and Now.

Duty hasn't been very light lately this time. My shift hours have changed to 6pm-6am like last time. That gives me some respite from the scorching heat during the day, but the night has its own can of worms. Where the day has searing temperatures, the night has very high humidity. Occasionally a wind sweeps by, taking with it our blessings.

A few days back, I volunteered to go to the top of the Derrick, called the Crown. The Derrick is the steep triangular structure typical to a rig. Our crown, the top of the derrick, is approximately 200ft from the rig floor. The rig floor is a good 130ft above the Main deck of the rig. And the main deck looms a 100ft above the sea. So that makes the Crown roughly 400ft above mean sea level, almost as much as a 30-story building.

And that's when I came to know a very crucial thing about me. One that I was curious about since as long as I can remember. I don't have Acrophobia, the fear of heights.

My mother often told me stories of my naughty childhood. And there were so many stories, I tell you. In one such story, however, she says I always used to love eating, and showing off my food in style to all the neighbors at the same time. So whenever food was served, I used to ask Maa to mix all the food together, essentially rice and curries, and feed me with her own hands. I remember being fed by her even years after my sister was born (and she is good 6 years newer than me). Although I learnt to walk early, eat myself even earlier than the regular kids (as Maa says), I still preferred being fed by my mother. I think I still do.

So I was probably about 5 then, Maa used to serve food, mix them and I would run across the front door and the porch, to the gate of out independent house in Rajahmundry, Andhra. I would climb onto the pillars supporting the main gate and perch myself on one side, almost 7ft off ground. And Maa had to always come and feed me there during the day, and I would eat and chat with my neighbor Bobby and Vinitha in Telegu.

When I was around 13, around the time I was preparing for my Swimming Nationals, during one Summer break, a special Coach visited our Club. He was a National Champion and had represented the nation in the Commonwealth Games. By profession, a constable with the Local Police. I always reach the pool early, before anybody else, and when the cleaning was still on. This coach, Ravi, used to practice, dance rather, during this time. He was like a Dolphin. He taught me to cover the entire length of the pool, 75ft to be exact, Underwater. He said he liked my eagerness and interest in Swimming. But always advised me never to make it my profession. He believed hobbies are to be kept strictly separate from the professional life.

One of those days, he said he would teach me how to dive. I said I already knew how. He smiled, turned away from me, walked to the ladder, and climbed. We had 3 diving boards: Base Level, 15ft and 40ft. Ravi took the 15ft board and took his stance. Jumped. Took a reverse somersault and entered the waters in a clean, splash-less dive, straight into the depths. I jumped with joy and started running towards the ladder. Normally the top 2 diving boards were off-limits. But after I received Ravi’s signal I ran to dive. Ravi cried out, ‘Just jump today. I will teach you to dive later. And dive straight.’ I kept climbing. I crossed the 15ft board, Ravi shouted not to go higher. I was still climbing. I just had to jump that day. I might not have another chance, I thought then. At the top I took my stance and Ravi went silent. And watched. I jumped. Ravi later said I took four forward somersaults before hitting the water with a loud splash. I had a sore, red back for almost a week, but never missed a Swimming session.

My stint in Kota wasn’t a very happy one all the time. It taught me a lot of things. And most of all it taught me to see myself as I am, when I was alone. I used to fight with my parents, mostly my mother almost every other day. We lived in a 50story building (that we still live in). Whenever I had a fight I would go to the terrace of the building, sit on the ledge, my legs dangling on the outside. The spot had a nice view of the Opera Hospital Road, Talwandi Circle, Paani Tanki, Om Cineplex in the distance and a super busy road. My parents came to know about the spot when I had already left Kota for college.

After one such fight, at night around 2AM, I came up frustrated with my parents, and myself. I sat on my regular spot, with my feet dangling freely. In was very quiet that night. No dogs even. In the distance I saw four bright headlamps moving parallel to each other in a straight line and at a slow pace. When they came near I spotted four Karizmas, all black, four leather jacketed and black helmet riders. One of the riders looked up and I think he saw me. And they left sooner than they came in. By then I had forgotten about the fight and I left to sleep.

About 10 days later, after a similar fight, again at around 2AM I was in the same spot. I had come there many times in the last 10 days, but not this late. Tonight was colder than usual. I carried along a Shawl. There was a steady breeze. No dogs, again. That night I saw the four headlamps again. This time I had made up my mind to wave at them if anyone looked up. They came closer, I got ready to wave. But then they came to a halt. Parked the Karizmas parallel to each other, blocking the entire width of the road, on their side stands, headlamps still on. All four got down, took off their helmets. Long hair. They were all young women. All in their primes. Desirable and attractive. Supremely bold.

And they all were looking at me. One of shouted out, “Kaisa hai?” I stood up on the ledge, adjusted my shawl, my heart beating madly in its cage. I managed a smile. I hardly hope it was noticed. The road was well lit, but I don’t think I was. After what seemed like a long pause another slightly plump one cried out, “Alag hona asaan nahi Bachhe. Soch le, bohot mushkil hogi.” That was weird. I had no comeback. And all this time they all had their eyes fixated on me only. They did not even chat with each other.

The first one, this time said something I couldn’t hear distinctly. I still kept mum, pacing slowly on the ledge. I was still tongued-tied, like I always was in front of women. I was surprised I at least managed my gait. They got on their bikes, and one said, “Take Care Buddy”. I waved at them, finally. They waved back. One, on the extreme right, who hadn’t spoken this entire time, blew me a flying kiss. And then they vroomed away, never to be seen ever again. The halt lasted hardly in seconds, the night, however, had just begun.

On this Wednesday, I climbed the Crown, it was an exhausting climb up the steep ladder that was almost up. On reaching the top, I squatted on the grating below me and breathed heavily. It was early in the morning, around 7AM. Slightly cloudy, the sun pepping from behind the cloud in bright orange, a cool breeze and pitch silence. I looked down, through the grating, 200ft below, all those huge Roughnecks looked so tiny. The giant pulleys around me were rotating at breakneck speeds. Eerily silent, dangerously fast. And the deep blue waters all around, the magnanimous sea, the orange reflection of the Sun, a few rigs in the horizon, and me. That moment almost felt as if time had actually stopped. That moment did stay, for long.

Having finished all the inspections I went up for I got down after about an hour and took a halt at the Monkeyboard, which is halfway up to the Crown. A monkeyboard is where a Derrickman works. You have to see YouTube videos to get an idea of what he actually has to do. I tried my hand at it. It gets scary at times, thankfully for me not because of the height but the heavy machinery around. And then I knew another thing about me. The fear of heights is completely different and independent of the fear of falling from heights. And I do have the later.

4th week going on. Just a few more days left. We had a Flare here today. 'Flare'. Does ring a bell, doesn't it? But that's a story for another day. ;)

Till next then

Ciao.

King of Sweets - Gaajar ka Halwaa

Winters always bring in these wonderful produce all over the markets. The mind is always full of recipes and ideas. I love to cook. And this is the first time I am gonna blog about it. See how the response is.

GAAJAR KA HALWAA
Now...tiny piece of advice...here are 2 ways of making Gaajar ka Halwa
1. I have used more milk. So it won't have a very shiny glaze. But will taste better.

2. Use less milk, it will look better, but won't taste as good.

Step 1: Carrots grated. Added to boiling milk
1 kilo carrots. 2 litres Milk.
Step 2: Reduce the mixture to a slurry consistency. Requires constant stirring.
Step 3: Sugar
Step 4: Khoya. (I had homemade Khoya in semi-liquid form)
Sugars from all the sources will caramelize and enhance the reddish color of the Halwaa
The entire process takes approximately 3 hours
Once Sugar is added and the consistency thickens, the flame is lowered to min
This is probably the best time to taste and have the 'Just undercooked Gaajar ka Halwaa'
Some people prefer it this way...it's got the still in liquid-ish form milk. Gives it a bubbly, milky, light taste.

Step 5: Dry fruits. Lightly roasted. Roughly crushed. Cashews. Almonds. Walnuts. Raisins. Pistachios.
I am gonna help myself with a spoonful.

Just the correct proportions. Milky. Lightly sweet. I don't like a strong sweet taste, that overpowers the carrot and the milk
And now...let the rest of the milk condense till we have the rich reddish glaze

Halwaa is ready. Serve and Garnish.
If You have a blow torch, add sugar on top and caramelize.
Final stage...
King of Sweets - Gaajar Ka Halwaa is served

Till next then

Ciao.

Two friends

 

I once had two friends

They were the best I had

I shared everything with them

If only I knew they would not last

 

I woke up with their calls

I texted them in between work

I shared everything with all my heart

If only I knew they would not last

 

I flew over cities to meet with them

I ran over people to be with them

They had become my life’s new start

If only I knew they would not last

 

We grew up, we got mature

They got many new friends

& I got my life’s lure

Lunches were postponed

Dinners got cancelled

B’Days now forgotten

And not one of us took a name

 

We are no longer friends

They can’t stand my presence in their lives

We haven’t spoken in years

And haven’t even tried to jump over the fence

 

I miss them, to say the least

I wish I had more friends like these

The heart cries, coz now there is just a past

If only I knew they would not last

 

But now I have two new friends

And they are the best I can ever have

I share everything with them

 

And I really want them to last.

 

(For one ‘Masakali_’ and an ‘OyeHello’)

My Valedictorian Speech.

Following is the speech I had prepared to deliver at my Convocation on the 19th of Oct '13. Unfortunately NaMo, currently Guj-CM, was running short of time, and the ceremony had to be cut short, curtailing the 3 speeches, one each from SPM, SLS and SPT. Here is the one that would have been SPT's 'Last speech of Graduation'


Formal pleasantries.

Congratulations Graduates.

A week ago, I got a call from the Director of the School himself, asking if I would be interested in sharing my experience at PDPU during the Convocation. I was, frankly speaking, in a fix. The director wanted me, an average student of the batch, to share my experiences. So I did exactly what our Generation would do. What our YouTube generation would do. I saw a few YouTube videos. Steve Jobs, Randy Paush, Bono, Michael Dell, Ellen Degeneres, Bill Gates, Oprah Winfrey, Larry Page, and all this time, I kept wondering just one thing. These are big people, who have made it very big in their lives. I am no Gates, I am a normal guy.
Also, half of the above dropped out of college, so that train is long gone for me.

But seriously, what have I been asked to do here? I know today is supposed to be the day we celebrate our graduation from PDPU. However today, I would also like all of us to celebrate the people who made us into what we are today. The people. Our friends, our good friends, our not so good friends, our Professors, and our families.

These, ladies and gentlemen, are the people who shaped us. From the father who constantly pestered you for your expenses and cut short your pocket money, to the one who flew in, within a day’s notice, leaving behind all his work, because he was summoned by the Disciplinary committee for your misdeeds.

From the Professors, who threw you out of class because every day you attended his class just to look at the girl with those brown eyes and the beauty spot on her nape, sitting in the corner, to the one who gave you those extra 3 marks, without you even asking, just so that you could appear for the interview, next day.

And the friends, oh those idiots. Borrowing cash from you to buy a gift for your B’day. Keeping up all night before the end terms “to study”…and ending up discussing the SLS Chicks all night long.
Friendship became a completely new phenomenon in college. “Maggi and chai at 3 in the morning at Ashok’s Galla”, would take up a Hundred-page chapter in all our lives. And damn those, who cleared Transport Phenomena in the first attempt. The ones who did not, are a fraternity, till death do us apart, I swear to God.  
Bhui Sir’s Bread & BAAttar, TP Singh Sir’s know-it-all smirk (Forgive me, Prof.), Ashish Sarkar Sir’s football stories and imagining him with this same bushy beard, even in his youth, Nigam Sir’s searious yet inPHORmative one-to-one sessions, Karmakar Sir’s Aeyi Porag, these have stories behind them that deserve to be told to the entire world.
Flare, Soul Pepper, SPE, DisCo, Internships, B.Tech Thesis, Placements, all just flashed by.

So what have I earned in the 4 years at PDPU apart from a piece of paper that happens to be my Graduation Degree and will most probably feed me for the rest of my life, and maybe even make my parents proud in the entire society?
Well, I have earned the blessings of the Professor, who used to scold me every time he saw me, whether on the lawns, or by mistake in the class, and now when I go to see him, he greets me as if I was his long-lost son.
I have earned the trust of those few, who I can depend on with my life, who I can call up at 2 in the morning to fish me out of a sticky situation in the opposite end of the world, not even having talked to him for over a year.

And above all, I have earned a life. An attitude. A pride. One that I was alien to before I came to this place. One that has become my way of life, one that I am known by, in the big bad world out there, the very world I survive in just because of what I became here.

From 08BT01062, I became Abhimanyu Manna.

This...Pandit Deendayal Petroleum University, PDPU, is an amazing place. To me, it's Magical.

God Bless you all. God Bless PDPU.

Riding: An Art.

Life is a stage and we as actors are performers. The art of living life cannot be measured by a tablespoon and made a perfect dish with appropriate ingredients. Similarly, the beauty of a motorcycle journey is not dependent on the pre-decided route, the roadmaps or the destination. What one lives through during a road trip is the flavour that one just craves for. Of course, it’s easier said than done. Because the motorcycle journeys are meant for those who are willing to take the challenges bestowed on them by themselves.

All said and done, bikers have a hard core belief that they live, breathe & feel riding like no one else. And to a certain extent, it’s true. He who rides, lives life at a different tangent and senses individuality with each passing road trip.

Companions make life beautiful and so they make journeys and expeditions meaningful. For the solo rider – the companion is the Enfield, for the one who loves togetherness – the companion is a friend or a loved one. But choose anything – it will just return back multi folds with only one thing – sheer bliss!!

The purpose of traveling is unexplained. Some do it for leisure, some for pleasure and some for explorations. When I asked myself, I got a plain simple answer – its my inner calling and passion. I feel blessed that I form a relatively smaller part of the world that not just knows his passion but also has an opportunity to live it – live it to the fullest. And I am glad that I made that choice. After all each life is all about the choices that have been made  – isn’t it?

The road less travelled calls for the nomad who may or may not believe in motorcycle journeys, but certainly respects adventure with a pinch of serenity or vice versa. The destination is and will always be a part of the journey because what it brings with itself is a thought – there is much more to be seen, explored & experience. There is no school which teaches that or no expert rider who can pass it on to you – it will just come naturally once you kick start your Enfield and begin your journey towards the ‘Art of Riding’.

When you are on the oldest motorcycle brand in the world, you see too much of the globe to remain strapped to a single identity. That’s why each Bullet means something different to each rider. There are days when we feel that I am living in a dream – a dream that is so pure and sacred that it has added purity to our beings and created new horizons for me. Fresh air and open highways, green mountains and light blue sea, no speed limits and a soothing motorcycle ride – that’s what life is all about in this dream world. I humbly bow down to the World of Bulleteers, where they live to ride and ride to live !!!

Writing, for the fun of it.

Today, I want to write just for the sake of writing. I don’t need this to be read by anyone. I don’t need anyone to comment. Today, I want to write, just for the sake of writing.
Blogging these days has become a way of communicating with the unknown. Most of the times the blogger doesn’t even know the reader. And yet they do. No doubt that has a thrill of its own.
But by each day the meaning of blogs has metamorphosed, if I may say so. Blogs are becoming more reader-centred, rather than staying writer-centred. What about expressing yourself to yourself? Blogging is supposed to be for oneself, and not for the reader. That is what blogging is supposed to be. The writer doesn’t choose his reader. The reader chooses his writer.
So here I am. Expressing to myself. I, Abhimanyu Manna, am talking to myself and hence, have gone totally bonkers. It like making those stupid faces in front of the mirror, repeating, “In kutton ke saamne mat naachna Basantiii..!” in 100 different styles & voices. Yea, just like that.
It's liberating, really. I am not a lunatic. Expressing to yourself might not be as much fun as writing to an audience, but it gives you a reality check. It lets you know about you, as it is. Time passes as it should. Emotions flow as they should. It is good. Yea it is.
So here I am, talking to myself, getting an inch closer to reality and yet edging towards ‘Moh-maya’.
Till next then.
CIAO.

8 Minutes.

 

“If the sun were to explode, you wouldn’t even know about it for 8 minutes. Because that is how long it takes for light to travel to us. For 8 minutes, the world would still be bright. And it would feel warm.”

- Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

We live our mundane lives every day, oblivious of what is going to happen to us tomorrow. Every next second is a surprise. Or rather, what it is intended to be. By who? Let’s not get into that now. Later, maybe.

Today, all we have is ‘8 Minutes’. What if some day, it really happened. And all we had was 8 minutes. Haah! Sounds like those cheesy forwarded texts, saying, “What would you do? Forward to falana-dimka people to get interesting answers, but first answer me.”

Let’s call the day when it happens, The Worst Day. So what would you do? In those last 8 minutes? The worst day, would also mean that it most certainly would be the last day. And hence it would mean that the Worst day would make the list of things to do a lot longer. Would it not?

You all would have your own lists. I have mine. But keeping in mind that we would have just 8 minutes, I am in a fix. What would I most certainly do? And what would I skip? There would be so many things I would have wanted to do in life. But those 8 minutes are not the time to do them. How would I know without ever doing them before if I like them? And would it be wise to do them in those 8 minutes? Would those 8 minutes be enough for all of them? It most certainly would not. And even if it were, I would not want to do them. Primarily because that would be the first time I would be doing them. I want to do only good things in those 8 minutes.

Good things. All in 8 minutes. So where do we start? How about, “What makes most number of memories?” Touch? Audio Clips? Video clips? Pictures? Pictures.

Pictures. Photographs. Photographs, to capture a particular moment in time. Photographs, to re-live a previously captured moment in time. Photographs, to remember people by. Or a place. Photographs to make your nostrils pain and your eyes itch because you miss the person, or the moment. Photographs to remind you how much you love someone. Photographs to remind you of the glorious gone-by days. Photographs to live them, just once more.

So that seals it. My last 8 minutes, I would want to re-live the gone-by moments. Rewind and play through those moments in my mind. Like a movie. A movie with just photographs. Moments frozen and captured in time. Yes, that should do the trick.

The Last 8 minutes. Now I am prepared for it.

Bring it on.

Time..is it?

Ok, lets have a reality check here.

In 3 simple words, “I am Lost.”

I haven’t socialized for almost over 5 months. Haven’t given myself a treat, ok ok, a mega-treat for a really long time. It feels like I kissed a girl last in 1826 (that is not true). I haven’t had a Subway Melt in over a decade. And to add to all this mess, I haven’t written since…’Maybe Maybe’ that surfaced on June the 21st 2012.

I have these long durations often, when I do not write, and every time I try to come up with an excuse, but the truth is there isn’t any excuse other than simply put in a single word, ‘time’. Now you shall say, ‘Seriously Dude, Time? Time nahi hai tere paas? Are you kidding me?’ Well, the answer to that isn’t quite straight. ‘Yes, I am not as busy that I can’t find time to write. But writing sometimes, most of the times, requires, how do I put it, ‘limitless leisure’.

The time to listen to the breeze blow by. The time to watch the pigeons make out on the window sill. The time to just keep gazing at the fan overhead, and that too when it isn't even on. The time to count rice while eating. The time to walk backwards all throughout the house. The time to make 10 different poses before combing your hair after a shower. The time to do a mo-hawk every time you shampoo, make a duckface, sing like a pig and dance like Elvis. The time to go to the terrace of your building and count the number of aunties around your house who are in your ‘Das saal choti se lekar bees saal badi tak koi bhi chalegi’ category.

Ab utna time to nahi hai. Hota, to likhne ko, Insah Allah, bohot kuch hota. Par hai nahi. So we gotta find a different way to manage time, because, mano ya na mano, I, simply, cannot stop writing entirely. It like Bhui Sir’s ‘Bread and Butter’. I have to write.

So here it is, making a promise (Haah!). I will write, more often.

And in Ratan Tata’s words, “A Promise, is after all, a Promise.”

Till next then.

Peace out.

Ciao.

Maybe…Maybe.!

Most of my posts are triggered by some or the other thing/incident I come across in life. Almost all of them are based on what happen to me, and what I do about them. I generally have a reaction only to events of massive proportions. I need to let them out of my system, and that is the main reason I let them out, because if I don’t, I can not be at peace with myself. On those days, I do not sit to think what to write, because that thought has already taken root in my mind long time ago, whenever what happened, happened.

But today, I feel different. I find it difficult to express, really. I do not feel the need to blog, because nothing of that sort has happened with me, today, or in near past, for that matter. I do not feel agitated about anything worth mentioning that has happened to me in recent times, or so I think, and maybe, feel. Today, I feel free. Away from all chaos in life. I am sitting here, thinking what to blog about, actually. Do I write about the rain, that is yet to come? Or the strong wind outside? Do I mention the heavy Desi dinner I had today, or that my prof. has asked for a treat and a good chat, and I am very much looking forward to it? Or that a couple of my lady profs wanna go out on a date with me? (Or so they said! )

Its 04:20 in the morning, and I am wide awake, no pressure of any deadlines, or exams, no tension even. My fingers are urging me to write, but my mind is lazy. It isn’t in an agitated state, maybe that is why its giving me no signals, or suggestions. But I will write. I want to. Not need to. Want to.

Today all somehow feels quiet. Serene. Or maybe this is the quiet before the coming storm. Maybe this is the still before the menacing pace of life ahead. Maybe! In that case, I better gear-up for the same. Will start with a couple of hours’ sleep.

Till Next then.

Ciao

Harmony & Disharmony

For those that define Harmony as the natural state of existence, or a state that we should aspire to, I have a question:

Does the Universe not exist in constant battle between contradictory forces of Harmony and Disharmony? Like the sunspots of the Sun, the Universe too tends to explode out of itself and then is pulled back by a contradictory force?

Would the Universe and everything that existed in it not be completely dead and non creative if there was a continuous stable non moving state of Harmony? And the same would go for us, in any form you may decide to see ourselves. Our consciousness, our soul, or our ‘five senses self’. The one law of creativity, of existence, of consciousness, of life itself, all that exists, or potentially exists, does so between extreme contradictions.

After all, Good can only be described in the context of Evil and vice versa. So what is that state that is one of complete acceptance (oops – here we go again in that word) which is neither good nor evil, nor moral or immoral, nor active or inactive, that is neither violent nor non-violent ? That has form but no recognizable form? A state that defies all adjectives, nouns or verbs we can think of, a state that exists without context with anything else, that is complete within itself yet completely infinite and incomplete?

For those that claim to have found that state which is often described as 'nirvana' (Hinduism) , or 'shunyata' (Buddhism) , or the eternal life (Islam and Christianity), I assume have encompassed the forces of contradiction and disharmony within themselves, battling neither, so experience themselves as the Universe and Eternity themselves. They are neither one nor the other, but part of a stillness that allows the battle to rage within. Knowing it to be an eternal battle, but able to smile upon it.

For me, I am still part of the battle, but learning that being buffeted by contradiction and giving into the contradictory forces is just the first step – the step that gives into the unknown without resistance. Or atleast active resistance, for the mind and the ego still rebels. The first step is to accept Chaos as the natural order of things, before reaching and yearning for that which is called 'enlightenment' or inner stillness, or whatever word and religion or philosophy chooses to use.

So forgive me if I question those that seem to emphatically KNOW. I don’t. I yearn to experience, and wonder at people that say they know. Is it mere knowledge? Or is it experience? Is it intellectual or is it emotional? The only people I meet that seem to be completely comfortable with contradiction (or duality as it is commonly called) are children , who have not yet been taught to separate completely that which is imagined and that which sensed.

I see everything I write here as huge question mark. A search and questioning, and sharing that yearning with others.

Till Next then
CIAO

Thanks to you, my friend.!

There are days that I wish to empty myself.

Empty myself of everything.

Of all the clutter that distorts.

 

So I can make room to breathe.

So I can make room to imagine.

So I can make room to love.

So I can make room to forgive.

So I can make room to listen,

 

To listen to you that is.

 

Listen

to your worries,

to your fears,

to your aspirations,

to your hopes,

to your dreams,

to your passions.

 

That way, I have little to do but be still,

be silent,

be kind,

be empathetic,

as I listen to you.

 

And in understanding you,

I become me again,

I become hopeful,

I become gentle,

I become uncluttered,

I become quiet.

 

For your wishes

are like mine.

 

For your dreams

are like mine.

 

For your fears

are like mine.

 

And as I bid farewell to you

My hesitations are silenced.

I no longer wish to be empty.

Rather, I want to be drenched,

saturated even,

in the beauty of life.

 

Thanks to you, my friend.!

INVICTUS.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul. 


--William Ernest Henley

Autopsy of Love: A Story

Love is an illusion. ‘May be’. Love is the most beautiful feeling ever experienced by humans. ‘May be’. Love is an over-rated emotion. ‘May be’. Love has the power to destroy not only one’s life but the whole world around you. ‘Well…May be'.
I never disagree with any definition for love. People have their own theories and versions for love. Even I have my own. One could prophesize any philosophy about love but if one-sided love prolonged for many years, you can relate to every known definition of ‘love’. My love story was not a very different one.
We were friends when we were kids. In adolescence, I developed some ‘special’ emotions in the friendship. I didn’t figure out it was love until my friends convinced me that it was love. Moreover, there were stuff like cinema, novels etc. that compel you to believe in the thing called ‘Love’. And from here I started my version of love.
Story becomes more clichéd as it progressed. She never had this notion of ‘love’ for a friend like me. With time, I tried everything to express my love. My innumerable banal poetries, songs had proved that I was a matter of fun in the school. We were no longer friends now. And one day, I came to know that she had an affair with our captain of basket ball team. I felt heart-broken but blissfully, when you were teen, there are other distractions than love in life, called ‘Studies’.
So, I studied hard and thought may be, I could marry her if I become a rich man. But, then in my final years, I heard that she was getting married. I gave my final shot and called her that if she could accept my love and reject the other marriage proposal for her. She told me, it was a love marriage.
“Ouch…!!”
“What are you thinking??Why are you worried now??….we had accepted your decision of marriage.”
My mother just broke my thought process, the thoughts of my immortal love story and dragged me to the present.
“Mummy, I am not worried. Just give me a moment of silence.”
So, I believe, we were at ‘Ouch..!!’. With it there was one more emotion ‘Enough of this propaganda of love, now I refuse to exist as a loser in real life.’ I had gone for further studies. I had no news about her. Then I met Trisha. She was a nice and intelligent girl. We enjoyed each other’s company. I started believing in mature love stories, a love where you could analyze the pro and cons of everything. A love whether you could envision the point ‘and they lived happily ever after’ based on your logic and statistics.
So, we fall in love. Her parents had no objection from marriage. Now, I went home to cajole my parents to the idea of ‘Trisha’ as their daughter in law. I could see the future in front of my eyes. Then one day, I went to my friend’s wedding and I met ‘Deepika’, yes…that’s her name, my first love. Believe me!..She was not my ‘only’ love…. she was my ‘first’ love.’ I kept saying this to myself.
After twenty-two years of my acquaintance, eighteen years of friendship, fourteen years of one sided love and six years as strangers, we met again. She was wearing white sari. She was more beautiful than I had ever imagined her in my dreams. I could still feel her eyes were searching for me. Now I kept on repeating ‘She was now a married woman’. But I couldn’t control my heart beats.
“Hi”
“Hi…. long time…, I can’t believe that we are meeting again.” I still had to control my eagerness to talk to her.
“Yeh…after really long time.” She sighed. “So, you went for post graduate studies.”
“Yes…my studies were over three year back. Now, I had been working. How have you been?”
“Great!! I had been working with ‘Airtel’ for past two years. Its nice to meet you, old pal. Do you remember we always used to have a blast when we were kids?”
..
“I remember everything. We were the best friends until I acted stupidly. You know in teen-age..it happens.”
“I don’t think it was stupid. It was just how you felt at that point. OK!..Forget about it..So any plans for marriage or are you a married man??”
“Partially true, I came home to tell my parents about ‘Trisha’. She was my fellow mate in the college. We share an amazing chemistry. And then we realized that we both loved each other. Now soon we will be getting married. What about you? How has been your married life? Any kids?”
“Actually, marrying ‘Ronit’ was not a good decision. We were not meant for each other. Within a year, we got divorced. There were very difficult days that followed. You know when ‘Love-marriage’ fails in India especially in a small town like ours, its really tough to fight with the image of a convict who got the punishment of what he or she deserves according to the society. But now everything is fine. I am enjoying my job and independent life.”
She was busy in meeting other people. My mind was blank for a while but suddenly thousands of emotions splurged into my mind. First, Happy - She finally got divorced. Yippee!! Sad- She was sad and lonely. Devil- You finally got your chance. She was single, and you are a successful bachelor. Angel- What about Trisha? She has been waiting for you.

As they say, Love was illusion, power, stupidity or anything one could ever imagine. It could be both selfish as well as selfless. I could not resist myself with the forces that attracted me towards 'Deepika' to surrender myself. And I could only feel sorry for ‘Trisha’. I could live ‘happily ever after with Trisha’ but I don’t want that ‘happy’ life.
I went to Deepika, “Deepika!...I had to say something to you…it’s important. I can do anything for you but please for once….”
Deepika interrupted, “Can I ask you for a favor as a friend? I would appreciate if we remain friends. All my life, I went for the things that I want and never cared for others. And still, my beliefs are not changed. I am fighting with the world for an independent and respectful life. Now I want to be a good daughter, good employee, good friend and a good person. Please don’t take my dignity by asking to follow my heart. I believe, I answered for your every unasked question.”
And she was gone.
My mother and I arrived at ‘Trisha’s home’ to talk about our marriage: Our love marriage. I was still debating with myself on definition for love.