Billabong .. Billabongbong .. Billabillabong .. n a Billabong

Today’s day marked the end of the search for a pair of flip-flops at the Shaw Centre – there they were, hanging off the hook calling out to me to buy them. Obviously I obliged. There was more reason to buy a pair than my stinking feet at the end of a sweaty day. Wanted to put on my Gio t-shirt and Quiksilver shorts, frizzled hair and a pair of flip-flops, walk on the beach. I hurried off back to Treetops, happy with myself, Billabong flippityflops is all I kept humming all the way back. It might seem a little corny, but I did imagine myself walking on the beach, open shirt, the breeze blowing. If I were to enjoy the beach, I would have to hasten, so I gulped four fish fingers down with a glass of juice, seemingly filling. But a few hassles here and there, and I inevitably got delayed till 4 in the evening. Michelle, the chinki who always smiles and greets me at the reception, said it would be better if I went elsewhere rather than the beach, but I chose to take my chances. After all can’t blame me for being excited for the brand new look I’d given myself!!

I have a very bad habit of “pondering” too much and it got the best of me by the time I reached the bus stop. “What if Michelle is right and I end up losing out on the beach experience – didn’t want to ruin anything about today?” The tourist information centre seemed to be the best bet to find out what to and what not to do. A choice presented itself – do I take the bus and get off two stops later or do I flaunt the cool look and walk on bustling Orchard Road instead? Wondering how narcissistic can I get, I was looking good there’s no two ways bout it – if you got it, flaunt it! ;) Reached Singapore Visitors’ Centre at 4:20 p.m., entered and cut a few tourists in queue to barge in on the “what I can only imagine as a mellow albino boy” at the counter as I bombarded him with a million questions. The poor fellow softly asked me to repeat all I had just blabbered. Nah, I don’t always oblige. So instead I just asked him to tell me if its worth going to the beach now, got a reply in the negative and got the Battle Box as an alternative.

Got off at Dhoby Ghaut, the closest station to Fort Canning, where the Battle Box lay. A kilometre hike through stairs and a heavy canopy of trees, I reached the road mark leading up to Fort Canning. Something inside told me that this was going to be worth the trouble the friggin’ humidity would give me. So I marched on, along meandering paths, gaping slides, smooching couples (you read that right!), photography obsessed Thai couple, and reached the ticket office of the Battle Box. At this point I asked myself one very simple question – when exactly in God’s name did Singapore of all places FIGHT a war?! Suddenly there was a very sickening feeling in my tummy of losing 8 S$ for crap. But like my numerous other wrong habits, I am gifted at being ignorant and painting the image of a world as I like it to be. So there I sat in front of the TV, airing the initial documentary on Singapore and World War II. The guided tour included a British family, a Swede and a German couple who just could not stop kissing, and of course, yours truly. We continued on to the actual war rooms once the 15-minute documentary was over.

We were supposed to have headphones on for listening to the war commentary. I have no clue why they chose to have the technique, because eventually all of us ended up standing in a pose as if playing Twister! No, do not even imagine what position I ended up in, because I can tell you, I am glad the German couple did NOT have any spicy Mexican or Indian food for lunch :P At the end of the first room, we all laughed thinking of what we just did. The next few rooms were exactly the same apart from the fact that the little Brit kid threw a tantrum after hearing a mock World War II bomb explode. What fascinated me was the fact that how much we know about Hitler’s role in the war, but hardly have any clue about the Japanese involvement, or probably I have been too ignorant of their significance in the war except for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Did you know that like the German Gestapo, there was a Japanese equivalent too – Tasatemi – or something like that, I guess my Japanese ain’t as good as my Chinese ;) What was surprising was the fact that all the scribbling on the wall that had been conserved was in a straight line! I made that observation, and got a pat on the back from the tour guide, see told you, there was absolutely nothing wrong about today ;)

Once out of the Battle Box, the details of the war stories of which I don’t want to bore you with, I had to hurry downhill, as the closing time was at 6 and there were only a couple of minutes left. While sliding down, and hopping in between, I realised that the humidity never really got to me, not even to my ailing lungs! I know that’s none of your business, but its my blog, so go fish! ;) I was in no mood to go back to my room and lay in bed watching TV like the rest of my fellow interns were busy doing. The bloke dressed up in a traditional dress of probably Singapore was kind enough to guide me to Istana Park, which I have been told is the Presidential Park of Singapore – take that Delhi’s botanical gardens! Thenga! ;) Strolled, rested, threw a few pebbles into the pond, tried photographing a gooey snail stuck on the wall, vertically, with my crappy cellphone camera. Almost every nook and corner that turned into a dark opening had a couple making out or just lying on the grass – I was jealous – big time at that!! Stopped by a few teenagers practising a few dance moves, watched them pull off some exciting twists. One amazing thing about the water fountains here is that the water comes out gently and where you stand it appears like a wafer thin layer as if the entire ground was literally floating on water. Was very hard resisting the serenity of that water, wanted to just poke a finger in and just check if it really was water and no trickery, but then why even bother shattering a misconception even if it were one, as long as it amazes me! ;) So I moved on, back to Dhoby Ghaut, took the train home.

PS The boy’s name is Gregory – what is it with the Brits and their freakin’ Victorian era names ?! Might as well have named their kid Sir Gregory the VII or something. Jeez! ;)

The Motorcycle Diaries ..

Part Two - The Nemesis

Day 3 - Chullu bhar paani

It wouldn't be wrong to suggest that I already had premonitions of having a miserable session this day. The clutch as it is wasn't problem enough that the accelerator also had to kick in - "its all about perfect co-ordination" - tell me 'bout it, easy to say but have YOU ever tried your hand at the friggin' co-ordination ?! Kick-start, a gentle race, and a slow but steady release of the clutch was all that I had to manage. Sounds easy doesn't it ? The scorching heat, the distant stench of the railways tracks, and the weariness from last day's failure - could I have asked for a better way to start off ? Still ripe with confidence and determination to keep at it, I started the bike, clutch pulled back, shift to first gear, steady as she goes, slowly, slowly, a little vroom, almost there, just a tad more, and the bike sneezes to a halt. Never mind, was a loosener, will definitely get it right on the next try. Same ritual - shift to neutral, a little race, clutch, gear shift, slow and steady, a little more on the engine, and achhoo goes the bike yet again. They say third time lucky, but there I was, still stranded on the road hitting a double hat-trick already, third time lucky my ass !!

I wouldn't mind such setbacks, after all "practice makes a man perfect" wasn't suggested by a fool, but when you have on-lookers standing by just to watch you mess up again and whisper in each other's ears, human tendency makes you desperately search for that chullu bhar paani. C'mon people, its 9:00 in the morning, don't you have an office to go to ?! Now that I think of it was funny in a very weird way, at least I got a good part of the attention they were going to have all day anyways ;) This being the third day on the trot, a local boy must have noticed my tussle with the bike, and just to show off the brat decided to take his splendor out for ride at the very instant when I was busy trying different mantras to make the bike budge (trust me, open sesame does NOT work with everything !!) Kudos to the kid though for his bike antics, but guess that wasn't good enough to inspire me to do better, as long as the back being patted ain't mine, the adrenalin rush ain't gonna come :) Ended the session on that question mark, demoralised on the inability to get the smooth start that have been used to seated on the back seat.

Day 4 - Reprieve

Woke up in the morning today, still lay in bed, contemplating on whether to go for the bike session after yesterday's misery, and if not what excuse to give to my bro who'd have definitely fried my ass for giving up so easy. I did try to come up with an excuse to get out of it, but then my bro has this uncanny knack of being 'right' - hate it sometimes! So there I was again, in a white adidas t-shirt, ready to take on "one of the better things I have been involved with". No points to guessing who called it that ;) It wasn't a fairytale start for sure as I carried on the hiccups from yesterday. A few more tries and I finally got the beast roaring on the road. Whatever be my inability to handle the clutch, once the beast is under control, have to say, everything's smooth and feel like going on for miles without stopping. There was no denying that today was one of the better days, the success rate was higher, and I think I took care of the unwanted audience. Had to turn the bike 180 degrees on a wide road, gear was at one, and the accelerator at full throttle while turning, the sudden jerk towards the crowd gave them a scare as they scampered around. Yeah, be afraid, am out of control with the bike, might take down a bunch of you with me!! Don't think they'd be taking time out of their busy schedule to watch the gladiator tame the beast again tomorrow :P

I'd like to make myself happy by explaining the brat's absence today with him being grounded by his mommy for speeding or using the bike yesterday without permission. I do not know what kept him from coming, but whatever be the case, life was easier today, its one liberty I can enjoy being 25 - I've got NO SCHOOL !! ;) Didn't become a pro overnight but I realised that giving up now would mean chucking the bike into the dumps just the way I did the two-wheeler. Tomorrow's a new day, and though today was hard, am sure a couple of days more and I'd have mastered that freakin' clutch. After all "its all about the accelerator and clutch co-ordination" - how hard could it be ? :)

PS That's item number 15 ticked off the bucket list - "not to give in to fear" ;)

The Motorcycle Diaries ..

Disclaimer: This post has no relation to Che Guevara and does not in any way endorse or criticise his ideologies. :)

Day 1 - Vroom..

As if the apprehension of getting onto a bike for the first time on the driver's seat wasn't bad enough, the painstaking effort to actually ask my uncle to coach me at the age of 25 just added to the embarrassment. But then there are a million things which others haven't done and I have, so guess it all eventually levels off (shut up if you think am just pacifying my ego!). Anyhow, there I was, in my biking gear - puma shoes, tracks, and a black t-shirt with the 7 sins and a skull, waiting pensively. We rode down to the common practice area where I vividly recollect poppy giving me my first cycling lessons - those were much simpler times I guess :) Strict instructions - DO NOT accelerate too much, DO NOT handle the clutch, DO NOT press the break, DO NOT act all gung-ho - you are not Genghis Khan !! Fidgety hands, sweaty palms tentatively rested on the handle, as the bike was kick-started and shifted to first gear. I would not deny the fact that those first few seconds were scary and I drew what can only be described as a drunk's walk, yet the feeling of handling the beast I felt scared of all my life was liberating. Even cruising at 20 kmph it felt as if the breeze was flowing through me, as if I had wings. It may all sound cliche but I won't deny my feelings just for want of better, more regular words!

Balance was the key I had to focus on the first day. It surely was no poise of a ballerina, but hell that first day of biking on my own felt like I had accomplished a world of good. Left turn, right turn, circling, slowing down, all seemed so simple. All was good, till the gaming freak in me kicked in and the accelerator got a clockwise vroom to it - 20 my ass, 30-40 kmph here I come ! ;) In a perfect world I would've been applauded for my antics, but alas, this world is all but perfect and what ensued for the next 2 minutes was a powerful lecture against speeding. My rights to independently handle the bike revoked :( But heck, to be able to enjoy the first day of riding a bike, cruising, felt amazing. I could very easily come up with a hundred synonyms to describe the feeling, but eventually it'll just tell you how awesome it felt to have finally started that engine and vroomed off into the wind!! ;)

Day 2 - Press .. shift .. leave .. *boing*

If day one was liberation, the next day was punishment. Clutches - what got me off the two-wheeler - the nemesis I wanted to avoid were back to haunt me yet again. I still do not get the reason to having a clutch for gears and having to leave it slowly - please spare me the mechanics of it if you know - I'd like to stay ignorant ;) Anyways, the first gear change after a kickstart required a slow release of the clutch. As if that weren't hard enough - leave it too soon and you'll stop with a jerk, leave it too slow and you won't budge and the bike would go off !! "Once you master the co-ordination between the clutch and the accelerator there would be nothing else to learn" - easy for you to say unc, you've been friggin' riding the bike for like a million years ! First try at the sweet release of the clutch - I didn't do that bad actually, except for a little jerk, was pretty smooth shifting. Well I believe that little jerk also should not have been there - must've been my unc's wrong accelerator handling or something ;) A couple of more tries, jerks, and popat's later, I was literally flexing my wrists. You might not understand but seriously, all the mental pressure was being taken out on the poor wrists.

Ten rounds later, we did a full round-up of all I had learnt in the two sessions, just in time for my unc to leave for office and me to feel proud of my achievement. Everything went along fine, all the clutches, breaks, gears, speed and what not, but damn that one stupid little thing just almost always has to fuck up - and there I was - still holding onto the clutch after changing gears as if it were my darling angel going off on a bloody cruise ! Argh ! End result - tomorrow ain't going to be an upgrade session but a REVIEW - again ! Goof-ups are a norm of life - am just glad they're not the only thing in life. Whatever may have happened over these two days, I realised one thing for sure - my grandkids are going to have an amazing time listening to grandpa's motorcycle diaries for a long time to come ! ;)

PS - This post would sound way better if I could read it out to you with all the voice modulation and actions - but as I said, this world is everything but perfect ! ;)

Memoirs ..

They say that memories are worth having if they don't make you think of the past. They also say that every memory is unique, and worth treasuring. Why then do we shed a tear when reminiscing of someone lost? Why is it so hard for us to smile at every remembrance? The void haunts us for several nights before we curl up in bed, squirming with an aching tummy wishing it all away. It seems difficult to drive away the demons of solitude and sorrow thinking of the close friend we lost. Depression seems imminent. Life in all its grandeur seems not worth the effort anymore.

I cannot present to anyone the elixir of life, nor can I tell you what the secret is to make yourself immune to such attachment. Yet I sit at my laptop today, trying to figure out for myself and possibly in the process relate to you what life's been about since the 20th of March. It is easy for us as humans to fall into the abyss and be lost in it forever, to hide behind our sorrows and hope that the feeling of guilt and sadness would eventually fade into oblivion. But it is equally hard to derive strength, to be able to accept reality, if not for yourself, then at least for the ones you care about. Denial is what I used to call that feeling. I now realise the difference. It could not have been denial, because the acceptance of never being able to see her again was there, and denial precludes sorrow, but tears had already been shed, how then could this feeling of not knowing how to feel be denial ?!

Uneasy with the inability to explain the drying up of tears, the mind often ventures into the subliminal. For me, denial was followed by indifference as a plausible explanation. But then again, indifference to 'what' exactly? It still was not possible to pin-point the source of such a discomforting explanation, and I thankfully moved onward looking for reasons to believe in. After several phases of calling it ignorance, apathy, shock and what not, all synonyms of 'denial', I sat down on the parapet wall outside my room one evening and looked up towards the sky. I do not know why, but that evening the stars were scattered afar, not close to each other, but spread across the vast canvas of the sky. The sparsity didn't diminish the beauty in any way, but just gave the sky a different look. Being far from each other didn't mean they stopped complementing each other, their twinkle still sparkled and bounced off each other's radiance and as I lay there gazing upwards, I understood.

Not feeling depressed anymore was a good omen, for all I could remember was the good times spent with Ami, the leg-pulling, the camera sessions, the long lectures, the French movie, the hike up the mountain, the tumbling down it ;) The hope of having her in a much better place, and being happy that her life's best year was the last one she had, all came rushing in. Reminiscence of losing someone is worth having if you miss them for the good times spent, rather than crib for the ones you could not. To be able to smile at the fact that by being with them for whatever time you could, you brought a smile to their face and made them feel special, is what makes it worth treasuring every memory. To know that she could not have asked for a better friend during her final moments, to know that she was happy with what she'd become, to know that she saw how beautiful life could be, makes you realise that everyday hundreds of people pass away and only one lucky person is fortunate enough to go with a smile, knowing that they lived life to the T, without any regrets. :)

Remember Ami for her smile, her giggles, her scolding, for that is what made her special. For what good is it to keep memories if they make you think of the past ;)

PS: This post has been possible because of a special friend of mine who made me realise what Ami ought to be remembered for :)