The time, forgotten

There will be a time when the existence of man shall be questioned and held accountable for the horrors inflicted on several innocent souls, but until that day of reckoning comes, our conscience beckons, reminding us of the need for humanity and compassion.  

Today, with my 49th post on this blog, I am not going to relate to you a funny anecdote but go full circle to the beginnings of this blog, the reason the "why" arose.  Life relates to us several tales, some etch into our memories, others drive the adrenalin up, and eventually fizz away into nothingness.  A fizz is what bubbled into the intertwined deliberations - the random ramblings that evolved over the past two years and more.  But in public interest am not going to walk down memory lane and reminisce.  Instead, I'll celebrate this pre-golden jubilee post for myself, by giving it the post it deserved - something that has been etched in memory for more than 9 years and was renewed this month during my visit to Munich, and never had the potential of fading away.

Political correctness has not been my forte, so before I start, my apologies to anyone who might be offended in any way with what I talk about.  Dachau - one of the first concentration camps in Germany, was established near Munich, which Steffi - my friend whose place I crashed at, drove me down to, on a chilly autumn morning.  Whatever experts may say, I refuse to believe that global warming caused that day to be especially cold - it felt like winter had set in - the nose numb. Drooling. Everyone taking out their taschnetucher (paper napkin) and blowing their noses in.  The ears about to drop off, the lips parched - not for lack of moisture, but the moisture on them being frozen into icicles.  I dare not imagine what a tongue would have gone through had it been on a popsicle that day!  We could not make an early start since last night had been rather tiring and the beers did not help with the alarm either.  Surprisingly for 11:30, the fog is still very thick - a dense grey set in the outskirts, visibility low.  In the car it didn't cross either of our minds what that gloomy weather meant for us.  We simply drove on, reached, and made our way to the audio guides section. 

This has been my second visit to a concentration camp, the first one being Mauthausen, on the outskirts of Vienna.  I will not advertise.  I will not coax you into going there.  I won't elaborate on what I saw either.  However, what I will tell you is the chill that ran down my spine, when I saw the line of 24 barracks in continuation that seemed to disappear into the horizon with no end in sight.  I will tell you about the design that won an award - and how that death seemed less painful than what would have been inflicted.  The more we glorify or condemn something, the more renowned something becomes, the faster it loses impact.  Dachau was different.  No cafes, no restaurants.  No souvenir shop, or marketing gimmick.  The grey abode stood there, amidst civilisation - people going in to work everyday, letting it drift into history - unnoticed, uncelebrated.  

I won't elaborate on my conversations with Steffi either, for they were wonderful - and any attempt on my part to reiterate them to you would simply not do justice to the ideas we discussed, the perspectives we got.  By afternoon, the chill had grown into a windy storm, as the breeze grew wilder, edging us on to the next exhibit in line.  What was supposed to be a 2-3 hour trip took longer - we were engrossed - not in the horrors - but in something more abstract  - the feeling - the empathy was prominent - the sympathy lingering.  Exiting the museum, we entered the barracks - the bunk beds - reminds you of "Life is Beautiful" - the movie, but not so much the horrors - we could not help but think that in probably in another hour we would be home, sipping on hot cocoa or coffee, while not 60 years ago here lay men, awaiting - not death, but the morning horn for headcount, shivering, unaware what came with the next sunrise.  

If you expect from me an elaboration on what I saw, a condemnation of Hitler's tyranny, this is not the intent of this post.  It is just one elaboration - an attempt at it - to tell you that it isn't a Romantic's idea to experience pain and suffering when going to such a place, but a common man's compassion that brings him to realise the need for love amongst humans.  It might seem all too far fetched, preachy and exaggerated - more like a work of drama, but the presence, the gravel under your feet echoes into your head - without permission - of the untold horrors.   

Five o'clock in the evening approaches and we make our way as the last tourists to leave the premises - happy to get out of the depressing state the camp put us in, content to be able to get in the car, switch the heater on and warm ourselves, happy that in today's times we feel secure. But as Steffi sped on to the highway, I cleared the fog from the window with my jacket, looked into the distance as the tin sheets shattered in the strong wind but the trees lining the camp stood still - the silence echoing in history - "never again", disappearing round the curb to join the evening commuters into Munich.

Not a moment's peace

Reminiscing of an old Indian fable, a wise man - Birbal - from the court of ministers of the great Mughal emperor Akbar, was once asked by the ruler what was the most relaxing and satisfying human emotion? A very simple question, yet it sent the entire court in a tussle between gratitude, benevolence, and what not - everyone trying to show off their "humane" side.  Birbal, being his wise self chose to maintain silence and requested the emperor that he be allowed to demonstrate his answer.   The emperor aware of Birbal's wit willingly agreed, hoping to learn the answer the fun way.  

In the dead of night Birbal came banging to the emperor's chamber requesting his company on a journey across the river.  The emperor reluctantly agreed, sensing the urgency in Birbal's voice.  The river waters gushed calmly, the fog set in, the visibility was low, and there anchored along the shore afloat was a rowboat - but nobody to row it.  Unfamiliar with such inconvenience the emperor quizically looked at Birbal expecting an explanation, but the wise man just smiled and got onto the boat assuring the emperor he would not have to row.  Three quarters of an hour into the journey, the cold was taking its toll, Birbal rowed at a leisurely pace, and the emperor grew restless.  Eventually he gave in and pleaded with Birbal to row faster as he had to pee.  Birbal with his usual smile informed that they were in the middle and going either way would take at least another three quarters of an hour.  He suggested that the emperor satisfy his urge in the river itself.  The idea was outrageous to the emperor brought up with such etiquette and he categorically denied any such improper act.  Another quarter of an hour passed and the restlessness became unbearable, and the emperor became impatient, the wise man still smiling and rowing.  He eventually gave in and threw all his apprehensions out the boat (window :P) letting out a sigh of relief - with a voice in the background saying "sire, this is the most satisfying human emotion" - a hearty laugh followed and they both rowed back home. 

Why? Because its a good story but more so since I realised its importance not two days ago.  Leaving the gym, I calculated that if I hurried I could catch the minibus in time and not wait for the next one to leave in 15 minutes.  Had to pee but thought, a 5 minute ride against a 15 minute wait, I could hold on for some time.  So I ran to catch the minibus - made it just in time ! :) Couldn't get a seat so kept shifting my weight from one leg to the other, bobbing forwards and backwards just to keep the pressure from building.  Could have made a good club dance move any other day, but all that occupied my mind then was - "just 2 more minutes .. 119 seconds .. 118 .. 117 .. 115 .. 110 .." - yeah I was skipping seconds, because believe it or not, if you are waiting, and you KNOW you're gonne be free of the 'tension' in a few seconds, the pressure builds up even more.  So instead of the usual baritone of "Acarlar" to request the driver to halt, a squeak came out, and I hurried off the minibus, brisk walking back to my apartment, hands trembling and missing the keyhole twice. I finally got in.  

No no no - how can life be THAT easy ?! I open the door and the phone rings - "hello .. hello .. hellooooooooo" - nobody answers - why would someone bother someone already in a hurry - ack !! So I continue on walking like a penguin by this time, and before I could reach the shining white ceramic, the cellphone rings - on vibration mode - what was luck trying to do - kill me ?! I take the bloody thing out and its one of my friends calling about meeting up - so I take the call, and in  a stressed tone - talking more like a Robert de Niro or a Marlon Brando in the Godfather fix up a time and disconnect - hey don't judge me to be rude - I was under a lot of pressure - literally ! I reach the door - glowing, inviting, turn the handle - locked! I turn again - still locked - why oh why ?! "Am in here KG" comes a voice from inside - its one of my flatmates ! Oh bloody hell !! Fortunately we have two restrooms, so I hurry off to the other one - now that one has not been designed for guys pee'in - the lid keeps falling down - so got to adjust that first - 2 more minutes of misery - that taken care of - okay I will save you the details, thankfully for you, but lets just say, even the zipper played spoilt sport that day, and another 5 minutes later only could I go "oh dear heaven on earth" - and the sigh of relief !! :)

I know a lot of people would identify with this experience but would deny it all the same ! :) Never again am I gonna go for a 10 minute time saver and have 10 minutes of misery - the 15 minute wait it shall be ;)

Kudos!!

This new look is Pramod's work on a sleepless night at 5 a.m. with me eating his head :) This post marks 2008 as the year with maximum posts on my blog - so kudos to me too ! :P

Cheers!

The Orange Juice Project

For the uninitiated, this is not a vain attempt at promoting Orange nectar for Cappy.  It is in fact an attempt at doing justice to the melody woven by three great performers on a memorable night, when a lot of people lost their "jazz virginity". :)  In a country that loves its history and folk music, it does not come as a surprise that the turn-up for the Kerem Gorsev performance was more than overwhelming.  Jazz might not feature as the prominent trend-setter in my country but it was heartening to see so much enthusiasm bubbling in the crowd, though I do realise a lot of them were excited about the free wine outside, just before the concert.   I know, because I missed out on it - damn, knew working out in the gym was going to bite me on the arse some time or the other!    

The best part of going to a concert is to have company, and I now know how amazing it feels to be hanging out with a group, and how happiness can be infectious.  We rushed in, booking rows of seats for each other, jackets on seats, sweaters, jerseys, bags, hell I even kept a pen to mark my territory! ;) And then like agents, negotiating who gets to sit where, fending off unwelcome guests, bargaining on blocks of seats so that the entire MBA batch could sit together.  Finally, after a tussle for 15 minutes, we all were there, seated cozily in our seats, only to realise those on the other side would have been a better catch, but who the hell cares as long as we are almost up front.  What was to ensue in the next one and a half hours was what could have melted an avalanche into a rivulet that tinkled through the mountains in the calmest of forests.  

A prelude with "My mind", the group broke into a melancholic tussle between the piano and the drums - fighting for control, as the notes wove in and out with varying speeds and pitch.  When the piano set in with its sedation, the drums would jump in with a nerve-racking rhythm that would make the feet automatically start tapping.  The music would entice you, draw you forward from your relaxed position, as you rest your chin between your folded hands resting on your knees, ever intent, and waiting for that sudden cliffhanging moment in the song when you'd almost carry on in the trance and be caught by surprise.  At the end of the first song, think Marisa read my thoughts when she said, "what would be ideal right now is a glass of wine" - for such panache deserves the class of an audience that knows its wine ;)

If the melancholy got us drawn in, the next piece of "Respect" switched gears into the realm of the subconscious - a humdrum fell and a monotonous beat filled the air, the pianist dissolved and the entire room went into the subliminal.  Nobody blinked for hundreds of seconds together, the composer bobbing his head back and forth gently, as if possessed spiritually into a higher form of existence.  Elevated.  As he pressed the closing note on the composition, a silence persisted, he remained seated, head bowed down, and as he rose, the applause broke the pin-drop calmness for the first time.   The ode to calmness came in the next performance, as he related to us the story of a 1923 black and white movie  in Turkish, and dedicated the next song "Serenity" to it.  Serenity was followed with "Sunrise" and though both elucidate contrasting feelings, am going to try and explain the fervour they created in the same key-strokes.  

With a flourish of the hands, the drummer from USC, a graduate, smiling, sweat trickling off his bald head, he opens Sunrise and plays an innings of a lifetime, something even Bach and Beethoven would have paid homage too, and such is his grasp on the audience that the transition to the piano is applauded with a standing ovation from the audience.  If Sunrise belonged to the drums, Serenity was nestled in the emphatic bass, the stringed lurker in the background who came to the fore with a scintillating pluck-and-hold presentation with the 5 stringed bass.  Smiles passed in glances between all three, an acknowledgement of prowess and how each one felt honoured to be playing in the others' company.  Majestic, truly unbelievable.

Like all albums, the title song had to be embedded in the middle, and likewise, it was time "Orange Juice" was played - a flurry of notes danced on the symbols of the drummer, slid through the strings of the bass, ending up on the piano deck, as the three created the masterpiece for the evening, the high-note, the ode to the evening of joy and celebration.  The audience caught on, commotion brewed up as we swayed a little, had to remember a jazz concert does not necessarily require a head-bobbing acknowledgement like a rock concert does ;)  "I remember your face" and "Long Way" wound up the evening as the same nimble and deft touches to the instruments induced in them an orgasm that lasted in people's memories for days to come.  

A night to remember, and yet I still feel haven't done justice to what the ears were treated to that night :)

PS The photograph posted is my notes for the night :)

The tequila night *hic*

As a disclaimer to this post I would like to mention just for the record that I do not usually get drunk and on this night also do not expect any antics from me. Besides, why would I ever put them up on this page - don't you get enough gags out of my other misfortunes? :| Its been quite some time so I do not remember the exact details, but I do clearly recollect the offer of the best Starbucks made to me by Emre - the one in Bebek - "its gonna be fun" he said, and in my fascination with the easy Turkish way of life, I agreed.  

Amidst Turkish chitter-chatter we drove down to Bebek and an hour later, my bum was relieved to be taken out of its pancake position.  It wouldn't be

ideal, I thought, at this point to tell the guys am hungry - for you do not say that in front of the Turks else they make sure you get stuffed like a lamb before sacrifice ! :| Trust me, I've been stuffed once too often ;) So there I stood, my tummy rumbling, growling and scowling at me to blurt the magic words of "yemek" out (yemek in Turkish means food)!! But I think my conscience got the better of me as I stay put, in my unbroken silence.  However, this is where my ego swoops in and tells me "it ain't all your fault you know" - and that is when I reason out that its coz of everyone speaking Turkish around me that I kinda feel a lil left out at times - don't blame them, but that doesn't help either - yes this is for you, my Turkish friends - TALK IN ENGLISH .. puhleeeeze :P 

Back on track, Emre announces that he has to take of since he has to take Esra to a friend's birthday party, so we all go in together into a restaurant .. not Starbucks, but a bar cum restaurant - seems expensive from the looks of it.  There she is sitting in a corner, Ceyda, happily munching away at her pasta and sipping on some red wine.  We join her, exchange greetings, and move in to a larger table.  Time to place the orders people.  Hmm, now what should I have I wonder.  Its not like I have been a big time non-veggie for so long or that am a connoisseur of food, so Arda suggests the Thai shrimp thingy pasta.  I don't know better so the shrimp it is.  And we wait.  Talking of past relationships, cultural differences, funny anecdotes, and whatever boohawkey comes to mind.  Finally, the orders arrive and we dig in - my travails with the shrimp are a story to be told of another day, and probably another place, but the night dissolved into the subliminal as we kept talking and sharing laughs, a few clicks and it was time to wrap up and head back home.  

The bill paid, we moved out into the streets, to be drenched in showers, of all the days, you just had to pick this one to rain.  A few more clicks, hugs and punches on the arm later, we found ourselves in one of the small departmental stores still open at the 11th hour of the night.  I frankly do not remember the transition from the restaurant to the store, and that black out ends in me holding a bottle of Fosters and agreeing to having drinks at Ceyda's place - so much for a decent coffee at Starbucks :P  As a side note, I have been told if you have Fosters in Turkey you're considered a doof, and tis better to go for the local Efes.  Getting back to the story, the beers in hand, we were paying, when out of "Turkish nowhere" the offer of a tequila night comes about and we all agree! :) 

I know by this point in the blog you are more or less just waiting for the controversies brought to life by the tequila to surface and for me to shut up about the rest.  But I am sorry my friend, like we decided, what happens at the table, stays at the table - can't break the bro code now can I ? :) Let it suffice that I had an amazing night, and am never sleeping next to either Caglar or Arda ever again ! :P Fret not my friend for though you did not get your kicks out of me having a great night with no mishaps, the next morning proved to be more to your taste than to mine.  At 8 in the morning, I woke up with a rush realising I had a lecture to attend at 9:30.  I tip-toed across the apartment and put on my shoes, left a thank-you note for Ceyda and quietly closed the door behind me only to go "doh" exactly in Homer Simpson style, remembering that I forgot my glasses inside! :(  Although am not blind without my glasses, but a hangover from last night, and a woozy head did not help out either as I walked with the support of the side-rungs of the staircase and found my way out like a blind man.  

Out into the streets the light from the sun overwhelmed my pupils and I think they went into hiding.  Somehow I stumbled up the climb of Medyakent and reached the bus-stop.  A wait for 5 minutes convinced me that the bus would not be coming and its better to just walk up to Acarlar.  Reaching the gates of the familiar residential complex after about 7-8 minutes of stumbling and wishing for an aspirin, a sigh of relief.  Alas, my stories never end in me smiling, and there they stood - energetic and ready to pounce on the word "go" - the pack of dogs, who appeared no less fierce than wolves.  They sprang after me and launched themselves into overdrive on the uphill climb, and worst of all instead of biting me and ending the misery they taunted and mocked me, ran next to me barking, laughing at the fact that I was desperately trying not get bitten on the arse! :| There you have it - another reason for you to increase your RBC count and for me to feel like a complete dork ! :|

The tequila night happened - am glad it did, opened me up a lot with my friends, never looked back after that - oh come on you want me to end this blog with such bull?! :P Just go home and have a laugh again imagining me being chased by a pack of dogs you lousy freaks ! :P Adios.  

Got change?

While I write this post am all the more wiser having already been in Istanbul for more than a week. What fascinates most people is the fact that being an Indian I do not look any different from the Turks, thus the obvious language problem gets obviated and it is presumed that I would be fluent in Turkish, let alone know it!  But that is not what this post is going to be about - the trivialities of linguistic placement.  Minibuses usually ply between two places here at Koc and the surrounding areas, especially Sariyer.  After much haggling at the dorm office I had finally been allotted a room in the Acarlar area, but more about that once I shift in.  Like the past two times, I was supposed to board the minibus, say the name of the place, and hand in 1 YTL -

 no more, no less was the job prescribed to me in order to avoid any embarrassment on part of not understanding the language.  

I have always had a fascination for front seats, used to be the whiny kid who always fought for the front seat in the car, no matter whose car it was.  Why would it be any different for a bus, especially given the fact that Koc rests on a hill top and the view is amazing as you go down the slope.  Luckily the minibus starts off from the campus itself, so there I was having taken care of the routine 1 YTL payment, sitting comfortably on the front seat.  I had managed to grab the front seat the first time too, but then the bus was virtually empty. After a 5 minute wait the bus started inching out from the bay on to the university roads.  A content smile snuck up on my face - reason you ask ? Well of course if you manage to get something done hassle free in a foreign land, the sense of accomplishment is overwhelming :)  If you're a regular visitor to this blog, by now you would DEFINITELY have guessed that things are about to take a turn ;) 

Two minutes into the ride, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and as I turned to check out who it was, before I knew it a scarfed lady in her late forties shoved 1.40 YTL into my hand and mumbled something in Turkish with a smile.  I did not know how to react. Was she paying me coz I look cute ? *highly unlikely* Was she cuckoo? I could not come up with any plausible reason as to why she would give me money.  I held on to the coins firmly clutched in my sweaty palm, sweaty out of anxiety as to what those coins were doing in the palm of my hand.  Before long another passenger did the same and this time it was just a YTL, friggin' cheap bastard, I thought to myself.  The anxiety grew as a third passenger followed suit.  I could feel the copper of the coins melt into the sweat and leave a metallic odour that was making me nauseous.  By this time I hadn't noticed but those standing had been staring at me with fixated eyes as if accusing me of ignorance.  You could have imagined my face at the verge of a mental breakdown just trying to answer the simple question - WHY ME ?! 

An old man was kind enough to tell me in broken English that the money was supposed to be handed over to the driver.  Why the hell didn't that strike me before ?! *slams forehead* So I handed over the money to the driver, as if clearing my hands of a cursed treasure, and finally drew a breath of relief.  The embarrassment was still there, but what the heck, the awkward moment was over!  Alas, life never screws you just once, so the driver turns and asks me what I can only imagine is the destination of the people who gave me the money is.  As if handing over wasn't enough, how was I supposed to remember their freakin' names ?! He started talking loudly and what I can imagine was Turkish swear words.  At this point of time my instincts got taken over by fear, and I got off at the next bus-stop not caring where the hell it was!  Turns out Emlak Konut isn't far off from Acarlar, discovered it walking all the way uphill that day :P

Sometimes I really wonder why is it that I hafta get a kick out of MISadventures while all others have anecdotes to tell with OTHERS making a fool of themselves.  Ah well feed on my misfortunes you leeches! My day will come soon ! ;)

Das Fremde

No matter how much you travel all your life, there is bound to be an experience that borders on the forgettable, a phase at least of an adventure which you'd much rather forget as soon as possible. I guess it is more striking while you're going through it, and probably in the future when you look back, might just not look that big a deal to you. Yet as the moment persists, the ensuing agony of having to drag through every day, lie in bed aimlessly all night in anticipation of a change in the way things are to the way you'd like them to be, is what gets to you in the end. Contrary to common perception, I always thought that being a new comer to a foreign land had its own share of adventure. Little did I know what had been store in this small Pandora's box along the coast of the Black Sea :)

But I won't go into the details of the misadventures this time round, I have cribbed about them all day, have sworn off the people responsible to the deepest realms of hell, cursed the day I chose this uni, and now no more. I sat down post-dinner contemplating why I should persist in this place. The reasons were galore but trust me if you move your luggage 4 times in a single evening to places 4 kilometres away from each other, logic does not really get to you. Frustration built up and the urge to chuck it all and go back to India grew - to be able to lay in mom's lap, a good night's sleep at home, a fun fight with my bro, all comes rushing back to you. But in that moment you realise its these things that drive you forward - the ability to have a good time, with everyone. I might not have had the greatest one week in Istanbul thus far, mostly coz of the acco problems, but hey, its a long 4 months - who knows ;)

This blog just came out since I wanted others to know that not every journey is an adventure, shit happens. Not everything you set out for goes your way, but the key remains persistence, for it is in times of shit that the deo shines ;) Will keep you all posted as and when the (mis)adventures of yours truly ensue - for now lets just rest it at a humble post ;) Wotsay ? :P

Hey, my blog, my feelings, bugger off if you're not interested :) Cheers !

TK 1071

They say that an uneventful flight never stays in memory, and its the little anecdotes that make you remember them for ages. They also say that what becomes of your flying experience depends almost 90% on the person sitting next to you, and the remaining 10% I tend to believe is how accessible the loo is for you ;) Well if I were to go by what people say, I'd be in my grave right now, for 90% of my journey was a dusty old hag who would have done a better role than Jim Carrey in The Grinch who stole Christmas, and the remaining 10% seemed oddly inconvenient as both the loos were blocked with food trays! Anyways, lets not spoil the surprise by revealing tid-bits of the 'happy journey'.

Now I'm not one to judge immediately, well am not one anymore, but something odd seemed in the people lined up for the check-in counter for Turkish Airlines. Contrary to my expectation, the Indians didn't even spare this country, well at least that was what was apparent from the queue. Suddenly, during my contemplation on whether to pity or detest these souls, pop comes a girl with a bushy hairdo, as if the glue available in the sarkari post offices was used to stick them to her head, and walks up to me asking if I was a new addition. Well don't be surprised, those were the exact words used by her, and trust me I still do not know new addition to WHAT ?! I simply declined, for I could make out from her demeanour that she had one of those misplaced superiority complexes whereby you tend to think that because you're studying in a foreign university, India is proud of you! :P Time wailed by, crawling at a snail's pace, as I reached my turn in the queue when the eyes light up looking at the two only passengers in front of me before I check-in and get the overweight baggage hassle over with. Alas, did I say life's that simple ?! Well of course not, so in walk these two south Indian students with the very bush-hair witch, after what I can only imagine was concocting some potion to turn all the passengers into frogs! Apparently, these great minds of India who were spreading the good name abroad were not 1, not 2 but 35 kilograms overweight in baggage ! Yes I know, I sense it too, you're not really interested in what happened at the check-in counter, its the 90% flight journey that's keeping you interested ain't it ? ;) Okay will cut to the chase, but before I do, just one thing needs a special mention here. If I ever find that fat-ass-hairy-faced-chocolate-brown-muffin-munching-good-for-nothing nincompoop who left his hand baggage at the security checking, I'm gonna pulverise him into nothingness, for it was his negligence that delayed the flight by 1.5 hours!

Hey don't ask me what the negligence was, you're the one who's been pushing for the in-flight story! Anybody interested to know the details may do so by asking me after the story is over, till then shut your piehole and read .. err .. listen :) After a sleepless mosquito ridden bout at the waiting lounge, I finally board the plane. In the meantime I had spotted a very sweet and sultry Turkish girl, I had hoped would be in seat 16A, to finally have someone worthwhile to talk to! I slowly approached the economy class, business class bastards all sleeping in their cozy huge chairs ! Hoping not to have an Indian worse come to worse, I reached 16B - my seat, with my right eye closed, unable to bear the shock of discovering who it might be sitting beside me. With the left eye still open, I glanced around to see who all would form the focus of my annoyance aboard this flight. Nice crowd, I said to myself. The time of reckoning had come, the right eye had to do the honours of breaking the suspense as to who or rather what lay in store for me just a few centimetres away - would I be fighting for the shared armrest, or would I be wanting to share the armrest ? :P The revelation would have to be sudden, like ripping off a band-aid. *Poof* - there it lay, a big ball of blanket, shifting a little, trying to adjust underneath. Still no clue as to who it was I was sitting next to. So I let the ball be, leaving it up to fate to decide whether to bring out an ogre from underneath or Snow White. ;)

No, the break in paragraph does not mean an end to the story of the lump. This is just a small digression to give a short glimpse of my typical Indian brethren who fail to understand what the word co-operation means. I had a rucksack as cabin baggage, appeared huge, but just had my laptop bag inside. Unfortunately, I was the dumb one to have waited his turn to board the plane while the others had hogged all overhead bins. Swoooosh opens the overhead bin for 16A and 16B, a backpack and a laptop bag lie there, as if in a cozy hose with a bonfire lit to keep them warm - that's not how cabin baggage is supposed to be - its supposed to be crammed up in a barn full of pigs!! So I scooch the laptop bag over a little to make some space. A humming voice of a concerned Indian appears - "Woh mera hai" - to which I was gonna reply - "Maine kab kaha mera hai", but thought otherwise. I acknowledged his claim to possession and explained that I was just making space and that his bag would not have to suffer any undue pain. This explanation was given in the most polite vocabulary you can expect from a person who has been up all night and now had to make space in an airliner that would have made gliders in Indian Airlines look like jumbo jets ! The next move was for the backpack, and once the voice, which also had ears realised the bag was being shifted too, the pitch increased and the concern grew - and something of an argument to the following effect came out - "If you move my laptop, then since everyone has a unique laptop, mine will get lost" - do not ask me what it meant, do not ask me why that sentence ever came into existence, because I know not, and I want to believe that my sanity was intact that day! So the story of the painful whiner ends here, now let me get a sip of my Ice Tea before I go on writing further - I'd suggest you get hold of some popcorn too, just in case :)

Unwilling to slog it out with the pain in the ass moron, I shoved the rucksack into the next available empty bin, and cozied up into my seat, having lost track of trying to figure out who it was next to me. Now like all surprises, shocks also have the habit of coming to you when you're least ready. So I snuggle into the seat, fasten the seat belt, and scooch in under my blankey, hoping to fall asleep without further ado. Sleep, did I say I wanted to sleep? Probably gawd was in no mood to act the perfect angel, because by sheer force of pure evil there crept out from inside 16A, the cryptkeeper herself - shrewd hair, as if chewn on by rats from hell themselves, and a voice that would have brought on another mating season for frogs, she yelped out for water. There went my 90% bet on the lottery down the drain :( A determination to sleep through the entire journey grew in force, as the armrest no longer seemed worth fighting for either, lest the old hag cast a spell and turn me into one of her frogs!

I have a lot of things in life to complain about, but the actual plane and food have never featured on that list, well at least not till that fateful morning of the 26th. I've flown the lone plane in and out of Guyana, South America, but nothing compared to this aircraft - a 2X4X2 seater, a Boeing 737, I guess, with a TV screen on the dividing wall, the plane seemed too morose even for a local Indian domestic airliner. I made my peace with that, but if you can't even accommodate a lanky 52 kiloed (disclaimer: I had been ill for 3 days before the flight - hence the weight) guy in your seat, I can only wonder what lay in store for the chunk of meat dawdling next to me, and letting out an unsettling odour, I can only imagine was coming from her hair! Still doable, I compromised. Hungry, my eyes kept sifting through alleys, a little rise from the seat, a bobbing if the head sideways to check if the pantry trolley budged from its place, not to find out when the food was to arrive, but to pee. The eyes never stopped looking and the trolley never moved. So much for Paolo Coelho's verdict! :( A different trolley did, however, appear over the horizon of lost hope - to drown my tears, I'd expected to find solace in food. "I'll go for the vegetarian" - now why in gawd's friggin' name I went ahead and said that still remains an unsolved mystery to me - so there lay on my tray a sealed paper tray with the words "VEG ASW" stuck on top. ASW - hmm - I wonder. It wasn't until I opened up the tray that I realised what those initials meant - All the Shit in this World!! For how do you expect a normal person to gobble an entire serving of potatoes that seemed to have rotted their way to darkening, rice that seemed to have been a poor man's reject, and fruits that seemed to have been reborn from under Egyptian tombs for fruit mummies?!?! After slurping down two coffees to get rid of the shock series I had been training for all day, came the tantrum of the trip. "I did not get a bun! Where is my bun!" - if that were a 5 year old whining, I'd understand but if the dustball next to you croaks that out in a coarse voice that'd cause landslides half way across the world, and then accompanies it with what I imagine were profanities in Turkish "shlalom blachoi" or something like that, you kind of lose that little peace of mind you had stowed away in some corner of your head for emergencies like this ;) The drama ensues for another 5 minutes. Eyepads my ass, bring on the ear plugs I say - those are the need of the hour !! :( In the end, no grub turned up, no bun no fun she said, and shoved her plate into the hostess' hands.

You'd like to think that would be the end of the ordeal, wouldn't you? I have lived through things, done things over the past 3 days, people wouldn't imagine doing in an entire lifetime, but that all will have to wait for another post, for its getting late, and I have lectures tomorrow! On a closing note, here's what you do when flying Turkish Airlines - half an hour before landing start slapping yourself to warm up those cheeks and have a ringing sound in your ears, take a chewing gum, 2 would be better, and start chewing like a cow doing the entire jaw workout, ask for two bottles of water, one for drinking during the next half hour - make sure you finish it - its part of the flight ticket you paid for, and the second bottle is for the weak bowel sitting next to you in case she decides to hurl like the one next to me did ! :( For this is how the pilot apparently views a landing - you drop vertically 100 feet, then you go horizontal for another 100, and keep repeating till the cabin pressure is about to give way and the overhead oxygen masks about to drop. At this point if all the blood in your body has gone up to your head, it means you are alive, else you have most probably passed out and puked near your fellow passenger's feet. ;(

You know what the worst part of this entire story is? The fact that I have to go back with Turkish Airlines only! :(

Curiosity

I know it killed the cat, and that at this point of time I should be more worried about my upcoming term-end exams and that freak-of-a-20-page pending report I still have to work on, but I guess like all curiosities in a horror movie, this one gets the better of me too. Reading up on an article, a little out of the way than usually you come across, cyber crimes - I realised most of what was covered by media, let me correct myself here, ALL of what has been reported to date ever since its advent, has been a single file charade with one species at the middle of it - men.

Online dating, chat rooms, communities on public networking sites, seem to have become breeding grounds for these perverts, an easy access ground to catch hold of an unsuspecting and vulnerable prey. End result - people become sceptical, raise an eyebrow to whatever comes out of such 'friendships'. Even to the extent that more often than not if I go around telling my friends, "Oh I know this person from Orkut", a certain chill ensues through the room, and a look of disgust and "How could you!!" surrounds the gathering. I know it is a lil presumptuous on my part to totally annul such scepticism, however, I have, or rather tried never to be a proponent of hypocrisy. I'll be honest, a lot of my friends, who have really understood me and been in touch for longer periods of time have been made online. Most of them I haven't even met as yet, funnily enough. But then again, am fortunate enough to be choosy while picking friends and in the end have made everlasting friendships - yeah fellahs this one goes out to you - you ROCK ! :)

This might seem to be a devil's advocate posting in favour of online friendships, most possibly, but I'd only do that if Orkut or the like paid me to do so, I don't write for charity! ;) What drew my curiosity was the fact that it was always a stalker, never a stalkress (if such a word actually exists), a pervert, never a pervertress. Is it simply not possible that a girl be hauling guys over the internet dating sites and playing foul?! Or is it they've been doing it and with great efficiency, never to be caught even once?! Or is it, as a male chauvinist would put it, that they never get reported? Do not take this post wrongly, it is not a sexist obnoxious attack on women, on the contrary, it is a question that have been thinking about for the past hour. How exactly is a girl able to judge which guy is authentic online? How can she tell that the person across the terminal, probably on the other side of the world is a genuinely decent guy? PS: All the girls out there, do not answer my question, never know a jackass might be reading my blog ;)

It might seem to be a very irrelevant and inconsequential question to most of you out there, but it probably makes you realise how fickle a relationship could be, one minute you could trust the person completely and the next *poof* its all gone, just like magic. But hey, life wasn't meant to be without risks, and am glad I've taken a lot of risks, and I mean a LOT! ;) I guess it all boils down to how lucky you've been, and more so the fact that the friendships that last the longest are when you connect with each other at a totally abstract level. :P Okay, this is the point where I usually lose interest of my readers, and therefore, I'd close here, a short post I must say :P

As a closing comment, just want to say that whatever might be the common perception, I still value friendships for what they become than how they start off, and I bet there's some nari kalyan morcha, or something of that sort ready with a pack of angry moms or brothers ready to pound me to the core for spreading the message of friendship, so I'd better get back to my report lest I be bedridden for the next few days with the beating ;)

The jungle trek - onward journey

From what I recollect, the insects had already bitten us, our feet had gone numb, and we were soaking wet when I last left you ;) The first track brought us rashes and itches, a prelude to what was coming our way. On our way back we caught up with a Kiwi, no not the animal, a New Zealander, probably standing at 6 feet and a few inches, wiping his face with a towel. Not a word was uttered, but the eyes shared the stories, all three of us had been taken for a ride on that trail to end up with a stinky little lake closed somewhere in the heart of Pulau Ubin ;) It is seldom that one accepts that he'd been fooled, but this time round I don't mind the confession, because had it not been for that trail I wouldn't have resolved to explore the whole island come what may and make the day one that'd remain etched in my memory for a long time.

I do not say that every adventure is worth superlatives, but this one shall remain right up there with the other memorable times in Singapore. Not sidetracking anymore, the hike continued on through more turns, uphill slopes, and downhill slides as we reached the main camping site. Ashen coconuts, and little embers of fire rising into the air before shimmering into ash and falling to the ground again, fishing bait spilt on the ground, and a lingering smell of a barbecue freshly put out enthused the air with a sense of calm and serenity. Into the distance we could see the Malaysian islands, and there they came, the 5 SMS messages welcoming us to the Malaysian shores, and though it may sound kiddish on our part, but we were pretty excited to "technically" be in Malaysia. ;) As we skirmished through the map, contemplating the next road to take, tummies started growling, "The Coffee Bean" had to be given a pass in the morning, and at least one part of our body wasn't too happy about it and it was making its views felt. *Plomp* came the rucksack off my friend's back and out came the glorious chocolate spread, jam and bread. Although it sounds like a poor man's meal, trust me in that scorching heat a heavy lunch is the last thing you'd want.

Unlike actual campers we used knives to spread thick creamy layers of jam n chocolate to gulp down the loaves of bread in counts of 3 and once 4. ;) After the much needed "pet pooja", we relaxed and sat down on the sand, legs spread out, under the cool shade of the overbearing palm tree. A cool zephyr blew in from the west, taking with it the fine grains of white sand, making our lips go salty as we just lay, too lazy to twitch even a muscle to get out of the way. Another 10 minutes before we realised it was about time we made a move if we were to catch the high tide at the mangrove boardwalk. Got up, wiped our shorts clean, took our bikes, climbed back up the rocky descent and landed back on the main track. After cycling for about 15-20 minutes, shifting gears in desperation to save up on energy to continue with the trek ahead we reached a clearing in the woods. It was probably the chirps and squeals that made us stop and walk the rest of the way, to be able to soak in the unaltered sounds of the forest and be captivated by the intensity of the place we were in - true, the best way to explore Pulau Ubin is on foot, but only if you have feet of steel! ;) While ambling through the wilderness, a faint murmur presented itself, a very quaint whisper, and it wasn't long before I realised that there was water nearby - the babbling definitely had to be coming from there.

We got off the walking track and took a detour into the bushy carpet once again, tearing past thorns and avoiding ant hills as much as we could. I was right, though only partially, a stench caught our nostrils and the mind screeched to turn back and head towards the bikes, which now lay on a bed of dry leaves. But we hurried along forward, and there under a small clearing beneath a half fallen tree we could see gentle ripples washing onto the shore seaweed and algae. The smell was unbearable, but so was the ecstasy of supposing we had stumbled upon some unexplored country ;) Only a few souls, I like to imagine, would have actually seen Singapore from this tiny shore and oh sweet moses was the view just breathtaking - lined along the shore small buildings, with tiny specks of boats - magnificence! Some 5 metres away from us lay on a rock, a weird specimen - we poked it with a stick, even splashed some water onto it in the anticipation of it opening up like an oyster - nope no fairytale here, we gave up and walked on. It wasn't long after that short detour that we reached the gates of the Indian Ocean boardwalk.

We parked our bikes somewhere near I don't know where :P I guess the excitement of the boardwalk got the better of us as we even forgot to lock our bikes - but then again its Singapore, and where would one go with the bike - its a friggin' island ;) Anyways, we continued onto the boardwalk - I have been near water a lot of times, I have been knee deep in water a lot of times, I have seen different waters, I have seen 'em all, but I had never seen what I saw that afternoon, and had never been so fascinated with water. A swaying walk over the ocean, fishes, crabs - all visible, it was not so much one thing that drew attention but the whole moment engulfed your conscious state of mind and elevated you into a trance where you just wanted to sit down and stare into the distance. We did exactly that and for moments, nobody spoke, soothing silence, except for the waves crashing against the rocks behind us, the wind blowing through our hair, the wet t-shirts, a shiver running down our spines as the wind got chilly with the incoming high tide. In the distance we could see a small beach, my guess a privately owned one, lined with rocks, rising structures built by nature, carved into the landscape, the kind where a snap does no justice, but a painter's fine strokes on a blank canvas do ;)

Time to move on - we shifted track to the mangrove boardwalk. Don't worry, I won't call this fascinating since I know for the informed reader a talk of science that fascinates isn't all that enticing as is the talk of natural splendour ;) I guess despite 5 paragraphs in this post talk about nothing but Pulau Ubin, words can never replace the feeling you get - to be shooting downhill, as if in free fall, how it just lets the mind loose, and how the child in you relives the past, delving into the immature self and moulding from it a memorable day that made you forget all your worries even if for just a day ;)

To have heard the story of the ocean with your ear pressed against a sea-shell - that is bliss - that is Pulau Ubin ;)

The bum-boat trip

Saturday night we decided after racking our brains for an hour, to go to Pulau Ubin, an island flanked off the coast of Singapore. I wouldn't say it was easiest of decisions to convince a bunch of unwilling lazy ass morons to have fun on a Sunday. So it was agreed upon, 6 a.m. we leave, have breakfast at "The Coffee Bean" which offered free coffee refills till 8 in the morning, and from there on continue on to our destination. Sure we didn't take an oath or anything, but the fact that whoever was late in the morning would have his ass fried on a pan was reason enough to tuck into bed at 12 in the night, and switch the goddamn TV off !

The alarm rang, with all its vigour and ear-wrenching pain. And like always, I sub-consciously woke up, scratched my butt, sleep-walked to the loo, pee'd, switched the shrill shriek off, cozied under the blanky and dozed off again. Only to wake up with a head-rush at 9:00 and go "Oh shit!!" :P Went through the morning chores, got ready, and after another round of convincing, got one of the nincompoops to tag along for Pulau Ubin. After a tiring half-hour train journey, we reached the Changi Village jetty terminal. On board a bumboat that swayed from side to side as if about to capsize, we both went out onto the board, to have the splashing water in our face, and dabble our hands in the icy water, only to be yelled at by the boat driver, in what I can only imagine was some local Malay dialect :P Finally getting off on the Pulau Ubin jetty, we scouted for someone looking intelligent enough to operate a Nikon D80 and click a snap of the two of us, but to no avail, before a sweet lil Chinese lady offered to help and clicked, to do her justice, a pretty good snap :)

With the next bumboat arriving behind us, fully loaded with yapping bunch of girls, we decided to hurry up to the bike rentals. Now this is the point in the story where my popping vein starts throbbing on and off. Browsing through the neat bikes, we came across a shop offering a range from SGD 2 till SGD 15. A conflict of interest arose here. I took the side of the SGD 10 brand new Shimano-geared mountain bikes, while the prick with me wanted the run-down, gear-less SGD 2 run-of-the-mill trash. For those aware of my tongue, it would come as no surprise that I rode out on a sparkling red brand new bike while he was on a new blue mountain bike :P The first stopover was for drinks, we'd started dehydrating already in the scorching heat - I went in for 100 Plus, and he savoured his usual coconut water. Time to set out, we pedalled our way through twists and turns, up slopes, down the hill, as we drew near the first quarry.

I could go on to describe the entire day to you, minute by minute, but I guess you do not have the dedication to enjoy the whole trip nor do I have the inclination to keep writing beyond the last sip of my Stella Artois I'm sipping on right now. Yup, its chilled, little drops of dew condensing on the coaster (aww I know you're jealous). There on, we continued on our bikes, to every nook and cranny of the island we could possibly get our wheels on. At this juncture, I'd like to bring to your attention just one fact - learn how to fix the chain of a bike, my friend learnt it the hard way as I pained his happiness because he couldn't fix his, after derailing it TWICE ! :P If you ever, per chance, happen to travel with me and act an ignorant fool, trust me I won't hesitate for even a second to barbecue your tinsy winsy heiny and have it with sumptuous salsa ;)

Earthen trails were the most endearing feats of Pulau Ubin as we tried our first track on wheels, taking sharp turns, difficult up-slope hikes, feet itching with the grass not caressing but rather giving launching platforms to insects to latch onto the freakishly hairy legs, we Indian blokes have been endowed with! :) Sweat dripping off every exposed body part, the scorching heat drilling into our head, feet all red with insect bites, we toiled through the trails, to discover at the end of it, a serene lake, lined with pebbles, and afloat in the middle, seemed like a small branch broken off the overlying canopy. Time for D80 to show some magic, I zoomed in to click what I hoped would be one of my most inspiring clicks, but alas, an open Evian bottle is what it turned out to be :( Stupid idiotic jerk who threw it in, may that water burn when he pee's it out !

We continued onward, but at this point, the last drop of Stella Artois fizzles down my throat and as promised, I draw this post to a close. Wait for the second part of this endearing journey. If you think the whackiest is already over, you're in for a surprise ! ;)

Till we meet next .. Au revoir ;)

How to flunk the sling ;)

They say it rained crazy on Friday night, thunder struck and the streets of Singapore didn't get a reprieve from the constant downpour. Little would I know after falling asleep like a baby with an aching butt after the workout at the gym. Rise and shine Saturday morning, a workout at the gym, a glass full of milk and a yummy chocolate to munch on, was followed by a warm shower, and of course yours truly giving challenge to the winners of American Idol :)

Got into my Quiksilver red t-shirt and black shorts and a 'voila twinkle in the eye' as I looked into the mirror giving a thumbs-up. On my way to the island I figured it'd be better to grab a quick bite, never know this place just might in keeping with its tradition not allow me to eat anything on the way :( Enter Bread Toast - no its a chain of bakeries, course I wouldn't go for JUST a toast - sheesh ! A cheese boat and a blueberry puff it was with home-made iced lemon tea. For the uninitiated, home-made refers to the fact that it was made there and then, and had the engaging aroma to it a whiff of which would send you on a spin. Bollocks to the rules, I happily munched my way to the MRT station exit en route the cable car to Sentosa Island. Now I'm not a cynic, well at least not in the true sense of the word - bet there must be a pair of eyes going gol-gol right now ;) - but there is just so much that you can resist yourself from ridiculing. If the person with you actually walks up to the ticket window and asks for the return timing of the cable car, and on being replied to as 11 o'clock, actually asks "am or pm" there is no way in hell that I'd keep my mouth shut! For heaven's sake people, its 9 in the morning, how can the last cable car due back be in just 2 hours ?! Anyways, there we were letting out ooh's and aah's as we saw the Singapore skyline, a vague outline which we christened as Indonesia and Malaysia on either side, more so to feed our ego of having seen such a feature rather than the truth itself - in short, we know crap what those islands were :P

Getting off the cable car, we ambled into the courtyard, where we met Jeremy, our tour guide. Yes, like three ol hags we'd taken a guided tour for the first two hours, however, I would like to mention that I was STRICTLY against it - but alas, when money talks, you shut up :P I swear if I'd not known him to be a tour guide, I'd have definitely thought Jeremy was high on coke or crack. The enthusiasm these people exude while showing you around just induces that excitement in you, hell you'd even be amazed on spotting a caterpillar on the sidewalk. The first stop was the underwater aquarium - yeah I know you're probably wondering what's so special about fish swimming around? Consider this now - a sting ray with a tail that spans 2 m, another sting ray that almost jumps up from out of the water to bite your nose off if you get too close, fish that look as if reincarnated from fossils, crabs - including the world's largest Japanese crab on display, a tunnel with water on three sides, where you can literally see how a sting ray's bottom actually resembles a man's face! Still not impressed I see - well, ever taken up a starfish in your hand and dangled it around in a pool of water, or have you ever patted a sting ray on the tail, tingling its skin softly, or ever tried catching hold of a small fish and NOT letting it slip away? Ah but beware, I save the best for last - ever caught hold of a SHARK ?! Eyup, you read that right, no need to rub your eyes again and blink like a cartoon ;) Well the other two twits with me were too chicken to try it out and weaseled out of it, their loss, well apart from yours too - too bad you all ain't in Singapore :P

Next show was the Cineblast - a simulation theatre with 4-D effects, not just 3-D but the fourth dimension was "feeling" - not my words, that's how corny a line Jeremy came up with to have the tourists swooning ;) Up til this point, just like devout Indians we had made sure we got the best part of the deal and stuck close with Jeremy to catch every detail along the way. But alas, hunger struck, and as always the two dimwits got hungry, so went into a store to get some chips. Result - we were at the back of the queue and the last ones before the audi got full - argh ! But Jeremy to the rescue again - and he led us to the third attraction, promising us to make sure we were back in time to enjoy the 4-D ride soon after. This part is the movie theatre - another 4-D gimmick. A kid's movie, on pirates, it had a few effects - not so great but I liked the parts where they spray water at the back of your neck from the seat to make you tingle, and the bees' sound effects and 3-D motion as if they were just about to sting you, slimy crabs crawling all over your feet as you got more nauseous. After the 10-minute feature presentation, during which the entire time one of the nincompoops could not keep his mouth shut and kept cribbing about having wasted money on the movie - think he was expecting a "star trek" experience.

Anyhoo, moving on, we made it back before time, and were again at the head of the queue for the simulation game. Crunch, munch, crackle, crumble as the pigs ate and dropped crumbs on the floor stepping on them and making a mess. A word of advice now - if ever per chance you end up going to such a show, NEVER sit between two idiots! It was an amazing show, we were basically logs who were being thrown around in the Himalayas, ending up in the Amazon river, attacked by crocs, chopped with sharp edges, thrown into free fall off cliffs - boy was that fun. Wondering where the catch is? Well, the moron to my left sang "Maahi Ve" from the Hindi movie "Kaante" the whole goddamn fucking time, and the freak to my right was mimicking my ooh's and aah's to the extent that he was moving around his seat for no reason - if the simulation threw us forward, he'd overdo it with a sideways jerk too - come on man - one plus one free offer does not go for simulation rides - jeez. Fumes would be coming off the top of my head if I'd been a cartoon.

There was still time for the Dolphin show, so we decided to go along the dragon trail instead. A circular walk around the western half of Sentosa, the trail was inspiring, not to forget the fact that we discovered a dragon carcass ;) Got up on a fountain, polluted it with our feet, splashed some water and of course the all time favourite, singing out loud till your voice breaks off :P There's a lot to say bout the walk, but I guess the snaps we took there would say more than the words I might put in here :)

Finally, the star attraction of the day - the dolphin show was about to begin. A poppy and his son - am talking about the dolphins now - were the one showing off their antics. First to start off a wave of the fin to say "hello", followed by a clean jump through the hoops. Standard issue dolphin shows right? Ah but there's more, ask the dolphin how many fish it wants - one - a shake of the head - two - another shake - the whole box - a nod and boy were they happy to see a box full of fish thrown into the sea :P Two people from the audience were called down into the water - I raised my hand but as always didn't get picked :( The dolphins swam around them, grabbed fish off their hands, let 'em pat their back, and last of all, gave them such a cute lil peck on the cheek. There;s more that happened during that show, but I'd spare you the details.

Such a wonderful day commanded a signature sign-off for the day - my idea of the cool breeze blowing, sitting on the deck of a dark open bar on the beach on an easy-chair, sipping on some cool beer, shirt open and a wonderful gal right next to you ;) I wouldn't say we didn't do any of the above, but do read on to see how the dream was stripped apart and shred into pieces by the two assholes with me (they got promoted to that status after what follows :) ). We ended up at an Indian bar-cum-restaurant, sitting on uncomfortable high chairs, ordering a Singapore sling, on which one of the idiots got drunk, onion bhajia - that came out like slimy onions wrapped in paper, and to top it all off songs from Hindi movies playing - the kind where the hero dances around a tree calling out for the heroine to come and join him. And you wondered why during the entire post I called those jerks names :P

The sling was awesome though, apparently not the real thing I've been told, but a visit then to the southern most tip of Asia, and a few playful brattiness tricks on the beach got me right back on track as we got back onto the cable car on our way back, the sun setting in the west - a day well spent - a time worth having :)

PS Too bad if you all missed out on Singapore till now !

Son of a beach ..

Yeah the title sounds really cocky, but I like the ingenuity of it, so decided to stick with it. The Far East beach is supposedly the most happening one in Singapore, however opinions differ. Ranging from a Hyderabadi calling it "a fraud way of making money" to a Delhiite like me freaking out and playing like a 10-year old, everyone feels something or the other at this 5 meter stretch of sand along the sea. Agreed its not one of the ideal sitcom material beaches like those in Australia and India, but eventually its all about what you make of the moment being there.

We landed on the sand at around 6 in the evening after a long train journey from one end of the city to the other. A sand castle competition had just reached the ending stage, and excitement filled the air. Everyone was buzzing, talking, from what I could make out, in at least 3 different languages. I got down onto one knee to take a closer at the finesse with which the teams made their castles - I am not exaggerating when I say that making sand castles is an art! Sweat dripping off the chin, intense eyes, concentrating hard not to give too much of a dab to the small rivulet flowing under the gate. The whistle blew and the hustle-bustle came to a sudden standstill. It was time for the judges' verdict - to come after 15 minutes. I scampered down to the beach, not really a scurry because I distinctly remember it was more like a squirrel after a nut than a rat running for cover ;) Flung my flip flops into the sand and ran into the water, till I fell forward for sheer force of the water, t-shirt all wet, and me laughing like crazy as if it was the first time to have touched water. I splashed. Sprang. Ran. Lay. Danced. Gazed into the distance. But I did not pee! It was time to announce the winners, and though I couldn't get which team won, but twas the one in the middle that was being ooh'd and aah'd. But what really set the mood for the evening for me was the fact that all teams stood together like one unit around the castle and said "cheese" for the camera :)

A Thai boy (he had the name sprawled all over his t-shirt) came up close to me and threw sand at me. Nah, I didn't go all red, instead he got a splash of water along with seaweed on his head. We chased each other on the beach, laughing, and me pulling down his shorts once as he whined, pulled 'em up and started scurrying after me again - yup he definitely was scurrying! ;) Both of us got tired, and we sat down, letting the water tingle our toes and draw back, before his mommy called to go home. The lil fella had the cutest "ba ba" for a goodbye. Sat there for a few more minutes, looking into the distance, completely blank, not thinking, funnily enough. The sun had already set, a line of ships defining the horizon lit up, a majestic view, as if the twinkling lights celebrated life. It was getting a little late and the tummy had started rumbling, demanding food, the stage for a request had long gone.

Made my way through the beach-side stalls, peeking in to see if there was anything to munch on without having to choke on seaweed. I have begun to doubt that the seaweed used here is actually an easy catch along the shore! :P Reached a joint selling coconuts, bought one and sipped on the definitely genetically engineered hunk of a coconut. Walked down to the lake, sat on the grass and enjoyed my drink as water skiers, boarded, glided and eventually fell off into the lake. The cool breeze blowing, my hair NOT flowing, the evening serene. Some might still say that I had a very mundane day and there are things that might have been more fun, but what the heck, I had fun - and I don't give a damn for anything else. True this wasn't one of those more hilarious posts but it's definitely one I enjoyed writing, coz today is the day I got my groove back! ;)

Of etiquette and common sense ..

In the mid-20s it becomes a dilemma as to whether we are youngsters or mature adults. The anxiety of responsibilities lingers and the fervour of youth remains. At such a juncture in life simple things might get a little too complicated. I experienced such a confusion yesterday in Singapore. At the outset of this post I'd like to send a disclaimer that I ain't all that well versed with table manners et al so pardon my ignorance :)

Two of my friends and I were having lunch yesterday at the "Outback Steakhouse" - I still maintain that I'm a vegetarian ;) Truth be told, despite having had a crab already at a Jap restaurant, I didn't have the balls to go in for the fish after looking at the photograph in the menu, so like a devout Indian, I ordered the murgi .. chicken wings to be precise. Now normally I'd not give a damn about the way I ate, but unfortunately one of the two guys was a chinku and I just had to hold my country's head high and show him that we have good table manners too. The order was placed and the chinku, hereon referred to as D'Seung (disclaimer: I do not know how to spell his name, so ma guessing from the way it sounds that this would be the spelling) ordered the marinated or something like that grilled fish. We waited, about 20 minutes before the dishes arrived. The chicken wings in front of me and my friend (obviously a serving each) and the gooey, dark almost alive salmon in front of D'Seung. Very conscious of having non-Indian company, I picked up the knife and fork, fiddling with them, switching hands unsure of which one to hold in the right hand and which in the left! Finally, the fork ended up in the right and the knife in the left ( DO NOT bother correcting me if I was wrong). The urge was to chuck the fork and knife and start gnawing at the wings, because c'mon whoever had a boney piece of chicken with a knife and a fork in India ?!

I struggled with the first two pieces, creating more of clattering noise with the fork banging against he porcelain plate than the kid whining on the next table. A chunk of meat actually flew by near the water, as I conveniently placed the coaster over the broken rock from the plate I saw carrots on my plate, liberation at last! I put the knife and fork down, munching happily on carrots with cheese dip. But alas, as I slowly nibbled my way to the end of the last carrot, the soiled cutlery was staring in my face, daring me to pick them up and make a meal out of the chicken. Unwavered from my resolve of proving a point by sticking to the fork and knife, I went about the turmoil again, so much so that after the fifth piece I had to put the fork down as the slicing and pulling had sent the joints of my index finger numb. All this while I hadn't been paying heed to D'Seung except for of course the occasional question to make small talk. At the last piece I surrendered and gently placed the fork and knife in a closing position on the plate, careful not to cause a clatter, as if that were going to change the fact that I had made sure that the passers-by outside the restaurant knew there was porcelain plates inside!

Sipped on the ice water, and looked in different directions, anything to get my mind off the last piece, and as I watched D'Seung munch happily on his fish with parts of it in hand, I just could not stop staring. Here I was busting my ass to look good and well versed in table manners, and there was this chinku who just wanted to enjoy his meal come what may. The embarrassment didn't let me pick up the last piece and munch at it joyfully, but I realised one thing - its our thinking that keeps us ahead or behind people, I've been looking down upon our culture as not congenial to the modern ways, but I guess I was wrong. I mean who was I kidding, chicken wings with a fork and a knife ?! Gimme a break !! I consciously killed the inner voice in me that told me to pick up the piece for heaven;s sake and just bite at it.

End result - I ended up wearing a kurta to a pub today and got a few smiles on my way out ;) This place is cosmopolitan so make the most of it, as long as you think you're confident of what you do, nobody can take that charm away from you. So here I am, still in my kurta, a little drunk after the Heineken, sporting a Singaporean hairdo telling you of the time I, contrary to my usual behaviour, gave in to etiquette and fed common sense to the dogs! ;)

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" ;)