Along the coast...

The only sign of activity...

A late morning's start and i was headed toward the Tagore beach. Why? The low tide was early in the morning, and there's little to see once the tide closes in. Birds of the shore and sea gulls take to wing once the water comes inland.

No, i'm not oyster but i know just what you're talking about!

It wasn't all of a damper as i later found out. The sands are clean of pollution and so's the water. The shore was littered with sea shells of all shapes and sizes. In this pile, i chanced upon an oyster's shell. It looks so much like a piece of rock and ugly at the least so to say. The only other people around were fishermen netting and gutting the day's catch. What was the catch? Mackerel! A boat full of mackerel.

Oh so many fish!

Blue Tailed Bee Eaters and a lone White Bellied Sea Eagle kept me good company and offered some good photographs :)

Lunch this time was at a more traditional place, Svetha Lunch Home, apparently rated by NDTV too! The food here was awesome and the damage to the wallet was almost nothing! The Mackerel curry here was fabulously cooked in kokum and added a tinge of tang to the fish :)

Only when it was well after noon did the guy at the reception offer me a suggestion. "Saar, why didn't you go to Gokarna?"

White Bellied Sea Eagle

"Gokarna? How far is it from here?"

"1.5 - 2 hours drive saar. All buses headed to Ankola or Kumta will drop you there saar. You should have gone there saar. Nothing to see in Karwar, very small place this Karwar..."

"And why didn't this brilliant suggestion come to you in the morning my good friend? You're telling this now when i have just a few hours for my return journey...." i was getting angry!

I'd wasted an hour in the morning trying to get a bus headed toward Devbagh island. The other places around were Majali and Kodi Bagh. The bus conductors differed in opinion among themselves. One said the bus's due in a few minutes, the other quipped its gone and won't be expected for another hour, the third had no clue about it. All the while, Ankola and Kumta buses were milling around. (I have every right to procrastinate now!)

"Never mind saar, get a rickshaw and head to Kodi Bagh. You'll see something there!" the guy at the reception counter was trying to make up for my wasted time...

Kodi Bagh it is then! Forty rupees of damage and a twenty minute ride through rural Karwar found me staring at an island in the sea. Around me was a crane and a few not so good looking people who were looking at my camera kit.

Karwar's one of those places where old phased out products still live. One of the few such were Gold Spot, Dukes, Sosyo and a strange mango drink which i had. The mango drink turne d out to be synthetic orange with soda fizz. Nevertheless, the thirst was quenched and i headed out toward Sadashivgadh, a fort looming on a hill before me.

This place should not be confused with a village with the same name, and the locals did just that. They insisted there's nothing on the hill and Sadashivgadh was 2 kilometers down the road. Some walking on tarmac on a busy Goa-Karnataka highway was fun for a while and soon got boring. Climb the hill, better sport.

Standing on the side of the road, standing on one leg and shaking the other like every other eccentric someplace in India is bound to do, i was removing some stones which'd gone into my shoe. The locals are a friendly lot, and one fellow on a bike was so enthusiastic as to wildly guesture and question what was i doing??? Never mind...

The hill had a vantage point and some stone benches. A short while at the place yielded some birds of prey including yet another White Bellied Sea Eagle!

The Kali river met the sea here, and the divide was very clear between saline and freshwater. There's nothing cohesive about this collusion, and can be termed as being clubbed together forcibly more than anything else.

Kali meets the sea...

Evening cometh, and i bid adieu to Karwar. The bus conductor calls "station, station" and "Shirsur". Might be Karwar station for all you know. The ride wound its way through village first and then forest, and i was doubting Murphy yet again. Might end up at some forest station where only goods trains stopped occasionally :P

It turned out to be Karwar station! And after much trial and tribulationv minus great discomfitures and misadventures which could have beset me, a lone backpacker, my adventures were coming to an end. Friends, family and everyone else's wishes and favours yielded fruit and i headed back home safely, richer in experience and photographs of the Western ghat's wildlife.

A desire to break free from societal shackles and get in touch with the true self, that was the purpose of this adventure. In that measure, it has more than succeeded. There's more to life than try and create human relations that cannot be sustained.

Mortal fears, fear of strangers, getting robbed, mugged and killed, all of them left behind and the journey in search of the Truth began. Call it whatever you want but by the Grace of Truth itself, i came out unscathed.

Encounters with Truth leave behind subtle but permanent marks on the mind, and before long, i'll hit the road yet again, on yet another adventure!

Thanks for coming along with me on this journey, i've relived the experience all over again. Adieu, until we meet againm another place, another adventure...

Karwar

I'd started for Karwar from a place that's best described as wilderness, in a tin box winding way through elephant and bison country, only to encounter a small town of sorts that was Karwar!

Dressed as a tramp with two backpacks, wild haired, not to mention looking dull and dusted, i was the object of fear and wonder to the bystanders. Mothers were quick to protect daughters from this apparition, men wondering why's he wearing three quarts. Must've assumed me to be a backpacker who'd accidentally stumbled here 'stead o' Goa.

A backpacker stands tall!

The shock was more than i could digest. A Levis outlet shone brightly with display lights and denim (i was expecting a dusty li'l coastal town!), almost citylike lifestyle and God knows what more! Too much for me to handle! This was not a place where i could sleep on the streets in the night or find a temple where i could have residence as long as i wanted to.

Scene:

"Sorry sir, i just gave away the room you'd booked!" looking shamefacedly, almost puppyish in behaviour expecting a violent outcome.

"What on earth? Where am i to go now...?" tourist pretending to look irritated

"I'll arrange a place for you in our neighbouring annexe" the female's trying to pacify the 'irate' tourist.

Well, the wrangle went on until the tourist (no prizes for guessing who was it!) found a place to park luggage and hisself for the night!

Luxury according to the standards of the land doesn't include cleanliness, and the sight of two roaches greeted me as i checked in. WTF...??

In what can be called a flagrant violation of backpacker rules (yes i'm sorry for it!) i'd checked into one of the town's ritziest places, and this is what i got! My excuse? There weren't many places in this 'town' where i could get a good shack. It was bloody hot out there. At Dandeli, i needed a fleece lined jacket to survive the nights, and it was a pity there wasn't a nudist colony here (just to escape the accursed heat!) So, the offence can be pardoned in this case!

Very often (actually more often than not) we set out with plans, schemes and designs in mind as to how to live life and make the most of it. Making designs to cover only the least of exceptions, as if we were dealing with a dead and in-animate being. But Murphy being a living and real being can throw up a bouncer or two! Here it was the absolute difference between thought and reality.

After unpacking and cooling off, i set out for the next item in the agenda. The stomach was ringing a bell and a bit of tea and some snack would certainly be welcome. Ten minutes of walkabout and i walked into one "Sneha Tiffin and snacks" or something like that. My eyes were bloodshot due to the heat, but the people at the cafe thought otherwise.

There were none but a few college girls yapping over a glass of lassi. The only snack so far available out there were "mirchi bhajjis" which is chillies covered in chickpea batter andd fried in oil. Supposedly spicy but the waiter assured me otherwise. Tea and some of this stuff should shut up the tummy's demands for a while i guess...?

The bhajjis were cold and tea was the only consolation. I hate to be procrastinating, i don't like to appear something like Ibn Batuta or Thomas Macaulay but then this is something far too much to tolerate, specially in a town!!

The overall travel or maybe those snacks started up a headache which refused to end despite a shower. What now? I ended up watching cartoons at the ritzy hotel for lack of entertainment out there. This's what happens when you're stuck in the crossroads. The place's not completely rural, but neither is it sufficiently cosmopolitan. The place's stuck in a kind of a limbo which can be cured only by some enterprising generation of youth with their yearning to match the nation's progress. Going back to the roots unfortunately doesn't work anymore, there's no chance for that. But the limbo can be attributed to the "susegaad" nature of the Goans up north (just 8 kms to the border of Goa from Karwar!). The place and the people both are content with their present state and predicament and don't want to be bothered with anything such as progress/regress or movement in general...

The only other incident of note was the epic tussle between me and a fish. Splitting headache and drizzly weather meant i went to the nearest restaurant. In this case, the same hotel where i was staying had its restaurant in the opposite building. My travel guide and advisor (not to forget my friend!), Mr.Ashwin Bangera advised me to have Anjal aka Kingfish or Bangda aka Mackerel curried in gravy with rice. Asking for vegetarian food in a coastal town is absolute lunacy and freshness of the food can be generously discounted!

As luck would have it, the menu at the restaurant was something similar to what i would read back home in Bombay! WTF?? I asked the waiter for Anjal or Bangda. After recovering from his surprise, he said they're available but not with the traditional gravy and boiled rice. All said and done, the price was double the market price! Bigger WTF!!

While tucking into the bangda and rice mix, i suddenly encountered an apparition of sorts! The fish's head was intact and the eye was staring at me glassily from the plate, as if accusing me of its heinous murder! The chef had preserved the head carefully with the eye, perhaps for my viewing pleasure and remorse...

Gouge the eye that seeth evil...

This was too much for an ordinarily vegetable and grass eating me, and a quick jab of the fork dislodged the errant eye and all was pink and rosy again (headache however persists!) Too much tragedy and nonsense for one day and i called it an early evening... (zzzzzzz!!!!)

To the coast...

Dawn broke with the metallic calls of the Velvet Fronted Nuthatch and a few other birds. This was my third day in the forest, and also the last. Hereonwards, my journey was decided by Fate. The previous evening was spent discussing wildlife, the forest and everything about it over a warm campfire and some hot soup (don't forget our crawly friends who had a taste for my blood!)

Morning's crisp coolness combined with the heady fragrance of the woods was magic for the senses. All said and done, i didn't have much time for birding today. A final tour of the area yielded a few birds and the Malabar Giant Squirrel feasting happily on a few berries (read merrily posing for a photo shoot!)

This is a real close up!

The Kannadigas volunteered to travel with me to the nearest bus terminal from where i could get start off for Karwar. This place was Dandeli bus terminal. And starting off from the forest meant one thing more than anything else, wait...

This time we had some company at the bus stop. Three men and a little girl were actively engaged in banter in three different languages! The men they spoke in Tamizh (strange to come across Tamizhs in a rural Kannada village) and when mood seized them in Kannada as well. The girl was Malayalee and the only significant words from her were "Accha, Accha" which she kept repeating at periodic intervals. "Accha" means father in Malayalam, so i needn't explain further.

The choicest flavours of a language are in its swear words. I'd been enlightened to the world of Kannada swear words by an illustrious friend (dare not mention his name here!). The Tamizh men were yapping nonchalantly, when one of the members suddenly became a bit excited. He was describing a situation where he'd apparently been cheated of his wages for the day. Bile and anger combined can have a heady effect on conversations and the lingua takes on a new form of its own.

"Bolimagane..." the man went off and on. The mere mention of this word was enough to trigger off explosive laughter for me. The Kannadiga boys, wait, let me introduce them to you, Mayur and Rohit also laughed when they heard him swear! The meaning of the swear doesn't hold as much meaning and gravity as the mention of it. Don't treat a swear word by its literal meaning, it becomes crass! Its the easiest vent to emotions and feeling, and good fun all said and done! Yes, i'm not disclosing the meaning of the word, those who know it, know it...

After yet another eternal wait, the earth turned 'round its axis, the Indian parliament of ministers dilly dallied yet again, and someone somewhere was killed as part of a revolution, and all that jazz, and my bus arrived for Dandeli bus terminal.

The road was very much like this!

Rohit and Mayur then left for some sightseeing around, and i was instructed to get into a bus that headed for Kumta or Ankola. Both buses went via Karwar and would drop me there. How do i know which bus is mine? Ask the conductor, or read the signs in Kannada! There was some time at hand (the bus was at 2 PM, and it was just clocking one!) so i had to wait yet again. Uneasiness at the fact that i could be sitting at the wrong terminal for the bus, and the fear of getting into trouble were a constant bother, but then when you're in, you're in...

"Kumta chi bus aali aahey ka?" - First attempt in Marathi because North K'taka has affinity with the Marathis

"Kumta ki bus aayi hai kya? Kab aayegi?" - Second attempt in the national language

"When's the bus for Kumta expected?" - No response expected for this question, but nevertheless...

"Jabber jabber jabber, something something, more something something, hogbeku..." the conductor couldn't bother to answer me despite me giving him the wide option of 3 different languages. I'm quite sure he knew Marathi and Hindi for sure, but didn't want to respond. His response was more like him spitting paan than anything else. WTF...??

A helpful kid spoke Marathi (the kid sitting next to me) told the bus's still to come. In the meanwhile, i'd memorized the spellings for Kumta and Ankola in Kannada. Match and tell, and jump into the bus when it comes. Don't ask, just jump!

The way ahead...

 2:30 PM, Dandeli bus terminal :- The bus arrives and is excitedly chased by the passengers (not an exaggeration) and before it stops, there's a wild clamour to get in. A giant backpack and a li'l backpack my weapons, a prayer for safety, and i plunged into the fray, both hands swinging like cleavers at anything that came nearby. Empty seat spotted next to some women who looked like tribals. Who cares, the seat matters.

"What's this apparition carrying such huge bags? What's he doing?" wonder the people around, and before you could complete reading this thought, my rearside was resting comfortably on the seat at the back of the bus.

Traveling in a State Transport bus in rural India is always fun, and nothing short of an adventure. For a few moments, all Hell breaks loose and people clamber in from all possible vents (i'm writing this as straight-facedly as i'd be at a funeral) and fights are commonplace. It'd be terrific fun if a fight broke out between people who spoke very different lingos, but i wasn't privileged enough for such a fight!

Let your imagination run wild because i didn't dare record this battle on camera...

"Jibbery jib, jibbery jabber, jibbery jabbery jabber jabber!" - Old woman eating paan slightly short of spitting it on a young woman's face. The young woman's sitting on the next seat behind this old woman.

"Jabber jabber, jibber jabber jabber..." - Young woman now excited into the heat of the fray, just short of loosening her hair and turning into a banshee.

"Arre meri Amma, ab bas karo aur chup ho jaao!" - Moslem gentleman who's clearly irritated and understands just as much Kannada as i do! He's sitting right behind this scene of action and risks getting sprayed with paan and spittle.

"Koothko Amma, koothko koothko!" - Bus conductor's shouting from somewhere out there. Conductor risks being thrown out of the bus because of the unruly crowd jostling for space. Conductor tries his best to dispense tickets to the mob.

Miscellaneous swears emanate from my direction (no i was being civil and simply enjoying the fun in silence!). A college going kid was shouting, and thought this'd be good sport to excite the fighters even more!

As much as you'd like to picturize it as a Shakespearean drama unfolding in real life, just accelerate the time and throw in all the characters, live and talking at once, and you'll have some idea of what was happening.

Being enlightened in Kannada swear words meant i was tempted to use them, but the fear of being thrown out of the bus, whole or in pieces didn't seem appealing in any way, so my fun with the swear words was in the mind!

Why was this happening? The young woman had committed the unpardonable crime of misappropriating a seat duly territory marked by the oldie with a cloth bag. The young woman invoked Habeaus Corpus, "show me the body, show me the evidence of marking" as her counter-argument. The battle raged on as a stalemate, but thanks to the efforts of the Moslem gentleman and the conductor who'd miraculously fought his way back into the bus, armistice was declared.

The bus wound its way through elephant and tiger forest, along badly paved tarmac roads and finally through dirt tracks. My adivasi aka tribal female companions had some colour to offer as well. They'd brought a live rooster in the bus alongwith something else. This something else was a matter of grave concern for one of the ladies, more than her son sleeping peacefully in a corner, almost forgotten. Time and again she kept looking back for that something. The rooster was a marvelously discplined cock! Not a peck or crow whilst he was inside a plastic tote bag!

Battle having ended, i wound up with some music for fear of falling asleep and waking up at Kumta. The sight of earphones and my state of nirvana, was a joke for those wild women, and peals of laughter burst out on either side. Never mind the lingo, i understood they were laughing because i wasn't bothered about what raged on around me and was merry with my music.

I was warned in sombre, almost hushed tones about the roads being bad and selecting a rear end seat for my rear end. Hell, i wanted a rolling, rollicking ride anyways, so why not give it a shot? It was roller coasterish at places, but not too bad either! The only discomfiture being a fellow traveler who slept off assuming my shoulder's a good pillow (a local female headed to Karwar).

The road wound through dense forest all along the way (parts of wildlife reserves) and at every point it seemed an elephant or bison could be spotted calmly grazing alongside the road. Fantasies remained divorced from reality, and nothing as such happened. I slept fitfully at places and was once woken up to what sounded like a religious discourse in Kannada. A senior gentleman sang beautifully, and despite my stance on religion, i enjoyed the experience!

After what seemed like eternity, forest gave way to fields and "District Karwar" began to appear on signboards. A golden sun was setting over the Kali river as it met the Arabian sea colouring the water with its tangerine hue. The bus pulled over at a terminal and it seemed it was the place i wanted to go, but not quite what i'd thought it'd be. Nevertheless, a different adventure was to start from here onwards...

The payment in blood...

I wish this was the law!! :(

In today's world, its increasingly difficult to attain absolute solitude for an extended period of time. Like it or not, you're subjected to people you may or may not find appealing. Holds true even in the forest rest house where i was staying at Dandeli.

A family from Bombay (yes i fucking insist on calling it Bombay!) was present there as well, but they were more keen on safaris and general touring as opposed to wildlife photography. I was sipping my tea harmlessly as a mouse alone at my table when the first one among them started off, "Where are you from?" Thought or no thought, "Bombay" was my response! Cynical laughter from their side of the table. The right wing saffron brigade fascists were my company in the forest, just the thing that the doc insisted on right? Yea...

What followed was that traditional battle between the orthodox fascists and my liberal principles. Too much bile to be discussed about, so just forget it. But then there were two Kannadiga boys who'd come for a hike in the forest. They seemed like better company to keep. Well, it would've appeared really odd to be dining alone when there were people around me so...

All this bile distracted me from the focus of the day's topic, the payment to be made in blood. The forest is located near a river by the name Kali. True to her name, Kali demands blood from her devotees in payment for spending time in the forest. Something felt like chewing gum stuck to my foot and inspection revealed a reddish black creature devilishly latched to my foot. A strong shuffle dislodged it but it had apparently had its fill, of my blood...

A tiger leech!

More blood is wasted by excessive bleeding than ingestion by leeches. Their saliva prevents clotting and soon enough, the blood trails all over the place before clotting. Clotting'd happen if only a hundred more leeches hadn't smelt the rich blood...

Walking in blood isn't as scary (if not gory) as it sounds. It feels like chewing gum stuck to your feet. Combined with the red earth of Dandeli, it looked like i'd been shot in the foot with a shotgun!

The tribute in blood paid off. The birding was rich at the very least, and sighting after sighting, photo after photo followed suit. So, it didn't seem like a bad deal in the end :) All of this bloodletting was okay provided there was no pain in it. If only leech bites were to be painful, i'd be in Hell considering the number of bites i'd taken :)

In the evening, a plan was drawn up for a coracle ride along the length of the Kali river. This was offered complimentary for all guests staying at the resort for over 2 days. The coracle is quite a sight so to say. A round, saucer like raft made from strips of wood, ideal for moving quickly across rivers. It has no keel at the bottom and spins around whenever the currents push it.

Viewer discretion advised

"Beware of crocodiles in the river. Please do not swim here" a notice read grimly warning of a painful end for the errant with a caricature of the reptile. (Gulp!) A heavy and unwieldy camera lens posed two risks! One, the camera falls into the water, and i'm in deep trouble. Second, i fall into the water and the crocs close in. Not a very mild problem either. A Catch-22 of sorts you could term it, but no guts, no glory!

A Coracle looks like this!

Anand, our oarsman for the coracle, deftly navigated over the silent and deep waters of the Kali toward a clump of bamboo shoots. "There are more hornbills here than you could ever dream of sir!" his marketing pitch! Sure enough you could hear the raucous calls of the Malabar Pied Hornbills. Squawking and screaming, they were noisily feasting on fig berries. This tree was at a good distance, yet their calls could be heard clearly.

What followed could only be termed "spectacular" at the very least. The huge birds took to wing and three photographers tried to make the most of it with their respective weapons!

Malabar Pied Hornbills

Whenever we're confronted by a common situation (us includes non-humans as well), we often begin to bond and try to tackle it as a team. Well, the Kannadiga boys who so far had been mostly reticent became friendly! So far, the two spoke only in Kannada to one another, and rarely spoke with me. But after the Hornbill fest, all three had become pals :)

The forest in the meanwhile had effected me into its fold. Mind at peace and tranquil as the forest itself, i'd been cured of civilization's ills! The forest is a harsh mother, inflicting pain and hurt at times, but this pain serves only to toughen us for life's trials and tribulations. To think of material comforts and pleasures and assume this is true bliss, is but foolishness. I'd rather fancy sleeping atop a fig tree rather than a plush foam and feather contraption! B ut then, modern life has bound us in ways we cannot see or escape at will. But the effort is on...

An escape from present circumstances and situations must and will necessarily land us in another situation and circumstance (The law of conservation of energy at work!), and depending on probability and the weightage of Karma (good and bad deeds!), the situation will be either in our favour or against us!

But i'd like to think, parents prayers, friends goodwill and the general positive aura of the world around, had their significant part in influencing my situation in the forest. Thanks to them all, the sun set for the day and i returned back to camp grinning from ear to ear (we had a record bird sighting for the region!), and slightly soaked with blood in the shoes(yes, the leeches were still at work!)

The mighty Great Pied Hornbill, our record!

What next, let's talk about that tomorrow...? :)

The walk in the forest

The forest has a calming effect which nothing on this planet can possibly produce. The quietude of the environs, fragrance of the fresh earth and herbs, and the absence of human presence soon absorbs you into its fold, and even the most disturbed of minds soon settles into equilibrium...

Random thoughts, old songs and blah playing in the head ended within a few minutes of entering the forest. Writing this takes me back to the Paradise i had to leave unwillingly...

Jibbery jab, jabbery jib, jabber, jabber..

A cuppa tea refreshed back the senses, and it was time for business! Barrel stocked, magazine loaded and finger on the trigger, it was time for hunting! It was high noon when i set out for the first foray with my tracker (not to be confused with trekker) and guide, Joma, a native of the forest for some sport shooting. The forest was quiet due to the heat and the only sound to be heard was of the cicadas buzzing. I took great pride in spotting birds and animals, even the slightest of movement in the bush when scouting in the forest, but compared to Joma, i was but a fledgling!

"Chirrup, chirrup, chirrup" a slight call could be heard on the side of the road in the bush. I ignored it because spotting the bird in such a thicket was difficult. But Joma immediately played out the bird's call he'd recorded in his mobile phone. Before you know it, a flash of gold with a black cap and a throat tainted red was sitting on a branch hardly 3 feet away from me. "Shoot it sir, shoot it" Joma's voice was just as excited as my pulse!

Barrel raised, target locked and the trigger pulled off. The gun went off with a bang and the bird was bagged! The bag? A full frame picture of the Ruby Throated Bulbul staring grimly at me, looking every bit the bandit of the forest :)

Ruby Throat's what they call me!

Managing a telephoto lens which weighs over 2 kilograms with no more than the nimble use of fingers and yet maintaining stable hands lest the picture be shaken can take its toll on the forearms. By the end of the excursion and a few more pictures, the arms were screaming in pain, begging for mercy (Insert a picture of you with the camera lens in hand)

The forest guards and Joma were insistent that we head back for lunch 'fore the food goes cold, but the i'd not paid premium money for eating and sleeping when there were trophies to be bagged. Nevertheless, i had to give in! Darn!!

Nothing much to report except wide eyed delight as rare birds came out to pose and cavort before the camera and the triggerhappy finger was only too occupied through the evening...

Engrossed in the shooting but i couldn't help but notice a cloud buildup in the meanwhile. The air was smelt of rain, and i had nothing by way of rainwear or even a plastic bag for the camera and lens. Caught while walking through a stretch of timber forest, Joma and i had to run for a half a kilometer before we could find shelter from the pelting rain in a wooden shack.

It's gonna rain, its gonna rain!

You can judge the amount of rain that's being received by observing the water that's washing off the soil and ground litter. Twenty minutes were spent just watching a leaf getting gradually pushed then dragged finally washed away by the water flowing off the road. The downpour finally ended and the day had to be wrapped up 'cause nothing more could be seen after the rains.

Traveling in rural and wild places sounds all gung ho and exciting, but more often than not, its a long and endless wait to get the transport vehicle, either a State Transport bus or a local SUV which'll drive you around for a slightly higher fare. The Indian villager's patience has stood the test of time. We waited for a record 60 (or was it 45) minutes just waiting either for a bus or an SUV to take us to Dandeli Timber Depot (the timber forest). The pace of life is dead slow, and the only thing that moves faster than time are a few cows meandering on the road, halting at times to ruminate over current affairs (nothing more complex than a mouthful of cud!)

Be it a song, dance, fight or tantrum, i was silently playing it out all in waiting for my transport to arrive. A few minutes before an SUV pulled up, i was almost ready to sleep off on the side of the road. No worries about pollution, only dirt and clear grass and a clean tarmac. Perfectly fine to sleep off if need be! :)

What's next? Rein in those wild horses! More's to come shortly :)

Until we meet again!

 

Breaking free!

There comes a point in time for almost everyone of us, or atleast those of us who acknowledge it, a need to break free, to escape from the humdrum and torture of monotony.

"It should not be denied... that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations, with absolute freedom, and the road has always led West." - Wallace Stegner

Combine this spirit of footloose with desperation to the point of being driven to the wall, and what do you get? The long repressed desire to break free, suddenly erupts violently, and the native with a sudden surge of courage launches out into the unknown, throwing to the winds, all forms of safety, security and plan! And a true blue backpacker's born...

Unfortunately, i wouldn't dare qualify as a true blue backpacker, except for the fact that my life was contained in two rucksacks!

My breakfree journey had the semblance of plan and strategy and prior reservations, atleast for the first part of the trip! Beginners should be allowed a small measure of lenience in this regard :)

And so, on the eve of Diwali when the whole world (read all those people who love being at home and socializing with fellow homo sapiens!) was celebrating, my journey began on a quiet note.

The railhead at Dadar, Mumbai conveniently forgot to list my train among the expected trains for the evening. As a result, i thought i had time excess on hand, until a glance at a platform visible to the corner of the eye revealed my train sitting squat as do all trains!

My seat was located in a colourful, rather explosive location! I was surrounded by a bunch of pre-teens twelve-ish or something less who knew nothing about law, order and discipline!
To add to the confusion was a generous dollop of love and affection from concerned parents. Tearful goodbyes, kisses, knick knacks, sweets, colas and a whole lot more kept criss crossing the place. These kids were apparently headed for a 6 day picnic in the wild. The way their parents were fussing o'er 'em seemed as if they were headed for war!

Ready for action sir!

The kids were only too smart and knew only too well how to have fun. Would it make a significant difference to the situation if i mentioned that the kids were all GUJJU? Certainly it did to me! Allow your imagination to run wilder than a fox in a chicken coop and picture 10+ li'l (or not so li'l) tots jumping, running, swinging, wallowing and engaging in all forms of gymnastics alongwith a lot more that can't be penned down

Don't i deserve a break??

Sleep was a bit of an issue for me. By virtue of default and the roll of the die with genetics, i was born 5'11 in a family where men rarely grew higher than 5'6! Height meant longer legs and a side upper seat could accomodate only so much, which meant my legs poked out pretty rudely at the person who was at the next side upper seat, who in this case was a tot! Mercifully, the kid didn't think of tickling this BigFoot's feet in the wee of the night as a sport, and so...

Morning ten thirty-ish presented a very different landscape. Tall trees covered the place as far as the eye could see and a slight chill in the air felt perfect. My destination, a place with a funny name (Londa) had pulled in! An athletic guy wearing spectacles was waiting in a white Tata Indica to take me to the camp. This is what i had to look for at the station, and the description fit to a tee.

Yee Haw!

Now what? The journey begins...

The Vetaal Tales - That thing call'd friendship!

Kanhaiyalal aka the Vetaal had taken me prisoner for a reason as he put it. "It's for your own good my friend, and in my interests as well. I'll let you go but before that, i want you to answer a few questions i have in store for you my friend. Beware, the questions seem almost childish but if you dare bungle with the answers, you'll roam Neverland forever..."

"Shall we begin sir? I'm sure you're quite okay with the conditions, not that you have a choice of course!". This Vetaal sure had a sarcastic sense of humour indeed, but i guess it comes with endless traveling between the worlds and grilling God alone knows how many other hapless souls like me!

Vetaal: "Let's begin with something simple. Tell me something about friends. Why do you need friends? Who, according to you is a good friend?"

Verma: "A friend is the response from the universe to your cry for help. Two pair o' hands work better than just one, it pays to have someone guard your back in a world of backstabbers! If nothing, a friend is good fun to have around you when you're plain bored and want to enjoy the world..."

Vetaal: "You were born alone, this journey of life, you must but chart alone, and when its time to go, Death won't wait for your friend to join you. Then why do you need a friend?"

Verma: "It's true that a great majority of life has to be charted alone, but a friend's help nevertheless is required at some point or the other. Let me ask you to guage this universe, can you tell me how small is it? Have you traveled across the different stratas of it, how far have you reach...."

Vetaal: "Haahahahaa, i have no mortal form and i'm free to roam across the Universe except the highest and nether regions where the... "

Verma: "I'm not referring to your present avataar Vetaal, i'm talking of the time when you were just Kanhaiyalal, and not the spiritual Vetaal!"

Vetaal: "Aye, that may be true. A friend is like having an additional pair of all the senses and a mind. A friend may not think like i do, and that could be quite useful. But what you talk about is idealistic, and not true. True friends are hard to come by and the rest who walk around are all gold diggers. Running around with you until their purpose has been met and served! Hah, i could do very well without such creatures for sure..."

(frowns and grimaces and a sour mood takes hold of Vetaal at this moment)

Verma: What you say may hold true but for a few. A friend is a mirror image of your soul, which means you'll find a friend who exactly mirrors your true nature! If you're a good person at heart, there's no reason you must worry 'bout finding a good friend!

Vetaal: So you're calling me a blackheart eh? Although i rightfully should kill your soul for this but you still haven't breached my original condition, so let you live still! I remember the story of two men, the best of friends and how they finally parted ways as mortal enemies. Let me check when and where did this happen...

(pulls up a pair of glasses and after a while of fumbling, fetches a scroll and begins reading from the scroll)

Vetaal: Ah yes, don't bother about the names so let's call them A and B but this happened not very long from now. In the very heart of Mumbai were two friends, mind you, the best of friends ever since childhood. They were together since the age of 7 uptil they joined Don Bosco College of Engineering Studies where they met Shweta.

Both boys had feelings toward Shweta, but A felt more deeply for Shweta than B. B merely had a passing crush on her and wanted to bed her and get rid of the feeling! A however trusting his friend B deeply, poured out his heart's feelings toward Shweta to B. A desperately wanted to propose his feelings to Shweta but was unable to do so. Why so? A was an introvert whilst B was a flirt. B

listened to A's story carefully and promised to help A out with his dilemma and elected to speak to Shweta and tell her all about A's feelings toward her.

My good friend, what do you think of this...?

Verma: That's so noble of B to do. Overruling his own heart's feelings, he's opted to woo Shweta for A. Aye, that's what true friends are all about. You're disproving your point Vetaal, and i'm certain you wouldn't do so. So, come to the finale as to what happened next?

Vetaal: Yes, you've understood me or atleast you understand where i'm coming to. That's jolly good! Returning to the topic, there was a inter-college tournament for football and A opted to play for the program which'd last a fortnight. During this period, it was decided mutually by A and B that B would try his best and woo Shweta for A and tell her all about A's feelings for her. B nodded in agreement, and promised Shweta'd greet him with open arms when he returned with the trophy from the tournament. A was so happy that day, he could kiss B and his heart sang in joy thinking of the future he'd have. If only A didn't hold such deep feelings for both Shweta and B...

The fortnight passed and A returned to college to find Shweta and B together. Smiling joyfully, he greeted them and indeed Shweta greeted him with open arms. Later during that day when A and Shweta were alone, A mustered some courage and tried speaking with Shweta. I remember those words so very clearly, they ring in my ears to this day...

"Hi Shweta, did B speak to you about me? It's a bit tough for me to express it but then i've..." A had hardly completed when Shweta cut him short. "I have some joyful news for you A, B and i are together. He expressed his feelings toward me during the fortnight, and after a week's courtship, i've responded positive! You're B's best friend since childhood, don't you think we make a great couple?"

A was shell-shocked and heart broken. Tears welled up in his eyes and his tongue refused to speak except in stammering sobs, and yet "Yes, B's a good man, he'll keep you happy Shweta. Wish you'll a happy future" and left the place in pain and misery. B was too cowardly a man to confront A after this incident, and A left college and re-joined his Engineering program someplace else in the country. I never came across him ever after that. B eventually had what he wanted. After a few month's worth of sexual dalliance, he dumped Shweta for another female. I tell you Verma by God if i could ever lay hands on him, he'll burn in the depths of Hell for eternity...

(By this time Verma too was gripped by emotion and both sprite and man maintained silence for a few moments) 

Verma: That was cruel of B to do, specially knowing his friend's feelings toward the girl, and that too for just a short sexual affair! What a pity Shweta couldn't see through B's falsity and A's love.

Vetaal: That's the way the world runs my friend. That's friendship for you. Heh, you expect true friendship can be expected in this age? From a human that too? Did you know my death was caused by not an enemy's bullet but a friend's treachery. That's an incident far too long ago, and i won't dwell on it. So Mr.Verma, tell me now what's your opinion on friendship? It should've changed by now right? (sniggers cruelly)

Verma: I still hold on to my opinion of friends Vetaal, i still believe there'd be a good friend somewhere for everyone among us out here. Tell me truthfully, did you not meet one good friend in your life? Did you not trust your life and everything that mattered with that one someone ever? Did someone not trust you with their life ever? Were you not someone's friend sometime?

Fiends always stalk even among the best of us, and the heart is but a fickle being. Aye, the heart can twist and malign the best of men into base creatures unworthy of mercy and salvation. But despite the best efforts of Fate, there exist a few who'd live their lives and perhaps when the need arise, sacrifice their own lives to save their friends. You must've surely heard of Karna, the famous Pandava brother who fought alongside the Kaurava clan in the battle of Kurukshetra...?

Vetaal: Ermm, Ved Vyas was a good writer but his writing never really caught my fancy, but yes i've heard of him somewhat!Verma: Karna was the epitome of what a man must ever be in his life.

Vetaal: You mean fight his own kinsmen in favour of their enemies. Funny principles you have in life Verma!!

Verma: Don't cut me down Vetaal, not when i'm far from complete. Karna never knew the truth of his birth and parentage until the eve of the battle. Karna was always teased and taunted by the Pandavas and when he was at his lowest, Suyodhana, the Kaurava crown prince stepped in and helped him, granted him the kingdom of Anga, and regarded him as one of his brothers.

Suyodhana was a noble man but his hatred for the Pandava knew no limits and in order to get even with them, he crossed the line of honour and steeped in treachery. Despite his lowest deeds and atrocities toward the Pandava which earned him very many enemies,

Karna never gave up on him. He did try and warn him, tried stopping him as much as he could, and when he realized Suyodhana was beyond correction, stepped forward to receive the crown of thorns for his sins.

He fought against the Pandava even when convinced otherwise by none other than Krishna. For him, his loyalty toward his friend was more important than righteousness in life and conduct. And fighting God, he met his cruel end before the battle of Mahabharata ended. Upon his death, even Krishna, the Omniscient Ruler of them all, praised him for his loyalty, placing him much higher above Himself.

That my friend is true friendship. Bleed your heart for the one who acknowledges you as a friend, love that friend, correct them and bring them to the path of right conduct. And if not possible, step forward and joyfully accept the punishment due for that friend...

I hope that answers your question...

Vetaal was silent all the while and Verma could feel him loosening his grip on his neck.

Verma: All said and done Vetaal aka Kanhaiyalal, tell me about yourself and how'd you come here. Tell me else i won't let go of you!

Vetaal: (Laughs) You are but wise Verma. You gave me the answer i was expecting. For this i must let go of you today. We'll meet again sometime soon. For now, your family's waiting for you and don't forget to buy those brinjals your wifey asked you to buy!

In the twinkling of an eye, Vetaal shoots off and Verma is transported back into the real world, stunned and stupefied for a moment. He recovers of course and heads off to buy those brinjals...

The Vetaal returns to haunt, after the break!

"There's nothing black, nor there's anything white. The world's a smoky illusion of grey" - Old jungle saying

Life exists in the strangest of places, in the strangest of forms. We refuse to believe certain life forms exist because we cannot see or perceive their existence. That's because we're attuned to a set of images our mind has formed about the places we live in and travel. We refuse to see anything beyond these images, and only when there's a gross change in the picture is when we're forced to accept this change in the picture. This is called conditional vision or perception, a game played by the mind.

So, we're seeing in effect only what the mind wants us to see! And how does the mind know all of this? This happens indirectly when our likes and dislikes become strong enough to voice out their opinions, and begin colouring the mind. Once this happens, the mind shows us only what we want to see, and nothing else. This is our make believe world ladies and gentlemen!

And in this make believe world, i, Prakash Verma too had a small piece of earth to call my own with a roof over my head. Living off the land, working at famous corporation who'd invested deeply here and earning a bit more than my neighbours. This slight advantage made my life a bit more enjoyable, and to put things in a nutshell, i was living in my own designer cocoon!

Life can get a bit dull once the challenges have been settled and there's not much turbulence to everyday life. We're a paradoxical people, us humans! We crave for a small measure of peace and quiet in times of trouble, and when we attain this peace, we begin to feel "bored" and seek further challenges to spice up life! Funny isn't it...?

It was at a time like this that i met him. Enroute to the railway station, a dense grove of banyan trees grow thickly in a small space of earth. The roots droop downward, dig back into the earth and at another corner of the plot, re-emerge as another tree.

This cluster parented from one ancient banyan, was now 6 trees thick! This cluster is of paramount importance for the events that are about to transpire.

Legend has it that the place is a bloody grove. Indeed, a murder was reported when i was a school boy. The blood had seeped deep into the dark brown soil, but was still visible on the surface. There was a marsh nearby where wild boar used to haunt, and the whole place had an eerie and spooky appearance. All of it has now but gone, but the banyan cluster remains.

I usually gave this place a miss when returning from office, but once in a while i would come via this less trampled path only because it was quieter than the traffic congested stretch of M.G.Road. And on just another regular evening, close to dusk i met Vetaal. 

Vetaal in colloquial Hindi means a sprite or a celestial being, usually a mischievious prankster, something like Casper the lovable ghost! Vetaals across India have different attributes, some even border on the verge of murderous beings capable of dangerous manipulations, while others are lost souls damned to haunt the nether world, neither hell nor earth until the time of Judgment or when their sins would be forgiven, whichever came first.

The vetaal i met was an altogether different creature or being, bearing no semblance whatsoever to anything or anyone who could call himself a sprite! He looked every bit like just another old man on the street. Tucking in his dhoti (an Indian sarong) between his legs, and wearing a knotted piece of cloth as a turban and a white kurta covering his torso, he looked like a traditional headman from someplace in rural Gujarat or Rajasthan.

Squatting in the shade of the tree the way only an Indian can squat, he had a look of peace and content on his face. The sun was dipping in the western horizon, and after yet another day at the place i called my place of work, tired and hungry i headed back home when he called out to me. It was October and the season we call "second summer", the weather was a bit sultry. Yet there was a strange chillness when i passed by the banyan grove. Must be because of the tree cover i thought.

"Time kya ho raha hai bhaisahab" a slightly accented voice called out from my right handside. Turning to locate the source of this voice, we locked gaze. Vetaal saw me, and i saw Vetaal."Pouney saat" i spat out without much effort or attention spare a glance at the wristwatch. I didn't intend having a conversation with this stranger, and i'd answered the man's question. That's enough as far as public courtesy's concerned!

"Rushing home to savour supper Prakash Verma?" the old man who called himself Kanhaiyalaal called out in a snide tone to me. Surprised more than shocked, i turned back to see him squatting still, but smiling deviously. A few teeth were missing in what could be called a toothy grin.

"Reality can be stranger than fiction, 1 plus one's not always two, logic is a make believe truth!" the words were coming in a flurry, and he was looking at me with a devilish expression, and the above dialogue happened in English! Quite surprising for someone who looked like he needed a bit of education in English (i'm such a bourgeoise bugger at times!)

The incidents happening in the next few seconds have been the most terrifying moments of my life, it was a wonder i didn't have a heart attack! In the twinkling of an eye, the guy squatting on the ground leaped up into the air with a cackling laugh and before i could realize was piggybacking me with his hands firmly twisting around my neck.

"What the...??? What do you want you %^&^%#$#$3" and i tried grappling him down on the earth where i could teach him some manners.

But the twist around my neck was as firm as a vice grip, and try as much as i may, i couldn't get him off my neck! "Relax Prakash Verma, i won't kill you unless i have to. I'm not trying to kill you now, so please don't force me to kill you now!

All i want you to do is answer my questions and i'll let you go" the weird cackling laugh now screaming loud in my left ear. If you're wondering what happened to the quiet and sparsely but populated street, we were there but then the time zone seemed like we'd traveled sometime back in time, a few millennia would be quite an accurate number.

"Who're you mister, and what do you want? You're not just another local, and you're something far from human. Are you some kind of a poltergeist or a spirit? Or some celestial being?..." The questions just kept coming in a flurry "The wallet's in the bag, you can have my soul if you want to, what'll you give me in return for my soul, are you the one they call Beelzebub...?"

"Shut up Prakash Verma, and listen to me for a change. Just fucking listen to me! Just keep walking, and talk when i ask you to, do i make myself clear?" curtly he shut up my whining. The place we were walking through was the same banyan grove lane, just that it didn't have any signs of civilization and it was nightfall and it looked every bit like a forest, something it was until just a few decades ago!

We walked for a good distance in silence, the weird travelers walking through a forest which obviously had wildlife everywhere and were audibly vocal after sunset. "Can i know who're you kind sir, and why do you enjoy piggybacking on my back?" this time i was more calm and composed.

"Good evening Prakash, my name's Kanhaiyalal or must i say that was my name until i died. Humans are one miserable race. The moment i died, or just left my human body, they called me spirit. Fate has it that i roam the earth until God knows when.

Overpopulation's not a problem only on earth, even the celestial abodes are having tremendous queues, and i didn't quite know any famous saint or politician to gain a VIP entry, so..." And from here began a journey i would later term as my path to evolution...

Humpty Dumpty's great fall

The story revolves around Mr.Humpty Dumpty and his constant state of depression. Humpty's life is on the rocks quite literally. The recession of '08 rendered him jobless, a wife who found a better partner and outstanding rents and bills stare blankly at him. Set in Manhattan, New York, Humpty finds life difficult to manage with his woes. And so...

Look around and what do you see
Happiness, sunshine and a good lot o' glee!
Smile please, smiles are good, smiles are free
But why's it that it's so difficult for me?

If there's something i carry with me,
It's got to be lots o' pain and misery
A life so gloomy, a life so tough
Wonder why'd Fate leave me out in the rough...

Hurt or abuse, i never did to anybody
Then why's my fortune so drab and shoddy?
I live my life, others i just let them be
Aren't you seeing this, it's not something else you see?

Their faces beam and they walk ever so upright
Sparkling shoes and collars tight
A spring in their steps, they step so light!
Jolly good fun! What a happy sight!

The sun for me's in eclipse, and my horizon's dark
Rays of hope are bleak for the darkness is stark
If i could, i would to someone hark
Bring back my joy, bring back my singing lark!

How'll it all end, or will it end at all?
Is there someone who'd answer my call?
Someday again, again i'll walk tall
Or take the plunge once and for all...

Hope seems to surge high briefly and Humpty gets a job as a cashier at a coffee shop in Tristate. Fate doesn't want to let go of him so quickly, and before you know it, he's jobless again. Humpty's determined to keep up his promise. He didn't quite walk tall, so he's prepared to take the final fall...
From the 25th storey of a skyscraper which's his building, Humpty breathes in the surroundings for the last time. The sun sets in the western horizon and far below him, the rush hour is about to start. Well, there's nothing much to mope around for. And so...

Adieu cruel world, i'll miss you but i have to go

The fall would take seven minutes before he smashes into the tarmac like an eggshell. As he's going down, he sees the people he thinks are happy and content. That's what he used to think until...

Mrs. Walker, walking with her head held high
She's bowing down in grief, i wonder why!
She's weeping for her son, who's taken the way of the gun!

Mr.Turner, the ever-smiling, "do good" man
Is that blood he's spitting in that pan?
Reckon it's cancer, wonder when it began!
He'd be feeling Hell, he's dying
But i've never heard him once crying...

Hello Jeannie, babe of every man's dreams!
All's not well with her, so it seems
Why's she living so alone and forlorn
Unloved like a rose's prickly thorn?

Trip, the next promising soccer superstar
Runs hard sending the ball high and far
A prosthetic leg's what he wears
Yet what brilliant grace he bears...

If you're wondering, it's not seven minutes yet. Humpty's heart is pumping hard, and his senses are hyper-excited. That's why time seems to go slowly for him. The sight of people he once thought to be free from suffering makes him think. Perhaps he'd made a rash decision. But then it's too late to stop now...

Sorrow lurks among one and all
All that matters is how much's your gall
Fate may bend you, but you have the option to walk tall
Maybe i shouldn't have take...

CRUNCH!!!!!

Silence for a moment, screams later. A small pool of blood begins to gather at the place where Humpty hit the tarmac, and the pedestrians gather waiting for the paramedics to arrive. The pain would've been terrific for he fell from a good height, but there's a strange smile on his lips...

Mindless travel of a heartless soul

My first attempt at what "Streams of Consciousness" writing! Heartfelt thanks to a beautiful angel who bummed a cigarette for me. The cigarette was perhaps the triggering factor for the events unfolding below...

The rains were on the verge of leaving and the air hung listlessly as if a leg of beef hung from a meat hook. Perhaps it was the air or was it perhaps the cigarette that i'd bummed, or was it perhaps a combination of both; i know not but this state of mind (which could've been a conspiracy of the universal elements for all you know!) started the snowball of the events to come.

To think and yet have nothing to ponder, aye is it possible? Yes, why not! If forty winks could be had without either of the eyelids ever batting, immortality had from death, it's verily possible to think and yet have nothing running in the mind as you think :)

It was nearly sundown or atleast 30 minutes before the sun made bade farewell to our side of the hemisphere when the peregrination began. As if guided by a divine compass, the feet automatically turned westward and trudged onward toward the huge stretch of reclaimed land, a seamless necklace of tarmac and streetlights also known as the Queen's Necklace. All along the promenade were people. People thronged thick all along the stretch of the place and as far as my eyes could see, i could still see a huge congregation where the promenade ended at a small shingle!

All along the way were everyday common folk. Tourists, touts, families, lovers, artists, beggars, drunks, beautiful single women and a good many more perhaps representing every inch of the social fabric that's called Bombay. Sunday's the day when Marine Drive becomes a living, breathing museum of anthropology and maybe you'll find atleast one individual representing every race, caste or demography of the megacity.

Having seen such sights one time too many for once i too used to gaze at the setting sun from the safety of the boundary wall as the waves crashed into the tetrapods below. The winds they come from distant lands. From the land of the Arabian nights, whooshing over the famed Persepolis, stirred and egged perhaps from the dry winds of the North African Sahara; it was here the winds culminated blowing inward the fragrances and tales of these fabled lands, and recently, the smell of chemicals and polluted brine inland. Entwined with this mish mash of smells was slight smell of damp tobacco and old tar, hanging on to me like a secret lover's lipstick.

People laughed, cried, spoke, sang, lived, loved and did what society'd allow them to do on one free day they could wrestle out for themselves and their beloved. How i wish i could join them and for a moment's worth share their joy and sorrow if i could at all, but Time, that ever present guardian was standing next to me tapping his right foot impatiently as he was wont to. I could almost imagine him giving his stale, milennia old one liner "Time and Tide wait for none" and before he'd open his mouth, i left the place leaving the mortals to their life and fate...

Maya walked alongside walking just as briskly as i was. She'd always surprise me from behind whenever i least expected her to turn up. I once used to dread her presence and fear for what'd happen next, but now it was something of a routine. Smilingly, "Where's the young man headed to...? Where'll it be this time? You weren't supposed to be marching like this alone!". For those among you'll who don't know Maya, she's the silent seductress who slips into your mind in the twinkling of an eye, and makes the heart long for something or someone who's not close at hand. Further conversation with the temptress would only mean she'd get in and it's a tad bit difficult to get her out once she claims your heart for herself! 

"Some questions need no answer! Some paths lead nowhere. And walking along the path to nowhere doesn't mean i'm lost..." the subconsciousness aka the alter ego answered on my behalf. That was too much for her and she fell back sulking and grumbling. Every once in a while, at a place along a straight road comes a turn which may perhaps turn the wheels of Destiny, perhaps change the very essence of life. Well, in this case, this was a diversion along the Marine Drive which lead further inward into Marine Lines and a veritable maze of roadways, open sewers and secret fantasies and unspeakable horrors! What lay in store here? i didn't quite know and so a turn eastward was inevitable and with a final goodbye to the setting sun (the darned clouds obscured the sunset!), i made my foray inward.

Places of work, peopled to the point of suffocation on weekdays are eerily empty on Sundays, specially during the evenings and the only few who wander around are those single, young, enervated men deep from the heartland of the nation who have no family to call their own and have no other means to kill time. The more endowed make their way to a place not very far off where they could have their libido's urge satieted for a few hundred rupees (it is fabled you could score a woman for nothing beyond two dollars in the place they call "Street of a Thousand Whores") The others with much cleaner (hopefully!) sit around street corners chit-chatting, whiling time.

Along the way, a drunk man was fighting with a posse of non-descripts who seem to be the man's cronies or friends. The man excitedly gestured and called upon a hapless soul's ancestors and a few invectives to the women in his family. No sense in butting into this fight, you never know what can a drunk man swing or throw at you! Perhaps it was frustration. Frustration with his family, his work, his home, his workplace, and this man who by some stupid twist of Fate, opened up the vents of frustration unwittingly! Frustration is a way of life in this city for many, and they deal with it in one way or the other...

The street twisted and turned and a decrepit signboard read "AarPee Specialty Chemicals, Princess Street, Mumbai-400001". From the road to Kalbadevi, how'd i land here, don't ask me the same question that Maya did. Some journeys wander and meander across the world and yet reach nowhere! Princess Street, for the uninitiated was the place where chemicals could be obtained in bulk and at cheap rates. It wouldn't be very surprising if the place also catered to the chemical abusing segment of humanity. It wasn't dark as yet and hence maybe the denizens of the dark still hadn't made their way out craving for a fix!

The place, including the surrounding areas of Kalbadevi, Pydhonie and Girgaum were built successively. The oldest building i could find in the area was one dating back to 1872 A.D. Most other buildings date back to 1924 onwards, but as the world was discovering itself, it wouldn't be very surprising if someone had try to discover Bombay as well! The area is predominantly an industrial area, and hence for reasons mentioned before, weekends are short breaks of silence. On any given weekday, you could scream out loud and people may not even spare a second glance for you, but on holidays such as these, you could hear your heart thump. The streets spoke out loud in the lingo of silence. In moments of quietude, you could almost hear the city's blood flow in its veins!

Although i had the dream catcher with me, for a mysterious reason, i didn't quite feel the need to get it out and capture some images, some fleeting memories of the place. The streets had their own way of silencing desire. "The best memories are those fleeting moments in time where amidst the most mundane and ordinary, you see something beautiful and honest..." the streets whispered. Perhaps the romance was in the moment's kiss itself. No sense in capturing them within the dream catcher staid and dead for posterity's sake!

Time and space were now relative, and street after street did trudge along my two sturdy feet. After what seemed like a while, humanity made its presence felt in a very different way indeed. I'm not too sure what's the place, i think it was Manish Market or something like that (i was too lost in thought and smoke clouded the mind from that bummed cigarette!)

The place was teeming with people almost like the way Marine Drive was clogged, except that there wasn't any sea or setting sun to lure them close, it was something more ordinary, shopping! Locals who worked their asses off during the weekdays, made some time out for their families and shopping is but an essential chore in a family man's life.

Colourful fancy dresses, daily household items, and just about everything under the sun that could be covered under the broad umbrella of "Utility" could be found there. College girls pored over modern fashion, children squealed and mothers spanked and fathers were only too happy to be ignored from the general humdrum. After the deafening silence of Princess Street, this place almost frightened me with the people, the number of voices and general cacophony!

Just a few hundred meters away lay the famous Crawford Market, the place where everything and anything could be bought for a price. The last i'd heard they even stored fruits i as an Indian could've never found anywhere else in the city. Not to mention the illegal animal bazaar, the place where exotic birds and strange animals could change hands from dealers to owners for the right price.

The road turned yet again and as is my wont, i turned along with it too leaving behind Manish Market and its wares forward toward a huge enclosure which looked like a municipal market for vegetables. There was a strange smell that hung around in the air, and it wasn't fresh vegetables. I was walking alongside the butchery in the market and the strange sweetish smell of death pervaded the air. Today wasn't market day and so there wasn't any activity, but the sight of the meat hooks didn't make visualization of a busy day very difficult. This was by far the coldest and most eerie of all the places i'd seen in the evening...

The road ahead snaked on toward Mohammed Ali road where the faithful would break their fast on the call of the muezzin announcing the end of the daylong fast they'd been observing as tradition demands during the month of Ramadan.

The sun had set and it was time to count back footsteps homeward perhaps by some other way, if possible! Along the way were the denizens of this city who'd made their peace with life, their peace with loneliness, some signed their tryst with Fate, others tried to fight bravely only to fall back into the wayside ditches in the dark.

The "homeless" prepared their beds to rest for the night for there was yet another day to begin tomorrow, yet another day to start afresh, and a rumbling stomach hailed me homeward...

We're like this and we love being like that...

This poem is inspired and dedicated to that mass of humanity who see nowhere beyond themselves, and never gave a damn about comfort for their immediate neighbours. You'll find them in every walk of life, walking alongside us, getting into fights with us. Here's an ode to them, fresh from the bile ducts!


Last week's experiences made me spill out my bile onto the public forum, hoping for a better and more civilized tomorrow. What can you say to people who don't offer a seat to an old man, or grumble at having to adjust their "tashreef" space!

Garish shirts and lousy pants,
Scant with brains, rich with rants!
We're like this and we love being like that!

Formals are always minus shoes, chappals can do
Trousers can be at ankle length, shirts are open too
It's all just fine, it'll just about do!
We're like this and we love being like that!

Goochi, Tommy and all angrezi wangrezi! All bakwaas, all your bull
Don't expect us to take that shit, we're too full!
Local tailors, Nandu, Bala, Ganpat can make us too look cool
Fashion and fun can come cheap as well you fool!

Stars talk and what changes destiny are those zodiac rings
They've got the power to change paupers to kings
You don't understand them, then stay out of these things
Just as a crow doesn't know how a magpie sings!
We're like this and we love being like that!

Sorry, excuse me, please ain't our cuppa chai
We've never heard of 'em, never used 'em, don't ask why!

Comfort is our right and if there's a fourth seat you'd want
Take it from us for sure, but not minus a fight or a taunt

Old or young, woman or child, we care a damn for none
There's no free meals for anyone under the sun
Chalte ban man, get going and run!
Wasting my time with you's not my idea of fun

We may be ugly, we may be mean, but that's us all right
We have our numbers, and we've got our might
Hope to see someday when you're nowhere in sight
Hope to see someday you understanding our plight

All said and done, all of it's in good fun
We're like this and we love being like that!

Ghotala - The corruption of power...

The events that have occurred in the recent past provoked me to write this excerpt of an interview. In the right hands, a pen can cause more catastrophe and damage than a nuclear warhead.

Note: None of the characters in this "interview" are real nor bear semblance to anyone. If you find this offensive, please stop reading, and do send me some hate mails. Assassins would be equally entertaining, but please do send a return address so i can return the favour!

18th July '11, New Delhi:

Our correspondent Chiquita Perez aka Chickie, a former correspondent for a leading news daily, presently a
freelance scribe blogs as a non-entity on popular blogs and tries to expose corruption and treachery rife in Indian politics. Today, Chickie's interviewing a popular member of the Parliament a day after the bomb blasts in Mumbai, and the Lokpal Bill threat looming around the corner. Chickie's meeting Mr.Babubhai, a somebody from someplace who's a part of the ruling party in the country, or atleast claims to be ruling...

Babubhai Kantibhai Chimanlal Patel also known as BP within the party circles, also called "Big Pig" of course behind his back! BP has been a part of the Indian political scenario ever since the fall of monotheistic ruling party culture, and the ascent of coalition ruling. BP has been the CM of Maharashtra and has critical acclaim for development of the island city of Bombay, specially development of housing for the lower income segments. BP has agreed to give this interview, under the condition of anoynymity. This conversation has been recorded "off the fucking record"!

This interview is conducted in a seedy bar near Chandni Chowk

Chickie: Mr.Patel, it's an absolute pleasure to have you with me across the table, engaging in free conversation with me! BP's dressed to appear incognito, read a gaudy pink shirt stretching over an ample hemisphere that's his tummy, wearing heavy gold chains and a bracelet. The first two buttons of his shirt are unbuttoned, "to be kool" as he says. His trouser too is a colour equally outrageous, but he's got to "disguise" himself right? He cannot be giving interviews to people like Chickie who'd lunge at anyone with a pen and a mob to back her! For the privilege of his words, BP expects some positive coverage when its time for the polls...

"Yeh duniya, yeh duniya badi gol hai! Hai isme kitney jhol!" the music blares from loudspeakers and a few busty bar girls croon to the music. Those who're here for the music and the women enjoy themselves, those who're here for privacy keep their distance from the overcrowded center and seek refuge in the shadows of the dark...

BP: Arrey madamjee, zara quietly, quietly please! People here know me, some of my party members may be around. If they see me with you, i'm as good as a bakra on Bakri Eid! You're wellcome, wellcome madamjee, as long as you keep up your word! It's all a matter of "len-den" madamjee, give and take. I give you some spicy news fresh from the corridors of power, and you provide me the power to reach those corridors! I hope we understand each other, don't we? For now you can call me BP!

Chickie: Of course we do BP, don't you worry. It'll all be done! So, shall we get started sir? It all begins with the Lokpal Bill, Anna Hazare and the recent attacks of terror in Bombay. Are these all individual events or do they come together somewhere someway...?

BP: (Laughs) Madam, i don't understand what you're saying! How can these lafdas have something in common? Tauba tauba, such bad days upon us! God forbid such a thing should ever happen!

Chickie orders for a beer for herself and a Jim Bream sour mash whiskey for BP. "Oonchey log, oonchi pasand!" BP reiterates the famous "Manikchand" ad's catchline. BP calls for some snacks and a roast chicken.

BP: Chickie madamjee, please have your beer with the chicken. It'll taste all the better! The meat only enhances the flavour of the drink.

Chickie: Coming to our topic for today sir, what was your reaction when the Lokpal Bill protest and Anna Hazare's movement started?

BP: Dekhiye, you see, after nearly a lifetime of experience in the political scene in India, nothing really shocks me. I am one of the veterans and yet i agree to the fact there are people in the beaureau who're far more experienced than i am. The only incident in the entire history of post independence politics in India which had shockwaves running through the country was the declaration of a state of Emergency.

Indeed, people, aam junta, politicians, journalists, the army, name it and you'll find a mention were waiting to
see the drama unfold. I was a mere footsoldier then. Indira Gandhi, aka Mother India had the nation by its balls in her hands. "India is Indira, Indira is India" were some of the slogans we used to shout!

Chickie, you tell me something. At the end of the day what would you want to take home? Please answer my quaestion (sic question) honestly...

Chickie: Me? What about me? I'm not somebody with great ambition or interest in jamaaoing (aka gathering) wealth!

I'm not keen on making money for myself or my family. I'm a single woman with little creature wants that my salary can afford to pamper!

BP: Exactly! You say creature wants, i say basic essentials! Schooling for Hetal and Hiten, my children, some money for my wife's needs, some money for my creature wants (winks at Chickie, although the wink only further accentuates his piglike appearance!) and some money for the future. I want a stadey* source of income. I'm a "grihastha", a householder, can i afford to lounge around for three square meals a day? Don't i have responsibilities to fulfil?

(Drinks deeply from his peg of whiskey, lets in the alcohol sink in. Belches in contentment...)

(Chickie too sips at her beer and munches on the snacks while BP tucks into a leg of chicken. A devout Gujarati at home, his idea of vegan food apparently goes for a toss when he's drinking, or so they say...)

BP: Madamjee, do you know what happened when the Emergency was called off? There was mass revolution in the country. Lots of mens, young and old had been jailed, including our noble Jaiprakash Narayan, JP saab you know na? Indira was finally doomed, or so it seemed...

I'd approached Indiraji when she was in jail, told her i wanted to become something better than a party member, something better than the ordinary member who pays an annual fee, reads the party circulars and goes around doing odd jobs. Tell me what should i do. Indiraji told me, "Mujhe yahaan see bahar nikaal, aagey ka main dekh loongi!" You get me out of here, and i'll see to the rest that needs to be done. That's all that i needed.

Immediately, i gathered a few laundas around Allahabad. Laundas and lafangas, good for nothings and a few thugs. We soon ran amock in the city attacking shops, cars, buses and everything and anything that appeared before us. I'd specially prepared a petrol bomb (read Molotov cocktail) and we burst a few around the city's streets and plazas, calling for Indiraji's release from custody. Then what? After that, there was no looking back, i was made a Special Executive Officer, following which i was able to become a MLA, and now, i'm a MP! (laughs and takes another deep draught from his now refilled glass)

Chickie: You mean to say you were offered all that you got because of goondagiri?

BP: Arrey arrey madamjee, please don't use that Bombay lingo and call me a goonda! Su hun tamey goonda lagu chu? Do i look like a goonda to you? How can you then call me such things? I'm offended, and am forced to demand a "sorry" from you!

Chickie: Sorry BP jee, i didn't mean to call you a goonda, but what you did in Allahabad back in '79 wasn't exactly legal, was it?

BP: Madamjee, as long as it secured the  result, i don't care a damn whether the action was right or wrong. I wanted Indiraji out from prison, and i did what i had to do. Simple! The first rule of politics, do what your Godmother or Godfather tells you, without asking questions. Full stop!

(Now thoroughly enjoying the conversation, Chickie directly takes a swig from her bottle of Cobra beer, BP's recommendation for the best beer in the state)

Chickie: Accha, so you did what you had to do, without asking any questions, good good, very good! A very honest and hard working man you seem to be...

BP: Of course, of course, i'm a dedicated social worker and an even more dedicated servant to my leader. My party leaders know and understand what this nation needs, and how to give what it needs the most. Congress party ni jai!

Chickie: BP, we've come a long way now and have been talking for over half an hour, yet you're nowhere close to telling me what i want to know. You're not being a good social servant BP jee, you've cheated me...

(BP is taken aback by this statement from Chickie, tries to console her) Chickiejee, i mean Chickie, what is it that you want to know. Tell me and i'll tell you the truth, mother promise!

Chickie: Accha? Then tell me what happened when Anna Hazare threatened the Parliament with the Lokpal anti-corruption bill? Why was there so much confusion and turbulence?

BP: (Sighs) You women eventually get what you want, no matter how hard it may be. If i tell you this, and you publish it openly under my name, i'll be dead. Literally. My family alongwith me will die. Sarkaar ke haath badey lambey hotey hain, the government has a great reach! But i'll tell you the truth, because...
Because, you've been a good friend to me Chickie...

Initially, we expected this Anna to be like just another RTI query, something our legal eagles could simply wind up and lock up in some cupboard someplace. But he began playing the game the way we do, he began gathering momentum from the public.

The hunger strike, and the media constantly barking on TV and radio, was too much for us. I'm not saying we've gathered money by "other" means, but this meant the party's treasury would come under the scanner as well. I'm a good, honest and God fearing MP, but there are others in the party who're not so good you know...

They have earned hundreds of crores, by ways and means you'd better not ask. They have money pouring out of their ears. Why do you think they keep making trips to Switzerland so frequently? Only to visit their vaults and deposit some money there. The money's not sent directly in one package, but in different packets with some party members, some relative or someone like that who'll deposit the money there. If the money goes as one big "matka", a pot, we're doomed...

Woh sab baad ki baat, coming to our topic, Anna threatened the unity of the nation. If our party fell now, we could never rise up ever again. Even the opposition agreed on this. We could not let this man threaten our delicate stance in the nation. And to make things worse, that gando, that madman Ramdev also began fasting and wanted us to declare our assets publicly. Anna Hazare is one thing, but this fraud Baba was quite another!

Fortunately, we had some boys who were good with their maths. They soon uncovered the Baba's significant holdings in business and the 83 companies that were managed under his name. Niklaa ki nahin, chor ki daadhi mein tinka? (laughs) After all, didn't we sniff out the unaccounted wealth he too was concealing? We're good with our maths!

The arrest and subsequent breaking of the fast of that Baba was a minor victory for us. Yes, but the major reason behind the terror was yet to go down. But we could not "put down" an old man who threatened us with a hunger

strike, could we? I too have an old father, and no matter what the lafangas in the party's bottom ranks or the coalition members asked for, i wouldn't allow the arrest of the Anna. There'd be rivers of blood then, rivers literally. (Drinks again and tucks into some chicken, now gone cold)

Chickie: Go on BP, tell me something more. Surely there's more to it than meets the eye. Right? (winks at BP and orders for some more beer)

BP: Chickie, i've told you a lot now, i expect you to canvass me during the elections. Do remember that you owe me this favour chokri, because i'm not going to be forgetting this...

Chickie: Of course BP, of course! I won't fail you when the time comes! But tell me something further, the story's only becoming interesting now. The masala's in this part (smiles and indulges in chilled beer)

BP: Where were we? Ah yes, Ramdev was arrested, our coalition partner's party was maligned in the recent telephone network scam. Overall, we needed something to win back the people's hearts, or atleast some diversion from this everyday highlight and telecast of corruption. And then, the terrorists struck in Mumbai. Our Mumbai, maari Mumbai ma, in my Mumbai. Darned cowards!

Chickie: Were these people really terrorists BP? Or some thugs paid to plant explosives in the marketplace?

BP: Do you mean to say we planted the bombs? Su vaat karey chhey chokri? What are you saying? Do you have any sense in you? (gets really angry and smashes the glass on the floor, orders for a quarter of whiskey)

Chickie: (Visibly shaken and frightened) I didn't mean to say you or your party were involved in the bombing. I'm just wondering whether they could've been done by some of our own people for a diversion from the mainstream events.

BP: I don't know about this, but i heard whispers in the assembly of some people talking of some little known jehadi faction, i don't even know the name. Ketlo terrorist factions chhey ney? How different are they from one another?

Some people in the assembly were talking of this party a week before the blasts, and i heard them mention Mumbai. I thought maybe the police have discovered a new sleeper cell in Mumbai. And then, the blasts happened. Ram Ram, they exploded bombs in Zaveri Bazaar and Opera House. Many of my fellow Gujaratis died there. I'm saddened...

Chickie: Could it be that this incident could have been known in advance to some members in the assembly?

BP: I cannot commit anything concrete, but it seems there could be a possibility that some people knew this to be coming, over even planned it. I'll never stoop down to kill our brethren Gujaratis. I'd throw a few in Madanpura or Null Bazaar or someplace where "those" people live. These people harbour the terrorists, eat our gai maata, and call gaalis upon India, and love Pakistan! I'd throw more than a few bombs there if i could. Many of our Gujarati bhais and bens died due to their atrocities across the country. All Hindus must rise and fight them!

Chickie: But you'll promise them political representations in the Parliament and reforms, and now you talk of killing them?

BP: Hun pan su karu? What can i do? Elections are a time when numbers talk, the bigger the better. You need to pan dirt and crap to get to gold, right?

Chickie: Hmm, that is true. Politics is but a gutter, but full of riches provided you know where to clean and pan, right?

BP: Ekdum perfect Chickie, absolutely perfect (laughs hard and almost falls off the table but is helped up before he does)
Stone drunk BP and a more than slightly buzzing Chickie are having a good time. Conversation and liquor are freely flowing. And the night too is drawing its darker shade of black now...

BP: It certainly must have been someone from the assembly, one of those coalition waala chors! They came in for the loot but promised us much needed support. They must've allied with those terrorists and organized the explosions.

God knows what they've done! They must have, they must have, they must....(drools and dribbles and falls asleep on the table. The chicken's still waiting to be attended to!)

Chickie: BP jee, BP jee, get up, we need to move on now. I too must go home, and your missus must be waiting for you at home...

BP: Huh, Kavita? Kavita? Yes yes, Kavita, Hiten and Hetal must be waiting for me. We must move on now.

Chickie: Thank you for today evening's conversation. I loved every bit of it, be it the beer or you shooting straight from the hip!

BP: It's okay Chickie, i may have told you many secret truths and open lies, but i'm a bania, a trader. I want my share of the meat when the time comes, and you know my price right?

Chickie: You have my word BP, you have my word...

BP gets into his car and so does Chickie. Chickie gets off at Daryaganj and the car speeds off toward Karol Bagh into the darkness...