ok.. where do we begin this?? You have interesting anecdotes, thrilling experiences, long stretch of absolute boredom where time turned monotonous moving at its own snail pace.. You have all of these like characters in a play.. they know what they ought to do.. and they are ready waiting for their turn.. you might plainly put them one by one in the order of occurrence like reading news or you could start somewhere in the middle where something out of the blue happened and you keep the reader mystified till the end. But I have not murdered anyone in this trip to write a thriller.. though I desperately wished to stab a few of them to death.. like the bus driver from Manali to Shimla or the care taker in Katra dharamshala.. but they can wait..

This trip has only left me drained. I have lost weight, 4 kilos of them, and I am not among those who considered that as an achievement and celebrate it. I would not suggest this trip as a rapid weight loss program for those who want to lose their bulk or even trim off those round edges. I have lost my colour... my Aravind Swamy colour.. (although the previous statement is highly debatable and when put to vote will only win one vote in favour... I can term this as a writer's creative freedom to express his thoughts) The typical Indian fixation, left behind by the 'Phirangis', for the fair skin. You only have three categories.. fair which ranges from anemic white, pinkish skin to little amount of colour under the armpits... a little dusky or more would fall under wheatish complexion. (the word is defined under Indian English.. any new word used by Indians will be added to the dictionary as we are the largest English speaking population in the world.. A foreign word used by the vast majority no longer remains foreign..) and finally the absolute dark, Keiron pollard like, regarded dusky complexioned in the matrimonial sites.

A few memories of the trip which remained forbearing the infinite suction of the scorching heat find their place in this post.

Counting 'chicks': The trip was, as anticipated, full of promising nights.. the brief sojourns on filthy platforms waiting for the train.. They all loitered around the platforms, the trains.. some of them obeyed the announcing-lady, some did not bother to turn up even after repeated pleas by the lady and some dropped out of no where unannounced with no name no aim and stayed put.. The platform bustled with activity.. trains with bogies married to engines, bachelor engines piqued in loneliness wailing its discontent in sirens.. the cry of despair the cry for attention that deafened the rest of the platform but could not get the slightest of affirmative nod from the 'chuk-chuk' bulbous bogie.. Amidst the romance there were people, hoards of them, scattered everywhere like bird droppings. All kinds of them.. Tall, midget, dusky, white washed, elderly, hippie, Chinese and their elephant trunk cameras, loin-clothed with frizzy long hair, men in military uniforms and neatly groomed hair.. All of them under one platform.. The announcing lady dullard and uninspiring went on with her rambling unaware with the real proceedings.

With two of the promising nights spent under serene immobile locations, the remaining nights demanded extra efforts to catch some sleep. Some of the classic techniques were applied (modified to make it pleasant). Counting lambs therefore became counting chicks. Chicks with long legs and short skirts on them sprinting across an imaginary King's bed.. Chick followed by chick keeping the count was more pleasurable until my mind decided to play a trick to turn things nasty and my high-school English teacher appeared. The long wooden scale in her hand and the scowl worn on her face spoke her intentions in a heavy Malayalam accent as she began lucidly explaining the dictionary definition of the word 'chick'. The long legged ones waiting for their turn to sprint suddenly shrunk into ugly feathery little chickens scampering all over the place..

The night went on with chicks and little chickens running through my mind finally drifting back into a dreamless sleep as we left Delhi for Manali.. leaving behind the crowded lanes of chandini chowk hustling with furious activity, the unkempt parking where the only plausible way to take a vehicle out will be using air support, the silence inside the lotus temple.. the distinct aura which brings you in touch with your inner peace.. dwindling away the restlessness and filling the self with positive energy with every breath. You carried along with you the cold touch of serenity as part of temple's offering which lingered on chaste for a while but Delhi had more to offer to corrupt the austerity and fall back on crude dreading practicality. My haggling skills were put to gruesome tests in some parts of the capital city and I proved to be far more miserable than I thought.

Leaving behind all this we moved on for a fresh hassle free beginning in Manali.. a good sleep helped its course but we were 3 hours behind schedule..

Motorcycle Diaries:

To be continued......

PS: There are two kinds of people in this world.. One who finish what they start and

When you are aboard a flight on course for the next pleasure trip, what is the probability for a super hot chic to share the seat next to you???
Ok. Thats wishful thinking..
What is the probability for a good looking gal to be claiming that seat??
Hmmm.. Lets get more rationale...
Down to earth what is the probability for a person with a feminine anatomy to be present in the visible radar??
NEGATIVE...

'Bhai saab.. Yeh Rajdhani kaunsi platform par rukegi??'
'Rajdhani!!! Aaj koi Rajdhani nahin hai..!!!'
Ok this is not happening. I thought I was done with the misadventures. There isnt room for any more. Upon further enquiry I was told effective November the timetable for Rajdhani has changed and it is already on wheels running along the length of India... And I booked the ticket on one cold October afternoon over a lousy weekend in Budapest. Admist the numbing cold and lethargy the idea spurred with a bang when the desire to run took to its heels. Running has always been in my blood since the day I have seen that very blood running down my cheeks when I tripped and fell during a race. I was always fascinated by games that involved running. I was a not-so-fast bowler with a very very long run up. Running got me to listen to the song of my heart.. beating to the rythm of my body. Running gave me a wholesome experience of being alive and connected to myself.

But 'one person's conception of craziness was other person's pursuit for passion'..
And the general conception was 'You are going to Delhi to run!! are you crazy????' barring a few like-minded individuals or the holy ones with no mind to boast about who shared the same fiery passion. Not succumbing to lethargy or the more viable conception the decision was made to run the 5 KM race in Gurgaon. The next dramatic moment you are packing your backpack, putting on your jacket and the negative probability and seated in the plane enroute to Delhi.

Its always easy to spot the person who is going to sit next to you especially when he is of the same age group. The scornful look on his face immediately suggests that he must have, more or less, postulated a similar probability theory and that beating all the odds and hopes still holds good. We exchanged casual but plastered smiles and very fortunately dint take it to the next level of hand shake. The moment he was all set and put his seat belt on, he began digging up his nose as if looking for some precious beads of treasure. The excavation went on for a while until he fell asleep peacefully snoring through his treasure-trove. The occasional jitters in the flight shook him off his slumber, weary and awake, precariously churning his nose and casting nervous glances at me. We shared some meaningful and more pertinent thoughts about the situation.
'The plane is all jumpy eh?'
'Ya.. The path it seems is full of potholes and gutters...'
'Ohh.. Sad.. At least they could keep the airspace clear!!'

The plane landed in the capital city of India right on time..

THE PLAN: Catch a pre-paid cab to the race location in Gurgaon, get all the needed information and material , find a nice hotel nearby to stay over the night and get set for the race the next day. Jolly good.. Lets rock!!

The cab driver had no idea where this place was. I showed him the copy where I had the directions written and we went passing through the gigantic DLF buildings in Gurgaon. It was the same structures I had seen above from the plane where it only looked like digital displays of may be chinese language. I felt like God with infinite power to displace those tiny pieces rearranging them to form readable letters like 'DELHI' or 'DEE'. But sitting in the cab straining my neck to see the structures in its entirety, the powers of perception altered and the God in me was reduced to a mere midget. The landscape changed from massive buildings to deserted areas bereft of human existence but the place was not to be found. I wondered if I was still in India. And finally in one of those deserted lanes the cab driver and I could spot the location.

I was given a lays chips packet, Quaker oats, registration number with a sticker and a map for the race and some do's and dont's and tips to be followed. The registration was complete and I enquired about the hotels to stay nearby only returned with wide eyed look and a shrug. So I began my quest to find a hotel in that deserted area on foot. After walking for an hour I was in the middle of residential apartments and no where to head. Then I boarded an eco-friendly two seater rickshaw which, on my request for a nearby hotel, took me to a tea stall on the main road. The tea stall also sold bajjis and lays packets and had a vacant uneven legged wooden bench for accommodation purposes. Brushing away unwanted thoughts, once again I was afoot looking out for buildings which only had shelter for cars and its owners and occupants but none for total strangers.

Finally I got into a cab and told the driver to take me to a hotel anywhere in this vast empty hotel-less city and particularly insisting on staying away from the 5 starers. He took me to Lemon Grass hotel whose building had a distinct lemon colour and its lawn evenly spaced with grass. Sweeping one glance at the interiors, the brilliantly lit chandelier and a board with illuminated digital display of foreign exchange rates I at once knew that I had to get out and chase the cab, but to satiate my curiosity I checked out the rates and left the place gracefully.

With fatigue kicking in and the will to find shelter draining out, I got into another rickshaw calculating my options. Honestly lying down on the well cushioned damp and green grass fixing your stare at the twinkling stars and the night sky is not as wonderful as we make it sound or write about. But this time the ride took me to a guest house where I found a decent and affordable accommodation. I never felt so amused cuddled under the blankets staring at the ceiling and waited for my sleep to take over.

Next day I woke up early all set for my race...

THE PLAN: Try your best to finish up the race and then take a cab to Agra to see the Taj Mahal. Today everything will fall in place...

To be continued......

Nothing can be intensely gratifying.. the feeling of immense relief after having attended one of nature's critical calls. The emptiness suddenly filled with moments of absolute peace, the lightness of being, floating like a leaf, breaking free the flow of thoughts clogged with rapt attention a while ago. One of the crude effects of cold weather can not get more gruesome in a city which has more public transport stops stretched across a kilometer than public toilets. Sometimes and perhaps most of the times when you desperately want something, the laws of the universe dictates that a conspiracy is concocted to hide it from you mocking at your ordeal all the while. But when the frantic search triumphs and all ends well the mask of mockery gives way unveiling a benign smile shining upon your gratitude.

The weather forecasts predicted periods of rain and they turned unwittingly true. It wasnt anything like the torrential downpour back at home, the rains here were invisible. Numb with cold and silent like dead the only life of sound was that of the piercing winds chilling down to the bone marrow whistling along the lanes. Like the sound of a siren announcing a curfew thrusting people indoors. The leaves began shedding its colour slowly turning dry and dead and the trees wriggling itself free of the charred remains. The rustle of winds breaking into rhymes bidding farewell to the last of autumn and praising the dawn of winter. And people cocooned into the comforts of the jackets.

Jackets, in shades of black and brown leather and woollen varieties clinging to their bodies strolling along the rain soaked streets. Intimate relationships inched closer under the sepia-tinted evening lights in a bid to beat the cold. Hand held in hand embracing the warmth and presence of each other. Faces turned cherubic pink breathing out whiff of hot misty-white air through the cherry lips often engaged in a kiss. The city suddenly smells of love sown from the seeds of romance scattered by the winds. The fragrance of love the warmth and comfort of it present everywhere, in the many couples oblivious to the weather and the surrounding world. A few singled out, yearning for their dear ones, deeply engrossed in the intricately woven passionately engaging lives and tales of fiery and romantic characters provided by the book.

And finally left was an odd character, a lone figure with a superior sense of observation and abysmal absorption. Sucking them all the winds of seasonal change, the romantic sketches, the burning desires emanating out of the book reflecting in their eyes, unflustered by the fond fragrance. Sucking them all with a smile, Satan-like, and slurping an ice cream...

Standing in the queue staring at the departure timetable.. waiting for our next flight.. the board blinking the Turkish airlines flight to Istanbul at 04:10 AM.. scheduled. scheduled.. scheduled... delayed.. the blink of an eye and the clock sprinted three and a half hours ahead.. the blinking resumed to 07:30 AM scheduled.. The reaction was everything.. distress dismay but surprise.. the inordinate delays, as we anticipated, were an integral part of the Turkish package... The extra time now burdened on our already heavy baggage in the rain soaked Mumbai Terminal.. If there was anything that stood common among the over-crowded Mumbai airport, deserted Istanbul and the earnest land of Budapest showering words of welcome, it was the seamless rains... Things began to tread along at its own snail pace and after hovering around the clouds for an hour ( One hour in the cloud colony gave me an insight of their lives. The majority of them sacrificing their identities amassing to form something shapeless and float aimless.. like the most of us.. and the very few retaining their shapes alligator-like, willow tree-like, beetle-like free willed, intent with purpose and reciting their stories along the journey... ) we coming out of the clouds, unkempt weary but high-spirited, were ready for our descent... winding our watches back giving the notion of time travel, the very irony of it, it was time travel that was awaiting us in Budapest...

Walking along the lane closely guarded by tall ancient buildings on either side, flowers sprouting out of the balconies perched on the cold steel railings.. cold and bold breathing in centuries of human existence, sturdy testimonial to the transition of technology traditional whims and cultural fancies.. those railings were revealing the journey of its life through its telepathic gaze.. And the buildings are entered through signature style giant oak doors which usually are expected to be locked with heavy metal keys but, this is the first step to the strikingly contrasting features of the city, they open with keyed in numeric codes. The buildings that stood unfazed for centuries open into the world of state-of-the-art apartments, levis es, super pumas, kfcs, burger kings, guccis brandishing their brands and designs into the antique structures. Unlike many places where classic designs are rendered obsolete and brushed under the carpet.. this city has not given away antiquity to accommodate modernity thus holding its foot firm into the past and the present.

The contrast continues to bear resemblance with the people of Budapest. On one side we have the elderly perhaps as old as the buildings, classic and gentle in their disposition.. and the other one belongs to the beady-eyed, blonde-haired, scantily-cladded, FCUK-imprinted, smoking or smooching more often seeking pleasures of the tobacco, flamboyant, flirtatious new generation.. Geographically the city is divided into Buda and Pest.. Buda, steady with time preserving its heritage in its ancient buildings, royal palaces and churches.. Pest keeping pace with the wheels of time, advanced and fashionable.. The river Danube flows through the contrasts of Buda and Pest merging an inseparable connection between the time separated cities generations separated people and stringing together the cultures of yore and novelty of the present...

I cant think of a better welcome to a foreign place.. There is more to be known and revealed about this city.. Until then its Jó napot..!!

3 MONTHS AND 6 SIX DAYS since I have updated this Blog.. but not very long since my futile attempts to post something have been drained in vain.. Plethora of thoughts fluttering restlessly finding no solace in the unending drought of words.. The words have gone for a vacation and the titillating thoughts are left to rot.. 'I am at a loss of words!!' 'Oh Gosh! I have lost my writing spark!!" I complained, which received sharp responses like 'When did you ever have a spark???'
Friendly advice or smack of reality, this is not helping my situation... A writer's block, scribbler fear or whatsoever.. I needed some way to circumvent this ordeal of mine.. Therefore I have decided to throw the gates open.. let the flood of thoughts rush through.. picking words at will.. So my dear readers, this is more of a cleanliness exercise than the randomest post that I have ever written; to regain my lost 'spark' (I am still convinced I had one!!) and henceforth continue to entertain and enlighten my audience with my posts as ever before.. Brace yourselves and enjoy the ride!!

Taking stock of the situation and retrospecting the past 3 months, the ordeal found its roots in Germany. My first overseas trip which apart from letting my ordeal grow forced me come to terms with some discarded, forgotten and mostly unknown practices like punctuality ( I had to refer to get the correct spelling!!). A completely ridiculous practice where a couple (two precisely..) of minutes off track immediately makes you 20 minutes ahead of schedule. If punctuality is one sickening thing.. there is Traffic which could not get any worse.. surprisingly Germans take traffic and discipline in the same breath (and they are not profoundly fond of antonyms) .. chaos, the rule of our roads is something you immediately begin to crave for once you call it truce with punctuality and commute along with the public transportation... and where are the potholes and speed-breakers hiding?? why are they ashamed to be on the roads.. As a pedestrian accustomed to living on the edge, the least you can conveniently expect is a vehicle or two zip past by oblivious to your existence.. but in this looney land when a pedestrian accidently treads on to the road on a wrong signal, the commuter along with the rest of the country comes to an abrupt halt.. everything comes to a standstill and the clock would only resume ticking once the alien now startled pedestrian plays along all the notes of the striped piano-like crossing...

If this could be termed Utopian, then the people of Germany, their delightful wooden homes with pleasing lawns, the scenic pathways and vibrant colors throwed everywhere with the finesse of an artist, look like the characters and stories jumping right out of a fairytale... Beauty so placid yet overwhelming to the extent of pissing you off.. because such beauty can only be imagined or dreamt of and its hard to believe such imaginations taking tangible forms and playing in front of your eyes.. As and when your senses get acquainted to such staggering beauty, Germany pulls another rabbit out of the hat dwarfing the senses with dazzling display of wonders..

Exciting the senses, pumping vigour became the order of the day.. day in, day out, weekday, weekends and on one such lively weekend I crossed borders into the land of cultures.. city of history and romance.......
watch this space for more...

With the boundaries of different muncipalities vanishing and giving way to a greater entity, Hyderabad has transformed into Greater Hyderabad, the second biggest city in India next to New Delhi. One region in this city which deserves maximum bit of attention and praise is none other than Kukatpally, the pride of Greater Hyderabad!! Kukatpally stretches from moosapet, sangeeth nagar, kukatpally village, sumitra nagar, balaji nagar, A.P.H.B, vivekananda nagar, bhagyanagar colony, satavahana nagar, HMT hills, jalavayu vihar, pragathi nagar, vasanth nagar, nizampet, jntu and K.P.H.B(Largest colony in Asia when built). Kukatpally was initially recognised as the educational hub of hyderabad with several schools(??) and junior colleges. The first and most famous school in kukatpally, Rao's school now has two branches (in kukatpally iself!!) with its own three storeyed building. (who wants a playground?? we go to school to study.. dont we??) The junior colleges are found everywhere with Sri Chaitanya junior kalasala claiming the maximum number of buildings, where the younger generation struggle (study I mean) to fulfill the dreams and ambitions of their parents, the dream of getting into IITs and major Engineering colleges and not forgetting the world famous(!?!?!) University and Engineering college in the very heart of this region, JNTU.. The big dreams it all starts in kukatpally!!

It was when kukatpally decided to open up to the world that the investors across the globe started diverting their attention to this region in the form of Reebok, Adidas, Tansihq, Sony and major showrooms like R.S. Brothers, Chandana Brothers, Kalamandir, Kalaniketan, Chermas and more in the pipeline bringing in people across the city, state(!!), country(!!!) to visit these shopping malls but the residents of kukatpally still prefer the well-established brands of our own region such as surya selections, pooja selections (the all-in-one showrooms with dress material ranging from inner wear to the lastest fashioned clothes for men, women, boys and gals). Entertainment wise, Kukatpally hosts a total of 9 cinema theatres and a multiplex in the making.. Kukatpally also attracts tourism with places like 'The Gateway of kukatpally' (similar to the Gateway of India in Delhi). Some(??) even consider this to be the 'Gateway of South India(!!!!!)' and the golden(like) statue of Thandra Papa Rayudu with his sword drawn out and the white fort (famously known in the region as the BJP office, though there isnt any office in the location!!). Every year during Vinayaka Chavithi, kukatpally hosts the most plump of the Ganesh's idols in hyderabad(!!) at the white fort (though khairatabad ganesh idol is claimed to be the tallest, Lord Ganesh is very well known for his plumpness than the height). Kukatpally also has a beautiful lake presently known as the IDPL Lake and soon to be renamed as Kukatpally Sagar (similar to Hussain sagar, why is Hussain sagar called a sagar???) where lots of Ganesh idols are immersed every year making it famous like the Hussain sagar.

Kukatpally is also famous for the sale of marbles and granites. It is rumoured that Shah Jahan imported marbles from kukatpally for making Taj Mahal(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). To share the fame and pride of kukatpally, Hi-Tech city connected itself in the form of a direct road to kukatpally and thus bringing in chunk of traffic and exorbitant land prices. The Highway that connects North and South India runs through the heart of kukatpally, the journey to states like Karnataka, Maharastra, Chattisgarh starts from kukatpally in the giant delux volvo buses. This region has the potential to rise and reach greater heights thereby making Greater Hyderabad gleam with pride!!

P.S: The second part of Trip to God's own country will be delayed as the author is awaiting some photographs of the trip which will arrive soon!!

Greetings!
Just when I was getting vexed with the lacklustre life I was living, the news of my cousin's marriage shone brightly down upon my monotonous life like the summer sun. It was all bright and sunny (though I dint feel the heat then!) and I was all excited as I was on for a trip to kerala, God's own country!! Kerala has always been a wonderful destination for vacations, with beautiful places, greenery all over, beaches and much more, but my visits to kerala was always limited to meeting my close, distant, direct, indirect, known, unknown and soon to be known relatives scattered all over the state. This time I have taken a firm decision to reserve two days of the ten days of my stay for an outing. With that decision in mind I landed in kerala the day before the marriage. I met the groom who was all excited and tensed with the scorching sun shining upon his bald head like a nimbus. Thinning hair, expanding tummies and risk of diabetes are some warning signs of getting married for most men.

The marriage was at a distant location and we had to go there in a private bus. The bus was racing through the very narrow and curvy roads, trees on both sides with overgrown branches that slaps you across your face reminding you of the admonition, "Do not peep out of the window". We also witness road blocks and diversions thanks to the strike happening at that place. A strike because the supreme court was not just to karnataka and karnatake was not just to tamil nadu and both in turn were unjust to kerala, so lets make the life of our own people miserable and show that we are not be sidelined. No wonder a four year engineering course takes fives years to complete in this state. Strike because there is no food, strike because there is no water, strike because.. well there is no strike!! The marriage was simple and quick followed by a delicious 'sadhya' (lunch) served on banana leaves. Now it was time for me to go to my father's hometown which was some 100kms away from this place.

A qualis was arranged for us to get there and I got into the front seat next to the driver all set for another ride. I was astonised to find that a total of 11 members were planning to take a ride along with me in the same vehicle. So I was accompained by two gentlemen in the front seat, who were much beyond the average human size with forearms that of popeye, bluto's pot belly and plump bottom. I was virtually the Olive Oyl in that state with long legs jam packed on either side of the gear box. My left knee was the DJ of the vehicle changing the song at every possible turn or bump on the road. My eyes were fixed on the road looking at every possible road sign. Every road sign had a story of its own. Some of them(green ones) were good to me as it showed.. "Trishur 53 km and then Trishur 51 km", some(yellow ones) were really bad as they read "Thrishur 51 km" and later would change their mind and say, "Thrishur 54 km (hahaha)". Some were even mocking at me "Have a pleasant trip!!" After a while the DJ couldnt take it anymore and put an end to the music. The driver stopped the vehicle and everyone felt that it was a matter of common sense (which unfortunately is not so common these days) that what we intend to do was not humanly possible. Two wise gentlemen then took an excellent initiative of commuting by bus and the rest reached the destination congested but contented.

After a day's stay at my father's place I found myself again in a super fast bus on the narrow roads, greenery everywhere, slapping trees and lovely gals (famously known as kerala kuttys) with long hair well oiled and plaited, sandalwood paste on their forehead. I reached my mom's place where I got a chance to visit the famous (rather infamous) elephant whose long cherished dream to make it to the newspapers was finally met, in a grand way. He is called 'Uma Maheshwaran' and he holds a distinct record for runing non-stop for 3 hours, where he preferred a straight path to the narrow curvy roads, trampling everything that came across his way. He loves to play with humans though he has his own distinct style of playing by swinging the person on his tusks and throwing him as far as he possibly can. I met most of my relatives where all that I do is put up a big broad smile....
Relative: "Deepu, you have changed.. You became fat!!"
Dee: Smile
Relative: " so what are you doing?? "
Dee: "working"
Relative: " Working!!! Where?? Saudi?? "
Dee: "hyderabad"
Most of the job seekers in kerala, with the highest literacy rate and the higest rate of unemployment move to the Arabian peninsula for jobs.
Finally I get some time for myself and then we plan a trip to Munnar......

I am a super hero I am no less mortal
I am a king, with riches and fame
I am a poster in every teenager's room,
I am an idol for every other dreamer
I am God, I am worshiped all over.

I am a super hero I am no less mortal
I cannot err, I should not fail
For I am no mortal, I am no immortal either
I am killed, my effigy burnt
My funeral conducted, if I fail
My family tormented, my assets torn down
I turn a traitor, everytime I fail

I am a super hero I am no less mortal
I am Sachin Tendulkar, I am Yuvraj Singh
I am Mahendra Singh Dhoni, I am Rahul Dravid
I am made to win, I cannot fail...

Greetings!
Here's another masterpeice from the number one brand in sports equipment, Nike. It was always known for its exceptional creativity in the advertisement segment. For the first time Nike has come up with a major cricket commercial outside America. Its an awesome video potraying Cricket (Very much Indian) being played on the top of a bus stuck in a traffic jam with an excellent background song!! This commercial video full of nuance captures the true spirit of Indian cricket, galli cricket taken to the level of being played on the top of bus and truck with players fielding on the top of cars and hanging on traffic signal post. As usual there isnt much of the sportswear endorsed.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ib3WSzJyqVQ

Apparently this is all part of Nike's Cricket World Cup push and its major attempt to tap into the Indian market. Nike has also become the official apparel sponsor for Team India and it recently unveiled the new national team uniform.

Nike has signed a five year contract for which the company paid BCCI a sum of 169 crores. Though internationally No 1, with dominance of huge margin which even led to the No 2 and No 3 players in the world to merge (Adidas buying over Reebok), Nike has not really made its presence felt in the Indian market with only 15% of market share and Reebok commanding 40% market share and Adidas 20%. The company has planned to strike it hot with cricket in its arsenal and World cup around the corner.

This surely speaks volumes about the realisations of major compaines around the globe of the potentials of the Indian economy which is growing steadfast. Good luck for Nike, Good luck for Team India with a brand new apparel, lets hope the Indian spirits are high and firing in the world cup as shown in the video.. India.. Just Do It!!

Welcome to India!
A multi-lingual, multi-ethnic, multi-cultural, multi-multi country with 28 states and counting, the Indian subcontinent is a nation which is as diverse as anything can get. Yes, we have a national language, a national animal, a national bird, a national sport, a national this, that and everything like every other nation but these are not very national or common. If there is anything that binds this disparate nation, then that is cinema and cricket. Cinema is not merely Indian but a global phenomenon. Motion pictures are globally made as a source of entertainment, education and is also a powerful mode of communication. Acknowledging and appreciating cinema is a ceremony that has been existing for a long time and one of the most prominent and most watched film awards ceremony is the Academy Awards, popularly known as the Oscars.

The Oscars, the American Academy Awards ceremony which recognizes excellence in film making in the whole wide world!! (Whole wide?? ). This reminds me of the Baseball World Series, a championship series played between the American League of one part of the world and National League of probably the same part of the world. (World Series??, whole wide world??) The Oscars belong to the whole wide world of America where the small, insignificant rest of the world is invited to bask in the american glory. Indian cinema at the Oscars can be compared to a child, awestruck and mouth agape peeping through a window the ostentatious display of whole wide american excellence in cinema, when its talent is being admired and acclaimed globally. But the child only wants a small piece of the american pie, like aamir khan who only goes to Oscars and is never seen at a Filmfare event, like the disappointment we see whenever an Indian Film does not make it to the Oscars even if it does, it does not win the coveted award. Let us hope the child get its share of glory in the coming years.

That being said, cricket is one uniting religion in this country which has sachin, dravid, ganguly, dhoni treated as Gods and demigods.. Though the number of cricket playing nations are less, cricket is loved as a universal sport. Unlike the Baseball world series, cricket is soon to witness its once in four years carnival, the ICC World Cup. World cup has always been a spectacular event since its inception in 1975. But lately this event is losing its charm with the increasing number of teams. This year world cup is hosting an unbearable 16 teams and the period is being inflated to 47 days, three weeks more than the soccer world cup. Though the event begins on march 13th, there isn't a single match of real excitement until the super-8 series which starts on march 27th. Unlike soccer, cricket is not a game where we can expect major upsets, a kenya surprising the westindies or a bangladesh numbing pakistan is a rarity in cricket. Cricket is a long game and the gap is too wide for an upset. I feel a India versus Bermuda match is like a boxer warming up by practising his punches on a meat bag before the main event. Its all in the game and like every Indian even I am eagerly waiting for the world cup and hope that Team India wins the world cup!! Good luck India.. Good luck for Cricket, Cinema, world cup, Oscars and everything that unites us!!

Greetings!
Though I am (or was) a keralite by birth, I have lived my 22 years (soon to be 23!!!) in hyderabad as a hyderabadi.. So its the hyderabadi blood that runs through my veins, hyderabadi delicacies appetizing the gourmet in me and of course the hyderabadi hindi that I speak!! (not very successful with that). Keeping the hyderabadi spirit I am here to talk about something that connects, something that runs through like the blood vessels in our body the old, historical, classical hyderabad and the modern, stylish and contemporary secundrabad. The hyderabad traffic, something that can surely be attributed as the lifeline of hyderabad, which keeps hyderabad moving and alive. what can I talk about traffic, its just the same like in other cities in our country or better or worse or competing with others to get more worse... But for my mind, this traffic (in shakespearian style!) is more or less like a play, a drama with the commuters, pedestrians and everything you find on those roads playing their roles, and there are some colourful chracters in this play that I would try to introduce in this topic...

Hyderabad roads can be compared to a race course, actually its more than a race course with the path full of potholes and gutters and something where you get to see Moto GP and Formula One Grand Prix happening on the same track at the same time...
'A treat to the human eye
A threat to the passerby!'
Moto GP is run by the dudes of hyderabad, who are well known for cockroaching (my apologies for the neologism) their way ahead through anything that they define as a path and F1 Grand Prix by their arch rivals, auto rickshaw (herewith reffered to as Ferrari) who can zip their way through much to the peril of the precarious passengers. These Ferraris are known for their sharp turns at great speeds performing incredible feats and rolling over in the end result..
'Fear is Fun...
Passenger's Fear is Auto driver's Fun... '
So with the dudes and Ferraris holding the reins of defining and pushing the limits of speed, we also have the dudes of yore and now retired from the race, struggling to keep up with the pace and constantly hurling curses on those who do.. Hey C'mon!! they are all playing their roles, the dudes, the ferraris aren't they?? Some go a long way and retire, some go even longer and higher and rest in peace!! Its all in the game.. Then there are the big guys, the APSRTC buses who always seem to have some number displayed on their foreheads.. 216, 217??? or is it 007, james bond style because these guys surely have the license to kill and do whatever they please on the roads(track I mean).. And finally the latest entrant, the 21st century ultra modern riders displaying the oh-so-cool stunts like talking on the mobile while riding....
"Hello... I am coming.."
Yamraj:" Hi!! Welcome..."

With all these characters thrown in we have the hyderabad traffic racing, struggling, strolling ahead.. Now for some of the common scenes and more introductions as the scenes are enacted.. This scene is when all the characters meet at the crossroads (ameerpet for instance) and suddenly the atmosphere changes....
"Its the time to disco!!"
Oh yeah the disco lights are on... Red Yellow Green Yellow Red Yellow Green Yellow...
Red means rush ahead as fast as you can, Green means move with caution and Yellow means.. Yellow means what?? May be its for the disco lights to look more colourful.. So they all party, singing and honking at each other.. Nice and sweet. But not all the crossroads are so nice and sweet or rather meant for partying even though they have those disco lights. You will soon know why!! Just at one of those crossroads a dude eager to rush through looks around and finds no danger lurking around, he slowly tries to sneak across and suddenly.... Something from nowhere crosses him at lightning speed, an alien attack perhaps!! our dude looks around and up in the sky for any signs of UFO but only finds his engine turned off and the key missing!! what was that and why does it want my key?? In that moment of panic his eyes finally sight the alien dressed in khaki trousers and not so white shirt with a strange looking helmet something used in the army. He's no alien, he's none other than the argus-eyed traffic cop waiting at the other end with a tight lipped but radiant smile beaming with pride for the feat accomplished with an agility and adroitness rarely seen among his clan. The dude is fully aware that this cop is only known to speak liquid currency, so the negotations take place the settlement is made and the dude surges ahead furious with his futile attempt..

This whole family of cops can be seen at various places, playing different roles with an ulterior motive of earning some money. Their primary targets are always the dudes and one of the scenes often taking place is where the cop standing next to a maruthi van on which is written RTA certified PUC.. The cop stops a dude passing by..
cop: " pollution"
dude:" who is polluting?"
cop: "pollution dikaao!!"
Just then a ferrari passes by puffing smoke like a chimney but the cop knows he's not a pricy catch. after sometime we see the heads of the dude and the cop trailing a two wheeler with the eyes fixed on the rider.
"Gorgeous!! wasnt she?? "
Both of them nod indicating a tacit approval.
Good she wasnt wearing a helmet. Who wants those beautiful faces covered with helmets. Some do wear, much to the dismay of the dudes. whats the use? whats the use when the dudes zip and overtake just to catch a glimpse of that face through the rear view mirror (alas! some use of it). sad state of affairs. Helmets should be banned for those lovely damsels on the roads.
A lot more scenes happen in this play and a small topic is insufficient to describe all those. With bits and pieces of information I know, this play was a mere bricolage of my mind. There are more colourful and lively characters known and unknown making this lifeline of hyderabad, which is bustling and growing enormously.

Disclaimer: All the characters and scenes aforementioned are only the product of my hallucinations. They have absolutely nothing to do with the real life of hyderabad. Hyderabad is a wonderful city with organized traffic and wide and clean roads and cops who know nothing but discharging their duty assiduously. If you witness any of the incidents or scenes then its only a delusion created owing to your tired, over stressed, crazy and psychopathic mind. Good day!