Good day...

A constant nagging feeling growing into the conscious.. striving for some space in the monotony of driving on the highway, pangs of hunger grumbling in the stomach and a dull pain brooding over the shoulders... The hunger and pain knocked only at intervals but the feeling remained.. unrelenting and steadily growing... we were on the way back home driving along State Highway No. 7 via Karimnagar... we decided to take a break for some tea.. something had to be done to suppress this feeling...

Every day has a unique beginning.. some way or the other.. it can be wonderful, dull, mundane.. early, late, too early.. but there are certain elements.. a few chores that has the capacity to decide the outcome of any day... February 6th 2011 began with a sudden drop into consciousness vehemently thrown out of my dream.. when reality settled I realized it was a Sunday and I was some 200 odd kilometers from Hyderabad in Nirmal all set for another expedition into the woods.. The day should be exciting and I was eagerly looking forward to it.. But waking up in the wee hours of the morning can disturb the smoothly conduct of certain chores which ought to be done in the morning.. The consequences of those were reserved for later.......

At 5 AM we (a group of five.. bird watchers and photography enthusiast) were back on the roads.. The route was surprisingly smooth and spooky... covered on either sides with tall dense teak trees spreading out its gigantic branches and clasping the road nice and tight holding it steady awaiting to consume all tiny particles that trod along its way unsuspecting.. A few that marginally escaped its grasp fled past us back into the safety.. None of them entered into the unknown darkness that was beyond the headlights... perhaps they were all consumed and became part of the growing and inviting darkness and ours was saved for last... the dessert in the full course meal.. we carefully trailed along the snake like path... carefully because we were running on the spare tyre owing to an incident on the National Highway No. 7 where our journey from Hyderabad began....

One can not expect a more satisfying drive than that on the Six lane magnanimous National Highway No. 7 starting from the southern most point Kanyakumari to Srinagar running along the length of India like the amateur arm scissoring awkwardly the subcontinent into two halves... we were gliding effortlessly at top speed discussing facts about birds, making plans for the Sunday and cracking up professional birding compliant jokes... The promising road gave us plenty of time to reach our destination and therefore we decided to take a break to stretch ourselves and sip some tea in the dhaba nearby...

The chillness of the night embraced us as we located a table out in the open to enjoy the little shivers under the folded arms only a perfect continuation after the drive on the heavenly expressway.. The view opened to a vast blue sky with a half-lit moon and endless bright spots that looked like the drawing assignment of a kindergarten-going kid... Eagerly colouring the circle on the assignment sheet with a bright ash coloured water paint occasionally sprinkling the paint on the sheet knowingly and/or unknowingly.. but then growing bored of the monotonous activity and leaving it incomplete for a good night's sleep... sweet dreams child for the nightmares are en route for the rest of us....

Promises are meant to be broken... especially those made by the government.. and the promise for a smooth and secure drive on the National Highway was about to meet its stark reality.. A reality where the roads are the way they are meant to be.. Two-way and narrow road with more of patch work than the actual road and deep trenches dug to keep up the warranted number of potholes that should be available to make the commuters life a living hell.... To put some cherry on the cake were the vehicles coming from the opposite direction shooting blinding high beams followed by an abrupt explosion of abysmal darkness.. The endless freak show of contrasting lights keeps you wondering if you are on the right path if there is actually a path to speak of.. And finally the icing on the cake is when the tubeless tyre butts butt-end into one of those trenches and is immediately rendered useless... A group of IT professionals, well aware of the gravity of the situation, throw some jokes around to defuse the tense situation. The task of replacing the tyre always looked simple when the tyre-puncture waala performed it deftly. But we realized the practiced efficiency hidden behind the task only when eight hands under conflicting supervision and varied opinions struggled to get it done.. Exhausted and excited, claiming to have added something new to the resume, we got back on to the dusty path treading carefully hereafter....

Sunlight dawned streaming through the dried spotted teak leaves showering hope that there is no vanishing into the murky darkness and the forest turned benign brown and green... We wandered into the forest, listening to the whistling of the birds and a deep throb of the axe digging its pointed teeth through the woods, along with a care taker who followed the birds whistle but turned a deaf ear to the wood chopping... He was no whistle-blower and perhaps was well-fed in the wood smuggling business... Corruption in our country had deeper roots than that of the strongest Teak tree in the 893 sq. km area... I had so many 'lifers'.. a term used in Birding when one sights a bird for the first time out in the open... We spotted Snake eagles, buzzards, wood shrikes, flycatchers, nuthatch to name a few.. and got some close and amazing pictures of the Indian roller - state bird of Andhra Pradesh..

After some wonderful sightings and photography we decided to pack our bags and head home... it was the same moment when the feeling registered its presence only to be rubbished aside.. we took a different route to reach Hyderabad via Karimnagar... We took a break for some tea.. I thought satisfying my hunger can bring some difference...

The tummy was happy and hunger faded from my conscious only to give more space to that feeling that grew like darkness that began to settle or the count of the fast approaching vehicles from the other end... there was no stopping of the endless row of vehicles or the feeling.. It was now pitch dark except for the high beams from the opposite end and the feeling filled up my conscious to take complete control and I was forced to make an abrupt stop near a dhaba and disclose its presence to the group... A desperate search to dispose off this feeling was made in the surrounding areas only in vain.. There was no alternative as hinted by my colleagues and I was completely subdued to find a deserted place out in the open strip down my civic sense and relieve myself of the hardships endured during the trip...

when in Rome do as the Romans do and when in the wild....... This was another lifer.. a first timer followed by sense of absolute relief and I felt feather-weight and free like a bird soaring in the sky.... This was a trip worth the salt...

A few pictures...

KawalWildlifeSanctuaryFeb0611

Perched on a vacant branch, secluded and content in his own world, is Rudey a pied kingfisher throwing carefree gazes around – carefree or cautious – for the looks of it carefree.. but I am yet to learn that looks can be completely deceiving. The kingfisher stalkers continued unabated sneaking their way through the thorny bushes and dirt. After ten minutes of ouch, eewww and yikes, played inside the head none of them escaping the closed mouth, we spotted Rudey. Every step towards him was meticulously put because we knew and we knew it for good that Rudey is gifted with a keen sense of hearing and even the slightest deviance in the general scheme of things will grab his attention and he would disapparate. The sights and sounds of his habitat are well known to him like the notes of an orchestra for which Rudey is the conductor… we filthy stalkers are the unwanted notes and we better stay muted. Perhaps we should have known that Rudey is also gifted with an exceptional sense of smell and he in fact had already sensed our presence. He had only been fooling around letting us carry our cameras and foolish hopes high, wading through the thicket of thorns inching closer to him with excitement. He is Rudey – who has seen it all you stalkers hoping to catch a glimpse of me – and he is Rudey for that. It did not take us any longer to know Rudey’s playful intentions as he stood basking in the heat of our excitement and took-to-his-wings in the blink of an eye shattering our hopes, flimsy hopes it always was, and leaving us cold and dunk in the dirt… The ruthless desertion did not come easy on me and I voiced my discontent to my colleague who replied with a saintly smile apt he may have felt... A smile that said ‘Welcome to the Wild’

In the wild you are never welcome... You are an intrusion, a wrong note in the harmonious blend and you are unwanted for that, despised even… The wild is known to be rude, reckless and spares no chance to play. You are only allowed to play their game, by their rules... they raise the stakes and they call the shots... you only play. Losing is only the next thing and you never win... they let you win. Despite all this the wild casts a magical spell of magnanimous beauty that’s pure and genuine bereft of any layers of disguise or affected emotions – a curse thrusted on us humans. The spirit of such unqualified beauty, consummate and cold-hearted, leaves you agitated, astounded trying your patience, tiring you out, exacting every ounce of energy and ultimately raging with an appetite for more…

The wild imprints its paw on you and changes you forever….

The best shot of Rudey

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

26 years of life lived
and left behind the past
what have i stood to gain?
far-fetched dreams and
distant memories on the wane
hair still intact,
tummy pulled up tight
crazy but caring friends,
and adequately satisfying means
to meet both the ends.

Happy Birthday!!!

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......

Floating dreams
floating along
the contours of the mind
wafting, wind like
aimless and vagrant
winding shapes
weaving tales
vivid or grim
at random
at whim

Floating dreams
floating along
the contours of the world
growing wings
soaring, bird like
into the vast sky
untamed sea
stubborn mountains
and wild valley

Floating dreams
floating along
the contours of time
riding on a plank
back-and-forth, seesaw like
down murky memoirs
of the bygone
and inane incline
in the offing

Floating dreams
boarding into
the flight of fantasy
with fancied identity
novel and notional
living the moment
shattered very next
the eye opener
the thumping into
the world of reality
banal and somber

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..!!

Back to square isnt it? All along its a circle I have been treading along only matter of time to wind up at the beginning.. The birth of grief.. The stabbing of the dagger right into the heart leaving it to bleed and beat.. bleed and beat.. winding dagger throwing out a new jolt of pain with every turn piercing into the heart.. the thrill of pain surpassing itself in magnitude.. how much can the body endure?? but where is endurance when I am left at the mercy of it. when pain is the only existence I can feel.. hot air heaving under the chest.. chillness seeping through the spine and eyes lost in tears..

They say time can heal anything.. but time doesnt heal.. does it?? time only let the wounds dry.. the dagger rusts and decays the chasm of pain might vacate for emptyness.. a deep resentful void.. opening up for indifference.. and ultimately turning into pallid stone.. with hope and optimism as good as an egg shell there is nothing to crack open the stone..

for now there is only room for pain...

Another day when the circumstances circling my tiny world conjured to create a chance.. an opportunity to commute in one the most frequent, despite challenging the strength of your life-line, mode of transport.. No prizes for guessing.. and this is definitely not a sequel to my previous post.. I dont have anything more to divulge though every ride is an exhilarating experience altogether.

Fastened to the auto-rickshaw in nearly the same fashion which began hustling at break-neck speed with speakers screaming out the same song over and over ... perhaps it was the noble intention of the driver to engage the fellow commuters into the subtle nuances of the song and learn it by heart.. I was astonished that the driver dint put an exit-test about the song at the end of the ride...

Amidst the focussed entertainment dizzying lights and clamourous horns my attention elevated from the mundane traffic and fell on the moon.. nearly in full round shape and ugly as ever the moon was brooding over the sky.. the dullness scattered like an aureole resembling a clear stain spread out on an immaculate piece of cloth sulking the sky in embarrassment..

The moon always brandished an ominous capacity to turn good innocent people into werewolves.. An unsettling sight where a vacant sky or a star lit night could have been more fulfilling... I wonder why I am so disturbed by the very sight of the moon?? Perhaps there is a werewolf lurking in me???? I hope someday I would bring myself to sing praises about the moon.. Until then I dedicate the song I have learnt today!!!

po ve.. po raa.. po ve.. po raaa.. (song from mallana)

A Priest dies and is awaiting his turn in line at the Heaven's Gate. Ahead of him is a guy, fashionably dressed, in dark sun glasses, a loud shirt, leather jacket and jeans. God asks him: Please tell me who are you, so that I may know whether to admit you into the kingdom of Heaven or not?
The guy replies: I am Pandi, Auto driver from Chennai! God consults his ledger, smiles and says to Pandi: Please take this silken robe and gold scarf and enter the Kingdom of Heaven ...
Now it is the priest's turn. He stands erect and speaks out in a booming voice: I am Pope's Assistant so and so, Head Priest of the so and so Church for the last 40 years. God consults his ledger and says to the Priest: Please take this cotton robe and enter the Kingdom of Heaven ...
'Just a minute,' says the agonized Priest. 'How is it that a foul mouthed, rash driving Auto Driver is given a Silken robe and a Golden scarf and me, a Priest, who's spent his whole life preaching your Name and goodness has to make do with a Cotton robe?'
'Results my friend, results,' shrugs God. 'While you preached, people SLEPT; but when he drove his Auto, people PRAYED'

Dangling precariously with a part of the body resting on one end of the butt carefully mounted on the driver's seat albeit the scramble of bottoms fidgeting for space, where the slightest movement of muscle could be absolutely fatal.. and the major chunk of the body, recklessly thrown open to the mercy of the ongoing traffic, garnering support from the grip of the arm.. Anchored in such an arresting position, the auto-rickshaw hurtles forward with three people in the front and three at the back.. The fellowship of auto-rickshaw have an unwritten rule or a code of conduct which explicitly states that once the kick rod is pulled and the engine ignited, there is no stopping the rotating wheels, traffic or no traffic, highway or the driver's way, like the incessant rush of the stream circumventing at every barrier on course or taking the barrier along... Keeping to the rule, the jet-focused rider is suddenly diverted with the sound of a fancy ringtone...
"Anthe na!!!!!!!! (Is that all???? )
"Inkem kaavali... (What else do you want?? ) " The irony of it....
He frantically begins to dig into his pocket nearly putting an end to my journey throwing me off board.. He finds a missed call on his cellphone.. Who could that be at this hour of duty??? It could be the president of China waiting for his command to launch an attack on India.!!! Those sinister hands, a puppeteer to the fate of fellow commuters, executes the command typing a message in response thereby extending his reign of power over the entire nation. That was the peak of what my dwindling optimism could take and I finally resorted to remembering God and His divine intervention to help me get to the destination without losing either of my buttocks.
Now I am here, alive butt-safe and kicking, sharing this adventurous anecdote of my auto-rickshaw ride from Hitech city to JNTU.
Perhaps its God's menacing but benign ways, through the noble auto-driver, to steers us into the path of divinity and fond remembrance..
God Bless!!

where is the sun??
where has he gone?
resting after the break of day
under the blanket of cloud
or simply fooling around
with a desire to play

where is the sun??
why has he gone?
he has his night
to rest or to play
his shine so bright
brings joy and gay
dare he not think right
to keep it away

where is the sun??
how can he go?
taking the merriment along
leaving me dim and glum
like the odes of a sad song
echoed in a monotonous hum

where is the sun??

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...