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!!