Travel to Guruvayur

Legend has it that once upon a time, in an age when Berlin Wall still stood as the visualization of Iron Curtain and Manmohan Singh’s economic plans still a distant glint in his eye, I had been thin. Yes inconceivable though it is to any contemporary peers, there was a time when I was slim, hyper active and extremely reticent to eat food. Photographic evidence provides ample verification for these legends. However even more astonishing than my anorexia is the way by which it was cured and I embarked on the lifestyle that made me the 6’1.5” 115 kg behemoth of today. My mother often used to narrate the story of how when I was around 4 years old during a massive tantrum spell, I refused to eat anything for a long time and consequently was getting progressively weakened. In a spate of grief she implored upon Guruvayurappan to take care of me and if he did, henceforth every year one Thulabharam would be done in my name at Guruvayur temple.  Apparently minutes after this prayer I    got up from the bed and asked for food.  The rest, as the moniker goes, is history, I assume it has been overall a profitable arrangement for Guruvayurappan, the embodiment of Lord Krishna, the wiliest of the many Avatars of Lord Vishnu as my weight started increasing steadily from then on and without a single year’s lapse every year I had been going to Guruvayur to do the Thulabharam offering, an offering in which a person’s weight in some commodity is given as offering to the Lord, be it paddy, bananas, coconut, jiggery or as in the case of some uber rich, gold. The sense of weightlessness as one is being weighed in a colossal set of scales is indeed an awesome one.

                Thus it was that on Octiber 24^th I set out from my home to pray at Guruvayur. I left at around 1030 meaning to stop at St. Albert’s College in Kochi where I hoped to finish with my IGNOU Certificate verification. The sparse Sunday traffic ensured that I had a hassle free drive to St. Alberts through Vyttila-Kadavanthra-Kathrikadavu and the new Pullepady Bridge. Unfortunately at IGNOU office the circular informed me the IGNOU office was closed for the day due to election duty for the officers. I confirmed with the Study Center Director who was just leaving that certificate verification could be conducted in the coming Sunday too.

I had planned on at least an hour being needed to be spent at Alberts after which I would drive on to Trichur to my aunt’s house at Ayyanthol. However with time barely 11.15 I decided to push on anyway. Under the hot and sunny weather the drive was really pleasant and I really pushed the speed on the Kochi-Angamaly highway. Though I touched 90-93 kmph I did not dare push higher in this road with heavy traffic, lots of curves and intersections. At noon I had driven through Angamaly when the fancy caught hold me of visiting the Dhabas at Pongam. Between Angamaly and Koratty there are a couple of roadside Dhabas that are a regular haunt for long distance truckers hence a guaranteed spot to get good food at all times. During my college years at FISAT, late night escapades to these Dhabas had sustained us on many hungry nights, especially during exam seasons. The memory of the sweet lassis enjoyed from these Dhabas made me take a prompt detour at Pongam onto the bylane servicing these Dhabas. The Raju Dhaba was open and they still had lassis. Though I did inconvenience the manager by making him give me change for 500 rupees for two lassis worth 30 rupees, the lassis definitely proved to be an lifesaver. Bolstered I left for the road again. The stretch of road from Pongam until beyond Chalakudi has some of the worst stretches of roads in this area and the traffic was complicated at Koratty where some church festival was happening. Police and student volunteers from some college were effectively managing the traffic and hence the drive was not hindered.

                The drive to Trichur henceforth was unremarkable over reasonably good roads and mild traffic. Reaching the aunt’s house at 12.30 I had a sumptuous lunch and rested a while before freshening up for the drive to Guruvayur. I had learnt that the temple opens up at 4.30 in the evening so I decided to arrive there at 3.30 itself making allowance for the ubiquitous crowd that would be thronging such an important pilgrimage place. Though Guruvayur is only 25 kms from Trichur, this was a drive I would be making while wearing Mundu (White dhoti) with no protective garments like jackets, gloves or shoes.. hence greater preparation was taken before getting started, especially with arranging the Mundu properly as I had no intention of making my genitalia or my underwear an object for public enjoyment. There is nothing more helpless than driving on a busy road and a gust of wind blowing your Mundu off.

                The drive from Ayyanthol to Guruvayur through the Kunnamkulam road was as ever heavy in traffic with the over speeding private buses a definite hazard to the travelers. Since the previous time I drove through this road was under heavy rain, this time I could better appreciate the scenic beauty around. After Kechery the road passed through the very same massive fields that captivated me on the drive to Nilambur. At Choondal I turned left for the road to Guruvayur for a calm and pleasant drive. Traffic was much lighter and the shady trees provided a welcome respite from the burning sun.

                As I crossed the railway level cross at Guruvayur and passed the Manjulaal to get the first sight of the Eastern Nada (Gateway) of Guruvayur temple, a strange excitement had caught me. At a sedate pace I looked out for the first priority – a parking space. Instructions from a friendly traffic policeman enabled me to find a good parking spot at the Devaswom rest house very near the temple. Hoisting my bag with the helmet attached to it I enquired about the time at which temple opens for Darshan. Temple normally opens at 4.30 PM or at 3.30 PM if there is Siveli. The time was then 3.15 and I decided to stand in the queue anyway. There was a substantial crowd in the queue and I figured even if temple opens only at 4.30 the queue would only get progressively bigger. Having deposited the slippers and bag for safe custody I joined up the queue.

                Normally I am a person who hates crowds and detests long queues. However of late I have been able to maintain equanimity when faced with such unwelcome instances. I suppose it must be a result of my mnemonics and dabbling with Mandukya. After all why get bothered with something one cannot change, just weather it.  

                A few minutes after I stood in the queue and started playing some mnemonic games the sound of Chenda aroused me from my reverie. This was accompanied by apparent movement of the queue. As I looked on, I heard the start of Siveli Melam. The temple had opened up. As the queue slowly snaked inside the temple I got progressively more enthralled as the Melam started picking up its pace. Praying heartily at the first sight of Lord Guruvayurappan from the doorway I was even more pleasantly surprised to see that the Melam was led by Peruvanam Kuttan Marar, the acclaimed Chenda maestrp currently ruling the various Poorams and Utsavams of Kerala. The Melam and Siveli with three elephants ensured that it was one of the most enjoyable queues I had ever stood in. Uplifted by these joyous accompaniments, I prayed to Lord Guruvayurappan and came out of the Sanctum Sanctorum. Now the next item in the agenda, ie Thulabharam which I learned would start only at 5. The time was now just 4.15 so away I went to enjoy the Melam.  Keeping pace with the Siveli circling the temple corridor I did not even notice the time flying until I noticed that a queue had formed at Thulabharam counter. Now standing for Thulabharam I continued to enjoy the Melam and to my ever increasing joy the Nadapparakalaasham, a musical form played in front of the Lord at the conclusion of Panchari Melam started just as I was able to enter inside the counter. I was sitting on the massive scales getting myself weighed for Thulabharam when in a very prescient manner the Nadapparakalaasham concluded in style. It was indeed an enchanting moment, the weightlessness and the magnificence of a concluding Melam. Indeed I prayed quite heartily to the Lord for giving me such a cherished Prasadam. Though previous visits had oft left me quite hating the temple and its ubiquitous crowds, this time I truly enjoyed my pilgrimage here.

                Calm and serene after the praying I collected my stuff and soon was on my way back to Trichur. Though I reached my aunt’s home at 6 PM itself, I decided to wait until 8 to return to Kochi as I hoped to avoid the maddening evening traffic in the highway.

                However this precaution was found to be naught when I was caught in a humongous traffic pile up near Ollur on Trichur High Road due to some Church festival. It seems every Tom, Dick and Harry and his umpteenth relative had decided to show off that day in their shining or not – so – shining cars and as a result the entire road was jam packed. My two wheeler could somehow weave its way through but even then progress was impeded by several youth showing off in their racing bikes, their blings causing a visibility hazard and their pig headedness generally causing more traffic trouble. I was really angry when I saw an autorickshaw with a medical emergency case aboard that was struck up in this snarl. The injured person inside was being supported by some drips indicating the severity of the case. Their predicament really made me hate the crass idiots who were causing such traffic blocks. Every side road leading off this main roads were jam packed, either with cars held there, or cars parked irresponsibly by jackasses. Somehow I made my way through and reached the NH47. By this time however my anti glare glasses which I bought for the princely sum of Rs. 250/- had outlived its usefulness by getting thoroughly fogged due to perspiration. I conceded defeat and henceforth rode it out without any eye protection. This proved troublesome along certain stretches of the Highway when the moderate to heavy truck traffic raised a lot of dust. However a medium speed and extra awareness enabled me to survive it. I had known that the traffic would be quite heavy in the NH at night and hence wanted to experience it as part of my long term road seasoning process. Glad to say this ride was fruitful too.

As I passed Chalakudy I began to look out for the Dhaba I mentioned earlier to have my dinner. The joint which was nearly deserted with unkept waiters in the afternoon was quite active and more presentable waiters at night. Some truckers were also sitting on the Charpoys and some bikers were also having their food. My recently started experimentation with vegetarianism caused me to forgo the juicy chicken pakodas that seemed to the fare of the evening and I settled for Roti and Chana Paneer. The food was simply sumptuous and accompanied by a cool spicy Lassi it was an excellent meal. Burping my satisfaction I left the Dhaba at 0945. The roads from thereon are of very good quality and that combined with the nearly empty traffic enabled me to maintain a brisk pace for the final ride to Kochi. The bright moon painted a beautiful landscape all around and thus I reached home without any event at around 1030pm.  Total 12 hours from home and it was a very pleasant drive with a very spiritually satisfying pilgrimage. A total of 223kms had been driven.

Ride to Nilambur - Day Two

If the first day of my touring was marked by continuous rains, the second day proved to be the very opposite. Even during the early morning ride to Nilambur, the mist was being burned up fast by the swift rays of sun.

The 29 kilometer drive to Nilambur was started at around 0645, with my cousin bro as the pillion rider. The early morning coolness ensured that he would not be obliging me with the customary singing that I force out of any pillion rider riding for some distance with me. I am sure that he had to preserve his vocals for a better audience. Remnants of those swirling mists which fascinated me yesterday were lingering on as we drove through Manjeri Town, which was waking up to a new day. The road was as ever in excellent condition however the instructions from the aunt kept me from going full throttle through the nearly deserted roads.

Gentle banking, lush fields and glimpses of distant mountains, their peaks hidden by mist, all these idyllic settings defined the drive to Nilambur. With my cousin bro obliging me by taking pics of the drive from pillion, we drove on through Edevanna, Mampad and Vadapuram. While passing through these towns one was extremely careful. Early morning and sleepy autorickshaw drivers is a very dangerous combinations. These self proclaimed kings of urban roads are driven by people who are trained to never even hear about words like "indicator", "signal", "careful driving" etc. Leaving the towns I could relax better.

The most memorable part of this drive had been the long bridge across Chaliyar River at Edavanna which one passed by on the route to Nilambur. Seeing that road which led to Areacode, I had decided that one day I shall ride along that road. High above the swift flowing Chaliyar Rievr that was a really captivating bridge.

The thickening woods along the sides of the road indicated to me that Nilambur is finally nearing. Passing the Conolly's Plot we entered Nilambur proper and at the suggestion of my cousin bro I drove up a steep inclined country road to reach Nilambur Kovilakam. I had dreamt for ages, driving down this road, through this archway and to the front of the Vettakorumakan Temple.

The magnificently glowing visage of the temple Gopuram under the blazing morning sun rays marked fruition of a long awaited dream. Since I was unfortunately under limitations of a Pettapela (prohibition from entering temple due to a birth in the family), I stood outside clicking away in my camera as my cousin bro went inside to pray. The huge guy wearing jeans, boots and carrying a large camera must have elicited curiosity of the locals some of whom asked me which newspaper I was from and whether some shooting was going to be there.

Having had the key of the bike anointed inside the shrine through my cousin, we drove the few yards to the banks of Chaliyar River. There is a height of several meters from the banks to the rapidly swirling waters of Chaliyar which is usually reached through several flights of worn out steps and trekking across the massive boulders of the riverside. I did not go down to the river, just to a few landings down where there was an excellent vantage point. The view of Bakamala, has always been of a remarkable nature. Legends and stories heard from childhood speak about the Bakasura of Mahabharata, who was killed by Bhima and was lying down in death in the form of those mountains. Indeed the profile of the distant Nilgiris mountains resembled a fearsome face lying in repose.

After a light breakfast and collecting "Appam" (sweet temple offering) at a relative's house we set on the return journey back to Manjeri. A small stop at a large clearing by the side of the road outside Nilambur gave me opportunity for a few more clicks. By this time the sun had risen up and the day had turned quite sunny and I was itching to get back on the road.

The thickening traffic ensured that the ride would be far from monotonous and with my cousin bro distracted over his MP3 player, I enjoyed the roads a bit more by touching near 60's speed in some of the more freer roads.

Having arrived back at Manjeri, I decided not to linger on. A more heavier breakfast followed and I made my leave from Manjeri. After the low visibility driving of the past day, the ride in such sunny conditions permitted me to more thoroughly enjoy the surroundings. Though I occasionally prodded the adrenaline glands by letting loose the throttle, it had been a more cautious day of riding. In good weather people generally drive more brashly and that is always to be feared.The ride through Malappuram and Kottakkal were unremarkable though the excellent quality roads enabled me to drive at a fast and steady speed with only slowing down occurring at Changuvetty Junction in Kottakkal, lest I miss the road to Valanchery.

Though I had told my aunt in Trichur that I would be stopping by her place on the return leg, while driving in the Kottakkal-Valanchery stretch I started musing about taking the NH17 back home by taking a deviation at Kuttipuram or Edappal. The road through Kunnamkulam and Trichur,I knew to be of excellent quality however the NH17 was an unknown quantity. However what fun is there to drive through totally familiar roads. Touring is after all exploring the unknown. Advised by some locals to turn to Ponnani only from Edappal, I decided to do some map consulting as soon as I reach Edappal. I had also been getting extremely thirsty by then.

While having a juice at Edappal, I checked the NH17 route to Kochi on my Eicher All India Road Map and to judge the road condition I also called up Thothi, a close family friend who used to travel to Irinjalakuda regularly. Bolstered by her information that the roads were of decent quality except for stretches near Paravur and Edapally, I decided to take the deviation.

The Edappal-Ponnani road started off narrow but of acceptable quality but progressively deteriorated as it neared Ponnani town. At one stretch it was literally mud biking as I found one pothole to be a good 30-50 cms deep as the wheels started sinking in. The 150cc engine held good and I drove out. Another scare was received as my front wheel drove over a large and sharp rock. For a moment I feared whether the tire would get punctured though thanks to God nothing happened. Turning left at Ponnani Junction I entered the National Highway 17, the Panvel-Edappaly highway connecting Kochi and Mumbai along the coast of Arabian Sea.

I was truly surprised when I started driving down this road. Though not as wide as the Trichur-Kochi stretch of NH47 or even the Trichur-Edappal road, NH17 was paved rather decently, though with the signs of no maintenance having been done for several years. Even more surprising was the sparse traffic despite the good roads. Starting off carefully at around 50 kmph, I gradually increased speed to a steady speed of 75-80 kmph. It was a pleasant drive, with the biggest worry that of falling asleep. This worry was not neglected and I forced myself to be more aware whenever the monotonous nature of the drive threatened my lucidity.

By now it was nearing 1 o'clock and I had been getting pretty hungry. While scanning the roadsides for a decent eatery, I spotted a KTDC board indicating "Beach - 1km". Stopping by the junction, I asked around about the beach and any hotel around. Though there were no hotels anywhere nearby, I took the side road towards the beach on a lark.

The Mannalamkunnu beach was completely deserted when I stopped my bike just within its gates. The white sandy beach was throwing off a blazing glare from the burning sun. The Tsunami prevention trees planted along the beach beckoned me with promise of a soothing shelter and there were some benches around which would have provided some minutes of welcome rest, however the deserted nature of the beach warned me not to linger for long. I watched a few fishermen at their trades, shot off a few clicks and it was back to the road.

By now I had been growing steadily hungrier though I was disappointed in my hope of finding some eatery at Chavakkad along the highway itself. As I neared Chettuva however I saw a highway restaurant where I decided to have my lunch. Though it looked too fancy for my taste it was better than to ride ahead getting more and more famished. The vegetarian meals was acceptable and the hotel had an excellent lime soda which I had two of. Dishing out around 75 bucks for the meal and two soda lime I embarked on my return leg of the journey.

From Chettuva onwards the road started getting progressively bad and nearing Kodungallur there were a few stretches of road where the road was absolutely bad and traffic snarls horrible. This stretch of my drive was marked my occasional stoppages to enquire about a Murukkan Kada. After a heavy lunch I occasionally indulge in some betel chewing however hopes towards this direction were foiled. Even the small villages have more North Indian Paan shops and no murukkan kada. Really sad state of affairs. When one is out of the state of course one has to go with what is the local variety, but here in Kerala itself why do we have to resort to Paan with its entire coterie of artificial accompaniments? As I neared Kodungallur the thickening traffic however made me forget about the Murukkaan.

The first cramp hit me as I just entered the Kodungallur town. Driving down the road circling Kodungallur Bhagavathi Temple, cramps in my right thigh threatened to disable me. Immediately slowing down, I started flexing my leg while ensuring that the driving was safe and looking for some sort of bakery where I could drink up some liquids. The day long drive in sunny climate seemed to have dehydrated me. Driving on a few kilometers outside of the town I finally spotted a bakery just in front of the Cheraman Perumal Mosque, one of the oldest mosques in India. The extremely cold milkshake followed by a full bottle of water nursed me back to freshness and the drive was on.

As warned by Thothi, the roads near Paravyur were horrible. Excruciating traffic snarls and severely cratered roads going on for kilometers threatened to dampen my entire enthusiasm for the drive. However I drove on. The next stumbling block was not too far away in the form of the Edapalli railway crossing, always under a traffic snarl. The sight of the elevated bridge span over the railway tracks standing as a mute testament to execrable apathy, incompetence and criminal negligence of our political masters brought a sadness as I crossed the level cross. Two wheelers like me could perhaps manage faster by weaving in and out, but what of those poor chaps in four and six wheelers who are stuck at waiting for hours at a level cross?

The rigors of crossing this level cross in a form of motocross madness with the other bikers through the bad roads and continuing bad roads near Cheranalloor finally added up to give me my second cramp of the day, this time to my left thigh. Thankfully I had some of the water remaining so I downed the bottle, rested and flexed my legs for a minute or so and finally drove on home. The junction at Edapalli and the remaining drive home through Vyttila and Petta had been like the countless rides back home after work, however the satisfaction of riding home after two days of long rides was something else entirely. Truth be said, even as I shed my swollen feet off the boots and rested my numb posterior and worn out legs on the sofa back home I was already thinking about my next long drive.

As a new rider and a fresh tourer, I feel this drive proved to be an initiation of sorts. I drove through inclement and good weather, plains and hills. It had been a long solitary drive that proved to myself that I had the wherewithal for this. This drive proved to me that fantasies could become real and they might just be as magical as fantasies. In the hope of being able to pen more journals of longer and more thrilling drives, I conclude this travelogue.

Ride to Nilambur - Day One

"God's Own Wet Country."
That eponymized my drive as I set off from my home in Tripunithura at around 0515 on October 15th. The sweltering heat of the past few days was shattered by the massive thunder storm that started the past day evening. There was no hope of waiting for the rain to ease off, and showing even the slightest reluctance would cause this drive to be postponed. One never knows when such a golden opportunity would present itself. After all it had been my dream for years to drive to Nilambur, my maternal ancestral town.

The three day Pooja holidays starting with the Friday triggered the wanderlust in me as I slyly heard the Admin Manager talking to the MD. The plan which tentatively started taking shape on that Monday had resulted in a more or less sensible route plan by Thursday. It was really lucky that so many of my colleagues are from the Northern Districts of Kerala. Paying heed to the suggestions in safety as expounded in xkmph community, I had decided that for this drive, I would be using proper gloves. By Thursday evening, I had bought the inexpensive leather gloves, filled up the tank and had got more or less ready.

Any hope for an uneventful drive was thankfully disrupted by the rain. Even waking up at 4o'clock on 15th the sound of still raging rain brought a measure of trepidation along with the excitement. The trepidation proved itself to be merited as soon as I left Tripunithura as my years old jacket got soaked through the forceful rains. The cheap anti glare glasses I had worn along with the visor helped in the matters as the visibility dropped seriously. The Airport-Seaport Road from Tripunithura to Kalamasser via Kakkanad was a watery haze as I negotiated the steady traffic this early in the morning against the visibility issues. A steady 40kmph more or less made things easier. I did however worry about the other drivers in this route, who may have even less visibility and much less driving sense than me, going by their undimmed headlights burning their way into my retina.

The stretch of road via Kalamassery ITC to join the NH47 proved to be as despicable as ever. My curses at the PWD increased the already Himalayan tally as I strive hard to negotiate through the massive potholes trying to figure out where the road ended. Thankfully rains had eased a bit in its intensity by now. The drive onwards from Kalamassery Apollo Tyres had been plain vanilla, with me maintaining a steady 40-45 kmph while adjusting myself to the rains and early morning NH traffic. Passing Aluva however I felt myself envigored and acclimatized enough to give more tension to the throttle. Ride was steady, albeit monotonous, the stretch of road having been driven through by me many times. Additional care was taken around the danger stretches near Nedumbassery Airport, the sight of which in the early morning was as ever a feast for the eyes.

I slowed down as I neared Angamaly, the hometown of my "beloved" Alma mater looking for a coffee shop. However knowing the town as I did I felt there to be far greater possibility for a bar being open at this time, around 0615 rather than a coffee shop. There was not even one of those small tea shops that are the lifeblood for the ordinary traveler in Kerala. Thankfully the renovated Hotel Crystal Palace at the Karayamparambu Junction in the Angamaly-Chalakudi stretch had been open. The coffee though not stellar was the lifeblood I hoped it to be, warming my benumbed fingers and rejuvenating my innards.

The road from Angamaly to Trichur is a promising one. Stretches of insanely superb roads marred at times by bad roads where construction is going on. Within a year or so, this would be an awesome expressway. Even now it is proving to be excellent speed way for two wheelers if not quite so for the multiple wheelets as was the case for the massive line of trucks, buses and cars piled up in a kilometers long traffic block in this stretch of the road. Some lingering road sense must have enabled these drivers to follow the rare propriety of road sense by sticking to one long line in one lane without any of the lane jumping which makes traffic snarls execrable during more busier times. As a two wheeler, however that propriety is not applicable for me and I was able to weave my way past this massive traffic jam which was incidentally caused by a limber truck breaking down in the middle of the road. No doubt due to overload and poor condition of roads.

The shimmering orange of the rising sun to the East announced the formal start of another day. I have always enjoyed sunrise in the highways. What comparable way is there to really travel other than through biking. Unencumbered by the body of a car or the windows of a truck or bus, the massive vistas one can enjoy while driving a bike is one of the most sublime pleasures one can know. I dare any other medium of motorized travel whereby such a sight can be had by the traveler. Had it not been steadily raining, I would have humored my temptation to stop by the shoulder and take snaps of the skyline. It was so beautiful. Though the rain was still falling in my sector of the land, out East the clouds were clearing and the magnificent rising sun was inundating the land with rays casting the orange hue to clouds, a hue that was of incomparable magnificence.

Taking the High Road, I drove up to Trichur City and rounding the Swaraj Round I arrived at my aunt's house at Ayyanthol Chungam at 0730. The sight of me clad in black jacket, cargo pants, army boots, black helmet, glare proof glasses, black leather gloves and everything sopping wet must have been quite a sight for my aunt. Shedding the outer garments I had breakfast with my aunt and in all spent around 90 minutes there talking.

At 0845 I started off for the drive, with the next destination in my route being Kunnamkulam. Following the Ayyanthol road through the front of the Lulu International Convention Center I joined up the Kunnamkulam road that was becoming progressively heavier in traffic.The dryness of the past hour became a fleeting memory as the rain picked up in its intensity. The drive was however pleasurable.

It has always been my observation that driving in inclement weather is ultimately safer. In bad weather people become more careful than usual, driving more slower. In good weather the jackasses of the driving community let rip their throttles without caring for other people's safety. However even this weather was not proving to be a slowing factor for the speeding private buses plying this route.

A few kilometers from Kunnamkulam at Kechery I spotted a board indicating a shortcut to Perumpilavu, the next town after Kunnamkulam. My deviation through this track proved to be a wise choice as the roads were of decent quality, albeit narrow and traffic light. The intensified rain had really beautified the lush green surroundings and it was with great regret that I refrained from stopping by that road going through a vast farmland area, Rain truly is a lustrous jewel upon the land, bedecking the vegetation with its sparkling drops and washing away the soot and dirt of a parched earth. Despite being drenched to the bone, I had never appreciated rains more.

The Kechery - Pannithadam - Perumpilavu road joined up the highway and onwards was a road of exceptional quality where I truly felt confident to let rip my throttle. Stopping for coffee at Edappal I drove onwards to Kuttippuram and Valanchery. The roads were simply magnificent, however the heavy rains forced one to maintain a sober speed of around 50-60 kmph. A Tempo Traveller coming from the opposite direction obliged me in this stretch by anointing me with a wave of water as a sheet of water engulfed me from head to toe. I really thanked God that I had been driving with visors down, else that would have been a sure shot recipe for accident. A few stretches of bad roads and road under construction marred this travel near Kuttippuram however the overflowing waters of the Bharatapuzha proved to be a treat for the eyes sufficient enough to help one tide things over. Another coffee break at Valanchery and I was on my next stage. The Valancheri-Puthanathani-Kottakkal roads were of sufficiently decent quality and reasonable speed could be maintained. From the Changuvetti Junction at Kottakkal I entered the road to Malappuram.

Another coffee break at Malapuram (the continuous drive through rain and the reasonable fast speed maintained was causing one to be quite cold) and I ascertained the directions to Manjeri and my uncle's house there. A few kilometers short of Manjeri I took deviation at Vayapparapadi Junction to arrive at my uncle's house at 1130. As at Trichur, my drenched visage proved to be quite a spectacle albeit to a larger crowd this time. Two aunts, one matriarch, two of my cousins and three little kids were open mouthed at the "Space Man" like vision of mine.

The rest of the day was spent more or less lazing around with my cousin brother suggesting that we drive to Malappuram town in the evening for some sight seeing, This cousin who had been involved in a nasty accident  an year back still had some trauma issues with regards to traveling in bikes so I had express orders not to drive fast while the "delicate cargo" was behind me. Naturally I obliged. There is no fun to be had by distressing the pillion rider.

A few distance before Malappuram town we took the road to Kottapuram, a hill top recreational area which boasted some adequate scenery. The steep uphill drive to the top of the hill was fun and some time was spent there clicking away on my Nikon L110.

Though moderately pleasant there was nothing captivating enough to spend too much time here. The assemblage consisted mostly of families or elder people so there was no more scope to stay there. At my cousin's suggestions we drove onwards, this time to Malappuram town. Passing through a road to the left of the Civil Station road we found ourselves in a very steep incline. purely by second gear and rear foot break I drove down the road and my quintessential quirkiness prompted me to retrace the road. Paying no heed to my baffled cousin brother, I drove up the nearly 50 degree incline at progressively second and first gears and then came back down yet again. Though the cousin condescendingly prompted me to repeat the performance, for all my craziness, I am not a Naranathu Bhrandan. I am no copy cat, I follow my own whims.

Random meanderings through these roads finally brought us to a suspension bridge serving as a walkway between the two banks of the Chaliyar River. Sections of this bridge had its handrails crumbling away and with trepidations I walked across the bridge at the behest of my cousin bro. The view was pretty good and having walked across and backwards we set off onwards. By this time it had been getting steadily darker and we returned to my uncle's home.

October 15th was the day of the release of the movie "Anwar" a Prithviraj starrer, which I later heard is a copy cat remake of the movie "Traitor" starring Don Cheadle.Suggestion that we watch the late night "Second Show" was accepted by me and after dinner we set off towards the theater. Going by the easy going confidence wielded by my cousin, I felt that he must have made some arrangements to get tickets for a first day show itself. He even seemed reticent at making a prior reservation, apparently so confident was he that he entrusted a friend of his to stand in the queue and buy the tickets. As any experienced movie goer knows, you never get lackadaisical when going to watch a movie in first day itself. Standing in queue a good three hours beforehand is the normal thing to do if not buying tickets in the "black". Naturally the plan fizzled. Since we were anyway out for a movie and to avoid the shame of returning early we went to watch another movie, "Elsamma Enna Aankutty" which was an average entertainer, good for viewing one time.

As we left the theater at midnight the surroundings had turned truly magical. After a day of rains the whole area was surrounded in mist. Driving through those swirling clouds of fog was truly an out of the world experience.

A total of 222 kms was driven on this first day of my longest ever solo ride. With satisfaction of a lifelong dream being fulfilled I went to sleep planning for the next day when the dream would attain fruition as I pray at Nilambur.

Palliatives to an incurable ailment

For many years I had been severely stricken with that most incurable of ailments - Wanderlust. However not having a suitable vehicle as palliative, I suffered in silence while voraciously reading with unmitigated jealousy the accounts of friends and acquaintances riding around.

As a preteen kid in New Delhi, the symptoms of my wanderlust were already very much in evidence as I used to roam the lanes of our residential colony in my BSA Wild Cat.

The wanderlust then raised its head during my years in Cochin as the Hercules Top Gear roamed the cities of the city. The sore thigh and the benumbed members failed to erase my passion for riding long distances customarily traveled in bus and rarely on cycles.

The dark ages of my wanderlust began with the start of college. Stuck with a Honda Activa and severe restrictions on traveling the dark ages were replete with hours whiled away in agony on hearing the travel accounts from hostel mates.

All this changed a month back when an Ivory Gray Hero Honda Hunk became my steed. Though not the Royal Enfield of my perpetual dreams, this was however a worthy cure for my long suppressed wanderlust.

The bike which I took delivery on 1 September, 2010 has undergone its first service of 750 km in its third week and now has clocked 1300 kms. I think I have gone rather conservative on the rides for the first month and hope to improve my miles in the coming months.

The first ride I took in my bike was a short ride to Cherai , a beautiful beach north of Kochi. Always a safe rider, I felt it stupid to go any long distance without pacing myself and my bike through shorter rides. At a distance of around 35 kilometers from Kochi City, Cherai is a picturesque beach with adequate pleasure for the eyes. The ride up was via the Gosree Bridge, connecting the various small isles dotting the Kochi harbor and the main bus route to Cherai. However one gets too bored by remaining stationary when the wanderlust has charged up one's veins. So I drove southwards along the Beach Road, a less traveled but exceptionally beautiful road with white sandy beaches on one side and vast lagoons on the other side. The beaches along this narrow road are much less crowded and more soothing for an introvert. Armed with a Nikon L110 camera, another palliative for a person with a developing passion in photography, I wanted to take some shots of the bike close to the beach.

The mangroves planted to check monsoon erosion was the route I took, driving my bike in first gear through loose unpacked sand, taking care to control the rpm so that the wheels do not sink in to the sand. I was on a half crouched posture as I did not dare put my weight on to the tyres. However the photos that ensued have been worth it.

After a few more photo locations I drove down to the Vypeen Jhankar Ferry where I was fortunate enough to be the last one aboard the over crowded ferry. Despite being unable to get down from the bike, the setting sun and the beautiful city lights of Cochin City provided me opportunity for some juicy snaps. The return ride back home through Mattancherri and Wellington Island was pure vanilla and unremarkable.

In this first ride, I clocked 76 kms.

The second ride was to Trichur, a city 80 kms north of Kochi. Driving down the excellent stretch of NH47, i felt content to maintain an average speed of 65kmph. Though I did humor my adrenaline surges by taking the bike to 85 kmph, I did not want to push harder since not even the first service had been done and besides, to enjoy a long ride, it should be done with a moderate speed. After all what is the pleasure of travel if one does not have the time to appreciate the land?

80kms up and 80 kms down saw me clock around 170 odd kilometers in two days.

Having got the bike in superb condition after the first service I had been itching to do another long ride when the opportunity presented to myself in the form of a ride to Sholayar.

Unlike other rides which I undertook alone, this time I had my father along as the pillion rider. A daredevil in his youth, he wanted to ride through the high ranges he had flown over during his youth as a pilot in Agricultural Ministry. Driving once again through the excellent NH47 till Chalakudy, we took the deviation to Athirapalli. The roads were simply magnificent, the gentle bankings and beautiful scenery made the drive a supremely pleasurable affair. However the excellent roads gave way to the potholed ghat roads once we entered the Athirapalli - Vazhachal stretch. After the mandatory checking at the Forest Check post at Vazhachal, we were off again. Though the gas filled rear shock absorbers of the Hero Honda Hunk had proved itself adequate for my 115kg frame, it was not enough to dampen the shocks for the old bones of my father. Each jerk on the potholed roads elicited grunts of discomfort from the pater.

The 1000th kilometer of my bike was reached at the precise spot where we can go near the Peringalkuthu reservoir. The odometric miracle was simply margelous in my opinion. However the ride onwards was stopped at the Sholayar penstocks as my father finally expressed his inability to go further. The crazy readings of my fuel gauge, which showed half tank now, near empty afterwards, again half tank later on also sowed seeds of doubt in my mind about continuing onwards for the 50 further kilometers to Valpara.

Instead of retracing the Chalakudy route, we took the deviation from Silver Storm water theme park and went through the Plantation Corporation of Kerala Estate which proved to be almost 12 kms shorter albeit in execrable conditions. After short coffee break at Mookkannor, the location of my alma mater, we duly returned home at Kochi. A drive which started at 0830 terminated at 1730, covering a distance of 217 kms, 114 up and 103 down.

Hopefully my next drives would be even longer in distance and thrilling in locations.

Operation Lanka Dahan

The aircraft had been flying low and with all navigation lights turned off for quite some time now. The mission is of a priority nature, and they were essentially flying on a suicide mission. All earlier reconnaissance flights to Lanka had been shot down by the LANKA LAXMI Comprehensive Defense Network which protected Lanka, an intricate network of air defense radars, and Surface to Air Missiles which was supported by dedicated squadrons of Air Superiority fighters of Lanka Air Force.

However the GH44 was flying very low, wave skiing barely 100 meters above sea level, hopefully below the radar coverage of the powerful air defense radars in Lanka. The specially coated blades of the quad tilt rotor aircraft are directionally deceptive acoustically, however ultimately the GH44 and its team of elite commandos would have to depend on sheer pluck and guts.

The Kishkinta Air Force GH44 is a integral asset of the MARUT Force, the elite of elite commando units, commanded by Major Bajrang Bali. The full force of 32 combat tested commandos are deploying for this special reconnaissance mission. Their mission : to find Lady Sita, the wife of Prince Ram who was kidnapped by Generalissimo Ravan, the dictator ruling Lanka. Sugreev, the King of Kishkinta had promised to assist Prince Ram in finding his captured wife and it was to this end that MARUT force is deployed.

"Captain, we are getting some radar returns from 180, it seems there is a creeping wave radar trying to track us and engage us," the electronic warfare officer informed the pilot commanding the GH44.

"Okay, hold on tight, gentlemen, we may have some rocky ride ahead," the Captain said as the weapon systems that were on standby were powered on to full active.

"Vampires inbound, multiple vampires inbound from 180, seems like a stealth launcher."

"Launch counter measures."

Though not as agile as a fighter the GH44 did have some tricks up its sleeve and volumes of chaff and flare were expended to distract the missiles. The tilt rotor engines were also used with full effect to deny a doppler target to the tracking radar, as the aircraft jinked and swerved to avoid the missiles flying towards them. While the captain and copilot were busy evading the missiles in the aft section the MARUT force were strapped in tight fighting the nausea induced by the wild maneuvers. The electronic warfare officer is meanwhile trying to locate the source of the missiles. It was vital that it be destroyed before it did further harm to the plane or warned Lanka about its intrusion.

"Captain, I have the target. Seems like a Surasa class frigate, jamming its communications and radars. Bearing 183, range 400 meters, we must engage before we reach in range of its CIWS guns." The high powered jammer in this specialized aircraft was matching the frequency hopping abilities of the tracking radar as well as jamming the known communication frequencies with noise. Now with a clear target information a single HARM, Anti Radiation Missile was launched. The close range and low altitude of the GH44 meant that the HARM struck fast before counter measures or evasion could be attempted. Hit amidships , the Surasa class frigate sunk with all hands.

"Phew, that was close. Okay guys, let us pray and hope that this was unnoticed by Lankans. I just hope our hacker boys have done their job well," the Captain said. The highly secretive cyber warfare team of MARUT Force had been working for days to find a way to spoof the highly secure LANKA LAXMI defense network. The intricate defense network had been known to operate off encrypted burst satellite communications and it had taken some extreme luck and some exquisite coding to break through its security levels. Now the GH44 had been assigned a bogus IFF number that would show as friendly to the LANKA LAXMI.

As it neared the coast, the GH44 climbed up to altitude and powered on its IFF signals.

"HNMN142, this LNLX Control. State the mission code, Over" the radio soon squawked to life.

Feinting a bored voice, the co-pilot spoke, "LNLX Control, this is HNMN142. We are returning from routine patrol in Sector NNW27, now RTB Lanka AFB. Request clearance, Over".

With baited breath, the crew waited for the response. They hoped that the LANKA LAXMI server had the call sign and mission codes fed into it by the MARUT hackers.

"HNMN142, this is LNLX Control, you are cleared to enter Lanka Capital Zone. Safe flight."

The GH44 carried on its flight at higher altitude finally reaching 30,000 ft. The sprawling city of Lanka was spread below them, resplendent in wealth looted from several other nations, home to the armed force which had terrorized the world for such a long time. They are literally in the jaws of the lion.

At the jump master's command, the 32 commandos started lining up by the aft door which was now opened. Each jump was timed for special Drop Zones strategically located across the city. While most of the MARUT Force were spread out around the city, the team of 4 led by Maj. Bajrang Bali were being dropped directly on to the sprawling Palace Complex. Dropping stealthily using their tactical parachutes, they landed at the Ashokavana Park in the middle of the Palace Complex. The lush orchard was the ideal landing spot and is central enough for the team to spread out their search from. Intelligence sources also indicated that Ashokavana is a high security zone, guarded by an elite cadre of female commandos. All these indicators had caused Maj. Bajrang to guestimate this orchard as the most likely place where Lady Sita could be held.

Immediately after landing the black Nomex clad commandos hid themselves in thickets of trees that formed the orchard and stealthily started searching. Exquisitely trained in jungle warfare, the prospect of searching for a single person in a thickly wooded park in the middle of a high security palace, constantly under the glare of roving search lights and patrolling commandos reputed to be devilishly effective is daunting. However the team slowly spread out, timing their sprints between thickets to avoid the patrols and searchlights.

Stealth had always been the speciality of Maj. Bajrang Bali. The most highly decorated soldier in Kishkinta Army, he is also a close friend of King Sugreev and Prince Ram. For years languishing as a rank and file officer in Kishkinta Army his immense skills were rediscovered thanks to Prince Ram. While accompanying as Special Protective Officer to Sugreev and Ram, Bajrang Bali had proven his loyalty and abilities multiple times during Sugreev's years of exile from Kishkinta. Now Prince Ram had personally assigned him this mission, a mission Bajrang is determined to fulfill.

He had heard a lot about the piety of Lady Sita, an exemplary doyen of all qualities pure and good. He shuddered at the prospect of the torture and suffering that Lady Sita would have suffered at the hands of the bestial and cruel Generalissimo Ravan.

Moving through the thickets Maj. Bajrang came at the edges of a small clearing where his Night Vision/Thermal Goggles determined a concentration of heat signatures beneath a certain tree. Powering up the scope of his goggles, Maj. Bali observed the scene. A cohort of female commandos were standing guard next to a tree underneath which a divinely beautiful lady, clad in robes of white cotton was sitting. The demonic aura of the heavy guns brandished by the guard detail did not however the divinity obvious from the lady in white.

"Marut Lead to Marut Team. Positive contact with Lady Sita. Hold tight while I establish contact. Marut Team, prepare to give me cover," Maj. Bali said softly on his encrypted communications gear. Checking the perimeter, Maj. Bali was about to signal his team mates to move forward to support his recon, when suddenly he called them to stop. A large posse of commandos were coming from the Palace to the Ashokavana, apparently some big shot is coming. Maj. Bali observed as Generalissimo Ravan walked towards Sita and attempted to talk to her. The effort was obviously futile as Ravan soon stomped off towards the Palace in high dudgeon. Excellent.

After a while the commando force thinned around Lady Sita, when the guards went into their routine switching of detail. For the late night shift, the Ashokavana was closed off and only a guard detail of 3 female commandos were at station standing around Lady Sita who was now sitting at the root of the tree.

Corking the silencer on to the grooved barrel of his 9mm Revolver, Maj. Bali stealthily advanced towards Lady Sita. Since he did not know how Sita would react if these commandos were killed, Maj. Bali decided that they would instead be shot with tranquilizer bullets. Three faint pops from the silenced gun in the span of barely 4 seconds took care of the three commandos who fell unceremoniously to the ground. Lady Sita gave a small shriek before Bajrang Bali spoke to her, "Madam, please do not shout. I am an envoy from Prince Ram."

"What? Who are you? Why did you kill these women?" Lady Sita asked flustered at the sudden shock.

"Milady, I am Major Bajrang Bali, servant of Prince Ram of Ayodhya and King Sugreev of Kishkinta. I am here to rescue you. Also these women are not dead, they are merely unconscious."

"What? You are sent by Ram? How do I know you are not just another sneaky trick by Ravan?" Sita sneered at Bajrang.

"Well I thought it would come to this, so I have brought this proof of veracity," Bajrang said while producing a small package from a pouch in his rucksack.

Opening the small velvet bound package, Lady Sita saw the signet ring that Prince Ram gave as a verifiable sign of proof.

"Madam, me and my team were sent here to find you, we are also ready to take you back to Prince Ram, if you consent to come with us," Maj. Bajrang said.

"No, I will not escape so unceremoniously from here. I have seen the horrors and evils propagated by this evil person. He must be destroyed. Please do not take offense, but you must tell Ram that he himself should come and rescue me and avenge the insult meted out to me," Lady Sita said.

"Very well then, Madam. I shall take my leave then. Though I think it would be wise for me to let Ravan have a hint of the consequences of his evil actions." Then bowing before Lady Sita, Maj. Bajrang Bali walked up towards his team mates who had now come out.

"Okay guys, now we have maintained contact. Now let us finish the second part of our mission. I really feel like we should give Ravan a message too, what do you think?"

"Oh yes, Sir. Let us show what MARUT Force can do. The rest of the team has checked in, Sir. Their mission is also accomplished and they have met up with the GH44," the Sergeant of the team replied.

"Okay. Now, let us rock and roll."

Maj. Bali and his team slowly made their way towards the walls that enclosed Ashokavana Park. Scaling the walls using the pneumatically shot rappelling cables the commandos soon reached the top of the walls. It would be counter productive to let Ravan know that they had established contact with Lady Sita, so they had to conduct their distraction operations well away from the Ashokavana. Establishing contact with the GH44 that was by then landed at a football ground within the city, the Major signaled the MARUT Force to do the second phase of their job.

High tension power cables which fed electric power into the Palace were blown apart as demolition charged placed on them by the MARUT Force exploded. The sudden loss of power and loss of security was utilized by the team within the Palace to make their way towards the Administrative Area of the Palace. Maj. Bajrang Bali started engaging the Lankan security guards with his submachine gun and assault rifle as the remaining three commandos used the distraction to make their escape from the Palace. The sudden assault within the Palace compound and the loss of security brought the entire Palace to high alert. As teams of security guards reported being attacked and falling silent, Col. Akshay Kumar, son of Generalissimo Ravan and chief of Palace Security raced towards the attacker.

The exceptionally skilled Maj. Bajrang Bali however started taking out a heavy toll on the Palace Guard forces. Seemingly invincible, his torrent of bullets crushed the defending force like stalk by thresher. An expert in Close Quarter Combat, Maj. Bali had long switched to Lankan assault rifles scavenged from the dead security guards as he started mowing his way to the Administrative Area, where he knew Ravana would be staying.

Enraged at the destruction meted out to his elite soldiers by this intruder, Col. Akshay Kumar pounced upon Maj. Bajrang and disarmed him of his rifle. Gunless the two ace soldiers started hand to hand combat, however the prowess of Col. Kumar was found to be wanting as he met his death at the strong hands of Maj. Bali. The ferocity of Maj. Bali and the death of their senior officer caused the Palace Guards to panic.

Saddened and enraged at the news of the death of his son, Ravan sent forth his eldest son Brig. Gen. Indrajit to take care of the intruder. Brig. Gen. Indrajit, the Commander of Lanka Special Forces galvanized the Palace Guards into action from retreat and started advancing upon Maj. Bajrang Bali.

By this time Maj. Bajrang had gained an adequate picture of the defenses but now realized that if he continued his attacks in this manner, Ravan may escape from the Palace and his effort would be futile. Only chance to meet him would be to surrender now. Feinting an injury, Maj. Bajrang fell to the ground yelling in pain. When Indrajit and other Palace Guards came near Bajrang, he became seemingly unconscious.

Cuffed and chained, Bajrang Bali was brought before Generalissimo Ravan who was in a towering fury at the death of his son and extensive damage to his Palace.

Sensing that he is now in the presence of Ravan, Bajrang Bali acted gaining his senses.

"Who are you, soldier? Why the hell are you here," Ravan barked at the bound prisoner before him.

"I am Major Bajrang Bali, envoy from Prince Ram and King Sugreev. I am here to command you to return Lady Sita with full honor to Prince Ram and beg them for forgiveness, pending which you and your unholy nation would be destroyed and razed to ground."

"What temerity! Are you not aware of your position, you fool? It is you, who has to beg for my forgiveness. As for Ram, all I can say to his ultimatum is "MEH". Now bow and beg for forgiveness, you insolent cur. Though you killed my son, I recognize valor and skill where I see it. Bow before me and you shall get a swift death, worthy of a soldier. Else you shall be dishonored before you are killed. Bow now," Ravan roared.

"Hell shall freeze over, before I bow before you," Bajrang Bali replied.

"Oh , is it? Then I guess I shall make things pretty hot enough for you," Ravan said with a cold sneer.

At his orders Maj. Bajrang Bali had himself strapped with a vest of plastic explosives with a timed detonator, timed to explode in 5 minutes. But far from being scared, Bajrang Bali said, "You know, you are really going to regret doing this."

Saying this, he broke free the cuffs restraining him and ran out to the bay window near him.

Ravan looked in shock as the commando jumped out of the window from a height of 10 storeys. It was then that he heard the dull roar of the turboprop engines of the GH44 as it soared by the palace. The hackers of MARUT Force had really done their job and the LANKA LAXMI defense network was totally skewed and utilizing the confusion the GH44 now with the full MARUT Force sans Maj. Bajrang in it soared by the baywindow nearest the radio tag denoting Bajrang Bali. The slight chirp on his ear radio, had made Bajrang aware that the aircraft was nearby and it was at the signal from the pilot that he had made his jump.

Now caught and pulled aboard the aircraft by two of his fellow commandos, Bajrang Bali tore off the explosive vest.

"All set, guys?"
"Oh yes, waiting for your GO, Sir,"
"Excellent," Maj. Bajrang said while throwing out the explosive vest. As the countdown timer came to zero, the vest landed in the helicopter hangar of the Palace where about 5 helicopters were at standby. The fireball of their explosion was accompanied by a series of explosions that rent up the night sky of Lanka.

The MARUT Force had placed explosives at various strategic locations, like power transmission towers, fuel bunkers and had placed remotely fired RPG nests targeting various radar and communication buildings in and around Lanka. However the biggest conflagration came from the explosions targeting the LPG distribution pipeline of the city which after being hacked by MARUT Hackers and strategically attacked by the MARUT Force, started a massive fire that engulfed nearly the whole of the city. Using this immense confusion, the HNMN142 successfully escaped from Lanka.

The burning skyline of Lanka, the magnificent city of Ravan, heralded the destruction that would soon follow.

The Doomed Male Chauvinist Pig

First of all I am not a chauvinist according to the dictionary or rather wikipedia meaning. In fact MCP is a moniker bestowed upon me by a sister whom I have never met face to face. The fact of this sister being an ardent feminist and female chauvinist should be the enough explanation.

The classic definitions notwithstanding, I do consider myself a chauvinist in the modern sense. I am a person who believes in firm equality, no preferences either way. I definitely do not believe that there should be reservations or special considerations shown to women. This extreme sense of equality bestowed upon me the aura of being a chauvinist.

In today's world, especially in the cyber world equality is rather unfashionable. The classic "Damsel in Distress" brings the "white knights" pouring in for assistance. In blogosphere and twitter world, everywhere the chivalrous White Knights rule the day. But is that really needed? Is that conducive to equality?

When a man is in trouble we tell him to "bear up and move on". There is an expectation on a man to be stoic in the troubles, a man is not supposed to seek pity, even if he seeks he is ignored. However if it is a woman in comparable situation you have a horde waiting in the wings, with coats thrown over the puddles and they themselves lying down to build a bridge of jelly backs for the woman to cross the troubles comfortably. Why cant the same standards be applied to both sexes?

This essentially brings me to the premise of this post.

Men are essentially doomed.

Bound to a spartan emotional existence, the code of stoicism ever present upon their lives, we men are essentially doomed. The White Knight Chivalry which creates more and more chauvinism means that equality between men and women are as distant as it ever was.

The most unfair of this code is the rule prohibiting tears. Men are not supposed to cry, only women cry. Hell, then why did evolution give us tear ducts in the eyes! It is as part of the stoic code by which men are supposed to bear all hardships imposed upon them, and never to falter.

In the traditional chauvinistic code men are the pillars of the family, the strength of their visage expected to give stability during all crises. When the womenfolk and children have the right to cry, the man has to remain steady, his eyes dry and his shoulders broad for all to lean upon. But what about the man himself? A man is not just an automaton. In the entire oceans of literature on feminine sensitivities not much considerations have been given to the equally poignant male sensitivities. Why? The code of chivalry and chauvinism which seeks to portray men as super figures, which essentially dooms them.

We Male Chauvinistic Pigs, thus deprived of a release to our own emotional torrents are more torn from inside, the slow poison of suppression seeping out through every actions and words. The feminists and female chauvinists make great hue and cry over the brutality of men, but ever understand that the brutality is a result of the repressed emotions.

In fact in my opinion it is the males who have been wronged against. Females have more freedom in this respect than males, which generally increases their longevity.

It is unlikely how this state of affairs would ever change since the White Knights of the world would keep on trumpeting away spreading their chivalry and chauvinism for the continued inequality in the world.

In a world like this a true seeker of equality like me is branded a Male Chauvinist Pig, which leaves me no recourse other than to finish this post to polish my badges and snout proclaiming "MCP"

Dangerous Indescretions

Have you ever written your name as Saddam Hussein in some security register? Have you ever written a commentary on Rwandan genocide in a University exam answer paper? Have you ever said an unforgivable word like "fuck" or "holy shit" in a temple?

Yours truly is guilty of all the above and once again expresses his regret over the aforementioned offenses.

There are certain times in life when we brand ourselves as "cool", "fun" and "freaky" people. After all who would look through a dreary old register at security shack in an apartment complex? Surely it is a laugh if we use the said columns to propagate the memory of the long executed freakshow. This was what I thought until one day my super-serious cousin bro and normally cool bro-in-law all but chewed my posterior. Of course in retrospection in a more serious perspective it is highly irresponsible, dangerous and even a felony!

But seriously, haven't you ever seen the name column and wanted to write out something crazy? For me it is actually a debilitating disease. As a perennially boring chap, moving from boring drudgery to monotonic dudgeon, impulses of insanity are usually stacked up just below the cuticles. Fellow Wodehousians may have heard about how the inimitable Gussie scaled the Everests and Kanchenjunga's of levity on being varnished slightly with that exalted product of Scotland, and wrought absolute havoc in the peaceful country side. The said incident was attributed by our exalted sage, Guru Sri Sri Jeeves as the effect of highly repressed and contained lunacy being expressed in an afternoon as a torrent. The sagatic butler in fact recommends that all such lunacies must be discharged at equitable rates of release over time, rather than letting the pressure build up.

Now if similarities are being brought with the phenomenon of volcanoes it is purely incidental.

Coming back to the issue, such is the case of lunacy with me. Times of extraordinary mental and emotional upheavals can bring out levity and lunacy in excessive measures which causes one to be truly break all conventional concepts of discretion!

(Wow!! I used another movie phrase of Mohan Lal.)

The Saddam Hussein incident has been well explained earlier which ended with the penitent me, sneaking down to the guard shack and slyly retrieving the register to alter the entries.

The treatise on Rwandan genocide is of course another rather sensitive era from my saga, a product of my long patronage of MG University. Having had the honor of providing to the coffers of this exalted institution for the past seven years I have also been entrusted with the burden of occasionally having to answer certain question papers for passing certain subjects. Now the question papers are excellent objects, nicely worded, clearly printed but with its contents usually incoherant. Now as the reader can realize yours only is not handicapped in reading, nor in the grasp of English, some even go on to say the grasp is a stranglehold. The incoherence is due to a biological aversion yours only exhibits towards certain subjects part of the syllabus of Electrical Engineering. When faced with text books or question papers related to these subjects I used to have the unfortunate allergic reaction of going mentally blank and going into alternate mnemonic universes. The advent of such mnemonic universes and near presence of pen and paper is a sure recipe for disaster as yours truly realized that sweltering hot May afternoon.

The highly intelligent, well researched, well thought out and exceptionally written treatise on the ghastly genocides in Africa had been written on a good 8 whole pages of answer paper (both sides) which even required one to ask for 4 extra sheets! This treatise which could be considered for doctoral studies in Conflict Management instead was destined to be penalized by the University. The examiner who read the answer paper, instead of laughing it off (as one hoped he would), was affronted by righteous indignation and recommended me for punishment.

Thus ensued a few months of running around in the pristine campus of this exalted University amidst extremely friendly and cooperative University staff, who very helpfully assisted yours truly to lose unnecessary weight in torso, legs and most importantly head.

Suffice to say, due to grace of Heaven and University I escaped with no lasting repercussions.

The third example is not worthy of detailed explanation as I am sure it is also an experience shared by N number of my friends in any temple crowd with a high percentage of extremely beautiful girls. It is a normal reaction but again rather frowned upon by more wiser peers and considered sufficient for excommunication by the more fanatic elders.

This long winded narration of one's idiocies is to present a more serious conundrum.

What would happen if one becomes indescreet in the Cyber world. With its pretenses of anonymity and free speech is there similar cause for discretion in the world of internet? A rather sharply worded blog, a feverish comment in a forum, a highly volatile chat conversation. Can any of these come back to bite us in the ass in the future?

Consider this. Say I launch into a diatribe against certain highly respected and pious Ministers of Govt of India. Now I may not post it in a blog, but in some random forum corresponding to some random game. If in a fictitious future I am being subjected to a background check for some government post, would this indiscreet comment be dug up and produced as yolk in my very austere face?

Having had to see something I never hoped to see again presented to me by authority is a rude shock. I have experienced that in that scary and hot afternoon in MG University when like a zombie rising from the grave, first a photostat then the original answer sheet was conjured in front of me by the deceptively sweet official. Believe me, it is no fun to see the evidences of your lunacy being displayed before you in tense circumstances.

Now a lot of bloggers in the blogosphere are doubtless typing away in merry abandonment under the guise of anonymity. My worry is, is there anything as such? Should I make allowances of premonitions of some future official waving transcripts of an indiscreet blogpost while typing something reactionary? Should I do second thinking while discussing non conventional topics with an acquaintance in IRC?

Seeing as I am interested in Cyber Policing myself, it would be interesting if this blog post on Cyber Policing is waved in front of me as an evidence of intransigence and indiscretion in a future job interview!! :D

Day 11 - Revelation

It is a cloudless night at Badrinath. The remote pilgrimage town is under the benign glow of the towering Mt. Neelakanta, shimmering in the bright moonlight. However I am not able to see this divine sight. Nor can I hear the lolling melodies of countless temple bells tolling in the beautifully lighted temple by the river. Neither am I able to smell that beautiful fresh air which is wafting from the mountain.

The long journey from Ernakulam to Badrinath terminated in a moment of breathlessness as I gained the first sight of the beautiful valley, shepherded by the massive snow clad peaks of Himalayas. The spartan accommodations at the ashram I stayed and the wheezy breathlessness of the thin mountain air did not however dampen my excitement at arriving at Badrinath. The weariness and cramps of the long bus ride from Haridwar was soothed to a measure by a bath in blistering hot waters of the natural springs that abound in this region.

Piety in a hitherto unexpressed measure enveloped me in my numerous visits to the temple to pray to the Lord. The throngs of people coming to see a glimpse of the Lord did nothing to mar the serenity that seemed to engulf this confirmed introvert.

Then there was the trek to Mana village, a quaint and charming little village a few kilometers further north towards Tibet border. Drawing from my fading memories of Vaishno Devi I had procured a sturdy staff for the trek through the winding road between countless Ashrams set in very serene ambience. I learned that the little village is mostly a shopping experience so I did not linger here for long and soon crossed the river which was now only a miniature reminder of the torrent that I passed by in the lower valleys.

This is the route for the trek towards Vasudhara Falls and the route towards Gangothri glacier and Kedarnath trek. In my so called "peak" physical conditioning I did not trust myself to make this trip.

So I set out for my main objective for the trip - the Satopath Glacier and Mt. Neelkanth. The snow clad mountain had caught my fancy during the painstaking reconnaissance I conducted using Google Earth and it has always been my dream to visit such a snow clad mountain, to see the glaciers of Himalaya before it is too late.

However at this point of time, I realize I cannot, I must not write about this experience.

It has always been my experience that if I ever fantasize about something, it gets jinxed, it never happens. Since most of my fantasies are of rather extravagant nature, this is of no problem, but here is a fantasy which I fully intend to relive. Hence I shall desist myself from fantasizing about my experiences in Mt. Neelkanth.

Bada Bing Boosh.

Yes. This entire series of narrative/travelogue is a work of fiction. A work of desperation by a wander lusty person destined to be confined to his home for an indefinable extent of time. This is the product of hours of fantasizing over Google earth and its vibrant imagery.

This is a blog post that has been directly caused by the remarkable experience of a particular Google Earth route tour I made, a depiction of a fantasy to drive from my home to Badrinath over a distance of 2,977 kilometers (yes, distance too has been plotted by Google Earth).

So before I am accused of being a shameless unpaid / unsolicited advertisement of Google Earth, I apologize to anyone who felt I had actually undertaken this journey. The facts mentioned in this narrative are true, the wonders of internet gives us a plethora of information to enable us to plan any trip, any where to the last rupee (dollar to Non Indians, :P). The sad thing is that despite such facilities being available, one is constrained from traveling.

I do however promise this, when I actually make this journey I shall endeavor to create an even more colorful narrative of it. I only hope that by the time I get to travel to these places Global Warming would not have robbed the snowy whiteness of these mountains and glaciers.

Well if that happens, I still have my fantasy world to sink into! :)