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.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Friday, June 11, 2010
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"
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"
Thursday, June 3, 2010
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
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
Friday, May 28, 2010
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! :)
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! :)
Friday, May 21, 2010
Day 4 - A road through Mountains
I think I would start off by congratulating myself for the dexterous feat I accomplished just to facilitate this blog post. After all managing to balance a laptop in the confined space of a bus is no mean feat for an Obelix'esque person like me. Really glad to find Airtel range here.
The bus has now stopped at Srinagar, a nice little town by the banks of Alakananda River. All today morning I had been looking to find a place with decent range to post this. No idea how range would be at my destination and besides yesterday's accounts must be stored.
Yesterday I reached New Delhi Railway Station at 1.30 PM in the afternoon. It was blistering hot. I had forgotten how hot New Delhi could be in May, but of course I was reminded of that tiny little fact in a mega hurry. After hurriedly jumping out of train lugging my backpack and grip my first order of business was to find out where the Utkal Express is coming. This would be a true test of the punctuality and truthfulness of the IRCTC website. Having reached Delhi Railway Station at 1330 at 1445 I was to board this train to reach my next point in this journey, Haridwar.
The first person I saw at the platform was a Police guy. I asked him and all I received was a confused stare. Rather than worrying about whether I had spoken in Hindi or English I immediately hailed Tea vendor walking by. Now this person was more helpful and soon I made my mad dash across the station to the platform where the train had to come.
Thank God that I was well in time. 30 minutes of waiting later the train slowly chugged into the platform and was comfortably seated in my Sleeper Class compartment. Though there was no chance of me having to sleep for this leg of journey I had guessed that it would be better to get a proper sleeper ticket than waging my health and sanity in a sitting or general compartment.
The train ride from New Delhi to Haridwar was rather unremarkable. Field stretching as far as eye can see, glimpses of rural agrarian life that quite never change with the passage of centuries, though occasional SUVs stand testament to the prosperity of these areas.
It was night about 8.45 when I reached Haridwar Railway Station. Along with the cohorts of commuters returning home after a day of work I got off the station. This would be the end of my train borne travel in this trip.
Passing by a dried up pool with a massive bust of Lord Shiva looking towards the distant mountains, I crossed the road and walked the few meters to the Central Bus Stand. At this time the station was idling to a halt. I walked up to the office and enquired about the first bus to my destination - 5 AM. Second Bus? 6 AM.
Well nothing to be done other than try to get a few hours of sleep. Having planned the trip in some detail I had already made enquiries at the Rahi Motel, a government run facility which is quite near the Railway Station and Bus Stand. Since this is a Government run hotel and since I would be there for barely a few hours, I did not book myself a room, rather I booked myself a dormitory bed. After having a hurried dinner at the attached restaurant, I took a bath in the frigid water and was off to sleep. Having secured my bags with chains to the bed's foot, my head barely made contact with the pillow when the "Evil Laughter" ringtone of my mobile phone woke me up at 4 AM in the morning.
Hardly comprehending where I was and what I was doing, in the memory of being in my bed at home I was about to deactivate the alarm and get back to sleep when my awareness caught up. Yesterday I had arranged with the attender with a reminder of 10 rupees to wake me at 0415 if I did not wake up by myself. A 0415 the helpful savant was promptly in the dorm and I thanked him with another 10 rupees which I hope made his day, because he for one set off happily to fetch me some tea.
Since hot water would be available only at 7AM, I had another bath in the freezing cold water. My chattering teeth and shivering limbs would have woken up the other people sleeping but I dressed fast and welcomed with great thanks the steaming cup of cardamom tea the attender brought me. At 0430 I had settled my dues and walked the few meters to the Bus stand.
The sweater I was wearing and the scarf I had around my head was very helpful in the early morning cold. Breathing light puffs of air reminiscent of the smoking I quit some months back, I walked into the station, bought the ticket standing in a short queue and boarded the bus.
Having reconned the route through the beloved Google Earth I knew that a window seat towards the right would be the best. Unfortunately the seat, though comfortably cushioned did not have much leg space. Condemning myself to a long drive with cramped legs I stowed my grip on the over head luggage area and kept my backpack under my knees and waited for the bus to start.
Breakfast at Devprayag was picturesque affair. The town at the confluence of Bhagirathi and Alakananda, two legendary tributaries of River Ganga was first seen as the road wound by a terraced hill. Nestled at the foothills of green clad mountain, this is the point from which River Ganga officially is formed from its main tributaries. The drive towards the town gave several beautiful vantages which made me bemoan my woeful lack of a good camera. Somehow I knew that the pitiable camera on my Karbonn K10, the poor man's Blackberry or the poor man's Koratty (QWERTY) phone would not do justice to this vision. The incredibly tasty Poori Masala at the bus's breakfast stop was a fitting accompaniment to the beautiful town.
Several more kilometers of picturesque mountain roads, with the River Alakananda to the right and sheer walls of mountains to the left now I am here at Srinagar. A rather unremarkable North Indian Thali meal having been consumed now I am sitting in my seat waiting for the bus to start. I am halfway on the last leg of my onward journey, a journey of 312 km of which around 185 kilometers is still ahead of me.
I am sure that this last leg would be the most picturesque of my travel.
The bus has now stopped at Srinagar, a nice little town by the banks of Alakananda River. All today morning I had been looking to find a place with decent range to post this. No idea how range would be at my destination and besides yesterday's accounts must be stored.
Yesterday I reached New Delhi Railway Station at 1.30 PM in the afternoon. It was blistering hot. I had forgotten how hot New Delhi could be in May, but of course I was reminded of that tiny little fact in a mega hurry. After hurriedly jumping out of train lugging my backpack and grip my first order of business was to find out where the Utkal Express is coming. This would be a true test of the punctuality and truthfulness of the IRCTC website. Having reached Delhi Railway Station at 1330 at 1445 I was to board this train to reach my next point in this journey, Haridwar.
The first person I saw at the platform was a Police guy. I asked him and all I received was a confused stare. Rather than worrying about whether I had spoken in Hindi or English I immediately hailed Tea vendor walking by. Now this person was more helpful and soon I made my mad dash across the station to the platform where the train had to come.
Thank God that I was well in time. 30 minutes of waiting later the train slowly chugged into the platform and was comfortably seated in my Sleeper Class compartment. Though there was no chance of me having to sleep for this leg of journey I had guessed that it would be better to get a proper sleeper ticket than waging my health and sanity in a sitting or general compartment.
The train ride from New Delhi to Haridwar was rather unremarkable. Field stretching as far as eye can see, glimpses of rural agrarian life that quite never change with the passage of centuries, though occasional SUVs stand testament to the prosperity of these areas.
It was night about 8.45 when I reached Haridwar Railway Station. Along with the cohorts of commuters returning home after a day of work I got off the station. This would be the end of my train borne travel in this trip.
Passing by a dried up pool with a massive bust of Lord Shiva looking towards the distant mountains, I crossed the road and walked the few meters to the Central Bus Stand. At this time the station was idling to a halt. I walked up to the office and enquired about the first bus to my destination - 5 AM. Second Bus? 6 AM.
Well nothing to be done other than try to get a few hours of sleep. Having planned the trip in some detail I had already made enquiries at the Rahi Motel, a government run facility which is quite near the Railway Station and Bus Stand. Since this is a Government run hotel and since I would be there for barely a few hours, I did not book myself a room, rather I booked myself a dormitory bed. After having a hurried dinner at the attached restaurant, I took a bath in the frigid water and was off to sleep. Having secured my bags with chains to the bed's foot, my head barely made contact with the pillow when the "Evil Laughter" ringtone of my mobile phone woke me up at 4 AM in the morning.
Hardly comprehending where I was and what I was doing, in the memory of being in my bed at home I was about to deactivate the alarm and get back to sleep when my awareness caught up. Yesterday I had arranged with the attender with a reminder of 10 rupees to wake me at 0415 if I did not wake up by myself. A 0415 the helpful savant was promptly in the dorm and I thanked him with another 10 rupees which I hope made his day, because he for one set off happily to fetch me some tea.
Since hot water would be available only at 7AM, I had another bath in the freezing cold water. My chattering teeth and shivering limbs would have woken up the other people sleeping but I dressed fast and welcomed with great thanks the steaming cup of cardamom tea the attender brought me. At 0430 I had settled my dues and walked the few meters to the Bus stand.
The sweater I was wearing and the scarf I had around my head was very helpful in the early morning cold. Breathing light puffs of air reminiscent of the smoking I quit some months back, I walked into the station, bought the ticket standing in a short queue and boarded the bus.
Having reconned the route through the beloved Google Earth I knew that a window seat towards the right would be the best. Unfortunately the seat, though comfortably cushioned did not have much leg space. Condemning myself to a long drive with cramped legs I stowed my grip on the over head luggage area and kept my backpack under my knees and waited for the bus to start.
Breakfast at Devprayag was picturesque affair. The town at the confluence of Bhagirathi and Alakananda, two legendary tributaries of River Ganga was first seen as the road wound by a terraced hill. Nestled at the foothills of green clad mountain, this is the point from which River Ganga officially is formed from its main tributaries. The drive towards the town gave several beautiful vantages which made me bemoan my woeful lack of a good camera. Somehow I knew that the pitiable camera on my Karbonn K10, the poor man's Blackberry or the poor man's Koratty (QWERTY) phone would not do justice to this vision. The incredibly tasty Poori Masala at the bus's breakfast stop was a fitting accompaniment to the beautiful town.
Several more kilometers of picturesque mountain roads, with the River Alakananda to the right and sheer walls of mountains to the left now I am here at Srinagar. A rather unremarkable North Indian Thali meal having been consumed now I am sitting in my seat waiting for the bus to start. I am halfway on the last leg of my onward journey, a journey of 312 km of which around 185 kilometers is still ahead of me.
I am sure that this last leg would be the most picturesque of my travel.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Day Two - Memories
Today was a day of memories and quiet reflection. After all what else is one supposed to when cooped up inside a railway compartment?
I had checked the timetable in wiki and had also confirmed with the Ticket Inspector that we would be reaching Vijayawada at around 10.15 today morning. The greenish daylight streaming through the tinted glass of the window woke up me a long before that and I readied myself for a ritual I would be continuing after a gap of 16 or so years.
Until my fifth standard when I joined my school, the Bhavan's Vidya Mandir at Eroor, Tripunithura I used to live at New Delhi. Father was employed at Indian Airlines there and mother did her post graduation studies there. Until the last few years of my life a Dilli walla, as my maternal grandpa used to call me, the annual train ride from Delhi to Kerala and back was a routine affair. In the last years, viz, 1993, 1994 and 1995 the journey was made through flight.
However those train rides are amongst the most memorable events of my childhood. It was a tradition taught to me by my father that whenever we go through the railway bridge over River Krishna near Vijayawada Station we throw coins into the river. Mostly it was done from the window, but I do have a vague memory of a frightening throw from the open door of the compartment. Only once did I miss throwing of the coins and it marred my mood for the rest of the journey.
This time as a hefty heavy 24 year old, no more being a pussy and throwing the coin from the window. Besides windows in AC compartments can't be opened. So there I stood by the open door of the slowing train looking into the vast river below me. The sound of the echoing wheels magnified by the resonance of river bed was a scintillating experience. Adventurous I might purport myself to be, but foolhardy I am not, so it was only after maintaining a firm grip and even firmer foothold that I flung the 2 rupee coin to the depths of the river, hopefully never to be touched by a human hand again. Hopefully.
As I returned back to my seat and looked around at my fellow passengers settling down for the day, I thought back towards the various memories associated with these trips. Back then I was supposed to be a boisterous and rather cheeky little devil, insinuations I strongly oppose with threats of libel nowadays. But it was a truth that I mingled a lot more with people. I remember the Air Force guy who was the split image of movie star Mammootty. I had actually thought it was the legendary "Woody Shoveler" himself that I felt too intimidated to approach him. Finally collecting whatever courage I had at my 6 years of age, I went and talked to him. Turned out he is an Air Force guy, a Malayali going back home. For the next three days we were inseparable, always talking to each other, going to my parents only for food and sleep. I still remember him showing me his driving license which had him as an unrecognizable teen with a shaven head. Wonder where he is now!
Then of course there is that interesting young couple whose supposedly mysterious antics have revealed themselves to me as an adult. At that time, I just thought them such a nice and charming "Chetan" (brother) and "Chechi" (sister) who were both sleeping on the same middle berth. How uncomfortable! Why couldn't they sleep in their own individual berths? They would have been so much more comfortable. These puzzling questions are now revealed to the merriment of my dirty mind.
Another memory is that of the two youth with whom I had developed a great friendship. However since this bonhomie caused me to forget and miss throwing the coin into River Krishna, as mentioned earlier I was sullen forthwith.
All these memories of a long past childhood is awakened in me by the day's journey. The boisterousness that I was accused of having back then has long been extinct.
Rest of the day was spent mainly sleeping, reading and generally day dreaming by me. Only in the past few minutes have I been able to access the net. Apparently the glories to Airtel did not reach their headquarters. Might as well catch a few more winks as tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.
I had checked the timetable in wiki and had also confirmed with the Ticket Inspector that we would be reaching Vijayawada at around 10.15 today morning. The greenish daylight streaming through the tinted glass of the window woke up me a long before that and I readied myself for a ritual I would be continuing after a gap of 16 or so years.
Until my fifth standard when I joined my school, the Bhavan's Vidya Mandir at Eroor, Tripunithura I used to live at New Delhi. Father was employed at Indian Airlines there and mother did her post graduation studies there. Until the last few years of my life a Dilli walla, as my maternal grandpa used to call me, the annual train ride from Delhi to Kerala and back was a routine affair. In the last years, viz, 1993, 1994 and 1995 the journey was made through flight.
However those train rides are amongst the most memorable events of my childhood. It was a tradition taught to me by my father that whenever we go through the railway bridge over River Krishna near Vijayawada Station we throw coins into the river. Mostly it was done from the window, but I do have a vague memory of a frightening throw from the open door of the compartment. Only once did I miss throwing of the coins and it marred my mood for the rest of the journey.
This time as a hefty heavy 24 year old, no more being a pussy and throwing the coin from the window. Besides windows in AC compartments can't be opened. So there I stood by the open door of the slowing train looking into the vast river below me. The sound of the echoing wheels magnified by the resonance of river bed was a scintillating experience. Adventurous I might purport myself to be, but foolhardy I am not, so it was only after maintaining a firm grip and even firmer foothold that I flung the 2 rupee coin to the depths of the river, hopefully never to be touched by a human hand again. Hopefully.
As I returned back to my seat and looked around at my fellow passengers settling down for the day, I thought back towards the various memories associated with these trips. Back then I was supposed to be a boisterous and rather cheeky little devil, insinuations I strongly oppose with threats of libel nowadays. But it was a truth that I mingled a lot more with people. I remember the Air Force guy who was the split image of movie star Mammootty. I had actually thought it was the legendary "Woody Shoveler" himself that I felt too intimidated to approach him. Finally collecting whatever courage I had at my 6 years of age, I went and talked to him. Turned out he is an Air Force guy, a Malayali going back home. For the next three days we were inseparable, always talking to each other, going to my parents only for food and sleep. I still remember him showing me his driving license which had him as an unrecognizable teen with a shaven head. Wonder where he is now!
Then of course there is that interesting young couple whose supposedly mysterious antics have revealed themselves to me as an adult. At that time, I just thought them such a nice and charming "Chetan" (brother) and "Chechi" (sister) who were both sleeping on the same middle berth. How uncomfortable! Why couldn't they sleep in their own individual berths? They would have been so much more comfortable. These puzzling questions are now revealed to the merriment of my dirty mind.
Another memory is that of the two youth with whom I had developed a great friendship. However since this bonhomie caused me to forget and miss throwing the coin into River Krishna, as mentioned earlier I was sullen forthwith.
All these memories of a long past childhood is awakened in me by the day's journey. The boisterousness that I was accused of having back then has long been extinct.
Rest of the day was spent mainly sleeping, reading and generally day dreaming by me. Only in the past few minutes have I been able to access the net. Apparently the glories to Airtel did not reach their headquarters. Might as well catch a few more winks as tomorrow is going to be a very busy day.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Day One - Start
The train is chugging on to Coimbatore Railway Station. Already my stomach is grumbling due to hunger. The IRCTC supplier said we would get the food after leaving Coimbatore. Hope he is right.
It is officially 4 hours since my journey has begun. Carrying my trusted Wildcraft backpack and a shoulder grip I caught a bus to Ernakulam Junction, or as we Kochiites say, South Railway station. I thought of going by auto, but why waste good money for this short stretch when even more expenditure is in the offing in the next few days?
Ticket ready, I only had to wait for about 20 minutes when the Indian Railway gave me a rather pleasant surprise, the Kerala Express is 5 minutes early!! I am sure this would be one of those rare documentations of any train in India not only being punctual, but actually arriving early. Glory be to Mamta! Wish it was Mohandas, but alas it is Bannerjee.
It is after an extremely long time that I am undergoing such a long journey in train, that too in AC. As our inimitable Tharoor expressed to his sorrow, I am a patron of the "cattle class" general compartment or ordinary Sleeper compartment. However owing to the long nature of this journey, a 3 day leg from Ernakulam to New Delhi, I judged this to be a requisite luxury.
It has always been my observation that railway stations are vortexes where people from all walks of life can be seen. A train journey is in fact a microcosm of life. I dont know whether I have blogged about this before, but there you have it. You see people from all walks of life, you see so many interesting people, interesting sights and sounds, experience the overwhelming plethora of aroma that truly describes India in all its glory and vitality. However this cornucopia of experiences cannot be experienced from within the cloistered cubicles of AC compartments. Within the filtered and refrigerated air of AC compartments, where the world outside is separated by an insulated darkened piece of glass, there is a distinct separation which imparts a pall of gray upon the journey. No more hawkers, no more rain, no more sun light, no more smells of Chilli Bajji and open sewage, no more shrill cries of "Chaai, Chaai, Uzhunna vadaa, parippu vadaa". In AC compartments I have usually found that people are more stiff, despite the comfortable ambience. You would think that in the coolness of Air Conditioning and the inherent privacy offered by these exclusive compartments, people would become more freer. Unfortunately not as I observed around my fellow travelers.
There is this family, an uncle, aunty and two sons, one of whom is apparently being taken for admission into some college in New Delhi. Then there is this stern "Velma"ish girl who is traveling alone to who knows where and some business man guy, who spends all the time reading some MBA textbooks. I hoped the boys would provide some merriment, but alas, compared to them Vajpayee is a raving party animal. As is customary for all my fantasies regarding meeting cute girls in trains or buses, the stern visage of Ms. Uber Serious put paid to that. Rather unfortunate that even ocular enjoyment could not even be had in this case. As I said to a cousin brother recently, Paapi Chennidam Pathalam (Wherever a Sinner goes, Hell would follow).
Since there is no entertainment to be had from within the compartment, the speeding countryside through the darkened windows had to do. Standing my the compartment window and watching the sunset did offer a respite, but otherwise I had to depend on the laptop I "procured" from my mother to banish the boredom.
Since this trip is going to be rather longish, it would be reckless if I burn up the batteries on the first leg of the travel itself.
And now I hear the sounds of the supplier bringing in the food trays, and thus heralding an activity that takes precedence over any mundane activity such as blogging.
So paying a final tribute to Airtel GPRS which is helping me make this blogpost, I am signing off.
Wish me Bon Appetit. :D
It is officially 4 hours since my journey has begun. Carrying my trusted Wildcraft backpack and a shoulder grip I caught a bus to Ernakulam Junction, or as we Kochiites say, South Railway station. I thought of going by auto, but why waste good money for this short stretch when even more expenditure is in the offing in the next few days?
Ticket ready, I only had to wait for about 20 minutes when the Indian Railway gave me a rather pleasant surprise, the Kerala Express is 5 minutes early!! I am sure this would be one of those rare documentations of any train in India not only being punctual, but actually arriving early. Glory be to Mamta! Wish it was Mohandas, but alas it is Bannerjee.
It is after an extremely long time that I am undergoing such a long journey in train, that too in AC. As our inimitable Tharoor expressed to his sorrow, I am a patron of the "cattle class" general compartment or ordinary Sleeper compartment. However owing to the long nature of this journey, a 3 day leg from Ernakulam to New Delhi, I judged this to be a requisite luxury.
It has always been my observation that railway stations are vortexes where people from all walks of life can be seen. A train journey is in fact a microcosm of life. I dont know whether I have blogged about this before, but there you have it. You see people from all walks of life, you see so many interesting people, interesting sights and sounds, experience the overwhelming plethora of aroma that truly describes India in all its glory and vitality. However this cornucopia of experiences cannot be experienced from within the cloistered cubicles of AC compartments. Within the filtered and refrigerated air of AC compartments, where the world outside is separated by an insulated darkened piece of glass, there is a distinct separation which imparts a pall of gray upon the journey. No more hawkers, no more rain, no more sun light, no more smells of Chilli Bajji and open sewage, no more shrill cries of "Chaai, Chaai, Uzhunna vadaa, parippu vadaa". In AC compartments I have usually found that people are more stiff, despite the comfortable ambience. You would think that in the coolness of Air Conditioning and the inherent privacy offered by these exclusive compartments, people would become more freer. Unfortunately not as I observed around my fellow travelers.
There is this family, an uncle, aunty and two sons, one of whom is apparently being taken for admission into some college in New Delhi. Then there is this stern "Velma"ish girl who is traveling alone to who knows where and some business man guy, who spends all the time reading some MBA textbooks. I hoped the boys would provide some merriment, but alas, compared to them Vajpayee is a raving party animal. As is customary for all my fantasies regarding meeting cute girls in trains or buses, the stern visage of Ms. Uber Serious put paid to that. Rather unfortunate that even ocular enjoyment could not even be had in this case. As I said to a cousin brother recently, Paapi Chennidam Pathalam (Wherever a Sinner goes, Hell would follow).
Since there is no entertainment to be had from within the compartment, the speeding countryside through the darkened windows had to do. Standing my the compartment window and watching the sunset did offer a respite, but otherwise I had to depend on the laptop I "procured" from my mother to banish the boredom.
Since this trip is going to be rather longish, it would be reckless if I burn up the batteries on the first leg of the travel itself.
And now I hear the sounds of the supplier bringing in the food trays, and thus heralding an activity that takes precedence over any mundane activity such as blogging.
So paying a final tribute to Airtel GPRS which is helping me make this blogpost, I am signing off.
Wish me Bon Appetit. :D
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