The Motorcycle Diaries

Day 4 – It Has To End, Nah?

“Brijesh! Brijesh!” exclaimed Alpesh frantically, “There is someone in the hut!”

I woke up by the loud cry. It was 5:30 in the morning. From the corner of my bedside there came the sound of someone dragging the plastic bag full of the snacks. I put it next to the table fan before going to bed. It was pitch-dark and there was no electricity. I switched on the torch light in my phone. From the distance I tried to look into the corner to see if there was a rat or mouse which was searching for food from between the bamboo sticks. None was found. The dragging was stopped but both of us were afraid of checking the corner. The white plastic bag was hanging in awkward balance between the table and the wall. Satisfied by the prevailing silence, and more importantly afraid of going too close, I switched off the torch and went back to bed. The dragging was again heard after about 10 minutes, but was stopped immediately at my loud Shh….

The trip was coming to the end. After breakfast we again went for a short walk towards the waterfall. After coming back we paid our dues, had one last view of the camp and left it. On the way back, before Kejenta, there was another camp, the Udhal Mahuda Camp. We had time on our side so decided to go there. Udhal Mahuda was small guesthouse on top of a hill overlooking a river. The river carved its path neatly between the hills crammed on both the sides. There was a small machan and a bench at the cliff. The clear blue sky and the brown and green hills gave the water beautiful bluish green color. A boatman was enjoying his solitude in the calm waters. Two ducks were fighting and playing in the water. We had to fight the reluctance to go.

The ride back home was rather uneventful. The bike was cruising along the well-tarred roads. It was evident we were moving away from the forests to urban civilization. After Balasinor, we stopped for lunch on a roadside dhaba. Before some 40 km from Ahmedabad, Alpesh stopped the bike. There was no shade and the afternoon breeze was hot. I asked him why he stopped the bike there when there were plenty of banyan trees just 100 meters away. He showed me the distance meter on the bike. It read 0999.9. He wanted to see all the 9’s change to 0’s together. He dragged the bike from there until the meter read 1000.0. The slow motion of change was quite rhythmic. I was glad he thought of that.

After 4 days and 520 KMs of road travel, we were finally back. The bike dutifully went into garage to cool off. The trip which was almost called off the day before it was to be started turned out to be one of the most pleasant one I had been part of.

After the Sunset

The Bus for Amreli is on time in the evening. That is a luxury I rarely get to enjoy. But things are quite different these days. The luck has befriended me and it enjoys my company too. A little panic like situation is created when Alpesh announces that he has lost his two-wheeler keys. We try to find it in the bus but to no avail. The engine grunts, the wheels roll on, off goes Alpesh little worried about the keys and waves me goodbye. By the time the bus leaves Gandhinagar, he calls to say that he has found the keys on the bench we were sitting on in waiting for the bus.

I ponder over the events of last four days. I remember the butterflies…the waterfall…the bird that was the Indian Roller…the sunset. Those were the most beautiful things I came across. And they were free. Free as in freedom. Nobody can own them or buy them. Can anybody order a butterfly to flutter its wings…Can anybody force a bird to fly for his fancy…Can anybody dare to summon the sun to rise or set down according to his whim? The most beautiful things in the world are free…free from the bondage…free for all of us to receive, enjoy and be blessed with. And it does not apply only to the things of nature. What about the love and the care we shower on our fellow humans? Aren’t they free? Pity we run after inconsequentials all our life and refuse to embrace the true source of happiness.

In the end I have to thank the people who made this possible. Thanks to Pradip, without his idea the trip would have not been possible. Thanks to his father, who made sure we never ran into troubles. A special thanks to Alpesh for sharing the vivid dream and making me feel that the reality was indeed as beautiful. And a very very special thanks to the life, which again proved that when you don’t make plans, it comes up with the best plan for you. Live on!

The Motorcycle Diaries

Day 3 – Ramblings in Ratanmahal

We packed our bag after the breakfast since we were leaving Kevdi to go to Ratanmahal guesthouse which was some 30 KMs away. Jethabhai was in cheerful mood and cracked a few jokes. Unfortunately they were certified as adult jokes. We bade them farewell and left. I wanted to ride the bike so asked Alpesh to sit back and enjoy the ride. The bike was little heavy for me but to drive it was an awesome feeling – the sound of the engine, the wind blowing on the face, the trees and houses passing by in hurry. From Kejenta, the straight road made the way for the serpentine road with lots of ups and downs. The good thing about all those roads was that they were properly tarred and marked with white lanes even inside the forest. I have not seen such good roads in the other parts of the country. Gujarat can certainly guide other states when it comes to the road network. How comfortable it will be to have the same kind of roads in Kerala or Coorg!

At Ratanmahal Forest Office, the Range Forest Officer (RFO) suggested us to stay at Naldha Nature Camp which was not far from there. We got a nice bamboo hut there for cool 250 bucks. The camp was situated between hills and a river ran nearby. The food was tasty and the service was exceptional. We strolled around after lunch and watched kids playing cricket inside the camp. There was a waterfall which was reachable after a moderate trekking. We were told that it was 2 KMs away. On the way to waterfall, just outside the camp, there was a machan. We occupied the machan for a while and pretended that we were soldiers guarding the fort. But in the rein of the nature, there are no enemies. I thought I saw enough of the butterflies the previous day, but Devdi was a lone soldier compared to the army that was Ratanmahal. Plenty of butterflies of wide variety asking for your attention! I forgot that I was going to a waterfall. Alpesh had to literally drag me.

The trek seemed far more than 2 KMs. The climb was steep and heavy stones made it more tiresome. At one point we reached nearly to the top of the hill and still there was no sight of the fall. We almost gave up but what kept us going still was the sound of the water crushing the stones. We knew we were about to win in that game of hide and seek. Finally we emerged as the winners. It was a small but virgin waterfall. It seemed not many people frequented this place which helped it retain its beauty. The water was cold and we had no intention of splashing it despite having our swimming costumes with us. With the loud background music of the falling water, we recorded ik din beek jaayega.

We sat there blissfully, enjoying the all the Mother Nature had to offer. The hills, the trees, the water – Alpesh noted that these very things, the building blocks, are same everywhere but the way they are put together differs in each place. Or for that matter, all humans are of same composition but still no two human beings are same. The different patterns emerge, and they make the world beautiful and exciting. As Alpesh meditated, I sat quietly allowing the water to run over my feet. That was the moment when I could not help but remember Kailash Kher’s the Cherapunjee song - barse barse re ambar ka paani, jisko pee pee ke dharti deewani; khilkhilane lagi hai, muskurane lagi hai, bheeg gaya mera mann.

The descent was easy from thereon. We enjoyed nice tea at the camp. It was 5 PM by then and we immediately started for the sunset point. The RFO met us in Ratanmahal and advised us not to waste time because sun set early there and the 8 KM road to the point at the top was rather not supportive. We soon realized what he meant – the road was full of small pebbles, quite steep and winding. Not used to that kind of road, we almost fell down at one curve. Twice the bike stopped on the road and refused to move. Undeterred by the difficulties, we continued going up on the treacherous road. Later that night the RFO said that the bike Thunderbird was a royal maharaja bike and we should have not put it under that heavy stress. What I thought was that it was the beauty and the beast; only vehicle that could have taken us to the top with wanting for more. And don’t the maharajas carve their place in the history by fighting rough battles?

Halfway through the terrain became plain and easy and the gregarious bamboos crowded both sides of the road. They looked dry. The RFO explained that these trees flower after 50 years and then die. What I was looking at were the dead trees! A bird full of life caught my attention soon. I watched it taking flight from the empty riverbed. It was an Indian Roller – blue colored bird with brown and black beak and legs. It disappeared in the bamboos just after two seconds but I could vouch that was the most beautiful bird I have ever seen. My eyes searched it between those trees, but it was not to be found again. Poor me!

In the end it took great courage, caution and care to reach at the top. On the opposite side of the sunset point, there was a small temple. We offered our prayers first. The view was spectacular from the point. The hills were all spread across the horizon and giving an impression of camel humps in a desert. The sun was slowly going down behind the hills covered with green vegetation. It looked like a lonely sunflower in a huge farm. If before a few minutes, I was ready to give up my life for one more sight of the flight of the bird, now I was a sucker for life. Give me more…the sunrise, the sunset. The twilight made compelling case for Alpesh to meditate again. I was not ready even to blink lest the wonder wither away.

We had to leave the place involuntarily. The RFO gave the students lessons about the nature while we had our dinner. There was no electricity in the night. The camp ran on solar cells and they were discharged that night. We retired to our beds after a walk. It was the best day of our trip. We were rejuvenated. As the cook in the camp put in his own lyrical words – aav haala, ratanmala (Brother, Come to Ratanmahal).

* Photos can be found at: http://picasaweb.google.com/brijesh.gajera/Ratanmahal#

To Be Continued...

The Motorcycle Diaries

Day 2 – Walk in the Woods

I woke up at the sound of the knock at the door by Mohseen, one of the employees in the guesthouse. He came to invite us for breakfast. I opened the door of the balcony to feel the morning. The air was still chilly. The east facing balcony gave a spectacular view. The sun was coming out of the dense trees. Between those trees and the room was a very small stream. A group of swans was looking for the food in the water. Interestingly there were some black swans with golden beaks, which are hard to find. It was perfect morning for a lazy breakfast and tea with prospect of morning walk afterwards. But Alpesh thought otherwise and did not trade his sleep for the breakfast.

Mohseen was waiting in the dining area. It was a dome structure made up of wood frame and grass on the roof. While having poha as breakfast, I talked to Mohseen about the place and surroundings. Every year during winter, the forest department runs Nature Education Camp for the school children of the nearby areas. They are introduced to the trees, animals and birds of the sanctuary and also given lessons to conserve the nature. Hopefully some of them get interested in the diversity the forest is endowed with and come back to work here as grown-ups. That also helps to contain the problem of people leaving the bounty of nature for the urban dreams. One such group of children occupied the tents there and was currently out in the forest under the careful guidance of an official. I regretted the fact that I missed the chance to go with them but Mohseen informed me that the way inside the forest is well marked out and I could go inside without any guide. I sipped the tea enjoying the beautiful landscape of hills and the stream and set out for a walk. An army of guesthouse dogs accompanied me for the most part of the walk. I did not go much farther since Alpesh and I already planned another walk in the late morning.

I came back soon and took bath. While Alpesh got ready for the day, I sat in the balcony, reading The Power of Coincidence. He also shared a coincidence involving one of his pilot colleagues. Incidentally that man was a captain in Indian Air Force and was on routine flight on much dreaded MiG-28 when suddenly the engine failed. The seat was supposed to eject in that moment of emergency but failed to do so. The plane started descending at higher speed with high g-force. He became unconscious by then. The plane passed between two trees in the forest which had just enough gap to let the plane pass. It slide on the ground. At that point the seat ejection miraculously worked and he was thrown into a pit a few meters away. The plane exploded with clouds of fire spreading skywards a few seconds after. He was lucky to fall into the pit because of which he survived unscathed, without a single scar on his body.

We started our jungle safari on foot. The sanctuary is famous for its sloth bears, though we did not expect to locate one in the afternoon time. We climbed a hilltop to get the panoramic view. The rocky hills lined up on three sides. We also found out in the process that it was the only place around where we received mobile signals. While Alpesh talked on the phone, I climbed down and went deeper in the woods. The mahudo was the predominant tree in this forest. I did not see any animal, but butterflies filled my time completely. I chased the small and big, colorful and fluttery creatures to frame them forever in camera. It was tough job to do because the sensitive subjects of my affection fluttered away even at the slightest sound of the foot crushing the fallen leaves. In the end I managed to click a few good shots.

Alpesh joined me after finishing his call. We went further inside after those butterflies. It was already lunchtime and feeling obliged to feed ourselves, we turned back. The idea to shoot some of the songs we like struck us. I call us the Occasional Singers who need no occasions to exercise the vocal chords. Alpesh started with Rafi’s main jindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya while I captured the video. The next was Mukesh’s haal-e-dil hamara.

The afternoon passed in the rest after the heavy lunch. In the evening everyone was gathered near the office. It was time to see flying squirrel! I never knew there are flying squirrels in the world. The children were disciplined with a stick to sit quiet as the squirrel might be disturbed by the sound. The wait for half an hour yielded no sight, but finally it appeared, like a superstar turning out late for a show. I watched it gliding between the trees like those flying saucers seen in the alien sci-fi movies. There was a particular tree in the place under which we surprisingly received mobile signals. As both of us kept talking on phones for long, we did not realize that the dinner was already served. Jethabhai, the officer, scolded us gently for coming late with lessons of disadvantages of late night food. We ignored him though since we sighted lapasi, a popular dessert in this part of the country and hurried towards the food. We again set for one more shooting of the song – Mukesh’s woh tere pyaar ka gham. This one was hard to do as it was sad song. We had to change the location thrice because of the lack of proper lighting. But in the end the effort satisfied us.

One more day well spent. We soon fell asleep to welcome another day.

To Be Continued...

The Motorcycle Diaries

Day 1 – The Countryside

Alpesh came at around 9:30 AM and informed me that he mailed Pradip, fondly called Bapu, for more details. When he checked his emails, a certain mail from Pradip popped up. It contained the contact details of his father, who is a forest officer. When we contacted his father, we got more than what we ever hoped for. He arranged a stay for us in a forest department guesthouse, provided contact numbers of the people there, gave us the directions and highways we should take and places to visit. In matter of a few minutes the whole thing was set up. I am sure I would have not thought of that much had I been given a choice of fulfilling a wish. Extremely happy about the turnaround, we stepped out of house to find a good travel book and a map in case the need arises. That was my first encounter with Royal Enfield Thunderbird. That was some bike!

When we started packing, Alpesh suggested that we should put our entire luggage in one backpack. I thought it was not possible since I had only necessary things in my bag and it had no room for anything more. But then I started pulling out things which suddenly seemed totally unnecessary and out of place. It felt as if I was getting rid the burden off my shoulders. It lost half of its weight in seconds. That way we made only one backpack for both of us. After a nice homemade Kathiawadi food for lunch, we were all set to hit the road.

Off we were on the road. Instantly we realized that we had one problem. With helmet on the head, and heavy wind blowing in the face, it was very difficult to talk to each other. We had to holler to make any sense. We pulled off after only 26 kilometers, rather unwillingly, just before the start of NH-59 which goes directly to Indore in Madhya Pradesh. Since talking required hard effort, we thought why not to keep our tongues busy by chewing something. I tightened the belts of the backpack around my chest and stomach. I felt as if some octopus had monstrous grip around my body! There was no point complaining though – we had a long way to go and that was what I wanted.

The main advantage of going on bike, especially in countries like India, is the countryside you get to see. And if you are a pillion rider, you are in for a pleasant treat. Stripped from worrying about the road and the other vehicles, you can just look on the both sides of the roads and marvel at the sights the country offers. There were huge banyan trees with thick dangling roots. At some places the trees were so dense that you could actually play Tarzan act for a long distance. The temples are ubiquitous in India and are easy to locate with the flags on top of them. Then there was cricket –the game we play -which is as ubiquitous as temples, if not more. Wherever there is enough space for 22 yards, we have kids aspiring to be a Sachin Tendulkar one day fighting for their turn to have a go. Gujarat is a dry land and there is not much farming after the monsoon season. Farms are barren at this time, with only the leftover grass of the crop spread in small heaps. People sometimes cover their huts or houses with the grass, which gives impression as if they are made of grass. The highways in India are not actually made only for the vehicles - stray cows and dogs have equal rights over them and the poor pedestrians also. They even do not mind getting run over. They just refuse to listen to the horn and move away.

We took our next break at Godhra after 220 kilometers of drive. The light was fading away quickly and we had still some distance to cover. On top of that, we were supposed to go thru the forest so we did not waste much time in Godhra. Some time was wasted at a railway crossing going further. I also dropped the map after that and we had to turn back to fetch it. As the evening sets in, the wind got chilly. We were in the sanctuary now. By the time we reached Devgadh Baria, it was completely dark. Our destination, Devdi guesthouse, was still far away. The cold was treacherous now and I pulled out my sweater to save myself from freezing. That was first time in more than a year that I used it. Alpesh covered himself fully from top to bottom. We were very slow because of the winding roads and the cold. At 7:45 PM, we pulled off in Devdi Guesthouse with the sigh of relief and satisfaction of job well done.

We were obviously very hungry and the food was ready, so instead of going to our room, we headed for the dinner. We got traditional food of the place – the maize rotla, rice and kadhi. It was simple but very tasty. The guesthouse was newly built and we were the first occupants of the room. It had only basic amenities you require in places like these. It was time for friends’ talk. We hadn’t talked much during the day and we made amends for that in the evening. We talked about whatever we could think of – Chance, Coincidence, Luck, Success, Women, Love, Living in Present and Life. And when we were silent, we talked more.

To Be Continued...

The Motorcycle Diaries*

Before the Sunrise

It was Saturday and we still had no clues about our trip, which was supposed to commence the next day. Alpesh and I decided a month back that we would go together on a trip to some nice place in Gujarat. After a month the only things we knew were that we would go to a place called Ratanmahal in the east Gujarat bordering Madhya Pradesh on a bike. Alpesh could not contact Pradip -who suggested the place to us -for more details in remaining days. I had a bit somber mood on this particular day since I thought we might not make it to the trip. At one moment I even entertained the idea of dropping the whole plan – how in the world someone can call it a plan! But I was quite keen to go and sensed the same keenness when I talked to Alpesh.

In the evening my brother arrived unannounced with a couple of his friends after attending one of their friends’ wedding. A few moments later he left the house to drop his friends to the bus station. This would have been the inconsequential detail for this post had it not been for the coincidence of talking to his friend, Jaypal. As it turned out, they did not get the bus and came back half an hour later. From our chitchat, I came to know that Jaypal was familiar with Ratanmahal and surrounding areas. Jaypal ran me through the map of the area, showed the places to visit and the route to take. It boosted my confidence immensely. Had he got his bus, I would have not talked to him later and would have gone to Gandhinagar, where Alpesh lives, with little enthusiasm. Not that our trip materialized the way I envisaged it while talking to Jaypal. On the contrary, it was completely different. But the booster it provided to me was something I needed badly.

The day before, I started reading a fascinating book The Power of Coincidence. The book talks about the powerful coincidence we come across in our lives and their significance, and even how to increase their frequency for a better life. Let me confess – I did not believe in meaningfulness of them until then; for me they were mere events with statistical probabilities, however small they may be, which have very realistic chance of occurrence and they do occur at times. I saw no patterns in them and I thought they were beyond one’s control. Call it a chanced encounter, nothing more. The book changed whole of that. Within a day I experienced the coincidence, the meaningful one and powerful one. I believed it was a interference from a higher order, the universal soul as they call it. Belief makes it happen.

Late night I boarded a bus to Gandhinagar. The journey was uneventful except the fact that the weather was cold. Early morning, before the sunrise, I was at Alpesh’s place. He was returning back from Delhi later that morning. Marveling at the power of coincidence, I slipped into a dream world.

* This has nothing to do with Che Guevara.

To Be Continued...

The Ultra Dream

It is rather unusual to get up at 3:15 in the morning and still feeling gay and cheerful, legs more than ready to run at the first sign of GO. That was exactly what I felt today morning. In fact, since last many days, I was getting mad day by day as the Ultra Marathon event was approaching. It might be also because the same day I was leaving for my native place for a 2 weeks vacation. Whatever may be the reason, but I was feeling goose-bumpy and had a faint idea that the day was going to be a special one. Eventually it would turn out to be the one.

It took quite an effort to reach to the Our Native Village (ONV), the starting point of the marathon. Considering it was dark, and not many people were there on the way to get the help from, Gopal and Satheesha did great job to bring us at the starting point much before 6:00 AM, the start time for 37.5 km run. After a brief warm-up session, we were all set to go. It was still a little dark when we started. The 12.5 km trail consisted of 6.25 km going in one direction and then coming back on the same trail. We were supposed to finish 3 rounds of that trail. Around a km of the trail was filled with small stones, but after that it was a proper mud trail barring a 500 meters tar road. As the promising day lifted the darkness, I could see the vast grassland opening before my eyes on both the side of the road. It was quite a sight - small hills, grass dancing with the wind, birds taking flights and the heads of the runners appearing and disappearing in the grass on a winding trail! The grass smelled fresh in the morning. Another 2 km and we left behind grass to enter into the land of big trees, a kind of urban jungle.

After a while, I was at the 6.25 km mark, from where I took u-turn to go back on the same route. The tar road climb was steep there and quite tiresome. I was cheering those fellow runners who were going in other direction. There were some old runners, a few ladies and even children. Though running is a solo sport mostly, a runner still requires appreciation. A thumb-up, a clap or just a few words of encouragement cheer a runner beyond imagination. When legs refuses to move, and lungs get tired, a simple gesture like this can motivate a runner.

I saw 3 runners in my category finishing first loop before me. That meant I was fourth in the lot. That was quite encouraging! Prakhar did mention before the start that I stood a good chance to finish in top draw. I resolved to stick to top-5 for the full race. The good thing was that the weather was very supportive. There was no sign of the sun, but it was not humid also. These were ideal conditions for running. I kept on running, observing the surroundings. A foreigner, a cyclist, was waving at the runners and cheering them. He looked quite amazed to see the so many runners attempting ultra marathon. Another foreigner lady, sitting under a tree, was drawing something in a paper. I assumed she was trying to paint the grassland with the tree line and hills in background. When I came back to finish the second loop, she was standing on the other side of the road, showing the drawing to the runners. There were two red flowers in it, and nicely written Well Done. That was touching!

At the end of the second loop I realized that I was leading the pack now! That was scary and surprising at once! I was tired, hungry and thirsty now but buoyed by the new-found energy from the leader’s position, I somehow kept dragging myself without stopping much. The thought that Glory awaits you was my companion thereafter. I did stop at the aid stations to get some water or munch something. In the middle of the third loop, I knew that the second-positioned runner was about a km behind me. I met Gulprit on the way and he suggested me to speed up for last 6 km. But the climb was grueling and I was exhausted. On top of that, the knowledge that you are leading also kind of acts as a deterrent sometimes. The constant threat of the other person overtaking you lurks in mind, even if you know that he is lagging far behind. The fear is constantly with you, like your own shadow - it never leaves you. I don’t remember how many times I glanced back to see where exactly my competitors were. It was as if I was running with twisted head.

I saw Mohan C, Mohan G and Ambika cheering for me before the last km mark. I was sprinting now. When I crossed the finish line, taking long steps and hands extended in joy, I looked at the sky and thanked God. It was a long, 4 hours effort. In my childhood I used to dream that one day I would become a sportsman and win the big competitions in front of big crowds in huge stadiums. I even tried to get admission into a sports school but was refused. The reason: I was a slow runner. And today that dream came true. I know now for sure that dreams do come true, although they may not manifest the way we see them. But we are so much tied to the images we have of them in our minds that we do not identify with them taking different forms. We see less with the eyes than the mind. That is why a blind person’s life is not completely black. Tonight when I sleep, there will be more dreams. I will be waiting to see how they come to pass.

* Check more photographs at : http://picasaweb.google.com/brijesh.gajera/UltraMarathon2009#

Viaje de Vagamon (Vagamon Trip)

Dilip, my friend, who is settled in Australia, came to see me this October. He was keen to go for a short trekking expedition from Bangalore. I came to know about this place, Vagamon, a small hill-station in Kerala from a few friends. I decided to do something which I do not do often – go for a trip without any sort of planning. So there was no arrangement for transportation till the day he landed in Bangalore and there was no place booked in Vagamon to stay. The next day evening we went to get the bus tickets at 4:30 PM for 6:00 PM bus to Kottayam, a place 40 km from Vagamon. Fortunately (or not so, based on which side you end up after reading this) we got the last two seats available in the bus. After two hours we were on the way to Kottayam, chatting happily in those seats in last row which were far from being comfortable. Little did we know that this was going to be a rocking ride and the trip would be completely unimaginable.

After dinner, which can be put in the list of the worst meals I had, Dilip talked about life in Australia. This name, Dilip, sounds too impersonal; I would rather call him by his nickname, Golu. Golu freely shared his experiences from down under. We did not know when sleep got better of us, but a sudden high jump at a speed-breaker by our bus woke up all the passengers, and how well! Till then we did not know that the bus was a convertible which can give you flying experience without any kind of security check. We were flying inside that fly-on-wheels but the landing was not so smooth. Some of the passengers got pain in elbows, others in knees, and backs and where not. When I crash-landed, I felt some pain in back of my neck which was going to hurt me for a couple of days. I thought the pilot lost his license after that because the plane never took off again. The night was relatively peaceful and the next day morning we were in Kottayam hunting for a Vagamon bus. Surprisingly we reached in Kottayam two hours before the scheduled time.

After another two and a half hours bus journey, we got down in Vagamon. The weather was sunny and pleasant on the way, the ideal for the trip and we expected the same in this little-known hill-station. When I tried to call the person who could give us accommodation, his mobile phone was switched off. What a start! We enquired about the place where he was to be found, a certain Asha Sadan, and started walking towards it. There was a beautiful lake on our left with green-top mountains in the background. But rain started pouring in. Now that was not the welcome we anticipated and were prepared for. We had to buy an umbrella on the way. Six years in Bangalore, and I have never used an umbrella, and there I was, in Vagamon, barely within six minutes, holding it like it was my companion for years! The wind was trying hard to snatch the umbrella. We were lucky to get a home-stay opposite to Asha Sadan, which was at the footstep of Kurusimala Hill. We had lunch at a near-by place whose owner was the caretaker of the place I was staying at.

Vagamon has something very interesting – there are three hills: Kurusimala Hill which is a Christian holy place and has a Cross on top, Murugan Hill where there is a temple of Murugan Swamy and another hill which hosts a dargah of a Baba. Religious harmony on the hills! We started climbing up for Kurusimala. It was rather very easy hike of around 2 km. By then clouds had completely taken over the sky and they were resting on the mountains. We were surrounded by mystic and blissful haze; the only sound we could hear was that of wind. We could hardly see farther than 10 meters. I enjoyed that – not being able to see far beyond and see what lies ahead, and savoring the moment of peace and tranquility. Who cares where we are heading as long as the journey is enjoyable. The trail started descending soon. The intermittent rain constantly accompanied us. There were small streams everywhere, and water was trickling down below my feet. We drank from the streams. Remember the line in Rang De Basanti - maine jharne se paani maa taud ke piya hai? We reached to a dead end from where there was no way going forward. There was a house there and when we asked about the place where the Cross is, the man said that we could not have reached his house without passing by the statue of Christ and the Cross! We actually went past the Holy Cross without seeing it. A game of hide and seek in the mist! Golu found a guava fruit on the ground and started looking for guava trees. Eventually we traced the source of the fruit, plucked a few more by using the umbrella. That was the just reward we got for coming so long! A lady, watching us jumping in air for the fruits, started talking smilingly. She was speaking in Malayalam, I guess, which I did not understand. After a long and difficult conversation, I figured out that she was offering us a long wooden pole to get more fruits. This is something which I love about people in mountains. They are innocent, humble, happy and always ready to help. I don’t understand why such rough conditions make them so soft. Hardships may have their own ways to infuse softness in people. A little sunshine showed the Cross in complete light when we reached there again. It was there, in front of us. This is the thing about God – if you have clouds of doubts covering your faith, you can’t see Him even if he is right there, for us to see and be blessed. The balloon of faith flies high as long as it’s not punctured by a needle of doubt. There were a few steps to reach to the Cross. We climbed them and stayed on the top for quite some time. The wind blew heavily and with my underweight body, I struggled to stand upright. We set on the steps for sometime but soon slept, sitting there…just like that. A gang passed us by and we did not even notice that. That was the best 5 minutes nap I have ever had. The nap in the lap of the God!


We also had tea at the tea-shop there. The Murugan Temple was a climb to another hill from there and we wanted to pay the visit. It was a steep climb and as we went up, the wind kept getting stronger. The visibility was very low. We kept on going but could not find the temple. We set there for a while and filled our lungs with the air. Occasionally when clouds were cleared, we could see the mountains all over the place, erect like hump of a camel. Pretty sight…but the air was getting heavier now, the sign of impending rain. We decided to get down the hill and reach our place. When we were half way down the hill, the heavy rain started. Golu removed his shoes and walked barefoot. He had an interesting theory – he believed it rained only when he tried to take out his latest Nikon camera. The rain never stopped that day. To make the matters worst, even power was also gone. Golu was too reluctant to go out to visit an Ashram which was just 2 km away. We had nothing to do so we played cards whole evening. A little session of game after dinner and the curtains were down on the night.

The morning was serene. We wanted to visit the famous Vagamon meadows and the palm tree forest. We took a bus to the palm forest. We got down at a place from where we had to walk around 2 km. There were some tea gardens on the mountains. It was great fun to watch sun rays spreading over the green meadows...lightening up the trees. The houses, scattered around, were of different colors – yellow, red, orange, and pink, as if the flowers have flourished in the valley. Probably it was a way to identify their houses where everything else is green. The palm forest was on a descending side of a mountain. The most of the trees were straight, standing in order as if they were part of a great army. The light coming from behind made the trees more elegant. We were in woods! At that moment I pitied the man who derived the phrase getting out of woods. Why the hell the woods became synonym for troubles? Why do you want to get out of the woods when they are so beautiful? The only thing I could think of was a little poem:

Let me stay here,
Allow me to pray here;
To right the past wrongs,
And to sing the happy birdsongs;
Dear God, never let me out of the woods!

The sky was getting darker, a sure sign of rain. Golu, by then, was so much frustrated with rain that he decided that we would leave for Kottayam the same afternoon and then catch a bus to Bangalore. I was little disappointed that I could not stay for another day, but agreed with him. On our way back to Kurusimala Hill, we had to travel in a jeep. The jeep may not be a likeable vehicle in plains, but it’s a queen in mountains. It was fully loaded and there was no place to sit, so we stood in the back of the jeep and enjoyed the serpentine ride, though it was scary when the driver took turns. By afternoon, we reached to our home-stay, and had lunch and left for the bus station. Vagamon was beautiful, but a day was not enough. I felt like I tasted a very good food but too little, too less; the taste remained in mouth, wanting for more.

We got the bus for Kottayam in another 15 minutes, reached to Kottayam at around 4 pm and caught the Bangalore bus at 5 pm. Next day morning, we reached to Bangalore at 7 am, reached home, had breakfast and slept for 12 hours. I wish the trip ended that way, at least for the sake of poor Golu. That was not meant to be. Remember the prayer? Such a fast turnaround! It had never happened before. We waited for 2 hours at Vagamon bus stand to get a bus, that too not for Kottayam but some place on the way to it. From there we got bus for Kottayam. By then Golu decided to visit Mysore for which bus was available from Kottayam at 5 pm, the same time as that was of Bangalore bus. We reached Kottayam at 4:45 in the afternoon, and the Bangalore bus was there, not many seats occupied, but the Mysore bus was in workshop for some repair. We let the Bangalore bus go, but when Mysore bus came, we realized it was packed. Not a single seat was available. The 17 hour journey standing in a bus was not possible. So we were left stranded in Kottayam since all the Bangalore and Mysore buses were gone.

Golu was festered by now and dropped idea of going to Mysore. Somebody advised us to go to Coimbatore and catch Bangalore bus from there. We saw a Coimbatore bus leaving in front of us. Then it struck to me that we might try private bus operators. We caught an auto to go to the place from where we could get the bus. On the way the break in the auto failed! The auto-driver was following a bus and when the bus driver applied breaks, the auto-driver had no options but to change the lane sharply. In the process he drove the auto on footpath, if you can call it one. The stone plates were rough and ill-placed. The auto jumped twice like a frog and came to a sudden halt. Unaware of all these, I was typing a message on my phone and when auto stopped, I asked the driver why was he in such a hurry to overtake the bus? Golu looked at me as if he wanted to kill someone. I am pretty sure that someone was me! No doubt we did not get any tickets even from private bus operators. We had dinner in a hotel. The food was horrible, but I could at least charge my mobile phone! We went back to the state transport bus stand. The Coimbatore bus was at 7:30 pm. The problem was that the most of the buses had Malayalam or Tamil boards, not English boards. So we decided to stand at different sides of the bus stand, and kept asking everyone about Coimbatore bus. Finally we got the bus at 8:00 pm. It was crowded, and the seats were narrow and hard. 7 hours journey was difficult, but Golu and I tricked us a bit by playing Antakshari. We remembered all the songs we used to sing when we were in college. The ik din beek jaayega maati ke mol used to be our anthem. Pyaar hame kis mod pe le aaya hai was great fun to sing. It was 2:30 am when we reached to Coimbatore. Was there a direct bus to Bangalore? Nope. What next? Go to Salem first and catch the Bangalore bus. After 45 minutes, we could not get a bus to Salem so went to Erode which was on the way. From Erode we boarded Salem bus at 5:30 am. The sun was out after a goodnight’s sleep and we were awake for almost 24 hours. That bus, with its blue and green color shining seats, was full of commuters. There was not even space to move my hands. What pissed me, though, was loud music in the bus during that early morning time. Somehow we reached to Salem and got Bangalore bus in half an hour. On our way back we had very good breakfast on highway, which was the only good food we had during those two days. Around noon time we reached to Bangalore. The end of the journey, a long and hectic one.

That was an eventful journey, to say the least. Did I enjoy it? Surely, I did. It was enjoyable, if not comfortable. It was different; to go unplanned, wander in woods, unaware of what was coming, run wild for buses and the relief of reaching home at the end of it all. Beautiful chaos!

By Chance*

After working till late evening for a couple of months, finally, today the work I had been assigned to reached to a major milestone and I was relieved, and more importantly satisfied with the outcome. I decided to treat myself by leaving office early while the sun is still at work in the sky. I could not afford luxury of sitting idle though, since the coming weekend was looming with horrible prospect of my Spanish class exam. I thought of relaxing for a while and then start the preparation. The sun was sarcastically laughing at me when I left the office. I could not understand why, but when I reached home, it was evident what the God of light found funny. I gave my house key to the landlord the previous day to keep with him, and when I really needed it, he was not home. Where do I go now? The office is not the place, certainly. A mall…loud and suffocating. No way. Garden…surely…why not? There was still enough light and I had my Spanish book in my bag. The next moment I was at the garden.

A few moments later I found a bench in a peaceful corner and opened the book. I was trying hard to concentrate but a voice kept disturbing me from a nearby bench. A girl apparently was talking to her best friend’s fiancée on phone. She was indeed a glib talker. She was trying to get the man to come to the garden so that she could see him. Her friend was accompanying her but she had a passive, nothing-to-talk-about role in the whole conversation. Our active talker was completely unaware of the people around her. I wanted to ask her how could she switch off the world around her with such an ease but she did not stop talking for infinity! I was not finding it interesting it any more after a while so I put on my earphones and started listening to music along with reading the book. I could not write anything with the trembling hand and my heart was pounding at fast pace inside the chest. The heart kept going back to the man I met at the entrance a few minutes before. He was my first manager in my company, so effectively he became my first mentor in the professional world. He gave me a smile and enquired about my project. Behind his smiling face, there was an unmistakable tinge of sadness and worry. When I enquired about his work, I came to know that he was laid off 6 months back and he was still searching for a new job! That came as a shock! Here was a man who has worked in the computer industry for more than 15 years, had contributed to large number of projects and had quite an insight into the working of the industry, but he was jobless and clueless at that moment.

The same day morning, I also read a blog of a man who is a PhD and was handed over a pink slip due to recession and could not land himself a job after months of trying so decided to drive a taxi. He writes his blogs to share his vivid taxi-driving experiences and there is clear air of hopefulness in his writing. The fate has certainly delivered a rough hand to these two people. They are much more talented and deserving than people like me. That made me think how lucky I am. There are less deserving people in the same world who are more successful. A dear friend of mine once described such people as lucky bastards. He certainly had a point there if you can ignore use of language for a moment. What it also implies is that we may be giving too much credit to our own talent when success is mostly serendipitous. There is, no doubt, role of hard-work and perseverance along with the skills, but they alone seldom make for a winning combination. These two gentlemen might have great plans for their family and future, but what happened to them was beyond the limit of planning. Our nature is such that we try to see patterns where there are none. We think that life is like a farm where you can grow whatever you want the way you like, but life ultimately turns out to be a forest. Any wild plant comes up anywhere; there is no fixed pattern of growth but the wild. And the worst of all, wild bushes catch fire! Can we do anything about it? Maybe not. Except go wild, grow in wilderness.

* The title is my tribute to Pankaj Kapur for his role in Vishal Bhardwaj’s movie The Blue Umbrella, and especially for the scene when he delivers his speech after a wrestling competition, under his beloved umbrella, with the ending note “by chance”.

Death By Running

River Kaveri greeted me as I opened the curtains of the room of the resort I was staying in. A few ducks had already jumped into the water at a dim sign of the dawn. It was the perfect setting to have a lazy and relaxed day, but that was not what I had come to Shrirangpatna for. The Kaveri Trail Marathon (KTM) was scheduled to start after about an hour and a half. I left for the assembly point with my gang of enthusiastic runners.

People were flocking in, mainly from Bangalore, at the venue. We got ready for the run the moment the full-marathoners were flagged off. I had set target of reaching to the half-marathon mark (21.05 km) in less than two hours. Considering that KTM is one of the toughest races in the country, and my previous best time was 2 hours and 18 minutes, I felt that achieving the target was going to be challenging. A quote on a t-shirt of a runner provided some inspiration – I run because I can. It was almost like a stampede when race started as there were more than 300 runners running together. A cameraman barely managed to avoid the flood of the people. The runners were distributed in their respective speed groups after around 2 km. I got into my own rhythm now. For a company, I followed a few runners running ahead of me. The trail was part of Ranganthittu Bird Sanctury, and I got a glimpse of it when I spotted a solitary bird sitting on a leafless branch of a tree. Crows seemed to be in majority here and their cacophonous orchestra provided no entertainment. Occasionally one heard twitter of other birds. This is the twitter I follow – not the one on the Internet. The trail was fantastic – though difficult as the road was paved with small stones -with river Kaveri on the left side, and fields on the right. The water of the river, moving rhythmically, made pleasant sound, as if humming into your ears: Chalna hi jindagi hai, chalti hi jaa rahi hai. Water sustains life, and there was ample proof of it. The fields were clad in full green. A few ladies were washing clothes on the banks of the river. A herd of buffaloes was trying hard to get a little fair by taking bath in the water. A farmer tied both of his cows on each side of the road and I escaped somehow from getting kicked. I suppose they were furious because they did not get to see so many people frequently.

The weather was hot and humid. Though everyone likes to receive some appreciation and perform to the audience, the sun was the least wanted spectator in those conditions. The sun got bored initially with our relatively slow speed so hid behind some clouds and gave us some relief. Half way mark, we needed to take a U-turn. I was happy when I crossed 10 km sign. But the road till the turn was very steep, and it was tiring to climb up. I started walking there. I felt the distance was more than half km, the feeling which was shared by fellow runners. I gulped water after turning back. It took me an hour to reach 11 km mark. There was no one in the sight now. The faster runners had gone quite ahead, and the slower ones had remained far behind. I was a little bored and tired, but there was a long way to go so I kept running remembering Sukhwinder’s beautiful rendition: Main Chala, main chala, saath mere chale jindagi ka safar.

By the time I crossed 15 km mark, I was quite exhausted. The sun was out fully now, blazing, as if wanting to see photo-finish. Go away; this is not 100 meters sprint. All of a sudden, I started feeling cold in that scorching heat. That was dangerous because the cold signals weakness in my case. To make the matters worse, my head started spinning. It was difficult to manage two different motions – the forward movement and the movement of the head. Then came the fears. Fear of giving up. Fear of not finishing the race in 2 hours. The worst - fear of not finishing at all. After every step I wanted to stop. It became the game of will versus want. I kept dragging myself for last few kilometers. I had 11 minutes left to achieve my target and 2 km to cover. My body was a bag of iron now, and quite heavy at it. The clouds of doubts were all over. But that Sukhwinder song still played in mind - Hai dhuan hi dhuan, raasto ke nishan, har kadam par mere, haunsle hai jawan, meri manjil mujhe aa rahi hai najar. I saw the finish-line now. I started sprinting with long strides, panting heavily. The heart was jumping in the chest to get out as if I kept it hostage for years. The faces in the crowd started cheering. The final stride and I landed on the other side of the line. When I reached there, I not only cross the line, but also overcame all the fears. How many fears we live with. Fear of stepping on a stone and getting hurt. Fear of getting bitten by a dog on the way. Fear of society. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of consequences of our actions. Fear of ending on the wrong side. Fear of God! This is not to imply that I do not believe in God On the contrary I much believe in Him, but not because I am afraid of Him, but because of Him I have nothing to be afraid of. The fears are tamed. Fear no fears, friends. Go all out and pursue your passions like there is no tomorrow.

My stop-watch stopped at 1:58:41. With it I also stopped. I fell down on the ground and sat there. I felt completely giddy and exhausted and dehydrated now. A couple of people came to me asking if I was well. I requested them to get me some water. Unable to sit, I stretched myself on the ground. I do not remember when my heart skipped some beats, but after a few seconds when I woke up, I felt as if I kissed the sweet and sour death and came back. I felt no body weight. I was only aware of the conscious – and that too kept getting unconscious. After about an hour which seemed like an eternity and drinking liters of water, the life fully came back to me. That experience of near-death made me humble. How strange it is that death teaches us how to live. Think about it – a man completes half-marathon but cannot walk even 5 meters after that to bring a glass of water. I thanked all the people who helped me. Without them this blog would have died an infant’s death in the thought process itself. The KTM was a lesson in sending fears to graves, in experiencing death and escaping it. Call it death by running? Nah, I call it living by running.

It's Jungle Out There

Many joggers and runners greet us as we enter into Gandhi Krishi Vigyaan Kendra (GKVK) on the Devanhalli Airport Road. The place seems to be the favorite of early morning risers. And there are good reasons for that. If lush green trees on the both sides of the main road are any indication, this campus is no less than a forest. We park our car near the small temple. Three dogs are taking naps on the steps of the temple, unmindful of the warm-up exercises the runners are doing. It is the first time I have come to the place and I am rightly forewarned that there are many trails inside the large campus and a wrong trail may lead one running around the bushes for quite a long time! 

Within first 100 meters of our run, I realize the importance of that warning. Left or right? Which way I go? I decide to stay with other runners who know the track. After a while we leave the pukka road to follow a mud trail. The overnight drizzle has made the soil soft. We avoid jumping into small water patches on the way. The surrounding is getting denser now. Chirping of the birds make me take notice of them. We don’t care about that free music anymore. The air is fresh with the smell of rain soaked earth and green shoots. The trail becomes narrow going forward. The touch of grass and the water droplets on it sends a sensation up my body. Remember the childhood sensation of running your hands on the grass? Make no mistakes; the grass is greener on my side, or for that matter, on the every side. There are mango and chiku orchards, the sight of which makes me hungry. This is a perfect place to indulge all the five senses in. 

The trail again becomes wider now with downward gradient. I can see a Gopuram in the distance. We need to take right once we reach to the Gopuram. The road is closed there by a fallen tree. We get inside the chiku orchard to catch the road a little ahead. But what is this? It’s a massacre out there. Many trees are felled and made to bite the dust. Some lunatic has decided to make a wide tar road here. Such a mindless pursuit of urban amenity in this jungle! A crow, saddened by the death of a tree, is mourning at the root of the tree. Many birds go homeless when a senseless man sees a purpose in such a nonsense act. 

In the sudden attack of youthful exuberance, and to escape the murderous scene, I start running fast. The route is straight as far as I can see. But at certain point I have to decide which turn to take. I go right. Why? I have no idea. A dear friend says that though we think that we don’t know our soul intrinsically knows the path. It always leads us to the right path. We somehow block that sound coming from within and invite the troubles. In case the soul doesn’t know, there are other souls to guide you along the way, aren’t they? After all they are also part of the universal soul of which yours is a tiny dot. So am I on the right track? Well, it doesn’t matter at all. The soul knows. 

A Road to (and from) the Airport

Recently I happened to visit the new Bangalore International Airport thrice in a span of 10 days. That is no news but for the fact that it is more than 40 kilometers away from my home. Unlike frequent fliers mileage travelers accumulate and corresponding rewards, there are no road mileages earned on the visits to the airport. So I decided to record my experiences of those visits. I am putting them in reverse order. Surprising, you say? Not for a man who loves Urdu, starts reading the newspaper from last page, reads all the bulleted mails from bottom and for whom his friends say that his is the case similar to that of Benjamin Button. After all chronology is for our own convenience and we should not be dictated by the clock and the calendar. Here I go:

Three: It’s early morning, rather very early. I leave home at 4:30 to reach to a main road from where my friend is to pick me up. We are going to the airport to drop his mother-in-law. It’s very dark, cold and scary. None is to be found on the road. When I spot someone on the road passing by, it gives me mixed feelings of fear and safety. Paradox! A dog is a few steps away from me. I am much relieved spotting him there. Though he has a lame leg, I am more comfortable in his presence. A sound of metal striking on the road alerts me. A man is walking down the road with a stick in his one hand, but there is nothing to be worried about. He is in a yellow tunic, barefooted and having some flowers in his other hand. He is going to a temple for morning prayer. My eyes follow his path. Slowly he walks out of the scene, and the sound of the stick also dies down. There I see my friend’s car. I get inside happily. He makes me listen to crazy and funny songs on the way. Songs like Aaja meri gaadi me beth jaa. But I suppose they are a undesirable necessity to get rid of sleep. No traffic in the morning ensures we reach to the airport in 45 minutes. Once the auntie leaves, we sit outside on a bench. It’s chilly out there. Slowly sky is lit with dim light. I feel secure now, in the presence of light of dawn and a friend. We head back for home after a nice little chat.

Two: The clock strikes twelve in the afternoon. After working for a few years in Bangalore, a friend is going back to her hometown. We are almost running late for the airport. Somehow we manage to reach to the airport in time. She rushes to get the ticket from ticket counter, and then to withdraw some money from ATM. The time flies, literally, and it’s time to go. We bid her farewell and watch her disappear in the crowd. The feeling sinks in now. I am quiet than my normal self. I remember the times we had together, and think of the times we cannot have now. Farewell! Adieu!

One: It’s twilight. A friend has a connecting flight to Singapore from Bangalore. He has about three hours of spare time in between, so we decide to meet at the airport. When we meet, we have a little friendly banter. As usual he is full of energy even after traveling. We bust into laughter for almost everything on the earth. Laugh it out, laugh it loud. As it is the case with friends, we go back to past, relive the moments we shared together, remembering all that was good. We don’t forget bad things anyway. Blame it on our psychological tendency to attach greater weight to the negative outcomes. Losses always loom larger than gains. Finally here is that moment, the time to leave. Why time is asymmetrical? Why good time ends so soon and why the bad time never seems to end? Wrong questions, he would say. These ‘why’ questions are useless and futile. I still want to ask why. I wish him good luck, and in the process wish myself also for a longer time together the next time.

On my way back, I try to see the trees and houses along sides the road. They are but the ghosts, like the ghosts of the memory, like the ghosts of the past. The only clear and visible thing is the road. The road is the reality. As if it wants to say, life moves on. I smile involuntarily at sudden remembrance of Nida Fazli’s words:

ग़म हो कि ख़ुशी दोनो कुछ देर के साथी हैं,
फिर रस्ता ही रस्ता है हँसना है ना रोना है ।

The Butterfly Effect

Do not frown at me. This is not about the scientific phenomenon called the butterfly effect, though that in itself is quite a fascinating notion. It’s a Sunday morning which started with the usual happy feeling that I could read the whole newspaper without worrying about reaching to the office in time. But as it turned out, I am bored to the death after reading two newspapers without actually enjoying any of them. So here I am, in the balcony of the house, looking outside for anything which can charge me up.

The day is certainly not sunny. The early morning rain still ensures a bit of cold air, and the clouds have not yet thought of releasing the sun from their stronghold. The silence has invaded the scene; the only sound being the hiss of the trees in light breeze. To my merriment, a cuckoo does try to sing occasionally. A tree branch has extended itself till the wall of the house. As I try to play with the branch, I see a butterfly passing in front. I follow its flight. It keeps flying around without giving any sense of purpose. Maybe the flight is the purpose and quite a noble one of it – don’t we still dream of flying one day? And fly to where? Nowhere in particular, just for the sake of flying. Get me high, let me fly. What good it is to ask me why? Soon another butterfly joins the first one and they start flapping their wings fast to outpace each other. They go up and down in spiral movement chasing each other, which reminds me of the famous double helix DNA model of Watson and Crick. For a moment I think they are siblings -if you can use that word for butterflies – who try to catch each other in a game. The other moment presents the thought of them being lovers with playfulness part of their act of love. I get this strong urge to get the camera and shoot them so that I can show that spectacle to my friends, but I stop myself. There are reasons behind that. First, these butterflies are no different than children. They get your attention quite quickly, you enjoy what they are doing and when you get the camera to capture the moments, they throw all kind of tantrums to escape the lenses. You just can’t get them in the right angle! The second reason is my selfish motive – I don’t want others to see what I am looking at. They should come to know about it through my words. Call it the reward for getting up early. But isn’t that meaningless? The nature treats us all the same, I am another you and there are butterflies to be seen by every one of us. Not only seen, but to be loved. The great thing about the butterfly is that all of us can love it. More importantly, we need not to be apologetic for loving the same object.

I remember a Gujarati poem which I used to sing in my childhood – rangeela rangeela rangeela patangiya (O colorful butterflies!) To these days children perform on that poem. Even I danced on those words with my friends Bhavik and Pradip after I started working professionally. A child within never dies, I suppose.

My instinct says that they suddenly stopped flying because they somehow got to know about my wishful thinking. One of them is now sitting on the branch which I am holding with both its wings folded together. It is a brown and black in colors. Unfortunately it does not appear as beautiful as it was in its flight. It looks like a small branch of a tree which could never grow beyond an inch. There I see why the beauty diminished. The life, and beauty of it, is in dynamism, in certain vibrancy. Jump around if you cannot fly. Play… Dance… Sing…Love. Let the flow go. Be the flow. Needless to say, the butterfly has started fluttering again. This time the movement gives impression of whirling of a Sufi dervish. I am already counting my blessings for the butterfly effect.