'....but deep down she said to herself, Franz maybe strong, but his strength is directed outwards when it comes to people he lives with, the people he loves, he's weak. Franz's weakness is called goodness. Franz would never give Sabina orders. He would never command her, as Tomas had, to lay the mirror on the floor and walk back and forth on it naked. Not that he lacks sensuality; he simply lacks the strength to give orders. There are things that can be accomplished only by violence. Physical love is unthinkable without violence....' - excerpt from Unbearable Lightness of Being, by Milan Kundera.
The lines above i read today.
My last read expressions of higher portrayal of violent physical love belong to Ayn Rand's imagination. Not so much did they seem when i read them, as much as it came as a realization when reading a magazine article several days later (by which time i had grown out of it) which had three literary figures discuss the radical Ayn Rand, whose books my elder sister clearly quoted, and i remember - 'are not for the emotionally fragile'. And my then adventurous age of 19, made it into a challenge. When one of these literary men pointed at the oddity of violent and authoritarian love making, did i clearly see what had earlier remained hidden behind the cloud of hormonal rush.
The question still is what role does authority, pain, selfishness or submission play in love making. What is that fine line of self-respect that has been kept in clear sight by those who do? And if there is a greater past that hides a uniqueness to every individual, that makes each seek a separate balance, a separate combination. Or is it merely an unexplained expectation. It is eventually intriguing to imagine love and pain together, expressed physically, in the same drops of sweat.
These authoritarian expressions may not approve amongst those rooted in the more romanticized tenderness, respectful and free flowing river like chemistry of love making. But it still may belong to a space in their lives where they have carefully kept away everything that is labeled 'Attraction of the damned'.
And it is possible that these intricacies, amongst those who discover, would reveal a new dimension to the concept of mutuality, not necessarily through participation, but certainly by understanding.
More from the book –
'.......Sabina proceeded with her melancholy musings: What if she had a man who ordered her about? A man who wanted to master her? How long would she put up? Not five minutes!.....'
Such, is the human mix…
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Monday, November 22, 2010
Rickshaw Chronicle - But Different
There has been no dearth of tales for rickshaw chronicles. This blog is witness to some of those encounters. I face moments of anger, frustration and helplessness recurring at every ride I take. I doubt my own sanity and luck. The outcome had been consistent. But one case made an abrupt exception to my many experiences.
Somewhere around Juhu I stopped a rickshaw on the move who agreed to take me home. Drunk enough to still worry, I wondered how will I reach home this time? What would be his style? How badly will he speed? And would I take the effort to tell him something. Somewhere I got lost in the ride, a good song, and my thoughts. And then I felt the rickshaw stop. The driver turned to ask me something. I could not hear with my headphones on. So I wondered as I removed the head-phones and waited for him to speak again with a question mark expression on my face.
He was asking me – ‘Sir should we help them?’ I asked him – ‘Help who?’ to which he pointed my glare behind me to the other side of the road where a car had toppled with traffic and people all around. ‘Sahab hamien unki madad karni chahiye, ek minute rukkar dekh aaoon?’ (Sir we should help them, can I stop a minute and check on them?). I replied – ‘Jaao dekh aao’ (go and have a look). He went off, came back in what seemed like 10 beer seconds, and told me that they are fine. They were four men, and they were all fine.
I turned off my music, and in what I thought I ought to do, I enquired with him. Did he once topple his ride? No he said he had not. Then why did he so badly feel the need to help them? He said if he did, someday someone else would, ‘Agar hum kissi ki madad karenge, toh kal koi hamari madad karega’ (if we help someone, someone else will help us). In a statement he showed me the mirror and in it I saw a glimpse of humanity.
After a few more questions about him and a bit to him about me, I asked him where in India was he from. And in a reply that I don’t know why sounded appropriate, he named a city which for reasons I have no idea ‘sounds’ synonymous to certain human kindness. He said he is from Allahabad.
Somewhere around Juhu I stopped a rickshaw on the move who agreed to take me home. Drunk enough to still worry, I wondered how will I reach home this time? What would be his style? How badly will he speed? And would I take the effort to tell him something. Somewhere I got lost in the ride, a good song, and my thoughts. And then I felt the rickshaw stop. The driver turned to ask me something. I could not hear with my headphones on. So I wondered as I removed the head-phones and waited for him to speak again with a question mark expression on my face.
He was asking me – ‘Sir should we help them?’ I asked him – ‘Help who?’ to which he pointed my glare behind me to the other side of the road where a car had toppled with traffic and people all around. ‘Sahab hamien unki madad karni chahiye, ek minute rukkar dekh aaoon?’ (Sir we should help them, can I stop a minute and check on them?). I replied – ‘Jaao dekh aao’ (go and have a look). He went off, came back in what seemed like 10 beer seconds, and told me that they are fine. They were four men, and they were all fine.
I turned off my music, and in what I thought I ought to do, I enquired with him. Did he once topple his ride? No he said he had not. Then why did he so badly feel the need to help them? He said if he did, someday someone else would, ‘Agar hum kissi ki madad karenge, toh kal koi hamari madad karega’ (if we help someone, someone else will help us). In a statement he showed me the mirror and in it I saw a glimpse of humanity.
After a few more questions about him and a bit to him about me, I asked him where in India was he from. And in a reply that I don’t know why sounded appropriate, he named a city which for reasons I have no idea ‘sounds’ synonymous to certain human kindness. He said he is from Allahabad.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Bi-cycle Diaries : Kashid , The 110kms Journey.
It was 4.35 am on a Saturday, and I was sitting at Vikhroli station after two enquires to the few who waited with me for the next local train. I asked them where I should be waiting for the luggage compartment. That was because I had my cycle with me, which needs to be lunged into one, along with me. The cycle’s flickering backlight was on, which explained the constant stares from onlookers while I walked it through the platform, carrying it through the stairs till I reached where I was expecting the 4.38 local to C.S.T. There are obviously other reasons why people will end up looking at a fully geared up cyclist with his fancy blue helmet, and all that, boarding a train at 4.38am. This is India, and it is not one bit normal. I am not normal. To be content with 2 hour sleep and be up at 3.30, packing my little support kit with water, isotonic drinks, money and some energy bars to beat hunger, on my first attempt at cycling long distance, a 100 Kilometers plus.
I was certainly not normal, because I was excited. And excited people defy a lot of normal around us. Excitement defies a lot of normal in us. My excitement defied the reverse odds of the reality, that the last best attempt at cycling I have made is a mere 18 kilometers. I contemplated the impossibility, and I got a dear friend give me some pep talk to make me feel what I wanted to feel, that I could do it. And what is the point of yearning to pushing your physical limits if you first ensure that you would not really be pushing it, which is by slowly building yourself up to it, by training. It will not however be my advice to me or anyone else to walk into an attempt like this one without having ever reached the “I” of STAMINA (or maybe “M”, at worst). I had the stamina; just that I had never cycled beyond 18 kilometers before.
So I took the 4.38 local train, travelling in the luggage compartment, reached C.S.T station, and cycled my way for the first time from C.S.T to Gateway of India passing the best of Old Bombay. I reached there 45 minutes before the first Ferry left and waited for the other few cycling enthusiasts, who had planned this ride, to get together and board that first Boat to take us till Mandwa on a 1 hour long sea ride. From Mandwa we would all start the cycle ride till the beach of Kashid. This would be a 50 kilometer journey one way. An estimated 3 hour ride to Kashid followed by a lunch break and a ride back after some rest. I held off the one hour delay to the start of the entire plan from bothering me, when a few people did not turn up on time, leading us into catching the second Boat at 7.15. It was not everyone’s first exciting ride, so I had to rationalize the relative lack of enthusiasm. It did however turn out that for few of the riders this was the longest ride, just like me. What surprised me though was the big enthusiast who planned the outing had very specifically insisted on leaving on time (on the web site), was also the one who suggested that we wait for the late comers and board the next Ferry. But I guess one has to wait for your good friends. Not to forget that he was the only guy who knew the way, except another, who was late too. With luck and against some continuous suggestions of an alternative plan (if people are late or if the second ferry does not take us with our cycles) we managed to reach Mandwa.
For me going to Kashid was not just another excursion that could be altered. It was symbolic. Symbolic of the times when I had not seen any of a place called Goa; of times when travel with a group of friends was not something I had done much of; of some very exclusive and new memories; and in hindsight, of finding two of the very important people in my life today. Not to forget that it was the only light sand beach I knew of around Bombay, where on a weekend afternoon you would not find more people than what you could not count with your eyes.
After a quick breakfast stop at a small eatery in Mandwa, we set out riding. The idea of distance can be quite disappointing when with every kilometer requires expending your physical energies. Having experienced it on long runs previously, I kept myself occupied and away from that optimistic idea of distance by relishing the fresh air, greenery and the village & small town surroundings. But a young lad reminded me of it when some 9 kilometers into the ride he asked us if we have crossed around 20. That’s what it does to you. It makes you too optimistic of your own effort. But the beauty of a country-side ride is that for all your pessimism you can still look around and have the Nature cure you out of it, and filling you with a sense of purpose without changing anything in your life. This works even better if the best so far you have seen when you sweat are highways.
Road to Kashid could be described in three parts, so could be my effort. One till the time you don’t hit the by-pass, and pass by the most populous stretch of around 20Kms. This is where you see a mini town coping with tourism traffic. This may still be many times better than the city that I leave behind but it still is the worst of the three phases. I was still within my energy limits, controlling my ride, hydrating occasionally and coping with the pressure of keeping up with other riders; and eventually finding my pace while keeping my sight enough on a rider ahead to not lose my way.
The second phase is what we enter into after a few kilometers of taking the by-pass. These roads are winding surrounded by either greenery or villages. In a glimpse I struggle to differentiate this patch of 15 Kms or so with any interior belt of Konkan coast, Goa, or Kerala. The proof of it was that I was uncertain of my recurring dejavu. Coconut plantations, lakes, curling roads, mud roads heading into thick green, fish markets, withered electric poles, kids waving and tanned skinned locals are signatures of any Konkan village. This patch here however was called Revdanda. It also had in it a Fort that was broken in parts to make way for slim roads. The cemented road in this entire patch of Revdanda seemed like a reflection of an electoral promise fulfilled yet spoilt by corrupt construction contracts. My upper-back developed a severe muscle strain and an experienced rider told me that it had to do with the severely bumpy roads of Revdanda. The relative flatness of the terrain ensured I don’t feel a struggle while my body continued to drain. Somewhere on this stretch I also learned ways to stretch myself while still on the ride, and how a sudden rush of speed can hamper your smooth riding prospects.
The organizer of this ride later explained two keys to riding a long ride. First was that a long ride was not about riding fast or at different pace, but about finding a right pace and sticking to it. Secondly, a road terrain ride is all about using the right speed-gear on the right terrain.
The final patch of 17 or so kilometers is also the best and the most tiring of the three. After crossing the bridge and the popular land mark of Vikram Ispat (now known as Wellspun Maxsteel), this island hill landscape is the prize for all the effort put so far. With its steep inclines, ghats, stretched seafronts and its distilled air, I could feel the worth of my effort up-close. However, the struggle to simultaneously admire its beauty and handling your body can be still worsened at the thought of having to return the same way, after a mere hour or two of rest. This was also the phase where a new rider breaks, forces to rest, walks up some inclines & discovers that part he calls legs. The 12am sun did not help much to this.
The final sight of Kashid beach was a promise of rest & food. The beach on a Saturday afternoon did not look the same anymore. I could not count the people with my eyes. For the record I counted around 300. I did not feel like contending with a remark made by someone on its similarity to Juhu beach. For the optimist there was still half the beach that did not have the promise of food and banana boat rides, therefore keeping people away.
We had to make our rest break relatively quick, for it took us nearly four hours to reach, an hour more than estimated. And already having a one hour delay at start meant that we had three hours to head back to Mandwa to catch the 6.15 boat. To finish a return journey in three, what took us four onwards, with having rested lesser than planned. This part of Kashid is not new to me, the pressure of return on time. As much as one never wants to be in it, most travels end this way, in rush, with stress and under pressure. Acknowledging it, I would say, is better than fretting over it. And to our mutual surprise and thrill, we made back in time.
We took lesser breaks, just one actually. We rode with determination. And we rode like a bunch of men chasing a very specific and simple goal – ‘Mandwa in three hours’. Finally we rode like people do when they know that once they are done with this, they can rest and rest some more, because this was the last effort. We actually made it back in 2hrs and 45min. And I had time to sit in our breakfast café and sip a bottle of Thums Up.
I rode most of the return alone, in company of my watch. Towards the end an enthusiastic & confident middle aged man helped me with every stretched finger of his right hand when he told me that Mandwa was exactly 5kms away, before I rode two more Kms to realize that I had 7kms more to go. And there I got a taste of the Indian helpfulness & conviction that merely lacked accuracy.
Like a pre-written script, all the 10 riders found their way back just in time to catch 6.15pm boat, that waited till 6.25pm. I think I was the 5th to finish, which lost in significance to the bigger fact that I finished.
I rode back to C.S.T with a young rider, took the train to Ghatkopar and rode my way further back home, and that was the reason why I called it my 110km ride.
When I finally closed my eyes to sleep, to finish a day that started 20hrs earlier, I had two senses that reminded me of the extra-ordinary day, the clear sound of moving cycle wheel spokes in my head, and an undeniable sensation of the saddle between my legs.
I slept the whole of next day, with an empty head; like there was nothing more I wanted, needed or had the strength to do.
I was certainly not normal, because I was excited. And excited people defy a lot of normal around us. Excitement defies a lot of normal in us. My excitement defied the reverse odds of the reality, that the last best attempt at cycling I have made is a mere 18 kilometers. I contemplated the impossibility, and I got a dear friend give me some pep talk to make me feel what I wanted to feel, that I could do it. And what is the point of yearning to pushing your physical limits if you first ensure that you would not really be pushing it, which is by slowly building yourself up to it, by training. It will not however be my advice to me or anyone else to walk into an attempt like this one without having ever reached the “I” of STAMINA (or maybe “M”, at worst). I had the stamina; just that I had never cycled beyond 18 kilometers before.
So I took the 4.38 local train, travelling in the luggage compartment, reached C.S.T station, and cycled my way for the first time from C.S.T to Gateway of India passing the best of Old Bombay. I reached there 45 minutes before the first Ferry left and waited for the other few cycling enthusiasts, who had planned this ride, to get together and board that first Boat to take us till Mandwa on a 1 hour long sea ride. From Mandwa we would all start the cycle ride till the beach of Kashid. This would be a 50 kilometer journey one way. An estimated 3 hour ride to Kashid followed by a lunch break and a ride back after some rest. I held off the one hour delay to the start of the entire plan from bothering me, when a few people did not turn up on time, leading us into catching the second Boat at 7.15. It was not everyone’s first exciting ride, so I had to rationalize the relative lack of enthusiasm. It did however turn out that for few of the riders this was the longest ride, just like me. What surprised me though was the big enthusiast who planned the outing had very specifically insisted on leaving on time (on the web site), was also the one who suggested that we wait for the late comers and board the next Ferry. But I guess one has to wait for your good friends. Not to forget that he was the only guy who knew the way, except another, who was late too. With luck and against some continuous suggestions of an alternative plan (if people are late or if the second ferry does not take us with our cycles) we managed to reach Mandwa.
For me going to Kashid was not just another excursion that could be altered. It was symbolic. Symbolic of the times when I had not seen any of a place called Goa; of times when travel with a group of friends was not something I had done much of; of some very exclusive and new memories; and in hindsight, of finding two of the very important people in my life today. Not to forget that it was the only light sand beach I knew of around Bombay, where on a weekend afternoon you would not find more people than what you could not count with your eyes.
After a quick breakfast stop at a small eatery in Mandwa, we set out riding. The idea of distance can be quite disappointing when with every kilometer requires expending your physical energies. Having experienced it on long runs previously, I kept myself occupied and away from that optimistic idea of distance by relishing the fresh air, greenery and the village & small town surroundings. But a young lad reminded me of it when some 9 kilometers into the ride he asked us if we have crossed around 20. That’s what it does to you. It makes you too optimistic of your own effort. But the beauty of a country-side ride is that for all your pessimism you can still look around and have the Nature cure you out of it, and filling you with a sense of purpose without changing anything in your life. This works even better if the best so far you have seen when you sweat are highways.
Road to Kashid could be described in three parts, so could be my effort. One till the time you don’t hit the by-pass, and pass by the most populous stretch of around 20Kms. This is where you see a mini town coping with tourism traffic. This may still be many times better than the city that I leave behind but it still is the worst of the three phases. I was still within my energy limits, controlling my ride, hydrating occasionally and coping with the pressure of keeping up with other riders; and eventually finding my pace while keeping my sight enough on a rider ahead to not lose my way.
The second phase is what we enter into after a few kilometers of taking the by-pass. These roads are winding surrounded by either greenery or villages. In a glimpse I struggle to differentiate this patch of 15 Kms or so with any interior belt of Konkan coast, Goa, or Kerala. The proof of it was that I was uncertain of my recurring dejavu. Coconut plantations, lakes, curling roads, mud roads heading into thick green, fish markets, withered electric poles, kids waving and tanned skinned locals are signatures of any Konkan village. This patch here however was called Revdanda. It also had in it a Fort that was broken in parts to make way for slim roads. The cemented road in this entire patch of Revdanda seemed like a reflection of an electoral promise fulfilled yet spoilt by corrupt construction contracts. My upper-back developed a severe muscle strain and an experienced rider told me that it had to do with the severely bumpy roads of Revdanda. The relative flatness of the terrain ensured I don’t feel a struggle while my body continued to drain. Somewhere on this stretch I also learned ways to stretch myself while still on the ride, and how a sudden rush of speed can hamper your smooth riding prospects.
The organizer of this ride later explained two keys to riding a long ride. First was that a long ride was not about riding fast or at different pace, but about finding a right pace and sticking to it. Secondly, a road terrain ride is all about using the right speed-gear on the right terrain.
The final patch of 17 or so kilometers is also the best and the most tiring of the three. After crossing the bridge and the popular land mark of Vikram Ispat (now known as Wellspun Maxsteel), this island hill landscape is the prize for all the effort put so far. With its steep inclines, ghats, stretched seafronts and its distilled air, I could feel the worth of my effort up-close. However, the struggle to simultaneously admire its beauty and handling your body can be still worsened at the thought of having to return the same way, after a mere hour or two of rest. This was also the phase where a new rider breaks, forces to rest, walks up some inclines & discovers that part he calls legs. The 12am sun did not help much to this.
The final sight of Kashid beach was a promise of rest & food. The beach on a Saturday afternoon did not look the same anymore. I could not count the people with my eyes. For the record I counted around 300. I did not feel like contending with a remark made by someone on its similarity to Juhu beach. For the optimist there was still half the beach that did not have the promise of food and banana boat rides, therefore keeping people away.
We had to make our rest break relatively quick, for it took us nearly four hours to reach, an hour more than estimated. And already having a one hour delay at start meant that we had three hours to head back to Mandwa to catch the 6.15 boat. To finish a return journey in three, what took us four onwards, with having rested lesser than planned. This part of Kashid is not new to me, the pressure of return on time. As much as one never wants to be in it, most travels end this way, in rush, with stress and under pressure. Acknowledging it, I would say, is better than fretting over it. And to our mutual surprise and thrill, we made back in time.
We took lesser breaks, just one actually. We rode with determination. And we rode like a bunch of men chasing a very specific and simple goal – ‘Mandwa in three hours’. Finally we rode like people do when they know that once they are done with this, they can rest and rest some more, because this was the last effort. We actually made it back in 2hrs and 45min. And I had time to sit in our breakfast café and sip a bottle of Thums Up.
I rode most of the return alone, in company of my watch. Towards the end an enthusiastic & confident middle aged man helped me with every stretched finger of his right hand when he told me that Mandwa was exactly 5kms away, before I rode two more Kms to realize that I had 7kms more to go. And there I got a taste of the Indian helpfulness & conviction that merely lacked accuracy.
Like a pre-written script, all the 10 riders found their way back just in time to catch 6.15pm boat, that waited till 6.25pm. I think I was the 5th to finish, which lost in significance to the bigger fact that I finished.
I rode back to C.S.T with a young rider, took the train to Ghatkopar and rode my way further back home, and that was the reason why I called it my 110km ride.
When I finally closed my eyes to sleep, to finish a day that started 20hrs earlier, I had two senses that reminded me of the extra-ordinary day, the clear sound of moving cycle wheel spokes in my head, and an undeniable sensation of the saddle between my legs.
I slept the whole of next day, with an empty head; like there was nothing more I wanted, needed or had the strength to do.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
My Experience - New York I Love You (movie review)
Glimpse of lives that you wish you had, or you know you wouldn’t. Sprinkled with the magic of coincidence, the thrill of impulse, eccentricity that comes from loneliness or the entire weirdness of how some things could turn out to be for some people. Every story sits at a point where it is not too far from being believable, or close to being unbelievable. Brashness and charm which come with having no consequence, the ones that you transform into semi drunk, but relish better sober. Moments that set you into a trail of thoughts or a trail of silence. With glimpses of phases very different from where you stand, at a point where you may be sometime in future. Moments not even faintly worth being etched in history, but moments which seem like milestones in a life’s experience. Experiences so portrayed that you can reach out your hands and touch them.
New York, i love you too…
New York, i love you too…
Monday, September 13, 2010
The bang of Dabang..
I wanted the effects to settle to really know how the movie was. Because for the first few after hours post Dabang, the mood is fairly ecstatic to make you sound too much in love with the film. I never went expecting true cinematic work or award winning performances. The expectation I had was some entertainment, and that is what I got, purely that.
Dabang is an effective combination of lots of bits and themes that you can figure are copied from popular western cinema, which is then mixed with rural Indian nuances that have been crying out loud for someone to notice and create entertainment. You can't help but notice elements of Desperado (Music – Guitar), Matrix and Kill Bill (stunts of course) combined with item-song skill of Omkara, along with a heart-full of original entertaining dialogues inspired by rural India. And for those who have seen their share of movies from the South of India , it will be heartening to see someone finally doing a good inspirational job of capturing what makes them a hit there, rather than blindly lifting every scene, which is cultural essence. Not to forget the generous display of Ray-ban aviators to add to the already high levels of "Spunk".
The movie also is so fast that it does not really give too much time to think, the reason I wanted to wait a while before writing about it. All it does when you are watching is entertain you. There are a few story deviations that make you think for a short while, and which you get over as soon.
I loved the stunts, use of local props like pickle jar, dialogues, authentic locations for rural/small town India and a light hearted rendition of serious scenes (specially the one between Dimple Kapadia and Arbaaz Khan).
Salman Khan has played a role that suits age and style. I really appreciate, more than his acting, his restrain to over-act. He has not cried as bad for one to end up laughing, neither has he brought his casual western accent into his Hindi.
Cinematography is fresh and art and photography are good as well.
It is after a long time that Bollywood has come out with a true blue original.
And to sum it up, I say it is a paisa-wasool film and would recommend that this movie be seen in large screen theater, because the audience makes the experience even better.
I have added one of my favorite image works from the film. Very innovative classic. And starting some image addition culture to the blog (attempt to substitute a thousand words :) )
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
When we talk about running...
Waffle cones. Phil Bowerman, legendary track and field coach of the US, used this popular kitchen tool in his little garage workshop, filled them up with a sort of rubber, and a few more alterations to create a shoe that redefined, sorry – Defined jogging for the USA, and then for the rest World. When I say these words and move my hands over the sole of my new Nike waffle-cone shoes (re-introduced as a tribute) that I hold in my hands, trust me, and without an ounce of exaggeration, I get Goosebumps. It is not merely a shoe, but an extension to a very interesting part of history.
And that’s my tribute for it.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Pedal Pleasures
Four months post marathon, i hit the sweat road again. Only this time it was on my bi-cycle, that has been waiting since forever to get its due worth. Blessed with a holiday and with the help of a cycling community online, i managed to find a couple of guys (one seasoned rider and another rookie like me) ready with a plan to hit one of the most greenest patches in Bombay - Aarey Milk Colony.
Somewhere between the time i confirmed myself and the time i reached the start point, i realised that our destination was Aarey. It was supposed to be an easy ride otherwise, along the highway. And Aarey is NOT one that can be called easy. Unending hills and slopes make it fairly treacherous. To add to that we took two climbs that were much steeper ascends than the regular up-downs of Aarey. It went by the name of Guest House climb and the New Zealand Hostel climb. Both of which i had no clue existed in the middle of that green. Minus the royal drain of cycling up, the view alongside was simply unbelievable. They were quite literally the 'hill station moments'. Lets say i immediately thought of a couple of people who i wish had been with me to experience that moment (both of whom start their name with G :), and have a thing for cycles ).
I was consistently behind the other two through the ride, and i even lost the way and drifted around 2 Kms in some other direction before finding my way back. But between 5.30 and 7.30 in the
morning, battling fatigue, wondering if i had a faster cycle and padded shorts (to tackle saddle sores), i knew i had experienced my high point of the day.
Pleasure on pedal indeed..
Somewhere between the time i confirmed myself and the time i reached the start point, i realised that our destination was Aarey. It was supposed to be an easy ride otherwise, along the highway. And Aarey is NOT one that can be called easy. Unending hills and slopes make it fairly treacherous. To add to that we took two climbs that were much steeper ascends than the regular up-downs of Aarey. It went by the name of Guest House climb and the New Zealand Hostel climb. Both of which i had no clue existed in the middle of that green. Minus the royal drain of cycling up, the view alongside was simply unbelievable. They were quite literally the 'hill station moments'. Lets say i immediately thought of a couple of people who i wish had been with me to experience that moment (both of whom start their name with G :), and have a thing for cycles ).
I was consistently behind the other two through the ride, and i even lost the way and drifted around 2 Kms in some other direction before finding my way back. But between 5.30 and 7.30 in the
morning, battling fatigue, wondering if i had a faster cycle and padded shorts (to tackle saddle sores), i knew i had experienced my high point of the day.
Pleasure on pedal indeed..
Monday, March 22, 2010
L.S aur D darling..(x3)
The movie is seriously different. It is like one of those things you chance upon on an un-assuming moment, that leaves a strong impression for being both, powerfully insightful, and that it came in an unexpected way. It is clear artwork, stuff that you want to see again to do complete justice to. It makes you look at cinema as an appreciation exercise. Sounds like world cinema. But you have to be an Indian to enjoy this no doubt.
It has been created so simply that you realise how difficult it is to create simplicity.
This guy is clearly a contemporary of Anurag Kashyap. I imagine a healthy rivalry between these two....of being the first to hit that fantastic round-the-corner-insight, or the mere art of showing something differently. And after LSD, it is very clear that Dibakar Banerjee is one up.
It has been created so simply that you realise how difficult it is to create simplicity.
This guy is clearly a contemporary of Anurag Kashyap. I imagine a healthy rivalry between these two....of being the first to hit that fantastic round-the-corner-insight, or the mere art of showing something differently. And after LSD, it is very clear that Dibakar Banerjee is one up.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
About Book 2 - The Girl Who Played with Fire - Stieg Larsson
Kalle Blomkvist and Pippi Longstocking are two popular creations out of Astrid Lindgren's books written for kids. Astrid is a Swedish author who has been featured amongst 25 most translated writers of all times. I presume she had an effect on childhoods like what Enid Blyton had on many of ours. And it is that apparent inspiration that made Stieg Larsson create Mikael Blomkvist & Lisbeth Salander for his Millennium series books. I just got done with book 2 of the Millennium series, The Girl Who Played with Fire. In its website, Stieg has been told to have been inspired to imagine these two characters in a grown-up version for his book, with similar morals and behaviours, with his own additions to them, of-course. I read up a little on Kalle and Pippi and i could see the reflection of the investigative traits of Blomkvist and gifted and self-moralled Lisbeth. There is a lot more to the book though. But having evolved his childhood influences into these books would have certainly given enormous creative satisfaction to Stieg Larsson, who ran out of luck to live to see his books become outright bestsellers.
I cant help but refer to another bit i read about how Stieg had discussed writing these books to a friend and had thought of spicing them up with sex, a strong ingredient to any popular novel. And ironically, for all the excess coffee infatuation that i used to describe a lighter aspect of book-1, I can't begin to tell you the number of sexual encounters and descriptions that fill the first 170 pages of book-2. I am hoping you have made the coffee & sex connection :). It seemed as if all the caffeine was now coming into play. Jokes apart, the first 170 odd pages have been devoted to paint a very broad world with multiple events and characters that prelude a very methodically created murder mystery. I almost hit vague-ness wondering when the detailing would end. For those who appreciate it i presume it would be interesting. I however could not see the sense in it. Only once the plot thickened and the book reached the point of un-put-down-able did i see the sense. The best i can thus do to explain to all who suffer from low vague-ness threshold like me, is suggest imagining someone leading you further up a hill only to make the ride down a mega-slide more and more interesting - the higher you go, more fun the slide down becomes. Kiddish but creates a picture.
Once the 170 page of experiences and lives of all are covered, this 650 page book (100 more than book 1) becomes very focused and interesting read. The plot is very well created. It may seem like any other crime fiction, but i do think there are elements that separate this one from most. The novel is more visual (some credit will have to go to that 170 pages i mentioned earlier), the central plot moves linear and consistently throughout the book, and it systematically creates a maze of links that push the readers capacity to remember without taking away the interest.
The story portrays the investigations through the experiences of at least three different groups of people/individuals at any point in the book. As a reader i felt like watching a race with multiple handicaps and selective information given out to all its participants. And on that imagine allowing one team working with the other, selectively again. And in all this, not once did the focus shift from the central theme, the key murders. It is linear and systematic. I could probably give the credit for this to Stieg Larsson's love for math (there is glimpse of that in the book). Words like linear and methodical make sense therefore.
One thing i personally admired (for obvious reasons), is their discipline with food. I have rarely come across plots that have a certain character biting on an apple in a cabin in the middle of a jungle which one has broken into to find clues (and not the apple they found, but the one they carried from home). Or having a sandwich packed and eaten before deciding on the final assault. Even taking a large swig of water before heading to help a friend in need. I found that interesting. Except the last example where i may not like it if i were the friend in need.
The sequel also has enough interesting links back to the prequel. I would not be surprised if i start confusing smaller details without knowing which book was it a part of, 1 or 2. It also helps the interest levels if there is not much of gap between the two books. In my case i read the two one after another. Though i will have to wait a couple of days for book-3, which would be currently lying in some godown waiting to be picked up by the real people belonging to the virtual world i ordered from.
Unlike book-1, book-2 does not taper into smaller details to make the reading complete like i explained in my previous blog. Mystery is solved nonetheless. The events end on a very high note, making the third book as desirable as the author would want them to be.
Steig Larsson had planned to write a series of 10 books in Millennium series. He had completed three and written halfway through the fourth. Had he lived, it would have probably been the only series of books by any author that i would have read, entirely. While it would still stand true for the three he finished. I would have interest enough to finish 10. That though would not happen. For now i just wait for book three - The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest.
PS: Till the third book arrives, i can surely cover on some sleep i missed.
I cant help but refer to another bit i read about how Stieg had discussed writing these books to a friend and had thought of spicing them up with sex, a strong ingredient to any popular novel. And ironically, for all the excess coffee infatuation that i used to describe a lighter aspect of book-1, I can't begin to tell you the number of sexual encounters and descriptions that fill the first 170 pages of book-2. I am hoping you have made the coffee & sex connection :). It seemed as if all the caffeine was now coming into play. Jokes apart, the first 170 odd pages have been devoted to paint a very broad world with multiple events and characters that prelude a very methodically created murder mystery. I almost hit vague-ness wondering when the detailing would end. For those who appreciate it i presume it would be interesting. I however could not see the sense in it. Only once the plot thickened and the book reached the point of un-put-down-able did i see the sense. The best i can thus do to explain to all who suffer from low vague-ness threshold like me, is suggest imagining someone leading you further up a hill only to make the ride down a mega-slide more and more interesting - the higher you go, more fun the slide down becomes. Kiddish but creates a picture.
Once the 170 page of experiences and lives of all are covered, this 650 page book (100 more than book 1) becomes very focused and interesting read. The plot is very well created. It may seem like any other crime fiction, but i do think there are elements that separate this one from most. The novel is more visual (some credit will have to go to that 170 pages i mentioned earlier), the central plot moves linear and consistently throughout the book, and it systematically creates a maze of links that push the readers capacity to remember without taking away the interest.
The story portrays the investigations through the experiences of at least three different groups of people/individuals at any point in the book. As a reader i felt like watching a race with multiple handicaps and selective information given out to all its participants. And on that imagine allowing one team working with the other, selectively again. And in all this, not once did the focus shift from the central theme, the key murders. It is linear and systematic. I could probably give the credit for this to Stieg Larsson's love for math (there is glimpse of that in the book). Words like linear and methodical make sense therefore.
One thing i personally admired (for obvious reasons), is their discipline with food. I have rarely come across plots that have a certain character biting on an apple in a cabin in the middle of a jungle which one has broken into to find clues (and not the apple they found, but the one they carried from home). Or having a sandwich packed and eaten before deciding on the final assault. Even taking a large swig of water before heading to help a friend in need. I found that interesting. Except the last example where i may not like it if i were the friend in need.
The sequel also has enough interesting links back to the prequel. I would not be surprised if i start confusing smaller details without knowing which book was it a part of, 1 or 2. It also helps the interest levels if there is not much of gap between the two books. In my case i read the two one after another. Though i will have to wait a couple of days for book-3, which would be currently lying in some godown waiting to be picked up by the real people belonging to the virtual world i ordered from.
Unlike book-1, book-2 does not taper into smaller details to make the reading complete like i explained in my previous blog. Mystery is solved nonetheless. The events end on a very high note, making the third book as desirable as the author would want them to be.
Steig Larsson had planned to write a series of 10 books in Millennium series. He had completed three and written halfway through the fourth. Had he lived, it would have probably been the only series of books by any author that i would have read, entirely. While it would still stand true for the three he finished. I would have interest enough to finish 10. That though would not happen. For now i just wait for book three - The Girl Who Kicked the Hornets' Nest.
PS: Till the third book arrives, i can surely cover on some sleep i missed.
Friday, February 12, 2010
About 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - by Stieg Larsson'
Fiction read is not my cup of tea. But every once in a while you come across a book that gets a certain word-of-mouth and reaches you in a manner that's as good as destiny. And eventually lives up to its promise of thrill. I just got finished with The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo, by Stieg Larsson. Its a best seller. That overly abused word. Though the good part is if most people like it, there is a strong chance that you will like it too. I did. It could have been tough to live up to all the anticipation, but it was not disappointing at all. In fact it was quite complete. Not a word i thought i would use to describe a book - complete. But it seemed like that in the end.
Firstly this book evaded me a lot. I have never had a previous experience of walking into two bookstores and being told that the book i am looking for is out of stock. This is after a certain person i met hyped it up with stories of how this book,which is part 1 of 3 books written, was published after author died and then it went on to become a best seller. All of which is true. Eventually a quaint book store, and not the first choice commercial store, is where i managed to find it. Ironically i had turned this book down few months ago at the very same "first choice commercial book-store" because i found the title and cover too sleaze. Which i guess still holds true. The trivia around it that i discovered later took me back to looking for it. And that i mentioned before.
By the virtue of being written originally in Swedish itself, it presents a certain freshness in approach. I was looking forward to that - world from the eyes of a non-American. And it was refreshing . I was not sure how well the title justified the story. The girl is important, more than her tattoo, which does not get more than two mentions in the entire 550 page book. My trivia source had also added how he wished to have a girlfriend like her - Lisbeth Salander (one with the dragon tattoo).
But there is more to it that that. That too got answered when i later discovered that the literal translation of the Swedish title was - Men who hate women. That, mind you, is what captures the essence of the book. I agree with that title it would not have been a very exciting book to lift up a bookshelf . But it did summarise the book. Men, i never imagined, could be that twisted, even in imagination to treat women in a manner that they have been depicted in this story. Quite rare, and difficult to imagine. But for as many Saints there must be as many Sick....and how.
That apart, there was also an element of detailing in the lives of every character. Not your common stereotype of people but from some very unique back-grounds,or at times even no back grounds. It's interesting how these complex characters are created in the book even without delving much into their pasts. It is probably the quality of any good fiction, going into details of every character. For my lack of much fiction experience i would say this book created very elaborate descriptions that went beyond the plot and yet kept the interest to the levels of being un-put-downable. It had a TV series like quality to it, with some equally interesting sub-plots within the key plot. Not much of a TV series buff i am, so its heartening to see that this came as a book before the TV guys caught hold of it.
Eventually every crime-fiction will have a culprit and after an age of reading its really difficult to come to the end of these books not having once guessed it right. After all you almost put them all under the scanner. And then there are the obvious ones that are pushed up as likely culprits who we smartly rule out, playing right by the author's plan. And in all this, if the plot still throws in a surprise, you consider it money's worth. I did too, find this a worthy buy.
The book grows beautifully into your imagination and curiosity. Though i could not get accustomed to the number of times they drank coffee. There is even one mention of overdoing it, but the context is not exactly the same. More of something that invokes - "i thought you were used to so much coffee by now!?". There must be a thing about Swedes and coffee. Need to check that. Another thing one could not help but notice is Author's infatuation with Apple computers. This better not be another paid form of advertising. Trust me, i can write an award winning Advertising case of how "the features of the brand were seamlessly (& innovatively)integrated into the story to make the brand come alive and communicate to multi-profiled consumers". His detailing of benefits and configuration have left me wondering on the intent. Either this is his passion or the marketers of Coffee Board and Apple computers have made path breaking ventures in Advertising.
While i agree with the adjectives that have been use to describe the book like - intelligent, complex, gripping and intriguing characters, all of which seem to be true, specially the last one. What i wanted to add to that is it was rather complete. And this in spite of the fact that there are two sequels to it. Complete would be a difficult word to define, but probably easier if i explain in the context of what others don't do or what we mostly yearn for. It is more. This book does not end after it ends, it goes on to show some more. Like how we wish after a movie, to see some more of happy ending, to not just leave us on a high, but spend a little time celebrating or just little closures here and there. This book does that. It completes it. It slowly brings you back to normal without getting you bored. And i liked it for that.
I am on to reading part two now - The Girl who played with fire. After a point i don't know how much these character will keep my interest. But for the time being it seems worth.
Firstly this book evaded me a lot. I have never had a previous experience of walking into two bookstores and being told that the book i am looking for is out of stock. This is after a certain person i met hyped it up with stories of how this book,which is part 1 of 3 books written, was published after author died and then it went on to become a best seller. All of which is true. Eventually a quaint book store, and not the first choice commercial store, is where i managed to find it. Ironically i had turned this book down few months ago at the very same "first choice commercial book-store" because i found the title and cover too sleaze. Which i guess still holds true. The trivia around it that i discovered later took me back to looking for it. And that i mentioned before.
By the virtue of being written originally in Swedish itself, it presents a certain freshness in approach. I was looking forward to that - world from the eyes of a non-American. And it was refreshing . I was not sure how well the title justified the story. The girl is important, more than her tattoo, which does not get more than two mentions in the entire 550 page book. My trivia source had also added how he wished to have a girlfriend like her - Lisbeth Salander (one with the dragon tattoo).
But there is more to it that that. That too got answered when i later discovered that the literal translation of the Swedish title was - Men who hate women. That, mind you, is what captures the essence of the book. I agree with that title it would not have been a very exciting book to lift up a bookshelf . But it did summarise the book. Men, i never imagined, could be that twisted, even in imagination to treat women in a manner that they have been depicted in this story. Quite rare, and difficult to imagine. But for as many Saints there must be as many Sick....and how.
That apart, there was also an element of detailing in the lives of every character. Not your common stereotype of people but from some very unique back-grounds,or at times even no back grounds. It's interesting how these complex characters are created in the book even without delving much into their pasts. It is probably the quality of any good fiction, going into details of every character. For my lack of much fiction experience i would say this book created very elaborate descriptions that went beyond the plot and yet kept the interest to the levels of being un-put-downable. It had a TV series like quality to it, with some equally interesting sub-plots within the key plot. Not much of a TV series buff i am, so its heartening to see that this came as a book before the TV guys caught hold of it.
Eventually every crime-fiction will have a culprit and after an age of reading its really difficult to come to the end of these books not having once guessed it right. After all you almost put them all under the scanner. And then there are the obvious ones that are pushed up as likely culprits who we smartly rule out, playing right by the author's plan. And in all this, if the plot still throws in a surprise, you consider it money's worth. I did too, find this a worthy buy.
The book grows beautifully into your imagination and curiosity. Though i could not get accustomed to the number of times they drank coffee. There is even one mention of overdoing it, but the context is not exactly the same. More of something that invokes - "i thought you were used to so much coffee by now!?". There must be a thing about Swedes and coffee. Need to check that. Another thing one could not help but notice is Author's infatuation with Apple computers. This better not be another paid form of advertising. Trust me, i can write an award winning Advertising case of how "the features of the brand were seamlessly (& innovatively)integrated into the story to make the brand come alive and communicate to multi-profiled consumers". His detailing of benefits and configuration have left me wondering on the intent. Either this is his passion or the marketers of Coffee Board and Apple computers have made path breaking ventures in Advertising.
While i agree with the adjectives that have been use to describe the book like - intelligent, complex, gripping and intriguing characters, all of which seem to be true, specially the last one. What i wanted to add to that is it was rather complete. And this in spite of the fact that there are two sequels to it. Complete would be a difficult word to define, but probably easier if i explain in the context of what others don't do or what we mostly yearn for. It is more. This book does not end after it ends, it goes on to show some more. Like how we wish after a movie, to see some more of happy ending, to not just leave us on a high, but spend a little time celebrating or just little closures here and there. This book does that. It completes it. It slowly brings you back to normal without getting you bored. And i liked it for that.
I am on to reading part two now - The Girl who played with fire. After a point i don't know how much these character will keep my interest. But for the time being it seems worth.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Mumbai Marathon 2010 - the run
It was around 6am. Still 45 minutes from the start of race. The holding ground, where we all had to gather before the start of the run, had a relaxed air to it. For not having to accommodate the entire 11,000 half marathoners (they were starting from Bandra, 21km away and finishing here), it looked empty or over capacitated for the small 3500 (official figure, don’t know how many ran, but will tell you how many finished) full marathon participants. Lit at patches with halogen lights, that sparkled the dew drops golden. The ground, that otherwise holds many cricket pitches, was today aiding a not so Indian sport, running.
I walked about a bit after changing into my gear. The calm in the air helped me a bit too. I was more relaxed than in anticipation, just waiting for the start 40 minutes later. I chatted up with another runner I had met long ago at work, who has run many Marathons and Triathlons. We chatted through the rest of the time. I learnt from him about many adventure runs that happen in India.
We finally headed to the start area amidst all the excitement and cheers. Amongst all the runners who were attempting the same feat as me, I did not feel any special, but a sense of mutual admiration. It does take a lot to get you to reach that point, a marathon start line. While I could not help feeling competitive, I had to respect the effort it took.
Going into this run I had changed, or added two new things. It is said you should not experiment with anything new going into the main run. Almost everything you are going in with should ideally have been experimented with before. Water, clothes, Shoes….everything, should be tested a few times, at least. I can vouch for that now. I was wearing an ankle band to aid the injury I caught last week and I had to carry spare glucose powder in a bottle for the extra kilometres I would run. This bottle would now be additional weight on my otherwise light waist-pouch.
And as the clock hit 45th minute of 6AM on 17th January, I was off, with many other, attempting my longest single running distance ever.
Almost two kilometres into the run, I realised the ankle band helped my ankle but blocked the blood flow to the toe. I took a break and removed the band. Much better. No there was not so much ankle paining. It had cured. Initial part of the run was pleasant as expected, except that for the extra humid day that it was, I was sweating a little too much. I heard talks around about how it was a hot day and how timings would be affected by this. First few kilometres are a crowded affair. You see a lot of enthusiastic runners surging ahead, almost all as determined as the other. It was still far away from the breaking point, when the sun comes up, and distance start accumulating on your legs, attempting to bring you down. In fact I was amused to see how some few ran. There were those with shoes that had very little cushioning. I saw a few who wore the fancy Pumas which men are otherwise seen sporting with a pair of Jeans. I wonder how they managed. But the most fancied sight was that of a boy who I passed by. He had his hands in his pockets! And that is how he chose to run, part of strategy I believe, but incredible nonetheless. By the time I touched the 9Km mark I could sense a certain fatigue, not sure why. The bottle of glucose was flapping a bit too hard and bringing the waist pouch down, I had tightened it earlier….and a few Kms later I realised It blocked the blood to my legs. It was time for next improvisation, and I was happy it stuck me. I took the waist belt and wore it across my shoulder and chest, like a cross bag. Legs started feeling better, but a little damage was done. I checked my time, which was conservative (slow) as planned. I would rather wait for my body to pick up flow than to force it. It works better that way.
We reached the loop around Worli sea-phase. It was a rather boring patch, because loops can kill the fun. A run should not have a route that re-occurs. The sun had come up, and I got my cap on. Once done with that patch and we hit the long road from Worli to Dadar to Bandra reclamation. I felt a strong pain on the back of my knee, persistent, and kind of unbearable. I almost thought it will make me stop. At the next first aid station I got them to put some Relispray around that part . And to my relief it worked (I figured later that it could be the lack of cross-training in my training that had caused that pain). The Sun by now was hard enough for people to choose the side of road that was shaded, and stick to it. The crowds and cheers along the road had reduced. It was the first sense of being on your own, and possibly the beginning of the breaking point. I could see more people walking and the line of runners ahead of me was thin. Somewhere in that patch I had also passed the 21Km mark. The thought of double the distance left had not bothered me so much. I was a little comforted because I could feel energy reserves in me. The leg though had slowed a bit. The heat, it seemed, had finally set in at its worst, but I was wrong. The worst was yet to come.
The third phase as I call it was the point where you exit Mahim and head towards reclamation, and the transition point is Mahim Church. This is the point from where you can give up any hope of finding shade. Wide road and a surging creek, sets up for the beginning of the worst patch of the marathon. The heat was more than a normal Mumbai morning as some had deduced earlier, and no one could sense it better than us. I was prepared for it, but it was overwhelming still. My water arrangement (a bottle with lots of glucose water and a dash of electrolytes) had ensured I don’t dehydrate and cramp. That lack-of-cross-training-pain is what I had to handle. For which I had resolved to spray those pain relievers at every first-aid station. It was also the point from where I began including walks into my runs. I did not like the thought of it, so I decided to walk brisk , which seemed better.
The Bandra Worli Sea Link, part of the same third phase, deserves a separate mention. For it created a lot excitement amongst all the runners. The thought of running through the monumental bridge in the middle of the sea seemed “oh too marvellous”. In all this I forgot the biggest lesson I have learnt while running, which is – when you run, you only run, you don’t notice much, or at all. And it was the same for Sea Link too. In fact it was beyond marvellous, it was torturous, yes! Imagine the heat in the middle of the sea, at around 9.30AM in the morning. We were at the sea link, at that point. It also began a series of few co-runners who would most probably be around you till you finish the race, over taking you when you walk, and going behind you when you run (while they walk). It almost became a way to kill time for me, to mark a runner, catch up with him and try overtaking. And eventually see them running past you. This cycle went on through the entire 4Km “hot” sealink. Two measures of some relief were: one when I noticed a runner wearing his cap sideways to the direction of sun and I immediately did the same, and two when I discovered that the band of shadow that fell on the road from the railings on side were a smart way to keep your feet cool, which I stuck to and suggested a few other runners too, who were probably too tired to think.
And after all of this patch I realised I had still not neared the dreadful 32Km mark. It was still around 27Km. We again hit the Worli Sea-Phase loop, this time made a little shorter, but boring yet. Here I happen to see a familiar face, a guy who had run the Delhi Half marathon too, and had finished around 2 minutes ahead of me. He was ahead here too, by maybe 7-8 minutes. Although in Delhi I had hoped that by the time we are ready for the full marathon I should manage a better time than him. It helps to have some competition, keeps you going. The combination of running and walking was getting to me. Seeing the same people go past and the being left behind seemed awkward too. I knew I had to conserve energy for the last 10km, but I took a slight chance, I ran a bit hard, just to get over that zone of familiar. And I managed to leave behind that group of people. I had hit the Haji Ali road, which seemed as hot as Worli. I realised this is how it will be now. It is not going to change, as hot as hard, till the end. To worsen that, it also introduced the steepest part of the run, the Peddar Road climb. I decided it was best to walk that patch, fast walk, and I did that. And the end of this road I realised I would hit the last stretch of the run, the last 10.
I am not really sure when I crossed 32Kms. I did not realise. Maybe I was too zoned out in effort, fatigue and determination to think. All I know was a group of people were offering Bananas and Oranges. I grabbed them. They were just what I needed, the last dash of energy. It had become difficult to drink water, and wiser to splash it all over you that to drink it. I kept doing that from then on. I looked at the watch once, and figured it was not possible to finish in 4hr 30min range. I wanted to not finish beyond 5hrs though. There was nothing I could do to go faster. At best I could increase the run and reduce the walk. Probably the rest of the distance, I must have walked 35% and ran 65%. The Sun at Marine Drive is known to be so hard that many run their slowest their. I was confused, on whether to run and get over this Sun as soon as I can or just walk because the Sun won’t let me run. Any patch of shade I would walk, and run under the Sun, just to get to the next patch of shade quicker.
I heard, “Almost there, come on”. The last 3Kms were a sense of relief and drag. I knew I was there, but it just did not seem to come. There was nothing I could do other than run. Mind seemed to have left me, or just turned into air, hot air. I don’t remember looking at the watch, or water or wondering how I felt. Eventually I could see the finish line and the end of my sight, though I was not sure if it would end with me crossing it. Or had it already ended? I could not think. The last few meters seemed meaningless. The marathon was not what I was left to run anymore, those few meters. It was what I had left behind. And there it was, at the last 100 meters, right there. What did I feel? I felt nothing. The most beautiful nothing I have ever felt. Of nothing left to do, of nothing more desirable, of nothing that bothered me, of nothing that I cared for. It was just me and my Nothing.
760 runners finished. In 4hrs and 47mins I was the 173rd to cross the line (or 243, little confused with that). I Limped my way back, collected a medal they gave. And I sat with an ice-pack on my legs for the next half hour or so. I guess I had my share of being alone by then. A friend came by, who was waiting eagerly for me to finish, giving me company for the rest of the time. I finally headed home, answering inane questions of the old cabbie, about marathon. He instantly recognised the locality where I stayed. It seems there was a lot of knife point theft that happed around my neighbourhood then, when he came last. I asked him when the last time was. 1985, he promptly replied. Guess he has had his own marathon in this City …..guess we all do.
I walked about a bit after changing into my gear. The calm in the air helped me a bit too. I was more relaxed than in anticipation, just waiting for the start 40 minutes later. I chatted up with another runner I had met long ago at work, who has run many Marathons and Triathlons. We chatted through the rest of the time. I learnt from him about many adventure runs that happen in India.
We finally headed to the start area amidst all the excitement and cheers. Amongst all the runners who were attempting the same feat as me, I did not feel any special, but a sense of mutual admiration. It does take a lot to get you to reach that point, a marathon start line. While I could not help feeling competitive, I had to respect the effort it took.
Going into this run I had changed, or added two new things. It is said you should not experiment with anything new going into the main run. Almost everything you are going in with should ideally have been experimented with before. Water, clothes, Shoes….everything, should be tested a few times, at least. I can vouch for that now. I was wearing an ankle band to aid the injury I caught last week and I had to carry spare glucose powder in a bottle for the extra kilometres I would run. This bottle would now be additional weight on my otherwise light waist-pouch.
And as the clock hit 45th minute of 6AM on 17th January, I was off, with many other, attempting my longest single running distance ever.
Almost two kilometres into the run, I realised the ankle band helped my ankle but blocked the blood flow to the toe. I took a break and removed the band. Much better. No there was not so much ankle paining. It had cured. Initial part of the run was pleasant as expected, except that for the extra humid day that it was, I was sweating a little too much. I heard talks around about how it was a hot day and how timings would be affected by this. First few kilometres are a crowded affair. You see a lot of enthusiastic runners surging ahead, almost all as determined as the other. It was still far away from the breaking point, when the sun comes up, and distance start accumulating on your legs, attempting to bring you down. In fact I was amused to see how some few ran. There were those with shoes that had very little cushioning. I saw a few who wore the fancy Pumas which men are otherwise seen sporting with a pair of Jeans. I wonder how they managed. But the most fancied sight was that of a boy who I passed by. He had his hands in his pockets! And that is how he chose to run, part of strategy I believe, but incredible nonetheless. By the time I touched the 9Km mark I could sense a certain fatigue, not sure why. The bottle of glucose was flapping a bit too hard and bringing the waist pouch down, I had tightened it earlier….and a few Kms later I realised It blocked the blood to my legs. It was time for next improvisation, and I was happy it stuck me. I took the waist belt and wore it across my shoulder and chest, like a cross bag. Legs started feeling better, but a little damage was done. I checked my time, which was conservative (slow) as planned. I would rather wait for my body to pick up flow than to force it. It works better that way.
We reached the loop around Worli sea-phase. It was a rather boring patch, because loops can kill the fun. A run should not have a route that re-occurs. The sun had come up, and I got my cap on. Once done with that patch and we hit the long road from Worli to Dadar to Bandra reclamation. I felt a strong pain on the back of my knee, persistent, and kind of unbearable. I almost thought it will make me stop. At the next first aid station I got them to put some Relispray around that part . And to my relief it worked (I figured later that it could be the lack of cross-training in my training that had caused that pain). The Sun by now was hard enough for people to choose the side of road that was shaded, and stick to it. The crowds and cheers along the road had reduced. It was the first sense of being on your own, and possibly the beginning of the breaking point. I could see more people walking and the line of runners ahead of me was thin. Somewhere in that patch I had also passed the 21Km mark. The thought of double the distance left had not bothered me so much. I was a little comforted because I could feel energy reserves in me. The leg though had slowed a bit. The heat, it seemed, had finally set in at its worst, but I was wrong. The worst was yet to come.
The third phase as I call it was the point where you exit Mahim and head towards reclamation, and the transition point is Mahim Church. This is the point from where you can give up any hope of finding shade. Wide road and a surging creek, sets up for the beginning of the worst patch of the marathon. The heat was more than a normal Mumbai morning as some had deduced earlier, and no one could sense it better than us. I was prepared for it, but it was overwhelming still. My water arrangement (a bottle with lots of glucose water and a dash of electrolytes) had ensured I don’t dehydrate and cramp. That lack-of-cross-training-pain is what I had to handle. For which I had resolved to spray those pain relievers at every first-aid station. It was also the point from where I began including walks into my runs. I did not like the thought of it, so I decided to walk brisk , which seemed better.
The Bandra Worli Sea Link, part of the same third phase, deserves a separate mention. For it created a lot excitement amongst all the runners. The thought of running through the monumental bridge in the middle of the sea seemed “oh too marvellous”. In all this I forgot the biggest lesson I have learnt while running, which is – when you run, you only run, you don’t notice much, or at all. And it was the same for Sea Link too. In fact it was beyond marvellous, it was torturous, yes! Imagine the heat in the middle of the sea, at around 9.30AM in the morning. We were at the sea link, at that point. It also began a series of few co-runners who would most probably be around you till you finish the race, over taking you when you walk, and going behind you when you run (while they walk). It almost became a way to kill time for me, to mark a runner, catch up with him and try overtaking. And eventually see them running past you. This cycle went on through the entire 4Km “hot” sealink. Two measures of some relief were: one when I noticed a runner wearing his cap sideways to the direction of sun and I immediately did the same, and two when I discovered that the band of shadow that fell on the road from the railings on side were a smart way to keep your feet cool, which I stuck to and suggested a few other runners too, who were probably too tired to think.
And after all of this patch I realised I had still not neared the dreadful 32Km mark. It was still around 27Km. We again hit the Worli Sea-Phase loop, this time made a little shorter, but boring yet. Here I happen to see a familiar face, a guy who had run the Delhi Half marathon too, and had finished around 2 minutes ahead of me. He was ahead here too, by maybe 7-8 minutes. Although in Delhi I had hoped that by the time we are ready for the full marathon I should manage a better time than him. It helps to have some competition, keeps you going. The combination of running and walking was getting to me. Seeing the same people go past and the being left behind seemed awkward too. I knew I had to conserve energy for the last 10km, but I took a slight chance, I ran a bit hard, just to get over that zone of familiar. And I managed to leave behind that group of people. I had hit the Haji Ali road, which seemed as hot as Worli. I realised this is how it will be now. It is not going to change, as hot as hard, till the end. To worsen that, it also introduced the steepest part of the run, the Peddar Road climb. I decided it was best to walk that patch, fast walk, and I did that. And the end of this road I realised I would hit the last stretch of the run, the last 10.
I am not really sure when I crossed 32Kms. I did not realise. Maybe I was too zoned out in effort, fatigue and determination to think. All I know was a group of people were offering Bananas and Oranges. I grabbed them. They were just what I needed, the last dash of energy. It had become difficult to drink water, and wiser to splash it all over you that to drink it. I kept doing that from then on. I looked at the watch once, and figured it was not possible to finish in 4hr 30min range. I wanted to not finish beyond 5hrs though. There was nothing I could do to go faster. At best I could increase the run and reduce the walk. Probably the rest of the distance, I must have walked 35% and ran 65%. The Sun at Marine Drive is known to be so hard that many run their slowest their. I was confused, on whether to run and get over this Sun as soon as I can or just walk because the Sun won’t let me run. Any patch of shade I would walk, and run under the Sun, just to get to the next patch of shade quicker.
I heard, “Almost there, come on”. The last 3Kms were a sense of relief and drag. I knew I was there, but it just did not seem to come. There was nothing I could do other than run. Mind seemed to have left me, or just turned into air, hot air. I don’t remember looking at the watch, or water or wondering how I felt. Eventually I could see the finish line and the end of my sight, though I was not sure if it would end with me crossing it. Or had it already ended? I could not think. The last few meters seemed meaningless. The marathon was not what I was left to run anymore, those few meters. It was what I had left behind. And there it was, at the last 100 meters, right there. What did I feel? I felt nothing. The most beautiful nothing I have ever felt. Of nothing left to do, of nothing more desirable, of nothing that bothered me, of nothing that I cared for. It was just me and my Nothing.
760 runners finished. In 4hrs and 47mins I was the 173rd to cross the line (or 243, little confused with that). I Limped my way back, collected a medal they gave. And I sat with an ice-pack on my legs for the next half hour or so. I guess I had my share of being alone by then. A friend came by, who was waiting eagerly for me to finish, giving me company for the rest of the time. I finally headed home, answering inane questions of the old cabbie, about marathon. He instantly recognised the locality where I stayed. It seems there was a lot of knife point theft that happed around my neighbourhood then, when he came last. I asked him when the last time was. 1985, he promptly replied. Guess he has had his own marathon in this City …..guess we all do.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
the final journey - mumbai marathon 2010
nothing else matters......it 5am, as i am heading to the marathon start, in the cab i called for. Moment of recollection, of every bit of inspiration , discipline, traiining, yearning, resilience and caution.......and here i am, attempting the biggest endurance act of my life. They say if you want to experience exhaustion run a mile, and if you want to experience life, run a marathon. I am heading to experience mine...........and nothing else matters.....
Friday, January 15, 2010
2 days to go - Mumbai Marathon 2010
It is almost impossible to know what all would work for or against you going into something as important as your first marathon. I got a sprain, a freak one too. Getting a sprain out of a foot massage is rare. I managed it. On a normal day i would not worry so much about a minor sprain. It would correct itself. But this is not normal. A slight aggravation can mean end of race before it starts or mid-way into the run. I am worried. And i have been doing everything possible to recover from this. Ice, pain relievers. I even googled food that aid tissue repair. by common sense i increased proteins. The pain is almost absent, but i am not running to check if its gone for real. Not sure if i can risk that. In which case i will have to just wait till the Marathon morning (Sunday)to actually know if i am good enough to run.
I bunked the last two days of run. Would rather finish ten minutes slow in the race than not run at all. Read somewhere that last week of training is almost unnecessary and not worth risking if there is any sign of pre-marathon fatigue.
I was not expecting to write about an injury in the final days of blogging about Marathon. I wondered it would be more about the psychology and self-belief of it than another physical barrier. Guess it turned out different. The good part is that my mind has suddenly sensed a possibility of me not racing and it has decided to protest it hard. All i can feel my body saying is "just one chance". I am almost certain that without this nagging ankle i am entirely ready to run this, and run it well. I can feel the same strength and subtle confidence that i did before the 32Km i ran three weeks back. My body seems to be stacking up as much energy reserves as possible during through the rest i am taking to sooth my ankle. It is all set to have a go at it. And in spite of all i know there is a chance i would not be able to complete this run.
You can be most prepared and still not be sure about an outcome. And this i am experiencing real-time. I have to wait another day and half to know if i would realise my dream to run 42km. In the mean time i am not giving up on any chance there is to ensure that i do.
If i cross the finish line now, it will only make the achievement bigger.
I would just leave it at that.
I bunked the last two days of run. Would rather finish ten minutes slow in the race than not run at all. Read somewhere that last week of training is almost unnecessary and not worth risking if there is any sign of pre-marathon fatigue.
I was not expecting to write about an injury in the final days of blogging about Marathon. I wondered it would be more about the psychology and self-belief of it than another physical barrier. Guess it turned out different. The good part is that my mind has suddenly sensed a possibility of me not racing and it has decided to protest it hard. All i can feel my body saying is "just one chance". I am almost certain that without this nagging ankle i am entirely ready to run this, and run it well. I can feel the same strength and subtle confidence that i did before the 32Km i ran three weeks back. My body seems to be stacking up as much energy reserves as possible during through the rest i am taking to sooth my ankle. It is all set to have a go at it. And in spite of all i know there is a chance i would not be able to complete this run.
You can be most prepared and still not be sure about an outcome. And this i am experiencing real-time. I have to wait another day and half to know if i would realise my dream to run 42km. In the mean time i am not giving up on any chance there is to ensure that i do.
If i cross the finish line now, it will only make the achievement bigger.
I would just leave it at that.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
worst can happen - mumbai marathon
i sprained my ankle. its minor, but nagging. i dont know if i would recover and run or...not run. i am trying everythng possible, but i dont know...
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
4 days to go - mumbai marathon 2010
Its here. I would be standing at the starting line even before I realise. And five hours later it all be over. Last week has not been as smooth as I thought. I have already mentioned how the entire tapering of running distance has kind of put me in a state constant doubt and stress. Though I realised much of that was a joint effect of an assignment at work that had to finished too. Now that assignment part is over, I feel a little more relaxed.
Though i feel i have not handled taper as well as i should have. possibly because i did not research enough about it ( being caught in work). To add to that I have been experiencing light cramps in calves and thighs. Its a little odd to have this happening. I have not found this a regular occurrence around final weeks of marathon from all that i have read. Today though i managed to read up a bit on the topic and figured a few things which can used to correct what ever little i got wrong (or did not over emphasise) in the last two weeks.
For one it seems that the best thing is to rather rest and not do the last week runs to avoid aggravating the affected muscles. There is very little that last week training adds to the Marathon result. So I am considering not running today maybe, catch some extra sleep and hydrate myself real hard. I almost wondered if it made sense to have a half hour alarm to remind myself to drink water. Seemed a bit embarrassing. Need to figure something as powerful instead, than relying on memory alone. I had once placed water bottle in all strategic locations around the house to remind myself. Worked well then. Maybe something similar is needed now. This is certainly a crisis. Will have to eliminate caffeine from system. So i guess the black-tea i just finished was the last for the week and will have to refrain from anything diuretic (that dehydrates). Have already had two rounds of ice pack, but once you land at work its not possible to carry that forward.
Last time i tried handling muscle fatigue and cramp, there was a lot of rest, ice-pack, a massage and a combiflam involved. And i was not sure what worked. What mattered is that something worked. Its will be a little risky to try too many things for as much as one can help, if gone wrong , these can add to the injury too. I have had bad massages before. Little confused, but have to do something.
Guess its time to take some risks again ...
Though i feel i have not handled taper as well as i should have. possibly because i did not research enough about it ( being caught in work). To add to that I have been experiencing light cramps in calves and thighs. Its a little odd to have this happening. I have not found this a regular occurrence around final weeks of marathon from all that i have read. Today though i managed to read up a bit on the topic and figured a few things which can used to correct what ever little i got wrong (or did not over emphasise) in the last two weeks.
For one it seems that the best thing is to rather rest and not do the last week runs to avoid aggravating the affected muscles. There is very little that last week training adds to the Marathon result. So I am considering not running today maybe, catch some extra sleep and hydrate myself real hard. I almost wondered if it made sense to have a half hour alarm to remind myself to drink water. Seemed a bit embarrassing. Need to figure something as powerful instead, than relying on memory alone. I had once placed water bottle in all strategic locations around the house to remind myself. Worked well then. Maybe something similar is needed now. This is certainly a crisis. Will have to eliminate caffeine from system. So i guess the black-tea i just finished was the last for the week and will have to refrain from anything diuretic (that dehydrates). Have already had two rounds of ice pack, but once you land at work its not possible to carry that forward.
Last time i tried handling muscle fatigue and cramp, there was a lot of rest, ice-pack, a massage and a combiflam involved. And i was not sure what worked. What mattered is that something worked. Its will be a little risky to try too many things for as much as one can help, if gone wrong , these can add to the injury too. I have had bad massages before. Little confused, but have to do something.
Guess its time to take some risks again ...
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Big 32 & Taper Complexities - Marathon Training
Well it has been a while, since i updated this space . I got into various commitments, and some restrictions, that kept me off blogging. In the meantime, the Marathon is approaching fast. No I am not missing any training in all this chaos, other than a few short runs, that technically don’t affect me as much as they do mentally. So I have been running for all the reasons that will see me through the Marathon, but in what state of health and fitness I still don’t know.
So I did not find either the time or the resources to blog it all. Not that I have too much of it now (time), but I to try hard to make it. In which I realized that what started as a means to update my development as a marathon runner, turned out to be a purpose in itself. I had to update it. Seemed like I am moving ahead and blog was left behind.
Last I claimed was a sense of confidence above what was expected as per the training running the grand 32km. As per what I read somewhere it was also called the graduation day of training. Once you are done here you are done for all practical purposes. I am done too, and in style. 32km was a matter time, not energy or mind, for that I had plenty left, more mind actually, and more than a little energy. Let’s say I could imagine at the end of the 32km running/ dragging another 5km and walking another 5. There!! That was my 42. It was the peak of training, end of a week of 64km of total running. I was expected to be proud of myself and proud I was. And it surely was a matter of time, which I realized when I looked at the watch into the seventeenth minute of my run and the thought struck me - "another 3hrs +". It messed with my head a bit. I thought I would get bored, running without music, just like the real marathon, but no empty roads or regular cheers. Just noisy traffic and dust. But I did fine for the next 3hrs and 7min, and finished with a glorious 3:25 and some ambition, explained earlier, the mind n energy thing.
That was two weeks ago, nearly.
Since then I have been following the routine what they call as taper, which is to reduce the distance of runs and let the body recuperate, rebuild and create energy reserves. A popular side effect of taper is withdrawal. It is a state of worry and self doubt. You worry if you will lose all the endurance you have built up in 15weeks or if you would be up to it on Marathon Day. Woulld three weeks of less training take all the form out of you? I feel it too. In-fact I feel a little disinterested, bored. As long as there is an increase in distance every week, you have a challenge. But when the distances reduce, you don’t look forward to it, or worry about it as much. In turn what it does is to take your mind off the one most important thing that occupied your head since three months. It’s odd, and leaves me clueless.
I ran the 19km long run this week with a rather disinterested head. To make it better I did in the marathon route itself, Worli to Marine Drive and back. It was an interesting run, for I came across a lot of runners who would give me thumbs-up as they passed me. Some wondered who was the new face. But most displayed camaraderie. Another new, which I really hope does not happen to me on Marathon Day, was a midway bowel call. Imagine that happening in India, the country ranging of no toilets to stinking ones. And then there was another intervention of destiny. Right under the marine drive over-bridge, where this happened, I noticed a toilet that turned out to be by far the most cleanest I have ever seen. And at the cost of 1 rupee and 5 minutes, I was back with hope, to finish the run. And in all the excitement of not letting the 5min loss affect my overall time, I ran the second half hard. I should not have. But these things don’t occur to you at a heartbeat of 150 per minute. All you want to do then is to not compromise....and this was an easy distance. I had the energy. So I ran, to the utter confusion on the face of another fellow I overtook before the misadventure and then passed him again as he sat resting after his run. I let him wonder what happened. However, he deserves a special mention for on his way back home he passed by me in his car, rolled down the window and gestured his spare Gatorade at me. That was nice of him. I refused gesturing my glucose drink at him and thumb up in appreciation. Hope he has a good run and that I don’t have to over take him twice.
I continue with taper this Saturday too with the last long run of 13km. Body is little fatigued with some hectic life outside training. But I guess it’s my mind I need to tame more.
So I did not find either the time or the resources to blog it all. Not that I have too much of it now (time), but I to try hard to make it. In which I realized that what started as a means to update my development as a marathon runner, turned out to be a purpose in itself. I had to update it. Seemed like I am moving ahead and blog was left behind.
Last I claimed was a sense of confidence above what was expected as per the training running the grand 32km. As per what I read somewhere it was also called the graduation day of training. Once you are done here you are done for all practical purposes. I am done too, and in style. 32km was a matter time, not energy or mind, for that I had plenty left, more mind actually, and more than a little energy. Let’s say I could imagine at the end of the 32km running/ dragging another 5km and walking another 5. There!! That was my 42. It was the peak of training, end of a week of 64km of total running. I was expected to be proud of myself and proud I was. And it surely was a matter of time, which I realized when I looked at the watch into the seventeenth minute of my run and the thought struck me - "another 3hrs +". It messed with my head a bit. I thought I would get bored, running without music, just like the real marathon, but no empty roads or regular cheers. Just noisy traffic and dust. But I did fine for the next 3hrs and 7min, and finished with a glorious 3:25 and some ambition, explained earlier, the mind n energy thing.
That was two weeks ago, nearly.
Since then I have been following the routine what they call as taper, which is to reduce the distance of runs and let the body recuperate, rebuild and create energy reserves. A popular side effect of taper is withdrawal. It is a state of worry and self doubt. You worry if you will lose all the endurance you have built up in 15weeks or if you would be up to it on Marathon Day. Woulld three weeks of less training take all the form out of you? I feel it too. In-fact I feel a little disinterested, bored. As long as there is an increase in distance every week, you have a challenge. But when the distances reduce, you don’t look forward to it, or worry about it as much. In turn what it does is to take your mind off the one most important thing that occupied your head since three months. It’s odd, and leaves me clueless.
I ran the 19km long run this week with a rather disinterested head. To make it better I did in the marathon route itself, Worli to Marine Drive and back. It was an interesting run, for I came across a lot of runners who would give me thumbs-up as they passed me. Some wondered who was the new face. But most displayed camaraderie. Another new, which I really hope does not happen to me on Marathon Day, was a midway bowel call. Imagine that happening in India, the country ranging of no toilets to stinking ones. And then there was another intervention of destiny. Right under the marine drive over-bridge, where this happened, I noticed a toilet that turned out to be by far the most cleanest I have ever seen. And at the cost of 1 rupee and 5 minutes, I was back with hope, to finish the run. And in all the excitement of not letting the 5min loss affect my overall time, I ran the second half hard. I should not have. But these things don’t occur to you at a heartbeat of 150 per minute. All you want to do then is to not compromise....and this was an easy distance. I had the energy. So I ran, to the utter confusion on the face of another fellow I overtook before the misadventure and then passed him again as he sat resting after his run. I let him wonder what happened. However, he deserves a special mention for on his way back home he passed by me in his car, rolled down the window and gestured his spare Gatorade at me. That was nice of him. I refused gesturing my glucose drink at him and thumb up in appreciation. Hope he has a good run and that I don’t have to over take him twice.
I continue with taper this Saturday too with the last long run of 13km. Body is little fatigued with some hectic life outside training. But I guess it’s my mind I need to tame more.
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