work in progress

A Dog's life.

2012-01-09T03:26:00.001-08:00

On the usual route from his new home, he would see a dog, handsome, alert, in control of his little territory spreading from one gate to the other of a 9 storied residential tower and a little stretched portion of the road in front of it. He liked the dog the instant he noticed him. He knew the next time he would walk past, he would try to make friends with the dog. He liked the content expression on him. This was an important trait he believed. Happiness he felt was overrated, and content was underrated. It was rare in humans, and this was a Dog. He gave the dog the name that came to his mind that instant, Whosane.

He realized how in Whosane he saw a reflection of himself; of something he believed.

Once an old colleague of his, after continuous days of long hours they had put, and without a vacation since months, spoke to him of what he wished to do when he gets a day off. He said he wanted time to get bored. It was a thought that grew further in his mind, into the possible state of mind that colleague could have been reffering to when he said it - time to get bored. Many years later, he could connect it to what he felt. It was a time when he had finished all that he had to for the day and he sat wondering, but he couldn't. It was the time to do nothing. It was the time to just be. To him, it was the time to be content. It would be momentary, but it would be worth that moment.

Rarely he found another human he could convince on content being more key than happiness. The premise itself would put them off. He would be left explaining how he never undermined happiness, but by then he would be considered a certain version of man who liked pain, or something close to that.

Months passed. He would walk by Whosane, sitting content, pet him once a while, and try talking to him. The dog seemed to listen without reading too much into details, as if he could see the larger picture. Though life eventually got busy, and he could only manage to walk past and notice Whosane sometimes. The Sometimes went on to become fewer than before, and soon he did not have the conscious memory to notice or remember Whosane.

A few more months passed. He finally noticed the dog again. Whosane looked a forgotten version of his past this time, not as content as before. At first he thought he was reading too much into it. It was a dog after all. How was he to be content or not, and have a way to express it. A night such, on his way back from work, he stopped over to play with Whosane. The dog took a while to come to him. He looked more distrustful than before. Maybe it was a bit more than that he thought, maybe he was scared. But it came around eventually, he petted the dog for sometime, and then he left for his apartment holding his palm up in the air, like he always did after he petted a stray, uncomfortable, till he found a place to wash his hands. All this while though, he kept wondering about Whosane, about he not being content anymore, had any merit in it.

He stopped over again, within a few days. Whosane came to him with more eagerness than before, but he looked more pale as well. While he petted him, the dog kept looking around. Soon there was a bunch of other dogs around him. He remembered them, because he used to pet them all initially, because they were all a troop once, and they wont let him only pet Whosane. Now however the air was different. Whosane seemed threatened by them and it stuck closer to his legs and followed him like a shadow, protecting himself from the other dogs. The message was clear. Whosane's territory was invaded by the other dogs. It became apparent why he did not seem content anymore. The dog was under threat. Whosane barked at the other dogs, they barked back at him. This was their war for territory. He realized he had himself surrounded by ferociously barking dogs with Whosane behind him, barking back at them, visibly scared. There is nothing he could do. He knew Whosane would have to fight them off, alone. His once mates had become the reason for his trouble, and he was alone now.

Leaving the dog behind he scurried out towards his apartment, worried, wondering, and relating....alone..

Rockstar - review

2011-11-11T10:58:00.000-08:00

Sometimes when you have had a bit too much of reality, any fantasy seems worth the sell. Rockstar in that sense is not just any fantasy though. It is something that can be believed in parts. If you have a different story to tell, it will surely keep one occupied for most parts.The songs blend in beautifully into the story. And you realize that it is fair to have Mohit Chauhan sing all of them, keeping it consistent with Ranbir's voice in the movie. This is commendable in a world where Akshay Kumar can end up with Rahat Fateh Ali's voice without anyone's bother.

There was a certain potential in the film, which if had been realized fully, could have become a poster film. Poster film is one that would make you wish you collect a poster and frame it, some years later. It had that kind of an art to it, specially the still shots and slow-mo. The DOP (director of photography) has left his mark.

If one cuts the hype around it, has their own small list of favorite songs sitting in anticipation, and appreciates the classic Imtiaz Ali first half humor, they may not be as disappointed as certain reviews are making it out to be. It does appear, though, that there has been some serious editing, in which they have probably cut out something relevant as well.

Life; as usual.

2011-10-27T00:18:00.000-07:00

He had an off that day. It was bit unlikely for one of them to get a day off when the other did not. There was never a debate over their company’s holiday policies. Both seemed to be doing as well. Today was that odd day though, when only he was at home.

There was not much that he learned to cook, and this seemed like a concern today, because he was planning to. Between them though, he made up, because what he lacked in cooking, he made up in cleaning, a trait he borrowed from his Dad, cleaning was something that he could put his mind to, and that made it not as mundane.

Today he had decided to do both however. Waking up late, he figured she had left already. Like a dream that you are reminded of once up, he recollected a faint peck on his forehead that she left him with before leaving for work, confirmed later with the maroon lipstick mark he saw on him, in the bathroom mirror. He made himself some black coffee and followed his daily routine of reading the newspaper sitting on the floor. Reading the papers sitting on the floor, over a cup of tea or coffee was in his mind the best compliment one could give to a quiet morning, so much so that the content in the paper seemed to play an irrelevant role. In today’s journalism and reporting, he felt anyhow, that irrelevant was a fairly apt word.

A late heavy breakfast of omelette, bread cheese and jam, juice and bowl of cornflakes made up for lunch as well. The spread on the table, and the ease of making it made breakfast a meal he always looked forward to. The heavier he made it, the better he slept in the afternoon. And there were few things as fulfilling as the thought of a weekday afternoon nap. He finished eating and made himself another cup of coffee before setting out to clean the house.

Once done with the required cleaning, he realized that he had not called to check how her day was going. There was no set understanding they had on this. Theirs was not a couple that had some clear rule of not calling or calling. They just had phases, of either checking up, or not. And these phases balanced themselves out. If they didn't, there would be an argument, which would set the matter in perspective. In that sense, he always found an argument a welcome effect, in hindsight. He tried explaining that to her later, but she found it principally incorrect to approve of an argument to ever have a positive connotation. And because he could understand what she meant, he did not push the matter much. It was just a matter of opinion after all.

Waking up after his much fancied afternoon nap, he ran in his mind the list of vegetables he needed for making a salad, which would go along with small portions of rice and the only dish he had managed to learn, chicken curry. He spent some time listening to Mekaal Hasan Band with some tea he made for himself. Music for him was more than a matter of the music itself. It was a set up. A cup of tea, with the sun nearing its descend, called for certain sounds. And nothing seemed more apt than the voice of Javed Bashir, one that he had found fitting into umpteen situations since the first time he heard them.

While he was picking up the vegetables at the vendor, he noticed a frail, but clean looking man next to him asking for the price of potatoes. Once the vendor told him how much it cost, he stood in a corner with an expression that resembled control in a part and contemplation in another. He was keeping his face in control, while trying to cover up what he contemplated. The vendor seemed a bit annoyed because the frail clean man was disturbing him while he made a big sale to a guy who pretty much bought everything on impulse, and that was Him. He, however, could not help but notice what the frail clean man was up to. A little while later the frail clean man walked up to ask how much would paav kilo ( paav, hindi for a quarter kilogram) of potato would cost. The vendor seemed annoyed at the silliness of the Ask. For the vendor, it was a small portion of what cost nothing much. For the frail clean man though, it meant dinner. He however noticed the gathered control and self respect on the frail clean man's face. He could have given the potatoes he bought to the frail clean man and felt a better human than being a mere observer, but that expression on the frail clean man's face held him from doing that. The man would not even look at him, though those two were the only ones shopping, and that in itself was the most dignified display of self-reliance in adversity. The frail clean man just waited patiently for the vendor to get done with him. Once he was done buying his set of vegetables, he left leaving the man behind. His bag seemed much heavier than it really was…

This, he decided, was what he would share with her today when she came back from work.

As planned, he cut the vegetables and cooked rice and chicken. She preferred her salad in a minimalistic dressing that he knew needed to be worked on only once she came in. After cleaning up the dishes, he took a shower and waited watching TV over mug of beer.

She walked in later than usual. The expression on her face said it all, she had a bad day. He knew there won’t be much of a dinner today.

He asked her, “How was your day?”

She replied, “Can you make me some noodles?”

Noodles were her comfort food. It was something that even he seemed to agree upon. He thought women had an incredible knack to physically transform an emotional state. Food for emotions, clothes for moods, and many such. It was something he wanted to observe, and even learn a little about. After she took a shower, she slipped into one of his Boxers and Ts. The physical expression was clear; she did have a bad day at work. Though on most occasions, she wore his clothes only when she missed him, and she told him about it later. He knew there was nothing much he could do now. She had to be left alone through her routine. Once that time was up, he would try walking into her zone.

“Would you want to have the noodles in the bedroom floor itself? ”, he asked.

She nodded, with a faint attempt at smiling.

They sat beside the floor lamp next to the book-shelf with their bowl each. The chicken would have to go into tomorrow's lunch he thought, and the salad could last a day or two. The rice could not be saved. He thought about the frail clean man. Then he looked at her pretty face, and nothing seemed to matter beyond that for the time being.

“I don't want to work there, “she said, like she would on a day like that. He heard her through. She slipped into bed after that. He spent a little while cleaning the dishes. He then took a shower, changed and joined her in bed. They made gentle love, and slept like nothing really mattered beyond that moment..

The Prop

2011-10-21T22:51:00.000-07:00

The Theater of life carries the chance to take you from being a Hero, to being a part of the Supporting cast. You become the Prop to someone's Destiny, instead of becoming their Destiny.

Welcome the King..

2011-09-09T03:04:00.000-07:00

It was one of those days when he would get back home, drained of his energies, and suddenly get busy cleaning the house. Nothing new, it always started from one thing that seemed a bother. This night it was the gap between the tiles on dining table. He had already tried cleaning it once but it was not too satisfactory. This time he used the dishwashing liquid and an old toothbrush, and it did the trick. And it never ended there; he went on to clean many such corners. Though that night it was not a usual day of cleaning for him. He was more tired than he normally used to be. Normally he would clean because he felt like, or because he wanted to distract himself, and sometimes because the house needed cleaning. But that night he was cleaning against his regular urge, and under a certain compulsion. He was so tired this time that he would keep on coming back for some rest after every part he cleaned. On any other day he would quit. But he went on cleaning in greater detail than ever; Wet-mopping the floor, cleaning kitchen slabs, bathroom tiles, fans, lamps. He did not know why he was doing it, but he could not stop himself either. And this went on till wee hours of morning. Finally when it seemed to him that there was nothing more he could clean, out of will or need, he took a shower, changed and called it a night.

The legend of Mahabali was a story he was told many times around the festival of Onam, the harvest festival of Kerala. While he never volunteered for any cleaning, his normal day before Onam was disrupted by his family moving him around to clean the house. The pretext was of keeping the house clean for King Mahabali, who was said to visit his beloved subjects, in the early hours of morning. And he would enter and bless a house that was kept clean.

Next morning, he was woken up at 8 am by a text message from a family friend. It conveyed Onam wishes on behalf of him and his family. It reminded him of the day about which he had temporarily forgotten.

It did not occur to him till he stepped out of bed, till his bare feet touched the floor, and he could not feel even a speck of dust beneath him. He realized his house was ready, without his conscious intent, to welcome the King..

The Wind Up Bird Chronicles (Book Review)

2011-07-31T23:10:00.000-07:00

Reading a Murakami lets you live through the world with less reaction and more observation, setting you up for respecting more or less everything. I don’t know if it has got to do with my kind of reclusiveness, or his style of writing. But the story, despite of being one of suffering, becomes desirable. Though I guess the reasons for that are not all that deep. Murakami provides you with a thrill, and it is unique. It is one thing to be surreal and another to maintain its proximity to the real like Murakami’s writing does. The magic is drawn from what you probably have experienced otherwise, physically, but did not really feel mentally. You probably felt five percent of it, which is all you need, to be drawn. The rest is his fantastic imagination.

I had heard somewhere that a good work of science fiction may not have to be something that agrees with the general laws of science that exist, but it needs to be something that sticks to the very logic that it has set up for itself in the process of establishing the story. And this is one element that Murakami seems to have perfected with his book (though it is not a science fiction). At the end of it all, when you come out of the world he created for you, you can see a certain math that was binding it all together.

The fine observations of daily life and near inspiring philosophies that he presents would not sound as attractive if it weren’t for the modesty and in-consequential self-presence that the protagonist manages to establish. It makes for such naturally felt empathy that when comes a moment of triumph; you feel it is like your own. It actually makes me think whether presenting a thought with self-doubt is any less convincing than presenting it with conviction. Self-doubt or self-argument actually allows you to present two sides of a matter. And that is one side more than of one presented with conviction, which, not to forget, already smells of pride and bias.

Going through this book is near similar to a flight. It is as if a certain realisation of how the world works made you so light that you were lifted up. And that those realisations took away your sense of dimensions such that you suddenly began to travel in ways that defied direction. However, the controller has it all figured, and those directionless flights are all interconnected, and in the end most of it you will figure. The rest is left to imagine, which I believe is Murakami’s signature.

In all this objectivity I am missing the element of excitement in discovering a treasure of point of views, detailing, passions, imagination, quirks, preferences or way of life. And it is probably because I chose to write this review a bit late. The truth is, while I was reading it, the excitement was similar to one of discovering gold.

Black Swan …… (Less of a review, more of a reaction)

2011-07-13T00:03:00.000-07:00

Making us question who we are,
Life's high to its deep lows,
Turning convictions into weakness,
Not touching the extremes but till an inch before,
The one that induces crime, but only in intent,
The one that turns instability into a weapon that probes negativity,
And before it bears a consequence that affects beyond self, it transforms it all into art. Streaming it into a single flow,
Running side by side with sanity,
Patiently displaying itself,
Gathering applause for its complexity,
Taking a bow and slowly gelling back to where it all began,

Back to where it started.
Where self has no meaning,
Where everybody is a nobody,
Back to large sea of average,
That place which makes everyone ordinary...till a black swan appears, again.

i am in hate with you

2011-05-08T13:08:00.001-07:00

it was love then | and it is hate now,

then the glimmer of assertiveness | now the darkness of agression,

then of protecting confidence | now of over-shadowing pride,

for the living ideals they stood | for the dead rigidity they became,

the impressive surity | the annoying arrogance ,

the perseverant's ambition to try| the
un-reasonable's refusal to give up,

the fur-soft sensitivity | the disgusting self pity,

the beauty of destiny | the casualness of coincidences,

of endless stream of understanding | and bottomless pit of tolerance,

the hope that partnered challenges | the dismay that tagged problems,

the moments of freedom | under the covers of ignorance,

The wonderfull possesion in shivering hands | to the rude awakening of unberable weight,

the once dream culmination | now wrapped invisible in the wisdom of a life lesson,

all that built 'i am in love with you', created 'i am in hate with you'.

The monk who bought a front loading washing machine

2011-05-03T04:19:00.000-07:00

It was a quiet night. He sat on the clean kitchen floor. The soft music playing in the back-ground, faint enough, ensured that the night’s still quiet. The bright yellow can of draught beer when poured it into a glass mug, and the fresh and gold bubbles went down, made a sound that seemed like the only note missing in a jazz song.

Sipping into the beer, he watched the front loading washing machine begin its slow and rhythmic patterns. It went about cleaning step by step, rotating at different speeds, mixing at every step what it needed – hot water, detergent and softener.

There something purposeful about watching mechanics in action. The effort is taken away by a device; his effort. As he observed it, he imagined the effort he was not expending. It made him feel lighter.

Automation created the time to observe it….endlessly.

A word, to describe a feeling.

2011-04-22T02:50:00.000-07:00

He went to the tracks today.Athletics track.After 13 years.He could'nt describe the feeling. He was not even sure if he was thinking. He was not thinking. It hit him only once he reached back home. The road back home seemed new. Like there was something more to that last bend than there was to it till yesterday. He had slept for 4 hours last night, to wake up at 6am and head to the tracks, but he did not get any sleep for two hours, trying to get some once he was back. He lay steady, not sure of whether he was aleep or awake. Seemed like he was sleeping with his mind open. It occured to him that it was some sort of a high. A very different and fulfilling high.

He took rounds of the track, did sprints, stretched and jumped into the sand pit.....Long and Triple. He discovered that he had not lost the touch. He did'nt struggle as badly as he expected to. He cleaned the sand off his legs, stretched on the rubber tracks. Everything came back, like yesterday.

He tried hard to find a word to describe what he felt. His comfort, his mindless-ness, ease and purpose. He was not sure why, that only one came to his mind - Mother.

Holi Madness – (the one that came right back at you)

2011-03-20T06:53:00.000-07:00

It is the apartment building’s Holi Party. And what greater plans can you focus on when the acoustic center of the loud music falls right onto your apartment? I did my formal best to go down and wish a few, but eventually the lack of friends showed. The acoustic center was accompanied with vantage point, yes - my apartment balcony. For the lack of anything else that I could possibly attempt doing, I sat and watched the elaborate proceedings – music, rain dance, and color masti. And when I eventually had enough of observing it, I got my laptop in between the two. So here it goes.

What more can one observe at a rain dance but the rain dance? However if you get the dynamics of the groups right, you can do a lot more than just watch the moves.

The one group you can never miss is the budding youngsters, more teenagers, blessed with agility and grace, and a bundle of self-consciousness. They dish out one dance move after another, fresh out of the latest club dance library. They do one thing very well; make everyone else in the eclectic dance floor feel lesser human. For the sake of nomenclature let’s call them Munni Bieber (sort of defines their preference, attitudes and confusions).

The other group is very similar in age to Munni Biebers, but they also spend their spare time studying and chasing grades (a lot of spare time). Their dance moves are straight out of the Bollywood break they take in between finishing next year’s curriculum. And with every dance move of the same self-consciousness that the Munni Biebers display, these are probably, also in their heads, revising that difficult physics problem. So there is a relative lack in required grace, but they are all priced dance moves nonetheless. For this full-marks display I decided to name them Barkha Dutt Potters (sort of what they might love to be caught doing/being).

The next gang is called Dil Chahta Hai (DCH); because that was the last time they wore a pair of jeans without wondering if they would fit into one (when the movie released). Yes, they are all women. Now clad in their graceful Salwar Kameez, moving to the music, with the moves that defy times, even relativity, but yet break into a frenzy of madness in the middle of nowhere. Their little toddler kids are running around with colorful water guns, wondering once in a while – “what’s wrong with mama!!”.

The next dynamic segment is the husbands of DCH. They are practically doing nothing, as blank as one can be. At best wondering how that pair of jeans would have fitted their women had they been dancing like this a bit more than once a year. Their toddler kids run to them asking for the little pants to be pulled up, and their water guns to be refilled. For the sake of no better name, and for the fear of what may be my next phase in life, I would call them Men.

The last segment-able group is the husbands of women who don’t bother coming to dance floor. They are the fathers of Munni Biebers and Barkha Dutt Potters. They are the morning walkers, active Apartment society members, the ones yelling at the apartment watchman, the ones who once changed their styles with Amitabh’s latest and now their house budgets with Finance Minister’s latest. Their dance movements are much better justified if expressed without using the word dance, but only movements. Their movements too, like that of DCH, break into a mad frenzy, but unlike DCH, there is one reason, more than passion, behind this – liquor. And for that I would call them Daru Power (go get it!)

Latest updates : Munni Beibers have rushed out to look dressed up and gelled before being spotted next. Bakha Dutt Potters have to get back to the seventh revision of their next year curriculum. Dil Chahta Hai women are back home and slowly discovering the two of the ten muscles that they have sprained. Men are back home and still doing nothing. Daru Power had refused to leave the dance floor, made the DJ play two more songs, and are now enquiring for empty glasses and ice, holding something inside a black plastic bag.

Simplicitychi ani Happinesschi factory (Reviewing Harishchandrachi Factory)

2011-02-20T23:22:00.000-08:00

To sit and watch a true story meant only one thing in cinema, to be ready to watch something unpleasant, loaded with struggle, with a world of opposition, and an eventual victory over evil. And when we leave, we seem inspired and armored with some invaluable awareness about a life and time that existed.

So when I sat to watch the much acclaimed Marathi motion picture portraying the life and times of the Father of Indian cinema – Dadasaheb Phalke, I had something like that in mind – a daring real story, of a life that represented a landmark effort, and something in and around that.

And then you watch Harishchandrachi Factory, only to realize how incredibly honestly reality could be portrayed, and how a true story can be told with innocence, humor and beauty.

While a small Marathi community struggled in amazement to the reality of moving pictures entering their lives, the story captures not their anger but the humor, favorable coincidences, support and happiness that accompanied the lives of those who were around it.

This reality is yet exactly how it should have been. The amazements, and amusements, of a conservative Indian community to the foreign creature called moving pictures. And like how everything else foreign that walked into India became Indian, this creature did too, become one amongst them. And so was born the humor, the kinds that I have not seen in the longest of time. Phalke teaches his wife to develop prints, his kids to act, picks his troop from the unusual of places and sees the world through an eye so optimistic that I have never wanted to be a part of an era, more, as much as I have wanted to be a part of his. His obstacles were handled with wit and simplicity, his inspirations and methods had all a touch of innocent dedication and learning.

All I could feel as I sat through the movie was a generous flow of simplicity and a continuous world of happiness. To me it therefore seemed Simplicityachi and Happinesschi factory.

reality, beyond words..

2011-02-10T12:28:00.000-08:00

There are many a loss that humans can bereave over, arising out of complexities of emotions or irreversability of a past. But there still isnt one that could bring itself to compare with loss of a human life. It wouldnt take even the wisest to close their eyes to sense the void that comes alongside death, if it hasnt, to one of their own, to one who they loved .

Every other loss comes with a subject, or a matter, that can be learnt from, ignored, accepted, rationalised, corrected, cursed, hated or merely well-wished to. For the subject still breathes and the matter still resides in that moment. But death is a reality even dreams dont dare to invade, atleast not the ones we control.

Sometimes i have seen it in the eyes of the old, not out of its comprehension, but out of its inevitability. And it felt cold.

The wisest who chose to call it the biggest reality, may still feel insufficient in expressing it.

So a tear that sheds itself, may be the best that a man can do, to embody the grief, where words fail him...a

Kannur Travelogue (Kerala)

2011-02-07T01:42:00.000-08:00

Calicut – Kannur (The Bus Journey)

12.30 AM (Mumbai to Calicut) - He got the plane’s last seat, stiff, without recliner, made comfortable by the music on his iPod. The prepaid at Calicut airport arranged an Ambassador to Calicut bus-stand, from where he would take a bus journey, to Kannur.

He got the last seat in the bus too. The trip smelt of destiny already. Kerala began its routine, with the bus journey, with interesting shop names – Brothers (five shops, huddled together, each a Brothers’, from Hardware to Auto-parts and more, truly brotherly), Hayath, Sastha (later corrected, not as “cheap” as translated in Hindi, but a local God). He noticed the word Fancy on shops, not as their name, but used for the kind of goods sold, like a vanity or a gift store - Biji Fancy, or Geetha Fancy. His co-passengers in bus, a family of three, started popping toffees, bringing back the age old association of Kerala buses and nausea. Driven by ex-military men (allegedly drunk at times), these were most feared four wheeled beast on NH-17. He was relieved at the thought that he was empty stomach. He noticed a series of health clubs (Gyms) along small towns to villages, all looked like the other. All inside small halls, set on first floors of one storied buildings, with identically designed banners, announcing what they did, only named different. One such was named shamelessly Red Bull. So he noted down the name of the sleepy village that had it – Payyoli. Around 10 minutes later he realized that it was not a mere sleepy village. It was a village that had witnessed a high, two decades ago. It was where the sprint queen P.T.Usha began her dream journey, to become an icon of Indian sports history. And to be called Payyoli Express.

North Kerala was new to him. All his trips to Kerala since childhood had been to the south of the State. It may not have seemed too different to many, but he seemed to see the cultural divide, and feel a sense of newness. Bus journey continued. The town of Mahe passed him next, giving a sense of being a holiday destination, and of a preferred beach town. This coupled with another realization, that this was not Kerala, literally. This was a part of Pondicherry, the tiny Union Territory on the east coast of southern India, off the Bay of Bengal. And it had a broken extension here, 650 kilometers away, in north Kerala, off the Arabian Sea. This was something he knew, from map games played on Oxford’s India Atlas as a child, of spotting a given town on a map. Mahe, for its neutrality of sound, was a hot pick. What was new to him was the unpreparedness of passing by it.

He realized every journey is made better by the chances one takes (his was to choose a bus over train), and the excitement that those chances add to every interesting discovery.

Floor-tiles shops, light shops and liquor stores – this odd combination of most seen shops intrigued him as he passed on. He later discovered that the tax exemption for a Union Territory made Mahe a desired destination for purchases like these. He then passed Thalasserry, a small and pleasant beach town, and an eatery named Regency Fried Chicken (RFC). It seemed like the most unlikely of places one would run into in to, next to the bus stand. Not to forget that it looked better than a KFC itself. He came across advertising boards with names of companies that end with International Group that he had never heard of, or other's whose sign-off lines said-'conquering the world', which did not ring a bell that it should have ideally. But Thalassery was beautiful. Somewhere he saw a weathered billboard declaring it as 'god's own country', but if one would see what he saw, they would know that it never need a saying.
Late afternoon, passing by, he noticed few odd stores with long queues that looked similar to the ones at banks, reservation counter. Just that these if you notice carefully, in fine print, barely legible to on-board bus passenger like him, announced a liquor store. Liquor has the maximum per capita consumption in Kerala. The State government has taxed them heavy (151%) and even declared 1st of every month a holiday, just so that the men would bring their salaries home.

Bus stand in Kannur seemed fancier than some of the airports he had seen. Getting down, he attended to his long held hunger and asked for grape juice at a store. He had imagined it light green, and it turned turned dark purple, because this was Kerala. He had always wondered why this state had a bigger fascination for the darker version than light in grapes. He still does not know why.

Kerala had always fascinated him. He was one amongst them by origin, but an outsider by upbringing. He considered it an advantage, to be able to be one amongst them and yet observe like an outsider. It was a gift to his imagination, and he loved every moment of being in it.

He stood, waiting, in the middle of a sea of people, each of whom knew that he was not one of them, while he knew that he was. His friend came down, few minutes later, and picked him up…

The Human Mix

2010-11-23T22:17:00.000-08:00

'....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…

Rickshaw Chronicle - But Different

2010-11-22T02:32:00.000-08:00

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.

Bi-cycle Diaries : Kashid , The 110kms Journey.

2010-11-17T21:37:00.000-08:00

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.

My Experience - New York I Love You (movie review)

2010-09-26T23:15:00.001-07:00

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…

The bang of Dabang..

2010-09-13T02:10:00.000-07:00

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 :) )

When we talk about running...

2010-07-20T00:53:00.000-07:00

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.

Pedal Pleasures

2010-05-27T20:15:00.000-07:00

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..

L.S aur D darling..(x3)

2010-03-22T00:12:00.001-07:00

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.

About Book 2 - The Girl Who Played with Fire - Stieg Larsson

2010-02-18T02:11:00.000-08:00

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.

About 'The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - by Stieg Larsson'

2010-02-12T09:41:00.000-08:00

Fiction read is not my cup of cake. 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.

Mumbai Marathon 2010 - the run

2010-01-17T04:38:00.001-08:00

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.

the final journey - mumbai marathon 2010

2010-01-16T15:53:00.000-08:00

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.....

2 days to go - Mumbai Marathon 2010

2010-01-15T03:50:00.000-08:00

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.

worst can happen - mumbai marathon

2010-01-14T05:11:00.000-08:00

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...

4 days to go - mumbai marathon 2010

2010-01-13T01:56:00.000-08:00

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 ...

The Big 32 & Taper Complexities - Marathon Training

2010-01-08T06:44:00.000-08:00

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.

Discovering Running form - Mumbai Marathon 2010

2009-12-25T00:01:00.000-08:00

Its been a fluctuating path to Marathon fitness. Some weeks that seem heavy and others that seem light. Four weeks back i thought i was training too heavy and draining myself. I would not look forward to a run as much, more so for the strain it caused. It was good enough that i stuck to delivering the time-goal for all the long runs. Three weeks ago the over training showed off its bad side and i fell ill. A case of weak immune coming out of a strained body, and i missed two runs. The rest days during the illness helped the body recover. Nature has its ways. When i got back to training the next week, there was a little loss of stamina but body felt better. I had hoped that i survive the 29km long run that weekend which i did. This was also a week where i included walking into every run. It seemed like the right thing to do - to finish and conserve than to indulge and burn-out. At this stage of training one thing i realised is that if your body is calling rebel, then you should just pull your horses back a bit, which i did. The week after , which was a week ago, had a reduction in running distance as training prescribed. I felt a certain improvement in run quality. By now i had acquired enough confidence in hydration and diet to have a fast recovery, while i maintained run quality. And i guess it was the combination of all these weeks of learning that came together this week, which is also the peak training weak, the one in which i run the maximum total distance. 8km, 16km & 8 km on weekdays and 32km on weekend. And at this point, i don't know if its too early or too late, i realised i have discovered running form. The weekday distances are over. I managed to run these with efficiency better than any run in past. I never felt the need to walk, my heart rates were lower, finish times steady and recoveries fast. And now i wait for Sunday morning when i run the big finale of this training - the grand 32km. There could not be a better state of body and mind for me going into this big run. This week so far, that was high on physical and mental stress (also, for various reasons), has toughened me in manner that i wonder if its a bit fanatic ( the kinds you find in some extra happy families, religious gatherings or competitive sports. the Too-good-to-be-true kinds). I am trying to curb it to the levels of modest-self-assurance, which is what i prefer. However in all this, there is no denying that my body has finally attained the form that it should. This, coupled with some consistent support from people who matter has put me into a state of peace that pays you a visit once in a while, making you hope that it stays for a little longer than it does.

I hope too.

Coming to the Grand 32km waiting this Sunday. I am hoping more than finishing it, that i have a fair amount of energy left. Enough to tell myself that i will last another 10km, three weeks later in the agonising Mumbai heat. My online coach says i would be in a very bad shape when i finish. But i have a feeling he is wrong this time. I think i just stepped a bit above his average marathon rookie, for the first time in his 18 week training program.

It must be the modest-self-assurance of my running form :)

Quality Running (marathon training)

2009-12-16T01:10:00.000-08:00

The D-Day is 31 days away. Last week was the second toughest week of training, that ended with 29km run. I had missed the long run the week before that (19km, part of step-back week, where the distances are reduced), fell ill, must be the training. Pushing body to such levels is bound to weaken immune at times. The good part was that the illness helped the body to recover from the tedious training routine, but at the same time i lost out on a little bit of stamina. So i obviously had apprehensions about how will i last the longest run in my training so far, 29km. But the strength of apprehension seems to have reduced over the course of training. I know i can do it, most of the time. I worry more about state of mind than state of body. I was more eager to try out new things to help me sustain the run better. To improve the quality of the run and not just to finish it. So the focus was on Pre-Race food and liquids during the race. And as much as i have never liked the concept of carrying a water bottle while running before this training started, its least likely that i will be found leaving without one now. Water just turns it around, entirely. Its amazing how much of what you eat and drink pre and during the race can add to your performance. And its even better to know how much it can help you post race, as i discovered this time.

For a change i decided to start run with glucose water than plain water, and had a little extra milk 45 minutes before the run. I had late dinner, so was hoping that it will come into effect too. The last record of me feeling hunger into a long run was 13km. This time i pushed it to 22km! its a big achievement. I realised that the secret lay in not getting hungry for as long as you can, which brings it all to energy levels ,obviously related to hunger. Hunger is body's message to you for dropping levels of energy, from where it starts to put more pressure on muscles and drain them of all reserves. In a long run i guess its not entirely possible to be not hungry, but the performance depends in how much you can push it, hunger. And i could not have learnt this lesson any better than how i did this time. I was running without music this time (i carried it, just in case), because i think it helps me focus on my running rhythm better. And at the point of 22nd Km i was out of energy and hungry, almost together. While contemplating how much i will have to suffer on the time i targeted this run to finish in, i saw a Banana vendor, and if i am going to suffer in the next 7km , i realised i might as well eat one to curb the hunger. However it did more than that. Suddenly i found an extra load of energy that lasted me the rest of the run. I did walk but i also ran faster to make up for it. With this i switched on the music too. It helped a bit. Music can at time annoy too. Here though it blocked the traffic noise. Running faster in patches and walking is not a bad strategy. Helps you sustain the last few Kms.

I survived and improved the last 7kms, thanks to the Banana and Music (more banana :) ). Finished it 3hrs and 04min, as planned.

What i also discovered later was the hydration and eating helped me recover from this long run better than any i have done so far. There were no post run headaches that i normally get out of dehydration. The cramps loosened themselves rather fast. Except for sore calves i did not carry any pain for too long. This is a very important lesson, on how you handle your run can also affect your recovery. Benefits of a well handled run stay beyond the run. That also is the ulterior motive of any training program, to not just finish the marathon, but to cross the line with a smile on you face.

Food For Destiny

2009-12-10T23:31:00.000-08:00

I have never spoken about food in this blog, and it surprises me. There are only few things that hold the kind of importance as eating for me. I would not want to start thinking what the rest are, because its not about them that i want to talk, its about food. Such a pleasure, the act of eating .

One of the most fulfilling experiences in training for Marathon has been getting to eat as much as i want (not that i did not do that earlier) and the entire excitement of getting the diet right. With a Mumbai-Workaholic lifestyle its almost a reason for celebration if you get your meals right. Any mumbaikar would agree. I have finally managed to make time for breakfast - elementary for most, fantastic for folks from the most crowded populous this side of Arabian sea. And that i managed with the meal that poses the biggest threat to America's gift to the world - Cornflakes. I almost missed the Corn craze amidst limitations of Time, Affordability and Utility. And when i finally made a come-back to the race, i was pleasantly surprised by this new challenger, well riding into being the most fancied and preferred option for the new age healthy, please welcome Muesli. The utility of it almost makes me ignore the dry taste that it starts with in your mouth, yes, i have acquired a taste for it. Not just that, it also suits my need to think into any food i eat, by making me carefully plan a single raisin into every scoop, and timely rewards of crisp almond bits.

Lunch is a very important mind meal (every meal for me has direct correlation to mind)for it also decides how I will be for the second half at work-place. Mumbai-Workaholic syndrome pushes me into the Office Canteen with the POV of saving precious minutes into an already long work day. And the thing about any canteen that most would reciprocate is that it reduces your appetite considerably the moment you enter the food area. What that in turn does is make the second half at work-place a hard-push. Off late, a week to be exact, a certain rebel in me has worked, and i figured a popular lunch joint nearby that served the best food - Fried Bangda Fish Thali at a popular restaurant called Jai Hind (Bangda would be Mackerel and the world famous Ailaa for every Malayaee). Bangda is considered to be a poor man's fish. My eating is mostly obsessed around such foods, poor but yummy - Dal Rice, Rice Rassam + Dry fish , Mutton Biriyani etc. Basic, hygienic and Large portions would be the three governing principles of anything i love to eat. So i have been feasting on Bangda and relishing the new found post lunch happiness.

That brings me to essence of writing a blog on this . I was not up to taking the walk to Jai Hind today. Don't know why but i guess i had strengthened my body already with as much Bangda I needed for another week or just too lazy (honest and true) to compete with the canteen-appetite-killer-effect. All i hoped walking into the canteen was that there would be an option for Complex Carbohydrates (Read Roti/ Wheat Bread). Our canteen in charge likes to excite all by serving coloured rice and chicken under the pretext Biriyani on Fridays. And with that dreaded expectation i moved towards the food trays to bewelcomed by a smiling canteen manager standing behind plates of Bangda Fry & Fish Curry. Its a moment that that lasts a second and feels more than that. To get the perspective right, this is the first time in five years of my working here that i have seen any form of fish being served in the canteen.

Imagine a set of Bangda fishes that once swam the ocean and destined to be fried and served to this one individual, for it was always meant that way, to be relished over a week. And in this there was a smart twist of fate, for reasons beyond a common man's intellect, where one fish would pursue its consumer to a place where even the consumer did not know he would head to, till an hour before lunch-time.

As much as lunch time food would not seem the most appropriate messenger to flash a deeper sense of world , but It is moments like these that make the Atheist in me wonder if there is a power around me (or in me) that is beyond me.

Hindi Proverb - Daaney Daaney pe likha hai khaaney waaley ka naam ( every grain has written on it the name of its consumer)

Food for destiny indeed.

End of Level 2 - 26km Run (Mumbai Marathon 2010)

2009-12-01T23:20:00.000-08:00

Twelve weeks of the eighteen week training is over. Two-Thirds done, six more weeks to go. Level three of training begins....

One long run after another. Life is about one Saturday morning to the next. This feels like a period of transition, shedding the cast of an over-worked & stressed out executive and dawning the new mould of a blood-pumping & efficient running machine.

After the last long-run and the struggle i had to recover, I had started my recovery led work much earlier in the week this time around. Following the same pattern of run for the three weekdays as coach Higdon suggested, I increased the focus on stretches, and was bit surprised to see myself stretch better as I progressed. I have always been a poor flex all through my armature athletics years in school. So even the slightest promise in it gives me pleasure beyond measure. And at the end of third decade of living with these joints, it only feels better. It was almost like one of those past life corrections i had to make amongst other things to make my peace with life : Will make up for lack of reading, spend more time with parents, will stretch well once :)..like that.

My goal going into Saturday's 26km run was to manage the same 7 Min/Km pace as last week’s 24km and finish in 14 minutes more than last week’s 2hr 43min. For that I was not relying on sleep the night before for its always a disturbed one, full of odd dreams. Like the one I dreamt when i bought my Heart Rate Monitor was that my Heart Rate while rested was 14 per minute. Kept me worried through my sleep. That's another, the heart rate monitor, my new gadget whose exact benefits I am not sure of. But somehow I can see if I keep my heart rate in check, I don't seem to over shoot on pace and injure myself. And sticking to an average heart rate also helps get a good timing. The disturbed sleep before the run is an important part of pre race conditioning, because it’s bound to happen on 16th January 2010 too (day before the Mumbai marathon). What matters is if you have slept well the night before that. Long Runs are the very critical to pre-race conditioning, and by that I don't just mean the distance you run. It is the run to re-create every scenario from race-day. So I have been shifting them to mornings, starting at the same time as race, experimenting with pre-race food and drinks while in the run. Am not being extremely pro about it, given it’s my first marathon, but it’s interesting to note certain ways in which my body reacts. Like having milk instead of fruits before run ensured that I felt my first hunger pangs around 13Kms instead of 9Km. Whether to have a liter of water before a liter of ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution)or the other way ( it’s a 2hr+ run, two liters do as of now). I know it would be difficult to get these things right on the day of race, but one can try.

The day before the long run I referred to the online advice from Coach Higdon. It said - "Next week you'll run a shorter distance as part of a stepback week, so tough this out". There is something about a coach telling you to give it all, you feel backed up, more than before, and you want to do it. The conservative estimates go out of the window. I have always been a coach's boy, hell bent on doing as told, every time, without fail. This time too, it seemed like I had a new shot of confidence, to tough it out. I tried a new route; kept a small paper with distance markers and time to help me pace well, geared up, and headed out to 'tough' this 26km out.

My legs felt stronger at the start, there were clear improvements from last week's run. For most part of the run I felt like there was a lot left in me. I managed to stay steady and in control for longer. I switched to cap with the Sun rising to my right. Took my usual half-way water break to buy another liter of water, mixed it with ORS and headed back .Somewhere I also realised that I could make a considerable improvement in my timing by running this 26Km in the same time as I ran 24Km. That would be something to clearly demarcate my improved performance with. But the hard Sun on you in the closing stages threatens to eat into any goal and reduce it to just finishing it fair. It did for me too. The last 6km was difficult, not to ignore that the road was not flat, but I realised i was not suffering much if I walked the ascends and make it up while descending. "Just keep the heart rate at check and don't stop" - I told myself. I thought I stopped to walk more than i should have, not to forget the dust and traffic piling up around you at the closing stages which are not encouraging either, though i don't worry over it because race day won’t have them. Sun, however, would stay, on race-day too. So i had to battle it. Maybe it’s because of energy drain, that my jaws had begun to stiffen by the end of long run: happened last week too. In all, when I finished, I realised I had put enough effort in the first half of the run to not let any of these effect the performance.

Finished the 26Km in the same time as 24Km. Tough as promised. Wanted to inform the coach, but i have not paid for that :). The training is a free download. Let’s hope he reads this...haha.

Twelve weeks of the the eighteen week training is over. Two-Thirds done, six more weeks to go. Level three of training begins, and it does feel like three levels. Started with conditioning (level 1), followed by hardships (level 2), and now heading for maintenance & improvements (level 3).

Rickshaw Chronicles - 3

2009-11-26T04:31:00.001-08:00

Rickshaw Santa. Not for his driving skills; he drives like a snake, noticing the errors with road only till he is two meters away, and then unleashing his curl-swirl. Exercise does not manage to move my waist with such grace that his curl-swirl does. There is a certain amount of 'fun' to it mind you, feels exciting, that swirl. But the impression of 'fun' was originally created at an impressionable age by joy-rides, which were created to make us experience certain risky experiences of life, under controlled environment. Precisely put, they were safe. Our Nagraj is not. And like I do to most, I warn or request, to slow down. And like they all do to me, they listen, but for not more than five seconds. Nagraj did not listen either. However, in the rickshaw Santa moment, i realised that our bugger would take me to my destination through longest route and took a flyover that he should not have. And just when i started yelling at him for that, i saw him making the most sorry face. After deciding to spare him, i noticed he had not turned the meter down. This time i pulled him up like a teacher..guided him for the rest of the route, and at the end I paid him as I wished. In that I could not cheat though, had to be fair.

Rickshaw Chronicles - 2

2009-11-26T04:28:00.000-08:00

Today i am chauffeured by the young need-for-speed junky who is in the usual hurry to reach me to my destination at a time faster than what i expect of him. Honking away at every creature at sight, this son-of-a-speed-gun also makes me wonder if we are moving ahead or backwards because for every 2 seconds of driving he looks at the rear view mirrors twice. It strikes me later that as much as he has the biggest overtaking bug, he also carries the not letting anyone else overtake bug. But what's that! Son-of-a-speed-gun just got overtaken by son-of-a-machine-gun, haha! But he is not giving up, taking shortcuts and alternate routes to catch his rival by surprise....but he would not know for sure if he managed, to get ahead. I would have stopped him for a cab switch-over much before his expectation. That's my way of returning the favour. A hit in the heart in return for a heart attack journey. For all the knight-rider exterior these men are quite touchy i tell u :)

24 Km. Of Experiments & Learning - Mumbai Marathon 2010

2009-11-22T23:43:00.000-08:00

My road back home. The point of changeover from taxi to rickshaw,or the other way. The 100 rupees distance. 12 Kilometer. Bandra changeover point. Bandra to Andheri. This is the route i take everyday to work and back. Only this time i ran it. It was my Saturday long run distance - 24km, longest so far.

There was nothing i did not try to get my body in shape for this run, so i will not be able to tell what exactly worked in my favor, that i could finally stand at the starting point at 7 in morning feeling fresh no less than a little sleep that nagged. Going by the last Saturday's 16Km run, i was more sure that i wont manage this 24Km. What worried me more is that i knew i will not stop, that was not an option, which meant that i would gather an injury, which i was scared of. I have been in a whirlwind of thoughts post the 16Km run, wondering and googling every bit of information i could gather from myself and Internet, anything, that would get me back in shape for that longest run. So at 7 in the morning this Saturday, i had behind me a list of attempts, to recover.I stretched with as much focus as i ran,i drank as much water as i could imagine my body to bear,made my last run slower than the slowest just in hope to condition yet not exert,and finally a combiflam and Thai foot massage....something had to work. And it did.Don't know how much, but it did. All i knew was that i was steady enough to start, and that was all that mattered.

It all seems better when you are done with it.Its not the same when you are in it.And specially this run, for which i chose morning to acclimatize with the actual marathon weather conditions, the heat.Powai to Bandra is not the best patch of road to run either. Into the first 4Km i was wondering what i was acclimatizing with, heat or dust. The first muscle that turned sore were eyes. Next would be nose, with garbage stench out of overfilled dumps. And i overestimated the extent of laziness of mumbai on a Saturday, as i saw the increasing number of people on road. India is certainly turning digital i can assure, for most eyes that i ran past were stuck on the cool device that was strapped on my arms supplying music to my ears, my Ipod Nano. I almost forgot about the heat.

I was prepared this time, not exceeding the decided pace, had planned my run to the end, four phases of 6 Kms in 45mins each.However as i ran, i realised that 45 could be 40, i was comfortable at 40minutes. The fun of that 40 builds as you reach the third and fourth phase.After my first 12km i stopped over at a store to pick another liter of water, mixed it with Electrol and was yet under my time. However i sensed a struggle to keep up when i reached 18Km, not to forget the heat that was building up. I had to tell myself that it was this phase that mattered the most, the most critical part of the training, what this run was all about, to take my body to that level of exhaustion, drain it of all the energy and wait for it to react and make me better equipped the next time i stretch my distance, from 24 to 26 to 28 to 30...leading to 42km. Thanks to the swarming crowd across different patches of Andheri (who were now moving around like a sea of ants who were just disturbed by a naughty kid) i had to take walk breaks, which in fact helped me sustain more than slow me down. The last patch of this longest run had the most anti-friendly atmosphere. With heat and people all over. I ended up walking a lot of it. And in all i lost only 3 minutes. Finished with relative ease (did not fall or sit down).

This was probably one of my most well planned run and i learned more than i ever have. Am i ready for the 42? No. But this did an ample lot to my road to it, told me that i am on the right one.

Yes, i have begun my next round of experiments.....a brand new heart rate monitor. Lets see where i get with that.

Halfway up the mountain - Mumbai Marathon 2010

2009-11-16T22:00:00.000-08:00

9 weeks, 300kms, 1900 minutes......

....And halfway into my marathon training. I am not sure how i feel. Last two weeks seemed like a battle my body waged to resist or adjust to increased training distance. It was near impossible to keep my mind off running and equally difficult to see the fun in it. Legs don't start a new day's run feeling as fresh as they did earlier. Several hours post a run and they still cramp and call out for stretches, that's what i am caught doing in meeting and my work station, stretching legs.I am barely a week or so into the power breakfast, of the most fancy cereal of all times, muesli, and however much i like it, it seems annoying that i can't get that taste out of my mouth. And i think next in line is rice. After a long run on weekends i desperately chase proteins. I seek motivation and find it too, but its not easy to come anymore, and it does not stay long enough. And had i written this sometime yesterday, it would sound more tough, for i had not recovered well enough from my weekend run. That was yesterday.

Today i have fairly recovered for the starting run of 10th week. I don't feel as lost. I can look back at training so far and see a long way behind me. The entire training program has now begun to make sense. I can see why there are those essential break between two runs, for it has become more needed now than ever before. My body continues to resist but seems to also cope and adjust.Past 9 weeks have prepared me not just physically but even mentally to handle the more crucial part that begins now. Its almost a meditative state.I have voluntarily given up alcohol.Skipping breakfast is not an option. I dont have to try hard to drink three litres of water a day. I run four days a week still, but the thursday run before the long run on saturday is much slower, so that i can condition my body but not over-burden muscles for the long run in waiting. As much as i need to think and motivate myself, i also need to let go, take a break and not stress. By now i am disciplined and the motivation i need is of a different kind, of not to stick but to control - rest, diet and recovery.

Training is not performance, but the slow preparation to enable it.

Next 9 weeks will see me experimenting with weights, stretches, hydration, heart rates, energy burning mechanisms and more, that would take me to the next level.

9 weeks, 400kms, as many minutes.........more to go till D-Day

Delhi Marathon 2010 - A Small dream within a Big.

2009-11-02T21:29:00.000-08:00

Decision - Luck by Coincidence
I had a feeling that this training program will coincide somewhere with the Delhi Half Marathon, and it did. I had to run a 19km on the same weekend as part of my training. And the moment of realisation was also the right time to book cheap tickets, so it all fell in place. Following day i announced to all near and dear. Accommodation was uncertain till another good friend came as saviour. I was now all ready to go.

Journey and Race Eve - Smitten & Up-beat
It happens to you when you notice fit men in sports shoes boarding the same flight as you, and you know they are runners heading for the same cause, Delhi & themselves :). I saw them too, a group of three, two men and a woman, undoubtedly runners.Reached Delhi and headed straight to the Marathon Expo, where i met my running companion, room partner (saviour, i had no clue of acco) and fitness coach for the next two days, Malhar.It will be difficult to give a brief introduction to guy like him. But just imagine a highly self driven person, breaking away from the regular norms of Indian male (Dentist to an Ace Triathlete), and who loves to talk.The room turned out to be more than what we both expected, and we have both decided to always choose this for stay for any of our Delhi trips in future,Vishwa Yuvak Kendra is the best! Located in the heart of Delhi, 15min walk from the marathon start line, and a part of the most beautiful part of Delhi, which i doubt if even Delhites get regular access to.And to add to that,the simple and delicious food at the Dining Hall, we never really had to think hard on carb loading or worry about the quality. It all seemed perfect.

Sitting across, resting before a great day of running, and watching India pull one of its most memorable victories against Australia in the same city, on a Saturday evening, we struggled to figure what could be a more meaningful thing to do.

We even managed a slow evening run to the venue, to know where we would be heading the next day.In that we met a veteran runner who was also figuring the venue.We figured he was a Mumbaikar and hoped to cross each other in the race, which we did. He was called Mahadev Samjiskar, and we figured later that this man was an inspiration. At the age of 67, he managed to run his 21k in 2hrs and 4min, just a few minutes slower than us youngsters.I will save his answer for the secret to those long lasting knees of his for later.

My legs were stiffer than usual for the pre-race night. I was hoping i manage a 2hr finish.

Race Day - Its only about running
Yes, its only about running, for starters i missed to catch India Gate to my right at the 9km mark.I realised what i had always knew but had forgotten since sometime, which is when you run, you only run.At best you look at other runners.The weather was pleasant, very.There seemed to be more runners in the 21km category than i have seen in Mumbai. I guess that was because even the full marathoners were running the half as Delhi does not have an option of Full.Other than ogling at the African runners as they went past like storm, and noticing some familiar faces (including two men and a woman from flight), i was only running to ensure that i don't strain my legs.The newness of the road kept me unsettled. The first half of the race was very well paced. And the point at which i had hit a wall in my last race was bearable this time (16-19km).For only 7 weeks of training, it was a bright spot, but then it could simply be the weather.I ran past Mahadev and Malhar ran past me, we exchanged a few words and went about figuring our own legs.The 17km mark felt as close as far.And i could not help but walk a few step at 19th Km.The new race replenishment fluid (Huge portions of glucose) seemed to be working, a benefit from race nutrition crash course from malhar the previous evening.I even managed a glucose refill at at one of the water stations around 13km. I managed fluids pretty well this time, except at the 19km where i gave in to "what the hell" and sipped an entire mini water bottle of water, and the first urge i had was to puke, odd, felt it for the first time. That was the first of the three things i felt for the first time in the next 3Kms.Second of it was when i did my usual dash for the finish line at the sight of it(it seemed nearer this time), and the point at which i tried to sprint, in that micro second, i felt my calves, they caught, rebelled, in what could possibly be the worst cramp, if i had not immediately brought back that sprint leg to the regular pace.I like to overtake a few co runners who have constantly been inspiring/annoying with their pace ahead of me. My moment is always around the finish when my body decides to give this bonus supply of energy. And in that moment i did get my energy shot and i did overtake those few, even without the sprint.And the third new feeling was the finish line of my 4th Half marathon in 5 years, i wanted to puke. I did control the urge, but it was odd.I could walk,talk and had more than a breath left, which actually are three more firsts from this race, but i guess i was only counting the three unpleasant experiences.Legs were as jammed as it could be. Joints seemed weaker than expected. But for seven weeks of training, 1hour and 58mins was something i did not have to complain about. Moreover, i had to tell myself - This is only training. And i have no clue how i am going to run 42km, but for the simple re-assurance Hal Higdon (virtual coach) has given - trust the training, and see how far you have come from where you started, and I (Hal) ensure that you will cross that 26 mile line with a smile on your face.

Oh! And i did a clenched fist grunt at the finish line, seemed odd, but i guess sometimes you don't know what you catch yourself doing :)

Road Back
Weekends like these seem longer in hindsight.I had a couple of hours to kill at the airport.Other than fueling glucose to a much needy body, i scrolled through shops at the majestically re-done Delhi airport. And when i sat rested in a chair wondering if i should get up, i saw the legend of world cricket, i saw Sachin, as he walked past,i sat watching him in amazement...Dhoni followed, and then did the entire team. I got up in excitement and thought if i should follow them a bit.And that's when my legs called out and i told myself - let them be, you are fine!

For the most desirable doze of reality that i experienced in the past two days, i went up the book store to cope myself for the break from it, a fiction, the latest by Dan Brown. Friends tell me its exciting, so i broke my non-fiction spree.

On being told of a further delay of half hour for my flight, i found, as a part of the same Luck By Coincidence that i had experienced so far, a Thai foot massage place. I have not been very impressed with that so far as much as other i know go raving about, but this was special, and needed. I have never had a better massage or a better need for it. Every second of that half hour was heavenly. The least i could say was that i could think of running another 21k at the end of it.

My flight back got me talking to the three runners, and i made sure not to freak them out with my recollection of them at all points. They train at shivaji park, and the lady in the group looked familiar.They all ran few minutes better than me, but i guess its only a matter of time :)

Mahadev Samjiskar, when asked about his secret for good knees, began naively explaining in his sweet marathi accent that he started running at the age of 62yrs, for the first time in his entire life, after retirement, after ensuring all his kids are settled, and with having left no more jobs to finish. So the secret of good knees turned out to be - Don't run till you are 62! Simple ain't it.

And at the finish line of this journey, the airport, i had the a very special friend waiting for me, with a big smile. I was too fatigued and starved to be excited about it. But i could not have asked for a better way to close this 21km Delhi chapter.

After completion. Malhar on right.Darshan (Malhar's friend)on left.

Vishwa Yuvak Kendra - Could not have asked for better.

On the eve of Delhi marathon 2009

2009-10-31T03:35:00.001-07:00

In one of the most sufficient stay arrangments, right in the center of the capital city of delhi, a short walk away from start area of the most scenic 21km run that i expect, i sit to savor a double omlette sandwich with bread and cheese and a cup of black coffee. And i sit in (what i term as a beautifull part of any experience), anticipation.

That nagging knee injury makes me nervous enough....but not enough to hold my excitment as i near that thrill-full moment, that will last around two hours...

The leap - From Determination to Confidence.

2009-10-23T01:48:00.000-07:00

34 minutes, the average time i take to run 3miles or 4.5 Km, at a comfortable pace...(Fact)

A timer watch - From determination to not look at it to the confidence to not look. A leap from will power to self assured. From being 'at it' to being 'on top of it'. ..(Philosophy)

(History)
The most basic running distance of 3miles, is a distance that i run the most in my training, at least twice a week. In study language these would be revision run. A brush through. To keep off the body from jamming up, conserving it for that long weekend run. A timer watch, that helps moderate pace, to know if you running too fast or a bit slow. As much as you know what a comfortable pace should be, you would not want to be too slow, and watch helps control this. A timer watch, however, can enslave you, to constantly check it, a certain dependence on it, and a certain lack of it on your own self. Body lacks the judgement to moderate, for the lack of conditioning. In all the training pressure and madness, i tend to look at the watch too often. Not something i regret, but cant help the natural urge. Hal says (virtual coach) that if you are a first time marathoner you should forget about the watch and just look at running the distance. Don't care about the time, its immaterial, for your pride would be if you cross that finish line, and you have proven enough. I am obviously ignoring it for my need to know and track my progress.

On the other side, i suffer from a little excess dependence on the watch. Determination, is therefore what i practice to control that Urge…(Weakness)

(Fact)
Determination to confidence, the lesson from my 24th run yesterday, 15th three mile. That leap, of being on top of it. I did not look at the watch. Never felt the urge. Pace was comfortable enough. I knew i was in control of my run. Timing did not worry, for i was confident i will finish at best in a little more than 34mins. I felt comfortable and confident. I realised i took my leap, from determination to confidence...

(Unexpected)
31mins, the time I took to cover that 3mile yesterday. 10% better. My prized reward for the leap i took...

Ran out of legs. 16Km . Marathon Training

2009-10-19T22:03:00.000-07:00

I had more than a breath left in me to have a normal conversation when i finished the 16km run. But my legs have never felt this fatigued before in training.So i ran out of legs.

The most important part of any training is to try out different combinations of work-outs and routines to see what fits you the best.This would be combinations of various elements of training like Rest, Run, Recovery and Replenishment(tried hard to make them all "R" :) ).....also pre race food.The last (pre race food)being what seems to have made the biggest difference in my fatigued run. While i did most things right, i realised that for my 14km evening run i had eaten a full meal around 3-4 hours prior and caught an hour of rest. Where as for the 16km morning run, the last meal i had was dinner which would be a good 8 hours prior.If its legs that i ran out of, there is a strong chance that it had got to do with food and energy levels.

However, the excitement of running across marine drive was still more than any fatigue. For a brief moment that i passed Pizzeria i got the best view of a perfect orange sun, an image that stayed strong in my head.

Another pleasant surprise was to see other runners, many of them.I did expect to see a few but this was more than that. They seem to belong to a running club, the sorts you get to hear of but never see (atleast in Mumbai) .They kept passing me by coming from the opposite direction.Slowly i realised they had some sort of a bib on them with number.I wondered if there was a race going on that i must have missed hearing about.Clearly it was a Nike running club thing because the bib said so.On my return from marine drive i came across a water station provided for these Nike running aspirants.Got to know that they had all enrolled for 2010 Mumbai Marathon training and would come every Sunday to Marine Drive to train. the coaching was free and the registrations were on at the Parsi Gymkhana nearby.I thought of enrolling myself but on second thoughts decided not to, used that enquiry halt to fill up some water in system and continue with my run.

The moment of this run was a short nod i received around my 5th Km from a fellow runner. As much as i spoke of the pride in rarity of not seeing too many runners around me, i must say is that nod of acknowledgement added another kilometer of energy to my run run if not less. So i guess it does help to have people sharing your passion...

First long run-14.5km. Mumbai Marathon 2010

2009-10-15T22:46:00.000-07:00

I run in the evenings. Morning is not the time for me, for not just the fact that i feel lazy, but also because i feel tired the rest of the day. This means that i try to leave work not too late and catch that run. And saturday is better for its a holiday. But this saturday i had some commitments, that kept me working my way around the city and co-ordinating needless details. Its appropriate for for such a day at work-outside-work that you miss meals, which did too.

However the constant worry of the distance i had to finish got me to manage one well thought meal (lots of carbohydrates, rice - simply put) and an hour of rest before i began the run. This ideally is not good enough, i had to rely heavily on my confidence, where as i prefer to rely on preperation, mostly (which inspires confidence).i was apprehensive.

And For all the apprehensions and second thoughts i had on my fitness to finish this long run with a breath left in me, i was wronged, entirely. I have possibily never ran better run before.I felt energised when i finished , i ran feeling tall (have to elaborate on that) ,and in control all the time.

Running tall - mostly while you run, one is adviced to look about 10 meters ahead of them, that is the recommended angle for your head. However in my hightened sense of running, i realised i found myself looking straight at the end of the road. For me it was a combination of running confidence (when your sure you can go that far) and familiarity with the route.The only description that fit that experience was running tall.A certain sense of running above the ground.

It proved to me that it helps when you stick to the training. And disciplined running helped too. By disciplined i mean moderating your run smartly than to give in to the need for speed, which can happen when you feel energised at the first phase of the run. For all the charge and fresh legs you have when you start, one has to make sure that you dont speed too much and tire yourself.

This training for me is also an experiment, of testing if everything Hal Higdon (virtual trainer) says is true. And he spoke of how if you start your run at a comfortable pace, you would end up running in a much better time than if you push for pace in the initial part of the run. And as i ran this 14.5km, i validated it, and can now second that...

More of what a long distance run can teach you. Or atleast what it made me realise -
1.One and half hour on road, running in your own company is no less than a form of meditation. The beauty of focussing on that one act clears your mind of needless worries, it atleast makes them needless for that while. Knwing me they come back later!

2. I am beggining to now like it when i meet so many people who just cant imagine running or relate to it. It feels good to know that my passion is rare. And i enjoy the difficulty that most have in doing it inspite of knowing that there is single form of exercise as beneficial and affordable as it. I have always been told on how running has no entertainment like other sport, the thrill, of a goal or a shot or winning. I have done my best to explain that you have to love it to like it. Probably it suits personalities that dont fancy winning, enjoy the journey and the effort, and enjoy being left alone at times (if not all the time)

my next long run is a 16km, 10miles. In the absence of measured distance i will be running a fixed time, 1hr and 45mins. Am not running on my usual road, so dont know the distance. But i am running on most of it on the actual marathon route, and covering the most difficult patch of it - the kemps corner flyover and marine drive. And this would also be my first morning run. And the longest i have ever ran in training (max i ran for half marathon trainings is 14km). I Can't say i am as nervous this time. But i don't want to do something stupid and lose the training confidence i have aquired.

For the rest, i would just let the road decide....

Three week update.....Mumbai Marathon 2010 - training

2009-10-09T01:46:00.000-07:00

pain is inevitable, suffering is optional - these lines resonate and pull me through a lot of tough situations so far. Training does not seem like the most easiest thing to follow consistently, but the fresh drive and tireless resolve are pulling me through each day. Its as if giving up is not an option.In fact i wonder if this newest discipline is in many ways helping me live through a patch of life which i would not have been able to withstand otherwise.

The progress has been satisfactory. In fact its only obvious to presume that if you stick to something, keep working at it, in due course, it will get more manageable and better.Life has its ways of teaching lessons, mine i guess come through running.

My training so far has had a lot of 3 mile runs. I am talking the American distance, yes i succumbed to it.3 miles would be other wise 4.8Km. So its best to compare the difference between the 3 mile run three weeks ago and the 3 mile run on the 3rd week. I ran my first 3miles in 36 min, was struggling a bit for breath, and dreaded my fitness levels. Specially after having faltered miserably on the basic running fitness one is advised to have before the training starts.However, 12 runs later, after having run various combination of distances (more on weekends) the 3 mile took me 33mins and i was struggling, but to control my energy.

This Saturday however will be my longest run in the training so far, 9 miles (14.4Kms). Writing it makes me a bit nervous....i am expecting running it will not.

If i could....

2009-09-06T13:36:00.001-07:00

A year ago, I sat wondering of life's uncertainities in an empty waiting room of a hospital in the middle of night. My nephew of one and half years lay struggling against an odd bout of fever. A year has gone past. A year that had my certainities lose to life's reality. That had a hope against hope that my consequences would favour my risks, my efforts and my hopes. That taught me the unexpected places and people holding with them a key to make my life better, or worse. That taught me to stop trying so hard that by the time you get it you would have struggled to understand why you tried so hard. A year that rewarded and punished me when i expected the least. That made me realise of this life and its consequences i would need to always confront entirely on my own.

Right now, a year later, i sit waiting in the middle of the night at the same hospital waiting room with my nephew of now two and half years, fighting another bout of fever.............wondering of the uncertainities in store for me this year and the chances of all of my years past repeating itself.

I would take it all, all over again, and worse, only if life could spare me the uncertainity of sitting here a year later wondering if my nephew would recover just fine.....

Running Diaries etc...

2009-08-09T23:49:00.000-07:00

Training for the Training
Training for the training, is not as easy as i expected. Marathon is many months away, training program that i intend to follow isn't. Its expected that my fitness is at a certain level for me to start the training. While i would be cheating a bit on that, given that i have not been running as regularly as i should, i seem to have extended it by not running the entire distance as i promised myself for the week. I fell 4 kms short. But that's about all the negatives that there is to it. Rest of the picture is bright, as i see it. I have come through the first week of training for training. In five weeks, i should be ready enough to start a marathon training program.

Hal Higdon will be my virtual coach. Not that i have signed up for his one-on-one training program, but i have after certain deliberation decided that his program as against Jeff Galloway is what would suit me better. I am told by a trusted source that these two are the best that are available in the online world to train you for the big 42. In this i also ordered my first book online - Marathon : The ultimate training guide, by Hal Higdon himself. Like any other American, he does a good job of promoting himself. That apart, i like what he has to say. My journey to work every morning now has a regular dose of tips and thoughts and experiences on running as narrated by Hal. Not something i can recommend to all. They may seem boring to most, not a leisure read you see. Though the book is running faster than my training pace. I should expect that, given the one discipline i had developed in past few years is reading, not running. Running, i had left that behind, 11years ago, in BHEL Bhopal. The exceptions were past four years, those few days and months, that i trained for 21km. As much as i thought i would not need a reason to hit the road, it took Standard Chartered and Procam to give me one, as commercial as it sounds, but what the hell. It is doing some good. I am not sure if i would have been doing this had it not been for me staying in this city itself. Some luck is a must.

The Bet
My last run was on Saturday, 9 km, longest in this leg of training. This was a mid morning run, between 1100 & 1200 hrs. The pride of it is the heat i managed it in. I mostly run at nights, almost always. The thought of running in the heat of day is scary. Which does not strike you till you have hit the road and into your 2nd or 3rd kilometer. Its too difficult to stop though, for your working against a goal. The mind keeps making it tougher to go on, while still with-standing enough to not stop. Imagination runs its own race. This time i could think of wind and sun, betting on me. The bet was on whether i would finish 10k or give up midway. The patch on road that climbed was where the sun had set its traps, releasing heat that was beyond what my running generated (one reason why i don't like running day-time). Wind would pep me hard with the most encouraging gust when i ran the flat patch of road. They had both placed themselves so strategically well that it was almost impossible to call it a coincidence, or to say that this cant be happening. The sun stood right at the starting point of the 1.45km road, the point where i decide on whether or not to run "one more". This is also the point from where the ascend starts, the hill patch, where i feel most tempted to give up. The wind on the other had took the flat road patch before the end of one round, the part where i am generally the fastest, most confident and clearly contemplating running one more. The sun pulled me down every time i climbed the hill at the start of every round, and the wind pushed me with a smile and a clenched fist, asking me to hold on. This went on for every round i ran. I would want to give up and still not do it entirely.

At the sixth round, when i touched 9km, i decided that this was all the heat of the day i deserve. A distance of 9km in heat meant at least 11km in normal temperature. Anything more could have given me the high for the day and injuries for the night and beyond.

I cant say for sure if Sun won the bet, for it was not entirely convincing, i did not give up mid-way. Neither can i say that Wind won it, i did not finish convincing.

What i think i did was give them a good time and a chance laugh it over a beer .

Kingdom of Goat
When i run , I pass a quiet part of road that has small hill patch, part of which is cut to make the road. Whatever that remains of that small hill is steep (almost vertical), covered with little green plants with light green leaves that almost glow during the day . The hill, that patch, is also covered with a net. I guess both are done to protect against a minor land slides.

This time when was running by, i noticed a goat, a white goat, as uninterested yet as active as they look, roaming around the area. By the time i passed by again, running, i noticed the goat trying to climb the hill. I have no clue whats with goats and hills. What is it that makes a goat want to climb? We have heard and read endless inspirational talks that try to inspire us with this act, but no one knows why a goat does it at the first place. That was not what i thought then though. I was too busy running and could only afford to notice. I would notice this goat everytime i passed by. Once i saw it roaming on road, then i saw the goat trying to climb, and then next time i see the goat was struggling to come down. And finally it disappeared, don't know where. Didn't search that hard. My fascination to the hill was clearly beyond the goat. I just liked the fact there was such a picturesque little patch close to where i live.

The hill as far as i can make out, does not lead to anything. Not another building or structure starting from where the steep surface makes way for the flat surface. So i was a bit puzzled when i saw a small line of iron stairs rising from the foot-hill all the way up, winding and curling a bit, negotiated with the hard rocks that refused to make way for it. The stairs simply ended at the top, to a trail, after its 30 feet journey. The trail ran parallel to the road, appearing like a thick line from 30 feet below, where i stood. After my 9km run, during the walk i took to cool-down, i passed the patch and noticed the watchman coming down the stairs. This chap is silent observer to my runs as he mans an odd building labeled as Municipal Corporation Training Center. I rarely look or smile at anyone when i am running. Small talks or gestures are not for me. But this time, given the leisure of walk and the power of curiosity, i asked -
Me - what does this stair lead to?
Watchman - Nothing. Its just a cage there.
i notice a small iron cage in the middle of the trail on top
Me - what's in that cage ?
Watchman - the goat, i put it back in the cage.
Me - Why do you have a goat
Watchman - its not mine, its company's.
Me - Company's goat!!? what does Municipal Corporation Training Center keep a goat for!!

No reply.

The lone goat in its kigdom of small hill.

And he spoke..

2009-08-04T22:11:00.000-07:00

"Welcome to rickshaw MH-04 1425 .I will be your captain for today. Please be seated. You must wonder why i call myself that, captain, and not driver. Let me ask you something. Have you ever wondered why we drive as fast as we do? I can tell from that look on your face that you not just have, but worried to trauma over it. haha! You know, we rickshaw-drivers believe that at some point, if we continue breaking speed barriers, we will fly........... you must think its stupid, but then you know a dragonfly cant fly, it just does not know that it cant. Now if you think Rickshaws have never flew yet they continue to think they can.........i will call it your good humor, and carry on believing.

Is that a book that you took out to read. Please don't, its not recommended. Your focus should be on the road. Ya i know you may think its my job, but you would be surprised to know how its yours too! Well, you see every time you are not looking at the road, you tend to not be prepared for that sudden swirl i make to overtake or to negotiate that pot-hole i saw 30 meters ahead but did not tackle it till we were a meter away from it. Notice the "we" here, :) , this implies your as responsible for a safe ride as i am. Actually i am not , i am only responsible for my fun ride...hehe, just kidding. Coming back to the unprepared swirl while you are reading. It jerks you to sides, needlessly, spraining your neck. Price you pay for unpreparedness. And when i brake, yes, you would not know when, not that you will know otherwise, but imagine how your unprepared reading head will come and hit the back of my head when i break...haha......that would be funny. And if you still insist on reading then your really pushing your luck. This is not a plane, i mean it is, i mean i wish one day. But no, you cant read, or even listen to music, because you wont enjoy any of that. These rickshaws are not made for those. I don't think you have ever wondered why Bajaj, our providers, never took the little trouble of fitting those springs over the wheels called shock-absorbers. Either they did not want you to do your thing, or they simply understood our boredom and did this to ensure you and me have more conversation. Do you realise the only time you speak to me is when i hit a pot-hole or speed or brake? Ya, we need that conversation. It lets us know that we are special too :) . So don't be surprised if i speed at least three times in spite of your demands to not. The reasons are two - a.) i want to fly & b.) i want to talk.

There is much more that you would need to know for a happy safe ride. But i guess we will leave that for later.

Welcome aboard! "

Motion Motivation

2009-06-25T09:34:00.000-07:00

The energy of travel. One that overcomes you when your mobile.It happens to me all the time.Its a moment i crave for.Rickshaw, Taxi,Bus,Train.The high of movement.That feeling of arriving somewhere and planning for it, before you have arrived.I am filled with determination to do something significant for the day, or just very confident of doing what i am headed towards. At times i have thought it to be so common that i presumed all feel it.But am not sure.

Psychologically, i would think this emotion occurs for it covers you in excitement of an action while your im-mobile.You are doing nothing nothing yet moving,we all would wish for that in life - to do nothing yet to keep moving ahead.It takes you somewhere without an ounce of effort from you. Physically, i am moving yet i have all the energy to think.What else can you "do" that can let you have the freedom of thinking about anything other than that very act? Security of the fact that your direction is taken care of.You are undoubtedly headed the way you desire,so what are you going to do, think free, invite optimism.

I found it to be the best time to dream, to fill myself with ambition and confidence, and all these leading to make me my creative/motivated best.Its a charge, that leads me through any matter.Fills me with ways and means, however impractical, but a way nonetheless.Its almost like you brain, heart and gut's most preferred time to come together

Rarely however, have i managed to sustain it. Well, for the merit of it(those ambitious thoughts), i guess doing is never as easy.But i never stop thanking that moment, when i was in it, quiet literally on top of the world.

It seems too good to a state to be true. And i am not under the influence of any substance, making it more desirable. Is there anything better than a self-high. Sustainable, cheap, independent.......and a great feeling to share.

99 - Review (dont miss this experience)

2009-05-29T06:02:00.000-07:00

i saw 99... i don't know if u have heard about it...its a Hindi comedy movie. Starring Kunal Khemu, Cyrus Brocha, Soha Ali Khan, Mahesh Manjrekar and Boman Irani. Its a very refreshing movie, with some slice-of-life sense of humor. I really liked the film. If u have enjoyed watching Khosla Ka Ghosla and Bheja Fry, you would appreciate the beauty of this movie as well. There is so much untapped real life humor in and around our lives that most of bollywood has never used, for they have created their own damn world. Movies like this bring out that slice of daily funny culture that we all live, notice and associate so well when someone makes a movie around those. There are some writer/directors who have realised that the real humor lies in noticing those simple nuances that are unique and integral to our mixed culture, humility, unpreparedness to handle the west, selfishness etc. This new wave of Hindi "multiplex" movies remind me so much of the entertaining Malayalam cinema that i have grown up watching and wondering why don't Hindi cinema make movies like them. Though in that sense I would say there is miles to go before Hindi can match that kind of cinema. And thanks to the deteriorating Malayalam cinema quality, there will not be much of an inspiration left. But movies like 99 stand out, for their essence, detail, simple portrayal of characters, and reactions that play in your mind more than on the screen. I heard the most heartiest of laughs around me while watching this movie. What more can you ask post a stressed day at work. The tickets are cheap (being weekday) and the movie is, in one word - fun. I will give it a 4 star. And i can watch it again. Sadly, there is not much of a word going around about the movie's popularity, so i would presume our "cinema viewing system" will ensure that such efforts get discouraged enough to not be made as often. Sad. But i would do my bit on promoting it through this blog . Lets hope rest do it too.

Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional

2009-05-26T04:45:00.000-07:00

I am back at it. A half marathon, an inspiring book and 4 months later, i am sure i want to do it, but i am not entirely sure if i can. I have to leave that to my undiscovered will , to complete a Full Marathon, in an acceptable time, or better.

Being out of touch shows. I went for my first few runs. And while i was not entirely disappointed with how much i lost for not having run for the past few months, i could see an in-satisfactory difference. Given the task this year is doing the double of what i am otherwise used to preparing for, it puts me back much further from my goal. Well that's one reason why i started much earlier. A 21k would not mean training beyond three to four months at best, and that too a very self pleasing training.

41km is a process, with no short-cuts or loose-ends.Given my life and job, it will only mean a greater effort.But it is this very life and job that inspires me to try it.

First step is to build up stamina and consistency, before i subscribe to a program which will shape the rest of the preparation.

It would all get slightly more mechanical and routine-filled than what i would want, for running to me is being in the center,my comfort zone, being where i desire or regret the least,where every will finds a way or every way fits the will. Equilibrium.I mostly expect a thoughtless experience (when i run) but cant help thinking good. Am clearly against running to escape stress or toning health.They are the fall-outs, of doing what you like to do.And its running for me (so far/ right now). I was reading about Murakami(famous author & runner)loosing his will to run for a long time after he finished an 'Ultra'-marathon. No business wondering how it must be for a 100km (ultra marathon)road to make you trail it first and then drain you of any desire for it again, or any road.

I do agree that toning health and freeing stress are great reasons to go active (running or anything).........in fact i have on many days killed last evenings beer with next mornings run (same for last evening's fight). Well if you can, you should right :) ?

But marathon is more than any regime that has a purpose. Marathon is the purpose.And so is for me.

Details of this -
Event : Mumbai Marathon
Date : I guess 17th Jan 2010
Time left : 8 months
Expectation : To finish it
Dream : Finish in under 5hrs
Facts : 1.)Ran a 6km in a fair time yesterday 2.)Have ran a half marathon in under 2hrs.

At a current physical condition that helps me only finish 6km with reasonable comfort and a history and passion for running, its a mix of odds.I certainly feel more confident about it when i think than when i run. I hope to lessen this gap.

And every athlete who has ever ran one will tell you, it always seems impossible. You always want to give up. You always fall short of what you expect.Its a race against yourself and there are no fall-outs but you, and no gains but for you.And its always about will.And like Murakami said about running - Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.

So i would just let my will take over.

cinema that leave a mark…

2009-05-18T00:16:00.000-07:00

I am writing this after having gone through one of the most disturbing experiences in my life which did not involve me in any sense. A movie. As simple as that, but one of the most difficult one to sit through. I have a habit of exaggerating myself into feeling too much, of another persons’ experience, well told. But anytime you watch a movie that has been adapted from a true incidence, a struggle that ends in victory inspires you. And a struggle that displays pain, bothers you, the most, like in this case it has. A true incident of a girl being tortured endlessly without reason, by the most unlike of humans around her.

Movie : An American Crime. That’s what it’s called. I would not really know what kind of an imdb rating it would fetch, for once I don’t care. It takes an exception (I really hope) for someone to behave like it has been bought out in this movie, and it takes another exception for someone to have attempted to make this movie for all to see and probably learn, oppose, protect to avoid anything such again. Suddenly the word violence has taken a new meaning. It’s a fate you will not wish for your enemy in your most sinister moment.

There are times when I have sat through conversations about cinema that brings out the craziest and scariest of fantasies, the likes of Saw (one to infinity) and their French and Japanese bothers who seem to have mastered it. I never watch them, can’t bear it. Even if I can or those who do, would somewhere have a clear understanding of it not being true. Now only if someone were to show a fact, as it happened, how will it be. And that is what An American Crime brings out. A soft and simple portrayal of a gruesome act. Its making must have been a tough act. It has the capacity of leaving a few from the cast in depression or some other trouble for sometime. It’s certainly not an effort that makes you feel like an accomplished actor as much as it makes you feel like a contributor to making people realise the need to speak up. I wonder how much help education, religion or law & order is to people if there is still a likely hood for such as exceptional act.

I may be over reacting, for there are a million crimes happening all around us of much drastic kinds, and I rarely shudder, as I have today. What worries me the most here; however, are the criminals in this case, the most unlikely of them all, children and women. The ones who stand on the better end of compassion. Or the humans who can be your neighbours. I will not be surprised if a few in man-eating tribes of the amazons traumatise over seeing something like this.

I don’t think there is any psychology that can explain this. Or if it can, it would mean these incidences are not so much of an exception. And also that education is making a few too spineless to do something about it.

You can’t give stars to a movie like this. Because that is not the point.

Saved by a thought : Anti-Library

2009-05-09T00:45:00.000-07:00

I suffered from guilt ridden exits from bookstores off late for I end up buying books more than what I can read, and there is a bigger set of them waiting to be read at home. I am buying them because i can and because i really want to read them. Eight, is the record i recently created in a recent such trip. The differnce between the books I have bought and the once i have read are ever increasing. Even if i include the many that i have partly read.

I have though, wondered how much of a book does one need to read to have actually read it. I mean Non-Fiction here, as that's what i read unless i need a break. Sometimes its enough to read a half of it and you would get your perspective. Now if you really are the kinds who thinks you need to get the full money's/pages'/perspective's worth, you would have a guilt left, still. I would fit in there, most of the time.

I am certainly buying as much as i can afford, and have only felt convinced while doing so. That conviction!yes, that's how i end up buying at the first place! That feeling!, It is very similar to the strength of a brilliant excuse you mind gives you, to call office and make, when you are too sleepy to get up and leave for work in an hour. And the guilt that follows, if you actually happen to bunk that day.

I have sometimes forgotten about some books i bought. A casual look at the book-rack gives me a realisation of combined pride and guilt.

I have seen better reading days, cheaper too. Any book lover who has spent time long enough in Mumbai has not stopped thanking, and now missing, the days when a short walk (Flora Fountain to Churchgate station) , 150 Rupees and healthy negotiation skills would see you heading home with two or three fine titles. You would read them and return a month later to buy more. I earned much much lesser and yet i learned as much or more (and there was no google in my life then, 7 yrs ago).

Recently however i came across a point of view that somewhere rids me of a lot of that bookstore-guilt. Its called an Anti-Library, and Nassim Nicholas Taleb has put it across in his book - The Black Swan. It says that a read book is far less valuable than an unread one, for the books that decorate your shelf is a research tool. Now i may not be researching as much as much as i would be , some day, in a mood to read a certain kind of book...which still makes it associable. One will accumulate more knowledge and more books as they grow older. It would only mean i would be stacking up as many good books i think i should "have" and not necessarily "have read". With age i would have better idea of what is worth having. Concluding therefore that more you know, the more would be the collection of unread books. He therefore called this entire collection an Anti-Library. And he says, which i found the most interesting of lines i have read in recent times (and the reason for this blog) - that a library should contain as much of what you don't know as your financial means :-) ............ and i like that! And can live it for some time.

... The Black Swan was one of the eight books i bought/invested in my last guilt ridden (not anymore) trip to the book shop :)

First Step (learning to walk)

2009-04-29T05:01:00.000-07:00

This has been pending for long. A blog. At least that's what i was made to believe by some few who matter. And just as most things that i do come through after many contemplations, followed by obsession, followed by conflicting perspective, and forgetfulness, to finally a gut and a moment of impulse, this has too;come through.The moment is seriously odd. I have no clue why i have decided to. But like i said, now there is a gut.

Taking on to this will take time.Everything will. I liberally call myself a WIP ( Work In Progress) to allow me a guilt/conflict free experience. Experience, that's what i guess this will be.

I would either make life interesting enough to be able to write, or, make an interesting read out of a not so interesting life, or, trust myself to have a life that's interesting enough. Though i dont think its really needed that i be interesting. Not because i dont care for anyone who decides to spend time reading me, but because i have tremendous appreciation for boredom and un-interesting. For its true worth, i think these two words are underated. However, for me what matters right now is that i have decided to share.