Day 2 and 3 - LA, Santa Monica and the Canyon lands of Arizona

This next update has taken time to come along. That’s because I’ve barely had a chance to reflect and write about my travels. It’s perhaps a function of having a lot of people in the group with just enough time to get in some sleep in the plan, leave alone writing. But a lot of ground has been covered, literally and metaphorically in the past week or so for which I’ve been on the road. I’m on my way to St. Louis, MO right now. In the time since the last blog I’ve seen a lot, starting with the Hollywood sign in LA. I’ve been amazed by the spread of LA as seen from the Observatory opposite the Hollywood sign. One road in particular seems to just travel straight to the horizon seemingly never taking a curve. We also went to the Hollywood boulevard and saw the stars on the walk of fame as well as the Chinese theatre – not a part of the trip I really cared about so much. LA also had many Indian buffets; we had lunch at one. That was it for LA – we went on to the Santa Monica beach and enjoyed some beach volleyball till it got dark. Then it was time to drive to Las Vegas for the night. All this was on the 28^th of December.

Vegas was just a layover for the night so that we could rest and be ready for the drive to the city of Page, AZ the next day. This is Canyon country; close to Page is the Antelope Canyon system that reminds you of the movie 127 hours. We did a tour of the Upper Canyon and clicked some fantastic pics. What I also remember is how cold my feet were since I went into the cold Canyon with just my floaters on having decided that I didn’t want to wear my heavy hiking shoes on such a beautiful day! The tour operators take you along a dry and dusty river bed that leads to the mouth of the canyon from where on the guide helps you navigate the narrow canyon as she talks about the canyon’s history and shows you a naturally carved sculpture that weirdly approximates Abraham Lincoln’s facial features very well. There is occasional flooding that results from heavy rain higher up; this can fill up to 30 feet high in the canyon.

After traveling back on the rickety, diesel-fuelled, tarpaulin-walled pick-up truck that we sat in the back of through that same dust road, I had sand in every open pore of the body. For a small town such as Page –established in 1957 - there was a great Mexican restaurant right next to the tour operator’s building. There was even an Indian/Thai place that seemed to be closed. Someone mentioned that it had been shut for 3 months. We ate Mexican; the salsa that came with the complimentary nachos was so good that I was half-sated by the time the meal itself came. I think I had a cheese quesadilla with something else that I can’t remember. Then we went to see the Horseshoe bend.

The Colorado River has achieved some magnificent geological feats. It has carved many canyons including the Grand Canyon. At this location near Page, it takes a 270 degree bend in the Glen Canyon with a 1000 feet drop to the river. It is simply a stunning scene. The river snakes around the huge rock face in almost a perfect horseshoe shape. The landscape is desolate all around with three tall smoke chimneys close to the town in the distance being the only sign of civilization discounting for the trail that leads to the bend view and a single shed at the head of the trail.

Taking in that beautiful scene at Sunset I was done for the day. While some guys went out bowling in Page, I stayed in and had pizza for dinner. The Grand Canyon beckoned the next day.

A trip for the ages - it starts here

A road trip across the continental United States is one of the most exciting things one could ever do. And I embarked on just such a voyage this week. As I see it, a daily record of places I visit and how they make me feel is a great way to document this for the future. So here is the first one of quite a few to come.

From my haunt in Berkeley, I traveled to Santa Clara where my truly interesting and talented roommate, Aravind Gayam’s, friends live and work. They are all engineers working in the high-tech industry in Silicon Valley after having graduated from the University at Buffalo, NY and a few other universities in the US. So this is a large group of around 10 Indian engineers in their mid-20s on a once in a lifetime trip across the US. Their friends flew into the bay area from Philadelphia, Fairfax and Wisconsin to start off from the west coast toward the east.

So we started bright and early on the 27^th of December towards Santa Barbara. En route lay the Big Sur, the most beautiful drive I’ve ever experienced with the cold, blue pacific in its various hues on one side and a rugged mountainous terrain on the other side as the road wriggles up, down and sideways to just stay within the comfort zone. There were great picture opportunities here.

A word about traveling long distance on the road. The minimum you need is a big, gas-guzzling SUV. An RV is the best option, but also really expensive. The group is in two SUVs, one larger than the other but both very comfortable. I haven’t felt the effects of a long day on the road but its early days yet so things might change.

Bidding goodbye to the Big Sur, we drove to the beach town of Oceano that’s home to Pismo beach. The guys wanted to ride ATVs on the sand dunes here. I got some good rest in the car. We had dinner early in the evening, at a surprisingly good Thai place called Divine Thai in this small beach town and then drove down to Santa Barbara with the music completely dominating conversation in contrast to the day.

As I write this we are on the road to Los Angeles after a good night’s sleep. California truly has magnificent weather; there is rarely an ugly day without sunshine. While the Indian monsoon has its own intense magnetic pull that I miss, the California experience is quite easy to get used to. It is always nice out here. That shall not be the case in Denver, Colorado where we are headed in a few days.

It was a great start to a promising journey. Although I’d been to the Big Sur before it never ceases to evoke wonder and amazement. The nature of road trips, especially ones with many people, is to offer fleeting glimpses of beautiful landscapes rather than build familiarity with places you’d want to stay at for a length of time. I must confess that I’m prone to taking everything in slowly rather than rushing through multiple ‘tourist spots.’ Still, it is a trade-off that I’m willing to make given all that I’ll be able to see.

Anna, Arvind and AAP

Anna Hazare, the social activist who considers himself a Gandhian, has had a hard time adjusting to the meteoric rise of the Aam Aadmi Party (AAP) formed by his one-time 'disciple' Arvind Kejriwal. Anna, as he is referred to almost everywhere, has pursued many interesting methods of affecting social reform in his native village of Ralegan Siddhi in Maharashtra; not all of these methods were non-violent. Quite apart from the prime drivers of his agenda, what I find most intriguing about him are the pronouncements - delivered with a wagging finger and a stern expression, reminiscent of the headmaster of a high school - that keep coming out of him. Of late, these have been laced with more than a little bitterness towards Kejriwal, the estranged follower who has gone on to be very successful in the Delhi assembly elections of 2013. From prohibiting the use of his likeness by the AAP to ordering Gopal Rai, an AAP member, out of a public meeting held in Ralegan Siddhi when a tiff ensued between Rai and former Indian army chief, V.K. Singh, another political mercenary who perhaps nurtures political ambitions of his own; to his apparent forgetfulness of Kejriwal's role in the 2011 anti-corruption movement when Hazare thanked the political class for finally providing him with the same Lokpal bill that he considered worthless only 2 years back; to his refusal to attend Kejriwal's swearing-in ceremony as Chief Minister of Delhi, Anna Hazare has looked quite petulant, certainly very un-Gandhi like. 

I do not wish to demean Hazare; he seems to have contributed significantly to the well-being of his village with most of his village backing his methods. What I do find strange is how a person who says that he is a Gandhian and puts the interests of the nation first can be so mean when someone he trusted so much achieves some measure of success, even if it's in the arena of politics that Hazare has long derided. It makes you wonder about the limits of relying on a Gandhian figure when that particular combination of political shrewdness, professional training and moral clarity that was so essential to Gandhi's success is so lacking in such figures. Kejriwal, on the other hand, has been an astoundingly astute exponent of the art of politics. Anna Hazare instinctive aversion to politics is hard to square with the idea of democracy. The representatives of the people are supposed to be responsible to the people, and when there is a real break between the ideal of politics and the reality of it's practice, there needs to be a cleansing both within and without. Such movements have happened at critical junctures in Indian democracy - Jayaprakash Narayan's movement is the best known example of it at a national scale. But Hazare would rather always lecture politicians from outside, seeing politics itself as an inherently corrupting choice rather than the empowering one that it should be. While opinions regarding Kejriwal's model of participative and consultative democracy can be divided, the anger at a broken system that pays no heed to the voice of the common man has correctly found a universal outlet in his party. His diagnoses are right even if not every solution proposed may work. To his credit, he has been honest enough to admit those limitations. These are only early days; the danger of political power going to the head is very real for anyone, even the legislators of AAP. Slaying the politician-demon when the AAP did not have to work with the current the system of governance was easier than making that same system work for providing the good governance that was promised.

127 hours

Aron Ralston’s story cannot but leave you untouched somewhere deep inside. 127 hours is an attempt to tell that story in the form of a movie, and it is magnificent. The movie takes you along with Aron as he does all the things that lead to his fateful entrapment in the Blue John Canyon; it connects you with Aron, ignites a compassion for him, as good art must do. The only thing I would say about the movie is that you should watch it. This is not meant to be a review of the movie, how well it was directed or how taut the screenplay was etc. It should suffice to say that everything about the movie had the stamp of class, the assured work of artists at their creative zenith.

I wish to explore the story itself, and try to understand it better. Aron was an experienced mountaineer, a man who left his job to pursue his passion for mountain climbing. His confessions in the movie as well as some cursory research on the web show that it did not just give him a kick but also helped him feel less insecure and anxious, gave him a unique identity he craved. He used to be self-centered, a loner by choice, someone not quite sure what life meant to him. He was a fine guy, just a little lost. The great American dream probably left him in the lurch, as it continues to do to young people enamoured of its great materialistic benefits not just in America but all over the world where pernicious American influence has struck at the root. The problem with the dream is not so much what it represents but what it leaves out. By emphasizing the individual and his achievements and underestimating the value of love, compassion and community, it creates a rift so deep that someone falling in it has little chance of getting out. Such a society creates habitual neurotics, driven by a mad need to get ahead lest they be left behind. It is not difficult to see how people caught up in such a situation should feel worthless and agitated about their existence. Isn’t this happening in the cities of India too, among the ambitious middles classes clamouring to squeeze ahead of their neighbours and peers, with little knowledge of the price that would have to be paid? The irony is that this is the land that has for millennia known how to live with change and somehow retain its basic characteristics, succeeded in absorbing the forces that threatened to tear the fabric of continuity apart. Perhaps I am worrying without a reason, and the Indian soul still retains its timelessness. I hope I am wrong on that count, but all evidence around suggests otherwise.

But back to Aron’s story now. So he went through different stages that having to survive in the face of grave danger takes you through. He panicked first, feverishly trying to get himself free. Then he saw the futility of it and tried to think a way out of it, marshalling carefully all that he had to maximize their utility. But he could not get free quickly enough, and dark thoughts must have gone through his mind. He probably remembered all the good times, his parents and loved ones. Then he saw how he had been with others; it is amazing how little attention we pay to how we are when we are busy living our lives. Self-criticism is all too difficult for people I suppose, while the inertia of habit is easy to maintain. He realized he had been insensitive, uncaring and thankless, all because he was so self-centered. The love of his parents and others probably made him go on, and helped him see clearly in that narrow, dim canyon what really matters. Of course, the survival instinct, the spirit of life made him endure as well, but it was the power of love that carried him through. It is through such experiences that humans learn about life. The only truth that exists in this world has love underlying it. Philosophical discourses on the meaning of life will never get us to the truth; the only way we are going to understand something is by living and trading in love. So what does it mean to be famous and have so much money? Nothing if you have no love. And it is not just love for people that love exists, but also for what you do. If Aron still continues to hike and climb, it is because he loves everything about it, and no longer needs to prove to himself that he’s worth his existence. It is something I can identify with very closely too.

Dreams that a new India has

India is playing in the Asian cup of football after a gap of almost 30 years. They are there because the Asian federation decided that a traditionally weak football nation should get a chance at the cup so as to boost the game there, not because they have qualified like other teams. But this is not about football in India, though I have a passion for the game. This is about the India of today which yearns for the greatness that, in its mind, defined the imagined ever-land of ancient India since the dawn of history. Whether there was one India for most of history is not the point; the continuum in shared history and culture in the sub-continent is enough to bind all of its inhabitants into this dream. But how does this expectation matter on a football pitch? How could you explain 10000 out of 12000 in a stadium in Doha screaming for a team that was so obviously out of its class? Only the fact that Indians so desperately seek the mantle of greatness that has eluded them for so long but which remains etched in some remote corner of the collective memory. And this is an invisible strand that runs through the country, at least the part that can think beyond ensuring they have a meal to eat. Back to the Asian Cup; though this particular team was not gifted, apart from one or two individuals, yet they did not lack motivation. Their flaws were just as glaring as their complete commitment on the field. Those players who made football their life in spite of the lowly status of sports – apart from Cricket, of course - in India and the utter callousness of administrators and lack of opportunities were not going to be deterred by the odds. They fought hard, and while the game reminded me of the way our cricket teams used to be mauled a decade or so ago for a while, I realized that these players would not surrender. That spirit was not something associated with those cricket teams of past. But then India has also changed in the last decade or so.

We have gradually begun to not just hope but to expect. The insensitivity of government to the ordinary citizen that so long subdued most has been assuaged by the greater opportunities available after India opened up to the world. To a large number of Indians, this still does not matter. But to a significant portion, their dreams for the nation and for themselves reflected in it are no longer a desire never to be fulfilled; it is in the realms of possibility. When the destiny of a people is in their hands and their spirit is robust, anything seems possible. However, as the result of the match showed, there is much work to be done everywhere. Sports may not seem a significant part of the change that must come, but its importance should not be underestimated. Playing sports is a wonderful way for kids to learn the lessons of life and it is also a pursuit that provides much joy not just to the sportsman but also the sports lover. It binds people together and gives people a chance to indulge their passions constructively. There are so many more reasons that sports should become an integral part of our culture, and perhaps it will. But the point to note is that the government will only play an enabling role or even a non-interfering role in the Change to come in India. It will be private enterprise and resourcefulness that will see the dreams of so many people come closer to being realized. Already, the signs are visible. There is a general mood of greater optimism and assurance at least among urban Indians, though it is tempered by the occasional reminder of governmental ineptitude and callousness as in the major scams unearthed last year. For all this promise to be fulfilled, the government must know that it needs only to enable and not obstruct. Whether the system of government and the complexities of Indian society which give rise to the wild disparity among the rulers will allow this to happen easily is the crux of the matter. Will this nation be able to absorb all the dissidents within and make them partners in the New Story That Will Be Written while ensuring that the wretchedness and hopelessness of debilitating poverty is removed? It is clear that the private citizen will have to do a lot more to make it come true; it will not happen by simply wishing for change, but by creating that change from within.

A Guzaarish for life

Guzaarish is one of those movies which the Indian masses will not appreciate fully, yet will not leave the hall without being stirred deep inside in ways difficult to comprehend fully. It goes to the crux of human existence and there it finds what most humans would not want to acknowledge: that life is unpredictable and suffering is an inherent part of it. Out of that reality is born the singular truth embodied in every great work of art that makes the spirit soar: that we must fight no matter what. But for how long and to what ends? That is the central question put forth by this work of art.

Ethan Mascarenhas is a former magician, once given the epithet Merlin for his exploits, who is now living a stultified existence as a quadriplegic having been paralysed in an accident during the performance of a famous trick of his. His accident was engineered by a rival magician, all the more cause for him to be angry. In the event, he battles hard to survive and eventually becomes a role model to many millions through his persistence and spirit for life. For fourteen years, he goes through his daily dredge completely dependent on the more-than-a-nurse Sofia, who takes care of his minutest needs with utterly selfless dedication, without questioning God or feeling sorry for himself in a conscious, habitual manner. He does have nightmares where his past glory seems to suffocate him with such force that he can’t even cry aloud. So has he successfully overcome his personal demons and can he now live a fulfilling life again, without having to confront those demons again? Unfortunately no, especially for someone like Ethan who must achieve to forge an identity of his own rather than live a life not even able to clear his own bowels; hope is not an existing word and his pathetic state will last forever. So he makes a conscious choice, aware of the magnitude of his actions, to ask for euthanasia. He, more than other “normal” people, knows what the little joys of life mean, evident in the humour he indulges in or the ride that he takes after a dozen years inside his forced confinement. The wisdom of suffering has made him a true man; it has helped him look at life in a way that most people never do, busy as they are with their self-serving schemes for more. But for all that, he has no hope for a better future. What does it mean then to be alive for him? Indeed, why should he be kept alive against his will? I will not attempt to answer those questions, but for Bhansali’s answer, go and watch the movie.

What insights into the nature of suffering does the film offer? Ethan’s character and the people around him are what keep him going. It is the power of love that fuels his spirit. And it is not being lonely in his fight that makes his ordeal bearable. Would he have remained sane without the selfless love of Sofia or the genuine care that his lawyer and his doctor- more as friends than just in their respective roles – afforded him? He cares so deeply about his mother that he forbids her to come and see him in his condition. When she does visit him during the court proceeding in his house, her heart is so broken that she dies that very night. It is a testimony again to the human spirit to strive on no matter what that he has the courage to sing a song celebrating the possibilities of the future during his mother’s funeral. Central to the movie’s theme is this very message.

But are there any easy answers to Ethan’s plight? Will those who truly understand him say with the same conviction that he must soldier on? Or are those who say that he must, doing it to keep their own flame alive, without a care for what he goes through? Will the ones who loved him be able to bear his departure? These are questions which life throws at us without an inkling of how we must solve them. Perhaps, one could look into the intricate strands of Indian philosophy for some answers.

The true magic is Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s. The scenes have such exquisite beauty that they seem like a series of paintings of Goan landscapes strung together one after the other, straight from the easel. Hrithik Roshan delves into the psyche of Ethan to offer such a convincing portrayal that his recent utterance about the irrelevance of the number one star in the industry carries weight, with him being more than just a star now. Aishwarya does justice to Sofia with wonderful grace - she has developed into a fine actress today. The ensemble cast shows its value throughout. Bhansali’s debut as a music director too is worthy, his music having a haunting yet uplifting quality in tune with the ebb and flow of the narrative. This one is for the connoisseurs.

Will there ever be a Perfect Society?

There is an idea that I have always been fascinated by since I can remember. In most human societies as they are, imperfections exist which lead to grave inequalities in education, opportunities and resources. The stated aim of many democracies is to provide a better life for its citizens, and as difficult as that is, supposing that it could happen, there are very interesting ramifications to our existing societal structure. If everyone is qualified to work, where will manual labour come from? It is true that if the creative ability of so many individuals is unleashed, solutions to such problems may be found easily. Perhaps we will create automation to make that possible. But what would happen to the available resources on earth? Since those cannot be augmented beyond a certain limit, uplifting of society will cause greater strain than now on natural resources, and the earth – consequently us – will suffer as a result. Which professions will still be found? Indeed how the whole configuration of society would change is a fascinating exercise in imagination. 

 We may desire a perfect and harmonious society where all have equal opportunities, but will it ever happen? Will human nature allow such a thing to develop? So I believe that before we can assume the existence of the Perfect Society, humanity would have to wake up to the excesses it has committed and the horrific apathy we seem to have for our fellow humans. It is not within everyone’s reach to help the underprivileged directly or substantially. But the realization that there are people who are worse-off than you will help appreciate the nature of life better. The true enlightenment of individuals is the only way we are going to create an egalitarian society. But that task is enormously difficult, not least because of the self-centered nature of human beings.

Football World Cup thus far

The FIFA World Cup 2010 is almost at the end of the group stages and the qualifiers from groups A and B are known. In the next few days, the rest of the groups will also be sorted out. There will be a few surprises, as is always the case, but this year has also been a little different in many ways, not least the constant drone of the vuvuzelas permeating every match. South African hospitality has been amazing and they have made a reputation now of being wonderful hosts to great sporting events. Unfortunately, Africa has not shone at this world cup, though the luck of the draw did not go their way. It is possible that no African team will get out of the group stages this time. 

 One feature of this world cup is the quality that the lesser known teams have shown and there have been upsets to boot. Slovenia, Algeria, Switzerland and many others have kicked above their weight whereas England, France and Italy have disappointed. France have imploded without Zidane’s calming influence and Italy are poor without their creative spark Pirlo. The biggest disappointment has been England who came in with huge expectations with Rooney in great form and a manager in Capello who seemed to have instilled self-belief in England’s vastly talented but under-performing team. He would not have dreamed of a sudden crisis in confidence, the kind of which English teams are used to every four years. If England do go out, that would be a major blow to them with the Golden Generation about to retire and new players not ready to fill their void. I would be sad too, having supported them now for so long, all in vain. 

 The usual suspects have come to the party in the shape of Brazil, Argentina and Germany. Spain have shown, belatedly, why they are considered the best team on Earth currently. But their profligacy in front of goal may come to haunt them when they play better teams later on. Brazil seem to play the beautiful game once in a while, when Robinho or Kaka are on the ball, but still manage to get great results. They are not as free-flowing as Brazilian teams of the past, but still play well enough that people would come to watch them. The Argentines have been the most impressive team thus far, Messi-inspired and with a strike-force that no team can match. Theirs has been the most attacking mindset and more should come yet. Germany, who were not favourites, have justified their reputation as perennial contenders by producing brilliant performances with a young team. Their midfield has been virile and Mesut Ozil is a star of the future. Portugal played really well to inflict the heaviest defeat of the tournament on the hapless North Koreans, but it remains to be seen how far Ronaldo can drag them. 

 The World cup is just hotting up and the knock out stages will be, hopefully, much less cagey. Momentum is the key at this stage and whichever team manages to get it all together at the right time will be the favourites. I would back Spain and Brazil to reach the latter stages easily, though I hope England can perform a beautiful pirouette and get back into contention. There is still a lot of time.

The unknowable nature of creativity

I once watched a TV feature on how musicians create music. It was supposed to help understand the creative process using brain-mapping techniques. To participate in it and to be a guinea pig by undergoing an MRI while he listened to Western classical music was the famous musician Sting. At the end of the program, the music-loving researcher told Sting he had a map of his brain at the moment he was conjuring up grand images of Cathedrals with huge chambers, high ceilings and flying buttresses in symphony with the music that he heard. Amazingly, looking at those patterns, Sting became coy of any further inquiry into the matter. 

 The reason I gave that example was not only to highlight the unfathomable nature of creativity but also to shed light on more general questions of life: how each of us evolves to be the person he or she is; what is the fundamental reason for life itself or why do we live. The question of the nature of life has been tackled by so many philosophical traditions. A view from the Hindu texts is that life is divided into the four phases of Artha, Dharma, Kama and Moksha. This is such an all-encompassing tradition that it offers no answer to any questions; it simply encourages the individual to explore his life and find for himself his own answers. But there are other views which lay strict emphasis on doing as is stipulated, in their interpretation, by a book or a single individual who is taken to be The Enlightened One. There is a fundamental difference between both kinds of traditions at their core. One seeks to stop people from understanding their own nature by enforcing upon them Dos and Donts while the other allows people to try to understand their own selves. 

 The question is whether we can ever really know the reason we are here. Can evolution and habit be sufficient? Every differing view of life is defined by how they approach these questions. If one believes these are impossible to answer and hence life is, at a fundamental level, never in our hands then one is bound to feel that the nature of life is suffering. But another view could be that life being as it is, and our own existence being inextricably linked to it, the best thing to do is to live it as it comes, without ever being so arrogant as to consider oneself above life’s vicissitudes. Perhaps such acceptance can lead to a happier life as you realise the ephemeral nature of the present and strive to make the best of it. Either way, if it is impossible for us humans to know why we are here, shouldn’t we at least take what we have, and also give when we can? Sting may not have been wrong when he said he did not want to know how he created music.

Impressions of Bikaner

I made my first visit to Rajasthan last weekend to be part of a close friend’s wedding. The visit was not to one of those glamorous destinations like Jodhpur or Jaisalmer, but to the less frequented town of Bikaner – famous for its sweets and Namkeen. Being situated in the middle of the Thar Desert, the city is buffeted by sandy winds all around the year. Various palaces dot the city too, indicating its royal heritage. Bikaner is not a large city, rather more of a town. During summer, when temperatures rise up to 50 C, it can be an unforgiving place. Sand and heat are constant companions. However it can be just as extremely cold during the winter. It had rained the night I reached Bikaner; I could see the lightning at a distance from the train windows as the sand carried by the wind filled the compartment.

The journey to Bikaner from Jaipur was quite eventful in itself. We had for companions, two elderly gentlemen from the region who engaged in a spirited and sometimes acerbic discussion about any aspect of life they chanced upon. More than their talk, their manner interested me. It suggested a people who, despite their state’s relative lack of resources and backwardness, look towards a very different future, where their traditional ways of living may be endangered. They are also large-hearted, as was in evidence when after heated debates which never once resembled a scuffle, they parted with greetings, no rancour betrayed. This trait was especially endearing to me. The landscape changed from the dry lake bed of the Sambhar to the Marble quarries of Makrana – but parched land was a constant. When night fell, we had left just Makrana behind.

I could not visit the many palaces and temples due to a paucity of time and the heat. But I did notice a few things about the people of Bikaner. Resource scarcity, especially of water, has made them very conscious of wastefulness. They are also extremely generous and hospitable. They talk straight and avoid being conceited. I usually dislike marriages; they take too much time, are much too chaotic and involve too many rituals among Hindus. But it is a good opportunity to observe the status of women in a society. I could see that women here were not just accorded rightful respect but also were confident in their own position. Their education is also considered a must. A friend from Jodhpur remarked that women there were worse off socially there than in and around Bikaner.

As my train departed from Bikaner, I finally saw sand dunes interspersed within land as the Sun sank down on the horizon. They were not large ones, only agglomerations of sand blown over from the true desert. But that sight was a fitting end to the journey, reminding me of the main characteristic of this region, which has always defined its people and their traditions.

Why we must respect our thoughts

A thought has been passing through my mind intermittently for quite some time now. It is related to something we humans unconsciously practice: control over our thought-processes. Many of us do not have a complete grip on our thoughts and, consequently, are not able to fulfill our potential. A major reason for this is the consideration we give to what others may think about our ideas and actions. Too often when we get down to work, we allow our vision to be blurred by a neurotic tendency towards the gratification of others. In doing so, we lose the purity of our vision. The manifestation of our dreams is then a mere caricature of their ideal. Why do we allow this to happen? 

Who are these others? They are our friends, peers, parents or even just acquaintances. Most successful people have a certain detachment when they are working or thinking. In that moment of deep cogitation, nothing else but the next step matters. If we allow our mind to be distracted by what someone might think about us if we took that step, we have already lost the battle. Hence there is a need to balance how much value we give others’ opinions, with the importance of our own opinion. The need to be accepted must not be allowed to trample upon our freedom of expression, not only in words but also in actions. Sensitive people are especially at risk; they do not like the smallest criticism leveled against them. Intellectually inclined people seem not to have too many close friends. That may have to do with the knowledge that too many such relationships can lead to a surfeit of superficial gestures when what they need is simply to get on with work. They consciously restrict their perfunctory social responsibilities and rely on a few proximate friends for advice and fraternization. Those friends understand them and their way of thinking, and themselves are freethinking individuals. The point is about not allowing the beauty of our ideas to be destroyed because we are afraid to express it. The world will be a better place with more varieties and strands of thought. It is particularly important for a society that holds family to be the most sacrosanct of institutions - thereby instigating in each member of that family the view that they are not as important individually as the family - to respect the choices of each member of the society. This kind of society may unwittingly curtail the freedom of individuals to follow their own path, as it habituates the individual to think first of the family and then of himself. A healthy respect for each individual’s choices is imperative for the creation of a vibrant society. That is not to criticize altruism; it is only to reaffirm the basic nature of a human being: despite sharing the world and co-habiting for mutual good, each one of us is a single, separate entity who has to live his own life and take his own decisions.

Thoughts on "A Beautiful mind"

I watched the 2001 movie ‘A Beautiful Mind’ again today. I had watched it almost 6-7 years ago when I was in High School. Revisiting it again now offered many more insights into the life of John F. Nash, the Nobel Prize winning mathematician and economist whose struggles with Schizophrenia are described in the movie. The movie takes liberties with the literal narrative of Nash’s life, mainly in order to facilitate a smooth telling of the battles he had with the illness, to the exclusion of other details of his life which would only have been a distraction to the major theme of the movie. In spite of those departures, Nash’s biographer has said that the movie captures the spirit of his life and Nash himself did not argue about it much. 

 The movie is powerful, compelling and moving precisely because Nash’s life story itself is the same. No life is simple and people may point fingers at aspects of his life they find unpleasant. But a man can only try to live his life well, dealing with his own problems, not a kind of life others would want him to live. Nash was a misfit as a young man, desperate to make his mark in the world of mathematics, to the exclusion of activities one may expect a University student to enjoy. As his character in the movie says,” He never much liked people and people did not like him.” This trait of his would not have helped him make close friends, and that could have made his struggles all the more difficult. His anxiety about finding an original breakthrough at Princeton was eventually alleviated and he was even able to marry someone he loved. But the truly traumatizing experiences of his life were yet to come. 

Losing your grip on reality and watching your mind degenerate to the point where you no longer can think clearly is the worst nightmare that a mentally ill person goes through. A schizophrenic can lose touch with reality so completely that it becomes impossible for him to function in the real world. A depressive can feel as of his soul were stifled and choked; his life may seem to have ended even as ritual banalities of life go on, without him feeling the slightest desire for them. The spirit of man can still make him hold on to the tenuous hope of revival, the faintest echoes of happiness in his past calling to him to keep faith. Nash kept his faith and trusted his mind. It could not have been simple when the thing he trusted was what betrayed him. But the human mind is a mysterious realm; its powers are virtually unlimited when it comes to the personal. What is required from the soul is not to capitulate but to fight back vehemently, using its strengths to overcome adversity. 

Nash used logic and reasoning to defeat his internal demons. The incredible energy it must have consumed can make one wonder how he had any left to live on; but it is possible when the spirit is willing. Without purpose and love, he probably would not have succeeded. The mind, it has been said, is a faithful servant but a terrible master. Once it starts driving us into blind alleys, pain and suffering is not far away. Mental illness is another matter since it may not be under our control every time, though most mentally ill people have traits of character which exacerbate, expedite or even induce the illness. Nash’s story stands testimony to the power of the mind and human spirit to overcome the most debilitating of circumstances, while accepting life’s teachings and moulding one’s character according to those circumstances.

When responsibility becomes a burden

Usually having a sense of responsibility is a good thing. It gives a vagrant mind a path to follow. But there are people who have never had a wandering mind; they have always felt an intrinsic sense of responsibility towards what they do. It is, strictly, not a responsibility that they feel. They need not be reminded of their “responsibility”. They have such passion for their work that they truly love it. The word responsibility defiles that passion and love. Using it makes something which may be almost holy seem like a mere job one does to keep life ticking along. But there are conditions which dilute that passion and reduce it to a set of responsibilities that eventually become a burden.

When the circumstances of life bring such a man a calamity which uproots his entire life, something similar can happen. Even if he is resolute enough to withstand the tumultuous and torrid times, he may still lose his direction, and with that his passion for life. His life demands that you make a living. More importantly, this man demands of himself that he make a living, that he earn his own bread, that he may never be forced to beg at another’s feet for compassion. He is too proud to be irresponsible. But his entire being is revolted by this charade that he undertakes. He cannot truly care for what he does. He has tried to live like an ordinary man, trying not to be passionate. But he cannot, that’s not him. When times become testing and his sense of responsibility is stretched, he becomes sullen, morose. He begins to hate life. Then he realises that his responsibility has become a burden. Should he reject this way of life and do something else? But what would he do? Where is his passion? That question leaves him drained. And he quits for the day, having had too many of these tortuous sessions with himself. Unfortunately, the unresolved question will rear its hideous head again.

Goodbye, Shashi Tharoor

Shashi Tharoor, the Minister of State for external affairs and a former Under-Secretary General of the UN, has been forced to resign from the Union Cabinet due to the raging controversy surrounding the IPL Kochi team. In spite of his impeccable credentials, he has had a tough time negotiating the torrid currents of Indian Politics. His brand of politics, his being an outsider even in the Congress and perhaps his personality too has not endeared him to his colleagues in his party or elsewhere. He endeavoured to open his working to the public completely through a forum like Twitter. He attempted to establish norms of transparency and efficiency under his watch. But Indian Politics was probably not ready to accept his ideas so easily. It is an open secret that members of the Kerala Congress have harboured grievances against his sudden elevation as a Minister even when he was a first time MP. Tharoor, on his part, is not too keen on plying the beaten track when it comes to being a politician. He has enjoyed great support from the PM and the Gandhi family. That helped him land a substantial job in the government. His stature as a scholarly, articulate, experienced diplomat and his authorial success bode well for his future as a politician of the educated middles class. Unfortunately, that stature might have worked against him too.

The previous ‘controversies’ he has been embroiled in were more media creations, less important issues. The News media – much like an oily salesman hoping to sell dubious products – pounced on him because of his popularity within their audience. He has been accused of hogging the limelight. He might not have felt inclined to refuse initially precisely because he wanted to be open. But the media needs to sell its products too; the subsequent reports did make him wary. The element of his being an outsider even to the media perhaps also played a role. Tharoor probably did not have time to build strong linkages with the domestic media. Indeed it is the media’s role to be dispassionate, but how many of our journalists truly are? But these also issues betrayed Tharoor’s lack of understanding of how the Indian polity functions. His being a man in a hurry can be attributed to his own high estimation of himself – not something untrue in itself. But was such ambition palatable to his peers? His predicament offers the clearest answers. His misdemeanor in this case was puny when compared to the allegations leveled against other politicians. Nevertheless, the stink of perceived corruption was too much for the Gandhi family. Reaching rarefied heights has a major disadvantage; the fall is just as heavy.

When he announced his candidature for the Thiruvananthapuram seat, I recollect feeling excited at the prospect of someone I admired being a part of Indian Politics. His appointment as Minister offered more hope. However, the cynicism within politics in general and the Indian version of it in particular will not recede so easily. Tharoor has perhaps been a victim of his own previous success. He has misjudged matters a few times. But it is not in the best interests of Indian Politics and the country itself to hound out a person of great intellect and capability. It would be a disgrace if talent like his is sidelined because he is easy fodder while the real vultures prey silently on the populace of this nation. I hope, for the sake of India, that he’s not disheartened and returns to centre stage a wiser man, one ready to earn his spoils.

How do we live life?

Happy people are usually never bothered about the meaning of life. They are too busy living life as it comes. So are those who continually worry about that question doing any favour to themselves? I have come to think that they are not. Of course, there are questions about why someone would even ask such a question. But life works mysteriously. You never know when you will be in a position where it just seems that nothing is worth it now. It happens to the best of us. The response to such events defines people, and  also transforms them utterly.

I wonder how life should be lived then. Even after such an experience, we can retain the desire to live. Our way of looking at life has undergone drastic changes; but we still need to do things the same way as other happy people to be happy. To describe people as being “happy” is a simplistic generalization. But it serves the purpose of showing a way of living which may come closest to finding real meaning in life.

Dwelling on the past makes no one happy. Worrying about the future does no better. Only living in the present offers a chance. Each of us has a unique character and personality. Those attributes decide how people react even when they live in the present. But the reaction can also be determined by a desire for change, a leap of faith. That faith is what keeps us going. Faith in yourself, faith in life’s ability to give us happier times. It starts with complete acceptance of the present and clear understanding of how you see yourself in the future – not a specific way necessarily, but in a way that makes you feel good. Once that is done, the hard steps of shaping reality according to your dreams await. If someone were searching for meaning in life, that is all you need to tell them.

Tittering media all over Twittering Tharoor

At the outset, let me say I don’t share the discomfort many feel over Shashi Tharoor’s twittering ways. On the contrary, it is a remarkable source of inside information on the workings of Indian Government, regardless of how many really want to know about it. Tharoor has a knack of enlightening us – his twitter followers - with information on topics such as relations between African countries and India; but he also fulfils the deepest desire of a creative writer by tweeting some rather banal and humorous lines, much to the chagrin of a section of society rooted in a hackneyed vision of the political life where standards of decorum are such that we might as well use nameless, faceless logos for politicians, simply saying POLITICIAN. Unfortunately, today that evokes the image of an oily, cunning man maneuvering his way towards more power and money. So, Tharoor’s only source of inspiration brings him brickbats, notwithstanding that he may only be trying to be open and accessible, certainly not the traits of that wily homogenous creature called a POLITICIAN. Tharoor must be told that he is not expected to be accountable, secrecy being the buzzword for our notoriously un-industrious politicians.

Certainly the media could not comprehend how an incumbent minister could encroach upon territory it considers firmly its own. How he could bypass the traditional route of delivering political news, they probably thought. After all, the media has taken on the self-appointed job to affect stings on any member of that secretive group who has the misfortune to have his secrets betrayed. It usually does a good job of it too. But I fail to understand what purpose the ‘stings’ perpetrated upon Tharoor have served, other than to increase the ratings of a few TV shows and to make a reluctant, controversy-tainted celebrity of Tharoor, who, as he tiredly and ironically said, never had such problems with the international media during his days as undersecretary-general of Communications at the UN. The English language press too has taken the gauntlet; they have front-paged every little hiccup of Tharoor’s and given disproportionate, perhaps, even biased coverage to events like this IPL controversy. Where are the stories about Lalit Modi’s conviction for alleged use of drugs and kidnapping in the US? Perhaps, sections of the media cringe at Tharoor’s accent, wonderfully thick as it is. Or perhaps, they did not apprehend his sudden ascent in the muddied waters of Indian Politics even though he was an outsider. Or, may be, it’s just cynical marketing through a manufactured controversy involving a celebrated diplomat of yore. Whatever the truth, Tharoor may have been reminded of that quote: Once bitten, twice shy. The media, it seems, has lost the plot. Perhaps it needs to be the victim of a sting too. How many of those in the fourth estate truly understand the nature of their work? Have they forgotten what ethics and balance in reporting means? Are they themselves as cynical now as to follow the money and for the rest, well, let it go to hell, honey? Tharoor has made some errors of judgment, as in the case of his visa tweet. When you cut your teeth in Indian politics that is only expected. But has the media been fair to him? You only need to compare coverage given to silly matters like “Cattle Class/Holy Cows” with real issues of corruption and graft involving Sharad Pawar. Perhaps Tharoor is a soft target, an easy punching bag to people seeking a way to sell their news. But does that justify the media? Introspection is the word.

Disgrace by J.M.Coetzee: A review

Disgrace won the Booker in 1999; it was J.M. Coetzee’s second Booker and was followed by the Nobel Prize in literature being bestowed upon him. He is a writer of the highest pedigree and immense skill. This novel glows with such aesthetic beauty that you are left with a wonderful sense of blithe satisfaction after a reading. It is about David Lurie, Professor of Communications at Cape Technical University in South Africa - a sensual man, a disciple of the romantic poets, Wordsworth in particular. He is over fifty but his passion for women is undimmed. He has had two wives, but has not been successful in those relationships. Unheeded indulgence of his passions is the way out for him. But when his gaze turns to 18-year old Melanie Isaacs, it is only time before trouble erupts. This is a conservative South African University after all, not given to tolerating the escapades of elderly professors. The scandal that hits him, notwithstanding Melanie’s own role in the fling, uproots him from the University. He would rather quit than beg for forgiveness for a guilt he cannot feel.

That takes him to his daughter Lucy, who lives a peasant’s life on a farm in the Eastern Cape. But the South Africa of the day, in spite of Mandela’s reconciliation, is a place where history has taken an ugly turn. Suddenly, the former oppressed have tasted power; and some would be only too willing to wield it against their previous masters. As it is, Lucy and David’s worldviews clash. But when an act of horrifying brutality rips apart their life, the chasm between them is opened wide. Lurie no longer has the luxury of continuing his old ways. He cares about his daughter too much, though often they don’t see eye to eye. Lurie must change himself and in the process, he must also redeem himself. He must find answers if he has to live with honour. He must learn to be humble and to accept the realities of life. Along the way, he must also find a reason to live.

Coetzee’s prose is never pompous, but graceful, silky and even, at times, melodious. The scenes are set alight by a descriptive ability which always enthralls the imagination. The narrative grips you throughout. His intuitive grasp of the atmospherics of a scene lets conflicting strands of thought brew together until they are ready to explode. And that is handled with the skill of a master artist, who knows the way to tell a beautiful story. It is a work of exceptional power and aesthetic beauty.

J.D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye

J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye has always been a controversial novel – both reviled and celebrated in equal measure. Sundry guardians of morality and upright behaviour, whom Holden Caulfield - the book’s angst-ridden teenage protagonist – would probably have called ‘phonies’, have always panned the book for its disturbing themes of sexuality and its use of obscene language. Still, the book is among the most read in American schools. Though it was meant for adults, it finds great resonance among adolescents due to the subject, conversational tone and language which reflects a teenager’s vocabulary almost perfectly. Salinger boasted in college that he would write the defining American novel someday. He did not miss the mark by much.

It is essentially the story of an adolescent who faces struggles as he grows up in this imperfect world. Once Holden leaves the sheltered environs of his home for those prep schools that purportedly make something of teenagers, he sees things he cannot understand. Why people act as they do, he probably asks himself. Why does someone behave so snottily when you have probably never met him before? Why is money such a cause for resentment even among kids? The list could be endless. Holden is himself a caring, kind and honest boy before he goes to these schools. That makes it difficult for him to see what adult life is all about. He flunks schools out of this apathy to the ways of the world. Most teachers and students are ‘phonies’ to him, his ultimate insult to people who are contrived or conceited in their behaviour. When the book starts, Holden is flunking yet another school - Pency Prep – and this time he decides to leave without a word to anybody. He makes for New York, his hometown, but does not want to go home yet. So he checks into a rundown hotel and thinks he’ll have a vacation before heading home to face his parents’ inevitable wrath. Only, he spends the time drinking and feeling so alienated that he’s badly depressed most of the time. He has an encounter he did not want with a prostitute, which finally ends without much action and with some regret. He meets up with a girl he has known in the past, but he’s fed up even there. He encounters three women in a bar who are among the most bizarre characters you would ever see. The whole world seems to him to be full of phonies. There are two nuns he meets at the Grand Central station in NY and he donates some money to them. They are probably the only ones he thinks are genuine of all those people he meets during his little getaway. Holden has a little sister Phoebe, who is very perceptive and intelligent. She is the only person he really likes. He turns so morose now that he wants to sneak in to his home and see Phoebe late at night. She’s very happy and animated to see him but also guesses the reason why he’s there. During their talk, he confesses to her that the only thing he wants in his life is to be like a Catcher in the Rye, someone who stands at the edge of some cliff and catches children who stray close to it while playing in the rye. It’s only a metaphor for a person who wants to save himself from impending adulthood, which he thinks is akin to falling off a cliff.

He and his siblings are all good at English; it’s the one subject he does not fail. So he has an English teacher Mr. Antolini he likes who he goes to after seeing Phoebe. He gives Holden a place to stay overnight and also gives him advice on life. He says to Holden, “you are not the first person to be confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour” and then he tells him to try to engage with the world. It’s all perfunctory to Holden, who, on a fancy, decides next morning that he’ll leave everything behind to live a solitary existence in the woods, doing menial jobs to survive and allowing only people he likes to visit him. He tells Phoebe about it, but she is adamant about going with him. It probably makes him see some sense and he decides that he would stick it out and see what happens. The ending does not offer any fixes to life’s problems and Holden himself is probably unsure about his future. But he ‘thinks he will apply himself’ in his next school. That perhaps makes the novel stand out as more gritty and realistic than other works on teenage delinquents.
We are all pristine early in our lives, untouched by the ugly realities of life and the need to adapt. But as you grow up, you have to deal with all kinds of people, many of whom you don’t like. The whole business of life is such that it cannot be attempted without adapting yourself. The book shows this aspect of human life, how humans become indifferent towards others and only think of themselves, how they tend to be conceited and shallow as they mature into adults. Life makes people like that. It makes youngsters like Holden become frustrated, alienated from the world and leads to the existential angst that people talk of in teenagers.

A final word on the literary style of the novel: Salinger intuited that the best way to make Holden believable would be to write from his own perspective. The novel uses a style called the Stream of Consciousness, where a person’s thoughts are one with the narrative. So even an aside such as when he describes how the Ossenburger dorm room makes him feel tell us a great deal about him and enhance the incisiveness of the novel. His use of teenage colloquialisms used in the 1940s NY sets the tone and frequent profanities only light up various facets of Holden’s character, like the word ‘goddam’ which underlines his dislike for something when used in that sense. Overall, it sets the feel of the unfolding of a teenage story, told from his perspective.

Where are the girls?

Are you a male engineering graduate in India? If so, you probably are a washed-up, frustrated guy who has never been ‘touched’ by a girl and for whom the Holy Grail has been wanking off at the sight of the most beautiful nymph in some porn video. Okay, that’s not the prettiest picture to paint, I know. But can you, in your heart of hearts, reject my thesis? Not really. Anyway, what can a guy do if there aren’t enough pretty faces around? I mean, it is not about sex. You know how it feels to hang out with a hundred guys all in the same boat as you. You do. It ain’t the most wonderful feeling in the world. How we yearn to spend just one blithe, merry evening in some cafe with a radiant girl, away from the dreary sea of humanity. You can never be too careful about some Sena goons ready to teach us True Indian Values, but you will take that risk, won’t you? What a sorry state of affairs.

If only more girls got through competitive exams. What was that? So girls top most board exams now, their kind pass exams better than ours and yet only the keenest eye can spot one in a tech college induction ceremony. The feminists should be up in arms. They should demand reservation for the fairer sex in our educational institutions. And let’s be fair at that: give them 50%. They are half our population after all. What better way to further empower the New Age Woman. Surely, only the Yadavs will object. You don’t think that will do, do you? Do I feel an element of doubt in you whether those seats will be filled at all? After all, it’s not Indian Culture in most of our vast country for women to be the equals of men. Sometimes I wonder where all those girls go. Are they so intellectually inferior to us guys that they cannot qualify? Somehow I find that hard to swallow. They take the arts as an afterthought. That almost makes me feel sorry for the arts. What a second-rate creature the arts should feel like, if the arts could feel. I wonder whether that women’s reservation bill in the Lok Sabha can make matters easier for us boys too. Could that much-vaunted trickledown effect of reservations make a few more engineers out of girls? Or will it be blunted by the ineluctable forces of patriarchy? It would interest me to know whether those prudish Sena hoodlums send their daughters to any engineering schools. And it would really interest me to know whether they hide their prurient selves behind this image of an incorruptible whose mission in life is to promote True Indian Values among the flock that has strayed. They are the self-anointed custodians of Indian Morality; perhaps they believe that is above the law.

You wonder now what all of that has to do with the fact that there are so few women engineering grads. I say everything. If a woman begins to think on her own, doesn’t that undercut the domination of the male in her family? Does it not take the ‘Other India’ on a path it dreads? They say educate one woman and you educate a family. The fear probably is that you educate a woman engineer and you liberate a family, and that is not something the headstrong patriarch can tolerate. Liberty was one of the basic tenets of the French revolution, which ushered democracy into the world. Perhaps what they really fear is democracy itself.

Anyway, I only hope for some chicks to enter the hallowed portals of our engineering schools. It will do the boys a great deal of good. Perhaps improve their grades too; as they say, behind every successful man is a woman. For all the Greens out there, it will save some electricity and mitigate Global Warming too, if you know what I mean. Perhaps even make the eventual arranged marriage easier to negotiate, as even acquainting themselves with their betrothed is so awkward initially for many of our brethren. And if it changes our society a little, wouldn’t that be great too?

Incredible day on the roads of Pune

I leave for office just before 3 PM every day. These are unnaturally hot days, a harbinger of what is to come. Global Warming, perhaps. Anyway, yesterday I wrapped my windcheater around me, put on my gloves and slid on the helmet in preparation for the ride, as usual. I mounted my bike and saw the dust resting on the newly-fitted leg-guard. You can’t clean up every day. So I dragged it out of the parking lot and hit the starter. The engine came to life. It’s a familiar feeling this, if you drive every day. You are so accustomed to driving the bike through the roads of Pune - which resemble more a slalom track than a smooth highway - that you can’t help your mind wandering. No sir, that won’t do, so I tell myself to concentrate. These predated days of summer are dreadful for bikers. The hot wind will certainly cause you a cold - what with the air-conditioned office awaiting - if not a sunstroke unless you cover up. But that is not all. The good citizens of this city await you in the form of the gates of the slalom course. And quite often, the gates move. It is with good reason that one should concentrate. But there are instances where even that just doesn’t do: let me tell you more.

As my bike scythed through the inflammable atmosphere, my eyes darted around intently, on the lookout for potential dangers. The road seemed quite empty for the time. I was quarter of the distance through to the office and was going at 50 KMPH or so. There was this one guy loitering around at the left corner of the road, about 20 feet ahead of me when I noticed him. Suddenly, he decides to take a stroll down the park. Now, this is not a one-way street. If you want to cross from left to right, that is your right. But shouldn’t you watch what’s coming from your near end first rather than turning your head to the other side of the road? This guy obviously did not think so. He was so focused on the traffic from the other side as he fulfilled our date with each other that he wouldn’t hear my frantic horn. Well, 5 feet away from him, I knew we were destined to have our hasty rendezvous. Only, the how of it was in my hands. Go hard on the throttle and he crashes into your side. You are sent into a deadly spin. So that is not an option. To tell you a bit about physics though, a bike going at 50 will not stop within 20 feet even if you apply the rear and front brakes in perfect synchronization. But you do reduce the impact by slowing down and losing momentum. Realizing all this, I must have started braking a little after I saw him. So I brace myself while this guy, apparently unmindful of this aspect of the world, walks on blithely. As I near him, I reflexively turn the handlebar left ever so slightly to avoid, well, breaking his knee perhaps. He collides with the right side of my front wheel and the right leg-guard. The rear view mirror is almost dislodged. The bike still has momentum and the engine is revving. In a blur, my left foot is on the ground as I become the jockey trying to rein in this unruly horse. Fortunately, I can bring it to a stop without falling. Then I look around in the daze characteristic of the aftermath of a road accident. I saw it coming, but it still knocks the wind out of me for 2-3 seconds. Then I see that the dunce is on his feet and there’s no lasting damage to him. I survey myself and see that the corner of the left sock I’m wearing under my floaters has been ripped off. There is a little bleeding at the end of the toenail. But that apart, I’m ok. My bike too has survived, only that rear-view mirror needs to be fixed. I want to check on that fool, but he has staggered away, probably aware of his blunder. I just stare at the people around stupidly for a few seconds. If one believed in God, he would perhaps have said a silent prayer. But what else now for me but to shake my head, curse and complete the journey. I have gone through what I have only heard of. Riding on the slalom track will never be the same again.

I sometimes have this debate with my friends about which city has the worst traffic and road sense. Inevitably, Pune is among the top in this list. People break signals and rules for fun here. It is probably the dizzy change the city has undergone in the last few years. Many of the migrants are unaware of how to live in a city. And the old guard takes everything for granted, given the lax enforcement. But I will never know which of these that guy was.