Unless one counts the school English class exercises and the one competition I’d taken part it in (in which I won 3rd prize by the way), this is my maiden effort at story writing. That’s why its been while since I posted anything. As it always happens with me, the short story started getting longer, and so I’ve decided to post it in two parts…
So here goes..
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“As Vikram stepped into the lift, he tried to look forward to the day, but like every other day, he didn’t succeed. He didn’t enjoy his job.
And why would he, he often said to his wife when she started pointing out to him that other people were worse off…
When he was a kid, he had always wanted to be a policeman, he had loved playing ‘Chor Police’, chasing the bad guys (invariably his best friend and the neighbour’s kid – Satyam), and most of the times he had managed to overcome evil with good. During those days, the movies also always made the police the good men... sometimes even the main protagonist was a policeman. What more did a kid of 8-9 need? His own hero acting out his dream job. He always dreamed of the day he would be awarded a medal for his bravery.
However in the course of growing up, his dreams somewhat subsided; his inertia of action, plus the fact that the movies had started showing the policemen mostly as corrupt officials who merely acted according to the wishes of the goons (after of course being heavily bribed by them), made him somewhat less eager to be a part of the same organization.
The movies have always had a big impact on his mind. As a kid, for a month or so, he adopted a stray dog, fed him, played with him, after seeing the movie ‘Tere Meherbaniyaan’ which had a canine playing a great role. After a month, the fever wore off, and soon the dog was left to his own devices (even though the dog still wondered around the lanes near his home). During his late teens, he had made an attempt to convince his supposed sweetheart (Satyam’s sister – Maya who was 2 years younger to him) to elope with him after declaring his undying love for her in the most theatrical way possible (as shown in the English movies – ones he had seen mostly for the images as the accent was too tough for his Hindi medium 10th standard English to follow). Fortunately, she, a level headed girl with no such great love for drama, brought him back right to reality, saying she liked him, but marriage and that too elopement was a rather impractical idea. Patiently, she said that there was no need to elope as she could foresee no problem, why either of their parents would object, considering they were such good neighbours and occasional lunch/dinner invitees. He stared at her, all the drama sucked out of his heart, while she explained how they were going to go about the whole issue of marriage. Bit by bit, she mapped out how he’d need to get a job, then, ask her parents while she would stall her parents’ groom-searching by some pretext.
At that time, they were 19 and 18 respectively, and Maya had mapped the next 5 years for the both of them, Disappointed by the rather flat course of events, totally contrary to the outcome he had expected (both of them riding far away on a bike (how he’d get that was something he had not thought about), while their parents coming after them with promises to let them be together, all contrite in shame), he agreed to her plan.
His future had been planned out while he was still struggling in the 10th standard of a local school for the 3rd time. For three years now, Vikram had searched in vain at the results sheet of the matriculation exam, hoping to see his roll number in the list of passes. Each time, he was disappointed. Watching movies every Friday had taken its toll. On Fridays, the teachers never saw him, on Wednesdays too he was hardly to be seen (that was the day of the week when Maya came from school early), the rest of the days, he was physically present in class, but mentally someplace else.
Trapped in a class with boys 3 juniors to him, it was but natural for him not to prefer going there. He lived in an alternative reality, where his parents didn’t nag him to study, where Maya didn’t keep planning unromantic undramatic courses of life, where he wasn’t trying to comprehend the complexities of physics in a room full of screaming 15 year olds who thought about nothing but cricket and exams; this was his world. Here, he was the director, the hero, the theme of the film, his parents were grateful that they were HIS parents, Maya felt lucky just being in his presence and listening to his words of wisdom, the boys in his class worshipped him because of his status as an adult - he was happy in this world.
When he failed to pass the matriculation exam for the 4th consecutive year, his parents were not really surprised. They finally gave up and allowed him to quit school. What he would do was a matter of contention. His dreams had changed dramatically (no pun intended) – he wanted to be an actor. Maya tried to talk him out of it, his father tried to force him out of it, his mom tried to cajole him out of it but he would not budge. He had worked it all out. He had a friend who had friend who had a cousin who was acting in some television show in Mumbai. He would go to Mumbai, stay with that unknown person and try his luck too.
What followed was a sequence of events that changed his perception of life forever – made him grow up. Leaving the painful parts, lets just say that post that experience, Vikram never takes any food from any train passengers, no matter how friendly and harmless they seem, neither does he keep much cash while travelling, and when someone says that ‘My friend’s friend’s cousin’s son will help you’, he doesn’t believe him. Also, he never stays in stranger’s rooms without keeping his luggage locked, never trusts people who seem to be going out of their way to do him a favour. The falsity of people, the tinsel unsure of the movies struck him like a jolt.
Sufficient to say, he came back from Mumbai after 2 years, disillusioned, disappointed and dejected. Having lived in a room not much bigger than the storeroom of the rented house here, trying to start a career in acting, a talent which he slowly started realizing didn’t exist in him, staying with a good for nothing guy who spent all his time in bars or the production houses, doing spot jobs here and there, feeling ashamed of going back, he had longed for the sanctuary of his parent’s comfort, his mom’s patting his back, consoling him, and his father speaking his few words of consolation, which contained no sign of the ‘I told u so’ taunt. It was only after Maya’s frequent persuasions that he found the courage in himself to return back… with even less than what he had gone with.
Nobody asked him what happened, and neither did he ever speak about it. Sometimes, in moments of painful memory, he would recall flashes of those terrible days, alone, uncared and be thankful that he’d come back. He recovered quickly, and now, even though he no longer wanted to have anything to do with cinema, he retained his original custom of visiting the theatres every Friday and that’s where the passion ended. His father got him a job at a nearby restaurant, as a waiter. He lasted there for about 3 months; somehow the concept of taking orders of food from people and recalling it at the kitchen, seemed like a job too lowly for him (according to him). Then followed a series of jobs which never lasted more than 3 months (maximum) - waiter; delivery person, salesman, were some of the jobs among the range...
He realized that he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life, he didn’t know what he was good at, he didn’t know what he was interested in; he felt completely lost. After 2 years of changing jobs, his parents were frustrated and so was he. And then came the lightning jolt that broke his indecision and made him desperate to get hold of a job where he was interested enough to stay. That jolt was the search for prospective grooms for their daughter by Maya’s parents. Maya had managed to stall the search for almost a year now, and now after seeing his meandering career moves, she knew he needed a shock to make him consider his actions.
One evening, she told him that even though her parents had a slight suspicion that they were in love, but they could see nothing in him to make him even slightly acceptable in the role of their daughter’s husband. His past adventures as an unsuccessful actor, and his stream of temporary jobs had even worsened his impression. She confided, somewhat shyly, to her brother, Vikram’s friend Satyam, who had his suspicions from a long time. Satyam was not surprised and neither was he against it; however he had his concerns regarding his friend’s career plans. That night he had a heart to heart talk with him and they came out with a plan. Satyam would approach his supervisor at work and try to get his friend a job at the same security firm where he worked.
Satyam worked as a Guard at a local bigshot’s house; sent there as a part of a 2 member team who stayed at their post outside the huge gate of the mansion 24/7 on a shift basis. Inspite of the long nights, sleepy afternoons, he didn’t mind the job – his employer being a generous tipper and a humane person in general. When recommending the job to his friend, he focused on these factors and very tactfully omitted all the other inconveniences of the job. Likewise, while recommending Vikram for the job, he didn’t mention all his failed jobs and just mentioned the sojourn to Mumbai. After an interview, Vikram had to wait for a week until he was informed that he was now an employee of the security firm. He was allocated as a guard at a software firm quite far from his locality…and that’s where he was still working, for 3 years now.
That job gave him the right opportunity to ask Maya’s hand in marriage, and made his family much less in despair and much more proud of him, and yet, at as he walked to his desk, in the lobby, he wasn’t grateful. He knew it was a good job, paying ok, but somehow the job wasn’t as exciting as he’d expected it to be. The monotony had a deadening effect on his enthusiasm; he didn’t feel like a guard protecting the people there. He was just an attachment to the institution, a person required, but essentially of no use. He himself wondered, of what use he would be in an emergency situation (not that he could imagine an emergency in such a boring place as the office he was posted in); he had no training, no gun, no access to the few security cameras installed, and almost no authority. However, since emergencies were a distant improbability, he wasn’t really worried, just a tad bored.
Even though he had been in that office for a little over 3 years, and in the process, been promoted from the external gate, to the internal entry and then finally now he was one of the floor security guards (a job considered much more comfortable than the previous
two), he was yet to start liking the job.
Anyway, moving back to where we started…
That morning, as he took his place at his desk, he could still feel the tiredness in his eyes. Two day before, he had had the night shift, which he had been unable to sleep off the next day; that sleeplessness hadn’t left him. It was 6:55 am and he had 12 hours to go. Until 8:30, the office was almost empty, except for the one employee, Varun who frequently spent nights in office, doing what Vikram couldn’t really fathom, and who sometimes talked to him in moments of stress during his own night-outs. After 8:30, the company buses started arriving and the place started looking inhabited.
While the lifts stopped at his floor, people came in, sometimes greeting him, a smile of acknowledgement, a nod, while some didn’t bother to give any sign that they recognized him. After all he was a security guard at a corporate organization where they were the privileged employees. And that was case when he was in his uniform; navy blue shirt and pants with grey colour at the sleeves, a tie, a cap which he seldom wore, and black shoes. Not an uncommon colour combination, especially when 20 other guards wore the exact same uniform. Their acknowledging his existence when he wasn’t in uniform was an event that had less probability of happening than that of pigs flying.
It was just 9am - he had another 11 hours to go before he could go back to the comfort of his home. Everyday, he did the same thing, count the hours; it was some pass time to make the job more bearable. His job currently had some responsibilities (as compared to previous 2 posts where it was perfunctory and not much more than being at the specified place at the specified times. Now, he was responsible for checking whether al the people coming into the floor had the company tags with them, allotting temporary id cards to the people who had forgotten to bring their ids, registering the employee ids of the same, redirecting any external people (courier services, bank people etc.) to the administrative floor, checking the housekeeping staff as and when they left the floor, registering people who have visitors , ensuring that no unauthorized person enters the workplace, checking if all the desks etc. are locked, and handling any other unexpected situation (which was yet to happen in his 3 years of experience).
So it was really not a very exciting job, and neither was it too socially active; because all the guards worked in shifts in the different floors, they had very less interaction, and as they had to be at their desk for 95% of their shift, they hardly got around to interacting with each other. Lunches were solitary with the rare incidence of company if some guard one knew also got off at the same time. There were invisible lines throughout the workplace; the employees, the housekeeping, the security, the admin, the cafeteria staff - they all had their groups, it was rare to see them intermingling. Call it difference, call it discrimination, it had evolved into a commonality. Some employees were indifferent to such demarcations and had their share of conversations with the tea counter person, the guard, the household staff, while some didn’t do so much as acknowledge their presence or the service that these people did for them. Most of the staff were inured to it and didn’t mind; it was not expected that employees would socialize with them – after all they were highly educated people who spent hours doing really complex and important work on their machines (computers); something they (staff) could barely comprehend, while others suffered through the thanklessness of their jobs, persevering for the sake of themselves.
As it was with Vikram, he had a few acquaintances here and there within the company; whom he managed to come across once or twice a week. The morning was generally the busiest time of the day for him. However, that morning, as if to accentuate his tedium, except for a few employees not bringing their id cards, there was no activity on his floor.
The general attitudes of the employees sometimes really irritated him. They knew they had to bring and display their id cards before entering the facility, and yet each day, someone or the other would just enter (try) with no sign of their id card or the lanyard attached to it. Generally it was easy for him to make out if the employee had the card, either around his neck, or attached to their pants’ pocket with clip, or in their hands, because of the bright red colour of the lanyard. However, some people would have it on them, but inside their pocket, or inside their bags (especially girls/ladies), and then he would have to start the reluctant process of asking them, then they would make an expression as if it was a burden on them to have to display and as if he was causing unnecessary trouble, then they would fumble within their bags and finally bring it out. Sometimes, after minutes and minutes of exploring the bag, they would be unable to unearth it. All confused and mystified, they would look at him slightly apologetically after which he would have to issue a temporary card after registering their names etc. He knew most of the people on the floor (by face) and yet he had to follow the procedure of asking for their id cards as if he was not sure they actually worked here. It was standard procedure, he hadn’t made it, however the employees behaved as if he was solely responsible for their waste of time in searching for an id card. He was used to their expressions and had become an expert in making his face unexpressive and blank during the entire process.
It was almost 11 am and the second round of employees had also finally come in (these were the people who maybe owned vehicles and did not avail the company transport which commuted at ungodly early hours, or people who just didn’t like coming early) when Vikram was really glad to see another uniformed guard coming down the steps from the upper floor. This guy had the night shift and that day his replacement had come four hours late, and finally now he was leaving. Vikram knew that his colleague wouldn’t be too pleased but he was desperate; he was really sleepy and needed some tea to wake him up. All he wanted was a replacement for 5 minutes so that he could rush to the cafeteria two floors up and get a cup of tea. The other guy would have had an intuition because he pretended not to even look towards Vikram and tried proceeding further. However, Vikram got out of his seat and literally ran towards the stairs and called him back. Very reluctantly, and not very happily, the tired fellow agreed to sit in, but warned Vikram (who lost no time in leaving) to be back in time.
When Vikram greeted the guard at the cafeteria, he realized that the only thing at work he was thankful about was that he had managed to be a floor guard without having to go through the phase of being the cafeteria guard, which was inarguably the worst job of all. While the external and internal guards were atleast not alone (there would usually be two at a time), and they had the relief of being in the open, where the outside world did a lot to alleviate the tedium around, the cafeteria guard was the one who had nowhere to run.
Sitting at the entrance of the cafeteria, a solitary chair, (luckily a few days back, a table was also allocated) a register; that was the sum and substance of that job. All day the allocated guard had to sit, and check if all the people who entered the place had their ID cards or not, and if not, he had to note down the employee IDs. The worst part was, most of the people didn’t wear the card as it was meant to be worn, .i.e. around their neck; some had it in their hands, some in their pockets, and he had to literally visually scan every person and check if that person’s lanyard was visible, all in a fraction of a second (during the busy lunch hours). He didn’t have a moment of respite (except when he went into the floors to sit in for each of the floor guards while they had their lunch); even when he ate his solitary lunch, he had to sit near the entrance, facing it, so that he could continue his job while he had his meal. Besides that, all day he had no other responsibilities, not even nominal. Bored to the core, the post of the cafeteria guard was the most common position where the maximum number of guards quit the job. It was just not worth it. Sitting all day, staring at the entrance, and sometimes turning back and looking at the large screen of the flat-screen TV installed at the other end of the eatery. The current guard was looking like he’d resign the next day, although he kept busy all day, doing something or the other on his mobile.
Vikram got back to his desk a little later than he’d said, knowing fully that he’d be cursed at end when he returned, but he’d apologize and hopefully, the guy wouldn’t have minded that very much. However, he was in for a shock when he returned; his desk was empty, the guy, who was already irritated and tired and didn’t see why he had to fill up for a guy (Vikram of course) who needed 15 minutes to get tea, had left.
Our friend here was in an internal frenzy; he went and sat at his desk – checking all the registers and drawers to see if anything was amiss – why he thought something would be amiss he himself didn’t know. He had no idea for how long his post had been unattended and prayed that it was not more than a few minutes. Nevertheless, all through the checking, his mind was in a whirlwind of fear – what if the Admin people had come to his floor at that point (highly improbable but that dint strike him), what if some non-employee (housekeeping etc.) had entered the floor facility without getting registered and what if somehow the admin found out, what if some visitor had come inside the facility and the admin found out, what if some dangerous person had entered the facility and the admin found out (of course the admin would find out), what if some housekeeping staff or employees had noticed his non-availability at his desk and reported him to admin (housekeeping would never do it, and employees hardly noticed him but still.), what it , what if what if..
As these endless thoughts wavered around his head, while he sat there blankly, his replacement for lunch break , the cafeteria guard , with whom he had enjoyed that cursed cup of tea came in, and asked why he looked like he was about to die. He was a new guy (the new recruits always got either the cafeteria or the external gate) and was very cautious regarding his job. He never missed a moment out of duty, sitting on his chair at the cafeteria, looking rather bored and useless, staring at nothing in general, or noting some irreverent nonsense in the last page of the register which he would afterward tear off. On hearing his friend’s nervous possibilities, instead of allaying his fears, he brought forward worse things that could have happened in his absence. He, in fact suggested that the best thing would be to go and tell admin about this regrettable lapse in security.
Ironically, the cafeteria guard’s frenzied, rather unsuitable advice had the effect of calming our hero here, because instead of being worried of what could have happened in his absence, he was instead explaining to the other guy why all his suggestions and notions were unusable and completely illogical.
After making a thorough check of his desk, Vikram left the cafeteria guard in his place, and went inside the facility to make sure everything was normal (which by now, he was pretty sure it was); after all, if in these 3 years of work, nothing had ever happened to disturb the harmony (or monotony, whatever) of the place, why would anything out of the ordinary knock on the door in the few minutes he was away from his desk? And he was right. Relieved, he went for lunch, carrying with him the tiffin carrier that his wife had packed. He hated that even while having his lunch, he had to make sure that everyone entering the cafeteria was carrying their id card; every day he hoped that nobody had come without it because then he’d have to get up during his lunch and note down the numbers.
As he sat facing the entrance, opening his home packed lunch, elaborately opening all the containers and checking their contents; it was his favourite – Aloo Gobhi and daal, along with rice, when he heard some kind of commotion going on at the other end of the cafeteria. He assumed that it must be something do with the television and continued eating his food. Then he heard a single voice, vaguely familiar, dripping in anger and frustration, shrilly shouting some profanities – he immediately turned back. What met his eyes made him get up and stand - shell shocked; so much that he didn’t even move. The workaholic from his floor, Varun, with whom he had had many a conversation during the night shifts, was standing on the railing, holding his head, as if wanting to tear his hair out and screaming obscenities at the people who were trying to bring him down.
With an effort, Vikram moved from his seat and walked towards Varun. The people in the cafeteria were all in a nervous state, staring helplessly at the screaming guy, not knowing what to do. As he neared, Varun saw him and cried out ‘You know how I’m feeling! You know hard it is to work here, night shifts, black coffee, silent workplace… you know how it is!!’ As if in a single motion, all heads turned towards Vikram, and he stood there, aware that for the first time in 3 years, he had a chance to actually do something…..
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Friday, May 18, 2007
Puri -The Holy City of the Unblessed..
The city is not unfamiliar to me – I was here about 13 years ago, with my parents and brother. This time too, I was there with my parents.
As we left the station, and traversed across the town, we came across big, big bungalows with beautifully maintained gardens. All these crafted structures belong to the ranks of the administrative services; copper plates engraved with ‘Officer of the IPS’, ‘Collector’ etc. were nailed on the series of gates of all the different bungalows, all in a single linear road. Maybe that part of the town is the administrative hub of Puri.
Finally we entered the street along the sea. As usual, I couldn’t take my eyes o
ff the water – breathing in the slightly salty air, and hearing the rushing sound of the waves. The hotel we were booked into (Puri hotel) is sea facing; situated directly across the street along the beach. We’d stayed in the same place, the last time we were in Puri. Due to the hotel being one of the oldest in the place, it is also one of the biggest and well established.
Even though Puri is quite a popular holiday destination for people of neighbouring states, especially of
Puri has a pretty long stretch of beach and the best part is that the beach is parallel to the east-west direction, along the
From the hotel, the beach is just about 5 minutes away – after all, all one has to do to reach the water, is cross the road, and walk across the sand. The sand of the beach preceding the water is not particularly clean – very dirty in fact. The scarcity of toilets and the abundance of homeless people have created their impact – mostly on the beach. Supposedly, (according to my mother) every morning, directly across Puri hotel (where the beach is relatively empty with no shops) from about 4am, people can be seen moving towards the sand, squatting, and after a few minutes, covering up their crime with the surrounding sand. Of course, the sea water does its job of cleaning the rest.
Fortunately (again, according to source), this phenomena does not occur at all the stretches of the beach, and particularly not in the part of beach which has the evening bazaar. I, myself have never seen something like this happen, although I have seen people relieving themselves into the sand, just after entering the beach from the street, far (thankfully) from the water.
As we reached the shore, I felt the same serene joy that I always feel when I come face to face with the sea..(I know I know I’ve said all of this before but I can’t help it)… Waves playing endlessly with the shore, the sands moving with the flow, as if having no control against the power of the waves, the air leaving its distinct smell – not pleasant and yet not unpleasant ; I just love the whole feel of the cool breeze coupled with the happy sunshine. Even though these extremely joyous rays also double as intense burning rays, which prove to be really unbeneficial for the skin tone (foreigners might go on and on about sun bathing, its just sun burn and dark tan for Indians), once I’m at the beach, I never want to leave.
Due to commercialization of the place, and the immense crowds, to reach the actual room (where the original idols are placed and worshipped), one has to hire a local pandit, ‘Panda’. They start approaching you the moment you set foot in Puri. Starting from the railway station, all the way to the hotel, and even then if you don’t hire one and arrive at the temple yourself without a Panda (in foolish optimism that how difficult can it be to find one’s way in a temple), you’ll eventually find yourself obliged to hire one, just so that you can be guided through the labyrinths of the temple; spaces halls and corridors, and also through the swarming crowds. When you finally do reach the holy shrine, you are granted just a moment’s glimpse of the holy gods, above and past the bowed heads of people already standing there in prayer. I still remembered the crowds from the last time we were there, how I felt trapped inside a closed room with no space , except for the air above our heads (maybe that experience was worse so because of my age and physical height) . Add to that memory, my indifference regarding the concept of Religion (that’s another blog); I wasn’t really looking forward to the trip to the temple.
Fortunately, I was agreeably surprised when we entered to find the temple premises somewhat less crowded. Either it was the time (10:30 in the morning.. just a few minutes after which the shrine would be closed for the morning) or, as my mother surmised, it was because of the full moon (‘Purnima’) the next day, which is considered to be an auspicious day (hence all the tourists would have postponed their day of pilgrimage to the next day). Whatever the reason was, we (more so my parents) were able to pray peacefully and see the idols clearly (without being nudged, shoved or pushed from all directions). I’m not religious in even the slightest sense of the word; however, standing there, with the atmosphere around – the slight chanting, the scent of incense sticks, the idols projected as the centre of spiritual power, the dim light, people bowing in reverence, people prostrating on the floor, the ancient smoothened rock tiles, the darkened walls, the coolness of the temple interiors, all came together to bring about a certain indescribable sense of contentment. Now, when I think about it, I cannot explain that momentary bliss. For quite some minutes after we walked out of the inn
er chamber, that feeling remained.
The Jagannath temple is protesting against the years of neglect and use; the walls are crumbling at some places, while at others, the delicate carvings are getting eroded. The carved walls are being restored by some masons working at one façade of the temple and an enforcement is being built on another side to support the weakening beams of the aging temple. Outside the temple, it is a busy marketplace, filled with an assorted variety of shops – small and big, selling sweets or souvenirs, flowers or clothes. After a light feast of some of the tastiest Rabri of the world, we returned to the beach.
ought and can only be surrendered too. And so, each evening, after some refreshing hours of rest, where either one slept, or sat at the balcony, staring at the sea for hours at length, finally letting one’s eyelids droop, we walked along the extensive beach.
The evenings in Puri, especially at the beach, have a life of their own. From a distance, the beach looks like a house celebrating Diwali permanently; so many lights – concentrated at places while scattered at others. Lights of the recently constructed lampposts, extending to quite a length of the beach, lights of the temporary shops, lights of the lit yo-yos sold by the vendors, lights of the far away newly opened resort (at one end of the beach), and then when one looks at the sea, lights of ships (or fishing boats) far away, looking still in the water and yet moving, light of the moon in the sky – it is a dazzling array of lamps. All those lights emerge slowly, in an unintentional random sequence, as not wanting to cause a sudden glare to the eyes of the thousands of sea watchers…
First, as afternoon ends and the heat decreases, the sun starts its journey westwards, lower and lower; the blazing ball of fire, turning duller and duller. As one walks along the length of the beach, walking westwards, the entire time one can see the setting act; a gradual yet sudden event of the sun dipping into the extensive horizon. Usually (at least the day we were there), one can never see the sun actually touch the earth, because, at some point or the other, the clouds take over the western sky and engulf the saffron circle in their whiteness – creating a crimson hue all over the sky. At that time, the sea water turns yellowish, the reflect
ions creating a breathtaking backdrop of shimmer and shine. The experience is wonderful, walking along the sands, waves almost lapping at your feet (especially when you’re trying to avoid getting your feet wet), the chilly breeze making you wish you had worn something warmer and finally the curtain act – the sun disappears into a golden haze, leaving splashes of red, orange, blue and white pieces here and there, and then finally darkness. If its a moonlit night (as we happened to be there during one)it gets even better… the tide grows higher, the moonlight creating silvery magic with the water – rays and fluid, shimmer and shine, stillness and motion; waves of white unfurling across kilometres and kilometres, almost at the same moment of time.
On the beach, besides the many daily temporary stalls, selling miniature idols, images, posters, shells, decorative pieces, traditional Oriya handbags, conches, Yo-yos, toys, bedspreads, food, and what not, there are also mobile vendors, selling the same stuff, except, they don’t wait for you to approach them; they’ll approach you and advertise their wares.
h person is also selling the same thing? And after the tourist boom in the winter season, they need to find yet other alternative ways of employment.
During the tourist season, the beach seems to have almost as many sellers as there are prospective buyers (tourists); the numbers are saddening. I often wondered, sitting at the beach and staring at the cold waves, while one vendor after the other came to ask if I was interested in buying whatever it was he was selling, whether they sold enough per day so as to make a living. Considering that the cost of making the things seemed higher than the price at which they finally offered to sell them (after a session of quick bargaining where the price reduced to less than half the initial price), it seems very unlikely that they manage to make much profit, if at all. Every other person is selling something, even small children; one kid remains vividly imprinted on my memory. This kid went from person to person, trying to sell wicker strings for oil lamps, and, taking complete advantage of his innocent face, he beguiled several unsuspecting tourists into buying the stuff they knew they’d hardly ever use. My mother bought the stuff once, but when he came around a 2nd time (obviously not remembering that he’d been here before), with his crestfallen face and angelic eyes, she understood that behind those downcast eyes, lay a very intelligent child, who had to sell wicker to make a living. I wonder if he went to school.
hat is the sum total of their offer. Several wooden benches and chairs placed around the table offer an unspoken invitation to walkers and sea gazers. Some come and sit for some time, but do not buy the tea, and yet nobody bothers them; most come and invariably have a cup of steaming tea or coffee, both of which are irresistible in the chilly air of the night.
way from Puri, including a stop to visit a temple and breakfast. Chilka (area nearby the lake) is hardly more than a hamlet; except for a guest house or hotel of sorts, there is no sign of any tourism development.
As soon as we reached the place, we were whisked away to an engine-powered boat, complete with a shaded enclosure. The boat entered the lake and soon, all we could see around us was water. Water everywhere, in each direction, with nothing but a few other boats, some fishing paraphernalia, providing welcome relief from the silent monotony. In the heat of the late morning, even the boat trip became sleepy, especially when we kept on wading around in the water for about an hour. Within that hour, we were shown dolphins - or rather, signs of them; one tiny fin bouncing up and down, on the far right side of the boat, another to the left, were the only proof that dolphins did exist here, in the middle of nowhere. Finally, after the never-ending hour, we could see the other bank of the lake – except, it wasn’t a bank, it was a beach. A beach on a lake? Amazing.
As we neared the shore, the calmness of the lake changed slightly; little ripples
breaking into its tranquil sleep. It was then that I saw – beyond the shore/beach/bank, there was the ocean; the lake pours into the ocean…or is it the other way around? It’s a breathtaking sight – the unique confluence of sea and lake, calm and restlessness, still and moving, how the lake gradually transitions into the sea, as if it is but a natural everyday phenomenon (well in these parts it is). That single stretch of sand which provides both the water bodies with space to merge their waters, is entirely uninhabited, and because of that, the place is naturally clean, the waters clear, unpolluted and totally untouched. Beautiful… and yet not famous. Or maybe because Chilka is not so well known, it still remains beautiful. After about an hour of walking, collecting sea shells, we headed back to our boat for the long trip to the other end of the lake. A lunch at a ‘restaurant’ on the first floor of an unfinished building, and the return journey back to Puri ended the trip to Chilka. Worth it, but only after one has already seen the other historical treasures of the state of Orissa. For us, the experience was something new and hence totally worth it.
another night of watching the single thread of white breaking from east to west, another day of sea bathing, and finally it was time to return back – to the hurry of the metro city, Kolkata. As we left the beach for the final time, I looked back at the roaring waves, and sighed – a sign of reluctant farewell.
Friday, March 30, 2007
Random Encounters…
Random Encounters…
In the 1.5 years I’ve spent in
So here’s an assorted list of random incidents which have taken place in
- Me and my roomie(#1) were coming back from MG road to Kormangala via Intermediate Ring Road, the auto breaks down and we stranded in the middle of nowhere. Our autowala very considerately (I’m not being sarcastic) stopped another auto and we gladly hopped in (leaving the poor guy stranded, with a broken auto). As we relapsed into our normal chitchat, it was about 5 minutes before we realized the meter had not been run. On asking, he very insolently said, ’30 rupees de dena’ [just give 30 rupees], (the actual fare is about 15, 20 at the maximum). We said, already wary of such incidents, ‘kis baat ka?’[for what] He said,’100, 200 nahi bola atleast’ [atleast I didn’t ask 100 or 200 bucks], and without speaking a word, turned back the auto in the same lane (yes on a one way lane) and said, ‘wapas chodke aata hun wahi pe’ [I’ll drop you back there]. By that time, we were also equally annoyed and said, ‘haan aap wahi karo’ [yes you do that]. And he starts on his way back, muttering to himself ‘pehle jao fir wapas chodke aao’[first I pick them up and then I have to drop them back]. At this, I said ‘kisne bola aapko chodneko? Yahin chod do.’ [Who told you to drop us back? Leave us here] (We were already worried because where our auto had broken down, there were no people on the road (except in cars) and the area had no lights/shops etc. (anyone been to
- My roomie (#1) was coming from somewhere and got off at her destination, talking on the phone. She handed a 50 Rupees note to the autowala, and was supposed to get some 25 Rupees back I think. He gave some 15/20 Rupees less and started leaving. She counted the money, and on realizing the discrepancy, asked the guy who said something like ‘no change’, or ‘wrong calculation’. She got so pissed that she sat back in the auto and demanded to go to the police station. He started giving the money, but she was not mollified; she just wanted to go to the police. Finally, after some time of heated exchange, she acquiesced and got off. (Admittedly, they guy could have made a genuine error, but with so many precedents, it’s a little difficult to digest.)
- Me and my roomie (#2) were coming from Forum to home (hardly 3 Kms away) at about 9pm. We asked about 5-6 autos; all demanded ridiculously large amounts (double/more than that). Finally, when the 7th autowala demanded the same amount, I lost it and said ‘kis baat ka’? [for what] Pat came the usual reply ‘return nahi milta’ [Don’t get a return passenger]. I said something like I’ll tell the police /complain, when the guy said, daring me, ‘kar lo complain, this is my number plate.’ I got so annoyed that had I had the phone number of the local auto helpline/police, I would have called there and then. I had even memorized the number plate for some time after that. It was that day that I finally added the helpline number in my phonebook.
- Me alone, coming back from CAT exam (Inspired by a Tête-à-Tête) the only experience which was pleasant.
- Me and my roomie (#1), reached
- Me and a friend returning from Garuda mall at about 9:45 pm; as we came out of the mall and neared the group of autowalas,(who stand there like vultures, waiting for their prey), I predicted to my friend, ‘they’ll start with 100’. And I was right; the moment an autowala said ‘100’, my friend and I started laughing. He (autowala) looked at me and said ‘kitna mein jayega?’ [In how much will you go?], I said ‘nahi jana….aap khud hi jao’ [I don’t want to go…you can go]. Then another one started at 80, finally we went at 60.
- Me and my roomies were coming from Garuda, again same case, the moment he said the rate, we started laughing, and seeing our sudden laugh, and the autowala’s flustered face, adjoining autowala started laughing, finally one said 60 , but we wanted go by 1.5 meter only. Turns out, by 1.5, the price came to 70, we felt so foolish. It’s not that we didn’t how much it cost. Just that in
- Me and my roomie (#1) were going to Forum from our home, and as usual all the autowalas (standing in a cluster) started asking obscene rates, when another guy arrived and asked for the same place. Seeing us ask, he offered to club together, we agreed. The autowala took an alternative route (via NGV which was fine by us (i.e. my roomie and I)). The other guy wanted to get off at someplace near JNC (
- It was a bright sunny Saturday during our initial days in
Besides these incidents, there would have been several others..
Some have skipped my memory,
Some are too winded to jot down...
A few more things (this time positive) about autowalas which makes me realize that not all of them are bad; some honest workers also drive in the streets...just that we don’t happen to be their fortunate passengers too often..
Autowalas who agree by meter are, invariably, the ones who have change, down to a single rupee.
And if they don’t, they hunt her and there until they finally return the change.
As I sit here writing all this…. I try to think of some more positive things about the autowalas of
It’s a sad fact I guess...
Let’s leave it at that…
Food for thought: - Have you ever wondered why the Blood group field in the Autodriver-identification printout stuck in the interior of each auto, is empty?
Monday, March 12, 2007
Of End Semesters, Everlasting Memories, and Engineering...
Computer Science & Engineering – Batch of 2001-2005, Institute undisclosed.
Sounds rather heavy right? Well if you meet any of those 90 odd people who were part of this batch, your perceptions would change absolutely.
Oct 5th 2001 was the very first day of college. However as lady luck wanted, all the people included in the above title were not in the same class… they’d all been divided; some were in other batch classes (IT). None of them knew what was going to happen to them in the next 4 years, life was looking rather bleak, what with the dirty white uniform that they all had to put on every single day for the initial 15-20 days. Anyway 1st year came and went - the college Freshers happened, the Group Freshers happened and life was looking promising, especially with new batch of ‘bakras’ (oops ! freshers) coming to replace our sorry places..
Weeks were spent in bunking classes, planning the performance; however no real practice started until the last week. Classes were pretty much non-existent; the teachers had also loosened up and were not always very keen on taking classes. The few who did were coaxed to take attendance and then leave (The best kind of class ever!). And so, with Culrav, Athletic meet etc., 5th semester disappeared.
The Computer science batch had lost all habits of attending regular classes – Forever. It was as though the Gods were also on their side; their schedule was such that they had afternoons off, sometimes whole days off. So while other branches plodded off to college every day, CS people cooled off in the hostels, playing AOE/watching movie/timepassing/sleeping planning what to do. Life had become a series of events, 90% of which were not even remotely related to education. The only things they did in most classes were holler, doodle, comment, look at the watch, look outside but almost never at the black/whiteboard. Some lecturers didn’t care (they just taught and left), some were tortured by their inattentiveness (like the guest lecturer who taught Management Information Systems, who used to get frustrated trying to control the class, but then he got another job at IIIT , and then he stopped bothering).
Some got placed in the first company that came… some didn’t,
Some got rejected due to psychometry, some due to aptitude test, and some due to interviews…
Some deliberately messed up interviews,
Some deliberately tried to mess up the written tests (one going as far as to calculate the correct answer and then mark the wrong one.. all in the same sheet; obviously the recruiters saw through him and selected him anyway…such was the talent of their topper…yes the topper!)
Absolutely free… with so much time even to attend the pre-placement talks with fellow batchees who were yet to make it, and waiting with them throughout the interviews and the results… supporting, hoping….
Ironically, in the 7th semester, the CS people were swamped with assignments and assignments and assignments; nothing to strain their mental capacities but their hands and pockets sure felt the strain. Hands –because of all the endless mindless copying from a Xerox of somebody else’s assignment, pockets – because of the Xeroxes of ‘n’ number of pages of books that they knew they’d never read…Assignment tracking, (find someone who’d done it), Xeroxing, copying, submitting, occupied a lot of time…. but that was about it. Classes were unheard of; the one lecture that was supposed to take place at 2pm in the afternoon got cancelled by the teacher himself at about 12pm - news about such cancellations spread faster than light itself.
A few were yet to get their job,
Some tried for 2nd jobs,
Some got 2nd jobs,
Some tried for 3rd jobs,
Some got 3rd jobs,
Some got calls from MBA colleges,
Some gave their GRE,
Some got through,
Some didn’t,
Most of the batch knew where they were headed after college….
Soon, the list of lasts started finishing, and with each farewell, the days of departure came nearer. Filling diaries and shooting photos became the order of the days…
Usually people wanted the exams to end as soon as possible. This time, nobody was in a hurry and yet the days flew, and finally it was the last day of exams (to be followed by the final project presentation a day or two later. After that final hurdle, many were leaving the next day; some were lingering on for a few more days, holding on to some trivial excuse.
Nobody was in a mood to study, and the subject (Data Mining) was one which had had no classes past the 1st sessional exams; the main professor never came and instead sent a substitute who happened to get married in the early half of the semester. She never bothered to teach after that, the batch never bothered to bother; it was a tacit happy agreement. Nobody was even remotely prepared for the question paper that was handed to them that morning of the 2nd/3rd of may 2005. 100 marks paper with choice of attempting 10 questions of 10 marks each. The problem was, each question, even if anyone knew the method of solving it at all, would take approximately 30minutes and the paper was of two and a half hours duration. People were scribbling on their papers, the sorrows of leaving forgotten, toiling under the innumerable calculations and unanswered questions. Its ironic – the most carefree branch (closely running with IT) had to actually work hard on their final paper. Paper over, most were still in shock, hoping that the professor would be kind enough to just pass them, irrespective what they had doodled in the answer sheets. Once the worry was past, they realized that college semester exams were finally over – many would never have to give an examination ever again…
As the trains, filled with students with all their luggage, left the station… the friends who had come to see them off kept waving, until they could no longer distinguish the faces waving back, tears obstructing their view……..
They came, they saw, they conquered, and the only impressions they took back with them were of Chums, Chats, Chaats, and Computers.
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
The longest 30 hours of my life and the Sea beyond..
Prologue/Disclaimer:
Anyways.. I’ll stop prattling…
2nd January 2007 01:00 a.m: As we climbed the final flight of steps to our flat, myself and my roomie couldn’t help but panting, what with the big bag in our hands and the exhaustion of the last 3 days. The trip had finally come to an end, and we were back to our normal life again. While settling down, our aching limbs reminded us of the reason why we were so battered and tired – it was not the journey back (at least not the main reason) but the stop in between at Jog falls.
er food etc, everyone in the car was glad of the stop and walked around to stretch themselves. We were traveling in two cars - twelve people; four in a Tata Indica and eight in a Tata Sumo. The Sumo, where I was sitting was pretty cramped and so we really needed to get off. Plus, the journey until there had been totally hilly, and I, with my nausea, was wondering till when this terrain would continue. When we had been coming to this place, it had been pretty late at night, so the cars were being driven slowly, and I had had no idea that the roads were running around the hills. But now, I was heartily sick of all the hills. Anyway, after a breakfast of buns, omelettes, tea, soft drinks, and other assorted stuff, we were back on the road. A milestone indicated that we were just 2 kilometres away from Jog falls – the highest waterfalls in
Within minutes we were there. The view was majestic - 3-4 major drops of water from a height of approx 800 metres (I’m bad with distances, so I might be giving the wrong ones here). One could grasp the vertical length only after figuring out that the tiny drops of colour that could be seen far below among the rocks were actually people who had climbed down. Most of us wanted to go down too- I was no so sure. First of all it looked far- real far, and secondly I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make the climb upwards. After a lot of useless discussions , I was coaxed into going down .Until the time we were halfway down, the lower I went, the more unsure I became as to whether I wanted to continue. The lazy character in me tried to pop-up a lot of times, but my friends pushed it right back each time.
slightly longer gradual paths, that I was terrified – of falling, slipping, both, whatever. Then I decided not to take the shortcuts and went my own long way backed with a friend who was equally wary of falling or tripping. The trip down was covered in approx 35 minutes, with some time of rest and photo sessions. I managed to make it down there with a whole lot of help from my friends at slightly tricky places. At one place, there were a few rocks with water flowing in between which was very suitable for sitting with the water lapping at your feet. I, and a few other tired souls decided to call the trek to a halt and stopped there - some of my extra adventurous friends went further ahead. As we sat there, the view was awesome; white water flowing on and on…stopping nowhere. And in the process spraying drops in all directions. We were also sprinkled intermittently, depending on the wind direction. After the cooling off, we headed back, all the time dreading the long climb up.
some of us didn’t. I didn’t coz I knew that if I sat down I’d not be able to get up until after quite some time. We trudged on…. and on....and on…. amazingly our driver who had been far below when we started soon caught up with us. We were all panting, while he was smiling as if it was so easy. Anyway, soon people fell behind; we broke up into groups of 2. Some of us stopped, others (I) prodded on. The driver was also carrying on without stopping. Unlike our tired red faces, he had a wholesome grin of pure joy permanently stuck on his face. He didn’t know a scrap of Hindi except a few spare words, and I knew zilch of his mother tongue, Kannada. As we went on about our monumental task, I tried asking him in several signs and languages whether he had come here before. I have no idea whether he understood correctly, but he did utter the words '4th time'. Maybe that explained his grin; he knew how it was and had already been there done that.
When we were some 150 metres away from Ground 0, people behind kept calling ‘aur kitna upar hai?’, [how much farther up is it?]. Each time, I’d look back and say ‘bas thoda sa hi hai…. jaldi jaldi aa jao’.[ Just a little more…come on quickly], I was lying, but I didn’t see the point of saddening their already exhausted faces by saying that there was still a loooong
way to go. In fact when the driver and I had reached nearly, he was encouraging me in the same way. I nodded, too tired to say anything. The feeling that I got once I had finished the climb is indescribable, relief mixed with a tinge of kiddish pride that I was able to make it before the others, infinite deadness in the body mixed with the mental high of being able to climb all that. Anyway, I looked down and waited for a few more tortured souls to reach the heaven called level ground. After a quick lunch, we headed back to our long journey back to
e walked along the beach, we crossed several groups sitting around their bonfires – some singing, some chatting; one had a person strumming the guitar, some simply enjoying the experience. Despite the groups, the beach wasn’t as crowded as would have been expected on New Year’s Eve. Perhaps the obscurity of the place had helped keep its charm. People were there, but there was no halla-gulla, no chaos of crowds. As we neared our group, we were in for a surprise; inspite of the unavailability of stuff, they had created a very cozy ambience. A bonfire in the middle, with sand removed and piled up all around to create a circular elevated sitting space, bedspreads (some raided from the hotel) spread out along the circumference. And the best part was, from some where they’d managed to get candles, and then what they’d done was, cut up some plastic bottles, filled them with sand, and then put the candles into the sand. All around, many such ‘lamps’ were placed, and one was hung from a slanting pole (a long stick in this case), as if to indicate our territory - Gorgeous.
After dinner, we sat around, played Dumb Charades with all kinds of patheti
cally vulgar Hindi movie names (“Basanti ki Shaadi lekin gabber ka Suhaag Raat”, “Ghar mein ho Saali to Har din Diwali”), and the funniest part was that the 2 people who had actually seen these movie posters, were in rival teams. So when one gave such a movie, the other team couldn’t even deny/reject the name as the second person could vouch for it, however reluctantly. We started lighting fireworks every half an hour before midnight, so every half an hour, we’d all shout out the time, light a cracker and be happy. Soon people nearby us also started cheering.
Till about 11:55, we continued some play (it changed to truth or dare later) and then we were all simply counting down, according to our watches. Some other people had a new year a few minutes earlier than our estimation… the skies lighted up with fireworks… everyone cheered…soon we were also all wishing, hugging, cheering; what a start to the new year - the atmosphere was electric, yet peaceful. As a few of us went on the phone to wish our other near and dear ones a new year, what our friends did was, challenged a neighbour group with some kind of comment, and the result was that this group joined ours, and soon a full fledged Antakshari was on going. (It was more like general chorus singing of popular melodies actually, and not really a competition). A firangi came and sat
down next to us for no reason, grinning; people walking around, heard the loud voices (noises?) and came to see what was going on. It was a party. This went on will about 2 a.m; all were in their very own utopia, some enjoying the sea, some the sky, some the fire, some even went and took a dip in the cold ocean.
Then, we could hear the strains of a siren somewhere far in the distance; no one paid any heed to it. However, that sound neared; we were still not bothered. And then suddenly, we saw some policemen chasing people out of the beach, saying ‘Go home, it’s late’ etc. etc. On looking clearly, we realized they wanted everyone out of the beach, ASAP. While we girls were a little apprehensive, somehow the police make people feel that way,( maybe it was the exaggerated vision of being herded into a police station) and wanted to leave. They guys started getting irritated by the police and their restraints and besides complaining, started doing weird stuff (as if in protest) - jumping across the fire, shouting, laughing loudly, but not making any move to leave. With some difficulty, we pulled a few of our friends and started towards the top, where the cars were parked.
Finally after we’d started walking the long distance to the top, the rest of our group also followed ( I guess the policemen had had their way). Some of us were reflecting, some laughing, wondering what the coming year would hold, when, on the very first day of the year, we were herded out of a public place by the police.
As we reached the hotel, a few of us (3 girls) started worrying about the return journey the next morning – we didn’t want to start too late as then we’d reach very late, so we told everyone to get up early in the morning so that we could leave by 8 at least. All eh guys were very skeptical – one saying, ‘main to utth jaunga…baaki sab nahi uthne wale. Hum 11 se pehle nikal hi nahi sakte’ [ill get up, the others aren’t going to get up. We won’t be able to leave before 11]. Then one of us said that we’ll wake everyone up; he dint think we’d be able to wake any of the guys, most of which were deep sleepers (read : sleepers who wouldn’t get up even if the sky was falling on their heads). Then, for a reason I can’t recall, started the arduous coaxing of one such guy to take a bath before sleeping itself (3:30 am), so that he wouldn’t take ti
me in the morning. For half an hour he argued, we argued, and finally we had to step back. He announced us crazy and went to sleep. 6 am in the morning, one of us girls got up, used the bathroom, woke me, and went to the other room to wake the guys. That was one hilarious occasion; she kept on persistently banging on the door for about five minutes, until one very annoyed and sleepy guy opened the door. She went in, sat on the bed, threatening to sit there until he went to the bathroom. Half subconscious, he gave in, also promising to wake the others one by one after him. That way, finally we managed to leave Gokarna at 9:15 am, just about 1.25 hrs later than we’d planned. Thus started the first day of the year – a far cry from the last day of last year when everyone was doing nothing and yet enjoying, idling away the hours in the beaches of Gokarna.
ts, etc. etc. And the other most noticeable thing was the number of foreigners walking around – the first thing that we had noticed after coming to Gokarna the previous day. One could even say that the number of foreigner tourists were more than Indian. Some stayed in the huts on the beaches, others in hotels maybe, some seemed to be living like hippies.
We reached the beach and as usual, I walked into the water immediately, not drenching totally, just the feet. It was a much longer stretch of beach as opposed to Om, which was small, just the shape of
hey looked so because we were looking from so far. Anyway the beach looked no different than it had a day before – i.e. fantastically blue and glittering, with rocks providing another perspective to the beach view. After the breakfast (at a time nearing 12), and some more playing in the water, we headed to another beach –
Anyway, once we were a little away from the shore, the boat was steady and we looked around to enjoy the view. The sun was high and hot, but the rays were creating their magic on the water below; miles and miles of golden sheen, moving around with the waves; on one side was the open 
as more, hence none of us ventured too far. Some of us sat on some rocks at the shore, where the water was just lapping at our feet. Gradually, as the tide rose, the water level increased, and sitting at the same place, we were slowly drenched.
Lunch was the basic objective for most of us there, and a big lunch had been ordered. The five of us who had supposedly had breakfast at first decided to waive it. However, when the aroma of the food touched our nostrils, we tasted from here, tasted from there, and finally had as much as the others (if not more). After about 2 hours (3:30 or so), the boat came back and called us. Some of us went that way, while some adventurous few decided to trek back; about 4-5 kms, I think (again, I’m bad with distances) ) of rocky hills one after the another with no proper paths. On our way back, we were pretty sure that they’d quit and take a boat. We were mistaken – they did trek and in good time too. Supposedly the paths were ‘really dangerous’ and there was virtually no path, and they had taken great risks while trekking. Ahem…. Who knows?
The rest of us, after some jumping around in the slightly chilly sea, decided to head back to the hotel to change and come back for the evening ocean bash. As we took one of the cars and headed back, it was a little difficult to absorb the fact that we’d reached this heavenly place just one day before (well 2 a.m in the night counts as that day right?).
30th
December, 2 am: The surroundings were tranquil – not a sound, excepting some insects and the sound of the breeze perhaps, and our voices – which had just about ruined the stillness of the place. We were tired as hell and yet didn’t feel like resting.
Glancing all around us, we couldn’t believe the luck that we had had this far. Twelve people reaching a tourist place in the middle of the holiday season, at 1:30 am ,with no reservations, and only the assurance of a slightly overconfident (Vixxxxxx) pal who’d been to the place before, we’d actually found a place to stay. In fact, giving credit, our pal here had managed to find a set of very beautiful 3 one room cottages, set on the slope of a hill, with no civilization within hearing distance. Agreed, that it was just for the night and we’d have to check out by 5 pm the next day (that day), the rooms were for 6 people while we were 12, the hotel management were not providing anything except some bed sheets; so what – who provides rooms at such a small place at 1:30am in the morning? Plus the rent was 300 bucks per room and most people didn’t plan to sleep anyway. Most of them planned to head for the beach; I was not one of those voluntarily sleep-deprived, and decided to sit there and enjoy the view. Four of us decided to stay back while the rest went to the beach in 2 shifts in the Indica. As the drivers wer
e resting, one of our group drove the Indica, dropping some passengers and returning for a second trip. While they were leaving, we four put out chairs in the balcony of one of the cottages, wrapped ourselves in assorted bed sheets, shawls etc. and sat back, feeling the cool air and talking softly among ourselves. Not that anybody could hear us, but somehow one didn’t quite feel like shattering the stillness of the surroundings.
Far away, we could see some silvery glitter and assumed that was the sea. Below our cottages, the hill descended into a small valley full of vegetation (what kind, we could not quite make out in the darkness). Soon, the brightness decreased; the moon was setting. It was an unearthly view – from stark white to off-white, to cream, to yellow, to dull orange, to dull red, and then finally darkness.
We were starving, and since there was nothing to eat except some soggy pieces of bread, a few tomatoes, a cucumber, and salt, the four (actually just 3, dear NG did not move from the bed) of us sliced and diced, and ate some very basic form of sandwiches with such a relish; its amazing how people stop being choosy when there are no options. At about 4am, after playing around with a laptop, we decided to call it quits and went off to our rooms.
I was supposed to be sleeping on the floor, as one of the girls could not sleep on the floor. My roomie was already fast asleep on the floor, wrapped in a hotel-provided bed spread. However, after 5 minutes, after having a few encounters with unknown insects, I shifted to the bed, deciding that when the other girls returned from the beach, I’d shift back. Turns out that was a smart thing I did because the others who had gone to the beach didn’t return until morning.
From what we heard the next morning, the other guys too had had a great time down at the beach - lighting a bonfire, et al.
Anyway, next morning, after the usual delays, we headed for the beach, where we had a gala time. The first view of the sea was mesmerizing to me (as usual); it had been almost a year since I’d visited a sea beach (last was Golden beach, Chennai). After taking in all the scenic view that the place provided, the rocks, the shape of the beach (OM), we had a rather heavy breakfast at a beach café – all kinds of breakfasts were ordered, mashed potatoes, omelettes – everyone was starving which was natural considering the last proper meal we had had was lunch the previous day. After the very sumptuous meal, we went into the water. Soon, we wer
e playing all kinds of silly games like Catch the Ball, and the most common game of all (Antakshari).
Ten of us had come to the beach, as two others were so heavily in sleep that they hadn’t woken up and were still dozing in the cottages. On calling repeatedly, either the network was down or they weren’t picking up. So, some of us went back to wake them from dreamland and bring them to the beach. That done, when we returned some others then went back to check out and search for some other accommodation. These few people went, found a hotel, took a bath and unintentionally slept off. The rest of us, after bathing all day, and seeing a magnificent sunset, headed back. Everyone was dead tired – water does that to you, and somehow we all managed to get back, shower and were ready (starving!) for dinner.
The guy who had been to the place before, made us walk a LOT and finally we reached this restaurant which was actually a room in someone’s house. It was an ingenuous establishment really. The main restaurant was in the rooftop of the house where a few b
enches, mattresses, tables and chairs had been spread to form sitting space. Some hanging colourful cloth lamps made the place look very exotic… bright coloured dim lights. On the way to the roof top, one had to cross the kitchen of the house/restaurant as well as the washing area, which indicated that it was a normal home, turned into a cash earner. Twelve of us went into the rooftop area and totally destroyed the silent sophisticated dining ambience that the foreigners/owner had created there. Shouting, moving chairs, asking for water etc. etc. etc. No wonder one Firangi lady was smiling all the time, and very cheerfully passed the menu to us when we were clamoring for more menus.
After dinner, where some trifling arguments and exchange of words took place for no relevant reason whatsoever (something to do with drinking water I think), we headed to the adjoining beach – Gokarna. As the time was about 11pm, hardly any people were there. We sat there, enjoying the magic of the white waves, unfurling into the dark waters at the shore. After some time, some of us headed back to the hotel, while others remained at the beach. These others reportedly were chased out of the beach by some night policemen 
who asked them ‘apna ghar nahi hai kya?’. Well some of these guys were so inebriated that they didn’t remember much the next morning. One guy remembered talking to his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom wall (back at the hotel) for about 5 minutes, thinking it was another guy and decided to sleep, attempting rather embarrassing unmentionable things to the person sleeping innocently next to him; I suppose he imagined the guy to be his dream babe. Hahaha… Anyway everybody slept like a log that night, compensating for the sleepless night the day before and the endless road trip before that. In fact, for most of us, the insomnia dated a night earlier than that.
28th Dec 6pm: I was in a rather bad mood when I returned home from office. Every second person in office had some plan for New Year, and here was I, with no plan except…, no, no exception, no plan at all. As I reached home, my roomie was also in a similar morose mood. Anyhow, we cheered up at the prospect of meeting some college buddies who’d come to 
Anyway when we met our friends, they had a 3rd friend, with them, who incidentally also wanted to go for the trip, but like us realized that it was too late. When we heard that a 3rd person was also there, we decided to try to tag along. Initially we’d thought they were leaving the next night, but later got to know that they were leaving early in the morning, barely 12 hours later. My roomie had a very important deliverable the next day at office, I had not informed anyone at office, and yet, we started with out nagging voices ‘humein bhi jaana hai, please kuch arrange karte hai na’ [we also want to go, please lets arrange something]. Then started the long decision on whether it was possible or not; a series of calculations to see how much cash difference would arise due to the hiring of a 2nd vehicle, would each member of the trip agree, how everything would be managed. The accommodation arrangements in Gokarna were not a problem – because of the simple reason that there were no arrangements.
After a lot of calls (we’re the people raising the revenue of all the telecom giants), a car got arranged, from the same place where the first car was arranged. Interestingly, for the 2nd car, the person on the phone gave all the details i.e. car number plate, driver phone number, driver name, ETA, etc. Once we got all that, our friends were in a frenzy for the guy hadn’t given them any details even though they had gone and booked the car personally, even giving an advance. Finally everything was arranged telephonically by 10:30pm after which we went home while the guys went to the transport office to confirm their own booking.
Once home, we called out parents wt the news of the sudden change of plans. Surprisingly, they were not at all surprised, inspite of the lateness of the plan. Then started the long night of packing (which hardly took half an hour), the anticipation of the trip, and nervousness as to whether the car would actually arrive the next morning. This went on till about 1:30 am, after which for some reason I took a bath, and finally went to sleep.
I have a strange problem; whenever I have to get up early (anytime before 8), I stay restless throughout the night, waking up and seeing the time very other hour so. The same thing happened that night, and so when I woke up at 5:45 (the car was slated to arrive at 6:30), I was already feeling tired. Come 6:30 – no car, 7:00 – still no sign of the car; on calling the driver, the number was unreachable, on calling the guys, their car had also not come, 7:30 – still no sign; we started wondering whether after all the planning we’d actually have to go to office, 8:00 – the guys called up to say that the cars would be late and we should have some breakfast, 8:45 – we decided to give it another 15 minutes before we’d call up the guys to tell them to go and not wait for the 2nd car (we were trying to sacrifice you see), 8:55: I had just picked up my phone to call them when the call came asking us to come down with our bag(s). We were ecstatic! The trip was finally happening..! We were finally going!
Then started the loooong trip; Four of us in the Indica, eight others cramped in the Sumo. It took us just about 2 hours to get out of 
ides that too, we made several stops, to change passengers, to get food from the other car, to get cassettes from the car (2 lousy cassettes of Ghazals and instrumental). Come lunch, and another long stop at a roadside restaurant, where the only available food was Daal and Naan. We ate like we’d never eaten before – naans disappearing faster than one could say ‘naan’.
Post lunch, we started getting a little worried; we’d barely covered any distance, just about a quarter. As the journey continued, we tried stopping less, but with 12 people in 2 cars, that’s a difficult task. Once I was awakened from my sweet sleep, for a photo session in the middle of nowhere. As noon turned to evening, the energy levels went down and everyone just wanted to reach. But, we were a long, long, long way off. We were also debating as to whether we should stop at
At one stop, when it was about 7:30 pm and we were more than 4 hours away, it was finally decided that we’d not stop at the falls. As we went along, the terrain changed to a hilly region; roads became narrower, up and down, curves to the right, curves to the left, u-turns to a lower level, the darkness crept in, and with no lights on the roads, it was indeed a sobering part of the journey; everybody was tired, and yet nobody was able to sleep. As we went along the roads, we saw nothing except the light caused by the headlights ahead, nothing on the left or on the right except the dark looming shades of grey, and the occasional milestones. It was getting increasingly eerie. I, at least was glad that we were traveling in two cars, and had the comfort of knowing that we were 14 of us together in the middle of nowhere. All kinds of stories about people who were stranded in the forest because of car breakdowns started coming to me. The trees, which had been such majestic and beautiful during the day, had mutated into huge shapeless things, with arms and legs flailing all about; the only non-scary visual was that of the sky; the stars above were clear , as if reassuring me that all was well.
Sometimes, the other car would go ahead, and we’d be rushing ahead to catch up, as if it was the only support we had. Anyway, after some time we reached some human civilization – a few lights here and there, a kind of check post. Two roads were leading from there – I have no idea what consultation went on, and finally we took left. As we went on an on, the path seemed to lead into nowhere…a dark road with small houses on one side and trees/bushes/darkness on the other side. After travelling for about 10-15 minutes down that road, doubt started creeping in, and on seeing a truck coming from the opposite direction, we sighed in relief and instructed the driver to ask our whereabouts. Turns out we were on the wrong road…we had had to turn right at the other check post. Worse, the road was so narrow that there was hardly any space to turn; with impressive skill, the drivers maneuvered the cars back towards the way we came from.
After that incident, we went pretty cautiously, taking care at any road with multiple options. The drivers were also very tired and sleepy; our driver (the guy who had climbed up and down Jog falls so happily) was trying very hard to concentrate on the road and not fall asleep. At one point of time, he suddenly put on LOUD Kannada music – and we didn’t ask him to lower the volume because we knew that the music was a deterrent to his falling asleep.
.When we reached there, besides us, and some shops which were open (for whom I have no idea) there were no other people around – goes to show the sanity level of our group. We could see zilch but for a dark opaque piece of land in front of us, the open moonlight sky overhead, and a narrow whitish thread of water slithering down the steep descent far across . The one thing that was crystal clear was the sound; gushing water, falling on and on and on, with no respite. Some over-enthusiastic members of our trip had the adventurous idea of going down a little farther to get a better view. How some of the saner tired people convinced them that now was not the time is a mystery (I tried a little and then gave up as there was a high risk of my BP going over the top); it was an award wining achievement.
Finally, after that, besides the one stop for dinner (which very few people had), and waiting for either of the cars to follow behind (some very smart people in the other cab would instruct us to follow them, and then would speed up and leave us behind and then, to top it all, ask us the reason why we were not following them) and the occasional directional confusion, we were finally there – Gokarna. As we crossed a kind of a check-in gate, (it was about 12a
m I think), there was some kind of village function going on, all the village folks seemed to be there, some loud music was playing, (bhajans I think). We stopped there and some guys went along with the one guy who’d been here before, to a hotel which was further away. After about 15 minutes, they came back with another person (the hotel person we guessed) who led us to the 3 cottages set on the hill slope.
As we went into the cottages with our bags n stuff, I thought to myself, ‘we’re really here, for real – the trip’s just started’.
And what a trip!
Epilogue: Some incidents have been omitted because of the secretive nature of the dealings. (The people who had sat in the Indica on our way there would know some….); Also,
The girl at
The romantic couple walking hand in hand at the beach – the start of a beautiful relationship
The incident that happened that night at the hotel (Ksheer….the victim)
The castle of sand (?) at that night at Gokarna beach..
....................
If you’re still reading, you will be happy to know to that you have passed the ‘Patience while reading Lengthy Blogs Test’ as well as received the ‘Best Jobless Timepass Award’. The award gives you unlimited access to all the blogs that are posted in this blog, for now and forever.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)