The Bombay Diary - Epilogue

In today's world it's a crime to enjoy your life. We take pride in the fact that we are old and mature, and work hard for a living - so much that we fail to enjoy our lives. And the moment someone wants to let their hair loose, they are ruthlessly pulled down and are told to act their age (it happens to me everyday). Today, a group of old ladies (and they were well over 50) showed us how to live.

On Wednesday, 30th January, we left Bombay for Cochin (I've somehow never come to terms with the new . Maybe that's why I always live in the past).

We still had some moments to savour. The trip ended just as it had started - on the Gateway of India, watching the sunrise. Since our train was only at 11:40 AM, we still had time to get up early and go on a walk - of course, the "intention" of the walk was to find something for breakfast, but Colaba wakes up only after 9 o'clock. We were unable to find a single open restaurant at 7:00 AM.

Some old guy was busy taking photographs at the Gateway - not like us, but SERIOUS photography, with a small team and a model. SS claimed he was the famous Gautam Rajadhyaksha, but on hindsight, it does not seem to be true since this guy was much older. He seemed to be shouting harsh instructions at the model, but his behaviour clearly indicated that he knew what he was doing. Well, all's well that ends well (no pun intended).

The drive to Lokmanya Tilak Terminus in the taxi was memorable in many ways:

1. It was difficult to make out which was older. The taxi driver was an old guy, but the taxi itself seemed older than him.

2. The music - you can't call it retro, you can't call it new. It was one of those T-Series collections.

3. The traffic in Bombay is irritating. I take back what I said about shuttle drivers in Bangalore in my Day Zero post. These guys are worse, and are looking for an excuse to honk.

There's a certain beauty to the suburban stations in this city - they are never empty. You always see people from various walks of life, racing from one place to the other. It's scary to get into a local train during rush hour - you are just pushed along in the crowd, without being aware of where you are heading. Sitting in the cosy confines of my long-distance train, watching life go past in the locals is a privilege. These trains crisscross the city like the blood vessels in the human body.

At Chiplun, SS decided to have Vada Pav. I just wanted a coffee. Just then, I told him that he should try out a 'pazham pori' (he couldn't pronounce it). It was the coldest pazham pori I had ever had in my life, but having not eaten one before, SS was amazed by it. As they say, Ignorance is indeed bliss.

At 6:30 PM, we pulled into the town of Ratnagiri, famous as the birthplace of Lokmanya Tilak. A horde of old ladies boarded the train. Their families and extended families had come to see them off. They were on their way to Thrissur to embark on a tour of Kerala, as one of the old ladies gleefully informed me. They were in full spirits, playing cards and antaksharis. Soon the enthusiasm spread to the other travelers. Everyone wanted to be part of of it...Well, almost everyone. "After all, they are North Indians. Only they can think of doing such things," my fellow traveller chipped in. I wondered why someone needed to be from a different part of India to enjoy life. The ladies taught us an important lesson - it is never too late to live your life.

Morning brings with it, the familiar feeling of being home - the train passes into Kerala. They say that home is where the heart is. Perhaps my heart is still here. And that's why i still love coming here. It was 1:3o PM by the time we got down at Aluva. A dozen stops at so-called important towns and snail's pace between Calicut and Shoranur had not dampened my spirit. Ah! Kerala...for Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety (...and she's better than Cleopatra). I hope I can keep returning here. Always and ever...

Pic of the day: For most of the year, Bharatapuzha, the largest river in Kerala, is just a sand bed with a few puddles of water here and here. Still, a fisherman angles his bait in a puddle, unsure of the catch.

The Bombay Diary - Day 5

The Vedas state: “Mathru Devo Bhava, Pithru Devo Bhava, Acharya Devo Bhava, Atithi Devo Bhava”. But whom do we term as our “Atithi”? Is it only the foreigner? Or is it anybody who comes to us with an open mind? The famous and so-called reputed Leopold Café seems to think that it is a privilege to be a foreigner. Just walk in and you would know.

Malabar Hill is one of the posh areas in Mumbai, where you would find the houses of many business tycoons and film stars. Today we decided to trek down the hill. We caught a taxi (that’s perhaps the dictionary meaning of the word “trek”) to take us all the way to Malabar Hill. We had in mind to visit many areas in and around Malabar Hill. On the map was mentioned the term “Hanging Garden”. Images of Nebuchadnezzar’s splendidly laid out gardens of Babylon flashed through my mind. But after seeing the Phirozshah Mehta Gardens, I wondered where the “hanging” part was.

Opposite to the Phirozshah Mehta Park, stands the more famous Kamla Nehru Park, and its “Boot House”. The park offers a fantastic aerial view of the Chowpatty Beach, and the Marine Drive, up till Nariman Point. Being a Tuesday, we did not expect much of a crowd, but to our surprise, it was filled with school children out for a picnic. And during my schooling years, I never even got to spend time in our school playgrounds. Even with all the crime happening in the city, the Maharashtra Police seem to be over-staffed. There were five cops manning the place – quite unusual for a park. And soon they got their victims – three school children, making mischief in the park. The cops were more than happy to give them a big lecture about how they should not put their lives and the lives of others in danger. But the language they were using was far from polite, and downright abusive.

Our next destinations for the day were not mentioned in the map that we had been following. Getting to the first one was easy – the Banganga temple complex at the base of Malabar Hill, near Malabar Point. Squeezing through all the gullies and by-lanes of the area, one would come across a huge dirty tank, near the sea. Around the tank are situated a zillion temples that together form the Banganga complex. Away from the bustle of tourist activity, people continue their lives out here, worshipping the cow that stands opposite the Walkeshwar Temple, on the way to their duties of the day. For, the average tourist never knows that this temple was built way back in 1127 AD. It was destroyed by the Portuguese, but was rebuilt by a benevolent businessman in the eighteenth century.

The Banganga Tank was also built in the same year as the original temple, and is today the oldest structure in the city of Mumbai; a fact lost on many a tourist. Legend has it that Lord Rama, on his way to Lanka, had stopped over here. As he felt thirsty, he drove an arrow into the ground, and out sprang the water of river Ganga to quench his thirst, and hence the name. Wikipedia claims that the tank is cleaned every January for the elaborate Banganga Music Festival, but one look at the tank, and it seemed to us that it had not been cleaned for the past few years. However, clean or not clean, a visit to that area is an experience one cannot forget – simply considering the history behind the place.

If that was an experience one cannot forget, the next was even more surreal. In the midst of the bustling noises of the Girgaum area, lies an oasis of calm. Surrounded by concrete monsters, both old and new, lies the wooden Christian bastion of Khotachiwadi, a heritage village in the midst of the great city. The entrance to this hamlet would be easily missed if you are not specifically looking for it. And that seems to be the case with the rest of the city, as the place has a peaceful silence surrounding it. The hamlet consists of two-storied wooden houses, with a verandah and long staircases running at the front of the house. Our only companions in this place were some art students, who were busy making sketches of these splendid architectural beauties. It was as if we had been transported to some quaint Goanese village.

A few meters away from Khotachiwadi, on the main road, you would come across a huge Victorian building in a dilapidated state. In any European city, this would have been one of the biggest attractions for the tourist. Standing at the big junction that bears its name is the only Opera House in India. Today in a state of disuse, the once-beautiful building that would have seen many a celebrity, acts as a lime depot. Thankfully, there seemed to be a few scaffoldings in place, perhaps the signs of a long-due renovation.

Moving east of the opera house area, towards even more crowded by-lanes, one would reach the famous (or infamous, as one would perceive) Chor Bazaar – the “Thieves’ Market”. Everybody knows that you could perhaps never buy anything original from here, but people nevertheless throng these streets in search of antiques, automobile parts, hardware tools and what else. SS had clarified that you could possibly buy anything from a pin to a motor car out here. Of course you had to be careful about your belongings when you visited Chor Bazaar – they would flick it off you and try to sell it to you. Hence I was doubly careful about my belongings. It was not an overstatement when he mentioned that you could buy “anything” out here. I was amazed to find English gramophone records from the fifties and sixties – I even found one of Star Wars. SS seemed to be obsessed with old coins and hourglasses, and was quite enthusiastic to haggle with each shopkeeper for the price of them. The authenticity of the stuff was soon clear to us when we saw a coin “made” by the East India Company in 1939, that too with the picture of Hanuman behind it.

Our last act for the day and perhaps for the trip was to have a long stroll along the busy Colaba Causeway – the tourist hotspot of the city of Mumbai. For those in Bangalore wondering what is so great about this place, it is the “Brigade Road of Mumbai”. For a long time, we wandered along the pavement, haggling with the vendors, having friendly conversations with the tourists, and lapping up the bad experience we had at the much hyped-up Leopold Café. Four days of fun had finally come to an end.

The last photograph we took before calling it a day was the majestically lit dome of the Taj Mahal Hotel. It did not come off well, but some things print a far better picture in your mind that on paper.

Quote of the Day: Debating about how much we should tip the waiter at Leopold Cafe, SS quipped angrily: "Why should we tip them so much? They don't know how to treat Indians properly!"
Me: "They may not know how to treat Indians properly...But we do..."

Pic of the Day: (I had a black and white pic, but chose this to avoid monotony - so much for hypocrisy)

As free as a bird? Not anymore. Life can at times be cruel!

The Bombay Diary - Day 4

Of all the places to spend the evening, today we chose the most unlikely place that a tourist from Bangalore would opt for. Today, we spent two hours at the Strand Book Festival (yes, the same thing that is held at the Chinnaswami Stadium in Bangalore), and of course, I bought books from here too.

The morning was extremely successful! We finally got to eat dosa for breakfast – well, almost…provided you can really call it a dosa. But then, something is always better than nothing. Today we decided to attack the museums in Mumbai. Our first destination was the National Gallery of Modern Art in the Kala Ghoda Art District. Since when I became a connoisseur of modern art (why stress on “modern”?), I do not know. But it was always worth experimenting. Unfortunately it was closed for the day, thus perhaps saving me the blushes. To avoid a complete alteration of our plans, we decided to call up the next museum to check whether they were open. Thankfully they were.

If you walk through the Fort area in the Mumbai, you cannot miss the buildings. The big gates of the Naval Docks stand imposing upon everyone driving past them. Adorning the walls of the docks are colorful murals depicting the maritime history of India. As you walk further, the huge white façade of the Mumbai Town Hall lords over Horniman (no pun intended in the name) Circle. The building also houses the State Central Library and the Asiatic Society, and the steps leading up to the doors are a favorite haunt for people to spend some time in the evenings. A little further, towering above everything in the vicinity stands the massive towers of the Bombay Stock Exchange. As the road winds itself past these buildings, one comes up against the huge red walls of the Reserve Bank of India.

Not many people are aware of the fact that there exists in the Reserve Bank complex, a unique museum. It is dedicated to what is perhaps one of the driest topics to discuss – money and finance. The Mint Museum, as it is popularly known, focuses on the currency and coinage of India through the centuries. The intricacies of money and banking are described in a simplistic way. The museum narrates the history of coinage and currency right from the prehistoric times, through the different dynasties that ruled India, to the present day monetary system controlled by the Reserve Bank of India. Not surprisingly, the museum lives up to international standards.

Returning back to the Kala Ghoda Art District, we met one of Mumbai’s defining images – a Dabbawala. The old man was very sporting, and allowed us to click a photo of him. We could not but help smile remembering yesterday, when another old man selling wind vanes at Chowpatty beach, ran away at the thought of getting his photos clicked. Clicking photos of the common man seems to be the order of the trip for me, and it seemed like a coincidence when our next stop turned out to be the photography exhibition of Ketaki Sheth. The subject of Sheth’s photographs was the life in the streets of Mumbai – profoundly bewitching photographs of the common man and his struggle. I ended up buying her book of photographs (“Bombay Mix”).

On the street side on Mahatma Gandhi road, can be found a unique art gallery – the “Pavement Art Gallery”, where people exhibit their paintings on the pavement itself, and it was a unique sight. However, the more famous Jehangir Art Gallery, which stands opposite to the sprawling Victorian building of the Elphinston College, was a familiar experience to last year. There was an exhibition of the paintings of Satish Mondal, who seemed quite obsessed with bald heads and different birds and insects sitting on them. But then, I’ve never been able to figure out how people judge art. This turned out to be true as the next room contained what I thought were some amazing paintings. But whoever judged them never seemed to have thought so, since there were quite a few “awarded” paintings which I could not make head or tail out of.

Ketaki Sheth’s photographs seemed to have made a profound impression on us, since we spent the next one hour sitting on the pavement, clicking photographs of people passing by. But we still have miles to go before we reach her level of expertise.

Oh…and a small note. If I mentioned that the buildings in the Fort area are difficult to miss, I would not be entire true. Walking along Shahid Bhagat Singh Marg, you would barely give a second glance to the run down, decrepit building, which stands opposite to the brightly decorated walls of the naval docks. For those who do, a marble plaque announces its importance. Formerly known as Admiralty house, it was the residence of the Admiral from 1764 to 1792, and also served as the Chief Court of Bombay until 1879. Today, it stands in utter negligence. So much for heritage!

Quote of the Day:
Gazing up at the famous Regal cinema house, SS asked: “But why is this building so famous?”
Me: “Because it is old.”

Pic of the Day:
If only he could find a better future inside that...

The Bombay Diary - Day 3

Sakal lok maan sahune vande
Nindaa na kare keni re
Vaach kaach man nishchal raakhe
Dhan-dhan janani teni re

For our generation, the freedom struggle is something which we have heard and seen on the television. It is a lesson in the history textbook. Hence, when we come face to face with the relics of that struggle, it leaves a lasting impression on us. Today, it happened to me.

Of all the things in the world, I spotted a “Lincoln” today – the first one I am seeing in India. I still remember the ride I had in the Lincoln taxi that took me from Palo Alto to the San Francisco airport. It is perhaps an irony that we spotted the Lincoln – the all-American car – when we are yet to find a place that would serve us an idli or a dosa for breakfast! Breakfast has so far consisted of sandwiches and toasts.

The walk to Churchgate station was a nice experience – under the shadows of the clock tower of the Mumbai University and the Maharashtra High Court one can spot thousands of young men busy in their game of league cricket, in the various ‘maidan’s that dot this stretch. As the local trains pull into Churchgate station, young men carrying cricket bats and stumps are eager to alight first, so as to not miss a moment of the action. Sunday had indeed arrived!

Our first destination was Mahalaxmi. Two contrasting, yet similar images present themselves. At the edge of the water, a distinguishing white building rises up. A causeway connects the dargah of Baba Haji Ali to the main land. A steady stream of people meanders to and fro along this, to the pull of faith. A few meters away, nestled into a busy street, stands the Mahalaxmi temple, with a ‘Tirupatiesque’ queue snaking out to as far as you can see. Both the places are heavily guarded by the police. Perhaps it is a testimony of the people’s faith that these places are frequently threatened.

Perpendicular to these landmarks run one of Mumbai’s famous roads – the Gopal Rao Deshmukh Marg, or as the common man would love to call it, Peddar Road. The road snaked its way up Cumballa Hill reminding me of San Francisco. There is nothing great about it, except for the fact that if you are walking along it on a warm afternoon, in search of a place to have lunch, you would not find one. Our intention in such a futile walk was to get to our primary objective of the day – Mani Bhavan.

Off the busy Hughes Road, in a by-lane that goes by the name of Laburnum Road, lies one of the most famous houses in India – Mani Bhavan. In spite of the location it is perhaps difficult to miss the place due to the number of tourists who visit this place. For it was here that Mahatma Gandhi stayed from 1917 to 1934, and launched his Satyagraha as well as the Civil Disobedience Movement. A museum dedicated to the life of the Mahatma, Mani Bhavan is an eye opener for every Indian. It is not as if we do not know anything about the freedom struggle or the role played by Gandhiji in it. But to come across it in our life is an altogether different experience.

Behind the walls of Mani Bhavan, lies another landmark. A huge park, split into five smaller ones, overflows with people of all ages, playing different kinds of games. A section of the park houses a tall white pillar with a pink lotus on top – a reminder of the significant event that occurred here on the 8th of August in 1942. It was here in the Gowalia Tank Maidan – now called the August Kranti Maidan - that Gandhiji made his famous “Do or die” speech. For the British, the time to quit India had come.

And the evening? It was quiet and nice – a movie and dinner with two lovely English ladies.

Quote of the Day: Me: “Haven’t you heard of Afghan carpets? They are very special”. After a pause, “Well, they are special. I don’t know why they are special.”

Pic of the Day: Mahatma Gandhi's ashes, kept for public display at Mani Bhavan.

The Bombay Diary - Day 2

Happy Republic Day! Waking up early in the morning, we decided to catch the sunrise at the Gateway of India. There seemed to be more pigeons at the gateway that people. A group of old people were standing in a circle, singing the national anthem. We stood there in attention. This time at the Gateway, there were no fans of “Immaculate Misconception.” We headed towards Elephanta.

Elephanta is about an hour from the Gateway by boat. The island was earlier known as Gharapuri, before being discovered by the British, who named it Elephanta after they found the statue of a stone elephant there. The boat ride to the place was uneventful and similar to innumerable rides I have had in Kochi. There was a small toy train, to take people from the jetty to the base of the hill. I could not figure out what was so special about it, but it certainly seemed popular. The place is teeming with monkeys (not of the Symonds kind), that too quite daring ones. If you carry anything eatable with you, they would not think twice before attacking.

Elephanta is no Badami, but it is really worth a visit if you are a history or mythology enthusiast, especially for the Mahesh murthy – the three headed sculpture of Shiva, depicting the creator, the preserver and the destroyer. There was quite a huge crowd, with guides chirping about – some of them genuine, some of them fake. I heard a particular guide telling a Chinese couple that the big Mahesh murthy statue represented Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. He even pointed to a relief that depicted the descent of Ganga and stated that it was Shiva and Parvati having a picnic!

Across the Thane creek from Elephanta, a dark grey dome can be seen rising ominously. It is difficult to miss out that domed shape of the reactor at Bhabha Atomic Research Centre at Trombay. Before returning back from the island, I managed to take a few shots of that place, managing to avoid any of the hypothetical laser-activated guns they would have mounted to deter photographers (according to SS). The return trip was made more eventful thanks to a couple who seem to have not taught their two kids some basic manners. They bought everything that came their way, and after eating, the kids were quite content at throwing the wrappers overboard.

It seems like life starts after 8’o clock at the Marine Drive. The Marine Drive is more famous than for the reasons the Shiv Sena popularizes it for. As you sit there near the sea, you can see people from various walks of life moving past – from old ladies, who want nothing, but a quiet evening by the seashore to little kids having a running race between them.

At the Marine Drive, we came across a couple of kids playing a game of street cricket, and unintentionally, got involved. It brought back some memories from my childhood days – about how, bowling should always be underarm, and the first ball that someone faced is always a trial ball (of course, you have to ask for it. It is not by default). We were asked to step in umpires to resolve a dispute between the kids. The Sardar kid seemed to be a Sachin Tendulkar in making, hitting his hapless brother for six after six. Before coming to Mumbai, I didn’t remember the last time I played gully cricket, but after today, I will.

Quote of the Day: As we sat on the boat to Elephanta, SS turns to me and quips: “Do you know how to swim?”
“No” I reply. “Do you know?”
“No” says SS. And then after a pause: “Then we are in the same boat.”

Pic of the Day: Before starting his day, a Mumbaikar salutes the sun as it rises above the Gateway of India.

The Bombay Diary - Day 1

3:15 AM: Guntukal Junction. One of the biggest and most important railway junctions in South India – a station that is perhaps more important and bigger than the town it serves. I step out into the cold for a cup of coffee – mindful of the mother in those countless hindi movies, who steps out of the train at a wayside station to collect water for her baby, only to find the train chugging away from her. But my luck over the past two days seems to have changed for the good. I have a steaming cup of coffee and go back to sleep.

7:00 AM: Lingiri – another station that serves no place. It seems so far away from civilization, but beautiful. There is just a small station building, with trees lined up on either side of the tracks. The sun is already on its way up and the train is slowly waking up. Vendors keep wandering to and fro at will, selling coffee, tea and “bhains ka doodh” (buffalo’s milk).

7:45 AM: Nalwar. From here the train would take a completely new look – that of a school bus. The platform is full of children with school bags bigger than themselves, the younger ones clutching at the fingers of their brothers and sisters so that they do not get lost. This is no Kumbh Mela. The next station, Wadi, where they are headed is just 15 minutes away. Wadi is perhaps the official breakfast stop for the train. On the long platform, you can spot idli-vada vendors every fifty meters. Not surprisingly, the stop is for around five minutes.

8:30 AM: Shahabad. The train has truly transformed itself into something resembling a BMTC bus, with people crammed into every nook and corner. Somewhere in the neighboring coupe, somebody has switched on a music player, and it was blaring out all those mushy Kumar Sanu songs from the 90s. Just out of Shahabad, the train stops with a huge hiss of air – perhaps the air brake had come off. There was no damage done, but it brought our attention to a detail that we’d missed until then – there was no emergency chain in our coach.

12:00 PM: Solapur Junction. The railways seem to have learnt the mantra of multi-tasking. It’s for the third time today that I see this particular train that sports the name board: “Kacheguda-Falaknuma-Raichur-Wadi-Gulbarga-Bijapur-Solapur.”

4:00 PM: Pune Junction - our original first destination during this trip. The train is almost empty. All the way from Solapur to Pune, it was a quiet and peaceful ride. Huge plains dotted either side of the track, with the corn rustling in the hot wind. We had taken turns to sleep through the afternoon. The plains would now give way to huge gorges as the tracks cut through the Bhore Ghat and descend the Deccan Plateau into the huge city of Mumbai. It would be a fun ride.

7:15 PM: Dadar. The train has emptied. The kids have parted way. They have another four hours to go before they sleep. As we pull out of Dadar, a strange guy in a black shirt puts down a huge black bag and asks us: “Can you please mind this bag for some time?” Without thinking twice, we agree. Once he disappears, the thought strikes our minds:

SS: “What if it really is a bomb? If he is not back in 5 minutes we will inform the guard.”
“But where is the alarm chain?” I reply back. “And anyway, the train is nearly empty. Who would want to bomb it now?”

But the thought still lingers in my mind. I am reminded of that explosive dream that I had – the one about the aircraft. “If we’ve to die today, we will!” I bravely declare. Within a few moments, a loud noise makes us jump.

Somebody had slammed the door of the coach. If this were a Tom and Jerry cartoon, you would have seen those different colored cats numbered 1 to 9, jump out of Tom’s body. Thankfully, the strange man is back. He profusely thanks us and leaves. We had finally reached Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, Mumbai.

The first thought I voice after alighting from the train was: “Man, this place looks no different from Chennai Central!” Thankfully, no Mumbaikar hears me.

And then, I sprain my leg.

Quote of the Day: The discussion between us, was about attending marriages and other family affairs.

"I never attend any functions" I declared...and then after a pause, added: "Only subroutines". SS was speechless.

Pic of the Day: Between Pune and Mumbai, nestled on the banks of the Indrayani river, lies the small village of Kamshet. As we speed along in the train, for a few seconds, the river gives us company. This particular location was made famous in the 1990s by the song, "Mile Sur Mera Tumhara"

The Bombay Diary - Day Zero

24th January: It’s D-day. Nothing was exceptional about the way it started. Grey skies dominated the gloomy morning. After yesterday’s adventures I was not inclined towards another busy day, but the world does not revolve to our whims and fancies. The first thing that greeted me in office was a Very High priority message.

Nevertheless, by evening I was in a comparatively jovial mood for the trip. SS dropped the first bombshell: “Can we leave late? I need to finish my PF document.” For a moment I was speechless and then, the unmentionable expletives followed. He finally relented when I assured him that I could connect to the SAP network from anywhere using my laptop.

We had to take the office shuttle to the railway station. As I stood beside it, I heard someone mention: “This shuttle is very lively, man. They play dumb charades, antakshari and what else…I took this shuttle to Majestic yesterday.” There were around twenty people in the shuttle. Fifteen of them already had something plugged into their ears. The rest were already asleep. People have weird ways of defining “lively”.

“By 6:30, you would get to the station”, said someone in the shuttle. I was a little skeptic about that. No sooner we left the office, than I realized why they were so confident. I wondered how I manage to survive driving my car in Bangalore, with such shuttle drivers around. By 7:00 we reached the station.

“We’re going to rock this trip”, declared Sumeet
“Yeah, I’m gonna be a veggie”, I retorted back.

The train left on time. We seem to have good company for the trip. Our fellow passengers are three first year engineering students from Surat.

People are on the verge of retiring for the night, but there’s still some night life left in the train. Old people are chatting, a baby keeps crying in another, and youngsters as usual, cannot find sleep after their examination. I have already lost count of how many times that veiled lady in the red saree has walked to and fro in the compartment aisle. Outside, the moon is just rising. It seems fiery with a yellow aura around it, covering the waters of the Yelahanka lake with a metallic sheet of light.

At 9:50 p.m, I am perhaps the only one awake in this coach. We have just passed Makalidurga. The train chugs along the countryside. The huge mountain hugs the track on the other side of the train, while the vast plain stretches out before my eyes. In the moonlight, it feels as if a white mist hangs over the plain. I keep looking on at the vast lake as its waters shimmer in the silvery light of the moon.

Quote of the day: “Many a time in life, we come across many things, which would not make any sense and have no meaning. We should just accept them as true and not question their existence. One such case is that in the material master, the strategy group should be defined as ‘10’ and the availability check as ‘02’.” – myself, while teaching Nagashri.

Pic of the Day:

Yun toh main dikhlaata nahin...
Teri parwaah kartaa hoon main maa...

The Bombay Diary - countdown to day zero

11:44: 16 minutes to Day zero

Is it destined for disaster? I do not know yet. But the events leading to this moment, as I sit, clicking on my laptop, has been a recipe for disaster.

It all started from the very first step – booking the tickets. I had already booked the tickets when I realized that perhaps I would not have my passport with me during the journey. “Since when did travelling within India require a passport?” you might ask. That’s what happens when you book a train ticket via the internet – you need a passport too. Coming back to the passport, I had to get the thing renewed since it was expiring in March, and hence I thought I might have to surrender it (It is still with me, but that is a different story altogether). So much for planning! I had to cancel and rebook the tickets, this time with my PAN card.

The second hurdle was perhaps due to our own stupidity – we assumed that the Pune Landmark Quiz, for which we had planned this whole trip, was happening, and hence imagine my shock when I called up Landmark last week to find that the quiz had been postponed due to the lack of a venue. We were now in a dilemma – whether to make the trip, or go to Chennai and attend the Odyssey Quiz. The quiz in Cochin was on. The fact that there were no tickets to be obtained at this eleventh hour, and the bonus of roaming around Mumbai for an extra three days tilted the balance in favor of the former option.

A third bubble almost burst on us, when last Friday I got the call from Model Engineering College that the quiz had been rescheduled from 2nd February to 31st January. Now this was never going to be possible, as we would be reaching Cochin only on that day. However, after a few rounds of negotiations, we managed to reschedule it to the 1st.

Now back to this moment and this day. So far so bad! First, the nagging throat pain, then a failed attempt to hold my own at a craftily dreamt up argument as to why team outings should not be mandatory. Then, my trip to the Lal Bagh flower show gets cancelled after Reshma falls sick, and finally, the fiasco that is called “packing”.

I had cleverly made a list of things to carry. But when I finally sat down to pack I realized how underprepared I was. Music is the food for my soul, and hence wherever I go, my i-pod accompanies me. All of a sudden, my i-pod cable mysteriously disappeared. To top that, i-Tunes decided to play funny, and all the songs that I had industriously updated into my i-pod vanished. It was two hours before I could fill the thing with whatever music files I could lay hands on. Halfway into the packing I realized that my bag would not hold. With great difficulty, and the murmuring of whoever had slept off, I managed to find a suitcase and stuff clothes into it.

Then I realized that my PAN Card was missing.

The last I remembered, I had seen it in the office. I frantically logged in to messenger to find some crazy soul who was still in office at eleven o clock! Thankfully, such crazy souls exist in the form of Moinu. A call to him resulted in a firm reprimand as to how dirty and shabby I kept my cupboard drawer in office. Still no sign of the PAN Card! While talking to Moinu, somehow the idea occurred in my mind to check my travel pouch…Well, there it was.

At least, we can now board the train