NGP 2010- Part 1 - Roadtrip to Pune

I helplessly looked around me. The road stretched out in a long black wet streak – as if it had just been painted across the washed green and brown canvas of the earth. Caught in the rain since an hour, and caught in it more than once since this morning, I wondered how will I be able to make it to Pune by 9pm. I had 350km to go, 7 hours in hand – and the rain, it seemed, had decided to hold me back for the day. As if she'd been planning this for years, and finally she'd found her prey unprepared. The rain, never had seemed so beautiful, and never had seemed so viciously beautiful.

The run- up:

Loading up my bags, strapping them onto my motorbike and riding away was something that I'd always wanted. That is my definition of a pilgrimage. And I'd been doing so since December 2009. In time my friends grew fond of their metal mistresses, and decided to take them out for worship. And so the plan was born.

With me wanting to celebrate my 25th birthday on the ride, we decided that the sun kissed beaches and the green twisties of Goa would be a fun place to go.

Elaborate planning ensued. Half days in office were spent trying to find a good place to stay, finding out places to roam around, optimal plans, route plans and buying stuff for the ride. Me being me, also included polishing Dominique (that's what I call my motorbike) in the preparatory phase. Since, Dominique stands for God, I decided to equip her with a brighter headlamp, so that when people see me coming on that ride they would get the feeling of seeing “Divine Light” and thereby stay outta my way.

All said and done, a week before the trip, Murphy decided to enforce his laws and for reason beyond the scope of this travelogue (but within the scope of an IT professional's understanding), the trip was canceled. At least, the others had to cancel their plans.

It was as if everything came crashing down, all our plans, and hours of daydreaming in office. Gone. Everything was gone.

And in that moment I decided that I was gonna ride back home.

More than 96hours of travel, 1800Kms of roads and an unimaginable number of memories lay out there waiting.

Highway Star:

Riding alone has always been a pleasure and a scary one at that. And its downright stupid. But all said and done it has its own charm. Knowing this, I started off from Bangalore, with my saddlebags loaded and my backpack strapped to the pillion seat. I had made sure that I wear adequeate protection for the road. Little did I know that I was gonna be proven wrong.

About 2 hours of wading through traffic, and I was outside Bangalore. Soon, I was cruising @ 80 with Dom taking long strides and I watched about a hundred of the stripes marking the median of NH4 being left behind as I continued towards Pune.

Stop for coffee

Within about 30 minutes, I was at my first scheduled stop – the HP petrol pump 30Km from Tumkur. My brain's first mandatory dose of caffine was delivered. 15 minutes of rest and I was back on my ride again. This time there was a bit of throttle ripping and wild lane cutting – like a ballet with the trucks that dotted the highway. As the sun started to dip beyond the horizon, it became darker and the stripes glowed in Dom's divine light. As milestones zipped by unnoticed, and I effortlessly pulled past trucks, I had a feeling of satisfaction, for this made me feel at home.What kept on nagging me though is the fact that the regular place of stay @ Chitradurga was a dead end. No one was receiving the phone and I was kinda worried bout the night – I couldnt ride 24 hrs straight. Not good for me, not good for Dom.

I saw a HP pump from a distance, which I thought I could use as a place to rest for a while. I have a solid butt, but(t) it aint made of steel. Given around 30 minutes of rest, and a hot cup of tea, I was recharged to ride further. A few twitter updates, a buzz upload, a call to a dear one and I was off. The highway was bathed in the light of the moon and the stars. And I thumped along.

A few hours later, I was near a milestone “Pune 678”.I stopped Dom, and lit it up. Took a pic, and left. The day was about to end.

I reached Chitradurga without a clue about where I'd be staying. I found another place @ C'Durga, had something to eat and finally said goodnight to Dom and my gear.

As I drifted off to sleep, listening to the hum of the trucks, I could barely have thought what the next day would be like.

Beaten, Black and Blue:

Confusion ruling over my head

When I left Chitradurga in the morning @ 6, the sky was grey and it was slightly humid. Normal October heat. Normal red soil around the highway. Normal reddish blacktop.I had warmed up my bike and set out at a peaceful morning cruising speed of around 70 – 80 km/h. Crossing Davanagere and Harihar, in a slight drizzle, I headed to my preferred breakfast place near Ranebennur. I have hated un-seasonal rains and I hated this equally, but a slight drizzle was okay. I steadily made my way to my breakfast place, around 90km from the place I had started.

Breakfast!!

“Kamat's” - situated at an eeriely empty Reliance petrol pump before Ranebennur serves fresh south indian snacks and nice kaapi. I had my fill of fresh masala dosas and coffee. Came out of the cafe to find the sky growing darker. I prayed to God that it shouldnt rain. I hadnt prayed hard enuf. By the time I was halfway to Hubli, it started drizzling – again. And by the time I was near the bypass, the rain stopped. Lucky I thought.

The Hubli Bypass is a 26 km long two lane road with absolutely nowhere to stop in case of a downpour. Frequented by huge trailer trucks and tankers, its a perfect candidate for a slaughter alley in case of cross winds + rain + speeding (which I always do). I wanted to cover as much distance as I could, given the patch was dry, but I was already cold due to the slight drizzle in the morning. (Yes, my Cramster is designed to protect me from rain, but then at 80km/h, rainwater would be pressed against the fabric and make it through anyway) The water in my gloves and the jacket pressing against my chest made me feel chilly. And that made me drive at a steady speed of around 60km/h. To add to that, the dark clouds converging from both the sides of the road was not a pretty sight.

It was a fair 20-25 minutes before I emerged on the other side of the bypass. Unschated. And then it started pouring. My headlight came on. Visibility was reduced to almost 20m, and I had to slow down. I had nowhere to run. I kept on riding. Soon I reached a petrol pump where i took shelter from the lashing rain. By the time, I was drenched. Not a single piece of cloth on my body was dry. I stepped away from dominique leaving a trail of water wherever I moved. (No, I wasnt peeing! It was pure rainwater.) After a while, the rain decided to take a break, and I decided to ride.

But this time, riding would be excruciating because of the cold I was feeling. I wished that Pune was nearer. I felt beaten. The sky above me was blue, and ahead of me was black. I was gonna ride into the rain.

"If you dont ride in the rain, you dont ride":

I knew I had to make it to Belgaum, befor 2pm. It was already 12.30pm. Rain had taken its toll on my time. I pulled out of the petrol pump where I had stopped. Dominique had cooled down significantly and I felt her note happier to ride out.

Halfway through, on the slightly winding dry stretches before Belgaum, I was overtaking a truck at about 80km/h when a guy on a Pulsar tried to push me into the truck. I was infuriated, but better sense prevailed, and I tried to accelerate further from the ballerina turned motorbike rider. No use. He was there again. And then I decided to do a speed test of Dominique. She pulled away till 110 when I decided to give it a break. I didnt want an engine seizure on the highway.

By this time, the western sky looked dark grey and the horizon was getting closer to us. Within a matter of minutes, it grew dark again. Frighteningly so. And on the not so distant horizon, I saw a bolt from the sky reach down to sting the earth. I swear to God, never in my life have I been so unsure and prayed so hard. I just wanted to clear this patch. Luckily, I managed to get out of there with a decent amount of throttle ripping and focussed riding.

However, I was in for another session with the rain. This time about 20km before Belgaum, heavens opened up. I made it to the nearest service road, and found a mechanic's shop to shelter me and Dom. Water dripped from everything on me and Dom. Curious passerbys asked about the trip and advised me against riding alone. I smiled and assured I'd take care the next time. I knew I wouldnt. I was hoping that my laptop stayed. I stopped looking at the watch and I helplessly looked around me.

The road stretched out in a long black wet streak – as if it had just been painted across the washed green and brown canvas of the earth. Caught in the rain since an hour, and caught in it more than once since this morning, I wondered how will I be able to make it to Pune by 9pm. I had 350km to go, 7 hours in hand – and the rain, it seemed, had decided to hold me back for the day. As if she'd been planning this for years, and finally she'd found her prey unprepared. The rain, never had seemed so beautiful, and never had seemed so viciously beautiful. And I wanted to desperately get out of here.

“If you dont ride in the rain, you dont ride...” is something I had read somewhere. I decided to live upto it. Madness. Yes, but then normal is boring.

I rumbled off, in the rain that had now died to a feeble drizzle. Hurriedly I crossed Belgaum, stopped at a dhaba, informed Neha that I wont be stopping at Belgaum, had a cup of black tea, and rolled off towards Kolhapur.

Life saver... Had never craved for tea as much as I did that day..

“Thundering towards Pune..”:

I should have been in Kolhapur by 4. I was there at 6. While crossing Tawandi at 100km/h, I thanked my tyres for not giving giving way on the ghat. I had been lucky so far. Kolhapur and the evening signalled a surge of traffic, an increase in gear shifting, irregular throttle jerks and I started using the flasher frantically to signal “I'm overtaking you idiot!”. In the middle of this frenzy, I lost two fuses, had to hand signal myself to the side of a congested NH4, fixed it with no light source and finally crossed Kolhapur and reached a petrol pump for refueling. It was then that I saw a message ffrom Richie - “Dude, where r?”

“Thundering towards Pune...”

And I left in a trail of dust. I dont remember much of the ride into the night, except for crossing the Khambatki ghat tunnel in pitch darkness and stopping near a toll booth to message my friends in Pune to get me something packed.

When I finally saw the Katraj tunnel, I decided that I could push Dom a bit further. The lack of crosswinds, the amazing highway and low traffic helped me acheive 120 before fear of a seizure stopped me. I made it along the bypass and reached Kothrud, to have a filling dinner with friends.

Richie had reached home by then, and Rohit, Richie and me chatted into the night. Finally my body was giving way. 17 hours on the road in the rain and feeling cold was something I had never done before. I decided to call it a day, and went off into a fitfull – though not peacefull sleep.

I did ride with Rohit back to Nagpur, and shocked my father.

However, that is another tale to tell.

And then, it RAINED........

The A/C in office was not working – and it was like one of those government offices that they typically show in the serials and movies (a bit more dramatized than they actually are). I thought to myself ‘It’s just March! And it’s not Nagpur or Rajasthan or the Rann of Kuchh!’ I felt swindled.

All through the past year, I had heard that Bangalore is the place to be if u like moderate weather. Neither the winter, nor the summer had appealed to my sense of moderateness. Rains were supposed to be regular and make it difficult to move out of the house. Winters were supposed to make you want to pull out the blankets and go into deep hibernation on weekends. When none of that happened, I started looking forward to the summer.

Moderate summers according to definition are supposed to have a daytime temperature of around 25degrees. That would have made it ideal to ride during the weekends and move out in the sun freely. Some weather to look forward to.

Finally March arrived – and brought with it the regular Indian summer (which I had not been expecting). True – it was cooler than Nagpur, but then whoever had said that the summers in Bangalore were mild was lying according to me.

The trees that had a full bloom – which had colored the roads of Bangalore yellow, lavender and red – were slowly shedding the flowers. It was their desperate last attempt to try to appease Mother Earth so that she’d control her elder child, the Sun, from troubling them for the time being. To no avail.

The Sun continued tormenting, it kept on dancing across the sky raining fury – as if it was cursing the people who had wished it to go away last year and almost succeeded. It was the spoilt brat who knew that he could get almost anything he wanted – he knew his importance too well. And he danced in mockingly.

While I had lunch, wiping my brow and cursing the heat, it was almost as if the Sun smiled wickedly. I gave up hope and started looking forward to one of the hottest summers I had ever witnessed.

Surprisingly, that evening, the heavens were bathed in a soft orange glow. Clouds had gathered around to horizon to wish the Sun goodnight. As the night progressed, the moon played hide and seek among the clouds. Occasionally it bathed the ground with its soft white light, otherwise leaving the city to be illuminated by its own light reflected from the clouds. It was just getting more beautiful. The soft breeze brought with it the fragrance of fresh rain and pushed the clouds to allow the Moon to peek at the Earth and then again disappear. It was the first sign that the parched Earth was quenching its thirst – somewhere, unknown to me. It filled me with a strange happiness. I knew that it won’t rain much (if it did at all). But then, it did not matter. All that mattered was that it would provide much needed respite from the heat. It would wash the trees green, the roads black, would make people want to bunk office and be tucked in bed, would make the more adventurous step out. That it would partially set things right.

And even as I thought all this, the first drop of rain broke gently against me. It was there, to make us smile, to make us happy, to wake us up the next morning with a rhythmic patter. I went to bed, comfortable and smiling. I knew that the next morning would be one of the most beautiful ones I'll wake up to.

And then it rained…..

10500 meters above....

I stared out of my window to look at what I could see outside. The sky was clear, a darker than usual blue. It was a desolate place. And I seemed to be inching along the surface of the earth, which was far below. “Damn!”

I had not seen home in 3months. At that moment in time, I recalled that crazy moment in which I had made the decision to get back home for the weekend. The night before had been sleepless, and the week in office slow and boring. (Frankly February 2010 has been the slowest month among all I have spent in my entire life.) After an early morning ride to the airport, and a security check, had been allowed inside the aircraft. Fifteen minutes later, the jets had been fired up and the aircraft was almost stationary at the start of the runway. It would have looked like a sprinter ready for the 100meters ahead of him. Fingers barely touching the ground, the left leg in its toes for support, and the right foot firmly on the ground – as if the energy for the sprint was being derived from the earth. And then the restraint was released. The jets thrust the aircraft forward, forced a smile on my face, and pushed me back to my seat. (I wonder why we need seatbelts.) And within no time, it soared, mocking the gravity of the earth.

It kept on rising higher, till I could see the highway and the stationary vehicles on it. Till I could see the earth blurred by the haze. Till I could see, the soft blanket of clouds stretching out into the horizon, and finally till a point where I was floating in the vast ocean that envelopes the earth and protects it. The few clouds that I could spot were like distant islands that were meant to be explored.

I looked out of the window with the joy a kid feels. I looked down on the green brown patches. At dried up river beds, and the black strips of highways. I wondered, whether, I could race at some of those places or probably just ride till there for the heck of it. I must have been halfway through to home by this point in time.

Still, there was something that I had missed. I pondered on it for a while, and dug up a few memories of going back home. The happiness of going back home was not as rich as it had been the previous times. And finally I found the reason that might have diluted the happiness. When you travel in a bus or a train, you are moving slowly towards the destination. It allows time for the whirlwind of emotions to settle down. It’s always fun to wave goodbye to a city hanging out from the door of the train (which you cannot do in a flight). Nor can your relatives come to see you off and cry on the runway (which they can on a platform).

When I used to come home from Mumbai, I used to enjoy the moment when the train used to pass through Kurla. The train rushed past a wall of people, which used to make me feel that all that there was in the city was insignificant for the moment and all that mattered was the journey back home. But, none of these came close to what I felt when the train used to pull slowly towards Nagpur. The railway crossing announcing the proximity of Nagpur. The stadium welcoming you. And finally the sleepy roads just waking up to the soft coaxing of the morning sun. All this was something I was not able to see, feel, relish.

My chain of thought was broken by the captain’s announcement – “Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seat belts. We will be beginning our descent to land at Nagpur”. And after a few gut twisting turns, I was back on the ground. The warm wind hit my face playfully and welcomed me back home. I had arrived, in time for my short stay at home and I was not complaining.

I had missed the slow simmering emotions that take over when I travelled by slowed modes, but then I was where I wanted to be. Probably, this time, the destination was more important than the journey. And I happily hopped into my car with my brother and father, happy to be home. I was wrong - the happiness was not diluted.

Why do I ride?

Why do I love to ride?

I have been asked this question many times.  (By various people of course) And my answer has never been the same. When I went to Chitradurga, in December last year, a few of my friends thought that I was crazy. Their suspicions were confirmed when I decided to ride to Mumbai alone. (I’ll let you know more about when I write next.) But then the question remained…. I’m trying to fish out a few of my thoughts on that – from a storm of thought that clouds up my head when someone asks me this question.

“Don’t you get bored? Riding alone is so boring”

No my friends, if you don’t want to be found painted all over the highway, or if you love your motorbike and don’t want it to be found under some drunk truck driver’s axle, you won’t get bored. Plus, it’s kind of challenging. For me, the thrill of it all comes from the fact that there is beast that might get out of control if you tend to lose focus. And that the power to control has been given to you, or you have chosen the power to control to be yours – whichever way you see it.

It’s very unsafe on the highway….

Tell me – whether the city streets are safe? You might get hit by an irate state transport bus – someone who you cannot hold accountable. You might be hit by some son of a gun whom you cannot touch. You might be robbed at night or if you are really unlucky, in broad daylight.

The relationship between a rider and his/her motorbike is intensely person. The motorbike gets tunes to the way its owner would ride. In fact I have at many times felt that motorbikes feel it when their master wants them to really perform and when the master is just trying to push it. My motorbike has never failed me even a single time when I really needed to get to some place fast or just wanted to get a thrill. You cannot get that kind of a response from anything you own.

Add to it the fact that there is nothing stopping you from moving ahead, or from stopping over when u see a beautiful location and just want to savor it for a few more minutes. The fact that it makes you feel supremely independent knowing that you and only you have the right to decide whether to move ahead or stop, whether to go straight or take a turn onto a dusty unmapped road, whether to leave at 5am or to start off at 1pm. You don’t have to be stranded in the traffic in a bus, or keep standing at the bus stop for an hour, or get stranded at the train station for the whole night. When you own a motorbike, you are free, and you are proclaiming your love for being that way. That is one of the most important things that make me want to ride. Yes, you might be bogged down by a few punctures, oil leaks or breakdowns. But then it’s something that is a part of our normal life.          

Why not drive a car then? It’s safe and it gives you the freedom. Because, it’s not real. It’s a shell which has climate control, is designed for safety and not for enjoying the raw pleasure of being out on the road. In a car, u can roll up the windows, play music, turn on the A/c, and you won’t feel a thing. But on a motorbike, you hear the wind, the sound of the motor beneath you, a little pain in your shoulders (after a long hard ride), dust and grime cling to your face, you see the road pass beneath your feet and hear the trucks with their screaming past you – and you realize that it’s all real. Once you’re on the road, you forget, the terrible boss in office, the demanding girlfriend, the boring 9 – 5 jobs, the desk, the city, the people who laugh at you, and the people who fake smiles, people who think you are crazy. You are intoxicated, by the sheer pleasure that the road and the motorbike are capable of giving you – the pleasure of knowing that nothing matters out here except you, your motorbike and the ever welcoming ever hostile road.

Then you feel like GOD!

My thoughts about VJTI....

Why did I come here? The million dollar question that has been haunting me ever since I regained my sight after initially beiing blindede by the glare of a prestigious insti.
A place u cannot identify with - a lifeless place, inshort a place that u cannot identify with. Waht was the promise that it showed? Was it an illusion or was it the last convulsion - like that of a dying animal that suddenly shudders as if its goin to wake up, but doesnt? Probably it was an illusion that isnt allowing any1 to see through it. A MIRAGE. A mirage that has beasts lurking in it - beasts that feed on your enthusiasm - beasts who feed off your urge to fight something thats wrong. And among them there are strange creatures who slowly eat away the courses that will be taught - like maggots eating away a dead body thats devoid of its soul - like all huge empires, this place will collapse.


Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe GOOD students will always be attracted to the glare, and the insti will keep on feeding on their energy - an energy that it cannot generate on its own. A living parasite - that owes its name to the people it feeds on. Not that every1s bad - a few lecturers are good - with flawed judgements of coures. Depth of learning - BULLSHIT! - I learned more in Graduation - my University was probably way better!!!


Fresh PG's who dont even have a degree - teaching us - and worse --- callng themselves 'PROFFESORS'!!!! Putting uo am obse display of power that we have chosen to grant them, or rather they have assumed that we have granted them. I have a question - what makes a lecturer think that s/he is GOD when they arent even GOOD at their job? NO DEDICATION - that was unimaginable until I came to this insti. One unit - "I have cleared your basics, now u can study on your own" - "See, its the way that boy says" - "Dont you like my teaching?" - "All 5 algorithms will fetch you 10marks". Am I being punished for my competence, or am I being forced to become incompetent. Why the hell am I required to submit assignments that require no application of my mind?


You see this college is a QUSAR - a stellar object that seems to be brighter than a galaxy. But when you go closer you discover that its not a self sufficient system that generates its own energy, but a black hole that pulls off gases from surrounding stars, thereby generating a lot of heat and radio waves - which act as a stamp of the Quasar. They create the illusion of a bright object luring you to go closer n take a chance - but when you are close enough, you realize that the picture isnt as beautiful as it seemed - and the black hole wont let you escape!!!



Why the hell did I come here?

Introduction!

Hi,
This is my only window of getting my thought out to the world beyond dinner tables and my friends.

You all may not agree with me, but then we are humans - and not agreeing with each other makes us more human.

I will keep on adding random stuff to this post as and when I like or deem fit...

till then, you can try out my other posts.