My Publicized Life

My earliest memories of you are a little vague...intermingled as they are between your first two houses, one in Aspirin Gardens and the other in West Mambalam. Memories of a model MiG plane, the drives to the beach in the Matador van, the same Russian slideshows that you showed us year after year after much begging and pleading on our behalf, your prized coin collection from which you invariably let us keep a coin or two each, the anecdotes about your interactions with Russians. In fact, despite later events, I guess I owe you, more than anyone else, my lifelong fascination for that country. And then, there was the chess. So far as the rest of the family was concerned, you were the undisputed King of Chess. I cannot recall how often the phrase "Nobody plays chess like Balakrishnan thatha" would pop up in family circles. You knew the fact and were proud of it. I still recall your earliest lessons, where you meticulously showed me how the pieces moved and taught me to count the

Do you ever feel like you're made up of multiple layers? Each layer as vivid and real as the next. Like so many of these abstract concepts, it’s easy to understand but hard to explain. It's like there's several different me's inside of me. The closest (and most cliched) example I can give is of Russian ‘Matryoshka’ dolls...the ones where you open one up to find another, smaller replica inside, and so on so forth ad infinitum. And the different me's take turns to come up to the surface. While there's one on the outside, interacting with the world, imparting his wisdom to the poor sodden souls who have the misfortune of stumbling across him, the others sit inside fretting, fuming and generally building up steam, until one of them finally breaks through and has his moment in the limelight. Kind of like how the cute little alien breaks out of Sigourney Weaver and trashes around...but a lot less visual. For instance, it’s the travel aficionado part of me who's cu

Nov 7th - The Day Before I'm sitting at my desk, supposedly concentrating on winding up my work, but my head refuses to cooperate. My brains have decided to start their vacation a little early and are already out there exploring the sun, sand and surf. Another 14 hours before the rest of me can catch up! I constantly stare at the clock on my desktop in a vain effort to make time flow faster. Just as I'm starting to go over the top, I'm taught a lesson in relativity by Gaurav's mail about the Anniv Ride. My head emerges from the vast blue oceans it was so blissfully immersed in, to go traipsing along rickety bridges with scenic backdrops. Not for the first time, I wonder if one lifetime will be enough to cover all the places I want to see. As thoughts head back to my own little journey, I wonder if I made the right decision in starting a ride with a seized engine, and I pray the bike will hold up for the next 4 days. I also feel a slight pang of emotion...in all likeliho

A narrow winding road passing through lush green forests. The trees arch across overhead on either side to form a natural canopy, the ground below covered by twigs and fallen leaves. The silence broken only by the gentle patter of rain, the singing of a thousand crickets and the thump of a Bullet, the idyllic scenery broken only by glimpses of a fellow rider far ahead in the distance – There are few experiences more soothing to a man’s soul. The Bare Essentials Destination – Kundadri Betta, in the Shimoga district of Karnataka Daywise Breakup of the ride – Day 1: Bangalore – Tumkur – Arasikere – Shimoga – Thirtahalli Day 2: Thirtahalli – Kundadri Betta – Agumbe – Sringeri – Kuppalli – Koppa Day 3: Koppa – Chickmaglur – Kemmangundi – Birur – Tiptur – Tumkur – Bangalore Distance covered – Approx 1000 km Memories stored – Innumerable Day 1 - The Onward Ride The preparations started as with most other rides. Last minute tuning of the bike, calls and e-mails to one another discussing sp

Man, as a species, always seems to have had a fascination for quests. History and fiction both, are replete with stories of men boldly venturing out into the great unknown and facing untold dangers in search of the one great thing - be it an artifact, a lost land or even a woman - that would soothe their souls, quell their fears and lift their hearts. From King Arthur's (and Tom Hanks', in more recent times) quest for the Holy Grail and the Jews quest for the Promised Land, to Frodo's quest for Mordor and Jack Sparrow's for Davy Jones' Locker, these are tales that tell of great courage, valiance and a reckless defiance of the greatest odds, that serve to highlight the steely resolve and indomitable spirit of Man. All of these pale, however, in comarison to My Quest For Holy Matrimony. The start of very quest happens with a wizened old mentor instilling the germ of an idea into the dashing young hero's mind, which until that precise moment is happily immersed in

A man walks in to a doctor's office in deep pain. His problem - his left hand is clenched tight and is seemingly clamped in that position. Its not just a normal closed fist either, the fingers are curled up so tight that his fingernails have dug halfway into his palm, causing him unbearable, excruciating pain, pain that you or I could never normally experience. He's at his wits end because nobody he's seen so far has been able to alleviate this condition...his fist simply cannot be unclenched, even the slightest bit. The pain cannot be numbed. So why is it that painkillers or medication, or even surgery doesn't help? Because, bizzare as it sounds, he does not have a left arm! He only developed this condition after his entire left arm was amputated several months ago. Now wait a minute, this is nuts, you think? Pain in an arm that doesn't exist? A clear sensation of a closed fist biting into a non-existent palm? But no, the patient isn't crazy. These are, apparen

What I really want to do at this point is pen an outstanding composition, something that'll have me marvelling at my own talent - a brilliantly refreshing, thought-provoking, original piece of text that'll leave my readers gasping for more. But that's way too much work, so I'm just writing a sequel instead. Therefore, here's presenting...Teenage Tales - II, Learning To Swim! (To see how it all began, click here for my original Teenage Tales story) Oh, wait...in the interests of accuracy, I guess this is actually a prequel, because I'm almost sure I learnt swimming before I learnt riding. Hmmm...no wonder I always flunked my history exams. But anyways...enough with the mindless drivel, and on to the narrative! It all started when I was a very little kid...a tiny schoolboy...about 9 or 10 years of age. A tender loving boy who would look up at the world around him with wide eyed innocence and greet each new day with a sunny smile. Why someone would want to take th