Stray Birds in bookstores

Looking back more than three years, I remember how I had to hustle to place Moving On in the bookstores. And how the so called "big bookstores" repeatedly rebuffed me for being a small publisher (and unknown "author").

Fair enough, books are after all business and if Chetan Bhagat and his ilk sell more, and deserve more shelf space in such bookstores, so be it.

But an achievement of sorts from back then was getting to place Moving On in two lovely, old and quaint and very "bookstorish" bookstores of Hyderabad -- Walden and Akshara.

Largely (of course) due to the intervention, goodwill and help of friends -- my PR sucks.

Ink Dries went a step further and had its launch / release at Akshara Books, largely again (of course) due to the intervention, goodwill and help of friends.      

I will of course, be headed for Akshara and Walden soon with Stray Birds, but speaking of bookstores, Stray Birds is already available at a bookstore in Hyderabad's original shopping district, Abids; a place famous (among the bibliophiles at least) for its second hand books market (where incidentally U saw a copy of Moving On as well!).

At a very "bookstorish" bookstore -- AA Husain, where almost every single inch of the place is laden with books.

I feel very Hyderabadi to say this. And I intend to go to AA Husain soon to see what "out of print" and "impossible to find anywhere else" treasures are roosting there.

BTW, if not for other rare to find books (and Stray Birds), AA Husain deserves a visit for its big collection of bird books and field guides. Because its managed by someone who knows the worth of anything to do with the feathered folks, a fellow birder.

So, do head out there soon!              

Deccan Diary

30 hours for a bit over 1600 kms from more or less the middle of the
Gangetic plains (which in many ways, is still the heartland / cowbelt
of India), i.e. Varanasi to Hyderabad -- Deccan is a bit of a
creditable haul by train; even in these times of Shatabdis,
Rajdhanis and Durontos. Because the basic infrastructure, underlying
complexities, local issues, etc. on / through which the railways
ply just cannot be wished away or treated as a theoretical
technicality. As such, in retrospect, I am happy with the 33
hours that my train took to reach Hyderabad.

And heck, in the light of the fact that this train was "canceled"*
and then ran (more or less on time) is itself a creditable achievement.

And it compares very creditably with similar long hauls on a
Bullet, at an average of around 50 kmph.

This is not to say that everything is good with the Indian
Railways -- in many ways the Railways are still stuck in a
time warp dating back to the 80s and the 90s -- but more
(hopefully) on that in a later post.

For now, I will take this long haul that got me home --
with the family of 6 (and their 2 friends / attendants /
relatives who were coming over for breakfast, lunch and dinner
from wherever they had parked their butts) "adjusting" in 5
berths around me from Varanasi to Sewagram and the man and
woman who boarded the train at Mancherial along with their
two 3-5 year old girls (for the sake of whose sleep, I couldn't
do much sleeping) and the numerous other things that make
most of Indian Railways compartments seem as if they are
"packed like sardines" -- and give the Railways pass marks.

#++++++++#++++++++#

One good thing about that slow, long haul - the home run from
Kazipet (Warangal) onwards was how it reminded me -- nodding
off at a window or hanging out from a doorway of the compartment,
of a similar slow, long haul from Warangal, with a moon in the sky
(like yesterday night) in a convoy of Bullets with a fellow
rider who had met with an accident and broken his arm riding along
(in an Ambassador). I was sleep deprived on that Bullet ride and
it was the stunning beauty of the moonlint night that helped me
keep awake, mentally marking off the distance to Hyderabad
(Jangaon, Bhongir, Bibinagar) even as I set the pace at the
head of the group. I was sleep deprived yesterday night too,
and again it was the stunning beauty of the moonlit Deccan that
helped me stay awake and get down at Secunderabad Railway
Station (as opposed to waking up next morning in the
shunting yard).

#++++++++#++++++++#



From what I gather -- through interactions with K and my
mother, it has rained twice (and "showered" more or less
every other day) here in the 10 days I have been away. The
skies (I get to see a lot of them around my place) have been
breathtakingly blue and beautiful all since morning. And yes,
there are clouds, with silver and gold linings aplenty along
with the persistent promise of a cloudburst. In fact, it did
rain a bit too, more or less for five minutes, but that
tells me there's rain left in the skies still.



#++++++++#++++++++#






Among all the stuff I had lugged along with me, on long
walks on endless platforms and up and down the stairways
that lead to them was my 55-300 mm lens that I did not get
to use (or feel like using) even once on this trip.
As such, it was imperative that I do a bit of narrow
perspective shooting ASAP. This necessitated a stroll with
the camera and that led to a couple of nice captures of Brown
Pansies. And some Sunbirds. So my wild touch still survives,
after travels through a lot of civilization, or so it seems :-)

#++++++++#++++++++#

Speaking of Sunbirds, while I was away, the Yellow Trumpet
tree that flanks the boundary of the homestead and has served
as a world -- for food and drink, shelter (and in all probability
as a nesting place) for a bevy of Sunbirds has crashed and
broken its trunk. Or so I am told. In fact, it had slanted
onto the road even as I was here (and earlier too) and I had
spent the good part of an evening (with a couple of neighbours
helping and the little man watching) trying to straighten / belay
it. Later on, I had firmly managed to pull it into more or less of
a vertical position with a wire (and some help from willing shoulders)
and tied down the wire with some granite blocks. But it has gone
ahead and crashed...and there is a big, irreplaceable chasm
along my boundary wall (and in my being). I wonder what the Sunbirds
must have made of the disappearance of the tree. And I wonder how
long it will take for a Yellow Trumpet (or any other flowering tree
that attracts Sunbirds) to get equally heavy with flowers as this
one for whom all I can say is RIP...

#++++++++#++++++++#

The first thing I noticed on getting home yesterday was the fragrance
of Parijaatam (it had started flowering -- for the first time -- a
couple of days before I left for the train trip). Even before I
noticed that the Yellow Trumpet (and its world of yellow) was
missing.That happy fragrance lingers, even now :-)

#++++++++#++++++++#



And, oh yes, here's the final diary entry for today. Everything
does seem hunky dory in Squirreldom.



* There was a Rail Roko announced for 13-15 of October,
the Railways first canceled my train and then (as the
Rail Roko was deferred to 15-17 October) ran the train.

Far from the madding crowd

Far from the madding crowd?

Oh yes.

Far from the effed up city traffic?

Oh yes, very much yes.

Just around 10 days back, I finally took a call and got the barrel
and piston on the Bullet replaced. I have been a bit around this
country on that barrel and piston and done close to 90k kms on it.
But still, technically speaking it shouldn't have
failed / ceased / seized. My current mechanic is soft-spoken,
highly skilled and very very wise (he's touching 60) and
according to him the piston overheated and failed. Incredulously,
not because I was racing at 130 kmph on the highway,
throttle locked and hunched like a jockey on my iron horse.
But because, I had negotiated a 55 minutes long
crawl -- Basheerbagh -> Liberty -> Tank Bund -> Sindhi
Colony -> Paradise X Roads -> Vikrampuri (where the engine
conked out), largely in 1st and 2nd gear on yet another
forgettable evening when the city's traffic was well and
truly fucked.

In other words, I got trafucked.

Is that a word (yet)? I don't know, but I am sure
Hyderabad's traffic won't get better, rains or no rains.
There are just too many people and too many cars to give
the city's roads any chance to be orderly.

So the thirst to be far from the madding crowd...

Another reason is that I am now running in the aforementioned,
"new" barrel and piston, a task that is not exactly easy,
requiring as it does inordinate patience, a nose (literally)
for the smell of over-heating, a total disregard for the passage
of time and so on and so forth...

Whatever some of my other biker / rider friends may say,
somehow the idea of running-in the city doesn't make sense
to me, after all I don't want to get trafucked again...

So I have been riding around on the highways and man, oh man,
have I been tripping or what?

Two of my status messages (from Facebook) to illustrate
what's on my mind while on the road


Then – a single lane, sunlit
dapple ground for mango, banyan and neem.
Now – a wide carriageway, to hurtle or airstrip,
in antiseptic speed. With a median that's a country
road – of grasses nodding sagely,
riding breezes and slipstreams. What remains
of that sunlit dapple ground – like a single leg
of worn blue denim, still catches sight.
Here light puddles bright,
as golden shelled maize, tanned brown paddy.


(This was after an approximately 250 kms -- to and
fro -- ride on NH 7, one of my familiar haunts for
most of my riding days in the Deccan)


The roads belong to no one,
but S.H.1 remains mine –
blessedly alive
as a beating vein on the back
of my right hand
– like my throttle wrist.
For 78 kms under a mellow November sun.
To a bit before Siddipet (and back).
Through a rain-soaked Deccan bursting
with colours – yellow-flowering gram,
“oh-so-white” cotton, wildflowers
I know not the name of and
the good, green earth.


(This was after a traipse on the road that leads
to Shamirpet Lake and a lot beyond, again a familiar
haunt for as long as I have been riding
in the Deccan)

There's a lot more of running in left and to make things more
time-consuming I also finally bought a Nikon D-90 (an impulsive
purchase using the only credit card I have) so I am hoping I will
traipse around some more and compose something poetic with my eye.

Somewhere far from the madding crowd.

When a frog in a puddle dies

I am lucky in that, I live pretty close to wide open spaces and
what can be justifiably called "wilds". Barely two kilometres
from my gate, I can get lost in a charmed expanse comprising of
disused and abandoned quarries, vineyards, orchards and mixed
farms and acres of trees and grasses growing wild.

This is where I cycle as much as I can, sometimes for a reason,
mostly for none. These expanses are the setting for a number
of poems in Moving On, and one that deals with my cynical take
on the false hopes regarding the monsoons last year -- Unslept.

So it passed that this year too I was cycling in the same wilds
when the monsoons arrived over the Deccan. Many would say a sure
sign that the Monsoons are here for good is when you see peacocks
dancing. In my case, I have seen more peacocks (and peahens) than I
could count this year, but queerly enough that is really is the
Monsoons, the original item, not some false alarm was kind of was
communicated to me by a slightly dopey (or highly sated)
looking frog, sometime in late June.

It must have been five or six days into the Monsoons, and I was
on the dirt track (that winds through the charmed expanse mentioned
above) for the second time. This dirt track is incidentally wide
enough for a truck to pass and I see a healthy puddle forming on
it where it passes through a thickly wooded section. And I see
Mr. Froggie too, fat and glassy eyed. I was totally at a loss
to decipher that look; I have seen really, really thirsty people
look like that after a very welcome round of beers. I guess
in Mr.Froggie's case it was a bit more than just beers -- maybe
he was enjoying the orgasmic bliss of a private spa pool or he
was dreaming of being kissed by a princess....

So that was June. From then till end of November -- till around
a week back, to be exact -- I haven't seen Mr. Froggie or bothered
much about the puddle, but crossed it again and again and seen
it bigger and deeper than it ever was last year.

Meanwhile, 5 months passed.

In these five months, I got wet more times than I can remember,
fell sick three times (a record of sorts for me) and even as I
write this, am recovering from a very severe and debilitating fever.

In these five months, I have once again realized that the
monsoons have a magically regenerative touch (and intoxicate
frogs and human beings alike) and there is no nook or cranny
of even a concrete city that the rains cannot reach. Its a
bit overwhelming to see the tops of dead and boringly staid
walls grow green with moss, and to see a profusion of butterflies
and bees, millions and millions of them, the former coming when
the monsoons are at their peak, the latter when the waters
start "standing". Its overwhelming to ride on Tank Bund and
see streamers of butterflies flutter-flying aimlessly, blithe
and unconcerned, flowers in flight. Its fun being on the Bullet
on the highways seeing a dragonfly headed for your face and
managing to dodge it at the last minute.

It's believed that the rains slacken after Ganesh Chaturthi.
But that didn't happen this time around. It's also believed
that September 30th is officially the last day of the Monsoons.
This year, I was soaked to the underwear on September 30th in
riding home through a shortcut through the bastis that flank
Hasmathpet Lake, but the same happened a week after.

Nobody (not the least, me) minds the rains, but
5 months of it is freakish, no?

But then, last Tuesday I got a sign that the Monsoons
are done and finished.

And it had to do with a sighting of Mr. Froggie.

I am on the cycle (you know where, don't you?) and I come
across THE puddle. Or rather, I come across a very well muscled
and (really swift) seven footer of a snake, ( flecked with gravel
red) shouldering its way into the grasses besides the dirt track.
With Mr. Froggie in its jaws. Its over before I can brake the
cycle and I see that the puddle is no more than 2 inches of water
and mostly wet gravel sludge.

That was one very big and fat looking snake too, evidently
intent on feeding full and hibernating.

And snakes hibernate in the winters, don't they?

Which means as of last Tuesday, the monsoons have ended and
its winter here now :-)

That ends a really bountiful monsoon, one that has left the
quarries full of water and a profusion of life still sprouting
from the rain-soaked Deccan.

RIP, Mr. Froggie!

Welcome to Hyderabad Literary Festival 2010

If I am not wrong, the last time Hyderabad played host to such a multitude of writers was when the ACLALS (Association for Commonwealth Literature and Language Studies) Seminar / Conference on Post-Colonial Literature was held here. In the year 2004, if memory serves me right.

I was there at the event and though I don't remember much about it, I remember meeting Mr. Keki Daruwalla and showing him my poetry. And I also remember trying to talk to Hoshang Ji :-)

2004 seems eons ago and in my case, much ink has flowed since then. And now again Hyderabad will play host to some of India's most notable writers -- writing in our richly vibrant, regional languages and English.

At the Hyderabad Literary Festival 2010, (December 10-12) organized by Muse India and OUCIP.

Registration is a must to be at the HLF 2010 and is just Rs. 500 (inclusive of luncheons and refreshments) for all three days. Which in other words is as pleasantly inexpensive as our own Irani Chai, in my humble opinion.

So go here and register before Dec 5th, or risk missing out on literary history in the making, here in Hyderabad itself!

A Bullet in the Rains

Among the many other things I don't manage to tell this blog
(in time) is the fact that this April my Bullet turned 8.
That is 8 years. By extension (I don't have a car, maybe
I don't really like being boxed in one, maybe I am
claustrophobic, or maybe I just don't need one) this means
that I have been riding through Hyderabad's monsoons
and enjoying getting drenched in them every year.

It's a cycle for me, you see, something that I await without really
knowing why, something that also brings out the neanderthal in me
(I like grinning up at the raining skies, I like riding through
the stinging curtains of water, I don't really mind the discomfort
or the pain of having to ride through waterlogged traffic that
moves slower than a prehistoric moraine) and I am not at all
ashamed to say that I love almost everything about the rains*.

Let me temporarily forget that last year when it rained and I got
back home (in the midst of a power cut), I had slipped on a far from
thin film of water that had "rained" in and fallen heavily onto my
behind. I am sure (rain lover or rain hater) you will excuse me for
cursing the rains (and the builder) loudly for three odd days
in that instance.

Coming back to the Bullet, I guess it is not as low maintenance as
me after all, or maybe it's the fact that I do use it, or it's the
fact that the quality of whatever goes into it as spare parts sucks
to high (rainy?) heaven. Anyway, I have changed the petrol
tank cover thrice and there is this memorable incident related
to the petrol tank cover, the Bullet (and me) and the rains that
is best related on a day like this (call me a fool later if you
want) when after getting wet the way I did yesterday, I would say
it does seem that the Monsoons have "set in" over the Deccan.
And hey, hey, hey, far earlier than last year, no?

So this was the incident then (three monsoons past, if my memory
serves me right). The petrol tank cover had gone kaput again -- was
not lockable -- and I was returning from a friend's place
having ignored his requests and remonstrances to stay back
and wait out the rain. And it was pouring away. As happens in
Hyderabad (and maybe in your city too, I wouldn't be claiming
exclusivity for this, patriot that I am) when it rains for more
than half an hour the roads look like a landscape scoured by
streams and rivulets in a hurry to go and drain into some
now non-existent friendly neighbourhood lake. So I was riding
blind not knowing if there's a speedbreaker, a pothole or
something far more dangerous ahead of me under all that water.
And then it happens, I go into some kind of depression, the
Bullet sinks fork deep in waters and by the time I am out of it,
the petrol tank cover goes flying off!

Ever tried finding something that has fallen into swirling
rain waters? Believe me, it's no easy task -- especially in
the evenings -- even if you are on your hands and knees.

But all the while I was searching for the petrol tank cover,
the Bullet was idling away, unmindful of the rain bouncing off
its chrome and lancing into its petrol tank -- for what must
have been at least 2 or 3 minutes. This incident / story had a
happy ending, I found the petrol tank cover and (I did say,
happy ending) as expected, the Bullet didn't die
on me.

So now you know. I love the rains and the Bullet does too.

And yesterday it had rained and rained and rained and
rained some more. From what I could see, no cats or dogs died,
but immaterial of that the gutters weren't much distinguishable
from the roads and the roads (thanks to the medians in between)
seemed to be stopping the waters and turning into one-way canals.
So it meant something like two hours of riding to get back home,
with some stretches (the ones on Necklace Road and near
Sanjeevaiah Park specifically ) making me feel that I am riding
on a lakebed. After all, that is what most of Necklace Road is,
isn't it?

But yes, I did have an amazing time, getting soaked to the
skin and never having to stop, even while the autos and (some) cars
around were belching smoke (inzin mein paani ghoos gaya Saab) and
getting stranded.

I guess (in my far from direct or orderly way), I am writing this
blogpost out of happiness at yesterday's experience and as tribute
to the trusted chrome-plated steed that I ride. And there seems to
have been no permanent collateral damage (apart from the cell phone
dying) to me either**!!

And oh, yeah. Speaking of the Bullet, it started at first kick
today morning again. Talk of the small joys of life.

* Scratch out riding through Punjagutta Circle, Ranigunj and Abids
Circle, even after 5 minutes of rain. Double scratch the very idea
of trying to get hold of an Auto after 30 minutes of rain. And don't
get me started on the quality (or lack) of anything close to civic /
city planning in Hyderabad when it rains.

** The "Cargo" trousers I had on yesterday should get dry by today.
My cellphone died on me and finally lit up today morning (and I had
to tell it the time for a change!!). My wallet (incidentally of
Camel leather and picked up at a roadside shop near the fort at
Jodhpur is almost dry and apart from slightly bleary eyes (paani
ghoos gaya) and a sore throat (I did seem to have drunk in some of
the rains) I am pretty much okay.