Roads

Again
the light wakes me
with a question

That my eyes hear
I smile
seeing new roads, say

I will ride again
for all a man can do
is try.

A bit of the road and my first field birding trip

I am not a compulsive blogger and I am chronologically challenged
too. On top of it all, every time I post up here I am heavily spammed in
the form of comments by various bots. And I can tell you its a fucking
nuisance to have to repeatedly hit the "notify as spam" button and yet see
the same bots do the same thing down the line.

So you can say I have my reasons for being silent out here. But now that my
father has recovered (in fact, apart from the bypass surgery he had -- from
a very bad self-inflicted scalding because he poured hot water over himself
in a hotel bathroom at Tirumala) and the book moves on
as poetry does, I hope to blog more here on this online journal
of my days (for whatever it is worth).

And in time, I hope I will get used to the bots crapping here, I guess
the way I have got used to all and sundry Facebook comments and notifications.

How I digress, you will say!

**

If you like having the wind in your face, if you like the road (whatever
it means to you, there are a thousand and one "road" philosophies, and
then some) you would know that in India there is no better time to
ride than in the winter -- when the temperature is a bracing "not-even-warm"
in the day and the nights though chilly (and very much so, even around
Hyderabad,lately)are just right to gather around a fire or a Dhaba's tandoor,
when you have that gloriously golden evening light that gives chrome a
glint that is downright in-describable.

And most of the winter past I wasn't exactly in a position to ride, couldn't
get away, did not want to be far from home. But then, as all good things
happen in time, I did manage to be in a position to answer the call of the
road around the third week of January.

It so happens that my trusted (and much loved) Bullet will turn 10 years
this May; and though I still don't know what it amounts to, this extended
ownership of and loyalty to the same set of wheels, these highway miles
that we have shared together, I do know that (though there are the usual
pitfalls and worries) there is no better way to eat up the miles than on a
Royal Enfield.

And (since I have been part of four of them) I will also say, there is
no better biker event to ride to than the annual Rider Mania conducted
by the Bullet clubs every January.This year's event was held on the
outskirts of Delhi, by the Royal Beasts.

Most importantly, last year I had fallen en route to Rider Mania
(at Kolkata) so this time around it was important that I be there. If for
nothing else, just for the pure pleasure of calling myself a biker.

But then, I had goofed up and my Bullet was not exactly ready for the road
and I was a total "mixed pickle" in the head; all at ends and in no position
to plan for the road. At around the same time my good friend
Bikram of the Road Survivors Chandigarh offered to lend me his
Bullet. Which meant that I could take a train to Delhi and then
another to Chandigarh.

And then ride out in a group (and a fairly large one) to Manesar.

350 or so kms each way (I am just guessing, the Thunderbird Bikram lent
me had no functional odometer) through cold winds which felt like a wet
cloth touching the exposed parts of the skin (in the day) and made me
feel like a Bedouin would in Greenland (in the night) still isn't much of
a Rider Mania tour. But I will take it, riding as I was with a "recuperated"
collar bone, on a strange (the Thunderbird's brake and gear levers
are opposite to that of my Bullet) bike, wearing an open-faced helmet
without a proper retaining strap provided the rest of the edge.

As did the effort of reining myself in, not opening the throttle
wide open, after all one doesn't push a bike lent by a friend
to the limits, does one?

The ride from Chandigarh to Manesar apart, there was quite a bit
of riding that I did in Chandigarh itself. This was my fourth
visit to Chandigarh and I consider myself genuinely fortunate
to have friends in this lovely city of well planned Sectors
(reminiscent of the Sectors of Rourkela) as also the lovely
Paranthas, the wayside "spring rolls" and the roundabouts.

But my most enduring memory of Chandigarh will remain the number
of turbans and the number of brightly coloured groups -- of women
and men standing out in the sun and doing nothing much but basking,
like so many butterflies. Maybe its because, it is summer and getting
hotter by the day when I write this, and I am always looking forward
to the coming of the butterflies :-)

**

It has been more than a year since I have been seriously "birding".
And while I am no ornithologist or even someone with a Graduate level
of knowledge of zoology (and by inference or extension, of birds) I
am a bit surprised about how well I have taken to it. About how fast
my development has been, about how I delight in seeing birds everywhere,
even in humdrum urban situations -- like the Black Kites of Hyderabad,
Vizag,Delhi and Chandigarh; or the Sparrows, Munias, Prinias, Silverbills
and Starlings (and crows) all around my place; or the almost "blessed
sighting" of a Peacock / Hornbill crossing over from one patch of urban
forestry to another, right over the head of road-borne me; or seeing
very green Parakeets disappear into the dirty grey monotony of a
telephone pole and so on...

And I have been getting away from it all too, stalking waterbirds,
peacocks, kingfishers, sandpipers, rollers, koels, shrikes and the
like, identifying woodpeckers, hoopoes, barbets and the like, even
as the photography has become -- in conjunction with my increasing
levels of patience and application of field-craft -- better, day by
day. And through all these days, I have continually thought about
being out in a forest / sanctuary for much more than just a couple
of hours, continually thought about the "birding bliss" of coming
across a bird that I have come across online or read about in the
accounts of someone like Kenneth Anderson. Coming across it in
flesh and blood, perched in sight and holding me rapt in attention,
transfixed like a kid looking a gift horse in the face.

As such, way back from Chandigarh, it was but natural that I landed
up at Bharatpur (especially since my much anticipated trip to
Amritsar was not happening because of the freakish cold) considering
that it was almost directly on the way back home.

And I spent a blissful 4 days at Bharatpur, cycling into the park on
a daily basis shooting a bevy of "first sightings" -- as myriad as
Nightjars, White-tailed eagles, Sarus cranes and Treepies and as
common as Painted Storks and Common Coots.

Looking back, the best part of those four days was an encounter
with a Shikra (juvenile, me thinks) in a thicket. I did not
understand when I was clicking away -- why the Shikra wouldn't fly
away, but just hop within the thicket. I must have shot some 30-40
"keepers" of the guy and finally left bemused because I did
not want to spook him / her. Later on, I saw why the bird was
behaving that way, it had one claw badly wounded and probably
in no mood to do any flying away or gallivanting. From what little
I know of raptors being that close to one is "rare" and I will
certainly cherish this encounter. Who cares if the Shikra wasn't
"perfect"? Am I? Are you?

Tripping -- travels and travails

Coincidentally enough -- as I have been procrastinating a
blog post about an amazing road trip being undertaken by two
friends -- Prabha and Harsha Koda, I have been beset by a set
of related travails; the Enfield needs a new Carburetor (and the
type I want seems to be out of stock)starter coils and some other
TLC, the Schwinn is getting either its front or back wheel
punctured more or less with as much periodicity as the moon's
waxing and waning. If that was not incapacitating enough --
in between the Enfield being unable to keep up with the 100 CC
commuters and the Schwinn making serious holes in my pocket,
I also managed to go ahead and puncture the sole of my foot.

Which (naturally) led to a poem and a lot of wonder(even more
naturally)on my part -- that of seeing my blood dropping and
drying on a decrepit and sizzling hot (and rain-washed and
spanking clean) road and that of finding that the tear in the
"leather" of my sole more or less mended itself in barely 4-5
days. How's that for being well-worn, eh?

But then, this blog post is meant to be about Prabha and
Harsha Koda's trip all along the border of India, starting
from Mumbai and ending at Mumbai.
And yes, as of now they are in Leh, eating up the miles
steadily in their beloved Scorpio


And yes, in keeping with the confessions I routinely make
on this blog, here's another -- I was invited by these nice
people -- to be part of their trip and be with them from Srinagar
to Leh.

But I am here in the Deccan itself.

#$@%!!

Coincidentally again, I got around to finally cleaning my room today.
And found a bunch of receipts, visiting cards, bills, etc. from
a road trip that I had undertaken in January 2009 on
the Enfield -- down to Kanyakumari (and Rameshwaram) and then
up along the West Coast. Didn't have the heart to throw them,
maybe I will try and find some poetry in those bills, receipts,
et al...

The Road to Medhchal

(For Adrian)

We spreadeagled and pinned down
half a summer night
into conversations
-- soaring noon high --
of you and I, the roads in and out of life,
of you and I and throttle-fulls of speed and smoke.

We spreadeagled and pinned down
questions for time
-- the need to just ride, the need to just be --
mirroring the soul in the machine,
the engine in the being, agreeing
-- we write even as we ride --

In throttle-fulls of speed and smoke
book, chapter and verse
stories of metre and mile
the metre of miles....