Vinayaka Chavithi, 2014

As I type this, sitting in the penthouse (rather -- my bare, uncluttered, minimalist writing shack) on the terrace, the sun is peeking out and shining in a haze through the clouds.

The terrace itself is still wet with the last of the rain that has fallen, mostly in a steady trickle, sometimes in a din...for almost a day now -- starting as it did yesterday evening when Naana and I got Vinayaka home, along with the fruits, flowers and other offerings that he relishes.

All in all, thanks to the clouds and the rain, it has been a perfect Ganeshotsav at home for me.

What with the overcast skies almost the exactly same colour as the three lines on my brow (and arms) it seemed as if the heavens were also wearing Tripundra, the mark of Shiva -- in obeisance to his son, Guru Ganesha.  

To fit the sanctity of the occasion, I wore a Panchi and Tripundra and as Amma recited the Mantras that I couldn't hear, I could still concentrate on the Puja apart from a thought occasionally straying away -- like an unfettered bird; where would I have been today if I was in Delhi?

Would I have managed to make it to the Garhwal Himalayas (or Bharatpur) over the weekend? Or someplace closer by -- like Basai or Yamuna Biodiversity Park?

After all, technically (at least for all those who are securely and gainfully employed) this is yet another long weekend.

But then, I realize that I am not in Delhi any more.

My thoughts stray again...is it equally cloudy (and raining) at Vizag now? If I was there at Vizag now -- probably on Thotlakonda or Pavuralakonda, would the light conditions have permitted me to shoot landscapes worthy of catching Ansel Adams eye?

But then, I realize that I am not at Vizag either, that the trip I was to set out on was canceled...

As some poet said, the best laid plans of men and mice (and, the best intentions too) sometimes come to just nought...

Maybe such is life, maybe I am destined to be home and circumabulate the Buffalo Wallow (the Great Cormorants are now in breeding plumage, and the Pied Kingfishers are pairing up, looking for sites to build nests; there are also a flock of Streaked Weavers now more or less established in the reeds that flank the wallow).

Whatever Guru Ganesha wishes. Om Ganeshaya Namaha.

P.S. -- Blame it on the intense pleasure of being at home on Vinayaka Chavithi or the magical atmosphere today -- I did something that I have rarely done after my growing up (in Orissa) years. Left my pens at Guru Ganesha's feet for his blessings. And yes, seeing how I rarely write with them any more, seeing how a lens that is as long as a baby elephant's trunk is now my stock "tool of trade", I naturally asked him to bless it too.

Om Namaha Shivaya :-)            

An old woman begging in a train

Her footwear were oversize 
for her old and shrunken feet.

Her Sari looked like its silk;
her hair was a confusion 

Of odds and ends, with the dull sheen
of old silver. Also enough black

Drawn back in a decrepit bun
a little above her nape. Almost like

Another eye. In the crook
of one scrawny, twig-thin hand

She carried a faded yellow cloth bag.
What's in there? A blanket?

Two more Saris? Her remaining years?
Into the wizened palm of the other hand

I pressed down some money,
after touching it to my eyes.

Those eyes are wet now
As I cry this poem on

The tragedy that is
an old woman begging in a train.

Defeat

Four years, or are they five,
or even some more? My own
mirror of time, they make 

Gummed and then red-backed
with the dried crimson bleed of
two ears and the disquiet 

Of all the words they never hear.
There are so many riddles
I see in my face. Gathering,

The crow's feet around my eyes
seem to ask -- does loneliness age?
And how can I be both,

That silent, stolen, upraised glance
into changeless skies of lies,
(when no one's watching,)

That ritual cursing of an empty grimace;
the bird-like gaze, from up above
in my bumbling defeats,

Seeing grace?

Hey you, you are not Intense any more...

Well, I am not Intense any more it seems.

(Not that this is very recent either, I mean one month will pass soon.)

This wasn't exactly a verdict of course, nothing on e-mails, nothing that could be tracked back otherwise also, but you can't be a fugitive when you are someone who doesn't have phone skills, can you? Besides, you cannot be a fugitive when you are Intense, can you?  

Dunno what exactly happened; I mean what exactly was new (apart from a 5 day week -- Oh Golly! -- and an epidemic of  we-know-it-all-marketing-branding-business development-social media-eff all because we know Excel / Google types); last time around I was told, all I do is put a semicolon here, a colon there, a comma wherever; this time some Grand Panjadrum who is arguably everything you can imagine (and cannot) under the marketing / analyst (shit!) relations / PR / advertising / whatever-else-you-want-to-think-of  set me up even better (or should I say, worse?).

Usually, when you are forty (plus?) and recruited directly by management, you probably count for more; maybe a generous severance allowance, if not...at least a decent notice period.

Ha ha.

Anyway, I am not Intense any more.

In a way it is good, I don't feel like a fugitive (me?, the very idea!) and I don't glare at myself in the mirror in the morning when I shave either.

That summer is on me is also fine; my ears have been no better or worse for more than a summer now, anyway.

You want to know about my eyes?

Ha ha.

The lens is very VERY visible.
      

Another Rider Mania, another ride...

Last time around Rider Mania was in Shillong. While I had any amount of leaves (read that as "not employed anywhere") and the urge to take a road trip was stronger than ever, I couldn't make it.

Why?

Let's not get into that :-)

This time around, luck was a lot favourable (so to say) and I registered much in advance and thereafter also managed to get leave etc, etc.

So, come the 16th of January, I was on the road again (without any preparations whatsoever, on a borrowed, spanking new, Classic Chrome 500) and surprisingly enough had a pack of Bullets riding along too.

The agenda was simple. Get intimate with the road again, rediscover it for the pure thrill of motorcycling, connect with the basics of biking again. Naturally then, I chose my painful motorcycling boots (if not for which I would have lost a toe or more when I had fallen and broken my collar bone en-route Kolkatta for another Rider Mania) over my birding shoes (and lenses and cameras).

The agenda was also to rough it out (I had carried along my tent -- I did not need to pitch it because a fellow rider -- who also snores -- invited me to join him in his tent) and have fun in "life is a beach" terms.

Must say I managed to do all that and more.

And though I do regret on not being able to photograph a Marsh Harrier, any number of Common Kestrels and countless Black Shouldered Kites and White-breasted Kingfishers; I don't regret not having to lug the heavy backpack with me, for all of approximately 800 kms each way.

More importantly, I do regret not being able to do justice to the landscapes on offer with my puny camera phone, but then at one level motorcycling is all about framing and freezing those vistas in your being -- with no camera involved!

Yes, it was  good ride. I had company both ways; tucked into some amazing food all over the ride, connected with a lot of biker buddies and made quite a few new friends too.

But the icing on the cake was the fact that I started my birthday with a 200 kms odd trip (from the place where we had called it a night, at a seedy lodge somewhere after Pidiguralle on the absolutely hypnotic SH-2) to reach home for have the privilege of touching  my parents' feet.

That this ride was through inchoate early morning fog, under a drowsily weak winter sun added to the magical quality of the whole experience. Having the Classic Chrome 500 to stride and the challenge of maintaining a fast clip (while weaving in through the occasional truck traffic) gifted it a very special edge.

So you could say I gifted myself a grand present for my birthday. Because, as someone known to me said -- If you don't celebrate your own birthday, who will?

Most importantly, now I have the contextual depth to compare two different birthday rides. On the ride to Rider Mania, Kolkatta, I was riding all through my birthday and intent on getting the ride over and "partying". That's when (though I was not speeding) I fell and broke my collar bone. As such I spent the night of my birthday in a decrepit Kolkatta hospital, wracked with pain and surrounded by ghoulish looking, post middle-age, matronly ayah type nurses firing Bengali phrases at me.

This time, I was more sensible and had 4 hours of sleep behind me and the mental focus -- "I will not fall, come whatever." As it turned out, I neither partied (came to work right from the ride in fact and got a nice talking to, as well) nor wore any new clothes, nor cut a cake (that way, someone has to celebrate our birthdays, no?) and spent most of the evening in a sleep-deprived vigil waiting for some biker friends to come and shack up at my place. But heck, I did manage to enjoy a "Beer and Biryani" before the night was over. And, I slept under my own roof, without any painkillers in me :-)

I am not comparing, but its nice to survive all of life's vicissitudes, if only to celebrate small joys like a birthday ride.

Om Namaha Shivaya (oh yes, I prayed a lot on the ride!)