A Bit Of Luck, A Bit Of Black Magic

I found her hiding behind a row of Royals in various stages of repair, at "Bullet" Gopi's "Diesel Bullet Garriage". Yeah, that's how it was spelt, as the board that hung over his garage announced.

A protege of the Bullet Legend of Pudupet, Jafar Ali, Gopi was one smooth talking, grease-monkey genius. He knew how to sell a Bullet. Not that people who came looking for Bullets needed much convincing. But then, it takes something special to sell a Bullet chassis, fitted with a diesel motor, without an RC book, or chassis number, and no sales deed, to gullible software engineers who know they're getting ripped off. Yep, he was one of a kind.

So, anyways, after umpteen trips to the garriage, to find my Bullet, she finally caught my eye. Jet black, with a red flame tattoo across the fuel tank, she looked like a caged tiger, is what I would like to say, but it was closer to hobbling nag. Now, though your's truly was smitten by the prospect of a Bullet, I still wasn't confident of handling one, let alone a "God-Knows-How-Old" machine like this one. This is where Ashan comes in handy. Having already succumbed to the wiles and guiles of Gopi and acquiring The Amazing Thumper, Ashan had become Resident Expert on Diesel "Gopi" Bullets.

Kick-starting Thumper was a religious experience. You began with a silent prayer to The Powers That Be. A dozen spirited, progressively flagging kicks later, you could actually see the gates of Heaven. And finally, when the engine roared to life, the angels sang.

Why should she be any different? So we manoeuvred her onto the centre-stand (...standard position for kick-starting for amateurs, pros kick-start while sitting...), and Ashan did his little silent prayer. And kicked. Vroom. First kick, I kid you not. Plumes of smoke billowed from the exhaust and blocked out the sun, the thunder of her engine rattled the pebbles on the ground below her. In reality it was slightly less dramatic, but I was floored. I wanted her. I needed her.

The crafty fox Gopi noticed, and I could see the price go up. As I communicated my intentions to Gopi through my version of Tamil, I could see the gleam in his eyes. Hook, line, and sinker. We shook on 20k. He would polish her up, get her fitted with lights, a horn (not that she needed it, but just in case), and in general get her ready for the road. Well, in a general, more-or-less, you'll-keep-coming-for-repairs kind of way anyway.

I remember the first time I took her out on the highway, from Chengalpattu to Singaperumal Koil. I remember the raw, untamed power, and I was scared stiff to turn that accelerator more than absolutely necessary. I kept accelerating and pulling back, afraid that I was going to be the First Malayali in Space if I went too fast.

Slowly though, I started getting used to the intricacies of handling a Bullet.  "Bullet" Gopi liked to say, not everybody can ride a bullet, it takes "telunt" (loosely translates as "talent" in English) and a "neyck" (knack, n, A special way of doing something). Another of his tactics to reel 'em in. Well, it took a hell of a lot of patience too.

Gopi fleeced both me and Ashan mercilessly. If it wasn't the lights, it was the kicker. If it wasn't the kicker, it was the brakes. If it wasn't the brakes, it was the clutch cable. Oh boy, the clutch cable. How many times that thing snapped on me. Sometimes, she would just refuse to move. For no apparent reason. In the middle of nowhere. And just when you start contemplate ditching her, she would come to life again and chug along. Like nothing ever happened.

She still needed a name. The One Who Writes For Food, declared her a "chick magnet" on sight, and suggested a nomme de guerre. Black Magic. And "Black Magic" she was named.

Boy, did she work some magic, Ol' Black Magic. The Prospective Missus declared, "I don't get on bikes, what if it topples over?!". And then she saw her. In all her patched up glory. Black Magic just had this neyck with people. The lady said Black Magic spoke to her. I don't know what they talked about, but she agreed to a ride, and the rest is history.

Well, not exactly. She ran out of diesel 2 minutes into the ride.

Long story short, The Missus stuck around inspite of that fiascoed, first bike ride. She loved the big, black, noisy, smoke-belching machine, right down to the tiny lights that never worked. She doesn't approve of my current ride, a Star-City, not one bit, she thinks that bike is the devil incarnate. But Black Magic was her favourite. She still asks me sometimes, "What do you think Black Magic is doing now?". A bit of luck there, I guess. But more than that, a bit of Black Magic.

Black Magic made sure that every day was an adventure, in some sense of the word. Another story, another time maybe. Till then, ride safe, and wear a helmet!

The Fourth Station.

Crack!

Pain. Like a thousand arrows that pierce my body, it flows through my veins.

Crack!

Like a metronome.

Crack!

My knees cannot hold me up anymore. Through the haze, I can hear men talking. They whisper among themselves. They push each other, for a better view.

Crack!

Like a metronome. Why do they persist? I stumble. My leg gives way. I feel every grain of sand, every piece of rubble that claws into my knee.

It is not sweat that blinds me. Not anymore.

Crack! "Orthonomai!"

I am dragged back to my feet, I can hear men whispering. I cannot see their faces. Lightning lashes through me. Again.

They whisper my name.

Crack!

Hold me. For I cannot stand. And even as I fall they mock me.

"Basilias!"

The whispering ceases. The wall of people separates to reveal her. That face. I would recognize it anywhere.

Her hands are wet with the tears she tries to wipe off her face.

The world has suddenly gone silent.

*******

I am a child again, in the fields. Running. Falling. And even before it hurts, those hands, hold me close.

"I'm here."

"I'm hurt, mother!"

"Not anymore, I'm here."

*******

Or has it.

The hands reach out to me, through the blinding light. And they barely graze my cheek. She is pulled away.

The haze settles once more.

*******

"Not anymore, I'm here."

*******

Crack!

Like a metronome.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Orthonomai! : "Stand up!" (Greek)

Basilias! : "King!" (Greek)

The Spirit Has Run Out Surprisingly Fast.

Thanks to a combination of work, a weird virus and a cold weather, the New Year spirit has gone AWOL. One week. That's how long it took to disappear. But then again, I'm celebrating the first healthy week since New Year's Day, so tally ho and all that I suppose.

It's been COLD in Chennai, and I know that statement will beget open mouthed disbelief from most of you, but yeah that's how it's been here. Global Warming, El Nino or whatever it is, it's a pain to get up from the cocoon you've created out of a random mix of blankets, sheets, clothes, and whatever else is on your bed, for an 8 AM class. No relief in thinking that this cold wave will pass because then we'll be back to The Usual Chennai Weather, namely The Center Of The Sun.

Now that I've got this post off to a horrifyingly cliched start by talking about the weather, let me vent some steam that's been kept under wraps for much too long.

@IfItAintBigItAintForMe - If you want something big I suggest you go check out porn sites.

@RandomAssholesWhoDon'tGiveAFuck - Guess what? I don't either, that you don't. But then if you come and crib at the end of it all, it only means "You should have.".

Whew. That feels good. Now, if you're reading this and feeling affronted, there's a good chance I meant you.

A weird virus has been doing the rounds and yours truly was among the first to spread it around. Lesson learnt : If antibiotics don't work, try brandy + hot water. In generous amounts. For all the teetotalers, I'm sorry but that worked for me. You're gonna have to figure out your own cure.

I cannot wait for this month to end. Bad blood has been flowing by the barrel, and it's going to be a stretch to last this one out. So, I really need this.

"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, And wisdom to know the difference."

Check out the links prowling across the top of this page. It's a lesson in JIT. When you come to LIBA on the 26th and 27th of this month please come and find me, and I shall show you the smallest source of energy in the Universe. 

@Kosu, yes, I meant you earlier. Please get well soon. :(

@MyBestFriend - I know you're watching me type this, but just in case you're pretending not to pay attention, can we stop fighting about random, abstract stuff and get on with some more solid stuff? Part of that depends on you talking to me. Ah, now you see where I'm going with this. :)

@BabyBoo - I love you! :)

@Bud - You're going to be a star by the end of this month. So, just do what you gotta do, and let The Guy Upstairs take care of the rest. Rock maadi.

All together now.

New Year. Old Blog. New Look.

First day of the New Year, and since I'm going to take the "resuscitate blog" thing seriously, I thought why not a makeover. After messing around with the Template Design quite a bit, I finally settled on this simple preset template.

Also notice the cool scrolling links on top, yeah, I know enough HTML to get me into trouble. But on a more serious note, those links point to the biggest event in any LIBA-ite's calendar. If you're a LIBA-ite, click! If not, click anyway!

I notice that [untitled]/[undecided] has finally caved in to the spirit of the times and carved his New Year resolutions in stone (...eerily similar to mine...), again. Go check it out on his spanking new website, The Road To Kingdom Come. A hilarious read.

@Will Write For Food : I'm back. Rejoice. Now, can we start thinking about our "Top Secret Project That I Mentioned A Couple Of Times And You Shot Down"? Again?

@El Misti let's do this together shall we? I shake up my blog, you shake up yours. My blog updates tracker shows "El Misti 1 year ago". Which is pretty hypocritical seeing as I carefully time my updates to prevent the same.

So, a new year, and we tell ourselves that it's a fresh, blank canvas all over again.

Funny, how silly and yet true that is.

Gotta Get This Up And Running...Again.

I've been thinking of putting something up here for a long time. An original creation. But sadly that department seems to have shut up shop. Or there's no room for it inside my head right now. Whichever it is, point is that I have written mostly zilch in a long time. If you discount the BS on the many answer papers, I have written exactly zilch.

There are no weird ideas floating around in my head. Which is kinda disturbing, because I never seemed to lack that Dali-ciousness. :(

And now, we've worked our way all the way down to the last week of the year. An eventful one. So I'm gonna go over it once more, and see how it's all balanced out. January was the month of hope. New Year starting out, and a lotta things on the To Do list. Most of which were the same reasons I quit my job for. Exam after exams after exam. Still not enough courage to chuck it all and follow some diaphanous dream. Still enough sense left in me not to chuck it all and follow some diaphanous dream.

February. CAT results come out, eventually. Punch in the gut. Now what? Got no answer to the question "So, what are you doing now?". Some questions of my own now. But still, there's the LIBA interview to look forward to.

March 26th is the LIBA interview, and on March 21st I manage to tear the ligaments in my left ankle. Hobbled on one leg to Chennai, and to LIBA for the interview. Horrible GD, great interview. Met my soon-to-be best friend at the GD. LIBA was the best one I had in my kitty till now, and I hoped I'd done enough.

April brought doubts, and questions, and more questions. Specifically, "Now what?". The "I knew it." look reserved for all those who fall because they strayed off the beaten track was beginning to make it's presence felt. Basketball-wise I was close to regaining peak form, now that the injury had healed. Creativity-wise, I was probably hitting an all time high. The Wacom Bamboo was my weapon of choice, and I was practically invincible. Somehow that seemed to give me the bare minimum self-confidence.

May and I was on the LIBA waitlist. With no more information, or hope of conversion. Desperate times, and Bank PO tests were beginning to look interesting. "Screw the dream, I need a job."

June 2nd. "Why was your phone switched off?! You had a call from LIBA! Call them back!". Damn! No balance. Run to town. Recharge. "Hello? Yeah, I got a call about a seat? Yes, I'm interested. Ok. On 7th. Thank you.". Improptu jig in the middle of the town. I'm telling you man, it felt like coming up for air. Whoosh. Pack up. Fly. Enter LIBA.

July. New life. New friends. Guitar Man, even though I was a rank amateur. Somehow managing to court controversy by everything I did. Or didn't. The people who mattered didn't care though, for a change. Thank God.

August. September. October. More of the same. Parties. Friends. Enemies. Patch-ups. Phone calls. Recharges. Recharges. Recharges. Surprises. Fights. Irrational ones. Rational ones.

November. I have Direction. Interviews. Screwing up GDs. Again. Renault-Nissan. But accidents still happen. "Trust" is a small word, but heaven knows how much it signifies. Guardian angels. Superman still can't fly. But that's no reason to stop being Superman, is it?

December. "Now!". The tension. The panic. And the smiles. It IS worth every drop of sweat, every twinge of pain, every throbbing headache, every tired yawn. The smiles are what make them all worth it. Blank a week before the exams. Last minute swotting. "Screw this, I'm gonna do this my way." Surprise, surprise, it works. Counterstrike. "Fire in the hole!". Still works. "O Holy Night". Everyone stops chattering. Goosebumps. "Merry Christmas y'all!". All I want for Christmas is to go home. Home. "So this is what you look like!". Serendipity. :)

And now, checklist time.

• Nope. Still can't dunk. Can barely run round the court.
• Haven't got a Bucket List yet. Dunno why.
• Oh hell yeah, I can play Wake Me Up When September Ends! :)
• No, it's so not cool to lose my cool. Strikeout!
• I sing out loud. Everyone in the vicinity of C-25 will vouch for this.
• No maniacal driving. Don't feel the need to get anywhere faster than I can.
• Orkut kaput!
• The receding hairline is being successfully countered by longer hair. :P
• Mission IMDB 250 is going strong!
• Writing more often is something I promise to promise to do. :P

That's a fairly good strike rate, I think. Onward ho. I'm thinking, "Roll With The Punches" should cover all resolutions for 2011.