Kanchi!!

Planning had begun a couple of days ago when Ashish(Ashaan) got his N-th hand, Diesel Bullet. Awesome machine, 1972 model, with the tiny problem that it’s a hell of a job to get it started. The engine is a kinda mini generator, so you have to get it turning first and then time your power kick so that it gets started up, highly technical job… :D We still haven’t mastered it.



We had planned to hit the road at 6.30 am, so dat we could escape the blazing heat that starts at around 8. So we all got up at 8. Anyways, finally me, Paul and Sunesh reached Ashaan’s house by around 9 and for an hour we tried various methods of getting the bike started. Nothing doing. We tried to jump start it by pushing it and putting it in 2nd gear. No go. On the verge of cancelling the trip, Ashaan got Gopi, the original mechanic who’d sold him the bike. He came along, gave two kicks and vroom. We were all standing around with our jaws hanging open. Finally we started the trip at around 11. Sunesh and me on, Purple, my trusty Star City. Paul and Ashaan, on the Amazing Thumper. By this time the sun was on full blast.



The road we took joined up the Kanchi Road after a while. This road was through some kinda desert land or something. There was nobody in sight, and the vegetation consisted of some shrubbery. It was flat sandy plain for miles around. And bloody dusty and bumpy road frequented by truck that threw up mini dust storms in their wake. By the time we got to Kanchi Road, we were well and truly exhausted. But from there it was a beautiful highway through a slightly less of a desert. But a desert nonetheless. There was a railroad running parallel on the right side. On the left was a vast expanse of flat sands. Dotted with the odd vegetation. The road was good and there wasn’t much traffic. Walajabad was the only semblance of a town along the way. We stopped there for fuel, and landed in Kanchipuram at around 12.



Then we realized we had no idea where to go. So we decided to think bout it over lunch. All the while we joked about the exercise that awaited us, ie, getting the Bullet started again. Getting out after a heavy lunch, we noticed a doctors’ clinic next to the hotel. “Dr. GRAMAR” it said. Wow, what a name. But careful inspection showed a previously unseen ‘.’ between ‘G’ and ‘R’. They guy’s name was ‘G. Ramar’. Which brought us back to the task at hand. Each of us tried to kickstart it with no success, so Ashaan took my bike n went in search of a mechanic. The bike itself had attracted a small crowd, walking around it, looking at the shiny carrier boxes on each side, and three guys desperately trying to start it. So we were getting tensed as people started advising us how to start the bike. Finally somehow I got it started, Sunesh called Ashaan back, and we roared out of there.



We asked our way to Kanchi Kamakshi Amman Temple. That is the most famous temple in Kanchi. And that’s where we discovered that all temples are closed till 4. The time now was 1. 3 hours to kill. A persistent tout led us into a nearby sari shop. Given the heat we were pretty thankful to get into anywhere that had a fan. Thus four clueless guys started sari shopping. The guy in the shop started displaying sari after sari after sari. Each one was more beautiful than the next. I had no idea. It was like some foreign language movie without subtitles. Is there some kinda secret you have to know while shopping for saris, because I was totally lost. In the end only Ashaan and Sunesh bought saris. Ashaan got two for his girlfriend. Me and Paul stood around making excuses as to why we dint want sarees. “No sisters”. “All younger brothers”. “Not married”.



Finally we made it 2 pm and and went to Kanchi Kamakoti Mutt. The current sankaracharya, disciple of Swami Jayendra Saraswati, was seated at the further end of the mandapam, but would see devotees only at 4.30. However, a group of people, board members and their families, I think, were talking to him animatedly. The Mutt had a wax statue of Swami Chandrasekharendra Saraswati. It was so lifelike, that it was difficult to believe it was just a statue.



A guy who saw Ashaan’s bike outside the ashram, came to us trying to see if it was for sale. This happened a lot too. This is the object of desire, in all it’s glory. People around here have some kind of instinctive respect for anyone who drives one of these. He talked to us about how he had one of these and sold it only last month. He gave Ashaan his number, promising to call if he had another one for sale



From there we went to Ekaambaranathar Temple. It’s a Shiva temple, and it was 2 mins walk from the Mutt. So we went there and waited for half hour for it to open.



This is the gopuram of the temple. If you look from a height over Kanchi you can see lots of these gopurams. All the big temples have this style of gopuram.





These temples are not jus places of worship. They’re of archaeological value also. Each temple was built by famous kings of the past. It’s a wonder how they built up such a huge structure using heavy stone blocks without the help of either cranes or cement.



This gopuram is part of the outer wall. There is an inner wall too, around the temple as such. There’s a hall outside the sanctum. It’s got a lotta pillars with carvings. This is one of the pillars.




Then we went inside the temple. Paul stayed outside, because he got freaked out by a sign board saying “non hindus not allowed”. Me, Sunesh and Ashaan went around inside the temple. The inside of the temple is lined with 1008 shiva lingams, among other idols of deities. The temple houses a 3500 yr old mango tree. The tree is supposed to have four branches each of which gives a different tasting fruit. This tree gives the temple it’s name. It was under this tree that Kamakshi did penance for many years, and then Shiva married her under this tree. ‘Eka’ à One. ‘Amara’ à Mango tree. Ekambaranatharà Shiva.



From there we went back to the Kanchi Kamakshi Amman temple. There were two elephants outside, which would ‘bless’ us if we put 2Rs. as ‘kanicka’. This elephant was not getting much attention, as most people were going to it’s partner, so it was tryin to steal from the other one. :)





Inside the temple it was very crowded, and it took a long time to get to the ‘sannidhi’. A priest there gave us prasaadam of red kumkum. After we got out, we walked around the inside wall. This is the temple pond.



From there we could see the golden gopuram above the Sanctum. This is directly above the central idol.



We put red kumkum tilaks on our foreheads and our bikes and went on to the biggest temple in Kanchi, the last one on our list, Varadaraja Perumal temple. We reached there around 5.30. The gopuram was huge. Bigger than the other two temples.




The temple architecture was also more ornate than the other temples. There was a mandapam which had 100 pillars. And each pillar had elaborate ornamental carvings around it.


Here it wasn’t as crowded and we got to see the deity from really close up. The ‘prathishta’ here is Mahavishnu. It was around 6 by the time we got out. And again a 10 min exercise of starting Ashaan’s bike. Which again attracted a small crowd. Which was ended by me starting it on 2nd try. From there it was smooth highway non-stop to Chengalpet.



We stumbled back home at 8 at night. Exhausted to the bone, but having enjoyed every bit of the trip. The tripping has just begun. Next week, Mahabalipuram!!

Irony

I look around me. And I see Irony everywhere.

I see people working 12, 14 hours a day and then complaining that they hate their jobs. Talented singers, sportspersons, authors. They sit at their desks all day long. When they were kids they dreamt of being singers, sportspersons, authors. Now, everybody dreams the same thing. Deadlines. Meetings. Appraisals. And of course, they all have a dream job. You know, singer, sportsperson, author. It always remains a dream. Maybe that’s why they call it a dream job. As young, idealistic teenagers, they prided themselves on being different, unique. Now, they look around and realize, they’re the same as that guy in the next cubicle. Or is he in the same cubicle, they’re not really sure.

Everyday, I am astounded by how complicated life has become, when we’re actually trying to make everything simpler. Every step we take we have to make a million decisions. Some of them downright pointless, but necessary. Say, getting a sandwich from Subway. You’ve got two minutes to decide before the guy behind you in line asks you to speed up. Two minutes, you have to decide which bread, what vegetables, what sauces, the works. I mean for a person not used to making decisions, in there you’re making them like lightning. “Wheat bread”. “Cheese, but don’t toast it”. And then you finally get your custom-made sandwich, and you start eating it and wonder, “This tastes the same as the one I had yesterday”. It’s like playing Mario. You know the Princess is at the end of the last level, but to get there you have to get through all the levels before it. To get to the sandwich, you must go through all those decisions. For a sandwich.

The bureaucracy stumps me. Here we have people whose job is to get us the documents we need. They try everything in their limited power to not get them to us. We fill out five, ten different forms in triplicate with photocopies of obscure certificates. You have to prove that you were born. Incidentally, that fact that you are standing right there is not enough proof. Some of these certificates are so ancient that you have to handle them in temperature controlled environments. That’s not the end of it. If you’re lucky, you’ll have to “get them attested by a gazetted officer”. Now, this person is not your ordinary government official. And unfortunately for you, he/she knows it. You go at 3 in the afternoon. “Sir/Madam is not back from lunch”, says the disinterested watchman. You have your own deadlines, meetings, appraisals to worry about, so you return to your cubicle and go back the next day at 11. “Sir/Madam has gone for lunch”, says the same disinterested watchman. Eventually, you discover that these people appear/disappear from their offices at speeds approaching, sometimes even exceeding, that of light. And, that your only real hope is the disinterested watchman, who for “something something”, will get you whatever you want, signed, in 2 days flat. How does he get them to sign that form? I mean, does he threaten them with Chinese Torture? I really have no idea how he does it. This guy is the cornerstone of the entire system. Take the watchman/peon out of the equation and you have a system where nothing gets done. Nothing.

I hear young couples everywhere use words like “giving you your space”, “taking time out”, “going too fast”. Because, out of the blue, her “cute little habits” have become “irritating tics”. He used to be “very protective”, but now he’s “just too possessive”. Simply put, what was once magic, is now routine. I mean, how is it a surprise? Didn’t you know who you were falling in love with? Thanks to Archies, Hallmark et al, “Love” masquerades as tiny, cute, porcelain figurines, that are “nice to touch and hold, but if broken consider sold”. Also the cards, with deep, insightful messages like “You are the light in my dark”. What is this, some kind of soap opera? Will we ever realize that there’s more to love than just falling in it?

The Olympics fascinates me. Higher, Faster, Stronger. Dedicated people from all around d the world competing for everlasting glory. Ethiopia, famine country. Hunger is just another feeling, like feeling sleepy. The long distance running medals have already been booked. Cuba, wars against a military leader, gang wars, drug wars. Their boxers pummel the hide off anyone else in the ring. China, ravaged by a devastating earthquake months before their Magnum Opus. The opening ceremony leaves the world spellbound. India. One billion people celebrate a first ever individual gold medal. Somewhere along the way something went sadly wrong. How can men and women from lands torn apart by civil war, famine and nature’s wrath win medals by the basketful, while a seemingly prosperous nation, is satisfied with the lone medal every four years? It is important to do better than your competitor, but it is more important to do better than yourself. Somehow, we must have missed this chapter when Prepare For The Olympics was being taught.

Terrorism is everyone’s problem. But apparently, it’s because a particular group of people, sometimes referred to as a “party”, was ruling the land. Bombs exploding right and left. Killing people, scaring the hell out of the rest. And you hear “the people’s representative”, on a 24/7 news channel, no less, declaiming loudly that the ruling party has “failed the people” by allowing the “attack against humanity” to happen. If nothing else makes you lose faith in democracy, this definitely will.

The environment is everyone’s problem too. Instead, it’s everyone else’s problem. As put quite elegantly by a soft-spoken software mogul, “We clean our homes and throw the garbage on the roads”. On a global scale, a treaty has been drawn up wherein every nation pledges to bring down pollution. Every single nation has ratified to it. Every single nation except the biggest defaulter. That’s a bit like hanging the pickpockets and fining the murderers. Where the environment is concerned, it shouldn’t even be a choice to make. But obviously, when you can make a bit more money by screwing the atmosphere, so be it. We know we don’t have another planet to escape to, and yet we go on destroying what remains of this. We wage wars, spend millions, to become masters of a strip of land on this tiny piece of cosmic flotsam. And yet we cannot take care of ourselves as a species. Everything and everybody we’ve ever known exists on this pale blue dot. How many more mistakes can we afford to make before we too go the dinosaurs’ way? Remember, the dinosaurs had the excuse of that great big asteroid. What excuse will we have?

For the million and one “24x7” news channels, any human catastrophe is a windfall. All they have to do is play, re-play ad infinitum, the 5 seconds of blurry footage caught from someone’s mobile camera, on screen, forever. This is done until the heat from that piece wears off. Hopefully for them, something else hugely interesting will have happened by then. Like a romance between two no-hope actors. Or a wardrobe malfunction.

We spend hours upon hours thinking about that bug in our code. We’re still thinking about it as we throw the garbage out onto the road. In between our attention is caught by some breaking news about Britney Spears getting a divorce. Again. Still thinking about it as we burn plastics and watch the fumes swirl up into the air, and voila. The smoke disappears every time, so lets burn some more.

Why do we do this? Why don’t we ever think about the things that really matter? How many of us throw that plastic bag in the general direction of the overflowing garbage pit, instead of into an empty bin that said “Recycle”? How many of us think we’re in love as that cute guy/girl in the cubicle next to ours smiles at us? How many of us celebrate seeing India at No. 11, fleetingly, in the medals tally instead of wondering why we aren’t up there at the top? How many of us do what we truly love to do? How many of us settle for ordinary?

I look around and I see Irony.

Conclusions, Confusions n' Contemplations...

I have come to a few conclusions.

First, 90% of India's beautiful girls live in Bangalore. Specifically, Koramangala. 7th Block.

Second, all of these girls have boyfriends.

Third, The Forum is just built to emphasise to all the sad, lonely guys, just exactly how sad and lonely we are.

Fourth, who cares. Being single rocks! (Who am I kidding, but what the hell, I'm on a roll here...!) :D

* * *

The Visweswariah Industrial and Technical Museum is not exactly Purple Haze, but if you want to see a kid's wondering gaze, this is where you go.

The kid I took along was a 5yr old in the guise of a 22yr old.

Thankfully, I had another level headed friend for providing dynamic support.

At first there was thrill and wonder.

"Wow, spark plugs!"

"How pulleys work!"

"Wow! Look at that!"

"Wow! See? See?"

And then there was curiosity.

"Look at that, I wonder how that's done ?"

"Lissajous patterns?"

"It's a mirror, right?"

And finally, there was pure mischievousness.

"I wonder what would happen if I pushed that button?"

"I want to push that button."

"I want to pose with the spaceman. And the dinosaur. And the rocket. And another rocket."

* * *

Inside The Forum, Landmark's my favourite destination.

They just let you sit around, provided seats are free, and read for any length of time.

Which is not the case about a hoity-toity Chinese restaurant with a nasal sounding name.

I was first to the place so I sat at a table and waited till my friends could arrive.

In those five minutes, I was asked for my order three times, and how much longer I needed.

The place was half empty, it was not like people were falling over themselves outside, waiting for a table.

Courtesy, whither thou?

* * *

Time keeps moving. Without a care in the world.

It doesn't care whether you keep up or not.

Eventually, you'll get dragged along anyway.

There are only a few things worse than waiting outside Forum, alone, on a cold Sunday evening.

And one of them is contemplating what could be and what could've been.

Fallen Angel...

Fallen angel, you’re shrouded in mystery,

Desolate eyes, speak of a pain yet unspoken,

And though you’re divine, you look like one who’s broken,

Fallen angel, sing a song that will set you free,


Moonbeams dance off your tresses,

And the twinkling of stars I do hear,

When you whisper oh-so-softly,

Fallen angel, sing a song that will set you free,


Do you fear the wrath of the heavens?

Or the fall from amidst immortals,

To harsh, earthly mortality?

Fallen angel, sing a song that will set you free,


What fears you hide in your eyes,

I’ll never know, until you look this way,

A life’s story lies hidden in those orbs,

Fallen angel, sing a song that will set you free,


Sing a song of the hurt inside you,

And the pain as they cut off your wings.

Let me hear why you live this life,undeserved.

Fallen angel, sing a song that will set you free,


You were born to soar so high,

Now you live this cruel life down here,

And yet not a cry of sorrow?

Fallen angel, sing a song that will set you free…

What do you do...

A lot of people hate Eminem...I mean they don't even know this guy and yet they hate him...And behold his success...

If an artist, any artist, is able to bring forth real emotion, then he's been successful...

And Eminem is able to do that...A lot of people don't understand rap at all...It's not music, they say, it's just someone talking...I was one of those people...

And then I tried Googling the lyrics of "Sing For The Moment"...That's some really powerful words there...especially the last verse...

I'm not an Eminem fan, I can't understand most of his songs...but there are a few of his songs that really connect...

"Sing For The Moment" is one... The other one is "When I'm Gone"....

The first few lines of "When I'm Gone" go like this...

"Have you ever loved someone so much, you'd give an arm for?
Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for?
When they know they're your heart
And you know you were their armour
And you will destroy anyone who would try to harm 'her
But what happens when karma, turns right around and bites you?
And everything you stand for, turns on you, despite you?
What happens when you become the main source of her pain?..."

And really, what do you do...

I wonder...