GOOGLE MAPS, GOOD-DAY BISCUITS, GOVERNMENT AND MY GLADIATOR

All of us have taken life for granted. We assume our loved ones, and our favorite objects will be eternal. We do not realize their value until they are long gone. Very few among us are given a second chance. We find our lost love again. I am one among those. 

I was caught up in the nitty-gritties of life. I had used my bike for mundane commuter riding. I had not given its regular wash and polish. An air filter had to be replaced. On Saturday, most of friends told me they could not come for a bike trip. DRC was housefull. So i set off on my own journey.

The destination was Waynad, Kerala. I set off at 7 AM. Google maps lied to me. The village people told me that the road was non-existent. Nagarhole National Park was straight ahead, and when i did reach the gate, i was turned back. Bikes were not allowed. Government policy. I was given two options to reach Waynad. One was through HD Kote and the other via a non-descriptive village. I chose HD Kote. I had to pass through a Tibetean settlement called Gurupura. It was AMAZING! I don't think it is on the map. The streets resemble a town with forgotten people. The old men and empty streets told a tale of their own, that of longing for one's motherland.

The road to HD Kote is fraught with potholes, enough to sink the newly formed Government. On some stretches, it is butter smooth. The lush greenery on either side surprised me. It was greener than Mandya. A few kilometers and i hit the town of HD Kote. Dusty and arid describe it best. From there, i reached Kabini Dam. The resort business is booming, while the government school has been shutdown.

As soon as i took the road to Waynad, deja-vu. It was only a few years back that we had made the trip by the same road. The cab had taken a beating. The only change i saw was a mud road replacing the boulders and craters. The district-in-charge minister could have repaired it a long time back. 

Instead he chose to upgrade to a Scorpio.

I could not take it anymore. I was tired of taking diversions. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. At a pit stop, with the farmers staring why in the world would a guy wear FOX biking gear on a Gladiator, I decided to make the return journey home. 

It was easier said than done. My eyelids dropped. It was as if the bike drove itself. On the last biking trip, i rode 100 kms in one hour, non-stop. This time, i could not even cover 20 kms without a break. I took a lot of timeouts. Good-day biscuits and chocolates were my chow. 

When i made it home, safe, sane and sound, i kissed my bike. We had found love again. Our trust had been restored. I took the bike for service and even replaced the air filter.

There is fresh air in our lungs.

Be a Gladiator to ride one?

from sewage to stomach-fresh fish

a drawing lost to time

Pole of wires vs flowers

March of the farmers

Limping ahead in life

"Rolling Stone", village style

LOST IN LIFE, FOUND BY A SAINT

I had no idea what i was going to do now. I had set a deadline for finding a job. It had passed. No oppurtunities on the horizon. Neighbours spoke in whispers about the boy who stays at home. Family posed questions on marriage and paying insurance. I was lost, for words and for myself.
Dornahalli is a small hamlet off the Mysore-Hassan highway. Legend has it that a wooden doll resembling St.Anthony was found here. A farmer was ploughing his fields when he dug up the doll, and miracles and omens were set in motion. Nobody goes back home empty handed. St.Anthony answers your prayers. He is the patron saint of all things lost and found. I was wandering and He found me.
I set off with a friend on a Sunday morning. The drive was excellent. The Catholic influence was obvious in the villages. Turkeys replaced chickens. But even they couldn't help but cross the road.  Crosses on the house replaced the usual dung. But, the village charm was still there.Read more on chickens and country chicks
In the vast lands, surrounded by fields both green and barren, lies the church. You can see it from a distance and hear the gong of its bell. Hardly ten were present for the Sunday Mass. An equal number of beggars at the entrance greeted us. We took a look around the church. It was calm and peaceful, a stark contrast to the feast of St. Anthony, when the faithfully congregate in their thousands.
I did have a look at the wooden doll. 'So, the legend is true' i said to myself. But, what blew my mind away was the painting inside of St.Anthony with a child in his embrace. I couldn't take my eyes of it. For the first time in a long time, i was surrounded by peace. I felt light. I felt elated, as if i had found something which was long lost.
I had packed some cake and bread. I distributed it among the poor, and soon we were on our way back to Mysore. All the way, i could not explain the strange yet happy feeling in my heart. Something in that place had touched my soul.
Back at home, lying in my bed, i closed my eyes for a nap, when it flashed me. I had found what i had lost, running behind deadlines and opinions of people, and the expectations of society.
I had found Myself.

FROM ONE MOTHER TO ANOTHER

A TEMPLE IN THE DISTANCE

OF COUNTRY CHICKS AND A CHICKEN

A ride into the countryside never gets boring. Just approaching the village on the highway, you sense the fresh air, the hay on the road, the farmer toiling away in the distance, the boys steering old cycle tires and the girls clutching their plaits. As you take in these sights, you have seconds to save the chicken that is crossing the road.
It is no more a joke. It never is a pleasant sight, a dead chicken. The roadkill sure doesn't have any resemblance to those served at KFC. Infact, you might attend the Kumbh Mela to wash off the sin. But that is least of your worries. Right now, you concern is, 'How am I going to explain this sh*t to the farmer?'
The farmer sure is not pleased. You have made the rooster a widower. The rooster will drown his sorrows in toddy liquor and not crow the next morning. Worst, you have snatched away from the farmer the local version of 'The Golden Goose'. His source of eggs, both for himself and The Egg Factory on Kormangala road is now scrambled.
You are negotiating whether a ride on your bike, your digital camera or your Aviators are the trading cards. Soon, the country bums join in and threaten to bash you up into, what else, chicken feed. In this commotion, your eyes, courtesy the male gaze and stare gene, fall upon the farmer's daughter and her friends. You realise why village chicks are known as pure, beautiful, simple and elegant.
But, this is only for a second. The daughter and her friends giggle at your gear and gloves, with that skull on your helmet. You seriously contemplate on one thought 'Man! are those sex surveys on villages true?'. 
Your options are to payup the farmer and beat it, or stay back as a guest, click pictures of the village life and  show the daughter and her girlfriends who's the real "Daddy". And the next morning, you're more faster than Farhan Akhar in Bhaag Milka Bhaag. But, alas! the country bugger and his cronies would not allow option two.
As you bid goodbye to the chicks in your rear view mirror, pop a smile, push the start button and throttle away, all you can say is, "Just another memory on a long distance ride".

IN SEARCH OF THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT-PART 2

For all the travelling, we could see some pilgrims going in the opposite direction by walk. They were heading into the jungle. Apparently, Lord Shiva had left the place long ago. The promise that no woman should enter had been broken. This was evident when we say some ladies praying inside. So he set up camp deep inside the jungle. We did not venture there.
We made our journey to a mutt. It was pretty old. The mutt incharge agreed to let us in. We left our luggage in the care of a little kid who studied in the mutt. He watched over it with all his little mite.
The mutt housed a museum of the monk who started it. It was quite intriguing. There was even a room where a mountain was created from corn.
Opposite to this place is a tiny hillock. Stairs lead you up to a temple. Only one person can go in and one person can come out. You have to crawl to see the God. The space is the size of a carton box. It was one interesting experience.
We started off our long journey back to Mysore. We had a good 150 kms to cover. Driver fatigue did set in. So much so, that i could not stop in time before i knocked a poor lamb. It was alright. But it was a wake up call for me. A continuous riding strectch trying to prove my bravado could actually kill me, or make mutton out of a lamb.
We reached Mysore pretty late. I dropped him at the hostel and made my way to my home. It was a good ride. We almost found the Hermit in the mountains. Almost...

Inside the cave temple

The wishing tree

Me and my mounts

IN SEARCH OF THE MOUNTAIN HERMIT-PART 1

Chamarajnagar. The place drives shivers into spines of Chief Ministers', for they have lost power within months of visiting this place.Its cursed.

The place is also famous for a hermit, who reportedly got angry and went to seek solace in the mountains. A condition to any pilgrim who wants to visit his shrine, no women should be allowed inside the sanctum santorum. Men from all walks of life come to seek his blessings. The journey is tough, whether you take the road or test your faith by walking. I put my faith in my bike. Along with a classmate who was knew the place well as my pillion, we set off to Malai Mahadeshwara Hills, aka MM Hills. 

The journey was tough. You have to negotiate the private buses of T. Narasipura. These drivers are a combo of Sebastean Vettel and the Grim Reaper. We entered the vast lands of Kollegal, where political neglect was evident. The people have taken to the Gods than the government. Their names give away this fact. Simon coexists with Shiva. A breakfast of puris and freshly ground chilli paste later, with set off on the grueling journey which goes into the hills. Hairpin bends exist, so do the potholes which throw you off-balance. The monkeys are your constant companion, apart from the grueling heat which bears down upon you.

It was a test of bike, biker and pillion. Occasional stops helped to stretch our muscles and relax our brains. 

We did pull in to the temple. A quick wash at the pond and we were at the temple premises. It was maintained very well. Thankfully, it was not crowded. A gold cast face on the lingam, with the moustache greeted us. We were in the abode of Shiva.

It was afternoon and we were hungry. Thankfully, the place offered free meals as prasadam. We had a simple, yet delicious meal with the famous singers of MM Hills singing chants to the Lord in the background. 

The singers of the Lord

The temple

Malai Mahadeshwara

JAMMING IN JAMMIES WITH JAMULAPATI AT OOTY- DAY 2

After having pizza at Dominos, falling in a crush with a girl who worked there, and getting lost in the dark, we reached our pit stop for the night, YWCA hostel, Coonoor. We got our rooms and just plonked on our beds. We could not sleep. So Vikram rattled off his life experience in college and girlfriends lost. He started to weep and had a running nose too. But he was not overcome by emotion. Instead, the smoke from the mosquito coil got the better of him.

We started early the next morning. A healthy breakfast of dosas, sambar and coffee fueled us. We headed to  Dolphin nose and surrounding areas. It was breathtaking. A narrow road, mist, blind curves and to top it all, a fall 200 feet down. We did reach the place, sipping tea and eavesdropping on the legend that lovers commit suicide here; a fall so great that body remains fit into matchboxes. That sent shivers down our spine.

Next were a few gardens here and there. We left after a light lunch, at Dominos, again and for the last time, i saw the girl on whom i had a crush. From there, we took the longer route back to Mysore. The road was pretty bad and Vikram raced ahead. He even overtook a Volvo and almost collided head-on with a truck. I rode a little cautiously. I did steal a few glances of the tea estates below. 

We had to speed up. The gates at the Karnataka border closed at 6 PM. Once we had crossed it, the drive through Bandipur was awesome. The light was fading, and the animals were out. I saw a wild elephant and a Gaur. This massive beast was elegant. This was the first time i was seeing one at close range in the wild. I finally caught up with Vikram, and after a cup of coffee later, the journey towards home began.

I enjoyed this journey. The early morning walk, freshly brewed tea and simplicity of life charmed me. Ooty and Coonoor are a must visit for any biker. The biker soul gets revved up after a ride to these places. One of the best long distance rides i ever undertook.

JAMMING IN JAMMIES WITH JAMULAPATI AT OOTY- DAY 1

15 minutes to go before the exam. I was outside the hall when i saw a boy studying under the shade of a tree. I had a quick chat with him. Five years later, he was my biker bud on my first inter-state ride.
Vikram was your chocolate boy, with good looks and a great sense of fashion. He had the same bike as me.  His knowledge of books was quite impressive and since i was an avid reader myself, our friendship grew stronger. After my Master's exams were over, Vikram suggested that we go to Ooty. It would also be the first time i had stayed overnight during a bike ride. My parents agreed and off we rode to the beautiful place.
Vikram was the perfect guy for this. He had studied in Ooty and had been there before by bike. He knew places which were not found in tourist maps. The road to Ooty, the one with hairpin bends was a tough one. I had a clumsy bag tied at the back which often shifted its weight. I was left with no choice but to carry it on my shoulders, which tired me. The bikes were put under stress up the steep incline. Yamaha Gladiators were not meant for this. The worse part was when a SUV full of gorgeous girls was parked at the side, and the bike just stopped, as if to stare at them. It would not move from there. The incline was just too much. I was left huffing and puffing, trying to push the bike.
The cold air, the mist, the smell of tea and the sight of those tea-workers with baskets filled with green leaves; no matter how many times you visit, you never get tired of the place. The old British style houses told a tale of their own. Our first stop was a grave. The peace i found in that place was just surreal. It was a very old one, with some graves dating back to the 1800s. The in-charge of the place was kind enough to let us inside the chapel.
After many churches and schools, we made a stop at a park, where we spotted an old guy, his young wife and two photographers who made them pose in awkard positons. This was when i came up with my most innovative phrase for lovers in public places, 'Mr & Mrs. Dick Banger'.