Wah.

Aamir bhai, salaam.

Genesis

Have you ever embarked on an adventure that seems like an adventure to you, but folly to the rest of the planet?
Something that seemed like fun to do where you were concerned - sure, a tad risky, a tad unsafe, but fun nonetheless - but insanely idiotic to everybody else.
They'd sound dire warnings, and they'd cajole and curse, and yell and scream, and throw their hands up in despair.
They'd quiz you about the practicality of your plan and shoot it down. That whole other jazz... you know. Common sense.
But you'd still go ahead and do it. Because.
And halfway through that madcap scheme, when there was no light at the end of the tunnel, and the world looked dreary and dark and bleak, and it seemed as if those guys were right after all, and you were not - right then, you'd wonder whether you should turn back.
And just when your shoulders drooped, and your head hung low, out would pop the impish grin.
"Balls!" you would say with a manic laugh. "I'm gonna do this! Hah!"

Kulkarni lives for those moments. That's his raison d'etre.

And a little outside of Dhavengere, when the cold wind blew effortlessly through the calcium in his bones, and the road rode roughshod underneath his steed's newly shod rubber, and when he took the bike to the side of the road and did a series of little jumps to keep himself awake - that's when Kulkarni had his Magic Moment.

Because who else would choose to ride a 100c bike from Bangalore to Pune in the last week of December? Voluntarily, that too.
Who else would be standing on the shoulder of the roughest patch of NH-4, at 1 at night, hopping from one foot to the other in a bid to keep himself awake?
Me!

It hadn't seemed such a bad idea when the planning was underway. Leave at two in the afternoon, ride hard until midnight, sleep at a lodge. Ten hours at an average of fifty kilometers to the hour - and that's more than half the journey done.

I should be in Pune by around two in the afternoon, easy as pie.

I had, as I mentioned earlier, a newly furbished Yamaha, fitted from head to toe with new genuine spare parts. It shone and it glittered. It had a refurbished headlamp assembly, new spokes, new shockers, new speedo, new cables, new wiring, new tires, new levers, a new seat, new gas filled shockers at the back, a new carb, a new air filter, a new tail lamp assembly, a new fuel-cock, a new spark plug, a new fuel tank and an old chassis.

And an old me.

The bike was delivered to me, sparkling bright and ready to go, at 11 in the morning. All I had to do was show up at work, do no work, and leave by two in the afternoon.

At one thirty in the afternoon, I realized that I had no gloves, and no woollen cap. In December, with night riding involved, somewhat necessary accessories.
At two in the afternoon, a colleague requested that he be dropped home, else he would miss his flight.
And at two thirty, I was stuck in a traffic jam, en route to said colleague's home.
At five, I was done with shopping for said articles.
And at six thirty, I was finally outside Bangalore city, on NH-4.
850 kilometers to go, plus around four hours of sleep. So say 22 hours or so.

Here we go now. Hang on, me dearies.
:)

Because It Seemed Like A Good Idea

Almost a year ago, exactly to the day.
22nd of December, 2006.

On a bike that had been recently refurbished, head to toe.
Recently being 22nd of December, 2006, 11 a.m.

Through a bitterly cold winter night.
On a highway that is not really much of anything.

A ride that took me all of twenty six hours.
Including six hours of shivering in a blanket at a A1 Reliance Petrol Pump.

An engine that seized up twice, oil that needed topping up twice, a fuel tank that was met a fuel nozzle five times in one day.
A bike that ran out of fuel, a lunch that took nearly two hours, Punekar truckers who played Good Samaritans and a bike ride that was a bike ride.

Kulkarni rode to Pune on the 22nd of December, 2006 - and what follows will tell you how.
:)



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Now playing: Hootie and the Blowfish - Let Her Cry
via FoxyTunes

For Ninety Minutes

Brothers will no longer be brothers.
Bonds that have lasted years will be broken.

Choice abuses will traverse oceans, and ill will will be in the air.
Events and circumstances that will make one wince in pain will make the other dance with joy.

8000 miles away, two brothers will, for the duration of ninety minutes, not be brothers.

And when the skies have cleared and the sun shines through again, one of us will call the other and laugh hysterically. And the other will suffer in silence.

And after those crucial ninety minutes, we will be brothers in arms again.

After Man. Utd. thrash Liverpool's sorry ass, that is.
There will be an opinion to the contrary in the comments below soon enough, but you know how it is with those Liverpudlians. Now what to do?
:)

C'est La Vie. Sometimes.

I have late breakfasts.
I listen to Kishore Kumar songs.
I read a book - start to finish - in one day.
I watch a football game in the evening.
And I'm asleep by 11.


On Saturday.

Kulkarni wishes to defend himself. In dignified tones he addresses the multitude who howl at him in disgust. He does not stoop to such civilized acts every weekend.
No sirree.

Even today, Kulkarni goes to Pecos for the express purpose of having breakfast and comes back home at eight in the night.
Even today, Kulkarni rides through the night to reach Pune to attend a wedding in Jalgaon.
Even today, Kulkarni can drink through the night - and every now and then, Kulkarni does so.

But there are weekends when Kulkarni likes nothing more than to wake up at 10 in the morning, have a heavy breakfast, lie in bed with a nice thick book. And c'est tout.


When I get bored of the usual excitements in my life.

Yeah, it happens. To all of us. Eventually.

I've got a coupla grey hairs on my head. And like it or not, so do you.

And contrary to the voiceferous opinions of the many wise-asses who pretend to be bosom buddies, I have more than one colour of hair on my pate.
Hah.

Wearing 'em down

I left my yellow slippers back in Boston.

I didn't want to - they'd grown nice and comfortable - but there was no room in the bags. Gifts and daaru bottles and clothes and books took precedence.

But I wish I had my old yellow slippers.

Because you know how it is with slippers, right? When you buy them, they're not very pliant. Tough and uncomfortable, they pinch your feet and don't bend when you walk.

Over time, as you wear them everyday, they grow a little softer. Your weight (and in my case, that is no understatement) wears down the hard edges and the slippers develop little grooves around the shape of your feet. The slipper becomes a little soft, a little old, and a little more comfortable.

Eventually, your slipper can be worn only by you. The grooves become pronounced, and they fit closely and snugly around your feet. They become your slippers. And you know that this will happen.

But as with all good things, that takes time. And in the case of slippers, you have to wait a good couple of months.

So as I said, I wish I had not left my old yellow slippers back in Boston. I had them for over a year and a half, and they'd become mine.

I have new ones now, and I have a couple of months to go.
Before my slippers become mine.