Heppy Budday!!!

One whole year of attempting to entertain the world with my rantings, my ravings, and the odd modicum of common sense.
A year when the blog, and I, shifted base from Pune to Bangalore.
A year in which I discovered Pecos, discovered Sahib Sindh Sultan, and the white hats that the Bangalore police wear. Which, on reflection, is about all that can be said for the city. Don't get me wrong, it's not a bad place at all - but this is about all that's better than Pune. A point that I may have occasionally touched upon over the last year or so on this page.
A year in which I discovered that I can ride a bike when Bacchus is in complete control of my faculties - and I certainly am not.
A year in which I discovered that I can ride the bike when in deep slumber (also a year in which I found out that Monsieur Castellino most certainly can NOT, but we'll let that pass), and most importantly, I can stay alive when we combine the two scenarios.
Not that I intend to do anything of the sort ever again.
Ever.
Mother promise.
My faith in beer, and all things Epicurean has been reaffirmed this year, and for the record, there is no place in Bangalore that makes tiramisu or mousse better than Ameeta (Amya, hint, hint!!!).
The two Amreekan biraadar log made thier annual pilgrimage to Dharti Maa, and both reunions were fittingly non-sober. I suspect there may be the odd flare-up with both of them for having called them by their correct nomenclature ( for they claim they're anything but Amreekan), but now what to do. Anything west of the Juhu Chowpatty...
The past twelve months have included one crazy ass trip to Mysore, one epic journey to Goa, one solo ride to Pune, and my first Bullet ride (to Chikmaglur).
Oh yeah. Also the year in which I discovered the true reason for earning money. Buying Bullets.
The memories of Gokhale and Pune grow ever more acute with every passing day. The smallest event, the most inconsequential of triggers can bring so many memories flooding back, and come to think of it, that's no bad thing. Memories are nice things, because they serve to remind you of the blast that was the past, and also because they give you something to work towards. Onwards to Pune, biraadar log - Dream On!
Raindrops fell on my head through the year, as they did on the pates of most of my mates, but the sun shone through again.
We got by with the help of our friends, in time honoured fashion.
Mallya pitched in as well. :)
Lots more that happened, and lots more that the Man up above has scripted for us, I'm sure (achcha?!)... but all in all, the jury's verdict is:

Life's Good.
Here's to another year of merry blogging.

Cheers, All.

Oh Pune!

It's the middle of May here in Bangalore. It's supposed to be hot and humid, sultry and sweaty, and up until yesterday, Bangalore lived up to it's billing.
But yesterday, dark clouds peeped over the horizon, hesitantly at first, and with gay abandon once they figured that they were being welcomed by all and sundry. It rained in the evening, and today has been anything but a midsummer's day.
It's been overcast, windy, grey and cool. It's got adrak chai and kanda bhaji written all over it. That kind of a day.
The kind of day when you look out the window and decide to bunk college. The kind of day when you decide to take the bike out for a spin.
Reach collge (all idiots who think that bunking college is about not going to college - go die), drink the day's first cuppa, and if that's your thing, the day's first sutta.
Think and ponder, chat and discuss, debate and pontificate. Get your gang up and ready, fill her up, and set off on the road to Sinhagad. Across Kothrud, over the new bridge next to Toll Hospital, onto the highway. Past the city, past Abhiruchi, across the glorious expanse of the Khadakwasla backwaters, with Peacock Bay over on the other side. On and on, until you reach the start of the Sinhagad Ghat.
Bikes in first gear now, a maximum of second. The cool wind on your face, maybe some drops of rain. The fresh smell of that newly wet earth, the almost dried out yellowish grass swaying in the breeze. The ever increasing vista, growing in scope and grandeur with every twist and turn of the ghat. The huddled vendors at the side of the road, with black tarpaulins flung over hastily erected bamboos - with their wood fires and and aluminium kettles and those glasses. A lady at the back, throwing in fresh batches of freshly cut onions dipped in that heavenly batter - glorious kanda bhaji with lasanachi chutney - moksha at 10 bucks a plate.
And finally the summit, windswept and bare - the howling wind in your ears and the incredible coolness on your face. You hug the jacket that you're wearing a little closer, and grin at each other in complete understanding.
The trek up to the very top, past the caves, past the darwaja, past the gardens, up to Dev Taaki. A glass of the impossibly cool water, and maybe a cup of tea. Another plate of kanda bhaji, now that I think of it.
And then the long drive back down, past the same tea vendors, back into town.
Although I vote for a spot of makyacha kanis (ear of corn) near Khadakwasla, with a leetle beet of nimbu, a leetle beet of salt, and a leetle beet of red chili powder. No?
The ride back into town complete, we make a temporary halt at Good Luck. Lunch would be a plate of Mutton Biryani, with a Bread Pudding to follow. Maybe a cup of chai, feefty feefty.
Now I want it to rain all the way to the hostel. Reach there thoroughly drenched, change into something dry, play a couple of games of TT... and in a couple of hours... good night.
Dedicated to all the Punekars I know. They might (and probably do) hate me for having written this... but now what to do.
Incurably homesick and proud of it.
Cheers, all.