The dark obese man, with the loose shirt hanging on his drooping shoulders, the first button opened, and the second one missing, with long stripes of brown and green amidst fading white (?) went about his job perfunctorily, taking my huge bag of rice, pulling it onto the billing machine. As it croaked out a grunt acknowledging him of the account it was summing, he put it inside a larger plastic bag and reached out for my large cover of Maggi. This man could pass off as one of those villains who, despite their huge collection of muscular tissues, fail to develop the kinetic energy when in a dual with the frail heroes of the Kannada filmdom. But, then, a man worth of the filmdom back home, was tying up plastic covers, and pulling things onto the billing machine, which sported out the intelligent numbers clearly declaring that the Judgement day was not far.
The aroma of Patel’s Groceries, Minneapolis, popularly known as the ‘Indian Store’ resembling the corner grocery shop in Girinagar, Bangalore, had made me more comfortable, than I ever was in the Cub Foods, the American chain of food supermarkets.
And I prided myself to be an adventurer, comfortable with new experiences.
Was I homesick already?
“Great camping spot. No availability of food, water, or medicine supplies. Totally amidst the nature,” my friend had declared with the excitement of khaki clad host of the Animal Planet, about a trekking trail that he had discovered in some magazine.
I stared at him as Basanti staring at Gabbar, when asked to dance on those broken glass pieces.
Fortunately, there was no another lunatic who would scream “Wow, LET’S GO!!! (Naach Basanti, naach)”. I succeeded in convincing the jungle boy to a milder trek in the BR Hills, on the western part of Karnataka, India (the milder trek did consist of walking through a protected forest, where there was no ‘protection’ for humans from our four legged friends. “No man eaters in South India” my friend quotes National Geographic, but ones eaten did not carry their cell phones into the tigers’ tummies, I guess). Did I turn up an opportunity to be adventurous?
Hey, before you start assuming that the greatest trek that we ever made would be the complete jogging track of Lalbagh, I would like to quote the two treks to Kumaraparvatha (rated as the toughest trek in Karnataka), the Tadiandamol (well, it certainly is not the toughest, but is pretty much hyped, so thot I will garner some celebrity endorsement), and the scary night at Bisle forest view point. We had survived the acute shortage of water in Kodachadri hills, and had survived the ruthless Kerala sun in the barren, and tough trek at Chembra, Waaynad. I had always thought that I had qualified as an adventurer.
Then came the amazing offer from my trekking guru. Three and a half days of climbing up and down, twelve hills surrounding the Horanaadu temple. It sounded amazing to listen, like the thousands who spend time in front of the Discovery channel, watching places with awe, places that they would never dare to visit. It was a great experience to pen a invitation mail to all my friends, and contacts, with exotic words ripped out of Dictionary.com (now, who would know the meaning of the word ‘peregrine’, especially, if you haven’t been through the wordlist for CAT).
The few days of discussions of the trek that followed were as exciting as can be, with all the topics of pay hike, cricket, and cool babes stashed away.
Then a vicious friend suggested a cool vacation in the sun-burnished beaches of Goa.
The trek collapsed!!!
After all, Goa is what ‘dil chahta hain’.
“One small step for Vatsa, one huge leap for software engineers of Bangalore,” announced my friend Vatsa, when we stepped onto the railway track, of the famed railway track trek between Sakleshpur, and Yedukumeri. Yes, it was nothing less than awesome with more than 57 bridges, and 30 tunnels in a span of 18 kms, in one day, amidst the bountiful greenery of the evergreen Western Ghats. The abandoned railway track (abandoned for the past 18 years) had the tunnels in ruins, with bats ruling the darkness of the damp, long tunnels, and the infinitely long bridges like the google mailbox (the more you cover, the more you get to cover). That night, the thrilling campfire experience amidst the habitat of the wild, was an experience burningly stamped on my memory for life. I would also remember the crave among the trekkers to be as middle in the crowd as possible, while queuing for sleeping places in the dilapidated structure (which was once a railway station), on the assumption that the wild cats would prefer to pull the ones at the last rather than the effort to prefer the ones in the middle. I had not ventured into the rat race, because of the extra gyan of having read books of hunters’ stories, where the ones in the middle were picked because of their smaller sizes. Hence, I was quite confident that only the tigers of Australia would prefer me (if there were any). My friends of smaller sizes had slept peacefully.
After reading this, they might not, anymore!!!
And yes, every cell in the body was crying out in pain, due to the trek.
The next morning, we had decided to abandon the further trek to Kukke Subramanya. Most of the enthusiasts had backed out, which had saved me from being the odd man out. A few enthusiasts were disappointed.
But, they were altruistic enough to oblige the others.
The cross country path that we took turned out to be more exciting than the railway track trek, with rivers to cross, deceiving paths, and truck rides. But then, when we had abandoned the trek, had the adventurer in us backed out? Was the adventurer there at all?
Would I be ready to attempt the unreasonable in my quest for adventure? Or would I be content enough to be reading exciting books, and penning vignettes on the same?
Was I an adventurer? Or a couch adventurer?
My questions were sprinkled with twinkling answers when my friend, a hard core trekker from the womb of the Western Ghats, a dexterous trek lead, and the official fireman (in charge of starting up camp fires, ……and ……er……not the one arrested for the forest fire in Coorg last year) mentioned in one of the treks to the Kumaraparvatha, about a strenuous trek in Kundadri about which we had cribbed, “ We are accustomed to a level of comfort. Maybe that trek could have been better with a bit more of comfort than we got.”
Though he did not mention it directly, there it was. The ‘limit’ of adventure in all of us.
Maybe all adventurers have a limit, and the ones with the higher limits travel to the ends of the earth. The ones with the lower limits, take pleasure in stealing a glance at that female on the two wheeler getting a ticket for barging into a ‘one-way’.
I believe that all of us are adventurers in between this range. Just ‘how much’?
teju
Thursday, May 26, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Trudge towards the other part of the world ends
"A divine mix of 'Jerry McGuire' and 'Sex and the City'. That's 'Jake
in Progress' for you," announced the smooth male voice on 'ABC' last
Sunday. Though that's comparing General Musharaff's smile to
Aiswarya's ( dunno why she keeps popping up time and again. MAYBE
BECAUSE SHE IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN I HAVE EVER SEEN,………..ok…ok………
who is from India, ……..and a movie star……and……… a South Indian… er… by
origin…. and….YES!!! A BUNT!!! ….whew ). Have been watching since
this week. Slick one. May be splashed on the Zee English screens
soon.
Meanwhile, in air, on Lufthansa, 0030 hours, 6 March, IST
That would be 1pm Chicago time.
Four hours before the scheduled landing, the I 94 forms were being
distributed, and the instructions about filling them were being beamed
in different languages on the TV. Dare a scratch on the form, YOU
WILL PICK UP ONE MORE AND FILL UP THE WHOLE THING AGAIN.(I did not
mention 'HAVE TO', because nobody knows) Never have seen such
dedication among denizens of all age groups, carefully penning each
letter, with more than just second thoughts before making the pen's
contact on that paper.
Sculptors of the Taj would have been laid off, if Shahajahan was in this plane.
Just then, two Indians were heard to be speaking about the 'Forum' in
Bangalore being better than many malls in the US.
SHIT!!! A slight distraction, and there was a slight error. I will
have to pick up another form now.
Slowly, got up. "Are you going to get the I 94 form?" the lady beside me asked.
Oh! She is awake!!! I had thought that she had been blacked out by my
body odour all the while.
"Yes, would you want one?" I asked.
She nodded in positive.
That was my third form that I got from the air hostess. Shahajahan
would never hire me!!!
As I handed over a form to her, I mentioned "I just ruined two forms,"
and a light chortle.
"Oh! This is my fourth form," she laughed.
And suddenly there was a great commotion, as the plane tilted upside
down, the clouds far below the plane melted, and started raining, with
large arcs of lightning flashing all over……. Atleast that is what I
felt.
It was four hours since we had been speaking, and this was the first
time there was a smile.
Was she so much worried that Romania was a poor country???
"Oh! Is it your first time to the US?" I asked her.
"Yes, and you?"
YOU, WITH A LAPTOP ARE VISITING FOR THE FIRST TIME. I DON'T EVEN HAVE THAT!!!
"First time," I said.
"Are you going to the US for good?" she asked.
"Yes, I am going to the US for good," I said, "And I will be going
back to India in a while, for good."
She laughed. No plane tilting this time.
The huge city of Chicago was spread out, with the Merican cars
scurrying over the wide roads, and everything covered in white snow.
The airplane was flying very low, making it very clear that the plane
would be landing in a few seconds.
And it did, with a small thud. And screeched to a slower pace.
It taxied to the O Hare airport, and came to a halt. Few minutes
later, way out through the digital corridors again.
This was America.
This was the land of opportunities.
And the land which did not lose an opportunity to make others hate it.
The numerous escalators and wide halls with lustrous floors, check of
the passport by the bored policeman, finger printing, luggage claims
etc, led to a skyway to take us from the International airport to the
domestic airport. The biting cold reassured again, that my investment
in the Eastern Stores stuff would be utilised efficiently in the near
future.
The skyway, an elevated rail transit system which moves around
smartly, quickly, does not have a driver. This was something that was
impressive, to begin with.
The domestic airliner flew me over from Chicago to Minneapolis in
almost an hour. At the baggage claim of the Minneapolis airport, I
was met with the warm smile of my colleague, Kavitha, to reassure me
that I was in safe hands.
A short drive, and I was deposited at my hotel, to make myself worthy of humans.
Ah! Well, it has been almost two weeks now, since I had started out on
that horrendous journey to the Bangalore airport (believe me, that was
the toughest part). The trudge 'from' the other part of the world was
worth its every moment.
Somethings that I found overwhelming, somethings that I found weird,
and somethings that I found interesting, well, would form a part of
some other literature. I will definitely keep you updated, because
you people are the part of my life who keep me looking out for the
tomorrow.
Push in a comment, a lil one, just to say ' hey, how you doin? ' and
the oceans between us will be bridged.
Thank you for the consideration.
With warm regards,
Teju
(ps: Oops, I just forgot to mention about that killer dame. The
mother of an eight year old kid, she was the manager of sales for her
company, and was here to attend a conference in Las Vegas. I thought
that this part would not be very much interesting. What do you
think?)
in Progress' for you," announced the smooth male voice on 'ABC' last
Sunday. Though that's comparing General Musharaff's smile to
Aiswarya's ( dunno why she keeps popping up time and again. MAYBE
BECAUSE SHE IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN I HAVE EVER SEEN,………..ok…ok………
who is from India, ……..and a movie star……and……… a South Indian… er… by
origin…. and….YES!!! A BUNT!!! ….whew ). Have been watching since
this week. Slick one. May be splashed on the Zee English screens
soon.
Meanwhile, in air, on Lufthansa, 0030 hours, 6 March, IST
That would be 1pm Chicago time.
Four hours before the scheduled landing, the I 94 forms were being
distributed, and the instructions about filling them were being beamed
in different languages on the TV. Dare a scratch on the form, YOU
WILL PICK UP ONE MORE AND FILL UP THE WHOLE THING AGAIN.(I did not
mention 'HAVE TO', because nobody knows) Never have seen such
dedication among denizens of all age groups, carefully penning each
letter, with more than just second thoughts before making the pen's
contact on that paper.
Sculptors of the Taj would have been laid off, if Shahajahan was in this plane.
Just then, two Indians were heard to be speaking about the 'Forum' in
Bangalore being better than many malls in the US.
SHIT!!! A slight distraction, and there was a slight error. I will
have to pick up another form now.
Slowly, got up. "Are you going to get the I 94 form?" the lady beside me asked.
Oh! She is awake!!! I had thought that she had been blacked out by my
body odour all the while.
"Yes, would you want one?" I asked.
She nodded in positive.
That was my third form that I got from the air hostess. Shahajahan
would never hire me!!!
As I handed over a form to her, I mentioned "I just ruined two forms,"
and a light chortle.
"Oh! This is my fourth form," she laughed.
And suddenly there was a great commotion, as the plane tilted upside
down, the clouds far below the plane melted, and started raining, with
large arcs of lightning flashing all over……. Atleast that is what I
felt.
It was four hours since we had been speaking, and this was the first
time there was a smile.
Was she so much worried that Romania was a poor country???
"Oh! Is it your first time to the US?" I asked her.
"Yes, and you?"
YOU, WITH A LAPTOP ARE VISITING FOR THE FIRST TIME. I DON'T EVEN HAVE THAT!!!
"First time," I said.
"Are you going to the US for good?" she asked.
"Yes, I am going to the US for good," I said, "And I will be going
back to India in a while, for good."
She laughed. No plane tilting this time.
The huge city of Chicago was spread out, with the Merican cars
scurrying over the wide roads, and everything covered in white snow.
The airplane was flying very low, making it very clear that the plane
would be landing in a few seconds.
And it did, with a small thud. And screeched to a slower pace.
It taxied to the O Hare airport, and came to a halt. Few minutes
later, way out through the digital corridors again.
This was America.
This was the land of opportunities.
And the land which did not lose an opportunity to make others hate it.
The numerous escalators and wide halls with lustrous floors, check of
the passport by the bored policeman, finger printing, luggage claims
etc, led to a skyway to take us from the International airport to the
domestic airport. The biting cold reassured again, that my investment
in the Eastern Stores stuff would be utilised efficiently in the near
future.
The skyway, an elevated rail transit system which moves around
smartly, quickly, does not have a driver. This was something that was
impressive, to begin with.
The domestic airliner flew me over from Chicago to Minneapolis in
almost an hour. At the baggage claim of the Minneapolis airport, I
was met with the warm smile of my colleague, Kavitha, to reassure me
that I was in safe hands.
A short drive, and I was deposited at my hotel, to make myself worthy of humans.
Ah! Well, it has been almost two weeks now, since I had started out on
that horrendous journey to the Bangalore airport (believe me, that was
the toughest part). The trudge 'from' the other part of the world was
worth its every moment.
Somethings that I found overwhelming, somethings that I found weird,
and somethings that I found interesting, well, would form a part of
some other literature. I will definitely keep you updated, because
you people are the part of my life who keep me looking out for the
tomorrow.
Push in a comment, a lil one, just to say ' hey, how you doin? ' and
the oceans between us will be bridged.
Thank you for the consideration.
With warm regards,
Teju
(ps: Oops, I just forgot to mention about that killer dame. The
mother of an eight year old kid, she was the manager of sales for her
company, and was here to attend a conference in Las Vegas. I thought
that this part would not be very much interesting. What do you
think?)
Trudge towards the other part of the world - 4
What happens when you mix that tap water from the bathroom (after it
has been tempered hot in that coffee machine), the 'cane sugar powder'
carrying its characteristic stink, and Kemps 2% fat milk with its
smell, along with a coffee powder sachet that was opened yesterday?
Something, I do not know, because I gulped it down with my nose closed.
That's my beverage for the evening, which nescafe swears is coffee.
Well, hope to end spamming your mailboxes today with my banal display
of wordpower ( the man my highschool history teacher had mentioned,
the one who had byhearted the dictionary, still haunts me, and
challenges me).
'CUT THE CRAP' my friend in Bangalore is screaming out. Ok, right
down to the business.
'50 D' displayed my boarding ticket, and as luck would have it, the
number was just above the ivory damsel. 'Jab khuda deta hain, to
chappar phaad ke'…. But gimme a break god, it is raining, AND I WANT
THE 'CHAPPAR'.
Just managed to fit in the huge mass of my flesh ( don't know where
all those muscles disappeared, should start gymming again once I reach
the land of Arnod Schwaneggers) in between the digitally loaded arm
rests of the Luft's seats.
Guys, sorry!!! No 'Hi', no 'excuse me', not even a glance.
I just wanted to hide below the seat, and close my eyes.
How would like be looking? I just wondered. Drowsy, and unshaved.
Ok, concentrate one problem at a time, some management guru had
barked.
What does he know the travails of an ugly guy sitting beside a killer dame?
Looks do not matter??? Tell that to the 'yo' guy on her other side,
who was talking to a obese uncle on his other side, with an 'ulti'
lass on his side.
Now, did people appear really bad with a beard? Hritik will look cool
with a thin beard, but what the hell. Mine was a five day beard.
Shah Rukh will look bad with the beard. Well, he will look bad
anyways.
Salman ??? Never seen him with a beard. Tried to imagine him with a
one. But the guys shaves everywhere. Cheh Cheh. Not a good
specimen.
SANJAY DUTT!!!
I WILL LOOK LIKE SANJAY DUTT, WITH HIS DROOPING SHOULDERS, HALF SHUT
EYES, AND AN AWFUL BEARD!!!
Now…where did he….
" Would you pass me the water please? " the girl said, pointing to the
airhostess' out stretched arms hold a plastic tumbler of water.
Accented !!!
"Are you a German or an American? " I asked her, knowing that she was a German.
"I am from Romania," she uttered.
"OK," I said. Now, what was it known for?
"You know Romania?" she asked.
Yes, wasn't it the place where people wore trousers on their legs???
"Heard of the place. Is it somewhere in Europe?"
"It was a part of Russia, and it became free in 99" she said. Now,
that would help in the next XAT try.
"OK," and the eternal silence reigns.
"What is it known for?" I asked, like that journalist from National
Geographic. Atleast somebody needs to keep the conversation on.
"What?"
Didn't she get my sentence? Was something wrong with my way of pronunciation?
Was my language accented?
Aren't Indians understood because of their accent???
Dammit!!! We have won a Booker, and a Nobel. And she was from
Romania, not England. Who knows what language she would have been
educated in?
Arundathi Roy, Zindabad!!!
"What – is – known – for? " I repeated slowly.
"What?" she repeated, emphatically.
I GOT IT!!!
"Romania," I uttered. No need of Roys and Sens anymore.
"Romania is a beautiful country," she said. Is it beautifuller than
Aish ??? Or the Taj??? Ok, ok, Aish had anyway accepted that the Taj
is beautifuller than her.
"But, it is a poor country. We have a lot of people below the poverty
line. The Russians ruled over us, and exploited the country. We
protested against their rule for a long time. …………." And on , and on
and on.
"…became free in 99"
"OK" I uttered.
She bent down, and pulled a black, rectangular bag from below.
IT WAS A LAPTOP.
Romania is a poor country???
She switched it on.
"Do you know AutoCad?" she asked me.
"Yes," I said.
"Oh!" she said. Did I look from Somalia?
"I am in the sales team of Autodesk," she said putting the Laptop back
into the bag, after switching it off.
"Great," I uttered.
"I am a software engineer in CGI-AMS," I uttered the last part as
though Microsoft never interested me.
"You are a software engineer?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Then you should have used AutoCad," she said. WAS THAT WHY SHE WAS
TRYING TO SHOW ME AUTOCAD ON HER LAPTOP???
I definitely looked from Somalia!!!
"No, but a lot of my friends have," I shrugged.
Like Mahatma Gandhi said " I have to go now, " I will really have to
go now. Estimated wrongly that I could finish it off today. But,
will bug you again on the morrow. :-)
An unexpected event in the night has to be attended, and before
corrupt minds start deducing, it is in office conference room. Also,
highly official in nature. :-)
Check this space tomorrow.
Have a worthy day.
Ciao
teju
(ps: Do not know if Mahatma Gandhi ever said "I have to go now" on
record, but it is a common phrase.... he should have used it atleast
once, ain't it? ;-) )
has been tempered hot in that coffee machine), the 'cane sugar powder'
carrying its characteristic stink, and Kemps 2% fat milk with its
smell, along with a coffee powder sachet that was opened yesterday?
Something, I do not know, because I gulped it down with my nose closed.
That's my beverage for the evening, which nescafe swears is coffee.
Well, hope to end spamming your mailboxes today with my banal display
of wordpower ( the man my highschool history teacher had mentioned,
the one who had byhearted the dictionary, still haunts me, and
challenges me).
'CUT THE CRAP' my friend in Bangalore is screaming out. Ok, right
down to the business.
'50 D' displayed my boarding ticket, and as luck would have it, the
number was just above the ivory damsel. 'Jab khuda deta hain, to
chappar phaad ke'…. But gimme a break god, it is raining, AND I WANT
THE 'CHAPPAR'.
Just managed to fit in the huge mass of my flesh ( don't know where
all those muscles disappeared, should start gymming again once I reach
the land of Arnod Schwaneggers) in between the digitally loaded arm
rests of the Luft's seats.
Guys, sorry!!! No 'Hi', no 'excuse me', not even a glance.
I just wanted to hide below the seat, and close my eyes.
How would like be looking? I just wondered. Drowsy, and unshaved.
Ok, concentrate one problem at a time, some management guru had
barked.
What does he know the travails of an ugly guy sitting beside a killer dame?
Looks do not matter??? Tell that to the 'yo' guy on her other side,
who was talking to a obese uncle on his other side, with an 'ulti'
lass on his side.
Now, did people appear really bad with a beard? Hritik will look cool
with a thin beard, but what the hell. Mine was a five day beard.
Shah Rukh will look bad with the beard. Well, he will look bad
anyways.
Salman ??? Never seen him with a beard. Tried to imagine him with a
one. But the guys shaves everywhere. Cheh Cheh. Not a good
specimen.
SANJAY DUTT!!!
I WILL LOOK LIKE SANJAY DUTT, WITH HIS DROOPING SHOULDERS, HALF SHUT
EYES, AND AN AWFUL BEARD!!!
Now…where did he….
" Would you pass me the water please? " the girl said, pointing to the
airhostess' out stretched arms hold a plastic tumbler of water.
Accented !!!
"Are you a German or an American? " I asked her, knowing that she was a German.
"I am from Romania," she uttered.
"OK," I said. Now, what was it known for?
"You know Romania?" she asked.
Yes, wasn't it the place where people wore trousers on their legs???
"Heard of the place. Is it somewhere in Europe?"
"It was a part of Russia, and it became free in 99" she said. Now,
that would help in the next XAT try.
"OK," and the eternal silence reigns.
"What is it known for?" I asked, like that journalist from National
Geographic. Atleast somebody needs to keep the conversation on.
"What?"
Didn't she get my sentence? Was something wrong with my way of pronunciation?
Was my language accented?
Aren't Indians understood because of their accent???
Dammit!!! We have won a Booker, and a Nobel. And she was from
Romania, not England. Who knows what language she would have been
educated in?
Arundathi Roy, Zindabad!!!
"What – is – known – for? " I repeated slowly.
"What?" she repeated, emphatically.
I GOT IT!!!
"Romania," I uttered. No need of Roys and Sens anymore.
"Romania is a beautiful country," she said. Is it beautifuller than
Aish ??? Or the Taj??? Ok, ok, Aish had anyway accepted that the Taj
is beautifuller than her.
"But, it is a poor country. We have a lot of people below the poverty
line. The Russians ruled over us, and exploited the country. We
protested against their rule for a long time. …………." And on , and on
and on.
"…became free in 99"
"OK" I uttered.
She bent down, and pulled a black, rectangular bag from below.
IT WAS A LAPTOP.
Romania is a poor country???
She switched it on.
"Do you know AutoCad?" she asked me.
"Yes," I said.
"Oh!" she said. Did I look from Somalia?
"I am in the sales team of Autodesk," she said putting the Laptop back
into the bag, after switching it off.
"Great," I uttered.
"I am a software engineer in CGI-AMS," I uttered the last part as
though Microsoft never interested me.
"You are a software engineer?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"Then you should have used AutoCad," she said. WAS THAT WHY SHE WAS
TRYING TO SHOW ME AUTOCAD ON HER LAPTOP???
I definitely looked from Somalia!!!
"No, but a lot of my friends have," I shrugged.
Like Mahatma Gandhi said " I have to go now, " I will really have to
go now. Estimated wrongly that I could finish it off today. But,
will bug you again on the morrow. :-)
An unexpected event in the night has to be attended, and before
corrupt minds start deducing, it is in office conference room. Also,
highly official in nature. :-)
Check this space tomorrow.
Have a worthy day.
Ciao
teju
(ps: Do not know if Mahatma Gandhi ever said "I have to go now" on
record, but it is a common phrase.... he should have used it atleast
once, ain't it? ;-) )
Friday, May 20, 2005
Trudge towards the other part of the world - 3
The boarding began one hour before departure. The ladies with infants, followed by the handicapped, stood in a queue at the gate. The business class followed next, and after half hour, finally the economy class’ pitiable passengers were allowed to rampage towards the gate, and routed into a metallic corridor. I was reminded of the numerous videogames which had similar corridors, but full of protruding swords, and popping demons. Felt elated feeling like a digital prince.
At the end was the princess. In the videogame.
For me, at the end, were immaculately made up, impeccably dressed, OLD WOMEN as air hostesses.
Didn't Air India have a copyright on that???
The inside of the international flight was bigger than the domestic airlines I had been living in, since a week (lot of travelling in the past week). At the largest width, it accommodated 10 seats in a row.
A German merchant-ship captain to my left who narrated his African adventure in almost perfect English, and a smart Honeywell engineer to my right, and a TV which played 'Finding Neverland' and 'Fida' (yes, a Hindi movie) made my hours tick effortlessly.
Occasionally, decent 'Asian veg' food was served by the airhostesses, coupled with nauseating fruit juices.
Nine hours, thirty-five minutes later, it was morning Seven in Frankfurt, as the plane sailed over the snow-covered hills, with dark trees standing out amidst the white.
My watch stood at 11 am, IST. Somehow, it was pretty tough to admit that I would not be seeing my family, friends, and colleagues for the next ten months. They had become such an inherent part of my life, that though I considered myself tough, I had to reassure myself time and again, that I would be able to survive it.
I could call them, right? Calls to India were inexpensive, I had heard.
I desperately hoped, it would be.
For the next ten months, it would be a different life. I would have to eat different, wear different, and speak different. I would not be watching the same TV programs, would not be dealing with the routine issues which had me involved for the last twenty five years, would not be driving my car on that rough Hosur road.
Will definitely miss the roller coaster rides on the CGI tempo travellers, driven by F1 inspired lunatics.
All the acquaintances would, as though, come to a stand still.
As the German sailor straightened himself beside me, getting ready for the landing, I looked at my watch again.
11am IST. ‘The lazy bugger Arun, would be munching his breakfast at Prasiddi hotel, now’. I smiled at the thought.
The aircraft taxied amidst the grassland, with its huge outstretched wings blowing away the layer of snow over the shoulders of the runway. As it came to a halt, the passengers were led through a narrow metal corridor stuck to the aircraft’s entrance.
For the first time, I realised the worth of my Eastern Stores jacket.
The moist corridor had people emitting visible vapors as they whispered to themselves. A warm airport greeted us, with policemen checking the blue book.
The mug shot to rescue again !!!
The almost deserted airport was a straight rip off some an action packed Hollywood movie. The lustrous granite flooring, the glossy walls, the shimmering steel mouldings on the roofs, the vibrantly lit shops.
Through the huge glass windows, I could see the white air planes parked. I could see the white assisting vans scurrying around. I could also see white roads, with a bit of black here and there.
The snow had cast a white blanket on everything. This was my first experience of watching the snow, and believe me, it was overwhelming. I missed my camera.
But, there was a flash light for a moment, and as guessed, it was an Indian clicking away on his Nikon.
As I sat beside one of the large glass windows, watching the snow, it was a case of mixed emotions. I was excited because of the snow, but felt helpless at it remained on the other side of the glass. A thought of going out of the airport to experience the snow passed me, but just then all my mentors back home appeared in a sequence screaming ‘Reach the destination safely’, ofcourse in my memory. I was not yet sure I was ready for the cold.
Needless to say, I did pass through the funny security check which had me remove everything from my pocket. Even my shoes had the great experience of seeing the insides of the security scanner. These men did their job to the dot.
I did carry the cabin luggage, but it contained seven set of clothes. And other than that, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!! My toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, and all the other tools of survival were safely enjoying the warmth of my check in luggage, not accessible to me till Chicago. The smart honeywell engineer, helped me out with her toothpaste.
Three hours later, I was entering the massive Luft airplane again. As I scanned through the numerous row of seats, my eyes fell on that very, very attractive female, totally fair, and wearing somewhat very fair too. Her eyebrows very well shaped, with a lean nose, taking an elegant plunge above her red lips. As I moved nearer, I observed her lips had been punctiliously made up too. She was staring blankly into the empty seat beside her, as though lost.
She might have been thinking deeply about something.
For a moment, I prayed god.
No!!! It is not what you think.
I prayed god that I not be seated beside her. Overnight travelled unkempt hair, unshaved face ( I know I am repeating) of four days, and confused eyes (watch showing IST, Sun smiling from the German sky telling a dift story of time) did not paint my picture as Hritik Roshan on the other person’s eyes.
But would definitely have passed off as the Khan in the latter part of Devdas.
Though I think I prayed lord Ganesha, there was always the lord with the ‘Chakra’ playing around with his pranks.
Ever heard the adage ‘Man proposes…. God…..’
Well, can you wait till the morrow for the rest?
At the end was the princess. In the videogame.
For me, at the end, were immaculately made up, impeccably dressed, OLD WOMEN as air hostesses.
Didn't Air India have a copyright on that???
The inside of the international flight was bigger than the domestic airlines I had been living in, since a week (lot of travelling in the past week). At the largest width, it accommodated 10 seats in a row.
A German merchant-ship captain to my left who narrated his African adventure in almost perfect English, and a smart Honeywell engineer to my right, and a TV which played 'Finding Neverland' and 'Fida' (yes, a Hindi movie) made my hours tick effortlessly.
Occasionally, decent 'Asian veg' food was served by the airhostesses, coupled with nauseating fruit juices.
Nine hours, thirty-five minutes later, it was morning Seven in Frankfurt, as the plane sailed over the snow-covered hills, with dark trees standing out amidst the white.
My watch stood at 11 am, IST. Somehow, it was pretty tough to admit that I would not be seeing my family, friends, and colleagues for the next ten months. They had become such an inherent part of my life, that though I considered myself tough, I had to reassure myself time and again, that I would be able to survive it.
I could call them, right? Calls to India were inexpensive, I had heard.
I desperately hoped, it would be.
For the next ten months, it would be a different life. I would have to eat different, wear different, and speak different. I would not be watching the same TV programs, would not be dealing with the routine issues which had me involved for the last twenty five years, would not be driving my car on that rough Hosur road.
Will definitely miss the roller coaster rides on the CGI tempo travellers, driven by F1 inspired lunatics.
All the acquaintances would, as though, come to a stand still.
As the German sailor straightened himself beside me, getting ready for the landing, I looked at my watch again.
11am IST. ‘The lazy bugger Arun, would be munching his breakfast at Prasiddi hotel, now’. I smiled at the thought.
The aircraft taxied amidst the grassland, with its huge outstretched wings blowing away the layer of snow over the shoulders of the runway. As it came to a halt, the passengers were led through a narrow metal corridor stuck to the aircraft’s entrance.
For the first time, I realised the worth of my Eastern Stores jacket.
The moist corridor had people emitting visible vapors as they whispered to themselves. A warm airport greeted us, with policemen checking the blue book.
The mug shot to rescue again !!!
The almost deserted airport was a straight rip off some an action packed Hollywood movie. The lustrous granite flooring, the glossy walls, the shimmering steel mouldings on the roofs, the vibrantly lit shops.
Through the huge glass windows, I could see the white air planes parked. I could see the white assisting vans scurrying around. I could also see white roads, with a bit of black here and there.
The snow had cast a white blanket on everything. This was my first experience of watching the snow, and believe me, it was overwhelming. I missed my camera.
But, there was a flash light for a moment, and as guessed, it was an Indian clicking away on his Nikon.
As I sat beside one of the large glass windows, watching the snow, it was a case of mixed emotions. I was excited because of the snow, but felt helpless at it remained on the other side of the glass. A thought of going out of the airport to experience the snow passed me, but just then all my mentors back home appeared in a sequence screaming ‘Reach the destination safely’, ofcourse in my memory. I was not yet sure I was ready for the cold.
Needless to say, I did pass through the funny security check which had me remove everything from my pocket. Even my shoes had the great experience of seeing the insides of the security scanner. These men did their job to the dot.
I did carry the cabin luggage, but it contained seven set of clothes. And other than that, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!!! My toothpaste, toothbrush, soap, and all the other tools of survival were safely enjoying the warmth of my check in luggage, not accessible to me till Chicago. The smart honeywell engineer, helped me out with her toothpaste.
Three hours later, I was entering the massive Luft airplane again. As I scanned through the numerous row of seats, my eyes fell on that very, very attractive female, totally fair, and wearing somewhat very fair too. Her eyebrows very well shaped, with a lean nose, taking an elegant plunge above her red lips. As I moved nearer, I observed her lips had been punctiliously made up too. She was staring blankly into the empty seat beside her, as though lost.
She might have been thinking deeply about something.
For a moment, I prayed god.
No!!! It is not what you think.
I prayed god that I not be seated beside her. Overnight travelled unkempt hair, unshaved face ( I know I am repeating) of four days, and confused eyes (watch showing IST, Sun smiling from the German sky telling a dift story of time) did not paint my picture as Hritik Roshan on the other person’s eyes.
But would definitely have passed off as the Khan in the latter part of Devdas.
Though I think I prayed lord Ganesha, there was always the lord with the ‘Chakra’ playing around with his pranks.
Ever heard the adage ‘Man proposes…. God…..’
Well, can you wait till the morrow for the rest?
Trudge towards the other part of the world - 2
"The flight has left sir," the mellifluous voice of the lady spoke at the Jet Airways check in counter.
I could imagine lord Krishna shrugging in helplessness.
She continued to stare at my tickets, 'would there another one?' I felt like asking the stupid question. How would there be another one on the same night ?
Ok...ok, I wanted to rush to the Air Sahara, or Indian Airlines, or even 'tent cinema ishtyle' Deccan Avaition (they don't even have seat numbers). There would be another one. Wouldn't there be another one?
"Got stuck in the traffic sir?" she spoke, still looking at the tickets.
Did I see a ray of hope??? Else how could she be so cool when I HAVE MISSED MY PLANE.
"Big time jam," I blurted out of frustration. "Was stuck in there for half hour," I uttered, adding ten more minutes to heighten the effect.
"Sir, would you be interested in the next flight to Chennai, scheduled at 9:05?"
Was she really saying that? Was she really saying that? Was the damsel really saying that?
"Surely," I waited for her next response.
As her carefully manicured fingers flew over the black dell keyboard, I was feeling a blend of emotions, and none of them due to the highly impressive lady on the other side of the counter. Yes, at peace time I might have atleast flashed her a charming smile. But now, with an unshaved visage of four days, sweaty shirt, and unkempt hairs of a lost warrior, the thought of a smile was a remote possibility.
'Could I bargain for a discount on this plane?' the sinful thought did pass by me. Was not I just lucky enough to get a flight to Chennai?
'Ok sir, please check in the baggage, and you could go over to the last counter to have manual booking done' she handed me over the ticket with the most awesome smile, I have ever seen in my entire DAY, but felt as though it had been the smile of my LIFE. She had not even charged me!!!
Jet Airways, I love you!!!
As I got my manual booking done on the other counter, I just said "This has been a great experience for me to travel from Jet Airways", and I meant that.
As I sat along with my relieved parents, and the smart sister (she had guided me of all the shortcuts to be taken to the airport road, girinagar to airport road in 25 mins in the god forbid peak hour!!! Well, she might a write a book on that one soon), I just looked around the airport for some beverage.
"Who is she? Where is she from? Where does she reside? What does she eat?"
Yes, now there was time for all the questions in the world.
A short flight on the Jet Airways mini plane took me from hot, and sweaty Bangalore to hot, sweaty, and stinking Chennai. Soon, I found myself standing in a queue for checking my luggage into the international chain of flights. Few minutes later, I had exchaged greetings with a german lady in her middle ages, with a HP bag hanging on her back. Now, HP has not yet ventured into bag making, even after paying offshore guys loads of money for the work of cutting open the peanuts (the Sandeep smiles), but she worked for the great organization.
An hour later I stood before the customs officer, just hoping that he would not come to know about all the 'Subbamma's special Chutney powder, Sambar powder, etc, (all non sealed) that was in my bag which I had sent on the conveyor belt. This check was from Indian side, and was sure that the clearance for such stuffs was not checked for here.
But, how the hell can I predict the procedures? I was doing this for the first time.
The customs officer, a clean- chap with curly hair, looked at me for the second time. Then back into the picture of mine on that blue book, my passport. Yeah, I appeared quite innocent in that mug shot.
"What do you do?" he asked, not lifting up his eyes.
"Software engineer," I uttered the words nervously, which he would have heard from thousands who would have passed these gates.
"You should become a film actor," he uttered, the world 'film' being spelt more like 'fillum'.
"I have done that also," I smiled, relieved.
"Which movie?" he maintained the expression.
"Kannada movie," I told him, as I took my passport back.
"You should do Tamil film" he said, still maintaining the stern expression.
I smiled, said "Thank you," and scoot towards the escalators.
Yes!!! I had cleared the last hurdle towards my international flight. A nostalgic feeling swept over me, as I recollected my father saying that exactly twenty one years back he had boarded his first international flight. Would he have walked through the same halls?
I could imagine lord Krishna shrugging in helplessness.
She continued to stare at my tickets, 'would there another one?' I felt like asking the stupid question. How would there be another one on the same night ?
Ok...ok, I wanted to rush to the Air Sahara, or Indian Airlines, or even 'tent cinema ishtyle' Deccan Avaition (they don't even have seat numbers). There would be another one. Wouldn't there be another one?
"Got stuck in the traffic sir?" she spoke, still looking at the tickets.
Did I see a ray of hope??? Else how could she be so cool when I HAVE MISSED MY PLANE.
"Big time jam," I blurted out of frustration. "Was stuck in there for half hour," I uttered, adding ten more minutes to heighten the effect.
"Sir, would you be interested in the next flight to Chennai, scheduled at 9:05?"
Was she really saying that? Was she really saying that? Was the damsel really saying that?
"Surely," I waited for her next response.
As her carefully manicured fingers flew over the black dell keyboard, I was feeling a blend of emotions, and none of them due to the highly impressive lady on the other side of the counter. Yes, at peace time I might have atleast flashed her a charming smile. But now, with an unshaved visage of four days, sweaty shirt, and unkempt hairs of a lost warrior, the thought of a smile was a remote possibility.
'Could I bargain for a discount on this plane?' the sinful thought did pass by me. Was not I just lucky enough to get a flight to Chennai?
'Ok sir, please check in the baggage, and you could go over to the last counter to have manual booking done' she handed me over the ticket with the most awesome smile, I have ever seen in my entire DAY, but felt as though it had been the smile of my LIFE. She had not even charged me!!!
Jet Airways, I love you!!!
As I got my manual booking done on the other counter, I just said "This has been a great experience for me to travel from Jet Airways", and I meant that.
As I sat along with my relieved parents, and the smart sister (she had guided me of all the shortcuts to be taken to the airport road, girinagar to airport road in 25 mins in the god forbid peak hour!!! Well, she might a write a book on that one soon), I just looked around the airport for some beverage.
"Who is she? Where is she from? Where does she reside? What does she eat?"
Yes, now there was time for all the questions in the world.
A short flight on the Jet Airways mini plane took me from hot, and sweaty Bangalore to hot, sweaty, and stinking Chennai. Soon, I found myself standing in a queue for checking my luggage into the international chain of flights. Few minutes later, I had exchaged greetings with a german lady in her middle ages, with a HP bag hanging on her back. Now, HP has not yet ventured into bag making, even after paying offshore guys loads of money for the work of cutting open the peanuts (the Sandeep smiles), but she worked for the great organization.
An hour later I stood before the customs officer, just hoping that he would not come to know about all the 'Subbamma's special Chutney powder, Sambar powder, etc, (all non sealed) that was in my bag which I had sent on the conveyor belt. This check was from Indian side, and was sure that the clearance for such stuffs was not checked for here.
But, how the hell can I predict the procedures? I was doing this for the first time.
The customs officer, a clean- chap with curly hair, looked at me for the second time. Then back into the picture of mine on that blue book, my passport. Yeah, I appeared quite innocent in that mug shot.
"What do you do?" he asked, not lifting up his eyes.
"Software engineer," I uttered the words nervously, which he would have heard from thousands who would have passed these gates.
"You should become a film actor," he uttered, the world 'film' being spelt more like 'fillum'.
"I have done that also," I smiled, relieved.
"Which movie?" he maintained the expression.
"Kannada movie," I told him, as I took my passport back.
"You should do Tamil film" he said, still maintaining the stern expression.
I smiled, said "Thank you," and scoot towards the escalators.
Yes!!! I had cleared the last hurdle towards my international flight. A nostalgic feeling swept over me, as I recollected my father saying that exactly twenty one years back he had boarded his first international flight. Would he have walked through the same halls?
Trudge towards the other part of world -1
hey ppl,
here is the small (?) account of my wonderful experience of my flights from India to the US.......
I swear this is better than the love story of the dog that you saw as the first blog....
-----------------
---------------------
4th March 2005, 19.53 hours
Two more minutes, and I would definitely see the plane take off above that tall aspiring sky scraper on the airport road. And I was not in a mood to wave it good bye, because I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ON IT. But, all I got to see for the next two minutes was the hunk wearing the Arrow shirt, staring at me with lustful eyes. Yeah, I am speaking about the picture on the advertisement board on the back of the BMTC bus, which refused to budge from its place. I was in my car, stuck in a traffic jam, and an ugly one.
I was not sure about its movement from that place for the next few years (well, a lil exaggeration won't spoil the taste), and prayed god to help me by getting the flight delayed. Parents, and sis tried in vain to contact the airport authorities to halt its departure citing the reason to be the arrival of a VIP on the plane. That was me!!!
The traffic moved a lil, enough to let me some space, and believe me, I broke all records of the CGI drivers that evening. It was my surprise that I had managed to get to the airport without a scratch on the car I was driving. Still am not sure whether it was due to the fellow drivers backing out in horror, and the omni present Krishna (not my friend, the limping one with grotesque teeth, but the God) who acted as an envelope to ward away the surrounding vehicles.
Managed to swerve the car onto the airport parking lot, and rush to the security, and to the check-in area flashing my out-held tickets, to the drop-dead-beautiful lady behind the desk, very well aware that I had reached there fifteen minutes late. It was 20.10 hours.
Who is she? Where is she from? Where does she reside? What does she eat?
These questions would have popped up in my mind, but if were not for the tragic miss of my flight to Chennai, my connecting flight to my first visit to the United States.
'If there was another plane to Chennai, I will pay for it, and hopefully reach before the international flight Lufthansa at 01.50 in the night' I had decided. But, would there be one?
here is the small (?) account of my wonderful experience of my flights from India to the US.......
I swear this is better than the love story of the dog that you saw as the first blog....
-----------------
---------------------
4th March 2005, 19.53 hours
Two more minutes, and I would definitely see the plane take off above that tall aspiring sky scraper on the airport road. And I was not in a mood to wave it good bye, because I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ON IT. But, all I got to see for the next two minutes was the hunk wearing the Arrow shirt, staring at me with lustful eyes. Yeah, I am speaking about the picture on the advertisement board on the back of the BMTC bus, which refused to budge from its place. I was in my car, stuck in a traffic jam, and an ugly one.
I was not sure about its movement from that place for the next few years (well, a lil exaggeration won't spoil the taste), and prayed god to help me by getting the flight delayed. Parents, and sis tried in vain to contact the airport authorities to halt its departure citing the reason to be the arrival of a VIP on the plane. That was me!!!
The traffic moved a lil, enough to let me some space, and believe me, I broke all records of the CGI drivers that evening. It was my surprise that I had managed to get to the airport without a scratch on the car I was driving. Still am not sure whether it was due to the fellow drivers backing out in horror, and the omni present Krishna (not my friend, the limping one with grotesque teeth, but the God) who acted as an envelope to ward away the surrounding vehicles.
Managed to swerve the car onto the airport parking lot, and rush to the security, and to the check-in area flashing my out-held tickets, to the drop-dead-beautiful lady behind the desk, very well aware that I had reached there fifteen minutes late. It was 20.10 hours.
Who is she? Where is she from? Where does she reside? What does she eat?
These questions would have popped up in my mind, but if were not for the tragic miss of my flight to Chennai, my connecting flight to my first visit to the United States.
'If there was another plane to Chennai, I will pay for it, and hopefully reach before the international flight Lufthansa at 01.50 in the night' I had decided. But, would there be one?
I HAVE THE MIC... HISTORICAL FACTS
"I have the mic, and you don't. So YOU WILL LISTEN TO EVERY GODDAMN WORD I SAY..." screamed a drunk Adam Sandler in The Wedding Singer, to the boisterous crowd.
And did the junta listen to him???
Don,t know because the dog saw a pissing bitch.
Confused??? Well, you wouldn't be, if you knew that the dog saw the pissing bitch on the other side if the road, and jumped into the road to cross it, scaring the driver of the speeding car to swerve his vehicle, to hit another car, resulting in a traffic jam, making the huge loaded truck to take the smaller road, cutting a electric wire, and shutting off the power to my house. Whew!!! That was one long breath!!!
Goodness gracious, my sense of humour has gone to dogs!!! Literally!!!
Getting back to the track, as I am not very good at making people listen to me, I thought I might as well say, "Fellas!!! I have the mic...."
And before you say "Dude!!! We have the furniture..."
I will take your leave.
You have a worthy day.
teju
And did the junta listen to him???
Don,t know because the dog saw a pissing bitch.
Confused??? Well, you wouldn't be, if you knew that the dog saw the pissing bitch on the other side if the road, and jumped into the road to cross it, scaring the driver of the speeding car to swerve his vehicle, to hit another car, resulting in a traffic jam, making the huge loaded truck to take the smaller road, cutting a electric wire, and shutting off the power to my house. Whew!!! That was one long breath!!!
Goodness gracious, my sense of humour has gone to dogs!!! Literally!!!
Getting back to the track, as I am not very good at making people listen to me, I thought I might as well say, "Fellas!!! I have the mic...."
And before you say "Dude!!! We have the furniture..."
I will take your leave.
You have a worthy day.
teju
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