A drive on water!!

...an account of a casual drive on the lake... with a twist

The icy cold winds brushed against my face, trying to rip out the skin. They were getting partial success in the process, drying up my skin, leaving it susceptible to easy tear. But, the greater damage by the cold (-10 degree centigrade) winds was the numbing of the senses of my facial muscles, which were quickly dying out like the last few desperate wriggles of a fish out of water. I had to do this fast, else would need a lot of time to recover later, from the ruthless torture of the dangerously cold breeze.
I held my camera steady, and composed the picture of the whiteness of the frozen North Wood Lake spreading out as a backdrop to the dark brown, wooden board leading to it.
The state of Minnesota in the US is known as the 'Land of ten thousand lakes'. Though I am not sure about the exact count of the lakes in the state, I did find a lot of lakes there. The sizes of these lakes vary from just as big as a swimming pool, to the as big as that equivalent to an entire state. Some lakes were as big or bigger than a state!!!
We were at the 'Lake of the Woods' town, in the northern most part of Minnesota, on the border of US. It was a seven hours drive from Minneapolis, the place of my stay in the US.

Just then, I noticed a car entering the frame of the picture that I was about to click. IT WAS OUR CAR!!!
A Ford Taurus, which had been driven onto the frozen lake by my roommate.
Was he CRAZY???
The lake was frozen all right. But, could it take the weight of the car? How could one know what would be the thickness of the ice of the lake? How much thickness was required to support the weight of the car?
"Come fast, ma'an. Let's go for a small drive on the lake," he screamed.
I was shocked. Drive on the lake??!!! What sort of madness was this?
Any weak crack in the ice could lead to a suicidal plunge into the evil cold waters of the lake. There was no escape if something went wrong. Our fate would be sealed.
The lakeshore was absolutely deserted, but for a distant restaurant. The whiteness of the snow on the lake spread out, concealing any weakness that may be in the ice. I had recently watched the Titanic on the TV, and did not want this Taurus to become our Titanic. And there wasn't even a good-looking Ms Winslet to die for.

Just then, my eyes fell on a Ford 150, a truck making its way towards the lakeshore from the center of the lake. As my eyes rapidly searched, they found many other huge vehicles far away in the lake.
Whew!!! So, that lake was safe after all.

I clicked the picture, and then made a dash to the car. As I jumped into the car, and pulled the door shut, the sudden change in the temperatures gave a temporary relief to my facial skin, but the sensation of burning was felt as blood began to gush into the muscles. It was like painting one's face with headache balm all over.



As my friend slowly accelerated, the car began to trudge ahead, first slowly, and then a little fast with shackled efforts, as though something was holding it back. This was due to the large deposits of fresh snow over the icy surface of the lake. That made the car move like the vehicles in desert.
If not careful, one could get stuck in snow.

I realized that we were repeating mythology (not history :D ). Remember all those fables about ancient Indian sages able to walk over water??? Well, we had gone a step further, and were driving over water.

Just then we came across a small blue board nailed to the ice on the surface of the lake actually. 'Stay on the trail' the board warned.

The trail consisted of makeshift way markers of thin pieces of wood, arranged in a row, leading farther out towards the horizon where the whiteness of the lake and the depressive blue of the sky met. For the next five minutes, we drove in silence, admiring the sheer expanse of the large, plain landscape of the frozen lake, covered with snow. The white snow spread out luxuriously, till our eyes could see. At the other end, we could make out that the trail was leading into a cluster of pine trees (the only trees which are green even in winter) at a great distance. I could make out that quite a few vehicles had passes by the trail recently, due to the rough marks of the tracks. But, the marks appeared to be a little different than the expected tire tracks.
A glimpse towards my right side, had me looking towards the center of the lake, which only had whiteness till the horizon. A few dark dots were visible, which I guessed to be some trucks that had ventured towards thinner ice, for ice fishing.
It appeared as a scene out of Antarctica.

Suddenly, my friend at the driving wheel started struggling to hold the vehicle in control. The next moment we came to an abrupt halt.

Blood started to drain from my face as I had realized what had happened. "I think we are stuck, ma'an," my friend gave out a nervous laughter. The car was stuck in the snow, over the frozen lake.
But we had stayed on the trail!!!

As he tried to accelerate the vehicle, we could feel the front wheels whirl around. But the car did not budge. He put it in reverse gear, and accelerated. The powerful car struggled like a horse in captivity. But did not budge, even an inch. We got out to inspect the scene. I noticed that the wheel had burrowed into the snow, and had reached the depth where it was in contact with smooth ice. Any amount of acceleration would only make the wheels to slide on the smooth, wet ice.
I was never in such a situation before, and was nervous. I knew we had to run for help, but would the car hold long enough on the ice till we returned?

Why the hell did we ever come out onto the lake?!!
We should have taken the picture of the lake, and the sky, and should have returned.
Why did we get into all these unpleasant adventures??!!!
Should we just leave the car and run ?

How did things go wrong?
We had stayed on the trail!!!

Alright. Now was not the time for ifs, buts, and whys. We had a challenge, not a problem.
We had to overcome the challenge.

We could see that the snow buildup at the front and rear of the front tires was preventing the car from moving back. More acceleration would lead to more burrowing. Could we clear out some snow from the rear of the wheels, and try to accelerate it in backward direction?
We had nothing to shovel out the snow. Hurriedly, we searched for tools at the trunk of the car. We could only find a snowbrush. This brush is used to clear the snow deposited on the cars, when parked outdoors. The brush had a bent shovel like attachment to its handle, to remove any ice formations on the windshield and the headlights while on long drives. This attachment appeared strong enough.

I used it to pull out some snow from the rear of the front tires. The attachment was in no way a replacement of a shovel. It was just scraping off some snow here and there. The negative temperature of the surroundings, the warming up of the body due to this hard labor were inducing some strange sensations of chill and warmth. Though I had my thick coat, the chill was getting to me. The effort seemed endless.
We ditched that idea.
Next, I tried lifting the car at the front, as my friend tried to accelerate backwards. The car was too heavy. It was in no way comparable to the frail Maruti 800, which I had lifted similarly, some years back, in India. This car was a heavy mammoth.

It was half past four in the evening. During the winters, the days are very short in the US. Minnesota had sunsets at half past four in winters.
I decided to run to the shores for help, as it would get very dark, very soon.

As I walked back towards the shore, the cold winds were cutting against my face, the only exposed part of the body, as even the hands were gloved. I pulled out the muffler from my pocket, and held it against my face, leaving only the eyes. For the next five minutes, it was a very difficult walk towards the lakeshore, with an occasional cracking sound below. The cracking sound was more towards the shores, as the grass from narrow lakebed would have induced weaknesses in the ice.
Every step was making me nervous. I was not walking back on the trail, as the trail took a longer route to the shore. Hence, the route I was taking to the shore was untested yet.
Also, the amount of snow over the ice was decreasing towards the shore. This made the ice more slippery. I had to watch my every step, as a fall on the ice may be nasty. It would be more hurting than falling on the muddy ground. But, that was the least of my worries. I was more concerned about falling on thin ice, which might break the winter diet of any sharks below the layer of snow....heh heh.
Just kidding.
There are no sharks in these lakes, but the water was cold enough to paralyze the body within minutes.

I turned back for a glance at what my friend was doing. Now, it was getting very dark, and I could hardly see the car. But, he had switched on the 'hazard lights'. This was an intelligent move. Maybe some passing truck might notice, and would tug the car out of the pit.
I turned and moved towards the small restaurant on the lakeshore. As I moved carefully, avoiding the slippery ice formations on the roads of the lakeshore, I noticed that almost all the vehicles had gone now. My hopes of getting help were disappearing by the minute.

Now, I began cursing myself. I should have brought out my digital camera, and some other stuff lying in the rear of the car. If the car went down, all our other stuff would go down with it.

As I entered the restaurant on the lakeshore, I came up to the some of the old waitresses, relaxing with drinks, just before closing. I stated my case to them.
"So you mean, you are stuck on the lake???" the waitresses seemed shocked beyond belief.
I stated that we had just followed the trail.
"Trail? What trail? That is no trail for a car. It is the trail for the snowmobiles," uttered the old, blond waitress. The snowmobiles are vehicles designed to be rode over the snow.
So, the strikingly rough tracks on the trail were from snowmobiles!!!
I felt like hiding under the table around which they were sitting.
I asked her if she knew of contact numbers of any towing vehicles. "I doubt if the ice can hold the weight of the towing vehicles, but I will try to get you numbers anyway," said one of the waitresses, as she took me over to the telephone directory. She showed me to some phone numbers. All the three numbers failed to respond.

"Hmm," she said, "I have a shovel in my car trunk. It is a little broken, but might help you shovel out some snow," she said as she led me out to her car, and got me an aluminum shovel.
Though I was not sure about whether shoveling could help us get the car out, I thought that it was better than nothing. I was praying that some of the trucks at the center of the lake would come driving down towards the shore, and help us pull the car out of the pit. I did not know if the shovel could be of any help at all.

I thanked her, and started on my trudge back to the lake, scaling my path carefully, a little nervous due to the occasional cracking sounds from beneath, with the shovel on my shoulders. When I reached the car, there was the Ford truck moving away from the car. I was wondering if he would help us out. I noticed that he turned back towards the car and came upto us.
My friend told me later that they had tried to tow the car already, by the truck, but the car had failed to move. He was returning as he had not been able to help, but now seeing me with a shovel, he guessed that it might work this time.
I tried to shovel out the snow from the front and rear of the front tires. Just then, a huge man on a snowmobile stopped over. He appeared to be a pin up man for the WWE fans. The unbelievably huge shoulders, the singular design of his beard gave away that he would have been a Harley Davidson biker in summer.
He took the shovel from me and hit out at the snow with great vigor. I was left marveling about the man's strength, despite appearing well over his early forties.
After shoveling out the snow, the trucker tied a rope to the cars' rear, accelerating his truck.
The car wriggled like a scared snake, when the truck pulled it out of the pit, and then came to a halt.
It was a sight of great relief for me, who had already been planning to book lodge rooms at this place.

The huge man who had helped me shovel, suggested that only my friend be in the car, as he drove it to the lake shore, to have the minimum weight in the car. He offered me a ride to the lakeshore on his sleek snowmobile.
"That was one big adventure for you guys," the biker blurted out on the top of the roar of the snowmobile engines. "Yeah," I said, " Hope we don't do it again."
"You need to get a truck ma'an," the biker said, "Give the car to your girl."
"Hahaha," I let out a guffaw, "You are right." What did he know?!! I had seen more women on the truck, than cars, in Minnesota and Wisconsin.

In the restaurant, all the old waitresses were very happy, and congratulated us for the effort. They also warned me to be careful the next time when we are driving, on frozen water.
Thanking the trucker, and the snowmobiler for their help, and the waitress for her shovel, we started our long drive back home into the darkness.

a short story of 1115 days

About a month and a half back, "Buddy, come out, we need to talk," he said with grave shades to his voice, as though he was planning to sell me the cocaine. I followed him out of the office building. What the hell in this world could make him this serious?
This wasn't the Vatsa I had seen for the last few weeks.
Did his dentist tell him that he had forgotten where he had put the screws to fit the mesh?
Did his owner finally not agree to bear the stench of unwashed clothes any longer?
Did his nubile neighbour jump onto his terrace to propose to him?

"I made it through, maga," he announced, "Got selected at XLRI."
"WOW!!!".
Two years!!! Two years of apprehension, competiton, grit, efforts and sweat had paid off.
Two years of the distant dream, suddenly a reality.
Two years of 'bullet idli' at Prasiddi hotel had made the difference.
"Congratulations budd," I was overcome with emotions. It was a great moment. A moment of joy?
Not entirely. It did have a blend of sadness, as he would be moving out of our lives in a short while.
But, for the greater good.
Yes, this was indeed a moment of joy.

I would not lie that I still remember the first day we had met. No. I don't. I was too scared, and waiting nervously for the interviewer to call me into the slaughter room, at CTS. Vatsa claims he remembers me. Maybe because I had lent him my pen..... or vice versa. I have no recollection of the same, as I believe that my split personality had taken over to combat the interview. :D

I did see him at the induction sessions at CGI. We did crib a lot with each other while signing all those autographs below the big lot of yada yadas.

The first and the most interesting trek that we have been to, would undoubtedly be the screwed up Sakleshpur railway track blunder. "One small step for Vatsa, one giant leap for CGI" he announced in his nonchalant style, when we began our trek at Donigal.
But the small steps never seemed to end.
The most vocal of the sufferers, Bharath, asked after some hours of trek, "Vatsa, est kilometru bandhidhivo?" ('Vatsa, how many kilometres have we covered?')
"Allond erdu, mathond mooru...total eidhu," ('Two before, and a three, total five') screamed back Vatsa to the Bharath's disappointment, who had calculated it to be ten.
After three more hours of dragging our aching feet over the stone laid railway track, Bharath asked, "Vatsa, ivaga estappa?" (How many now?)
"Allond erdu, mathond naalku...total aaru," (Two before, and a four , total six) screamed back Vatsa.
"Le Vatsa, vadhe thinthiya," said a frustrated Bharath.
"Ena....bargain maadthiya?" the evil guffaws erupted out of Vatsa.
The trek did turn out to be an adventurous one, with a lot of Sandy's valour and Vatsa's humour to add.

We slogged for the most dicey CAT together, two years back. It would definitely be one of the most memorable six months of my life. We worked together, separately, and sometimes argued endlessly over trivial topics which we presumed would help us in Group Discussions. The sadists on the other end of the exam saw to it that we never reached the GD stage.

He was definitely the favorite of the Shastry sir. Not only he said 'maga' the maximum number of times (which Shastry sir had forbidden from using while on the trek), he also had sprinkled holy waters from his foot on ration that we had taken for the sailing trip. (Now, you know why I started on the 'upavasa' right in the middle of the trip :D )
Yeah right. He was the loudest in singing 'Trekking main aaanaa hain, re....' which had the wilds in the forest running for cover.

He was always the webmaster. Next only to Raghu, he has the honour of making the company get its money's worth of internet use. He has friends in most of the online MBA portals, and has friends in the most singular of places. ( Even the rickety old business school on the outskirts of the capital of Ukraine :D ).
He does make it a point to make his presence felt, and sometimes seduces great looking female ....... names to appear beside his, on these MBA portals. :D
(for more info on how to do this....catch him before he leaves today :D )

A great TT player... who has been busy in the past few days scheduling (fixing up) the tournaments, he is leaving behind a legacy, pretty difficult for others to live up to.

We will miss you man.

We will miss you bigtime.

Something not to be missed are his rare bursts of inspirations, resulting in short vignettes. The lazy ass never pens consistently, but when he does, the God takes a break to read his mail, and smirk silently. Here is one such stuff below that I could conjure up, about a one day trip to Shivagange.....

We will miss you budd. Wish you a wonderful future ahead.

with warm regards,
Teju

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The Shivagange Trip....

“You sure THIS is the ‘small’ hill you had mentioned??” With the sly affirmation from my friend, the climb began….



February 19th was a bright sunny Saturday. Not that I like waking up early in the morning at 9:30 to appreciate the beautiful cosmic creation, but couldn’t help when my mobile buzzed the umpteenth time. After a few obscenities and curses, I finally asked my friend, why he had called. And he uttered- ‘Shivagange ?’ He went on to explain the purpose of his call in a fuller detail now… ‘It’s a small hill… 8 of us… back by night…be ready by 10:30…Bye’. Armed with this encyclopedic knowledge, I took a quick shave, shower, breakfast, and a steaming cup of coffee- I sincerely don’t remember the order.



And I have to mention, my friends are punctual… to the second. So, wasn’t surprised at all when the junta arrived at 10:50 in 2 cars… I jumped in to settle in the old but luxurious Tata Indica, screaming my hi’s to the lazy bums in the other automobile… a brand new, but cramped Santro Xing. We stopped at the Food World en-route to load our cars with a few oranges, a couple of coke bottles, a handful of milky bar chocolates, and a few strips of wrigley’s mints. With one more stop somewhere on the west of chord road to pick up the final moron, we, the ‘adventurous 8’, headed for the Tumkur road. For once I felt good for all the tax that I had coughed up in the last fiscal- The highway was… just perfect… With broad 2 way double road lanes, zero pot-holes, sparse traffic (not many are insane enough to go on a trek on a lazy Saturday ! ), and Formula One freaks behind our wheels, we sped on at 110+ kmph with the Yuva beats blaring through the Sony rear speakers. Only when we stopped for a minute at the toll gates to pay the Rs 18 fees for using the really good highway, did I ask my friends about the destination... and it was only then that I realized that they knew almost only as much as I knew… except that they also knew that we had to slow down some where near a Big flyover some 18 kms before Tumkur, to ask about the route. Great.



It was 12:50 when we reached that Big flyover. We stopped at the beeda shop near the underpass to ask the route. We were told that we needed to take a left, and that Shivgange was around 6 kilometers. I don’t know if all the Choyees are soft spoken and kind hearted, or the dehydrated look of my beefy friend rekindled the spirit of humanity in him, for he warned us it was too early in the afternoon to venture on the climb uphill, and that we could come back after lunch so that, in his own words, “The sun won’t be on your heads, Saar”. So be it. We got back to the Tumkur road hoping to find a dhaba nearby. And there it was- ‘Kamat Upachaar’ standing majestically to the right side of the highway. We settled for South-Indian-North-Karnatic-Full-Meals-With Leamonade. With the bills settled as dutch, and our tummies satiated, we were back to the short drive to the Big flyover, and through the underpass, we took a right to get to the ‘left’ road, and smiled our ‘thanks’ to the omniscient choyye.



If the highway was a tease on the speed skills, the 6 km in-road was a test of maneuverability… which the adept drivers passed with grunts and curses. And across to the right, there stood a couple of mighty hills marking the dry landscape. With a couple of complains about the zooming capabilities of our cheap digital cameras, we reached the temple town of Shivagange. After parking the vehicles at the compound opposite the temple, we took out our bounty of foods, and titled our heads to look at our destination. And then it struck. HUGE would be an understatement to describe the hill. I asked- “You sure THIS is the ‘small’ hill you had mentioned??” With the sly affirmation from my friend, the climb began… When someone screamed that it was already 2:30, we made a few discrete inquiries regarding the climb up-hill with the local vendors on the temple steps, and were relieved to know that we could be back by 6.



The first 100 metres or so was just like any other temple… wide steps with railings and a couple of deities worshipped along the halls on either side… But after that, the steps started getting narrower… after about 200 metres, they were no more than marks chiseled along the rocky terrain of the hill. Following these, we reached a small resting ground where a couple of local youths were having a heated argument on the pending budget and its implications… Knowing better not to interfere, we just asked them which of the two routes that deviated from that place would be better to reach the top… and this time it was ‘right’. So we treaded along the right route, the steps being a convenience of the past, now were replaced by huge irregular boulders scattered randomly by the weathering forces. After about 10 mins of this ‘bowdlerized’ stretch, we took a break to see far we’d reached…. On one side, the foothill looked very distant…. Our cars could be identified as small colourful bricks… On the other side, the hilltop too looked very distant… We had a lot more to climb. And just when we were about to start moving again, we had company… our ancestors-monkeys- had found us curiously interesting… so they ‘gurrred’ at us… scared the hell out of my beefy friend… who dropped his water bottle in carnal fright (but to this day, he maintains it just slipped out of his hands), and we minus the water bottle, left the place rather hurriedly, throwing fleeting glances at the private joke the monkeys were sharing over the water bottle. After another half an hour and one thousand three hundred thirty two more digital snaps, we reached one more resting ground. This time, there were no welcome parties, and we were left alone to gaze at the deceptively near hill top, and the certainly far-off foothill. We still had some more climbing to do, but we were certainly close to the top… as we could clearly make out the outline of a huge Nandi statue sitting at the topmost point. Ahh… So near yet so far…

The last 200 mts were straight out of Cliffhanger settings… There were narrow passages, boulders, chiseled steps, and what not, all arranged in steep angles of 60-90 degrees (whoever thought 90 degrees is ‘right’ angle!! It certainly isn’t!!!)…. With only one rusty railing bar weaved across the route to hang on to. And before we knew it (this is the only lie in this whole write-up !!!), we were there on the top. Standing next to the Nandi statue, the panaromic view of the miniature ground all across was breathtaking (literally!!). We moved on towards the temple there… said a few prayers to care of us and only us! And then moved on to Shantala Drop- a suicide spot at the other end of the hill… after making sure that it certainly was a suicide spot, we relaxed for sometime in the late afternoon sun, munching away the bounty we’d carried. After one final circuit of the hill top, and a thousand more snaps, we started on our way back. As they say, the higher you climb, the harder you fall… The climb down was certainly more difficult as it was more precarious, and our hefty thighs were trembling to keep our bodies upright. We reached the resting place after about half an hour, helped ourselves with the refreshing butter milk from an old vendor (wonder how he carries the pots everyday this high…)… reached the second resting place, had ‘chai’ from another Choyee, and took the other route down hill. We found a cave there full of water, but due to our respect for the sanctity of the temple and our fear of being beaten up by the locals, we didn’t venture into the cave. We finally reached the foothill at 6:00 pm. We had one last gaze at the hill top and bid adieu to the place.

Back on the highway unscathed, we sped back towards Bangalore at a speed that cannot be mentioned for record. The warm evening breeze carried away our sweat with it. Before, and After this particular point of time, a lot many things happened that cannot be published without the censors objecting. So anyone who wants to venture on this one day adventure can settle all their doubts with me in person!! And yeah, if you want to know the historical significance of the place, the height of the top most point, the story behind Shantala’s suicide spot, and the number of mosquitoes in that water logged cave, please google them out after office hours.

Happy Hilling!!!!

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Awarded in ISKCON Photography Contest

junta,

am pleased to tell you that I got the first prize in Creative Digital Print category of the photography contest organised by ISKCON, Bangalore, held last month.
Also, secured the second award in the Ceremonies and Festivals category of the same contest held by the temple.
I must admit that I did get some assistance in selecting the successful pictures from an elusive female.

Here are the links for the same.

Creative Digital Print

Ceremonies and Festivals

This contest was held under the name 'Capture Krishna'.

About the contest,

The 'Capture Krishna Photography Contest' was held from 13th Apr, 06 till 26th Apr, 06. Generally, this contest is held during the Brahmostav festival of ISKCON. The Brahmotsav festival is held during the month of April, every year (the photography contest is not held every year), to mark the anniversaries of the temple.
The unique blend of modern and ancient architecture of the temple is a temptation to any shutterbug, at any time of the day/year. But during the ten days of Brahmotsav festival, the temple lights up in the most glorious of colours, beyond words. The various activities of worship, the cultural activities of international quality, the great work being done by the temple in terms of 'Akshaya Patra' (quality mid day meals for more than 3 lakh school children, everyday!!!) and other religious activities provide ample opportunities for some of the heartcatching pictures.

The temple does not allow photography at any other time. The invited photographers would be given special badges, which would enable them unrestricted entry with the cameras. (Ofcourse, there are some rules about some things which should not be photographed). The selected pictures would be copyrighted by the temple, and cannot be used by the photographers for any other occasions, without the permission from the temple authorities.

The photography contest was held the last time in April 03.

With warm regards,
Teju

Into the world of angels - 2

Account of a interesting one day trip to Ranganatittu...part two

Team: Sandy, Anand, Shre, and myself

"During our days, peacocks used to come out into our backyards," the old grandma of my cousin had said when on a visit to her remote village, near my native place, ten years back. “Kaala ketthogidhe," (Kannada equivalent of 'The world is not a good place anymore') she said, and added that nowhere do you get to witness such wonders anymore.
The old grandma was definitely virtuous, but alas! She was wrong. There was indeed such a place. And it was not more than a few hours drive from Bangalore.
This is the surprisingly simple village of Kokkrebellur. The place swarming with exotic birds, in people's backyards!!!

Returning from an enchanting trip to Ranganatittu, we drove to and fro on the Bangalore - Mysore highway, in search of that elusive deviation to Kokkrebellur. Occasionally, we stopped the car to ask for directions. Something that surprised me was the enthusiasm in the localites to jump to our help. As soon as we stopped at a road side petty shop and lowered the dark window glasses, the group picketing there turned to stare at us, like the deer on witnessing the tiger, as seen on National Geographic. But, as soon as we shot the question 'Where's Kokkrebellur?' the scene changed as deer pounced on us to drive into our brains, the exact route to the place.
After some misdirection, we finally got the correct direction from a road side 'Coconut milk' vendor. It is interesting to see such coconut milk vendors, at brief intervals on the highway, in their own makeshift shop, consisting of only a shelter made out of palm tree branches, placed over a skeleton of thick wooden sticks.
The route to Kokkrebellur is announced by a flaking board, on the left of the Bangalore - Mysore highway.

The route is supposedly eight kilometers. The route begins with the sudden change from the ultra smooth highway to the unkempt village road. But, as we proceed further, we begin to notice that the road begins to resemble Mallika Sherawat's clothes, almost hardly visible. Soon, the road loses its battle with the potholes, and gives way to a long stretch of muddy village road.
"How can such a popular tourist place be in such tatters?" I mused aloud, but we were actually happy that the village was not very well connected. If it were, then we would definitely have met up with a few Santro cars loaded with bored software engineers, on the way, carrying crates of beer bottles, which would eventually land up in the neighboring fields.
As we came across bisection in the road (?), we stopped to enquire about Kokkrebellur
"This is Kokkrebellur," uttered the villager, a thick bearded man in sleazy shirt.
"Where can we see the birds, the cranes," I asked him, not sure if this layman would know the location of the sanctuary.
"You can see them everywhere," he said, to our bewilderment, "Just go ahead in this road."
Everywhere???
We drove ahead, curious to know what he meant by everywhere. Wouldn't there be a sanctuary, like Ranganatittu? A lake perhaps. Or some sort of an enclosure where we would be directed, after a nominal ticket charge?
And a parking fee?

Suddenly, we heard the loud quacking, and the chirping of the birds from 'everywhere'. We stopped the car, and peeped out of the window to witness one of the most surprising spectacles that I have ever seen. There were some pelicans atop a tree, totally unguarded, in the backyard of a hut. This was, indeed beyond our beliefs, but definitely true. The pelicans, the painted storks, and many other exotic birds were on the top of these trees, which lay on the unprotected backyards of the village huts!!!

We parked our car, and came out gunning our cameras at whatever we could see. Very different from the ambience in Ranganatittu, Kokkrebellur gave us good shots of the birds, due to the close proximity. As I walked along the dusty, village road, I saw a painted stork on a tree, suddenly bursting into a series of quacks. It reminded me of some priests of Trichi temples, who would suddenly blurt out mantras as soon as they see some devotees approaching the deities, and this forced puja would cost you nothing less a hundred bucks :D

As I got my camera ready, the bird became silent. I held my camera steady, and with focused lens, stood motionless, waiting for the grand bird to break into quacking the mantra. And it did. And I shot.

You can see it here

There was one more interesting shot, where another painted stork gave an ecstatic expression, as it stretched its neck, in an angle beyond belief.

You can see it here

As we wandered around the village, we met up with a lot of friendly villagers. The interesting people were going about doing their routines, some working on silk worm cultivation, some working in the fields, some women carrying water, where as some younger women were busy in cleaning their front yards.

Click!Click!Click!!!

The village kids were captured on the frame, playing around a bullock cart. It was a great experience to show the kids, the pictures taken, in the LCD preview screen (of the digital camera). The excitement amongst the kids, on looking at their images, in this magical 'TV' had an infectious effect as the young women around joined the kids in their requests for the pictures to be taken.

Ladies and Gentlemen!!! For the next half hour, I was the Shah Rukh Khan, who was being sought after by everyone around. :D

Soon, it was dusk, and time for us to leave. But, some of the kids who had accompanied us, and had their pictures taken, started asking for money. This was anti climax!!! All the time I was priding myself for being admired for. And now, it was payback time :(.
I wasn't the Shah Rukh now, but surely, they were the Khans for the day. :(
I gave some money to one of the boys, and told all others to take their shares from him.

A bit disillusioned, but with the satisfaction of having been able to witness the birds in their magnanimous forms, and been able to take a set of good pictures, we drove back the dusty road towards the highway.

As the Sun descended behind the hills, we moved towards the glittering lights of the big city. It was indeed, one day into the world of angels.

Thank you for being a part of my experience for this trip to Ranganatittu and Kokkrebellur.

Hope you have a great week ahead.

With warm regards,
Teju

Into the world of angels - 1

Account of a interesting one day trip to Ranganatittu...

Team: Sandy, Anand, Shre, and myself

"What the ...the birds are so very quick ma'an. I see their image in the camera, and then click. In the small delay between clicking and the image being taken, the birds vanish from the frame," said a frustrated Anand, holding his Nikon digicam.
We were sitting on the small boat on the silent lake of Ranganatittu, a little more than two hours drive from Bangalore, on the Bangalore - Mysore highway. Ranganatittu is famous for the migratory birds, from all over the world. ('America, Europe, Australia, Africa, Antartica' says the dark guide cum boatman, in khakis. Antartica???!!! Looks like the Cheif Minister's ventures to attract tourism has been successful )
"Try estimating where the birds might come, in that short delay, before they come, and then click," I gave a useless suggestion.
"Correct," he turned back towards the birds.
The next time he clicked, he was able to capture that bird, in great details.
Well, the useless suggestion worked. :D

Soon Sandy, Anand, and myself, armed with digital cameras had taken hundreds of pictures of birds in various activities. Birds feeding their young ones, birds flying, birds fighting, birds looking out for mates, birds sneezing, birds caughing, birds shitting (we would have recieved some of them down below, but for timely dodging). The leader of the pack, Shre, was more careful in taking pictures with his huge SLR camera. He was very selective. He would only shoot if the birds would send in a special request for their picture to be taken by him.
At the end of the forty minute ride in the boat, I announced my score, which had passed a hundred. Sandy and Anand had beaten me by a huge margin. Shre announced his score like disappointed Sehwag, 'Thirty'. But he was smirking to himself like Tendulkar, about the naive trio who had taken hundreds of pictures, not enjoying nature like he did, and take only selective pictures.

Ranganatittu had been a dream for many years now. A boring boat ride in the wrong season, while in highschool, had created confusing ideas about the place from me. All I did see then were few casual birds resembling crows and sparrows, and some lazy crocs who refused to respond to the most hilarious sardar jokes which my classmate was blurting out on the boat, non stop. Was this the place adored by all the photo enthusiasts who had been taking heartcatching pictures of exotic birds?

This time, few friends who had been there just two weeks back, had assured us that we could expect the world, out of a visit to the paradise. The March - April were the nesting season for the migratory birds. As usual we planned to start from Bangalore, by six in the morning, and lived up to the plan by leaving Bangalore at seven. The usual reasons of early morning hot water issue, the missing socks issue, the non starting bike issue were there, including the issue of the pet dog losing sanity. Err..... sorry..... the other issues were a repetition of the last time, but the dog issue was skipped this time.
(And none of us even have pet dogs :D ).
The shockingly good road towards Mysore gave few problems to the ace man at the wheel, Sandy. A quick breakfast at the quaint restaurant 'Kamat Lokaruchi' and we were zooming away towards the chicks....oops.... birds.

The ruthless Sun was on his way to compete with Kariena to become the hottest star, when we reached Ranganatittu. An unnoticable road to the right of the Bangalore - Mysore highway, 6 kms before Mysore, led us to the place. The turn was so much unnoticable that it seemed like the tourism ministry had taken extra care to chip off the paint from the weak board announcing Ranganatittu. For photo enthusiasts, here is a small bit of info. There is a manned railway junction immediately after the turn, and vendors who make a living out of selling munchables while waiting for the train to pass ( 5 minutes approx). One can get some interesting shots here.
On reaching the place, one can go in the regular boat tours, getting a ticket for Rs 20. This is the boring boat tour that I spoke about earlier, and you can go for this, if you want to write a similar blog later in your life. Or, you could opt for a private boat tour, which charges you Rs 200 per boat tour (not per head).
"Camera sir?" the guard asked for the tickets for our cameras dangling from our necks.
"Yes," I replied.
Not sure if the digicams Sandy and Anand were carrying were still cameras or video,"Video camera?" asked the guard,
"No, Audio Camera," came out instinctively from Shre. The guard took our money with a forgiving look of one who has seen lots of excited young men with first time SLR cameras ;-).
Each still camera costs Rs 20 each, for the tickets.

The private boat started with only four of us. Before a minute had passed, we were moving past the tiny island in the lake, swarming with exotic birds, with orange beaks, reddish brown necks, and pink plumes for tails. "They are painted storks from America," the boatman/guide declared.
Oh! God. These birds had flown down all the way from the other part of the world???
No visa required. No wasting time for flight tickets deals on Orbitz.com.
As the boat moved up the lake, more of the birds were revealed.
There were the herons, the egrets, and the asian bills.
The boat moved through a narrow path surrounded by chirping, and quacking birds. The ambience was angelic, as we suddenly found ourselves amidst the nature, the wild flurried with acitivity. The boat sailed by the side of rocks where smaller birds dipped their beaks to gulp water from the lake, and the bigger storks magestically spread their wet wings for drying.
Click! Click! Click!!!
The boat, began to move towards a small gap in between the swarm of bent trees.
One of the two herons on a curvy branch of a short tree gave us a hurried glance, and took to flight. The other heron was destined to be a star. It sat there, as our cameras clicked away to glory.
The boatman pushed the rough roots of the trees protruding out into the lake, to guide the boat into the swamp.
As the boat moved through the swamp, scraping against the roots, we were surrounded by the mysteriously shaped trees, and bird nests. The chirping and the quacking of the birds reached a new high. It seemed right out of the sets of Jurassic Park - III.
Slowly, the boat emerged out from the swamp to the clear lake, and I could get a clear shot of a Painted Stork perched on the topmost branch of a tall tree. It stood there, like a lonely guard on a secluded light house, looking out into the horizon. Its house back home would have been ravaged by the cold winters of the sub zeros, and the devilishly white snow.
Slowly, the boat began its sail towards the shores, as we tried to capture last few pictures of the beautiful creatures.
A small token of appreciation of a hundred bucks to the boatman and we were done with the boat ride.

So, is that it? Does it end here?

Nope, not for the ones with the little adventure in blood. You could take a small time risk(against the authorities) by moving to the watch tower on the other extreme side, opposite to the entrance. There is a small broken bridge (purposely broken to prevent visitors from going to the watch tower) on the way to the watch tower. But, on observation, one can notice that the depth of the lake below the bridge is not more than a few inches, and one can wade across it, barefoot.
The view of the birds on the giant cluster of trees from the watch tower is worth the risk :D

A short walk back to the parking lot, and we threw ourselves into the black Santro Xing, which now resembled the steaming idli ovens of the darshini fast foods. 'Put on the AC, Sandy' I screamed. Sandy, the owner of the black idli oven ran his fingers over some of the controls of the AC. But, that did not make much of a difference, and our car soon resembled the hot and sweaty compartment of 'Titanic' fame. Minus the palm print on the glass.

The car sped off from Ranganatittu onto the Bangalore - Mysore highway.

The heat, the sweat, the sunburns, and the slow boat ride were not something that we endured to get those rare glimpses of the exotic birds. They only added to the exciting experience amidst the angels.

Hope you had a good time living with me, my brief experience.

Read the rest of the interesting story at Kokkrebellur on your next visits to this space.

with warm regards,
Teju

Pictures of Ranganatittu and Kokkrebellur

One leg wonder
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...coming soon...

...apologise for having been absconding from the blogosphere for a while now.....

....promise to come up with an account of an interesting flight from Minneapolis to Bangalore.... yes...especially due to some of the interesting characters that one meets when they are travelling via Amsterdam.. any guesses?? ;-)

..there are some others on the anvil ....

...right now, am a lil bzy shooting pictures for a photography contest arranged by ISKCON bangalore, during their Bhramotsava celebrations....

watch this space for more :)

Focus on the crux, the rest solve themselves

Focus on the crux, the rest solve themselves
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...inspired by the tangled twigs, at Taylor Falls, Minnesota

Rain at Chicago

Rain at Chicago
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

..a view of the Chicago downtown caught in the rains... from the Signature Lounge of the John Hancock building in Chicago...

the first few snap shots of winter in Minnesota

Driving on the frozen lake
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...click on picture to go to the picture album...

Lake Harriet

Lake Harriet
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...the Lake Harriet is partly frozen, forming a smooth layer of thin ice on which a thin layer of water gives the lustrous surface..... and the creation of beautiful reflections of the orchestra house on the other side...

About beggars and begging...

The traffic light displayed a red-lit hand, which meant 'Don't cross the street’. This was for the pedestrians like me, trying to cross the street of the Minneapolis downtown.
The cold winds of sub zero temperatures blew lightly, slithering amidst the skyscrapers of the downtown, brushing against my face, leaving an unpleasant cold feeling.
My hands were getting colder by each passing moment, in the below freezing surroundings. 'Do I just run across the road? Anyway there was no car approaching this way,' I thought, but did not dare to do that, because the speeding American cars appearing at a distance, were moving at high speeds.
"Excuse me, sir," I heard a gruff voice at my back.
I turned to see a huge man, unkempt white beard, a bashed nose emerging out of a pockmarked dusky face, leaning on a pair of crutches. He wore huge, heavy jackets, and had one leg in a wrapped around bandage.
He murmured something at me.
Eh? Was he asking me money????
"Whatzat?" I shot out the question at him.
"Can you spare a dollar?" he raised his voice. This time, it was very clear.
WHAT THE...??? He was begging.
‘Boss!!! This is the US. Don't you know??? This is the richest country in the world. ‘
Nope, I did not say any of those words.
I turned back towards the merciless traffic light. It had not yet permitted me to cross that empty street.
Suddenly, a girl attired in long, black coat whizzed past me, onto the street, crossing it at quick steps.
I had been standing here all the while, respecting the traffic light, and this girl just does not care???
And I always thought that girls are more docile.
"SAY YES OR NO," the gruff voice of the man was raised this time, behind my back.
I was surprised by his egoistical cry for help. I turned back to him, and threw a 'no'.
As I got down from the pavement, to cross the street even at the 'red hand' of the traffic light, I began thinking 'Where was his car?'

'Where was his car? Where was his car? Where was his car?' A random question was circling amidst the network of gray matter in my brain. Why should I care about where his car was? He was a beggar. He would not even have a car. He was using crutches to support himself. Would he have a car?
WHY SHOULD I CARE? WHY IS THIS QUESTION HITTING MY HEAD?
Well, before I confuse you more with these lines inspired by Ludlum's 'The Bourne Identity', let's go a bit to the past.

Twenty years deep down the memory lane.....

The gang was seated in a circle. Owner Dwarka (because his father was the owner of our rented houses), kalla Loki (he was popular for stealing), gonne Smitha (you guessed it!!! she had a flowing nose), jagalganti Sandhya ( we fought tooth and nail), and Vidya (the good looking good girl, so what if she was an year senior to me ;-) ), and the new kid on the block, me, all under 10 years of age, were seated in a circle discussing current events.
The event was the fat desi doctor, who had come to take his mother back to Canada. The mother was a nice old lady, who had been our neighbor, for the whole of my life.....err...which was six years.
"Where's Canada?" I asked owner Dwarka.
"America kano," uttered Loki.
"Oh!" I said, not to appear ignorant. Who the hell knew what America was? Atleast Canada sounded familiar, as it rhymed with my native language Kannada.
"What is special about America?" Sandhya asked, displaying her ignorance. I looked at her with a 'don't you even know that' stare.
"Lots of cars," said Loki. "Everyone has a car, even the poor," he said.
Ah! This was interesting. "What about beggars???" I put in a question, just to appear inquisitive, and intelligent.
"Even beggars have cars," Loki uttered with a tone of finality.
Oh!Gawd!!! This had to be an awesome. America!!! Even the beggars had cars!!! This is one place I had to visit, I decided then. I could already picture myself, wearing yellow shirt, dark sunglasses, in a green Premiere Padmini, going around begging with a dented aluminum bowl.

That summer, on an evening, I found myself in the Premiere Padmini. But no, I was not dressed in any of the handsome attires I mentioned before. I sat in the passenger seat of my grandpa's car, along with my cousin, as he drove around the unkempt roads of the beautiful, little town of Sagar, in Karnataka.
Due to the popular festival celebrated there, the 'Maari Jaathre', a lot of people were scampering around in the ocean of humans on one of the narrow, but busiest road of the town.
My grandpa, who was declared by the local junta to be an ace on the wheels, the first person to have bought a 'Ford' car in the Shimoga district of the past, was deftly handling the old car, honking occasionally (most of these legends about him were secrets, only known to few in the family..heh heh ). And suddenly, a light thud was felt.
A lean, dark man in plain clothes was getting up, bathed in the bright lights of the car's headlamps. Had the car just hit him?
"Get out, get out," screamed another man, who appeared from nowhere, amidst the crowd, and started thumping on the front of the car.
Grandpa asked my cousin and me, to remain calm in the car, and got down to talk.
"Horn maadbekuri ('You should have sounded the horn')" the vociferous man screamed, as the one who was supposedly hurt stood watching blankly, as though he was the third umpire.
"I was honking throughout," my grandpa said, politely.
"Look, look, how badly he is hurt," the rude man pulled up the leg of the other (hurt?) man, caught off guard.
"Where?" my grandpa asked.
In the diffused light, reflected by the light clothes of the dark people, who had gathered in front of the headlights of the car, everyone was examining the exquisite foot of the victim.
Nope. The crowd decided that his foot could not match the beauty of Sridevi's. (She was the hot favorite then).
Then, the million pairs of eyes turned towards us, the caged duo that had been scared to the bones.
"I am not very much hurt, sir," we could hear the man saying. "Just a little hurt here."
"What is there? Nothing," declared my grandpa.
"He needs to go the doctor, give him hundred rupees," the loud man screamed.
"Why? Doctor charges ten rupees," my grandpa argued.
"What if he has to go to another doctor, if first doctor is not good?" the man argued.
"Let him go to the second doctor first," my grandpa raised his voice.
The rough man banged on the car in frustration, and disappeared into the crowd.
Now, the he-damsel in distress had no one to help. The male-damsel with the hurt foot turned to my grandpa. "I can adjust with ten rupees," he said.
"I will give you nothing," grandpa declared, as he got into the car.
"Sir, please," the man appeared at the window, "give me ten rupees. I will go to only one doctor."
"I said, I won't give you anything," my grandpa said.
"Ok, give me at least two rupees for a coffee," he begged.
Grandpa started the car, and honked his way out of the crowd.

Small town fool!!! He would never have had the chicanery to beg in style. May be, one day, he would visit the 'onsite' of beggars, the place of the 'gold rush' of all the beggars of South India, Bangalore. I did read it somewhere in the recent past that, Bangalore's tolerance towards beggars has attracted vagabonds from all the neighboring states.
But, none can match this one guy, with a weird had, coat, and a shabby suit in Lalbagh, ten years later.
I always expected to meet some beautiful people on my early morning jogging sessions at Lalbagh, but always ended up meeting late Dr 'H Narasimhaiah', the then President of the board of my high school, in my teens. But, my persistence paid off, on this sunny Sunday of Bangalore's typical winter, when a beautiful lass in tracksuit was catching her breath, seated on one of the benches beside the lake.
Suddenly, I calculated her distance from me, and incrementally decreased the pace so that it appears natural that I look exhausted by the time I reach the bench.
As I sat on the bench, I observed that she was smiling at her Nokia, reading some message.
Now, that was an old model of Nokia, or my question would have been, "Nice phone. Is that the new model?"
"One rupee please," I heard the melodious voice on my other side. With a sudden jerk, I turned, to see a man in a shabby suit, and other descriptions above, holding his hat, asking for money.
He even had a friendly smile pasted on his lips.
This man, however shabby, was wearing a SUIT!!! Dear god!!! I never had a suit in my life.
And as a matter of fact, at that moment, I DIDN'T HAVE ONE RUPEE IN MY POCKET !!!
Suddenly, I saw a hunk appear in blue tracksuit. He threw himself beside the girl, who looked at him with such an extreme smile, that it could not be sisterly love which the optimist in me was hoping for.
The beggar in the shabby suit immediately turned towards the hunk, and held out his hat, with the same 'One rupee please' and a smile.
Even the beggar had dumped me!!!
'The one with the beautiful girl by his side, grabs all the attention' the thought for the day.

Many more years later, it was yet another day, when such a group of beautiful girls of my high school class team were playing basketball. The ball went out of the court, but was caught by one of the hoodlums of the neighboring college, ogling at the girls. After verbally harassing the girls, the ball was given back to them.
This angered the gladiator in me. But, I kept my calm.
The girls exit the court, and stood at the side, as we boys began to practice.
Once again, the ball went to one of the hoodlums. The lanky guy holding the ball, wanted to show off his masculinity in front of the girls team.
I marched ahead and grabbed the ball.
SLAP!!! Suddenly, I felt my head whirl, as I realized that it was due to a swing by the lad at my face.
I swung my hand with a reflex at his face, which caught the lad off guard.
The next moment, I realized what had happened, and I regretted. He had a gang behind him!!!
The lad took sometime to recover from the shock, and then came out to flog me. But my team held him back, and pacified him for the day.
A few days of alertness, not going alone and other 'careful actions' followed. But, one day he caught me alone.
Nope, he did not hit me.
He fished out a battered watch. "This is original branded watch. It costs 250 rupees in America. Please take this, and give me 250 rupees." Was he asking me money?
"I do not need the watch. I have my Indian watch," I said, showing my cheap Chinese imitation from the sweaty shops of Hong Kong bazaar.
Then he fished out worn out photocopies of some receipts. "My mother is admitted to a hospital. Can you please buy this watch for me?" he begged.
It was a privilege to be begged by the KCBR (Kalaspalya Certified Bangalore Rogue).
Suddenly, an idea out of an old Kannada movie struck me. "No. I will not buy the watch. But, you can have 50 rupees, as loan. You can repay me when your mother is out of the hospital," I said.
He was full of gratitude for my loan. The risk was just fifty bucks.
In the next few days, I realized that the lad had no plans to return the money. But, one of the girls in the team, who had adored my valor, helped me out by letting me into the network of local hoodlums, through her boy friend. The leader of the gang (college dropouts) wanted to help me out, as he did not believe in harassing innocent students.
He said that he could not order the lad to return the money, because they were on the same side. But, he let me on the info that the lad had taken up employment in a neighboring cloth store, and also enlightened me about the lad's glorious past with previous employers.
I used the information of 'historical significance' to blackmail the hoodlum lad to give me back my money.
Also, I got a free coffee along with the return of my money.

It was yet another day in the life of a software engineer, on a dusty evening, when I got down from my company vehicle, at the hundred feet road. As the vehicle moved away, I planned to cross the busy road (yessir, in Bangalore, you need good plans to cross the roads). Just then, a bearded man in sleazy clothes appeared beside me.
He gestured that he was hungry and needed something to eat.
His face was weathered, with thick eyebrows and a beard, which was beginning to gray.
This man could not have been more than in his early forties. He would have the strength to earn his bread, wouldn't he? Was it so very difficult to earn two square meals in Bangalore, while the Prime Minister was eating up the microphone with his long speeches about Bangalore spearheading the economic boom in India?
Ok, lemme not boast about my knowledge towards economy and finance, as I knew that if all my credit card companies wanted to settle my accounts on the spot, I will have to join this noble man as an assistant.
"Come," I said, "I will get you something to eat," as I led him towards a nearby bakery. I bought half a pound of bread, and turned to him.
"Oota," he mustered to say, gesturing as before. Oh! He did not want 'something' to eat. He wanted a full meal.
I was getting a little suspicious.
I led him to a hotel beside the bakery. "What will you have?" I asked him standing at the cashier, with my wallet ready.
"Give me money. I will buy something," he said.
"No," I said, "I will not give you money. I can get you something to eat here," I said firmly.
"Money," he changed his gestured.
"No, I can get you something to eat if you want," I said.
Sulking, he turned the other way, and walked away.
Though there could be a hundred possibilities, which could be attributed to his behavior, I felt that I had saved a few rupees from going into the liquor store, incidentally, just beside the hotel.

I do not hate beggars.
In a country, which has been told to dream of becoming a 'developed' nation in a few years, since more than a few decades now, where development in economy is sheer numbers and not the development of the quality of life of its citizens, where the money has been flowing in, only to increase the disparity between the different social sectors of the society, I cannot hate beggars.
As I cannot expect them to borrow, and am not comfortable to support stealing, I am in agreement with their begging. As I have been lucky enough to get a better life, and a few rupees more than I need for my basic existence, I can afford to lend a bit in my own way. But just take in a few precautions not to be cheated.


Often, I have been told that I am not helping anybody by encouraging begging.
Yes, I am a fool. I am no revolutionist. And I have no illusions that I had ruined the chances of the beggars, building a 'Reliance' or a 'Tata' out of vengeance, if I had not helped them. Life goes on for them, whether I help them or not. The difference is, for me. The acts of kindness are for my satisfaction.

I never had felt better, than when I was able to help out an old couple that had approached me during a hectic event that I was attending. I took them over to a nearby bakery, and bought them a pound of freshly baked bread. The smile of gratitude from the couple had made my day.

I am just a normal person, as selfish as anybody, but do not hesitate to lend a rupee to the poor lady at the traffic light, carrying her kid, if it would help her lead a decent life rather than getting into the indecent world.

Let me know what you think.

Have a great day.

With warm regards,
Teju

driving down the golden lane

driving down the golden lane
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...at the Minneapolis downtown.... as the snowflakes pour down....

picture puzzle in Vijaya Karnataka

picture puzzle in Vijaya Karnataka
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

who is the person number '2' in the picture puzzle???

for answers,

vijaykarnatakaepaper.com/login.php

press on 'click here for FREE access to e-paper'

select Feb 12, 2006 as the date on the top right corner

go to page 27 - the youth supplement... ;-)

heh heh

The Angry Young Woman

The Angry Young Woman
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

..seemingly upset with the driver... the beautiful lady walks towards the bus shelter... at Chicago

Desis in Patel Brothers Grocery, Chicago

Desis in Patel Brothers Grocery, Chicago
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...the desis doing their weekly grocery shopping at Patel Brothers Grocery, Devon Avenue, Chicago....
...The savories costing hundreds of rupees in India, are filled up in huge matkas (containers made of clay) with steel/plastic lids, and available at dirt cheap prices for the dollar salaried...

The Undecided Droplet

The Undecided Droplet
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...the ice stick formed on the side mirrors of our truck... the water droplet on the verge of falling down....

Dusk In Winter

Dusk In Winter
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

..a dusk at lake Harriet in Minneapolis... the still water near the shores is partly frozen, giving an immaculately smooth surface, which appears as a mirror...

an evening at Old Chicago pub...

an evening at Old Chicago pub...
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

path way to paradise

path way to paradise
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...on a sunday evening.... by the side of a frozen Harriet Lake....just a 10 minutes drive from Minneapolis downtown....

Cool splash

Cool splash
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...this photograph taken by me, appeared in the Spectrum page of Deccan Herald.. an English daily of India...
This photograph was taken on a water sports trip to Honnemardu, a beautiful place in Karnataka, India

The original version of this picture is uploaded in webshots. It appears in the 'Pictures of Globe Trekker' on the extreme right side of the screen, under the link 'Honnemardu River Sports' ;-)

Taste of victory

Taste of victory
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

After a lot of falling, (including some real nasty ones)... finally managed to ski successfully in the most difficult hill of the Hyland Lake Ski Resort

Lords of the Rings

‘A curious outsider’s experience with the most energetic industry of India, the ITES’


"Welcome to People PC Online. This is Dan. How may I help you today?" croaked the American male voice over my telephone.
It was an internet service in US, available in the city I dwell, Minneapolis.
"I have registered for a service, on your website. But, the software that is given to start the dial up isn't working," I briefed my issue.
"No problem, sir. I will transfer you over to our technical support. They would be glad to help you out," said the man, and he put me on hold for a minute.
"Welcome to People PC Online. This is Andy, from the technical support. How may I help you today, sir?" came out the well-rehearsed voice, speaking impeccable English. But for the ears accustomed to identify the desi English from the American, there was no doubt that this was indeed a desi. ;-)
For a fellow desi, who has been in the US only for the last few months, desi voices are always pleasant.
After I stated my problem, he guided me for the next few minutes about the installation of the software.
Then, unable to hold it any longer I asked, "Andy, are you an Indian?"
"Yes, sir."
"I am an Indian too," I said.
"I guessed that, sir."
"Cool! Are you in India now?" I asked
"Yes, sir. Would you know Bangalore?" he replied.
Would I know Bangalore? I have seen the place grow from a laid back city with unkempt roads, occasional Ambassador cars, and a few scooters crawling around, while standing on the front of my father's lambretta in the early eighties to the modern day technology hub, with some of the best roads of the country, still not able to catch up to the burgeoning traffic of expensive cars, bumper to bumper with large buses carrying the drowsy IT guys with deep pockets.
"Yes, I am from Bangalore," I put it in a simpler sentence.
"I am working in Bangalore," he answered back.
"Where in Bangalore?" I asked him.
"Banaswadi," he answered, this time very confident that I would know the place. Well, it surely sounded like the more popular Basavanagudi, but I knew that this was a far off place where the girlfriend of my friend had her house, due to which he had to think twice before volunteering to pick her up from her place, for a date. ;-)
"What is your real name?" I asked Andy.
"I am Venkat," he said, putting a smile on my face.
For the next few minutes, we chat informally about Bangalore, the recent rains, and he enquired a little more than being professionally courteous about Minneapolis weather, before hanging up. I was surprised that even he knew the legend of the coldest weather conditions, here.

It has always been a love-envy-hate relationship with our friends on the other part of the IT scenario in India, the ITES sector. It all had begun with the large-scale recruitment by Dell, which was taken up by many of my friends, with engineering degrees, as a stopgap career option till they got a software job. Of course, this was during the economic recession in the US, three years back. (Recently, it has been the time for that famous Infy joke 'Tresspassers will be recruited', for engineers ;-) )
"But, how can one work throughout the night?" I mused, and preferred the other option.
STAYED AT HOME, UNEMPLOYED.
The trend took a drastic boost with my non-engineer friends getting quick jobs, with fat pay packets at various Call Centres, and BPOs. While the world seemed to run towards the ITPL in Bangalore, I was still trying to make sense out of the whole scene.
I was still one of those guys, who believed the Engineers ran the world, and deserved the highest pays that the employer can muster. But, the cool chaps from the ITES sector not only earned plentiful, but spent it with vigor, and seemed more jovial than my friends who had managed to creep into the trickling jobs from the IT companies.
"Workplace is like an extension of college, maga," uttered one of my friends.
I really envied the guy, when I actually joined an IT company.
For us from the IT side, the ITES had great work culture, hep crowd, and cool money to sponsor that life. What the hell were we doing, sitting in cubbyholes, coding bugs for people we had never met in life?

"You have reached the Billing and Accounts section, of America Online. You may want to check with our technical support team for your issue to be resolved," the American voice spoke out. "Sure," I said. I had called up the toll free number to get the same kind of assistance from America Online, another ISP in the US, a little while after the 'People PC Online' story.
After series of beeps, and weird rings later, "This is the technical support section of America Online. This is Nick. How may I help you today?"
DESI!!! ;-)

Yet another day, "Guru (pal), I am going to CRV Consultants today, to apply for Dell Call Centre," said a friend of mine, during the initial days of unemployment, just after graduation, in Bangalore.
"You sure you would be able to work in the night?" I asked him.
"Who wants to work for Dell??!! I am going there because the girl taking the applications is hot, and she had given me some 'major hints' the last time I had been with friend," he said.
Ahem. Didn't I say something about each person's perception of life?
"So, when are you going? Can I join you?" I asked. Well, my perception was getting a new view point ;-)

Well, that is a love story that never even began. But, yes, there is a love story, which did go on for sometime.

An 'onsite' friend of mine had a problem with his Dell wireless router. He called up the Dell helpline, and lo!!! He was routed to Bangalore, India. The 'Tina' on the other end did cater to his questions with such care and dedication that he took the liberty to go ahead and asked her whether she was really 'Tina'.
She wasn't a 'Tina', but mentioned her desi name. She was from Bangalore.
After the issue with the router was resolved, she parted with her email id, to get back in case if he had 'further queries'.
The first mail was very carefully crafted by the guy in the west, about thanking her for her help, and enquiring about the Bangalore weather. The reply went ahead than just giving him information about Bangalore weather.
The two got talking over the emails in the next few days.
A week later he found in his mail box, to his shock, 'Hi Dear, How was the weekend?'.

A year ago, I was discussing about this wonderful phenomenon called the ITES with my cousin who was in the industry. "The people who join my company come from vibrant backgrounds. They could be graduates, postgraduates in various fields. They could be from a commerce background, pure sciences background, or engineering background. We even have CAs and MBAs from one of the finest colleges in India," he said. This was interesting, as the perception about ITES was changing from that of a stop-gap career option to a matured job market which not only required quantity, but also quality, of workmanship.
"But, don't you think that it affects people biologically that they have to work at night? Well, humans are 'supposed' to work in the daytime, and 'supposed' to rest at night, " I argued.
"Oh! It is not always in the night that people have to work. There are different shifts. People could prefer to work in the day time too," he added.
This was news to me. But it was definitely true.
"But, I chose to work in the night shift," he added later, "That is where the action is," with a smile.
Night is the time that one could have maximum communication with the clients in the west, and hence, it would add to the pace of the career growth in the ITES industry, he explained.

I have met some very interesting people who are from the ITES. A person who handles western customer calls at night, but who conducts trekking camps for the youth for passion. Another person who handles calls at night, and is passionate about social service. Another person is a model. Another person is waiting for his movie to hit the screens. I also know a group of dare devil enthusiasts, who would not ignore any opportunity for rock climbing. And many other interesting friends of mine, who are currently reading this ;-)

At a recent Christmas party in my apartments in Minneapolis, I met this two American young men at a table. I knew one of these guys, who always tried to beat me to the gym early in the morning.
As they got talking, I realized that they were working for a Call Centre for the Union Reserve Bank, just beside my apartments. Now, why would a Union Reserve Bank want a call center???
"Hello, may I help you?"
"Yes. It would be great if you could fish out few bundles of hundred dollar bills, and post it to me" ;-))
Heh heh.... nope. The Union Reserve Bank did more than just print dollar bills. They handled the bonds, and other complicated economical stuffs (he did mention what the 'stuffs' were, but they were beyond my limited vocab ;-) ). The customers who wanted to trade these bonds, and other related enquiries, could use the Union Reserve Bank call center.
"We literally sit on a pile of money," one of the guys was saying. "There are four floors below the ground level, where all the cash is kept in huge metallic shelves, resembling Walmart ( like 'Metro', in India). Nobody is allowed inside there. If you would want cash, you need to enter it in a computer, and there are robots which would fetch the cash to you," he explained the process to the others at the table.

"Which place are you from?" the guy asked me later.
"India," I mentioned, pretty confident that I need not explain him about the location. There were lots of Indians in Minneapolis.
"Oh! Do you know 'Kannada' ?" he asked me!!!
NOT HINDI, NOT TELUGU, NOT TAMIL!!! He asked me, if I knew Kannada???!!!
I knew for sure that there was a huge Telugu population, Tamil population, and North Indian population, here. Despite all these, he was asking me 'Kannada'???
"That is my language. But, how do you know about it?" I asked, suppressing excitement.
"I had a few friends from Bangalore who spoke Kannada," he said, pronouncing Kannada immaculately.
Well, in the new half hour I enlightened the people at the table with Kannada, Hindi, and other languages spoken in India.
"Sixteen official languages? Doesn't that create a lot of confusions?" he asked me, with a smile.
"Four time zones, and foot, pound, mile measurements instead of the metric system. Doesn't that create a lot of confusions?" I smiled back at him.

I have had a lot of friends from the ITES sector, who actually made me realize later, that all that glitters is not Call Centre job. Some of the girls' parents felt uneasy letting their 'brought-up-with-love' children to work in the night. Some of them had issues with colleagues misbehaving as a result of the 'college' ambience. Some guys complained that they had lost out girls to other guys working for the day jobs. Some other guys felt frustrated, as they had taken up ITES jobs for stopgap arrangement to finance their higher studies, but felt uneasy in leaving the high paying jobs.
Well, they were the like usual comments of many of my friends, from the other IT and non-IT fields.
Life, after all, is the way we perceive it. And generally, most of us don't refrain from perceiving it to be a huge and loaded, Ashok Leyland truck, with a flat tyre, on a deserted highway of Rajastan, under the scorching Sun, waiting to be pushed ;-)

There have been the highs, in the form of ecstatic cries of friends who got their jobs at Dell, 24/7, AOLs, followed by the trendy clothes, partying, and sleek mobile phones. There have been the lows with stories about frustrating bosses, slogs, and gloom over rumors of jobs shifting over to Philippines. But the slick ITES industry did change the way the metropolitans’ look and feel. It is changing the way business is done in India. It definitely is changing the way the media looked at the youth.

Away from the big statements about what it did to the youth, or what it did to the economy of the country, it simply reassures me that, at the end of the day, when something goes wrong, there is some person waiting to solve my problem, with a 'May I help you?' in the kindest of tones, at the ringing of my call.
And that person is my friend, my counselor, and my guide. And that person is the lord of my (telephone) rings.

Teju

Headfirst

Headfirst
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...a picture of Honnemardu water sports...featuring Kiran, and Sudhir (friends) entering the water gracefully...

This has secured the third award in 'Journalistic Moments' category, in the Annual Salon by Sagar Photographic Society, India.

A road trip to the Rocky Mountains, Colorado

Ain't that MAGNIFICIENT?
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

junta,

here's an pictorial account of the inspiring road trip to the Rockies, Colorado. Hope you like them.

... shoot your comments at will....

teju
(ps: am waiting with bated breath, a dartboard held at my chest ;-) )

Minneapolis Downtown Skyline

Minneapolis Downtown Skyline
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

...this won the second runners up award at the eyemage photo contest... carrying the theme 'Urban Skyline' ....

SHOWER OF GOLD!!!

Shower of Gold
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

Christmas lights drape the insides of downtown buildings and malls.

IT IS THE HERALD OF HOLIDAY SEASON FOR SURE!!!

An evening at the Ice Skating Rink

"Uao ooo ooo ooooooo" screamed the playback singer, as Akshay Kumar skated over the smooth, and white ice surface in his sensational movie 'Aankhen', for the passionate song 'Gustaakiyan'. He manouvres his moves to the rhythm of the song, as he takes a wide turn, into the arms of the nubile females in mini-skirts, in gawdy colours. Then they all form a line, and glide around the rink, beautifully raising their legs as they perform to the song on their single legs. Reel life.
"AAAAAA uuuffff....urgh" screamed the voice, as I saw my feet come up in air, and the ice floor hit my soft hind. After the shock of the impact, I did realise that it was my own voice. "Are you ok?" the Chinese lady in white jacket beside me enquired, though she was too little for me to expect her to pull me up. That was my first day at the Ice Skating. Real life.

On this Saturday, the first day of bitter coldness ( a little less than zero degree centigrade) in Minneapolis, my friend came upon this skating rink near our apartments. He had given me a call to join him there, and half nervous hour later, I found myself gaping at the large, white and spotless surface of the ice skating rink. We had rented out skate boots, which resembled like that of the 'Giant Robot' , with thick metallic blades attached to the soles. One kick with this, and all the villians of Bollywood would give up any ideas to rape the heroes' sisters.
When the gates of the rink opened, all the young and the old there, eagerly entered the arena, with such glee that I had only witnessed in the eyes of the desi junta, the fat men with dark, ruptured skins and lanky kids with loose 'chaddi's, who would have escaped the guards' eyes at the dirty, Jayanagar swimming pool of my childhood days in Bangalore ( fyi: people with ruptured skins, and loose 'chaddi's aren't allowed into the swimming pools, legally).

As the people skated around, with such ease, my nerves cooled down, and I chanted my mantras, as I prepared myself to enter the skate zone. As soon as I entered the arena, I could feel it. Actually, I could not feel it. The 'it' being the friction, something that makes us move forward, when we put the pressure on our feet to move ahead.
Imagine a scenario where you are walking on a thick layer of oil, where the friction is absent. Can you feel my experience now?

NO, YOU CANNOT.

Because, on the thick layer of oil, you have the full surface of your feet to stand on. Here, I was to balance on the wretched blades of Mr Giant Robot's shoe :-(.

Suddenly, I felt myself moving. Even an unintentional, light jerk of a muscle is enough to make one move on this zero friction surface.
HEY, HOW DO I STOP THIS THING? I was panicking.
And suddenly, the help came from almighty, where I screamed like Akshay Kumar, as the different parts of my body kissed the cold ice below.

Holding the rink's boundary railings for support, I pulled myself up, and slowly moved, occasionally holding the railings to prevent falling i.e when I was actually on my feet. The average time spent on my feet were small in comparision to the average time spent in looking at the ceiling after a nasty fall, followed by the teethy smile at the people who stared at me, some with concern, and some stiffling laughter. Also, I had spent some time to let the blood flow back to the parts, which were forgotten by the other parts of the body, after a fall.

After two hours of testing the hardness of the almost all areas of the large skating rink, I was managing to move slowly without falling. I did complete a circle or two of the rink without falling.
"Are you a starter?" asked a kid, one of the numerous, who were skating around effortlessly, as fish in water.
"You bet I am," I smiled back at him.
Then, he parted with a few tips about how to go about doing it, without falling.
"Move your legs outwards, not straight. This would put pressure on the blades sidewards, which would prevent you from falling. The blades don't cut sideways," another stout man in his middleage ventured.

Soon, it was time for resurfacing. As everyone skates around on the ice surface, there are various grooves, and lines formed, which reduce the smoothness of the surface. This increases the effort required to skate around, also reduces the fun......supposedly. ( FUN!!! More smoothness = more slipping and falling......'Bekkige chellaata, ilimarige praana sankata'.... 'a whimsical play for the cat, threat on the life of the mouse' goes an old adage)
Everyone was asked to leave the rink for fifteen minutes. Soon, a quaint vehicle drove onto the surface, a replica of a steam engine, which wipes out the loose ice particles, and smears the surface with a layer of water. This layer of water would freeze on the surface, filling onto the grooves and lines, making the surface surprising smooth, and ready for another bout.

As I entered the rink, with a little confidence, as a result of not having fallen for the past half hour (fifteen minutes outside the rink included ;-) ), I carefully moved, watching the surface with complete attention, with hands in a posture ready to take any fall. As I slowly moved around like a scared Duryodhana in Indraprastha, I was building up my confidence, and also adding minutes to my track record of 'on-my-own-feet time'. Suddenly, a kid whizzed past me, the next moment I was watching the beautiful, glass roof of the rink. I was in no mood to appreciate its architecture, because the rear parts of my body were giving the last screams of survival. Then, I heard it. The laughter of Draupadi. Oh! Sorry. This Draupadi was dressed in green chemise, and jeans, and had spotless white skin with blond hair. Also, this Draupadi had used up much of the jeans cloth of Arvind mills (many jeans pants here, are Made In India ;-) ), to cover her XXL obese body. She skated away.

Here, the story differed. I did not get upset like Duryodhana. History repeats, NOT MYTHOLOGY. ;-))

I slowly pulled up, and continued my practise with shackled efforts.

My 'Duryodhana-in-Indraprastha' sequel started, and went on for the next hour. It was time for resurfacing!!!

After fifteen minutes, 'DING'!!! The third round of battle began between the ice monster and myself. The monster seemed to try out all the tricks to make me fall by giving me various surfaces, smooth and rough, but I managed to hold my ground. The armageddon had begun.
And I was determined to win it.

Just then, "Hey, is this your first time?" I heard a female voice say.
I turned around to see Draupadi...err.... the female who had laughed at me earlier.
"Yes," I smiled back, the same teethy smile came naturally to me, due to the numerous occasions of use on that day.
"You are doing pretty well, for the first day," she nodded with a smile, as she stood effortlessly on the skates. I desperately wanted to steal a glance if her shoes had some special stand or something (like cycles of kids) to help her stand without losing balance.
"Hey, thanks," I said, the teethy smile merging into a genuine one.
"It is very easy once you get the hang of it," she said, " I am sorry, I laughed at you earlier when you fell."
"Oh! That's ok. You still haven't seen me fall on the regular floor," I laughed out aloud, so that she laughs irrespective of whether she understood the joke or not.
She did laugh, and "Hang in there, you will get it," she said as she skated away.

An hour and a lot of falling later, my friend and myself settled down beside the rink, discussing the strategies that could be employed to skate better.

"Do we go in again?" my friend asked me, "to try out the strategies."

"Muchkond maneg hogana (let us shut up and go home)," I said.

Depot Ice Skating Rink

Depot Ice Skating Rink
Originally uploaded by thejaskr.

Here's a picture of the second time experience at the rink. The story does not differ much from the first experience, but for more people who joined me in the venture. ;-)

On the anvil.....

coming soon is a vignette about my experience with the ITES, the facade and the core.... watch this space for more ;-)

To Be Happy, Be Free From Any Image Of Self

I don't post the works of other authors in here generally, but I found this to be very inspiring, and hence have posted it. This piece of wisdom is by By SWAMI SUKHABODHANANDA, which appeared on the Times of India centre page of December 2, 05.

" These days people are inclined towards glamour than goodness. Media highlights glamour. People are brainwashed to believe that glamour is equal to happiness. It is a wrong notion.

Why does glamour have more appeal than goodness?
There are three traits in human consciousness: Looking good, feeling good and being good. The most important is being good. Many people value feeling good. However, if feeling good is not anchored on being good, then people get into drugs. Drugs temporarily make you feel good, but are not good for your well-being. People also value looking good more because it helps to impress others. For them, looking good physically and psychologically is more important than feeling good and being good. There is nothing wrong in looking good provided it is based on being good. More often people want their image to be appreciated to feed their ego. Glamour is food for the ego; it decorates the lookinggood pattern. Hence glamour is of greater appeal.

Is looking good wrong?
It is not a question of right or wrong. There exists a deeper meaning to it. A young girl, widowed at the age of 20, expressed that she was feeling lonely. I asked her why she could not remarry. She replied that she feared what people would say if she were to get married again. I asked her as to what people were talking about her right then. She replied that they felt that she was a good woman. However, I asked her if she was feeling good. In the eyes of the people she was looking good but she herself was not feeling good.
People sacrifice feeling good and being good for the sake of looking good. When looking good is not based on being good then life becomes a mess. The world runs on the illusion of looking good. If you do not look good, you will not survive this rat race, little realising that even if you win, you continue to be a rat. Are people happy in spite of being successful? Why is it that many successful people continue to be miserable? The reason being that they do not know the art of being happy. A study done on happy people showed that happy people were good finders. They always seek and find something good even in the bad.
Use the image of looking good but do not be used by the image of looking good. Just as you wear a dress, you are not the dress. To be happy, be free from any image of yourself. Be empty of image, thoughts, and conclusions. This inner emptiness is joy. This is a new way of looking.

Why should I be a good individual if being good involves more problems?
People throughout the world want only good things to be spoken of them. Nobody wants others to talk ill of them. It is thus clear that we are all seeking goodness. Being a good individual requires facing problems. In fact, being a bad individual also involves facing problems. Problems are part of life; hence train your mind to enjoy problems. Just as you go to a gym and enjoy the workout in spite of sweating, train your mind to enjoy problems. Problems often make you a powerful individual. "