Black & Yellow

If you’ve lived in a big, bad ‘Metropolitan’ and perhaps moreso if you’ve been a tourist, the one element you must certainly have come across is the ‘Taxi’.

New York has it’s

And surely Mumbai must have it’s own

The Bandra here has no meaning…(If it does, I haven’t figured it out yet)

Yes, the good ole ‘Black and Yellow’, mostly run-down fiats, with each one of them having different upholstery, some having radios and a few…yes a small few having CD systems. For me, the ‘black and yellow’ has been one of the most fascinating elements primarily cause Chennai my previous home-town has no concept of a regular passenger Taxi. Most Mumbaikars (or perhaps I should say South Mumbai types) would find this surprising, almost as surprised as they are when they find out that they are actually 4 states in South India ( And none of them is Madras). The black and yellow for me is central to the image that is Mumbai, consistent, painstaking, functional and most importantly omnipresent.

Dealing with a Mumbai taxi driver though is an art which takes mastering, and it takes into account multiple variables. The most important of these variables no doubt is the time of the day, given the importance of this variable though we will for the time being deem the others irrelevant.

Time Slot 1: 9:30 AM

Yes, around the time of the day most Mumbai taxi goers try hauling that cab down to get to work. About 10 – 15 mins late, but then hey everyone in office is anyway.

Psyche of Taxi Driver

After some in-depth research, bulk of which involved looking over his shoulder from the back seat. I have come to the following conclusions.

Since all the cabs in Mumbai are on sharing basis – day and night. At about 9 AM, the day cabbie has just got hold of the wheels and is hungry for business. You could well get in and say…”Mt.Tutankhamen’ and the cabbie will be on his way. I’ve tried it, he asked me for clarification only after a good 5 mins…Tulsipipe he asked? The cabbie wants to get going and get going he will, now is not the time to get choosy about going to far off places or about a very short journey.

Tip: Folks who for some reason want to head to Mira Road or beyond early in the morning, now is the best time.

Strategy

Put on that Donald Trump face and barge into cab like you own it.

Most Probable Outcome

Taxi Driver outstretches his left hand, industrially twists the meter around and gets going.

Time Slot II: 2 – 4 PM

It’s that time of the day when you have to head for that client meeting. You’ve sent them a sms saying you might be late…but this is now beyond late.

Psyche of Cabbie:

For the cabbie, this time of the day could mean two things. He’s either had a hectic morning followed by a hectic lunch or he’s had no business in the morning…and well a hectic lunch. Either way, the cabbie is recovering from his lunch, a snooze in his backseat is therefore far more tempting than hurtling through Senapati Bapat Marg.

If the cabbie has had no business in the morning, he might adopt 2 contrasting stances. Stance one : “I’ve had a horrible morning, let me try and make up for it now.”. Stance two: “I’ve had a fucked up morning, it’s just not my day so fuck it. Will have a few drinks and ask my wife to make up for it.” Now, if you meet a cabbie who’s adopted Stance two, you’re in trouble and you might just have to look for another Black & Yellow.

Most probably outcome:

You might have to send them another sms

Strategy:

Here, the Donald Trump strategy might not really work. Cause if you were to walk into the Taxi and sit on the backseat, you might well actually sit on the cabbies face. And that might not be so pleasant, so here it’s best that you first make sure the cabbies awake. After ensuring this, you ensure you’re flagging a cabbie who’s positioned himself to move in the same direction as your destination, if you don’t well the cabbie will give you that disgusted ‘immigrant’ look and go back to sleep. After ensuring this, clearly state where you want to go and open his backseat only after he replies in the affirmative. Not following this strategy might have you holding onto an open door running behind a moving cab.

Once he’s agreed, you could also sweeten the deal by telling him you have exact change.

Time Slot III : 7 – 8 PM

You’re late for that dinner event or late for that date you planned. Either way you want to find a cab quick.

Psyche of Cabbie:

Tough luck son, you might have that hot date but the cabbie couldn’t really give a shit. This forms the part of the day when he has to return the cab back to the depot, his wife is calling him, so are his kids and so is the Night cabbie who’s now desperate for business. He would like to drop you for sure, only provided you’re going exactly where he’s going…and he he’s not too sure of that either.

Most probable outcome:

What usually happens here is one of these two things. You spot the Black and Yellow in the distance, you wave it down, first timidly then a little more fervently. The cabbie well…he completely ignores you and drives right past. You could stand in his path on the road, he’d probably run you over ( Can’t be a 100% on that one, but I’m reasonably confident)

The other thing that happens sometimes is the following…you flag the cabbie down, he stops…but its sort of a reluctant, hesitant, intermittent stop… ..its almost as if he’s stopping just to take off again. You know the sort of look the hot chick gives you when you bump into her in a bar ( You don’t really have a chance but I will just be nice.) He then sort of gives you a window to say something to him and regardless of the destination, the cabbie half-listens and disappears. I once put my face into that window and screamed ‘Tera ghar’, it didn’t make a difference.

Strategy: Walk it

Time Slot IV: 12 AM – 4 AM

You’re returning home after that late night binge or for some odd reason you work in the T.V industry, either way it’s 4 AM and you need to get home. You flag down a cab, actually at 4 AM he flags you down.

Psyche of Cabbie:

For some strange reason he’s given away the more revenue oriented day slot and has opted for the more ‘profit’ oriented night one. But the night one, really isn’t profit oriented unless you…well have a few passengers. As it so happens, you’ve run into a cabbie who’s having a virgin night, you’re his first ride and well… he’s financially constrained to take you for one. What’s in his favour? Well, for one you’re sleepy and tired. For another, they aren’t too many people on the way to help with directions. Most importantly, in all probability you’re not the nerdy type who tracks his location on something called Google Lattitude.

Most probable outcome:

He’s desperate for business. He’s desperate for sleep. So are you. You mumble out your location and he responds in the positive. Or you infer it to be the positive. You knock off to sleep, hope he doesn’t. 5 mins later you wonder if you’re travelling in the right direction, you whip out your cell phone, turn on Google Lattitude (that trusty Maps Application). Log on to find out where you’re heading…..low and behold you’re heading in the WRONG DIRECTION!! Exactly the opposite one!

Strategy: Install Google Lattitude

That’s it folks, with these tips you should be able to handle getting into a cab and reaching you’re destination at most times of the day in the wonderful city of Mumbai. What it doesn’t cover is what you do when you leave your cell phone behind in the cab (yes the one with Google Latitude) I’m afraid we will have to leave that one for another blog.

P.S I asked my last cabbie what a cabbie would do if he found a cell phone in the back of his cab. He replied, “Agar acha aadmi hein, to woh vapas zaroor dega.” ( If he’s a good man, he will return it)

I asked him what he would do, he smiled.

How much did you say?

It’s been almost 5 months since I’ve started living alone and one of the things I’ve noticed changing is myself.

Yes, the Air Conditioner is on only when it absolutely has to be. Deals are stored, restored and saved. I now have a deal from Big Bazaar which offers me a free bag of Sugar every month (From April to December), I don’t know what I will do with all the Sugar but hey it’s free. On my way back from work yesterday, I noticed a deal from a pretty well…less known Pizza Outlet called ‘Smokin Joes’. ‘2 Pizzas for Rs.110′ it said… Wow what a deal. I looked for a * which generally defines these offers and there it was. ‘* – Offer valid only between 3 and 6 PM’. That’s not so bad I thought. I looked at my watch, it was 2:15 PM. I went up to him, took out a 100, ordered my Pizzas. “Here you go, now send it to me after 3″

Yes, you have to look at ways to beat the system. Cause the system itself, can else overpower you. Take the simple case of wanting to have a hair-cut. Yes, in most cities in India, the process of getting a hair-cut involves going to your favorite barber where he asks you what sort of a cut you want. In most cases you just say, “Jo pichle baar kiya aapne”. The toughest decision actually is in choosing what magazine you want to read. In Mumbai though, it certainly isn’t as simple.

Walk into the Runah Salon for instance, in Central Mumbai’s Lower Parel area. Ask for a hair-cut and pat comes the reply, “You want Junior, Senior or Master haistylist?”. Say what? Was the hair stylist also doubling up as my solicitor? Anyway, I made an enquiry on the rates, ” 250 for Junior, 500 for Senior and 750 for Master”.

750??? I could buy a wig for that much. Anyway, who was available right now, I asked? “Junior’s busy for the next 1 hour, and Senior for the next half an hour. And Master, well Master’s free for the whole evening. We have 2 Masters. ” I made way to the exit.

Isn’t it ironic that the price of the haircut is directly proportional to the availability of the hairstylist?

Another aspect that’s extremely interesting is the premium pricing model, old restaurants in the city adopt. So, South Mumbai has it’s share of historic restaurants and bars.Take for instance, the now famous-infamous Cafe Leopold . Cafe Leopold’s business has no doubt gone up ever since the events of 26/11, it’s the default destination for all guests of mine. Especially since, the founder’s have seemingly gone out of their way not to remove the bullets from the pictures or the mirror on the wall. All now a part of a tour morbidly titled ‘The Terror Tour’.

The pricing though is what gets to me a touch, a Garlic bread with Cheese at Cafe Leopold costs you Rs.150. 150 bucks for a regular Garlic bread with Cheese in a non-Ac bar. That’s almost thrice what you would pay to have the same dish at one of the Pizza parlors.

Or, let’s take the example of ‘Cafe Britannia’, one of Mumbai’s oldest Parsi restaraunts. ‘There is no greater joy than the joy of eating’, it echoes and perhaps it lives up to it. Very good food, and with the founders of the restaurant serving you themselves, the service is top-notch. One of the founders, even has a pair of binoculars which he uses to keep an eye on the activities within the restaurant. How much though is the price of the signature dish? Rs.230. Two hundred and thirty bucks, for serving of pulao with some berries…it tastes good and the restaurant owner’s daughter who was also there is really pretty but still 230 is a little over the top.

Cafe Leopold is jam-packed. The Berry Pulao at Britannia continues to be its best selling dish and though I’m not so sure about the number of customers Runah’s master hair stylist is getting, I’m reasonable confident that Salon itself is doing well. What then is my point? My point is that underneath the pricing model of these ventures lies a big lesson for all entrepreneurs. If you create a brand and strong enough word of mouth, no one questions the pricing. No one raises a flag about the air-conditioned place down the road serving Pulao at half the price, most folks are a little surprised by the pricing. But they pay, and in most cases they also return. How can they after all tell folks back home that they went all the way to Mumbai and didn’t go to Leopold’s. How can they?

For a single in Mumbai though, 230 bucks for a pulao, 150 for a Garlic bread with Cheese and 750 for a hair-cut is certainly over the top. I rather have my Garlic Bread with Cheese at good ole Smokin Joe’s, for 150 I will also get 2 Pizza’s with the bread. The owner of the restaurant doesn’t use a set of binoculars to check on my order, but the place sure is air-conditioned.

Slumdog Humdog

Unless you’ve been test running on Virgin Galactica over the last 2 months, you’ve probably heard of Danny Boyle’s Slumdog Millionaire. Every now and then, a Movie comes around that the entire World takes notice off, what’s surprising in this case is how completely polarized (Except for the British) the audience’s views are on it.

The West absolutely loves it, whether it’s cause of ‘Danny Boyle’, the fact that it fits an image of India that’s most convenient or whether they are genuinely moved by the story of Jamal, I guess we will never know. I was watching the BAFTA’S on the BBC the other day and the anchor made no bones hiding her favourite choice, the film they were rooting for and how other contenders such as ‘The Curious Case of Benjamin Button’ stood out ‘only’ for their technical brilliance. The film has a big fan following in the U.S as, primarily fuelled by a large NRI population , many of them who left India many years ago. When they catch up with with their American friends, they are probably asked, “So is it really like that?”. And they turn around with a knowing smile, “Yes, every minute detail”.

In truth, they’ve probably never been inside a slum.

The story of the movie’s rise though is remarkable. Set only for a DVD release after the film’s original studio backer, Warner Independent shut down, the Movie was picked up by Fox Searchlight as some of the senior execs thought it had a similar feel to the previous year’s ‘Juno’. Infact, if reports are to be believed a week after it’s release the response to the film was still lukewarm, it really picking up steam only after word went around.

In such cases, the Movie generally stands out on grounds of pure quality.

Why then has the Indian media not taken to the movie well? Why for instance has Arindham Choudhary massacred it in his review.

Let’s collate the criticism. Some of it reads as follows:

1. How come it only shows the murkiest sides of Mumbai? How come there isn’t a single shot of Marine Drive?

(The Marine Drive bit is a little funny, if there is a writ about every movie depicting Mumbai necessarily having visuals of Marine Drive than I probably missed it.)

2. How come any of the Social work around Mumbai hasn’t been displayed?
(I don’t remember any movies about New York’s underbelly showing its drug/violence rehabilitators)

3. How come Jamal has a British accent?

Fair point though. But I guess you co-relate his accent only if you’ve seen one of his ‘many’ interviews.

About 2 weeks ago, I had a chance to watch the film. As with any film which the entire World has gone ga-ga about you’re a little overawed even before watching it, this could have 2 possible effects. You pretend to love it regardless or well you pretend to hate it regardless. More so, by then you’ve heard so much about the film that expectation begins to weigh it down.

Personally, I liked the movie, the first time I saw it on DVD and moreso the second time I saw it in the Theatre. Some superb sequences like the chase sequence depicting Hindu, Muslim violence another great one when Jamal and his mates escape from the beggar Mafiosi. Wonderfully edited, Great Music, a feeling of upliftment as I walked out of the Theatre. What more could I want?

One thing that stood out for me though, is that there is no doubt, no doubt whatsoever that the film has been made tailor-made for the Western audience. Whether, this is because this is a Westerner’s view of India or a conscious choice is a separate debate. It stands out for me though that Jamal had to have worked at a ‘Call Centre’ (more so a call centre which indulged in terrible service), surely India has lawyers, doctors, Investment Bankers, Consultants…but he had to have worked in a Call Center. He had to have worked part-time at the Taj Mahal, his Mom had to have been killed in a Hindu-Muslim riot, there had to have been cricket involved, not to mention an appearance/ reference to the the Big B.(He blogged about it as well, but let’s leave that aside). The funny thing is that if you speak to an American with a cursory knowledge of India, there’s a good chance that he will name at least 3 of these 4 things. It’s like an Indian making a movie on the U.S with an Afro-American fighting a drug-battle, interning at the Statue of Liberty while enjoying his baseball…oh yes he also probably worked nights at McDonalds.

What’s wrong with that? Nothing really. Hell, if an Indian could make such a great movie about the U.S, he might well win as much acclaim. The deeper problem is the relating of the Movie to what ‘Mumbai’ stands for and in some cases what ‘India’ stands for. Isn’t someone allowed to set a plot on a city without actually taking on the responsibility of showcasing it completely? For instance, haven’t there been so many movies which only showcase the drugs and violence of New York?

Why the over-reaction then? I think the problem is deeper, firstly Danny Boyle has compounded this by saying ‘It’s all because of the wonderful city of Mumbai’ in every media interaction.

Further, every member of his crew echoes it.

If it is then about the wonderful city of Mumbai, perhaps yes it should depict it truer and in more totality. Besides the parts of Mumbai he has shown certainly aren’t ‘Wonderful’. More so, most of the things that happen in the film could have happened anywhere in India or the World and needn’t necessarily be related to Mumbai. In fact now looking back the Movie doesn’t really make an attempt to showcase the ‘spirit’ of Mumbai and really the script doesn’t need it to.

But perhaps, it’s also a little envy and jealousy directed at a Westerner coming over to our Mumbai, making a movie on it and walking away with the accolades. Yes, he did have an Indian ‘co-director’, a great sound track by A.R Rahman and a strong performace by the cast. I thought the little Jamals in particular were terrific. Even with all this, there is no doubt though that there will only be one person the Movie will always be related with.

With a week to go for the Oscars, I would like to make a prediction here that Slumdog’s going to win. Almost certainly, more so it will make quite a sweep. How much of all this will be remembered after the Oscars. We will have to wait and watch…I do hope his acceptance speech doesn’t contain ‘It’s all because of the Wonderful city of Mumbai’.

Home Alone

They say ‘Staying Alone’ makes a Man into well… a ‘Man’. In my 24 years of existence, I unfortunately wasn’t bestowed upon that pleasure and the longest I ever stayed away from home was a sum total of ’14 days’. Shame on me, they would say. With me shifting to Mumbai, also came that luxury or well that opportunity of finally finally staying away from Home and thus proving wrong those shame-sayers. Yes, we can or I can actually, I can pay the electricity bills, haggle with the landlord, find a maid, get my clothes ironed, make my bed and still look pleased with myself.

I was ready…unfortunately though no form of accommodation in Mumbai was. So for the first one month, instead of living alone – it was the complete opposite, I stayed with my cousins – a family of 14 with me getting more pampered than I would get at home. Clearly, this wasn’t going to plan. For those unfamiliar with finding a house in Mumbai, there’s an old adage,”Mumbai mein bhagwan milta hein…par ghar nahi milta hein.” ( You can find the Lord in Mumbai…but you can’t find a House) One Landlord after another rejected my proposal of staying in their premises…the reasons were manifold – Aap bahut bak bak kartey hein (You talk too much), Badey company mein badey badmaash hotey hein (Big Companies have big rogues) . I rejected a few as well, one cause there was a shootout there the previous week, the other cause the landlord wasn’t well really the owner of the house and the third cause the potential landlord ended with the words,” And one more thing, no alcohol in the house, no friends and no music…also I had the ask the last person here to get out.”

Finally though, I chose a place close to work with the happy landlord Mr.Bhagde.

The only caveat with Mr.Bhagde was entertaining him whenever he decided to drop by (Once every 2 days), like most Mumbaikars Mr.Bhagde had a view on everything – from Ramalinga Raju to the Recession.

Let’s listen in…

”Purane zamana mein…ek film roll develop karney key liye…dus log ka kam lagta tha..ab technology key saat..apney aap ho jata hein..kya karengey vo dus log?” (In the good old days, it would take 10 people to develop a film roll…technology has made it redundant…what will those ten folks do?)

Thoda adjust to karna padta hein, the next steps were to do up my 1 room-kitchen (Sshh..In Sobo it’s referred to as a ‘Studio Apartment’) . The previous tenant’s idea of an apartment was one with blue walls, 1 fan, 1 table and a chair…not to mention an Indian style loo with no wash basin. I felt like Obama rebuilding America after the recession, the next 2 weeks were spent re-painting, wiring, plumbing, buying furniture, fixing an AC, a wash basin and shelves. Amongst other things I learnt:

a) Everyone from the electrician to your Dhobi’s son will try to rook you.
b) You will always need more plug points than the house comes with.
c) They are only 2 days when the maid will come on time, day 1 when you first meet her and day 30 when she gets paid.
d) That little thing used to collect dust is referred to as the ‘Dust Pan’.
e) It’s amazing what the contents of little packets, hot water, and a microwave can do.
f) It’s amazing how bad your stomach can get.

Most importantly, it makes maximum sense to do up your place when you’re Mom is in town. My quest for a maid though wasn’t as easy as a friend’s… all he had to do was ask the neighbour to find him one. She enquired, “So how much are you willing to pay?”, he replied, ”Well about 500 bucks.” She replied, “Sounds good, when do I start?” Mine unfortunately involved a number of referrals until she appeared in front of me. She does take 8 days off a month cause of stomach ache though.

Funnier is the newspaper dude who refuses to leave the paper outside my door if it’s locked…”What if someone steals it?”, his refrain. So I argue with him,” Well, if you don’t leave it outside, I don’t get it anyway…so how does it make a difference?”. The next day, the door is locked again, there is no paper so I pop across and ask, he’s ready with his answer, “Well I did leave it there, someone must have taken it.”

But the person who without a doubt makes my day is the Dhobi’s son. After weeks of getting fed up with my maid’s excuses I decided to make Dhobi Jr. double up as a maid. “800 for 4 days, 700 for 3 days, 1000 for 5 days…” every morning would begin with some hectic bargaining and the promise that we will arrive at a final price on the morrow. It’s been 3 weeks now and we’re still working on it.

The great thing about Khan Bhai though is the salutation he uses to refer to me. Staying alone might be tough, but hey it’s all worth it if you are referred to as ‘Sait ji’ early in the morning. I did ask him to give ‘Sait ji’ a massage and he replied, “Uskey liye aur charge ho go”. We settled at 20 rupees.

Yes…living alone can be a roller coaster ride. Does it make you more of a man? Well, I’m not so convinced… I’m convinced however that you should also get someone who refers to you as ‘Sait Ji’, but try and swing a deal where the massages come free.

Mumbai Meri Jaan

I must admit it, I was a big skeptic myself. Many a time, I would hear a colleague or a friend say, “You must experience living in Mumbai atleast once.” I would remain indifferent, most of it in my opinion was media hype the city received by virtue of it being the entertainment and commercial capital.

With the city facing more disasters than most others in the country, it was only natural that the citizens would get more opportunities to help one another.I had an explanation for the so called ‘energy’ of the city too, with the city being shaped vertically, most of the time was spent traveling from North to South and hence Mumbaikars had no option but to be continuously on the move. This didn’t necessarily mean they were any more productive, I argued.

Ironic as life as is, 2 weeks ago I found myself landing in the Sivaji airport, 3 bags in my hand, my cousins to receive me and no permanent place to dock at. I was landing in the big city and soon the Mumbai Locals became my everyday companion. Soon I realized that on the face of it there seemed to be no mechanism which checked if a passenger has bought a ticket – moreso considering the crazy crowd I doubted if anyone would dare to check.

So there I was in the Andheri station at about 9 PM in the night, a 2nd class ticket in my hand. . The train was a little delayed for some reason; and soon it seemed as if half of Andheri was in the station all trying to get onto the train at the same point at which I was standing.

The train finally arrived and with it came the usual commotion of ‘Eh-Side’ and ‘Hai Sha’; my eyes now being a little more experienced quickly scanned the compartments, saw the first compartment that didn’t have stripes (Stripes denote first class) and jumped in. The compartment hardly had any crowd, wasn’t first class; maybe the city was kinder to newbies I thought.

As I settled in, I heard someone mutter ‘Handicapped’, ‘Handicapped’, it didn’t register; he then muttered it again. God oh mighty, it then dawned upon me, I was in the handicapped compartment;a quick look at the 2nd class compartment outside reminded me of the pile ups during tug of war games back in school, except here the ropes were people’s shirts and body parts. I had to make a quick decision, do I stay back in the handicapped compartment and run the risk of being caught or do I enter the tug of war round and actually become ‘handicapped’? Traveling in Mumbai would become a lot easier then.

I chose the former. As I waited around full of guilt, a few more dudes also got into the compartment. We made eye contact with one another and as I perceived it were visibly pleased with our smart coach selections. This must be the smart Mumbaikars refuge, I thought. About 2 mins later they came up to me and asked,” Bollo…Handicap Kahan hein tera?”. I was caught red-handed and believe me this is the first time I had ever transgressed on the Mumbai locals. He then removed a large rate card and gave me a list of options, like most things in Mumbai you even have a wide choice when it comes to fines. By a process of choice elimination, I chose the Rs.300 fine and then began my plea of blaming it on moving to the big city. My old Chennai visiting card also further strengthened my case and after 15 mins of schmmozing, the official in question kindly returned Rs.200 making it a 100 buck fine.

I was in awe, this was the first time I had even remotely gone out of line on the Mumbai local. Mumbaikars who I’ve recounted this to tell me that even with the maddening crowd and all the hustle and bustle, try side-stepping the law once and there is a very good chance you will get caught. My uncle tells me that they know whether a passenger is carrying a ticket or not by simply looking at his face.

Welcome to Mumbai. The only city where you will get both a shaving razor and a nail cutter at 1 AM in the morning; he might even deliver it home.

A fortnight of living in the big city later; I’ve come up with this list – You know when you are (new) in Mumbai when:

1. Most of your ‘friends’ in the city are also real estate brokers. Most of your other ‘friends’ in the city are potential room-mates.
2. You’ve over shot your first month budget within the first one week.
3. You have lived with atleast 3 sets of friends and family in different parts of the city.
4. Parts of your wardrobe are with each of them.
5. You argue with the auto driver over change and then realize that he was settling it in your favor. A rupee or two you soon realize has no value for him.
6. In the middle of the Mumbai rush hour, you randomly bump into an old school chum who you haven’t seen in a decade.
7. You’ve seen over 10 places to stay in; your budget has been revised upwards an equivalent number of times.
8. Folks back home ask you if you’ve met a bollywood star; you haven’t but 3 of your colleagues are their neighbors.
9. You later realize that anybody who lives in Bandra considers himself a neighbor of a Bollywood star.
10. You have a long discussion about the financial crisis with an absolute stranger on the train; while getting off at his stop, he tells you he just returned from Wall street. The chap sitting next to you now is the local paanwallah.

Perhaps this list can be added to; one thing however is beyond doubt. Like it or Lump it, Mumbai is Mumbai; a decision to make every minute, a helpful stranger on every road, good cheap food at every corner; excitement, energy and life. Maybe it’s because most in the city have come for a defined purpose and objective, maybe it’s because of it’s long history of being a hub of commerce or maybe because like New York or London; some cities just have a little more character and aura about them than others.

No song sums it up better than this one. Listen, learn and enjoy. My Mumbai journey has just begun.

Candid Camera

 

Some things are better left un-said… aren’t they?

 

Freedom of the Press?

So what were those new norms on Banking security again…

 

Hungry Kya?

 

The Joy of Numbers

If it’s one thing we’ve never lacked, it’s a sense of Timing

 

 

So which one is it, ‘Buyer beware’ or ‘Seller beware’?

 

My personal favorite would have to be ‘Incredible India – The mantra to woo tourist’. I wonder how a tourist would feel when he sees a bus zipping pass with that message, but err let’s just ignore that for right now. 

Most photos taken on my Nokia N73. Locations from Bangkok to Dilli. And yes all photos taken by me, no Creative Commons linking, no attribution and no law suits. Phew!

Still Breathless in Barcelona

For those of you, who are trying to visualize this whole pick-pocketing thing, and are laughing at it. Here is the picture right next to the scene of the event.

I can almost see the ‘Futbol, Futbol’ gangster enjoying a hearty meal with the 50 Euro loot he made the previous night. This is where the regular day would start anyway, outside Hotel Abba. In the days after the ‘Barcelona Burglary’, Abba took a strange liking to me, taking me through all the other strange robberies that had happened to his hostel guests or (in-mates). Suddenly, I didn’t feel so bad, he also ended almost every discussion with his strong Armenian accent saying, “Be carephul, and don’t make me say again, I told you so.”

Ok, his grammar was a little muddled but as long as he wasn’t strangling my throat, I didn’t really care.  Barcelona was simply beautiful, the day would begin by walking through the ‘Las Rambla’, the city center in Barcelona. Spanish entertainers with their card tricks, restaurants serving the delicious Paella ( Folks in our group preferred to refer to it as ‘Rajma chawal’) , Prostitutes and beautifully crafted statues depicting Spain’s history. Ramblas has it all…

courtesy:  warrenjwells courtesy:le nana asturiana

A walk-down from Las Ramblas in the evening takes you to the Barcelona Harbour which at night is lit only by the lights on various boats coming into the shore.

Hey, Barcelona wasn’t so bad after all. The next day a touring member and me made our plans to go and visit the Nu camp, the revered home of the Barcelona Football team. For the first time in the trip, I decided to take out and use my Dad’s preserved treasure – ‘The Euro Translator’, a Translator which translates multiple European languages into English.  As we walked down the crowded Ramblas, I suddenly heard my name being called out. Who on earth, would have a similar sounding name in the heart of Barcelona, I thought. I turned around and it was one of my oldest school friends – co-incidentally also the person I had made my last European trip with. For 2 friends to be in the same foreign country, same city, same street and pass each other at the same time on the same day,  the odds are brain-numbing. There really was some strange bond between me and this city.

We carried on – the Noucamp is far more imposing than the Santiago Burnabeau. Far bigger – more imposing. Infact in the Noucamp, Real Madrid or for that matter Madrid itself is almost a 4 lettered word.

After frolicking all over the Nou camp, and posing with absolutely everything on offer, it was time to use my translator and find out the way back home.

I checked my pocket, the translator was gone.

To find my Translator in a stadium where most people spoke only Spanish was going to be a horrendous task, I soon gave up and instead spent my time on the far more useful task of figuring out how I would break the news to my Dad. (Without being asked to go back and look for it)

The Segrada Famillia was the next spot, this World re-known Church is almost a symbol of Barcelona crafted by the World famous architect Antoni Gaudi. Construction for the Church began in 1882 and continues till today. Hell, they only plan to complete it by 2026, and we thought, delayed projects was only an Indian thing. When asked, apprently Gaudi famously said, “But, my client is in no hurry.”

This beckoned us into New Years Eve, and the place to head to on New Year Eve was without doubt the city square – Las Ramblas.  And that’s the way it is in most European cities. At 12′0 clock – our group came together for the signature shot

And almost immediately after, a couple of what looked like Bangladeshi’s in the crowd set off a few fire crackers, and there was a mini-stampede. Almost, as if it were some sort of a tradition, all members of the Catalan decided that now was the time to break all their Beer bottles. And they broke them one after another and carried on marching. While everything made of Glass in Barcelona was being shattered, the group of us Indians stood dumb-struck even losing each other until we all met back at the Hotel after 2 hours.

We made it to a night-club to celebrate our re-union, the site of a Mediterranean Sun-rise and a Spanish blonde -  ensured that the new year was brought in with the required pomp and splendour.

As we made our way back to the Hotel rooms – at about 6 AM in the morning, atleast 3 Barcelonians tried the ‘Futbol, Futbol’ trick on me. Even in an inebriated state, early in the morning, I wasn’t going to fall for that one.  Next, in the tube on the way back, me and my buddy witnessed the mother of all cat fights, 2 Catalan women were tearing the hair of each other, wild shrieks, hands, nails, paws and all , they could so easily have coached our Vijender Singh to a Boxing gold. Apparently women getting into a physical fight is not so uncommon in these parts.

What remained was my birthday celebration at a Spanish bar, made all the more memorable cause I managed to knock to the ground the drink of a Spanish bike junkie.

It’s a good thing that our 4 day journey in Barcelona came to an end cause at the rate I was going, there was a good chance that I would’ve lost all my money, my belongings and my teeth. We then proceeded to Tenerife where sanity for the most part returned.

About 8 months later, in September 2007, I received a call from Deustche Bank, she said in her squeaky voice, ” Sir, just calling to confirm transaction of Rs. xxx- Euro transaction.” Say what?

I rushed home and took a look at my statement.

There in my statement, were a number of mini-transactions ,Autopista Del Sol, Autopostas Alimar SA..the list was never ending.

I was flabbergasted, even the Banking records showed that I had blocked my card. I spoke to my Bank and the risk manager informed me that apparently this was a new trend of frauds in Spain. Someone steals a credit card, he in turn sells it to folks who man the road toll-gate. The collector at the road toll-gate collects money from cars passing by, swipes the card in return and pockets the cash. Since all the transactions are below the floor level, they can even be executed on a blocked card. What was this? The great toll robbery?

What’s more is that since all these transactions were below the floor level ( 10Euros) none of them could be tracked, meaning that the toll collector could continue doing this until the card was physically taken away from him.

I went through the arduous process of filing a FIR, which the cops said they would accept only once they carried out their investigation (Without my credit card number, please note). Every subsequent month, my credit card bill would contain Spanish toll booth transactions and I would send an email to the Bank asking them to reverse the charges. Two months ago, the trend finally came to an end, either Mr.Futbol futbol got caught or his accomplice.

I couldn’t really care. There was no doubt in my mind – Barcelona might have been one of the most beautiful cities in the World, but it was going to be a long long time till I stepped in there again…

Breathless in Barcelona

Why would anyone write a post on a city he travelled to a full 17 months after returning? Well, what if I told you that the events surrounding the episode have completely unfolded only a full 15 months after returning. Sounds like a Hitchcock mystery, doesn’t it?

Anyway, our crazy trip to Madrid had ended with a Bomb blast, screaming Spaniards and a mad dash to the Bus stop. It was the worst of times, we were leaving the city amidst chaos, it was the best of times, we were on our way to Barcelona – the capital of the Catalan Kingdom, the home of the Nu camp and of the most beautiful women in all of Europe.

Our arrival in Barcelona was at about 1 AM in the morning, and since I was the only one from the group booked to stay independently in a hostel, plans were afoot to meet at the city square later to see the finest of what Barcelona had to offer.

Staying in a hostel is a central part of the European experience. Generally run by a family, a number of hostels have great History and tradition providing backpackers the amazing luxury of 3 x 6 feet bed and a 2 x 2 feet locker. The Hostel I had decided to stay in was Hostel Abba, run by who, well Abba ofcourse, a quirky Iranian who had strict roles for all travellers. Ring bell twice before 11 PM, thrice along with mentioning your name after 11 PM, if you’re bringing to the hostel a partner – you pay extra!

I arrived at about 1 AM and the room was opened by a rather disgruntled gentleman, who was either drunk, sleepy or just didn’t like me. He muttered something rather rudely and escorted me into a boot-camp like 20 bed dorm where already present were fellow travellers from England, Italy, France, Germany and Croatia. (Yup, we could’ve conducted the Euro qualifiers right there) One particularly beautiful Italian lady caught my interest, dark hair, beautiful complexion and a lithe figure; Maria was her name and as she showed me, the only way to greet an Italian lady is with three kisses – one on each cheek and one for good luck. Unfortunately one kiss is all the luck she needed, and I was away, away to gain my first impressions of the Barcelona night.

The streets of Barcelona at 2 AM resemble those of Central Mumbai, equally loud and crowded. As I walked trying to hail a cab, I suddenly heard a loud voice next to me, “ Sah Rook Khan, Sah Rook Khan”, it was screaming out. I turned around to see a Spanish soccer fan with funky hair and absolutely no Indian connection. He sprung his hand out, and said in a rather gregarious fashion, “You are Indian, Sah Rook Khan, Sah Rook Khan. Welcome to Barcelona”. He continued, “ I now show you Barcelona handshake”. Within 10 seconds, he took out his foot and cried “Football, football”, as he motioned for me to shake his foot with mine. The handshake(umm footshake) lasted for about 5 seconds, happened in quite a quick rushed fashion, maybe it just showed the regular Spaniards prowess at football. My foot was finally brought down from my new friend’s who then gave me an extremely broad smile and said, “Have a great stay.” He was on his way.

Barcelona seemed a lot friendlier than Madrid. I thought. Can’t imagine any traveller being welcomed back home in Chennai style, what was the Chennai handshake anyway? I was on my way, a song in my head, as I walked a few steps and got closer to my cab, I checked my back pockets as part of the regular desi traveller 10 minute routine. My wallet was gone.

Getting pick-pocketed in an unknown city when you’re all alone is a chilling experience. I was carrying 50 Euros, all my credit cards, rather ironically the wallet itself was a Real Madrid wallet, wonder what the Barcelona football fan made of it. I rushed back to the hostel, damn it, I needed money if I was to get out in the night again. The house-keeper was by then in a more disgruntled state than where I had left him the last time. I quickly ran him through the events and before I even finished 10% of my story, he completed it for me, word for word.

I had fallen for one of Barcelona’s oldest tricks. Or atleast a combination of them, refer to the first entry here while there is a complete list of entries here.

What followed was frantic calling of over 4 banks back home, blocking credit cards, awaking my parents (who were both pleasantly surprised and wary of me calling them so early in the morning!)

With the blocking of the Card, one would think this episode was over…right. But Hitchcock films have multiple endings, as I was to find out – this was only the beginning…

Freakonomics – Desi ‘Ish-style’

How come you have never seen a venture capitalist on a motorbike? How come most doctors in South India are named Vijay Lakhsmi or Ramamurthy? Just like the immensely successful book did, this post endeavours to answer these and a few strange, ironic or freaky occurrences which tend to find their way into our day to day lives.

None of these questions or occurrences might have any bearing on your life.

Come to think of it, when was the last time you read something that actually had a bearing on your life?

So, let’s get started

Why do people prefer borrowing a DVD from a library, even though buying one is in most cases cheaper?

Yes, buying one is cheaper. And more so, you get to own it, build a library and do all those sorts of things. Yet, statistics say that the libraries are the most successful. They have the maximum foot-falls and make more revenue.

Why so then? I asked around and these are some of the answers I got:

• Borne out of Habit
• Libraries are more civil places than back-alleys which sell pirated DVD’s
• Wider selection

And so on, but then each of these can be easily refuted, it’s like saying the ICL won’t be a success because of the IPL, there must be something more to it, or so I thought.

Most DVD’s are only watched once, therefore there intrinsic value plummets after you watch them the first time. More so, they are not so easy to store and those who do manage to store them successfully will tell you that they are so inundated with requests to borrow DVD’s from friends, that very soon they don’t have much of a collection.

While this is true, it didn’t quite convince me enough. So, about 3 months ago, I went ahead and bought 10 DVD’s from the black market and also parallely began renting movies one week at a time, such that I borrowed approximately 10 over a 3 month period. All other conditions remained the same – standard of print, popularity of movies and so on.These were my findings at the end of the 3 month period:

• The 10 DVD’s I borrowed from the library – I’ve watched 9 of them, had to return one without watching it, which I am till today repenting.
• I look at my ‘collection’ which I tried to build. Out of the 10 movies I bought, only 6 remain, 4 have been ‘borrowed’ and I have no idea when I’m getting them back. Out of the remaining 6, I have watched only 3.

Every movie evening, I look at my ‘collection’ and tell myself “Haan these DVD’s are mine right, I will watch them when there is nothing else.” If it were a Library DVD, my thought process is a little different, it’s more on the lines of “Damn it, put it on, I have to return the damn thing tomorrow or that guy will hound me.”

Why do your friends not return your DVD’s? They have every good intention of doing so, but hey there is a part of them which wants to replenish their own own depleted ‘collections’ right? It’s a vicious cycle.

Why do frequent flyers have a tendency to put on weight?

Ideally, you’d think that a frequent flyer has more of a tendency to lose weight. What with choc-a block queues, flights which never seems to take off on time and traffic jams which seem to pop up only when you are running late for that connecting flight. You’d think the stress would get to you and cause for you to lose your mind and some weight along with it.

Surprisingly, freakonimian research indicates otherwise. Contrary to popular belief, frequent flyers actually have a tendency to gain weight or there would be enough evidence to suggest so anyway. Why so then?

What was the last domestic flight you took? 11 AM Delhi – Mumbai, a 4 PM Chennai – Bangalore or perhaps a 9 PM Bangalore – Delhi, for the 11 AM flight your wife/mother probably made sure that you had a good breakfast before leaving. you had a coffee and a puff while you were waiting for the flight, you got on board and was served a healthy ‘brunch’ by a beautiful air-hostess, who you quite palpably couldn’t refuse. The same probably happened to you on your return journey home.

A quick look back will tell you that at 11 AM and at 4:30 PM, instead of smoking / blogging / faffing or whatever it is you generally do at those times, you were eating. And why so, cause really you had very little else to do.

So boredom + pretty air hostess leads you to eat a meal regardless of the time of the day it is, and in many ways a flight itself creates environments in which you are forced to eat. The more you fly, the more you eat, so there you go.

In a social gathering, why is there a good chance that you will be told that you’ve both lost and put on weight?

I’m sure this is happened to you. You walk into a party where you are meeting a bunch of old acquaintances, and one of them pops up and says, ” Hey Dev, looking slim and trim, working out kya?”. You feel extremely happy with yourself, you walk a little further and then this heart throb from the good ole days stops you, ” Hey Dev”, she pats your stomach and says, “Looking quite prosperous, I must say.”

How did then that happen? Could that Gulab Jamun you had between meeting Rajiv and Shruti cause you to have put on weight? Do women acknowledge men to be fatter than they really are? Are men more polite?

Not quite.

The real reason is far simpler. It’s for the same reason that the most common conversation you hear at a party is “Where is your drink?” or “How is your drink?” or an equivalent. In many ways, it’s for the same reason that Indians crowd around an accident site and make conversation.

Because by nature, man is social. He wants to be social, to meet people, he is looking out for something to talk about, looking to break the ice. So he talks about the weather, talks about your weight, talks about anything that he believes will get a response. Really, he doesn’t care about your drink, nor does he remember really how fat or thin you looked the last time. In many ways, it’s just something to get the show going and if you are intelligent enough to recognize that, you are well on your way to becoming a ‘socialite’. If you want to become one, that is.

Why Indians have a tendency to crowd around an accident site and do nothing to help? That my friend, is a different question altogether and we can probably look at answering that in a separate forum.

Why is a free hit not capitalized upon as much as it should be in modern cricket?

You’ve seen it before, smashing opening batsman on strike, bowler bowls a no-ball, the next ball is a free hit, the bowler is under pressure, the crowd is expecting one to fly into their section of the stands, the bowler comes into bowl and wonder oh wonder, the batsman misses it completely. How did that happen? Why did he miss the ball?

Do bowlers bowl free hit balls better? Do ‘free-hit’ deliveries swing more? Or do batsmen put more pressure on themselves. Well, the latter sounds sane, and is probably an answer. But we aren’t going to end this discussion so easily, are we?

I would like to draw upon a parallel here. Have you been to one of those all-you-can eat buffets, where it seems like you need to hire a cab to actually see all the dishes being served. You go there with this massive appetite all ready to devour the food. Half an hour later, you are all done and full without even finishing half as much food as you would have wanted to.

Freakonomian research states that like with the free hit, your approach to an all you can eat buffet is very different to how you would approach a normal meal. As any cricketer would tell you, technique and the necessity to guard your stumps is as important for a regular delivery as it is for a free hit. However, when a free hit is announced, all that seemingly goes out of the window. It’s like all his Diwali’s have come on the same day and he swings his bat with gay abandon, not realizing that his chances of hitting the ball out of the park in effect reduce.

My syllogism here is that free hit or not, at the end of the day, they are certain balls you can hit out of the park and certain balls you can’t. Just like when you go for a meal, there is only so much you can eat regardless of whether it’s free or if they are paying you for it.

It’s a pity that we can’t do a real-time comparison for this, but in my estimate, if 6 balls are bowled in the 50^th over of an ODI match, 6 free hits Vs 6 regular deliveries, there is a good chance that the batsman will score more of the 6 regular deliveries.

Why do cigarette companies in India celebrate every time the budget is announced?

It happens every year, the budget is announced and the first thing you read under the column ‘Things that will be dearer’ is Cigarettes, followed most times by Paan Paraag. The government’s reason, simple – it’s injurious to health. Somehow taxing something that’s ‘injurious’ to health, reduces their feeling of guilt.

So, the prices get higher. The markings on cigarette packs, first started to create ‘awareness’ on the ill effects of smoking have now progressed to show life threatening images which would evoke as much fear as the scariest Hitchcock movie.

Beware – Smoking ruins your teeth, heart, lungs and whatever is left

Do you think he cares?

Your right – he doesn’t. It’s an addiction for him and honestly he couldn’t care if it were his own corpse on the cover. So, the fact of the matter is that in spite of the annual price rise, the scary images on the covers and all the commotion of how an individual is not allowed to smoke anywhere else except underneath his bed, sales of cigarettes have increased every year. Bottom line figures state that annual sales of cigarette prices have gone up by 8% every year. More so, the industry is worth a whopping 100,000 crore today and maybe, just maybe, this is the main reason why everyone likes taxing them so much. How come the alcohol industry is not taxed every year because of it being injurious to health?

So with every tax rise, the price of the cigarette goes up by a certain percentage. What happens is that a cigarette pack which was worth about Rs.30, is now priced at about Rs. 33. The cigarette companies see this as an opportunity to conceal a price rise and take the price up to Rs. 35. After all in the smokers mind, the price has increased because of the budget. Damn government! The cigarette company in his mind is not responsible for this price rise at all.

A smoker really doesn’t mind paying an extra two rupees for every cigarette pack he smokes, for him there is little difference between Rs.33 and 35. Sales increase every year, so do profits.

End analysis – cigarettes remain one of the most ‘profitable’ commodities to tax for the government, Cigarette companies use it as a vehicle to conceal a price rise and hence increase their profit margins, the smoker well he forgets about it after a couple of days, and really he couldn’t care. And I thought – “ Win – Win situations didn’t exist”.

I’m quite looking forward to the budget now to see what the increase will be…

This post tries to provide some answers to questions which might have baffled people. More so, this post tries to underline the fact that most times life is more about the questions than the answers. With Google.com, everybody can find out the answer, if they know the right question. Right?

Of Coorg, Cameras and Camaraderie

It was another Monday at work, you know one of those days you wish you were elsewhere, clubbing in Rio, Skiing in the Alps, Skinny dipping in….ah yes, you get the picture. Anyway it was one such day, and regrettably both those corporate tools – the Email Inbox and the mobile phone were witnessing unpreceedented activity. It was the latter, which was more frenetic, calls poured in, Muthukumar who insisted on offering me more credit to a credit card I never knew I owned, Palani Swamy who couldn’t believe his ears, when I told him I didn’t need a personal loan and Murugappan who was adamant that I explain to him, why I conferred only a ‘7′ upon him in his customer service appraisal. Yes it was another regular day in the office, until the phone rang again with it this time reading ‘Kiruba’, ‘Kiruba’. Kiruba Shankar, blogger, entrepreneur, journalist, consultant, I sometimes wonder if there is not one but two Kiruba Shankars, anyway one of them was calling me, must be something important, I thought.

So, I said, ” Hi Kiruba, What’s happening?”, he replied ” Not much Sudhir, would you like to come on a trip to Coorg?”. And I was like, ” Hmmm, Hmmm… Errr, I have to check my…”, he interrupted, ” It’s an all paid trip sponsored by Club Mahindra.”

The next time I met Kiruba was in the airport, boarding pass in my pocket. Smiling palpably as you can see…

I mean, you would too right, a fully paid holiday to the land of beautiful women, flying Kingfisher and staying in one of the best resorts in the land. You probably would’ve smiled wider.

It was around this time that I learnt that I was to join a group of some of the best travel bloggers in the country. Imagine that, it was only later in the piece that a part of me inferred, that I was only enlisted to maintain the required balance. To maintain the right formula, the group apparently required both the traveller and the ‘tourist’, the subdued and the ‘loud’, the punctual and the ‘not so’, needless to say, I fitted in perfectly at the extreme end of the latter side of those descriptions. The group was hence now a balanced one.

So, there we were then, a motley crew, as you would expect, each figuring out ‘who’ or ‘what’ to expect as company for this momentous journey. Soon enough the group began to take shape, with there being a clear demarcation between the intellectual ‘traveller’ and the ‘gawar tourist’. The ‘intellectual traveller’ easily identified with his manner of speaking. ” Have you been to Leh, , 25 Kms south-east of ‘Namcha Barwa Himalayas , 890 Kms north of the tropic of capricorn filled with Azure skies and that rarified aroma !”. The gawar traveller would look on, looking forward to his next meal, to him the word ‘Leh’ took on a slightly different meaning.

Another one at the forefront of the pack of ‘gawar’ tourists was Marketing Head Honcho Dev Amritesh. Dev like me thought he had seen all that life had to offer, but when he came across cameras styled like ‘Bazookas‘ and patience greater than that of the Buddha in awaiting that perfect snap, he too scratched his head, shaking his belly in amazement asking, ” Arrey! Kahan ponch gey yaar hum!!?”

Soon enough we arrived, and what awaited us was a true Coorgi reception.

The dance symbolizes the onset of the harvest season.

It was then the turn of our official tour guide, Mr. Joy E. Patel to make his entry.

Ever smiling, fun-loving, effervescent and with immense knowledge of Coorg, Coffee and the ‘Kodagu’ culture, Joy always had a story to tell. Not least of which, was how he acquired his surname. ” Actually, you know, in our community, we only have initial and no surname. But, when I was in the registrar’s office, he insisted that I give him a surname, so dada thought for a while and said, “Patel! Let’s just go with Patel”. As simple as that, and here in the ‘city’ we hear of couples spending months and years on end in trying to find that perfect name for their pet poodle.

By now, I had become well acquainted with the whole group. It was an interesting bunch indeed, we had Mridula, one of India’s top travel bloggers. It was quite clear that she had primarily 2 great interests, Travel and T.T. The latter of which she was so menacing in, that soon enough but for the wall, she had none to play with. Another exceptionally creative person from the group was Anil, for Anil a camera was not something you just went click, click and discard with. For Anil, it was the entire reason for his existence, so much so that we often saw more of his camera than we did of him. The photos on his blog stand testimony to this.

Our first stop on our trip the next day was TalaCauvery, the birth place of the river Cauvery. Set amidst, the mountains, the Tala Cauvery is the spring from which the Rivery Cauvery originates. Truly picturesque, as Dev pointed out it was in many ways ironic to see that the river Cauvery, and all the controversy and heartburn that come along with it, all originated from a spring which is no more than than 3 by 3 feet in dimension.

Didn’t someone once say, “Big things come in small packages”

Inspired by Anil, and his long talk with me on Apertures, Shutter speeds and hues, I took the one photograph, I am actually more than just a tad proud of.

To the most of you, this is just a random photo of a few people in front of a bell. But, the discerning few of you would notice how, the sadhu in white looks towards the water, while a man stands next to him on his mobile phone. Is this the oxymoron i.e the new India? A bell is positioned in the center such that it balances and aportions the hues and contrasts, shutter speed – high, aperture – wide, camera focus at an angle of 67 and a 3/4 degrees.

Anil, has quite clearly rub off on me.

An evening of much revelry awaited us. Guitaring, our voices and Simon and Garfunkel, thankfully there was enough liquor to make us all believe that we sounding incredible. The next day, saw us making a trip to the Elephant sanctuary, where the Elephant bath is the chief attractions.

A photographic journey:

Here comes Mr. Elephant

Down goes Mr. Elephant

Scrub, scrub, scrub

Time to eat some chow

All aboard…!

Our trip came to an end that evening, with a sit-down dinner around a bon-fire. From a group of absolute strangers, thrown together from various parts of the country, we had become one group, and the cameradrie built was overwhelming. There is something about a traveling group which brings it together, maybe it’s the feeling of togetherness, maybe it’s the feeling of going through the same journey, or maybe a holiday is the one time, a person can truly be oneself with little or no pretensions. The group itself, may never meet one another again, but those few days spent together will always remain special.

A big Thank you to Arun of Club Mahindra for making it all happen.

And then en route back to Bangalore.

The Tibetan Monastery. I guess we could all do with some enlightenment from time to time…