I Scream for Happiness

Whats common to b-grade horrid slash and kill Hollywood movies inspired by J-Horror, rock shows, Wonder-La and K serials? They all make you scream (or at least attempt to), well the last point also witnesses bouts of physical abuse like smashing up TV screens, repeatedly beating your own head with the now defunct TV remote and early signs of balding considering most it has been pulled out due to aforementioned frustrations.

Now Wonder-La on the other hand has a precise manner in which it leads you on a path to happiness. 'A path' since everyone has their own internal GPS to such an end. My own understanding of Wonder-La's service to mankind came about with a visit to the amusement park (see it- amuses people) a month back. I have'nt seen such a happy lot, all assembled at one point in my life ever so far, except when doused in heady spirits or addled in some variety of chemically induced state of euphoria.

So why do people pay about 700 bucks to willfully be thrown around, jerked about, subjected to body bending experiences at various contortious angles and land down tall water slides with stinging wedgies? Because it lets them scream. Like when they used to as kids when taken spinning around their parents/grandparents/uncles/aunts/(fill in any person who spun you around or made you think you were a spaceship on a mission to Mars here)heads. Of course the kids who actually got thrown out of orbit and landed on their unfortunate bottoms or even worse, heads might be traumatised by the series of what they might not find amusing rides.

Apart from bringing back childhood memories screaming also has other benefits. Scream inducing movies are ideal to get those hormones going. Most Hollywood movies show a first date couple going for a scream-thon, where the girl and boy feign fear and make a lunge for each others bodies and finally end up in bed. Now where do you see that happening with a comedy or an art movie as your chosen date movie.

Screaming at an infuriating boss or when in a long queue outside an ATM can also prove beneficial. Others appear at the scene of screaming when your boss is with you and you can point an accusatory finger at the sexual deviant and you are either promoted replacing your boss or sent back home with enough compensation to keep you quiet and content till retirement and beyond. Screaming at an overcrowded ATM can leave many people disgruntled, vacating the queue before their over-burdened ear drums implode.

So create more opportunities where you can scream at the top of your lungs and caterwaul your way to happiness and success. If you cant bother I suggest opening a bottle of some potent amber liquid and a bag of sunshine. The downside being you could de-evolve to a vegetable sooner than expected.

Home Coming Part II

This post is a continuation of this.

Day 6

Going to sleep tucked into a warm blanket, crickets chirping into the night and the wind humming a soft lullaby in the trees is good. It’s even better to wake up with the sun gently kissing the cheeks, birds singing and celebrating a new morn, and a low mist welcoming you as soon as you open the door. The door opens into a semi-paradise, valley down below, thickly wooded, the only inhabitants in miles around being the caretaker of the guest house. The sun starts its slow journey overhead, the mist evaporating fast over Vagamon. Breakfast is a typical Kerala dish idiyappam doused in thick coconut milk. Fluffy appams and a coconut extravagant vegetable stew follow.

A plan is hatched to cover the sights of the land. Thekkady, 70km up and downhill towards the south is our destination for the day. The road leads as it has for the past two days through sea-like tea estates, leaves and branches trimmed to look like slow waves rolling in; past small rivulets, cool and fresh, waiting for feet to be dipped in. Slowly making way for settlements and finally a large junction filled with boards exhorting tourists to patronize various services including elephant safaris, boat rides, ayurvedic massages and variety of other touristy splendours. We follow signs to the Periyar Tiger Reserve, Thekkady (one by-lane looked exactly like the road leading to Baga Beach, minus Titos) and finally arrive at a huge arch marking the entrance to the reserve.

Tickets in hand, camera batteries checked, caps firmly pulled down against the rather strong winds we occupy front row seats on the upper deck of the boat which will take us on a near two hour splash inside the reserve. Tall ghosts of trees stick their dead arms and heads out of the water, drowned since the river first flowed into the dam. Now they serve as perching posts for egrets, kingfishers, cormorants and storks hungrily scanning the rippling waters for potential prey. Since its May, the banks are also slightly exposed, small expanses on which turtles sun themselves, scurrying to the water as soon as a group of wild hogs appear out of a bush, porcine snouts sniffling for morsels in the undergrowth.

Further down we spy a shy herd of chital. Keeping a watchful eye for predators they nibble at the grass ever ready to make a dash. The sighs of delight and cries of “How cute!” are routine for them I guess, as they pose for a group of intrepid water safarists, me included. Suddenly there is cry from the bottom as one clever kid in the midst of all the ‘oh ah’ing over deer spotted an elephant and its child. Quite a distance away, the pachyderm escorted its ward gently through the tall grass disappearing for some time, before reappearing on the top of a slope and then vanished from sight. Elated to have seen a wild elephant and baby we continued down the river eagerly waiting to catch sight of the largest wild bovine, the Gaur. The wait was much lesser than expected when after taking a right at a blind curve, a knoll appeared, the entire mound of green being chomped up by an army of gaur, a helmet of hard skin tapering into two large trumpet- like horns above jaws continuously masticating the grass into cud. Most of these large Taurean characters stood chewing ignoring the boat, some eying us suspiciously wondering why we were all gaping at these massive chunks of meat. I am willing to consume anything in terms of meat (atleast once) as long as the meat in question is not from a group of animals going extinct. The gaur I believe is on that list and will be off my menu. Envisioning a porterhouse cut from a fellow domesticated bovine cosuin grilled to a T we head back to the guesthouse and Vagamon. An uninspiring yet nourishing vegetabe/chappati/rice laden table is set for us. Dining done I rest in the cane chair put out overlooking the same misty semi-paradise like valley, now ominous, the wind whispering among the tree tops, images of silent leopards lunging out of them in my mind. Horrifying contemplation over, I snuggle into the blankets,crickets clicking away a lullaby in Morse, Morpheus leading me on to his land.

More to follow...

These are the days that must happen to you

I work currently in Electronics City. My cab leaves at 8 in the morning. Promptly as soon as the window is opened I plug in earphones and turn oblivious to the cacophony of Radio One RJs(when one hears their Kannada influenced English and Hindi one automatically tends to switch off if not for reactions like condemning them for life to boiling oil vats, cleaning lavatories/pigeon poop outside window sills and other violently belittling things) , their repetitive Bollywood numbers (mostly rehashed words which talk about love, heart break/ache, and other emotions interspersed with the latest techno beats and scratches)and small talk about what was the undoing of a participant in a particular reality show where they challenge you against a psychophysiological detector of deception. One hour, the ears remain plugged; a book poised in front of the eyes, fingers occupied every few minutes to flick the pages. While Fugazi (currently) kicks into a blitzkrieg of fuzzy guitaring and berserk drumming I open my book to 'To be born again,' sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, 'first you have to die. Ho ji! Ho ji! To land upon the bosomy earth, first one needs to fly. Tat-taa! Taka-thun! How to ever smile again, if first you won't cry? How to win the darling's love, mister without a sigh? Baba, if you want to get born again...'(again currently). Apart from occasionally staring out of the windscreen of the Tempo Traveller to make sure no one is hurt when the vehicle lurches to a halt at signals, I dont move or utter much.

Duties complete at office it is time for a repeat show of the mornings actions in the 12 seater vehicle. The book is shut at just about the time we near the Koramangala National Games Village complex, daylight fails from this point onward. Attention shifted to hoardings and the backs of autorickshaws spouting gems of messages like "I date only models", this from a god-fearing,khufi wearing,devout, khol eyed driver. Also contemplate on the posible brand equity Jim Beam could generate out of sponsoring the Horanadu Bar and Restaurant at the Ejipura junction. Think its highly unlikely that the Horanadu's patrons'preferred poison would be a Kentucky Bourbon.

And so on and so forth 10 months have passed travelling up and down from the E-City. The routine is as numb as people who file within the campuses in E-City, tags around their necks summarising their personalities.

Today however has been rather different. At about 12:50 PM we decided to drive to Bangalore (as soon as I exit E-City there is a road sign welcoming one to the city of Bangalore and the distance to be traversed), Koramangala specifically. We lunched at The Jukebox. Unhurried, music from the 70's in the background, pretty ladies strutting outside the window, general buzz of conversation and peals of laughter from slightly beery drunk office goers, long forgotten LPs and sleeves hanging on fading walls, Elvis and James Dean staring down at your table, the sweet smell and smoke of a grill, a portion of garlic toast and perfect mayo to spread it on and a huge platter of smoky beef, ham, sausages, chicken, fries and rice staring up at you. These are the days that must happen to you.

Book of Jobs

I seem to choose careers based on what books I read. The current night burner is Run Like an Antelope by Sean Gibbon who follows Phish on a full tour covering the highs and lows(mostly highs) of the people who follow the enigmatic band. Suddenly I feel I could do that. Not, lying in bed thinking the alarm will go off at 7AM, followed by a hurried rush through the usual necessities to get ready for another day in front of a Lenovo T60 (why such a machine, no one knows, at least no one in the purchase department), wade through traffic which inevitably leaves you snarling at the work spot, positively baying for someones blood. Not that I can draw anyone's, infact its mine which is drained, I fall in quite near the bottom of the organisational structure. Anyway branching off...back to topic which is how books influence my career paths or at least mentally.

The previous one I was leafing through was Dan Walsh's These are the Days That Must Happen to You where he sets off across the Sahara and the rest of Africa and for the second leg on the Pan Americana from somewhere in Canada through the US of A and the unmotorable Darien Gap on ferry till the south of Argentina. As he with his rock-star attitude and all clicks gears through the black tar top I too feel a need to hit the road, thunder on my Machismo. I wouldnt mind. Only the road is open, but not free. Weekend trips can be sponsored by the paycheck, but who would fund a year or more on the road?

The visible connection I found between both books are that they both are about drifting on the road. One on two and the other on four wheels. I would prefer the two wheeled option, because as Dan states "A car is like watching a movie, a bike however is when you are the hero."

Now the only thing to do is to get these ideas in motion. But I dont have the confidence to let go off the comfort of a home, a 9-6 (most times more) job, the easy relaxed life of staying home. It looks good as an idea, idyllic riding around the world, writing about it, getting paid for it, but the wrath of the parents kind of scare me. Some more thought and planning has to be put into this though. It could be the ideal world I want to live in. On and off the road...drifting.

The List

Everyone makes a list at some point in their life. The hits and misses. The loves and spurns. The dids and almost mades. Mine joins the many, out there, those who cherish things the good old romantic way:
9 (thought I would try 24 but couldnt drum up that number) most cherished moments (in order of message being transmitted from memory to brain to motor nerves of my typing fingers)-
1) Sulaiman chai at Mecca
2) Riding my Avon Montage (bicycle) to Deep Purple in 2001
3) Being called at 2 AM by school Principal to be told I got 90 in Kannada, ICSE
4) First beer with Vergo and Maacha at Pecos after Gangs of New York
5) Setting clues to Treasure Hunt with the BOYS in Brigade Prince
6) My first reading of My Family and Other Animals
7) My first tape purchased- Morrison Hotel
8) Jumping up and down on the bed in Taj President after winning Tata Crucible
9) Bungee jumping listening to Aces High, Iron Maiden and Eddie in the foreground