Life With A Dash Of Lime

Phew! It is almost the end of the year and looking back I would be hardpressed to say that this year has been anything but memorable. For various reasons. Managing health of loved ones, heartbreaks, moping, picking up the pieces and then finally finding solace in travel. Yeah, it has been quite a tumultuous year to say the least.

It all started on last year's Christmas Eve. Yeah, it does sound like that 'Wham!' song 'Last Christmas'. A routine check up for my Dad revealed an unpleasant surprise and what followed was yet another lesson in how to cope up with the unpleasant surprises life throws at you. Long story short, constant check ups and weekends after weekends of waiting in OPDs all the while managing a non-stop work schedule consumed hours, days and months. Thus went the first half of the year. As the year progressed and things began to quieten down a bit, I tried to focus on picking up my life from where I had left it (before Christmas Eve) only to realize that it was no longer there. Well, I wasn't expecting it to be as it had been teetering and was going south even before that eventful December. With too many false starts, too many bad endings and of course with a timing that couldn't have been more wrong, I guess it wasn't going to end with a 'happily ever after' ending.

The elusive horizon where the treelines meet

People say that everything happens for a reason. I disagree. In my opinion, things happen and then we try to find reasons to explain them. And in many cases, finding a reason or a bunch of reasons does not help. You just have to move on and rewrite your story. And it is the rewriting that is the hard part. Since you can never fully ever move on. But I digress.

Life gives you lemons. Period. Naturally, with lemons in picture, acidic thoughts are not far behind. They corrode away your mind and start eating away every little bit of sensibility you are left with. And during this time, if time slows down, which it inevitably does, it just gets worse. Speaking of which, isn't it strange that the goodness of your thoughts is inversely proportional to the time you have in your hands? The more time you have and the less preoccupied you are, the more depressing the thoughts? You just get flooded with sad thoughts, wicked thoughts, evil thoughts, more evil thoughts and all other sorts of thoughts that can create havoc with whatever little sensibility and intelligence you might possess as a person. In other words, a perfect recipe for a perfect disaster. With constant thoughts of what went wrong and what I could have done better to right that wrong, I was slowly but surely reaching that point of perfect disaster. So, instead of moping around, I decided to keep away from taking any decisions for some time come. At least till I came back to my normal senses. But that's easier said than done. It takes time to achieve normalcy (at least for me) and as they say, an idle brain is almost always a free rental for a certain bad guy waiting to set up his workshop.

Got ride, will travel

So on one not-so-fine rainy weekend, having resolved to do something about doing nothing, I stepped out. Spotting my vehicle, I said to myself, 'Got ride, will travel.' I do travel a bit but this was a different travel than other travels (by which I mean travels which I have shoddily chronicled elsewhere in this blog of mine). This travel was what I would call a 'life-gives-you-lemons-so-what?' travel. So I dusted my old school atlas, opened the map of the South Indian peninsula, closed my eyes and tried to blindly pick a place. And in my usual style I picked up a place somewhere in the middle of Bay of Bengal. A lovely place indeed. In a funny way, it couldn't have been more apt considering that this Bay is an epicenter for depressions (cyclonic and monsoon causing depressions, that is). But I am a landlubber. So is my ride. Plus I had had more than my fair share of depression for one year. So I decided to have another go at 'got ride, will travel' game. And this time I picked up some place in the vicinity of Kurnool. Not exactly a tourist's first choice but hey, it was depression free! Also, since I didn't want to keep jabbing my finger at oceans and other inaccessible regions, I decided to mark it with a big 'X'. And thus began my journey. 

The road beckons

Weekend after weekend, whenever I found time, I began to discover places with history, culture, people and their stories. In the process, I started to rewrite my story. Kurnool, Ahobilam, Dharmapuri, Warangal, Nagarjuna Sagar, Bangalore and so the list went on. 

Structures and their stories

With every place I traveled to for the first time, it felt like stepping on the moon. One small step, a giant leap. With every place I had been to previously, well, it felt like revisiting old memories. But more than the destination, it was the journey that had a more soothing effect. I experienced the joy of driving in midst of a downpour, in the stillness of the night, under pleasant overcast skies and so on. I discovered the joy of getting lost and getting back on track. I discovered the joy of slowing down to admire the scenery, feel the grass under my feet and got to see the stars in the sky. It may all sound a little clichéd but for me it was an experience in itself. Most of all, I met people who I would have otherwise never met. In the process, I discovered that unless you start seeing the world around you and discover the surprises it has in store for you, you would be only end up discovering the sorrows within you.

Ruins of a glorious past

In lemons and life lingo, when life does give you lemons, at least one should try to make the best lemonade in town. And for that, you have to go around the town to figure out who your competitors are.  And for that, just step out of your world and discover the life around you. It might not always have a 'happily ever after' ending but in the short term, it definitely comes quite close. OK, a close third if not second. Because one can never completely move on.

Stopover Dubai

One of my good friends who had lived in Dubai for a while once mentioned to me that living in Dubai was like living in a theme park. At that time, I wasn't sure what he meant because I had never been to Dubai. 

Tall buildings, really tall buildings, really really tall buildings including the the tallest building in the world (a.k.a. TTBITW) Burj Khalifa (I had to crane my neck at an awkward angle whenever I wanted to see its top), a seven-star hotel, shopping malls the size of small cities, luxury cars, dune bashing in boys toys' SUVs, and all of this in the middle of a desert. This is the vision that conjures up when you think of Dubai. In short, a playground for the rich. Was all this true?

There was only one way to find out. So I packed my bags.

Day 1:

TTBITW by night

As the aircraft descends onto the runway of the Dubai International Airport, if you happen to sit on the right side of the fuselage, you experience a mirage-like vision of an oasis and a town appearing in your window - a mirage that one would normally experience after spending a long hot day in the desert - coming up to meet you. Only in this case, it seems to be a mirage of epic proportions sprawling for miles. And as the wheels touch the ground, it begins to sink in that it is not just a mirage but a real city with real people fighting hard against the elements to make it the greatest city on earth.

Burj-Khalifa from the Mall of the Emirates

And thus, the imagination seamlessly merges into reality. 

Step outside and you are hit by an intense heat that reminds you that you are indeed in the middle of desert. And if you land on a regular day, you will see a haze created by sandstorms common in these parts. All in all, interesting first impressions.

Entrance to the MotE

So as my pal in Dubai kickstarted the tour of the city, I got more and more intrigued by the way city was being constructed. Yes, the metropolis is still a work in progress because wherever you look around, you will see a lot of new buildings (tall and really tall) under various stages of construction as you drive through the highways (the main being the Sheikh Zayed Road) and expressways of the city. You get the feeling that the stories you keep hearing of a global slowdown are just that. Stories. Apparently, the city was gearing up for some international convention that is supposed to happen in 2020. In some strange way, all those construction cranes, construction pits and skeletons of upcoming buildings reminded me of Las Vegas where at any given time some hotel gets torn down and a new one keeps coming up on the so-called 'Strip'. I realized that the skyline I was seeing on that day would no longer be the same if I ever happened to return to the city again. Like shifting sand dunes during a sandstorm, the skylines would keep shifting as the construction companies would try to outdo each other in making the next prominent address enclosed in a glass skyscraper. Surreal. So much for summer afternoon sight seeing.

Shifting skyline? Dubai Marina

And then there were the shopping malls. Well, they are in a league of their own. Because of the kind of heat you face when you step outside, people prefer the shelter of the air conditioned malls to a nice walk around the city. And honestly, the heat outside is difficult to deal with. You need to flit from one air-conditioned structure to another without getting caught up in the heat. And as long as you do that, your life is as comfy as a silkworm's in its cocoon. One can't help but spare a thought for all those construction workers - whom you happen to see as you pass by - who spend most of their time in such harsh environment to make life better for the rest of the world. Apparently some of the companies operate construction activities in the night to avoid heat exhaustion. Good for them. But I digress. Coming back to the shopping malls, it is not an exaggeration to say that you get everything you can imagine under the roofs of these mega structures. Books, electronics, clothing, accessories, food, more food, cinemas, entertainment zones (for all ages), you name it, you have it. Such is the scale of these malls that it almost took me a whole day to see half of Emirates Mall a.k.a. the Mall of the Emirates (MotE). And all I did was window shopping. I must admit that most of my time was spent at the Kinokuniya bookstore. If you are a book lover then this bookstore is a must visit. It is almost like a small library. Make that a medium library. The remaining time was taken up in walking along the enclosed concourse from the Metro station to the Mall and back (Gosh! It IS a long walkway). MotE is the closest you can get to Burj Khalifa if you are not ready to pay a small fortune in going to the top of the world. But did I mention that you end up craning your neck to an awkward angle to get a good shot of the Burj Khalifa a.k.a. TBITW?

Day 2:

Mirdif City Center

Shop of Lights - MCC

The skylight at MCC - Very nice use of natural light

But my instant favorite hangout spot was the Mirdif City Center. In my opinion it fully utilizes the sunlight with it its unique architecture and space management. I would highly recommend it to a visitor. It is far from the madding crowd of the MotE plus it is much more relaxing.

An evening boat ride at the Dubai creek

And that's how the boats get decked up for a leisurely evening.

Day 3:

Atlantis is another place people would want to visit because of the unique place it is located in plus the monorail that takes you passing right through the heart of the exotic Palm Jumeirah. Highlight: An ATM that dispenses gold. However, if you are not a guest of the Atlantis, you would be constantly put off by the discreet 'guards' who keep popping up from nowhere (one popped out right from a bush like a creepy zombie) to 're-direct' you from areas which are out-of-bounds for visitors. Reminded me of Las Vegas. Yet again. Thankfully, the view of the sunset over Persian Gulf is not 'off-limits'.

The Atlantis - Notice the bushes? That's where the 'guards' are stationed :-)

Bling box - ATM that dispenses Gold.

Of course, there is the Burj-al-Arab. Off limits again if you don't have an appointment at the 7-star hotel. I didn't have one. So I gave it a miss and took a passing glance while travelling from MotE to Atlantis in the metro. Some other day, some other time.

Sunset over the Persian Gulf

Day 4:

More bling - Gold on display at the Gold souk

Covered walkway at the Gold souk

But what one should not miss is to taste and buy dates and a visit to the Gold and Spice souks. Gold Souk is the place where you get the feel of the authentic Dubai. A place where you see people a little less dressed up, a little less ostentatious and a little more business minded unlike the folks you'd see in the starry Malls. The shops are quite normal and do not have a pretty face to welcome you. A place that is not decked up like the city center and the Jumeirah. In short, a little less 'westernized'. Plus you get to see lots and lots of gold in one place and lots and lots of spices to smell at one place. So much so, that you get the feeling that the gold here smells like spice. Gold Spice. Hmm. That sounds like a nice name for a cosmetic business. Nevertheless, this is the true business district of Dubai and the real deal if you ask me.

As I wrapped up my trip, I began to realize that Dubai has its own charm and offers a little bit of something for everyone. It is a melting pot of cultures and people come from faraway lands to start a life or improve upon their existing ones. Dubai is also a good oasis and has enough glitter and glamour to attract tourists, shoppers, tourist shoppers and business. As long as you don't mind that you are in the middle of a desert. 

So, coming back to my friend's opinion about it being a theme park, well, I do have to admit that there is a fair bit of truth in it. It is indeed a playground for the rich and the famous as Piers Morgan proclaimed. But like I mentioned, it offers a little bit of something for everyone. For me, well, Dubai is an oasis where I happened to drop by for a little look-see (of sorts).

Roman Sudoku

Now that I have proved myself to be a dud in crosswords without external help and other things related to life, I decided to do something about the situation. With more time on my hands, and with little progress on the crosswords front, I diverted my attention to the other popular daily newspaper puzzle, Sudoku. However, don't for a moment think that I am good at Sudoku. Somewhere in my earlier posts, I had mentioned about how the Sudoku mafia had totally put me off Sudoku. So the return to Sudoku was kind of ironic. Like the return of the prodigal puzzle solver. Rather, an amateur 'puzzled' solver. Sudoku always tested (and continues to test) my limited mental faculties. And also my very limited patience. Whenever I try to solve a Sudoku puzzle, I end up with enough mistakes that the grid becomes one big mess of scratches and dirty ink blots. It never ceases to amaze me that I commit a mistake (or mistakes) that stares right back at my face but I am not able to figure it out until it's too late. So much so, that I finally throw the newspaper away in disgust. So it was high time I fixed this. And worked on my patience too.

Roman Sudoku :-)

Thus started a train of thought. It was a long train and a whole lot of thought went into it (about 2 minutes worth of it) and just when I was about to give up, it hit me like a Roman column falling on my head! (just like that legendary apple that fell on a scientist's head) Why not use Roman numerals as opposed to Indo-Arabic numerals? Ancient Romans, like me, must have hated Math. And Indo-Arabic numerals (maybe because they did not invent them). And maybe that's why they tried to demystify counting by using the Roman alphabet instead. Of course, they didn't know about the zero '0' but who needs a '0' in Sudoku. And that's exactly what I planned to take advantage of. I decided that I will use Roman numerals to fill in the Sudoku grid instead of the regular numbers. You see, when you think of it, it kind of makes sense. For example, it is far easier to change a '2' into '3' when you use Roman numerals. Suppose if I put 1 instead of 2 or 3, all I would have to do is add another 'i' next to 'i' or add 2 'i's to make a 'iii'. If its a 4 then its still easier. All one has to do is add a 'v' on the right of 'i' without striking anything off. So, 'i' can transmogrify to 'ii', 'iii','iv', even 'v', etc., and sometimes even 'iii' can be changed to 'iv' (with a little bit of artistry, of course). But then you would ask, what if it was a 1 instead of a 2? Well simple, all I have to do is strike off one 'i' and the grid will still have one 'i' standing. At least it won't look like a messy ink blot anymore. And with practised hands and a little creativity you can change 'iv' to 'v' (or 'i') or 'vi'. Or 'iv' into 'ix' and vice versa. I am yet to figure how to change 'v' to 'i' but eventually I will get there. But I guess you get the drift. At the end of it, I'd still have a reasonably clean grid and a solved puzzle. Veni, vidi, I solved!! Nice, no? Ave, Caesar! Or is it Q. E. D.?

The Duckback Detective

It is monsoon time and the clouds are slowly gaining the much needed momentum to shower the parched earth and its inhabitants. While the clouds go about doing their job and the flowers are in bloom, the onset of monsoon season always reminds me of my childhood years in Calcutta. I must have been 11 or 12 years old and I had just graduated from Enid Blytons and Hardy Boys to Sherlock Holmes (and a little bit of Agatha Christie though I found the slow pace of her novels a tad boring at that time). To call myself a fan of detective/crime fiction would be a crime of epic proportions. I adored it and I worshipped Sherlock Holmes. I even started to save money in my piggybank to visit 221B Baker Street in the hopes of becoming an apprentice to the greatest detective in the world. 

A slight monsoon shower and the flowers bloom

And it was around this time when Dad got me one of the greatest (perhaps THE greatest) wardrobe item I could ever think of.  A light olive green double-breasted Duckback raincoat which came right down to my shins to cope with the Calcuttan rains during my daily commute to school. In function, the raincoat made sure that not a drop seeped through and kept me dry as a bone even in a heavy downpour. The downside, considering it was made of rubber (which made it smell like erm.. rubber) and heavy duty canvas, it weighed a ton and made me sweat bullets on the inside regardless of the pleasant temperatures outside. 

But to me it was more about the form and less about the function. Because in form, for me, it was the universal uniform of a detective. Like I said earlier, I had read enough fiction and had seen enough movies to know that detectives wore shabby raincoats (or tweeds, based on the continent they worked on), hats and occasional dark glasses to make themselves inconspicuous when following suspects and leads.

And now I had one such raincoat (and a matching cap) that automatically qualified me to be a detective. As if by magic (and a little bit of imagination), upon donning it over my school uniform, my portly build and round face transmogrified into a thin frame topped by a sardonic square-jawed face with a permanent deadpan expression. For me, it was a superhero costume. And Calcutta was my hunting ground! Well, make that South Calcutta. I was forbidden to go north of Kalighat without adult supervision as this was beyond my school zone. Thus started the adventures of the Duckback Detective. I loved it every time it rained and grumbled while the sun was out, for the detective came into being only when it rained. An invisible, unknown observer in an obscure raincoat who frequented playgrounds, scampered surreptitiously in the bylanes (or jumped in puddles), left no stone unturned in Tollygunge and rode trams on SP Mukherjee Road to keep the area free of crime. In between these adventures, I also found time to shadow the girl in my class on whom I had a massive crush. And that is how I realized that she lived in an area north of Kalighat. The forbidden zone. My quest and shadowing always ended at the invisible line that divided Kalighat from the rest of the northern world. And thus I never was able to discover where my Irene Adler lived. Shame! Well, you win some and lose the rest. But in all these adventures, the one that still irks me (since it remained unsolved) was the 'Park Street Pickpocket'. Till date, I have not been able to unravel that super-criminal and mysterious pickpocket who relieved me of my cherished faux leather wallet and my tram fare. I am sure it was a cohort of Dr. Moriarty (or maybe his Indian version, Dr. Morarjee). Still gives me sleepless nights. Nevertheless, life was exciting. Never a dull moment as I conjured up one adventure after the other.  

As I was just warming up to the field work of detection and the science of deduction, I also gradually began to outgrow my raincoat by becoming little more portly and a little more taller. I also began to discover the genius of Agatha Christie's Poirot who did wonders with his 'gray cells' while being impeccably dressed. And being portly. But if you'd put a gun to my head and ask me who's the greatest, I'd still swear by Holmes. The raincoat no longer fitted me after a couple of monsoons but I squeezed in whenever I could. When we moved from Calcutta, I had to finally hang up my raincoat though I badly wished we'd moved to Cherrapunji where I'd still find some use of it. Eventually, I lost my raincoat and along with it went the superpowers of deduction and observation. I became an ordinary struggling-at-Math schoolkid again. My days as a detective were officially over. Sigh!

Somewhere in my old chest of notebooks lie my greatest adventures. 'The Chowringhee Chinaman', 'Trouble at Tollygunge Railway Station', 'The Strange Incident on the Hazra Minibus 251', 'The Black Market League of Ballygunge and Lake Gardens', 'The Esplanade Escapade', 'Robbery at The Grand Hotel', 'The Diamond Harbour Heist' and the list goes on. What can I say? Those were busy times for crime-fighters. And here I must mention that since I was saving for my trip to Baker Street, I cut the cost of hiring an assistant and chronicled my own cases. So no one but me knows the fate of these cases and the villains apprehended. And in the best interests of humanity and those involved, the case files will continue to remain unpublished. Till the right time comes. 

Buzzy Ideas - Finding My True Calling

After years of meandering around with different ideas, I think I have finally zeroed in on what I would love to do once I am freed of this regular humdrum of a 10-5 job. I have decided that I will become a beekeeper i.e., I will start an apiary. The idea, at least for me, certainly does have a certain buzz to it. Why? Several reasons.

Bees love good weather and so do I

Like me, bees love good weather. So if I wanted to start keeping bees, I'd have to relocate to a climate that would suit me as well as the bees. Which means that I can escape the summer heat waves of the Indian plains and plateaus. Plus, I can be far away from the madding crowd. And keep the crowds at a safe distance too. 

Apiary is better than a cattle farm 

Being a fan of Westerns (spaghetti and otherwise), for a long time I seriously toyed with the idea of chewing on cheroots, wearing stetsons, hip holsters and lassos and riding one horse-powered horses. However, after reading about troubles with big cattle farms and their even bigger carbon footprints, I was a little put off. Plus, managing a supply chain of animal fodder and dairy output is a logistical nightmare even if you happen to be a lasso throwing, stetson wearing, cheroot chewing horseman.

Bees on the other hand, mind their own business (I think). They search for their own food, work on their own hives (as long as they aren't provoked, again I think) and of course do a whole world of good by pollinating the flora around the area. And at the end of it all, you get your fair share of their hard work for treating their queen like one. Nice creatures.

Bees keep people away 

A big incentive. Someone you are not a big fan of wants to visit you for holidays? No problem. Just let them know that the bees are behaving strangely this year and there is every possibility that unsuspecting visitors might receive more than their fair share of bee stings. And soon enough you'll stop getting those calls for invites. In my opinion, there can never be a bigger deterrent than the thought of an angry swarm of bees coming after you.

Bees bring people together

By the same token, you can always invite people (you'd love to hang around with) over by saying, 'Let's make some honey, honey!' Okay, that was kinda cheesy but the end result will not be Parmesan or mozzarella, that's for sure.

Bees make people talk about birds and bees

Well, not exactly in that sense but more from an environmental awareness kind of way. On the other hand, it sure would be fun to see parents squirming to explain about birds and bees to their kids when they'd visit the bee farm. Tee hee!

Profit or not, there will not be a bitter aftertaste

Well, yes, profits would matter, but regardless of the toplines or the bottomlines there wouldn't be a bitter aftertaste at the end of the day. You'd still put some honey on the table to wipe out any bitterness off the balance sheet.

Bees would put a DSLR to good use

I recently discovered that there exists a branch of photography called macro-photography (no wonder they call me a noob when it comes to photography!). Apparently this is a good hobby to pick up if you happen to have a DSLR (which I happen to have) and if you are surrounded by tiny fellas like spiders, bugs, insects, bees, etc. So, one shot two birds erm.. bugs.

The most logical man there ever was became a beekeeper

And here's the kicker, the mother of all reasons. The most logical man there ever was, that famous detective, Sherlock Holmes, retired to the chalk cliffs of Dover to become a beekeeper. Can there be a bigger excuse than this to start an apiary? It was purely elementary to start with!

Now there's a bee in my bonnet.

Kintsukuroi - A Flawless Philosophy About Imperfections

In one of the episodes of the TV series 'The Mentalist', Teresa Lisbon gifts Patrick Jane his favorite tea cup on his birthday. Not a new one but Jane's own tea cup that smashed to pieces (in an earlier episode) as the FBI was shutting down CBI's operations. Apparently, Lisbon painstakingly re-pieced every shard together to restore the cup (one of Jane's very few possessions) to its former glory. Naturally, Jane is overwhelmed. So was I. In my opinion,  the tea cup and Jane's habit of brewing tea (plus lounging on the couch) were as much a part of the storyline as the characters themselves. For me, normalcy was restored. Thanks to the tea cup.

The episode also reminded me of that beautiful Japanese term kintsukuroi. A term with which I got familiar by chance, through a very charming wordsmith I once knew. Kintsukuroi, in its simplest definition means 'to repair with gold' or 'golden repair'. But it also alludes to a broken item that upon being repaired with gold, becomes more beautiful than before. If one were to dig a little deeper in wikipedia for a more technical meaning, they would find that kintsukuroi is "the Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum and is based on the philosophy that breakage and repair is treated as part of the history of an object, rather than something to disguise." The flaws make it more beautiful than before. Nice. A little more digging and one would find a fable associated with the term here.  I found the story Thanks to a feisty Blue Gecko's beautiful blog. 

So, coming back to 'The Mentalist', in a way Jane's repaired tea cup was a great example of kintsukuroi. It had become more beautiful (and more precious) after being repaired by someone he loved.

However, when it comes to life and all things real world, we do not find things that once broken, and mended, to be more beautiful than before. We treat them as glaring examples of gross imperfections that can never be repaired or restored to former glory. We discard such objects. And sometimes, by the same token, people as well. We are especially unforgiving when it comes to people.

Many a time, we see people point out other people's mistakes and blunders and criticize them like its nobody's business. And often times we forget that we might have committed such bloopers ourselves. We only see the scars and flaws of others as irreparable imperfections and nothing else. Perhaps, we were wired that way. To weed out imperfections in others as a part of survival of the fittest or whatever evolution meant it to be. But isn't such thought process of ours itself fundamentally flawed or broken? Don't we assume that we are far too perfect to be broken no matter how humble we are? After all, like they say, nobody's perfect.

In this regard, one must appreciate the Japanese for their appreciation of perfection (and imperfections) and the pains they take to make even the most imperfect objects, well, perfect. And they do so by highlighting such objects' imperfections! With gold!!

Perhaps it's time we changed as well. And mend ourselves. To become better than our former selves while still displaying our vulnerabilities and scars. Alas! For now there exists no kintsukuroi for us. Perfect!

Getting Lost in the Heartbreak City

Of all the places I have been to in my lifetime, the one place that never fails to cheer me up and disappoint me in equal measures is Bangalore or Bengaluru as it is now called. No, the city has got nothing to do with it. It's just me. Being a small town guy, the city lights of Bangalore always dazzle me. So much so, that I get blinded by them. Just like Dick Whittington and his cat getting mesmerized by London. Great weather, great (looking) people, good parks, sprawling greenery, good food, great malls, nice places to visit around, in short, all things great. Flipside, too expensive and too crowded. The Garden City, once a haven for retired and gentile folks, today looks as if it is the center for a never ending Youth Fest for entire youth of India to gather around. In short, a very hot and happening place. Which is good. And bad. 

Great Weather... or so they say...

Having travelled to Bangalore several times over the past few years for special and not-so-special occasions, I always resisted the temptation to publish my Bangalore chronicles. I wanted to forget every unforgettable moment I experienced so that I could create better ones the next time I was there. Thus far I must say I had been very successful in creating great memories. However, this time was different.

To start with, it was a trip that was long overdue and well past its proverbial expiry date. Over the past few months, several situations beyond my control had cropped up whenever I planned the trip and so I would have to put it off to a later date. Like they say, when it rains, it pours and you can't do anything about it. Hence the outcome of this much delayed trip  was unknown and chances of any form of success were close to impossible. But then I had just myself to blame and nothing to lose. Nevertheless, it was a chance (in a billion) I was willing to take.  So, finally when I saw a streak of sunshine slip through the dark clouds, I picked my already packed bags and trudged Bangalore-wards. Just like Dick Whittington and his cat making their way to London.

But then folklores are just that. Folklores. So unlike the future Lord Mayor of London, I didn't get lucky and got confined to my loneliness. I ended up being an ordinary lost tourist with an almost useless and outdated map that seemed to scream 'GET LOST!' in more ways than one. And so get lost I did.

I got lost in those myriad mazes called the Bangalore one-way streets which sometimes even the local Bangaloreans can't comprehend. Crossing the streets was a military operation in itself. Bangaloreans, usually polite and docile people, become pedestrian hunters when they are riding or driving. And I was fair game during the open season. Survived but barely, I must say. Eventually I learned a few tricks of the trade of urban survival and warfare.

The other time I got lost, I happened to wander into this coffee shop called 'The Square' (run by Cafe Coffee Day) where the service was ho-hum but the security was so ridiculous that ordinary pedestrians could not walk past the glass facade because the footpath was 'private'! It took some persuasion on my part to let the security understand that I was a wannabe patron and not a pedestrian trying to gain entry into the coffee shop. Here, I would like to mention that I have had easier passage through customs of some foreign countries than getting into 'The Square'. Anyways, upon entering, I spent a considerable amount of time - over a cup of coffee - thinking about what security measures I should undergo to exit the shop. Thankfully, there were none excepting for the fact that I had to pay a king's ransom for the frappe. Did I mention that Bangalore is expensive?

The Square

Returning from the 'Square' I got lost again and stumbled across a bookshop that only sold magazines. I felt sorry for the guy running a bookshop in this age of digital tablets (speaking of which, our civilization started with stone tablets, graduated to papyrus and paper and now we are back to the tablets, but I digress). Besides me, there was nobody else excepting for the glum looking bookstore guy. I decided that I'll buy a magazine just to cheer him up and see a gleam of happiness in his eyes. I felt that if the glum-me could make the glum-bookstore-owner happy then some of my glumness would go away. Instead, at the billing counter all I got was a once over (that would make TSA proud!!) from the bookstore owner to ascertain that I hadn't shoplifted any expensive imported dirty magazine from the shelf and slipped it inside my shirt or trousers while pretending to pay for a dirt cheap weekly I had bought. So much for feeling sorry about bookstore owners!

The next time I got lost, my friend rescued me with a metro ride and made me step into a mall of epic proportions! Yea, I still have friends I can count on. And I am glad that I do. But I digress again. What a mall it was! I just couldn't see one end of it standing at the other end. Amazing.

Sri Someshwara Temple

Then I got lost (yet again) and came across this 1000+ year old temple of Sri Someshwara (arguably the oldest temple in Bangalore) nestled between a strikingly new high-rise decked with a helipad on one end of the street and the elevated metro line on the other. Apparently, these days, thanks to its pedestrian hunting traffic even the Gods prefer the aerial routes to the overcrowded streets of Namma Bengaluru.

And thus my 'Lost' saga continued. I lost a lot and got lost a lot but in the process I also rediscovered the forgotten art of being guided by the stars and the sun. The stars being my friends and the sun being, well, the sun. Needless to say, I also ended up discovering something new at every wrong turn I took.

And as I turned away from the Garden City, I just wished the bells would toll for my return just like they did for Dick Whittington and his cat. They never did. Or perhaps I never heard them. I was lost and dejected as I left the Heartbreak City....