First weekend of May - Alibaug n Kashid Part1 - The halo, The bums , The bugle n The beach...

The crowd, the pace n the energy of the city was becoming a part and parcel of the life. As some wise man once said, change is the only thing that is constant. The vagabond in me wanted a change.

A weekend plan was charted out, which consisted of an escape into the not-so-commercialized beaches in n around Alibaug, a place which was at a distance of 110 kms from Mumbai or at a displacement of approx 35 kms. a make-shift travel group – a group of 11 people who had never hung out together in the past. For me, it was an experiment; I prefer hanging out with people who I m close to or am completely new to, nothing in between. This group had members who didn’t belong to both the categories.

Taking into account the time factor and the expectations of an enjoyable boat ride, we decided to take the ‘displacement route’ rather than the ‘distance route’. After having a sumptuous lunch (as always) we boarded the steamer.

As we watched the Gateway and the Taj fading into distance, we realised that the steamer was rocking and swaying more than usual. That’s when the smiling Buddha came up with a dance step to help us stand steady. It was simple – Legs spread apart at 45 degrees, knees bent at some obtuse angle, hands spread to provide the balance. I added a pelvic thrust to the process and it ensured that the deck had some amateur dancers dancing to the tunes of the swaying boat. Suddenly someone screamed – ‘ Halo….The ever so gentlemanly mallu has a halo associated with him, he’s enlightened ‘ . Time, space n every other element freezed for a moment, the boat stopped rocking, the wind stopped blowing, the waves stopped splashing. All eyes were fixed on Ashwin’s head , trying to soak in the sight of the magical halo around it. But alas, no one could c it. That’s when the other mallu – a not so gentlemanly lazy bum – captured the halo between his legs (pun unintended!!!) with his camera. This was the first instance of bum capturing (again pun unintended), which was to unnoticeably become a theme during the trip.

After alighting the steamer at Mandvi, we boarded the bus which was headed to Alibaug. The town of Alibaug and the beach unfortunately didn’t meet by expectations regarding my idea of a sojourn into the lap of nature. Add to that, the constant school-teacher-like-gyaan-n-setting-the-deadlines of some in the group. The vagabond in me was craving for unstructuredness n the randomness associated with the travel rather than the walking-in-a-carefully-drawn-straight-line.

We decided to chuck Alibaug n go Kashid – a quieter n calm place where the encroachment of civilization was to a lesser degree. 11 of us somehow managed to squeeze our arses into a share auto for a 30 km journey. It was already around 5 o clock as the share auto sped away into the dusk. The sweltering heat mixed with the ‘unvagabonding’ spirit of some, was getting to some of the so-called-travellers.

The sleeping topper just switched off as he thought he was better off in tat state, n i would say he made a right choice. The kiddo girl was kiddoish as usual, keeping everything simple, not bothering to think too much n she kept on clicking pics. The big bakar man kept on vomiting lots of gibberish, maintaining the energy level of the group ( though was it actually required ??? ). The smiling budha was thinking, the best possible way to utilise idle time, wonder nowadays how many actually think beyond the obvious. The bugle boy was his usual stuff. (The trousers of the brand Bugle boy has the tag attached at the wrong…err should I say the right place! ). The gentlemanly mallu was flashing his million dollar smile inspite of the tiredness. The FMS dude was getting valuable info from the autowallah. Parvath ka puthar was in a pensive mood. The don n the goggled girl kept on argument about the clichéd topic of gender equality.

I was enjoying observing the small n subtle things around me, the group dynamics of the make-shift group, the interplay of human emotions. A human being n its characteristics , just like life, are a paradox of extremes – It is so seeming simple as well as unbelievably complex, it is a well oiled machine as well as the manifestation of extreme randomness, it is just a speck in the endless emptiness at the same time an entirety in itself.



Kashid was incredible….With its clean beach, clear water, greenery, small crowd, shacks, hammocks among many other features. After settling down in a homely cottage, way past dusk, we set off to the beach. The time until dinner was spent idling around, doing pretty much nothing. After dinner, the Smiling Budha, the Bugle boy n the lazy bum set off to the beach again. Lying on the beach, looking at the stars, hearing the waves crash on the shore n the whisper of the gentle breeze flowing, my mind started wandering exploring the endless possibilities and meaning of human existence. My mind became warped enough to overcome the warped space-time and wrap it onto itself. Memories flooded in – The dreams we weaved lying on the beaches of Cochin n Alleppey, The intoxicated illusions tat were created , destroyed n recreated lying on the beaches of Goa, The numerous rounds of self-introspection and the churning out process that was carried out lying on the beaches of Chennai n Pondicherry. Every human being lives three lives – The memories, the present n the dreams. Lucky r those who can sketch them to form a continuum, with one dissolving into the other effortlessly and naturally...

As the night slept n the day was about to wake up from its slumber, i dozed off…away from the maddening crowd, on the sea shore……..

Rest of the month - April 20th to 30th

Some of the memories from the rest of the month, not chronologically nor in any particular order are : -

The train journey to Kalyan – If u thought western lane was the actual representation of Mumbai locals, I don’t know what u ll think if u travel via the central lane. The journey was normal from VT till Dadar. The scenes after Dadar made me realise that getting into, stayin put and getting out of the train was a combination of art and science. Many of the nuggets of scientific wisdom learned during the school days were coming in handy (and at times rewritten) for many of the travellers –

1) Force = Mass * Acceleration – To get out of or into the train, u need to have either the mass or acceleration. The hulks used their physique to push their way thru, while the davids used the A component of the equation to generate the F one.
2) Every action has an equal (or greater) and opposite reaction – For every newton of force applied by the alighting crowd, the boarding crowd applied an equal (or greater) amount of force.
3) Then there was Bernoulli.
4) Every conceivable particle is made up of several sub-atomic particles – From the stretch from Dadar to Kalyan, I ceased to exist as the well oiled human machine. Many of the parts, physical and mental just weren’t present. I was just the sub-atomic particles, which by themselves didn’t make much sense.

The tightly packed compartments, which redefined the extent of permissible spacial violation of a human being, inside which the travellers didn’t budge an inch during the 3-4 min stretch during the stations, and the subsequent explosion and the uncontrollable force at the which they were thrown or threw themselves out of the openings known as the doors can be compared only to a constipated person hit by bouts of loose motion.

N it always felt as if the number of people who boarded the train was more than the number of people who alighted.

Dinner at New Yorkers – When Anil, my foodie buddy from Chennai n now at A, came down I had to take him to a good restaurant for old times' sake. Based on recommendations by some Mumbaikars we decided on New Yorker, a veg restaurant (for a change) near Wilson College. After standing in the queue ( I have always wondered y it was ‘ queue’ n not ‘que’ – may be it is to give that word that long n first-person-is-so-far-away feeling. After seeing the Mumbai queues I feel the word should be queueueue rather than queue) for around three-quarters of an hour, we had high expectations from the Mexican sizzlers and falafels we ordered. But the food sucked big time. Branding is an awesome phenomenon, but the quality of product is the foundation on which the entire concept of branding can and should be built…

The workouts n the interesting people I met/ continue to meet there – This and other workout related stories n my views on the topic requires several independent and dedicated posts.

Some of the interesting pics captured

' Hindu Swimming....' , ' Building for Parsees' - What the hell ??? India is growing. Y not Indians ?

Innovative/weird ways to add to the topline

U find these kind of boards in every shop in the Fashion Street. N in every shop u haggle with the shopkeeper, starting at 1/4th of the price n finalising the deal at around half the price.

Somebody in the restaruant is good at arithemetic

Nice name for a hospital

An ash tray which conveys the right message

Weekdays 15th - 19th April - VJ, Bade Miyan n the usual office routine..

The rest of the week followed the predictable routine. Wakeup – Workout – Egg fast – (No) Work at office – Dinner experimentation – Catching up with old friends. The VJ alias Vijay, aka roll no 88, aka the 40% contributor to the B-Tech degree had come down to Mumbai. The Piyush khan, aka roll no 89, aka the 60% contributor to the B-Tech degree decided to meet up with him. (I know this might sound nonsense to many, without the context being properly laid out). As usual, the dude ( The word has lost its charm nowadays with even the most ordinary and boring of persons addressing each other ‘ dood ‘ . The word means “A kind of dandy; especially, one characterized by an ultrafashionable style of dress and other affectations.”) – yes this guy was a real dude, dooder than the coen brothers’ dude Lebowski – oozed class n elegance, coming in a Land cruiser with his mate from Air India.

Next hour or so was spent inside Gokul, a resto-bar, when we travelled back in time n regaled (or bored I m not sure) the great pilot from Air India with our engineering exploits. We chose the place because it reminded us of one of our favourite hangouts back in Cochin. The value for money provided by Gokul was amazing – decent ambience, 3 Rotis n Chicken Tikka fry, 3 pitchers, all this for 570 bucks. Certainly a niche one in Colaba, amidst the Leopolds n Mondegars.

Bade Miyan, on the other hand was the most upscale “thattudkada” (road side restaurant) I ve ever been to.

It has a very diverse clientele coming from various parts of Mumbai, people from all strata of the society. I could witness the bonnet of the cars multi-purposing as dining tables. I could also see a version of “ Brand Casting” in action. The quality of service offered was directly proportional to the brand of the vehicle in which the person drove in. Luckily we had a land cruiser…

I could finally decide on my top 3 thattukada dishes after the dinner. In no particular order they are:

· Quail Egg curry from a thattukada near my home
· Bheja fry from Bade Miyan, Mumbai
· Dosa + Chicken fry from Rappai’s , Cochin

Another of the weekdays was spent with VJ, Neha and Praveen at Phonex Mill shopping mall, which ended with a dinner savouring some delicious Marathi dishes , at the same time eating one of the worst squid dishes I ve ever had. This was one of the rare occasions when the experimentation by the food junkie turned out to be a failure. But this won’t deter me, After all exploring the unknown is the only way to know the unknown and redefine the horizons of unknown and unchartered territory….

In between all this, 10 AM to 6 PM everyday was being utilised (questionable..Still I ll stick to it) to hone the skills required to survive in the corporate world that’ll unquestionably become intertwined with my life in the near future.

Monday 14th April - Haji Ali n Leopold

After having a sumptuous meal ( as usual ) which included the usual share of some exotic dishes, we set out for Haji Ali, a dargah built in the middle of the sea, which can be reached by a 500 m narrow cause way which is negotiable only during low tide. Walkathon being the theme of the day, this 500m walk was preceded by a 2 km stroll. In addition to the usual “smell of Mumbai breeze” , we could also observe the rubbish dumped on the seaside. The smell and the sight together made it disgusting and nauseating.

But the ambience changed once we reached the beginning of the pathway. Hundreds of devout devotees, crowd thronging to shops on either side of the beginning of the passageway n the kind of music which was being played gave me a feeling that was quite unique in its own way. I m not someone who can be considered a theist, but I am always fascinated by the atmosphere prevalent in and near a religious place.

As we continued our walk, we realised that we were dressed differently ( I wont say inappropriately ) for the place. Seeing the covered head of all the ladies, seemingly sane girl made a note of adding a shall or a veil to the already large number of items present in her handbag. No, no, no…I m not cheap enough to look inside a lady’s handbag. During the course of our journey, for more than a couple of times whenever we needed some essential item like fevikwik, stapler etc etc, this seemingly sane lady played the conjurer, pulling stuff out of her bag with a dexterity that made us believe that seemingly sane girl had all the seemingly useless (or should we call it useful) stuff in her bag.

The courtyard in front of the mausoleum was thronging with people, people who were soaking in the atmosphere, people who were relaxing after the physically n mentally exhausting journey, people like me who came just to get the feel of the things n the numerous ones waiting to have a glimpse of the casket which was draped with flowers n colourful banners.

Seemingly Sane Girl n Smiling Budha decided to call it a day after the Haji Ali visit, while ABC n the lazy bum decided to check out Leopold of Shantaram fame. Spending a Vishu at Leopold, could it get crazier than that ? May be the book had given the place a cult status, but I felt the place was straight out of the book, teeming with such an eclectic crowd separated by no barriers that the utter disrespect I feel for the human created barriers came to the surface with its full force. Laws n regulations are necessary for a society to function. But the human created barriers and societal norms are just to protect and encourage mediocrity, to make the insecure feel secure in a make-believe world.

I had seen it in the movies, but i was seeing the 3-feet pitcher for the first time in real life.

The day ended with one of those usual bouts of “book buyathons” which I occasionally suffer from and the discovery of that Lee showroom I was searching for over three days. When jockey started becoming the pulsar among the undies, I ditched it. Just like I ditched an IT career when all ram, shyam n gopu started coding. Now the question remains when I ll ditch my pulsar n when I ll feel that there are too many management graduates inhabiting this world….. I m not that brand-crazy metro sexual dude who doesn’t know y he wants a particular brand. Then u might be wondering why I wear branded clothes more often than not. I am so fascinated by the power of branding that I wanna celebrate it and feel a part of it n respect the ingenuity n craziness of the branders. I know it sounds crazy, but cant help it……

Monday 14th April - The Eggfast, The Scientific Museum n The French Kiss

It was Vishu – The Kerala New Year – n the only ‘Vishuish’ thing the lazy bum did was calling up my family n relatives. It was also Ambekar Jayanti, a holiday here. The day began just like another day in Mumbai, with a jog down the marine drive. Yes, the lazy bum was slowly getting into a routine. The beauty of being crazy or the obsession for being systematic can be fully comprehended only when there’s a method in madness. In the city of organized chaos, I was discovering a method in madness.

Smiling Buddha n the Lazy bum called up the Seemingly Sane girl from the sleep n decided to meet up at Café NewYork for breakfast. Seeming sane girl, who prefers watching a sunset over sunrise any day, was late. The lazy bum hates calling up a person from sleep. You feel guilty, always doubting if you intruded into his/her bedroom n beautiful dreams. Even the person u called will feel obliged to wake up n honour the commitment (if any) just because he/she already committed. It helps nobody.

The breakfast was my usual eggfast along with the baked beans. I don’t think I can love n hate a food item to an extent more than I do love n hate egg. The mere sight of the baked beans brought back memories of the famous ‘baked beans joke’ n I couldn’t help but smile.

After finishing the breakfast, we chalked out the plans for the day, The Seemingly Sane Girl was reading the map, the Smiling Buddha was listening. I thought - To hell with Allen n Barbara Pease, the authors of “Why men don’t listen and Women can’t read maps”.

Not in my weirdest dreams I would ve thought I would visit a scientific park in Mumbai. But that was our plan for the hot n humid morning– Revise n learn the basic fundas we learned or didn’t care to learn in the school days !!! As we got down from the famous Mumbai local train at the Mahalakshmi station and moved towards our destination, we could get a quick glimpse of the “ Dhobi Ghaat” – Where the dhobis wash away the dirt from the clothes , so that people could start the next day afresh having purged themselves of the sins performed the previous day.

Even if I had imagined in my weirdest dreams I would visit the scientific park , I would never have imagined I would enact a French kiss in Mumbai in a scientific park, with a complete stranger, somebody who i was seeing for the first time , somebody who was taller than me , in such a weird position, amidst the presence of lots of peering eyes, Smiling Budha n Seemingly Sane girl's among them. I thought - What the F***, i had to do it - N the Seemingly Sane girl, ever so sane, captured it in frames.

By around noon, it was time for us to welcome another of our friends from K. There’s this common explanation by people whose name begin with ‘A’ that the name is so because they wanted to be first in everything ( as A is the first alphabet) . If we have to go with this explanation, this friend of ours wanted to be first, second n third in everything. ABC had caught a rick, jumped on to a bus, then to a train n finally a cab to meet us...

Sunday 13th April - The weird accident!!!

The four of us, minus the honorary members of the gang, hopped on to a cab (there r no ricks in this part of the Mumbai, there’s a theory doing the rounds that the big shots in this place don’t like to c ricks on the road , not sure how much truth is there in this ) n the lazy bum said to the driver in his mallu accented hindi “ bhaiyya, gateway jaana hai”.

Though it was well past the sunset, we hoped to see the ‘quintessential gateway picture/video’ of the hundreds of pigeons – some perching, some abt to fly - live before our eyes. Unfortunately it remained a picture as the pigeons chose to remain away from the thousands of staring human eyes, but we hope sometime during the next two months, we will b able to enjoy the view. After all, hope n trust r two things we have to believe in.

The Gateway of India, which was built to welcome a queen ( I don’t remember the name), didn’t stand in its almighty glory that day, for half of it was being operated upon to treat the wounds inflicted upon it during the passage of time. It used to be the first structure u c when u come to Mumbai on ship. The boat ride on offer was a perfect invitation for us to get away from the maddening yet interesting crowd we encountered for the past few days n we were in no mood to resist it. We climbed up the almost-vertical-n-bloody-narrow-stairs, n staggering n swaying in tune with the rocking steamer, looked for a place to settle down. Being the gentlemen we were, the three of us sat on some not-so-bad-bum-placable-seats allowing the Seemingly Sane girl to occupy the last free chair on the roof. As the boat sped away, we turned back to get an alternate view of the Gateway. We realised that Gateway was not the sight to behold, rather it was dwarfed by the beautifully lit up old Taj n the new Taj standing alongside each other. Lazy bum was giving some needless bullshit to others about Elephanta suite, a room in Taj, when it happened - CRAAASSSSHHHH!!!!! WREEEECCCCKKKK!!!!

For a moment we thought we had crashed into an (tip of) iceberg. Not so happy scenes from the movie Titanic played out in the minds of the people. The singers in the boat tried to form a band so that they cold sing the requiem. The lovers believed that their story would become the next biggest Hollywood blockbuster. The calm n smiling Budha lost his calmness for a split-second. The Don wanted to take that last photograph which would be worth millions when the scuba divers find it amidst the last remains of the capsized boat. The lazy bum was thinking about the eventful post he would write in his blog if he ever got out of it alive. The seemingly sane girl started to act insanely, even posing for a couple of photos with her specs on!!!

Then realization set in. The boat was not going to capsize. It had not hit any iceberg. We had just been involved in one of the weirdest possible accidents. Wasn’t it ironical that after travelling in the crowded local trains, travelling with the crazy taxi drivers, the first ( n hopefully only) accident we were involved was a steamer colliding with another steamer in the middle of nowhere, where the “traffic” was almost negligible !!!!

The rest of the boat ride was spent debating on where the opening to the sea was, recalling the good old days when we used to read Enid Blyton’s, Hardy boys etc (The sight of a buoy reminded urs truly of one of the Hardy boys’ in which Joe Hardy clings on to a buoy to pull off a miraculous escape).

As we were walking along the promenade, contemplating where to fill our stomachs n with what, Smiling Budha lost all his calmness n started screaming out animatedly “Wat is out there? Is it a dance, is it a bar, no…..it’s a dance bar!!! “N for a moment we wondered if it was true indeed. In the distance we could hear music being played n could catch a distant n not so clear glimpse of women dancing to the tunes of some latest Bollywood hits . Then sanity was restored. It’s not possible to have a dance bar a t such a conspicuous n noticeable place. Still curiosity persisted….Thoughts like “What if”, “Maybe” were floating in the minds…. Finally all doubts were laid to rest when the smiling Buddha n the lazy bum asked the people concerned what it was all about. A Sindhi festival was on in full swing.

As the “Smell of Mumbai” started “titillating” our senses more and more, we knew it was time to call it a day. Moreover, it was time for the Seemingly Sane Girl to get back into the Wilson prison.

13th April – Sunday: 6 AM to 6 PM

As usual I , the lazy bum woke up in the morning hearing the cacophony created by the crows perching on my hostel room window sills. Alarm has become redundant after coming here!!! . The fitness freak in me was off to the Marine drive, ready to jog from one end of the queen’s half necklace to the other. If someone has any doubts on how the people in Mumbai are able to keep up with the pace of the city, they can find a part solution to the question on the 4- 5 km stretch extending from chowpatty to Nariman point. The lazy bum could witness a fitness n health conscious mini – India warming themselves up for the hectic day ( and not so hectic for others ). Lazy bum calls it mini – india bcos, whatever be the classification u use to segment the joggers – state, age, gender, income – it’s a perfect representative sample . For someone like the lazy bum who has never come across more than 10 people during a jogging session back home in kozhikode, the scores and scores of joggers the lazy bum crossed, overtook and who overtook the lazy bum was a pleasant surprise. It was a celebration, a festival out there – A celebration of the well being of human bodies, a celebration of the spirit of Mumbai, a festival of the demographic, ethnographic n every –possible- graphic unity in diversity. The markers on the ground acts as a motivator for the tired legs to push further n cover that extra hundred meters.

After the lunch, The smiling Buddha n the lazy bum decided to hit Churchgate to visit a book exhibition whose exact location was unknown to the both. After alighting the train at the Church gate station, a well maintained one the lazy bum should say, we started our walkathon in search of the place. Churchgate was quite different from Chow patty. Though there were malls and other modern structures, the architecture of the buildings, the Parsis and the Parsi temples which were present in plenty, the layout of the roads etc gave the place a quaint n unique look and feel.

The smiling Budha jumped on to the middle of the road to get this picture right !!!

A parsi temple

After our legs started getting tired, n still with no signs of the book exhibition, we had to call up the Seemingly Sane Girl to look up on the internet to find out the location of the exhibition. The Seemingly Sane Girl, vindicated her name by not acting insane or not doing anything weird n promptly informed us the location. Though the collection of books weren’t outstanding, we could find a couple of books each; one of which The Smiling Budha predicted would become a collectors’ issue. ( “ Is it a bird…….superman” one ) The deal was a killer one - four books for Rs 130. The banner hung outside highlighted the cause for which the exhibition was held.

We reached back Chowpatty by dusk n joined The Don n the Seemingly sane girl to plan for the rest of the day. The gleam in the eyes of the seemingly sane girl when she saw the Superman comics, made me doubt if a better name for her wasThe seemingly sane kiddo girl . When we informed the Kiddo girl who was 21……….., who was put up at a far away Malad , were going to The Gateway of India, she replied with a tone which had a tinge of sadness n helplessness – “ I think i m going in search of The Gateway of Malad “...

The wilson gang

I was feeling uncomfortable n unsettled initially. Now things r back to normal, am feeling exuberant n excited.

Having lived in the comforts of H-hostel at K - which is at par with a star hotel facility – the shift to the dilapidated Wilson hostel (Here u need to do a push-pull-scratch-scream routine for the fan to start rotating, After the initial few drops of water that comes out of the shower u have a few minutes of self contemplation before the next drops come) had made me disoriented. But the fact that I could find a place to stay in South Mumbai for 4.5 grand per month has lifted my spirits.

Having followed a strict work out n diet routine for the past few months, I felt a little uncomfortable at - leave aside no work-outs, not even being able to eat proper meals. To put it in exaggerating terms – I didn’t know where the next meal was going to come from!!! By the time the restaurants became fully functional, I ll be in the cab to the office. The lunch in the office cabin sucks big time. N to make up for the lost day, one hogs like crazy during the night (n ideally one is supposed to have a healthy breakfast n a light dinner!!!). But I feel joyful now that I ve found out a restaurant that serves breakfast, that too a healthy one, from the wee hours of the morning. I ve also realised that I have the access to the state-of-the-art health club that the office is housing. So back to the jogs, work outs n the egg-filled, fat free diet. :-)

I felt quite lost n lonely since not many of my close school, college n K friends r put up in this part of the city. But this has opened up opportunities to form new acquaintances n friendships in the past one week. We have the Wilson gang which has its share of “roamathons” , “walkathons” “foodathons” n “chatathons”. At the time of writing the gang consists of : -

The Don – The dancer par excellence, the organizer, the co-ordinator n the mature member of the gang. The photographer who captures the journey in frames.

The consigliore aka The Smiling Buddha – Calm n composed, cool n collected, my mate from the Media Cell brings serenity n tranquillity to the proceedings. An amazing travel buddy.

The kiddo girl who is 21 but who looks like ___ - The entertainment package in the gang. Whatever she does, especially during the dinner time, leads to a laugh riot. Doesn’t like to get photographed from close. (Honorary member – shes left Wilson hostel n has gone to malad now, but shes an indispensable part of the gang)

The seemingly sane girl – Feels strange to think that this travel buddy is someone who I haven’t talked to much in college except during the “Ed-Med wedding that never happened under the gibbon skies” (To quote Burhan).She doesn’t like to get photographed with the specs on.

Yellaman aka Gendaman - The fight is on btw gendaman and kiddo girl who’s the better entertainment package. The one who unknowingly comes up with weird quotes, showcasing the endless possibilities of English language. Sample - _____ was initially tender on me (giving a visual demonstration also!!!), later ___ became rough. (Honorary member – Comes from the other end of the city to spend time with the Wilson gang. The company pays for his travel)

Yours truly – It’s up to others to fill this space.

Looking forward to exciting times and making the most out of the summers’ experience.

1st week in the maximum city (Part 1)

People say u can never live in another place, even in Ur dreams, if u ve lived in Mumbai. Having seen Mumbai in movies, having read about Mumbai in newspapers n novels, having heard about Mumbai from friends n acquaintances n having made a two day visit to the maximum city one year back, I was looking forward to experiencing Mumbai. The first two days were quite odd – I had nothing much to do other than wander around. The entire city was hurrying along in fast motion while I was loitering around in slow motion. The next five days were chaotic, disordered n frenzied but had its own share of interesting experiences. Some of the observations might sound like the usual stuff which u r already familiar with, but I m reinforcing n reiterating them with my first hand experience.

Mumbai is a city of long n serpentine queues – There’s a queue in the railway station, there’s queue waiting for the lifts, u need to stand in a queue to get into a restaurant, there’s a queue to buy a bus ticket, there’s a queue to get into a queue!!!

Mumbai is a city where there’s space for all yet is claustrophobic – This is a city whose population is more than that of Austrailia's, a city which has the space for each one of the populace to live their lives. I feel like floating in a vacuum with endless emptiness around when I do my daily jog thru the marine drive (luckily I m put up in one of the best locations in the city – the place which has earned the sobriquet ‘The queen’s half necklace ‘) , I feel light at heart when I roam around with the Wilson gang, with no regard to anything else. But I feel claustrophobic n violated when I climb into the lift which takes me to the 20th floor of maker towers which houses my office. I feel claustrophobic when I share the space in the local taxi. I feel claustrophobic at a traffic junction, surrounded on all sides by all sorts of vehicles. I feel claustrophobic when I sit inside the cabin in the office.

Mumbai makes u feel small as well as big – Walking amidst and inside the skyscrapers which constitute the manhattan of India, sitting in the corporate office of a major financial institution n interacting with the big shots by communicating in a language where the semantics are constructed out of proprietary jargon, shelling out close to a grand for a dinner ( at times ) , u feel u are important. But when u see a Ferrari and a Lamborghini vrooming side by side, when u hear about the rent your friend’s uncle is paying for a sea-facing flat (which is, bye the way, close to the avg package u get in a b-school) , when u c the 25 odd vintage cars owned by a puna wallah , when u notice that the brands u cherished n wore are being worn by all the madanlals, pyarelals n pannelals……u feel as if u cease to exist.

Mumbai ( or at least Colaba, where I stay ) is a city of extremes – When u look to the right , u c the quaint and old-world building which has been standing the test of time for 150 odd years. When u look to the left, u c the modern n contemporary 30 something storied skyscraper with an architectural brilliance par excellence. When u hear the “vrrrrrrooooooooooom” outside n when u look out thru the windows sometimes u the Ferraris zooming past, other times u c the ‘yellow-black’ cabs “zooming” past. U observe the scores of customers waiting to get into the plush restaurant where the price of an item starts at a miserly Rs 501, u also c the crowd that has gathered around the ‘Chaat wallah’ who has set his base right beside the posh restaurant. U see the cleaners n the sweepers cleaning the roads n the joggers path in the marine drive, a place which gives our eyes a visual treat, but when u walk down the beach u also c the piles of garbage n litter scattered around n feel the stench disturbing ur senses.

The vagabond in me.... (Conclusion – The Cochin leg)

I had an overwhelming sense of dejavu when I set my foot in Cochin. Four years in Cochin, I had seen it all…well, almost all. This leg of the trip was not only a travel across space, but also a travel back in time. This leg of the trip was not for the vagabond, this was more for me and the engg college days. On my way to Hotel Grand, in spite of the heavy rains, I couldn’t help peeping out of the rickshaw to check if all the familiar landmarks were there. On seeing Ceylon bake house, the memories of one of our tragic New Year celebrations came to my mind. I couldn’t help smiling…..Kuttan Chettan’s workshop was still a bike connoisseur’s paradise. Though I m not one, I remembered the first and last time I was on a Hayabusa n R1. I remembered the umpteen times I accompanied VJ to the workshop n was bored to death when we sat there, for what seemed like an eternity, seeing his Bullet transform into a Mini Harley.

Meeting a couple of close friends from the college, after quite a gap, was the main item on the agenda. May be it was destiny that Hotel Grand was chosen to be the meeting place for the time travel, for I inadvertently bumped into one of my school friends and travelled further back in time. It was an absolutely pleasant surprise to meet her in the most unexpected of circumstances. To add to the surprise, one of my juniors – the most gorgeous girl in our campus during those times – was also in the same place. The world is indeed a small place!!!

After finishing our customary quota from Grand, Gundachi, the Kochiites n I drove to Renaissance (This was not the vagabond’s trip…I was shuttling across star hotels!!!) to finish our customary quota with the Valakuzhys; one of the three day-scholar families which used to complement our hostel fraternity. We talked and drove the night away…

Instead of lying idly on the bed on the Sunday morning, I persuaded my friends, those who were not sloshed, in going for a breakfast buffet (Guys/Gals, a jog followed by a three course breakfast buffet from a nice hotel is the best start for any day, I swear… ). When I saw a lady, probably a middle level manager who was once an MBA grad, pulling out a lap top and working on it in the middle of the breakfast, I felt a little odd. The paradox is that I felt a little odd because I found it quite a normal thing to do…I realised how integral lappy had become to my MBA life. Probably I see the lappy more than I see my roomie.

We thought of going for “Shaapping” ( For the uninitiated, a “shaap” is a place where u get “toddy”, a local liquor and the best possible side dish or “touchings” as it is popularly known – exotic n original seafood like prawns, lobsters, mussels etc ) to our favourite Nettoor shaap, a shaap surrounded on three sides by backwaters. But unfortunately, because of the rains, we couldn’t.

After spending some more time in Cochin, I decided to board the general compartment of the inter-city express, back to Kozhikode it was. May be because I was travelling in a general compartment after a long time, may be I never used to bother before, may be I was ignorant…Anyway what I saw was once again ingenious marketing right before my eyes.

No wonder, Lalu is giving Gyan at premier management institutes!!!

As I re-entered the hallowed portals of K after a two day hiatus, like a convict back in the jail after a parole , I could see my classmates scurry like crazy to complete the numerous project submissions, assignments and quizzes lined up for the next day. I smiled at no one, shifted the wonderful memories of two days to the back of my mind, laid the vagabond to rest in peace for two weeks and prepared to become comfortably disoriented to merge with the K crowd and do another night out…….

The end.

The vagabond in me.... (Part 3 – The Trivandrum leg)

As the first rays of morning sun found its way thru the small opening in the closed curtains, and kissed my face ever so gently, I slowly opened my eyes ready to face a new day in a new place. I would’ve loved to wake up like that... Instead I woke up hearing somebody shouting “Trivandrum, Trivandrum...Sir, pls wake up its Trivandrum”. I jumped up hurriedly, put the lappy bag on my back, hung the main bag on the right shoulder, held the pullover in the left hand (strategically so that the IIMK tag was visible to all) and the water bottle in the right hand and alighted the already moving bus, remembering the great scientist Bernoulli when I jumped on to the ground.

After walking aimlessly for a while, sipping a coffee I bought from a nearby chai shop (In case u were wondering, I had put the water bottle in the bag so that I had one limb free), I found a nondescript hotel n decided to set my base there. When I paid the receptionist the advance, the fundas of marketing n branding which I soaked in during the 1st year danced before my eyes...(Just three months back I had booked a room in Goa for 5 days, for that amount of dough I could’ve stayed in this hotel for more than a month !!! ) .

I put on the formals (Remember, I had meetings with several media guys, though the vagabond wasn’t much interested in that) and hit the road. So there we were, a highly polished, fully dressed up MBA grad and a free spirited, I-don’t-care-a-shit vagabond, looking for a restaurant to fill the stomach. The conical shaped ghee-roast I ate n the Tanjore filter coffee I drank from restaurant Arya Nivas reminded me of the wonderfully authentic South-Indian breakfasts I used to savour at Murugans Idli shop n Saravana Bhavan in Chennai..(Chennai foodathons will be covered some other time ). The bus that was parked across the hotel attracted my attention. I had seen buses lying by the roadside, but this one looked as if it hadn’t moved an inch from that place for centuries. I wondered if the bushes u see in the picture actually grew from the ground or the tyres. The vagabond wanted to live inside the static caravan, like in the movie ‘Into the wild’, but I resisted.

Once again the Promotion P of marketing was glaringly visible in front of my eyes. Time wasn’t standing still for me to check out if this kinda promotion had any impact on the people. I had to make a move. Next couple of hours were spent teaing n snacking (read it like ‘wining n dining’!!!) in the homes of contacts from various media houses. The tagline of a restaurant named Azad hypnotised me to have lunch from there. It read something like “The restaurant which brought Biriyani to the Keralites 60 years ago”. I was pleasantly surprised to see the number of mush-blush-hush couples inside the restaurant. This was somewhat different from the Trivandrum I saw when we went there during college – a one day trip we remember as ‘Ambrosia trip’.

After hobnobbing with some more media guys for a couple of hours, I set aside two hours exclusively for the vagabond. We wandered aimlessly; picking up various DVDs, drinking ( some flavoured local drink) and eating from the road side “thattukadas” , watching the crowd n clicking snaps. In the evening I boarded the train to Cochin thinking how different the next 24 hours were going to be compared to the previous...

To be contd...

The vagabond in me...( Part 2 - The bus journey )

Before continuing further, lemme acknowledge my project team members for not persuading me to stay back considering the tasks lined up for the weekend.

So we were off...Though I had to do some hobnobbing with the media guys in TVM, the vagabond was adamant that he would get his fair share of fun. Volvo bus was the mode of transport we chose this time. The moment I stepped inside the Volvo, my eyes started searching for some familiar face. Don’t know how or y, during my frequent Chennai – Blore n Chennai – Cochin Volvo trips, more often than not I used to bump into some unexpected yet familiar face. As I settled down n did a proverbial stretching of the legs (couldn’t do an actual stretch as the seat was too cramped!!!), loud music started blaring out – a peppy Tamil no which reminded me of Chennai. If I thought the loudest sound in bus was the music, I was proved wrong. Suddenly out of nowhere, a thundering voice boomed “Why the #@$% are we delaying the departure? Gimme the reimbursement or else i ll file a case with the police “(of course, in mallu) . I resisted the urge to flaunt my Business Law knowledge n advise my dear friend “Mate, a better option would be to think of the consumer protection act” . Somehow the guy was pacified and finally the tyres started rolling.

As I started twisting and turning , trying to snuggle into the blanket , somebody decided not to let me sleep. A mallu movie was on. Over the course of time, i might have grown up the ranks to become a religious worshipper of Innaritu, Aronofsky , Christopher Nolan , Almodovar , Edward Norton , Gael Garcia bernal n the likes , but i m always game for a mallu movie. This movie was of the thriller genre with the hero introducing us to the world of “Manglish” language. (Some of the jargons i remember r visual amnesia, cyclopic eye wash). Finally after numerous twists and turns, which left the audience oohing and aahing – though i got the feeling that i ve seen this before – the final scenes were enacted in a courtroom, which reminded me of the fiery courtroom scenes in John Grisham and Perry Mason novels.

Finally at around 1 AM , with all the cacophony done with, i was all set to drift into a nice sleep filled with pleasant dreams........In that quasi-state in btw sleep and wakefulness , several thoughts slipped into n out of my mind. Against the normal flow of thoughts, i could sense and feel a bison charging at me...i couldn’t place it. But my senses and animalistic instincts were on the alert. Then i got it - It was not a thought, it was a reality – My neighbour had decided to do some nasal exercises at that odd time. I had two options – One was to “accidently” poke n jab at him, The second was to plug my ears with cotton (Having travelled quite a bit, i knew some of the ‘must carry’ items as far as i was concerned ‘ ). Realising how giant of a person he was compared to me, i chose the latter.

Finally after all those loud music, loud altercation btw the passenger n the crew, the loud n heated dialogues in the movie n the loud snoring of my neighbour i was off to sleep.......
“Trivandrum, Trivandrum...Sir , pls wake up it's Trivandrum”

To be contd

The vagabond in me...

I did it again...a two day absence from the campus during a so-called-hectic-weekend. Or rather, the vagabond part of the numerous identities that constitute me made me do it!!! I have this habit of running away from a city whenever its claustrophobic clasps - I know it's a strong expression to use - of the place begins to hug me tightly... It might be a hug out of love or a hug meant to disintegrate me to the elements that constitute me, but in any case I love the whiff of new air and the smell of a new place - a break from the normal.

I don't remember when the itinerant in me started forcing me to do it...Munnar n Aleppey used to be the favorite havens during college life. Mahabs n Pondy used to gimme a high when the mournful monotony of the tap-tapping on the keyboard got big on me. The vagabond got the time of his life when I quit Cognizant in Sep 2006 to aim for bigger things. I knew I had a six month break, I knew i wouldn't have to remain rooted at any place for the next six months atleast ( More abt the break later..That in itself is an eventful story)... The vagabond had the time, I had the money. Sometimes we drove bikes n cars, other times we took trains and flights...Sometimes we were alone, other times we had other schizophrenics accompanying us...Sometimes we set our base in shacks, other times we stayed in elite hotels...Sometimes we were sloshed, other times we were sober...

We ran from one place to another, flirting with the cities, towns and villages - forming unforgettable relationships but never letting them blossom into commitments. Finally we had to stop. I was on my way to achieve bigger targets i had set for myself. Slowly 'We' started dissolving into 'I' and 'I' became busy with numerous other activities - many by choice, many by force. The vagabond went into a slumber. Though i drove bikes n cars, traveled in trains n buses, i knew it was not the vagabond who accompanied me...rather it was the zombie. I yearned for the vagabond to be back.

The high spirits and the emotional crests i experienced ( More about digital binary emotions later...) made sure that the vagabond was back...I was sure this was the vagabond and not the zombie...We looked at each other..we knew we had two days...we ran away from the campus...we ran...

To be contd