That one time I almost died...

I have always taken travelling in a bus for granted – Hop in, curl up under the smelly blanket, and hope that the speed bumps on the road do not break your back. Until, I woke up dangling off a 20 ft elevated highway at 3 AM in the morning.

My dad, mom and I were on a temple trip to a nearby village in Tamil Nadu.  The sole intention of the trip was to bribe Lord Shiva enough and accelerate the process of finding a unicorn that wanted to marry me (being 26 and having dramatic ‘will we ever see grandkids’ type of parents is not easy, I tell you)

So, half the journey went without a hitch; until at about 2.30 AM in the wee hours of the morning, when the driver stopped the bus for the very crudely put ‘ladies toilet’ break. As the driver shook us awake and demanded that all the women go for their ‘onnu’ now or never, all of us groggily trooped out. The thinly veiled threat of not stopping for even ‘urgent’ matters, actually worked.

After settling back into the smelly blankets, the bus had barely moved for ten minutes, when it started doing a weird bumpy dance.  Like a bewildered rocking chair that went sideways instead of to and fro. This continued with increased intensity and frequency, until we heard the chilling sound of a window shatter and the bus screeched to a resounding halt.

You never realize how scary an accident can be, until you are in one.  You can see the world whirl outside, hear frantic horns, cries of surprise and shock, and feel every single bone of your body shake in fear.  Our bus, to avoid a collision with a lorry that had abruptly braked in the middle of the freaking highway, suddenly swerved and almost fell off a 20 ft elevation.

What actually happened

This left the driver, conductor, my dad, mom and I, almost dangling off the highway in the middle of the night.  As the tyres had sunk into the mud, the doors of the bus refused to open.  This is when the whole ‘we are OMFGodly trapped inside a bus that could blow up any minute’ tension started to grow. The conductor sensing an alarm (or probably just looking at my pale, resigned to death, face) broke open an emergency exit window at the back. All of us, in a Spidermanisque moment, jumped out of the window one by one.

Then, the wait began. Like some sort of displaced refugees, we stood with our baggage on the side of the highway, under the pouring rain for 40 whole minutes. There was real fear of other speeding vehicles splattering our brains, but somehow we survived. I just stood there, shaking like a leaf, amidst the heavy rains, the gloomy police patrol vans, and the reckless lorry driver (who had by then escaped) being called ‘eruma maadu’.

Our rescue bus finally arrived with flashy lights and a driver who had the smug ‘I think I just saved a bunch of idiots by the road’ look.  My mother, obviously traumatized, remarked that this was all ‘andha Shivan oda’ miracle.

Drenched, scared-shit, and stunned, I could only think – if this really was the Lord’s doing, then our Gods must be crazy!

Ship of Theseus - a rocky ride

If all organs in our body are replaced, do we still remain the same – asks the funny sidekick to his stock-market crazy boss towards the end of the movie. This offhanded and funny remark pretty much sums up what the actual Theseus paradox signifies. This movie is full of moments like this.

Mumbai comes alive on screen – sometimes in chaos and sometimes in deep, contemplative silence. Every frame is beautifully etched and echoes the gloom of reality. One scene stood out for me in particular – The photographer, who goes to a pristine mountain landscape, in desperate need of some inspiration, realizes that she does not find any. Her anguish is clearly reflected in the angry rivulet that gushes forth and in a moment of distress, when she loses the lenscover of her camera, your heart goes out to her.

Another very poignant scene is where the stock-market guy screams at his grandmother and says that happiness and compassion is all we need, while she argues that he still needs to experience a wider range of emotions. At this juncture, all of us are torn because we agree with the guy and with the grandmother too.

What I really respect about the movie is that it does not try to milk your tears dry with its overt sentimentality. There are no scenes of animals being tortured endlessly, and no unnecessary footage of the diseased monk frothing at his mouth.

The movie challenges several notions about life, art, and religion. Is the photographer’s creativity worth more than life-saving vision? Can the monk ever make peace with the fact that he is alive at the cost of torturing several animals? Can the stock broker finally grasp what his grandmother meant by ‘this is as good as it gets’?

Kiran Rao's 'Dhobi Ghat' left me thinking 'too wannabe arthouse', but this hits the nail right on. So, do watch the movie and be prepared to leave the hall feeling unsettled.

Failure

There are a few days when you feel like a complete moron for asking inane questions at workplace.  Over the last few years, I have come to realize that it is okay to feel that way. It is okay to ask stupid questions. It is okay if you get judgmental looks for sounding so dumb. It is okay to be rejected. It is okay to feel worthless. And it is perfectly okay to fall face first. Because, if you stop failing, you stop learning. If you stop feeling worthless, you will never be able to push yourself. If you do not cry, you can never appreciate the happy times.

Today, I begin to feel stupid. Today, I begin learning. Once again.

RIP

A very young David

'David' was not the quintessential sweet ball of furry love. He was a selfish brat, an attention seeker and an awfully loud cat. He loved curling up on freshly laundered clothes, learnt how to switch on the AC, and wake us up exactly at 4 AM in the morning. He ate only pedigree cat food, was badly behaved and always slept on the dining table chairs. But, he was still our 'poocha' and shall be sorely missed. RIP David. You were the best.

Nap time with other kittens in the house

‘Sole’ searching at Kabbaladurga

As cheesy as it might sound, a close brush with death is all it takes to get a good look at yourself. While calling it a near-death experience would be an exaggeration, moonlight trekking and rock climbing at Kabbaladurga was definitely a close shave.

Armed with just a couple of energy drinks, water, and torch lights, Ice and I were a picture of calm on the way to this beautiful hill. There were 12 others in the van, who didn't know each other and were a part of this night-trek organised by the Bangalore Mountaineering Club. Listening to awful music and animatedly discussing ‘Game of Thrones’, we had no idea what we were getting into, until five minutes into the trek.

The night had set in and we could barely see anything beyond what the torch lights offered meekly. The two BMC volunteers warned us to keep our voices low, so as to not attract local wildlife. While my eyeballs popped out at the casual mention of cheetahs, Ice had already started hyper-ventilating.

The initial stretch was easy - Just a few rocks, plain land, and some water bodies to jump across. In exactly five minutes, as the foliage ended and the pitch-dark sky was visible again, we got our first glimpse of this massive monolith we were about to conquer. 

The sheer rock face was intimidating but we trudged along. One after the other, like ants, literally and figuratively. For the next twenty minutes, we scaled solid rocks, holding on to whatever we could, to maintain grip. After we climbed over the last ledge, we could, for the first time, see the dangerously steep and smooth terrain we had to cross to get to the top of the mountain.

There were tiny steps carved into the rock at some places. Slowly balancing the sleeping bag and the backpack, and also carrying the torch light, we made our way up. At some places, there were only rusty railings that we could hold on to. At other places, there were no railings or steps, and we just had to be sure-footed. By this time, most of us had lost the confidence we started out with. The intensity had taken its toll on us. One girl just sat down after scaling the insanely dangerous railings stretch, and refused to go ahead. Ice started talking, even more than usual, and I could sense that she was panicking. I was quiet. Just eerily quiet and kept staring straight ahead stonily. At this point, I remember thinking that if I ever did get back home alive and safe, I would live my life like I never have. No compromises, no settling down until I felt like, and no more crappy jobs.

As luck would have it, as I was getting up from a quick five-minute break, a part of my sole just ripped itself off the shoe. With another 30 minutes of rock climbing left, I sent a quick prayer upward, and desperately hoped that the sole wouldn't come out completely. Finally, after some more huffing and puffing, Ice and I were among the first ones to reach the top. It took me about a minute to realize that I had done it.

Spreading out our sleeping bags and feeling elated, all of us stared into the sky, hoping that the stars would lull us into a few hours of well-deserved sleep. Again, little did we know, cosied up in our sleeping bags, that the climb down would prove to be ten times more dangerous.

At 5.30 AM we started trekking downhill. My soles were completely worn out, and I just hoped that I wouldn't slip. Because, we climbed during the night, the abruptness of the incline did not matter too much. But, while descending, all of us could clearly see how a single slip could prove to be a fatal mistake. At particularly steep rock faces, we even bum-shuffled like babies to avoid tumbling down.

If climbing up that railings stretch was difficult, the descent was possibly even more treacherous. At places where were there were no railings, a single wrong step could have resulted in a sickening Varsha shower of brains, bones, and blood, across the peaceful Kabbala town. We were literally scaling the side of a mountain that barely had any solid footing, and exactly there, Ice started screaming . She had sat down by mistake and she could feel herself slipping slowly. While I put my hand out to hold hers, I knew I couldn't do much, because I didn't have a proper footing and being feather-weight is not exactly great help.

Finally, after screaming for a while, a fellow trekker rescued Ice valiantly, while she blushed bright red. Both of us had hung on to our lives by a thread and had come out perfectly safe. The fifteen minutes of trek after that was something I don’t remember, because I was just so glad that I was nearing the bottom of the hill. The sight of Ice, with her torn T-shirt, scurrying ahead, like a kitten happy after being rescued, was also very strangely comforting.

Only after the van, which took us back to the safety of Bangalore, started moving, did I realize I had bruises all over. My knees were swollen, my hands were sore, I couldn't feel my shoulders, and I looked like I could pass out any minute.

Then, with our bruises, worn-out soles, and torn T-shirts, we grinned widely to each other and said ‘We are totally doing this again next month’.

I don't

Yesterday, for the first time in 25 years, I was judged for who I am not. I was forced to be apologetic for who I am. I was expected to hang my head in shame for doing something that kept my conscience in the clear. I was hated for standing my ground. I was not loved any more for actually making something of myself instead of sitting inside kitchens. And I resent it. I completely resent it. If this is what it takes to 'settle down' and actually 'start living', then maybe it is not worth it. Do I really need a 'social event' to validate my success or show to the world how happy I am? I don't.