‘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. 

Thupakki – give me a break!

You do not go into a Vijay movie expecting a complex plotline and some intense performances – You go for eight songs (two shot in Switzerland), four fights and anti-climax/climax scenes. Thupakki, while of course entertaining, takes clichés to another level altogether.

First twenty minutes – the hero’s ‘better than gold’ image is re-iterated. He works for the Army, and in case you did not get that, he comes home in his uniform, even when he is on a vacation. Despite being in the Army and getting brain-fried every single day, he gathers enough energy to do a hero-introduction number (in a banian) and cheer fellow Army men. Then, he meets a girl in a traditional ‘ponnu-pakkal’ ceremony , but decides that their ‘tastes’ do not match, within five seconds of seeing her.

But, of course there comes a completely unexpected twist – he meets her again!! How the hell do people run into the same people over and over again? I have run into exactly ten people in my entire life. After some facepalm jokes and the girl re-establishing her pristine, virginal image, he falls for her. Mumbai girl in shorts, who has never kissed/touched another man, never smoked, and has had just one sip of ‘vodka’ -  totally convinced.

Then, there is a muslim terrorist, one sidekick policeman who is a goof-up, and loving family who does not know that Vijay is not just an Army man but also a secret intelligence agent – oh holy mother of all surprises. Terrorists in this movie do not believe in codes. They message like friends. ‘Activate Plan B’ ’when are the guns coming’ ‘all ok with blasts?’ and just so that we understand that they are using private numbers , each time the head terrorist (who btw is really hot) calls his juniors, ‘Non-trackable number’ flashes on the cellphone screens.

Terrorists are more subtle, have excellent deduction powers and have better plans in the movie. Vijay and his group of minions on the other hand, wear suits, stand in the middle of crowded areas, point and loudly say to each other ‘shoot him’ ‘follow him’. Totally discreet secret agents. The climax is another 20 long minutes of facepalmery.

Hot terrorist asks for last wish before killing Vijay, and the hero demands that he be beaten to death. An ego-filled terrorist then removes Vijay’s handcuffs and beats him black and blue. Then, when you are getting ready to cry your eyes out and leave the theatre thinking this is the end of world – a completely out-of-world twist comes. Vijay self-repairs his body. His face, going through several mini-orgasms, erm spasms, helps the rest of the body repair broken bones automatically. Then, of course hero saves the world from terrorist attacks. End of story.

Oh, hell no! What’s a climax without melodrama? All Army men leave together, back to Kashmir.  People are seen crying, newly-wed Army men hugging wives, newborn babies tugging at their daddy’s shirts for one last time, and more such gut-wrenching scenes. At this point, my friend said ‘Are they going to Hogwarts? Same train they come in, same train they go back in?’

I rest my case.

A b'lore night

Bangalore is beautiful at night. Minus the noise, minus the chaos, minus the confusion – Bangalore is beautiful at night. As my work cab trudges along seamlessly along the smooth roads, there are so many sights and sounds to behold. The man with his midnight-foodstall hoping for one last customer before he can shut shop, men and women who come out of their office for a  smoke-break, a lone couple holding hands, and the doggies on the street gearing up for gang wars.

Flickering street lamps, orange traffic lights, cruising cars that make the most use of empty roads, near-empty bus stands, twinkling temple bulbs, a lone Bollywood number playing on a TV set somewhere,  a pressure cooker whistle, and a howling dog.

Massive trucks that honk endlessly,  a sad ambulance without its siren,  a man taking his dog for a walk, pungent smell of garbage, a hotel kitchen prepping for the morning, scavenging birds,  a lone cow, and distant laughter.

There is hope for a better tomorrow. There is joy in the night that is ending. There is peace on the quiet roads. It makes you feel all alone. And somehow, it is not too bad. Bangalore is beautiful at night. 

Do not speak the truth

I was reminded of these lines that I learnt in my sixth standard Sanskrit lessons a few days ago:

satyam brūyat_priyam brūyan_na brūyāt_satyam_apriyam ।

priyam cha nānṛitam brūyādéṣha dharmaḥ sanātanaḥ

Manu talks about Sanatana Dharma in the verse. The translation ' Say what is true, say what is sweet, but do not say what is true but not sweet, nor say what is sweet but not true. This is the perennial wisdom.' (courtesy: blog.practicalsanskrit.com)

In essence, he says do not speak harsh truths or (more dangerous) sweet lies. This knowledge was imparted by my teacher, when I was very young, and too naive to grasp what it actually embodied. However, the verse stuck on to me and I have followed this philosophy all my life.

What is truth? It's purpose is not merely to set the speaker free, but also to empower the listener. If a truth is being said just to clear the speaker's conscience, but adds absolutely no value to the listener, or goes to the extent of hurting them, then it should not be told.

For instance, let's assume that a friend, after saving up some money from his first job, buys you a gift, which you do not particularly like, what would you do? You could either bluntly state the truth and say that you did not like the gift, or choose to say nothing at all, and accept it graciously. Here, the gift is not just a mere material indulgence, it has a strong emotional undertone because it has been brought out of love. It has been chosen carefully and has been given to you with respect and love. In such a case, the truth becomes obsolete. If you still chose to speak the truth, then it is equivalent to using the truth as a tool to satisfy a very selfish purpose – putting your mind at ease.

Truth is powerful. It can set you free sometimes, but it can also shatter the world around you. I believe you can brutally honest to yourself and to others too,  as long as your truth does not harm them. Once, I was travelling to a friend's place for dinner. She had come all the way from the UK and was calling a select group of friends for some dinner at home. She had started cooking for all of us as soon as she had woken up that day and even kept text messaging her attempts at making dinner. In short, she was excited to have us over. However, I reached late because I started late and as a result got caught in the traffic jam. Now, when asked why I had reached so late, I could have said 'I started late' or 'I got caught in traffic'. While the first one is the truth, the second reason is partially a white lie. 

If I told her that I had started late, it would be truthful. It would set me free. It would help me enjoy the rest of the evening, but it would upset her. It would amount to her thinking that she was cooking for someone who did not even appreciate her time (which was never true). It would ruin her end of the evening. In such cases, does it really make sense for a person to know the truth? It does not do her good, it does not do anyone good - it probably teaches me to start ten minutes early next time I go to her house.  So, doesn't it make sense for me to hide under the white lie and keep everyone happy? 

So, each time I want to pass a comment on what I really think of a shirt someone is wearing, on why a friend is holding onto the past, on why a certain idea will never work out - I think. I think several times. Will speaking the truth help the person in the smallest way possible? If not, I do not shy away from saying a white lie and repeating it, if happiness is the solace the person is seeking.

In fond memory..

It has been a year already. And Syed continues to inspire us to do wonderful things that we never thought we would. His close friend and an equally wonderful person, Sathya, painstakingly organized a trip to an NGO called 'The Child' that takes care of orphans and underprivileged children. With the money raised, the children received white boards with markers, school uniforms, and lunch for two days. The home also received money to purchase a 2ft land. 

Thanks Sathya for the efforts taken. Thank you for making all of us a part of this wonderful initiative. There is surely no better way to remember a person as wonderful and unbelievable as Syed.

For those you want to contribute, here is the link of the NGO's website.   They also accept online donations. http://www.thechild.co.in/

‘Barf’i

Honestly, after all those ‘oh so wonderful’ reviews on the internet, I did expect the famed ‘mental’ act by PC and RK. But, No. The movie becomes more unbearable because it tries too hard to be sweet and rosy.  

The movie opens with a heavily ‘inspired’ Charlie Chaplinsque routine, which has Barfi trying to escape from a fat policeman. Of course, Ileana, the Bengali babhi, becomes a convincing Bengali with a big bindi, cotton saree, and a deer in front of headlights look (very original).  She continues to look surprised for the next fifteen hours of the movie.

Ranbir and his statuary warning are the cutest couple in the movie. They travel together everywhere and honestly they deserve an award for sticking together the whole time. Most of the things he does in the movie could actually get you behind bars in real life. But, No. When Ranbir does it, even the policeman laughs it off. He sabotages a public clock, that probably has heritage value. He breaks into a house. He kidnaps a girl. He also drugs a policeman. But, thanks to his life-saving (and cutesy) skills of eating watermelons, he escapes to Kolkata, with a mentally-challenged girl, arousing absolutely no suspicion on the way.  And as easy as it sounds, he finds a place to rent and a job by the time the three minute song is over.

PC is very surprisingly convincing. But, she also is not without stereotypes.  Ungainly shoes, weird haircut, deliberately cross-eyed – oh so totally ‘mental’. Not to sound insensitive, but I have in my lifetime observed and worked closely with so many people with disabilities – physical and mental. And not all of them point and make funny noises. Not all of them have a crystal ball that they gaze into thoughtfully.

I almost forgot the part where Barfi and Jhilmil find time to kill glowworms and blow bubbles in a forest. The glowworm torture chamber hoop is finally discovered by the policeman, who automatically makes the connect to Barfi. Yes, just one hoop exists in Darjeeling and it belongs to the deaf and dumb person in town. No shit Sherlock!

PC mostly gets kidnapped again and again in the movie, and each time she disappears, her father, a popular villain in Kolly/tollywood, or rather her father’s reflection on a window pane appears. The reflection father mumbles something incorrigible in Hindi and then a comic (!) sequence involving both the lead actors ensues.

The music is one of the best things about the movie. It completely uplifts the movie and adds beauty to the visuals. The climax is probably the only part where the entire theatre groaned in unison. The whole couple-in-love dying together sentiment is the quintessential climax in any south Indian masala movie (TR’s veerasamy included).

Overall verdict: Works in parts. Has a lot of funny jokes. But, zero points for handling disability in the most clichéd manner ever.  #notimpressed