wonderful article explaining the essence of Anxiety.

Anxiety is defined as a possibility of a possibility. That something is possible and there is leap between its mere existence and possession by you.

Anxiety is identical to dizziness. When one looks down a great height, one's eyes become dizzy with the possibility of a fall. If that feeling is misunderstood and the person detaches himself from the past , he suffers from guilt. But when he understands the feeling, he cannot be deceived by that emotion and uses it to educate himself and go wherever he wants.

Comparing it with the process of creation, the possibility of destroying the status quo always exists in it, replacing the status quo with new things. If that is not done, then a feeling of guilt sinks in. However  in order to create something new, a past has to be destroyed. In other words, Creativity, anxiety and guilt go side by side. What is required, according to Soren Kierkegaard, is to not let the guilt bring you down.

http://www.brainpickings.org/index.php/2013/06/19/kierkegaard-on-anxiety-and-creativity/

nineteenth sept, another forgettable day

It's been 3 days and 3 nights. Sleep has effortlessly stayed away from my eyes.
Immaculately effortless it has been in achieving this feat.

Once again I am trying to push myself to sleep instead of it coming naturally to me. Neither can I diagnose this on my own, nor do I want to see a psychiatrist. For human behavior is something which cannot be understood vicariously. He might give me some make believe explanation of my condition and a couple of placebos which will do nothing but temporarily suppress my condition.

So instead of seeking the answers from those white coat monks I decided to confront my problem on my own and find answers to it.

Last night i decided that i will take a day off. The mere thought of it took away half of the stress. I retired to bed at around eleven with 'Life of Pi' resting on my chest. I fell asleep pretty easily. Perhaps because I knew I wasn't going to get up for office the other day.Perhaps because I knew there won't be anything to do the other day but to sit back and relax.

It might appear that I have got one of those typical annoying bosses mentioned in those horror stories that haunt the cafeterias in workplaces. But it isn't that way. In fact had it been that way, I'd have left the company long ago. On the contrary, my boss is one of the few reasons why I am still in this company. It is just that my job involves speaking to people and getting jobs done. This is sometimes a real problem when there are real dumbnuts on the other end. But as god created life-giving rivers, so he did sewer pipes, though indirectly but he did. And this is a fact we have to live with.

I am writing a blog post after a long time that too to vent out my emotions.

Tomorrow I will be back at my desk flushing those sewer pipes and occasionally finding reason not to get stressed out because of few niceness that I often come across.

Travails of losing your wallet

Long long ago, before humans started living in societies, man lived in small groups. Groups small enough to avoid internal conflicts, but big enough to evade external ones. He ate what he could forage and hunting was his main source of food. Deer, bulls and other such animals were his main kills. Once a kill was eaten he used to discard the leftovers until one day a genius came up with an idea of using the hide to cover himself. Yes he was naked till now; I didn't tell this because that would have taken your mind off the subject. So here was man, finally covering his body.  One school of Evolutionary scientists prefer to call him the first fashion designer of humankind. However there are strong arguments against it, where people argue that fashion designing is more about uncovering the body rather than covering it, hence he cannot be regarded as predecessor of these new age cavemen. With the advent of clothing and gradual evolution of it, people faced the problem of growing fat. Because now they had clothes to gauge them and make them realise that their waistline is no more within the limits of the clothes they made in the feast a few months back. So they decided to put a check on their diet. As the human species started eating less, more and more leftovers remained after dinner. Another genius came into picture and decided to use this hide to make something to keep something. The latter something emerged at a very later date and went on to gain ill-fame under the name money! While the other something came to be known as Wallet.

The journey of wallet has always been one tragic tale filled with gory and gruesome details. People got mugged, pickpocketed and even murdered but most painful of all, sometimes they simply lost it. The tragedy of losing it is that unlike in case of being robbed, mugged or murdered for it, you yourself are responsible in this case. That makes the pain unbearable.

On 20^th of June, I set out of my hostel just like my Neanderthal forefathers would have done when they felt hungry, in search of food. With bile juices grumbling and my motorcycle rumbling, I rutted the silent road of night with only a few passer-by mumbling. All of a sudden I decided to refuel my vehicle and pulled over to a gas station. Once the tank was full, it was now chance for my stomach. I revved and rolled. But after a few yards I felt my pocket was lighter than what it should weigh. I felt like the road cracking in front of my eyes as I came in terms with the reality. My palpitation surged and I felt a cold sweat on my forehead.  My wallet was gone. All sorts of possibilities started clouding my mind. Did my pocket get picked? Did I drop it somewhere? Or did I bring it at all? I quickly eliminated the last possibility because I remember paying at the station and pirouetted my motorcycle in the middle of National highway 4, riding back to the gas station. All I was left with were two possibilities and a hope that the first one wasn't true. After a little search and enquiry near that area, I learnt that my wallet was now gone and decided to de-activate my card on first priority.

The loss of my wallet had taken my mind totally off the pangs of hunger I was suffering. My focus was on stopping anymore loss that I could suffer. Luckily, I spotted an ATM of the bank I had my account in; I got the number for customer care. I am not sure who invented this service but I believe there was a typo when this service was launched. It was meant to be CUSTOMER SCARE instead of what we usually hear. I called them up and a recording of a girl with sore throat kept welcoming me for few minutes. The horror of living in a state which has a characteristic language is that the customer care for any network will repeat everything thrice: Once in each Hindi, English and the local language. After you are done with selecting the language, it narrates an unfathomable long list of options out of which you have to make a choice with crossed fingers hoping it to be the correct one. Finally when I got the option meant for deactivating lost cards, there was another flurry of instructions:-

Your card is not disabled unless our operator confirms that to you…   followed by a horrible music which will make you feel sorry for ridiculing Bappi Lahiri. One more common thing in all customer scare service is that once this torture is over, they threaten you that your call may be recorded so behave yourself while talking to our guys and assure you that someone will take your call in a while. After five minutes of this recording playing repeatedly, I decided I better get back to hostel and do it on the internet. This was easily done. And so the chapter was closed. I suffered a loss of some 200 bucks, a pan card and an ATM card - reissuing both of which would cost me another 200 bucks and a good night sleep, because I was still hungry and all the shops were closed by now.

Just when I thought the nightmare was over, somebody pointed out that I must lodge an FIR in case my Identity on PAN card is misused. All the episodes of interactions with cops were quickly played in my mind in a series of flashbacks. Be it the passport verification, affidavit, licence or even helmetless driving for that matter. I have never had a pleasant experience with them and nor have they because I never shell out a single penny and they don’t let anyone go without grabbing some dough from the victim.  The very next day, after my office hours I rode to the nearest station.

The nearest police station was a debilitated building in the middle of a residential colony, with couple of cubicles to make it look like an office. But in the end the cops in Khaki destroyed any effort to make it look less like a police station. A lady cop passed me by. I excused myself and asked for lodging an FIR.

“Kuthe..” She asked in Marathi with an underlying assumption that whoever steps on the soil of Maharashtra learns Marathi quicker than Avast updates its virus definition updates.

“Sorry… Hindi Please” I asserted myself as a hindi-glot. The look on her face changed for a while and then she continued asking me, this time however in Hindi. As soon as I told her where I lost my wallet, she quickly quipped. “E to aapko pradhikaran Choaki mein Likaana padega”(This complaint has to be registered in Pradhikaran Chowki)

This fight for jurisdiction is something that has pestered Indian citizen for years. Sometimes it worsens to such an extent that an accident victim may lie half dead on the border of two cities while the cops keep deciding who should register the case.

Disheartened, I walked out of the station and rode to Pradhikaran Police chowki. This chowki was a single storeyed building, debilitated to an equal extent like the previous one, or may be more and looked like a house in a city that has just seen a nuclear holocaust. With nobody inside the building, doors wide open, files scattered on the desk, it appeared as if I was in a post-apocalyptic world. The fan hooked to the beige colored ceiling kept whirling like a drunken dancer in a cheap bar.  Seeping water from pipelines behind the walls made hauntingly recognizable shapes on them. One such shape looked like a wailing infant. I kept looking at it for a while. Then I turned my gaze to the pile of files lying around. Killing my time like this, I waited there for about half an hour but nobody came.  Finally I gave up.

Losing a wallet was not as simple as it sounded. It was definitely an experience on its own. I learnt a few things for sure. Firstly, never call customer care when you lose your card, use internet instead. Secondly never carry anything in your wallet for which you have to go to police station. And Last but not the least, that even if you have to go to the station, choose a place near the police station to report in the FIR.

Finding what was lost

Its interesting when you find something what you were looking for but at a place miles away from where you live that too when you have stopped looking for it. I was at Camp yesterday, with one of my friends, waiting for few others to join us. We had planned to go to 'Hidden Place' a nice hangout place at Koregaon Park. But there is an unwritten rule in the book that the difference between the time at which people join in for a party is minimum 2 hrs so we had to look for something to kill time. We decided to check out a music shop.
Let me rewind back a little to connect the story with what I want to say. It was around November and we were geared up for interviews for allotment of Dept in our company. The very next day, we were ready and excited. When the final results were out, I was shocked. Everyone got dept except for two of us. I and another guy from Pune were rejected by all dept. That was an even big shocker when we recalled that we weren't asked anyhting relevant to our field or area of expertise. But unfortunately it was done, the damage and the results, both stood out staring us bleakly at our faces.Later i was told that was rejected because i had no aim in my life. That I couldn't convince them what I really wanted to do. I was totally lost after this incident. This event totally changed me. It seemed I had lost something which I didn't have a clue about. But only until yesterday when I met Vatayan.
Vatayan is a percussionist in Pune who chanced to own the music shop where I went. I wanted to try flute and he helped me. I put a bamboo flute to my lips and tried some notes. We were discussing about flutes when he pointed out something totally irrelevant to the context.
He said , "Don't mind me telling this but I think you lack faith in yourself"
I was stunned for  a moment.
He continued, "I feel so after listening to your flute play." he paused
"Music tells a lot about a persons character. What he feels from inside. What you have in those inside you is reflected in your notes."
I thanked him for his frank opinion and took a leave from him. When I returned home after the party, I contemplated his words. I realised he was true to an astonishing extent. I certainly had lost the faith in me after that incident. The problem with losing something is that the pain is pathetically excruciating when you don't have a clue what you have lost. Yesterday I came to know what I lost. Now I need to find it. Thanks Vatayan

10 months have passed since I have been working, or so does everyone think. Otherwise in my words I have completed 10 successful months of punching in and punching out in my office. It might sound like I am having a great time here and of course in reality I even might be. But let me point out one thing, that 'great time' is a purely subjective term and it undergoes considerable changes with time.
They told me in my college that life won't be the same when you get in a job. Indeed that was a valuable suggestion, because everybody was saying so. But just like all other suggestions I paid no attention to this one either. Time swept by like grains of sands from the sand dunes in a lonely desert and I was here. Full of enthusiasm and zeal to bring about a change. A change that I myself had no idea about. It wasn't long before I realised the dreams I have been having were nothing but Utopia. The world is not the way I perceived, or to be precise I actually never thought of how the world would be outside college. Indeed the world was different. It changed my priorities, my desires and most importantly my ambitions. Now I have fewer needs, but bigger ambitions. Not that my needs have vaporised, they have simply procrastinated themselves.

For those who don't know

People asked me, why I bought unicorn when I actually work in a company which competes with honda on a bloodthirsty battleground.

For some people it is just a bike, for others it is an engineering marvel, which certainly is not far from being called an overstatement. But for me, it is much more than that.

A 150cc bike which Honda launched in the year 2005 in a hope to capture the gas guzzling meager-engine-capacity-lover multitudes of the subcontinent, gradually turned into a big hit among motorcycle aficionados.There are two kinds of motorcycle lovers in this world; those who flaunt it and those who ride it. I belong to the latter group. I am not one of those, who run after looks and eventually turn up cursing the bike in an year or two for its plummeting performance. However the number of my likes is not much, so Honda has lately shown disinterest in us. They tried phasing out the model, but a constant demand stopped them from doing so. Nonetheless, I now own the fabled creature now so it won't matter if they stop it. About availability of spare parts, they'll have to give it for the next 7 yrs at least by the dictum of law.

I learned to ride motorcycles on unicorn itself, shining red and demarcated with a logo that boasted honda's triumph in motogp. I remember old school days in front of SBI ground where Kushagra used to lend me rides.

Then there were days when we hauled on roadtrips to outskirts of bhopal. Ank, another honda owner friend of mine, never got a chance to ride his own bike in those roadtrips whenever I was along.

The story finally came to a brief halt after my interview at bajaj.

during my interview, they asked me which bike will I buy. I bluntly replied with a Honda Unicorn.

Yes I am in love with this bike and forever will remain. This is a bike I shall never forget in life. In a decade, I will be riding a superbike for sure. Maybe in another we will switch to electric bikes. But never ever will a motorcycle be as important as this one.

And so the fables of this mythical creature shall continue from here.

Confessions of a Cheater (Simplifying the moral conflicts involved in cheating during exams- II)

Startled by a rustling noise, Anand looked to his left. It was obvious; the college is surrounded by acres of greenery with a motley variety of reptiles and other creatures breeding inside the hollows of ground and under the withered leaves. Perhaps Anand thought he heard some creature rustling down the walls. He turned his head, and when he found nothing he continued with what he was doing.
Meanwhile I picked up the paper Mahitosh had dropped stealthily on my bench, which actually made the rustling noise that had startled Anand. I quickly swept a fleet glance at the invigilator to make sure he didn’t see us. Followed by a quick turn back and passing of my own paper to Mahi’s desk. We were executing the famous old school cheating technique of Paper-exchange for one last time. I wrote down the answers in my copy and cleaned the question paper with an eraser to avoid getting caught. Later on I was to discover that Anand was to ask me the same question and I would have to write the entire answer for him again.
During the early days of college, sometimes i used to be sceptic about the answers that mahi would tell me. Not that I don’t trust him, but the fact that we are equally mediocre on the academic scales. But as soon as he got his new Nokia X-6, the credibility of his answers shot to 100%. Now he was the James Bond of examination, using the most sophisticated mode of cheating- A touch screen with all the notes stored in it. Now it will be only a foolish who would doubt the credibility of answers told by such a guy.
Still the major hurdle lied in communication; in finding a method to receive the answers from him. For this we have tried all sorts of methods, The bend-back, The lean-forward, the casual-talk, the quick-turn-and-talk method and the most memorable of all THE ERASER method. The last method will ever remain in our memories for it was the only time we ever got caught. I still remember, it was the majors and we were taking the exam inside the ED hall, a place which I considered haven for unfair means. The ED hall, isn’t constructed on stairs like other classes are. So it is easy to escape the eyes of invigilator. But that day I was going to be proven wrong. I was stuck in first question, as usual and was waiting for the invigilator to turn back so that I could ask for answers from Mahi. Soon the opportunity arrived,
‘Bhai, Centrifugal pump ke types bata!!’ I whispered
‘Ruk...’ a pregnant pause followed, ‘Abe kaise batau?’
I tossed the 3 inch Apsara non-dust eraser to him and said wryly, ‘ispe likh haraami.. tu kisi kaam ka nahi hai’
Mahitosh wrote the answers and returned it back. I noted down the answers and rubbed my thumb on the eraser to destroy the evidence. Once again a few minutes later, I asked him ‘Bhai Soderberg aur Gerber equation likh de.. jaldi!!’
He complied and wrote the answers on the eraser. But this time I wasn’t as lucky as I was a few minutes ago. While I was destroying the evidence, the Invigilator noticed and came to my desk. I clenched the eraser inside my fist like a kid unwilling to let go off a candy bar, by hiding it from the bully. But it was too late, he had already seen the candy. He placed his palm in the air in front of me, and made a ‘give me’ gesture. I gave him the eraser. My heart thumped on my ribcage as He looked at it. After a brief glance, he looked at me, smiled and returned it back to me. The entire world appeared to me as if it danced in ecstasy. There is no greater joy than being released without being punished for a crime for which you got caught red-handed. That guy, an Mtech Scholar at that time,( I am not sure what he is now) later on became a headache for exam cheaters. He could make the Scotland yard drown in a pool of shame with his accuracy in nabbing cheaters. His name was RAVIKIRAN!
Apart from the collaborated cheating techniques, we had to adopt self-sufficient techniques as well. Since in the former method, most of the time is consumed in ensuring that nobody is watching. If you ever enter a MANIT classroom, you will see loads of things written on the desk. No they are not Love-letters written by love birds. They are topics that might appear, have appeared or might have appeared in exams. Make a note that in MANIT, writing on desks is considered a sign of your porcine sense of public responsibility unless you are writing exam notes.
Table is not the only place where we stored data. Majority adopted the conventional technique of ‘farra’ or micro-sized notes. A few other wrote on their legs. But that required clean-shaved legs. So you have to devote extra 5 minutes before exam in shaving the fibres off your legs.
The list of modus operandi doesn’t end here, it goes and on and on and on. Every year more research scholars add more and more techniques to the list. An extensive research is being done in the field of ‘How to ask for answers from your neighbor’. Scholars have developed various models to solve this problem like turning back with your own pencil and saying ‘BHAI TERA PENCIL GIR GAYA... 2nd ka [b] bata’
In the end, I don’t know if I’ll go for a PG or not, but even if i do I won’t find guys like Mahi, Anand, Deepak Palecha and Jadhav for cheating in exams. We were seriously an awesome team!!! All these 4 yrs I always cheated more sincerely than I used to study because Mahitosh taught me a valuable lesson, however involuntarily, ‘Pointers aur Ladkiya... sab moh maaya hai... college se nikalne ke baad dono hi apni importance kho dete hai.’

Life in MAroon CoaT

Chapter 1: Baptism of the quagmire

22^nd July 2007, I was writing the examination for Special class railway apprentice, about which I hardly knew anything and wasn’t even interested in taking the test. I still remember, it was a warm Sunday; the weather was confused between monsoon and summer; and I was looking out of the window instead of writing the paper. Suddenly the invigilator interrupted and announced, ‘Time up put your pencils down’. I looked down, my worn out flotters appeared gloomier than my thoughts. I tightened the strap and decided I won’t buy a new pair unless I get what I always wanted since the last 2 years. So what if I messed up the JEE, all I need is hardwork and focus, and next year I will make it for sure.

During the 3 hour break between the papers, I was sitting under the shade of a tree in a temple, which was right across the street. As I started eating my sandwiches my mind slowly started returning closer and closer to the reality, and I started thinking about what people had told me about the college I will be joining from the next day, and kept asking myself a question, ‘is it really a college smeared with politics and groupism?’ A question with an answer that always remained in front of me but I remained oblivion.

I am not sure if He is deaf... But...

I still wonder why do they play devotional sounds or chantings on loudspeakers at volume high enough to create ripples in my cup of coffee. I am an agnostic, but that doesn't mean I am questioning their faith. All I want that these people should understand that when you are showing your 'devotion', it doesn't mean that the entire locality is also devoting their time to the Almighty. Someone might be sleeping out of illness, some school student might be studying, or even taking a nap after a rough day. But why would they care? There are some guidelines for noise in various localities in any city, but no vigiliance body has ever bothered about putting it into action. Well it's not just religion that takes its toll in deafening our ears. Marriage ceremonies, public speeches and what not; everyone has an excuse to play it loud. The louder you play the sound system, the stronger you are in society. Even if the cops try to put them off, someone utters 'mantriji baithe hai' (the minister is here). This tendency of wielding power is an old practice and I am still not sure how long will it survive. People will keep playing it loud, mostly on the name of religion. And I might never come to know if, up there beyond the clouds, He is deaf or not, but if this keeps on going I will surely turn into one.

Simplifying the moral conflicts involved in cheating during exams

A couple of days back, a friend of mine called up after a long time. She called on a pretty bad day, I had messed up my exam that day. I told her I was really infuriated because the invigilation was uselessly strict so I couldn't peek anywhere. She replied with an awe," Is this the same Samrat who never cheated in exams, let alone helping others to do so? What has college-life made out of you?"

Suddenly I realised she was right. During school days, I never even thought of cheating in exams. But now, a day ahead of exams, I study like this," Dude I'm leaving this topic for you to tell me. And tell me the STUPID tables we have to scribble on the WOODEN table...." So am I morally corrupt?

Whether or not a person should cheat in life is a different question altogether. The answer to this dilemma is not as straight as it might seem. As a matter of fact, it is a personal favourite of HR personnels while interviewing candidates. The complications are enormous, which, if mentioned, will dilute the issue I'm trying to focus on. So I will stick to the issue that I want to discuss. Whether a person should or shouldn't cheat in an exam is not as complicated as the previous question. No matter what our parents and teachers preach us, which I am sure, although in the darkness of unavailability of evidences to prove my point, they themselves never followed, we keep satisfying our desire for knowledge during examination by peeking into other answersheets, trying to read the illegible micro-sized notes hidden all under our clothes( even in places, too disgusting for hiding any stuff), pre-writing 'importants' on table and numerous other ways that undermine all sophisticated modes of communication invented till date. We keep doing it again and again, but never experience the guilt. So is it that our ethical values are dead? Is it that we have forgotten the values that we ought to adhere to in life?

As already mentioned, the act of cheating in exams doesn't even stray around the fort of moral obligations which stands open for all dilemmas. A person might view any ethical question from a moral perspective but I have kept this particular question miles away from the town of moral conundrums. The ethical dilemma has actually nothing to do with ethics. To understand this we need to know that examinations are a misinterpreted term in our society. They are not meant to intimidate us, they are just a method of testing our knowledge. What is worth noticing is that it says nothing about the timespan during which we can acquire knowledge. Moreover, elders will agree on the point that the process of learning is an eternal process and doesn't cease with an examination. Even the Oxford defines examinations as,"a formal written, spoken or practical test, especially at school or college, to see how much you know about a subject, or WHAT YOU CAN DO.". The last part speaks for itself.

Further if we look deeper into the matter, then we find that even if, by chance, the ghosts of morality haunt us on this issue, we can ward them off easily. The examination system itself teaches us moral misconducts. If gambling is amoral in society, then how can revaluation be justified as a moral act? You place a bet of a 100-500 bucks on your score to change; the examination board( who puts nothing at stake) plays for the negative. If you lose, it costs you your money, but if you win you get your money back. In addition to this, you don't even get to see the gambling table. So you cant even know if it was a fair play. All these things are against the ethics of gambling, in addition to gambling itself being unethical. So the next time you write an examination, feel free to peek.

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In praise of motor racing

6 years ago, when I finished my 10^th board exams I was promised that I’d be presented with a bike. I didn’t realise that the promise was made with a forked tongue and I ended up with a wooden nickel. My parents somehow realised that I was a speed addict, which I myself was unaware of, but as they will be telling me 2 years later when I will be crashing my 75cc scooter(of course the 'wooden nickel' I got) while trying to speed beyond its limit of 70kph. I was destined to be an aficionado of Moto wheels.

As I pursued my dream and kept getting more and more addicted to vehicles, I realised that so many people around me find Motor sports as a mere waste of resources. In fact some of them deny accepting it as a sport at all. Two years back, when Indian Formula one fans were struggling hard to bring the sport to India, a leading politician opposed the proposal saying that ‘it is not sport at all’. I’ll discuss it later how imbecile the politician was while saying this, but right now it is important to note at the first place that people hardly realise that this is the only sport in the world that everyone is directly related to. It has a vital contribution in shaping our lives and making it easier and economical. But people, blinded with prejudice, see it as a few dozen speed junkies racing across the finishing line at speeds insane enough to make you throw up.

Have you ever seen a child learning to walk? The child always wishes he could walk faster than he is actually able to. Trying to do so, he falls, stumbles upon things and hurts himself but never gives up. No matter how heart warming and cute it might seem, we seem to miss the lesson that it teaches us loud and clear. Human is never taught to be greedy; we are born as greedy creatures. We have an innate tendency of being greedy about achieving difficult goals. It is however a different matter that most of us give up on our greed as time flies by. History of motor racing is no different. With the invention of first steam powered vehicle, man was haunted with greed to make it faster. This resulted into the first ever motor race on July 22 1894 in France between the cities Paris and Rouen. This race was aimed at promoting the sales of a magazine which organised the event, but it was named as Competition for Horeseless Carriages (Concours des Voitures sans Chevaux) that were not dangerous, easy to drive, and cheap during the journey. The race was won by Peugot and Panhard. However this was more like a road-show than a race. The races that we see today started just an year later at Paris itself. And with the wheels of time the races became more interesting with improvised set of rules laid down for ensuring fair competition.

Ever since its inception, Auto-racing has served as a vital factor for promoting vehicles and their manufacturers. And were indispensable at the time when commercial advertisement wasn’t as successful as we see it today. At that time France emerged out to be a racing haven and still continues to remind us of its kingly heritage in the form of the world’s fastest on-road car Bugatti Veyron. A lot has changed over years and cars have become more compact and complicated. Today, the emphasis is laid on efficiency before power. But speed is always the key factor. The most popular moto sport Formula-one is based upon the constructor’s ability to design a car of unmatched excellence. Ace automobile companies from all around the world gear up to prove their mettle. What many people don’t know is that most of the technologies that we see in our cars arrive from these racing circuits. Traction control, improvement in aerodynamics and semi-automatic gearboxes are just some of the countless technologies that have made their way to daily cars from these race tracks. The most conspicuous of these is the spoiler that reduces the possibility of the rear wheels loosing contact with the road. Smarter electronic fuel injection that encases literally a small computer behind your steering wheels were first implemented and tested in these racing circuits only. Adding more to it, which still won’t be sufficient, is the UNICAM technology that Honda used in off-road racing and is now being used in the most popular bike the VFR1200F. The list goes on and on in praise of motorsports and still people will act in denial of its greatness like an ostrich with its head buried in the ground.

There is yet another clan of people, as I have mentioned already who don’t accept it a sport at all. But if they ever knew what it takes to be a race-car driver, I think they would be holding a different opinion. A formula one driver, for instance, is considered to be one of the highly trained athletes in the world. While driving through corners their body has to sustain a force of 3.5G. In plain English, a man weighing 75 kgs like me experience force 2600N acting on him. To simplify it further, imagine a weight of 263 kgs being rested upon your body. If that doesn’t sound exciting enough increase the surrounding temperature to 50-60 degree Celsius alongside. If you still think it is easy for you, which if you are then it certifies you as a 24 carat idiot, then keep loading and unloading this force for a couple of hours. The horrors are that you will start dehydrating like an earthworm sprinkled with a pinch of salt, and by the time you finish the race... forget it you won’t finish it because you’ll die midway in a crash. And under all these circumstances you are required to have high degree of alertness to react towards all the unexpected things that keep happening. So Mr. Politician-i-won’t-mention-name-of! Do you still think they are just a bunch of guys pushing gas pedal to reach from point A to B?

Finally, as a suggestion to all the mindless speed junkies on the road who call themselves ‘racers’, I’d say you are mere ‘toddlers’ in this sport, even the word ‘rookie’ will be a hyperbole. When you were at the age at which Valentino Rossi was Go-Karting, you had just started speaking. Pulling through some funny stunts on the highway doesn’t make a racer out of anyone. Go to racing circuits since motor racing prioritises driver’s safety. So keep enjoying fast vehicles and drive safely.

The rhapsody of a roadtrip

What is life?

A good paycheck...
a great bachelor life...
a few trips to scenic places arranged by your travel agent...
a good looking neighbourhood girl you can ask for a cup of sugar, when you already have a sackful in your kitchen...
and an even better looking girl-friend who won’t ask for fancy things(quite a fiction ehh!!)? Is that all?
Of course not for people like us who have kangaroos on their top paddock, as people define us. There is a subtle joy in seeing things differently and enjoying them in a different manner. People ask me,’What is the sense of a roadtrip when you can hire a vehicle, or board a train and reach the destination without sweating out?’

I choose not to argue with such people for they will never understand that the real delight of a journey is not in reaching the destination in one piece, but the road that you take, no matter how much it wears you out. People who sit in the back of a cozy SUV, or helplessly try to peak out of the window blocked with grills in a train asking each other, Are-we-there-yet, will never be able to know what it takes to enjoy the road to the destination.
Life is never a bed of roses, but isn’t always on thorns either. We don’t achieve victory every time, then why do some people give up and some choose to try one more time. It is not always the victory that is delightful, but sometimes the road that stretches miles and miles, that bends backwards and asks you to come again. For once in your life, try pulling over in the middle of the journey and hear the road whisper in your ears. Hear the song that she is singing for you. You will learn how much she loves you, for you chose her. You will forget the ache in your back in a moment if you see the world around you. It is so different from the one that you live in. There is no crowd, there are no buildings, there is no rush for reaching office and there is no one to ask you where you have been.

On 16^th of this January, We added one more roadtrip to our album of memories. Sanchi, as the world knows it better, is a village in Raisen district 46 km outside Bhopal. It is believed to have been built by Emperor Ashoka in 3^rd century BC. The Buddhist Monument was built to house the relics of Buddhism. The architectural marvels are of great importance and architecture students from all over the country come here for case study. If you want to know more about Sanchi, either visit it or buy a book because I am not going to write about it anymore. My post is dedicated to honour the road, not the destination.

A night ahead of the roadtrip, Chowdhary messaged me to reach Karond flyover at 10’o clock next day. A little later Nizam of Bhopal, as I will address Siddhartha Soni, messaged me to meet at Platinum Plaza which was further confirmed by Roopa. We were supposed to reach platinum at half past nine. Roopa reached on time and I was late by five minutes. The Nizam, who was crying loudest not to get late, was 20 min late himself. After a further delay of half an hour, Shahul, Kamlesh, Ayush, Batham and Khushwant arrived. Now there were 3 bikes and 8 people, so after a lot of strenuous calculations for statistical distribution, Khushwant and I pillioned behind Shahul, Nizam and Batham climbed behind Ayush and Apoorv enjoyed the entire pillion seat behind Kamlesh.

We set off for Karond Flyover, flying over every cop we met in between as the cops usually don’t like people saving petrol by using fewer bikes for more people. We arrived at karond, only to learn that the other half of the group hasn’t reached there yet. But finally everyone arrived and we rutted to sanchi. 13 people on 7 bikes.

Sanchi is at a distance of 42.6 km from the flyover. We reached Sukhi sewania at around 11 ‘o clock and Jarda started bickering for food. He was hungry so he wanted to stop by. We all were hungry, but our hunger for pestering Jarda overpowered that which we had for food. So we kept driving saying that we will eat only at Sanchi. Jarda was red hot like a heated iron ingot, and we laughed our hearts out looking at Jarda.

The road beyond sukhi sewaniya keeps getting beautiful with every inch you travel. There is a spell in those green pastures, a charm in those plateaus. So much that you cannot take your eyes off them. In the meanwhile, we reached deewanganj and Jarda didn’t stop crying. And neither did we stop pestering him. We moved.

As we neared the tropic of cancer, we realised that Shahul got left behind. In no time the phone rang and shahul gave a bad news. His mudguard had dislocated and was touching the tyres. The rubbing produced so much heat that the plastic mudguard melted as if someone heated it with a gas welding torch. There were fair chances of the molten plastic lodging between the treads of tyre and burning through the rubber. It would have been a disaster to have a flat tyre in the middle of nowhere. But somehow he reached where we were waiting and we removed the mudguard itself. After a few photo clicks at tropics of cancer, we moved ahead to barkhedi.

Celebrating after removing the mudguard

Finally we had our breakfast at Barkhedi at 12 noon and moved to Salamatpur. Life at these small villages seems pretty normal in the daytime. But the real challenge is to survive the night. As locals told us, temperature goes down tremendously.
‘Sheher mein thandi ka matlab bhi nahi jaante log’(city people don’t even know the meaning of cold) as a local villager of deewanganj would be telling us on our return journey. Spare the cruelty of cold that people in these villages have to bear, there is an additional scarcity of basic infrastructure that they can’t even imagine to have. 12 hrs of power cut and school buildings that you’d wish weren’t there will give goose-bumps to any city-dweller, if asked to live here. But surprisingly, they hardly complain about it. India might become superpower in 2020, but these people will still live in 12 hr power-cut, and city people will keep wasting electricity like a municipality tap wastes water. Indian is full of tragedies.

We reached Sanchi at 1 PM where Milan joined us. We spent some time at the stupas and went to a nearby dhaba for lunch. Gagan Dhaba, as the name was ,looked more like a haunted house, with no one around. We searched nearby and found the cook and waiter hiding in the dark nooks of the kitchen. Pretty Weird! The food wasn’t pretty good, so I won’t recommend it. Try somewhere else if the bile juices in your stomach don’t start digesting your stomach itself, as it had occurred in our case.

It was getting dark as we rutted back to our city. The cold air felt like liquid nitrogen, freezing every bone in our body. Although we had our warm clothes on but that was enough to subjugate the city-cold. The cold winds kept torturing us, and I was thanking Detani for driving the bike. The cold was getting colder than coldest, so we kept stopping at every village for tea. Those who smoke kept on pitying us for not smoking, as they claimed that smoking keeps your body warmer. But I’d rather have frozen lungs than lungs quenched in coaltar. No offence, but this is my personal opinion.
By the time we had crossed salamatpur, the sky was dipped in black ink and at around 7’o clock as we neared deewanganj, the lights from the village painted a magnificent sketch on the black canvas of night. As we sipped tea, we took warmth from a small fire lit by people to keep themselves warm. The onus of giving warmth to 7 people was now on the flame which was no bigger than a forty-rupees-Flower-Bouquet, made with roses, I must add. We chose not to put load on the flame and moved on.

Our Final stop was at Karond flyover where we had light snacks and redistributed ourselves on bikes to transport each other to homes.

Although the food was aweful, we couldn’t play cricket as we had planned to and the cold was torturous, but we still enjoyed the trip. As I have said it earlier, it’s the road that is the most enjoyable part in a journey. The joy of reaching destination is just a small part of the enjoyment. The small things, or hindrances if you may call it, actually make a roadtrip immortal in our memories. Years later we will look back and smile at these moments, moments that we’d hope we could live again.

DEDICATED TO ALL MY FRIENDS

2010 diaries...

One more year went by, with the world treading across great topsy-turvy paths. The entire European Union still crying foul over recession and devising plans which are, as if The God wants so, turning out to be futile (as I write this blog, a guy jumped off the railings in a European state assembly to protest against the salary cuts in their country). Nonetheless, our country experienced another year of shock and awe as well, with commodity prices burning holes in our pockets. That wasn’t enough so fuel prices were deregulated literally adding fuel to the fire. When there was no pocket left to burn a hole in, the entire trouser was flamed, leaving us naked, by scandals, ranging from sex to money, affecting so many things starting from telecom, sports, economy and even politics. Still we lived and are happy as ever, just like the poor naked kid, whose house is washed away by floods, but still dances, I must emphasise naked, and enjoys the rain.

So I am one of the 1.4 billion naked kids, who have found a couple of reasons to spend another year in this country, unlike the boy in front of my house who, just 2 days ago, chose the eternal sleep instead, however in a not so glorified way. So as you read this, my friend, my foe or a person I hardly know, whoever you are, I must appreciate you for choosing to fight instead of giving up.

The year started with the same panicking that we finished the year 2009 with, ‘Placements!!!’ The panicking was justified for people like us, garlanded with not-so-good-not-so-bad array of grades, and with the recession further adding spice to the recipe of trauma and apathy. In contrast to what I thought, I got placed as soon as the placement window opened and that too in a respectable company with a respectable salary. The interesting part about my placement is that I had lost an Internship opportunity in the same company just 5 months ago. If this doesn't sound interesting then let me tell you that my call letter was signed by the same guy who flunked me in the telephone interview for the same internship. This was not the only defeat I faced. I, rather we, lost the BAJA SAE qualifying round. But all these defeats were actually a foundation to the underlying success ahead. Had I been selected for internship, I might have become complacent during the Job interview. The BAJA for that matter was coinciding with a lot of important things that needed priority. This appeared as if a part of a divine conspiracy. I suspect that, as a part of this divine conspiracy, I came across so many things for the first time in this cosmic drama...(No I didn’t get laid... so don’t ask this question as you always do). I faced my first ever telephonic Interview, my first ever Job Interview, my first ever Job offer, my pointers exceeding 8.5 for the first time, my first project that got completed and so many other first times. I also proposed someone for the first time. For the first time I got confused between what I really needed and what I wanted. A guy who could speak about anything at any level of candidness, failed to express himself for the first time. Other than this, I got 5 ptr in a subject for the first time. We got our own BHOPALI-MALL for the first time, thanks to DB corp. And for the first time, thanks to the same Mall, that we Bhopalis came to believe that there are really HOT Girls in the city.

All in all, the year was totally great for me. I was destined to meet so many old friends this year. Make a journey to Ahmadabad after 11 yrs. I explored my own identity in a different manner. And most important of all, I felt so lucky for the first time. In contrast to my usual sceptic ideologies I found a great fun in superstitions this year. Number 6 is still lucky for me. A complete year has never been so great in my whole life. I guess an entire book will be insufficient to express my heart, and if I tell that to everyone it might turn my fortune the other way around.(see I am superstitious again)

A quatrain that...

A quatrain that simply emerged in my mind out of nowhere. It portrays the thoughts that are etched deep within my mind as I near the end of college life and embark on my journey of professional life.

Leagues to fly before I sleep

--in peace, scores of promises to keep

--I have; I long my neck and look afar,

I m paused,nay, poised. I am my brother

learning the sky, before flying high...

Truth locked up, but for how long

2 more days and I'll be there. Taking the famous exam that millions of students have registered for. Taking the exam that a few millions have already given up hopes for. Taking the exam that only a few thousands will crack. And taking the exam, that only a few hundred students will get the fruit of.

So am I really interested in that exam, or do I belong to the multitude that has laid its weapons down. To be honest I am not serious about CAT this year. Although I prepared for more than an year attending almost every class I could. But here I am, right at the kick off moment and SHAZAM!!!! I decide not to play. I decide, to join Bajaj and not to involve in this MBA stuff for an year or so.

The dictionary defines this attitude of mine as that of a defeatist. My neighbor thinks I am a quitter, a few of my friends think I am a quitter and God knows who else does so. And rest of them... They blame Bajaj for this. I try to wade off this discussion by crafting some lame theory or some lame logic, those which hardly sound sane. But the fact is that the truth shall remain deep within myself, deep within my heart.
Finally I have the truth locked up, but for how long?

We all were born intelligent but....

Apart from the cynical insinuations and much widely accepted belief that it being a mere manifestation of an educational renegade; the motto “I was born intelligent but education ruined me” speaks more of a common grudge that nearly every one of us holds, although secretly, against the prevailing education system. A couple of years back, engineering used to be a priceless achievement, meant only for those who deserved. But today, India can boast producing more graduates than the economy can accommodate. Sadly, in addition to this, out of this ‘qualified’ multitude not everyone justifies the meaning of the adjective.
Recently in a conference, Kapil Sibal made a statement that the education system will take 5 to 10 years to change. I am neither supporting, nor contradicting his words. But may I ask him if the argument behind opening new colleges, without achieving any substantial results from attempts made to provide basic education to everyone. And, for that matter, the number of qualified persons merely adds up to the unemployed multitude of society. We start looking at various jobs with prejudice and opinions as soon as we get qualified. All that matters for us is money, name and fame, for we think that we deserve more than what they are offering us
I remember, as a kid I wanted to become a scientist. About whom, I had an image in my mind of an earnest gentleman, rather a respected nobleman wearing a double breasted jacket with an aura of mystic and a smoking pipe for the countenance. However this image didn’t last long and very soon gave way to that of a ‘mad scientist’ which appalled me so much that I swore never to become a scientist in my life. Gradually my childhood fantasy took shape of a pilot, a soldier, a singer, a doctor and the most hilarious aim of my life, a match bookie aka matka king. Thankfully I ended up as an engineer, although not sure if I am the qualified one or the pun.
Just like me, every kid has his own fantasies, and opinions about what the world could be. There is nothing outlandish about it. But as we grow up, we need to make a decision about what we want to become. In India this decision is the sole right of parents, which the child has to cater anyhow. Even I thought sometimes that I’d become an Ad-maker or an Auto connoisseur. But my parents hold a different opinion. This issue however is not as serious as the one which explains the fact that out of 220 million kids registering for school every year, only 14 million of them make it to the colleges. Indeed I am pointing out at School drop-outs. There is nothing wrong with school-drop-outs, a poor labour is not a far-sighted being who will believe the benefits of education that we try to explain to them. All he worries about is earning bread. So from his position, barring his kids from going to school is justified. With the deceptive policies by the ‘chosen ones’ for the pariahs of the ‘ India 2020’ we can expect the 92.6% dropouts to go even higher..
Whatever educational model Mr. Sibal might propose, it won’t turn over a leaf unless the economic model accommodates the outcasts. From our part, we can contribute by changing ourselves, and consequently our society.

long awaited heavenly showers

Often I wonder if any other weather could pluck the chords of my heart as much as this long awaited rain does. There is no denial that the weather was a bit harsh for the last couple of days. But finally it rained, and it rained like a blessing, a serenade in my ears, a nectar to my throat. This joy has no equal anywhere in the world. When drops of rain make sound on earth after such a long silence, it feels like heaven. And the smell of rain, it has a spell in it. It freezes my mind, and I just wish it never fades away. I wish it tickles my olfactory senses forever, and ever. But then, since pricelessness of beauty lies in its evanescence, so I wont ask for more of this. I sit by my verandah, with lappy on my lap, and as I write this article I can see the lightening across the sky. Today, its not roaring like it does, I can only see the light and a mild purr... may be God is also in love, with its creation

Commonwealth Games and my misplaced dictionary

When India won the bid to host commonwealth games 2010 , hundreds of echoes were heard that this event will make us 'proud' and earn us 'respect' on global platform. I had no idea what the words 'pride' and 'respect' mean. I went to my room and looked out for dictionary. I searched every nook for it, but couldn't find it. So I finally gave up and quietly waited for the games to arrive hoping that I might be able to decipher the words in their dynamic form, that is to say when the games will be round the corner and my entire country will be experiencing the so called feeling 'pride' and earning 'respect'.

Finally the games neared and I was quite eager that finally my curiosity shall be quenched. I picked up the newspaper and switched on the TV. My curiosity was no less than that of a kid waiting for a surprise gift on his birthday, rubbing hands, fidgeting legs and going to the window frequently to check if the gift has arrived. Finally my gift arrived and what came out was indeed a striking surprise for me. Just like the birthday kid staring at the gift with shock and awe, I watched the TV with an equal amount of, however, horror on my face. All I could see was authorities of organising committee, politicians and media people running amok, one after the other. Throwing loads of accusations on one another and trying to evade the one being thrown to them.

In India, a strikingly similar game is played, however with colors and water, during a festival in the month of march; we call it the Holi. A festival to rejoice the killing of an evil king by lord Vishnu, to celebrate the Rabi crop . Holi, unlike what most people misconcieve, is a festival played round the year in India. Pardon me for digressing from the topic but it might be informative to share about the year-round Holi played in India. Pick up any month of a calendar and you will find scores of instances of Holi being played with sanguinary colors, ranging from terror attacks, honour killings, road-train-and-air accidents, murders and gory group clashes. What follows these incidents is yet another type of Holi that more or less resembles the one being played before common wealth games. We nickname it as blame-game.

On one hand Kalmadi, when asked about the crippled channelising of cash, could be seen shivering like a sheep cornered by a pack of wolves, meanwhile Manishankar aiyar, on the other, would chuckle in front of camera like a pesky little goblin does, after playing a prank. Media is busy stripping everyone. The entire organising fraternity is running naked like vietnamese people struck by napalm. I have learnt, that it's not just the preparation of commonwealth games that stands in shambles, but the entire country as well.

Fed up of all these, I finally switched the TV off, and stretched back on my sofa and all of a sudden, as if by some divine intervention, I found the dictionary as if smiling at me from the table. I quickly seized it and fluttered the pages looking out for the meaning of pride, and here is what I found: "a feeling of pleasure or satisfaction that you get when you or people who are connected with you have done sth well or own sth that other people admire." Indeed I admire Kalmadi for such humungous money laundering. Indeed I praise the cash receipts for standing unquestioned when hiring rates of treadmills were cited as Rs. 9 Lakhs for 45 days. Indeed I praise the taxpayers of our country for not reacting to such unscrupolous waste and magical act of conjuring of the money they pay. Ironically they do get raved up by a 25 yr old pending decision on a Gas tragedy, although any plausible decision might vindicate the virtues of justice, however justice delayed is justice denied.

Finally i searched for 'respect' and realised that it's a vicarious form of 'pride'.

Thinking was a real waste of time...

Years ago one of my teachers once told me,"Samrat tum sochte bahut ho..."

I 'contemplated' a lot, but couldn't figure out why he said that. 5 years have passed since that incident, and suddenly, today I realised what he wanted to say. Too late of course, but then they say ‘better late than never’.

Man has always been known for his intelligence, diligence and common sense, the last one being not so common contrary to what the name suggests. Shadowed by this fact, man has declared himself to be the most superior species on earth. Ironically, the most famous and the most successful persons on earth share a lot with beasts. Their spontaneity, aggressiveness and survival instincts are what helped them reach that far. Every human possesses a little bit of all these. But those who can master all three are sure to break the shackles and rise above all.

Today, I realised that I have wasted a lot of time in thinking. Before taking a decision, I used to think; think before thinking, think during the thinking and think after thinking. If I had to decide upon something, I used to do three things before it. Think, think and think again. Then either I used to take the decision or drop it. And if things didn’t turn up as I had expected them to, I would start thinking again. After more than a decade of dilemmas and conundrums and thinking over them repeatedly, finally I have stopped!!! No more will I rely on my frontal lobe but surrender purely to my intuitions. I am really sorry that I can’t write you what forced me to believe that I have finally given up my inhibitions, but trust me, next time you will hear what is really in my mind, not what I want you to believe that is in my mind.

A quick trip to delhi

­‘Sahab, Dilli mein jo cheez meethi honi chahiye, wo bhi meethi nahi hoti. FDA kehta hai malai kofta white gravy mein banni chahiye, lekin kaun sunta hai.’ Saying this, the waiter wiped his face with the towel hanging down his shoulders; the heat from the Tandoor could be felt even on the first floor. Swami could still be heard humming in the background in his much loved south Indian accent ‘e delhi ai mere yaar’. A song that could have had no better situation to sing than the one we were in. One thing is clear about Delhi that it is a haven for gourmands and epicureans; however the malai kofta was a nightmare. While eating it i recalled the waiter’s words and wondered if the first sentence had a hidden pun. Saproo was busy eating his shahi paneer and occasionally checking his mobile for texts and service messages. We had been in delhi for the last 12 hours and were falling in love with it, especially the food, the one that quenches the bile and not the one for eyes.
Earlier that day, as our train was nearing to delhi, we were silently looking outside the window and were fidgeting since we were totally new to the event we came to delhi for. Swami broke the silence and asked ‘bai yaha chakke nai aate?’ I couldn’t get him so I asked him again. He was asking about eunuchs. Jadhav replied that it was because Bhopal express has very less stoppages so they don’t show up.
Saproo lifted his gaze from mobile and added, ‘Most of them are fakes, I saw it in a documentary’.
‘So did you sleep tight?’ I interrupted to change the topic since fellow passengers were suddenly straining their ears and finding discussion on eunuchs as intriguing.
As far as the sleeping was concerned, I had very little of it. I am not much used to sleeping in a rocking cradle, so i find it hard in train journeys.

The train reached Nizamuddin station on time and we quickly made our way through the crowd and walked out as if the train would leave any time. Seeing us hurrying like this, the fellow passengers also did the same; although nizamuddin is the last stop. Haste is contagious after all. In India people are always looking forward to get ahead of you. Be it the theatre, train, buffet lunch... people act as if this is their last chance. That’s why stampedes are quite common in India. We quickly brushed past the crowd and perched Bus number 181 and headed for PahadGanj, the place where you find cheap hotels, cheap food, and cheap ... forget it. As the bus rolled, I recalled a line from William dalrymple’s book, The city of Djinns- a year in Delhi: “... dust was everywhere and the city’s trees and flowers all looked as if they had been sprinkled with talcum powder.” Indeed the city air was stuffed with talcum powder and I was finding it hard to breath. But being a capitalist somewhere deep inside my heart, I admired the rapid growth the city undergoes every single day and forgot the filth. One more thing we noticed from the bus that common wealth games, this year, is sure to become a humongous slap on Indian sports committees, and the Govt for that matter. The city looked hardly prepared and i doubt if it will be before 3^rd of Oct.
“Pahadganj aa gaya” Vaibhav said. Swami and I were so busy Cracking jokes on politicians and commonwealth that we didn’t realise how the time crept and we arrived at pahadganj the very next moment.
We descended and checked in a pretty economical hotel. The hotel guy asked for our I-cards and kept calling on hotel phone again and again to confirm identity, finally apologising for the inconvenience explaining that it was for safety purposes. They doubted us to be terrorists. No wonder since Saproo does look like one.
I remember, as a kid, once I read in a popular comic book that Pahadganj was quite famous for getting pockets picked. We didn't have to wait long enough to catch a glimpse of it when Saproo’s pocket got picked in the afternoon as we were returning to Hotel after having lunch. Swami, Jadhav and I had crossed the road while Saproo and Tyagi trailed behind on the divider, still trying to cross the road. They employed a pretty clever trap using a kid and an accomplice. They were on the divider so the pickpocket couldn’t get far and was nabbed.Thanks to the Delhi traffic, you cannot cross a road so easily. The guy who accompanied the pickpocket immediately created a scene to save the latter. He yelled," Kucch lia to nahi.. sab theek to hai na bhai saab.. ye saale ma*****... bhag yaha se.."(Did he steal anything? Is everything ok? These mot****.. Get Lost!) Finally we realised that there are fair chances of us being outnumbered if we hit him as we were planning to, so we took a wise decision and went on our way.

Speaking of Delhi traffic, it works on one single rule, “Drive to kill; kill to drive”
“well we shouldn’t move and not run when we are caught in traffic” One of us said.
“ In that case you will be ran over. Delhi roads show no mercy. Traffic won’t allow them to go right or left or to stop. They have only one way, and you are standing on it. So they ‘hit and run’ away...” I argued.

The next day we checked out of the Hotel and headed for the India Habitat centre on Lodhi road. We were delighted meeting some of the greatest automobile experts and participating in BAJA SAE, a dream of every mechanical engineer. Everything went quite smooth, but nothing can be said before the results are out. After this we decided to go to CP but with our luggage it was impossible for us to wander anymore. One of my friends had to answer a ‘call’, a pretty important, vital and indispensible call that you answer every morning. So we waited outside the palika bazaar till he came back.
Delhi is a blend of thousands of religions, sects and nations. All live under the same sky, taking the pills of both harmony and agony in equal dozes. But one specific section of the society has to face hideously unruly behaviour of Delhites. The people from north east and Tibet, stereotyped and abused as ‘Chinkies’. I recalled reading an article some 6-7 years back on the condition of these people in Northern India. The article read, ‘They are harassed, abused and ridiculed . The number of crimes against girls from north east is on a rise. Some of them even underwent surgery to look like North Indians and avoid being noticed.”
I mentioned this to my friends as soon as I spotted a trio of north-eastern girls.
“So you want to say that we should not discriminate and never prejudice against any section of society while teasing a girl” Swami said in amusement.
“Yes I certainly mean Secular Eve teasing” I summarised his words.

Meanwhile the friend, who had been away answering the 'call', returned and we headed to nizamuddin station. Vaibhav left for meerut and Saproo for Noida. The remaining three of us sat in the waiting room, staring at our ticket with 317,318 and 319 waiting list. The journey to Bhopal was sure to be a torture and so was it. But at the end of the story we reached Bhopal safely in one piece.