Sh/\kes™

She squirmed and wobbled in my arms. The back of the rikshaw seemed like an appropriate place to her for some acrobatics. Then she quickly changed her mind, curled up in my arms and rested her tiny blob of head on the crease of my elbow; staring with button eyes at the noisy traffic out. Unmoving. Unflinching. Unperturbed.

Day 1 at su casa

I logged into my Facebook account scrolling for mundane updates of “significant” posts on “insignificant” activities. The 3^rd post was by #WorldForAll. I never miss their updates. Can’t help but check the cutesy bundles they rescue each week. Them and some alerts from #YODA or #PetsForAdoption etc. WFA had done something different this time. Saw a video post. Assumed it was a documentary or awareness movie. Clicked and watched. 30secs into watching a helpless kitten wobble on her tripod like gait to becoming a hilarious bundle of unbelievable strength and budding life was all it took for me to ball my eyes out, like and comment. I wanted her. Ok… I’ve wanted a lot of the animals they have rescued so far. However, her story cried out to me as if it was a message tailored for me. Later on as the comments poured in, I figured the same sentiment resonated from others.

Shakes (or as I have trademarked her Sh/\kes™) was a 2-month old baby girl found and rescued by Nasreen’s help in Andheri E. She was unforgivably tormented by Mumbai monsoons and was shaking beyond a cold damp shiver. She would have most certainly met her demise had she not been rescued that fateful day. She was fostered by Nasreen and looked over by a vet who diagnosed a unique case of Cerebellar Hypoplasia (in this case Feline CH*). 

When Shakes needs me

*Cerebellar hypoplasia is a condition in which the brain, specifically the cerebellum, is underdeveloped or small for size leading to effect on motor nerves and sensory disturbances. This affects gait, balance, and movement primarily due to tremors and incessant shaking which aggravate on excess stimulation, excitement, fear, hunger etc. and completely die down to nil when the animal is calm, sleeping, resting or not triggered by any emotion. Shakes is a rare case of CH. This can be due to genetics, malnourishment of the mother during pregnancy or possibly due to injury or physical disturbance when the mother was carrying the litter.

I educated myself on the condition and didn’t care for what it brought forth. I wanted Shakes and the only way to do this was to convince the boyfriend, Abeer, to adopt her since I had spent 2 years trying to get my father to warm up to and cuddle up with 2 rescued brats already ruling my kingdom. Abeer was always an animal lover who claimed to be a dog person but had a hidden catman somewhere in that massive heart of his. From being occupied with Elsa’s antics or lack thereof (my eldest boy) to being smitten with Ella’s grace and agility (my baby girl and Elsa’s begum from arranged marriage); I was sure he loved the little felines as much. Abeer’s mum was home alone and seeing the benefits, the presence of a pet can bring to folks home alone like my dad, was a card I played to my already expanding list of excuses for him to adopt her. For the 1^st time ever Abeer did not resist. He hesitated and was anxious like a 1^st time adopter but did not say NO. We took time off and went to visit Shakes at her foster. She was brought out fast asleep and just eased into my arms. It was as if I was standing outside an orphanage or a NICU and was entrusted with the most precious thing they had. She was a doll incarnate. The next 20mins we stared as she wobbled and walked, drew EVERYONE’s attention (Taro, Nasreen, her son and 1 more member from WFA included) and proceeded to curl up into 1/4^th her size, decide she’s fascinated us enough and plonked off to sleep. I knew then that my gut was right all along.

My beautiful (hot and happening) family

Abeer’s eyes lit up and he was in love with her. He said ‘yes’ as soon as we had a private moment and I couldn’t have been elated. We explored what all did Shakes require in terms of care and handling especially more than the average cat and headed home to prep the place for her arrival.

On 15 Sep 2015, Taro (cofounder of WFA) personally brought her over to my place. He also had the chance to meet my famous duo Elsa-Ella and proceeded to ease Shakes into our lives. Abeer and I went through the formalities and forms and some cutting questions regarding her care and parvarish god forbid something were to go wrong in any situation. I was taken aback but thought these were good questions to ask folks here especially when they just as easily abandon their pets because their “pets” never really were considered “family” in the 1^st place. After the formalities and a very bad cup of coffee I made for Taro, Shakes was left to be acquainted to US.

Abeer was a natural. It surprised me and then it didn’t. He cared and that’s all that mattered. If you care, the rest falls into place. This coming from someone who was a nervous wreck when she handled baby Elsa. Shakes unlike other cats seems to ease into her places. She is curious, but never looks like she is scared or bothered or whining. She sleeps and wakes up and gets exploring as if that’s her expertise through the vast expanse of her 2-month old existence. She was wary of Elsa-Ella’s presence but not scared or bolting away. Instead there came the familiar crouch and observe like an FBI tactical force veteran and then her trademark signature tripod stand. *Yes Shakes, you standing so tall alone scares the bejesus outta everyone*.

She stayed the night with Geet and me and I had a gala time entertaining her. She was feisty and sporty and adorable all in one. Her absolutely tiny frame was no hurdle against her urge to scale massive peaks like my laptop bag or the giant pillow on my bed. As long as she is watched while on a height and resting always on a soft surface, I was ok. Soft landings for her lithe body was ok with me until she got a little fatter and stronger. She bolted from one corner to the other only to bang into furniture and take a few seconds to gather herself. She loved 2 other dangerous things: climbing and playing with strings. The latter she is a huge fan off. Simplicity and bundles of love came in from watching this baby grow supremely happy with a few strings. That’s all it took to see her eyes light up, her inhibitions disappear and her nose turn pink-er with excitement. She loved human touch and connection. Leave her space for a moment and you’ll know never to underestimate the power of a kitten’s meowing. It’s the cutest loudest sound and you’ll drop/rush through whatever you are doing. Willingly.

The next day I dropped her off to Abeer’s and that’s where the real adventures began. Father and daughter ganged up and enjoyed their time together. Abeer’s momma and sister watched as he transformed from a regular Joe at home to a dedicated daddy/adopter. Abeer’s sister was 100% occupied with Shakes since she would head back to the UAE soon. Shakes was the center of attention, love, food, games, pampering and all that a new little one can possible accumulate. She loves cuddles and sleeping – no sleeping alone. She ate and played while you watched her. She was surprisingly litter trained but there came the challenge of ensuring her balance while doing her business. She constantly shook and lost her balance and fell into her poop. This was patiently resolved with wet wipes and conditioning her to balance and stay strong.

Biker girl in the making!

She was a delight. She didn’t demand anything which made it important for us to fix a feeding schedule, sleeping and pooping routines. She hijacked anything her paws touched and her big button eyes blackmailed out of us. I for once found myself traveling to Abeer’s more just to spend time with her. She made me feel like a momma too. I realized how much I missed kittens or more appropriately how fast my own 2 grew up that I missed when they were babies. Here was Shakes, filling that void.

Over the course of a few months, her personality traits came out in the open. She openly threatened and growled at other cats and dogs – absolutely unnerved by their size despite her having to strain to look up at them. She ran amok and ran into things often bumping her head and waiting to gather her wits. She learnt to scale higher objects and furniture by using her fore paws and landing from heights on her belly and hind knees. This makes an ugly sound and each time I find myself reaching out to grab her and comfort her. She doesn’t seem to need any. Abeer and Shakes have grown inseparable. He rushes home to her, wakes up at 5am to prepare high protein meals and even cleans up incessantly after her. Her comfort and needs come above all and I became the happiest most content spectator to it all. Somewhere watching your man turn to a puddle rearing for a little one is endearing and draws me closer to him.

WIP Relationship

He speaks to her and she seems to understand what he says – aka translate it to whatever she assumes is said. There is undeniable connect when they look at each other and she responds with paws on his face. A miniscule sense of envy washes over me when I see her literally hug him and sleep. Yep, Shakes is a cuddle bunny who hates sleeping alone. She knows the curvature of my boyo’s arm just right enough to fit herself in. Shes spoons herself into his sleeping position and usually buries herself in my hair if I’m around. Her preoccupation with attacking and playing with my hair for hours stumps me. But I’m happy to play the part too. We went through the ritual of vaccinations, neutering and even her 1^st bath. I was stumped as she stood perfectly still almost submissive and awaiting the end of her 1^st aqua experience. It is a blessing if no other term describes best her presence in our lives. Some people have children, we have Shakes. Her care and upbringing is in our collective priorities and we enjoy every second of it. When she was in foster care, Abeer would swing by on the bike, ask me to hop on and we would take off just to spend a few hours with her. I knew then that Abeer was a doting father/figure and when he cared, he did so from every crevice of his heart. Her tremors overtime reduced, although prominent on profound excitement. She has a tripod like gait and still walks with her hind legs stomping rather than gracefully gliding like cats do. Her head shakes when she eats but she has better control of her food and water now in a soft plastic bowl. Litter management is easier and instances of her soiling herself are far fewer.  

When we open the door, seeing Shakes anticipating us is a huge moment. She stands right at the door and brings her tiny soft self to unload her cuteness on us. There is no doubt that she loves having us around. She hates being alone and maybe sometime soon we might add a companion for Ms. Shakes. Till then I will record every moment she waltzes out victorious from a massive pile of something she has successfully managed to crash.

 

Momma and baby girl

Daddy and his princess

To my love and baby girl. Nothing is bigger than you 2 in the world for me. Ma Famille

For more pics and updates, visit: https://instagram.com/gatacdo7/

https://instagram.com/tipsies/

BiKronicles 7 (Part une): Pune – Goa – Hampi – Bengaluru

Southern sojourn we’ll call it love. You get a head start before me and I’ll chase you down :P

How else will sparks continue to fly between us love! *said I to my unromantically romantic Abeer*

Locations and Distance:

Mumbai-Pune via expressway [150 kms]

Pune-Goa via Kolhapur NH4- entering the state border through Karnataka (Chorlaghats) and BelagaviNH4AandpassingMollem. Headed to Anjuna Beach via Mapusa [430 kms]

Goa-Hampi via Ponda - Hubballi-Dharwad (NH4A) – crossing Hospete (NH63) to Hampi [360 kms]

Hampi-Bengaluru via Hospet – Chittradurga (NH13) – Tumkuru (NH4) [350 kms]

Fuel: INR 4000/- that included 6 refills through the whole stretch. We always tanked up because fuel costs kept getting cheaper and we saw that as an advantage. Pumps aren’t easy to come by on long stretches so we thought it best to be cautious and full rather than wanting for trouble. Hired a scooter on the other side of Hampi that cost us 150-100 (the latter for petrol).

Road conditions: As we proceeded south,NHs were divine. There were uninterrupted stretches of highway that felt like we were gliding on butter paper and they were good to the bike and the rider. Mileage was positive and journey time was cut short extensively when the anxiety of bumps, potholes or ill-time speed breakers were not primary. Small villages and talukas are always marked with small steep speed-breakers or multiple ones. That is something I have learnt over the rides. Keep an eye out for villages. Forest roads and ghat roads always seem to have a steep slide on the side of the road – if large incoming vehicles decide to hog your lane and force you off the road, its best to find the closest spot to “off-road” or else the bike will slip and fall on the side. The Kolhapur NH was brilliant. Waves and stretches of untouched scenery was breathtaking and the weather was an added bonus. There was just one McDonalds and KFC side to side on the highway (Sarnobatwadi service road). The Chittradurga-Bangalore stretch was one of the most memorable stretches we did this time. We touched 120 easily and didn’t falter or need to stop.

While entering Goa, the state border was a nightmare. Additionally, 30kms of the Karnataka stretch when leaving Goa was pathetic and dangerous. Clearly, Goa was unforgiving at both times for some strange reason. Not so good roads were also the case from Goa untilHubbilli-Dharwad enroute to Hampi. The roads to Hampi were amazing except darkness fell super fast. Once we crossed the busy town of Hospete, we were met with poor to zero light on raw to near raw stretches. The roads were jungle-like but it was impossible to tell if there was anything or anyone ahead. High beams is another major issue as night time riding was quite marred with those abusing the beam feature causing near accidents. I was perplexed to see lone standing men or women under canopy of creepy looking trees and foliage in absolute darkness. Their silhouette was outlined only when our bike headlight temporarily illuminated their shapes and I could not imagine even walking that stretch alone. Getting to Hampi was slightly tough after darkness fell as no one was in sight (literally) and most folks spoke in Kannada. Few conversed in English as we seemingly neared the destination and helped us get through narrow by lanes of a village and then to Hampi main street. Abeer was tad lost as the view for him had changed from nearly 8 years ago when he had visited. Apparently, a lot of the structures and hotels had been torn down and I was glad as it looked like the result was more visibility to the rocks and heritage site. At night they looked threatening and eerie but that focus shifted after the 2^nd day there. We also encountered some RE bikers on the way to Hampi and went back and forth on the highway. They cruised at leisure but Abeer gunned her because of his anxiety with inability to see in the dark. Traffic discipline in Karnataka state is worse or at par with Maharashtra. Everyone is in a massive hurry to get god knows where. Our main issue was cattle and animals. They seemed to sunbathe EVERYWHERE. Breaking at a speed of 120 without making steak sandwiches of them proved to be a massive learning. All this was overshadowed by the changing scenery. By now I had seen shades of nature only painters at the Louvre could imagine on palette. There were massive windmills projects and I was stumped and ridiculously elated to see sensible use of natural resources to power the state. Sophisticated windmills stood tall in fields and clusters. I intended to get a good shot of them but didn't manage one. The roads within Hampi were surprisingly commutable. Even within the village, the network through parallel roads were clean, well-kept and navigable. Such instances surprise me as the affinity for a jam was high and yet I found no jams, no incessant honking, yelling, or any of the traffic crimes city folks come installed with. We stalled the bike for 2 days to give her and us some rest. Thereafter we were constantly on foot as we always do. We even navigated to the other side of Hampi (wild or sinful side) by boat (takes about 5 mins and a few bucks per head). Thereafter we explored Sanapur Lake, Tungabhadra Project strewn landmarks, Hanuman Temple, Whispering Rocks and many internal roads that diverted along the rest of the REAL heritage site. We hired a scooter at the embankment for 100 (petrol cost)+150 (rent cost), which made our commute super fun. Mopeds are available too but lack of storage and possibly lesser fuel capacity is a deterrent. However, I vouch for it.Roads are well made, maintained and have bleak traffic or none whatsoever. Thereafter, the final route for this leg of the journey was Hampi to Bangalore. We wound our way out of Hampi towards NH13 and gunned for Chittradurga. Enroute we met a fellow Enfielder and now fast friend from Auroville, Sriram. Made a quick stop at Chittradurga town had lunch with Sriram and his father and gunned the bebe to Bangalore via NH4. Traffic hit us at Yeshwantpura but we reached Nandi-Durga road in 15 mins.

Speed: On the best roads as described above, we hit 100-120 easily with no breaks. On the worst and especially weather-beaten roads riddled with fatal potholes, we cruised between 40-60. The chilled air and sometimes-poor visibility and forest canopy slowed us down even further. The route after Bangalore (BiKronicles 7 [part deux]) had us restricted at 80. Route from Hampi to Bangalore via Chittradurga was 60-80 followed by a straight 120 on NH4. Within Hampi, there was no scope for speeding, however, on the scooter run the speeds were 60 on clear roads.

Weather: This was done through the month of August which is monsoons or receding monsoons in India (I call it moody monsoons). It is the 1^st time in a span of 2 weeks I experienced biting cold, torrential downpour, incessant drizzle, spring sun, intense heat and general good weather. It was an amalgam of all seasons chasing us to our destinations. I’d say we coped supremely well as we routinely shifted between rain liners, plain t-shirts, boots and trekkers, waterproof covers and just hanging it all out to dry. Our gears were #Spartan and #Cramster pro gear mesh jackets. The bebe (Royal Enfield) was used for transporting us and our belongings in chameleonic shapes and forms across state borders. She held well through horrible stretches that proved near fatal while inversely well through the smooth roads. There was intense heat at night in Goa contrary to the early evening weather, which prompted us to get a non-AC room and cool again the following morning. Load shedding was present from 10pm through 3am – worst time ever for me. Hampi was pleasant weather all evening and early mornings but would pick up its signature heat through the noon.Bangalore was the same and remained absolutely pleasant until 11 Aug 2015, when it rained heavy and incessantly – crippling my chances at catching my flight on time*.

Stay: Amigo’s Guest House/Homestay, Anjuna, Goa (INR 700/night). Run by a sweet couple and family with the sweetest boxer and dachshund to protect you. Self-contained large rooms, equipped bathrooms;3 mins stroll to Anjuna beach. Self-contained rooms, with a balcony, overlook the garden at the back. Mango, banana, pineapple, jackfruit and avocado trees grace the surroundings, as does the various spice bearing vegetation.Hampi we stayed at Reshma’s homestay (INR 200/night) and it was perfect, pleasant, comfortable and convenient. It is located in the lane of Mango’s restaurant, which we attacked for ALL our meals. Bangalore was with the baby brother.

Random notes:This trip began on a 1-destination note: Auroville. Wishlist since 2 yrs to have Abeer visit the French colony and revive the Francophile within. After 2 failed plans, I concluded that fate had the bike within the Auro frame; hence the incessant delays. The plan changed face in the 2-weeks prior to departure. We ho-hummed through Coorg, Varkala, Munnar, parts of KA state and the likes. Even contemplated just sticking MS state. Finally, at random, it was decided – Mumbai-Pune-Goa-Hampi-Bangalore and back home. I was content. Abeer left for Pune ahead of me and I followed suit after a lengthy workday and a painfully long bus journey. I had the chance to stay and catch up with an old school friend – more like my baby sister from the yesteryears and she was ever so gracious in keeping me amused and comfortable till 2 am where we stayed up and chatted about school and words we exchanged. Thank you darling Tarana. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I tried to adjust from a pint sized 2 ft baby to a now grown gracious woman with her own flair and business sense. She cooked for me, her father spoke to me till I finished my absolutely delicious dinner of kheema, mutton curry and rotis. I was at home. Till I surprisingly found myself adherent to the 5:45 am departure the next morning that boyo had warned me off. A grumpy sleep deprived start after, we took off. Everything as mentioned above was perfect and I enjoyed the whole process. I even patiently put up with the numerous attaching and detaching of the rain liner in the Spartan jacket. Truth be told, it can get painfully hot in there. We reached Goa, drenched, frozen and wet. Instead of wanderlusting after Agonda or Palolem we gunned for Anjuna out of sheer exhaustion. After a quick survey of a few homestays, we settled on Amigo for a simple non-AC room (frozen that we were). The evening was spent cleaning up, strategically laying things to dry and heading to the beach for some beers and dinner. By now I had not slept 2 nights in a row and my body was screaming for rest. We gorged on seafood platters and 6 bottles of beer. Yep we did. Just then, around 10 pm, lights completely went out and all our adjusted pupils could catch was dark rocky silhouettes in the ocean. We headed back in and got another beer for the yet unsatiated boyo. He needed it and I obliged. All that beer had to vent somewhere and my huge pet peeve of bathrooms came to haunt me as we walked in absolute darkness to bathrooms that looked like Japanese horror movie scenes. I was afraid if I shown the light to any corner other than where I was, I was sure to find a face and some long dark hair. We went back to crash in for some much-needed sleep. I swear I slept about 30 odd mins before waking up to harsh humidity, swarming mosquitoes and no breeze. This went on till3 am and Abeer had a tough time getting me to sleep. Apparently, the 6+ beers worked magic for his brain. He was riding so I didn’t disturb him. Next morning after a few bites not really breakfast worthy, we left from Panaji city for Hampi. 1^st time I learnt that breakfast in Goa is mostly vegetarian. Eggs and sausages would have to wait. We made the mistake of wearing light clothes and I went a step further by donning shorts. The result was incessant rains, biting cold and discomfort. Abeer made the 1^st stop after we crossed the Goa-KA state border. I noticed a tiny jam at the state border (Karnataka) where trucks and large multi-axle vehicles quietly waited as a mother tried to shield her newborn calf who had strayed to the middle of it all. She nuzzled the little one to keep moving to the side to safety. It was a moving sight for me where everyone waited patiently for the whole moment to pass. This was followed by something unpleasant and potentially dangerous event too. Once we took a break, there were peering and sleazy eyes scanning me all over. Literally, people had paused to see me in shorts;I was drenched and uneasy from the peering now more than the weather. Abeer insisted I go and change into jeans, which I desperately wanted to do anyways. I found a hotel with a bathroom a mile behind the main restaurant. There were no women in sight. I walked hesitantly inside, walked past walked looked like a bar, some stretch of corridor and to a near horror looking bathroom that wasn’t worth changing into. The male and female toilets were poorly covered by an outside meshed window. I quickly managed to get out of my shorts into my jeans using my boarding school skills but was wary of a man standing with a sickle about 6 odd feet near the bathroom entrance almost blocking my exit. He inched closer and blocked my exit by precariously standing with his back toward me. He stood there breathing heavily, not directly looking at me but his body language screamed anything but minding his own business. I was instantly gripped with fear and wondered if I would be able to reach my phone and call Abeer in time as the phone was sealed in a waterproof neck bag. I focused on getting the pants all the way up, buttoning it and getting ready to shove and bolt (if needed). All the wet clothes, skin and weather coupled with no one within earshot AND a sickle wielding man did not make things quite smooth for me. I decided to call out loudly in the hopes of startling him. It sort of worked but I took the opportunity and ran with my boots still unlaced. The fear had caused tears to stream down my face and I was very relieved to see Abeer who told me that next time he would come with me to such places. We ate eggs and pav (I barely managed to swallow lumps of it) and instantly left. Thereafter, it was a trip on Mars surface for a good 30 kms, I lost my MiBand fitness gadget, we dropped a ‘hopefully drying-now wet’ shoe and I ran back a couple of meters to retrieve it, and then stopped at a village centric highway dhaba to grab a grub. I was very happy to devour a thali and we moved on from there. The roads were fantastic and the weather even better. Vehicles irrespective of their size, shape and condition cut across lanes 1-4 in a matter of seconds with the efficiency of an F1 racer who expectedly came in the top 10 but not quite. There were some close shaves and some patient maneuvers. A few triumph and RE riders were conspicuous by their style and of course gear (us included). By now I was used to being a spectacle especially when we stopped for breaks in populated places. The route to Hospete-Hampi was a dream ride. Although we were gunning the bike, darkness was sinking faster than anticipated. We captured a fantastic sunset at the outskirts of Hospete and then proceeded to battle major darkness and ill-lit roads into Hampi. Was perplexed myself how folks stood in absolute darkness in corners, under shrubs and canopy and behaved like there was no apprehension or fear. Of course, locals I guess. I didn’t dare look back for fear of encountering one of the many movie demons I’ve fed my stupid brain. We managed to make it to a near packed Hampi. Our stay was one of many new learnings and fascination for me. It reminded me a lot of Gokarna. Friendly, open-minded locals, home stays and mini boarding and lodgings. Fantastic organic meals cooked with respect and ingredients used to their full wholesome goodness potential. Absolutely EVERYTHING one would need for the duration of your stay there. Bare minimums and simplicity being the key. We stayed at Reshma’s guesthouse. She was a hospitable young lady who ran the lodge with her mother. Everyone wakes up at 5 am and begins holy rituals and the day’s start. Hot water was the result of the old-fashioned heater prongs, which meant saving electricity and using only as much as we really needed. I was in love. Abeer and I had a tiny room to us with a large bathroom and a bed with mosquito netting. Some inbuilt wall shelves and a mirror. That’s precisely the extent of the materialistic content of this room and it was perfect. Parked the exhausted RE and proceeded to have 2 blissful days of just us, explorations, sunrise and sunsets, fantastic food and good weather. It was pleasant, cold nights, and inversely hot days. There were cafes and internet booths, which were WiFi enabled. Apart from that, no part of the tiny town was network riddled. In a way that’s PERFECT. You disconnect yourself and connect only when needed for a brief period. Mango café became our home and abode for the duration of our stay. There were several foreigners and Indians. But the plethora of folks was a likeminded bunch. Several bikers also visited here in pairs, lone travelers or as groups. Don’t be perturbed by the guesthouse or hotel accommodations. They are indeed fantastic inside as a 1^st timer may assume there is better than this. Although we were drained out when we arrived, Abeer insisted on taking me to the banks of the Tungabhadra that overlooked the ‘other’ side of this town. He insisted we stay at the same place he did some 8 odd years ago. We realized that much of the town, that was recently built on tourism demand, was torn down and a basic bare minimum was retained. We turned back and stayed inside the main city. The Virupaksha temple and scores of boulders and mantappas that loom in the dark surround it. Everything from bovine beings, cats, dogs, insects, bears and even monkeys coexist in perfect harmony. People were accommodating, kind, and eager to make your stay more than comfortable without questions or judgement. This characteristic is the polar opposite of helpful city folks who with the intent of helping you, go the extra mile with a lecture or a taunt in order to have you choose the alternative they preferred or profited from. The other side of Hampi is equally or rather more beautiful and takes you ‘inside’ the world of Hampi. Stretches of inexplicably balanced boulders against a landscape of toiled and irrigated fields meet the eye. The roads are well connected and semi pucca. Scooters and mopeds on rent are your best bet. Besides I'm always for giving the locals a bit of business. We scootered our way up to Sanapur Lake and the Hanuman temple which is a decent trek up a massive boulder spot. The reward up topisn't just divine blessings but a breathtaking view (360°) of Hampi. Surprisingly well connected with 2 housing buildings and a water tank on the ‘peak’ had become one of those ‘anything is possible’ junctures in my life. We lunched at the Whispering Rocks (an organic rustic stay in the forest area of Hampi) and vowed to come back during season time to stay on one of their huts or eco cave lodgings. New friends - check. At one point, we took the bike out to the closest town with an ATM to withdraw some money and have the bike checked by a local mechanic. Apart from the routine oil changes etc.the thing that struck me was when the mechanic dislodged a trapped dragonfly from the engine, walked carefully to a tree nearby and lay the insect to rest there. I thought ‘wow if this was any other place, they would crush or throw it away like solid grease'. I was awestruck with the humanitarian attitude and smiled. We ran into the Wolfpack Enfield riders (Vivek and Co.), exchanged a few notes and moved on like all routine encounters. The approaching side of Hampi is pure vegetarian cuisine and no alcohol zone. One does not even get eggs here. The across-river side is everything-goes area. One maybe dismayed when you read this but trust me, you won’t feel any remorse or withdrawal unless, drinking and partying is the aim. The other side can be crossed by a ferryboat that leaves almost all day till about 5pm for a nominal fee. Alternatively, one can road trip it by going around Hospete-Hampi roads by covering an additional 50 kms. We preferred to stay put and rest the bike.

The day we left Hampi, I was sad. Something had been bothering me on a personal level and the reality of the trip coming to its planned demise was what I was preparedly unprepared for. We packed in a good breakfast, bid our temporary farewells and set on the road to Chittradurga. Language proved to be a challenge and then not with all the hand movements and big grins… Despite the communication in a mix of English, Hindi and Tamil, we managed to make it to the main route toward Chittradurga. Roads were half-decent but not as bad as the worst I had seen so far. I was looking forward to Bangalore for some city feel, friends, family visits and the breweries. There came a moment where some random “smart” dude tied his bull to one of those mileage markers on a bridge and left her unattended on a 4-way highway. The result was the bull walked all the way to the opposite end with the rope noosed around her neck. We slowed the bike down only to have the rope caught in our engine. I got off and lured her to a standstill, got the rope separated from the engine and prompted rest of the traffic to slow down as well as the bull would be dragged and surely killed if it continued the being frightened, stuck and attempting to cross back. I still pray it’s safe. After this drama and yet another visual lesson stuck in my head, I focused on the road. Somewhere along I flashed my thumb and a smile under all my vigilante-esque gear at a lone Enfielder who was on a 350 with quite the gear load on him. He intercepted us and we stopped for a chai break and routine bike notes exchange. Jaya Sriram is a young 20 something architect from Chennai who resides in Auroville and like us is a solo rider. He has covered many terrains on his classic vintage 350cc and prefers his own self for company. He was only too happy to have us give him “pseudo” company and we realized we are all headed to Bangalore. Sri kept his speed to a decent oscillating 60-80 while we gunned the girl toward a 100. After 2 brief breaks AND exchanges, he suggested we halt at Chittradurga for a quick bite and then move on nonstop to Bangalore. As we decided to do so, somewhere along the way, an Enfield with 2 mid-elderly gentlemen intercepted him on the way. They all seemed familiar to each other until Sri cruised by us telling us with a beaming smile that the pillion was his father. We were already at Chittradurga and all 4 of us sat down for an Enfieldian meal of puris and bhaji. Was an interesting exchange where Abeer was given advice and a soft nudge to carry on from Bangalore and head to Auroville and further down south. There was jest and laughter as they all realized in mins I would be the one missing my boyo. Thereafter, we hopped on our bikes, said our goodbyes and moved on. We cracked Bangalore in a swift <3hrs. Roads were butter paper and traffic well behaved. Weather too was exceptionally decent. The bike at this point had started to rattle and vibrate a lot. To a point that her mirrors wouldn’t stay steady. The engine clearly had a mishap somewhere and no matter how hard we tried or Abeer tried to give her a listen, we couldn’t figure the EXACT problem. At Hampi she was decently serviced with a brand new oil change as well. None of that mattered at this point when even attempting to make her hit above 80 proved to be strenuous. It was probably the 1^st time she refused to cooperate with us which was criminal on a road and conditions such as the ones I described. We reached NandiDurga Road and instantly hit the RE service center. Without so much as a loosening a bolt, a diagnosis of crankshaft issues was made. This is like a doctor listening to you describe your fever and bluntly state you have dengue or malaria without the appropriate tests. We proceeded to take her to my brother’s place and rest her for the night until we decided what to do with her. It was Monday morning and I had a flight the next evening back home. Abeer had a train back to Pune with the bebe in cargo. Somehow, I knew it was not to happen.

We proceeded to hit the haunts: Church Street social, Watson’s, Windmills craftworks, The big pitcher etc. over the next 2 days. We even browsed forums to check the most highly recommended mechanic in Bangalore, someone named Nandan near Yeshwantpura, who looked at bebe and declared a good 3-4 days' worth of work. We were stumped and disappointed to a degree I can’t state here. Abeer opted to stay back the rest of the week and I was to fly home and make his travel arrangements available when they were ready. To this point, Bangalore weather was hot to pleasant until it decided to create the biggest jam for me and send out torrential rains making it impossible for me to make my flight. This made it officially a black mark on my flawless “no-flight-missed” track-record. Some quick thinking from the brother and kind GoAir officials, I was changed from an 8:30pm flight on Tuesday night to a 5:30am Wednesday morning flight at no extra cost. For me having to share one more night with my love was more than I could ask for as the familiar heart-in-my-throat feeling sank in. Yes I’m spoilt for loving him so much. After a few hours of rest, I left. Weary, sleep deprived, mix bag of emotions and NOT ready to touch work. I landed and headed straight to work in my avatar reserved only for the office premises and the kind no one recognizes me in. I had accidentally left my office ID card behind and given the organization I work for, a tempID was out of the question. Hence, le brother and boyo had to rush to BlueDart it to me at INR 400/- and it arrived in the nick of time (no adventure however miniscule escapes us). Thereafter, the bike bled us dry day after day until the cost reduced from 23k to a yet staggering 12k (this after some heated exchanges with RE officials that Abeer had gotten connected to). We were both angry with her and #RoyalEnfield for the shoddy piece of junk metal that she was eventually reduced to. 11 August 2015 marked her 1-year anniversary with us and it ended with a celebration followed by slumping unholiness. We decided to sell here there and then itself.

What ensued after is in my next blog post and frankly I was in for a HUGE surprise. :D 
Posthumous mention: After this trip, on 18 Sep 2015, Sriram informed us that his father passed away before his time due to a fatal cardiac arrest. I met him so very briefly and yet the experience over a lunch followed by numerous conversations with Sriram revolving around his father and his influences, almost felt like we knew him. A sad and untimely passing indeed. May he RIP.

BiKronicles 6: Pune – Mahabaleshwar

Sometimes the ordinary leads to the extraordinary.

Other times the extraordinary steps down to the ordinary.

Mon cheri je taime

Mahabaleshwar (henceforth referred to as Mahabi) is a typical hill station destination nestled atop unearthly gorgeousness in the state of Maharashtra. Like a default setting, Indian families with working parents and limited coinciding holidays or leaves pick a standard stretch between Mumbai and Pune to rest the weekend and keep the kids occupied. This is also true of Nashik and Matheran and the sorts.

Waterfall near Pratapgarh Fort

A new breed of us (not so new anymore) try to take off beaten paths by bike and sometimes even by foot (speak to my friend Melvin and he will navigate you there to the last pebble and rock in the terrain). Ever since our late monsoon trip to Mahabi last year we decided we needed to make it back here somehow. A break was overdue for me and a bike ride was abusively overdue. By now I had routinely been doing Mumbai-Pune by Asiad busses since the boy had the bebe tucked away in his garage and his momma was nestled in her comfort zone too. This meant Pune became a hostelling destination for me. I had to always look for cheap accommodation and the sorts. It was an adventure. I craved his time and attention in the sabbatical that had just taken shape since he quit on 07 July 2015 from the workforce altogether. At 1^st I was excited for his new venture because my vested interest in seeing him shine and helping him brighten that sheen was all that I had. Then he slipped deeper into the warmer blanket of this sabbatical leaving me less enthusiastic and more worn from playing cheerleader. I made peace that he had worked for 3 yrs straight and THIS was his chance to really recharge the battery to the 100% mark and then plunge headon into what he was contemplating.

JK Motel, Metgutad Taluka

After 2 failed attempts at making the Mahabi trip, 3^rd time was a lucky charm. We decided to stock up by beating the weather at her own game and make it by hook or by crook. I bought my 1^st full faced helmet (Spartan Kratos) at the stubborn insistence of Abeer who was being sensible and protective. It was stuffy but I managed to get used to it.

I left Mumbai post work on the Dadar-Pune Asiad bus. It was the week after the massive landslide that had blocked and damaged Adoshi tunnel effectively fracturing the entire flow and speed of traffic flowing in and out of Lonavala-Khandala ghats. This meant a long and treacherous journey for me. I was soaked from the lashing rains getting from Andheri to Dadar and walking in the downpour to the bus. The superb Asiad team always take good care of me with preferred seats and a select seat partner too. I proceeded to Indianize my journey by putting up wet stuff and my shoes to dry hoping they would. Ppfftttt barely. The journey drained me but I finally made it to Pune at 10:30pm to see my Abeer waiting hungry and forlorn for the evening. We had probably the quickest dinner at German Bakery and I left to stay over with my favorite couple– Megha and Parth. Young, funky and oh-so hospitable. Megha had made it back from torrential rains in Lonavala where her office had averyill-timedoffsite. I said my hellos, negated any attempt for chai or food and passed out in the state I walked in.

Valley enroute Mum-Goa Highway

Missed the alarm the next morning, which irked Abeer.Rushed and readied myself with Parth’s help and headed to Starbucks to meet my boyo for a quick breakfast. Having done that we left for Mahabi. The ride was breathtaking. We started at 7:45am, prayed to the weather gods and reached Mahabi early noon. Stayed at JK Motel, Metgutad Taluka (Mahabi-Panchgani Rd). A last minute find via Groupon India getaways. The room was comfortable, clean and overlooked waves of monsoon‑washed greenery. The weather was wet and cold with dense descending fog all through the valleys and plateau. It was barely off-season as we settled in and headed to the main market area that was crowded to capacity. A coffee from its only CCD and we proceeded on foot. Everything was damp and dewy but I loved it. We walked through all the streets and explored. We had done a trip before where we had done all the tourist spots so this weekend was just about relaxing and soaking in more us time. I would say this was reminiscent of our Udaipur trip.

Everyone from Mumbai and all the closest conceivable distances had descended here unified by the idea of it being quiet and off-season. It was funny but I didn’t mind a few folks around. Although the traffic and incessant honking was obnoxious character addition to this otherwise calm and serene hill station. Much of the establishments were covered in plastic or just closed for the monsoons. There were bursts of light rain showers that made the air colder and damper. Light weaved from dark to brightness on occasion. We tucked into a delectable Mughlai lunch at Shere Punjab and made our way back to the room after sneaking in a tall bottle of red. A few swigs and nearly 4-5 hours of deep afternoon slumber was just the rest we needed.

At 6:00pm we decided the weather was way to gloomy to remain stuck in, so we set off

on a walk outside. It was brief as we ran back in when it started raining. Watched television, talked at length, debated, and connected on levels we skipped or ignored when tackling our toxic city lives. The weekend before was supposed to be this trip and both of us battled the worst case of the viral flu as we just tried to keep each other’s spirits and health up. I love Abeer for this. He was my rock and pillar and never let my foundations crack or crumble. We decided to get out for some dinner, packed in enough warmth to look like Himalayan yaks and headed out on the dark unlit stretch of highway. We travelled barely 3 odd kms and decided to settle for something closer to the motel as the weather was unpredictable and Abeer was very disconcerted about night time riding with high beams abusing his still recovering vision. I couldn’t have agreed more. We had a quiet dinner of kebabs and biryani at Hirkani Restaurant, planned our next trip and headed back. Having rested all day, sleep evaded us. So we watched television, drank the whole lot of the red and passed out.

The next morning we wanted an early start to combat the weather. However, leaving on an empty stomach wasn’t a good idea. The manager assured us breakfast by 8:30am, which arrived eventually by 9am as it was ‘imported’ from another bigger resort. Indian fare of samosas, idlis, poha and accompaniments were the choices. Our stomachs were badly rattled from the ridiculous spice levels of interior Maharashtrian cuisine so we carefully ate as much as we could and took off for our trip back. We opted for the Mumbai-Goa highway towards Pen instead of the Mumbai-Pune return route. Up to villages surrounding the Savitri River, we had enviable scenery, cooperative weather, shades of green I never imagined in a congregation and so much beauty to take it. Dense fog, gushing waterfalls and winding washed ghats via Pratapgarh Fort marked this route. The roads were smooth and buttery until a stop at a village 10kms before the NH. A gentleman traveling the opposite direction told us that the route was a nightmare from here on. For the next 10kms I reasoned that the man was a silly grump. Until the 1^st pothole and the 2^nd and then the nightmare of the ENTIRE stretch riddled with monsoon damage the size of the moon hit us. Suddenly mile after mile reminded us of a spinal cord gone numb and a spa therapy somewhere awaiting our appointment. There were mild showers; the kind that keep you damp but not completely drenched followed by harsh sunlight that bake you to burning dryness.

This phase was reminiscent of our trip from Ahmedabad to Mumbai (11 hrs) where the last 3 hrs stretch was extremely painful. Overall, a journey worth 3 hrs took us ~8 hrs. We reached at 5pm and headed straight to Irish House in our muddy clothes for some brews and grub.The best part was the rains unleashed their form the second we parked our bike in the garage. The guy upstairs saved us some respite from bad weather and I couldn’t bow more if I tried (damn you lower back).

Here ended our Mahabi stint and here began the planning of a southern conquest! Stay tuned for more BiKronicles.

Mandatory celebration post-ride :)

For more pictures: https://instagram.com/gatacdo7/
https://instagram.com/tipsies/

Unplanned parenthood

“She trots in with button sized pupils rimmed with fiery amber. There is no sloth, greed, anger, resistance, distrust, hate… none of that. It’s beyond pure and full of longing and love.She runs to me, clips her paws into my trouser legs. *Tch… those threads are ripped out now*. She looks at me “Pick me up momma”. I do and the trousers, the scratches, the hell day at work, the ever-disappointed folks and any tiff with the better half… all vanish. Soft silken fur with a warm cuddly bundle lie naked in my arms. A damp snout and an eager tongue greet my chin and neck. That’s my baby girl. And I’m her momma.”

Jennifer Aniston spoke of something very powerful. “I don't like [the pressure] that people put on me, on women — that you've failed yourself as a female because you haven't procreated. I don't think it's fair. You may not have a child come out of your vagina, but that doesn't mean you aren't mothering — dogs, friends, friends' children”. This really struck me. Mothering or being a mother is a powerful role. It involves nurturing, protecting, providing, caring for, teaching and so many many tireless (and thankless)activities by one hapless person. Nowhere, does it mention the need or requisite of a vagina or womb to begin this process. Else, we would shamelessly undermine the work of remand homes, foster homes, social workers and adopters.

I am not a mother. Not by the physical sense of having given birth. That doesn’t mean that I do not miss or imagine the idea of having my womb filled one day and experiencing the hilarious and serious joys of pregnancy followed by being armed with the lifelong weapon “I kept you in here for 9 months….”. Motherhood is a beautiful, amorous, unique experience. There was a time I was desperate to be a mother. I wanted a child and I wanted to do the whole 9-yards. I hadthe right man and I was ready. The man wasn’t and unfortunately, thereafter, the relationship and the desire died with me. Or so I thought. It doesn’t. It lies like a dormant volcano. Quiet and unprovoked. It just plays occasional moody tunes with the strings lining your heart and one fine day a whole symphony resonates. That’s when I adopted Elsa and a year after, Ella.

I thought it was all just a string of events that fell into my lap. It wasn’t. These were subconscious plans unknowingly orchestrated by me. I decided to take them on as babies. Mere infants with just one or two people telling me what to expect. There was no baby shower, no diapers or cribs, no baby things and no celebrations. It was me and voiceless little ones. I had to observe, be extremely patient, breathe, not complain about staying up nights, roll over and adjust sleeping positions, hunt for their little furry bodies in a pile of pillows etc. I had to unlearn and learn new ways to care for them, integrate them, medicate them, feed them, and love them. All of it came naturally. I was surprised at how well I coped. I assumed I would be a massive failure and out of pity, I would have to give them up. For me that was a clause that didn’t exist in my decision. They were coming home and growing old with me. There was no exchange, abandonment, giving up or any of the sorts. They maybe another species but I would be their mother and behave like one too.

Having them has changed me significantly. I am calmer, more patient (with them and others too), more conditioned for acceptance and looking forward to love in a different exchange. Over 2 years, there are stories, photos, instances, episodes, nightmares, fights, scolding, surprises and abundance of love. Each day is a new jungle theme at home. Today they break something, tomorrow they create something. Today they eat something and later they decide it’s not gourmet enough for their royal palates. Today they are well behaved and tomorrow they make up by being real rascals. Today they love each other and tomorrow they both question me as to why I brought the other one home. Today they are calm and tomorrow the newspaper and freshly laundered clothes see the ire of my attempts at disciplining them. No, you can’t train cats. I mean you could condition them but dare not train them. They feel insulted and have that “for real… I mean c’mon.” look on their faces. They have multiple personalities and each of those personalities is diabolical. Barely do you make peace with one and understand how to tackle it a new one springs up... almost like a fresh challenge in your face. My foster contact is always full of praises for my Elsa and Ella. He and his family gush over how cute they are, well behaved, loving, sit on laps and do not struggle or wiggle out, eat and drink EVERYTHING and play with other cats. NONE of that happens in my house. They treat my abode like the gangsta’s hideout and anything outside of these premises is remand and correctional facilities.

I don’t mind them at all. They love me and I love them. People’s concept of cats being selfish moody beings couldn’t be more tangent. They have a magnanimous and interesting personality. They are super expressive and very individualistic creatures. This only… a momma can see and understand. Elsa loves a good head scratch; Ella drools and snoozes on belly rubs. Elsa loves his privacy; Ella needs constant companionship. Elsa loves fish and chunks; Ella likes kibbles. Elsa is moody, bossy and stubborn; Ella is calm, feisty and fun. Elsa is always hungry and only wishes to sleep like a true tabby; Ella eats minimal and gallops and amuses herself every chance she gets. Elsa has dichromic green-blue eyes; Ella has fiery amber eyes. I could go on and this could be a book. But they love each other and me fiercely. They sense my absence and I deeply feel theirs when I am traveling or on the road. They wait for me at the door and I feel empty if I enter a house and they aren’t around doing their signature stretch and tumble over maneuver. I could go hungry but I dare not forget their food. Life, as I knew it, had changed.

Every plan, trip and me not being around involved thinking of ‘what about them’. They became the core of all decisions. Their presence and absence was the nucleus of my actions. Dad chided me about getting them home and then being a negligent pet parent. It took me a whole year and a stubborn Elsa in his teens for my father to understand that they wanted to be left alone to play and thrive and not have us constantly at them. They were to be fed minimally and allowed maximum breathing space. It was safe to say, my dad compared their upbringing to dogs. He assumed I was torturing them by keeping ‘em in a massive 2BHK to run amok, eat and sleep (yes…. such profound torture). But they are happy, playful, cute and cuddly and think up new adventures for me every day. I smack them and then I grab them and love them equally. They are smart enough to know that despite humans being aware of the big dilated pupil routine, it ACTUALLY works. That maneuver completely changes the expression and emotion on their faces and the ones evoked from us. Humans cease to be any form of force in front of our feline counterparts.

When I walk into a room and see Ella, I see a bundle of innocence in its purest form. I see pure love and I see 0 expectations except one of love that’s unconditional in its defined form. She is barely 2 palm sizes tall and white and tiny and in that vast space of a room, I see her button eyes longing for me to hold her. How can I not? How can anyone not? She was christened Minnie and was rescued and fostered with her twin brother Mouse. She gelled superbly well with 3 adult cats in the foster home and showed them all who’s boss at the tender age of 2 months. I loved her to bits as she reminded me of the wildness that’s laying trapped in my heart. My only apprehension lay in separating the siblings. I knew taking them both would be too much so I stuck to just taking Minnie as I needed a female to keep my Elsa in check and give him company. Both neutered, healthy and adorable as they explored each other post being friendzoned and devoid of any natural attraction. They look out for each other just as much as they beat each other up. Ella loves dad and will NEVER miss an afternoon nap beside him or on top of him, (the stance is akin to her having conquered some giant in battle). Meanwhile dad sleeps oblivious of a furball parked on his body somewhere. When she is accidentally/deliberately locked up inside a cupboard or cabinet, Elsa parks himself outside that door until we open it and let her out. This is one of the signature ways of finding where either cat is. Litter trails are another story. Elsa is prissy and clean like any cat. Miss Elsa thinks litter is something to express boundless joy in as she rolls and scatters the fresh lot of it ALL over the place – much to the chagrin of my father who has enough reasons to throw us all out. I watch her go nuts, imagine a smile on her face and then clean up. A routine I am used to :)

2 years into mothering these two has taught me tremendous amount of all things mothers do except being a human mother. As some random poster proudly declared, ‘yes… my children have paws’. I am not sure if now, I ever wish to bear my own or procreate or my better half wishes for one of our own. However, I think that these two do a good job of filling that void. I don’t think of them as temporary or as replacements. I don’t think of them as wild or something to pass a few years or attempt a trial. They are my heart, my song, my love, my kids and my endless stories that escape every time someone asks me about them. They are a reason for many things good in my life and their value is at par if not above having human kin. They may not have the ivy league dream, the marriage and the future, but they have their own individual future. I invest in them with as much love and pampering as I would do my own blood and flesh. I love them fiercely and cannot imagine in any realm that I am less than a mother. I hope that their biological momma is smiling and content that I am keeping her lil ones on a pedestal :)

Paws and purrs!

Workout Pains!

One would imagine that going for a workout would be fun, relaxing, stress relieving and quiet. Well…. Think again!

I have been through the rut and cycle of much of the fitness offerings in Mumbai city. There was a time I was obsessed with trying out any fancy offering in sports and fitness and decide if I would go for more than 2 classes/sessions a week after a trial class. If there was an accompanying enthusiastic fool, then he/she would succumb and we wouldn’t waste time or energy in beating down the doors soon.

Dance, jazz, drums (yep don’t underestimate upper body workout), parkour, martial arts, karate, gyms, swimming, bboying, hiphop, crossfit, personalized training, dumbbell marathon workout, Capoeira, yoga, kalaripayattu and errrr… many more. On my to-do list are pole workout, Pilates and scuba diving in the pipeline. Despite 2 busted and surgically repaired knees, I have no intention of stopping or slowing down. P.S. This does not include occasional lazy ass bouts of nothingness. In my experience, doing nothing is a workout too :P

The good part of all the above was knowledge and experience. To know that there are folks who lived in absolutely poverty to mediocre standards just to fulfill their passion and keep it going. To impart it day after day in practice and training without expecting it to become popular at the speed of a bush fire. They put their comfort, their price, their personal time and even their family on the line to make things happen. Despite media exposure and workshops, a marginal percentage actual manage to make it to the big league – and by that I mean having at least 2 or more high profile clients and a periodic mention on social media. The rest remain to slug it in the mud and a majority to embrace defeat, shrug and move on. Their skills are narrated as after stories or introductory glory moments to give them an edge in an unknown crowd. The more exotic the art, the tougher to have it established and running.

What ropes me in is their passion. That passion is what convinces us learners to follow in their footsteps and dedicate few valuable hours from our day/week to the skill. This also accounts for the commute back and forth from the center – case in point when I worked myself to the bone doing Malad – Powai – Khar/Andheri – Malad almost 3/4 times a week. Over the last 10 years, I drove myself to the bone working out as much as 3 hours at a stretch at the gym, doing dance or yoga classes, swimming (when time, money, a clean balanced pool and mood permitted) and then followed a brief confused period in bboying followed by a long term stint at capoeira. All the art forms showed immediate and visible effects on my body and mind. Some very slight and some rather drastic. Gymming caused me to drop to a number that was underweight for my height and frame. But for someone like me who has battled weight since puberty, they were golden numbers in the 40s and I was only thrilled to drive it down rather than stay healthy and up. The result was atrocious skin for the 1^st time in my life, disrupted monthly cycle and deficiencies due to a not so well constructed diet.

Poor knowledge and even poor skills can cause severe long-term damage – something I have learnt personally. Capoeira unearthed a part of me that lay dormant for far too long. The art form just married my body movements and it was possible due to all my activities, I had the wavelength and flexibility to pull of moves that takes months for some new folks into this art form. I was home. And I made it home. Weather, space constraints, distance, time, energy, fuel, nourishment, balance… nothing mattered. I hated and loved people around me fiercely. But I was clear… I was glued to the class and the instructions than people and superficial offerings. I didn’t care if I missed a party or if I was early to leave from a party. No one lived my side anyways and some were more than eager to drop me home, repeatedly. Don’t think I have ever declined those many offers over and over again. But I hyperventilated if I either missed a class or someone occupied my comfy lil spot on the left extreme corner (1^st row) in class. I HATED that. They were minor possessive elements in my mind. I ignored it by watching year after year, month after month all kinds of folks come in. The class was no different from the gym. 

There were the wanderers and socializers among the scattered hardcore trainers.

People in Mumbai have learned to be comfortable in the tiniest spot. By that I mean, you can take a 360° turn but not really stick your arm out. The concept of giving space in life, in person, in class, in gym, in public spaces does not exist. And people carry this attitude with them everywhere they go and every discipline they infiltrate. In gym, you could hurt yourself from machines or anyone with weights etc. In Capoeira class you could easily have an arm or worse still, a leg, land on any part of you and most certainly add a few painfully sore days if not worse to your body. Safety couldn’t be further pressed and stressed about in class and yet not everyone pays heed or is mindful of it. It’s just flaying arms and legs for some who just wouldn’t care about the consequences or others around them.

Fast forward to when I joined Mickey Mehta’s 360° routine. So Capoeira had physically and emotionally damaged me in some irreparable ways. I realized that I would need a lot of time before I sensed that freeing feeling when I 1^st started practicing and training in it and that no one in class, not even in jest, would try to hurt me. So in the meantime, a suddenly ballooned weight (per my standards) prompted me to consider something tamer to be added to my routine. Mum enrolled me into MM360. It worked for her and she thought it would at least help me. Boy it did…. Calisthenics, cardio, boot camp, yoga (extreme and asanas), dance, stretch class, grow tall, aerobics, drills, well they had it all packed into 1 hr sessions 7 days a week all year long. One could pick and choose any one class per day and walk out content. Who doesn’t like variety served on a platter and the freedom to do ANYTHING from a slot reserved between 6am and 9pm. I used it and abused it. I was addicted. But I was careful and I trained sensibly. It worked wonders for me and the trainers who are so well taught and inducted into the system became my go-to folks. Early mornings and early-late evenings were packed like a Mumbai local. The odd “housewife” slot so to speak (that’s the term for 11am to 6pm) was scanty to empty sometimes. There were days I was the ONLY student and class was conducted with no discounts or trimmings from the actual routine. I loved it and I used my work-from-home privilege to slip in a class anytime. Sometimes even during a lunch break. But them ladies got on my nerves when they joined class. There is always the collective echo of wailing and yawning and laziness. I still cannot comprehend why would you attend a class if the only aim was to mark attendance. This wasn’t school or the army where it was traced and a consequence was announced. The only consequence was weight gain and not being fit. Them ladies would come and collectively slow me down by blocking my way with their group chatter or slow the class down by prompting the instructor to either reduce the number of repetitions or change the movement to an easy “doable” one. To add to the bane of my problems was the air conditioning. In a tiny studio space, 3 split ACs and 2 high speed noisy fans HAD to be on. The common sense that we warm up our bodies to work out and not cool it down with these tertiary gadgets didn’t prevail. I scouted areas of the class, however farther away or awkwardly placed just to avoid the direct blast of these gadgets. When the class would be packed, I would try to be patient and accommodate folks around me. It came at a cost. They didn’t feel or think the same way. Selfishness bid itself a warm welcome right with my breathing radius.

I joined Dumbelled workout regime as a trial for a month. T’was 3ce a week 6am-7am. Rigorous marathon training and tailor made for runners and marathon enthusiasts. I did not fit in and yet I managed to drag my crucified knees through 4kms of running non-stop at 6am temperatures. Discipline, attire, routine and stress levels were uniform and high. Just what I needed to push me over the edge and get me to do what I loved but just couldn’t find the right tools to aid me. I always needed a trainer and someone who would drive me down the road. However, the idea of doing this just one more time made me grovel and I had no will to join a bunch I barely spoke to or connected with. I think connection is key in a group. It makes you wake up and look forward to joining them no matter how bad your day was. Workouts in any shape or form always relieve you. But this… I left after a trial month. No regrets.

This was just a handful of issues I faced working out. At Goregaon Sports Club, home to the whos who of the rich and classless, I was hit on by men 3-4 times my age, causing my friend the member abundant embarrassment and refusal to bring me back again lest they pester him for my number and details. I once left a gym because the instructor insisted he wanted to marry me after training me for 2 years. Once refused to join a gym because the eager instructor looked like he would propose marriage after 2 years of training. Swimming was another story. If you find yourself in a slot that includes anyone, you are in for smelly dirty kids not minded by their parents or dirty old men who inch their whale like bodies close to yours and try to brush past or even slip in a creepy ‘hi’ in the middle of your laps. Excess chlorine and sometimes questionable hygiene drive you away faster than Juhu beach water could.

Working out is a headache and a boon. 3 scenic gardens around my home keep me grounded. Yes, I have to pass couples making bad attempts to hide in bushes to do what they do in bushes. Some quite out there and almost making babies. But if I strain my neck and eyes enough, I can pack in a good run followed by a few workout moves. The oxygen is a good trade off.

Clothing. Wait… APPROPRIATE clothing. Such a debate. Women ‘dress up’ here for workouts. I have seen pushup bras and heavy makeup beneath the perspiration. Tight clothing and see through it all clothing. And never a proper fit or a comfort. Adjusting and flaunting workout wear is THE workout. Its awkward and just a tch tch moment for spectators. Why or why would one want to be discomforted in the outfit that’s supposed to be the MOST comfortable. I once wore Quecha brand sportswear to a gym where I was told off by the gym instructor to cover up. I was shocked that racer-back was inappropriate in the near 40° heat but a camel toe and a tight T-shirt donned by someone else was acceptable. Bias! Both men and women also tend to conveniently ignore what to wear underneath the attire. Sometimes it’s way too embarrassing to acknowledge or even pass by in the same room. I shall not delve into the inappropriate details of what disasters those result in.  

In the end if not a workout, at least our wits, common sense, visual sense and our humor has a good workout and we make up for the rest elsewhere. I will never run out of feeling that initial pulse of getting my bikini bod and then leaving whatever space thinking “what the hell was THAT”. But if I never do any of these, I wont have any more experiences or make attempts to stay fit. Gotta 'ruuuuun'