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' 

Thump thump...

*Thump Thump…*

Extreme fidgeting, relocating seats to get a better view

*Thump Thump…*

Do I look pretty? Should I just wait here? Damn I forgot the rose and chocolates. *Thump Thump…*

I waited at the arrival lounge of the CS Domestic Terminal for his flight to land. Hadn’t much opportunities in the past where he landed and I could come and get him. The novelty of the pickup and drop before and after a journey remain a romanticized concept in my head. After all, who doesn’t want to know or feel like they were missed – even if for a day!

I was excited. He was coming home after an overnight trip to Delhi. Yes, I see him every day. Yes, I speak to him every day. Yes, I know where he is every day. For me that didn’t mean his entry and exit didn’t make a difference or I would shrug and go ‘meh… its just a trip!’  For me it was beyond important. If he wasn’t a part of my day, clearly the day had changed. And THAT is what I wanted to convey to him even though his flight landed at 11:17pm late night.

I got home post work, met the mother, had dinner, and got increasingly restless like a child before Christmas eve. Dressed up and left for the airport, armed with a book in case an impending delay was going to stand in the way of my happiness. I knew I was making a fuss over something miniscule; but he knew me and he knew my fussing. I got there and parked myself right in front of the arrival gate. The view was marred by a few annoying kids left to run amok and climb the railings. I waited, occasionally glancing at the monitor to see the flight status (the website said an early landing was expected). Once it blinked ‘LANDED’, I got up and made my way to the arrival gate, closer. THAT’S WHEN IT HAPPENED.

My heart was pounding. This was as unexpected and involuntary as my snapping at folks who inched closer to the gate only to be pushed behind by security who included me in his unruly bunch to discipline. My impatience was mounting and the heart raced faster. There was a 20min gap before I even saw him emerge. In the interim he called and I lied I couldn’t make it and apologized for it. I thought about my anxiousness and was happy that even after 2.5 years together, the heart still raced to see him. There was no stagnancy and there was no mundane emotion. It was pure and involuntary and I felt good experiencing it after such a bloody long time.

He came; I hugged him and giggled. He was tired and worn out with barely a few hours of sleep tucked in between 2 tiresome days. It didn’t matter – his appearance or his lack of reciprocation. He hugged me, we kissed and that’s what meant the world to me. I thought we would hop in a cab and head straight home. Instead, he made room for a drink at Starbucks where we waited for an Uber cab. On the ride home, he passed out with my hand on his head. I dropped him home and with a kiss goodnight headed back to my place. I was content. It was barely an hour or two but it was quality for me and I did the best I could to make his day worthwhile.

I hope for no more such separations.

I pray for always feeling like it’s the 1^st time we are meeting.

I dream of happy moments such as this.

I plan new surprises for many such moments!

The Theories of Something

A long distance connection with a <1% chance of ever form of survival.

A voluntary life of struggle taken up with bludgeoning guilt overpowered by the idea that love conquers all.

An unlikely connect of minds and souls overlooking a connect of the physical being.

An attachment borne of necessity. A necessity to disregard loneliness that crept from deliberate neglect.

This year started on a promising note for me. Cinematically speaking. Art and inspiration from life wasn’t dead after all. Hollywood (but of course) bravely paraded real life dramas and stories, each brilliantly performed and executed, each expectedly leaving one to THINK once the credits rolled. I’m not sure if every member of the audience picked up on the underlying thread of conundrum that ran through the lives of the real people depicted on reel as well as the lives of the reel people who were under tremendous pressure to bring this to screen.

Here is what I picked up: Humanity, Humanness, Being human. Clichéd. Yes. This is an era of disconnect and judgment. An era of carelessness, selfishness and temporary greed. Everything must be acquired quickly, with zero pressure or effort and everything and everyone is effervescently dispensable. Everything and everyone must be ‘blissfully’ aware and accept this reality or “get over it already”. And all of this falls under a new fascist undermined category YOLO. Yep just like everything… apparently, this too is a magnanimously arrogant abbreviation.

The stories depicted in American Sniper, The Theory of Everything, Foxcatcher and The Imitation Game all bore semblance and yet recited individual stories. I could relate to the main characters but not walk in their shoes in real time. They involved the struggle and gamble of an Iraqi war veteran fighting inexplicable demons collated over 4 tours, the astounding survival and coping mechanism of Stephen Hawkings, a ‘different’ and mentally sidelined math genius coming to terms with who or what he really is and the ultimate battle of loneliness and acceptance of a wealthy man raised to feel like he didn’t belong anywhere. People may know slivers of THEIR story but the silver screen depicted the stories of the people who made THEM and struggled with them. Their families, friends, circumstances and members who came and went in a blink yet changed their lives for a spin. The movies packed in all their tears and agonies and moments of indecent weakness in 2-3hrs tops. But real life documents years and minutes and hours that feel like ‘space time’ on the reel. THAT is what I took away. To imagine walking in their shoes for more than what I saw. To imagine the depth of their feelings. To imagine their limitations and their attitude to life. To imagine and maybe practice any of it to my benefit.

It’s always easier to imagine than believe or experience. Apathy grows from lack of imagination or experience. Apathy has become the natural order of things. “So what. It happens to everyone. Forget it. Move on.” Almost mocking the argument that humans and their emotions aren’t switches. We are expected to switch on and switch off now more than ever. The end of connections and relationships is ‘convenient’. Disability (mental or physical) are rationales for abandonment. A stray person who has no clue of your foundations has the ability to shake it and relocate it in a matter of seconds. Social media is the common enemy and the boon – it reminds me of Skynet Systems in The Terminator (franchise) where robots and computers meant to fix the world ultimately become the arch enemy. Social media plays such a diabolical role. All the referenced movies didn’t have the ‘evils’ of social media or simply translated as – easy access to the EXIT signs from life. They stopped. Took a breath. Shed a tear or more. Listened. Confronted. Introspected. Smiled. Provided comfort and security. Measured friendship and love in one person. Moved forward. Helped build vs. destroy. Empathized. Worked for betterment and lived within each other’s realm than outside.

One of the strangest questions I was thrown after ‘The Theory of Everything’ screening was would I have forgiven Jane Wilde for her momentary lapse. The question was also sarcastically burdened on my morale compass because I was expected to NOT forgive her and if I did then how did I advocate cheating. I was no one to forgive or judge Jane Wilde-Hawking’s character or the real person. She wasn’t looking for thrill in the woods and her intent wasn’t one of abandonment of her husband, her family or even her duties toward Stephen. She was a tireless, vulnerable and struggling woman who had voluntarily and lovingly kept her commitment to Stephen but never anticipated the valleys that would draw her to absolute darkness. How could anyone anticipate so? She didn’t leave Stephen and her duties and commitment were unfaltering. She wasn’t complaining or bad mouthing her partner. She wasn’t taking to social media for sympathy votes or measuring her current market status despite the upheaval of her personal woes. She wasn’t neglecting her husband or family and throwing tantrums or attitude to showcase her martyrdom. She didn’t call on thrills or embarrass herself in alcohol or substances to use them as excuses for her ‘supposedly’ momentary lapse of common sense. There was no cruelty in Jane Wilde. There was no cruelty in Chris Kyle’s reaction to his ever suffering and agonized spouse. There was no apathy in Joan Clarke as she embraced mind over body with Alan Turing, accepting his homosexual self (this coming from that period and time when it was a punishable offense). There was no impatience in Dave Schultz when he left everything and eventually died despite struggling with an egotistical emotionally wavered brother and an equally fragile John DuPont.

I have had a considerably luxurious life when I look at them and imagine million others whose lives and chronicles haven’t made it to a book or screen. I think less now when Abeer doesn’t ‘measure up’ to my visual compass and instead open the view to ‘panorama’ to capture what I am missing from his expression of love and comfort. I aim to be calmer and less displaying of my emotions. Not everything needed to be in the open. I intend to find more of myself or rather regain what I have lost of my identity. I intend to be vocal about what matters to me and then let go if it refused to come within compromising radii of it. I intend a lot of things.

Most importantly, I intend not to forget these lessons and add more and more humbling equations to build this equation till my last breath.

BiKronicles 5: Vadodara-Udaipur-Ahmedabad

Our maiden long coup. The sunsets and the moon.
The cold and the sun, beating down on us like old rum.
We packed in our bags and tucked away dreams.
Argued some distance and loved more fiercely.
‘Tis hard to travel heavy, ‘tis cold to travel alone.
But it ain’t that bad when I have you to call my own!

Mumbai-Vadodara (Karjan NH8)-Udaipur-Ahmedabad-Mumbai

02-06 Jan 2015, 5 days, 1800kms, 7-20°C, 2 souls, 1 Royal Enfield Classic 500, 1 couple, 1 Cramster saddle bag + 1 backpack

Udaipur, Venice of the east, is the most romantic city in India – probably on the list of romantic destinations around the world too. Everyone said it, social media concurred with it and then Abeer said it a few times. For me the last source was most important. HE found a place in India that steadfastly remained an intimate destination and he wanted us to go there. The plan was set while returning on the Maru Sagar Express from Udupi to Mumbai. That’s how trips are made… When 1 ends, another begins.

December 2014, Prelims

Checking to see how the Bebe is holding up

After ensuring that everyone was occupied with their own NYE plans (or the lack of one), we decided to kick-start ours. As usual, I was in top gear with the preps. This was a challenge for us in terms of distance and gear. Safety was paramount to comfort and luxury. So we enlisted things we spoke about gathering for our bike closet but didn’t quite get around to doing it. Abeer is a last minute person and I excessively occupied myself with hunting down the most romantic location in Udaipur to splurge on. The delusional cat in me even considered the currently-out-of-reach Taj Lake Palace Hotel. Luckily, before I could splurge our expenses on some ridiculously overpriced space, he told me to go low key. And so I did. Lesson: Wait a few days before you are 100% sure you wanna book a place and your plan is set with dates.

The week before the trip was pure constructive chaos. Extra spark plugs and little kits for the bike were collected, service was done, helmets and gear shopping was done, bags were packed to assess luggage and I was smart (then considered not so) to carry an extra backpack where all the excess shopping would nestle itself. We had an early dinner celebration on the 1^st night (a day that could’ve ideally added to the trip) and called it in. My babies were gonna stay away the longest this time and I kept thinking of them when I traveled back and forth to drop them in foster care. They had plenty new furry friends and that warmed my heart.

Friday, 2^nd Jan - Eventful starts

We had a tad bit of a late start than planned. We left from Mindspace, Malad at 6:40am and rode nonstop till the highway. I made coffee and breakfast at home and we loaded our Cramster bag and I carried the half-loaded backpack. The weather had a cold draft and before we could even exit Navi Mumbai, we were met with dense fog and mild condensation that made visibility near 0 and our gear wet. All vehicles had slowed down and their blinkers partially helped us get through some river bridge overpasses. At one point, I saw a faint outline of a board and asked Abeer to slow down until we came to a sudden halt. A few meters ahead was a steep drop on to some rocks. Luckily, I focused hard and after breathing a sigh of relief and not wanting to waste any more daylight time, we took off. We made 2 halts for some chai and petrol in this duration. At an average speed of 80-100km/hr in this weather, we crossed the state border into Gujarat at 9:45am and reached Vapi at 12:00pm. Our progress was good, we were doing decent time and the weather was pleasant as we had put on warm clothes, bandanas and balaclavas, head buffs, tightly strapped helmets, boots and leg warmers and gloves topped with our warm jackets. At Vapi the bike started to give us some trouble when accelerated to touch 100 and Abeer wanted it checked out as even I felt a wobbly sensation as a pillion rider. After a brief halt at a local mechanic who assumed it was the ECU circuit box, we proceeded to hunt for a Royal Enfield Showroom/service center. At this time, I really wanted to use the restroom. I found one after a 15-20min hunt and walk and wondered how on earth did these folks survive without a bathroom. We found an RE showroom/service center on NH 8 belonging to and run by Ojas Patel. This part of the trip made a huge dent in our planning. The bike was looked over thoroughly and at 1^st assumed to be the ECU circuit which costs 9k. After seeking approval under warranty and what not, the owner Ojas, a young bike enthusiast himself, insisted that his service staff give the bike a long run on the highway to confirm it. Turns out it wasn’t the ECU box and it took ~3hrs to figure that the spark box under the seat was just loose and needed to be taped and put in place. In this time, we were deep in conversation with Ojas who was warm and very hospitable. He openly spoke of his desire to own his own Royal Enfield, his rides and trips, the bike groups and accidents and injuries. He currently runs this showroom and only service center available for miles. He spoke rather candidly of the manufacturing of the bike, issues and how to fix them, how many vehicles he has and what it cost him etc. Incidentally, after a 6yr whirlwind courtship, he married his college sweetheart who gave up an HR job to help him run the service center. After some tea and McDonald meals, we packed up and bid adieu at 2:45pm. They didn’t charge us a penny and that experience left a warm memory in my mind.

When in love, selfie

Post this unplanned halt, we were doing double time and 120km/hr to reach Ahmedabad. The rule was to avoid nighttime riding. One brief stop at McDonalds in Surat and a very hearty chat with a Harley Street 750 rider named Dixit, we sped on. Losing daylight, we decided to ditch Ahmedabad and stay in Baroda instead which seemed like a more doable distance. Tired, mentally washed, and excessively restless with back pain, we stopped on the NH8, 30kms before Baroda city, at the ONLY highway food stop lined with CCD, Subway and Dominos and a Le Nandini motel above it. Abeer’s exhaustion prompted us to ditch the last 30kms to halt here instead. As customary, our appearance and ride invited people and revelers who wanted to know our plans, give us advice on the roads and routes and connect with us in the future. There were surprisingly many folks driving 3-days nonstop from Goa (Sunburn and Supersonic) to back home right up to places like Chandigarh – the NYE’s effect still evident on them. Apparently, one such SUV with party folks headed to Chandigarh were tailing us from Vapi and had intercepted a Maruti Swift on the highway who tried to race and overtake us (something I consider reckless and rash). These revelers helped get rid of them and let us know about it. Another such group headed to Ahmedabad, also came to our rescue as the motel receptionist/staff/only human refused us a room as we were an unmarried couple. Their norm was anything goes including alcohol consumption and months of vacancy but no unmarried folks allowed. The 30-sec ago friends turned out to be the motel owner’s partner and promptly got us a room. At 1k a night, we thought it was a good bet. Clean large rooms and hot showers were all that we needed. We reminded ourselves that Udaipur was our destination so anything is doable now. Note: the nearest ATM was about 2-3kms away. We barely managed a Subway dinner, the room cost and a morning cup of tea in all the cash we had on us. I recommend this motel as a good stopover but beware of the backlash against unmarried couples. The fellow at the motel warned us that occasionally cops conducted raids and random checks were made. Another observation that I made was a chain of restaurants and eateries across the state of Gujarat and some into Rajasthan called Honest (spelt in a variety of ways with a yellow and red font). We had only spicy and flour loaded fried Gujarati snacks to our disposal which we wasted and some comforting tea.

Saturday, 3^rd Jan - Dream ride

We started at 7:00am sharp for Udaipur with a firm resolve to make the most of daylight and reach at noon. So we waited on the highway and the moment the 1^st streak of sun rays cut through the sky we left this oasis of a spot and headed on. As was informed to us by the revelers, the road from Baroda to Ahmedabad was a 115kms stretch of construction, multiple diversions and 2-way traffic in narrow lanes. In comparison to Mumbai roads, this was a tad breeze. But for an NH journey, this was horrid and should not be attempted in the dark. We stopped at 10:30am at TGB in Ahmedabad city and loaded on some semi-decent food of onion rings and dosas and coffee, got some medications for my mildly ill Abeer and left for Udaipur at sharp 12pm.

Note: Ahmedabad traffic was the ultimate royal mishmash and catastrophe of sorts. There were multiple 4-ways (chaar rastas) and NO ONE followed traffic rules. This despite traffic cops standing very much in broad view. Much time and energy was spent in maneuvering the bike through these estuaries of arrogance and cattle with further effort in avoiding collisions. No one seemed to even care if there was indeed a collision or near collision possibility. Apparently, the brink of death was a menial brush off for these folks. The cops didn’t seem to give 2 hoots either. Abeer really lost his cool dragging a 300+kg bike through this mess and wanted to get out as soon as possible. The people ‘appeared’ helpful with only a handful giving useful information. 2 wheelers and the obnoxious and visually unpleasant green rickshaws seemed adamant to cut at 30° angles across any road at any time and this irked us a lot. Gujarat so far wasn’t impressing us or luring us for even a fraction of it. However, Rann of Kutch still holds a special place in my heart.

Jheel guest house and Ginger Coffee

Having concluded this unpleasant episode, we headed on to our dream spot. At precisely 4:00pm we crossed the border into Rajasthan (“Welcome to Resurgent Rajasthan” it says). I was exhausted and restless but the border and the 360° change in scenery pumped new life into us. We celebrated with our little hand slaps and jokes and celebrations. Almost like a slap to not-so-modern Gujarat, a few meters after the state border was a massive sign screaming Kingfisher Hotel and Bar. Not like anything stopped me but it was a freeing sight. My job was to keep my love motivated and unwavering. He didn’t have me yet to trade places and share riding responsibilities – something I aim to change in the near future. Here on, the NH was lined with desert style sand dune structures and the stray starting of the Aravali hills. The edge of the highway was lined with conifer trees shedding their bark revealing ashen colors and alongside on higher ranges was twisty cacti like plants that looked beautiful in the evening shadow. We rode for a very long stretch and google maps didn’t help us with the anticipation – always presenting a few mins of distance ahead.



View from Ginger Coffee and Bakery Ghat

Ran into a very traditional and old school Rajasthani man (in retrospect I regret not having taken his picture). He was dressed the part with the massive twisted turban and colorful garb and spoke in a heavy accented tone. He was the only one who corrected me and said that Lake Pichoula was pronounced ‘pee-shu-la’ and not ‘pee-cho-la’. We reached some very very narrow gullies that were hard to navigate through and taking a U-turn was a huge gamble. What made it tougher was these tiny lanes were on an incline as they led down to the lakeside. After numerous detours and near losing patience cum anticipation for our destination, we reached the most beautiful spot. Jheel Paying Guest House at the north banks of Lake Pichoula known as Gangaur Ghat. Parking the bike was difficult as there was no designate parking spot, yet we found a corner for our bebe. We weren’t gonna be on her for the next 2 days and let her cool down as well. Like the pictures, the guesthouse was exactly on the banks or rather in the lake with the foundation deep into the lakebed. It had the most adorable and very popular Ginger Coffee House and Bakery. On the left, the lake opened into its main body with a clear view of the Taj Lake Palace Hotel, the Gangaur Boat that has drawn me with its unending love stories, the Jagat Niwas Palace behind it, and numerous little sights. On the right, the lake had 2 poetic bridges that connected us to its east facing banks. Before heading to our rooms, we decided to grab a cuppa – a delicious ginger lemon infused coffee and a black one for me. I knew at that very moment, this would be a trip like no other. Mr. Jethi, a rather traditional yet polished elderly gentleman also the owner, greeted us. I insisted I wanted the water facing room and we had rode all the way for this experience. He clarified that unlike the reviews, it was the New Jheel Guest house and not the old one that was lake facing. I was happy either way cz we got a gorgeous, cozy, absolutely divine looking room with a view of the lake and the Lake Palace Hotel from our 3^rd floor window (named Charan Vilas II). I was indeed in heaven and felt like royalty despite layers of the Gujarat and part Rajasthan highway on my face and clothes.

Abeer’s restlessness was akin to him losing the ‘beer’ part of his name. I knew that until a whole pint didn’t make its way into his system, I couldn’t get anything done either. We headed to Lal Ghat roof top café for a few beers. We passed the Mewar guesthouse, which Abeer recalled as the place he had put up at a few years ago during his 2^nd visit to this romantic pocket. The cold finally settling it, a gorgeous view of the slowly descending darkness and lights popping up like Diwali evening astounded me. The seating is diwans and chairs with tables and little lamp tops. Every alternate table seating had a sigri burning to give respite against the steadily increasing cold draft on the rooftop. I was speechless and wanted moments to myself with him right by my side. I was proud of him. He rode all this way, got me here and we handled quite a bit being just us two on the road. We chugged a whole bottle and headed back to freshen up and get out and explore. We had just ~2.5 days to fit in this entire place into our memories and our trip. I was ecstatic that we had a bathtub but the cold weather hardly affords one the luxury of staying damp and clammy in such weather.

My Wishlist - Taj Lake Palace and the Gangaur

After a brief tour on foot through the gullies exploring more ghats, we reached a row of hotels boasting their own roof top cafes. A myriad of cuisines and some promising liquor were advertised to their full potential. I was taking in all of it: walking after 2 days of riding, the cold weather which afforded me the luxury of warm clothes, jackets and boots that I absolutely adore, stopping by the Bagore ki Haveli and its ghats where open performances happened every evening from 7-8pm, constantly evading my urge to indulge in the plethora of shops with the most beautiful jewels, silver, colored stones, leather and faux leather handicraft goods, unbelievable artwork and tradition and finally beautiful people. I fleetingly watched my love walking and excitedly soaking it all in as well but clearly loading up on patience as I marveled at everything. After a brief ho-hum of where to eat, we took a chance and headed up a flight of block stairs to Jagat Niwas Palace Hotel – Dining. It turned out to be a fine dine restaurant with a Rajputana-esque charm about it. Despite no reservations, we were comfortably seated and I noted only foreigners around us. I was glad that I could treat Abeer to a lavish meal in a lovely place as an unspoken gesture of gratitude and blooming love for bringing me here. Yes, a place, experience or location takes your love and your perspective of your partner to another level. I sensed that the moment we left Mumbai. Despite the mechanical and weather hurdles, he hadn’t been keeping well at all and we spent nights lying awake trying to battle his worsening sinusitis condition. The irony was that I would always be the one to suffer but this time it was he and it pained me to watch him in such a state. As we finally settled in, we had our 1^st round of brandy and whiskeys and dug into the most awaited ghosht preparation in any shape or form. He loved it and part of my time spent with him is to watch him enjoy food. We were foodies and never shied away from trial and error. One thing to note was that staff everywhere appeared to perform and function in military style discipline. Yes they were polite, prompt, well-spoken and versed in English and local languages and very efficient in their tasks. But they NEVER smiled. Save for shopkeepers, no one smiled anywhere. Throughout our trip staff at hotels and restaurants only afforded us a courtesy smile but none had a genuine hearty one – almost as if it was a forbidden rule in their job description. Shopkeepers gave us a luring smile, one that pleaded us to walk in and buy their artisan and craft work. This baffled me but I maintained that I would be my natural self even if not reciprocated.

Post dinner, we walked around some more, marveled some more and headed back for some much needed sleep. Passed out is an understatement and that we did.

Sunday, 4^th Jan – Royalty much

We HAD to catch our sunrise. This place and the temperature was no exception. We woke up at unearthly Udaipur hours 5:30am and crossed the poetic bridge to the east facing banks of Lake Pichoula. The sky had morning hue but the sun remained deeply out of sight. We finally found stray early risers. Kailash, a chai wala serenaded us with 2 cuttings and marveled us with his story of how he did a Mumbai stint back in the 80’s. Worked for a sethji with marble and stonework dealings in and out of Rajasthan. Like all others (and sensibly so), life in Mumbai didn’t appeal to him for the long innings and he returned to this paradise of a spot and has been happy since. I couldn’t help but take a few pictures of his tea making device which was part manual and part physics. This moment, this tea in breaking dawn was the most romantic moment since we left. We continued on to the temple at the edge of the banks and watched the sunrise. It was stunning and really warms you up. We were covered in layers but there were local folks swimming and bathing in the ice-cold water of the lake and seemed hardly affected by it. We also ran into the fattest, cutest bunch of puppies and packed them up to their momma who sadly had a dislocated fore leg and was limping away from her pesky bunch. Clearly, we didn’t aid and abet her escape plan. The edge of this point gave me the closest possible view of the Gangaur[PD1] . A royal barge, with an extravagant history of royalty using it for commute and festivities, is now leased/used by the Taj for the occasional dinner on the lake. It is completely prepped for a 2hr long romantic ride around the lake accompanied by Rajasthani cuisine prepared by the Exec. Chef. Exclusively available to guests of the hotel and retailing at a starting price of ~INR 80k. It is the 1 thing I would have wanted to share with my love and have noted it for a time in the future when my piggy bank is overflowing and a bout of senseless romantic gesture hits me. I stared it at as long as I could and imprinted it in my bucket list.

Them posers mocking our city life - Breathtaking

We left for the guesthouse, and readied up for our 1^st day in town. Hotels and their cafes routinely open up at 8am onwards. We had a hearty French breakfast at Café Namasté and proceeded to check the place out. We headed 1^st to Tibet Market. It’s by far the largest I have ever been to. EVERYTHING warm, weather beaten and of all kinds of material was there. We spent 40mins hunting for a good pair of warm gloves and they were extremely affordable. I looked at everything and was seriously tempted to dig my shopping claws into the gear. Stuff we painfully shell out a month’s ration worth of cash on a single almost-all-in-one jacket was retailing at 1.5-2k here. But in south western India, this stuff was barely a necessity. And so I refrained. We headed to the City Palace tour which took up nearly 3hrs of the day.

Note: When in Udaipur esp. this part of town, WALK. Walk everywhere. That’s what we did. We were on foot for 3 whole days and didn’t even allow ourselves the luxury of a tuk-tuk. Walking in this beautiful weather was sinful delight. Cold air with just the right touch of warmth from the sun. Pink rosy cheeks and foggy breath. Walking side by side was nearly impossible cause of the narrow gullies and the constant array of traffic. So everyone walks in single file and as close to the edge as possible. The roads are extremely well lined, clean, and occasionally (ok often) interrupted by the largest most pampered cattle. So walk. And contrary to the 4 lane disaster that Ahmedabad generously rewarded us with, this was a lesson in traffic, courtesy and discipline. In my very brief stay and constant moments on the road, not once did I see a jam, verbal abuse or overbearing use of the vehicle horns. Most folks used 2-wheelers but an occasional bus/van also managed to find its way through these crawl space like lanes without so much as a scratch or fuss. I was mighty impressed. Metros and large cities had much to learn from Udaipur. Besides why whoosh past so much culture and art and ignore these visually entrancing sights. I wouldn't.

City Palace was a breathtaking and extremely insightful tour. There was a steady mix of Indians and Foreigners that day and possibly the most crowded location. Looks like everyone came here for the New Years. I wish to write in detail of my experience at the City Palace. However, I won’t do it for 2 reasons: my blog post has overstretched its limit and writing about the palace would ruin the essence of what it REALLY encompasses. So whoever is reading this and is promptly making a trip to Udaipur, please do not miss a visit here. Passes are sold at varying costs, which include extras such as vintage car collections tour, additional museums and more primitive parts of the palace. We were lucky to have even seen the most majestic set of thoroughbreds in the stables towering 2 additional feet above my height. I suddenly envisioned the plight of the Victoria horses in Mumbai.

Sunrises and teas with unrewritable stories

An Israeli and Italian lunch at the Doctor Café followed. A cozily tucked away café with a very modest kitchen and psychedelic design makes this café. Found on almost every list of food and visits for Udaipur. Delicious and fresh, you can’t miss this place. We were tired from walking all day and went back for a quick siesta before the evening coffee at Ginger Café. Seriously, this spot was way too addictive and I couldn’t get enough of that gorgeous hearty sun on me. Likewise for Abeer. We were like 2 hippos sunning ourselves after a mud bath, gazing more drowsily than lovingly at each other whilst sipping mochas and chomping lemon tarts. A quick tour of the Indian spice market was what I chased. I had read of some special Rajasthani masalas especially for meats: Kachri specifically. It is a desert cucumber, dried and powdered which is rubbed as marinade on read meats for that extra tenderness and flavor likened to tamarind or aamchur. I was lucky to get a pocketful along with some more in house measured and ground spices by a passionate and very educated couple. I even picked up some reasonable lavender oil for my man who had trouble sleeping due to his sinusitis. We headed to catch the last ferry from the City Palace docks for Jag Mandir Palace. My mother had insisted at least 100 times that I should take this time bound ferry and dine at the Jag Mandir Palace islands. Here is what I learned. The ferry is limited to rides to the island till 5pm and costs a moderately acceptable fare of ~INR 300/- between 9am and 3pm. Thereafter, charges escalate to INR 650/head. One can stay the day, browse the island and then dine there and a ferry shall bring you back around 9pm. Cost of dining is upscale and purely experiential with a view of the lake at night; lights and dining in the middle of it all. We skipped it and decided to take a modest approach to the evening. Shopping never gets old here. The leather goods and the plethora of artisan work with any and every form of imagination is applied here. We met a moody painter who captured near detailed work on made-to-order t-shirts and canvas. I was mesmerized and wanted to take a picture. He snapped at me that photography wasn’t allowed and showed me an inconspicuous sign on one of 3 entries into his shop that screamed the rule. Abeer had a brilliant idea for him to paint my favorite Warli depictions on the helmet. He declined in a snap and that was full-stop to the request. A bit more shopping and additional happy financial damage, we headed to Ambrai. Through our trip, our social media accounts were abuzz with suggestions to dine at Ambrai – a fine dine eatery located inside Amet Haveli (now an upscale hotel) on the banks of Lake Pichoula. The ambience draws folks more than the food itself and I guess it’s USP was so high that even at 6:30pm we were unable to secure a reservation; it being a Sunday. The manager assured us a table at 9:00pm should we walk in that moment. I went inside and glanced at the promise of what everyone was chiming about. Yes, it was worth the wait. In the meantime, we headed to the rooftop café of Wonderview hotel next door and downed some much craved whiskeys and unlimited shisha. This particular evening the temperature took a serious drop and I couldn’t feel much of my hands or my face. It was a good 7°C or lower, I’m not sure. We couldn’t wait any longer for the reservation so we went back to our side of the lake and revisited Natural View Rooftop café above 32, Lal Ghat Hotel. We dined on succulent mutton dishes and local cheese and yoghurt parathas. I wanted their local fish, which is apparently a catfish variant, but they had run out of it. We drank and dined till we were stuffed (in true last meal style) and then headed back to our warm bed. This was also the place that we got our 1^st beer when we got to Udaipur and probably one of the highest rooftop views. Sad to leave the next day, we decided this was a return journey must-do.

Monday, 5^th Jan – Rowing and sinking

Next morning we returned to Jagat Niwas Palace hotel restaurant – one of few places that opens for gourmet breakfast offerings at 6:30am. We were hosted by Pradeep, probably the only staff that smiled genuinely during our meal. We both opted for the aptly named Continental Palace Breakfast with eggs our ways, fruit and bread baskets, pot coffee, and mini accompaniments. Breakfast is our thing and this met the criteria beautifully. We were the only patrons up and about so early, which ensured a very private dining experience. After, we decided to catch up on some random boating on the Lake from the main ghats. An affordable INR 300/- for two people on a large canopied boat which a 45min tour around the lake made a good start at 9:00am. We were tad annoyed as in contrast to our serene breakfast, we were literally hijacked by a bunch of families from the northern belt who yelled and screamed and insisted on raunchy item numbers whilst simultaneously ignoring the driver’s insistence on putting on life jackets and remain seated in a way that the balance would be restored. They defied to say the least, at one point even ordered, and jerked him around. I was annoyed that my moment on such a beautiful lake was totally ruined by the inconsiderate and rather uncouth bunch who asked me to take pictures of their antics. We tried to make the best of what we could. Point to note here was that a conscience effort was made to pack all Indians in one boat and all foreigners in the other for a ride. THIS explained it all.

Poetic Justice

A quick coffee and brunch at a caved in café called the German Bakery/Edelweis Bakery ensued with delicious made to order buns, sandwiches and burgers. We then checked out to leave this slice of heaven. Now I have been on many weekends and trips. THIS was the first time my heart physiologically and emotionally felt heavy. I was, in the purest form of truth, not ready to leave and was experiencing early signs of withdrawal right from the moment our bebe vroomed to life. I reluctantly got on the bike and tried as best as I could to distract myself from welling up or feeling overwhelmed. I was in love. With Udaipur, with Abeer, with the bike, the road and this new lease of life that was pumped into our new year, just everything in that moment.

The ride from Udaipur to Ahmedabad remains my most favorite stretch of ride. We started 12pm sharp after brief halts for gas and some cash (remembering not-so-card-friendly areas). The weather was beyond divine and the roads and bike cooperated beautifully. Once we crossed the Gujarat border, an unfriendly feeling warped itself over me. We touched Ahmedabad at 4:00pm and took a nice long break at a gas station. Somehow, after much agony we found and reached Hotel Canada Intl strategically located right on the Mumbai-Ahmedabad Expressway. Now in my defense, this was to be our 1^st halt heading toward Udaipur, a budget stay at INR 500/- a night and the hotel pics looked promising on Agoda. Here is what we encountered. The hotel was located on the 4^th floor of a commercial building in a budding district that caters to travelers and business folks. There were no other guests which is why the manager was all too kind to shift my reservation from 3^rd to 5^th Jan with no extra cost or fuss. There was no kitchen to cater to anything and all cities save for Mumbai will not serve you the kindness of a tea/coffee at unearthly hours. The rooms were large and could easily accommodate 3 sleeping bags if a group were to crash here. Basic amenities and service from the all too kind staff would easily bump this to an INR 1000/night hotel in Mumbai suburbs. After much ho-hum we headed to Kankaria Lake area of Ahmedabad, logistically the closest civilization and city boundary that we could make it too. Almost as if to prove how unfriendly Gujarat was to us, most places were closed on Mondays. We managed a traditional Gujarati and Rajasthani thali at Purohit Lunch Home. Abeer found it too much for his palate and barely ate much. We rode back through messy meandering traffic. Clearly, traffic and law and order wasn’t high on the city’s priority list. My Gujarati speaking and reading skills helped us tremendously and this was the only time I wasn’t sorry for using them.

Tuesday, 6^th Jan – Granite laden hearts

Highway vigilantes

After a night of half-baked sleep, we took off at 7:40am to Mumbai. That sinking feeling hit me again but this time it was overshadowed by a desperate urge to leave Ahmedabad. I was so excited for my love to see Ahmedabad that I had visited and stayed at a few years ago. This was a far cry from it. We instantly hit the bad roads and stopped for some questionable tea and lifesaving biscuits at a truck stop. That’s all that lines Gujarat state national highways. Truck stops, no restrooms, irresponsible and arrogant drivers (strangely the GJ1 plates), dry scenery, no sensible eating joint, yet miles of gorgeous smooth roads followed by dusty gravelly stretches. I was in mix mode here. We were famished and there was absolutely nothing to replenish our raging hunger. Our MAIN stop was at 1:20pm in Surat. Till then save for a 15min halt for a sad for-lack-of-any-choice-paratha, we had been on the bike for 5.5hrs and it was getting restless. Tempers soared and dropped thanks to some giggles. I can’t be mad at him at all. Not for long at least. He was beat and had miscalculated a McDonalds destination a few kms behind. Thirsty, sugar-deprived, famished and sore from crown to toe, we were looking for an ‘oasis’ of something on the NH. We reached the Surat McDonalds outlet and gorged on food like John Hammond’s grandkids did once they escaped the dinosaur park and the previous eventful night in Jurassic Park. Once out of there we did not stop at all till we hit Navi Mumbai. Thereon the traffic was a brutal nightmare. I couldn’t comprehend what was worse, the starved ride all morning or the horrid excruciatingly painful traffic in Mumbai suburbs. The riding had taken a severe toll on both of us and by evening it had been roughly 11hrs on the bebe. When we left Ahmedabad the mileage reading stood at a precise 8000. When we reached home it was 8600. I was amazed we made it. We made 2 stops just to get a sense of our behinds and whether it was still there. Getting back on got more painful than getting off it for a break.

6:00pm Home

Celebratory drinks

We reached home, showered and prepared for 2 things: cold beer to celebrate the magnanimous victory of our maiden long journey and resting day on Wednesday. We drank ourselves silly and the following day we dedicated it to 2hours of uninterrupted rejuvenating ayurvedic massage and treatments which we both desperately needed. I felt extremely blue – the kinds that lay hidden under sheets of black. I was glad to be home but I was pensive, tensed, restless and longing. Guess the city does that to us. Our New Year had indeed gotten off to a wonderful start and it was well planned and thought out. It would’ve been magnanimously boring if every square inch of the plan had fallen into place. That’s what made it so magical. I was in love again. That was the idea. To fall in love again and again through times, experiences and motions of every spec in life. Udaipur did that for me and Abeer and I can’t wait to go back to her again.

Wishlist: When I left Udaipur, I solemnized two things to do when I went back. One was to fulfil a dinner at Jagmandir island as well as Ambrai. The second and more prominent one was to save for a one night stay at the Taj Lake Palace and get access to the Gangaur and fulfill my wish to dine on it whilst enjoying it with the man I loved. I hope it happens soon.

For more pictures and moments:

www.instagram.com/tipsies

www.instagram.com/gatacdo7 

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 [PD1]http://www.thehindubusinessline.com/features/smartbuy/wines-and-malts/gourmet-on-the-gangaur/article4546959.ece Rasheeda Bhagat The Hindu