Two tales of a continent

The first one induced in me a likeness for African literature. It was set on such a huge canvas that sprawled across 200 years, many generations and two continents. I was there when Kunta Kinte shrilled for the first time and the year was 1750. He grew up with me. It was superb watching him at close quarters. I revelled with him in his childhood and a part of his teen years. When he went to manhood training, his parents and siblings were not supposed to be with him there. But I paid a visit. No, not just a visit, I stayed with him through out the period. He had great plans and ambitions. All thwarted when he was captured by the toubobs. And thus he was:

“Stolen from Africa
Brought to America
Fighting on arrival
Fighting for survival…”

It was a real tome running close to 700 pages. But it was so intense except for a few chapters. I felt like the loser I am when I finished reading ‘Roots’. Thank you Ranjeetha, thanks a lot.

Comparing to ‘Roots’ ‘Things Fall Apart’ is a smaller volume. All of 187 pages, it disappointed me in the beginning. I was still under the influence of the world Alex Halley had shown to me. Comparing to the people in Juffure, those at Umuofia were less sophisticated. Okonkwo was short tempered and a couple of times he beat his wife mercilessly. He was a warrior and a great wrestler who earned much fame when he over powered the champion wrestler of his time. He loathed his father for he was too lazy and left nothing for his son but a pile of debts. Okonkwo was a self made man and one cannot expect a self made man showing too much sophistication. He was afraid of becoming lazy and coward. He despised anyone who showed a hint of his father’s character. He struggled not to be like his father, never ever, and he succeeded in that. He amassed wealth and earned titles. His barn was always full with yams. But when his gun accidentally fired killing a fellow tribe man during a funeral he was forced to go exile and lived at his mother’s village for the next seven years. He too had great plans about being a great member of the tribe. And when he came back the scene was quite different. Even when he was at his mother’s village his son Nwoye had been converted to the new religion introduced by the white people. Things were really falling apart at his own village. Their faith had been questioned and insulted. Okonkwo and his fellow men were captured and humiliated. And he knew that his people were not willing to wage a war. He killed a messenger, a representative of the invaders, and then killed himself. Only to be brought down from the tree on which he hung himself by the whites and to be buried without honours.

And it was in the last paragraph the only time the author intervened to tell what had in the mind of the District Commissioner. Satirical it was. He would write a book with an interesting paragraph or two if not a whole chapter, narrating the incidents that led to the suicide of Okonkwo. And the name he chose for his work was: The Pacification of the Primitive Tribes of the Lower Niger.

The Challenge

To be with you
keeping myself sane.

It’s yet another phase in life.
Just another.
No ADJECTIVES.
I’m staying with people
who watch WWF wrestling mania,
the moment they are out of bed.
It embarrasses me.
And once when I was reading,
someone breathed down my neck and asked
“Is that a storybook?”
“Yes”, I replied.
“What does it deal with”?
Again I muttered something in reply
and he guffawed.
“Oh, old story that’s before 1947”.
“Even before that…” I protested.

You wanna headline?Gimme a deadline?

Yup, for some one destined to eke out a living by writing Ads, demands pouring in from everywhere (for client service executives may come from any direction) for a headline a.k.a caption. I know you frown (assuming that some hapless soul would go through this) thinking headlines are all about newspaper headlines. But you know I got this bloody obsession with rhyming. I’m ready to spend a fortune if I can make something really rhyme like this one:

“Johnny Johnny yes papa
Fucking gals yes papa
Wearing condoms no papa
Getting aids ha ha ha”

Oh! As usual again I mess around. It’s not about rhyming neither it’s anything to do with advertising. It’s about my inability to work until and unless I’m cornered with a tightening deadline. So if some one doesn’t mention the D day (most often D time, as if
I’m making bulls eye) I’ll read a hell lot of beautifully written blogs and asks myself “hey you wretched creature still you wanna keep blogging”? What to do I’m goddamn hedonistic (Swayam bloganandan).

I love you deadline. I love you immensely. Hover over my head as the sword of Damocles and help me do something.

If

We could've united,
if I had my country's military
at my disposal,
to curb the riots
you initiate.

'Take Care'

When some one says 'take care'
what they really mean is:
"Take care of yourself,
it's a fucking world out there".
They omit the latter part
just out of courtesy.

Me too at last!

“You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you’re always in a compartment, and because you’re used to it you don’t realize that through that car window everything you see is just more T.V. You’re a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame.

On a cycle the frame is gone. You’re completely in contact with it all. You are in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming. That concrete whizzing by five inches below your foot is the real thing, the same stuff you walk on, it’s right there, so blurred you can’t focus on it, yet you can put your foot down and touch it anytime, and the whole thing, the whole experience, is never removed from immediate consciousness”.

_Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance



Technology has never been my forte. It always scared me, and the fear continues.
However it doesn’t prevent me from gazing at or even acquainted with some of the glittering things technology offer. And if I prioritize, bikes come on the top 5. I watched it all with great enthusiasm; the Harley for mango deal to the limited edition 500cc machines from Royal Enfield. But never had I thought that I would ever learn to ride. I’ve seen my friends, one by one, learn to ride and own a bike, most of them in their teens or in early twenties. Yup, I too was forced to join sometimes, take a lesson or two; both theory and practical, but I lacked something that prevented me from continuing.

I am poor at multi-tasking or so I believe. One needs to multi-task while riding. Apply brake, hold clutch and change gears to halt safely. But how? How to do it all simultaneously? I had a tough time trying to untangle it. And I wasted many a sleepless night pondering over ‘mastering the art of riding’ rather than taking a practical lesson to ride.

Yamaha RX100, which is no more being made, had always fascinated me. It’s a good one as far as its looks are concerned. (and in all its aspects) A real hit among the youth in its heydays, it still rules the road in many a city. When I went to Mangalore a couple of weeks ago, I saw them in considerably good numbers that too at this time of new age bikes which offers even 100plus kmpl. In best conditions an RX 100 may give you 35kmpl. Still the machine is on demand and the reason cited by many is that it can be ridden so easily through heavy traffic. The unique sexy sound is another attraction. But for me the most important advantage of an RX100 is that it’s height from ground level. Astride on it I can comfortably place both my feet firmly on the ground beneath.

At last I bought an RX 100 from my colleague for rupees 11,000. I spent rupees 1000 more as it needed some repair. Then for more than a month I kept it ‘almost idle’. I observed the parts keenly. I kick-started, gave acceleration -in the process it left behind huge, dark clouds- and enjoyed the thunderous sound regularly, all invited my mother’s wrath. She often banged the door and windows at ‘us’ as dark emissions gave her sneeze and cough as me and my new found love courted in the courtyard. I am extremely fond of postponing things. And in this regard I am on par with Mr. Hamlet. So I didn’t even bother to take it to the road to learn it. By this time friends and family were quite amused by the fact that at least I intended to learn riding. One fine Sunday I took it out with the help of a kid. He instructed me how to ride. Then I did, as he rode pillion. After a couple of rounds on the road girdling my home, I gained confidence. I rode it changing gears as the kid hollered 1, 2, 3… indicating gear changes. Right in front of the Gate of my home I thought of applying brake as it was a steep slope. Brake? Where is it? And there wasn’t much time to think. So I hold it, the one which I could with my right hand. Bang, thud. Lesson No.1: Never apply the front brake when you are riding it at higher speed. As I got up from the asphalted road, I tried to figure out the moment between my applying brake and fall. But I just couldn’t. I applied brake, and I found myself on the road, on all fours. But the way I fell, the actual fall remained elusive. I was curious to visualize how I might’ve been thrown to the air, and then to the ground. Don’t get taken aback by this, inspired the kid. No tiny tot ever learned to walk with out falling. So headed the Guru and Sishya to the nearby ground. Blood was still oozing from my palm covered in a piece of cloth. My left knee ached too and had bruises. Have you ever fallen- of any kind- on an asphalted road and suffered bruises on your knees and elbows on a winter morning? Then you would know what I had been through. I circled and circled the ground and Guru, as he remained standing in a corner smoking, constantly reminded me to shift gears. I cursed those who made things this complicated by adding so many gears. Either the bike refused to move or made sounds that terrified me whenever I tried to change gear. Then one day my cousin came home and stayed overnight. The next morning he woke me up against my constant pleas to let me remain in bed as it’s Sunday. Again we went to the same ground and started circling. But still, going out with it to the main road gave me shivers down the spine. I thought of bus drivers who rule the road, speeding cars, suddenly-surfacing- from-nowhere auto rickshaws, jay walkers, school children…I observed every biker who happened to be in front of my eyes, keenly. They made me believe that it’s quite easy as they zigzagged themselves through the bottlenecks. In the end I decided to hit the roads. And it was necessary to get an emission test done and to obtain a certificate as the one I had had was outdated. I took my monster, who emits dark clouds with a vengeance, to the emission test and waited with bated breath. I felt like the father of a kid who’s pretty bad in academics and still seeking admission to a prestigious institution. I thought my ‘love’ wouldn’t clear the emission test. I even feared the worst as in the authorities would be apprised and they would grill me. But to my surprise I obtained a certificate. Is the emission test a farce?

So I came out in the open with my bike courageously. I found early mornings as ideal as there were lesser traffic during the time. And then gradually I made it a point to ride it at nights and then at any time. Often it halted on the busy roads as I attempted to change gears, I kick-started it again and people often stared at me as if they learned to ride in womb itself. The next task was to ride it with a pillion, initially this too was tough. But I overcame the difficulty. I learned how to overtake, how to zigzag, how to change gears when it’s a bumper-to-bumper ride. But still I have a long way to go. Once I took my cousin’s Kawasaki Calibre and went out, though he warned me that its front brake is not in good condition, I didn’t think it as a major problem. And when I came back as there was a steep climb to reach home I changed the gear. Since the gear system was exactly different comparing with my bike, when I pushed the gear down with my foot instead of pulling it up, the engine went off. It got halted, and it rolled down as it was halted on the sloppy road. Nopes, the front brake didn’t function and I realized within no time that I needed to do something urgently and I turned it and banged it to the muddy wall and somehow escaped without getting hurt. The hand brake is important too!

I kept my bike in the courtyard for almost a month and every night I thought of learning it. But never could I reach a solution. How? That was the prevailing question, and at times I felt too incompetent and passive. I thought of selling it and free myself from night mares. But then the feeling of giving up without even trying started to haunt me.

I’ve inspired at least a few guys who too were clueless when it comes to riding. Though not knowingly, I have instilled confidence in them. The best way to swim is jumping into the pond rather than thinking about the science of floating in the water.