Let me be ME

To a society that forces me to conform

To what it deems normal, to it’s norms

I ask what is normal?

My normal may not be it’s normal

So does that makes me abnormal?

If I could dare to question it

I could dare to challenge these norms

Cause what may be normal to me

May not be normal to you 

So why don’t you let me be me

In a society that bullies you 

That tries to beat you into submission 

Just so that you follow its set rule

That refuses to accept

That refuses to tolerate

Why don’t you see me

For who I am 

Rather than what I am

Why don’t you let me be me

In a society filled with social butterflies

Where everything is pout and click

Smile and click, post for all to see 

To garner likes and a following

It is truly brave to give a glimpse 

Of who you truly are, the real you

Not the one you see in those post

The one you keep hidden away 

Cause you’re afraid to be truly seen

Not what you want society to see

Why can’t I be me

Why don’t you let me be

What are you truly afraid of

If I may ask myself

It takes guts to be yourself

So why can’t I be myself

I may be broken, I may be imperfect

But I am imperfectly perfect

I am unique, I am different 

This is who I am

This is what makes me standout from the rest

It takes a lot to show me 

I takes a lot to know me

So why don’t you let me be me

You try to break me with your words

You may try to cut me with your knives

Try to bring me down, try to destroy me

Try to wound me, and leave me to bleed

No matter what you may try

You will never break me

Though my body may breakdown

My spirit soars high

So whether you accept me or not

I may not conform to your norms

Cause I will always be me

Cause it take a lot to be me

From sea to shore

As he stood on the deck outside his cabin, trying to see what lay in front of him. He strained and squinted to make out something, make out anything but all he could see was the inky blue sea that mirrored the inkyness of the night sky, rising and falling to its own rhythm, and with it the ship rolled, as if to keep in tune with the sea.

He strained to look landward, where he had plotted land would be, cause land was his heart lay. Though sea was his mistress, his heart belonged to another, and land was she would be, the owner of his heart, the purpose of his existence. Ladies may have thrown themselves for a man in uniform, at every port he visited, even some men too, but he belonged to another and he would have no other.

He missed her badly. What would he not give to have her by his side, to hold her in his arms and never let go. But he knew the sea was not where she belonged, the sea wasn’t her home, the sea wasn’t a place to raise a life together, to raise a family. She had her life to live, her career, her goals, her ambitions. It would be cruel and selfish to take that away from her, as much it would be selfish if she asked him to stay back and never sail. He was proud of her every achievements, the way she managed her life and the family, when he was not around.

He had spoken to her only a while ago, but know those few moments seemed like ages, he already missed her. Although he knew that reaching port, he would get on a plane and fly to her, but those moments seemed to go by so slowly leaving him flustered and frustrated. If he could, he would jump into the ocean and swim it all the way to her. He could swim across the oceans, climb the highest mountains, make it across the deepest valleys, just to be with her.

But he would needed to console himself by staring at the sea, hoping that time would just fly by, till she was in his arms. And so continued to stare landwards, from sea to shore.

A Summer’s Affair

It was summer time, time to set those books aside and hit the beach. Time to be a beach bum, and to get tanned, and the beach is where all the cool kids would be. At least the ones who didn’t, who couldn’t, indulge on those summer trips. 

Like all kids I too headed to the beach, for the beach would where all the action would be, where all the girls would be. But unlike most kid, I would not be lazing away on the sand, catching a summer tan on those bright white chairs, or taking a dip in the sea, or catching a good wave. As custom would be, I signed up for the summer lifeguard program, as I always did.

There was something about putting on those red shorts that drew female gaze towards you, and some male envy too. But you didn’t mind all that, cause you knew that you were not quite shabby to not command that gaze, that burning envy. You just strolled the sand with your float in hand always prepared (just like a scout) for some action, always prepared to come to the aid of a damsel who somehow found herself in distress.

Somehow your tower was always had the most crows around it. Friends hung around, girls hung around, your girl hung around. All around there was laughter and music and serious gossip. Very rescue drew wild and enthusiastic cheers. You were best there was cause you did this every summer for the last four summers, cause there was no where to go and you were the pick of the lot.

All this changed when he showed up. He was older, may be just by a year, but he was stronger, faster. He walked around with an aloofness, as if he owned the room. There was something magnetic about him that drew the girls to him, mine included, who seemed to swoon, go weak in the knees when he met their gaze. They didn’t mind when he dismissed with curt “Later”. Even the guys hung around with him.

For me it was resentment at first sight. Call it the butting of an Alpha and a Challenger, whatever he did came about bit off putting and show-offing. And no matter how cool he may try to seem I could see through it all, or presumably saw through it, the desperation, attention seeker. Whatever he did, he did it with purpose, or so it seemed to me. But one thing I would agree that he did what he what he did and what he did he did well.

At the orientation party, he played it cool with his drink in hand. Much to my irritation even came my way and after acknowledging us, as if out of courtesy, he took the seat right opposite me, as if sensing my resentment towards him. He listened attentively, but with a sense of aloofness, to he girls who tried to get a bit of attention, my date included, adding to my annoyance. The guys continued to chat, trying to ignore him.

Just then a familiar tune began to play, and without muttering a single word he took to the floor. The Ladies must have been mesmerised by his moves that they followed him on to the dance floor without even being asked to. They seemed in a trance, hypnotised by the swaying of those hips. My date too pulled me to the dance floor. I reluctantly followed and tried to match her moves, match her enthusiasm. I somehow managed to find an awkward grove, swaying from side to side almost awkwardly.

Few days later, I decided to squeeze a late gym workout after my shift. He was there busy in his routine. I simply ignored and went about with my workout. Later as I hit the showers, I assumed I was the last person in the locker room. As I dried myself off I heard the door open, only to see him standing there. I tried to ignore him but I couldn’t help but notice how his skin glistened from the sweat he had worked up, highlighting his lean frame. To my charging he dropped his clothes, without bothering to cover himself. He stood there stark naked, in his birthday suit, not a slight bit perturbed of my presence. I tried not to stare and turned my gaze elsewhere, a bit awkwardly.

He walked to the shower in all his nakedness. He had nothing to hide, and was proud of what he had, a familiar aloofness, coolness. He stepped into the shower and drew the curtains, though not completely, just enough that someone in the changing room could see, as if he knew he was being watched and was putting on a show. 

I tried to get out of there as soon as possible but there was something magnetic, something magical that drew my gaze towards the showers. His body was a work of art. The way the water glided against his body, accentuating every muscle on his body, the twists and turns of his toned muscles. His skin glistened in the shower as steam began to envelop him. I finally figured out why the ladies clung on to him, besides his brashness, and in a strange way felt slightly aroused myself.

I finally managed to pull myself together got out of that locker room before it got even more weirder. That night as I lay on my bed trying to sleep, I could feel an uneasiness. I felt flushed with heat. Yes it was a summer night but the heat I felt was not the same, it was something that I felt before, the heat of arousal. I put my hands in my pant and began to stroke myself. I closed my eyes and tried to fantasise about all the naked women which I have seen, all the girls in bikinis who hung about my tower, but all I could I think of is him in the shower. I tried to change the visual, fantasise of something else but I kept seeing him in all his naked glory, as the water flowed through his body. I began to breathe heavily, knowing that fighting this thought would be fruitless. I finally came, like an explosion of the senses, almost orgasmic. I wiped myself and went to bed, a bit ashamed, a bit relived, a lot relaxed.

The next day I tried my best to avoid him, a bit embarrassed by the events of the previous night, thought of the previous night. But the more I avoided him the more I found myself face-to-face with him, a little too often. Was it the universe conspiring, trying to sync us together, or was he doing it on purpose? But if that was the case then how was he aware what happened in the confines of my room? Whatever the reasons maybe, he was enjoying my discomfort which was evident in that sly, all-knowing smile of his. How much did he know? How did he know? These questions kept swirling in mind. This turned into a cat and mouse game where I tried to avoid him and he would found a way to be in my proximity.

This went on for another couple of hours before the entire effect of the embarrassment began to wear off. We went back to what we did best, to the female attention which we received, not giving each other too much of thought. He returned to his female fan following and his curt aloofness, I returned to my posse and being a lifeguard.

A day later I once again found myself hitting the gym late, hoping to catch a quick workout before I called it a day, cause the weekend was around the corner. I was too caught up in my routine to notice who all were still at the gym. After completing my workout I immediately went for a quick shower to wash away the sweat and grime of the day. I got into the shower and let the hot water soak my weary body, relax me.

I didn’t notice anyone else in the showers till I heard the shower curtain being pulled. I turned around to see who it was only come face-to-face with him. He drew the curtains behind him and grabbed and kissed me. My brains froze from his actions, not knowing what to do. My brain screamed to retaliate, to sucker punch him in the gut. But any form of resistance was met with an equal force of submission. The more I wanted to push him away the more I felt I was melting against him. He pressed his body against mine and what now kissing my neck, nibbling on my nipples, turning me around and using his tongue sucking all the way down my spine. All the while the water flowed down from the shower head.

How dare he takes control of me, I am the alpha and should be the one in control, as I had been with the girls I had been with. These thoughts actually caught me by surprise but continuing to be a willing participant in the act.

Few moments later, after we both came, he washed himself and got out of the shower, leaving me trying to make sense what just happened, with a lot of unanswered questions, with a confusion.

The next day when we ran into each other during tower assignments. He greeted me with his usual curtness, aloofness, as if the events of the previous night didn’t occur. I too did my best to put last evening behind me, to varying success. We were assigned to towers that were near each other. As I scanned the beach, I purposefully scanned his tower to see what he was doing. He was watching the beach, soaking in the attention of the ladies around his towers, casually flirting with the a few, some of who I did recognise. I tried not pay any attention and go about with my day, but there was something that burned me, that stabbed me. Was this jealousy? But then why should I be jealous there was nothing between us other than our one encounter.

That evening, we all headed to the pub, after our shift was done. He was already there with a girl, who I seen him flirting with at his tower. As luck would have it, we got seated at the table close to his. As my group animatedly chatted about the day and the plans for the weekend, for the rest of the summer, I couldn’t help but keep glancing their way. Their fingers touched each other, then he had his hands on her back, casually stroking it. He must have known that I was noticing them because he kissed her on her neck, then her cheek, a peck on the lips, before settling into a kiss. All the time they had their hands all over each other. 

I could feel the cold stab of jealousy piercing my heart. Somewhere at the back of mind I knew that this show was being put for my benefit and I hated myself for feeling this way. I tried my best to ignore them, not look their way, try to be part of the conversation on my table. But I felt miserable and mad, I felt furious at myself for letting my guard down and letting him get under my skin.

Few minutes later, after I had managed, for the time being, to not pay them attention, I needed to use the restroom. Surprisingly there weren’t many people there, but specifically near the cubicles. As I made my way past them, I suddenly felt a hand grab me and pull me into one of the stall. Before I could say anything or react to it, I saw it was him. So apparently my jealousy had turned him on, for he knew that I was observing him, stalking him in my own silly way. He had followed me to the washroom without me knowing.

He kissed me on my lips with passion and intensity that turned me on. I kissed him roughly channelling all the jealousy I had felt. He undid the buttons of my shirt and began to kiss my chest. He unzipped my pant and released my manhood from the restraints that held it back. It was hard and erect. He began to stroke it, suck it, while stroking himself. It felt like heaven, and I had to hold myself from moaning. I grabbed his hair as I felt his breath ion stomach. Once again we both came simultaneously. Once we cleaned ourselves, we made sure no one noticed us. We returned to our respective tables to carry on with our evening.

From that moment onwards something changed between us. No it wasn’t love, it wasn’t romance, cause love had nothing to do with it. It was an affair of the summer, heightened by its very nature, its clandestine nature. I am not sure if it was awakening of any sort of closeted feeling, cause I didn’t feel some way for any other guy, and I didn’t really see him with other guys, we went out on dates with the ladies, sometimes even double dating. But whenever opportunity presented itself we made the most of it whether in the shower, in the steam room, behind the tower in the bushes.  But we still continued our competitiveness. We didn’t really get to know each other, didn’t really try to get to know each other. Didn’t even care to do it.

And with that the summer came to end. It was time to leave the beaches and get back to the books. That evening as we closed our towers, he joined me as we made our across the sand, for the first time we held hands. We sat there on the sand, watching the sun set over the sea. We were not sure what the future had in store for us, what were the scheme of things were to come, what we could call the events that transpired over the summer, but we didn’t want to label it. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t romance, it was something else. And as the sun set, we kissed, bringing down the curtains on a summers’s affair.

Helmet ki atma kata

I was born in the summer of the 27th year (if I could dare borrow a couple of lines from John Denver) with brothers and sisters in tow. Well we couldn’t tell who was who cause we all looked the same. Some big, some small, some sturdy, some strong, some dainty and small. It took a manufacturer to come and determine who was who, and paint us in shades to differentiate our gender, our purpose.

I was sold to, or rather given away free, with a brand new shiny bike (bike key saath helmet free, free). Much to the disdain of master (well that’s what I shall call him, though moron would have been a more suitable term) who thought he was too cool to look like fool wearing me on his head. And here lay the crux of my confusion. What exactly was my purpose? Was I meant to protect his head or other parts of his bike? For the amount I spent on the handle was thousand fold the time I actually spent on his head.

I somehow clashed with his image, didn’t really go with it, and his item too thought so. He saw himself a rebel against the rule and to wear me on his head would be betrayal of his rebellious streak (for nam key vaste, cause the only streak he had were the ones in his hair). Wearing me would mean that she wouldn’t be able to run her finger through his highlighted hair (I wonder how she could run her fingers through those heavily gelled, porcupine like hair of his).

So he drove fast, he drove rash. He zigged and he zagged, crisscrossing through the traffic. Much to the squeals of delights of his item, or any of his lukka friend (or friends, cause sometimes they went triple seat, and even dared at four, much like cirque du soliel). The only time I found my way to his head when he spied a traffic cop, and out compulsion wore me on his head, grudgingly. The only time I was of any use to him was when he used me as a weapon to attack and defend against the external forces.

Then one day while he zigged and he zagged and drove rather rashly (like he quite normally did) he lost control and did a flip and skidded all the way. He got a bad gash on his forehead, while I got a broken visor. He was lifted and taken away by the bystanders, while I went rolling away to edge of the road to be forgotten. I guess he learned a bitter lesson that sar salamat to pagadi hazar (if I am using this muhawara correctly).

Well I lay there, at the side of the road, all forgotten and lonely, with my broken visor as company for me. All dirty and dusty, gathering dirt, till rodents decided to make their home in me, and so I found myself of more use to them than my master had of any use for me.

Then one day I saw him speed by. A brand new shiny bike he rode, with the same item as pillion. But no helmet on his head. So guess the saying “once bitten twice shy” didn’t really apply to him.

A Wondering, Wandering Heart

Standing at the edge of sometime so deep

Something so vast and powerful 

Makes the wanderer in me to wonder

If this wondering, wandering would ever cease

Wondering where is life leading me

What does it have in store for me

What twist and turns

What surprises does it have for me

Where will it take me

Whether it will let me wander a little while more

Before it lets the wandering wondering heart settle 

The water not still, neither rough

An easiness with every rise and fall

Like a heaving bosom

Rising and falling with every breath

But there’s a calmness in this uneasiness 

A strange feeling of peace

Reflecting the greyness of the skies

Somehow reflecting the grey uneasiness

That lay within my heart

That clouded my mind

The uncertainty and confusion

But at the same time bringing peace

A soothing balm

For all the uneasiness and greyness

As I stood there 

At the shore of this grey lake 

Wondering what lay in front of me

Where it would take me

What new adventures

What new challenges lay ahead of me

Is there something or someone 

out there for me

Till then I know

A wondering wandering heart 

I shall always be

Till it’s time too stop the wondering wandering

Lay down for all eternity

A very campy affair

As the train slowly trudge on, the vast expanses of the city made way for the greens of the hills, that were dotted with waterfalls and covered by clouds and mist. Wherever you saw the eyes were greeted with the soothing greens of the paddy fields and streams of water and the grey skies. The hills in all its greenery and splendour.

As the train pulled into the station it was time for the next part of the journey. Packed into a six-seater that was filled over its capacity, the vehicle made it way up serpentine roads that twisted and turned against waterfalls and green foliage, sight that at once seemed familiar of a life once lived a long time ago but still seem fresh in the memories. The misty mountains (if I can call them that), mesmerised and at once held you in awe. The air crisp and fresh as light drizzle fell. This the beauty of the old highway, which you once took before the advent of the expressway.

Then it was time for the final leg of the journey, in a rickety rick, through pothole strewn roads, if you could even call them that. Every dip into a pothole causing the rick and it occupant shaken, if not stirred, a toll that the back and butt were made to pay. But then the sight of the vastness of the water body left you in awe, its beauty and power, leaving you wondering how something so vast could be so powerful, could be so beautiful, could be so enticing. The water reflecting the greyness of the skies, along vast green mountains and foliage, leaving you astounded at what stood in front of you.

The roads went up and down and twisted and turned, and all you could think is what an awesome route it would make to train on with all its slopes and rolling terrain. The topography beautiful, the weather perfect, the perfect running weather. Every route marker left you calculating the time you would take to cover the distance of you just run it, which on the face of it seemed quite simple. 

After a long arduous journey, felt by the back, butt and knees, the campsite came in view. All through the journey the mind kept screaming, are we there yet, not  truly at the destination. The campsite beautiful, with coloured tents against the backdrop of the lake on one side and the mountains on the other side. You felt like home, cause somewhere beyond those mountains lay a place that you will always hold dear to you. 

The surprise to the birthday boy was pleasant, as he was not told about your presence as you dilly dallied on whether you would even make it. So once the surprise revealed and bags stored away, it was time for the celebration to begin. There was wine (the only alcohol you drank), beers and breezers, and music and dances and dance performances, and satiating the hunger with some nicely cooked barbecued chicken and paneer.

After a quick dinner, and some late night chatting, it was time to retreat to the tents. The air outside cool and breezy against the skin, sent shivers, causing you tremble. The tent small and quaint, meant for two, seemed a bit claustrophobic with the presence of both its occupants. It trembled and shook, with the gushing of the breeze, with the sound of the rain as it fell all around you. Sleep seemed to have been disturbed from all this din. But then it was an experience to be had, an experience like none other that you had ever experienced.

The next morning brought an exploration to the shore, the place that lay hidden in the dark, hidden from plain view. The sight that lay before the eye begged to be captured for all prosperity. So there were preening and posing and selfie taking. Trying to make most of nature’s bountiful, a beautiful natural backdrop for some amazing pics.

But then, every good thing has to come to an end, and so did this experience. So after the accounts were settled and the outstanding amounts paid, it was time to make the journey back, through the sites that were viewed before. But not before  some more photo-take-outing and a choreographed dance. So finally, when all was said and done, it was back home with a heart and mind filled with memories.

P.S. Thank you Kamal and Raj for inviting and being part of this adventure, this experience, and Parag for making me tag along.

Do give this place, Paradise Cove, a look, if you wish to go out camping. Beautiful, homely, with wonderful hospitality and delicious, homely food and people.

..when you don’t RUN

As a runner...

When you run, you run

When you don’t run, you volunteer...

So what better way to celebrate freedom than helping others run wild and free, well not exactly wild, but we did aid them to run free, by volunteering at the 12 hours Mumbai Ultra.

Knowing that your presence, your service, aided runners in this run, is a blessed feeling. And there lies the crux of the matter, the reason, albeit a kind of selfish one, for volunteering. A runner, running for 12 hours, in Mumbai’s humidity, and did I mention the heat factor, is always going to be grateful for all the support they can get, and a grateful runner is always going to mutter some blessings (hopefully not the shaadiwala or the bacche wala) either in their mind, or say it out loud, and let’s face it, we all can do with some blessings.

So you spend most of the day jumping, screaming, cheering, clapping, even doing a couple of salsa steps, posing, clicking runners as they reach the hydration station. You do it all with a child like glee, with fullto enthusiasm, which can be infectious .

The team does not need to be told what to do, they know what needs to be done, call it the experience of volunteering at the monthly Bandra-NCPA. So they are cutting bananas, watermelons, nimboos, mixing and preparing enerzal, breaking chikkis, refilling glasses and bottles. And their enthusiasm has reached a level where they no longer waiting for the runner to reach station but running to the runners, with the phoos phoos (which is a blessing in the afternoon heat) and even giving a couple of runners a bath. With plates of watermelons and dates, and glasses of water and enerzal, they gleefully calling out to runners, pani le lo, enerzal le lo, watermelons le lo, and even dates with Sandeep (English sure is a punny language). Insisting runners take the water and enerzal, not waiting for them to say what they want, insisting that they hydrate. Helping struggling runners make it to the physio, even insisting that they stretch, spraying their sore feet. 

As the day wore on and noon gave way to evening, the stream of runner became a trickle. You admire the perseverance of those who still continue to trudge to the hydration station. But this doesn’t dampen the enthusiasm, which seems to be at the same level as it was earlier. By now you have onlookers, some trying to make away with some food, some standing wondering what a pampered crazy lot these runners are. Well that goes without saying, we volunteers are one crazy lot, and thanks to the organisers we were able to pamper the runners, with some even quipping that with all the pampering they actually managed to put on a kg instead of loosing it.

Finally it’s time to close the water station, to pack up and transport all that’s left behind. The delicious kichidi and dahi bath have been eaten, its time to shut shop move out. The runners (at least those who are still running) have been instructed to take a u-turn at the Charlie water station (ah yes, we were the delta, though I wish we were blue). But not before we said our thank you and clicked the customary volunteers pic, did we finally closed the station. It was time to call a cab and sink in to its air conditioned confines, to catch a quick shut eye before you reach your destination, grateful for the events of the day.

P.S. Would really like to thank all the volunteers, not just at our hydration station, but all the other stations, for giving us their precious time and doing an awesome job at it. Thank you to the organisers who for giving us the opportunity to serve and support our fellow runners.

When Pune beckons you

When Pune beckons, you go. When she calls you drop everything and just go. And when you pay heed to her call she plays hard ball, sometimes hot, sometimes cold, with cloudy, overcast skies, occasionally spraying you with light showers. 

As you stand there waiting to greet your friends you can’t help but admire the weather, the skies, the coolness all around. You greet your friends as they slowly stream in to collect their bibs, greeting them enthusiastically, making runners talk like what’s your target time, what’s your strategy, and discuss the race, all the time you are silently hoping the weather holds up till tomorrow, she doesn’t go through the mood swing like her sister city nMumbai does.

True enough she holds her end of the bargain, she’s showered the roads with some light drizzle, which you can tell from the smell of wet grass as it greets you the moment you enter the tracks, as the fastest marathoners pass you by. You can’t help but marvel and be grateful.

She’s set a route that will challenge you, knowing a good challenge is what you like.  She’s cool now, though she’s no longer showering you with those light drizzles. She’s set inclines that test you, continuous  inclines though not relentless. You accept her challenge, ready and rearing to tackle it. You do not want to rush or panic, not let her get into to your head, when runners overtake you. You know what you need to do and you run to the beat of your own tune, or the music playing in your ears.

The route is wet from her morning showers, so you zig-zag to avoid puddles, patches of water, or you just run through them, splashing away with a childlike glee. You steady yourself as you try and keep to the side of the road that’s gotten a bit slippery. So occasionally you try to keep your balance and not land flat on your ass. 

The route is peppered with enthusiastic volunteers who relentlessly cheer you on, supporting you, egging you on, trying to make a tough route breezy. So aided by their support, and light breeze, which she now blessed you with, you make it through the inclines, till the 11th km, and from then it’s downhill. It’s time for high fives and thank yous, as you go, and take in the run, take in beauty of Pune, and you know she’s smiling upon you, favouring you, favouring all the runners. 

So as you approach the finish line you embrace the race, the warmth, you embrace Pune, and she embraces you back. You’re grateful that she held up her end of the bargain through each of those kms you ran, and you in turn ran with your heart, ran from your heart (if not from your core). You are grateful to her, you embrace her, and she embraces you wholeheartedly. 

Now its time for the post run shenanigans. You greet and eat, you even shake a leg and even get to handover the cheque to the podium finishers. You click pics and selfie and pose for pics and enjoy a good hot breakfast. And then it’s time to say goodbye. But you know you will be back soon, cause Pune will always call you back, will always draw you back to it. So it’s one more race in the bag, your first in the city (not counting the dream Run ran in 2007), and definitely you’re going to  return and run it again.

P.S. Thank you so much and congratulations team NEB Sports, the Super Shettyz, Sangeeta ma’am, Sunil sir and Nagraj sir for another feather in your cap, the wonderful volunteers and sponsors, the wonderful city of Pune, and last, but definitely not the least, thank you to the students and staff of AFMC for your wonderful hospitality and support, hats off to you all and join my hands in gratitude to you all for a wonderful race. Thank you Pune, adios till we meet again.

P.P.S.: This turning out to be like the end credits of a Marvel movie. This weekend wouldn't have been possible and fun without these stalwarts. Ashok sir, an absolutely awesome runner, who managed to make it through all our madness (even when I was dossing off riding shotgun), with an awesome song collection (to my absolute glee) and some really great advice on running. Yogi, such a chilled out and awesome mate and fellow runner, who can match and exceed your level of craziness but hell of a runner. Lastly, Sandeep, our Page 3 celebrity, who kept us entertained and was fun company. What more could I ask for to make it one awesome weekend.

Mumbai Local Trains: Bringing people closer together

The Mumbai locals, the lifeline of the city’s transportation system, have been around  for well over a century and a half, and for over a century and half it has single handedly managed to bring people closer together. You’re squeezed against each other, like a can of sardines, packed during peak hours, so much that you don’t know where one person ends and the other begins. It’s like you two becomes one.

Its bodies pressed against each other, crotch meets butt, face meets armpit, oily hair meets elbow (for that matter, any part that should come in contact with it). You become brothers bathed in each other’s sweat, sweat brother, sweaty brothers, who in the end begin to smell the same. And with all that continuous bump and grind, it’s almost an orgy of dry humping, with all that hot and heavy breathing over the neck, only adding to the atmosphere.

You don’t need any cold cream or moisturiser. Just stand next to a well oiled head and you’ll be lucky enough to have it rubbed against you. The caveat being you should not be picky of whether it’s nariyal ka tel, or sarson ka tel, or any tel for that matter. Just go with the flow and you’ll be well oiled.

Hands become intertwined as they reach to hold whatever they find to hold. Legs become intertwined, trying to find a toe space, if a foot space is not possible (which is most of the time). Heads peering over shoulders straining to see what the other is seeing, what the other is reading, making it a group activity of reading, watching. With body parts intertwined, bodies intertwined, weaving into a fabric of the brotherhood of train travellers.

Thus the locals have been successful at bringing people together, that no man or thing can put asunder. In short, what the Mumbai locals brings together let no man put asunder.

The man with the silver hair and fluorescent tee and golden words

As I made my way up that final slope I finally see that finish line. With all the energy left in me I try to give that one final push to the finish line, having a mental battle with myself, who seemed to have resorted to curses in addition to all the protest, muttering, wondering what exactly had gotten into me to have undertaken a challenge I don’t think I was capable of completing,  a race route on kacha roads, almost trails at some parts, nut then your other side feeling that the scenic route and the challenge quite made up for it. But going too fast had led to cramping and muscle tightening (the pitfalls of assumed youth). 

Limping, crawling, I finally made it across that finish line and proceeded to the cool down area for some help from the physio. Little did I know that my struggle and perseverance was being watched, was being noticed. As I arrive to the cool down area, I see a physio attending this gentleman with silver hair and a fluorescent tee (or another bright colour, it seems like age is catching up). He gestures to the physio to attend to me for which I am grateful and thank him for the kind gesture. He smiles and speaks in a hoarse voice. I assume that it was a sore throat, little did I know about his battle scars and how he came out a survivor, coming out a victor (after all he was from the Navy and the Navy makes them strong).

We weren’t friends then on FB but I could read his public posts. There was a certain kind of romantism in each every word, a passion, a fire, and at times a bit of melancholy. He was a romantic and found a way to romance and woo Life, and not just his wife. Those were beautiful prose, romantic lines, that drew you in with them.

I remember seeing him on the other side of the road during the VVMM, dancing to the beats of the dhol as it drummers played with gutso, as if bouyed by his enthusiasm. I shouted out hoping i could be heard over the beats of the dhol. He did hear it, as he later did mentioned it along with how the ladies loved his silver hair and showered him with more flowers. He was full of life, full of love.

On the last day of the same year, I decided to join my friends for a run, as it was closer to my workplace and it would be fun to run as a group. That day as I made my way through those inclines and declines, I saw him running steadily on the other side of the road in an attire that was bright and radiant as his personality, with his sipper in hand. We waved out to each other and exchanged warm smiles and continued on our respective runs. That day it seemed that we were destined to meet each other.

The following year we met each other at different races, cheered each other, clicked pics together, congratulated each other. I kept reading his posts, reading every single word, being inspired by it, admiring and respecting him even more. We once again met each other at the race where we first met each other but instead of tightened sore muscles we met with smiles and clicked pics.

Later that year during the inaugural promo run of the IDBI Federal Life Insurance Half Marathon, I asked him if I could have the honour to run with him (taking a page from a running diva). He tried to dissuade me saying that he would just slow me down but since I was having none of it I continued to run with him. It was indeed a pleasure and honour to run those kms with him. The next day I read his post, and what I read moved me, brought a smile, some tears, and made me feel blessed and grateful to know someone as wonderful as him.

The next few months I saw very little of him, both on social media and races. I learned from friends and fellow runners that that what had afflicted him before had returned again. This time around too he was fighting it bravely, not giving up on life, and this reflected in his posts, when he did post. But slowly and steadily the affliction seemed to be getting better of him.

When I finally found the courage to see him I couldn’t recognise the man who lay on that hospital. He nowhere looked like the man I knew and admired and looked up to, the man with the silver hair and fluorescent tee. I felt helplessly not really knowing what to say. I whispered a silent prayer and hoped for what was best for him. I finally got to meet the love of his life, the source of his romantism.

The next day got a message of his passing. Somehow there was a feeling of peace that I got to see him (though this wasn’t, wouldn’t, be the way I would remember him), and now he would be at peace, away from the pains of that which had afflicted him. Though earth may have lost a noble soul, heaven gained a romantic angel, the man with the silver hair and the fluorescent tee with those romantic words. I said a silent prayer thanking the gift that he was to us all.