The Jinxability Blog

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It's funny what 12 months can do to you, isn't it? Last year, this time, I was home. I was drunk. I was depressed. And I was writing this.


Looking back, yes, those were the dark times. And though no more posts followed, it didn't significantly improve. For the next three months. It got worse. And then worse some more. And then you get to the point where you start giving up. (This is about where you're going to realize that this is not one of the usual humour posts I write here. Sorry about that.)


If I were to pick one moment that changed it all. It'd be this: 


In Agumbe, there I was, standing at the edge of a waterfall and peering down. (Did I mention I was afraid of heights?) And then the wind picked up, knocked me off balance for a split-second. That tiny fragment of time, when you're pretty sure that you're going to fall a 20 storey-height to a very painful death can give you a lot of perspective. 


And it did. Actually, life can be awesome fun, if you let it be. 


So. I did. 


- I did get that passport. 
- I went to Australia and Austria. (Antartica next, maybe.)
- I traveled WAY WAY more than the 10, 000 kilometers that I wanted to travel. 
- Actually, I traveled more than 1500 kilometers on a cycle. (Did I mention that I might sell off my bike?)
- Got inked.
- Quit a job where I wasn't growing anymore. (And starting another job in the New Year.)
- Moving to a city that I love. Full of people that I can relate with. 
- Had less number of people call me scary. 
- Made a substantial difference to the lives of at least 4 people. 
- Still can't put up with my relatives. I rather doubt that this one will ever be possible. But hey, it's a New Year after all. 


Ultimately. 2011 taught me one VERY important lesson: 


Doesn't matter where you are. Doesn't matter what you are. Doesn't matter who you're with. Doesn't matter if you're not invited. Doesn't matter if people don't care. Doesn't matter if you're disappointed. 


If you want something, you fight for it. With everything you have. (How's that for cheesy?)


And right now, I want an awesome 2012. So bring it on! 


Happy New Year, my only reader. (And anybody else.)
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I'm a very disappointed citizen of the Indian Union. What liberty does a citizen have when his very integrity is taken for a ride? What is the purpose of me voting for a new Government, or a new representative if they can't protect my freedom?

** Disclaimer: This post will in all possibility contain random outbursts of anger, offensive language and indecent references. If you are a minor under adult supervision, read and use as you see fit. **


FUCK YOU!


Ha! Felt good to start with that one. :) You see, when this month started, all I had was a challenge and a new cycle. 


This month ends with a less-new cycle, valuable lessons about myself learned, a target achieved and the satisfaction of spitting in the faces of you nay-sayers. 


If you're reading this, you know what this is all about. My project for the month of June. 1ooo kilometers. 


It gives me quite a lot of pleasure to tell you that the target has been met. Two days before the close of the month. (In 23 days, to be more precise)


As for you fuckers who said that I'd vanish into thin air, or that I'd go into the 2D mode of existence, or that I wouldn't get past 500, or that it was a stupid pursuit: Well, the longest of my fingers stands straight in defiance to your quirks and pessimism. The opening two words of this post was JUST FOR YOU! Enjaay!






It wasn't easy. It was raining at times. Sweltering hot otherwise. But, to be frank, more than the people who were supporting me, it was you, the people who weren't and the people who were saying I couldn't do it, that drove me on most of the time. So yeah, do need to thank you as well.

Anyhow, find the figures here.


Oh, and to the folks who were supporting me! THANK YOU! The support kilometers I had to do for you was the best part of the month!  Felt good doing it! :D


Meanwhile, Zen and the Art of Bicycle Perseverance continues right here on this blog.. Come back and visit to find out more about what to do when some fucking moron runs you off the road..

Until then, ride hard, don't take shit from anyone, and complete your projects. Jr out!

June has just been cut short for me. What was to be a 30-day project involving 1000 kms, just turned into a 28-day project, with a wee bit over 1000 kilometers.

Rains, roads and dumass motorists haven't been kind. 


But hills have been climbed, Zen has been practiced, abuses have been hurled and gears have been changed. 


Today being the half-day mark, it was time to assess oneself in true Zen tradition. 


So. Here are the facts: 


1. Kilometers covered: 530.62
2. Time taken: 1 day and half an hour. 

More such unnecessary figures can be found here. 


In conclusion: 
Am I on track for 1000 kms: Yes.
Am I on track for more than 1000 kms: Possibly. 
Am I going to stick onto the project: Yes. Been laughed at by too many people to give up now.





Tips from "Zen and the Art of Bicycle Perserverance":
--> For every hill you pedal up, there's always going to be a downhill you can coast on.


--> Distances never get smaller. Your ability to lie to yourself gets better.


--> When the World runs out of petrol and diesel, cyclists can have the sadistic pleasure of honking at the now-carless Motorist bastards. Or, more simply put: Patience IS virtue!


(Image courtesy: webwarriortools.com)

Dear Reader (s?),

This is not one of those posts where I say something stupid, you read it, think to yourself 'weirdo!' and then we all go on with our merry lives.

No my friend, we're in deeper shit now.

So. Did you know that I recently bought a bicycle? Well I did. I bought the Schwinn Searcher 2011. Google it, and you'll get this image:


Awesome right? Well, in reality, mine looks like this:


No less awesome mind you. If you sniggered, fuck you! Moving on..

Getting to the point. This friend (ah well sort of) of mine, who has a Bianchi Camaleonte and likes showing it off took it one step too far yesterday. He challenged me. The nerve of the short bastard, I say!

What was the challenge? To do a 1000 kilometers on the bike during the month of June. As I stood there stunned and shocked, it occurred to me what I should do.

As any responsible person who has Barney has his role model would do, I shouted out: "Challenge accepted."

So. This morning at 4.30 a.m. I put on my lucky, erm, shoes, listened to an AC/DC track and hit the road.

17 kms in, I had the realization.

As any number of ex-girlfriends, ex-roomies and ex-friends will tell you, I have MAJOR trust-issues. Didn't help that all of them were from the canine family, but anyhow, I don't trust anybody!

Point being, I don't trust MYSELF on this. If it's just between me and Mr. Bianchi(cken), I'm pretty sure I'll drop out, come down with a fever, develop arthritis, fake a heart condition or something after a few days.

But not if you know too. For putting up with all my weirdo shit, I owe you that much. :D

So here is the deal. Keep me to my word. For every person who calls, pings or comments and encourages me to do this, I'll do an extra 5 kilometers!

And how are you going to know what distances I did? You can find it right here.

So let's go! Bring on Day 2 I say!

It happened in December. Suddenly, I couldn't sleep. I was an insomniac. 


Such a chronic one that it started scaring my friends. Some asked me to count sheep, others asked me see a doctor. One advised me to get drunk and pass out. 


The last one, actually, was the only plan that worked for me. 


I blamed it on my job. The hours. The lack of hours. The timings. The lack of timing, rather. 




It went on for three months. The constant tiredness. Nodding off in the bus, five minutes before the stop where I would have to get down. Then the long and painful nights, some of whom were used for constructive purposes; but mostly whittled away wondering what was wrong with me and how to fix it. 


Then suddenly, towards the end of April, it all went back to normal. Eight hours a day. And everyday at that. 


The results: Fell behind on my reading, fell behind on my to-watch list, couldn't run in the mornings anymore, got increasingly more bored in office, started waking up early, started getting to office early, bus rides became longer, train rides became insufferable, sounds were clearer and more deafening etc etc. 


Today. I haven't slept yet. 

The results: Went for a walk, started reading again (Girl with the Dragon Tattoo), sat up and thought about writing about this, sat up and wrote about this, made myself breakfast, read the paper, didn't count sheep, finished watching a series that I had wanted to watch. Oh I don't know. 




If those sheep and doctors had done any permanent damage to me, I wouldn't be writing this. 


I can complain I guess. And I probably will also. But have to admit, being an insomniac is probably one of the best things that can happen to somebody. Imagine all the extra hours you get!


(Image courtesy: http://bioweb.uwlax.edu)

Yes. I work at a good enough place. Good enough for them to send me to Australia for three days.

Now. I've never been to Australia before, or anywhere else outside India for that matter. Hell, I just got my passport a couple of months back as part of my ground-breaking Project MMXI. 


So it was that one fine night, I got to Brisbane airport.


First impression: Looks like a nice place. (Day 1, 2031 hrs, Location: Airport/On road to Caloundra)




Why? People smile at you. The roads are clean. There is this strange silence that I've never experienced before. What IS that? Then it hits me! Nobody here honks!

Yes goddammit! You heard me, people there don't honk. They put on their indicators, stick to their lanes and let other people pass by. Fucking brilliant I say!


Second impression: I could live here. (Day 2, 0843 hrs, Location: Breakfast buffet @ Oasis Rdyges Hotel, Caloundra.)



 What more could you ask for? The people are nice, the weather is nice, there is a beach nearby, and the beach has benches where you can sit and forget everything! 


And the food. Steak and bacon and hash browns and (sigh)... Here, I might actually put on some weight for once!


A dream come true for any lazy ass. 


Third impression: They'll kill me if I stay here too long (Day 2, mid-morning to late night, Location: In and around Caloundra.)




Ah, you don't know what it is like when you hear it on TV, or watch in that movie. Being in the moment while you're being racially abused, well, is.. you know, funny!


Disclaimer: I DO NOT take pride in being an Indian, or being brown skinned, or being born a Hindu etc. I also DO NOT aspire to or want to be like an Aussie, American, Espanyolish Amigo or haughty Englishman. 


Hence, I really do not get racism.

I found it funny that these people were so quick to judge me, shout at me, wave their fingers (read finger) at me and stare at me without even giving me a chance. I mean, who's the bigger man here? Me, and I never would've thought that I would have the privilege! So there!


Fourth impression: No place is perfect I suppose. (Day 3 + Day 3 and 1/2, Location: Caloundra/Brisbane.)





Look at us in India. We can barely put up with each other. We have stereotypes about language, tradition and all that nonsense. 


Now. You take the same people, put them in a different continent, and have them give shit to the local population. What do you get? Racism of course. Aussie people, I do understand how you feel about my brethren. 


It's just sad that you thought I was one of the multitudes. You can obviously tell from my aura of awesomeness that I'm different. Then why?!


But. In the end, I suppose you're never comfortable with any place. There are assholes everywhere. Question you've to ask is whether you're willing to put up with all of them just to be there. 


Is the bacon and steak really worth it? Is the lack of sound pollution worth it? Are the pretty women worth it? 


Questions, confounding questions. 

I'm no scientist.. Yes, there was a time when I thought I was that smart. But my maths teacher and those repeated exams laid that theory to rest.. 

I don't understand Hollywood. All those movies with time machines in them, and nobody could manage to do something interesting with them.


Michael J. Fox made out with his Mom, Guy Pearce tried to bring his wife back from the dead, John Cusack and co. took another chance at their miserable childhood, Ben Affleck bought himself a lottery ticket, oh the list is endless AND frustrating.




For all that intellectual depth and Save-The-World nonsense that they so flamboyantly showed in other movies, they did not do one single thing worth noting.. But hey, can't blame them. Poor bastards were probably caught unprepared.


But not me. No sir! I shall endeavour to put together a Time-Machine To-Do list, just in case I happen to come across/use/fall-into/get-sucked-into one...


And it shall follow:


1. Tell Jesus what his priests are upto 2000 years later..
2. Tell Buddha that there are two branches of Buddhism these days..
3. Find out if any of that shit in the Mahabharatha is actually true..
4. Go to 1938 and tell Adolf Hitler how the war will end..
5. Go meet Anne Frank..
6. Stay in Harappa for two months and learn the local language...
7. See Egypt under Cleopatra... (Find out how they managed to build them pyramids also..)
8. Watch how Alexander managed to talk to the Indians..
9. Go see a mammoth / T-Rex...
10. Witness Berlin Wall destruction...
11. Tell them Indian kings what the British will be up to the moment they set up base.. (Not that it'd make too much of a difference!)


I'm pretty sure there were more. Periodical writer's block, what can I say! To be updated as and when inspiration strikes.. 


(Image courtesy: Vistawallpaper.org)

Truth be told, I wish I was not the person who was destined to write this series. But, after all the shit that this friend of mine gets into, I can no longer sit by idly and not write about it.

Thank you my brother. Thanks to you, I have learned some valuable lessons on life, weddings and life during weddings recently. 


Now. I don't like weddings. We Mallus have five minute weddings. As in, if you're not the groom or bride, the wedding basically is a five minute affair. Show up, smile at some people, go eat, and then go home.


I hate going to those! I hate all those relatives who come up to you, pinch your cheek and say: "Do you remember me?" I usually say: "No I don't." which is met with condescending looks from all around. It would eventually turn out that they last met me when I was a five month old baby in diapers.  


North Indian weddings, my friends, are sadly not that easy. The lessons I've learnt at the one I was at recently?


1. Be safe than very sorry
Never EVER get married to a North Indian girl. If you unfortunately happen to fall for one, make sure that she is not one of those who always dream of having a big wedding. 


2. Don't play Who's Boss?
Don't tell your parents that you're getting married, until after you're already  hitched. Unless of course, you willingly want to spend your time listening to, and being party to, the myriad efforts trying to out-do the other side. 


"They are coming in Volkswagen for the wedding, we'll hire BMW." "They bought new shoes from Bata? We'll atleast have to buy Luis Vutton!" Yes, you will feel like killing yourself after a couple of days of this. 


3. Beware of 'em relative folk
Do not force people into coming if they really are not up to it. Asking them to dress up and take part in customs they do not understand or endorse is only going to start a crib-match. Which you do not want to listen to. If you're related to them or not. 


At the reception, somebody said: "When you get hitched, don't go for somebody outside our fold. Going through all these customs is very difficult for us" I answered: "Even if I do or don't, you are not invited. There! Problem solved!" 


4. Horses don't dance
Sadly, people are expected to. Northies have this Baaraat thing where the groom (who got the rest of us into the mess) sits on a horse and his relatives are supposed to dance him from some kilometre or so away up till the wedding venue. 


Baaraat: Needed: Young relatives who have no shame. 
What we had: 40+ relatives who hadn't moved their upper body since 1974. 
Recipe for disaster.
What is worse than being the only guy in a young age bracket and having to do the honours of writhing uncontrollably to shitty music? Having to watch your older relatives try to follow suit. Trust me. Painful. Very. 


5. The law of Exchanges
Which, sadly, do not apply in the case of such weddings. Why do I propose this? Because of the needless amounts spent on things that go to waste or are not appreciated enough. 


For example, at this wedding, both the sides were expected to give each other kilos upon kilos of dry fruits. Nobody eats them (well perhaps maybe me. But I do have limits you know!) and they didn't seem to serve much of a purpose. 


Instead, why couldn't they just have called it even, and said: "OK. Let's just not buy any!"


The sides were also expected to give each other apparel. I caught disapproving looks on stage many a time as the gifts were given and received. Can't blame them. Can't blame myself actually. Pink really is NOT my colour. I mean, come on! Seriously?


Anyhow, going to one is enough to put one off marriages for the rest of his life. I still can't understand why we're struggling with a population problem!


(Images Courtesy: Talash.com, Indycarriage.com)

I have two kinds of days. No matter how much I try, it is always either one or the other. 
It is either an On-Day, or it is an Off-Day




4:00 a.m.
What else do I do now? C'mon think of something. Get off your ass! Jeez!
Why am I even up at this time?


9:00 a.m.
Oh I'm up early. Have to get things done. 
I hate you sunlight. Fish you God!


11:30 a.m.
This and that and that is done. I feel happy about myself. 
*Drools* Say what? 


1.00 p.m.
Now I will have lunch!
I should probably brush my teeth. 


3:00 p.m.
Get on train, go for work. Awesome!
I should probably get out of bed now. #fml! 




5:00 p.m.
Work is awesome! They'll probably promote me if I work this hard!
What's the point? I'll die an old man doing the same job. Why God, why?


9:00 p.m.
I belong here don't I? I could work like this without taking an off for days at end. 
I need a vacation. I need a camera. I need a car. When is the pay-day again?


10:30 p.m.
Time to leave already? But, but, there is nothing to do at home!
Gawd! I thought this would never end. Home sweet home. Well not quite, but atleast it's quiet. 


11:30 p.m. 
This movie, that movie. Book. This one, that one. I'm hungry. What restaurant will be open now? 
What movie have I seen, does not require me to think, and is fun? Damn, I'm hungry. 


2:00 a.m.
I should go to sleep shouldn't I? Will wake up early and have another awesome day tomorrow. 
What's the point. No sunlight. Awesome time to be up. Yayy!


4:00 a.m. 
What's the point? Why am I even up at this time?
Alright enough! Get up off your ass NOW!


(Image Courtesy: antonylowe.wordpress.com)

And then, there are those days. Days without one word being written!

Or weeks. Or months. 

Steps to overcoming the dreaded disease that all Bloggers face one time or the other: 

Step 1: Denying Denial

Tell yourself that you ARE actually blocked and can't write even a few scant words. 

Stop telling yourself that you're not writing because 

a) There is not a good enough topic; 

b) You don't have time; 

c) The keyboard isn't good enough. 

Step 2: Think of an Action Plan

Come to the realisation that all awesome things happen because of action plans. Figure out how you might possible go about getting around the block. 

OR. If you're NOT an anal freak, skip to step 3. 

Step 3: Get off your Ass

Come to the realisation that your endless procrastination skills are not constructive. To anything. 

Give yourself a date. A deadline. Try and figure out a topic. Or don't. Just decide to go with the flow. 

Step 4: Fight the fear

Refrain from asking yourself questions such as:

- But what if it isn't interesting enough?

- What will all my thousand readers thinnk?

- What if nobody comments?

Step 5: Truth Time

Tell yourself the truth that you keep buried deep, deep inside:

- Your posts are never interesting.

- You don't have a thousand readers. In fact, you might not have more than two. 

- Nobody usually comments anyhow. Besides you, yourself. 

Step 6: Final realisation

Come to the painful but beautiful conclusion that you primarily write for yourself. So who gives a shit anyhow? 

Step 7: D-Day

After a further procrastination of a few days, and just type what comes to mind.

Hit 'Publish' and keep your fingers crossed for all the critical acclaim, tons of comments and showers of love from subscribers. 

(Image Courtesy: storesonlinepro.com)

This post had been in the making for quite some time. First lack of time, then lack of sleep, and then lack of a laptop put me off from writing it.

Until I was heartbroken to see that somebody else had already written on it. My good friend Jonva, over at These Days, wrote this post to commemorate the Independence Day. Oddly enough, staunch and proud Indian I was, I couldn't but agree with what he was saying.

First off, this is the first Independence Day that I've seen quite a few of my friends actually saying that they did not quite enjoy celebrating it all that much. Possibilities:
1. I made a lot of friends this year.
2. I made a few friends this year, but they were all 'rebels'.
3. Independence Day fell on a Sunday this year; hence people actually started thinking about it, rather than thank it for a merciful holiday.

Whatever the case maybe, they are right. We're all pseudo-patriots. We take pride in our country because everybody else does. Not because we understand, give two-hoots about, or because we know what it stands for.

Our national pride and sentiment are restricted to the days when our nation comes to the rescue in the form of a national holiday. Now that is the case with most of us. I'm not quite sure where to put the army-men, freedom fighters and their kind. They seem to be fighting for the country, with the staunch belief that they're doing some good.

Though, I wonder, won't a soldier in Pakistan think the same thing? Will he, for instance, wake up one day and say: "Oh damn, Musharraf is such a dick!" I suppose not. What makes him better or worse than one of our own soldiers?

Our forefathers. And their brave actions that gave us freedom from the fat and boring English (of course, they did not have the EPL then). Why? Why did we need it so bad? What good did they think they were doing?


Fact of the matter is, we need those army-men and politicians. Though I agree with every word Jonva said in his post, I don't think he sees the point.

You see, in an ideal world, there are no hypocrites. In an ideal world, there are no politicians. No hunger, no poverty. No richer man. And no poorer man. In an ideal world, there is no money. There are no differences.

Unfortunately, we don't live in the ideal world. We probably never will. I keep thinking it will take a nuclear war for the ideal world to emerge. Still might not at the same time. We're too damaged to think as one now.

There is no answer. Just. Hope.

(Image Courtesy: human3rror.com)

She had her eyes trained on me. All eight of them. For a moment, I was lost.

Do I let go off my bike handle bars, swat the damn thing away; or do I keep on riding, stop somewhere safe and then make sure that I don't become as big a pathetic loser as that Spiderman freak.

Option 1, sounded better. SWAT! Spider gone. I'm safe.

With new found confidence, there rose an anger. I looked toward the source from which this not-so-radioactive arachnid sprang hence. A garbage truck. As it braked, and then accelerated, and then braked again in the noon traffic on Sardar Patel Road, bits and pieces were showered on those unfortunate enough to be riding anywhere close to it.


Which took me back to another incident a week or so back. Riding back from office late at night, I ended up behind a truck that was carrying rubble of some sort. Concrete that was dug up from somewhere. Presumably a good-looking road.

As I came up behind, the flap was lifted off by the wind, and I was showered with debris. The bike started wobbling after it went over a few stones that were being sprayed onto the road. Weirdly, it reminded me of an action sequence from some Will Smith movie. Bad Boyz I think. Dunno.

Anyhow, point is, half the stuff that these idiots carry end up on the road. Another reason why our roads aren't so great. I mean, in a way, it makes sense. If you're carrying things that people don't really WANT, such as garbage or rubble, who cares if it reaches the end-point or not right?

Well, I care you fucking morons. You fuck up my eyes, you screwed up my tyres, you almost made me into fucking Spiderman!

I think the folks that pass all those unnecessary laws should enforce some rule enforcing condoms on the back of trucks. Desired results:

1. Less number of freaks running around in tights,
2. Road safety;
3. Something to do for those damn traffic cops, other than terrorizing little-to-blame sane riders.

Just saying.