May Peace Prevail On Earth

The word that describes it is … – I said. She cut me short – Smart!
In my mind, I had – Bitchy! But she wasn’t a mind reader. I smiled.

I paid for the spectacles. We headed out.
And, another argument was nipped in the bud.

We are a peaceful couple.
One, an impatient speaker. Another, a patient listener.

Zero This Zero That

No, Thank You. I’m full – she politely declined the deserts on offer.
I’ve a bad cold – she said sliding the ice-cream aside.
They cringed while others indulged sinfully.

On the drive back home, they remained sullen.
In the nude, they corroborated their stats, nudging each other out of the mirror’s view.

The perfidious size-zero beckoned.

Hold ‘em tight

A man should be able to hold his drink. I had always wondered why the rule didn’t apply to them – the sober creations of God.

By the seventh round, I was under the table.
She, now an angel, asked if I desired some more.

Later, she claimed to have stayed sober.
Dubious! – I shrugged, sheepishly.

Alter Ego

I feel a certain void - she’d admitted. She always desired to do myriad things. One life to live – she would scream. She was to me – a genuine human being and a great friend. Her ideologies resonated with mine. She was my alter ego.

Her suicide shook me, shattered my beliefs, raised infinite questions. All unanswered!

Love vs Lust

As he sat on the wooden bench at the cliff’s edge, a chilly breeze bit his face. Shivering, he adjusted his muffler, leaving only his eyes exposed to the elements.

He slid out a photo, and stared at her.
Years ago, at this very spot, his lust for money had outweighed his love for her.

The Tour Of Nilgiris – 2nd Edition

Everything hurts. Your back hurts, your feet hurt, your hands hurt, your neck hurts, your legs hurt, and of course, your butt hurts – says the legendary Lance Armstrong in It’s Not About the Bike.

My personal experiences as a motor-biker are in consonance with his views on at least two counts -
a) the butt, sure, hurts b) it is never about the bike

In spite of being an active Bikenomad for a while now, I haven’t progressed to being a cyclist, unlike ardent proponents of the cause like Sameer (Yes, moving from a motor-bike to a bike is progressive in more ways than one)

Sometime back, I had a candid conversation with a friend who happens to cycle regularly, delving on city riding vis-a-vis long tours. Below is an audio clip of the same

If Gautam(the unfailing cyclist in the audio) lacks the expertise to be on such a tour and Sameer has gained it through rigorous and committed training, I should better make the first move.

When I’d first heard about the Tour Of Nilgiris more than a year back, I was greatly excited. I had made a secret resolution of participating in the next edition. Leaning on the slopes of the Nilgiris on a bicycle while negotiating a curve, wading through the early morning mist would be such an emancipating experience, when compared to being greeted by one’s boss in a farm of cubicles.

This year the Tour of Nilgiris has grown bigger and better. The rider list has grown from 40 to 70 and the ‘09 edition takes into consideration the requirements of riders with varying skill levels, different bicycles and the desire to get as much as possible from the tour. Expert help in the form of bicycle mechanics and health-care professionals will be available to all riders throughout the 8 day journey, covering a total of 901 kms.

As kids, we loved our bikes. It signified liberation and independence, one’s first set of wheels. It is time to get back to them (And I of course don’t mean the tri-cycles) for the greater good of the world. And that is what this tour is about, ultimately.

“You’re gonna win the Tour De France one day” – Chris Carmichael, Lance’s coach said to him.
“You’re gonna be on the Tour Of Nilgiris one day” – I, the coach and the pupil, say to myself.

Lights Out

I smugly sucked in the fresh morning air.

She perhaps wants more – I thought, when the maid refused the customary Diwali bonus.
No cracker sale in Sivakasi this year. My son committed suicide – she said, breaking down.

I’d celebrated a Green Diwali, saving moolah on crackers.
She’d, apparently, paid a heavy price for the same.

Funky Yucky

He was elated. He could not believe his eyes. Keen to show it off, he let his flatmates have a dekko first. They drooled. Excited with their response, he rang her.

He covered her eyes, as she entered his room.
Switching on the light, he let her see.

She shrieked! His funky was her yucky.