Simranjeet Gill

Jaguar test ride

2012-02-13T10:11:00.001+05:30

Yes sir, bloody hell it was to me when the guy explained the features. Was I driving in medieval transports so far? For a while I so despised the moment when I denied the driver and decided to drive all by myself for 2 days. But then, the tiny Schumacher in me came calling and couple of kilometres on ODO, my loins were ready to squeal 3.0 litre V6.

Jaguar XF

My first try on automatics, had to be a 650 km stretch on a 6 million Jag. 36 hours later I sit here typing, becoming totally pro of automatics. For as long as I remember, I despised the very person who came up with automatic gear boxes. I was like why would anyone want to let go of power control? As admitted earlier only medieval thinkers drive medieval transports. Although this Jag had a manual control as well, but automatics are bloody comfortable man! The gear shift control in XF is with levers right under the steering wheel, just like a Ferrari. The response of car is awesome - carries the capacity to give you an acceleration jerk even while cruising at 80kmph. Although, I was not too comfortable with vehicle stability at speeds of 180kmph, but it sure glides at 160kmph. Fuel efficiency was amazingly similar to my Ford truck. With that kinda motor under the hood, I dont mind couple of liters going overboard. The interiors bear nice soothing leather, with a decent leg space for a lounger as me. Boot space is ok, then again don't take Jag XF for a luggage dump.

Owning a Harley has made me used to fan attention on roads, although there were not many who could make out the XF beast. The ones who did - as usual - had Mobile Photography as their hobby. Surely, Jag XF deserved remark from a Merc owner in Karnal - Nice car !

DAIKIN

2012-01-15T17:40:00.000+05:30

Sawatdee

What followed with a phone call from a sophisticated speaking gentleman with me tending to my flock at dairy farm, was to change the course of events of my life. I was a wee disappointed to see the gentleman in Chandigarh, but he quite lived up to the sophistication. In June 2006, I met Harminder from DAIKIN.

As I sit here in Soi Sukhumvit, Bangkok; I believe there would be no worthy a place to dedicate this write-up. I am here for dealer meet and have extended my stay with a friend; and contrary to the questioning eyes of tuk tuk driver/concierge/taxi driver, Thailand has more to offer than just "BOOM-BOOM, POM-POM, DING-DANG." Pickpockets are one example, had mine picked earlier today.....those conniving b*****s.

A law per se; change is inevitable. What DAIKIN today is, and what it used to be then....there is a sea change. I see disgruntled faces all around, comparing NOW with THEN, but for me its futile. I still hold DAIKIN - the company in respect, as for me it opened path breaking chapters of life.

As I sat in the reception hall of DIT (Daikin Industries Thailand) factory this time, I grew nostalgic about my trip to Singapore in 2008. It was an incentive trip for upcoming dealers, which included 2 days of Duct Designing program at DAIKIN Singapore training facility. It was my first overseas trip and many a things happened on that trip which led to many a things once I landed homeland, but the training program stood out. It used to be 6 hours a day broken in two sessions, with the native instructor bending his back to make us understand. A shame it was to see other members of entourage talking/sleeping, in complete disregard of instructor's efforts, then again I believe this is how some of us have gained reputation as Indian's overseas. The subject of duct designing was profound and I enjoyed it.

With DAIKIN, I have had many of my firsts and elaborating on each would be uncalled for. Today I am doing well with them, tomorrow I cannot say. However, DAIKIN remains a flagged chapter of my life.

Sawatdee

P.S. My minimal mention on Thai pickpockets should not be taken as easy going, low risk f**k. I had my share of sweat and curse those conniving b*****s to hell.

AAP IDHAR SE JAAIYE

2012-01-03T09:56:00.001+05:30

The said post was written by me a while back. Based on true facts, I could'nt have let it pass by

My sister Sukhmani (alias Mani)is working in Shimla and happens to reside with one of the local families.Within the family, there is Anita (younger daughter, unmarried), Aarti (anita’selder sister, married), Ajay (Aarti’s husband) and Ma ji (Anita and Aarti’smother). As is the case with homes hills, the house is multi-storeyed withone floor opening to the road, and others up and below it. The family has adepartmental store across the road, which has been rented out and couple of pacesalong the road is the Mandir with its pujari.

Mani has beenworking in Shimla for more than a year now. She stays on the ground floor and shares the floor with Anita didi,while the rest of the family; Aarti, Ajay and Ma ji reside on the floor below.Anita has committed her life as single and is in early 40’s. She shares herlooks with fellow pahadan’s and has really small hands. Both single women share a decent comfort level. Aarti is diabetic and as such slow in her responses and I have not met Ajay and Ma ji, so don’t have a clueabout them. I assume, they are fellow participants in any run of the millIndian family. Enough for the SET and CHARACTERS.

It is early in the morning andAjay is asleep; Anita wakes up, takes bath and starts making breakfast forher husband. Two things happen here. The bathroom has 2 doors, one havingaccess from within the house and the other from outside. For some strange reason, on her way out sheopens the latch of outer door and moves to the kitchen to make breakfast forher husband. In the kitchen, she bolts the door from inside with the intentionof not disturbing others with the noise. Enter Mr. C(crackhead if I may say) from the open door of bathroom, placing himstraight into the lobby. He fumbles around for things; finds refrigerator,drinks milk; finds caserol, eats last night’s cooked paranthas; finds Ajay’sironed trouser and shirt, wears it; next come Ajay’s polished shoes and pahadicap, they go on as well; the final sweep yields Ajay’s wallet with 8000 bucksand the cars keys. All this while, Mr. C does’nt bother keeping low on noise and neitherare the house inhabitants bothered. Aarti’s mind has that her husband is upand about, and so the noise. Ajay keeps laying in bed, with consolenceof his wife’s absence. Ma ji hasit that, the couple is up and the day has risen. While each one isprocessing plausible explanations, Mr. C is set but for one problem. In thelobby there are many a doors and he forgets through which one had he entered.Trying all the doors and getting no response, he knocks on the kitchen door.Aarti thinking that its her husband, opens. The clothes looked familiarand so did the cap, but then, maybe a coincidence. Mr. C promptly slides downthe cap down to his nose and says, “Mein yaahan galti se aa gya hun. Mujhebahar jaane ka rasta bataaiye”. To Aarti that seemed fair enough, and shedirects him to the main door and says, “Aap idhar se jaaiye….. idhar se”. He's on his way.

She returns tokitchen, prepares tea for Ajay, and on way to her bedroom realizes the messthat Ajay had made with things in the lobby. Then she could’nt recall evernagging Ajay for mess that he never made; he liked order andmaintained as such. Probably, the crack of dawn had to do with itand so it struck....ROBBERY! The whole family receives a panicstricken awakening to the weekday. Ma ji rushes upstairs to Anita and Mani andannounces the latest. Anita grabs her jacket andruns for the only road there is. Apart from already cited convincingreasons why I call this chap Mr. C, the guy tops it all by following the verysame road. It’s a hill, it has a slope, maybe trek up or trek down; but no,he has to follow the road and that too at a brisk walk pace. Sureenough, Anita catches up shortly and recognizes house clothes, getshold of him and brings him back till the mandir. Get the angle here, I meangetting caught by a woman. The holy pujari in mandir had finally found themeans of testing his newly acquired walking stick, and sure enough, couple ofblows later on Mr. C he is happy with his investment. The cops are called and they are so not shocked. Apparently Mr. C, was held forrobbery 3 days back and was held in one of Shimla’s police stations. Sometime during his short detention the cops found out that the guy was a nutand decided it was best to let him loose. For that, they ask a truck driver to drop him wherever he isgoing. The truck, apparently, was carrying supplies for the departmental storerented out by the family, and so happened to drop him right in front of thehouse the previous day.

The wise guysimply chose to rob the very same house.

Happy Birthday RE

2012-01-01T09:58:00.001+05:30

SHE

Happy Birthday RE - CH04 H 0725....you are 3 years old now.

My own buy, my first buy, my first bike. Yes sir, she is Royal Enfield Electra 350cc. No touch wood, no nothing, she has been a darling on roads. Together we have treaded to Zanskar, Leh, Goa and many more. Have had 1 crash and 1 fall; one scratchy and one knee breaking. Still completing the equation.

Have never been a born biker, so as to speak. Being the only son among 7 kids, parents never allowed me a bike. The fascinating memories I have are of my Mama ji's RE, taking it out for a spin. What a rugged machine it was....the handle would'nt turn easy, the levers were dead hard and the damn thing just kept on going straight as a freight train. My Dad himself being a RE rider knew the machine just too well, to not have me one. Yet, I wanted it. College time went by on cars and I slid into profession. Financial independence and 2008 Leh ride on a friends RE, was all the nudge I needed. Then, 75k for me was a considerable amount, and so got my first bike financed. My friend Capt. Suresh was besides me, witnessing a benchmark of my life on the very first day of year 2009.

On MAMA ji' RE

Leh ride in mid 2009 and solo Goa ride in late 2009 - RE had a worthy owner. Innumerable accounts of owners would have one believe on RE's ride, but for me it was my ride to freedom. My first taste of blood. In retrospect, I see these events unravel many folds within me leading to future. Its a beginning I guess. With miles to go, there is no looking back as I continue completing the equation.

133

2011-11-07T12:23:00.000+05:30

LUCHI

Competition No. 133 (Gill/Singh)

ADVENTURE Category: T7

Driver: Simranjeet Singh Gill (A+)

Co-driver: Jasmine Singh (A+)

For all I care, I knew nothing about Raid-de-Himalaya and never bothered to. Yes, the name was heard of, but that was it. The desire to do was always there, but never the circumstances to execute thus far.

13^th Maruti Suzuki Raid-de-Himalaya took off on 11^th October 2011 from Shimla. I participated in the competition with my friend Jasmine as co-driver. Everything was new, hence a lot of learning. The Maruti Suzuki Motorsport jacket was snug.

The route was slated to take us from Shimla to Manali to Dalhousie to Srinagar to Padum and back to Srinagar. There was no time however to appreciate the surrounding beauty, but intensity of experiences within the competition stand out. There are ways all over the mountains, its just about who wills to explore; Vijay Parmar is one. Crossing over Mardugala, Chatergala, Sinthan Pass required both effort and skill. Our rented gypsy (named Luchi) played quite a scare during days, but in the end got us home. As a competitor, we were disqualified after end of leg 4 but as a team we triumphed. Jasmine & I had a good insight into each other during the course of events and in that sense, our participation was a success.

The learning’s of the event would be utilized in future and Maruti Suzuki Raid-de-Himalaya lives upto its desciption on website. Its a challenge worth taking up as I now count days to 14^th Raid-De-Himalaya.

P.S: I cannot give reader the benefit of “Experience Detail” for words would only nullify it. If you are looking to test your limit of mental and physical endurance, participate.

Manali 2011

2011-09-30T07:24:00.000+05:30

Shut Eye and I recall that I've been coming to Manali regularly for the past 4 years. The place hasn't changed much, but surely I the visitor has. Old Manali abuzz with bhangi FIRANGS wearing loud pajamas, Punjabi's dotting the mall road, IL FORNO's finger licking Italian menu, and Beas at its majestic best.

The Gypsy

The trip timing couldn't have been better. Just about perfect weather, with a tinge of almost everything and the place isn't crowded either with Indian or foreign tourist. Manali has its own charm in the month of September. What lead to the trip was couple of coincidences culminating around same time. A work meeting.....touch-feel of rally prepared gypsy before the competition.....and a weekend.

The start was on time, cleared the plains and climb to mountains started just at daybreak. Purrrrrfect. My drive was careful, for the vehicle was rented and I had no sense of comfort/confidence over its running. However, it built with time. It started with small small sessions of 10-15 kms, knowing the limits of the machine, and didn't take long before came Mandi and Aut and Bhuntar and Kullu.....and Manali. Heck, it was 1230 hrs and I had half a day to explore. Jolly good rally imitator eh!

Breakfast set-up

Folks at Baikunth were expecting, and it bode well to find them well mannered throughout the stay. By that time morning pranthas at Mandi had me heavy, and I sprawled myself on bed. The first day is always exciting, has different energy and expectation, you ain't tired even with a big bum as me squeezing into that Sparco seat. I wish the ever brimming energy were to last - Alas! I'm not sun. A short walk to Old Manali was followed by a short company of Old Monk, and it was a flyby night.

The sunlit balcony, nip in the air, greenery all around, brought the morning it was to be. And dare not I say that it stopped there. Breakfast under the cherry tree was to be the high-point. Very soon the first half was consumed by work affairs as I pondered over the sequence of events. IL FORNO played a good host to lunch, and I couldn't resist gobbling its offerings. A pleasant price to pay later, I had to walk miles in the Forest Reserve working on OLIVE OILED pasta and pizza before sleep could creep in.

Return was intoxicating. Having touched base with the rampant in me, I was cutting under and over the road sides to maintain speed and gypsy responded well to my overtures. Its been a while since the days of mad driving with Harbir as my co-driver; a sense of calm descended within as I stretched her legs. At the point, it was a knowledge to me that I'd enjoy Raid-de-Himalaya. Respect to Gypsy, for these overtures kept expanding their limit till we reached Kiratpur Sahib; she didn't squirm for a moment.

Diwakar Kalia, indeed has a rally prepared gypsy.

IMA/Mussoorie

2011-09-01T19:06:00.000+05:30

Google always has kind of confused me as I searched for Mussorrie; as in it were Mussoorie of Uttrakhand India or Missouri of United States. As it had to be, the myth was busted when I first visited the place last year with my friend; and that too on a Harley. I was too crazed with the idea of playing with the toy that I bore complete disregard to the conditions in which it was to be played with. Not confusing, I mean the road conditions for the Harley were bad but I took it any which ways.

Raid imitating Endeavour

Having two falls and months of persevered waiting (as if I could do anything about it) I guess sanity has creeped in. So this time, when I have to visit GC PS Salar in the Academy, I decide to halt for a night at mussorrie and take my truck. What a decision it was to be, only the day i.e. yesterday would have unraveled. I and my friend started of timely yesterday, in the hope that we’d make in time and have the city to explore before pushing back the next day. Rains started enroute, small patches here and there. Cross Nahan, and descend the mountains there’s a jam with length extending in KM’s. Conflicting reports come from the vehicles returning from the front. It’s a landslide for sure and a big one. How long its going to take to clear was anybody’s guess. Some say 2 hours, some say the whole night and some say by the evening.

STATIC not being the characteristic of the age, we move back towards Nahan in a hope to find a new way to Paonta Sahib. Locals advise that 7 kms down the Renuka ji road comes a place Jamta from where we can take a right and reach Dhaula Kuan and on towards Paonta. Reach Jamta and the said route is closed for the same reasons as the previous one. It had been raining incessantly in the region for the past week and the evidence lay strewn over the road; broken trees, stones, slush…all over. On advice we approach Dadhua where a bridge takes us across the river and on toward Paonta. We stop in between the bridge to have a grasp of the view and discover rear right as flat. DAMN the tubeless or WOW the tubeless, I have mixed feelings. Dadhua serves our need before we cross the bridge again, only to find the road ahead washed by the raging river. Back to Dadhua!!

View from room

3^rd local advise (of the day) go to Sataun – 7 kms ahead of Renukaji – if open, we are good for Paonta. Approach Sataun to find the road has been closed for 3 months. O yea…no points for asking how long the JCB gonna take to clear. Message of the Providence being clear – this is a day of learning my child – Nahan was the revised destination. No problem reaching, as Endavour does well with me imitating Raid-de-Himalaya. After 5 hours we were back at the same JAM albeit 130 kms of EXPEREINCEFUL detour. The JAM has just been cleared but by the time we reach, the damn thing has slid down again. Whiling away 45 minutes was not a problem, given the events of the day. Road clear, we hit Mussorrie in pitch darkness 12 hours hence.

Ilbert Manor (where we put up) couldn’t be seen much for I didn’t care till the time I had a sack to hit. This morning, with the view from my window, I feel like a kid with a lollipop after a tough test. And so the sweetness flows…

G.C – P S Salar

2011-07-09T20:38:00.000+05:30

Parambir Amarbir

Today I dropped my nephew Parambir at IMA Dehradun for his training for induction into the Indian Army. To last for 18 months, the timeline would see him graduate from a gentleman cadet to an officer of the Indian Army. A proud feeling it is to know that someone close from our family has made it to the armed forces.

Parambir has shared his enthusiasm with me in many of my adventures and the guy’s spirit has ever been undaunted. We both get excited talking about same topics, and hold similar viewpoints on their execution….there is a frequency match so as to say. I have seen him grow up with me, being the younger son of my eldest sister. A level headed bloke, with a decent outlook towards life…he is a good guy. So while I have played my part in encouraging/at times endorsing him to do the things he wanted, I believe it was my role as a MAMA.

Noon time we reported to reception area of the barracks, where Amarbir & I were shown to sit at a separate place as Parambir was commanded to fill a form. His last day as a civilian, it certainly was a day of days and there was no way I would have missed it. His life is going to change forever, and for good. I respect him as a guy, for he is following his heart’s call. Ever from the word of sitting in the exams, to taking the interview in Allahabad, to getting his medicals cleared in Chandimandir..…this chap sailed through. Before we parted today, I expressed to him, what a lucky guy he is and what an amazing way of life he has chosen.

Sitting in that hall as Parambir filled his form; reading inspiring slogans....”DON’T DIE FOR YOUR COUNTRY, MAKE THE ENEMY DIE FOR HIS” and about General Thimayya, I was a bit overwhelmed. Not that I was reading about war heroes & history for the first time, but this time, there was a sense of belongingness to institution of the Indian Army, as one of my own was becoming a part of it.

My parting lines being from the movie Braveheart…”HAVE THE COURAGE TO FOLLOW YOUR HEART”

Godspeed: G.C – P S Salar

What is the subject of writing?

2011-03-05T18:57:00.000+05:30

What is the subject of the writing? What am I writing about? No clue..absolutely no clue.

I just feel like writing. Ok now I know what to do, just the exact way I am going to go about it is amiss. No worries……aint no literary MASCOT that everything that is written has to make sense. Well the way it should be is that, it should make sense to the writer because in my case I am writing for myself. And so, should it not make sense to the reader….. just too bad. Might as well press the next button and move on to new blog.

Besides it gets real crappy when you start considering others viewpoints. Well.... this is a space for MY viewpoint. So what exactly are we talking about here? Are we talking about the indivdual..... are we talking about the right to expression....... or are we just killing time? Who cares....... do I?...... do you? Nobody cares... yet we pretend as if we do. Such dichotomy I say. We say things which are not obtrusive to the other. The question who is the other??? The other is simply the other....... so why do we bother that much. Why cant we be plain, naked assholes as and when we want to? What is stopping us ? And as the sms I received from Ekta today says...."Everyone in the world would say, YOU have changed a lot....nut no one in the world would like into your eyes and say, YOU have compromised a lot." Yea right. We have to be polite, respectful, if possible kind...and GOD knows what not. I strongly agree that each person has their journey, and we dont know what it is all about. Correct. But so doesnt the other about mine. But then does it mean if the other retorts to monkey tricks ...so do I???

There you see....I've negated the whole writeup. Who cares!

What is the essence of living ?

2011-02-06T19:24:00.000+05:30

Too much has been said, read and heard and probably that is why I am even asking this question to myself. Life had been simple had my mind not had as much information to process, yet at the same time the key word would be BALANCE. The hardest thing to make and which probably you get a hang of, with time. Time is the quantification where lies the challenge.. that you may take that much time that your whole life passes you by or you try fast forward it and learn as much as you can, at the earliest as you can. Yet the experience factor, as said earlier, comes with time. Ashliegh Brilliant says "Life is the only game where the rules of the game are to learn the rules of the game"....brilliant I say. But does'nt there come a time where we want to just lay back and say...wow that was one ride, lemme have a breather. And point is, there are no points for breathers.

We learn we improvise and we move, and we learn more and improvise and move more and we learn some more and improvise and move some more. It is ever happening, as long as their is breath in the body, the soul is itchy. At times it becomes too much to handle yet there are times where you feel its stagnant....observations of the mind one may say, but eternal truth of dynamism remains ever. To maintain focus the challenges today are one too many, yet am sure there lies a path through and that is why we all are here. Had the case been otherwise, many questions on our existence could be raised. To give up seems lucrative......the easiest path, but having tasted some of the spirit you know that is not the way. Ignorance is a bliss they say...and I could'nt have agreed more.

Keep on moving....

Singapore - A Day

2011-01-23T16:44:00.000+05:30

Saturday - 18/Sep/2010

The day started pretty much with Vineet waking me from slumber. I was made to rush, for I was told I was in the nick of breakfast timings. The breakfast was filling with my due share of potatoes, toasts, beans, cakes and juices as they found way to my belly. At 0900 we hit the road on bus 11. The walk along the Singapore river was charming, yet, was not as full of life as the previous evening. We walked on Havelock Road and hit Chinatown. Early we were at 1000, but as per Vinny baba a right time to start out to see a city. I disagreed.

Entered seven eleven and like most of others this too was run by Indian/Chinese origin staff. Got our hands on a calling card and submitted status report back to pavilion. Sitting on a roadside bench we lazed, we yawned, admired colorful dragons as chinamen opened up. A decent time they took, so a cup of coffee at Mukdona (McDonald's) was followed closely by Chinatown luk-c luk-c.

Wanderers that we were, we decide to walk to Marina Bay Sands and Vinny baba having lost our trustworthy map, we were nowhere in no time. Deciding not to take risk of previous evening (where we kept on making circles around the same block), we took a taxi. Marina Bay Sands impresses with its architecture, a ship structure housing the casino resting on top of 3 hotel towers. It inspired its due share of gasps and awes, not to mention the huge expanse of its shopping mall. All the walking in sunny weather by this time had taken its toll, as we took the less adventurous option and hopped into a taxi to our hotel.

Two hours of sleep, one hour of talk and we were again walking to AudioHub in Novotel. Check up on electronics and bargains, a crepe to eat, back on road an onto the path alongside river. Get hold of a table at a decent riverside Italian joint and have a nice fix of ITALIAN dinner, washed down with Tiger. Walk, walk, walk, cross the bridge, back enter hotel, elevator, room, room key, enter room, throw around stuff, take shower, hit the sack and call it a day.

The day called Day 1.

Agra - Fatehpur Sikri

2010-12-05T21:46:00.000+05:30

Precision zapped Taj Mahal

2 nights before, we returned from our short trip to Agra city. The city played host to our channel partner summit, organized by Daikin. Since I am completely averse to be shown around the city on guided tours, I was to be on my own and Agra not being far I took my truck. My plan excited Vineet to join in as well.

The drive to Agra on 1^st December was pretty much un-eventful sans the traffic sense of the people of Uttar Pradesh and near lying areas of Haryana. The basic assumption of driving sense in the other, fell to a new low as we passed through the region. The road condition was good as was the drive, with all the left and right curves in the road keeping interest alive. Vineet sold me the idea of kebabs and we soon were walking on the street, scouting Agra’s Sadar Bazaar. Disappointed we were not to find a decent place, maybe we were directed wrong; the dinner was courtesy DOMINO’s – the hungry kya thing.

Vineet & I at Agra Fort

Night zoomed past in the beds of The Ashok and we woke up to a fine crisp morning. Change of hotels happened, hello welcome with other members happened, breakfast happened and then… TAJ MAHAL happened. Had only heard of the monument for all these years, and seeing it for the first time I could see that the place lives more than each and every word said about it till date. The sheer scale and size, the imposing grandeur, precision construction, amazing marble artistry, expanse of lawns and so many more add to the awe about the place. What times they would have been, what must have Emperor Shah Jahan been thinking….are things beyond contemplation. But it was saddening to see the conduct of my countrymen going about Taj Mahal. How easily we see Taj Mahal as a place so casual as to laugh out loud, scream, and spit about. The place is symbol of love and we Indians conduct ourselves completely oblivious of the heritage, of the history of the place. The visit to the museum was informative.

Eat like King Breakfast by now was settling down, and we made our way to the Agra Fort. The fort stands across Taj Mahal, and was host to Shah Jahan as jail, in his last days. Not much information was gathered about the place as we denied any possible opportunity to local guides to fleece us. Not taking a guide was a mistake we discovered the next day.

No soon had the summit started in the evening that it ended for me; my non-interest in the flair of events to be held responsible. Staying at ITC Moghul, Vineet was not going back without checking out their spa, (rated as number 1 in Asia) which is precisely what we did before leaving from hotel. Vir Sanghvi, the tainted or non tainted journalist of today, speaks high of the place and I could pretty much see as to why. Thank You very much.

Sikri

We reach Fatehpur Sikri and my countrymen judging me as a tourist, pounce on my truck. The aggressive conduct, the false claims of so on and so forth charges of presumed destinations, dispensing with un-asked information……. made me shoo them away. No wonder tourists are having harrowing experience, thanks to the cartel existing between the forced guides, the ASI and the police. The guide we eventually took swore by Vineet’s negotiation skills on tomb of Salim Chisti as he shelled out 1/6^th of the asked price. Taking this guide chap along was the best thing we did, as the explanation of the history of each palace one by one, the architectural engineering behind them all left us wanting for more. The palaces of Emperor's queens, the bedroom & dining of Emperor Akbar, the high seated observation room which the Emperor and his Queen used to see the sunset, Emperor Akbar’s durbar, his treasury and the tomb of Emperor Akbar’s favorite elephant HIRAN is all there. The detailing, to which Emperor Akbar and his craftsmen have gone into, is pretty much in the face. Emperor Akbar, being a secular king had got crafted different symbols of different religions in his buildings. The Star of David, the Persian geometry, church steeple shaped roofs, lotus flowers are to be found. Exiting Sikri, we walk steps on an inclined road and enter into the compound called Fatehpur. The tomb of Salim Chisti, the tombs of his following generations till date, Jama Masjid and the BULAND DARWAAZA are there. Legend has it that, it was with the blessings of Salim Chisti that Akbar was blessed with son, Jehangir. People tie threads along the windows, each for a wish to be fulfilled as did we.

Hoping to return to untie our respective threads, we made our way back.

SELLING ethos

2010-11-20T08:37:00.000+05:30

Last week I was in Sector 17 accompanying my friend Vineet, who had some stuff to shop. Among the list of things that were on the agenda, he also had to purchase a watch for himself as we walked into this store called, HELIOS. We walked in and since our interests in watches varies to quite a degree, Vineet went over to the formal section displaying Armani and others while I stood still with Casio.

Casio has this series called as PATHFINDER, and I had been intrigued by it ever since I saw it on the wrist of one Special Forces officer of the Indian Army. Quite a watch it is. Knowing me as I am, Vineet declared that despite him having brought me there for his purchase, he might not buy one (thanks to his excessive deciding criterion) but I may end up walking, with a flashing new watch on my wrist. He was right. The sales chicks with their charm didn't do much as I was already convinced with the product, but seeing my interest, this guy at the cash counter walked over to me. Now here was a man who knew his subject, and he knew it well. He knew where this watch was being used, who are the people who use it, exactly why is the pricing of his product so and what the future holds for that particular model of watch. The guy was honest to inform me that, if the same is purchased in USA or UAE, I would end up saving 35% of the cost. I was in no hurry, given the fact that I had been shredded to ground after recent repayment of credit card bill (courtesy YOUR SINGAPORE), I decided to keep the valet on AS IT IS WHERE IT IS basis. I had healthy discussion with the gentleman and as we walked out of the store admiring his ways, Vineet and I concurred that he wont last long in this setup.

I reminisce similar experience I had with a sales guy at the NIKE store couple of months back where I had gone to purchase running shoes. Without indulging into details, the guy was there to serve me and not to impose a sale upon me. So after the HELIOS thing, it was two such experiences, wherein I found the sales guy to be actually listening to the customer, understanding his need and providing him with the best solution. In both cases, it was fun talking with the guys as they had something to speak on and were not regular run of the mill, pampering pushy. The feeling was good, probably such people do exist and so do the ethics, but all said and done...my BHARAT has a long way to go before we even think of being compared to the WEST on similar grounds.

Naanke

2010-10-30T11:56:00.000+05:30

Naanke - punjabi word for maternal side of relations has held a special place for me. Under the strict regime of my father, it was at my naanke that I was allowed to do what I wanted to, when I wanted to and as I wanted to. My naanke are in the village called JARG, which lies on the Khanna - Malerkotla Road.

Bullet with Massiji sitting far behind

JARG is famous for its mela which happens once a year and in my younger years, I have attended it. The naanka house is not exactly inside the village but about 500 meters before it, by the road side, with fields surrounding it. My maternal side has my massi Amar Kaur (eldest), mama ji Fateh Singh (second), my mother Daljeet Kaur (third) and finally Kaki/younger massi Kuljeet Kaur. My maternal grandpa Choudhry Didar Singh expired in 1987 when I was 6 years old and grandma Bachan Kaur left us in 2004 when I was 23 years old. Currently the house is being looked after by my elder massi ji, wherein mama ji keeps making his monthly trips every now and then.

As a kid I have fond memories of Jarg. I would look forward to going to the place during my vacations, much to my father's detest over not going to his place in Ludhiana. Then there was this OLU (small water reservoir next to water pump) where I would love to bathe; jumping from the upper one, down to the lower one. My Bebe ji (grandma) would send wheat, ghee and sugar to a halwai at adda (village downtown) where he used to make these delicious biscuits. The agenda was clear; play and sleep, play and sleep.....interspersed with forced eatings by elders. What ball of a time we and our cousins had.....amazing days. Now things are different with even bird sightings going sparse, but earlier, finding a peacock in the fields was pretty much normal, and I am talking about good old 20 years back. This one time when I was very little, I was at Jarg and everyone was sitting around when I saw this peacock in the fields. I simply ran after it, what to do of it I had no clue, but I ran after it.... from one khet to other and other and other with my relations tailing me lest I got myself hurt. I hear that so many times, when I go back there.

L-R: Mamaji, Misha, Bebeji, Me, Massiji and Mum

We were pretty much regular to Jarg, until found myself entangled in the rigmarole of professional studies and then profession itself. Then Jarg to me was alive with the spirit of Bebe ji, my grandma. Bebe ji, was one person who would shower love on all us kids, with absolutely no conditions and with a completely clear heart. Doff the hat to her spirit, that even in her 90's she used to learn english words from us kids and would try to use them........and I am talking about a lady, who had been brought up in an opressive society of early 20th century Punjab, where women were supposed to wear ghagra with ghund and all that. We were more open to talking to Bebe ji about our issues, than with our parents; she had that patience and ear to hear us out. I would always remember her as a person with clear heart, and hold her in high respect. After her demise, for me things were not the same with Jarg.

On 28th, I was asked to arrange to get some stuff from Jarg, and usually what I would have done was to ask someone to get it if they were coming from that side. The absence of a ride for long (on account of absent HOG), the change in weather, me recovered from my wounds and surgery; all accounted for me deciding to ride to Jarg on my Bullet. I had not ridden Bullet for a while now, especially after having the FATBOY, and my intial reaction to its ride was something noteworthy. The bike felt so light, so under-powered, so making noise for nothing, so toy like........but again, the bottomline was that it was there when the need was. The ride was un-eventful but for my decision to not take the face wrap and feel the air, as it went awfully wrong once I approached Gobindgarh. As I reached Jarg, the blackened towel because of the soot on my face, was evidence of my wrong judgement and poor decision. Massi ji was mighty happy to see me there, as in my 29 years of existence it was my first ride to Jarg.

Nice it was to reconnect with this side of my heritage as I relived the memories of yester years. The two dogs; Browny and Tiger....yea I remember them.

Conception to Inception

2010-08-03T10:31:00.000+05:30

The title really derives from the Leonardo De Caprio starrer INCEPTION, making waves in cine halls these days. Having said that, it bears resemblance to my dream - the dream called Harley Davidson.

When it got created, I really would not have a clue but the nearest trail that I can pick up would go to last year. It was Dusehra time and I had gone to Shimla along with sisters family. I had long been without a ride, so picked it up on the Bullet. All said and done, it was a beautiful chhutti, nice weather, awesome stay, delicious food; very relaxing. One of those evening conversations it was, and I came to know that Harley Davidson was venturing into India and....... nothing; that was it. The bug had been activated. I came back, googled around, came across their India website, validated the facts and further found that they were in the process of looking up dealers. I had to associate with H-D, and what followed was an amazing learning experience, but that would digress from the subject and fly on a tangent. Cut short, I was on their tail.

I was a regular on the H-D India website, as regular as every 2 days, and so witness to their changing pages. They have a pretty active IT team, I must say. Each change would instill in me the faith that these guys were on right path and make me admire the way they were conducting the whole show. The best part was, I was not looking for it or that is how it seemed to me. All I could do was the least effort, and things were coming to me. In the first week of January, I came to know through a friend as to who H-D had shortlisted for the dealership and when the papers were signed and all that. Anyhow, they launched the 2010 models and I was on the website, that very same day, again. The ceremony of pressing STAKE YOUR CLAIM button on the FATBOY page, was held the very same day with me and my laptop in complete attendance. The money was big, but what the hell, I wasn't shelling a dime for pressing the button.

The pages kept on changing and time went by rolling. A few friends who were there, knew that I wanted it and believed that I would get it, but I had no clue as to how. The intent was strong as ever. Then one fine day in March, I received an email with the title; YOUR SOFTAIL FATBOY JUST GOT CLOSER. It felt good to be treated that way, with the knowledge that it might not happen. Things were now moving in real essence confirming which was the email from H-D India in early April, announcing its 5 dealers across India. I mean these guys have style; the content of the email was in bold capital letters stating: IF HARLEY-DAVIDSON IS A RELIGION, MEET THE HIGH PRIESTS and below carried the dealer details. Good show, I was impressed. A few days later I received call from the H-D team, informing me that they are going to hold test rides in Chandigarh on 23rd and 24th of April and since I had staked claim on the bike, I would be on the preference list and stuff. The date and timing for test ride were set as 24th April, 1530 hrs, Golf Club Chandigarh. A friend accompanied me to the event and being siesta time of the day, in the city of the retired, we had a bunch of hours. The parked bikes presented with a grandeur that was so not seen in our country. It was a fantastic sight but enough of the style, and of the looks; I now wanted to feel it between my legs. My mark was set....... FATBOY and FATBOY only. Somehow, when it comes to picking mechanical transports I am suddenly very clear, I'm a Bodhi. Then my sights are like those of a horse with blinkers. I picked up the ride.......... and I came to know what a MOTORCYCLE is. I came to know how a MOTORCYCLE feels like. I came to know what a MOTORCYCLE ride is all about, as did in-numerable other revelations. It is safe to say that I was in a state of shock, and in this very state when I disembarked from the bike, I said "Lets book it." Sadly......... the H-D India guys were around.

Festival over, I was back........... less 50K. A leap of faith (as people say), had been taken.

I didn't have a clue to how the money would come, and then thought I should sell my SUV; but that was to be Plan B. Plan A was to make the money, how to make it was something that required head scratching since I was not keen on armed robberies and I wasn't Charles Sobhraj either. One of those days, I received an SMS from a friend about a workshop on this thing called as Wishful Thinking being held in the city. For me, the workshop was done in that SMS only. It stated that if you direct your thought process to something specific you want, you can deliberately manifest that. OK....... it sounded fairly simple to hear, but I wasn't paying 2000 rupees to hear someone babble about it. Now, neither did I meditate over it nor did I repeat the mantra "I want the FATBOY" a hundred times before going to bed; I just kept it in mind. Somehow things started falling in place with every passing day, and the possibility of having it, started its crawl towards reality. The journey was long, but then, the time was there. With the new financial year, a string of new policies were announced at Daikin, and suddenly selling the product was sweeeeet. The numbers were increasing, and so was the effort; which I was so willing to put in. I woke up every day with a renewed faith that it would be possible, and it just kept building on me.

I was returning from Delhi on Shatabadi Express on 2nd or 3rd of July, when I received call from the dealership guys. They told me that the bikes are coming in, and that the inauguration date has been fixed for 13th of July following which, the deliveries would commence. He further asked me, if I could be present on the afternoon of 13th as they wanted to deliver bike keys to a few owners who were not media shy. I was game. The excitement had been building up all these days, and every postponement only increased its vigor. But with this call the target date had been fixed, and hence, my journey back to Chandigarh was a total bliss.

For me it was history in making, and I wanted it to be as elaborate as possible. I hooked up with the dealership guys, and asked them to take me to their warehouse where my HOG was lying packed, waiting for PDI and other detailing prior to delivery. I was mighty impressed with what I saw. I had to make the video, which now lies on my Facebook profile for people at large, to draw their own inferences. 13th came and I was at the center of the show. The H-D India MD, Anoop Prakash handed me the keys in front of the gathered media, flashes were all over, and I had a ball. Interviews were held, flashed in the evening news the same day, and I was in the newspapers the next day. Termed as the first customer of Chandigarh, I ensured on next day, that I actually was one factually speaking. The gala lasted the entire week, and I tried to live every bit of it. It was fun.

All said and done, the FATBOY is a tribute to all the people who believed that I could pull it off, who coaxed me to live up to my heart's call, who nurtured me to believe in my dreams, who tested my resolve to the last stand.

This one is for Y'ALL.

My love for the military.... or is it??

2010-05-26T20:36:00.000+05:30

To begin with there is nothing to begin with, it has come up strongly in the last years and I am just sharing. My bringing up was too much of a self involved thing, or maybe that is the case with everybody I guess. Armed forces was never an option for me, and it was fed to me in a very subtle fashion in my nascent years. Reason - The only son of the family thing in a typical punjabi family, completely ruling the odds against me. Which raises the point that, kids these days have the option of deciding what to do and encouraged to explore new, less known, non-contemporary professions. Its a fancy to here kids saying that they want to do what excites them, what they are passionate about and so on and so forth. Back then, BA was something that every monkey could do, LAW was for those who were VEHLA and KHAANDANI and the challenging professions, where parents could show the world that their kids were worth the salt were; ENGINEERING & MEDICAL. The engineering generation these days won't even be knowing that a place with name like BIDAR exists in India; that it used to be a mecca for any prospective engineer (by any I mean ANY), it was KALA PANI for all the forced ducks who could'nt get into engineering colleges up north. They might never come across words like DONATION. O what times they were, no wonder they have changed; rule of life. Anyhow, my career was decided with my fathers profession and what mighty luck it was for him; it was called engineering. I guess I am drifting from the point here. My engineering over, and I automatically slipped into my father's profession and tried to do it better initially, but now I have stopped the effort.

2008 was probably the year where the changes within me actually started surfacing. A lot many things happened in the year and in all probability the seeds were sown in years 2006, 2007; my initial time of professional freedom. My distance from my father, gave me a new insight to something called as MYSELF. It was in those days that I wanted to do something, to break off things. Of what form, in what way, when, how; I had no clue. But it had to be done. Someone said that its pretty challenging to do Ladakh on a bike and I said I'm on, and ON I remained while the original perpetrator of the thought quietly made a miss. Till that time I never knew that a royal enfield website existed, and they float a section called RIDER WANTS RIDER. I mean, when things have to happen, they just start falling in place by themselves. A couple of rides were posted there and I was excited to read about them all, but there was this one write up which particularly intrigued me. It was so very open, so very welcoming; it was by Colonel A K Raina. I called up, I fixed up, I tagged along and I completed the ride very successfully. Now, I was friends with serving professionals of the armed forces. No wonder one of my own batch mates is in the army, but he's more of Harbir and can never be Captain Harbir or Colonel Harbir or General Harbir.

So with Colonel saab, I met Captain Suresh and then began the saga of my seeing the military might, of my moving in the military circles. The more I saw of it, the more I wanted it. I could not have enough of it. Be it watching firing exercises, firing weapons, driving tanks, staying in field accommodation; I wanted it all. How it started ????... Well I was in Capital Book Depot Sector 17, maybe 10 years back and I came across this book D-DAY by Stephen E Ambrose. A very thick book and I was not a reader then, but god knows what made me buy that book. Speaking of facts, this book is the most detailed version, by any historian, about the Allied landings on French beaches in the World War II. I ended up reading it twice. What followed was a string of other books by the same author and many others. So in a way, I knew what army was about, its structure, its functionality and the other stuff here there. One day, when Colonel Raina remarked me that you have a military background.... it came as no surprise to me, despite none of my immediate family members being in the armed forces. Probably, it is just the zest within me to connect with myself at that platform, which I was forced to neglect. No regrets what so ever, as long as I can pull things off. If the realization had to come at this stage, then even I share part responsibility for it. No wonder I get along with Fauji's well, and as long as I am clear that I am not there to exploit anybody, ALL IZZ WELL.

I have been told that I have seen all the best things that Fauj has to offer, and that there is a flip side to that coin. I think about it, but somehow, to me, it still is an institution to look up to despite the so called claims of degradation in its standards; I hold it in high regard. My minimal of exposure to this institute, has only increased my regard for it, contrary to what anyone has to say.

Its hard to explain.

My tryst with gym

2010-05-11T20:36:00.000+05:30

It all started in the year 2000 and the date if I recall was 19 February. Three of us, studying in the same college joined a gym in sector 34. The reasons, were the reasons of any youth with time and energy to expend; to make DOLE SHOLE. It was a basement gym, and like all the blokes of that age you always sought company to go to the gym, because you are so self conscious about your body and the way it looks, you seek a comforting partner; the one who looks almost like you. So we carried on, and within a week one was out for examination reasons, and shortly thereafter the other left too for some self-styled reason. I for one, carried on; no reasons.

Probably a month down the line, a new instructor joined the gym. Not that tall a guy, but very well built and with laugh of a RAAVANA. It was the first time I saw an arm bulging out of the T-shirt. It was real time, I was in the presence of my very local Arnold Schwarzenegger. It was a dream come true with images of Arnold's bulging biceps in the movie COMMANDO, flashing in front of me. I wanted to be like that. It was decided.

The initial days are the crucial days for any new gymmer. You are looking at mirror after every set with the hope to find the bicep bigger than the previous set and all the notions of adolescent mind. It is here, during that very small period of time, that most of the newbies lose heart, get intimidated and quit. Somehow, I just stumbled on it. I was there for weight loss, I got fascinated by Hari's arms and I asked him to train me, which he did. I had no expectations, and neither did I have any apprehensions when new suggestions came along; I just did them. The only thing I did different was; I was regular. Sameer never did it more than a week or so, and Tony had seasons for gyming in a year which lasted no more than a month or two. Further, I did all the exercises, while they had preferences. As a result, one and a half years down the line, I became someone whom even Hari took seriously (competition wise) and I just kept on gymming religiously. It was something that I looked upto in the entire day. He co-erced me into competing for Mr. Chandigarh, and I went for it, and I won it.

Looking in retrospect, it was a wonderful journey. Taught me a lot many things, made me go through some real tough times, taught me about physical and mental endurance. I can never forget my sister Akinder funding my supplements, my father giving me all the work to do at precisely the time I had to go to gym, myself not being able to sleep on stomach for protruding leg muscles, the deadly cut-up schedule and the life of a beggar I lived for the last 14 days before competition. For all it was, it was worth it; and all the cribbing, all the injuries, all the abuses, just made it that much more worthy. Days after winning the Chandigarh title, I went on to win my college title as well. But, these things die hard. I gradually entered professional life and found less and less time for gym; so I opened my own at my place. Years down the line, things took toll and I could'nt make rhythm, even in my home gym. Probably a phase of time.

But somewhere deep within, the thing stays. I was in Kuala Lumpur in 2008 and the first time I came across a GOLD's GYM (a big name for bodybuilders). Knowing that I did'nt need, I bought their merchandise of shirts and jackets. The reason was simple; I just had to, it was the long pending desire to relate to the name and I just about knew what GOLD's GYM stood for. Couple of months back, I was jogging and doing some exercises at Sukhna Lake that I noticed an old man observing my moves. He came across and asked me what I was upto. I told him the purpose of that particular exercise, and he was prompt to signify its pros and cons to me. It later came to be known that the old fella, was the first body builder of Punjab and that too in the year 1955. He posed for his biceps as I felt them; they were big and damn solid for his age. I was all respect for him. So thats how its like, we can pose anywhere and feel each others arms, irrespective of the people around.

Now I am at it again and its been two months now since I have joined a gym in the neighborhood. I am very relaxed doing my routine, probably I have grown to be in it. But now its more of a fitness thing and it feels good to physically exhaust the body, again. Somehow the confidence is in the air, you cant define it but it just comes with experience I guess. I would'nt be surprised seeing myself reach my original endurance levels shortly.

Time tells.

Sunday Ride - Renuka Lake

2010-04-19T10:19:00.000+05:30

Sunday's, lately have held different meaning to me. Instead of a day of blackout and total lazying, I have become partly active on Sunday's.

So this Sunday, after my morning jog, I was on my way to do little office thing that was pending, that I realized that the bike ride to Renuka Lake was long pending and should be done today. No objections were there in me towards the ongoing heat wave and I planned to leave as soon as the work was completed, which should'nt have taken half an hour. It was 0830 hrs and work as work is, relieved me no earlier than 1000hrs. I knew that heat would increase as the day progressed ,and that I had to have food in my belly and plenty of water to go along with it. So after having 4 paranthas and 2 glasses of lassi, me and my bull were on our way; it was 1100 hrs.

Lassi showed its dizzying effect for like half an hour or so, until being wiped out of the system. It was hot and I had'nt done something like this before, which gave me all the more reason to do it. The bike performed perfect, the traffic was usual Indian style and road conditions and dirt are safely assumed. The climb to the hills started after having reached Kala Amb (70 kms) and was a welcome change in the terrain; but the heat was unabated. I stopped at the junction of Nahan and Paonta Sahib for a worthy break after 1.5 hrs of ride. The half helmet had all the signs of carnage dust and dirt had played on the way. One Cola down, nothing; another down, I needed more; finally a 1 litre of water bottle could quench my thirst for the while. Renuka was 38 kms from the junction. Back on the saddle, no sooner I reached Nahan, I crossed it. Again, spare the weather, the ride was beautiful. At times, seeing burnt out shrubs along roadside, I would imagine what forest fires in west would be like.

I carried on, the traffic was minimal and me and bull, were by ourselves. Another 2 hours, and we made it to Renuka ji; it was 1400 hrs. By initial looks, I was disappointed to see a pond considering what I went through (although by choice). Anyways, I started taking off my gear and sat under a tree. The air was heavy with moisture, but it was blowing. I had some of the water from my last stop, which by now was near boiling. I took it little by little on my hand and wiped my face, neck and ears with it. That was some heat exchange right there and I had instant cooling. I carried the exercise, till I ran out of water.

I could feel I was tired, but I made my way to the Renuka Mandir and beyond, where I found the actual Renuka lake. Its a size able lake, with greenery all around and mountains overlooking from every direction. The water was less, for apparent reasons and there were quite a few tourists (including firangs) despite the weather. I made my way to the HP tourism restaurant and repeated the drink sequence of my last stop, with the exception of having added lime this time. My scope of observation during this duration was a Sardar family having lunch (me had no appetite whatsoever) with their 3 tiny sardars. One of them, Nishaan Singh (as his pop called him) was a troublesome lot. The mom was worried that he wasnt eating, and there was typical bickering over the table with she calling out threats that he eat and father countering her, that she quit giving attention to him. Things went further with Nishaan Singh running around the restaurant with his mother behind him, carrying his plateful of lunch. I registered a few things about the man and the woman, the kids; and having paid my dues made my way back to the bike. It was an hour's break before I kicked engine back to life and another 2.5 hrs before it was made to rest, back at my place.

I was tired and I was thirsty. I drank a bottle of water, dropped my gear where it fell and crashed on bed. It took me another hour to come back to my senses and feel normal again. My drinking spree continued late into the night till I finally slept. The noticeable point here is, my thirst was unquenched and after having drunk litres of liquid I never peed once. I can only imagine the level of de-hydration I went through.

It was this morning's paper that tells, last day's temperature was 42.6 degree celsius. Having said that, it is safe to say that riding in an oven can be done with necessary precautions and should be tried for the experience of it. Largely I feel, one should know one's body and its limitations, and never try fiddle with it.

The WHY series

2010-02-16T17:47:00.000+05:30

Just the inquisitive me, which refuses to budge.

Life, I believe was meant to be enjoyed with all it had to offer. Then every cosmic happening has its pros and cons, and humans are one of the cons of life. A genetic mis produce, given the un-ending capability to think and improvise. To think in all dimensions that life had to offer and with no line of definition for ENOUGH. Any sphere of interest you pick up, someone would have already hit the possible extremity, at that time, under the circumstances.

Extremist approach has always been there and somewhere our resilience to not change and the leading insecurity has made us fall in our own made traps. Things have gone from bad to worse to rotten and now to hopeless. We will out think ourselves and in the process alienate ourselves from all that, which made us humans. I mean, just look at the lives that we are leading. Things have so been pre-defined by our so called ANCESTORS and their empowering circle just doesn't give up. There are dodo's all around.

Life as it is turning out for most of us is to jig, re-jig, bend, adjust and bend some more till we get the trick of doing it. Why has it to be that way? Why can't I be appreciated for what I am and what I love doing ? For that matter, why can't I be given the chance to know who I am? Why is success to be defined ? The earth is simply overburdened by the overwhelming number of humans who are senselessly reproducing. It is just no more live able. There are so many of us around, that we cant help but walk over the other just to make our way. And yet, the idea of stopping this mindless reproduction never crosses our mind, as we do it for solely mundane reasons. Unmindful of what the world has to offer to the new soul, we are producing kids, castrating them in head as they grow, and when they grow and have trouble making their way, tell them LIFE IS A COMPROMISE. Isn't there enough struggle already ?

Pick a field, and it is simply overflowing with duds of all types and colors. Had things been the way they were supposed to, every field would have been as exciting, fulfilling and successful. Just that we cant have enough of what we don't want, we keep on fighting like pigs in the garbage dump and unfortunately the dump keeps on getting bigger and so does the litter. The generation this day is in a hopeless situation, with a deeply vicious ring surrounding them.

Its just that we are at a time, where humans have been around on earth for couple of thousands of years and all we are doing is, dealing with their mess.

Why should I fight to survive

2010-02-10T18:08:00.000+05:30

Why???

Why should so be the case, where I should cut through others to make my living? Why should I survive doing things that leave me more empty, than fulfilled? Why can't things be straight and people talk their heart out, rather than shouting their mind out? Why do words like hypocrisy and politics exist? Why do the complexities have to play a major role in whatever we do?

I am sure nature didn't mean it to turn out this way; so have we messed with ourselves to the extent that we have so not to be ourselves just to do our time? That being the case, why are we here?

Why can't we have compassion for each other ? Why are we always rushing to show other, the way down? Are we so full of things irrelevant to life? Have we become completely alien to who we are, to the species we belong to? What are we desiring to achieve and by what means?

I couldn't have agreed more with the soul who said, "You can never get enough of what you really don't want"

Harley Davidson India

2010-01-05T15:23:00.000+05:30

Its here.

The Harley Davidson India 2010 motorcycles lineup was unveiled today at Auto Expo Delhi. I am not a reporter for the Expo, its just that I am a frequent visitor to the Harley Davidson India website (http://www.harley-davidson.in/) and today they had upgraded it with 12 new 2010 models, along with their price tags. The guys at H-D India are active and upto something, as each time I log on, there is something new to look up on the website; unlike certain websites which are there for domain name blocking and with their seemingly forever UNDER CONSTRUCTION page.

And yea, the Terminator 2 fame Harley Davidson Fatboy is here; and what wouldn't I do to own one (good news DAIKIN India, you have a spirited trade partner). The buggers would sell and they would sell HOT, even if they are priced between 7 to 35 lakhs. I recall the thump of 2 Harleys, on idle, as their riders parked them in front of Hard Rock Cafe, Kuala Lumpur; the world came to a stop at that moment. The men, the machines; had the total focus of entire population in vicinity. And pompous as we Punjabi's are, we would certainly like to own H-D even though the only plausible usage our bike would find, would be, to make rounds on the famed GERI ROUTE. If not even that, at least we can claim we own one and stake our berth in the world acclaimed H.O.G.

Testament to realizing the true Punjabi potential lies in the fact that, H-D India has planned to open in 5 cities to start with. And Chandigarh is one of them, despite Delhi already having a shop. The other cities would be Mumbai, Hyderabad and Bangalore. Like me, I am sure its a dream come true for so many fellow riders who have tried to relate themselves with the brand in one form or the other. For what it is, it should be an exciting episode to watch. With the opening of our culture to the West, building of better roads, growing economy with increased spending power; should provide the much needed stimulus to the launch of H-D India.

Let the drums begin....

Indian Railways

2009-12-24T19:17:00.000+05:30

Indian Railways is something that has long been elusive from me. Circumstantial it was, as my family was never outdoor type and when we did venture out, it was in our own transport. My last tryst with the railways was when I was in class 7th; the year being 1993. The circumstances surrounding travel were distressing with our car smashed in an accident, making it dysfunctional. I had my first train ride 16 years earlier, from Indore to Ludhiana.

After return from my recent trip to Goa, and just about being able to walk after 2 weeks of bed rest following ligament rupture, I was limping back to work. No wonder my mind was in a split when Captain Suresh informed me of exercises being conducted by a brigade of the Indian Army, (which his course mate was commanding) providing the rare advent of seeing BOYS TOYS in action. We boarded the train, the same night. Since we had a notice of just 3 hours for booking, we just about managed reservation in last berths of second class. Frequent users of this mode of transport, would know what I mean. It means sitting in a bogie with glassless windows, cramped 3-tier space, right next to loo, which nobody bothers to clean. The moment I stepped into the train, I realized I was in for a lesson. Seeing others carrying quilts and various other forms of bedding, I could anticipate what was in store. The space where I was supposed to fit in and lay for the night, gave me a choke, for I couldn’t imagine myself fitting into it. I could do nothing, but brace myself for the onslaught. The whole night I would try to lay, sit up, curse; lay, sit up, curse, till the time a station would come and I would rush to the platform to drink chai and come back and start all over again. The exercise carried on till the time the horizon was orange again and with my partner up and warmth in the air, I felt a little comforted and assured that I can make it. The track between Bikaner and Jodhpur was free for all sand type. Having done both modes of travel, by bike as well as by train; I conclude both are equally dusty. The sand was there in every nook and corner of the bogie and its influx grew with ever increasing speed of the train. When we did make it to Jodhpur, we were an hour late; not bad at all as per Indian Railways standards.

Till the time I did this journey I never bothered to learn nor did care what was AC 1 tier, 2 tier, 3 tier, the second AC, and the general compartment meant for those, who wish to convert their journey into a pilgrimage. Now I can make out the categorization clearly and quite as much relate to it. More so while traveling through Rajasthan, a peculiar situation is faced at stations over the way. There is simply nothing on stations; no kiosk no nothing, only a water tap with DRINKING WATER written in English but sounding native Rajasthani language. I too had to ask someone to get its meaning.

But I believe, the Indian way of living life is fight; a fight to get your right, a fight to claim what you are entitled to. It’s a kill all over. You buy a cup of chai for 5 rupees and you have to tell the bugger to give a decent fill else you might just land up with half a cup. You buy a box of rasgullas from Bikaner and it turns out gulab jamuns instead. For example on our way back, the gentleman next to our berth didn’t knew that he was supposed to get a towel in AC 2 tier despite the fact he had been traveling on the same train for several years now. No one bothers to ask the attendant for a complaint register, rather majority of us don’t even know that it exists.

In the end; it’s our CHALTA HAI attitude, which is coming back to us.

Ed Hardy

2009-12-12T10:54:00.000+05:30

The IN thing in fashion T's. Being a new brand, the awareness about the label and the brand equity it holds in US, is limited amongst us Indians. Evidently, Chandigarh my hometown, does not have a single store selling Ed Hardy T-shirts.

No wonder on way to my office this morning, crossing colony number 4 (Chandigarh's little Bihar), the view of this T-shirt and most of all the guy wearing it, caught my attention. Being in India, it wasn't a surprise to me, to find that logo on stark yellow T-shirt worn by a Bihari daily wager. I mean, we are super capable of copying and forging (Ludhiana being the capital), but this time, we have caught up with THE SPEED; full points. I mean no branded store selling it (KAPSONS merchandisers - listen up); but in a shack of a stall, on a weekly market in colony number 4, you can purchase a Ed Hardy T-shirt possibly under 100 Indian Rupees. Talk about exclusive marketing!!

Sure Don Ed Hardy doesn't have the time, the means, the reach, to check such copyright violations. So as the Bihari is ignorantly happy wearing his sparkling yellow T-shirt, Don Ed Hardy is happy ignoring it.

Shantaram - by Gregory David Roberts

2009-12-08T19:26:00.000+05:30

Gregory David Roberts - the author of Shantaram. A book that kind of just fell in my lap; and what a discovery it has been.

It seems as if I discover facts about things, only once I myself have been through it. Shantaram is one of the most sought after books today, and undoubtedly a bestseller. A real life story of a FIRANG in Mumbai, doing what comes his way; and what a knack he has to get along with all the trouble making fellas of the town. Timepass is the only book that comes close to an example of describing the pace set in this classic.

Niranjan Garsa - the Indian Army officer, one among others with whom I had gone on a bike to Zanskar Valley this year, happened to casually describe about the book - Shantaram. We were sitting in a restaurant in Leh with bachelors, me and Tejas on one side and Niranjan accompanied by his newly married wife on the other. I can't recall, but sometime into the talks, Niranjan started talking about Shantaram. What was initially a reveal to the plot, gradually became an intensifying storyline with Niranjan's expressions and energy, being a testament to it. Usually, such gap filling discussions barely carry significance, but this one got me interested. No sooner were we through with our dinner, we climbed down the stairs to the bookshop (which was still open) and found Shantaram bang in the center table among other bestsellers. Purchasing a book from Leh, with the advent of return bike ride to the plains would not be considered wise, given the weather conditions; but it was'nt convincing for me. Now Shantaram remains as a remarkable pick from Leh, on the 2009 Zanskar ride.

The plot you shall read in the book, but if you want to read about living in the moment; this is the book. Simply superb.

http://www.shantaram.com/

here's the first one

2009-12-07T11:23:00.000+05:30

Heard about it, saw it, read it yet had no clue how to go about it. My guess about a blog is; a platform for sharing information, experiences and just about anything. So, when I have things to put up; here I am.

Certain things come and go in life. There was a phase, when I devised a way to put across my feelings. Although not new to the world at large, but very new to me. The time it occurred to me, the only person who wrote a diary before me was Anne Frank. And yes, the guess is right; the idea dropped in, while I was in the bathroom.

I started penning my thoughts and experiences (most intricate and intense) in the diary. However, over a period of time I started drifting. From my original intent of expressing myself it became to writing notable occurrences. It was as if I was scrambling for my diary all the time. Gradually it became an effort to write, which eventually turned to a self created obligation on myself than a relief for expressed feelings. Till the time this exercise grinded to a halt, almost 2 diaries were filled.

So maybe this is a rejuvenation; I don't know, maybe in a different fashion, a bit more refined and more focused. The blog would tell.