One copywriter to another.

A few years back, this is what landed in my mailbox.

Hi.


This letter is from one Copywriter to another.

I was going through the results of the award shows this year and
was saddened to notice a death.

The Word has almost disappeared.

In most ads, there are just one or two. (There are a few
exceptions though, and the outdoor Grand Prix at Cannes gives me
hope.)

In many, there are none at all.

I was wondering what happened to the Copywriter.

When did we stop writing Copy? And when I say Copy I do not mean
the long copy masterpiece that we all set out to make at least
once in our lifetime.

When was the last time we wrote a good, full-bodied headline,
even? Was it because the Client had rejected the picture-only ad
so many times that we had no option left but to do a headline
ad?

This email is an initiative to 'Save The Word'.

If you would like to join this movement, contribute by doing the
following:

1) Do your next five ads or campaigns with headlines,
irrespective of brand guidelines.

2) Pick an old One Show/D&ADA Annual and photocopy copy-led ads
and paste them up all over the agency.

3) Dnt wrt lke ths.

4) If you are a Creative Director, ask your writers to show a
headline, with every visual-led ad that they show.

5) Hire writers who have at least ten headlines in their
portfolio.

6) Spread the word. Send this email to all the copywriters you
know.

You can add more to the list.

The only way, we are going to Save The Word is by getting
together and ensuring that we see more Copy in the media. For
that to happen, this email needs to find legs and travel far and
wide. So, please forward this to as many Copywriters in the
world as you can. Please do cc to me, so I know how many
Copywriters are out there who still love Copy.


Sincerely,



I did reply back to it.

Now, before the salt-less tears drop too low and spoil the
small-logo-on-the-pocket branded shirt, here is what happened to the
copywriter.
30% are writing
main()
{
int SalaryinSoftware
int SalaryinCopywriting
var Infosys

if SalaryinSoftware>
SalaryinCopywriting
goto Infosys
else recheck SlaryinSoftware

}

50% are speaking "Hi, sir. At 17 you can self-finance your dreams, would you be interested?"
The rest 30% are busy preparing "How to manage my next cruise vacation.ppt"
Now, forgive me for being as vague as politburo's demands. But, the truth is
da Vinci coded in the last few lines.

You don't need to be a cryptologist in NSA to decipher it. So, let me decrypt
it for you.

30% are in software industry.
50% are in call centers.
And the rest 20% are in management.

So, who gives a fuck? And, that's exactly the reason, while the rest of
the industries are getting their fair share of talent, advertising has to be
contend with, well, people like me.

But, how do HLL, Infosys and Convergys do it? By advertising. And what do
people in advertising do to attract talent? Err, umm, nothing. We expect
the best talent to land up at the agency's doorstep. When there is not
even a board atop the agency announcing their name. We do nothing
to get that talent. We do nothing to nurture that talent. And we do
everything to write a letter mourning the death of a copywriter. It's the
bling in our own attitude that's blinding us. And while we were busy
asking the mirrors in our ivory towers "Mirror, Mirror on the wall who has
the maximum lions of them all?" all the other industries were busy erecting lighthouses to guide talent to their shores.

So, in short, that's what happened to the copywriter.

But i never did get back a reply.

Anyone then?

The film opens at 4000 rpm.

Simply because below that she has just glanced at you. Your eyes just did a lip-lock for a split second and then it meandered off.
But in that split second she let you know, it is going to be a good, good night.

At 7000 rpm you are not just getting hints, you are getting warnings. Warning for not being an optimist, for thinking nothing is going to happen and forgetting to put a condom in the wallet.

At 9000 rpm. You are done playing mind games. The blood is flowing to the right place and the brain has been asked to shut up and focus on the road.

You are doing 120 by now.

And if you are not smiling, you better see a psychiatrist right now.

This is the Kawasaki Ninja 250.

And boobs are overrated.
Let me explain.
Amit left his bike at my place, complete with the bike cover and the standard set of instructions. And every morning i left i could just see the tread of the rear tyre.
By god that ass.
Now am really not known for grabbing fine looking derrieres, and now am thinking why not. Size zero go die. And while you are at it take the electric cars along.

So on Saturday i decided, protocol be damned, am going to get laid.

The first thing you feel when you thumb the starter, is actually disappointment. It just sounds so, so not worth the 3 lakhs. Heck my pulsar 200 sounded better.

The sitting position is a bit of compromise between the rear-set R15 and chest out Karizma. And true to compromises, it doesn't win your heart.
But then on the upside, your wrists do not scream obscenities at you. And shoulders are so happy they don't turn metrosexual and ask for a massage.
Enough of her not being vocal and not fitting well, ahem, under you.

Because by the time you think whether you should give her a kiss right now or wait for another date, her tongue is already tickling your tonsils.
It is like being so comfortable with someone you can say "let's have sex" instead of the politically correct and more widely used version: "let’s make love".

It is no pornstar like the pulsar 200, mind you. It is no pizza delivery girl who has just got a pizza on her. And a g-string.
No it is not that kind of B-grade cheap porn film.
It is no R15 either, which is basically a soft porn, with a little bit of hardcore action above 10,000 rpm to stop making the viewers throw rotten eggs in disappointment.

It is Insatiable of porn films. Go check that out, and for those of you with a tighter grip on morality, all i can say is that porn film had a Ferrari Dino.

It matches with the R15 in being a girl's girl. You know the lip lock and fumble for the clasp on the bra comes after what seems like a few trips, talks, popcorns and whatever those who get it do what they do, later.
Well that is what the wait till 10,000 rpm in sixth gear feels like.

But, and that is what makes this different from the R15, there is a way to get around this.

And that is to not take it sweetly to high gears and then wait for the lip lock. In every gear just let her know how much you have waited for her and how much you have wanted her. And boy will she reward you.

The first time you will slot the second gear after you hit 9000, you know she is not what she was when you first met her. And before your fingers can even begin their long and arduous fumble with the clasp, she would have slid the straps and pulled the whole goddam thing down, clasps be damned.
And while you stand befuddled and amazed at your luck, she will be trying to get her jeans off, like her bladder was holding thrice the recommended limit and battling with your belt while screaming "Why the fuck do guys wear belts?". Before proceeding to vacuum your tongue.
This in each gear. Till you hit 6th. And 145 kph.
And all this in "what the fuck just happened!" seconds.
Believe me it hits 60 before people realize what hit them.
And it breaks the myth that guys just ogle at girls.
All the school girls who were standing next to the school boys must have hated me.
Freaking awesome.

And it will just put me off friend list of many, if i go describing what all it can do in the corners.
It is not just your wet dreams come true. It is going to make you a very sick and twisted mind.

It is just fantabulous in corners. You are the queen ant while on it. You say what to do and everything falls in order. The short wheelbase, the low slung seat, the knee 3 inches away from the tarmac, makes you think what a kinky man Mr.Edwin Lutyen must have been to design all this playground for you, where now all those old farts stay.

And then there are the brakes. Well, for the sake of explanation let's hope you have ever been caught up by your girlfriend's dad while you were at it with her, otherwise i seriously wish against it, what he did to your erection, is what the brakes do. You just have to think of braking and you are just left standing and staring at the world rushing by you.
Oh you can use the rear brakes, which are like your mum catching you, which gives you a little time and theoretically a milder heart attack, but on the whole the brakes are too strong for my liking.
Panic braking is going to lead to, well, more panic on this one.

So finally it is worth thrice the cost of my or nannu's bike, considering it doesn't offer thrice the power?

Let me explain this in a manner in which many think i generally don't do or don't have the talent to: non-sexually.

See, i have loads of friends, 159 if you ask facebook. And i really like meeting quite a few of them. And while i do the whole "I hate none of you comes to gurgaon to meet me" bit, I do really like the whole let's go there and meet him or her. No, i really love it. I really don't mind chasing cars, dodging trucks and busting egos every evening to be somewhere, with people i love.

Because it satiates my two great loves: meeting friends and riding the bike.
But as generally happens, not everyone has either the energy or the will to meet me or as they like to mask it "time". And while it may seem that is the reason for my anger and frustration, and these days depression. The real reason is that i have still not attuned myself, or fallen in love, with the idea of riding the bike without a purpose, without having a plan, without an occasion and without having someone at the end that i want to meet, being there waiting for me.

With the Ninja, you don't need a plan or an occasion.
It is the someone.
It is the plan.
And most definitely it is the occasion.

And for that alone i think it is worth it.

The mother of all road trips needed the father of all headlines, so: This is for you 1mrankhan.

"Bad days in office means good trips" - an unknown saying from 3rd Century B.C saint Fobucious

I would be lying if i said that i did not feel scared or nervous before undertaking a trip of this magnitude. But am not lying, am actually sitting upright and thinking i should finally get over the geek thingy and get myself a laptop. Anyways, this trip has been on card for quite some time, it was supposed to be done a lil earlier but it did not work out, though i have been pretty regular to the gym. Finally, both me and Nannu applied for off for the first two weeks of August. Which, true to our tradition of being fuck all planners, was again pushed by one week.

I kept fearing that something will happen that will not make this trip happen, firstly it was generally my superstition that am jinxed for things that i really want to do, secondly it was Nannu. Anyways liek a guy gobsmacked by consumerism, i started shopping for, first and foremost, the stuff that i thought was cool, and then for stuff that i won't survive without. Actually the stuff that i would die without was bought 2 days before the trip.

Also, i feared that i might not make it back, no, not even in multiple pieces. That's why i met, most of the people i wanted to meet, or was not too angry with, before i went. This has never happened to me before, i have never thought that i will not come back, not even when i have left the house with the intention of not coming back. In fact i thought of writing a letter to everyone, just in case i couldn't come back. You know like die. Even headlines cracked up in my head "Saurabh Yadav is no more. He is a dog." In fact i really wanted to write a letter to mom dad to tell me that it is ok, in case i die i really love you and you didn't do that bad in raising me, it was all the fault of Internet. But then i knew if i did write it and they read it before i left, they will thwack me and make sure i didn't go anywhere.

Actually i am lying i was plain lazy to write to everyone. So that was that.

Anyways after much anxiety, Friday arrived, and like all Fridays it went past.

Saturday morning, bike loaded, cool helmet on the head, bye bye said, i was off.

Now for some time, till Naraina if i remember, i was really nervous. Wasn't doing much speed, still thinking i will crash and make a mockery of the trip. But as the miles passed, i became sure that even if i had to die, i can't crash and die at idiotic speed of 80. That was the end of anxiety. Full steam ahead then.

Much to my dismay, it wasn't exactly a blur till Ambala - my first stop. Even when i was doing hundred and twenty on the speedo, it didn't seem like Phelps in the Speedo. The trouble is, it's a straight fucking road, so the only kicks you get is by chasing cars. Cars driven by people who think they can drive in F1. This went on for some time and before i realized i was in Ambala. No wonder i love chases. And kids loved me. They couldn't believe a guy on a bike is going faster than their dad in the car. What a grin it brought to my face. And a little more purpose to the race.

Since i haven't had anything to eat in the morning i was starving, lunch was ordered, i had my fill, then i crashed and almost an hour later when i woke up Nannu was done packing. No, not the girl, she was coming, it was final now. 15 mins later the bikes' belly was also full and finally the trip was on.

*pinch*

It was indeed on. WOOOHOOOOOOO.

Somewhere in between, while taking a break, it was decided we will stop at a place called Mandi. And that was because the girl knew someone there and Manali was really still some curves away. By the way the road from Ambala to Ropar was good, but with construction work going on there were diversion and since the traffic was a little too much it meant too much concentration on road, which meant not much looking at the scenery. But me being me, i did manage to look around at the greenery, actually it wasn't green it was a dream, except that road was like something real in a surreal fairy tale setting. And there were plenty of canals and i have always been fascinated and scared of canals. Ever since i was a kid and used to go to Punjab to meet Maasi with mom. And there were plenty of them canals here, since Ropar is very close to the site of Bhakra-Nangal water works. The fast flowing blue water just gets you and me, and yet i can't help but think what will happen if i fall. Anyways a little later we were no longer on the plains and that usually means we were on a different plane.

Also we spotted loads of surdy boys returning from somewhere in the hills and they looked like Kawarias on wheels. They were as astonished to see us as we were to see them. Actually most of the stun work was done by Nannu's R15. People in those parts might have seen R15 but they were totally in shock to see saddle bag and a girl at the back. This amazement will continue to amaze the general populace till we reached back Ambala.

Till the time the roads allowed we rode as fast as we could, but still there was that zing missing that you feel as soon as you get the bike on curvy roads. This had to do with both the roads being not too good and we being slightly tired and dust covered by now. Mandi - like the girl who used to sit 3 rows ahead in the bus to college, even if the seat next to me was empty, was so near yet so far. The reason for the girl not sitting next to me were always unclear, lack of deo, idiotic looks or dozing off 10 mins after the bus started moving, at least the reason for not reaching Mandi till 9 o clock was pretty clear, bad roads. So was the reason for Nannu to almost give me a heart attack with that phone call. The boy ran into a mound of construction material left conveniently on the road, without any markers. Half-an-hour later we were back on the road, furiously wishing for Mandi to come. Around 9:30 Mandi said hello. By 11 we have had food, taken bath and crashed. This time on the bed.



Did i do "woohooo the trip is on" a few lines back?



That was a lie.



Wooohooo the trip is on. Biking trip that is.



“It is not the g forces that am afraid of, it is the ji forces.”- an average writer who never participated in any race, let alone win it.



It was a good morning then. The nice folks we stayed with in Mandi, told us we will do Manali in no time. But having tasted asphalt and bugs last night, i was not very sure about it. Luckily the only way to find out was to get on the bikes and zoom, so we saved money by not buying any pregnancy testing kit.


We should have.

And while we were at it we should have bought some contraceptives too.


Much has been written about the Mandi-Manali road; mostly by me. But still, what a fuck fest that road from Mandi to Manali is. There is a scene in The Departed where there is a cocaine induced sex romp by Jack Nicholson. I perfectly understand that now. Both the need and what pleasure he derives out of it. The adrenaline rush was not mere a rush now, it was an unstoppable mass of a comet hurtling towards mission control. The heart and the piston were now a cavalry on a rampage to avenge the death of their leader.


Those who know me, know well that i am a colossal failure when it comes to chasing girls. I don't know why. Because i really like chasing. You should have seen the chase that ensued when two boys on a bike overtook us, it was the second most 10 minutes of my life. The first being when i caught up with them, went ahead and then slowed to let them go again and chase again. It is just so all consuming to ride fast behind someone on a road which is just enough for two vehicles and which has a wall of stone on one side and a frigid river on the other side. Someone i know, knows why that word is there :p. It is not about proving to him that i can get ahead, it is proving to myself that i can brake later, i can take a better line, lean better and that i can use engine braking, knowing very well that what the risks are if anyone of these go wrong. If all of this stuff going in my head was not enough the ride was made all the more exciting by the fact that my bike was like calvin in the doctor's office for a shot. And everytime the bike showed signs, or even a single sign, of going out of control i could relate to Piyush Mishra saying "dhadkan jaisey chambal main ghoda bhaag sa gaya ho!"


The sights were pretty too. Am assuming they were, i dunno. I have never concentrated so hard on the road, never. Actually i did, but that place was still around 400 kms away and i did not enjoy there as much as i enjoyed on this road.


Finally we stopped for some food and we realized what a pretty place it was. River running along, wind blowing so hard you wish you were fit cause the t-shirt clings to you exposing your bulge. Anyways a heavy tummy and a few calls later we were back on the bikes. Crossing a dam later we were inside a tunnel, first time on a bike. We let it rip, only for me to realize a little later that i couldn't see a thing, only to realize a little later that i was wearing shades. Anyways we were out and i don't know why the cops did not stop us, because am sure we must have looked underage. At least in out heads we were 10 year olds at that moment.



Anyways some time later we were in Manali, after much research (read two hotels) we settled for the first hotel. Bags unpacked, helmets off and TV on. After much lazing around and waiting for someone to change the channel on the telly to something in english or hindi, it was decided to shut it and go out. Out we went.


Manali is like hill stations are, only it was not as crowded as Shimla is. Though am told that is cause of the time we went, it is like a sardine tin in peak season. Much roaming happened, there were shops selling everything under the sun, chinese sun that is. Some stuff was bought and then we went on to eat food and declare our innings.


The next day in Manali started pretty late, and when it started it started raining heavily. If this was how things will be i was pretty scared for not having had kids by now. Anyways the rain stopped so did that train. Then we went and got our bikes washed and lubricated, no that's not what i meant Anusheel. Then we went looking for some plastic cans for petrol and anything that we did not want, but was cool, and could fit in out bags. We dumped the loot and then on the suggestion of the girl - on whose petite soldiers the headline of this article can be blamed, we went for a rainbow. Yes a rainbow, at whose end we were promised a fabulous pizza. All we found were new expletives. After walking for 4-5 kms we decided to turn our backs and see if we could find and kill a budding lawyer. She was nowhere to be found, but we did manage to finish some pasta and salmon off the plate. After a nice warm bath i crashed avoiding thoughts of any crash in the next few days. I do remember crashing in my dreams and that someone was taking away the cloth off my corpse, i woke up to find out Nannu taking all the quilt, one thwack later it was back to wet dreams again.


"Hell is nothing but a road to heaven under repair." The quote that no one wore at Border Road Organization.


A little bit of research that i had done, clearly suggested Manali was piece of cake compared to what lay ahead. But still we were romancing with the idea that how bad could it be. And aiding that romance were the roads till like 30 Kms before Rohtang. Which seemed to go well with the scenery around. Which was absolutely cheap. Cheap, for a bollywood producer. I couldn't understand why does bollywood has this fixation with the Alps. No, really why?. I am sure that this place looked as beautiful as the west. Bollywood producer or not, this place for sure is visited by tons of visitors. For sure because the road from Manali to Rohtang is lined with shops. Good for us though there was not much traffic. Anyways the closer we got to Rohtang the closer we got to reality. It was evident our bums would have to be sacrificed on the altars of the saddle for this trip. Luckily though as we got closer it got really cold, so cold that our bums became numb and we lost them. On reaching Rohtang top we wrapped ourselves even more tightly in head gear. Today's night halt was still moons away. The roads were like my soothing words when i fight against servicing. Anyways we kept on riding at around 40 kph, which mind you was around 20 kph more than safe speed limit. After what seemed like ages we found a decent strip of tarmac. Actually it was an awesome piece of tarmac. The roads here were like relationships, awesome when it goes all right, gut crushing when it went bad. And just like relationships it followed a sine curve. And ilike curves.


I realized we were bikers. Not because we were doing this trip but because 40 kms of bad stretches were forgotten with 5 Kms of good one. No matter how bad the roads were, how much dust and diesel fumes we inhaled, one good stretch and we were all refreshed. The only other thing that gives me such pleasure is writing. One good piece and am all ready to fuck the world with my hands tied. The only thing that needs to be done is now to combine these things together. No, that does not mean writing while riding the bike.



Finally at the crack of dusk we reached the last petrol pump before Leh. The place was called Tandi. Tanking up the tanks and the gangajal bottles we were carrying, we set off for Jispa. This night's halt. Leh was still 266 Light years away. The road got worse now. Much worse than a bong's sense of dressing. Even worse than their ideology. We would have stopped had there been a place to stop. We were counting kilometeres. Finally even the sun gave up on us. And that meant from porn this has turned into a BDSM fetish. I can't explain how bad it was. No road, no lights, no scope and Jispa still around 30 kms away. But the sky, the sky was brilliantly beautiful. Prettier than Chitrangada. Prettier than a Ferrari 250 GTO. Ohkay that, is a lie. A million fucking stars shinning on the stars below. Milky way or that way it was site i had not seen, ever. It felt like i was the centre of the universe, with all those stars looking at me for some inspiration. Though, like all sadistic porn sites, this too had an abrupt end. We were redirected to another site. Actually the guy at the tent site told us about a hotel a little further up and we imagined hot water and went ahead.


The only thing i remember of the night at Jispa was my blood shot red eyes. They have not seen so much fuck in 4 years of broadband. It was time for a shutdown.


We woke up in the morning to such a bright day that if we wore white you could have mistaken us for angels. We were at high altitude now. And today's aim was another 100 odd Kilometers. We thought it would not be a problem. And it was not. The roads we were used to by now. But what has changed was the scenery. The mountains were barren, the light harsh and air colder. The scenery and the mountains changed every 30-40 odd kilometers. You could see snow just next to the road. And sometimes a road next to the snow. We reached our second pass, Baralachla. The most beautiful pass on this whole trip. It was like an expressway through heaven. It came and went like an empty Haryana Roadways bus to Gurgaon at Dhaula Kuan. That left enough rift between my lower and upper jaw that you could fit a divorce lawyer in. we stopped, took helmets off, took photographs and finally before putting back our helmets we forced a truce between the jaws and got them back together.


The roads were taking us higher and higher. The dip in temperature and the sharpness in the sun's light was making us realize that. And how could you miss snow just next to the road. In freaking August. We sped up now, because we knew that sarchu is going to get pretty cold once the sun left home after work. Fortunately Sarchu was just around the corner. Much hoo haa later, we found a decent tented accommodation and went in to feel smug about it. It was still 5:30, so we decided to take a look at the desi grand canyon. I kid you not, it looks like that. The river has cut the place and on the wind has eroded the top edges to form forms that did not look that random and mindless a work. By the time we got out from there, it got freaking cold. We had our food and got lost in the quilt.


Morning we woke up pretty early. We knew today we had to cover max distance and two passes, and cover it well before night. Spirits were high as we started from the tents, fuel in the tanks though was a little low. Anyways we carried on and sometime later the rift between the jaws surfaced again. The place was surprising us again and again. The scenery there was beyond my talents to describe it. So we did not waste much time in trying to say anything, stopped to fill the tank up and carried on.


The second pass was pretty disturbing. One, the roads were bad, two we were feeling very tired and three there were people doing this route on cycle, getting themselves clicked atop this pass. This just got us back thinking of ourselves as stars, rather than lofty pornstars. Anyways Aakriti's birthday video was quickly shot and we decided to carry on. Much to our dismay there were no roads for most of the part now. Crushed stones and dust was the only thing, but then that is the condition of most of the roads near my house, so we did not mumble much and carried on.


Ultimately even pornstars retire. We had reached a place called Moore plains. It was basically a high altitude flat land with just dust on top of it. No road, no marking, no nothing. 10-15 kms of pure mind over matter. While i had imagined it to be on the lines of Bonneville salt flats, it turned out to be devoid of any lines that i could draw parallel to. Had my moment here while making a video of me going flat out while singing "Ye dil" from Pardes. After that decided to quit goofing around. It took us around an hour to cover this 10 km stretch. This was not the one that put the pornstars to retirement though. It was Tanglangla. The highest pass on Manali - Leh road. But even retirement did not bring any relief, because we couldn't stay there for long and it was freaking cold. And even though we were above the clouds and standing at more than 17,000 feet, we couldn't see Leh.


If the climb up was a head on collision between a sedan and a petrol tanker, the climb down was a nuclear fallout. It was really that bad and we were now exhausted. Leh was still a hundred odd kilometer away. And it was already around 4:30 pm. And i really wanted to reach Leh today.



Then we found Upshi and the road. THE ROAD. I swear to Vale i could have kissed Sonika(Sorry Sonika) when i saw the road after the horrendous stretch before and after the pass. It was the sort of happiness that a prostitute might experience when she finally gets to make love. Maybe even more. I could control my tears but not my wrist and neither could Nannu. Another chase ensued and finally i was back singing songs while riding. This was the best stretch. We let it rip and did not stop till the time we had ripped the fabric of space-time. By 6:30 we were just 20 kms away from Leh. By i-don't-care-what-time-it-is we were in Leh. We have reached. We have reached the place they said it was difficult to land in. And we have reached here on two wheels. I do not have the looks but if this was not something to feel smug about, we for sure had nothing. After three days of being out in an area that looked like Black Mesa/Area 51, Gordon Freeman was back in the coverage area. We have done the hard part. From now on it will be tough to part.



It might feel that Leh was an anti-climax, but it was not. The people who built this town knew very well the importance of journey over destination, after all they were monks. If you go thinking yay i am going to Leh on a bike, it will be disappointing. You have to think of it as Yay i will end up in Leh. This trip is strictly for the love of trip, not for the love of Leh. Leh is like the Oasis at the end of the dessert, but you have to love the desert to be able to admire the beauty of the Oasis.

The next few days were spent goofing around, lounging at a place called Gesmo, climbing up the old fort, breathing a lot, getting bikes serviced and some shopping. There is loads of stuff available here for adventure enthusiasts. North Face, Columbia, Lowe Alpine, you name it they have it. And it is not too expensive also. But the irony in Leh was that every shop while had Free Tibet posters and stickers, they were all just selling Chinese stuff. They really did not get what Gandhi did to kick the Queen out. We also did not find any second hand Ferraris. Fuck you Robin Sharma.


After spending one day trying to send Aak the video and eating and goofing, we finally decided to do something while we are in Lah. So we decided that after we do the holy grail that is Khardung La we will also try our hands at Rafting. Khardung La was easy peasy after everything we had done. We have the hill bro later, we were back to the base. By late night we had paid money to go rafting on the Zanskar and Indus river. It should have been the other way round. Zanskar is the sort of river, nightmares are made of. Huge, deep and so cold that you dip you toes in it and realize it is the sort of river that throws its kids in a dark dungeon when they get 1 marks less than the topper. The river was colder than Kimi. What is with Kimi by the way, why can't he ever be affected by anything? Anything? Anyways, me, nannu, 3 talkative italians, one french, one swiss and one Indian born American in a raft later we were off. Did i tell you i don't know how to swim? Did i tell you am scared of water? And here i was in an icy cold river trying to figure out why do i have to pay money to do this. To be honest it was fun, not that scary, there were no high grade rapids, but the ones that were there instantly shrunk your genitals. This went on for an hour. Then we took a 10 minute break and then we carried on again. Only to be followed by thick dark clouds. Last thirty minutes we were rafting in icy cold water, while also taking a shower in it. Eventually after 2hrs and 40 minutes we reached the designated tent where we could change into dry clothes. Just to slip into dry clothes felt like ladoo licking your feet with his tongue. we hogged on food and turned our back on the two mighty and cold rivers.


The next day we left for the Lake. Pretty late. We dumped our stuff at Amarjeet's place and he booked a guest room for us at Tangtse. That was because 4 Kms before the lake there was a stream called Pagal Nullah. Yes that was the name and it was aptly named, because here they said boulders the size of a small room land on you without even saying hi. So it was advised that we be done and dusted with the lake by 12. Because after that the water level rises to 6 feet and there is no way our bikes can cross it then. So it was night stop at Tangtse and early morning 50 Km dash to the lake. Of all the advise and lucks given, no one told us how cold it would be. Fuck the rivers, climbing atop Changla was the coldest thing i have done in my life. Yes colder than refusing Sonika the ride. Tangtse had heavy army presence. The border with china here is very close. We were treated like royalty and had home cooked dal-roti. I love dal-roti in army camps. It is just next best to what my mom makes. Either that or we were hungry. Tangtse was also very cold. But we were being fed warm milk and tea in bed, so cold was not the pesky bastard. It was so cozy here that i think it was a perfect place for making more pesky little bastards.


Next morning we were off to the lake. The roads a little rough initially turned out to be awesome a little later. A road flowing alongside a stream. It was not just awesome it was awesome to the power awesome.

But nothing could prepare us for the lake. Actually here it might be called a lake, in Europe it will be called a sea. It was freaking enormous and beautiful. This was the place that proved god must be a married guy, that's because the rest of this place looked so desolate that you think that god created this in anger as a sort of punishment for us humans. The lake was like his wife's sympathy gift for the what-the-fuck-just-happened humans. It simply is stupendous the lake. And like i told a number of my friends a number of times, you have to be really talented to get a bad shot here. A good shot is a guarantee here.


On our way back the clouds returned. If it wasn't for the cold the divorce lawyers would have for sure guaranteed the separation for the lower and the upper jaw. That made me want to patent the idea of throwing people wanting to split into a dark and cold pit, for them to get back together. It was -2 at changla on our way back at 3 in the afternoon. I drank tea to make assure my heart that no one is going to arrest him.


Anyways nosey-on-the balaclava later we were back to Amarjeet's place. Tomorrow we start for home. For laddoo and friends who will be lining up the road to my house.



"First don't do anything. Then ask what has the country done for you." Elitist Roy - A writer having a fountain pen stuck up the wrong hole.



It was time then. It was time for goodbye. And time for hello. Kaddu called and told us that he has night stay booked at his unit in Kargil or the brigade HQ in Drass. We planned to get cozy in Drass. But as roads would have it that was not going to happen. By night we just managed to reach Kargil. The roads were not bad all the time, but where it was good the high altitude was proving to be too much for bikes' engines. At full throttle my bike was doing 60. It does around 122 on the expressway. The weather had also turned cloudy and at some places on our way back it was raining. In a rain shadow area! Mrs. kaul - my geography teacher, be damned! We must have been very close to the border or some secret bases, because some of the bases were heavily fenced with warnings prohibiting photography. And unlike Americans since we Indians don't think much of the warnings they had posted Ak-47 wielding guards near the warnings and some more near the gates of the bases. Anyways by 8:30 we had reached the birth place of Barkha Dutt. It was again pretty cold in the night but we were told it is Drass that is even colder. Scared we ate hot food and crashed. Tomorrow it is going to be Srinagar.


Morning came and we started, only to be startled by signs on the road warning us of being under enemy observation. We were later told that these were planted during the Kargil war as the pakis used to target the convoys. The Pakistan border is closest here. Some time after Kargil, Kashmir started. The Kashmir that you might have read in books and imagined. Orchards and trees lining the road in a way that would have made the yellow brick road go green with envy. The only thing that was missing here was smriti. I hope she one day does this trip, there is no other place where she will fit the frame. Drass also has an army war memorial. And just behind the war memorial is the Tololing range. They say here in winters temperatures drop to -40 degrees. And it gets around 12 feet of snow. And the guys fought. And won. I had tears in my eyes reading the names of soldiers who did what no Arunadhiti Roy can do - do rather than talk. You can blame them for loads of thing in Kashmir but the thing is we have things to blame them for because they have ensured time and again that we have Kashmir. And no matter who has told you what, it is no easy feat. There are people battling more than just fanatics and a pesky neighbour to secure this beautiful place. After visiting Amit's friend in Battalion HQ in Drass, we were forced to eat food or face summary execution. We had food. And it was 3 by the time we left drass. Srinagar was still 200 odd kilometers away. Maybe more. The roads ahead were good but the scenery was truly splendid. The only place where i will not look at Chitrangada. Then came the Zozila pass and a small war memorial. Here in Zozilla in 1948 Indian Army had built a road to get tanks. In 19 fucking forty eight at an altitude of 12 thousand feet, TANKS. This is the highest altitude at which tanks have fought, I don't know how they saved this place. But they did.


Zozilla was the Godzilla. There is no road and it was one of the steepest passes. With a drop of almost a hundred feet into Ice on one side. Not water but almost 20 feet of frozen ice. The water flew below it. But this had to be crossed, sooner than later. Beyond this lay Amir Khusro's Jannat. This was like the pearly gates. Cross this and you have reached. It took us two hours and almost 100 trucks in a convoy coming from the opposite side to finally cross this pass. If girls ever preferred men in soot and diesel fumes, both of us would have for sure improved our dismal records. Sex anyways has to be taken out of the head, first because we were in Kashmir and secondly awesome fucking roads lay between us and Srinagar. Also, more importantly there were not any willing partners. We ripped Sonmarg like only bikers can. We were like the bikers who gave bikers the good (read bad) name. Two fully loaded bikes rampaging through this beautiful town like German soldiers on bikes with sidecars did in Europe during WWII. Except that we did not have anything to conquer or any news to deliver. Cheered by kids along side and in the bus, we went for it and before dusk we were just 60 kms from Srinagar.


And then we eradicated Malaria from the valley. Yes sir, we did that. Tearing through the fields we killed every mosquito and their family members. Al Capone would have been proud of us. Such was the scale of massacre that we had to stop and wipe the dead clean off our Visors. It was a bulldozer rampaging through a swarm of protesters. It was Sin City meets LAPD. We went on and by 8 we were facing AK-47s. It will take us another hour to do all the paper work to get inside the army camp. We got inside, had food and decided to rest, because tomorrow would be another long ride. Nannu was very tired, i surprisingly was not. After having food and a bath, the thought of people asking "Is Kashmir worth fighting for?' kept running through my head and i found the answer, it was told my Mike Rourke in Sin City to the priest (Frank Miller). The priest asks "Is it worth it?" and Mike blurts out in a baritone that only he can manage " It is worth killing for, worth dying for and worth going to hell for."


If at all we have to negotiate we can give Srinagar. The place stinks. More so after what we have seen before it.


Morning came and we left the camp and now could see Srinagar. It is like any crowded place, except there was too much military presence. We sped on the roads, only to stop a little while later to have food. Full tummy later, we were running out of Srinagar like Bolt on a hot lap. Soon the Jawahar Tunnel arrived. 2.5 Kms of sheer aural orgasm. And that was the standard exhaust on a P200 and R15. Imagine a Termignoni on a Duke. We got out and went in again. The CRPF were a little curious but we darted back in again. The second time we did the max and exited the tunnel as if we have been spit out of a wormhole. This high speed chase went on till we reached Udhampur. It was made interesting by the fact that there was traffic on this road. Every turn everything was being tested. At every turn we were trying very hard to not be Mosquitoes. Before Patnitop it started raining, caution was kept away from the wind. But like rains in the hill, it was bright and sunny soon. Caution was still not exposed to wind. After Patnitop, it was caution vs. the wind at Madison Square Garden. We were in Udhampur soon. Nannu had some idea of there being a shortcut to Pathankot. It was confirmed by the petrol pump guy. So we set out super quick. Again a very good choice. Because it was a near empty wide winding road. Perfect for testing your skills, more than your bike's. Suddenly i realized i was alone. Nannu had taken a chotta fortcut. A few phone calls and expletives later we were both on choota fortcut. It got dark now and we were going through nothing but jungle. Lush dark jungle. Soon we crossed into Punjab. I led a sigh of relief, Nannu a woohooo. I don't know why but he was really happy to have got out of Kashmir. Food and a back-to-civilization hot chocolate fudge later we were at the Air Force Base Pathankot. Nannu went on to celebrate with some of his freinds posted there, while my gloves went on to dine with a dog. It was a cranky dog (bitch?)that tore him apart over a friendly dinner chat. That was its end then. The glove's.


Till now i was thinking i would have to make another stop in Ambala and hence will be home only on Sunday. Today's epic 500 kms in a day gave me hope that Home can be done in a day. With this happy thought i slept. Though by the time i dozed off it was 1 in the morning. No surprise then we woke up late. By the time we got fairly far from pathankot it was 1. We did not drive slow, it was just that we started at 12:30 and then stopped for food. So at 1 Ambala was more than 400 Kms away. Great times are achieved by great balls. I don't have them. Nannu has. So i just chased him. And down we went in history as the aliens who tore through National Highway 1 from Pathankot to Ambala. At least the people gave us that look. There were many everything in the mouth moments. Especially at one point where i was just a kiss away from transferring all my bodily fluids and bones on to the tyres of a truck. But we pestered on and by 5 we were in Ambala. Half and hour and his photos transferred to my card later we were off. Hah! caught ya. Not we, just me. The ride back was boring, apart from trying to drill some sense into a very rashly driven SX4 by beating him in the traffic. After the delhi border arrived i was really very tired. I was thinking of some plans of going for Sid's party but as the miles went by i was sure i will not have the energy by the time i reached home. The bike was making kind of noises that would make vultures happy. I went on dreaming of a reception grander than L.N Mittal's. By the time i reached outside my house i was happy that i haven't died in this epic journey. But i was so tired that i was also veering towards "why didn't I?". Anyways there was no reception committee, no friend in the streets, no banner and absolutely no nothing. But that was all forgotten because upon hearing the bike Laddoo rushed out with enough energy to tow a Nimitz class carrier at the speed of 30 Knots. Ohkay 20 Knots. He was so happy to see me. No one has ever been. Not even my mom dad i think. Not even Babbu who had for once shown some intelligence(It was kaddu's idea i was later told). Not even me.

"You meet all the slow people when you ride fast." A fast rider who writes slow.

Very late in the night as i rested on my bed i realized that only Folks, Babbu and Laddoo were happy that i was back. Not me. Because i am not back. I am still there somewhere ripping the countryside on my bike or on some road up the pass trying too hard to fly on it while trying even harder to not fly off it.
But, I will be back.
Sometime soon i guess.

Royal Enfield Tractor.

For the first time in my life i sat on a RE Bullet Electra. And thumbed the starter. It shuddered and shook so much that i thought i would have to call everyone a comrade now.

Naxalites and all the people who love revolutions must love the Bullet.

Starting it is like being on a cusp of a revolt. The point in history where the tide turned. Bike may or may not have moved, but yes history has been created. The bullet has come to life and it sends all the vibes to show its displeasure at being woken up, for something as humiliating as a test ride.

Slot it into first gear and it moves as urgently as a kid sent to meet the principal. Reluctantly. Dragging its feet. With that much torque it should go like stink but it does not. With great torque comes great responsibility. Electra's motto, not mine.

It is comfy though. It feels like a sofa with a handle bar. Or maybe sitting on the pot with newspaper in hand. Which is good because you arrive in style, no matter what time you arrive. Or if you arrive at all. Because the brakes are useless. I doubt there is a brake in there. The retardation is due to hamsters running inside the drum in the opposite direction. Or maybe braking is just a faith, if you have believe in it, it might stop. The infidels should just die.

Osama and his bearded homies might also love the bullet then.

Ohkay i admit you look good on it. Even Nannu looked smart on it. Which is something because otherwise Nannu is the only brother who looks good with his sister. The whole sit straight posture helps you look smart on it. But then think about it, the only way to sit on a bullet is straight. Any other way and the Frisbees in the spinal chord will fly out. No, really someday they will, the shudder form starting it will loosen them over time and then one day "Hello is it the Indian Spinal Injuries Centre. Yes I would like to book an appointment".

And don't tell me it builds character. That's what my Dad said every time i protested at being taken to the Village for the summer vacation. That's also what the slap said when he slapped me for protesting too much. Didn't build anything. I still like boobs.

But still i like it. Not as a bike, but as a thing. Sort of like a controversial opinion. It is an opinion. You can't be sitting on the fence with it. You are either this side or that side with the bullet. I like it for that. I also like it for making you have no respect for law, once you are astride it. It is the frown in "ohh those damn bikers".

It does not have an accent. It has attitude and that makes me think of forgiving Kaddu.

P.S: In case you have seen adverts of Bullet, don't believe a word of them. It is not a bike for grown up men. It is for young boys. You have to a boy to love tractors. Or fire engines.

ट्रक ड्राईवर सोबू सिंह

जब मैं छोटा था, अच्छा ठीक है, काफी छोटा था, और मेरी माँ मुझे बोलती थी की तुम्हे बड़ा आदमी बनना है तो मुझे बस एक ही चीज़ परेशान करती थी, अगर मैं बहुद बड़ा हो जाऊंगा तो घर मैं कैसे घुसूंगा. दरवाज़ा तो ज्यादा बड़ा होता नहीं था ना. फिर जब मैं थोडा और बड़ा हो गया तो मैं ट्रक ड्राईवर बनना चाहता था. IAS नहीं, डॉक्टर नहीं, इंजिनियर नहीं, ट्रक ड्राईवर. पर मेरे माँ और पिताजी के कुछ और ही सपने थे. फिर जब मैं और बड़ा हुआ तो मेरेको बास्केटबाल खेलना काफी पसंद था. बहुत पसंद था. माँ बाप को रसायन विज्ञानं पसंद था. मैं सपने लेता था कोर्ट मैं उड़ने के और मेरे माँ बाप सपने लेते थे नौकरी के. आखिर उनके सपने सच हो गए. पर मुझे हमेशा लगता है की मेरे भी हो सकते थे.

UP ऐसे ही कुछ सपनों की है. एक इंसान की जिसके पास सपने थे, और ऐसा भी कोई साथ जो उसके जैसे सपने देखती थी. और एक ज़िन्दगी जो उनके जैसे सपने नहीं देखती थी. और जैसा की हमेशा होता है ज़िन्दगी के सपने हमेशा सच होते हैं. उसकी ज़िन्दगी बीत गयी. सपने नहीं सच हुऐ. फिर एक दिन जब दुनिया के सपनों मैं उसकी कोई जगह नहीं थी उसने अपने सपने सच करने की ठानी. और जो उसे तब करना चाहिए था जब उसके जैसे सपने देखने वाले साथ थे उसने तब शुरू करा जब उसके साथ कोई भी नहीं बचा.

लेकिन अब आप सोच रहें होंगे ये मैं क्या बकवास करे जा रहा हूँ एक बच्चों की फिल्म के बारे मैं. जी हाँ ये बकवास है अगर आपको लगता है की Calvin & Hobbes बच्चों के लिए है. सच तो ये है की ये फिल्म उनके लिए है जो कभी बच्चे थे. जिनका बचपना और सपने उनके साथ बडे हो गए. पर जब कभी वोह बचपना याद करते हैं उन्हें याद आता है वोह ट्रक ड्राईवर बनना चाहते थे. पर अगर कहानी इतनी ही होती तो मैं इतनी मेहनत नहीं कर रहा होता ये लिखने की. ये फिल्म ये भी बताती है की चाहे आपके सपने सच ना हों, अगर आप उनके साथ रहते हो जो आप के साथ आपके सपने देखते हैं तो ज़िन्दगी निकल जाती है. और किसी तरह कट गई ज़िन्दगी वाली नहीं छुट्टियाँ कहाँ गयीं पता ही नहीं चला वाली. और कई बार कुछ लोग आते हैं जो फिर से आपको अपने बचपन के सपने याद दिला देते हैं और कभी कभी उन्हें सच भी करवा देते हैं. और ये आपको तब समझ मैं आता है जब आप वोह कर चुके होतें हैं जो आप ज़िन्दगी भर करना चाहते थे. और जब आपके सपने सच हो जाते हैं तब आपकी समझ मैं आता है की कीमत सपनो की नहीं कीमत उनकी है जिनके साथ आप सपने देखते हो और जिनके साथ सपने सच होते हैं. वोह लोग अमूल्य हैं. सम्भाल के रखियेगा उन्हें.

तो आप ये जानने के लिए ये फिल्म देखें या फिर सिर्फ 3D के चश्मों का लुत्फ़ उठाने के लिए, आपके पैसे व्यर्थ नहीं जायेंगे.

आँखे खोले ना खोले कुछ जंग खाए सपनो पर से धुल ज़रूर छटा देगी ये फिल्म.


और अगर आप सोच रहें हैं ये सब हिंदी मैं क्यूँ लिखा गया है, वोह इसलिए क्यूंकि ट्रक ड्राईवर हिंदी मैं सपने लेते हैं.

Have you been reading the funnies?

If you read newspapers like i do, you would have noticed a few reports. One of the articles i read talked about how researchers at some firangi university have concluded that men really forget what they are talking about when they see a pretty woman.

Men were made to meet some pretty babes and just as they were "lost" in their thoughts, they were asked their own address, most of the men forgot their own address. The researchers did not get ugly women to prove the theory other way round. For obvious reasons. No woman is ugly. The ugly ones are called "real women" by Dove.

The researchers then concluded that men are programmed like that due to their tendency to fuck and make babies. But they wrote procreate instead of "fuck and make babies".


I find this research reason enough to fire the researchers. No, not because it proves men stop thinking when they see a pretty girl. But because they were stupid researchers.

Firstly who goes to these researches, am guessing bored university students, their friends and other people who are without jobs. Now tell me if you were one of those will you tell your down-market address to a pretty girl. No, seriously will you give it all away that you are a burger-eating room-sharing unemployed dork living in a ghetto and screw you chances to screw? The research proved that beautiful women make men lie. That's what it proves.


Also the next day there was a news about another research. This time telling us what all men know and all women believe "Men notice the breast of a women first." Men were shown women with breast of different sizes and were asked a few questions. First of all i want to know who were the buffoons in the first research who got up to the faces and secondly where do they advertise about volunteers for these researches?

One night at the call centre.

Here i am at elevate. The music is so loud that my thoughts are bouncing.
This is the sort of place that every barat ghar in west delhi either aspires to be or already is. this is where losers come to celebrate their loss. This is PGDAV minus the dust and a few sex change operation gone right. And a fewer fights. PGDAV is the place where the alpha males are still found bashed by gaama pehalwaans.
This place is so fill of fat girls in short dresses that you wonder is size zero still some bakwas created by media.
Don't get me right.
This place rocks. This place is full of young people who are young unlike agni which is full of old people who feel young or worse still that place in nehru place, where old people come to check whether they still can produce young. This is India dancing. This is India that has worked idiotically for the past 5 days and would not mind spending a grand and a half on justifying the trps of dance show on the telly.
This place is so desi that even firangis look cheap here.
This place absolutely fabulously rocks.
And if you are right here now, and want to bash me up for writing this crap, am d loser furiously typing at d cellphone on d right corner, behind the pillar. If you're facing the bar. Occasionally tapping his left leg.

Lorenzo

Yesterday Lorenzo won.
Rossi fell. So did Pedrosa.
It would have been a race had they not fallen.
Anyways it is not about them. Yes even i was surprised when i came to know i wanted to write about Lorenzo rather than Vale.

I know i was not the only one but in one lap they were showing Throttle and braking data.
Lorenzo was measurable-only-by-a-high-end-swiss-watch of a second faster in opening the throttle and was again later in braking. Also unlike Rossi he was opening the throttle to the fullest for more time. No wonder then, before Rossi fell he was on to him and overtook him. I won't say "easily" because while it may look that ways it never is easy. To overtake Rossi that is. Though i feel yesterday Lorenzo was on a song and would have won even if Rossi had not lost his front end.

But that is not the only reason for this note. You see the thing am beginning to liek about Lorenzo is that in a way he is Rossi too. His antics after winning are cool. He really relishes winning. He is not Pedrosa who you won't know has won or is waiting for his mother to come and clean his bums after he is done shitting. Pedrosa winning is like a German Sedan. It will work and still you won't have a smile. Lorenzo winning is like an Italian car, it will make you smile even when it does not work.

No, but seriously there is a genuine thrill that you feel when Lorenzo jumps on the podium, you can't help but laugh at the Captain America shield and the climbing the fence stuff.

He is no Rossi alright but he is learning from the master and he has the flair to execute the tricks.

MotoGP then, for sure has a future.

R15 vs. Pulsar 200

First things first. We rocked the roads. I kid you not, kids are going to remember us. Some will want to be us. Some, will be us. And that's worth at least 300 crores. Considering that's what Mayawati is spending to put statues of herself and what not.
Second this note will get a little PG, so those not comfortable with acts that lead to human procreation, can come and read it after a few years.
Ohkay here goes then.
Pulsar 200 is a bitch to ride fast in twisties. It sort of makes sure you die at every corner. To be fair enough you will die spectacularly. The rear wants to go faster than the front. The front, due to added luggage at the back, is Pamela Anderson after the breast reduction. she for sure can run fast, but what is left of baywatch then? You have to struggle with it. You have to move your bum more than the girls in hip hop video. Every time you have to shed speed it is like a no confidence motion in the parliament. You don't know what the fuck will happen. The suspension has got boobs of its own and they for sure are not wearing anything. Result? Bounce. Ball smacking bounce everytime there is a hump in the road. And the steering is as difficult as Mrs. Rastogi, my nightmare in class 8th and 9th. You don't get it right, she has the right to give it to you, then and there.
R15 as it seemed, coz i din't ride it, is Bhanu chawla. First bencher, class topper, class monitor, the girl who writes the date on notice board and gets her name written after the boards. I kid you not it is fucking difficult to catch the bike unless you get a decent straight. Then also it is there in the rear view mirrors. Always. Unless nannu has taken a stop to admire the beauty. To top it all you look all party stopper on it.
That means you should just go and buy the pulsar.
Yes, pulsar. You see R15 is enjoyable but it is making-love enjoyable. it is holding hands, looking into eyes, thinking of your kids names and having sex once in 2 months sort of experience. You enjoy it. You cherish it. You love it. But it makes you feel old. Coz you are not doing much. You are walking hand in hand. Into the sunset, sure next day you going to top the boards.
The pulsar is the bastard child of you don't know whom. It is the fuck that no one admits is what they want. It is what everyone will chuck making love for, if they were not dying to be decent. It is the after fight sex. you have to behave like an alpha male to fuck around with it. Wrestle hard, show who's the boss and still shit in your pants coz you know she can walk away anytime she wishes. She is what cosmo wants you to be. She can be a headache, she will never have one. She's a wild child. And so am I.
And that's why we fucking rock.

Prime Ministerial Ambition

Sitting aside a river that's making noises, though not as much as the wind i have decided i want to be the Prime Minister of India, having an absolute majority in Parliament. Then i will creat an Isle of Mandi. Coz d roads are already there. Just did edge of cliff driving. Well, 110 on a pahadi road cnt be termed anything else. Rode over a dam. Went through a tunnel, at 80. In a car these roads can be like watching lesbians going for it. On the bike this is fucking threesome. With tongue pierced girls.
For Isle of Mandi i will join politics. And then we will have Isle of Mandi TT. And rest as they say is life.

Today's ride from home to office.

Home.

First. Dil. Yeah Dil. Second. Yeh dil DEEWANA, deewana hai yeh dil
Deewane ne mujhko bhi, ah, kar daala deewana
Third, Maine uske shaher ko chhoda, Fourth, uski gali, Third, Second, First, mein dil ko, Second, toda Phir bhi seene, Third, mein dhadakta hai yeh dil, Fourth, Maine dil se usse nikaala, Fifth, jo na, Fourth, Third, Second, karna tha kardaala
Phir, Third, bhi yaad ussi ko karta, Fourth, hai yeh dil
Yeh dil, Fifth, deewana, deewana, Wish there was sixth, hai yeh dil.
Dil, yeh dil. Fourth, Third, Second, Neutral.

Red light.
Dil ki khataa bhi hai kya, mujhko gilaa bhi hai kya
Is dillagi ke sivaa, dil ne kiya bhi hai kya.
Aashiq hai, First, yeh chor nahin hai, Second, main kya karoon, Dil pe, Third, mera zor nahin, Fourth, hai, main kya, Fifth, karoon, Fourth,
Yeh dil deewana, Fifth, deewana hai yeh dil.
Dil. Yeah Dil. Fourth.
Dil kaisa beeper, Third, Second, hai, voh ek tasveer hai, Fourth
Main kehta hoon tod, Fifth, de, kehta hai zanjeer, hai
Koi kachchi dor nahin hai, Fourth, Third, Second, main kya karoon, Third, Dil pe koi zor, Fourth, nahin hai, main, Third, Second, kya karoon.
Yeh dil deewana, deewana hai yeh, First, dil
Deewane ne, ah, mujhko bhi, Neutral, Ignition off, Park, Lock.
Kar daala deewana. Helmet off.

Exit Parking.

Girls vs. Optimus Prime.

The biggest myth propagated by anyone is that of a “Lil Girl”, there is no such thing as a little girl. Girls are never born little. They are born with mental capabilities of a well grown and intelligent adult - adult men, because the brains of girls do not grow, which is all right considering they are already born with a well developed brain.

It has its Pros and Cons. Pros being the fact that till the time the guys grow up, which sometimes they never do, you get to control them. Because you are smart. The guys could be more powerful, but what use is that power when you can’t physically subdue girls. Remember you can’t hit girls and who told you that? Your mum, a girl. So, if you are a girl, you get immense benefits at every birthday party. In the school. And in the school bus which takes you to the school.

Because they are smarter and more mature, they tend to outsmart boys and get what whey want. The only trouble they face in school, is not the kiddie boys with underdeveloped brains, but girls who are as intelligent and cunning as them. A boy gets along with 24 guys in a class with 26 boys; a girl is pals with 2 girls in a class of 32 girls. People of same caliber rarely get along.

The education system too is geared to reward the hard working rather than the genius and tremendously gifted and talented, which is not a bad thing, because rarely do lil boys with intelligence come along. No wonder then, though Vineet Paliwal was the smartest guy on planet Gurgaon, Bhanu Chawla topped the class. Even she knew he was the brightest thing in Gurgaon. They could put his brain in the jar and that would produce enough energy to power Gurgaon and South Delhi. If you switched off the ACs, maybe West Delhi too. But he never topped the class. No one now in my school will know of a certain Vineet Paliwal, while Bhanu Chawla’s name will be on some board honouring the toppers. But then those who studied with him will never forget that he had 9th rank in IIT-JEE. Even Bhanu Chawla won’t be able to forget that.


Let’s admit it then most of the “lil” girls are bright and more intelligent then lil boys. Fair enough.

But then is it really a virtue to be intelligent and brainy all the time? Now, if you were a pre-human, without fangs and claws and teeth that could rip out the living daylights out of anything, the intelligent thing to do would be to pussyfoot around the cave, gather food, come back home, eat food, have sex, produce kids, go to bed and hope you will live another day. But no, some idiot guy, acting like a lil kid, went ahead one day with his friends, killed a saber tooth, did hi-fives with his pals and returned home to be told by his wife “WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT DID YOU DO YOU DIMWIT, DO YOU REALISE HOW MANY OF THEM TIGERS ARE OUT THERE. NOW, WE’RE ALL DOOMED.”
Trust us lil kids to do something incredibly stupid, chase incredibly ridiculous ideas and end up retarding the growth of humankind on the whole.

Which brings me to Transformers. 1 or 2 does not matter. Go for it if you sometime jump in a puddle to splash your friends, drive like a maniac, make a fool out of yourself at the restaurants and more often not are told to grow up. Don’t go if you’re married or have a girlfriend who tells you to grow up more often than she tells you that she has a headache. No wonder then the girlfriend of the guy sitting next to me could not understand what the brouhaha was all about. She couldn’t understand why her boy was drooling at some truck called Optimus Prime. Or a butch looking car called bumble-bee. It would have been still process-able by her brain if he would have had made more noises on seeing the boobs of the girl with bigger-tattoo-than-boobs but no, he was gleefully jumping at watching a truck called Prime get jet engines. This did not make sense to her. It never will. Therein lies the charm.

Two more sequels and either the guy will break up with her and she will regale her girl friends by telling them stories of him being such a weirdo or the poor boy will tell horror stories of her to his friends after watching Optimus Prime kick some more ass and then call her up to tell the meeting went just fine. Either which ways he will keep making noises while watching Optimus Prime roundhouse kick a Decepticon.

What if?

It jut hit me. No not the fan. The thought that what if i die without ever laying my foot on the accelerator of a Ferrari and my palms on the flappy paddles and the steering? What if i can't power slide on the road next to Lotus Temple? What if i never high slide a Ducati? What if i never go to Laguna Seca to screw the cork screw? What if it all remains in my head as things that i would have loved to do but was never able to? What if all this is a wild goose chase? What if in the end it is just me and family in a family hatch back? What if that hatch back does not have a rear wheel drive? And a million bhps and a quarter million Nm of torque? What if the hatch back never goes fast enough to activate its airbags? What if i get to be with the girl i love and not with the girl i have always craved for? What if it is all making love and no fuck? What if i won't be able to drown these what ifs in the growl of a Termignoni? What if i end up in a box without ever being in a Recaro? What if they save the planet but fail to save me?

What then?

Then i will be glad am as evil as i am. As arrogant as i am. As painful as i am. Most definitely as blasphemous as i am. And as idiotic as i am.

Because am sure i won't achieve Nirvana in this birth. That leads to being born again. 8.4 million times, if my mother is to be believed. And then 8.4 million plus one time i will be back. Clinging to my belief in a 4 point harness, ready for this quest of taking a hard left.

That's that then.

Have you noticed?

that the new kid in the Hutch commercial looks like a baby Mayawati?

Winter vacation.

“Saurabh!! Don’t throw the snowball; it’s really cold out here.”

These are the words that were going through my head as one day over coffee I insisted we go to Auli. Well snow can be found in more hospitable places, so why take the pain of doing an 18 hour journey with a bunch of people I just became friends with in office? The true answer to that will come in a little while, depending on you reading speed, but for now let’s just say Auli is one of India’s best ski-resort. With slopes that give novices hope and nightmares to orthopaedics, Auli was the perfect place to give us ppt junkies some much needed adrenaline rush. Actually all this is a lie, Auli was decided because it has a wow inducing 3 K.M long cable car ride. As soon as it was decided where to go, someone with intent to do an MBA popped the question “How to get there?” and then proceeded to stare at her computer screen, like MBA’s usually do. The bombshell was severe enough to take shelter in Google bunker. A few clicks and keystrokes later we discovered www.GMVNL.com, which stands for Garhwal Mandal Vikas Nigam Limited but is more commonly known as Garhwal Mandal Bubblegum. The site, though little basic to look at, is quite easy on the brain. A few clicks and a credit card number later we could proudly say “Look ma without being an MBA we now own two wooden huts for 3 nights and 2 days.”

Only one thing remained between us and Auli, 530 kms. One ticket later we were just 300 kms from Auli. A few phone calls later, we were now a week away from Auli. After jumping like Energizer bunnies in office for a whole week, letting the whole office know of our plans, the D-day finally arrived. Only that it was night. We boarded a train from Nizamuddin and some restless hours later were deposited at Haridwar railway station. From there we took a pre-booked cab and we were off to Auli.

A few centuries passed before we reached Joshimath. The road till Joshimath is actually a myth. It exists if you believe in it. Ok fine, it does exist, but is horrendous in places. There are stretches where it just seems suspension in cars is still a millennium away. The Border Road Organization which maintains this road, we were told, is actually expanding the road. Someone also told us that the parts, where the road existed only in the driver’s imagination, were prone to landslides. That clarified the myth a little. But what no one could or can describe is the feeling that you got when the road was flowing. Mountain on one side and the Alaknanda river on the other, it was a treat to watch.

Joshimath was about to call it a day when we reached there. From Joshimath you can either take the road to Auli or take the cable-car. Though you might suspect dictatorship but there was no need to call the Election Commission, everyone agreed to go by cable-car. We settled for the ride up the hills. After a few minutes of silence there was pride on our faces. Because we were dangling by a few clamps and watching, with our mouths wide open, white, pristine white, whiter than white snow. Euphoria died down when we were told that we are there. No it seriously did. Because it was cold. How cold? Well colder than the stare your mom gave when you went to your uncle’s place and didn’t stop at one gulab jamun. It was colder than Mr Bean’s sex life. Saurabh Yadav lost his mind. And if that wasn’t bad enough, we were now almost 10 storeys high. With a ton of luggage and more stairs than girls in a rap video, we were well and truly stuck up there. Oh yes there was a lift, only thing is it was only good for some horror movie. We somehow managed to get down. And we were greeted by cheerful snow. What started off as “We always plan, we never go” banter over coffee in college was now a “Just did it” moment. A few snowballs in the face later we took another lift to our resort. This one was an open-air lift. Basically four people can sit in them and down you go. We were now a 5 minute walk away from our booked-without-a-MBA-degree rooms. A few falls in the snow later, we were there. The rooms, frankly at first glance, were a let down. They were devoid of any major creature comforts, but before we could think of filling CAT forms, someone shouted “Look there is TV. And a Bukhari too.” Bukhari for the un-initiated is a metal drum connected with a pipe. You put wood in the drum and a little kerosene and voila there is life. Before you could say something funny we were all asleep. Or so I thought. Because in the morning they told me I was snoring and they couldn’t sleep. Rubbish I said, hiding my ecstatic male ego. In the morning we were feeling a little better. Warm soup and warmer food later we went for a trek in the snow. A billion snowball fights later we went a little up the hill and were promptly told to leave as there is a BSF/ITBP camp there. Dejected that there was no filmy-style chase we went to the other hill. Good for us, because there was un-touched snow there. Houses abandoned by the shepherds in winters were now covered with snow. A few photos were clicked and then we peacefully decided to end peace. Snowball war was declared, which continued till the time sun decided to call it quits. And you don’t need an MBA to know that in these parts as soon as the sun switches off, so should you. And so we did. Warm soup and warmer food later, we retreated to our huts. Inside out huts conversation about geo-political situation of office were cut short by a few more snowballs.

Next morning we decided not to worry about our limbs and go get some rush. We tried our hand at skiing. After falling and falling and then falling some more we discovered that it was not that difficult. Then we fell again. This continued till the time sun fell off the scene and it was again time to go back. One thing I couldn’t stop thinking while sitting on the ski-lift was that what a waste of money it is to go abroad for winter sports, when a few hundred kms away we have this pick of a place. Sure abroad you will get better facilities but the trouble it is to reach this place only adds to the charm.

Before we could represent our country in the winter Olympics it was time to leave Auli. The drive back was a little quiet and quite fast. Also since we left a little late from Joshimath and the roads here are closed for traffic after 8 pm, we had to take a night halt in Srinagar. No, this Srinagar is not the one Arunadhiti Roy knows about. Here also we decided to stay at Garhwal Mandal Bubblegum. But here we decided to book beds in the dorm. At Rs 60 a bed it was dirt cheap. And since the dorm was empty the manager gave us the whole dorm. So the huge room with 8 beds in it was ours for the night. It was quite a riot. The drive back in the morning from Srinagar to Haridwar was a little sombre. It was a little sad that the trip has ended so early. We thought we will be there at least till the war against terror got over. Sadly the bully he is, Bush won.

No he didn’t but Auli did. The small place enchanted us, enthralled us, but above all it was much closer to our expectations than our current salaries. More than that the trip made me believe, now even more strongly, that no matter who you go with on a trip, you always come back with friends.

So, should you go to Auli? Without a doubt, yes. Only one question remains now “How to make the perfect snowball?” I don’t know the exact composition, but what I surely know is that you don’t need to be an MBA to make it.

The boy who never sold his Ferrari.

“Bright sunshine on winter mornings is like the girl on the second last row who smiles and shakes her head while the teacher admonishes you for coming late. That feeling can be recreated years later as you press the Sport button, dab the accelerator and get the tail out of the corner while powering out of Connaught Circle. As you finally thunder out on Janpath without wrecking the car you know the car likes you, no matter what the onlookers say. Just like the girl on the second last row, remember the one who was smiling.

You can wear a wall clock on your wrist and still have no clue about what time it is. Because “what time it is” is the last thought on the mind of someone who is 16 and is in bed with the hottest senior. Or in simpler terms chicanes, esses and revcounter warps time more than Starship enterprise can, when you are behind the scalpel sharp steering of a F430 Scuderia.



Strapped in the six point harness, the double chin visible, I briefly take my eyes off the road to look in to the camera stuck on my left. The breathlessness clearly visible on the face, the trickle of sweat on the sideburns glinting in the evening sunlight, even though air-conditioning is standard on the 599 GTB. Finally for the first time since I sat in the car I gather my breath to utter something that is coherent. With a smile that can be only termed as naughty, I say what testers, writers and countless fans have said before. But unlike them I am not going to waste gallons of ink or acres of footage. “This car is better than a blowjob.”


Given almost half a million dollars can you find the perfect wife? The one who does what you want, whenever you want. Sexy, horny and the dominant partner in one click. Civilized, obedient and forgiving with another click. All the time. Every time. Unfailingly. At the click of a button. Oh yes you can. Better still she will come in your choice of innerwear - black alloys with red brake pads. Half a million dollars. That’s all you need to get the perfect partner these days. “






Between bright mornings, insipid briefs and cold lunch I have thought of a million lines I will say or write when for the first time i get to be behind the wheels of the scarlet car with a yellow badge. Between people telling me that it is impossible to get one and people who roll their eyes like bankers do when you tell them of your projects, I have never stopped dreaming of barreling straight down the Rajpath. Between people who have accepted compromise as life and people who have never questioned their destiny, I have always wanted to test the 100-millisecond-gear-change-time claim of the Scuderia. Between people who have been sucked dry of passion by the system and people who want to permeate the system into every passion, I have always wanted to be the hector that will tame the cantankerous horse. Between people who have sold their souls and between people who are looking to buy souls at a discount, I have never sold my Ferrari.