The Prose Section

 

 

You will find below some stories, anecdotes, travelogues, written by your friends here at Ann Arbor. If you want to write something for your friends to read, please send it to us at isa.web@umich.edu. This section will be frequently updated as we keep getting new inputs from you.

In the current page, you will find:

RETURN OF THE ANONYMOUS PAIN-MASTER
by
Sachin Shanbhag

A question has vexed me since a long time, and I have a feeling that you've been exposed to it yourself. Let me explain. It is a delicate problem. Suppose you are walking down a corridor and you find an acquaintance (= less than a friend, more than a stranger) walking towards you in the same corridor. For simplicity's sake, let us assume that there are no side-alleys to escape into. Okay, given this, the question runs as follows:

At what point do you exhibit that you have recognized the oncoming entity? At what exact moment do you begin flashing your counterfeit smile? How long do you hold that grin on your face (like the idiot who did not get the joke)? How close should the approaching person be before you can employ, "Hi, Hello, What's up? How do you do? Hands up!"? or whatever.

Walking down the Engineering Diag (poor man's Diag?) with my head bent down, I was absorbed in trying to find a solution to this widespread social disease. The Public, I decided, deserved to breathe easier.

"What's up, Sachin!!!" he exclaimed.
"Huh," I jumped up abruptly, my train of thoughts completely derailed. "Hi," I stopped short.

It occurred to me that I had no idea what his name was.

I had met him on a number of occasions before, so I couldn't ask him his name now. It would undermine the foundations of proper social conduct! The fact that he knew my name lopsided this whole relationship. He held all the strong cards. The little that I did know about him was unflattering. This dude was a big pain in the neck. If I had seen him earlier then, I swear, I would have bolted for my life, never ever looking back to see what I had missed. What may have been, however, was unimportant and at this moment I had a deep and clear understanding of how a hen might appear to a poor frightened worm.

"How are you?" I said and bit my tongue as soon as I realized what I had unleashed.

The problem was that the anonymous pain-master who stood before me could not distinguish between a greeting and a question that was really meant. C'mon, I didn't give a rat's ass how he was... I was merely fulfilling the social obligation of greeting my fellowman. Simultaneously (and in EngineerSpeak) my mind submitted two background processes. (1) What was this person's name? and (2) Where is the nearest exit? On the foreground, I maintained a mask of ease.

"Oh I have to tell you, today I bumped into this old roomie of mine who used to do drugs and crack straight As and... yap yap yapyapyap yap yap"
'God! How am I going to stop this endless hemorrhaging of words, this relentless verbal dysentery. What did I do wrong? Mercy, Lord, mercy!' I thought, but I merely said:
"Oh, that's great!"
"yap yak... yakyak..."
'What the heck was his name? I had a strong suspicion it started with the letter "A". Amit? Ajit? Arun? Ajay? Amar? Akbar? Anthony?' I kept thinking.
"...yak...yak...yakyak... yakyakyapyakyakyakyap... Rashmi... yapyap... causing me so much heartache, I tell you, Sachin...yapyap...", his yapping continued unabated.
'Heartache, my ass! Must be all the freakin' gas in your tummy' I thought, but took care not to lend voice to my thoughts. 'Akash? Avinash? Arvind? Acharya? Arunachal Pradesh? Azerbaijan?'

Suddenly, there was a pause in the conversation. It brought me back from my phased-out state. This whole episode of enduring this anonymous pain-master was an ordeal and I should have used this opportunity to escape to freedom. However, like a choker who falters during crunch time, I chose that very moment to fire a torpedo at my own foot.
Nature hates vacuum, they say. I hate Nature, I say!

Fearing silence, I filled in with, "Today is such a nice day, isn't it?"
"Yeah... but you know I was looking up the 14-day forecast and there is snow... blah blah... yap yap blahblahblah..."
'Alankaar? Aavishkaar? Al Capone? Al Quaida? Abhijeet?' I kept scanning. "Yeah," I said.
I was getting weary of the effort. I decided to relax by singing a song to myself in my head. 'Who let the dogs out? Bow! Bow! Wow! Wow! Who let this dog out? Bow! Bow!' It seemed to soothe my irritated nerves.
"YakYakYak," he kept blabbering, not minding my tuning out.

I had to exit now. I had to find the controls to the ejection seat. My suffering had exceeded my pain threshold. I scrambled, trying to find a way out. It wasn't going to be smooth, but it would work. I looked at my watch.
"Oh my God, I gotta go," I cried, faking an urgent note.
"Oh, alright, nice bumping into you, Sachin."
"Bye Bye," I said sprinting away.

MY FIRST MOLAGUTAL1
by
Rukmini Sivaraman

This is to narrate to you my very first molagutal. I know this sounds rather incongruous for the subject of an article of prose, but believe me, this was a rather big moment in my culinary life. I've for a while now, tried and succeeded to an extent in making stuff like sambar, rasam, vatha kozhambu, etc. But the molagutal always evaded me. Earlier, sometime last year I had asked for a recipe and also had it emailed to me by my aunt. But somehow never got down to making it..... maybe the fear of failure taunted me!

But this Tuesday, Seema's sabji got over and it was my turn to cook. We had bought cabbage and I was thinking of making a standard cabbage curry. But something (maybe it was the molagutal and other kerala food discussion that I had with my friends here on Sunday) urged me to go ahead and try the molagutal. Well, we had the thenga2 and everything, so there really was no excuse not to. Immediately, I realized that we didn't have moong dal, which is what is used at home to make molagutal. But we did have toor dal which is an acceptable alternative, so I went ahead and put it to cook in the cooker. Okay, well I'm guessing you dont want to read how to make the molagutal.... so to cut a long story short, after a good 45 mins of careful and deliberate efforts, my cabbage and peas molagutal was ready, garnished with mustard and urad dal, et. al..... the works! I was excited beyond words, it actually looked and smelled exactly like what Ma makes at home on Fridays!! Even the dessicated coconut that is sold in the Indian store rose a notch or two in my opinion of it. I tasted it and as always, it needed some salt. Added that, mixed it with the rice and..... God! Did I make this?? Well anyway, that's what led me to call Ma at home and brag about my achievement for the day!! So all's well that ends well and I can now add a molagutal chapter to my amateur's cookbook!

1 Molagutal - A rather bland dish from Kerala that is eaten with rice and some spicy side dish.
2 Thenga - coconut.

A CLASS ACT
by
Dhruv Acharya

Little Minoo was tallest in her class. For a sixth grader she could reach the top of the blackboard with her foot long scale. The rest of the kids were completely in awe with this super human feat which only Mrs. Bhandari, the class teacher could achieve. And of course Shivaji, the school peon.

Whenever the teacher came in late, or a parent dropped by to get hold of a child's progress, or if the principal wanted an urgent meeting with teachers, the class became Minoo's domain. Minoo was the brightest kid in the class and the class captain. Naturally, she was the chosen one, the one who could stand up to check commotion, bring order to chaos, the leader bearing responsibility for the clan. She was just fine with the job for she was a giant, though a gentle one she knew she had it all to wreak havoc. More importantly she made sure that the kids knew about it. She would take rounds in the class with her ruler, beating it to a tune in her palm, sniff for signs of trouble quietly bubbling in any corner, raise an eyebrow, squint an eye, stiffen the upper lip, briskly walk off to the board and jot down the name of any miscreant. This would instantly bring pin-drop silence to the class.

And when the class acted all nice and obedient she would dish out an occasional show of her act. She would show off her reach in front of the entire class. Posing like an olympic diver making a pyramid with both hands in air, meditating, thinking of the applause after the splash, she would slowly inch the tip of the foot rule towards the upper rim of the blackboard. For a moment or two a deliberate hovering of the tip would ensue 'whoas' and 'ahs', just like the ones spilling out of the spectators as they watch the daredevil take a leap of faith. While kids' eyes stuck to the rule-tip, some skipping a beat or two, Minoo like an amateur magician using distraction as the key would slowly and unnoticeable lift the heels off the ground and balance herself off the tip of her toe. The top of the blackboard, the summit would thus be fathomed by an explorer. Minoo has secretly practiced the trick on the terrace of her house since the day she saw ballet dancers on tv.

Shivaji would come in after every 3 periods to wipe the board off all the chalk. This wiping ritual was very important to little Minoo. She believed that wiping off the board with moist rag made the board magnetic, words would stick to it and get imbibed into her memory. Then she wouldn't have to spend her day learing her lessons, instead she could just sneak into the backyard and sing songs to the sparrows on the mango tree and to 'chote miyan', a wooden peg in ground, a clown from torso-up. Being the class captain, she would make sure to get hold of Shivaji if at all he occasionally sneaked away to enjoy his biriee. She knew all his hiding spots, by the water cooler, under the school bell, neel trees behind the teacher's parking and mostly by the 'Birju ke dahi vade' stall just outside the school gates. She would hail him from the school gate. As Shivaji would enter the gates, she would scold him, "Shivaji, biree is very bad, stop it!". Shivaji would offer his teethless smile and walk off to moisten his rag, "kal se chod doonga babyji". Shivaji was kind and hardworking. On Sundays he worked as a maali at Minoo's house.

One day Minoo was playing with other kids during recess and she saw something among the plantations. It was an egg. Small, polished white mothball of an egg. The news of this discovery spread like forest fire. In no time about twenty kids flocked upon the alien egg. Some were clueless and others were apprehensive. Someone tossed the idea that we can make omlet. Then someone came up with the story that if any human touched an intact egg, the birds would never accept it back. The new born would die out of loneliness. After this no one dared to go within 5 feet of the egg. Minoo, the finder, the discoverer was as anxious about its fate, just as everybody else present there.

Someone said that maybe the parents have gone out to get food and hence they have just left it for the time being, they should be getting back any moment. This relieved a lot many. "But what if the relatives of the birds are watching from the trees. If they see any of us touching it, that's it". Another hush followed. Everyone started looking out for birds on the trees just like underground secret agents. "Seven, there are seven birds as far as I can see!".

Minoo, a silent absorber to the entire thing was in a way now responsible to put an end to what she had started. She scratched her head hard, not knowing what to do, "Hey bhagwan, sadd-buddhi do! Help me to make a wise decision"

"Leaving it, just the way it was, is the best thing. God will look after it", someone pushed for it. The crowd was cut into half by now as the excitement had fizzed out.

Minoo, unconvinced to the core of her heart, was still undecided. She had to do something. Ideas arose in her mind like a tidal wave and lost posture at the possibility of the dreaded story turning out to be true! She would not be able to bear the burden of alienating a poor bird, were it to become one. She turned away from the egg with heavy feet and a sunken heart. She knew it just wasn't right. The other kids just followed the class captain. Then suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Minoo saw something lurking in the distance. To her horror, it was a cat. The ruffain was waiting to pounce upon the treasure and looked like he was willing to take a chance and snatch it away right from the midst of it. This was it and Minoo ironed her decision. It was she who had to rescue the poor little unborn. She was just an instrument who would need to act and act fast.

She hurtled back, knocking a kid off his balance and tore off a couple of leaves. She stacked them together and made a canopy out of it. With one leaf she scooped the egg into the canopy. Aloe! the egg was still untouched yet in safe hands. Billykhan got tricked out of her meal. Minoo now held the canopy high into the air, away from anyone's reach but its savior. She slowly walked across the plantation into the school hallway. Flock of followers following Moses to reach the destined land. Near the water cooler was the school store room. It had an attic!!! She had remembered Shivaji talking that sometimes when he was very tired, he went to the store room to doze off for couple of minutes. No need for an alarm, for the chirping of sparrows in their innumerable nests made sure of that.

Over by the wall was an old cupboard with an evident invasion of sparrows on top of it. The kids lined up behind Minoo eager waiting to see what would follow. Minoo turned to face the worshippers, pointed towards the cupboard top. She began her ritual, two hands up in mid air reaching up towards the celing. aHo!! gasp!! isss!! glub!! The canopy now slid over the upper rim of the cupboard and rested just fine. It was a class act. All the kids mesmerized by the feat once again. Minoo simply walked off the room. The recess bell was ringing shrill and the kids followed clapping all the way.

This was a day everyone remembered in some form or the other. For Minoo, her life took a new turn. 'Destiny' now pictured into her consciousness. Though she was happy to have saved a life she now began to question several things in her mind. She started feeling like a puppet. Who were her Billykhans? Who was her savior? Did God look over her too? Who looked after Iyee? Several questions and no convincing answers.

Couple of months passed by and Minoo was preparing for her exams. She did not need to specially study for it. She sat in her room, staring blankly out of the window. It had rained the other night and the bugs were bugging her. So many mosquitoes underneath the tube light. It was getting noisy with all the bugs buzzing in and out of the tube light zone. Then from within the underbelly of the tube popped out a head, big black bulging eyes stuck over limey slender six inches of wall lizard. At the first instant she got sick, felt knot at the bottom of her stomach tighten, yuckk!! gluck!!! eesish!!! It then slurpped out it slimy tongue and gobbled up a tiny wasp which was lazily hovering in its vicinity. Minoo froze in shock, then let out a big scream. She took out her foot-rule and wanted to shoo the dragon back into the dungeon. She inched up her ruler towards the tube but to no avail. She was terribly short for performing this act of benevolence. If only she were taller! Another minute passed and Minoo sat there on the floor trying to cook up a way to save the poor mosquitoes. The head emerged and gorged onto another sweet helping of a beetle. Poor Minoo, now couldn't hold back her tears. She couldn't take this gory onslaught anymore and shot into the living room catching her Iyee napping by the phone while her dad was catching the ten o' clock news. She just nosedived into Iyee's sari and Iyee, startled let out another cry.

"What happened Minoo? Why are you crying?". Minoo kept on sobbing. All she did was point in her room's direction. "Please look into what's happened in her room, I am following the election bulletin", dad irately declared.

Minoo then dragged Iyee's palloo, Iyee following her with concern. Minoo pointed in the direction of the tube light and asked to watch. The fire in the beast's belly wasn't to be pacified so easily and hence it emerged without any further delay, performed its one-act and disappeared backstage to get ready for the next one. It was after all a full house! Iyee understood everything and the obvious rigmarole of thoughts that went through Minoo's mind. She saw Minoo trying to value everything in the face of either being right or wrong. Iyee knew Minoo stand on value for of life and was instantly overwhelmed with affection.

"Minoo, look at what I do.." Iyee switched the light off. Minoo stood there not knowing what had changed. She was still angry.
"Minoo, now that the light if off, more insects wouldn't sit by the tube. Now the lizard will not be able to see properly. So you see, God knew about this and if he wanted He would have made you taller, wouldn't He have? So many insects have been saved. Now go to sleep"

It would only be years before Minoo would fully realize the lesson her Iyee taught her that day. If situation turned out to be out of our control then one could still fulfil a sane existence if he turned his blind eye towards it. All instruments are always in place.

THE DUEL
by
Sachin Shanbhag

"How could it do that?" Suman Bhai cried. "How could it do that!" He was referring to the latest plan that had gone awry.

"The rat-trap was rusted, dear," Ranjeeta Didi offered stoically. "I told you, we should have bought a new one. You couldn't really have expected that to work, now could you?" She poured another blob of rice paste on a hot plate. With a sizzle, the thick film of oil greedily solidified it to a dosa.

"What could it be? What could it be!" Suman Bhai had the habit of repeating the same sentence over whenever he got jumpy. Which was to say, most of the time. The rhyme-scheme seemed to smoothen his frayed nerves.

"It was only a rat, Suman." Ranjeeta Didi chided softly, plopping down a crisp golden-yellow-brown dosa on Bunty's plate.

"What is the difference between a rat and a mouse, mummy?" Bunty raised his hood. No one seemed to be able to tell one from the other. The question drifted in space for a while and not finding takers, disintegrated to vapour.

"A rat could never have plucked the bar of butter off the rat-trap." Suman Bhai declared. "We have to find out what's happening, Rani." he said looking at me, since I was the only one listening to his complaints.

"Yes," I offered meekly, caught somewhat off-guard.

"I say we hunt down whatever-it-is tonight," he proposed.

It had been almost two weeks now, since my husband Sudheer and I came to visit my brother-in-law, Suman Bhai at Sonapur. We planned to stay on for another week before returning to Bombay when Sudheer's college reopened. As you must have gathered by now, over the last few days, we had had a brush with a mystery rat. First, it ate up every damn soap we cared to put up on the sink. Then, last night we tried snaring it with a rat trap and a chunk of butter. This smart brute, however, had managed to steal the butter leaving the trap wide open. Like a crocodile too lazy to fetch a toothpick, waiting for birds to do the cleaning.

Sudheer looked up from his newspaper for the first time and lowered his glasses. "You should have used rat poison. It always works." This room, to all appearance, had no dearth of ideas.

Another sizzle of a fresh dosa.

"That sounds like a fine idea. Why not do both? We'll poison him and sock him up to make sure he dies." Suman Bhai chimed.

And so, without much ado, it was decided that we would keep a vigil that night and, isolate and destroy the source of mischief.

* * *

At 9:00 PM we feasted on Ranjeeta Didi's excellent palaak paneer and hot rotis. She is such an excellent cook.

"I got sticks and brooms from the store." Suman Bhai spoke first, his eyes twinkling.

"I suggest you also use a piece of cloth to blind him. It might work." Sudheer exclaimed.

There was palpable anticipation in the air. You simply couldn't miss the excitement. Adrenaline levels were already simmering at 110 degrees fahrenheit.

"Bunty, if you don't finish the dal, I won't let you stay up," Ranjeeta Didi barked across the table.

"Mummy, please."

"No please-wease. If you eat you'll become as strong as a... tiger." I thought Ranjeeta Didi was going to say "as strong as Daddy", but improvised, going feline, thinking it would help set a more motivating example.

"I want to be like a lion." Bunty growled.

"If you take more sabzi, beta, then you'll become as strong as a lion."

Bunty went mute for sometime. You could tell a vague contour of a question was secretly seeking form in his mind by the way he knotted his brow.

I wasn't mistaken.

"Rani chachi, who is stronger, a tiger or a lion?"

"... ahem. Both are strong, Bunty beta," I replied.

"No, but who is stronger? Who would win if they fought with each other?"

"Tigers and lions don't fight with each other, beta."

"What if they did?"

"Bunty, shut up and finish your food." Ranjeeta Didi fulminated, silencing another young boy merely trying to calibrate his scales.

The evening passed by, slowly. At 11 PM we were all huddled close together in the corridor that led to the sink. We spoke in hushed tones, for fear of scaring the rat off.

We needn't have feared that possibility. Twenty minutes later, the rat made a clumsy entrance from the bathroom window, tipping a beaker off. We had turned the lights off, and that while pandering to our need for suspense, impaired our observation somewhat. Putting together vague silhouettes and various sounds, we had to project its trajectory, a few metres in front of us.

With a start, something hopped on the sink and examined the day's menu. It was dark, and the cameras in our eyes were running long exposures. By now, we had gotten used to the level of illumination. The rodent pounced upon the poison-laden Lifebuoy soap and nibbled it down with callous disregard for other's property. And made some noise that sounded like an ill-smelling burp to me.

Suman Bhai switched the lights on and was about to let out a battle cry for an all out attack, but somehow choked and could only manage a stifled "Baap re baap!"

"That thing can easily gulp a boar down," I murmured, totally understanding Suman Bhai's shock. This was huge... it looked like a baby elephant with its trunk cut off.

"Ranjeeta, whack it down, I'll get it if it comes this way. Bunty, Rani stand behind me. Get it if I miss." Suman Bhai configured his platoon into a tight formation. The rat had no idea, what military genius it had bumped into.

We slipped into our places. Ranjeeta Didi advanced and hammered her stick down. I heard the muted blow, cushioned as it was, by hard flesh. The rat scurried through the corridor towards us, and each of us jumped aside with our choicest shrieks, bringing our sticks down - "Bang. Bang. Bang." - long after the opportune time had passed.

"Mickey is running away. Mickey is running away. Catch him. Stop him." Bunty ejaculated.

There was no need. The rat hit the dead-end of the corridor and made a striking about-turn. And charged towards us again. The three of us repeated our performance, so much so that you would have thought it was a tape being rewound. Except that the shrieks were louder this time and only two blows were offered.

Thus having completed one lap, the fiend was back where it had begun, and we were back on square one. No, not quite, really. At least one equation had emerged from the chaos that had ensued.

It was clear who the battle was between. The Rat - mean, dirty, ferocious, eater-of-soaps, foiler-of-rat-traps, aggressive, poisoned, persistent, menacing... out to save its own life, even if that meant taking half a dozen human lives. And Ranjeeta Didi - stout, big, full of verve, sturdy, fearless, aggressive, persistent, menacing, an animal of prey that had caught a whiff of fresh blood and was homing in on her prize.

It was unclear who would win.

The rat refused to let the poison set in and make it drowsy. If anything, the potion only seemed to have revitalized it. I lamented for not having checked the expiry date on the bottle. I promised to rectify that in future attempts, if there would be need for any.

"Ranjeeta, lets do it again. This time, don't hit soft. And aim for the head." Suman Bhai uttered, exchanging the stick between his hands.

The rat was almost baring its fangs. I toyed with the idea of leaving the scene of battle and joining Sudheer upstairs where he was peacefully watching the news on TV. Before the escapist in me could think of a good excuse, I saw the rat heading straight towards me, saliva drooling out of his ferocious mouth. I vaulted to my left with a yell that woke up half the dead from the nearby graveyard.

Bunty was not as lucky as Suman Bhai and I were, and the rat ran right up his leg. He shook it off with a scream, dropped his stick in defeat and ran towards his mom.

"Bunty, stop crying!" Suman Bhai shouted. Now he had a new problem. Low morale among troops.

Ranjeeta Didi pushed Bunty into the adjacent bathroom and secured the door. She looked unfazed. She was a hardened veteran, who you could be sure was a tomboy as a kid and probably beat up boys twice her size to fine pulp.

In the ruckus, the rat had turned at the dead-end of the corridor and was about to begin its sprint back. But right now it stood still, while its body moved up and down rhythmically from exhaustion. It was gripping. We had no idea when it would scud towards us. It was like those 100-metre dashes where you stand on your mark, and wait for the gun to go off. Our bodies were vibrating in anticipation.

"Suman, go and give it a poke." Ranjeeta said. She was a bundle of concentration, thirsty for blood, seeking her son's revenge.

"Let's just wait. I think it will..."

"Suman, shut up and give it a poke." Ranjeeta Didi thundered with bells of authority reverberating all over the place. There was a change in command in the heat of battle. The new General was all action. Shove all your elaborate strategies up the nearest donkey's ass.

No ideas. No plans. No formations.

Only good old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat.

Suman reluctantly nudged the rat, which was already eyeing him like it had marked him for personal retribution. Its attitude, sort of, conveyed that after Bunty, it was his turn to go.

No sooner did his stick make contact, the rat which was a tangled, coiled mass of motile irritability sprung up four feet into the air, and unleashed a hideous cry. The upshot being, Suman Bhai completely lost his balance, tripped over his own stick, landed on all-fours and was found screaming, "Ranjeeta, bachaaoo, Ranjeeta bachaaoo."

The monster scampered towards me and I edged away, like a ballerina this time, not taking the pain to mask my cowardice with an attempted swing of the stick. Two laps. Two casualties. There seemed to be a pattern. I resigned to the incontestable fact that my name was on the top of its hit-list now. But as long as Ranjeeta Didi stood, hope reigned supreme.

Ranjeeta Didi waited for the rat to position itself. It was surprising how she could be so patient. One doesn't usually associate patience with courage. Courage has a more kinetic, aggressive, action-oriented ring to it. She bided her time.

The rat seemed to treat her differently from us. It was as if it accorded her professional respect, a certain deference. As if regardless of the outcome, it would always have the highest admiration for her abilities.

They regarded each other, trying to outguess the other. They had come to acknowledge each other as worthy adversaries. If only they could have been on the same side, they could have taken over the world.

She waited and waited. It was almost like a very unbecoming stretched-out-climax. The rat twitched its nostrils. Ranjeeta Didi locked in its co-ordinates, decided that this was it. In an instant her stick came down crashing on rat's neck who stole one quick glance at her at the same precise instant.

"Hurray. Hurray." Bunty who was peeping in through a crack in the door rushed out.

"Wait, Bunty, wait. He's not finished. He's not finished, yet." Suman Bhai emerged from behind the shadows and asserted himself with a stern voice and the grip on his stick tightened as the sight of the emaciated rat, sent a fresh supply of courage up his spine.

Ranjeeta Didi's stick came down again. Harder. Surer. The rat looked all around the place. It was as if it wanted to bottle up its last memories for posterity.

It evacuated one last puff of air from its tired lungs.

And transited to afterlife.

THE CYCLING (MIS)ADVENTURE
by
Nikhil Mudaliar


This August, 5 ISA members went on a crazy 180 mile bicycle trip to Bay City, Michigan.

Aniket, the main culprit. He has gone from Bombay to Goa on cycle trips. He is from mumbai and tries to have a international outlook but still supports shiv sena. IRONIC.

Then there was Ajay he is a southie who grew up in bihar. A real scholar, IIT bombay & now Phd in physics & astronomy. But is very modest & down to earth & looks just like Amitabh Bacchan when he we was 17! but with glasses

There were 2 other guys Abhishek & Ramki, but they dropped out after one day.

We got delayed on the first day...we were supposed to leave at 8 am but some of us didn't even have bikes then!! talk about planning for such a long trip!!

It was not until 11 that we could rent some bikes. We started off at 12. We used county roads. We had gotten county maps from NCRB. It was fun, we biked for 2 hrs & 15 miles before we first stopped.

It was all downhill after that. Some of us got all tired and started lagging behind. We had to halt every few minutes. By 6 pm one of the guys was actually getting down & walking every time there was an uphill climb.

                              


Anyhow, our destination was 100 miles away from Ann Arbor & we brave souls had thought we could do it in one day!!! So there was no planning from our side & by 8 pm it was already getting dark & we were in the middle of no where, and only about 60 miles from Ann Arbor. So we started asking for a motel on the road. we reached a real cool place, a small town around a beautiful lake rightfully called silverlake. But no place to stay. We didn't even get our sleeping bags.

We asked around, there was a big city called Fenton 8 miles down the road, so we decided to have dinner & walk the rest with our bikes at night. We started at 9:30; and at 11:30 we had crossed just 4 miles. We reached a place called Linden. It was a decent place with street lights & side walks. We definitely thought we would find a motel there. But no luck, the only thing that was open was a pizza place in a small mall. They too said we had 4 more miles to travel to find the nearest motel. Them some one got the idea that we could use our mobile to call a taxi cab. We called & a taxi agreed to come to pick us, 50$ and we would have to wait an hour. But since we were so tired, we agreed. So we camped in the courtyard of the mall & waited. But no taxi came for an hour. But a cop did come! He told us that they got a few 911 calls about suspicious activity!!

He bought our story, but just said goodbye & went away saying he didn't think a cab would come all the way to Linden. He drove a bit & had a long conference with 5 other cop cars, in our view.
We called again. And the taxi walla said he got a break down and wouldn't come, so we called another guy who asked for 60 bucks but still we agreed. Another hour and no taxi! Finally the cop came back and gave us a lift. He was a very nice guy & chatted a lot. He dropped us to one motel & came inside with us to make sure we got a room. But the rent was 160$ for a room & the female at the reception wouldn't give us any less than 2 rooms!! The cop only said it was too much & again gave us a lift to the next motel. We got a room there for 89 bucks with a king sized bed. The lady was quite impressed (and the cops presence didn't hurt either) & was eager to help us . We all piled into the room with a couple of extra beds. We slept at 3am! But by 9:30 we all were up & ready, why..because there was free break fast!! ("Gosh! you desis" as Aniket would say). After that 2 of the guys decided to head back home. Of course there was a lot of 'discussion' about the ways & means for that!

So the 2 guys finally decided to ask a friend to rent a mini van & come to pick them up. So all of us walked back to the mall where we had locked all our bikes. On our way a cop stopped and asked. "Are you going to pick your bikes? " We were celebrities there!!! The cop who gave us lift had agreed to look after our bikes, he even said. "If that taxi shows up I'll be sure to bust his ass!!"

So again we left at 12 in the morning. But this time it was only me , Aniket & Ajay. We had lots of fun there after. We traveled together pretty fast. We would stop at small roadside shops that sold farm stuff. Fruits and all. We stopped at meadows to enjoy the fruit. The people were also quite good. One lady who gave us directions to the beach was so excited to meet us & hear our story. She was running a temporary fruit & vegetable shop with her husband (a farmer). She chatted a lot and excitedly told all her customers about us. Aniket was even more excited to meet her!!! We had the fruit we bought from her on the beach...lovely blue berries.

The second night after cycling another 60 miles more were still 15 miles from the beach. Our maps weren't so accurate, or more probably our calculations. We played safe & stopped at town at 8 pm. We had dinner in a nice restaurant & slept like babies.

We had decided we just didn't have enuf time to bike all the way back to Ann Arbor. So we decided to rent a car from the closest place & drive back. So the plan was to bike to the beach in the morning (about 10miles). Then bike back to the nearest airport and rent the car (another 15 miles).

                              


Next day we finally arrived at a beach at 2:00. We thought we would just bike to the closest point on the lake. But about 2 miles from the place we were told that we would have to cross Bay City to reach the nearest beach, another 6 miles!! This all happened when we met the couple that I talked about some time ago.

Things finally seemed to go smoothly, we reached the beach, had fun in the water and blue berries on the beach. At 4 pm we started back, we were doing good speed & had crossed about 10 miles in an hour & were just out side bay city (6 miles to go) when..psssssssssssst..I got a really big puncture.....a 2 inch big screw!!!


We tried to repair it. We had carried a puncture repair kit. But the puncture was too big. So the plan was made that I would walk back in to the city (we were hardly out of it & we were on the only major road in the city). So I was to walk back & wait in the first restaurant that I would find on the left hand side of the road, while the other 2 guys would rent the car & come back to get me. Sounds like a stupid plan no...well it turned out to be!!!

After the 2 guys left. I continued trying to repair the puncture. I was in a residential area with small houses on both sides of the road. I was in the front garden of one of the homes. After my 2 friends left a man came to help me. His house was 2 houses away, he was quite helpful & some what shocked that my friends had just left me like that :). Anyhow we tried to fix the puncture but no avail. I should have asked for a lift from the man to the airport. It was only 6 miles away but the thought struck me too late.


So I headed back to the city but couldn't find any decent restaurant for too long. I only found a sidey pizza place With only 1 bench for eat in customers. But I did find a Mc Donald's on the right hand side on the road. So I decided to risk it. I parked my bike right by the road & went inside. I even told my story to the manger & asked if I could wait there for a couple of hrs.

Aniket & Ajay had left at 7 & the rental agency would close at 10:30. I expected them to return in abt 2 hrs & I had NO idea what I would do if these guys did not show up till about 10..& they did not!

Well actually I had a couple of adventures there. At about 9 a full size car (the same kind that we had booked) drove into a parking lot of a closed chinese restaurant just opposite to the Mc Donalds. The restaurant was closed but you could still see the board since it was still not sunset yet. Naturally I thought it was my friends. I walked over there with my bag, but I had to reach very close to the car before I realized that it wasn't them. It was an young female smoking in the deserted parking lot & she was already alarmed. I turned back but thought that was too silly. So I turned back again to try to clarify. But she hurriedly backed up & rushed away while I was in mid sentence!. Man I was sure she was going to call the cops & I was grateful for that! But I went back & she too went drove back to the same spot.


Well by 9:30 I was totally scared & with no idea what to do. I saw a taxi service next door & decided to call them to get a ride to the airport before it was 10:30. I was on the pay phone at Mc Donalds talking to the taxi guy when this female, who was in a group of 4 pretty high school girls came up to me. "Dude I totally love your "I love Ann Arbor" T-shirt. can I take a snap ?"

She took a snap of me & then came up to me put her arm round my shoulder & took a snap of her self & me. All this while I was on the phone!!!!

Well after I went back out. She came towards me & asked my name & then said, 'Nikhil give me a hug'...& gave me a real bear hug!!


She was totally amazed to hear my story & again sayz, "Nikhil you need a hug"...& then even her friend wants to hug me". Hugs & all, but none of them even thought of offering help, or even a lift. Especially since they were from Ann Arbor too & were driving back just then. Anyhow, I had already called the taxi.

The taxi guy too was great. He arrived in about 10 mins. I left my cycle at the Mc Donalds with a note & asked my friends to wait there in case they showed up. The taxi driver was an old man (about 60) with a long beard. He patiently listened to my story & then very wisely sayz. "I think your planning needs a little improvement!" We chatted a lot about cars, Harleys & of course bikes! We reached the airport at exactly 10:26. The female at the desk looks and me and says "Are you with the bikers from Ann Arbor?!!!"

I learnt that the 2 guys had left only 45 mins ago. So the taxi driver gave me a 'lift' back to Bay City for free. (he had charged 25$ for the ride to the airport) & these 2 guys were waiting for me at the Mc D's (slang for McDonalds). WHAT a relief it was to see them.


I took us another 3 hours to buy tools to dismantle our bikes & fit them in the car. The Mc D's employees were giving me strange stares from inside the restaurant while Aniket & Ajay went of for another hour to look for tools. But none of them came out & even asked what was happening while I was sitting in their deserted parking lot with luggage & 3 partially disassembled bikes!!

Well the ride back was uneventful. I was sitting in the back with Aniket's bike (minus the front wheel, the handle & the seat) on my lap. It was a very funny sight.
But the drive was a bit depressing too, all the main landmarks that we had cycled hours to reach were passing by us every 15 mins! We got back in 2 hrs what we had taken 2 & 1/2 days to cycle.

What is even funnier, the place we had stayed on the second night. Was just 5 miles from a big mall that I and a friend had driven to & back in 2 hrs just to buy shoes!!! Kind of put things in perspective, doesn't it.


well after 180 miles of cycling. I can say it was definitely worth it.

More things about rural America that I liked. They don't have any villages as such, most farmers live on their farms only. And at least all the houses are different, not like urban America where you cant tell on place from the other.


There were also neat houses besides lakes or rivers. I remember a community that was basically a single road lined with houses on the bank of a river.

I also liked the farms, they looked much more cleaner (I guess). Very non messy, I mean you couldn't see any soil, it was either grass or crops. I remember there were many huge corn fields where you would have corn for miles along the road and between the road and the corn a carpet of lush green grass, that too mowed grass!

One adventurous farmer had even created a huge maze in his corn field and was charging $3 entry fees. Talk about multi -tasking.
 

BAA
by
Dhruv Acharya

6 years in the US had changed me! A strangely paced set of events in my early struggle, trying to place myself as decently poised surgeon I had not been able to return to India since the day I chose to pursue a 'better' life. But my memories were all coming back to me, hauntingly. As the train wound on as a black serpent in winding fashion across the Pahalgarh hills, a gale of wind gently slapped my face bringing me scent of freshly soaked earth across the pastures of Halgaam, my birthplace.

My dear mom was still, smug, enjoying her nap, quite happy to have succeeded in her experiment. Fighting insomnia for the past 2 years she found relief in taking up a habit of reading Bhagwad Gita when everyone was asleep, while she lay, anxiously wondering, watching and waiting. During my 'Board' years, and my secret affair with a girl in my class, I had a slight taste of insomnia myself. She would blame it on hormones, food patterns and TV; how quickly the tables have turned. I was always convinced it was the gene! I would have been happy, a self-proclaimed mighty, if only I knew the future but then pain stung my heart. Few years away from her and I could see those forlorn eyes, worrying constantly with a brave smile on her face. Her only creation had long ago taken the chisel into his own hands. All she could do is watch me, comfort me and pray.

It had been 6 days since my return which too was a shock to my parents; really my folly-impulsive; trying to pleasantly surprise them with my presence on a fine Sunday morning, dressed as the dudhwallah! The shock, the surprise and the jubilation, which of course would remain as one of my prized memoir was quite the expected. They hadn't changed at all! All the frantic phone calls to relatives, friends and family followed, the news spread like forest fire, everyone who was anyone's someone was dropping by, like unwanted unexpected allied troopers a mile inland from Normandy beach! A landslide of people just swarmed across the entire house. 'It will be disgusting', I had imagined, 'quickly getting along with everyone'. It was my most feared moment, had always been difficult to deal with so many at once, yet I was strangely calm, rather amiable. I could see a glint of surprise, a doubt in my father's watchful eyes. I quickly guessed what he was thinking, hinted across the hall to him, "6 years have had its pleasant surprises, after all, haan!", I said. He smiled, gleefully.

The train pulled in at 7 in the evening, on time. Mamaji and my cousins were waiting anxiously to see me. "aapdo bhai ketlo badlaayo che (how much has he changed)??" an overdue question in their eyes. Everyone had their own version, an argument began amongst them, occasionally pausing, hoping that I would corroborate someone. They continued no matter what. Mamaji was just too happy to see maa and myself, immediately recollecting the last time we all were together. On our ride back to our farm house, Ketki, one of my most eager cousins came up with a recap of all the 'related' incidents since I had left, almost as if she had prepared a speech for a college event or even more so having claimed the coveted rank of 'Official Spokesperson' of the family. "Official Spokesperson", a stupid game that we all ardently played as kids. No time limit, no rules! The idea being to know each others' mistakes, follies, even secrets; by all means necessary. Once armed with information ask for favors from them, in lieu of trading such sensitive information to the right ears, thus performing a favor in return for not exercising the duties of a spokesperson.

Mamiji had prepared a banquet with a gusto. We all rushed in and exchanged official greetings. She, being somewhat of a poet herself, had taken time out and written an octet for me. Of course, she had someone in mind for me! Over the meal, mamaji happened to mention that he had recently got a few things repaired in the old house, at the other edge of the farm. It was the place where I was born and to which my earliest memories are linked. I cannot remember my course-packs from few years back but I knew this house like the back of my hand, something prenatal I would imagine. As a toddler, I could remember myself running around, my maa too running around with a bowl of khichdi and my baa (grandmaa) yelling at the top of her voice to my mom to take it easy. "If he is hungry, he will come to the kitchen. Your son is intelligent, you know." All school vacations were spent at the farm with the rest of maternal family. Night times used to be a gentle break for my mom, hell raiser for baa. "Tell me a new story". Every single day poor baa had to invent plots and sub-plots, it got even worse when I started pointing to discrepancies in the story line or hidden possibilites! Even maa would lay by my side and listen to her. I could even see then, she doted on her daughter. My dada even more! Maa was a spoilt kid according to my mamaji.

I asked mamaji if the old house by the farm was still habitable, I had yearned to come back to this house. Yes, he said, he himself used to go to that house and sleep overnight. Sometimes he became too uncomfortable or too hot in the new house. That was a special house, so many memories, the comfort zone. So the four of us, mama-mami, myself and maa went over to spend a night there. I decided to sleep in the verandah.

I got quite thirsty at night. I lay awake, not knowing what to do. I was kind of angry for not asking mama where the drinking pot was. It would be inconvenient to wake someone up just to give directions. Feeling of missing this place for so many years overwhelmed me. "Come in here, there's a pot" I heard. I got up and went over to the next room, strange, I hadn't asked yet!. A faint lamp was on. "Even I am feeling thirsty, can you pass me a glass first?". Quite mundanely, I did it. "So how are you feeling beta, after all these years, you have been quite busy and all along I had to tell you something" I passed the glass over, she seemed slightly older now, I remarked, her hands wrinkled, dry and cold. Those gold bangles, a glint. I held her hand and asked, " Oh wow!! since when have you been wearing baa' bangles?", I sat next to her. She said, "I haven't, but you are not mistaken, you remember those bangles vividly, haan?" I was already perspiring, chilled, hair rising strangely aware, "Baa...?!!"

"Yes beta...you have become a fine young man. I know everything. I am a keen follower, you know." I felt a bead of sweat slipping over my nose. "See how your Iyee is silently sleeping? Poor girl, dear girl. You are her heart as anyone can see, and she is mine. Hmm-ha, she is still a little girl fretting over small things, easily irked, easily pleased, just like your dada."

"Over the years, she looks even more like you", I added.

"Yes... she does...But she often misses people in her life. Sometimes me, you, more often."

"She is every bit for me, to straighten my affairs, relentless for my welfare", I exclaimed getting more comfortable.

"Yes, its the genes, you see! Can you open that window, its awfully hot in here, see even she is sweating. She doesn't get much sleep now a days, you see?"

I obliged, a flicker of the lamp, placed the glass back onto the pot, "So baa, you still remember the stor.....baa? baa! b.." Maa turned over, inside her blanket facing the other wall and I saw the copy of Bhagwad Gita left exposed under her pillow. Almost on a impulse, I sneaked it from under the pillow. I always knew it was there in our house, never actually ventured to open it. In bright red ink on the inner cover of the hard copy was neatly inscribed " To dearest daughter Minoo, on getting first rank in 6th standard, love, Madhu-Nalin." I put the book aside onto the table and curled up beside her in the bed. Next morning she had a quiet smirk on her face, more so a glimpse of satisfaction, " My child still needs me.."

Other memories of baa and dada are like fleeting glimpses, some more prominent than others, some so real that I can even smell the shikakai in her hair. I remember times when my grandparents use to visit us in Bombay for a few days, twice an year. I was by then in middle school, already bogged down by homework and aspirations. Once, baa and dada pleasantly surprised us, I was just done with my exams, mom was free. That reunion was a particularly emotional one, strangely I remember the exact scene, the circumstance. Dadaji bursting into the main door with bags, again a surprise, again the genes, my mom stirred, running down the stairs to greet Iyee, myself swooshing in an embrace with dadaji and both of us, onlookers looking at a Iyee-mulgi(mom-daughter) reunion. " This time I have come specially to see you, who knows.." and both burst into tears. After two days, baa passed away peacefully in her sleep, a patient of chronic heart disease since years. Dadaji who was prepared for any eventuality, wasn't, he realized. I saw him sternly shedding tears in one corner," Madhu. maari madhu!"

WHAT'S THE POINT
by
Dhruv Acharya

********************* What's the point? *********************

What's the point?
What's the point!!
ya, the point.
What about it? its simple.
Simple! that's unbelievable. Insane! I don't see it.
You don't see it? or you don't get it.
What's the difference?
My friend, that's it. that's the difference. that's the point. I can see it, you don't. I get it, you don't. That's the whole point.
You are going nuts about this whole point business.
That may be true but I get the point.
So now you are better than me, is that your point?
That's my second point. You didn't get the first one.
So its a different point now, altogether? You got too much time to figure every point, I will tell you that.
Don't worry about it. at one point of time I didn't get it either. but I was better off, I could then atleast see the point. You will need more time.
Now, wait a minute. wait a minute. I see where you are going with all this.
Oh, really! Then can you see the point?
Let me raise another point here, completely different.
Go ahead.
Why do you even have to see the point when you can get the point. Get it?
Somewhat, I have my own process of getting there.
Where??
To the point.
Ever heard about anything like getting straight to the point?
Ya, sure but that's just being fancy. There's more to it.
The whole point of getting to a point is a journey. You can't skip anything.
I thought you were talking about getting the point, not getting to a point. You see the difference? sure, if you want it that way.
Oh no no no. I don't want it that way. It is that way. None of us can do anything about it being that way.
Let me backstep. I didn not want to go that way.
Oh ya!! See, 'the Journey' could be tricky. you can get lost.
Now don't rush about it. Its tricky? Sure its tricky. So not every one gets it right. See the point? Stick with me here.
Ya, but I am watching. You gotta be careful.
So lets suppose that seeing a point is the same as getting it.
Okay..
That means that if you saw the point, then you got it too.
Correct.
So if you got it, then you must have seen it as well, since they are the same thing, essentially.
Correct.
Then, how can you get a point without seeing it. You can't. If you don't see it, you don't get it. Get it?
Looks okay to me.
So you agree. You get the point.
Not quite.
What!! Now this is unbelievable.
Hear me out.
I don't have to take this.
No, seriously.
Oh God.
You see, you are telling me that its a journey, right? You are telling me that you don't get to a point if you don't see it.
Seems like you got it.
shh, listen. but how can you see the point unless I make a point? If I did make a point then I am sure I got it. If I got it, I don't have to see it.
Well..that depends on what you want to do with the point.
Nothing, absolutely nothing more than what you want to do about it.
Don't get me wrong. All I am saying is there could be more than one ways of arriving at point.
Stick with getting to a point. Too many variables!!
Ya sure, getting to a point.
So we both get the point.
Yeah right, what was it again!
Don't even start.....

"She sleeps so peacefully", exclaimed Minoo.
"All the reports are here. I am afraid, she is schizophrenic."
"Oh!"
"Don't worry. She will be alright."