Back to reality

Almost feel like a child going to school for the first time. Got some rare time off between jobs (over a month actually) and now there’re withdrawal symptoms as I begin my new job tomorrow. Wondering if it’s really worth it to have a regular 9-6 job. I mean, the money is good and all that but the heart just doesn’t seem to be in this forced regularity and expected monotony. People ask me if I got bored not working but frankly it was fine. Lots of time spent with the kids, running, cycling, jogging, reading – the days went by just fine. The wife made sure I kept busy with tons of errands which were all duly completed and did some more just to over-achieve !

At this age, you are supposed to have it all figured out and know exactly what you want from professional life, but I don’t. I know what I don’t want to do but have no clue what I really want to do. Kinda scary huh? Yeah, especially for the better half who is acutely aware of every mood swing and emotion I go through.

I know I want to write something substantial and do so with more passion and discipline but that big idea just isn’t coming to me. It will, one day. Until then, it’s back to the rat race giving it my all. Just wish I had something figured out during the break that I could for the rest of my life! Oh well…

Note: Wrote this deliberately in a grey font as that’s the color I feel I’m in right now. Cool huh?

The enigma of Nagaraj Rao–A humble tribute

On a warm summer’s evenin’ on a train bound for Mysore, I met up with the bookseller…

Sound familiar? Yeah, it’s a rip off from the Kenny Rogers song ‘The Gambler’. An account of the magical words/translations of the master needs to start where it all began. The suspense needs to build, the irrelevance unclear and the punch line obscure.

My nephew, being boredom disposed hailed a passing travelling salesman in a train and acquired the now historic manuscript known as ‘Great Jokes’. Little did he or anyone else in our family fathom the powerful and everlasting influence this deceptive book would have on us.

‘The Book’ and the contents are now part of lore and fantasy and while I will not delve in the actual writing, I will make an honest attempt to describe ‘Great Jokes’ to the best of my ability. I have delayed so long on the writing of this piece solely due to the inability to grasp the full depth of the master’s words. Like the proverbial onion, the layers never end. A doctoral thesis is probably the only way to analyze the Sistine Chapel of Humor.

There about 280+ jokes in all. The opening number sets the tone for the remaining masterpieces with a grand finale that ends with ‘Do it before my husband comes’. In terms of comprehensiveness, no genre or discipline is left untouched. Topics cover sports, psychology, horror, sleaze, politics, international, religion, drama, theatre, arts, music education and pretty much anything else you can think of.

The author takes creative and utmost liberties with punctuations. Commas, periods, parentheses, upper and lower case alphabets, quotation marks pretty much appear in the most unexpected of places with the parentheses affecting your sanity the most. Words in braces could appear on either side of the word requiring more clarification but in most cases, either the word in braces is the same or has no bearing on the original word. On a few occasions, both the words inside and outside the braces are not in English so a pure Anglophile  is left confounded as is everyone else. Some gems include a joke with this title  - “Gunda”  (““Gunda””) and one with the title – Gunda (“Able Gundas”).

Most jokes contain names and details which are completely irrelevant to the actual ‘joke’. A few examples here provide some insight – Chinkurli Sheenappa, Kempegowda, Hanumi are just some of the stars that speckle this fine book. The professions of the characters also leave you dumbfounded. Srinvas Rao is a gazetted officer and multiple readings still do not reveal the relevance of his profession.

Of course, there are those jokes where details would have been good but are marked by their complete absence. The abrupt endings and punch lines of the jokes are undoubtedly designed to whet the readers’ appetites as well as providing complete freedom to draw your own conclusion on the humor.

One of the biggest challenges you will encounter when attacking the mother lode of humor is connecting the title of the joke to the actual joke. I can vouch for the fact that many including yours truly have attempted and failed.

The rather abrupt one word sentences are also imposing barriers in comprehension. The sometimes rather sleazy phrases are now part of our family’s everyday vocabulary. While the impact of these phrases cannot be felt outside the jokes, here are a few – On seeing a good looking woman, a man’s reaction is described thus – ‘Mouth watered'. Or this classic – ‘She looked at him with one and a half eye’. Or still better – ‘He made a castor oil face’ and the creative ‘she made an asafoetida face’. Irresistible and spine tingling.

The ‘horror’ section is ably addressed by a lengthy narrative where the ‘doors of the windows kept opening and shutting’.  Liberties have also been taken with spellings ‘She did shought out loudly’ is one such diamond that readily comes to mind.

In a few jokes, the writer invites reader interaction and often provides his own commentary on the events unfolding. In one where he talks about the value of education, he enquires and rhetorically states ‘In olden days, no value for education. But how about now?’. This kind of interactive dialog between the author and reader has so far remained untapped.

At other times, he ensures that he has our undivided attention by simply asking a ‘how’ or a ‘what’ in the middle of a joke and consistently at a totally unexpected juncture. A few classics have jokes where the title is longer than the actual joke. I mean, really! Who else can do that???

I will stop here as I don’t want to spoil it for you and also to give you the opportunity to invest in and get engrossed with the surreal world of Nagaraj Rao. However, I’ll leave you with some titles that you absolutely must not miss. ‘Raised Arrow Cannot be Downed’, ‘When Observed a Handsome Girl’, ‘In Thotadappa Choultry’, the ‘Beechi Told’ series and the ‘Gunda’ series.

Now for some closing words…

(Special writer commentary): Unfortunately, I know of only five copies in circulation and by a twist of fate, all these five copies reside with members of my family. I still hold the Gold Copy which has now been sent for binding since it’s coming apart due to constant use and extensive research. In fact, my nephew had suggested sending the book for binding with a police escort and an armored truck to prevent fraudulent copying, plagiarism or even theft. However, I have been assured that the copy is safe and the book is due back in mint condition tomorrow. I have a good mind to send a copy to the Library of Congress where I know future generations can imbibe the nectar and partake the intense cistern of knowledge that I’m sure is there somewhere in the book. An expedition is in the works to trace the author through the publisher in Balepet which will be prove to be the nadir of our achievements to unravel the powerful works of Nagaraj Rao. (End special writer commentary)

Blog writer’s note: Nagaraj Rao ‘Great Jokes’ is not for the faint of heart or for the faint of humor. Dollops of patience and perseverance are required and of course lots of time. Best handled as a group (of like minded individuals) activity with all members suitably inebriated for the full and lasting effect. And do remember, a raised arrow cannot be downed…

 

Passage of time

Another year rolls by as I plod on into my 40s. Wondering what I should be doing the remaining years till the big Five O. Still don’t feel it. Maybe it will hit sometime soon? Until then….enjoying life as it comes and living it to the fullest. Nothing to complain about, everything is how it should be. Wonderful kids, amazing partner, can’t ask for more. Time to do something useful?

Tales of Beedu the Bard

A gross injustice would be done if premium blog space is not dedicated to the last 6 months I have been under the tutelage of the master sports trainer.  For that, I will need to take you back now to early July ‘10 when I first encountered the enigmatic and energetic person that is Beedu.

My cousin discovered that a person at Kanteerava stadium in Bangalore provides physical training for athletes, sports people and also the supremely unfit. No points for guessing where I fall.

The schedule was for Tuesdays and Thursdays from 6 a.m. to 7 a.m. The first day was brutally torturous. First we were made to run 10 laps around the running track. We followed it up with intense stretching, jumping, sand-pit jumping and medicine ball throwing. Not very far from the training G.I. Jane had to go through. I could barely walk after that day.

In time I did get used to the physical activity, even getting there as early as 5 a.m. to do some extra running but to talk about the various physical activities is not the intent of this piece.

Beedu is a short individual with a healthy pot belly, probably in his late 50s or early 60s, hard to tell. No amount of accomplishment is good enough for him. We constantly get compared to teenage athletes, tennis players and cricketers who are able to twist and turn their bodies at unbelievable angles. When we do hurdles, he explains the correct way to leap over the hurdles in this fashion – ‘Don’t go over like a donkey, do it like a dog peeing’. Who can resist this kind of encouragement! When we don’t show up on the regularly scheduled days, he asks us if we did some running instead. When the response is not affirmative, his refrain is ‘Just like you brush your teeth every day, you need to exercise regularly too’. Often, he stops all activities to launch into one of his lecture sessions (theory portion apparently). His English is quite atrocious which he readily accepts but it does make for hilarious narrations. At times, when we are unable to bend our unwilling bodies in certain contortions (incidentally he can do every single exercise that he makes us do!), he eggs us on with these encouraging words – ‘When you don’t get shit, don’t you keep trying till you get it? Well, keep trying the same way now’. There’s really not much you can do or say after that, is there?

His motivation technique is out of the world. I once heard him tell a gentleman in his 40s – ‘Start running with that old man. You can’t run with the other young man anyway’. During the sprint, when a hapless kid ran with his palms outstretched and facing downwards – ‘Close your fists and run I say. You are not Usain Bolt to cut the air and run’.

Since I am one of the first ones to the stadium, I often get bonus lectures for free. Topics range from food & nutrition, health, medicine, social & personal relations and of course some special anecdotes from his education in Germany which is he is justifiably very proud of.

The regimen continues this year and if there are new gems that Beedu comes up with, I will make sure to provide updates. Highly recommended for the unfit and fit alike. It’s the well rounded training and education which makes all the difference. After all, we try and try when the shit doesn’t come out, don’t we?

Off Writing and Blogging

A little disappointed with myself in 2010. Wrote very little, didn’t run enough and gained some weight . Hoping to do a lot more writing, blogging and running and gonna do my darnest to lose some weight.

A few things to look forward to this year. New job starting in a few weeks, Auroville half-marathon, hopefully moving into our own home, hopefully getting a bike and the 25th year high-school reunion in May!

There will be a lot more restaurant reviews this year which kind of slowed down again last year mainly due to laziness though the eating didn’t really slow down. Really looking to write something noteworthy this year and get cracking on music and yoga.

No new year resolutions though; just a process of commitment to various things I want to do from now on and for as long as possible. Let’s see how things go and do a review at year end.

And it’s a wrap

2010 ended well with a road trip to Waynad. Some last minute intense planning and swinging into action saw us in Fringe Ford in the hills.  What’s really cool about this place is that it’s in the middle of the jungle and there are only 4 rooms for guests. Also, other than the establishment, no human civilization is available as far as the eye can see.  The last 10 km climb in the hills is a steep and narrow ascent with one side of the road falling off into the valley below. Quite breath taking actually!

Food was a bonanza as it was completely home cooked (unlike resort/hotel cooking) and the two ladies did a remarkable job with the simple, yet delicious fare catering to the taste buds of the grass eaters and meat eaters alike.

Our jungle guide Shaji was one helluva of a guy. Despite being well off and with decent education, he prefers to stay at Fringe Ford and has even given up eating meat due to his love for the flora and fauna. He regaled us with tales of the wild and supernatural though insisting that he doesn’t believe in ghosts at the end of each terrifying narration. We learnt of specific way to scare off tigers, bears, wild dogs, snakes, elephants though I can’t recollect what needs to be done for which animal. I do vaguely remember that we are supposed to shout and advance a few steps if we are destined to come face to face with a tiger. Hmm…quite an interesting proposition that. Anyway, he did have the uncanny knack of figuring out when animals showed up near our rooms, even waking us up at 5 a.m. one morning to see elephants which were grazing right next to us.

The first morning was a 4 km hike in the jungle to a waterfall.  The three little girls in our group ensured that no animal over 100 gms ever came within viewing or hearing distance from us. However, we did see the fast disappearing hind side of a couple of elephants.  Being early morning,  Shaji showed us various outputs of elephants and leopards, which disconcertingly looked fairly fresh and healthy.

The waterfall itself was quite amazing. At least 60 feet in height, the water was crystal clear and tasted wonderful. The highlight of our journey was the leech fest that occurred at our feet. Luckily, Shajy had provided us leech-resistant socks but the speed at which these suckers latched on to us was quite amazing. The maid who was with us actually killed a majority of them with her screeching and screaming and the rest were handled by a generous dose of salt on our socks and shoes.

The second day was a shorter hike of about a kilometer to a stream and a smaller waterfall where yours truly actually succumbed to the temptation of bathing in the wild.

A great and relaxed trip overall with a bonfire every night and a warm glass of milk for the two male adults (the kids refused to drink any) before bed time. Would love to go back very soon.

The needle of the eye

Late night drama on the family front once again; this time my niece provided much of the revelry.

Circa 11 p.m., the wife and I about to call it a night after a constructive debate (I can’t get into details here). Hark! A panic call from the niece….one of her contact lenses won’t come out. As most keen readers of my writing know by now, the missus dons many hats – judge, jury, match-fixer, and of course doctor. Yesterday, it was a combination of a doctor, trauma specialist and an ophthalmologist.

The first suggestion from her to my niece was to use a finger from each hand and spread the eyelids apart and take out the lens. No succour there.  The next advice to was to bulge out the eye by some drastic hand actions. That wasn’t received with much enthusiasm. Finally, she suggested that cupping some water in your hand and dipping your face (with the intact eye) would do the trick.

Satisfied with her recommendations and me being more of a go-between for the phone conversation, my lady settled down for a comfortable night’s sleep. A text message within the next 40 seconds put any plans for retiring on hold. A follow up call  and hysterics on the other end of the line made us realize that hard action was required so off we drove to pick up my niece and take her to a REAL doctor.

Never one to give up easy, my wife once again tried to prise out the stubborn lens one last time before the doctor’s visit. We actually couldn’t see the damn thing in the eye despite the amazing brightness of a cell-phone AMOLED screen lighting. As is usual in such cases, the situation caused much mirth, especially to the self made don of many hats.

First stop – Malathi Manipal Hospital at Jayanagar. We were met by two male doctors who had probably graduated the day before and had been shunted to the graveyard shift. Again, the enterprising one, the better half grabbed a flashlight and peered intently into my niece’s eye while the young doctors looked on in bafflement.

Finally, the doctors were allowed to see the patient. Both the young guns declared that the lens was not in the eye. Violent protests ensued from the victim who insisted it was in there.

Still in the ER, and in front of the bathroom mirror, a long tête-à-tête followed between the two girls. Our ‘family doctor’ declared that contact lenses have often dissolved in her eyes which was met by disbelief by the eye patient. A theory on lens disintegration also didn’t make a mark. One of the real doctors hesitantly intervened to tell us that his friend works the night shift at a nearby eye clinic. Of course, the only way we knew where this eye clinic was by a restaurant landmark.

Efficient driving to the eye clinic proved fruitless. The damn place was closed. We then drove back to Manipal Hospital where there was more prodding of the eye which refused to show any signs of a contact lens in it. Once more, the doctor ventured to tell us that we need to go to a different eye clinic where another of his friends worked. Our first response was to ask if it was next to a well known Ice Cream store. The ER doctor got really exasperated now and said with some disgust ‘Do you people only know restaurants and food places?’ My wife bristled at the unprovoked judgement and said ‘Of course! And I don’t believe you have any friends who are ophthalmologists!’ So, there you have it. A total impasse.

As we come hot off the presses with this report,  the story hasn’t ended. We still don’t know if the lens is in the eye or not but the lady in question is feeling a bit better though with a swollen eye. Hoping to get to the bottom of the mystery today. After all, eye can’t take much more…

Testing Windows Live Writer

Any excuse to write I guess. Been putting it off too long. Windows has this cool feature called Live Writer which allows you to write to your blog directly from your PC. Just thought I’d try it out and get back to writing.

Longest break between blog articles! Lots of things happening in my life including a cancelled trip to Prague due to Eyjafjallajokull! Man, what a name! It just kinda rolls off the tongue doesn’t it? I’m sure the volcano is protesting against such a name. Why can’t they call it something simple like Etna or Vesuvius! Ok fine, it’s not a mountain but a glacier, or is it a mountain glacier? Anyway, you get my point…

Ok, more later. Remember this is just a test of Live Writer (with Andalus font & Teal color)….

The Auroville Run (Feb 14, 2010)

Every time I run, the butterflies in the stomach stay intact, pretty much. The first run of the year is always a cause for much nervousness and self inflicted mind games.

Auroville is a peaceful ashram a short hop from the rumble and bustle of Pondicherry; an ideal setting for a lope in the woods.

Bright and early for a 6 a.m. start of the half marathon, I gingerly flexed my legs and hands making sure I don’t overdo the warm-up. Advice on how to prepare for a long run are chock a block but the only thing that matters is what works best for you. ‘Drink lots of water the previous day’, ‘Don’t exercise too much the week of the marathon’ are some of the pearls of wisdom I have heard. All I can say is that everything is irrelevant other than what makes you comfortable.

I for one hardly drank too much water the previous day and I ran about 30 km that week.

Okay, back to the event. The full marathon kicked off at 5 a.m. and the runners were given flashlights to run in the pitch black surroundings.

The half marathon started off on the dot an hour later and a huge contingent (probably about 200+ similarly inclined folk) nudged and made its way on the arduous journey to the goal.

The first 3 km are always easy (relatively speaking). The weather was perfect, with a perfunctory amount of humidity (being right next to the ocean and all) and a light breeze. I passed a few cottages belonging to Auroville and then a small village. Very scenic and serene all!

The going usually gets a bit tough for me around the 6-7 km mark as I reach my threshold of 45 minutes. The path got narrower as I slipped in and out of the jungle and the quietness combined with the incessant beat of feet on the soil kept me good company.

Somewhere around 8 km, I heard distant drumrolls and thought it to be some village festival. However, a few minutes later, I was pleasantly surprised to see two white men with huge drums patterning a beat to the rhythm of the runners sitting on the side of the path. For some reason, this gave me added strength to go on and with a smile on my lips I hammered away on the ground. My breath starting evening out as I hit my plateau around 9 km and I knew I had survived one of the tougher moments of endurance. More forest paths, more beauty in everything around me as the sun was well on its way up the horizon; I was loving every minute of it.

I finally made my first stop at the 12 km mark and after about 90 minutes of non-stop running. Quite a feat and my own personal conquest!

The road became a bit more uneven after that and it looked like it was under construction. I really had to watch my step here and after running for an hour, it sometimes becomes tough to focus on the path.

The next stop was at 18 km and again this was for less than 30 seconds as I was on a roll. For some reason, the last few kilometers always seem to be an insurmountable challenge and this time was no different. 19-21 is unending. The final hundred yards is a lifetime. I could see the finish line banner but it just wasn’t getting closer.

The timing according to my trusted phone was clocked at 2 hr and 36 mins a vast improvement (in my mind) of 28 minutes over my last half marathon timing of 3 hr and 4 mins.

The end of the race is always a magnificent feeling. Fortunately, I get no aches or pains ever and as I sat down on one of the chairs, the first call went out to the love of my life…

Running the ULTRA

More running tales! I hope I don’t turn this blog into dairy of my running stories but it’s getting so addictive now that I can’t stop. I’m on a new high when I run and having done a couple of runs, I’m getting to a point of being obsessed with running. Oh well, there are worse things one can be obsessed about I guess.

The Bangalore ULTRA is taking on International stature in its 3^rd year. This year, it was held on November 15. The running distances (in km) are 12.5, 25, 37.5, 50, 75 and 100. Yes, there were 18 people who ran the 100! About 600 runners showed up overall.

I chose the relatively sedate 25 km which is a little more than a half marathon distance. The trail in picturesque Hessaraghatta (Our Native Village) is a beautiful one and it’s a sheer joy to be out there early in the morning.

Our day started early; at 3:45 a.m. to be precise as the Jayanagar Jaguars (of which I became a member without my knowledge) numbering about 40 had hired a bus for the 2 hour trip. And yeah, we even had a banner on the front of the bus proclaiming our membership.

We got to Our Native Village just in time to see the 6 a.m. flag-off of the 37.5K and 50K runners. We could also see the 75K and 100K runners making their way in the darkness with flashlights. That’s dedication for you!

The 25K started promptly at 6:30 a.m. and I set off at my slow trot, still apprehensive of running 25 km at a stretch. The path was easier to run on than the KTM though and it helped that it was cloudy the entire morning. The route is 6.25 km one way and back on the same path so a loop is 12.5 km.

I actually did pretty well on the way out and stopped at the 6.25 km water spot for some sandwiches and energy drinks. I headed back to the starting point and made no stops along the way.

Nearing about 20 km is when I started tiring and losing steam. I proudly passed the 21 km, albeit in bad shape. I pretty much had to take a break at the 22 km mark and had more stuff to eat and drink and used a lot of the pain spray on my right leg which was starting to ache, from the calves to the thighs. I also had an embarrassing case of nipple rash and my shirt was spotted with blood in the right places! While quite funny to relate and think about, I must say it burned like hell and was terribly discomfiting for the last 10 km.

I ended the run in a not so decent 3 hours and 37 minutes but was happy to have finished it at all.

The organization and logistics for the event were exemplary and hats off to the Runners For Life group for pulling off a flawless show.

Next stop, Midnight Marathon in Whitefield!

The Tirupati Trip

Road trip! Always exciting and never without some good memories. The family trip to Tirupati was all that and more. There were definitely passengers on this pilgrimage who were unfettered by the focus of visiting the big guy on the top.

The journey consisted of milestones which were predominantly food related activities. A hearty breakfast at Kamat near Kolar saw us open our account with gusto. Starting off with idli and vadai, we moved on to dosais, poori, akki roti, khaara baath, rice baath, kesari baath and lots of coffee. After this devastation, one would think that lunch was furthermost from our mind. However, we are not that kind of a family. In fact, the discussion on lunch had already started during our breakfast.

Realizing the caliber of his passengers, our van driver suggested a roadside stop at Bans for coffee. Here we had Black Forest cake, cookies, sandwiches, fruit juice and well, yeah…coffee too. There was an inexplicable life size chimpanzee on one of the benches which my niece claimed was an Andhra Gorilla. Despite her lucid logic, we are yet to get that one.

The plan was to have lunch (yes, a few hours after Bans) in Tirupathi and then hike up the hill to Tirumala. Estimates on time to climb came in from one and a half hours to five hours depending on whom we asked and at what time. One of the bell boys, when asked if we were allowed to walk up with footwear said that was fine and we were even allowed ‘items’. My niece, who is renowned for lack of self control in a humorous situation, cackled, embarrassing all of us and the bell boy left in a huff.

As we neared the bottom of the hill, the combination of the incessant drizzle, mist, late evening and pure laziness conspired to our decision to drive up instead. My six year old had a question which made us all feel quite guilty; we ate so much so we could have energy to climb, and how come we were not? Anyway, we decided a few of us would embark up the hill at 4 a.m. next morning. Yeah!

Tirumala felt like the Alps and walking barefoot on the wet asphalt was definitely not very comfortable. But, we gritted our teeth as it’s all for a good cause and entered the Rs 300 queue which seemed empty at the starting lines. However, a 5 minute sprint by the team, and we were in a series of rooms, each packed with people. The way it works is that, the first room opens and lets people out, the people in the next room rush to the first room and so and so forth.

To ensure our entertainment, we had a guy ahead of us who was scratching his head like he was trying to get at his brains. There were a lot of expectations of a snowman forming on top of an accompanied child who was in the path of the snowfall.

Ensuring variety during the jaunt to god, there’s a moving bridge open on both sides and as luck would have it, we were trapped there for a good 30 minutes. Caught in the mist, rain, wind and one of my nephew’s considerable gas problems (which he shared with us unsolicited), made for quite a miserable experience.

A mad dash in the last 200 meters and we got our darshan (about 200 milliseconds each). My daughter was very traumatized by the bouncers who are placed strategically to push the pilgrims. Even the women bouncers are sizable and powerful and one shove from them involuntarily launches you about 15 feet.

We finally got out and though we were only eligible for 2 laddus each, my wife was enterprising enough to get a cop to give us a lot more (I will not explain the monetary aspect here).

Tired and weary, some of us decided to turn in and even did the unthinkable of doing so without dinner! Quite a feat for us. One of my nephews, who is perennially looking to recharge his mobile phone (see 'Operation Seabreeze'  blog post for context) wherever he goes decided to head out of the hotel. He was met with a bevy of buxom beauties practicing the world’s oldest profession and was propositioned in no uncertain terms. Being the first time (or so he claims), he scurried back to the hotel room in disarray and had the other two guys accompany him for that all important recharge. Story has it that the 'mamasan' in charge of operations wore a gold chain the thickness of an adult anaconda.

For those who aren’t following the tale acutely, let me remind you that the plan was to ascend the mountain at 4 a.m. The first one to wake up next morning (me) did so at 7:30 a.m. So that climb went out of the window.

Not losing our primary focus, we arrived at the famous Bheemas hotel for breakfast where once again we demonstrated the fine mettle of our family. Overachievers all, though there are dubious opinions that I outdid everyone with my binging…sorry…pecking at the food.

Padmavathi, the wife of the Lord resides down the hill. Apparently, there was some falling out between the couple and the Lord decided to go up the hill and not come down ever and the Mrs decided to make camp permanently below. I don’t want to get into the mythological and religious background now. No pilgrimage to Tirupati is complete without visiting her so away we went.

As usual, I was unsuitably dressed as shorts are a no no for this lady’s abode. I had to scramble around the shops for a dhothi. I picked a pure white one that went beautifully with my brown T-shirt.

Post the temple visit, we headed back for what else, lunch at Mayura. A hearty meal later we were on the road again back to Bangalore. More eating at Bans, another stop at Woody’s and we were all back home, satisfied with the darshan and the Bhojan.

Oh yeah, I have 12 years left to complete my vow of climbing the hill.