Living in Grey

He sat there looking at his finest piece of work yet. The just completed pencil art was exactly what you’d expect from a 7 year old. A cottage stood next to two hills, the sun coming up between them. The sky was peppered by clouds and some nondescript birds. A lone tree was all the company the cottage had. One could also spot the vestiges of an attempted dog on the paper. The dog was erased away as the boy wasn’t thrilled with how the dog looked. Nonetheless, he couldn’t have been more pleased, as he sat admiring his creation. Just then he had an idea. Reaching for his pencil, he filled the cottage door completely with a dark colour, after repeated pencil strokes. He did the same for the windows and the trunk of the tree. The deep black contrasting against the white paper, he was delighted with the effect one shade of black had given.

A few years later, he revisited the drawing. Deciding to recreate it, he drew the cottage and the tree and the hills. He was skilled enough to add the dog that he always wanted. And even a stream was now flowing through the hills and next to the tree. The sun was still rising between the hills, and now it cast shadows of the tree and the cottage. While the cottage door and windows retained the deep black shade, the tree trunk took on a lighter shade, and the shadows were even lighter. The dog, too, had her shadow. The sketch, he thought, was now closer to reality.

The attempt of the same scene looked a lot different, now nearly a full-grown man. His skills much upgraded, the clouds were rippling through the sky, the birds looked more distinct, and one could also put a name to the tree. The cottage roof was thatched with straw and leaves. Different pencil types had allowed him to shade with more intricacy, and the stream seemed as though it was glimmering in the sunlight. The fully risen sun cast shadows with an umbra and penumbra too. The sketch looked full of life with all the shades of grey.

Years passed, and he never tired of revisiting the same scenery, always adding more details, shading the picture in different ways. Now he sat back and looked at these past attempts. The more greys in the picture, the better he seemed to like it. As he got started on his latest iteration, he was able to put into words what he felt in that moment. Black and white hadn’t created grey; a very dark grey created black, a very light grey created white.

Tata Mumbai Marathon 2020

Vasanth and I were in the holding area, along with thousands more. At 5:15am, our limbs stretched and awake, we were waiting to get started. This was to be my first Mumbai marathon, and the first time I’d attempted running 42.2km without shoes. Anticipation was dripping in the chill air when a familiar song played on the loudspeakers.

Sound of the drums, beating in my heart, the thunder of guns yeah, tore me apart. You've been thunderstruck.

The lyrics and the powerful guitars of Thunderstruck (by AC/DC) put me in a state of unreal excitement! I’d run marathons before. I’d taken a grueling 5 hours 45 minutes the first two times I ran. With much training, I’d saved 35 minutes the next time. At Mumbai marathon 2020, my target was to finish within 5 hours. My training, which commenced in late August, saw me take my December and yearly mileage to 101km and 502km respectively. I’d completed my best running year with my best running month. This training was complemented with a protein high diet designed by Aishwarya. Apart from goading me to run on my lazy days, tempting me with small but effective incentives, she’d also gotten me into doing yoga regularly. The disciplined training and diet over the last few months was primarily to ensure that the upcoming struggle would be on my own terms.

I went over my strategy one last time with Vasanth: run at a steady pace of 6:30 minutes/km until 30km, which meant that I’d take 3 hours and 15 minutes to complete 30km. Then push through as much as I can, and make sure I finish within 5 hours. With preparation like this, and with the weather so good, I was determined to break the 5 hour barrier. It was time for us to move towards the start line.

Right from the people behind me on the flight to just about everywhere in the city, Mumbai marathon was heard and seen. The radio spoke about it. All the Mumbaikars knew about it. The bib collection expo was buzzing. On the evening before the run, I saw people putting up aid-stations and portable toilets. There was an unmistakable energy pulsing through the city, and now walking towards the start line at Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus, I couldn’t wait to channel it! Wishing each other luck, starting a gentle trot, hitting start on our watches, we were past the first timing mats, and our marathon was underway!

The first quarter

Early on, we settled into a pace that was just faster than 6:30 minutes/km. Running through the gorgeous Old Bombay streets, we felt comfortable. After 3km, we were running right next to the sea on Marine Drive. The quiet run that it was until then, changed when the fanfare started along the Marine Drive. NGOs, sports companies and the like had vibrant and loud stalls with a lot of people cheering us on.

The route map with elevation. The steep incline in the last quarter is the Pedder road stretch.

We were still running with a big crowd, as we took a right at Chowpatty, leaving behind the sea. I had gone through the route map enough to know that there was an incline coming after 9km. When the crowd slowed down a bit on this incline, I peeled away and I lost Vasanth in the crowd.

Children with plates of salt, an old man playing an organ connected to a speaker were among the first signs of the Mumbai public on the roads, cheering us runners on. I raced down the road which led us to Haji Ali, back next to the sea. The half marathon runners were seen in plenty on the other side of the road. More than a fourth of the run through, the pleasant weather continued to last as I comfortably maintained my pace.

Sea-link and beyond

The route took us past the half marathon start point in Worli, where many speakers played different music. Whatever the music, I had a brief burst of speed! I ran past The Common Man statue on the Worli sea face. The iconic Bandra-Worli sea link was in sight already and from a distance, the swarm of runners running up the road looked like ants scurrying up a molehill. Soon, I was on the sea link myself.

I often looked to the right while I ran the 3km+ distance on the sea link as it offered magnificent views of the Mumbai skyline. Midway through the sea link when I turned back, I realized how flooded the sea link was with runners. It was 7am, and the sun rose behind the buildings on my right. By the time I was off the sea link, the sun had grown from a small arc to a kindly red ball, its light reflected off of the buildings and the sea below. The road curved right in a descent, and I was off the sea link, having completed 19km.

The spirit of Mumbai

Until then, I’d managed to run with barely any stops. I didn’t have to stop at water stations as water bottles were handed out. I had to only slow down a bit to drink electrolyte. Wherever I’d seen oranges, I’d grabbed a few and continued running, treating myself to the oranges at different milestones. This was when I realized that I didn’t have to stop if I didn’t want to. After 20km, I gave myself a short breather when I stretched my soleus, calves, and back in particular. The sun was up and was brighter now, as I completed 21km with a worrying hint of fatigue. As my watch chimed to tell me 22km were up, I saw that the last 2km split had taken over 13 minutes. Over halfway through, I was faltering.

The run took us through residential areas now, and the light had brought the people of Mumbai to the streets. Many stood with plates filled with bananas or oranges, people were handing out lemonade, some even held out volini spray. I ran past a petrol-bunk who had their own electrolyte stand! The people of Mumbai were putting a smile on my face. My focus now was entirely on acknowledging anyone who cheered us on. Even if there was one lone person clapping so softly that nobody heard them, I made sure that to show in some way that they made a difference. I waved at an old woman in a hat, who was beating a drum with one hand and high-fiving the runners with the other. I put my thumbs up for many, flashed a smile often, high-fived kids. Before I knew it, my watch beeped after 24km, telling me that I’d covered the last 2km within 13 minutes again. I was back on track, and was feeling invigorated by the affection of the public!

Approaching the wall

My spirits were lifted and running was a pleasure again. But I had to remind myself to stay humble. I reminded myself to stay grounded to achieve my first target of finishing 30km in 3 hours 15 minutes. After 26km, I saw that I had about 28 minutes for my 30km target and was then confident that I'd make it. The road got a little prickly around then, with construction work going on. Then came a small stretch where the tar really stung my feet. But on my 29^th kilometer, I was out in front of Worli again, the sea link back in view, and I didn't have to worry about my feet anymore. My watch chimed to tell me that I was done with 30km, but the official 30km board wasn’t in sight. After about 400m, I saw the 30km board on the right. I glanced down at my watch. 3 hours, 15 minutes, 30 seconds! The easy part of running the first 30km was done. Things were about to get tough.

I did a few more stretches and turned on my music. The music was a welcome distraction and spurred me on. But soon I found myself walking often. It was difficult to maintain my pace, and the heat was getting to me. The elite full marathon runners, who’d started much after us, blazed past. But it did nothing to motivate me. I was hitting the physical and mental wall. I had to make some changes to keep going. After 32km, I changed my watch face to display just the time of the day, instead of distance, duration, and pace. A suggestion from Vasisht, it took my mind off the numbers. I decided to look sparingly at my watch until I reached 38km, by when I’d have just 10% of the run left. The people were still out on the streets and I took biscuits from them. But no amount of their cheering or kindness got me going. I tried to follow someone ahead of me, but everyone seemed much faster than me. My pace was dreadfully slow. I put my head down, distracted myself with the music, and just kept plodding on.

The music effect

During the 36^th kilometer came the dreaded Pedder road, a stretch of rather steep climb. I forced myself to not walk during the climb, but to no avail. I tried to feed off of the crowd, but it still had no impact. I trudged along to the top of the road. But now, I was looking at a favourable descent ahead. Through my earphones, I heard the heavy guitar riffing as Evolution (by Skyharbor) started playing. I had a surge in energy, mental and physical. I raced past people, down the road. I was once again looking at the people cheering us on. I read the many placards that were held. I was acknowledging the crowd again. The people of Mumbai had me smiling again. I was running faster, and I’d found my rhythm!

I was going through a phase of heightened emotions, and was aware that it would not last long. The crowd and the music – a Scarlet Stories song now playing -  kept me running like I did at the start. Seeing that I’d taken a few seconds over 13 minutes for the 37-38km split gave me further impetus. Into the last 10% of the run, I was overwhelmed by emotions when Lost (by Riverside) came on and I ran another fast kilometer. Now only 3km left, I saw that I’d taken 4 hours and 22 minutes or so. That was when I knew that I’d finish my run within my target of 5 hours.

The last stretch

Maybe I felt complacent with my finish time, as the effect of music wore away, and I couldn’t keep up my pace. More fatigue set in under the hot sun. I was so close to the finish, back near Marine Drive for the 40^th kilometer, but every next step took more effort. Runners now raced past me. In my 41^st kilometer, I saw someone in the crowd looking right at me, gesticulating to go faster. But nothing spurred me on anymore. The fact that the end was near was comforting, but far from motivating.

Finally, I saw the board that said I had 500m left. I pushed on. Now 300m left, I removed my earphones. The finish in sight, I tried to speed up. My focus then was only on finding Aishwarya. I knew she would be waiting at the finish, having finished her 10km run. A red carpet was laid out for the final few meters. Then ahead to my left, I saw Aishwarya! I found one final burst of energy. I raised my hands, sped on. Looking right at Aishwarya, I let out a triumphant scream. Both of us screamed, in unison. I raced past the people ahead of me. I gave it my all in one last lung-bursting sprint. I crossed the last timing mat, stopped my watch, and let out a sigh with a murmured expletive. In 4 hours 50 minutes and 19 seconds, I’d run my best marathon.

I walked on just a bit before I found a small space on the footpath where I slumped down, exhausted and exhilarated beyond belief. A beaming Aishwarya came to where I was sat. We didn't have to wait for long before Vasanth joined us. We tried to do some stretches. My muscles were really tight and I could barely move around. With great difficulty, we made our way to get our medals. The full marathon finishers were given one finisher medal and one inspiration medal, the latter to be given to the person who inspired them to run the marathon. I’d already decided to give that to Ragha.

The full marathon is a challenge like no other. The training for it often made me wonder if all this would be worth it. But the rewards of a marathon, primarily the upsurge of emotions during the run and the supreme runners high at the end of it, are also like no other. The full marathon distance is scary and tempting at the same time. You know your body and mind will fail you, but you want to try to keep pushing them anyway. What was different this time was that the Mumbaikars also played a part in keeping me going. Talking to Aishwarya about how incredible an experience this was, especially how wonderful the Mumbai folks on the streets were, I was almost moved to tears. All my training for many months was for those 5 hours. But those 5 hours will last a lifetime as cherished memories.

PS: With this run, I raised funds for CMCA, the NGO where Aishwarya works. Twenty donors contributed a total of Rs.54,988. I cannot thank them enough for their generosity. Do have a look at the great work CMCA do in the field of educating children.

A Winter Evening Date

The chilly night might have been romantic or melancholic, based on one's disposition. That night, it had a dash of both.

Earlier in the evening, I’d met my girlfriend in Indiranagar. The evening was quite unlike our recent meets and was a throwback to our early dating days, in that we had to roam around the streets and spend time in cafes and restaurants – inevitably spending a lot on coffee – and struggling to find seconds of privacy in the city teeming with people and vehicles, instead of spending time by ourselves at her flat, away from everyone’s eyes and ears, watching TV shows or listening to music as we cooked, barely facing any interruption. The change that we faced wasn’t a bad thing, as it meant that we’d go to new restaurants and would spend some time outside. And if I would get to eat churros for the first time - delectable ones, those - I couldn’t complain at all. After starting our course in Gobble up Churros, with food that could be had for dessert, we then proceeded to satisfy our south Indian tongues with some idly vade. Then a short walk later, we found ourselves ordering fancy coffee at a self-proclaimed unique brew café. We hadn’t the slightest clue what a creama Italiano was, nor could the waiters and the barista together explain what it was. When the coffee did arrive, it was an espresso too strong for me, which was topped with cream too bland for me. The only purpose the café served was that it afforded us uninterrupted time together. Time though decided to tick faster, and as the sweet evening came to an end, our time together felt bitterly short, but we had to part anyway.

I took the metro back home. I had taken the metro a few times in the past month and taking a metro still seemed to excite me. The first time I used metros extensively was when I spent an amazing month and a half in Seoul. Maybe because Namma metro brought back delightful memories from Korea, I developed an attachment to this one too. But it certainly wasn’t just that, as the entire system around the metro seemed to be functioning without hassles and I avoided all the drudgery of sitting in a cab or bus enduring terrible traffic. When I looked out of the metro and saw traffic jams or traffic signals, I admit that I’d felt a sadistic sense of superiority. Yes, all those feelings just for taking the metro. Another charm of the metro for me was that I got to see the city that I’d known for all my life from an unfamiliar perspective, which was from an elevated standpoint. The stretch from south end circle to my stop two stations ahead (RV road) was my absolute favourite because it felt like I was sailing on a continuous canopy of trees, looking down at playgrounds and parks, with the moon level with my eyes.

Even as a child, that road used to be a favourite as the arching branches from trees on either side of the wide road reached over to greet each other and ensured that the sky was visible only through a layer of green. During spring, the reds of the gulmohar added to the greens in the canopy and it made for a prettier sight. But times have changed and now the metro stretches along the entire road. I only felt thankful that the sights from the metro were still green and pretty.

I left the metro and turned to another main road as I made my way home on foot. The street was lined with trees on both sides of the road, which rendered the already cool air cooler. The nearly full but waning moon slotted among sparse clouds, most clouds around itself, lit the empty roads, signaling the end of another city day. Mariusz Duda’s deep voice in my earphones sang of a tender heart, and the pensive sax that followed spoke of sorrow turning into strength. Walking alone on the road with nobody else in sight and the lovely evening replaying in my mind, that dark early-winter night felt like a cold one.

The Calming Rain at Night

He wondered if the extra second that it took for him to break his reverie allowed the man to escape. Two gunshots from some distance away pierced through the gloom of the cloudy, still night. Having heard the sounds many times, he recognized the sound of a police held Glock pistol immediately. And in the seventy one seconds it took him to reach the alleys around where he judged the shots were fired, jumping from one roof to another, he had figured eight possibilities for the gunshots in that area at that ungodly hour of 2am. The thought if there ever was a godly hour also had crossed his mind. But what was at the forefront of his thoughts was the worry that out of the eight possibilities, only one of them involved the shots being fired from a policeman and he’d assigned that a very low probability.

A very quick surveillance of the alleys, still from rooftops, couldn’t reveal the nature of the crime that he suspected to have been committed. There were no policemen around, and even from his vantage point, he hadn’t noticed a speeding vehicle or a dispersing crowd. He couldn’t spot a burglary, nor could he spot a corpse. Intercepting the police radio, he figured that the detectives were on their way. He didn’t have enough time to scour for the ejected shells. He didn’t need to, anyway. As always, he’d get the results of the forensic firearm examination through his friend in the force.

Retreating into a dark corner of the roof on which he currently perched, he began the evaluation of the seven remaining theories. Three of those theories were around the mafia that was speculated to be building around the Congressman Theodore Koppel. It had taken him months of research to see the connections between the goons and their employer. His interrogation methods still yielded better results compared to what the cops could achieve, as his name still breathed fear. These methods aided him to see the thin threads connecting the various crimes to Koppel. The evidence he’d uncovered was certainly not sufficient and barely admissible in court. Yet, there were patterns that he couldn’t ignore. And today, he’d need more evidence before he could theorize further.

As a light drizzle set in, he hoped to hear the police sirens soon, before the scene of crime was washed clean. Even after all these years, the sound of two isolated gunshots rattled a deep nerve within him. Sights and sounds from his childhood had started resurfacing, igniting a sense of fear. The pattering of the raindrops though, adding to the ebbing din of the city and the wailing blues of the guitars he heard from the house below served to compose him. He felt the fear turn to anger, and the anger soon turned to determination. The city had to be cleansed. And now as the rain grew strong, he’d do just that.

The police sirens in the distance announced the arrival of the police. Through the intercepted feed, he had gathered that homicide detective James Hardy was on the team, and so was forensics expert Irene Lawrence. Both were new to the city, but they came with great repute. He knew of Hardy’s resolute work in the Todd double murder case which had brought him fame, while the untiring Lawrence’s temerity and keen observation skills had established her as the best among the forensics detectives. Mentally he made a note to thank the Commissioner for bringing in the best detectives to the force. With them on the case, he was certain of quick progress. He felt calmness arrive, as the rain beat down on the city and the detectives got to work.

Every night, as the tired city turned to find some rest, his prowl started. He had salvaged the city nights from thugs for years now. The night belonged to him. His was a sight that spelt terror for the unlawful, a sight that caused their knees to shiver and crumble. People still spoke of him in hushed tones, their voices contagious with fear. And for those who deserved his care, his reign of night was calming. Yet, the unlawful didn’t stop breeding. They sneaked around the city like roaches in the dark. They were the city’s stench. And they would continue to breed if someone didn’t put a stop to it all. He’d be relentless until he uprooted them and weeded them out. The city would one day be clean. The city would one day be glorious.

Commissioner Gordon’s men continued their work in the torrential rain as the Batman spread his cape and leapt to another rooftop to follow a lead in a different case, vowing that he’d keep Gotham safe. He would take Gotham to glory.

Run for the High of Running

I could hear my thumping heart as I stretched all my limbs at 4:45am that day. I was taking extra care to ensure that all my muscles were alive and awake. My head was buzzing with the thoughts of what potentially could be in store for me over the next few hours in the lovely, tree filled trails of Auroville, for I was poised to take part in my first ever marathon.

My training over the last few months hadn’t gone according to plan. 25km was the longest that I’d ever run, and that was over half a year ago. In the previous month, I’d run only on Sundays and I couldn’t do the 30km run that I’d planned on one of the days as it coincided with Pinkathon (due to which Cubbon park was closed to the public and that’s where I run). My total mileage over the previous month was around 80km and I wasn’t consistently doing my stretches or workouts. Despite the insufficient training, I found myself starting the marathon with a time target of 5 hours.

I suppose it was my enthusiasm which made me believe that 5 hours was a realistic target. It was an enthusiasm that grew through the previous day. The sight of the trees and happy memories of the trail as we entered Auroville on our bikes only added more fuel to my zeal. I like to believe that my enthusiasm was contagious; if not contagious, at least it was evident to the nine others in the group that had made the journey from Bengaluru. On the day of the run, I woke up promptly to my alarm at 3:30 and was so restless that I felt it fit to start running right then. And a little over an hour later, close to the start line, my excitement had reached a zenith.

Just after 5am, the run was flagged off. We were all given small torches to help us navigate through the trail. And in the fading darkness of that starry dawn, among the trees, with the cool air standing still, on a slow trot, I had started a unique journey that would take me to a never before run distance, testing my physical and mental resilience; I had started my first marathon.

As soon as I started running, there was something in me that kept me at a slow pace, despite my enthusiasm and urge to run. I wanted to maintain a pace of 7:00 minutes per kilometer for the first half of the run, but my body suggested that I continue at the 7:30 pace that I’d settled into after a kilometer. Vishwa and I, running next to each other, couldn’t help but remark how this slow trot through these trees awaiting the day’s first light was truly a joy.

Vishwa and I discovered that we had an incredibly good rhythm going as we maintained the same pace without feeling tired. After an hour and twenty minutes, we’d covered a fourth of the distance. As the full marathon is run as two loops of 21km, this quarter distance point was when we started seeing distance markers reading 30km and above. Everyone who’d run a marathon had told me that it’s at 30km mark you start wondering why you’re even running. I found that baffling as we’d be so close to the finish then and I couldn’t wait to experience it for myself. As the day grew, we continued running together, exchanging words of motivation at every distance marker and revelling in our steady advance. However, we slowly drifted apart as we approached the end of the first loop. And as I saw the distance marker read 21km after a few minutes over 2.5 hours, I let myself have a moment of small triumph. I felt adrenaline coursing through me and I increased my resolve to run the same distance again.

I found that my pace was gradually dropping and from the 26^thkm, my slide started. I hadn’t run a step beyond 25km previously and now every step seemed to be take a lot more effort than before. Not knowing what to expect, I thought I would be able to run the rest of the distance at this reduced pace of over 8 minutes per kilometer. My mind started recalculating the time I’d need to finish the run at this pace and I figured that 5.5hours would be the realistic target. To give myself a little boost, after 27km, I decided to turn to my music for help.

As soon as I plugged in my earphones and heard Dan Tomkins shout “let me burn” (Evolution by Skyharbor), I felt aggression in my veins as I vehemently agreed with him on the burning part with a considerable amount of headbanging. The music player next turned to Riverside’s Time Travellers and Mariusz Duda’s voice made me think wistfully of the times when I was a kid and innocence was untouched, moving me close to tears. Next when Patrick Watson sang “ain’t it feel right? Ain’t it feel nice?” I was sure he was talking about my run. And I thought John Mayer was an unheralded genius when his song proclaimed fear as a misunderstood friend. Although the songs I listened to made phenomenally more emotional impact than usual, they didn’t improve my pace.

I noticed that I was taking over 10 minutes for every kilometer. Wearing a Garmin then seemed to be a terrible idea as I was tempted to look often at it to see if my pace got any better and given that that didn’t happen, it caused me much consternation. Around the 33km mark, I couldn’t see any runner ahead of me and loneliness seemed to be adding to my woes. At another point, I wondered if one of the distance markers were missing coz I’d run for a long duration and hadn’t seen that distance marked yet. But after running a little longer, when I saw that distance on the next board, I too, like others, wondered why I was running still. My legs wouldn’t respond as usual, I felt a faint pain at the top of my foot, and my mind wouldn’t stay focused as usual, as the gruelling nature of running over 30km was revealed to me.

Going through all this, I realized that there was only one way to approach this: that was to think about nothing else and run at whatever pace I could. That way it would be mind over matter. And I’d still enjoy the run. I then listened completely to my body. I ran as much as I could, walked where I couldn’t. Every cheer at the aid stations brought smiles to my face, invigorated my patience. The new found mental resilience carried me through, at a slow and unsteady pace, to the board that read 40km. Then I seemed to find a new physical resilience too.

My pace picked up, my excitement grew again. I was nearly there, at the end of a marathon. My body seemed to cooperate despite the faint pain, tight muscles, and exhaustion. The board that read 41km released some more energy in me. I couldn’t understand how, but I could run like I did at the beginning. I left the road and entered among the trees for one last time, as the trail turned left. I ran through the trees and emerged on to a clearing. The finish line was in sight, just 200m away. I sped. As I saw my friends standing beyond the finish line cheering me on, I sprinted with everything I had, arms out wide embracing the occasion. The moment I crossed the finish line, I was drowned in ecstasy and in relief. I had run a marathon.

I stretched my sore limbs again for a while as I let the feeling sink in. The high I was on right then was incomparable. All my struggles in finishing a marathon left me thinking about how we have descended into a state where utter competition drives everything, leaving us no time for the proverbial smelling of flowers by the roadside. While there are people who thrive on that, and I thought that I was one of those, I’ve come to realize that the smelling of the flowers, for me, gives me more satisfaction. I had timing expectations at the start of the run. But as the run wore on, I realized that I was running for many reasons, and timing wasn’t on the list. I ran under starry skies allowing fascination about our place in the universe envelop me, I ran under the shade of the trees breathing in their exhale only, I ran trampling the fallen leaves, I ran on muddy roads with the dust rising on every step, I ran becoming aware of my limitations, I ran realizing I can push my limitations, but most of all, I ran because it moved me like no other experience. I ran for the joy of running, for the high of running. 

And I Went West on a Cycle

Tatte idly for breakfast is a swell option on any given day. When you are one among the 9 cyclists who have cycled a minimum of 30km on a chilly December morning from Bengaluru to Harohalli, a breakfast like this is an absolute delight. With our muscles just about warmed up and our minds well made up for a ride that would take us to Mysore that evening, 16 tatte idlys topped with a wad of butter, and 22 uddin vade and maddur vade were devoured in no time among the nine cyclists.

Manish, one of the riders from Bangalore Bikers Club riding with us, had found the first breakfast place for us. I say first because it was the first day of a 6-day ride along a route charted to take the riders from Bengaluru to Mysore to Madikeri to Kalpetta to Ooty to Mysore and back to Bengaluru. Riding over 100km on each day, the ride would total more than 700km. Attempting this whole ride, along with the aforementioned three, were Santosh and Sriram (who hadn’t joined us yet, and unfortunately couldn’t ride beyond Mysore due to unavoidable circumstances). An exam restricted Vasanth until Madikeri and a wedding restricted Vasisht and Varun until Mysore. Along with Jineshwar, I was the only other rider in the group who hadn’t done long distances yet.

My cycle was a mere week old and had seen only 18km of riding; the trip I made to decathlon and back for all the cycle accessories was the only ride on it. Despite lacking prior long distance cycling experience, I had backed myself to ride until Madikeri, a distance of 260km over two days, with the second day poised to take us through some tough inclines on the Western ghats.

As we were finishing our breakfast, another customer to our breakfast place asked us where we were headed. When Vasisht told him our final destination, the incredulous response of “Ooty na?!” had all of us in laughter! I wonder how he’d have reacted had he known that we were going via Madikeri (which is a detour from Mysore). Townsfolk everywhere seemed to be fascinated by this group of riders, who were riding what must have been to them fancy cycles, and wearing fancy attires of reflective jacket, helmet, and sunglasses. Later that day, while riding on towards Mysore after lunch in Malavalli, someone having his curiosity raised by seeing a few of our riders already, stopped me to ask where we were headed. The next day, a goods auto decided to ride slowly next to me to ask about us. Again on the second day, when I’d stopped for a tender coconut break, one of the people sitting under the shade of the thatched roof of the small shelter observed - what he decidedly thought was irony in life - that people like him desired motor bikes, while we desired such cycles.

Group of nine riders on fancy cycles and wearing fancy attires.

Among these reactions, the best always were from the kids. I had a conversation with a couple of kids, one of whom owned a cycle, near the same place where I had the tender coconut break. I asked the kid sitting on the cycle, “ಸೈಕಲ್ ನಿಂದಾ? (Is the cycle yours?)”

He replied, “ಹೌದು. (Yes.)”

“ನನ್ ಜೊತೆ ಬರ್ತಿಯಾ? (Will you come along with me?)”

“ಮಡಿಕೇರಿ ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ದೂರ ನಂಗೆ. (Madikeri is a little too far for me.)”

As I rode on after this conversation, he sped by with his friend seated behind him. The moment they were ahead of me, the kid on the carrier lifted his hands as he rejoiced overtaking me!

When I was riding alone on the inclines of the ghat section, a bunch of kids asked me where I was going. When I said Madikeri, I heard the entire bunch go, “Come on anna, super!”

We also happened to ride next to a school that apparently had just ended for the day. There were a lot of kids with cycles, just pushing them along, walking with friends. They obviously needed the cycle to reach school on time, early in the morning. Now they were in no hurry to go back home. Why would they want to part with friends so soon?

Kids everywhere mostly greeted us with cheers and shouts of “ಅಣ್ಣ (brother)!” Raise your hand, and they will cheer more loudly for you. These kids got me thinking if I was having enough fun riding, because they seemed to have a lot more fun just cheering for us. Whether we were riding under the hot sun or were being careful to avoid the traffic, seeing kids cheer for us always made me smile and I always raised my hand for them.

Even though such incidents could infuse one with enthusiasm, riding long distances can prove to be an energy draining affair too. An injury forced Jinesh back from Mysore. Vishwa’s cycle had a flat tyre on the first day and broken spokes on the next. The blistering afternoon sun forced me to take more water breaks than I’d intended. I had to ride with a stomach ache for over half the distance on the second day. As we got closer to the ghat sections on day two, the roads became narrow, which meant more vigil on our part was needed. Although the ghat sections themselves were beautiful to ride on, we had to watch our pedal to stay away from the traffic coming from both directions and the fact that it was dark made it more difficult. And despite being mentally geared up – literally geared down – for the inclines of the last 14km to Madikeri, I found myself huffing heavily to make steady and slow progress. When I was on the edge, what perhaps irritated me the most were the badly timed speed breakers! A speed breaker on a downhill meant that I couldn’t build great momentum and one on an uphill meant it slowed down an already slow rider. When the riding got tough, I sometimes motivated myself by reminding myself that every next pedal took me to a personal best distance.

Just before the inclines to Madikeri got steeper.

On both evenings, we reached our destination with tired legs, but with triumphant minds. I personally felt more elated in Madikeri, as I’d completed a grueling climb that had me panting loudly with every pedal. And given how much tougher the Kalahatty climb on day 4 was expected to be than this, I also felt satisfied in not carrying on. And reflecting on the ride over the two days, I kept going back to the sunset I witnessed on the way to Mysore.

And we'd made it to Madikeri!

The sun, a little to the left of my view, had started sinking behind a small hill. Emitting the last red hues of the evening, the sun was setting quickly, with heat also sinking along with it. There were a few trees by the road and the traffic was moderate. Soon, the sky was bereft of the sun. I was sailing peacefully on the roads, chasing the already set sun.

PS: for a day to day account of the full 6 day trip, read Santosh's post here.

The Call of the Mountains

The human species is a dwarf when compared to the mountains; a dwarf in space and time. While the enormity of the mountains is immediately apparent, the mountains have existed for far longer than the human kind and perhaps will also stand witness to the demise of this sorry species. With my mind preoccupied with these thoughts, I saw the mountains standing shoulder to shoulder, stretching endlessly. I was instantly filled with a sense of awe, feeling belittled all the while. This hubris-check was felt at the foothills; foothills of one of the youngest mountain ranges and the tallest mountain range in the world. I had arrived at the foot of the mighty Himalayas. The very thought of the enormity that was in store for me over the next fortnight made me bow my head down to these mountains.

A question that I often asked myself on my second ever visit to the Himalayas was this: what makes these mountains so fascinating and why am I drawn towards them so much?

Did the fascination lie in the changing landscapes of this brilliant mountain range? We crossed the 5583m high Parang La (La is the word for pass in local tongue) on day four of our trek. The initial two days were short and they passed with relative ease. The third day saw us making steep descents which took us to a deep ravine and also saw us making equally steep ascents that led us to the Parang La basecamp. For three days we had trekked on a barren terrain with boulders being a common sight and never could one spot a tree. Initially on day four, the terrain was the same and snow at close quarters was seen only in patches. But that was about to change and how! On a misty drizzling day, it had taken steady efforts on my part to gradually ascend towards the pass. Behind me was the now familiar barren terrain and when I cast my eyes beyond the pass, I was transported to a different world where snow blanketed every inch of the land in front of us. Right at the pass was a huge mass of white that was the glacier. It took the guides over an hour to find a path down this glacier, after which it took us an hour of trekking to get off the glacier. As we trekked further that day, the trail led us to walk right by the river formed by the glacier water. The next day saw us wading through those icy-cold thigh-high waters. Two more days later, as we left the course of the river, we were staring at incredibly vast meadows that stretched on for miles. One was bound to gauge the miles wrongly, always underestimating it. And there was still no sign of a tree. Nature must have challenged herself to outdo the majesty and variety of her creations at every turn.

Snowfall could transform a barren peak into a snow peak overnight

The landscape didn’t change just with distance, they also changed with time. The Tso Moriri - a huge lake at an altitude of 4543m with a perimeter of about 60km - changed colours every few hours. The interplay of sun and clouds led the lake to take on varied shades of blue. A thick cloud cover in the afternoon would render the lake a deep shade of blue, while a sparser cover gave the lake a light blue shade. Different parts of the lake would assume different shades at the same instant due to the uneven distribution of the clouds. The clouds affected the mountains too with their snowfall and rain. The landscape change is so intriguing that the colour of the mountains changed just with rain, as the soil on the mountains mixed with the rain and deepened in colour. Needless to say, snowfall could transform a barren peak into a snow peak overnight. Nature must still be challenging herself to outdo the majesty and variety of her creations with every hour.

The interplay of sun and clouds led the lake to take on varied shades of blue

Nature also used the moon to paint a landscape differently. That night at the Norbu Sumdho campsite, when I crawled out of the two man tent where I was huddled along with five others and where laughter was raging for a long while, Nature had me staring at her painting for a long time, speechless. The waxing crescent moon lit up the landscape; the gently flowing glacier water – the gentleness also heard in the sound that she made - was now streaks of silver on the path below, a path that she had long ago forged among the mountains and the mountains themselves were now a silhouette of black all around. The unflinching clouds which decorated the sky, especially gathered around the peaks, seemed to be competing with the stillness of the mountains. A multitude of stars completed this picture of few colours. The still cold air was chilling my bones. Yet I stood, transfixed, moved by the majesty and beauty of this incredible sight.

I know that it isn’t just the changing landscape that draws one to the mountains. The white band of Milky Way was seen on many nights, stretching across the sky, reminding the consciousness induced stardust that we are of our origins and of our place in the universe. On the trek, we saw a lone wolf limping away, herds of kiangs grazing, marmots popping in and out of their holes, bar-headed geese on the lake, and a hare ran past us! Being severed from civilization, in the mountains, we are a lot closer to Nature.

At the end of the trek, I still couldn’t convincingly answer why I was so fascinated. Hindsight also hasn’t proved to be successful in the quest for an answer. But it is perhaps not a question that should be answered at all. I’m inclined to think that the question is invalid even.

All I’m left with is this. The Himalayas called. I obliged. And I will continue to answer them, for I have fallen prey to the calls of the mountains.