Rohtang pass: conquered on the RE

Here I was with a vehicle that I would avoid buying since it’s brochure does not score high on any of: Max power, 0-100 sprint time, mileage. However, motorcycling is more about spirituality and less about practicality. And this is where the Bullet makes a mark. It took me 6000 metres to figure out why the Royal Enfield commands such respect. To date, I more or less considered it as a machine bought by people who are trying too hard to project themselves as macho males (which is to some extent still  true). Bullet enthusiasts can curse me for my narrow mindedness, but while you are at it: I’d like you to blast those very brainless idiots who keep driving Bullets without a purpose (and hence lead to wrong perceptions about the machine amongst people like me).

It took a while to get used to. Though I’ve test ridden a lot of REs before, this was the first time I was using it for a proper drive. We had chosen a worn out aged Electra (this was one of the very first piece rolling out of the factory) with a custom tank. The weight takes a while to get used to. Of course, starting is a problem in the cold and so was parking, idling and turning at slow speeds. Nothing good till now, it just seemed a bit.. errr.. different.

As altitude rose, the roads deteriorated and the snow cover increased as did the majesticity of the Himalayas. It was a fierce climb and no matter what gear I put the Electra into, the needle just did not budge beyond 50 kmph at full throttle. The street smart bikes from Honda, Bajaj, Yamaha or TVS could’ve managed higher speed beyond doubt.

So since those street machines put down power more scientifically and efficiently, they ought to be faster here right??

Wrong!!

Allow me elaborate. On the Electra, we managed to negotiate those treacherous turns at speeds upwards of 40 kmph. On a R15 or an Apache, I would have had to reduce speed to a fraction to stay within safety limits. The sluggish manner of power delivery also meant that I never had to bother about traction for the rear wheel while accelerating. I have horrid memories of the rear wheel of my 200 Pulsar giving away on a climb when I opened the throttle moderately in gear 2. Thought of a similar instance on this kind of terrain makes my spine shiver. For here, it is not just a fall; it is The END.  Finally, the very obvious advantage of the RE is its impeccable balance. The heavy machine challenges you to bend at high speeds, drive through loose gravel and rocky surface all the while enticing you to push it more.

I have always been fascinated by the Himalayas and have been fortunate enough to have witnessed them a couple of times: courtesy my travel& drive-happy parents.. But it is this time that the reality, the enormity and the magnificence of the Himalayas sank in like never before.

Never before had I witnessed all this. There cannot be a whiter white, bluer sky, higher heights, purer air and chillier chill than that day.. The snow, the sky and the mountains made for a pilgrimage together. There was no human habitation visible for miles & miles, just pure white behemoths surrounding us. There was little left of the road as the melting snow was gobbling it up continuously. We navigated cautiously through the last miles until where the road was open. We had long forgotten as to when we had seen another vehicle and the reason was obvious. The road we were moving on was theoretically closed. It was impossible for a four wheeler to reach this place and even for a bike, it was too adventurous.

Then, the road reduced to a thin black path contrasting the snow all around it. Going on was too risky and I was not sure if our bodies could withstand more. The road was so narrow that turning the bike around was going to be a challenge too. The sun was disappearing fast as well. I felt there were several less painful ways of committing suicide than driving on this road at night.

I conveyed this to Prasad and told him it was just impossible to drive on. Prasad was visibly disappointed. From what I could figure: his relationship with nature is a romantic one. But he too realized that this was not the time and neither were we aptly equipped for this adventure. Our limbs were devoid of any kind of sensation for there seemed to be a disconnect between the brain and other body parts. We could sense our brain sending orders to the hands but our eyes confirmed that the hands never reacted the way they were expected to. How Prasad managed to click photos or I managed the throttle, clutch and gear is still a mystery.

Hence with a heart that had been bashed up by the logical part of the brain, I turned back. The picturesque mountains of the return journey did lift up our spirits again.

Special thanks to Prasad for the pics, being a wonderful conversationalist and most importantly: being hell bent on going on..

Words are too shallow for the Royal Enfield motorcycle. You have to experience it yourself to know what purpose it works for. I started as a skeptic and returned a believer of the Royal Thunder..

However, this remains an unfinished business. Rohtang pass eventually leads to Leh-Ladakh. That 400 Km drive is the ultimate lakshya.. The toughest road beckons.

The discovery that their offspring is upto things that have no remote correlation with the nation’s GDP or betterment of the society is great disappointment for my parents. Though they love their child, they do not think very highly of his intelligence. Yet the brat perceives such trips as highly productive. For this experience liberates your soul, humbles you in front of the mighty Himalayas.

Himachal: Adventures of the Banjaare

Sometimes we get so used to the life of cities, that we tend to forget what materialism is just a drug that keeps us chugging along. Real moments are often discovered leaving the everyday life and moving beyond. If one still equates happiness with success, turnover, asset creation, social status, parties, booze, music & movies; he/she might just be one amongst millions who are captives in their own little worlds. For such souls, Dr. Shubham prescribes the serenity of Himachal. This small state can hardly be called an economic superpower. However, the culture, the people and the magnificent Himalayas make it one of the best places to unwind..

Add to the brewing beauty of Himachal a wonderful company of the elite ‘Banjaare’ and we have a perfect recipe for fun. ‘Swami’ Vivek, Urvashi, Prasad, ‘Kickass’ Aakash, Ann, Smarty Ally (Almas) Pranit Louie, Harsh ‘Hum’ Mohta and the Punjabi lad Chopra made a team that created their own aura no matter where we went.  

The gang had already covered Chandigarh, Shimla & Manikaran and I joined them at Manali.

Manali

Having tamed the white waters of Beas the previous day, the Banjaare yearned for something beyond the thrill of rafting.. So today we were to visit the Sohlang valley and try out skiing and other ice sports. The drive was a short one and while 7 of us boarded the loyal Innova, Prasad and I decided to hire a motorcycle. A forty minute picturesque drive got us to our destination and we were greeted with snow slopes hardened by rainfall from the previous evening. Soon enough, we tried everything out: Skiing, ATV ride, snow slides and Zorbing. Mohta, Prasad and Pranit were the only ones to have gained a considerable insight in skiing; the rest of us were falling here n there in-spite of our serious intent. Mohta even has a near death experience to boast about. I feel Skiing like chicken pox, should be caught young. For at my age there seems little scope for mastering it. Surprisingly, water slides was something that everyone enjoyed a lot and zorbing turned to be thrilling as our dear fellow decided to give us a try in a partially inflated ball.. The jerks and bangs were a bit more than what one expects and our dear Swami walked out with a sore neck when he hit the ground head first inside the ball. As the crowd thinned by the evening, some us decided to trek the snow covered slopes and thank God we did that! We were on all fours to make the climb. We could feel the air getting thinner but the collective energy of the bunch kept us going. The breathless souls were treated with a spectacular view near the top (near the top was where we decided to stop as the slope was impossible). Coming down was more fun as the ladies and Swami showed us how to create your own snow slides. I was initially a bit skeptic (too risky, risk of soaking my bottom etc.) about this but soon gave in as I could no longer ignore the fun these people were having.

Paragliding was one sport that eluded us thanks to a lacklustre terrain, a short air-time and an ask price far beyond its true worth. However, we were determined to make up for it later (in Dharamshala).

Dharamshala

Without wasting time groping for words to describe this place, let me explain in short: This is a hill station with Goan frame of mind. Now it has the usual of a little hill station- Ice view point, ancient temple, a flea market etc, but what makes it different is the cultural mix. The Tibetans were granted refuge in the 50s and many consider this their home. They have brought with them the teachings of Budhdha, value for peace, the style consciousness of the youth and of course- momos. Jokes apart, it is quite a dynamic place with numerous eating joints, colorful people from all parts of the world and brilliant weather & surroundings. The bunch of us gorged the various cuisines available here and covered the market, temple, a waterfall, the Dalai Lama monestary on foot. The second day was reserved for paragliding. For all the brouhaha that's associated with it, it turned out to be quite an experience!

The first to take off was Louie. To be honest, fear had crept into everyone thanks to the elaborate take off procedure which needed the right wind and initiative from our side to run off a cliff. However, one by one everyone did that: jumping off the cliff part. Some of us even experienced the violent air pockets and the stunts performed by the pilot. The landing was a scary affair. It was hardly an effort  to spot the girls coming down. The ladies had a penetrating kind of scream. Rather like a Sukhoi flying by in the valley.

The fascination of paragliding as a sport depends totally on whether you have taken off or landed safely or not. Our Punjaabi lad took off twice. (The sudden wind decided to take him for a ride when the team was getting ready. Thankfully, the guys caught hold of him and yanked him back to the ground) He also happened to be the only one amongst us to have crash landed. As he neared the landing site, the air currents vanished magically and the chute lost height well before the site. The skilful pilot avoided the cartoony incidents (caught in a tree, ripped off by branches, etc) and managed to land in a wet field. So a wet Chopra was the only damage besides the scary memories in Chopu’s head.

As we departed from this lovely place, we made a pit-stop at the Dharamshala cricket stadium: the highest in the world.

Dalhousie

This is one sleepy and dreamy place. Sleepy because there's little scope for loafing around. Dreamy because it is THE place you would imagine yourself to be in. The SBI guest house (courtesy Swami) is far from the cacophony of human habitation. At times, it did seem to be a splendid hang out for ghosts et all but once we settled in it was very warm and homely. We devoured the meals and even got along well with the kids around for cricket. The market and the church is doable in a day. The major attraction of the place is the Khajjiar valley: aptly called 'Switzerland of India'. The drive is an adventurous one and we stooped on the way at 'lakkad bazaar' for a brief snowball fight. The valley is truly a picturesque one and Almas immediately went into overdrive mode with his SLR- clicking away to glory.

The beauty of this state and the warmth of its people is worth taking time off your work and travelling to experience it all. I am totally awed by the beauty of Himachal. And I could also see the fun part of it thanks to the company of the Banjaare..

Investigating the Maruti fiasco

 

"Maruti's Manesar plant GM(HR) burned to death, 91 workers arrested"

"Violence at Maruti Suzuki's Manesar plant: Workers used shock absorbers to damage cars"

"Maruti Suzuki’s Manesar plant violence: Time to bring trade union leaders of under graft law"

Here was one headline I found hard to ignore. It caught my eye thanks to two reasons. First, I love this sector. If you have visited this blog before, you would notice that most of my thought process has been limited to automobiles, roads and such things. Second, I have seen this industry real close thanks to my father. He has been in this sector even before I realized that my thumb had functionalities other than satiating my toothless mouth.

So it really saddened me to read of the demise of a HR manager and that too in such a manner. The other managers were robbed off their dignity when they were assaulted with automotive parts, suspension rods and what not.

What just happened here? Was it a management failure or a natural outcome of the suppressed class that had been wronged all these years? Or is it an act of by socialist propogadists enticing people or worse: was it the the reds? Or had the Nazis resurfaced after all these years from their hiding?

To make a fair start, and more importantly to ensure that I am not assassinated by the radicals, let us admit that Suzuki does not come out 100% clean. I have seen the way my father deals with labor issues. At times I've complained that he's being too slow or not acted fully in the guise of being 'careful'. At times I even wonder why trivial issues are brought to his office. But now I see the difference. Our countrymen at leadership positions do understand the dynamics of our country. India is a case of wrong people empowered, politically connected and a legal system which contrary to the public opinion is biased to the supposedly weak and oppressed. The Japanese on the other hand regard employees as individuals who are paid to do their jobs: period. If there's any problem with your job, expect consequences. Which is fair but then this attempt to confront the traditional Indian way of things may not go down very well. Also there's an article from a friend in economic times showing the wage percentage (of total cost) increase graph of suzuki lagging behind that of Hero Honda.

Having said that, nothing justifies what happened. Inspite of all its aggressive and to the point management style, I'd still give Suzuki a clan chit. So who is to blame??

The way I see it:

1. The People

2. Real Estate bubble

3. Political games

1. The People 

First the people. Let's start with their demands. Check out this article. Even if the numbers here are exaggerated, let us accept the fact that the workers want a salary increase beyond 20 k a month. Let's get some clarity by putting things into perspective. 20k is the amount that an average software engineer makes when he\she has graduated and just joined. He\she might just have an education loan and would be posted in a city that boasts of a higher cost of living (Bangalore is more expensive than Manesar or Bhiwadi for sure). 20k or less is what an engineer makes in a decent production firm. I wonder where the blue collar gets the idea of such demands. One fact I can present to you is that the worker body has learnt to read the balance sheets. Though they are more informed, the mentality is yet to evolve. I heard a manager in my dad's circles who was telling me how hard it was to shake the workers of their socialist mentality. According to them, the entire profit was rightfully theirs and ought to be distributed to them without any delay. Investments, maintaining a cash pile and any form of reserve and surplus accounts are all bull for these guys.

2. Real Estate bubble

The second factor I would like to bring forward is the real estate bubble. Though the impact is not direct, its impact is quite significant in the long run.

The population in this region has seen many amongst their own become rich overnight. Those labor intensive fields have been handed over to builders for truck loads of cash, flashy houses and SUV's. The consumption pattern has changed drastically. The workers residing here are dissatified seeing their kin, their neighbors moving up in life. Hence, they feel money has got quicker and their employers are depriving them of the above mentioned lifestyle. Why, my mother's driver is unhappy with his phone and his vehicle. As a matter of fact, upon inquiring I found out that the phone and motorcycle on his wishlist are the same or beyond my wishlist.

3. Political games

As we are clear about the rising desires, we need just a match to set a firestorm. And that spark was provided by the political clergy. Of the little I have conversed with union leaders: be it directly or indirectly, one thing is crystal clear. They are politically connected. Imagine an average worker who has a family waiting at home, who has moved up in life compared to his fellow village-folk after completing basic education and managing to get a job in a company everyone back at home loves to talk about. Now imagine the same fellow trying to instigate violence knowing very well of the consequences. Nope. Not happening. A person who would charge would be someone who knows that come what may, there's someone backing him (his backer did abandon him later, but he did not know this earlier). Politics is everywhere: in parliaments, in corporate offices and even in houses. However, the cronies chosen by our political class are the ones who are notorious enough to be carry out their deeds. These cronies are the most dangerous lot. They have fewer brain cells than you would find in a mosquito and they are stupidly reckless. Try stopping a lane jumper at the gurgaon toll plaza. 'Jaanta nahi main kaun hoon? Yeh XYZ MLA ki gaadi hai.'

Though I have little proof, by virtue of my vicinity to this sector- I have no doubt that it is creatures of this kind who started this. I've seen this plenty of such creatures to be talked out of my judgement.

Having said that, I still blame the rest of the workers for blindly following these idiots and not standing up against a few.

My suggestion to Suzuki:

Please uphold your decision to suspend the entire lot. Sometimes, it is fair to give a jolt to ensure that people wake up to reality.

More importantly, if it does not have enormous financial or strategic implications, stop investing in Haryana. Start disinvestment if possible. You do not have to be nice enough to care about a state after all this.

Sure, if you guys still think Suzuki is evil: you are welcome to join my new soon to be founded car company. To cater to the price sensitive Indian market, I will build cars from mud houses and scrap metal. To motivate people to work better 20 hours a day (and keeping costs low at the same time), I would use whips, boiling oil and the oriental torture techniques.

So the choice is with you people: embrace the MNCs or come work with me or worse: with those crony capitalists. 

Turn the Page: Mumbai to Delhi

All the same 'ole cliches: is it real? Is it done?
And you always seem outnumbered, you dare not make a stand,

But, make your stand.

There was a lot of thought process that went behind this trip. The same story again. Too impractical, too risky and too exhausting.  A lot many took this idea too seriously and tried to talk me out of it. But then, I have always found great humor in the fact that we take ourselves too seriously about things like career, certifications and social status. Here I am, thinking of wasting precious man-hours to ride from Mumbai to Delhi. No matter what I get out of this, I know I am not going to forget this. This has to be one of those times when I would let the heart rule over the mind.. So:

Day 1:

On a long and lonesome highway east of Omaha
You can listen to the engines, moanin' out it's one old song
You can think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before

7:30 in the morning and I had almost escaped from Mumbai. Soon the UT of Daman came up. All that I’d heard about this place turned out to be quite apt: many shady places with the sole USP of cheap booze.

You and I have heard and read a lot about Gujarat and my; come noon: I was not disappointed at all.. The roads remain spectacular and the rapid industrialization is very apparent. Critics may say that I’m travelling on the NH8 and all that I see is the Centre’s effort. Agreed but then, Gujarat has managed to make use of the centre’s help and implement the projects better than others..

The capital: Ahmedabad is truly growing at a phenomenal pace and even the outer roads are brilliant. My only complaint is that bikes are not allowed on the Ahmedabad- Baroda (Vadodara) expressway. The sister city of Gandhinagar was avoided and as the sun tired out, even I could sense my concentration waning. So I stopped for a late lunch at a highway dhaba.

But your thoughts will soon be wandering the way they always do
When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do
You don't feel much like ridin', you just wish the trip was through

A scary situation presented itself beyond the town Himmatnagar: a border town of Gujarat. There had been little inhabitation since a long time and miraculously, the fuel pumps had vanished. This was a matter of concern, since at that opportune hour, I had little fuel left. As I put my grey cells into use, the mystery unfolded. The obvious explanation was that I was nearing the state of Rajasthan which might have priced fuel a lot lower than Gujarat (this theory was confirmed sometime later). Hence the political & economic dynamics had wiped out all the pumps in this region; the regulars on the highway would prefer driving to Rajasthan to refuel. Some truckers even carry fuel in alternative storages from states where it is cheaper. However, I am not a regular; nor am I a trucker. Hence I was in a big problem. I changed my cruising speed to make the most out of every drop of fuel.

In what seemed like eternity, I finally saw a board welcoming me to Rajasthan. Sure enough, there were a handful of pumps offering fuel. I stopped at the first and filled my tank. However, I noticed a changed note of the engine. Closer analysis revealed a crack in the silencer.. Shoot..

I did a detailed check and figured out there was nothing much I could do besides allowing it to cool and then carrying on. The petrol attendant watched me and we struck a conversation:

A: Sirjee, Kahan se?

M: Mumbai..

A: Driving since yesterday? Bike?? !!

I gave my starting time of today and the fellow dolted like a rabbit. He came back a minute later with his buddies and a person who seemed like the manager. The gang got into a deep conversation about my journey and insisted that I join them for tea and ‘snakes’.

But here I am, on the road again
There I am, up on the stage
There I go, playing the star again
There I go, turn the page

The friendly banter had to be concluded as the shadows lengthened and grew fainter. I mounted the bike and gunned the engine in an attempt to beat the sun. Alas, the sun went down and the headlamps lit up the tarmac. More than the night, the erratic behaviour of the Rajasthan soil scared me. I had read that sand gains and loses heat quickly. Tonight, it was out to prove this. The temperature dropped with each passing minute and soon my teeth were chattering with cold. The exhaust system had totally given up and the engine sounded as if it were propelling a dirt bike. I finally made it to Udaipur at 7:30pm. After a quick shower, I drove around town to refresh my memories of the lake, palace and the Sukhadia circle (Tip: Never get conned into going to Sukhadia circle; it’s pathetic). May I take this opportunity to recommend the ‘Natraj’ hotel’s thali’ which is rightfully a local legend.

Day 2

The ride started at 6:15 am and my: it was chilly. Same ol’ story: hands shivering, teeth chattering and the body yearning  for warmth amidst the freezing wind. At 10, I couldn’t take it anymore and had to stop at a dhaba for something hot before Ajmer.

You walk into a restaurant, strung out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you, as you're shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesn't bother you, but you just want to explode
And most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can

Within an hour, I was subject to the other extreme: the sun shone relentlessly and burnt quite some of my skin. Ajmer to Jaipur is the best of NH-8 and if you’re driving below 100 kmph, you run the risk of being labelled a slow-poke and being run over. Sadly, the Jaipur- Delhi stretch is a big mess. The 6 laning project is on and ensures that there are innumerous bottlenecks and craters. The last 200 kms really shook me up; and my bike as well. At 4:10pm, I reached the airport with a slightly dislodged tail lamp, front fender and of course: the broken exhaust system. For a wretchedly used 5 year old bike, I’d say its still aging gracefully.

Out there in the spotlight, your a million miles away
Every ounce of energy, you try to give away
And the sweat pours out your body, like the music that you play
Later in the evening, as you lie awake in bed
With the echoes of the amplifiers, ringin' in your head
You smoke the days last cigarette, rememberin' what she said
What she said

Another philosophical journey comes to an end. In the last 2 days, I got time to look into myself, view my life as an outsider: the events, agents and circumstances.. Come to terms with the past and most importantly, get myself ready for the next phase of life…

Idiots & Motorcyclists..

Though our nation is full of enthusiastic riders, I bet there are not more than 5 % who are actual riders. Everyday I see an idiot making suicidal maneuvers and creating a disaster; or avoiding one by a hair’s margin. One often wonders: with such a healthy record of stupidity behind them, how have such creatures managed to survive to date. When I confront such people, it is shocking that they attribute their narrow escapes and such endeavors to their heroism, riding & chick impressing skills.

The other day, on a jam-packed road: an R15 decided to make use of a couple of inches on the wrong side of the road and accelerated as if to break the company specified record of 0-60 kmph sprint in the Yamaha brochure. In the meantime, gears shifted and the traffic moved. It so happened that the enthusiast was heading for a gap between a truck and me. I swerved my borrowed car to help save the fellow but the trucker was not so generous. When the idiot realized that the gap was too narrow, he braked in haste, skidded and fell: with the bike and his spouse.. While the moron got a couple of scrapes and was grinning away to glory at his feat, his spouse ended up with a nasty gash, a torn bag and a shock. All she could manage was a stern dismissive look at the moron. A word of advice to the pillion riders: if someone does put you in such danger, you should not have a moment’s hesitation to slap the rider hard. He/she has had no concern for your safety and well being and needs to be taught a lesson.

Lost in their own world are they? Sigh.. There is nothing much that you and I can do.. Just avoid such company for your own road trips..

I have no qualms in admitting that I am not an angelic figure who’s out on a drive to cleanse the road and the society for a better world. My biggest problem with such creatures is that they are corrupting the word and the world of ‘Motorcycling’.

Thanks to such people, my mom addresses lovely bikes as suicide machines.

A friend of mine: when introducing me to a fine lady labeled me as a motorcyclist. For a while, the conversation went fine with the lady pointing out how motorcycling signifies freedom and so on. However she went on recalling how meeting me reminded her of a biker friend of hers who could ride from Greater Kailash to Noida in just 35 minutes in peak traffic..

I thought of giving her a lesson on the difference between motorcycling and lunacy.. But then I just sighed and had to drive the conversation away from my favorite topic: Motorcycling.. 

Scuba Diving @ Sindhudurg..

continued from: http://lifeisanopenroad2me.blogspot.in/2012/02/konkan.html

The day began with a drive to the station to meet the gang. The first thing on our agenda was scuba diving. We headed to the Malvan town and struck a deal with the diving- operator. Bargaining hard, we managed to get it to 1000 per head. A pretty decent deal though negotiating too hard with a fellow who’s filling oxygen in a tank for you is not a very bright idea. Mr. Gubbi like many of us water-phobic souls had his apprehensions and was calculating the probability of one of us asphyxiating underwater.

The operator’s boat took us near the island on which Sindhudurg fort is built as the coral is supposed to be majestic here. Diving was a challenging experience. Whether you know swimming or not is irrelevant. Arun & Varun’s command over swimming is as good as their skills with Mandarin & tribal Swahili music, yet they managed a brilliant stint underwater. The toughest part is getting used to breathing through the mouthpiece and familiarizing oneself with the valve. Any attempt to breathe through the nose will give you a feeling of suffocation and you may just panic underwater. Similarly, without a tight hold on the mouthpiece, the water just might sneak in and eventually start filling your lungs.

I took a while getting used to it and went in. The experience is truly out of the world. For here you are, seeing something you would never have experienced or dreamt of before. The life forms are immense in number. With due respect to Discovery, NatGeo etc, I will say this is something you have to experience yourself; TV just can’t recreate it. While I’m no fan of over-hyped expressions of our desi cinema, Hrithik Roshan’s tear-shedding expression in Spain made sense now. The fish were intriguing: zebra striped, small huge, some even bigger than my arm.

Then it happened.. There was water in my mouth… I had the brains to not make an attempt to open my windpipe and flood my lungs, but in desperation I tried my nose. Immediately I suffocated. I signalled my instructor. Within 10 seconds which seemed like forever, I was at the surface. Upon enquiring what had happened, my instructor told me what had gone wrong: There was a slip in my concentration and my mouth had given way to water. Then I remembered: perhaps my lips had curled into a smile upon greeting some weird creature; that slight angle was enough for water to seep in. I promised to not do that again, but now could we continue? I had no clue about the time. Wasn’t it a few moments back that I’d started? He then enlightened me that oblivious to my senses, a good 10 minutes had passed! However, he would be kind enough to take me even deeper..

This time I was at least 20-30 feet deep and the coral got even more interesting. The downside was a couple of scratches and cuts on my hands thanks to these sharp corals.

Varun (and Arun thereafter) had similar experiences and they came out with some lasting memories. In the evening, we headed to Tarkarli beach. Almost a virgin beach, this was one of the cleanest and prettiest beaches I have seen. John & Rajath decided to try out parasailing at the beach and were definitely thrilled. The evening included some great wining & dining. The Konkan curries call for a robust digestive system and a capacity for spices. The fish was great and we ended up having at least double of what we’d initially ordered.

The next day we headed out for Ganpatipule. Again, coastal highway was taken and we were rewarded with many lovely sights. This was an unknown road from Ratnagiri to Ganpatipule which was unmarked in most maps.

In the evening, I had to bid the gang goodbye. I was a bit tense as I knew it’d be dark by the time I get to Mumbai. On the other side, the ride was very enjoyable as the temperature dropped and the highway had moderate traffic. The only problem that night was.. U guessed it: getting to Mumbai. 50-70 kms near the city and you feel like you are in hell. Humidity, smoke and pathetic roads kill the high, even at 11pm

.

In all, I was glad I made this trip. And that I’d chosen to ride. I’ve driven some terrific highways but this one was just made for my bike. The other brilliant national highways (NH3, NH4) are a bit too straight and too fast. In short: Boring after a while. The Konkan terrain is something that keeps you on the edge; you yearn for the next turn, bend, the climb, descent and the beautiful sights..

Konkan: valleys, rivers, beaches, forests & more..

It is difficult to describe the beauty of Konkan.  The world is full of different people: some pray for sea-shores & beaches, some for green forests while some like me wish for mountains. It seems that God wished to annihilate that divide so here’s what was done: Mountains, hills, forests with an endless variety of trees, rivers, coasts, ridges were put in a pot, mixed thoroughly and thus was born the Konkan region.

I mean, throughout my ride, I was startled by the sheer richness of the region: ups and downs on the road meant that I could never figure out whether what I see in the horizon is the sky or the sea!! It has stuff that you don’t find on the map, talk or even sight. You have to experience it yourself.

The Mumbai-Goa highway is quite an interesting ride. Nothing spectacular:  a decently tarred surface which is a two lane throughout. The picturesque surroundings more than make up for the couple of rough patches.

The road meanders along beautiful rivers. The numerous ghats challenge your concentration and driving skills. The beauty of the surroundings has the potential to convert the village idiot into a poet.

The Goa highway had given me as much pleasure as it could, now I yearned for the sea. This means that I will have to leave this highway and head towards the Indian ocean and get on the coastal highway. At Ratnagiri, I asked a couple of people and everyone advised me against it. Fed up with the mismatch between the practical and romantic camps, I chose to play the romantic. I took a right on the next obscure road, leaving the highway for a semi-paved road that didn’t declare where it was heading to . With a map, I selected a couple of villages that should get me to the coast and started asking the rare passerbys for directions. The drive was slow, thrilling and philosophically enchanting. Villages and people who live at their own pace, kids considering me a peculiar species on a weird spaceship. They have time to stop, help you and strike a conversation.

Strange: You can feel lonely in a city of 30 million, but in this nowhere-land which is home for perhaps a dozen people; I never felt insecure or uneasy.

Today was a fine ride. I had driven hard on ghats, straights but had slowed down whenever I found the surrounding enchanting. I believe that if you hurry with something you like, it is an indicator that you are no longer interested in it and want to get over with it. That’s the beauty of a bike. In a car, I feel like I am watching television. On the motorcycle, I am actually in nature’s lap. The varying scent of trees, vegetation, the changes in temperature, the sights and sounds are actually remembered forever. Some say I’m crazy to head out alone on a motorcycle this way and am perhaps over-hyping the whole experience. However, this is the only content and true experience I have with my inner self. Rest of the time I’m just feigning sense in that everyday routine just like the rest of the world.

However, having reached Devgad fort at 5:30 pm, this poetic experience had to make way for security and practicality. The sun was going down fast and I was some 50 kms from my destination. I determinedly headed south. However, after a while the sun disappeared and I was stuck in the middle of nowhere with absolutely no clue of the direction (as I said: my old guide sun was no longer telling me where west is). When I say middle of nowhere, I actually mean middle of nowhere. After driving on a narrow road for around half an hour, I was surprised not to have found a single soul all this while. As I stopped on a hilltop, I could only see absolutely same landscape on all four sides. Moderate vegetation, no sight of the sea and hills as far your sight goes.

In the middle of nowhere...

At moments like these, you get into survival mode and get philosophical about the purpose of your life, or whatever little is left of it. However, A messiah appeared out of nowhere and I flagged down the human. Two seemed to be a minority in this endless forest and after exchanging a few words, the fellow suggested that I follow him. And then we sped up. 40 minutes of gruelling riding and I was in habitation once again. I thanked my guide and started the search of a hotel.

I realized that this town has a pace very different from what we are used to. The home stay owners were greatly inconvenienced due to the fact that some crazy customer was at their door at an obscenely late hour: i.e. 8:00 pm.

I surveyed almost all hotels and finally settled down in Gajanan resort (I don’t think you’ll find better value!)

Trip Log: (To & fro with coastal detours, visit to Kudal & GanpatiPule)

Odo: 1262 Km

Hot Hatches: Figo & Brio

This is a tale of two hot hatches of the season.

The first is the one which took the market by surprise, the response was beyond what the manufacturer expected. Yep, we’re talking about the Ford Figo. I was curious to find out the reason for this success and hence headed to the Ford dealership to check out the 1.2L petrol.

What I found out was that it was not the fastest hatch, nor is it the largest. Yet it is definitely the most balanced car I’ve driven in a while. The power is just fine, the cabin space is quite generous, it has its own lovely features, has a pleasing exterior (don’t even remind me of those hideous toad like creatures called the Ritz & the Swift) and most importantly- it is offered at a good price.

The best part is the ride quality and handling. Yes!! We get the legendary Ford hydraulic steering system which gives excellent feedback. The suspension eats up the potholes easily and the car remains stable even at extreme turns. After getting chummy with the showroom guy and getting his permission to push the car, I did an aggressive U-turn at around 30-40 kmph. Any other car, and our dear Shubham would have featured in tomorrow’s obituary column. But the Ford made it just fine. The motor provides a flattish torque and though it doesn’t break any records on the track, it serves well in the city.

The second hot hatch for the day was the Honda Brio. Here is a product that has immense potential but there are great challenges to face. For starters, Honda did not fully localize its assembly . 20% of its parts are imported. With the earthquake in Japan and recent floods in Thailand, Honda’s landed in deep trouble. They just haven’t been able to assemble enough Brios and the Jazz'.

On the greener side, you’ve finally got a Honda that’s affordable without compromising on quality or performance. The finish is superb and even the base model comes pretty well loaded (Decent interioirs, front power windows n all). The engine is what you expect from Honda: smooth; silent; yet peppy; rev-happy & frugal. It is definitely fun to drive around in the city and it felt at ease when I revved it to the redline in gear two. The economy indicator is a great buddy to help you squeeze out more miles from that drop of petrol.

This is great car for a couple: you know the newly married, carefree types.. Add to that a kid or two or parents/in laws or even visitors- and then you have a problem. For the Brio’s fundamental problem is space. The boot does not open, you have to manage with the glass lid (remember the very first Maruti 800??). Rear leg space is tight and I wonder what you would do if there were four people and two large suitcases. The thought of such occupancy levels in a Brio seems grotesque. So if you are a Brio owner who has a couple of visitors occasionally; like most Indians do, God help you.

There is no winner here for you’d own these cars for different purposes entirely. As I said, the family man would love the spacious, feature heavy & economical Figo. The mod city dweller would like to be seen alone (or with his/her spouse/ gf/ bf) in the trendy Brio. He/She can enjoy the quality, dependable Honda engineering, peppy ride and of course: the fuel economy.. 

If you were to ask me the question: Where do I recommend you to plonk your sacks of money? My answer still is: i-10. For I still crown it as the most sensible car in the segment.