Saukerl and the art of Riding Jacket Maintenance

I hereby state - Every true blood Bulletier should wear a well washed & fragrant smelling riding jacket, just in case some pretty damsel asks you to take her on a ride to a dark, desert highway. Blame it on my nostrils if you must, but I somehow could not smell the sweat & mud from my riding jacket (Alright, I admit, no pretty damsel asked me to give her a ride even to the neighbourhood tapri joint, forget dark, desert highways). And, one fine day, my wife finally managed to bring to my notice that with my riding jacket on me, I looked like a stray mongrel who has freshly rolled unabashedly in a mixture of the following (in order): mud, slime, sand, vermi-compost pit and (this one takes the cake) the open gutter on Baner road where a bridge is being constructed since the original Star Wars got released (I strongly believe that the bridge will be completed only when Darth Vader meets Lord Krishna)...

Anyways, crux of the matter - Riding jacket dirty. Wash it.

Ingredients (again, in order please) - a spoonful of Surf Excel, 3 & a half Sintex tanks of water (alright, I had only 1 bucket but I replenished it enough number of times to fill up 3 & a half Sintex tanks), me (in Undies and nothing else as there was no one to watch the spectacle unfold... Mind out of the gutter please), a soft scrubbing brush and a construction crane (to lift the jacket once it's wet because it then weighs as much as a fully grown, adult, alpha male Buffalo)

Ideal Procedure:

1. Wet the jacket and spread it on bathroom floor
2. Sprinkle Surf Excel on jacket
3. Gently scrub the jacket
4. Pour the 3 & a half drums of water on the jacket
5. Use the crane to transport jacket to Bay 3, Pod 153 (read: Drying area)
6. After 1 day, take shiny jacket and, with luck, go riding on a dark, desert highway with a desert damsel :-)

What actually happened:

1. The crane never turned up
2. The moment the jacket got wet, it weighed as much as a (yeah, you got it) fully grown, adult, alpha male buffalo. No crane so the humble pig had to grunt (to himself) and lug the jacket around
3. The scrubbing brush promptly got entangled on the jacket's exterior, resulting in my yanking out a few of my own hair and then using my bare fingers to scrub the jacket clean
4. A gazillion years went by and the jacket kept losing weight (of the acquired soil). I managed to get by on the memories of my long rides (you can read a few of those logs on this blog itself)
5. Owing to the absence of the crane, I developed biceps like Arnold's
6. Owing to the squatting on the bathroom floor, I had very wet Undies (I was going to put on a fresh pair anyways, so keep the jokes to yourself)

Good thing: My riding jacket looks brand new and a pretty damsel should get very impressed by it. Of course, I will let you know once that happens (Keep your fingers crossed)

Potentially good thing: I might get a billion dollars (yes, crisp, American Greenback) because I intend to sue the crane guys for mental harassment and undue emotional stress caused by non performance of contracted duties (Article 420 of the Indian Constitution will come to my help).

P.S. The crane guys were probably busy ensuring that the stork had a lot of work to do :-)

A Visit to Glenmorangie Distillery

Welcome to Heaven on Earth !!!

It was one of my greatest desires to visit the place where Glenmorangie, my favourite whisky brand, is made. I’d heard unsubstantiated rumours that the men and women working there are high all the time because of the unlimited amount of whisky they get to drink. Whisky literally flows around like mud there is what I had heard. And, when the opportunity presented itself in late 2010 (I was living in Edinburgh then), I set my sat-nav to take me to Glenmorangie Distillery in Tain and drove without brakes.... err, I mean breaks :-)

The Glenmorangie Range

It is one of the most serene and one horse towns and one doesn’t even realize when one enters the boundaries. I parked the car, stepped out and took several deep breaths of air. I was proceeding on the dim theory that Tonik (one of my pals) had once told me – At a distillery, even the air can get you high. Sadly, I was able to walk straight and had to conclude that Tonik had installed a dog's nose (and probably crawled on all fours in the distillery).

Distillation Process

 Apparently, the distillery owns about 650 acres of land which contains the streams whose water is used by them. I took the guided tour and learnt all about how to select malt, how to ferment it, add all ingredients, determine the sine of the angle at which everything should be poured into vats, use the ancient sun clock to determine the right time and temperature at which it should be stored, add bat wings for that extra punch, pack everything into oak casks and leave it for 12 years before I can enjoy a drop of the golden nectar. 

Whisky manufacturing vats

Storage - I had half a mind to hide in there for the rest of my lifewith nothing but a drill machine and a straw but my wife would have ensured that I’m found and handed over to the police

Fortunately for me, the fellas and Sheilas of Glenmorangie had already done that and I could enjoy some of the finest concoctions. After drinking it, I realised what Paresh Rawal meant in Hera Pheri when he asks the local liquor dealer to fill his water tank with ‘Englis daaru’ so that he can open the tap and drink whenever he pleases

I wanted to stuff all in my pockets and run :-)

Trivia: Whisky is used exclusively for whisky distilled in Scotland, or Scotch as we know it. Whiskey (extra e) is used for all others. E.g. Jack Daniels Whiskey but Glenmorangie Whisky

Best Bar in the World. This was the scene outside my door in Edinburgh...

An ode to biking in the Sahyadris...

 My inspiration for this blog...One of the numerous wet forest roads that mesmerize me...

Motorcycling in the Sahyadris is an experience one needs to experience to believe, especially if the ride happens in the monsoons. The sweet, spring like breeze carries all across the aroma of soil soaking in the first drops of rain and the heart is aware that somewhere, it has started raining. What the heart does not know, then, is the fact that the rain is heading its way. The mind foolishly sends neurons buzzing every-whichy-where asking the body to save itself from the downpour, reach shelter, run.... But the sweet perfume of the soil tickles the heart, sounding like a gentle rendition of the Jal-Tarang. The gentle vibrations strike a chord, caressing the heart, assuring that an amazing phenomenon is just round the corner. The misty clouds bend low ahead, daring one to race them to the horizon. Rain bearing clouds loom ahead. Dark, spongy clouds. I try to race the clouds to my destination, hoping that the clouds will not get a chance to wet my socks. But, in this race, I overlook  the fact that the clouds are actually begging me to experience the rain they carry. I'm confident that I'd beat the clouds but then, the clouds start gaining on me. Initially, the rain drops are only a few in number and the only purpose they serve is to obstruct my vision through the helmet visor. I carry on full throttle, racing my own self to the horizon. But gradually, my heart splits with my mind and begs me to slow down, to enjoy the rain. But, my mind has a mind of its own. The corporate world of deadlines and client appreciation has moulded it in a rigid shape, which I'm determined to break...

A few drops percolate thru my clothes and down to my skin, which reacts with joy. It reminds me that the summer heat has taken its toll and now I need to bow before the rain gods. I gradually ease the throttle, fooling no one but myself that I'm letting the clouds catch up whereas the truth is that the clouds have gained a lot of ground on me and I can see the first of what is to become a series of thinning streaks of water on my helmet visor. I speed up a little but by then, the rain bearing clouds have had their chance of catching up with me, or so I fool myself. I reduce to a crawl and let the drops fall on me generously. But, I seem to have achieved nothing more than angering the rain gods because the water droplets come at me with a vengeance and sting my neck and hands. It feels like trying to cheat the clouds out of a chance to drench me is tantamount to trying to trick some honey out of a beehive. The bees attack with the brutality of a tornado. Stinging all over. My skin appears to singe a hundred times a second as a hundred drops land on me. Miniature missiles is what comes to the mind and the invasion begins. I finally realize how Gulliver might have felt after being attacked with a thousand tiny spears...

But then, the rain shows how different it is from the bees. Once the rain gods feel that I have been punished sufficiently, they stop unleashing bees...err, killer missiles...err, water drops with a vengeance, and start sending in delicate drops akin to a fragrant, virgin Lotus leaf. They feel pure and soothing, something fit for kings which I, a mere mortal, get to enjoy. The raindrops slide across the visor, as if sliding off tender Lotus petals. The wind seems to be having fun with the clouds, swaying them across the horizon, like a toddler having fun with a paintbrush. The colours spill over and mix, resulting in a mixture which cannot be perceived individually but rather as a mélange of various colours, each as beautiful as a chord on a Guitar, a beat on a Tabla, a breath on a Flute, a string on a Sitar... Each individually beautiful and collectively indescribable.

Tricky Bends...You can see the partial mist build up too :-)

As the heavens open up vibrantly, my mind joins in the party and begs me to go riding on long, winding country roads. I forget my original destination and ride through jungles and feel the fresh air hit my face. I tear down a narrow mountain road with my Black Beauty (that is what I call the old girl, my Bullet) guiding me around tricky bends. I ride through villages and see the joy a simple puddle can bring on the faces of kids. They are almost stripped down to the bare necessities and take turns to dive in the puddle, laughter all around. I smile a smile and ride on...

Sleepy Villages which make one feel like one has time travelled

The wind streaks in through gaps in the helmet and caresses my ears, whispering songs and shrill noises and women's voices - all at the same time. The engine, feeling jealous, roars loudly, trying to drown out the wind. The only result is that the sounds mix beautifully, the loud thump-thump-thump of the old girl mingles with the whinging wind, sounding like a duet between two accomplished masters of their respective fields. Thump-Thump-Thump goes the engine, whoosh-whoosh-whoosh goes the wind. Thump. Whoosh. And, as if on cue, the engine deliberately misses a beat. But the highly versatile wind catches this trick and there is a momentary lull before the jugalbandi starts again. Thump - Whoosh... :-)

My heart smiles and chips in with a lub-dub of its own. The wind gets vociferous, puffs its cheeks and blows with a vengeance. Since the Bullet does not appear to budge from the jugalbandi, the water droplets on my visor seem to be the primary target of the wind's vociferousness. The wind howls and comes literally screaming at the pearl like beads of water like a ghost jumping on its unsuspecting quarry from a Peepul tree. The beads hold on for dear life, not wishing to fall off the sleek glass and the wind attacks with a ferocity, determined to sway the beads off their feet. I watch a struggle of epic proportions unfold before my eyes. And, the magnitude of the struggle makes me drum my fingers on the handle, as if I were Zakir Hussain playing a real fast composition...

In all this happy mélee, what I do not realize is that my original destination now lies miles away as I have taken one country road after another and have unwittingly got hopelessly lost in the Indian hinterland. The narrow & unmarked roads, the forests, the villages, the horizon from which stems the rainbow, the puddles whose sole purpose of existence is to soak me as I ride through them and then laugh at me by creating huge ripples...Oh, the list is endless. As I'm immersed in my thoughts, a shack appears out of nowhere and I stop by to have a chai and reminisce before heading back to my original destination!!!

I'm the bloke in the centre :-) And the others flanking me are my fellow Bulletier Pirates :-)

Nicely Discovers Kryptonite...

October 30th, 1994

Intel's Pentium processor, released amid great fanfare and champagne corks just over an year earlier, has a minor flaw. However, the allegedly minor flaw and Intel's subsequent handling of the affair will end up costing the semiconductor giant half a billion. Yes, that's crisp, American Greenback.

Thomas Nicely, a professor of mathematics at Lynchburg College, was working on some programs to enumerate primes, twin primes, prime triplets, and prime quadruplets (If you are one of the peasants who do not know what that means, then you may satisfy yourself by knowing that they are complex algorithms for some of mathematics', and mankind's too, oldest fascinations). However, after adding a Pentium based machine to his cluster, his results started going off by a few points. After eliminating other possible causes like code error, motherboard fault etc., Nicely reported the problem to Intel.

Intel had discovered the bug a few months earlier but had stashed the skeleton in the closet. Intel, the lone aircraft carrier in a sea full of rubber dinghies, decided to show Nicely the same courtesy that a solitude loving person might show to a topless guy hoarding tissues and soap on a beach. To keep the skeleton there, Intel told Nicely that his observation was 'Fubar' and promptly ignored him.

Nicely, however, was not too hot about sulking in a corner and cursing Intel over a round of drinks. He decided to make full use of the then nascent internet and wrote a post on Usenet describing the problem in detail. He provided a simple calculation which could be used to determine if the processor was mathematically challenged or not. Needless to say, this caused a major stir in the geek community, who were the primary users of such bulletin boards. However, CNN decided to step on the gas and ran a story during prime time about the bug. Open the floodgates.

Intel finally publicly acknowledged that it had knowledge of the flaw since a few months and offered to replace the processor of anyone who could prove that he/she was affected by the bug. This led to a major backlash against Intel and its PR was criticised wide and far. The frenzy of consumers around the world equalled that of a school of sharks nose diving into sardines.

Intel finally buckled under tremendous consumer pressure and announced that it would replace all the flawed Pentiums, irrespective of whether they were being used to crack Fermat's last theorem, bake nuclear muffins or as a paper weight.

As for the defective chips, they were converted by Intel into key chains. Some of the original defective processors are now collectors items and used chips retail about US$100 on eBay

P.S. 1 If you are not too hot about what is Kryptonite, then it is the only known substance which can harm Superman. AMD's K line of processors such as K5 or K6 are named after this and is an 'unofficial' dig at Intel

P.S. 2 Intel seems to be having another round of crisis this time but it appears to have wisened up in terms of handling the PR. You can read that here:

http://www.wired.com/gadgetlab/2011/02/intels-chipset-fail/#

P.S. 3 Dr. Nicely's original mail can be read here:

http://www.trnicely.net/pentbug/pentbug.html

How a fraud MBA got married

It was that time of life which a huge majority of Indian guys (read: those without advanced booking) go thru. That time when a bachelor's parents decide that enough is enough and that their lad needs to be put on the leash. And no amount of writ petitions, class action lawsuits, Public Interest Litigations or puppy faces can get you off the hook. The Chief Justice of the House (Read: My Father) passed a law declaring that his lone son had to be domesticated. My mercy appeal to the President (Read: My mother) was summarily dismissed without even so much as a thought.

And, hence it came to pass that my advertisement (Read: Bait) was floated and we (Read: My parents) waited with bated breath for some damsel to bite. Now, the populous country that we are, it was in a jiffy that the bait was taken, hook, line and sinker and one fine day, I found myself seated awkardly in someone's drawing room. I had decided to make full use of my MBA during this interview session. The fraud MBA that I am, I had hit upon a novel idea to finally make use of some of the lakhs I had poured into my post grad education.

I was armed to the teeth with questions which would help me take an informed decision (or so I thought). After the initial round of intros (the damsel was nowhere in sight till now), the damsel's father decided to kick in and grill me. The conversation went something like this:

DF (Damsel's father): So, what do you do?
Me: I work with XXX as an Associate Consultant.
DF: (Looking at me as if I was a Delhi Rikshaw waala about to rob him…I should have put on my Chambal Daaku dress and a fake moustache) Well, what exactly is the nature of your job?
Me: (In my mind - I play chess, marbles, dabba ice-spice and carrom in the office and wait with bated breath for any forward to arrive) (Aloud) I'm involved in end to end development of Complex Financial Services systems for Fortune 500 clients around the world
DF: (Still eyeing me suspiciously as if I had just tried selling him some miracle herb/jadibooti) Ok…Ok…You software guys have it good
Me: <<Smirks>>

After some more desultory conversation, the damsel turns up, bearing a tray of kaande pohe (supposedly prepared by her). I pick up a plate and say thanks while looking at my feet. Now, being the educated and liberal family that the girl belonged too, her ma and pa forced us into an alcove to 'talk things out'. This is what I had prepared for over the past few days and I was determined to show off a few of my MBA skills here. This is how it went:

Me: Good poha. Did you make it?
Damsel: Yes
Me: So, please tell me any incident in your life which you think honed your leadership skills.
Damsel: (In her mind…Are you out of your mind???!!!) I cannot think of anything now
Me: (Slotting into 2nd gear) Tell me two positive and two negative attributes about yourself. What steps have you taken to overcome the negatives?
Damsel: (Looking predictably scandalized) #$$%!@@^& (unintelligible gibberish)
Me: (Mighty pleased that the interview is going well…Decide to go for the best question in my arsenal) If we do get married, where do you see yourself 5 years from now?
Damsel: (What the ****…Who does he think he is) #$$%!@@^&
Me: What value do you intend to bring in this progr…oops relationship? What would be your key takeaways?
Damsel: (Her face contorting like a person's between the moment he realizes that the chair he sat on is absent and the moment he bites the dust) Even more #$$%!@@^&
Me: (Final Gear…I had already abandoned all hopes) How would you leverage your previous experience in this marriage?

Damsel: (For a change, speaks something)What? Bloody psycho…

Thus ends the perfect MBA interview for marriage.

P.S. 1. This is a fictional interview (I swear, cross my heart etc…) Had I done something like this in real life, I would probably be spending time in exotic Yervada prison.

2. I'm married since almost an year now (And NO, my wife's no MBA thankfully)

Nagphani / Duke's Nose Rappelling

The peak where you rappel down from. If you observe closely, you will see the ropes coming down

It was a cold day in hell when I checked out the website of Inventure Treks. They were organising a rappelling trek at Nagphani (aka Duke's Nose) near Lonavala. I had been to Nagphani a couple of times before that but it was only for Valley crossing purposes. The valley crossing thingie itself was quite an adventure and the very thought of rappelling down the steep & unforgiving cliff sent a chill down my spine. But it is precisely challenges like these which make a trekker's life worthwhile (or so I thought). I enthusiastically joined the trek and roped in another guy just in case my bones needed to be gathered :-)

A non-descript bus ride to the base village followed by a night spent sleeping in the local temple. Now, I'm no stranger to night treks and have come to terms with taking to the 'open fields' in the morning. But such activities generally need to be undertaken before sunrise and before other people (esp girls) arise too. So, took a bottle of water & my solar powered torch and managed to locate a decently secluded spot. Download was quick work because of - 1. No incentive for reading the newspaper using the sun's harnessed power and more importantly, 2. Fear of getting my tunki bitten by a snake leaving me impotent for the rest of my life (I don't even have a kid yet, but that is planned and not an issue with my tunki). As is always the case, Murphy was waiting with a vengeance to sue me and the solar torch promptly fizzled out before I could complete the washing ritual. The manual had said 2 hours and 20 minutes battery life (damn Chinese exaggerations) & I had not bothered keeping the torch in the sun. Result was groping in the dark and hoping that I don't tip the bottle over. The rest of the band members woke up quickly and did 'il fait se toilette' (that is the only phrase I remember from my French class). Some quick, cold chow and hot tea went into the system and after about an hour of climbing, we reached the summit of Nagphani.

A quick briefing followed the ascent and we were told stuff like - you have signed declarations not to sue us if you die - Yeah, tell me about it. Reminded me of a joke - Parachutes are the safest devices ever invented. No one has ever complained of one not opening - The organizing team was young and most of them worked with IT companies (another cause for concern. Do you know how many bugs are present in software? I bet you don't. But, take my word for it that most IT solutions leak like a sieve, after all even Microsoft routinely releases patches to fix known bugs. Reminds me of a Microsoft joke - A couple of guys flying a helicopter lose their navigation system and are hovering near a building trying to determine their co-ords. Upon seeing a few people on the roof, one of the pilots holds a placard reading - Where am I? The guy on the roof holds another placard saying - You are in a helo. Minutes later, they land safely.How - The guy on the roof of the building was a Microsoft employee and the pilots could then determine their bearing relative to the MS campus).

Anyways, coming back. Quite a few of the organizers were working on Microsoft technologies (I hope they were not releasing bug fix patches). Anyways, the organizers assuaged our fears by doing a demo rappel and about ten minutes after seeing the guy's head disappear below the mountain, the radio crackled informing that he had reached downstairs. So, two by two, the guys/gals started rappelling down (there were two ropes attached). Now, I regularly organize treks thru my corporate adventure group and have rappelled down waterfalls which were about 100 feet high. However, Nagphani rappelling is 350 feet (yes, you read that right, three hundred and fifty feet). I was actually feigning non-chalance and was counselling others on how easy it is to rappel. You just keep your legs apart and body perpendicular to the cliff face and voila, you are down in no time. Finally, it was my time to rappel down and I harnessed myself in and hooked on the carabiners (no hooker jokes please) and moved on to the edge of the mountain. What I saw below was something which cannot be described in words but suffice to know that I did a quick underwear check to ensure that it was still clean before taking any further steps. I had forgotten the golden rule of rappelling (i.e. one's legs should be as far as possible) because I was literally walking with my tail between my legs there. But, in the end, managed to come down safely without any bruises.

The traverse

Now that I was down, I heaved a sigh of relief but when I looked around, I had another think coming. The rappelling was one part of the adventure but to reach safety, I had to go along a narrow traverse in the rocky cliff which was not wide enough for me to keep 2 feet side by side (I know my shoe size is 12, but it really was narrow, take my word for it). Also, there was a rope strung along the side in which I had to harness myself in to save my skin in case I fall off the edge. At many places, there was no headroom and I had to literally crawl my way thru. Add to that the fact that the rope had been strung thru a series of hooks (still no hooker jokes please) and I had to unhook my carabiner and then rehook it at the other side. For those 5 seconds that I was unhooked, I was in a limbo. Now, the organizers were there on the traverse and did a splendid job of getting me across safely. I reached safety and realized that my trousers had ripped across thru and thru right along the equator of the body. And no, it was not damage which a safety pin could contain. And, I did not have anything spare. Turns out that the guy I had roped in with me had a spare jeans (wrong waist size but better than having my underwear twitching over my bum visible to the world).

Some more of the dreaded traverse (notice the rope)

Finally, got back home with a vow never to go there again. However, after a day, I decided that that was against the spirit of trekking and vowed to go there again. Hence, am going to organize a trek to the same place sometime soon. And no, the guys who fix the ropes are not going to be software guys but veterans from the Indian Armed Services. Want to join anyone?

P.S. The organizers of Inventure Treks are really good and know what they are doing. I do not intend to ridicule them or play down their abilities