Ride to Nandi Hills

I

I had a beautiful Saturday. I completed my first ride since moving to Bangalore. It was the second time I rode with BK and the destination was Nandi Hills. It's funny how everything got underway and the impulsivity was typical of the particular hue of friendship that we share. BK, I and Akash drank together on Friday and Akash was leaving on the morning of Saturday to Nandi Hills on his first long distance cycle ride. He had never ridden for more than 30 kilometers and that was the entire triplog both ways. This ride was at least 70 kilometers one way. I had shared my apprehensions with him and asked him to pick a closer destination, but again, as is typical of all of us together and each one of us individually, he paid no heed and decided to go anyway. I murmured expletives in my own head, and a silent prayer, and resigned myself to the fact that the bald fool would actually undertake this arduous endeavor. BK and I were woken up early in the morning by Akash and through the ocher haze of dying inebriation we managed to convey our good wishes and revisited the unconscious state of slumber in an effort to bridge the lacuna of restless somnolence with a few minutes of blissful oblivion. BK left for college later on and I was left at home to my own devices.

 I decided to cook us some lunch and hastily prepared some sub par Paneer Butter Masala and a cheese omelette. BK got home some paranthas and we had an indolent lunch together.  After lunch and a couple of episodes of The Big Bang Theory we were lazing around and I floated the idea of making the ride to Nandi Hills to go meet Akash. One of us suggested that we should surprise him and then we got down to discussing logistics. I think it was I who suggested that we take both bikes and invite a couple of girls as well. We called AR first and she picked up on the second try. She was sleeping and as soon as I told her about the plan her response was, "Mereko bhi jaana hai!" I said, "Call kisliye kiya lag raha hai tumhe? Bataane ki liye ki hum jaa rahe hai?!" And that was that. BK spoke to AG and she was on board as well. We decided to meet the girls in half an hour near their university and we left for BK's PG to pick up his riding gear. We rode straight to the rendezvous point after that and found the girls waiting for us there. 

 I was meeting AG for the first time. I had heard a quite a lot about her but nothing you hear about someone prepares you for the first time you meet them. The reality of the first meeting is a fire cleansing the piece of the slate you've reserved for that person. Right up to that moment all you have are barely legible scrawls and the first meeting is the beginning of a work of calligraphic script imprinted onto the slate, sometimes in delicate, affectionate strokes, and sometimes, blunt, erosive lacerations. It is the gospel of imperfect perception, painted in the vivid colors of subjectivity carefully done in accordance with the intransigent fickleness of the merciless atelier; your mind. I am a bundle of gaffes when meeting new people. I've made some progress through the years but I have a lot of residual social anxiety within me and this leads to some embarrassing situations. BK introduced me to her and I said, "Hello" and when she repeated the same looking at me, a shiver of fear ran through my heart and I looked about in all directions, unable to maintain eye contact. A few minutes later, we decided to start the ride and I was putting on my jacket and gloves and I thought I heard her say my name. I looked at her questioningly and she returned a confused gaze. I stared at her for two seconds before I realized that she had said nothing and I wanted to bury my head in the ground, so much for first impressions. AG was to ride with BK and I got AR to myself and we began riding towards the airport road in the most humid of conditions. The ride was underway. 

II

We hit traffic right from the outset of the ride. As we passed through dairy circle, wilson gardens and lalbagh gardens we hit stop-and-go traffic and it was a painful experience to be riding that slowly in such humidity. The heavy riding jacket did not help matters in the least and I was under some duress navigating the sea of vehicles and unnecessarily stentorian noise of all the horns together. I think every idiot on the road has his own brand of belief in magic. He truly believes that the sound of his infernal horn will magically turn the red light to green and the vehicles in front of him will part, leaving a single straight path for him. I don't know what reinforces this inanity but one can only presume, after being subjected to such a racous din, that their belief borders on faith. We were in the vicinity of Brigade Road I think, when the rain poured down in a hurry. A slight drizzle turned into heavy rainfall and drenched us thoroughly. And no more than 10 minutes later, it was all done. I questioned the motives of this truly purposeless and unscrupulous rain and sullenly carried on. We got a little lost and ended up at Commercial Street, but somehow managed to pull our heads together and head in the right direction after all. Near the ITC windsor bridge, the rain hit us again and this time it was harder and longer. The wind and the rain made it difficult to see and my breath was fogging up my visor and I was forced to proceed extremely cautiously. We made it through and got onto the airport road and it was smooth sailing from then on. We had agreed that the cruising speed would be 70 KMPH and we adhered to this, mostly because the conditions would not allow us to go faster. AR was a little jumpy at first because she was extremely apprehensive of speed, but she settled into it and she was a good pillion to be riding with. 

We had to endure crawling traffic, a multitude of traffic signals, a rally, and saddlesoreness before we finally found ourselves at the turn to go to Nandi Hills. We rode up to the train crossing and passed them when AR wanted to take pictures, and more importantly, what is known in the biking community as, a 'Butt Break'.  I decided to call Akash to see where he was so that we could set him up for the surprise. He answered the call and I heard the sound of a highway and I asked him where he was. He told me that he had already left for Bangalore and was 20 KMs away from Nandi Hills onto the airport road. He also added that there was no point in making the ride up to view point because the cut-off for vehicles was 6:00 PM beyond which no vehicle would be allowed onto the ghat roads. This was a bit of disappointing news for us and the time was 5:25 PM with close to 23 KMs left to reach the top. AR suggested that we head back, get some tea and then ride back to Bangalore. BK echoed this sentiment but AG was persistent about trying to get there in time. I agreed with her and we thought that we should at least try to make it, having come this far. We quickly got onto the bikes and raced ahead. The roads were perfect and it was very easy maintaining an even cruising speed and we took the turn to get onto the ghat roads.

Every biker worth his salt loves the mountains. The sloping curves, the steep bends and the insane hairpin curves offer an opportunity, even for the amateur biker, to feel like he's on a racetrack. Mountain riding gives you the opportunity to test your skill and the moment we were on those curves, my mind screamed in silent glee as I tackled the turns. Every curve was perfect in its own way. Some hairpin bends unfolded into a steep climb and the delicate interplay between braking and accelerating contributed to an exhilarating experience. As we slowly gained altitude and passed each curve, pieces of the panoramic landscape were revealed to us. The mountain had close to 41 curves I believe; truly the dance of the  41 veils as she revealed her splendor to us. The weather was gloomy, with dark clouds and a sharp cold wind. I don't think there's better weather than that to be found anywhere. It was 5:53 PM when we reached the top and parked our bikes. We raced to the ticket counter,  suffered impatiently for a minute while the person in the stand rambled away on the phone, and finally bought tickets for the entry. We were still under the impression that everybody would be shooed out promptly at 6 PM, so we ran to the entrance, presented our tickets and stepped inside the fort with great anticipation. 

III

The first thing you notice as you step into the fort is a shamble of sorts to the left. The signboard said that this was Tipu Sultan's Guest House; no wonder he died, we said. It wasn't the battles, nor the pressure of being a rebellious monarch, it was cheap accommodation that got him in the end. The road leading up to the view point is a smooth one and wide enough for most cars. The policy of the place allows only cars to drive right up to the view point and all bikes have to be mandatorily parked in the space provided adjacent to the entrance. I don't quite understand this policy and will chalk it up to idiotic discrimination against the otherwise vehicled. Walking forward, you come up to the fort wall on the right and the vast landscape that lies beyond it. Still laboring under the presumption that 6:00 PM was the closing time, we raced ahead to get to the viewpoint. On the way we saw a particularly amorous couple sitting on the walls, oblivious to the crowd passing them by. It reminded me of a Telugu saying which, roughly translated, goes this way, "A cat closes its eyes and drinks milk and thinks that nobody's looking at it" We left them to make their memories and carried on. 

After ascending that incline we came to a makeshift children's play park on the left. It had the usual fare, plants, monkey bars, swings et al. There was a pile of sand at the entrance right outside the compound wall and we chose to stop here to take some pictures. BK the conqueror promptly climbed atop the mound and surveyed his kingdom and then it was time to walk forward again. At this point of time we had observed that noone was in any particular hurry to get out and we deduced that the time table wasn't really as stringent as it was made out to be. We relaxed and took our time walking up the road, reveling in each other's company, the splendid weather and vistas. No sooner had we walked on from the play park we came to a group of a tree houses constructed with bamboo. They had ladders and BK and I scurried to get into a house. It was a quaint dwelling. It offered no protection against the rain and you couldn't exactly spend a night in it unless you wanted to feel like a bohemian hobo. But the house that we got into was connected to another beside it by a walkway and both of them offered nice views. After shuffling around for a while, we took the road and found ourselves a few minutes later at the view point. 

There is no way that I can accurately depict what my eyes saw and stay completely truthful to the vision. The landscape was dotted with voluptuous hills as far as the horizon and surrounded by mist and a dense fog. There were dark clouds in the sky and and the scene looked like a benign version of Mordor or maybe the Shadow lands of Asshai. Put an army of orcs there, a dragon or two, and nothing would really seem out of place. The picture  almost seemed to lack the above. There was a small valley in between the two hills closest to us and it had a dried up lake or a pond. The pale granite bed seemed to be a reflection of the dark sky and it made for a stupefying sight. Between the fort and the hills, you could see the roads carved into the landscape, fields of varying shades of brown, splashes of green, and dwellings so tiny that all of it together made you feel like a giant surveying the life of ants. The girls stayed at the edge while BK and I scampered along the rough path, jumping across rocks and gaining momentum until we slammed against the parapet and explored. We looked over the wall and found a bottle of DSP Black and Smirnoff Vodka. Plastic and alcohol are banned inside the premises, the visitors must not have noticed. I'm a stickler for rules when it comes to monuments and such a flagrant disregard for regulations would have rendered me apoplectic but, this time, I could really empathize with the desire to drink in this marvelous setting. The altitude, the feeling of having reached the summit, the weather and the view, drinking at this place would be truly wondrous in every sense of the phrase. I only wish they had taken the bottles back with them. The waste, haphazardly strewn about over the edge of the wall, was an eyesore and I hope the authorities will consider having it removed.

As is custom and in adherence to our simian natures, BK and I monkeyed about for a while before asking the girls to join us midway on the rocks. All four of us sat there looking into the distance. The silence was broken by astray snatches of conversation but nothing could disturb the curtain of pensiveness that falls down on your thoughts in the presence of the magnificence of nature. All of us were together there but each of us was alone also, in our own slice of our own world, undisturbed, solemn, and at peace. We heard a plane flying in the sky and we looked up and saw a small toy making its way in and out of the clouds. We took a clear shot of it and then watched it disappear into the distance. We just sat there, not wanting to leave, until the sky got dark and then remembered that there was the task of riding downhill in the darkness and we left for the parking lot, savoring all the images, slightly darker now, in rewind. A drizzle started as we reached the road opposite the group of tree houses and the wind picked up. We reached the parking lot faster than we would have wanted to and put on our riding gear. It was decided that AR would ride with BK and AG would be with me this time. I experienced that small flutter of nervousness once again, but quickly suppressed it and decided that this would be unique opportunity to get to know her better. How many first meetings culminate in a 70 kilometer bike ride together? We started off, BK taking the lead, and began our descent in the darkness and rain down that curvaceous hill.

IV

The drizzle that had started at the group of treehouses had amplified into a significant downpour. Add to this the chilly wind and the darkness, and the descent seemed to be a daunting prospect. I could not have been more wrong about this. As soon as I hit the first hairpin curve (number 38 I think it was), I realized that this was going to be a supremely enjoyable experience, much more than the ascent. The accelerator was almost forgotten and the task simply involved proper braking, hugging the turns, and approaching the curves at the right speed. AG was an ace pillion rider and she was an absolute rock. The fact that was she was comfortable with me taking the turns at the speed I was was a huge factor in how I handled the descent, and how much I managed to enjoy it. People underestimate the effect that a pillion rider has on the rider and how much they can influence the outcome in certain situations.  An incident happened later that night that strongly reinforced this knowledge but I'll get to that later. I love my bike for a variety of reasons, one of them being the fact that it has powerful headlights. BK's bike is sorely lacking in this department and he was thankful for the light from my lowbeam. It lit up the entire road for both of us and this was very useful in keeping us safe from any sort of danger, minimal as the risk of it was. The conversation between AG and I during the descent was sporadic and sparse, but the warmth of the tone made for a very amiable atmosphere. Soon, we were off the ghat roads and reached the 'Villege limit'. I'll digress for a moment here and tell you the story about these signs. When BK and I took our first ride together, we went to Shivgange and at the base of the hill we saw the exact same sign. We're both spelling and grammar nazis and coming across the same sign this far away was nostalgic in a most amusing way. So we reached the limit and we came to this small 'restaurant' and decided to stop to dry off and eat something. All of us were starving and we aspired to fulfil that cliched desire to have tea and snacks in the hills during the rain.

AG and AR went to order while BK and I parked the bikes and settled down in our plastic chairs at a table made of the same flimsy material. Getting out of the heavy, wet riding jacket was bliss and I sighed in content as I sat down. The undercooked pakodas were first to arrive and we ate them with heavily diluted tomato and chili sauce. The snacks were miserable but not a single one of us complained. We were perfectly happy scarfing it all down. Then the 'finger chips' arrived, dripping with oil and looking like a nightmare. They tasted how they looked and they were polished off at great speed this time as well. With our bellies full, we sat there for some time talking to each other and resting. I observed a particularly frenetic card game going on among three locals and the table opposite to us changed two couples in the duration as well. And then it was time to leave. None of us were particularly excited to be leaving Nandi Hills but there was no other option and we pulled out of the parking and set off again. 

We had to go through the 'villege' road to get onto the highway and it was easy enough with it being dead straight and mostly empty. We were able to manage an even cruising speed and there was no rain either. I started talking to AG and this time it was a full conversation; as light as a conversation can be. The conversation distracted me from the distance and proved to be a gentle aside from the ride itself. We got onto the highway soon and then it was a redundant riding experience. The roads were so free to ride upon, the weather so pleasant, and AG such a good pillion rider that I forgot that I was riding with BK. I throttled upto 80 kmph and I was lost in my mind whizzing past in bliss. There was one harrowing moment though and I could not be more grateful to have come out of it unscathed. 

We had reached the outskirts of Bangalore and I was riding at 70 kmph and a crossing came into view. The signal was red and were were riding in the middle lane. A car had found itself behind a lorry on the extreme right lane and the driver was impatiently waiting for the signal to change so he could get back to the correct lane and proceed. Right as we approached the crossing no more than 50 feet away from the car, the driver suddenly swerved to the left and started moving. I instinctively hit the brakes as hard as I could and drifted to the left and we missed the car by a few feet. AG was thrown onto me but she somehow kept her balance and both of us were safe. My heart rate was spiked and my head was an absolute mess. I was torn between guilt and anger. It doesn't matter whose fault it is on the highway. The rider always feels responsible for the events that transpire. I let loose a string of abuses as the other car sped off and I was shaking with anger when AG patted my back and asked me if I was okay. I turned around and asked her the same and her calmness steadied me absolutely. As I said before, the pillion rider decides the outcome often. I'm not saying that I would have crashed if it was another girl riding pillion with me in that moment, no. You cannot call it that way. A thousand variables are involved in that fraction of a second and you can never really pin the difference between life and death down to one specific reason. What I will say though, and I'm sure other bikers will agree, is the fact that the pillion has a tremendous role to play in how the ride goes on after the incident in question. A nervous, anxious, or skeptical pillion can poison the rider's mind and infect him with doubt. I'm glad I had AG with me then. Her reaction to the incident and taking it matter of factly helped me take the incident in proper perspective and carry on in the same way that I had prior to it. In a way, the incident functioned as a terrifying icebreaker. Only, it didn't just break the ice, it sublimated it. Two people who face a dangerous situation together have their personal walls torn down as a result. After the brush with the possibility of a horrible accident, both of us were extremely relaxed and we conversed for the rest of the way. 

We had a few other incidents occur on the way back. A jeep sped through a puddle and drenched us with muddy water, mindless pedestrians imparted a fright or two, and we hit a few bumps that jarred our bones. But everything was taken in its stride and we had an overall amazing evening/night ride back to Bangalore. We were exhausted by the time we got back and the girls decided to stay over and drink before turning in. We greeted Akash, the man of that hour, for having successfully completed his journey and he seemed fine, exhausted, but physically fine. We got to my house, made some food, opened up some beers and talked endlessly. The mute revelry went on till the early hours of the morning and we went to bed inebriated and exhausted but absolutely elated. In a single day I went on a ride to an amazing place, made a new friend, AND drank happily. It truly was an incredible Saturday. I can't wait for another ride now, life seems simpler when the destination is etched out clearly and it is those small destinations that offer us a sliver of comfort in the bigger picture of life where neither destination nor road is certain, and it's not really that much fun either.

A night ride to freedom

I am in Bangalore now. I've been here since 8 AM on Monday. Sunday was a mad rush with me packing all the bags in a hurry and dropping them off at the cargo transportation service at 8 PM. I was supposed to leave at 4 AM in the morning after sleeping for a little bit but this politician got arrested by the CBI on a multitude of charges and as all perfidious people seem to nowadays, he had his throngs of followers ready to instigate disaster. Paramilitary forces were deployed in the city and the borders were quickly being manned. I figured that I had a few hours before all of this would come together and if I needed to circumvent all this, I had to leave straight away. So I hastily put on my riding jacket, knee guards and armored gloves, slung my guitar on one shoulder and the laptop on another and started riding towards Bangalore.

The first fifty or hundred kilometers went smoothly. The weather was almost perfect. I was riding on smooth tarmac and there were vast expanses of lush green fields on either side. I could not perceive color quite obviously but the breeze blowing through them suggested to me a scene of utter fecundity and tranquility. The baggage that I was carrying was hurting my shoulders so I had to stop after 70 kilometers. My usual policy is to stop after every 200 kilometers but these were extenuating circumstances I told myself and I stopped to rest for a while. This continued through the ride with me stopping every 100 kilometers on average. Sometimes it was 114, sometimes it was 90 but every time I stopped to rest it felt like a 'Sweet Jesus' moment. The bike's seat is rather uncomfortable and when you get off it, you feel rather saddle sore and step around gingerly hoping that nobody notices that you've been a victim of sodomy. Towards the latter half of the ride I started feeling quite sleepy and the fatigue coupled with the sleep deprivation of the night before acted in a synergistic manner on me and brought a crippling sense of fear to my heart. I was more than halfway away from home in pitch dark on a highway that was eerily empty. I had no option but to persist and this led to quite an interesting first. I experienced my first hallucinations. 

I don't know, first of all, if they can be called those. Whatever they were, they contributed to a harrowing experience. They were imperceptions I suppose, illusions caused by the darkness playing tricks on my weary mind. Oh the images, the images. I was riding at 95 kmph and to suddenly witness a woman holding a child on the side of a road in the darkness of the empty highway is nothing if not terrifying. When I rode on I discovered that it was just a pair of lights, evenly spaced out from each other, on an emergency call box. This continued for a long time and I saw many inexplicable images, having the process contributed to by my disordered imagination. I saw a man on a scooter with a female child looking blankly at me, I saw a house that had suddenly manifested in the middle of the road, and I saw innumerable carcasses. After a while I learned the ropes of it and merely let the initial shock of the image pass and rode through it. This proved to be an effective way of dealing with it but I was still very aware of the fact that in my wanton abandon I might fail to recognize the tangibility of something real and run straight into it. I managed, however. 

During all this I started getting very very drowsy as well. My eyes were fast closing and the monotony of the darkness was proving to be lethal. Once or twice, my eyes shut for a second and I almost drifted across lanes causing me to rouse with a start and focus doggedly on the road ahead of me. I did so many things to try and keep myself awake. Things that I would be mortified to reenact even under the most inebriated of circumstances. I sang continuously for two hours till my voice went hoarse. I exhausted my musical vocabulary and sung out every single song that I knew in some entirety. Key, tone, timbre and pitch were lost to the wind and all that mattered was that I was screaming out those syllables to the rushing wind as if to conjure up around me a miasmic imperative cloud dictating the homily of focus. When I was out of songs to sing, I began conversing with myself. What began as an affable introspection soon become a heated dialectic about why it was not, per se, wrong, or insane, of me to have a dialectic with myself. Both sides of me made excellent points and this sustained me for quite a while as well. Towards the later end of the ride I also became my worst task master barking out orders and simultaneously delivering moving inspirational speeches designed to keep my eyes on the road and keep me going. 

Despite all this, at about 5 AM, when I was close to 131 kilometers away from Bangalore, I started breaking down and seriously considered stopping at the side of the road somewhere and falling asleep. Just then, I spotted a petrol pump and I hastily pulled in to fill the tank up. I reasoned that this would give me some time to settle my nerves and rest my body and mind. I had failed to take into account the first light of dawn being a few minutes away and when I pulled my bike out of the pump it felt like the curtain had been drawn and the world lay before me in all her splendor. The first rays of light seemed to obliterate my fatigue and put the soporific effect of the kilometers behind me and I was a new man. Not bound by the restraints of encumbered vision, I proceeded to accelerate to 125 kmph and I was screaming my head off in the cool wind, my eyes darting to take in all the visions of the landscapes I was passing. I came to this place called Chikballapur which is about 50 km from Bangalore. It is a hilly area and viewing it in the morning light was a splendid sight. I could not describe to you what the vision entailed but I will try and do so without adulterating any of it. There were several hills on the horizon full of greenery on their slopes. And to each summit a dense cumulous cloud of mist seemed to be married. The clouds were of all shapes and sizes but the consistency of the clouds aligning themselves to the subtle contours made for a profound ocular spectacle. The clouds had descended onto the mountain in a very gentle manner, not overbearing in the least. One cloud was shaped in the form of a slug resting it's head on the summit of the mountain. They seemed to be in their twilight years of a relationship when reciprocity has been a certainty for an epoch and the promise of the togetherness is taken for granted. It made for quite a moving sight. 

The rest of the trip was rather uneventful. The weather was cool, breezy and just slightly humid. There wasn't too much traffic on the roads and I managed to reach the place that I needed to get to at about 7:30 in the morning. As I stepped off the bike, I groaned, ravaged, but very happy at having finished my first over night long distance ride. I moved to Bangalore to reclaim my independence and freedom and in many many ways the ride was quite a fitting symbolic beginning to all of it. In the space of 10 hours I experienced the entire spectrum of emotions and emerged weary but triumphant. I'm hoping the ride becomes a metaphor for life itself. Since then, I have been busying myself with setting up a household and getting my affairs in order. I drank quite a few times enjoying the weather of Bangalore. It feels good to be back on my feet again. I am in the company of friends and in the arms of a very gracious and warm city. My love is on her way here and life could not be better.