TRACK RECORD

10 months and 14000 kms later, my Track Record Stands thus:


The full size map is available on http://static.flickr.com/51/178236448_499b24e753.jpg

Nagaraja Gowda Weds Nagamani

Thamanni (Nagaraj Gowda) Weds Shobha (Nagamani)
Destination: Hassan
Total Distance traveled: 430kms
Fuel: 14lts of Petrol
Date: 18th, June 2006
Buckeet-Ragi-Adarsh-Tima-Sriram-Shamanna-Reel-Gopi Mama-Sannidhi-Adi-I
Thunderbird-Avenger-Maruti-Santro

Left Bangalore at 6am in 2 cars, 1 bike and a bullet. Regrouping happened at Bellur cross over some Bread omelet and tea. Next, was at 930am at the MCE college canteen. Refer to Bucket’s recollection in the next paragraph for all the on-campus action. Sat through the wedding and lunch till 230. Raghu and I decided to stay with the cars on the ride back. In what was one of my slowest rides, I discovered that my bullet could actually do a 40kmph on a highway. One break and four grueling, sleepy slow hours later, back home.

This time around, I have Buckeet (Raghu) chip in to write about the campus visit.
Raghu writes
“Nostalgia is what happens when you return to your 40 acre campus after nearly 5 years. A great weekend it was, a group of 12 of us were back on the MCE Hassan campus after 5 years and the time seemed to have stood still. Nothing much had changed even with the World Bank funding (don’t know who was challenging whom), except a few tarred roads, some fencing, a new temple, and the teak plantation which has grown in 5 years. It was the same old “Temples of Worship “. That was the caption we had, for the t-shirt we had designed in engineering days, which later became famous as LH (LadiesHostel) T-shirt.

The T-shirt had all places that our most precious 4 years saw. Come to think of it, I am not nostalgic about Hassan, I assume that we are all nostalgic about:
Kalpana Tea Stall- don’t ask me about the myths , but she severed some yum omelets
Stadium – the mango eating spot
MMP, Canteen, MJP, Krishna, Aloo Bun, Kaat Mess – it’s because of these places that I could survive with out even a rupee in my pocket. They never let me go hungry.
Suvarna, LP, Southern Star, Gokul – This is where Manoj gave us his ‘n’ no: of treats.
Forest - never walked in it, in the night.
Pool – A pool at your disposal for 4 years and yet I learnt swimming after engineering.
LEO Club & Science Forum – met my close friends there and my sweet heart too.
OF , SG , NF – three chapters in 4 years.
Ragvendra Swamy Matha – I seriously went there to pray J
The Mech workshop – where lathes turn only when you pay Rs. 20 to the helper.

So we tried to live again the same life, in 1 hour that we spent there. People still did shout “Bucket rod etto” ( Raghu pull up the rod ) when the power went off and bucket had to turn on the generator. People still shouted “Bucket Phone “ ( Raghu phone ) atleast once a day. The mess workers still had the same tired look, the mess bill had gone up by 4 Rs., MAMA said and the electricity bill had come down … wow !!! … the bathrooms were tiled and were sparkling .. hostel had a Internet center….

oops !!! we dint have time to visit the LH … which was Mother of all temples of Worship…. We shall do a exclusive trip for that …

All in all a good trip … wish others could make it too… we shall do it soon again … “

Check out some fotos at http://photos.yahoo.com/manojbhat1 in the album 'Thums Weds'

Vroom vroom Devapura Express

Sunday, 04th June 06.
430kms in 10hours
Endangered animals spotted – Donkeys, Pig, Cobra.
Route: Bangalore > Tumkur > Sira > Hiriyur (NH 4) > Hosadurga > Devapura

Devapura is Raghu’s native place. The main source on income is agriculture. This rain water fed land grows paddy and groundnuts on a good year and drought on others. The closest town is Hiruyur, which houses a sub-station for power transmission. The mud was maroon, rich in manganese (Mn – do u remember the atomic number, anyone?). There were lots of windmills (like giant fans determined to blow you off the road).

Raghu made the trip on Saturday, I rode on Sunday morning to join him at his ancestral home at Devapura and ride back together. NH-4 is the highway to Pune, a flat, well asphalted, 6 lane, barricaded road with good service lanes at places. It’s boring to ride on such, even if you are doing it at 110kmph. Raghu’s instructions were to start as early as possible, ride 170 kms to Hiriyur, take left at a cement arch, ride another 45 kms, take a deviation to Devapura.

I started at 6:15, reached Hiriyur by 9:10. I stopped at the cement arch where I was to take the deviation to Devapura. There were shops around and I was hunting for cream biscuits for breakfast.

There was this puncture ( panchure / punchur / pancher ) shop and there was this pro working on a lorry tyre, he had located and patched the leak and now putting the tube back into the tyre. He was vigorously and very generously applying lots of some powder all over tube and in the innards of the tyre and the flap. When the black tube was nearly white with powder, he proceeded with putting the tube in place and pumping it with air. I was told that the powder was to keep the tube from sticking to the flap and/or the tyre. I picked up the just-emptied powder box – 20g pack of Ponds Dreamflower it was!!!
I shall finish off the ride details before I dwell further into this really interesting topic.

The road to Devapura was recently laid, the scenery was fantabulous – windmills lined many of the hills, the traffic was an occasional herd of donkeys or sheep. And of course,
Raghu was waiting for me at a fork in the road (come on guys, I know him well enough not to mistake him for a donkey). We rode together to Devapura.
Raghu’s full family tree was there, to attend threading ceremony couple of days back. Parched rice with curd was breakfast. As we left, his aunt offered me a shirting. I felt much obliged, for this is usually given to members of the family only.

A Bullet and an Avenger parked there in the courtyard caught the attention of all his cousins including the Brahmachari vatu. We left Devapura at noon. Devapura has a Haalu Rameshwara temple with a theerta, a wellspring, wherein the water (white as milk or Haalu) has never gone dry. One offers his prayers to the deity, makes a wish and chooses a corner of the theerta. Whether your wish will be fulfilled or not is indicated by things floating in the corner you choose. I was surprised to see someone getting a coconut shell floating and some other pulling out a betel leaf floating to the surface.
Raghu and I then visited one more Hanuman temple before we hit the road.
On the way to Hiriyur, the road is devoid of tress, plain lands and fields. Turning around on of the turns I spotted a cobra crawling its way on the road. I slowed down, not wanting to scare it off the road, but as I stopped, he slithered into the shrubs on the side of the road.
My silencer was giving me problems – it’s nagging now, I have already have had it welded in two places, but the nut was simply not holding. I needed to tighten the nut, every now and then. I carried the No. 13 spanners in my jacket pocket.
When we hit the highway NH4 it was 1:10 at Hiriyur. From there to the Kamat Upahar at Tumkur, 120kms, we kept the throttle open throughout and made it to Tumkur in 80mins flat.
I touched a 125kmph on my bullet. It happened on the road between Hiriyur and Sira, I overtook Raghu’s Avenger at some 110kmph and kept the throttle going even as the road sloped down a bit. When I next saw the speedo showing 125kmph, I could only scream inside my helmet. It was at that speed for half a minute, I suspect. Needless to say both bikes guzzled petrol like thirsty camels. We screwed mileage big time.
We were playing catch-up with a dirty Toyota Innova with a RJ registration, driven by this one senior citizen. Just as I was overtaking him before Tumkur, he signaled me to one-minute-slow-down. As I rode alongside, he said “You chaps are good”. This man had been riding all the way from Jaipur. Some passions never die.
Lunched on poories, tighten my nuts again and rode at sane 80kmph speeds till Bangalore. I was home by 4:30.
10 hours and 430kms it was!

Hindustan Level is the company, the subsidiary of Unilever in India, which owns the brand - Ponds ™! Unilever is at the forefront of giving consumers products that help them look good, feel good and get more out of life. I read in a recent research paper how the company’s R&D scientists use their expertise in psychology and cognitive neuroscience to tune into the unconscious mind.
Dr Richard Wright, lead scientist says "By understanding how the senses combine and which senses are important - and when - we aim to make products which are predictably more pleasurable for our consumers to use. We call this intelligent design."HLL spent a whooping 83600lakhs on advertisements and sales promotions last year[1]. Estimating on a % of revenue basis, the Personal Products (Ponds falls under this segment) is about 21 crores.

Now consider this…

There are 32lakh[2] registered trucks that ply on Indian roads. Each lorry has about 6 tyres. Let us assume each lorry travels a distance of 100kms everyday. So there are 32lakh*6*100 (=192 crore) tyre-kms everyday.
Let us assume the tyres puncture rate is one every 5000kms. So there are 192 crore / 5000 (= 3.84 lakh) punctures per day in the country.
Imagine if it is a standard procedure to use a 20g Ponds Dreamflower talc on each puncture. This would cause a consumption of 7680kilos of talc everyday!!!
That sounds too much, a little bit of sensitivity analysis gives other possibilities.
If we scaled down our assumptions – One puncture every 10000kms, the figure drops down to 3840kilos per day.
Further, if we assume every lorry travels a mere 50kms a day, the figure drops down further to 1920kilos per day.
Other considerations:
6 tyres per truck is a very conservative estimate. All trucks have more than 6.
We are not considering the buses, a good 6.7lakh buses ply on our roads everyday.
Some LCVs and earth movers also form a substantial part.

We also assume that a Ponds Dreamflower talc pack is ‘available’ to a saleem bhai or a Raj anna when he is at work.

Now take the worst-case scenario – 1920kgs of talc. I will scale it down further by 50% to account for the reach-of-Ponds factor discussed above. That brings us to a figure of 960kgs and a yearly consumption of 3.5lakh kgs.
Each 20g Ponds Dreamflower has a retail price of Rs. 5, or Rs 250 per kg.
The net addition to revenue of Ponds Dreamflower is a mind boggling 8.76 crores!!
And that is the worst estimate. Taking the best case, would yield us 35 crores.

To tap this opportunity HLL needs to simply increase reach and keep the unit price pack at the present levels. Wouldn’t be surprised if HLL comes up with an ad featuring a lorry driver one of these days.

On a lighter note, maybe lorry drivers consider their lorries to be their lady love or something (a Hema Malini, Sridevi, Kareena or a Mallika) and hence insist on the talc. I know a lot of guys who give their bikes feminine names and always want to ride on *her* on a normal road. (Do they say hump her, when they go on a speed breaker?) Imagine applying talcum powder on tyres, I had to let loose.

Surprised! Don’t be, there are instances where we Indians have invented ingenuous ways of using certain products. Lassi makers using semi-automatic washing machines to mix lassi in Punjab is one other example that is top of mind.
[1] Source Annual Report 2004
[2] Source Indian Rubber Statistics 2004, The Rubber Board, Ministry of Commerce & Industry, Govt. of India & Past Issue.

Acc-Skid-Dent

Motorcycling is by its very nature potentially dangerous – perhaps that’s why we do it!

Odometer reading 13000 kms
Accident rate: 1/4333kms

Auto-gynec Accident
Place: Opposite to the Sagar Automobiles on Banerghatta Road.
Damages: Rs. 20 for removing the crash guard bend.
Physical Damages: Rs. 50 for Anti-Tetanus injection and dressing.
I was riding to work, just crossed Accenture, at a steady 40-50 kmph. One pretty gal was crossing the road, small momentary distraction and an auto in front decides to move into the right lane. I braked to avoid collision, my front disc brake locked, the sand near the divider side of the road made me lose balance. The crash guard met the divider on its way down. My right leg got a bad bruise after scraping against the divider.
By the way, the gal was gone before I regrouped myself and turned around.

Whenever you fall, pick up something. I couldn’t pick her up though!!

From Bhat to Butt..er
Place: Yelagiri
Damages: A few thousand rupees
Physical Damages: Nil

My claim to fame at RTMC, the infamous tagging to ‘Butt..er’. If you draw a 2x2 BCG matrix (my MBA education is now taking over and I am now going to talk intelligently) with financial impact on vertical axis and physical impact on the other, this one accident would lie on the top left box. Top, meaning, really top and left, meaning, extreme left.
(MBA is abbreviation for Master in Business Administration and we are taught, among other things, to present data in boxes and pies).
In case it greyed your grey matter, all that was cryptic for “it cost me lots of money”.
RTMC rode to Yelagiri on the 19th March. You would have guessed from the ‘giri’ part of the name, that it is a hill station. There is a Ghat section climb on the way up (what else did u expect) - a narrow winding road with some hair-pins bends. There was no traffic on our way up.
I was doing good on the turns and I guess I got carried away a wee bit on the ride down. There were two bulls ahead of me and I was trying to catch up. On one of the left turns, I found myself in the middle lane, gunning straight at a Tata Sumo Victa. I braked hard and got most of the bike out of the way, but couldn’t avoid the brake lever and the mirror go whack against the mirror and beading, ripping the plastic off. Metal against plastic is not too much of a contest.The sumo full of doctors let me go after I promised to make good the damages (why?). We considered the option of using the comprehensive insurance I had, but it would take time for the formalities and then I heard the future premiums go up.
I got away with a bent brake lever but a badly hurt ego and image. I thought I did well to hold my nerves, stay on road and prevent what could have been worse.
I paid through my nose for the damages. I guess, I could have bought Yelagiri with that kinda dough.

House Full
Place: A few hundred meters from home - Boopsandra
Damages: Bent crash guard (I don’t remember it straight now)
Physical Damages: Rs. 50 for Anti-Tetanus injection and lots of Soframycin.

On 13th May, went on this Penukonda ride (check archives). After a heavy dinner, at around 10pm, I decided to pay a visit to BeeKay who was leaving to Singapore that night. My sister, Madhu, who had not seen him in a few years, decided to join me. Rishabh and Aryan her handsome sons wouldn’t miss any ride on the Thunderbird.
Any long ride gives a good high and there is always a hangover - there is a thump thump in the back of the head, the adrenaline levels are high and so is the confidence level.
I was turning right off the main road into a 100ft road. With a building in the corner and the rains leaving sand on the road, it was a bad idea to take it fast. I had slowed considerably, but nevertheless, had to steer the bike to turn. I remembered using the front brakes till the point of taking the turn, for some reason the bullet skidded. In a few seconds the four of us were on the road.
Aryan was crying, people from the chat stall nearby crowded around. Rishabh looked fine, there was no contact with the silencer, so there were no burns. Madhu’s pyjama was torn at the knee and there was some bleeding. Someone from the crowd brought a jug of water to clean up the wounds. Aryan had landed on my sister and was unhurt. It was when the water was poured on the wound, that the real pain surfaced. Rishabh, who had maintained his composure till this time, couldn’t hold it any longer.
BeeKay’s dad is a doctor and we decided to get the first-aid done at his place. When we reached there, 3 bleeding patients used up some 5liters of Dettol and some 1 kilo of cotton.
For the next one week nearly, everyone had their accident tales to share when they heard what happened. Thanks everyone for the wishes, I did get away this time…
Sister was back on the saddle the very next day, I feel trusted!

It took me two weeks to get back to using the hand fully. I survived all the oohs and aahs everyone who saw my bruise had to say. The pain of the wound per se was nothing, but the thought of putting my nephews and sister through this was.

This is one blog roll I don’t intend to add to!

I was wondering if accidents can be addictive, I must admit there is a sense of wild craziness to it. Searched the net for it, but drew a blank. Let me know if you have come across something on this before.

Some favorite quotes I picked up:

The chapter of accidents is the longest chapter in the book.
John Wilkes (1725–1797), British politician. The Doctor (Robert Southey).

There are no small accidents on this circuit.
Ayrton Senna (1960–1994), Brazilian motor racing driver. Remark made before the 1994 San Marino Grand Prix, during which he was killed. The Independent (London) (December 22, 1994).

Whenever you fall, pick up something.
Oswald Theodore Avery (1877–1955), Canadian bacteriologist.

The only way to be absolutely safe is never to try anything for the first time.

There are no accidents. God's just trying to remain anonymous.

Small Accidents are good for you, your reflexes improve with every fall.
Gurunandan, one passionate Bulleter.

24 Karat Action - Penukonda, Timbaktu Ride

Date 14th May 2006
Total Distance traveled: 330kms
Destination: Timbaktu
Objective: Andhra Meals
Route taken onward: Bangalore-Yelahanka-Doddabalapur-Hiriyur-Gouribidanur-Hindupur-Penukonda-Timbaktu.
Route taken return: Timbaktu-Penukonda-Chikkbalapur-Bangalore
Photos uploaded at http://100kph.fotopic.net/c957887.html


24 Karat Action
One more ride with RTMC. In mid May, if one ventures out to Andhra braving the heat, the reason better be strong. ‘Genuine’ Andhra meals was promised and all of 24 Karat Action happened. (The inspiration for the title comes from the movie poster for the gult pillum Bangaru – 24 Karat Action). To avoid having to ride in the afternoon sun, we decided to start late, lunch and rest in the afternoon and ride back in the night.
For this ride there were almost no newbies from the announce group, but for this one techspan guy who was running in his bullet supposedly. We were some 15 of us, who started off near the HP petrol pump near Hebbal at 11 in the morning.
Dhak-Dhak Roads
We were warned that there were craters on this road that were visible from the moon. Right side or left side, road, off-road, ride sitting, ride standing, slow/fast/medium - just keep off the pot-holes!!
There were two regroup breaks – at one we emptied a tender-coconut vendor off his stock and on the second occasion, finished off the last drop of Buttermilk at Gauribidanur.
I was plugged to my Network Walkman mouthing some old Kannada songs – SPB, Annavru, Ravi chandran songs.
K I T A
Thanks to all the dhak-dhak roads, my nuts came loose, literally. (If you think you read this joke, in my previous blog, you need to know I’m an advocate of recycling, jokes and girlfriends included). I had to pull over some 10kms before Penukonda. One kick in the butt (read silencer) every 2-3kms and the bullet was back to highway fit. Reminds me of Prof. Mulky’s KITA motivational technique (KITA acronym for Kick-In-The-Ass), who says management principles don’t work on Bulls.

Genuine Andhra Meals
It was some 230 when we reached Penukonda. Now the group split, the non-veggies settled for a Highway restaurant and about 5 of us headed to a Mess near the Penukonda fort. It turned out the guy was a Kannadiga, and he was serving Andhra meals without Parpu (Gun Powder). So much for ‘genuine’ Andhra meals.
Andhra meals typically has rice in the first course. Here you need to add about 2 liters of ghee to it, and then add one more spoon, then add parpu pudi to it, till it becomes light orange in color. Now mix this with Pappu. Pappu is the staple food of Andhra but keeping in view the global food shortage (esp. in the neighboring state of Amma) Pappu is served in a small quantities only using a tea spoon (the govt has not objected to this practice because of the employment it generates).
As you are getting done with the first course of rice and pappu, there is the second course of rice and sambar, then the third, with rice and rasam and the fourth, with rice and curd.
As we were finishing off our four course rice meals, the rest of the guys came thundering down. Because of chicken flu (or because the chicken flew) non-veg food was not available and they had to settle for the four course meal.
For 2 rupees, I got a nut for my silencer, and it solved my KITA problem.
Kumbakarana
Post lunch, we went to pay our respect to Kumbakarana. A bench mark for most Gults, Kumbakarana, the brother of Ravana, slept for 6 months a year, ate for the remaining 6 months and had a huge pot belly. (evidence that Beer dates back to the Tretha Yuga). With a great mines-not-so-big feeling we left to Timabaktu.
There is a Shiva temple 3kms off the highway. The dirt road is good for off roading. The only thing we did was to go there and get back.
I don’t recollect exactly, but it was some 6 in the evening when we started back. Sumanth was point and pp was the sweep. We stopped over at Penukonda again for some juice. Naxalites who:
After Penukonda, as we were getting into the Karnataka border we were stopped by the Ananthpur police. (With those fiber lathis, we had no choice but to stop). Someone had tipped them that there were there 10 odd bullets riding up and down, in that area. The Naxalite prone area that it is, routine interrogation took more than a few mins. An?l went into the police station to settle things out. No one could notice any lathi marks with his Joe-Rocket on.
The group had split into 2 when we reached chikbalapur, but we met up again at 9 near hebbal. It was one of those few rides when we all stuck together till the end.

karat
kar·at [kérrət] (plural kar·ats) noun
measure of gold content: a unit of proportion of gold in an alloy equal to 1/24 part of pure gold. U.K. term carat[1]

Simply Outstanding

To Heaven and Back

Kumara Parvata, Veeramangala, Karinja Temple

The Team:
Bharat – Member SJCC currently pursuing PhD at NTU, Singapore.
Dr. Sathyanarayana Bhat (Joint Director, Karnataka Biodiversity Board) –
Dr. Girish – ardent student of Dr. S Bhat
Yours Truly
____________________________________________________________________
Day 1
Saturday, 29th April
0335 – Left home on my Thunderbird headed on NH-48
0615 – First butt break at Suvarna Sagar, Hassan for 15 mins
0830 – Kukke Subramanya. Quick breakfast of Idli, vada and Buns.
0930 – started the climb to KP
1200 – Bhatas place
1400 – left Bhatas place for the top
1600 – Mantapa
1845 – Top of Kumara Parvata
1900 – Sleep, on-the-rocks!!
____________________________________________________________________
Day 2
Sunday, 30th April
0545 – Wake up to the twilight
0600 – temple on top of KP - Sunrise

0615 – start to descend
0900 – back to Bhata’s place in less than half the time taken for the climb
0910 – resume descent
1045 – back to Kukke Subramanya
1130 – Bath in the Kumara Dhara, followed by sumptuous lunch at Subramanya Mutt.
1330 – 45km ride to Veeramangala village near Puttur, Mangalore
1800 – Bath in Kumara Dhara

____________________________________________________________________
Day 3
Monday, 1st May
0900 – Left Veeramangala towards Karinja via Puttur and BC Road
1030 – Went to meet the Kambala Buffaloes near Puttur
1130 – At the foot of the Karinja Shiva and Parvati Temple


1215 – On top of the Karinjeeshwara Temple
1330 – Left Karinja to Bangalore
1515 – Discovered break failure on the Sakleshpur Ghat, nut gone loose
1545 – Repaired the break at Sakleshpur, took my only break of the 330kms ride
1915 – Non-stop 230kms ride back to Home Sweet Home.
____________________________________________________________________
Links for futher reading:
Kumara Parvata
http://www.dreamroutes.org/western/kumaraparvta.html
http://www.visorview.blogspot.com/ ;)

Kukke Subramanya
http://www.mangalore.com/documents/subramanya.html

Karinja
http://www.deekaypages.com/temple/karinje.htm

Kambula/Kambala – Buffalo Race
http://www.kundapurtown.gov.in/
http://www.mangalore.com/festivals/kambala.html

____________________________________________________________________

And PLEASE DON’T MISS THE FOTOS
http://pics-by-manoj.fotopic.net/c947513.html

____________________________________________________________________

Bowing down to public (who?) demand, I have decided to append this blog with some patchy details.
The early morning ride to Hassan.
Total distance of 180kms, made it non-stop in 2 hours 40mins, that is an average of close to 70kmph. There is this strategy called Tail-light strategy. What it says is, in the event of foggy, obscure, hazy conditions, where it the road ahead is unclear and the going gets tough, it suggests that companies can survive if they follow a market leader’s moves. The risk here is in identification of the leader. I am a good follower and not much of a leader and I followed this strat to the letter.
The high beam of my bullet was dysfunctional and the visor with some scratches make things worse. As luck would have it, a Tata Sumo taxi zoomed past somewhere near Nelamangala. From there all I that had to do was to follow the tail light. Mast technique this one, if it were not this one, it would have delayed the trek by a couple of hours.
The KP trek – First half Uphill
Within 10mins of the steep forest climb, we started to feel the exhaustion. Our first break was after a mere 20mins of trek and the next one after 10 more mins. This was the only time during the trek when had doubts if we could make it. Dr. Bhat was not even speaking, may be in an attempt to conserve all the energy he could. But we quickly adopted to it. Later we felt it could have been the dense air in the forest that could have made breathing difficult. But then, we actually made good time. 2.5 hours to Bhatas place is very good. Bhata himself makes it in 1.5 hours. I got some education in Botany on the way up. Tasted a wild fruit of the PentaGyna family. I remembered it because of the ‘gyna’ link ;)
The KP trek – Second half Uphill
Rashmi Bansal once said “Life is like an onion”, you peel off one layer of expectation, only to find another layer of expectations to peel. When I was in school they told me, I had to be a topper, done. That branded me as an intelligent guy in the family, then the next set of wannables – seat in a good engineering college, then, a good MNC job, then, something more, like an MBA from a premier institute, then a still better job, a fatter pay… those never ending layers.
The reason I brought this up is because the trek was so much like the layers. You get to the top of one peak only to find a teasing path around this leading to a higher peak. I acting as the guide, had to constantly remind the team that this wasn’t it, there is a lot aof trek left to the peak.
The sight was something no camera in the world can possibly capture. As I close my eyes now and recollect the view. Wish I could freeze it right there – mountain ranges as far as the eye can see, with all hues of green that you can conceive, and the green fading into the blue horizon, a small patch of barren land, a shiny patch of some lake/river somewhere, an eagle hovering high above. Wow, I wanted to jump off the hills and fly.
I want to go back there again, stay there for like… forever.
And guess what, for all those endless mountains, there was only *one* KP. Get the drift??
Amidst many oohs and aahs, we reached Mantapa at 4, 2 hours after we left Bhatas place. We crossed the Shesha parvata (see the fotos to know why it is called so, one side of the mountain looks like a five-headed serpent with its hood opened. This we noticed thanks to Dr. Bhat).
There is a stream (trickle, actually) close to the top of KP. I can never forget this and the scene from my trek to KP (in 1998). My close pal, Salil had filled up one bottle full of this water (which, the rest of us were contemplating, would be potable after boiling it three times or so). He lifted this bottle, complete with the dew formation outside, held it up, and without so much as a blink, downed half its contents in one go.
This time around, thanks to the last experience, I filled up all our empty bottles. There was little to rejoice when we eventually reached the top at 6:45. Like Dr. Bhat had hoped, KP entirely belonged to us on that night of 29th April. (if you are one of those sexy gals reading this, I missed you so much up there J , serious)
There was a thick dark cloud, threatening rain. We couldn’t see more than a few feet. BK and I went scouting for some place to crash. We didn’t find the temple formation on top. We just settled for some somewhat flat rocks for bed. The thin bedsheets that we carried were no match for the cloud and the steady chilling breeze. Dr. Bhat, now deputed to the forest department taught us some good treketiquette – no littering, no camp fires. That we managed to catch some sleep, was an achievement in itself.

The KP trek – the toe-crushing descent
Uncle wanted to get back to Kukke in a big hurry. On borrowed time, BK and I explored the top just as we were preparing to trek down. And what we found was to become the high point of the trek. A sea of clouds and the sunrise.
The climb downhill was about twice as fast as the climb up. We met loads of people crawling their way up (some 50 atleast) in various stages of physical degradation. “how longer is the top” “is there water on top” were the FAQs. We reached Bhatas place non-stop in about 2.5 hours. Dr. Bhat had a bath there and within 10mins we were on our toes again, watching out for loose rock and taking care not to injure a knee or an ankle.
BK fell about four times and I slipped thrice, but none so serious.
We reached Kukke at 1100 and headed to Kumara Dhare to wash off the fatigue.

BK and family had a threading ceremony to attend at Kukke. In what would go down as one the heaviest meals, I consumed 3 vobattus, 2 laddus, payasam apart from two helpings each of sambar and rasam rice. Can’t say I didn’t earn this one!!

Hash Run #412

Run # 412 – Bangalore Hash House Harriers

This was my (let me try and recollect without referring to the archives of this blog) fourth run with Hash. As usual it was a Sunday afternoon run, as usual it was on the outskirts of city, away from all the humdrum (bumrum, sounds better). But while the last run, the moonlight run was one with max participation - 150, this time around, there was a measly 20.

The run site was about 10kms from KR puram, down old madras road, at the IB estate. I went bulleting to the run site. My friend from my cricketing (SjCC) days, Bharath, aka lodde, BeeKay also joined me this time. If you had followed that hyperlink you would have seen this guy does PicHiD (when he not running marathons) in Singapura.

This time surprisingly the run started on time – 4:45. It was a short run, about 7-8kms in the countryside. But the hares – camel rider, hole surveyor and Deepak had made sure there are enough false trails to keep us interested. Lots of check backs (circle with a cross) chalk marks on the trail ensured that I went on false trails thrice.

We got back to the estate in about 50mins time. There were a couple of guys who got colourful bruises. I spotted a snake wriggling into the bushes during the run. Wildlife and all, eh…
There were samosas to go round with the beer. The hares got to cool their asses on the ice block.
There were a few returners. There was this one gentleman, ‘Hard-on’ who was from Ireland, who has been hashing from, as early as, 1978!! I had a nice conversation going with him. He was running with Bangalore Hash after, like 6years. He was telling me about how Hash started in the late 1930’s, in Europe somewhere. During World War II, Hash lost many of its members to war, and those who survived were posted to different parts of the world. And that is how it started to spread across the world. In Malaysia, there is a hash run everyday!
Well, anyway, Hard-on got his ass on the ice too. There were 4 virgins, including BeeKay. Surprisingly, there was common interest area among BK and the Grand Master (the guy who runs the circle). Both of them were into Robotics – BK into underwater robots research and this MIT grad, an entrepreneur, running a firm that makes robots in India.
It was a nice short run, just the right way to spend the Sunday evening. Parag and Deepu joined us for a heavy dinner at the Neel later in the night.

coming up - ride to Subramanya and the trek up Kumara Parvata (KP)

Add to Momma's List

Ripped off from unknown source. Reproduced verbatim, hopefully there is no copyright violation ;) You can however, express your opinions on plagiarism in the comment section, but please dont copy someone else's comments while you do that!
Enjoi the article maadi...
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Author unknown
Ride Far and Live Long
How many times has some do-gooder warned you against your motorcycle in the interest of your health? Do you politely stand there while a well-intentioned Samaritan regales, you with horror stories of a relative of a friend of a friend who went down two days after he bought his bike?
I used to dryly inform such self-appointed nice guys that, since most people die in their own beds, to avoid that horrible fate, it would be best to start sleeping on the floor. Now I no longer go head to head with sufferers of moto-phobia. I just tell them now that biking is conducive to a long, healthy and happy life. Here's how this came about:
During my recent trip to India I came across a new motorcycle magazine called BIKE India which, surprisingly, boasts some really well-researched articles by some top internationally-recognized and local writers. It seems that the family of Adil Jal Darukhanawala, the Editor of BIKE India, still owns the oldest continuously-run motorcycle dealership in the world(!), which today sells Indian-built Yamahas (called TVS Yamaha) in the university town of Pune, Maharashtra State. Adil is one of the most pro-moto two-wheel visionaries you'll ever meet.Anyway, the January '06 issue of BIKE India carries a tightly-researched article entitled "One More Reason to Bike: It's Good For Your Health!"

This article has the hard facts on things that you and I always suspected to be true but had, until now, had no way of proving. The bit of scientific investigation came about when the good folks at Motorcycle Consumer News set out to find Britain's oldest biker. To the delight of the MCN research team, they found that every single aging rider they talked to credited motorcycling as his or her key to longevity and health.
Forging ahead, MCN enlisted the help of students of King's College of London University Hospital to research why those older riders love motorcycling so much. Here's what they found: The Brain: Biking is joyous and is therefore is a natural an anti-depressant. The brain responds to the thrilling sensations of balance combined with forward motion by producing endorphins that prevent depression. Since depression leads to illness, biking is an antidote to disease through prevention of melancholia.
The Lungs: Buses, trains and especially airplanes are confining metal tubes in which passengers are forced to breathe virus-saturated second hand air making for an unsafe travel environment. Bikes on the other hand put you in the wind, a known purifier that is conducive to health by sending fresh oxygen throughout the lungs.
The Heart: The next time a self-styled saint tries to get you safely buckled into some overbuilt SUV, ask him what he thinks the effect of traffic jams and road rage have on the heart. Highway-related anxiety causes a release in hormones that actually increase blood pressure, leading to dangerous levels of stress. Gridlock causes tension, but lane splitting brings on euphoria. Bye by cars, bye by heart disease.
Circulation: The frequent changes in bodily temperature experienced by motorcyclists stimulate blood circulation, which protects against circulatory problems such as varicose veins and hardening of the arteries. Sitting in some cushy "luxury" car all day in rush hour commute is an excellent way to shut down circulation in the extremities, a known cause of blood clots. Remember that ambulances and hearses are also highly-equipped luxury vehicles.
The Back: Yup, the leaning, turning and twisting that a biker does is downright good exercise that keeps the spine limber. Padded car seats on the other hand are terrible for the back.
Burning of Fat: The excitement of the ride, which puts the senses on high alert, actually burns calories. The more extreme the ride, the better the results will be (as long as the motorcyclist rides within his limits!) OK, some riders like me are overweight, but, hey, if it weren't for my bike, I probably wouldn't pass the Greyhound bus driver's minimal fitness exam!
Leg Muscles: The study concluded that jockeying a hefty motorcycle into a narrow parking spot is the equivalent of a five minute work out on a rowing machine.
Not satisfied with the results of their research, the intrepid MCN team went on to explore the mammoth British Medical Library. There they discovered a pro-moto university thesis entitled "Motorcycle and Adolescents" by French rider and now psychiatrist JP Rabeau. Regarding young riders, this is how the good doctor of the mind wrapped up his research, "Their bikes' physical nature is often beneficial, rather than a dangerous expression of an unconscious death wishes in the Freudian sense."
Remember all those tidbits of wisdom that your mother used to tirelessly nag you with? "Do's" like "eat your veggies" or "take your vitamins" or "wash your hands"? Now you can confidentially add to Mom's list
When you tell your own kids, "...and DON'T FORGET TO RIDE YOUR MOTORCYCLE AT LEAST ONE HOUR DAILY! IT'S GOOD FOR YOU!"

Kokkre Bellur, Masina Gudi, Jungle Retreat, Ooty

Places visited: Kokkre Bellur, Masina Gudi, Jungle Retreat, Ooty
Distance covered: 650kms
Date: 15-16th April

Highlights: In a lot of ways this ride was an overdose of nature for me.
First, at Kokkre Bellur you have pelicans and storks that fly 1000s of miles, all the way from Russia, Siberia to spend these few months at this one small village, year-after-year.
Second, the forest of Bandipur, Madumalai Hills – thick foliage in the valleys, the hills standing tall and bald, deer, monkeys, peacocks and good possibility of a leopard, python, bison or a tusker crossing your path.
Third, Nature’s way of saying, “hey, can I join you for the ride?” “How about I send some rain with you on your way back?” The downpour all the way down to Bangalore.

Flagging off: It was a combo ride time at Rolling Thunder Motorcycles Club – RTMC. There were two groups on this ride – both leaving together to Kokkre Bellur in Mandya. The first group riding back to Bangalore and a second group continuing to Masanagudi for an overnighter. In all about 20 guys on 14 bullets, the smallest RTMC participation I’ve seen. We left at around 8am almost an hour after the scheduled departure. Breakfast was at Kaadu Mane before Bidadi, one plain and one masala for me. It helped having a good breakfast, considering lunch happened only at 3 or so.

Kokkre Bellur is a village that is painted white with the pelicans and storks (literally with their droppings) that migrate here. Huge birds, wide wingspan, and in many hues come here during the mating season, hatch their eggs and nurture young ones till they fly back with them.
The birds seemed so much at home there. Even the blaring loud speakers (some festival celebration was on) and all the latest Kannada songs that were playing didn’t seem to disturb them. I can understand if it was Radio City, but latest kannada songs. Maybe it helps coming from a phoren country and not knowing the local language. Or maybe it was to do with the breeding season; you cannot disturb no one during the breedings.

Good write up on Kokkre Bellur here - http://www.nationalgeographic.co.in/explore/otbt/kokkare_bellur.asp.

There is a rivulet that runs outside the village. We did a bit of off-roading, riding along the rivulet till our bullets could go no more. ‘Tiger’ struck a good deal for some nectar-like tender coconuts, 100 bucks for 20. It was tiger’s birthday, the ‘Happy birthday’ song and bums followed. It was 2ish by the time we left the group to head for Masinagudi, 8 of us on seven bullets.

The Sweep: It was decided that I sweep the line (the guy who rides last, ensuring everyone’s ahead). Girish was running in his bike and was doing a max of 70-80kmph. Initially, I didn’t know this guy was running-in, I thought he was a compulsive slow coach. It’s so damn frustrating – you have a sooper bike, nice empty roads, fellow bikers ripping, but you can’t open throttle. I tried a few things to pep this guy to turn that accelerator, ride right up his ass, wroom-wroom there, overtake him then let him pass, etc. But Girish did not give in. I even felt tempted to ride alongside and do the turning accelerator for him myself.
I don’t know if that is the case sometimes in life with a few of us. There are people around you who want to do everything to push you on the fast track. But, somehow, maybe we don’t see it at all. Now, put on the ‘sweep-hat’ for a moment, and imagine how frustrated your mentor/guardian angel would feel. But then, its also important if you are the mentor, to see behind the facade and find the real reason. In this case, he was actually sacrificing short term urge to rip, for something more enduring.
Lunch: After all that food-for-thought my body went off balance and I had to soon provide some food-for-tummy. We were hungry like mad by the time we reached the outer out-skirts of Mysore. We stopped at some small udipi restaurant and polished off some tasty parotas, meals and chapattis.
The forests: More wildlife from there on. We crossed Bandipur, Teppakadu and Madumalai. There were lots of monkeys and deer. I enjoyed this stretch most, going real slow, taking in as much as I could. We reached Masinagudi at 6:30.

Jungle resort: Jungle retreat is a superb resort. Almost from any point in the resort the view of the hills is breathtaking. When nature has done her bit of art, Rohan Mathais and team have matched it with a good resort, making max use of the view – with cottages, tree house, pool (both kinds – the swimming kind and the kind that features in most porn movies) tasty food and beverages. The long weekend had drawn quite a crowd, at times I felt as if we were dining at some restaurant at koramangala.

PP had booked a 10-bed dorm for us. After the sumptuous dinner and a few rounds on the pool table, hit the bed at mid-night. Ads and Grease joined us in the morning having left Bangalore at midnight.
There are a few things you can do, apart from chilling out at Jungle Retreat. You could trek into the forest, do a safari ride to say hi to a few tuskers. You got to do this early in the morning, though, for some reason. Maybe the tuskers are not courteous later in the day. So we ruled that out. Instead we decided to ride up to ooty on the Kalhatti ghats. The view is supposed to make up for the difficult to ride and the very steep hair pins. The view must have been good, didn’t have too mucha time to look around.

Heavens Open: There were dark clouds brewing up and we were riding straight into it. And from there on it was simply a rainy tale. The rain that started as we reached the top of the ghats never let go till Bangalore. Huge droplets (I figured that was because at 2000mts above sea level you are far more closer to the clouds) and hail stones. When we left downhill, there was gushing muddy water and stones on the road and it looked like all of ooty was rushing downhill. Somewhere near Bandipur and Gundelpet, the rain actually stopped and we were dry briefly. But it caught up with us again. I had to get back to Bangalore early to attend two wedding receptions – Deepak’s ann Akshay’s. I left the group at Nanjangud, continued without lunch, caught up with Trishul and tiger after Mysore. I was at Kengeri by 6:15 and home by 7. My leather jacket weighed some 10kilos by the time I got out of it. One helluva ride it was!

Moonlight Half Marathon at Bangalore Hash

Run # 411, was to celebrate 16 years of BANGALORE HASH. A Moonlight Half Marathon followed by a Big Bash happened on Saturday, 8th April.

ONCE IN A BLUE MOON....
LET YOUR WILD SIDE ....
ROAM THE COUNTRYSIDE ..
UNDER THE FULL MOON !

The agenda: A clear star studded, summer night sky, and the countryside bathed in moonlight. And hashers walking / running amidst the country roads...with the cool summer breeze in their faces...far away from pollution and the humdrum of the city!
Run back to a bonfire, music by hash deejay, hash brew from Kingfisher and dinner.
While away the night in the company of your dear one or comrades from the hash....rock to retro music....spend the nite amidst nature's glory!

The run site was WRAC, an exotic resort some 10kms from IIMB, off Bannerghatta road. There were tracks for half marathon and for half-half marathoners. I reached the run site when there was daylight and didn’t have problems locating the place. This time around “Runners for Life” were also invited. I saw a few familiar faces from the previous marathons and lots of new faces. There were 16 of us who started for the half marathon, at around 7:15. The moon was hazy and we knew why we were asked to carry those torches.
The track was one that required endurance more than stamina, a mix of tarmac and cross country, soft earth to gravel to hard tarmac. The uneven earth meant that there was high risk of injury on this run, so the pace had to be slow. You could say that again for ligament torn runners (read – me).We had to run down 5kms to the water spot and then take another route back to the resort. Then do the second lap.
I was doing good on the time till I lost my way on the run back, overshot some 2 kms before, I turned back, which painfully added to the time and fatigue. When I got back, deliberating if it was worth completing the run, a whole lot of half-half marathoners had just begun their run. I guess there were some 50 hashers in this run. I joined Ashwin (friend from my CAT prep days who I met there after 3yrs) and Siddarth (mustached guy with a ponytail) through out the second lap.

I finished 3 hours and four bottles of water later (dunno why, but the water just kept flowing down). By the time I got back the party had started, beer was doing rounds. The ice-block ceremony happened, certificates were distributed, half marathoners were given the ice treatment. Then the dance floor came alive with curvaceous creatures. After a half marathon, with every muscle in the legs crying for rest, its amazing how ‘the forces’ still pull you into the dance floor.

I had no plans of staying overnight nor participate in the recovery run in the morning. With Sathish and Rutu following in their car, I left the place at 1am. There is a long, winding dirt path till the main road. I overtook a couple of cars to avoid the dust and was ahead of the pack. And suddenly there was this traffic in the opposite direction – four jeeps. As I passed the fourth one, I noticed the POLICE sign.
And that is when the drama began to unfold…
Sound – I cut throttle and waited in silence
Lights – on the moonlit night, in waited for the headlights in the rear view mirror to move
Action – scraped out of not-so-desirable action

The cops intercepted the cars, a couple of cars were let off, and the rest were made to accompany a constable to the Bannerghatta police station for a statement. The cops, meanwhile proceeded to WARC to ensure that there was no live dance band playing. The party had to stop, thanks to the uninvited guests, the beer seized (now, u know where those pot-bellies come from!) and everyone made to leave autographs at mama’s place. The cops were supposedly tipped off that there was a live band playing somewhere and they had planned a massive raid headed by a DCP. After high drama, visit to the station, and autographs hashers left for their homes by 3am. For the first time, HASH ‘ran’ into cop trouble.
I only had a second hand version of what happened. It reinforced what I have been saying all along “Everyone makes way for a Bullet”, on that night… cops included!!!

Ps: There are other things to worry about in life apart from the beer, but if you are still thinking about it, how about we raid the station this Saturday??

Drink and Drive

Manipal Murudeshwar

5
Raghu (‘keet) has been a part of my life now, since my engineering days, easily my best pal. Raghu and I decided to ride down to Manipal to attend Raaji’s convocation at TAPMI. Raaji, my junior at Hassan, also a close friend.

I was like this director guy, Manoj Butter, who was shooting for this fillum “Ragu and Raji”, where this heroine sings “I knew ki meraa shezaadaa, Ghode pe aayega” (any resemblance in tune, to the Neal and Niki song is purely coincidental). Only for this song sequence, I rode on a Bull and Raghu rode a Ghoda (I thought the avenger fitted the horse description well). And we had to rescue this heroine from the clutches of this villain who keeps saying “TAP MI” “TAP ME” in the Mogambo-Kush-Hua style. “Raghu and Raaji” - Coming Soon at the multiplex near you. Not bad na.

Now, the more serious stuff...
I wish I could describe this ride in words. Seldom on a ride, do you look back, look forward, look beyond and look deep into yourself.
Raghu and I rode down the memory lane, reliving the wonderful times at Hassan.
For Raghu and Raji, it is a time to look forward, in more ways than one.
The picturesque landscapes, the estates, the western ghats, the temples makes one commune with one’s future.
The endless depth of the ocean, the white sands and music is truly transcendental, making you retreat into your own soul.

Little did we know when we started, that this ride would be so fulfilling. The excitement was building up throughout the week. It was the first real long ride for Keet, and for me it was a solo after a long time.



We left my place at 530 on the Saturday morning. The first stop was at Bellur Cross, we did good enough to give a few cars on road some complex. One chai and we were off again. This time, thou, the story was a little different. We ripped. The average speed on this stretch to Hassan must have been 90kmph or so. We reached Hassan at 8 something. Breakfast happened at the MCE canteen. “Open Dosa” and “Benne Kaali” still cost 10 bucks; insulated from inflation!! And it tastes just as good. We exchanged some recognizing smiles with the canteen guys.

We left Hassan at 930, passing Sakleshpur we headed towards the western ghats. The Ghat section spans to about 50kms, I guess. The view from a few places is awesome. It was downhill most of the time. It is amazing how you can settle down to a regular pattern after a while of riding down – see the hairpin sign; stay on the far end of the road-turn left-let the bike fall to the right-hit the back and front brakes as you reach the end of the hairpin-tilt the bike to the left-release brakes-open throttle and off you go.

I scraped my foot rest and my stand a couple of times during the ordeal. We stopped over at Gundya to give our butts a break. From Gundya, we rode without a break to Manipal. After 7 hours on road, 8.5 hours in all, we had reached Manipal. There was no trace of fatigue on Raghu, completely lost trying to figure out why. Guys, in case you have the ideas, please leave the comments.
We booked into Udupi Residency and later in the evening attended the 20th convocation of TAPMI’s graduating students. Raaji was on the top of the world, and looked great in the red saari, with the gown and all.

Early Sunday morning, we visited the temples at Udupi, then some of my relatives. The plan was to go to Turtle Bay at Maravante, some 40kms from Udupi. We reached there late, lunched late. Keet and I figured, there wasn’t much two guys could do in such romantic settings. We did some unromantic things like snooze on our bikes, take pictures that can make to an art exhibition, and scare turtles (I had plans, but I guess, they heard the bikes and ran, don’t ask me how)

We decided to camp at Manipal for the night. Raaji had, by then joined us and suggested Murudeshawar. Whatever other plans Keet had, were subdued by the majority.

We reached Murudeshwar at sunset and were so glad we made it to that place. One, the route itself was fabulous, with pristine scenery. There is this stretch of 2 kms, where you have the Arabian Sea on one side and the river Sowparnika on the other. Two, the statue of Lord Shiva – Murudeshwar. Awe inspiring, imposing statue of the Lord is, I read, the largest statue of Shiva in India. The smile on the face and He overlooks the white-sands on the beach is what draws you to it. Thanks to Raaji, for having insisted we visit the place.

The return journey was very eventful. It was 6:40 when we left there. We had to cover 120kms, I guess before 9. We raced the first lap of the ride till Bhatkal, so long as there was daylight. The stretch from Bhatkal to Katpaadi, was my first night riding experience. There were no street lights, my high beam was not working, there were many villages doting the roads and Raghu right behind flashing his highbeam, creating long shadows in front. If it sounds like good ingredients for an accident, you guessed right. I killed a puppy (Keet tells me later it was half dead). I felt terrible, but had no choice, it was running fast and there was too little time to do anything. We were very careful throughout that part of the ride. It requires full concentration. You are very impaired, not able to see clearly in front. For me it also meant that had to put up my visor and brave the dust and the wind in my face. We did well in the end and saw off Raaji’s parents at 9.

Dinner happened at Dollops in Manipal and crashed for the night.
The return journey was great too. We started from Manipal at 645 and reached Bangalore by 5 in the evening. The ascent up the ghat section was more enjoyable that the descent had been. Once you get the line right, and time the change of gears, it is simply sooper, I say. Both bikes responded well to bear the torture, Hassan happened before schedule, by 1130.

We reached our campus once again. This time we parked in front of the hostel. I was disappointed in a sense, there was NO change at all. A place can’t be so insulted from change. It was the same mess workers, same blocks, same trees, same rooms, the same pan-spit walls. We had lunch at the mess and were not surprised. The taste of the curry, the chapattis has not changed too. Very nostalgic, indeed. The unbelievable fun we had in this place.

The ride from Hassan was boring – we missed the ghats and traffic badly. That is the problem if you have every good roads with no traffic. How long can you belt at 100 and not feel bored. It ensured, however, that we were back to base by 500.
No human casualties, no bike breakdowns, but plenty of memories – that was in a nutshell, my ride to Mangalore.

Raghu made this collage. You should check him out at his blog


More of these at http://www.flickr.com/photos/manojbhat/sets/72057594094912087/

Of Biryani, Bullets, Brakes and Yelagiri

Yelagiri – Many first ones on this one

My first ride after I joined Rolling Thunder Motorcycle Club. (was in the announce group till this one)
My first ride with the rider’s paraphernalia – leather jacket, sunglasses, RTMC flag, et al.
First time my bullet touches 120kmph on the speedo.
My first ghat section ride, and my first major accident. Read on…

The build up to the ride was something I have come to except these days – there is this anxious waiting thorough out the week, the boyish excitement the day before the ride, the last minute checks on the bike. This time was no special.

The motivation for the ride was right at the bottom of the Maslow’s hierarchy – food. Biryani at Vaniyambadi, at the foot of Yelagiri was the reason, no one really cared for the reason, so long as you got to ride.

We were supposed to meet 6:30 in front of Raheja Arcade, Kormangala. When I reached there at 620ish, there were a handful of bulls. Then they started pouring in. There were usual suspects – PP, grease, subbu, pawn, muthu, vivek, mahesh. (That was quite a long list of names I have rolled off, given my track record with remembering names.) And then there are always those large no of new names – trite and forgettable, again.

Anyways, after all the handshakes some 32 bullets thundered the Hosur Road. To my bullet, this was homecoming, I have done this road many times now. I wont repeat the praises I have for this stretch of the Golden Quadrilateral.
Our first regroup point was the A1 Reliance plaza. Reliance has some amazing facilities up here. I believe, the rates, readings, the evaporation level, mix, the rate at which the meter scrolls, etc, etc can be controlled and monitored centrally from some office in, say, Mumbai. But well maintained restrooms hardly make up for not-so-great tiffin, right?

We went past Krishnagiri, Salem and then took the route to Chennai. The road is so good, you can do full throttle for the whole stretch and that we did. I touched 120kmph on my speedo for the first time. One more brief stop on the way and we reached the foot of the Yelagiri hill. The ride uphill was good; there were about 10 hair-pin bends and the view from top was great. There was practically no traffic flowing downhill.

There are a few resorts on top of the hill, and some trekking spots around. The bullets were parked in front of Country Club. Lime soda was served as an appetizer for the biryani. It was about 11:00 by this time. There were folks from Mad Bulls who joined us.

The plan was to ride down to Vaniyambadi at the bottom of Yelagiri and belt biryanis. We started downhill at about 12 something. I was doing good on the turns and I guess I got carried away a wee bit. There were two bulls ahead of me and I was trying to catch up. On one of the left turns, I found myself in the middle lane, gunning straight at a Tata Sumo Victa. I breaked hard and got most of the bike out of the way, but couldn’t avoid the brake lever and the mirror go whack against the mirror and beading, ripping the plastic off. Metal against plastic is not too much of contest.
The sumo full of doctors let me go after I promised to make good the damages. I got away with a bent brake lever but a badly hurt ego and image. I don’t know how long the repair on that would take. But at that moment, everyone wanted to know who this guy was. I thought I did well to hold my nerves, stay on road and prevent what could have been worse. There was lots to lose but lots to gain too. My bull doctor, Gurunandan said this on an earlier chumma on road, “Small accidents are good in a way, they improve your reflexes”. Howzzat that for optimism!!

Muttu also had some problem on his ‘Monster’, with some loose silencer, which was put back in place with some more delay.

So after this another not-so-desirable ‘first-time’, we reached Vaniyambadi for the biryani. A few of my veggie friends and I settled our asses down at a ‘Saravana Bhavan’ nearby. There was this conceited look on the faces of all guys who walked out after the Biryani. They settled for mutton biryani, I heard, there are no chicks no more in Tamil Nadu. I know from my past experience, TN is sure not a good place to look for them chicks; flu or not.

The ride back happened without any more incidents. One flat tyre meant some guys were delayed. I carried on with the front pack and was back in Bangalore long before the sun went down…

Next week, there will be another ride, another ghat section ride, in full gear, only this time, with better reflexes!!!

Addendum:

The fotos are now available at http://www.flickr.com/photos/manojbhat/sets/72057594089357168/
pick you copies now!!!

And guess who provides technology to A1 Plaza... yup, IBM

NIRVANA ON THE PONY TRAIL

Am trying to build up the tempo for the 2 long rides coming up in the next couple of weeks. Doing the 220km stretch to Yelagiri this weekend and then 400kms to Manipal with Raghu-pal the next weekend… While you wait for those, check this one out… Found this in the archives of Auto India. Read on... its well written!
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I slide steel into his belly and nudge him to a drowsy rumble. Astride one score ponies and eight, I point him to the long black ribbon that takes us out to the sea, a long way off. Sleepi1y, almost grudgingly, his staccato beat picks up my spirit— synchronicity. His Cyclops eye splits the night apart — left and right, like Yin and Yang. With a flick of my wrist, I can let them meet, but not yet. I twist his ears and caress his mane, his hooves dig in harder. A 162 Kg machine, 20 Kgs of gas &. oils, two riders at a 130 Kg, 100 Kg of fishing and camping gear — almost half a ton whispering imperturbably down the NH8 in the eerie silence of an early winter morning — some kind of motorcycling! !

Duck you terrible 100c toddlers, the granddaddy of all them Indian motorcycles is here. But let’s face the truth — the Royal Enfield 350 cc “light roadster" as a 1960 Army Manual terms it, is a granddaddy - no contest. In terms of figures — those numbers the techies love, the Bullet is a part of history — somewhere between the Golden Age of the Guptas and the time. I forget when, when the someone the terrible son of what’s his name the invincible else ransacked "Cawnpore" and stole the Royal Cushion of the Pasha, Emir of all he surveyed, leaving him with a terrible ache in the bottom which persisted until his kingdom was declared non—polluting and was given great subsidies in fertilizers.

No contest. In terms of anything to do with performance— measurable in numbers, the Bullet would lose miserably against any other- brand of motorcycle, scooter and moped, the Luna TFR’s headlight has more lumens/watt than the Biq B’s. In acceleration, top speed, braking distance, ro—ro contest from any gear-/any speed, the Bullet stands a good chance of being beaten hollow.

And the Bullet is a marvel of engineering design. Engineering Colleges which charge capitation fees could do away with the idea of building a mechanical engineering laboratory — and buy a single Bullet 350 cc instead. Every mechanical device/linkage known to man since Hannibal crossed the Alps is represented. A bewildering array of gears, cams, shafts, rockers, swing arms, chains, pads, bolt/nuts, washers, spindles, bearings, drives, springs, tensioners, seals and rings assails the senses. The frame and its supports are veritably an Eiffel Tower. And every material except carbon-graphite and buffalo horn is used somewhere or the other. The electricals resemble the sadhu with the matted eight feet locks from Jaipur in the Guiness Book. Wires of every description, length, color with connectors to match. Twenty types of greases and oils, 22 seals, 5 cables, two chains, 9 switch positions and two utility boxes on the side capacious enough to store small change and impress your mom —make up the Bullet. Almost all parts are linked — you fill up air, it affects ignition. You lower the handlebars, it dims your rear lights. Don’t believe it ?, ask any Bullet owner. It is a continuous miracle that a. Bullet rolls at all. Neil Armstrong was asked what were his thoughts on the moon landing flight when the Apollo 11 blasted off. He said “This rocket Assembly contains 500,000 parts and each has been supplied by the lowest bidder." One gets much the same feeling before one slides keys into his belly and heads off on the NH8. Will it, won't it.

As you pick it up from the showroom the 350 is a pathetic sight with a sheet of metal to which is attached a micron or so of metal — this is called the seat. The handlebar grips are spiked rubber. The battery’s white gleams like the sore produced by “the mysterious disease that has struck fish in the 24 Paraganas district in West Bengal leading to immediate pouring in of assistance from International aid agencies”. As an element of sexuality, a black G-string like contraption holds the battery in place. Enfield logos on the side of the gas tank are of tin and look like they are made from discarded Ponds Dreamflower Talc container-s. Two soft drink bottle caps holds the utility boxes closed. On a vehicle built like a Vijayanta Tank, the plastic fuel cock is the Enfield equivalent of Reader’s Digest’s “ Lighter Side of Life”. Pulling it off its centre-stand is a perplexing experience with one hand on the handlebars and the other wondering what to hold. There is no battery cutout, dangerous— remember it won’t start without a battery assist and more than two kicks ensures a type of hernia that's almost hereditary. After YOU install corrective measures like grips, rear view mirror, battery cover, seat padding, side handle, kill switch the bike is ready to go. The next shock is when you sit astride the machine. The brakes and gear are on sides opposite of what is expected. But one gets used to it, like shaving in front of the mirror.

Why a machine that costs Rs. 40,000 + can’t have these little extras costing a couple of hundred Rupees is something that has consistently escaped my most labored efforts to understand, to cope. It seems a complete mystery. Why do the armed Forces, the Forest Departments, the BSF, Police and legions of other buyers swear by the Bullet when the manufacturer doesn’t even bother to install absolute basic equipment like Mirrors. The amount of mechanical uncertainty, the level of maintenance, the initial cost and a manufacturer whose hobby is sadism makes one wonder what prompts the choice of a Bullet.

But I can answer. As one who’s dreamt of owning one since the day I gave up my feeding bottle, I can tell you. Owning a Bullet is not owning a bike — it is participating in a kind of mystic religion. It has to do with moh-maya, nirvana and all manner of cosmic experiences.

Will the techies pay attention. The Bullet is not meant to perform, to set the roads on fire. A 60mm carb feeding a 35cc bore X 70 stroke makes it clear. The Big B is not a speed fiend— was never meant to be one. Just as plastics are criticized-for being non-biodegradable, funny considering that their greatest strength is resistance to the elements. The mistake is in using them for packaging rather than storage. The Bullet is not a cat- quick screamer machine. It is a stately, super stable long distance cruiser. Anyway, under Indian highway conditions anyone driving a bike at over 70 Kmph ought to have their head examined or better, replaced. So who needs lightning disc brakes? The Bullet is not high on modern conveniences like electronic ignition, fool proof electrics or even electric starters - even the RTO compulsory blinkers look a little out of place. The Bullet is like loving a woman, one doesn’t measure, one senses. If a zero to 60 Kmph in 7 sec is better than a 11 sec bike- techie, you have a tough love life ahead. It’s like saying Apsara at 38-24-36 is better than Swapnika at 36—24—36 and besides has more lustrous hair. One doesn’t love that way, the chemistry is more complex.

The Bullet is not about statistics or performance. It is about old world qualities- those in such short supply today. Qualities like dependability, stoicism. grace under pressure and companionship. On the hill roads of Kerala, the Bullet’s grace is poetic-like Ninjisky he takes the twisty mountain roads, a ballet dancer doing his routine. Weight is a great companion of luxury. At a 162 Kg plus rider, the suspension is too stiff-forget the 5-way rear suspension, that only changes preload. But with another rider and luggage, the ride is luxury car soft. And on the wind swept vistas of Saurashtra while the terrible tiddlers are picking themselves from ditches, trying to get on to the road, the Bullet whispers by, arrow straight. The enormous wheels and their inertia ensure that every scheming pothole and arrogant bump will be summarily smoothed out without the rider even being questioned. And as the others scream “ Roll on or roll over.” and whiz by, one makes a fundamental discovery. The other bikes get you there faster. On a Bullet the ride itself is a part of being there. The soft slap of the chain sets up a taal- mel with the characteristic 4-stroke beat and a while later you discover that you have traveled a long way indeed. After a 400 Km rides when the others are walking around like they wore poison ivy underwear, the Bullet rider saunters away impatient to get rolling again.

The Bullet is a handsome vehicle — wide chested and narrow waisted. You should look at it from a height to appreciate it. From the ground it looks massive. A friend of mine. researching in the Gir National Park was advised against a Bullet by his wild life colleagues With its characteristic silhouette and clutch/-front brake positions, they pointed out, it would look like a bull and increase the chances of attack by lions !! Homage indeed !

There is no such thing as a great bike with a bad engine. A bike may look a little ugly, steer with mind of its own, have bad electrics or bad suspension. But if its engine performs, all is forgiven. In the Bullet, the engine dominates the machine. Eye- catching and arresting, the enormous engine and crankcase look powerful even when the machine is standing still. And while it produces just 18 Bhp, they are produced with will, grit, determination and dependability. Tractor pulling first gear ratio, a decent second, a reasonable third and a decent fourth push the Bullet far past 100 Kmph if required. Given enough highway, the cool running Bullet could take you from one end of the country to another — effortlessly. And if stirred enough by a spirited rider, acceleration can be quite hard. But your average Bullet rider is not a hot head who wants to whiz by— that can be done on these disposable 100 cc machines. The Bullet is a bike to be seen on, and so one chugs by at a pace almost in synchrony with heartbeats. The range of settings, tappets. points, plug gaps and else can make you climb the waills, but if you persist- silk smooth rides are yours — with the priceless Bullet beat that is almost erotic.

The Bullet also has the Human Angle. With other bikes you buy, roll out of the showroom and zoom off into the distant mountains; to brood by yourself, breaking the speed of sound. and probably your neck, atleast once at every intersection. The Bullet is a people angle M/c. No man is an island, certainly not a Bullet owner. You can detect it by the crushing handshake after years of handling the tough front brake and clutch and an unusually muscled right calf from the kickstart. Every Bullet is a personalized dream. You can load it with tonnes of accessories. Headlight hood, crashguards, extra lights, basket, carriers, beading, chrome trim, pedal covers - the works. Some nickel-plate the chrome parts. Some add brass trim, the list is endless. But never, never, ever buy a lock. A Bullet owner who locks his bike is a sissy fit to own only mopeds. Beware, never lock your Bullet. Also buy a heavy chain. This is to hang the ignition and battery cutout key from. The heavier the better. The most revered Bullet owner I know has his keys attached to 4 feet of Supertanker anchor chain. He wears a canvas sack around his waist to put his keys in, walks on hands and feet and is much in demand when elephants run amuck.

And the great mechanic saga begins. It is not like you drive into the service centre, hand over your bike and get it the next day. Far from it. First you shortlist the Bullet mechanics, called "Phoremen" in town. No "phoreman" would be caught dead repairing any vehicle but a Bullet - exclusive. They usually have weird WWF type names. "BABA", “ Ustad ”, "Shetty Chettan" and so on. All have legends attached to them. One works only at night since he needs peace and quiet and so the story goes can assemble by touch as a commando does his AK-47. Another diagnoses by sound alone as you drive into his workshop and so on. After you select one - the drama begins. First is the interview where you have to give details of where you work, how many years you have had the Bullet, earlier problems, how you use it, your income tax number and so on. Then after your earlier mechanic's work and reputation has been ripped into shreds to approving nods from other customers hanging around, the work starts. If the bike is new then the manufacturer's reputation is given the same treatment.

Half a dozen young men descend on your machine. The way the Bullet is constructed is incredible. On average for every part you want to access, six others will have to be removed. For example to see the rocker arms, you will have to start with the petrol tank. To replace the accelerator wire, you will have to take off the headlight. Therefore when the boys have finished locating the “ fault “ your bike looks like a dinosaur skeleton at the museum with parts strewn around. The effect is not quite unlike the 9.30 Doordarshan news the “.. sources say a blast occurred when the car was started...” Don’t shriek or faint. Attached the parts may be, with a frightening array of fasteners and thingammas. Standard tools to take them out include anvils, electric heaters, evil looking tongs and sledgehammers. Forget the instruction manual which says, “to take out the delicate glass-brass pin use a feather”. A sharp tap administered by a 8 pound hammer on a meter long screwdriver will work in the mechanic’s hands. You try with the feather and …. “.Tinkle, tinkle……” !.

Then you are given an option. Not as in “ It will cost Rs.400”. It involves s a long discussion on how the “ conshun-rode" meshes with the “chippia”. One of the listeners reminds the others, “ Remember what happened to Trivedi’s bike”. Then you are given the technical talk. Every Bullet owner in the space of two years becomes a thorough half – baked mechanic using local lingo- “wiser” for washer, “ chiipia” for fork, “dismiss” for screwdriver. “ Terculator” is something I haven't been able to figure out. I suspect the “ Phoreman" is fibbing since every time a fault refuses to go away it is a “ terculator" fault. While Bullet parts are fixed with more goodwill than mechanical certainty, the “ terculator” should certainly not be capable of migrating from the front axle to the swingarm and then into the speedometer. But it is in convenient. Whenever a techie friend with the latest in tiddlers asks me whether the bullet will do a wheelie or fly at low altitude or whatever, I have a answer, “ As soon as I straighten out the bad terculator”. So there.

Forget the techies, forget the doomsayers. Forget even the manufacturer, they don't know what a wonderful bike the Bullet is. All said and done, a Bullet will never let you down on the highways which are its natural habitat: On city roads it rides in a lackluster, protesting way. Even if it does stop, a village mechanic which a six-pound sledgehammer and a crowbar can soon set it right. One doesn't buy a bullet for transport show or for performance, one buys it because one loves what motorcycling stands for: individuality, independence, an eternal love of tinkering and of course adventure and the sound of untrammelled wind in one’s ears.

Listen to the Bike baba. What one needs is a disciplined right fist, boorts, gloves and a helmet. Someone to love, plenty of gas and an eye for beauty in man, machine and wind. The wisdom of the ages decrees that those who have this will travel far indeed and attain Nirvana on the Pony Trail.

-S. Ram Kumar Auto India Aug '97

Run # 409 - The No circle Run

Encouraged by the short run last time around, I thought it was a good idea running with the hares again, than a siesta on a Sunday afternoon. Couldn’t have been more wrong on that one.

The Hash House Harriers announced their run # 409 (ya 409, they have been around for the last 15yrs). This time it was outside of Yelahanka, you had to drive along the CRPF campus to the run site.

All you ppl who read these write-ups must have realized by now, how much I love talking about these things I do, right. Ezzactly. And a few guys get inspired and want to do some checking out. This time Sathish, my neighbor from the ice-pies (or is it eyes-spies) days and Rutu, my Gym buddy from the time when my biceps used to be 14inches, decided to join me.

The run was supposed to start at 4:00. With all the firangs in the group, you would think it would start around that time. Wrong again, it was nearly 4:40 IST when we started running.

The hares (the moderators who lay the trail are called that) were ‘Up yours’ and ‘French fries’ – both French. We were promised a good track with some amazing landscape view. We started first on a wrong track, then found out way back to square one and restarted. And then ruwe did, till kingdom come. I should have guessed when they said, the water spot would be some distance and advised us to carry water. Damn, I didn’t see that coming, did I…

First we ran along a stud farm (ha, so even u thot they grow studs there, welcome to the club). And with this well-built mare running in front of me, I ran like a stallion, myself. (For details, hit the ‘comments’ button and I promise a personalized reply.)

Then the fields started and I shifted my gaze up to the horizon and never once left it. We ran and ran, but the landscape was simply great. Eucalyptus groves, fields, small hills, dirty ponds, uphills, detours, false trails, sweat and blood (there were so many thorns on the way and many of them couldn’t resist the temptation to kiss my bare legs)

Finally when we got back it was about 15kms and close to an hour and 45 mins of running. And then the ceremony happened, first we had to wait for everyone to finish. Sathish and Rutu were among the last. The ‘mare’ finished comfortably ahead of me, now I know where hour-glasses come from.

The Ice slab was there and as usual the ‘hares’ were made to sit on the ice slab, some ragging, leg-pulling happens, the run is named (it was called the no-circle run) and the anthem is sung… and the bottoms-up.
Then the Virgins – newbies are made to get on the block (nkotb). Well, only this time, they decided that the guy who brought them ( tht is me!) gets the water treatment. The water treatment is a tub of water, and I had to cool my ass in it.

First the longish run, then the beer that didn’t go too well and then the water treatment, I had enough for one day.
Sathish didn’t want me in his car, all soaked and dripping and all, but hey, I couldn’t run no more!!

THE BANGALORE HASH HOUSE HARRIERS

THE BANGALORE HASH HOUSE HARRIERS
PRESENTS
Run # 408
SUNDAY, 26th February 2006

I ran last Sunday with this really freaky, weird club - Bangalore Hash House Harriers.

What it is: Its the Bangalore chapter of Hash - “The drinking club with the running problem”.
They run every alternate Sunday afternoon, for like 10-15 kms in serene countryside. The club has a heterogeneous composition in terms of age, sex, shapes, nationality. But, surprisingly they all beer alike – down down down.

First we all met up, ahead of Golden palms spa and resort (I sneaked into the resort for some fotos and a peep into the poolside). Take left at the Brick factory and follow the hash signs – shredded paper and chalk marks. It takes you to a lake, where we wait for the hares to burrow out. Then they come - one night stand, useless widget, hernia, ffu, zulu, sexobics, use-her friendly (all nicknames) and the virgins (us newbies).
We started the run a lil after 5. After about 3.5 kms there was a water spot, hydrate yourself and move on. The trial itself was amazing – paddy fields, eucalyptus groves, kachcha roads dotted with villages. Though we all started off together, we kinda spread soon. Surprisingly, the order was not in accordance with age, sex (usage noun, not verb), or weight. (Btw, weight actually helps rolling down a slope)
And if you lead or fall behind, you have to find the trail yourself. I went on false trails a couple of times. You realize there is something wrong when you don’t see shredded paper for sometime. One fellow runner, Ninaad offered the moral of the false trails “You should chase a false trail sometimes”, he said, “if you are in sales, you will sell more”. Well, in consulting, you also handhold the client on the false trail and get paid for it too. (Actually, the handholding seems good, mabbe I should try my luck at work tomorrow.)

At times, during the run, when you cross the villages, you have stray dogs going bow vow, and some kids running after us. We have a sizeable no of firings running with us, and they pass comments in kannada or in broken inglis.
And finally after about an hour of running, we got back to the lake. Beer flowed easily and mixed well with some below-the-belt jokes. Most jokes were on Bird flu. My Pj mates, am sure, would have seen the connection – bird-chicken-chick-hen-cock…. And then there is a ceremony to express gratitude to the hares responsible for the run. There is this Ice slab on which the ‘awardees’ are made to park their asses. The hash anthem is sung by the group… I didn’t get the words exactly, but I know there was this down down down at the end, when the guys on the block need to go bottoms up. (gawd, not literally!! I meant the beer. Life’s so much better with that, otherwise imagine doing a bottoms up).
I shared the ice slab with 2 other ‘virgins’. One was this dude from the US of A (faintly remember hearing abt it somewhere), who said his name was AC Milan (!!), and the other, Naina, who thought she didn’t qualify to sit on the virgin block. Then the anthem followed, ending in the down down down.
And that, members of the grand jury, is how I lost my virginity at hash!
Then the disperse took place.
The effort that goes into getting all this happening is truly amazing. The moderators have to do a lot of homework, find a place where a run trail can be set. Then they go and mark the trail with shredded paper and chalk. Once this is done, there are smaller logistics issues like getting the drinks van, the snacks, the beer, the ice slab and so on… all this for the honor of cooling off their asses, literally.
“The Rinking Club with a Dunning problem”

Fotos ke liye check kare http://www.flickr.com/photos/manojbhat/sets/72057594071343483/

Bullet Varieties

I found this link that has so many varieties of Royal Enfields available in UK...

http://www.brmc.co.uk/royal_enfield.htm

Hope some day these are also available in India - there is even a 500 CC lean burn engine model.

Kauvery Komforts

Welcome to Bangalore – Mysore Expressway, Roads to Prosperity

It was the valentine weekend. But RTMC (it’s the bullet club, for the uninitiated) decided to play spoilt sport. It isn’t such a bad thing to love a bullet, you know. And that is how I ended up on the Bangalore – Mysore, Road to Prosperity.
Starting point was Town Hall, 7 sharp (beats me, 7 is pretty crooked itself, rite). But I reached there on time, despite the misleading instructions. There were about 10 bullets, and one by one bullets started pouring in. We were 25-30 bullets after the final regroup point at the Rajeshwari arch. There were lotsa new faces this time around too. I am really getting good at forgetting names, these days. Maybe the problem is, am not meeting enough gals. There was some garlanding of the moderators at town hall (full sheke types), Anil gave some speech and all. We started at 7:45 or so.

The Mysore Road is pretty good now, just that it is dotted with towns and the traffic is pretty heavy. But obstacle races are fun. I had done the stretch to Kengeri on my other bike, sooper stretch actually. Even before the engines warmed up, we found ourselves hogging at Kamat Madhuvan, Ramanagara - Masale, idly, vada and by-two coffee. With our tanks full, we headed straight to destination. Two stops, close to 100mins of riding, passing Chennapattna, Mandya and Rangantittu and we were at Kauvery Komforts at around 11.

There was Cauvery close by, and there were cottages for Comfort. Don’t ask me why they skrewed up that spelling. I parked my bike at the resort, and my ass in the cauvery. Stayed in water for like a long time. There was some detergent foam flowing downstream, I thought that was double gain, didn’t have to shower after the dip.

At 1’o clock, there were 30 starved stomachs, but only a couple of hands to make those chapattis. It meant we had to wait for food, but when it did finally come, we made no delay in devouring the meals.

After some photoshoots, hit the highway again at around 2:30. There was this one freak incident that happened on the way back. On these group rides, it’s very common that the group disintegrates after a while of starting – the gaps widens sometimes as much as a few kilometers. It so happened that there were two bullets that were leading the pack, with the 30 odd bulls following at a distance. On one of the overtaking maneuvers, the front seat occupant of a Scorpio, showed the finger to Doc on his Black ThunderBird. Little did they realize that they were messing with 30 odd leather-clad, pony-tailed psychos.

It was good fun when we met up with them at our next break at Café Coffee Day. We heard doc’s version of the story and started out to hunt for those bums. They chickened out and went underground. We sure did send the message across; As we were leaving the place – all the bullets revved up, and in the middle of the lotsa dust and thump, some 20 odd fingers went up.
We reached Kengeri cross by 5:30 in the evening. Mast fun ride this was – short and sweet.

Pics - http://photos.yahoo.com/manojbhat1