Like a Bird

(Note: This post has been selected as one of BlogAdda's Tangy Tuesday Picks, here. That's a second pick from this blog. Thank you guys... I'm honored!)

I was on the cliff. With every quivering step I took towards the edge, skittish pebbles rolled off the steep precipice, into the vast abyss below. Although it was impossible to watch them plunge all the way down, I could imagine them hitting several mean boulders along the way and bouncing off them, glinting in the setting sun as if performing their last dance, and then touching terra firma; at a drop of some 2000 feet from where I now meekly stood. But I was planning to go this very way and that was certain. A few more centimeters now away from the edge... a few more pebbles skittle away. Now... anytime now I would join them. Suddenly, something pushes me forward with gusto. I jerk violently, my feet now slipping, screeching swiftly off the steep slope. I reach the edge, run out of land and then.... I LEAP!

The post mid-day sun was cruel, scorching down on us with all the heat it had in store for the day. The landscape was equally unforgiving, with the flat, plateau-like land absent of any vegetation, save for a lone tree at a spot someone had dispiritedly named - 'One Tree Point'. Nonetheless, our rickety carriage trundled along, a spirited equine named 'Saajan' (?!) leading the way. The guide rattled on, for the thousandth time perhaps, his rehearsed speech of the history of this forsaken, baked-land. I was thoroughly disinterested as anyone could be; the only thing I looked forward to was the guide's assurance that he would help us make contact with a man who could fly. And who would eventually help us fly too.

The miserable tour was finally over; but not without cheerful sayonaras and some corn-feed to an exuberant Saajan. Now we get to met THE man. Half imagining a dude with biker-gear, spiky gelled-mane and a fake accent to match; we follow the guide to the dude's hangout. Comically, the hangout turned out to be 'Anna's Fast Food'; the dude replaced by a portly, deeply-tanned man with an opposite color on his pressed shirt, oiled curls for the hair and a heavy accent that frequently used the phrase, 'Come you here!!' (?!) I tried to ignore that. After all, he knew some useful people who could paraglide, and that's what we focused on. "We want to paraglide tomorrow. Could you give us details?" we asked him. To which he replied, rolling tongue and all, "Czee, if you waaant to do it naw, then I have my men parraglidingg naw. It is sunzet and the wind is perrfekkt. Toomaarrow, no garrantee." We looked at each other, "NOW?!!!" None of us were ready for NOW! We weren't psyched-up enough, not loaded with the required adrenaline for this sport, not at that moment. But we had no time, it was now or never. One said yes, the other followed and the third's aye made it a trio of wannabe-paragliders. Whooppeee!

The wait was most excruciating. Awaiting your turn on the cliff, watching other mortals plummet off the edge and then craning your neck to see their progress in the sky... it was frightening, especially for someone (read yours truly) who loathes heights. And I don't even want to recall the terrifying drop below. It nearly paralyzed me to watch trees and buildings the size of lego-blocks. I tried not to look down and fixed my eyes on the sky. If I get through this God, I know for certain you exist. Let me survive this, please!

And so I found myself being called out (again)- COME YOU HERE!! In a few seconds I was strapped on with all the safety gear; these guys were nimble. I was going to fly in tandem with an instructor, 3 times my weight (for obvious reasons). Soon, I was all buckled up and ready to go, all this time my legs trembling quite embarrassingly. Now, all that was needed was a gentle breeze to set the wings in motion. The breeze would give flight to the wings, and would tug me and the instructor alongwith it. I was told to move forward, towards the edge of the cliff. Sure, I must've died a few times out of fright alone as I advanced forward... but move ahead I did, and not without solid resolve.

I was on the cliff. With every quivering step I took towards the edge, skittish pebbles rolled off the steep precipice, into the vast abyss below. Although it was impossible to watch them plunge all the way down, I could imagine them hitting several mean boulders along the way and bouncing off them, glinting in the setting sun as if performing their last dance, and then touching terra firma; at a drop of some 2000 feet from where I now meekly stood. But I was planning to go this very way and that was certain. A few more centimeters now away from the edge... a few more pebbles skittle away. Now... anytime now I would join them. Suddenly, something pushes me forward with gusto. I jerk violently, my feet now slipping, screeching swiftly off the steep slope. I reach the edge, run out of land and then.... I LEAP!

You know what they say about having an out of body experience. Well, this must be something like that. It felt as though I'd left my body behind and it was just me, my thoughts and soul in the sky. I couldn't speak (I didn't even yell when I jumped off the cliff), I couldn't even form an 'O' with my mouth. So this is how birds must feel. Light but powerful, vulnerable but safe, gliding steadily, yet soaring higher and higher. It was magical, simply astounding. With the setting sun as the perfect backdrop, the hills and the valley engulfed me in their endless beauty. We soared in the sky for a few more magical minutes - defying gravity, flouting nature's laws for some more time. Soon, the sun would go down. So it was time to land. Hesitant as I was, I complied.. remembering the landing instructions. So I pulled my legs up, holding them straight before me. We were descending swiftly now. And I could see two men running towards us. Before I knew it, we were down.... my feet grazing ground zero. Ah, Mother Earth! Never have I been so glad to touch down! The men helped me off my gear.. I was entangled in all those wires! I found myself thanking my instructor profusely - he risked his life for my fix of adrenaline too. Then, I sprinted off towards my friends... never before being so glad to be alive. Though it may sound dramatic; I can honestly say the entire experience was like being born again - being liberated from the womb of your fears, as you touch down. Definitely worth trying again.

As for you, dear reader, you have to fly first to feel that way. Wouldn't you?

And the show (down) begins!

Its back! And it promises to be larger, louder and meaner than its previous two outings. On the flip side, it also guarantees (embarrassing) situations where grown men behave like a bunch of tribal Aborigines hollering and dancing at their annual jungle grassraiser event. You would not be wrong in saying that one could, in all probability, witness a rise in divorce cases (or atleast separations) during this dratted season. Because wars erupt at home. Over something as humble as the modest remote, God bless its existence for lazy-loafs like us. The charged up, tongue-hanging-out, jumping-on-the-sofa, dumb-as-a-pin bloke, along with his entourage of boisterous, unruly and equally brain-dead buddies, refuses to zap channels from Set Max while the thoroughly repressed and depressed woman insists on her daily antidose of tear-jerking, over-the-top family, ageless (literally) family dramas. Tensions are bound to rise and tempers are liable to be lost. Soon, before he could realize what's just hit him, the poor guy could find himself biting the bullet and signing a hefty alimony cheque.

Ohkay. Maybe I've over-dramatized the entire sequence of events that may occur during the IPL season. But wouldn't you agree you'd find the sexes battling it out, throwing abuses (and dishes, perhaps) at each other, mainly because they cannot STAND the other's preferred choice of idiot-box-entertainment? I don't know why the women-folk are complaining though. I mean, you just have to switch on the TV whenever you want and watch one of them regressive, numbing daily soaps; never mind if you've entirely missed last week's episodes. I guarantee you will STILL understand every single scene. You may even be in the applaudable position of predicting what's gonna happen next. No replays needed, no sleepless nights mulling over who cheated on whose domestic donkey, who married whose toothless grandmother, who slapped whom (with 3, it is ALWAYS 3, back to back slow-mo repeats and fake 'chaata' ka sound) and who returned back from the (ir)reversibly dead lot, for the three hundred and forty seventh time in the show's short history.

That said, one cannot deny or for that matter, ignore the tremendousness that IPL brings alongwith its flashy, glittery arrival every year (although this year's opening was a damp, flop affair). The eclectic crowds, the shenanigans, the star team owners, cheerleaders (aren't they, by far, THE biggest draw?), the ridiculous pay packets, the jumbo prize money and the 2-month-elaborate-shindig conducted by all possible media worth-their-salt, going gaga over the teams... it really is, at times, larger than life. Everything else comes to a screeching halt for these 2 months. Producers shy away from releasing their movies, travel plans are delayed, the workplace/college canteen is a riotous place full of heated discussions and school-children beg to stay at home on match-days. Even non-fans of the game have switched loyalties. Mention the word cricket in India and you're bound to get flashed by a toothy grin that starts from one ear and ends at the other, like a drunkard does on spotting a bottle of his favorite rum. We are a mad, mad nation of cricketophiles.

Speaking of madness, I was witness to one such insane IPL match in its inaugural season. At the magnificent D.Y. Patil Stadium in Navi Mumbai. Started by cheering for the home team - Mumbai Indians and ended up rooting for the winning team - Deccan Chargers. Who the heck cares anyway?? Spectators were only interested in dancing and yelling every time some batsman (never mind which team's) hit the boundaries or a bowler took a wicket, hooting at the cheerleaders and making paper planes and throwing them from one stand to another. Match gaya bhaad mein. People were there to enjoy themselves and scream as though the Texas Chainsaw-wielding baddie himself is chasing them, baying for their collective blood. No wonder the firangs consider us a weird lot.

Here are some of the pics I took of Mumbai Indians vs. Deccan Charges match at the gorgeous D.Y. Patil Stadium, a place best experienced at night when it is in its full floodlit glory. Stunning!

I'm gonna visit again this year, this time - the Brabourne stadium. Which teams, you ask? As if it matters! ;)

Ferrrrrrrrrrrari!

My favorite F1 car - Ferrari (only because Michael Schumacher was with it) is in town! And where it is, can Avanti be far behind? She certainly can't. And here she is, next to her dream car! The car she's rooted seven full years for (during Michael's stint)! Now only if Schumi was there too..... *starts dreaming*

Ooooh!

Aaaah!

Me, beaming (you know why!)

World of Pain

Apologies for posting such harrowing pictures (yes, I'm no different from those blasted news channels on TV... though I did not post the video... which is twice as disturbing with slow replays of Jamos Baranyai dislocating his elbow, played an excruciating 3 times over! I almost threw up).... but these pictures really got me pondering about the gruelling drill that these athletes go through. In the name of honour for the country (or for individual glory, take your pick) they undergo phenomenal amounts of training, sometimes bordering on the inhuman. Naturally, there is a breaking point. My heart goes out to Jamos Baranyai. He must be in a tremendous world of pain. I hope he recovers soon. But please, do not push yourself or your protesting body to a point where even life becomes of secondary antecedence to you.