Tuesday, August 22, 2006

Cochin _ Travelouge

Holy shit I was on a trip. A very compelling motive to accumulate more that 1000 kms under the butt and boast the accomplishment the rest of life, made the trip conceivable and Cochin just became an object towards the 1000km goal. In addition there was the synagogue and chance to see some jews in real. Gabbar and Rishi were to partners in expedition. My bike was to carry the luggage and rishis one gabber.

Cochin has a small jewish community, though not the azrakanic jews, they have been India for so long and before the last of them emigrates to Israel I wanted to pay them a homage. The Chinese fishing nets and yadayada. Cochin beckons.

I am none the wiser

The confrontation with the elemental power of nature came as a rude awakening, I cracked. The steady downpour, narrow slippery road, rash and threatening traffic especially those red buses, high beams and the added pressure of keeping up with rishi’s snapped all my energies and gnawed at my spirit, I still made it through, 600 plus one and a half kilometer in all.
This trip I had to experience torrential rainfall, add to punctures, all night driving and sleep deprivation I had endured, had I got any wiser.

Wisdom contextually can be defined as being cognizant of danger, to skip and to avoid it. Though forewarned of torrential rain was and having faced punctures, all night driving and sleep deprivation in my previous trips, I still undertake the harrowing trip just for that 1000km milestone. I am neither wise nor happy but I am still happy for I am humbled now. And for the next trip I would respect rain and every meter of the journey.

Half of a battle is less than half of a battle.
The first 220kms were zipped in little over 4 hours. It was good going, it was and so we thought the next 360 looked would be an easy game. But when rain can play havoc with your calculations it would. Every next meter was tougher than the previous. than last you need to better know the exponential graphs well.

Rain rain go away, please let my balls be little gay.
Rain and shine are like pain and pleasure, to appreciate pleasure you need to know pain. I thought I got more than my fair share of rain, I was longing for shine. I heard the morning azan somewhere near Mysore, it was refreshing, though I had forsaken muzzein call to prayers, it was the sun which would comes shortly after that azan call. But it was not to be my undies were wet and manhood shriveled into a corner. It needed sun to be gay and got none.

Edakal cave and the cavorting girls.
Eda – center and kal – cave. Edakal cave a simple name but an very significant archaeological cave. It was here on some big moutian top some pre historic humanoid dwelt and subsequently many a men had scribbled some strange writing in palin, in Dravidian tamil on the great wall in the cave. There was a jeep to take us to the highest motorable point that way towards the cave, we were in luck the jeeps seats seven we were three. One of the reason which I look for most of time while I am driving is the thought of meeting some sultry amazon. We are three the Jeep would take seven and there were girls waiting. It felt as if sometime when fate conspires to consulate you. I try to strike a conversation and am left cursing myself for a long time. Statutory Warning, crocking when the girl janta are speaking among themselves especially when they got boy friends around is never gonna get you that girl.

Water fall and the smallish fall.
Actually in fact here, I have nothing to write, it is just that after 4 long painfully hours in rain, I felt like a wet sparrow. I halted near a petrol for fuel needs and I could not hold the bike still on little gradient between the tarmac and the loose soil. The bike goes down and I lay there shivering.

Mario stage 3 –iceland.
Sparrow is a bird, so is roc. Roc is big, I am big, Big is stout sparrow is supple, I am stout and supple. I am jack sparrow and I trudge along. Well when the ground beneath your wheels is shivering slippery and rain is draining your reasoning faster and faster. Nonsense is a very good bank, it can always make itself an bigger worry. Truly you can worry about nonsense and forget all about. Nonsense can fill everything as only nonsense can. And it was nonsense which came to my rescue when I was as confident as playing the slippery stage in Mario first time and the nonsense was Israel vacating the Golan heights, employing a large gang of palestines to build the worlds largest reclamation somewhere in dead sea. It even helped me driving in absolute darkness against blinding highbeams.

Glad to be alive.
“I have breathed life into you and I shall take it”, some god said. I am safe in rishis sister house.
For the creater had not destined time to just yet. Slyly a thought strikes, it pays to be vile, for the creator wont want you anywhere near you sooner and you get a long time to be as vicious as you can be. Cheers.

Abbu the pedagogue.
My experience with my two nephews 8 and 7, both male or in many words simple straight self centered scheming adorable kids, is straight forward. They ask things I buy then afterwards they are nowhere to the seen. In cochin are two sweet sweet girls, who look genuinely happy seeing me. I am floored and decide that I want a girl for my first baby. And I go about teaching them paper tricks and maths for I don’t know anyother to play and to see how long it would take to mould them like Judit Polgar.

The Gladdest moment.
I am in cochin and it is day two. The creeks and crevices of the overhead tank above the apartment had been my only sight seeing so far. Still I am happy. Gabbar, the third guy had clearly stated his intention of lodging a complaint against rishis for attempting man slaughter.
He was returning by bus. Two bikes, two guys rain and 600km more, a horrendous thought. Should I drive back? Should I send my bike and risk my life for the other bike? Why chrono travel real? How could I betray rishi?

I conspire and the next we are booking three tickets and two bikes. I had not done an iota of sight seeing. But still the gladdest moment.

A jew at last.
Jews call them the eternal people, Islam calls them people of book, an aunt calls them adamant conspiring enemies of Islam. Disjunct I think they are in real. Separated they were from Egypt, separated from Palestine, separated from Europe. They don’t understand that an absence of 1600 years had robbed them their right of Promised Land. Historically they stayed longer in Egypt than in Palestine. In 60 years I agree they have earned the right to live where they are living now. I wont deny them that, nobody can. I hope they understand and learn to mix with rest this time.(This is a travelogue, analysis about the Jewish nation later).

I meet this two light colored jews. A ripe old man who avoided me, for he figured that behind my innocent inquisitiveness lay a tough nut. The other was a girl. Gaun-ki-gori, English style, librarian like, great lips and eyes and modest red polka dress. I was sure she was not happy that way and more nonsense followed my brain till the Chinese fishing nets.

Major Saab – how can you be shit.
Rain was to be our constant companion all the time. Finally we find ourselves snuggly into a Bangalore bound bus, bike with some travel agency. Every muscle in my body was relishing every minute in the bus. Major Saab was playing on the tv. I had watched that movie a longtime back, but back then the shiftiness’ of the movie was not that apparent.

There is lot more to say, but I am holding it back, if you had read me this long, you deserve more of this. Do you?

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Tshirts and fright

The other day I was biking back home, when I see a hot chick, across whose chest was written “I was born intelligent but education ruined me”. It is a common habit among everyone of us, techies to, just let the eyes wander over the area for the briefest time required to legitimately read the text written over there. Comprehension of the wisdom put there on display usually takes place in the room with the rest of our brethren. It is both sensible and prudent, as you all, will agree. Sometimes those pearly wisdom are insulting, but since our verbal skills aren’t exactly highly developed we are seldomly offended and we take it in our stride for our.* Besides whats in a slogan, the display with any other slogan would nonetheless be a display. (As in a rose by any name is a rose)

This time I knew those lines by heart; I slyly pretend to read that slogan. To my surprise subconsciously I am saying, “oh that is just pure shit, education did not ruin her, she is in fact more intelligent then now then she was when she was born, for education widens our perspectives and blah blah”. I felt disgusted when I come back to senses for at 24 you shouldn’t reflect upon the esoteric gyan what should matter is that tight cheast.

I spend the rest of the day in total fright, apprehension and confusion. Should I tell this thing to my roomies? Would I ever be able to relish, err read any other slogan without prejudice? Why am not sure about the colore? Was it pink or sheer white? Did it rain there? Why did not it rain there? And I collapse into bed.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Omkara -A

Eighteen Sikhs lining to watch an ‘A’ rated movie is an very regular joke. So when I heard the mouthful dialogue then I looked around expecting to found a rowful of then in Urvasi theater. Thankfully none were there, but I saw a battalion from some school and lot kids around. How were they allowed i cried out jealously. The poster outside, spoke out loud that the movie under presently under exhibition had an ‘A’ rating and here there were many spectator not eighteen and still many were here sitting nonchalantly. When I, a decade was once in a similar kind of situation, remember sweating profusely, fearing any of any dear distant acquantiance.

Ok, the dialogues were not adhering to rules of grammer, but grammer other than being a compulsory subject in school, doesn’t matter more. Langada, kesu, omi though a bit lenient on sentence structure lucidly put their thoughts and emotions across. MC/BC`s is this lingo right, is it required. And at an more fundamental level are we humans wired to speak. I am not sure. Adios.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Injury time.

I am sitting on a mat, back slanting on a wall, laptop placed intentionally as far form groin as possible. My last post has something bout breaking rumer bone. I think rumer is that, big bone which we have in legs.

“wiggle you little toe, wiggle”. These were some words which “The bride: KILL BILL” spoke to lull her unresponsive feet from coma into motion. I was forced into an accident yesterday. Forced is right for I did all I could to not get involved. A moronic car driver felt violated by a guy on overload 80 cc tvs. Enraged and to give that guy an earful, he presses the hydraulic break without a thought to people behind him. Just like that it comes to a stop. I manage to halt the bike a millimiter from the car. The guy behind felt that he could curve past and only brushes against my left leg.

Now here it is, my leg lying on a mat, no great injury or fracture, just the calf is swollen to twice the original and the little fingers decide not to move. The AC felt colder and my trysts to my favorite paanwaala are taking little longer.

Pain and pain, it is the constant thing in life. It is hidden most of time but once in a while to some and constantly for others it keeps reminding things, which we would love to forget. I have a left leg and five toes on it, the nail on the smallest toe has turned black, not because of injury hygiene I guesss. Whats the state of your small toe?

Blood has colligated at a point. An area smaller than a key of keyboard, can say about 60%. 15 inches below the knee and 8 inches from the palm of feet centered exactly when the leg is left at its natural tilt. A violent red big bindi .There is no other visible abrasions on skin. This should mean that the origin, the staring axes of pain is there, that bindi very much defined. But I am not pretty sure, the pain seems radiating it from everywhere and sometimes incredibly from outside the leg. But still it is ok, enjoyable sort of pain, otherwise I wont be blogging.

“wiggle my little toe!”, ok, I wont bother you anymore today. The left foot it is. It is warmer than the uninjured right one. I felt it when I cross them. Now both the legs are now completely out of view, hidden like pain behind the screen. Still the pain is very much there. Since I no longer can see, when I concentrate, it seems to stem from somewhere, I don’t know from where, but surely not form my leg but some where form behind the screen,

I find myself in a postion now, which is a challenge to put in words. The neck has taken a rare break, the head, it is held pressed between the knees. Quite a challenging postion and should I ever again find myself in it, I would jot the peculiarities of it. But then I sure don’t want to sit like that anytime again.

Actually I am liking this injury, for it is innocuous and definitely not life threatening and nor is it affecting my work. Added, it gave an excuse to postpone regular jogging by a week plus something to blog.

Now finally let me thank those guys from HCL ulsoor road who helped me back on feet. Thank you guys.

P.S: I wanted there to be chapter 3: Opal. But feelings like this warm iodex rubbed on skin are to be cherished and chronicled.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Chapter 2: Opal

This blog is second in the Opal series. My position vis-a-vis Opal is yet unclear. I wish to explore it via this series. For unlike dubya I believe the world has many shades of gray. Let me milk till the last drop.

Other than Zahir, Opal blah blah happens to be the only other novel which got better of my mindless determination, irrespecting and uncaring of any issues to see every books end. Zahir heavy boring stuff. Whereas Opal Mehta is in klingion I say and squeaky. I couldn`t comprehend her nor hold myself against those soggy sobbing words.

Before mehta thing happened, I was positive. The smooth sexy me was sure of handling any women. I was so confident that I decided that I would give patient listening to only chicks with long hair and nice boobs (and with patient ear I fantasized that I would fiddle my hand to her bossom,err to her heart). Over confidence sprouting from reading Men are from mars at an young age. I never been in a relationship and if women really turn out to from furs, aka venus l. I am in real need of a horrible reality check.

But sure did Opal Mehta put a hard stinging slap across my face. I was shown the truth. My literary diet, which entirely consisted of pips of Great Expectations and Human Bondagae. Or that Raskolnikov elk and sweet little harry once in a while, was unprepared for anything Mehta served. Really I wonder, women why are you so uncomfortable with your unhappiness. Now let me rant the reasons why I gave up opal around page 40.

1. Opal is sad and hopeless and so were all the above three mentioned characters, I read to enjoy pain no other way around.
2. If somebody asks, who are your best two friends? Ya moron I would be dumbstruck, so would you. Ofcourse I have really good beer guzzling asses for buddies, but I would give them up rather the 20 bucks I lost in a pool game. Infact if any one asks such private questions, that person is surely gay and is fantasying you in bed, avoid him. Break your rumer bone rather than going to any coorg trip with him.
3. You commented on your best friends boobs, what should I comment on, penis. We are proud sons and husbands of bharathi. “hum indira key patti betay hi”. I don’t go to western style lockers and any talk bout your mr.junior talk is strictly illegal.

Sunday, May 07, 2006

Opal again

I happened to glance at “How Opel mehata blah blah” laying on payment across bata showroom in jayanagar. I bought it. The palagarization charges upping its appeal a few notches extra and on cover , those high heals and long trecess maketh it an unavoidable buy. Seriously to say, those Xeroxing charges maketh none difference for we lot in Bangalore. For I being none the wiser of any other chick flick, each and every passage of it would sound as fresh as fresh as fresh can be.

“300 odd pages, the book could be mopped clean by midnight”. Hubris, it was. It is simple matter to read LOTR, stretching your involuntary reflexes till death. For few quick bites and you are revived. Sympathizing page after page with opal, be warned tortures your mental faculties, upsets your stomach, and makes you uncomfortably think bout yourself rather than rooneys less England. 40 pages down I had a promotion of calamity I calmly shoved that book among my roommtees clothes and allowed myslelf a weird smile, For in that corner great many things have been lost for oblivion.

After a cold shower, I was back to normal. Master planning propogation of genes and interrupted by fleeting thoughts of the greatness of oncoming posterity. In circa 2121 it struck, what if by chance my grandson is the only one holding the only paper back of something so nauseating left in this world. Sure some Bill's great grand daughter heir would want it desperately in orginal print. She would willingly pays a quarter of her fortune. Now i had second thoughts and i rummaged my way through roomies stock. But shit! how could I forget that everthing into sohails mess is one way. To be true, the copy which I had was a pirated one and heir of gates would more probably pack the kid to goals.

But still the book could attract cease and destroy ruling, and only one world wide which could escape that incretion is the one that is hidden in that trove of clothing. But first thing first I am busy recuperting after that wreathing and strenuous read, it is only kayya that can soothe me to sleep guys.

“For it is the only the one who hurts you the most can comfort you the most”[source: Madonna’s that graphic book with naoimi cambell in it.]

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Orkut has a way.

Howz Orkut? Good.
Orkut would be subject matter of discussion toady.
Why? Cause its good.

Orkut was once upon a time invented for something, and as it happen, it was quickly put to varied uses. Our hero first found this from some sapna who loved to be told exactly “baby you are sexy I would like to *** you” and nothing more.

Back here the day before yesterdays was this guys birthday,(People! wish me). Many long lost buddies rang him and one such rare diaper buddy(langotia yaar) wanted the birth day boy in his Orkut list. Our hero obliged his wish but the next day did he again got curious of Orkut varied prospects and this time he got curious of all girls out there.

He unintentionally commits a grave sin, and also misses the rebirth of a Nation.

Nepalese people busy in cracking a perfect constituion forget heros birthday and he in turn was busy at perfect Bday mail. The people in Himalayas cradle were blasting crackers and shouting that theirs, theirs could only now to on to become an accountable democracy. The hero here was distributing sweets and gravely conspiring starategies to get sexier as he can and rightly should.

Neither the hero nor the intellgencia, knew each other, both unaware that both could go on to be let downs. He none the sexier /smoother and their roads none any wider/smother.

Never has any poor democracy been a blameless democracy and 24 years of empirical data shows that our hero as such has no record of getting sexier as he had gone matured. Enough of this Rasidisque, midnight copying, but -kya karoo- me as that girl vishwanth of opel Mehta fame, am intensly influenced by good old Rashidie.

Joke: How would Salman Rashidie meet his end ?
1:50  die of asphyxiation cause, Padma.
1:500 ETA contracts to piss of rashidie for the money on his head.
1:5000 Rashidie dies of rash driving.

Sinse MAD is no longer in publication, why polish the effort.

But people first things first, I have a confession but I am not yet sorry enough to confess it.

Before I sign out, my next blog would be on why I left out chameli from the list of my favorite movies my profile , and why does every body mostly listen to English music only in orkut, and now relearn your mother tounge. Do we need English, do I need it to pen my thoughts.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

Deadth and kicking alive

Fundamentally when you realize that you are nothing but only probability of matter most of your problems are solved. Rajkumar died today and the theory of probability has triumphed again. The lattice of hard and soft tissues which tell date, by their regular predectve structure defied the unchallengable theory of probality, are exposed to be just one more sham.

Sick of rajkumar, I don’t even know that guy, but just that, the conditons came together to a blogging probility and will in few minutes give birth, oops it isn`t birth but according to probability, some eletrons in the blogger database randomly exiting themselves for an unrandom duration, that’s it. But first things first, I felt let down, let down, let down today, I cant tell what it is, for basically I don’t keep telling strangers.

Sick of probability equals to gawd. I don’t even know that guy, gawd, just that I was reading about that fellow these days and I came to a conclusion that I am no longer an atheist, that doesn’t mean I don’t stop irrespecting of god, some fellow somewhere calls himself free-thinker and I join his bandwagon, that’s it but first things first, my heart is beating , beating, beating, beating, It is so fast, so fast, so fast, I don’t want it to stop.

Sick of that thing which used to make the heart beat, beat and stop and beat and stop and beat so fast and suddenly skid to a halt, that’s the thing it is, and I know that guy,*** not a guy ***., that gal.

Love is a dish best enjoyed cold, due regards to bride –Abbu.

Monday, February 13, 2006

St Cains Day.

(Note:I meant to write about Cains day. I wrote but when i reread i was confused. This is why i am adding this note. This story is about a forgotten and a balmed historical character called Cain, whose progeny is the true holy grail. This peice is written to hit back at the age-old conspiracy and a day runious day named after Valentine. For that hence forth Feb 14 shoudl be called St Cains day after that great historical figure. )

It can be unquestionably stated that St Valentine, is undoubtedly from the creed which followed Abraham, and as it suits that line everyone is forced to silently uphold the tampered Abrahamic virtues, How unnatural when one can chooses his career in trade, deceit, clergy or peasantry, as to his personal inclinations and pleasures. But at social level is to be ashamed of his manly instincts.

Who is Cain? Why is he not spoken around? Cain was the first, the first of Abrahams progeny who stood for himself and showed the rest the way. He was the superstar of yesteryears. A super-father who, every son can be proud.

Though we find no mention of his, other than the involvement in homicide and subsequent banishment nor any mention of his progeny. The saga of Cain is not irrefutably documented, Bring him into light that I think will balance the skewd way a society forces man to be. The unspoken historical facts if verified, shout out loud that virtues and chivalry are unnatural and we men are right in the natural way we behave.

Tell me, what chivalry is, what feminism is. If you ponder deeply isn’t it a lie to enslave mankind.(we men are taxed because of men,- professional tax is waived for women). Who is more dangerous a murder or a nagging women.

How can we go back to our days of hunters, harems and games? What if he had led a normal life, what if there lay clocked a hidden line of Cain.

The real story –

It so happens, that Gawd took some time to ascertain that Cain ended his brother’s life unnaturally, then after he was banished or probably killed. It is this interval - which is of interest. Though no documented record of Cain impregnating women-folk is available, someone with such a bent of mind and possibly atheistic better looking in his folk, could have tempted any women to bite into 'pine'apple again.It further took Gawd took half moon -time or 15 days to track cain, which coincidently is enough for hormonal mood swing in an fertile women.

This fact was suppressed sinse the rise of mankind on earth. There is not a mention of this, This originally was the holy grail, which the Templar knights took upon to preserve. Until the time the world is ready to accept the real truth. They were crushed by depraved popes and queens before they could complete their endeavor. And Cain till date has been bereft of any glories. We are infact proud sons of Cain.

Are we to trust those who popes? Those who sermoned that ones chances increase by singing in church choir rather than in slinging a sword or riding a horse. Now we have volumes of modern psychological study and we can deduce that it is and was to contrary. A study of any human sample group would show a lot of similarities with cain, this clearly that the dominate percentage of men are decedents of Cain. And we should proudly say that we are sons of cain.

We no more have to fear the papal quarter. Sermons are no longer heeded, and their authenticity is as sound as virginity of Mary holds. Then who, it is those who kill us, who turn us into what we are not. Make us unnatural. The meterosexuals, feminists and gays controlling the print, radio and television. Concepts of one-women-man, foreplay, candle-lit dinners and cards aren’t they unnatural to of cains brood.

But as the saying goes repeting a lie often turns it into true, and they in cohesion with capitalists are on to kill enslave man-kind.

We wont be enslaved, we should no longer heed their rantings. our freedom is at stake and everyone of us, pledge this day that Feb 14 would be chersihed as cains day.

P.S: The postings are to continue till I liberate my fellow brethren, but if you want more go to my last years V-day blog.
Femkind: You will find the last years V-day blog to your liking, to find how I was before this revelation which dawned upon at the feet of BahuBali.

Thursday, February 09, 2006

The Writer's Cain

Print has its own charisma; it supplements and adds value to An written piece. It makes it a more compelling read, alas blogs!!. But as a profession it could be very demading the pressure to come up with the 100 lines everyday could wreck havoc to any gifted pen. This is the case mostimes, with the coulums in dailies, weeklies, and many magazines. Sidin, who i follow a lot, will join that rarified field, he has made that decision and he gets the privilege, to spew out anything and guaranteed a read. I wishfully pray that he does not turn into one, but up there anything can happen.

P.S: The title has nothing to do with the piece, just some dear murdering which many columnists do, using Self confusing titles as like as self descriptive method names.

Monday, January 02, 2006

Goa- Travelogue - 2005

Traveling adds another vector to your scale, as you motor along, it will suddenly strike - ‘time’. That time or what we call ‘change’, can be measured on many scales. Kilometers can serve, as good as conventional hours. 630 kms demands -16 hours from bike and patience from you. Somewhere along the way you need to stop counting and appreciate infinity.

This time we missed Milind and many guys who we wished were there. Again rishies road sense pulled the trip along fine and put me back at my door in Bangalore full self.
And the trip- bagalore-hubli-karwar-panjim-baga-panjim-londa-dharwad/hubli-bangalore.
1630 kms in short. Change measured in distance, time relegated.

'Fnal destination' kya?
The signs were all along.
A few days before the trip, on my way to nellore, I wake with a ‘sudden start and blood’ the bus has rammed into a truck, cutting many a chins noses and few major bones.- A light cut on my left brow.
A speeding auto trips rams into Rishi from behind, throwing him onto the road. The ‘auto repair karcha’ had to be shelled out for no reason. – A scarred right elbow.
We feigned ignorant bout the signs and continued.

Signs are missed again.
NH4is barren. After Tumkur, the 120 kms to chitradurga teaches patience, and the further 200ksm to hubli, is for you to appreciate infinity, like it or not, like it for better. There are no road signs to keep the hope alive and the bumps keep you reminding. The signs were most missed on that stretch.

Karwar, the lost beach.India is building a deep port in Karwar, on Arabian sea. It is to become to Indian navy, what Bombay was, in addition more safer and farther then Karachi. Pakistan is also building a deep port in Gwadar on the Arabian Sea, it is to become to Pakistani navy, what Karachi was, and more safer and farther then Bomaby.

Karwar and gadwar,
See the symmetry, lost beaches and oil slicks.
Hindustan and Pakistan,
See the symmetry, why wage war.

The beach was croweded. There were women, chicks, aunties, each variety of many kinds, humble, arrogant, flashy, bikined, topfree adocatees. They were women, we saw women and Rishi said ‘seeing is believing’, I agreed. ”We went we saw we believed”, and then we said in unsion ‘phooo’. The best time though was spent in a shack lining the beaches, the time just flew. Red bull, whiskey on the rock, tuna and tiger fish, I think in normal case are not supposed to last so long.[Beach PhOOO.] Still we went there every night, but then again women don’t pose as good as churches and they don’t wait for you set your tripods, and Rishi absolutely hates to hurry through photography.

Velha Goa
Goa was once upon a time, planned to be the capital of Christian world in the orient. Portugese no more but culture lingers on. Velha means old, that is the place history to see live, there roads are paved, people play football, cobblers move tucked in, fisherwomen wear HMT watches and Paulo is a common name. Churches though deserted are big, time stand stll. If you want to see that culture you watch some Micheal Jackson vedios, shot in latin America.

The rest.
Vasco port, railway station, gaon breakfast, the one which, had we born in goa, would have taken. St Andrews church, aguada fort, vijay mallys masion, the properaiter at the lodge who mistook for students, someone who showed us the way to Konkani library, the barber in Paingin, who was more than happy to get photographed, the old man who needed a tripod to be cajoled into the photograph, goa heraled, inqilab urdu paper. Soda limes > (On the rocks + redbulls). Tuna, king fish, prompret, shellfish, prawns. That’s the rest.

Happy new year.
5,4,3,2,1 happy new year, fireworks, claps and shouts, ample flesh to ogle, good food but there is still something better? Onto bike we cruised to marimar beaches, blazers and full suits and women wearing dresses, marimar beach, where goan people celebrate the new year, as i think their fathers did. We did not capture them on lens, but such a scene to cherish

Butt abuse.
We rode.

New years eve in goa is hyper, but 1600+ kms under my arse is infinitely better.