Phoenix, Arizona

Tintin and I were suffering our respective Monday Blues on August 29th, 2005. The entire week yawned before us. The news made a mention about the coming long weekend, and that news sparked a life into the day. There were no second thoughts about it, it was fixed even before it was decided that we were going on a roadtrip to Phoenix, Arizona. Ri in Phoenix would have to be hospitable whether he liked it or not.

MapPoint became the order of the day as Friday started drawing closer. We agreed upon driving straight to Ri's crib, starting Friday afternoon. When Friday afternoon did come, I was still waiting for the office pile to unclutter. I could see the traffic getting thicker and dense, wheels whizzing past me with untold fury, my hands glued to the steering wheel, and TinTin would be saying, "Brad, we have to go. Brad..."

"What the heck? What do you mean we have to go?", I mumbled. Day-dreaming had graduated into 40 winks at the office desk. Uh oh.

With no further ado, we sneaked out of the office, lest we invoke the wrath of the superiors. They had been informed the day before. "Errr...I'll be out of the office before 5pm tomorrow sometime.", I whispered into the aura of my immediate senior. That should do the trick, I retrospected on the roads, sinking my teeth into a snack bar.

Starting off at 3 o'clock would help us beat the outgoing Los Angeles traffic and exit the city quickly. We started driving at sharp 4 o'clock, just an hour off the mark to soon find out that everybody had thought just like us. Miraculously, we escaped the traffic jams and were soon driving out on I-10 off to Arizona.

Since we were eastbound, the sun was behind us all the time. Driving back, however, would be a bitch. Yeah, we knew that already. After about 3 hours of driving we were travelling through the deserts that cover the southern part of California. We would be approaching the Grand Canyon State of Arizona. The myriad of windmills outlined by the lovely sunset, was an amazing site to witness. The ups and downs through the hills and dales, we were beginning to get into a tizz

(To be continued...)

Big Sycamore Canyon

Adventure Sports is good for you.

Last Friday, when I went to bed, I didn't know that the next day was goin' to involve a lot of physical training, by way of adventure sports. But thank goodness, that my Friday night sleep was peaceful, as it wasn't goin' to be that way for the next 5 days.

Did you know why the LazyBoy is called the 'LazyBoy'? That's because one just doesn't feel like getting out of it. That cozy chair brings out the indolence in you; that's the real you.

Saturday morning, I am chilin' out and my superfighter friend, in the best of his health, Charles pops the question, "Do you wanna go mountain bikin' with us, hommie?'

I rolled my eyes, since I like to think of myself as an 'outdoor' guy, even though the intervals between the hikes seems to get longer by the year. TinTin exercises 3 times a week, and is the last part of the aforementioned 'us'. The last time I ever did anything that came close to exercising was 2 years back, so this 'mountain biking' event was more like a challenge. I decided to go ahead with it. The unknown was staring at me in my face, and I was staring at it right back.

Charles and I drove over to NewBury Park to hire mountain bikes; Tintin met up with us 5 minutes later. We had picked up the full-suspension bikes, and Tintin had to settle for something less extravagant. It was 3 in the afternoon. The LazyBoy thoughts were still hovering around my halo, and slumber was settling in as we drove quietly to Big Sycamore Canyon.

Slipping quietly into the parking lot near the mountains, we pulled out our bikes, played around with the gears, and set off for a bike-climb of half a mile to the top of the mountains to ride all the 8 miles down to the beach. That half a mile seemed like the Devil's ride to me and I was already thinkin' about what's goin' to be on my will. Charles and Tintin were already on their way without waiting for me, and I was figuring out what gear was good for this climb.

In about 10 minutes we were beginning to zoom down the hills, careful not to jam our brakes too hard lest we topple off the mountain to our death, and those 2 minutes of zooming with the wind in our face, was bliss. The guys were waiting for me to catch up with them, and ungratefully, I zoomed right past them. I reminded myself again about the brakes, and there were no casualties as yet. Charles and I had just crossed the wooden bridge that marked the end of the downhill zoom, and we hear a 'WAIT'. Somebody had fallen to his death, I thought.

That somebody turned out to be Tintin. He escaped death with a scraped palm and a bruised leg. Holding the handle bars was not goin' to be easy for him now.

Charles led us off the main cycling route into what looked like maize fields, with the regular ups and downs, and uneven grounds. It was difficult in the beginning, but we soon got used to handling the gears, lifting our butts up whilst banging into the ground and getting both the wheels to point in opposite directions to get through some tough spots.

Skidding through the muddy fields became second nature in no time. I almost felt like a professional, biking on those terrains. The adrenaline rush when we swooshed through passing streams was terrific. That was also the time, when my tooth cap came off. Ouch!

Tintin was not enjoying the bumpy ride as he was not on a full suspension bike, so we got onto the normal paved biking route all the way to trailer camps. We were approaching the beach. The point that separated the sandy grounds and the solid mud was bikable but not undertaken by us.

We were on the beach for just 20 minutes as we had a gruellin' bike up. Chillin' out on the beach was good. We rested our bikes on the sand, jumped across a tiny backwater stream and had a couple of PowerBars, gearing ourselves for the bike climb back up to the top of the mountain.

In moments, we were back on the route. I was leading for exactly 3 minutes and after that Charles and Tintin were out of sight. My muscles were beginning to give away. In 20 minutes my gear chain gave way, and Charles had to come to my rescue.

After about 4 miles of cycling way behind the others, I was on my own. I couldn't care less. I finally had some time to take pictures of the beautiful surroundings. The bike ride was slow, but do-able.

Since I was alone, I decided to cheat. I got off the bike, and decided to walk it for sometime, until I could feel my calves all over again. In about 5 minutes, I was bored of walking, but cycling wasn't exactly enticing then. Clicking pictures, walking my bike, biking my legs and mustering up my remaining courage, I arrived at a fork.

Now, I had to take a crucial decision. Either I could take one way and be jungle-boy for the rest of my life, or I could take the other way and reach the car where the other guys would be hopefully waiting. I decided to be JungleBoy.

Cycling for 10 minutes, I didn't see anybody, and call it my instinct or what, I just decided to turn back and take the other route. This was the route that we had taken on our way to the beach, but it was through the fields; I just thought it made sense to stick to the normal route, so that even if I don't run into Charles and Tintin, atleast I could run into somebody, instead of bears and snakes.

It was getting to be sunset, and I had to cycle faster. I hadn't seen any humans for atleast what seemed like an hour. Amusing myself by clicking different pictures, I finally find Tintin and Charles waiting for me to turn up. Thank God, I was on the bike and not walking.

The zoom ride was lurking around the corner, and the mere thought of it was exhausting our minds. Crossing the bridge, and marking the spot which was already blood marked by Tintin, there was no way we could ride up. The three of us decided to walk our bikes, something that I had done for about 1.5 miles already. That walk up was onerous. I was far behind, as usual. A very well deserved 'Phew'.

Back on flat ground, and completely energized, we had the company of other bikers. All of us were very glad that somebody invented cars. We stopped on our way at Yama Sushi to have chow.

Adventure Sports is good for you. Yeah, that's what I thought too. I was aching for the next 5 days. And Charles asks us again today, "Is it goin' to be a wine tour or mountain biking tomorrow?'

Mountain Biking, Hell yeah. On second thoughts, Hmmm...Oh yeah. Wine Tour, please.

The coup.

Smriti and I exchanged worried glances wondering whether everything had gone as planned. Kasim should have been back at the cottage by then; he was late by 10 minutes. The candle flame flickered, listing more in the direction of the silent, cool breeze that was blowing outside. The power cuts were more frequent, and nobody seemed to complain. A bead of anxious sweat trickled down her neck, finally getting absorbed into her dull pink blouse.

"Kasim's always late; I am positive he must have stopped over at Mishra's for a puff.", she sighed and looked in the general direction. Had she not smiled, I would have missed the humor, and would have assumed that Smriti had succumbed to the mounting pressure.

Smriti's smile in her eyes had always been the explaining factor to her cryptic retorts, and caustic humor. I was proud that I could figure out what was in her mind, though I did have to wait for the befuddled sentence, and the explanation in the eyes, of course.

The wait continued. We both played with the same thoughts, "Where the heck was Kasim? I hope he is not dead."

* * *

Should I hope to find a gold ring inside this one's tummy or what? Atleast that is what it looks like the way you have priced this one!", jibed the young Bengali lady to the fish vendor. I looked up from my tobacco chore, with a lit match cupped in my palms.

The matchstick flame burnt my fingertips enough to distract me from the haggling girl, clad in a white sari and a crimson colored blouse that blended well with the border of the former garment. I uttered a silent shriek, and her eyes darted in my direction, catching me suck on my sore finger.

"Are you alright, Sir?", inquired the girl with a touch of concern, taking a step towards me.

"No, I am not 'alright'", I said with a twinkle of mischief. "I am Kaushal, that's what my grandmother named me; Kaushal Roy" I wasn't trying to flirt with her, and after having blurted the first words that came to my head, I hoped she would take it in the right spirits.

"Well, that's good then, as I didn't want to be the cause of any arson early this morning." Her smile heard my sigh of relief, but her instant reply presented me with a new warrior of wits, it did seem to have a touch of naughty pride, or had I taken the place of the fish vendor now. She didn't give me any time for a comeback; her basket of groceries sans fish, changed hands, and grabbing the free end of the sari with the same hand, she walked by me saying, "Have a good day, Mr. Roy."

My eyes followed her till the end of the crowded street. Just when I was about to turn my back and swing my way, had she not turned around and given me a glance with those spirited eyes, she would have slipped away into sweet oblivion.

I thought to myself, 'She could be the one.'

* * *

The fragrance of the jasmine flowers in her hair spruced everyone's spirit in the room as she playfully walked in to the conference, albeit a minute late. Her eyes caught mine, and she had the same expression in them the day I saw her first.

It would be a lie if I say I was not in love with her, and it would not be the truth if I said otherwise. The whorl of emotions that played upon my mind is inexplicable as it was never understood by me. I doubt, if she ever fathomed my thoughts.

The Civil Disobedience movement had been declared by Gandhi, and the 1857 uprising was being incarnated by the day. I considered myself a revolutionary, and peaceful talks were my first attempt, but if that did not help, I would have had no qualms about an exploding situation. The difficult part was getting the others to believe in themselves and in me. Something more difficult than that would be finding 'the others'.

It was quite a coincidence that I arrived in to Midnapore in the summer of 1942, a few months before the announcement of the movement. The patriot in me survived the 2 years of academia spent abroad, and I was back, with a mindset to make a difference. I was holding my patience reins, everytime I seen and read about the atrocities committed by the British Government. My father was a very influential and affluent man, but political enough to keep the British at a distance. I respected him for that, but there were times when he had to give in.

Having stepped onto my motherland, I kept an eye open for fellow thinkers and revolutionaries. They could be disguised anywhere working as a sweeper to the horse-cart pusher to the clerk who held a high position in the law courts.

Lallan was my first hope in this foray of revolution. Lallan performed his duties as a priest, performing morning worship rituals at the Kali temple located next to the town center. I circled the temple in an attempt to locate him, but it was futile. And I didn't want to hound Lallan out of his house, as that would spoil the surprise. I hadn't informed anybody that I was returning. I even wondered how he would react on seeing me.

I was born a non-believer, and stayed away from any religious activities as much as I could. My mother, the person who helped me take this stand, used to enforce sanctions if temple worship was not attended twice a day, especially since I was born into a Brahmin family. Lallan was the priest's grandson, and grew to be my best friend due to similarity in thoughts. Lallan disliked all the activities associated with temple worship, but he grew up to be a priest, as it gave him easy access money to survive, and pursue his interests in journalism. He was a glib talker, managed to gain access to inaccessible places, squeeze news out of situations and people, and provide them to Kasim, the news editor. Kasim would then publish them under a pseudonym.

Talking of Kasim, he was next on the list to be surprised. I was about 99% percent sure that Kasim's reaction would be exactly the way my dad reacted. That would be nada or zilch. But once in a while, Kasim does the unexpected, hence the reserved one percent.

(To be continued...)

Kids with Cams

The kids squirmed with anticipated pain, when the needles pricked into their tender brown skin. The results came out within a week. As the movie rolled on, I waited with baited breath; I couldn't heave but a sigh of relief when I heard Zana say 'Good News, they are all negative."

It is a sober moonlit night, with the garden sprinklers humming away quietly, without a worldly care. Inspite of being a Friday night, I am at my pad watching this splendid documentary titled 'Born into Brothels'. The movie is based on kids born in North Calcutta's red-light districts, and captures the moments of rejections, failure, and success involved in the director's efforts to rehabilitate these kids, with an intended view towards a better future for them.

The movie introduces the viewer to 8-year old Puja, whose mom is a sex-worker. The mother's primary concern is to bang in the green whichever way it is given. Kochi, Shanti, Avijit, Gour, Suchitra and Manik are Puja's friends who share similar fate of being born into a brothel. Hats off to British-born photographer, Zana Briski and her co-director, Ross Kauffman, for making a movie that held my attention for an entirety of 85 minutes.

Zana is also the founder of the non-profit organization, 'Kids with Cameras'. She does a splendid job of getting the kids to channel their interests into photography, thereby offering them a different perspective of life. Most kids who are born into brothels, often regard their lives as 'normal'; and finally succumb to the viscious circle of flesh trade. Without proper education, it is impossible to get the kids to realize that they have an option.

It is mighty pleasing to see the kids embrace photography with both hands that soon get busy clicking away day-to-day activities. Zana teaches them the basic 'how-to's of photography, and the tricks of the trade.The kids turn out to be naturals at photography. Their brilliant photography is a feast for the eyes. It is not surprising to see how these kids pick up photography with a lot of enthusiasm. The kids have been exposed to a hard life up until now, and thereby find it relieving to express themselves through their photos.

Zana's main aim is to get these kids a proper education. The kids have to realize that they could lead a better life with good schooling. The mission workers manage to admit every kid into a boarding school. The schools are concerned about them being HIV +ve. The negative blood tests are very comforting.

Zana helps them organize photo exhibitions to raise funds towards their benefit, and also manages to get Avijit, one of the kids, to Amsterdam for an international photography workshop. Before going to Amsterdam, Avijit has his concerns about school life, but gets convinced finally.

The kids' smiles, mischief, laughter, all bundled into a neat movie is a viewers' delights, and sheer pleasure for the heart. Of the kids shown in the picture above, only 2 of 'em continue to be in school, the rest of 'em have been withdrawn from school by their illiterate parents or relatives for purposes unknown, but none too good.

It just makes one realize that money accumulated serves no purpose if it's not being put to good use. There are millions of kids out there in similar situations or worse, and it is really sad that not much is being done. We would love to help and do social service, but the real question is, can we afford to? This is indeed a selfish line of thought, but take a moment over here to think really deep.

And while you are at it, do take a moment to appreciate their pictures at their website. You will realize that my pictures do not capture an iota when compared to what these kids have to show you through the pictures clicked by their innocence.