Nemi

The closest I will ever get to meeting my female alter ego! Seven pencils! Insane....

A day ruined?

The driver took his foot off the accelerator and gently braked. The vehicle slowed as it crossed a narrow bridge. I was looking out of the side window, everything was

looking 'out of the world' beautiful. The water was sparkling, dotted by small islets covered completely in tall grass dancing in the wind. Trees entwined by symbiotic vines looked like nothing I had seen before. As my vehicle slowly inched forward, two fishermen came to view, working under the parallel railway bridge, hooking their net onto it, cleverly innovating. A little further, under the same bridge, an army patrol - the soldiers looking dapper in their fatigues moved stealthily.

Some of you who know me must have guessed it already - I was having one of those moments. When everything seems incredibly beautiful. It usually happens when I wake up from a good dream. Or when I have had some good beer. Today it was a combination of both. I had spent the day exploring the ancient ruins of Polonnaruwa, the medieval capital of Sri Lanka. The experience had been nothing less than a dream. And I had celebrated later with a couple of Lion Lagers! I was on my way back now - having one of those moments!

Just a little while back, I had been sitting on the terrace of the Polonnaruwa Rest house, sipping my beer. The terrace overlooks the magnificent Parakram Samundra which shimmered in the late afternoon sun. There is something about the beer that you have after a hard day of sight-seeing in a new place. Almost as good as the shared cigarette after making love. Weird analogy for me to be making though, since I have been celibate for almost as long as I have quit smoking. Or is it the other way around?

The rest house is the perfect place to finish your days sightseeing in Polo. It is close to theArchaeological Museum which must be visited after you have done all the ruins - you can then actually admire the reconstructed models and put things in perspective. Most likely you will also be starting here. That's what I did. I had started early from my team site and was at the museum shortly before eight in the morning. The tickets for the ruins have to be bought here. The timings on the gate said 7 AM to 6 PM - but the ticket office was closed. It would open only at 9 I learnt from a person hanging around there. He wanted to know what I thought of the entry fees of US$27 and agreed whole heartedly when I said it felt like robbery. He offered to take me around for two dollars less on his tuk-tuk, the onomatopoetic name for what we so staidly call the auto-rickshaw back home.

I politely declined and told him that I looked forward to do that by myself on a bike. He immediately offered to give me the best bike in town for only LKR 500. I am usually not good at bargaining but I blurted out that someone had offered me one for LKR200. He seemed to buy that and brought his price to LKR 350 - I felt I could have gone in for the kill then, but gave up and agreed. Bandula, my newly appointed friend, said that he would take me to the place where he kept the bike on the tuk-tuk and seeing me hesitate added, "At no extra charge!" I jumped in! His place was to the south of town and was the ideal place for me to start before the museum opened as it had two sites that did not require a ticket to enter. ThePotgul Vihara and the statue of King Parakramabahu the Great. I got a good geared bike - a must as at the end of the day you are really thankful for the gears when negotiating some of the climbs.

Polonnaruwa has quite a linear layout. It is best to start from the south as I did and move up north. After seeing the statue of the solemn king holding a papaya (the serious sounding sign there had said he is holding a book or a yoke symbolising sovereignty, but I liked the papaya explanation that I had read online) I biked up to the museum. The path goes along the lake built by the 'manically obsessed with irrigation' king, Parakramabahu. I reached the museum soon after it opened and a busload of Indian package tourists were filing in. I was pleasantly surprised to find that all Asians have a 50% discount on the tickets and I only had to shell out LKR 1350. I had picked up a detailed guide book written by Jayasinghe Balasooriya earlier for LKR 250 from a vendor near the statue. I was now fully equipped to hit the main archaeological sites. The entrance to it is just a little distance away on the Habrana road.

The ruins of the medieval city of Polonnaruwa dates back to the 11th century AD, around the time when the Cholas were ruling in South India. It is now a UNESCO World Heritage site and is extremely well maintained. The entire ruins are spread over a large area and a bike is essential to get around. It can also be done if you have a car but it will not be as much fun. Biking through the tree lined gravel tracks is a whole lot of fun and it actually is a great way to beat the heat too. The vast spread of the ruins ensures that you don't feel the crowds at all - and can enjoy the spectacle of magnificent ruins set amidst verdant forests. As you bike around you can actually feel the thrill of the explorer who had first discovered these ruins. You can spend hours taking in Dagabas (Stupas), palaces and temples, trying to recreate the life that was. That is exactly what I did. A magical day amongst the ruins.

Run Interrupted

My run was kind of doomed today. First on the way out, I was interrupted by a call. A very special friend wanted my opinion on a blues concert. Felt like a connoisseur! And well, connoisseurs don’t go about sweating like a pig on some beach track, do they? Forced myself to continue. Reached the ocean. She looked really angry today. A part of the beach had been cut off by the waves. I decided to skip the swim and continued running.  On the way back I saw a militia man, his AK – 47 slung carelessly on his shoulder, talking to an old man by the rail track. As I neared them, the old man pointed at me. The rifle slowly dropped into a more menacing position as I crossed them. Our eyes met, they were the same vacant eyes of a child soldier. He was no more than sixteen. I raised my hands to wave, but something in his eyes took the wind out of my gesture. Suddenly my brain was working in overdrive. Something was not right. I heard, rather than saw, the kid slip the safety of his weapon off. I came to a halt, my hands open, to my side, trying to present as inoffensive a stance as possible. The kid shouted something in Tamil. He sounded surprisingly angry. I realized that the old man had slowly slunk away. We were all alone on the track now. For some silly reason I remembered the drunk man who had warned me against going for my run on this track. I had just started to explain in my broken Tamil when the kid moved up and shoved me. I staggered back, angry and bewildered. Without realizing I raised my voice and said something, I forget what. He continued to shout at me and then gestured dismissively. I thought he was telling me to go away. So I turned and started running along the railway track. I used this route as it was covered with sand and was really good exercise. I had barely gone a few yards when I heard him shout. I stopped and turned around. He laughed. It was almost triumphant. Something inside me snapped. I turned back and started running again. I heard him shout again. I looked back, still running, and saw that he had started chasing me. Something told me that I could out run him on the sand. I increased my pace. A little later I looked to confirm that I was gaining on him. Suddenly I heard a shot. It made me involuntarily increase my speed. I looked back and realized that the kid was actually shooting at me. This was getting bizarre. He fired again – this time a burst. I saw the sand about fifty yards ahead of me go up like four Diwali anaars in tandem. “You can’t outrun a bullet” the words of my instructor in military academy suddenly rang in my ears. I could see his face as he paused after he had said these words of wisdom and he waited for our response. I saw the satisfied look on his face as some of us obliged him with knowing laughs. And I realized suddenly that his advice should be taken immediately. I swerved like a wild horse and ran into the bushes that grow on both sides of the railway track. It provided thick cover and it had enough space in between to run through without losing too much speed. The kid let off another burst as he saw me disappear.  

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine.

Instinctively, I counted the number of bullets he was expending. I remembered that he was just carrying his rifle – no spare ammunition. I was crashing wildly through the bushes now. Branches and thorns were cutting through my skin.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.

He could see the bushes move and was aiming wildly at that. I could hear the bullets pass uncomfortably close. It’s surprising how fast you can get out of the habit of having bullets fly overhead. I was heading towards a sparse patch. Shit!

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty One. Twenty Two. Twenty Three.

Our kid was getting impatient. And very angry. I swerved wildly again. Seeking taller bushes. The kid read what I was planning. He changed course to cut me off.

Twenty Four. Twenty Five. Twenty Six. Twenty Seven. Twenty Eight.

I could actually see the last burst as it clipped some branches just ahead of me. I stopped short. And dropped down and started crawling. The kid was rushing ahead, suddenly surprised by my lack of motion. I could hear his footfall just ahead of me. I waited for him to cross me. He was slowing down. I could now see his legs. Moving tentatively. He crossed me. I don’t know why I did what I did. In retrospect, there were a lot of other options. But at that moment everything in my system screamed for me to rise and rush him from behind. I heard a blood curdling scream. I realized that it was me. The kid turned, startled and pressed the trigger.

 Twenty Nine. Thirty. Click.

I was on him now. For a moment the vacant eyes registered surprise. Then we were crashing down together. I had his neck. And I fell on it. I heard a snap. I looked into his eyes. That’s when I realized, nothing is more vacant than death. 

When I interrupt my run, this is what happens. My imagination runs wild.

 

Maybe I need a shrink.

 

Johnny 99

My work site is about 20 km from where I stay and the drive to work is one part of the day that I really look forward to. It takes me into the heart of what was, not too long ago, rebel country. Now it is heavily patrolled by the army as they are bracing up for what is still the initial stages of an insurgency. Soon as we leave the main road we cross a military check post that screens all civilians being allowed into the area. Just after that is a causeway across a lagoon. Come monsoons, in another months time, and this becomes virtually uncrossable. I have been told it is a trecherous crossing as the direction of water flow changes with the tide. As we drive along, the driver sometimes flicks on the radio. It is not rare to hear the newreader announcing some successful air raid or offensive up north. We cross the location of some minefields recently cleared by us and other NGOs working here. No signs of people returning to the area yet. 

The terrain is generally flat, lots of wooded patches, hills in the distance. We drive past a lot of soldiers, some of them wave, we wave back. Then we cross a militia outpost. They were the tigers, untill they broke away and alligned with the government. A young boy, barely in his teens, stands with an AK held convincingly. I look into his eyes, they are vacant. We drive on. Past a village with houses without roofs, doors or windows. Just a stencilled message on the walls saying 'Cleared by FSD'. The Swiss Foundation for Demining. Forlorn structures, waiting to be inhabited again. We go beyond a dirt track that leads into the forest, to the erstwhile tigers battalion head quarters. I have been there. Destroyed buidings, craters from air attacks and a monument with the desecrated but distinctive tigers emblem. The place to take oath. We drive on. Across the site of a recent claymore attack on an army vehicle by unknown people. Almost there now.

But today I am not seeing any of these. My mind is on a call I have just received. My team has encountered three Johnny 99s at the site. I am rushing to see that. We weren't expecting Mr. Johnny to be there. 

Landmines are a barbaric weapon of war. I come from a country that has not signed the treaty to ban them. I can even understand their stance. But the fact remains, landmines have the potential to cause a dispropotionate amount of physical and psychological harm to an unintended target, and mostly they do.  Johnny 99, a creation of the tigers, is an extremely lethal mine. Packed with nearly five times the explosive in other anti personal mines, it is designed not just to incapacitate but to strike terror.

I am glad three of them are off this beautiful land. But there are so many more...

Run to Indie

I get a feeling that the villagers actually look forward to that time in the evening when the crazy Indian, knapsack on his back, goes running past. It is quite a spectacle. I wave out indiscriminately to all that cross my path. Initially it startled quite a few. Now they anticipate it and encourage me on, in Tamil! A father urgently points to the other side of the street as I wave to him. I turn and look, and see his son sitting on his haunches, eyeing me shyly. I manage a wave to him too as I run past. That’s the only encouragement he needs. Soon I have a competitor. I am no match. Soon he tires of my lack of competitive spirit and turns into a lane. I run past a group of young teenaged boys, I hear a comment and all of them break into guffaws. I grin at them and keep going. I can hear a cycle just behind me. And stifled giggles. It trails me for some time and then decides to overtake. Two girls on a bike breeze past me. They can’t stifle their giggles any longer. I say a big hello! And they quickly turn onto a house, laughing. I turn into a lane where a young girl is trying to help her kid sister onto her bike. The kid spots a strange looking man running purposefully towards her and she loses it. She starts screaming and runs around like a headless chicken. (Unfortunate choice of phrase, I know. But ever since a friend used it earlier today in an email it has been running around in my head like a…argh! See what I mean?) Her mother comes running out and gives me a bemused look. I move on. Only to be followed by the little kid’s sister, on her bike, with a friend. They challenge me to a race. This time I decide to show a little more spirit. I give them a stiff challenge. Suddenly they pull over. I realise I am crossing out of the village onto a track that goes through a cashew orchard. I wave to them, grinning at a barrage of questions in Tamil. Maybe they want to set up a race tomorrow.

I love this part of my run. Soft topped track. No risks of impact injuries. Clean air. Dozens of cashew trees on both sides; the ground covered by white sand. Total running bliss. This is the time of the run where I do my thinking. Soon I spy a frail old man on a bike approaching. He dons just a straw hat and a lungi. In one hand he has the catch of the day, a decent sized fish. He is deep in thought as he nears me. I raise my hand and yell, “Vannakam!” He is startled. He instinctively raises his hand to wave back, realises that none of his hands are now holding the bike handle, and fumbles. For a second I think that I have messed things up – but he stabilises, and we cross each other.

Soon I cross the railway track. Now I am on the beach track. Just one more kilometre to go. Another old man; this one is staring at me. I wave. No reply. He looks grumpy. As I cross him he starts running with me. He has an animated gait. He holds a bottle in his hand. He keeps up with me for a few strides. Then he realises that he left one slipper behind. I lose my running mate. I take a turn. I can see the ocean now. This stretch always seems the longest. There is no one here now. The fishermen have all left a little while back. When I reach the beach it is left just for me. I face the lovely ocean. Behind me the sun sets slowly, bathing the world in startling colours. As I step into the water I say,”Indie, I’m here!”

10 Things I Don’t Like About My New Life

(Read the post titled ‘10 Things I Like About My New Life’ first)


1. You are so far away from me. :(
2. Huh? Am thinking! Am thinking!
3. Still thinking…
4. hmmm
5. well, the weather might change for the worse…
6. there might be mosquitoes later in the year…
7. I might get fired!
8. hmmm
9. So far I just can't see..
10. I hate making stupid lists.

10 Things I Like About My New Life

1. I love my job. I have a vehicle, map and a GPS – I get to use them like crazy. I am actually doing stuff related to my masters!
2. I am in a country that is remarkable – like someone I know mentioned, it is a lot of things that India should be. The terrain is breathtaking and the people and the weather (so far) have been awesome.
3. I have the time to write.
4. I have the time to read.
5. I wake up early.
6. I sleep early.
7. I eat regularly and well.
8. I run. To the ocean. I have the beach completely to myself. I skinny dip! And I run back.
9. I don’t feel like smoking here.
10. Lion Stout. It is an amazing beer – comparable to some of the best that I tasted in Europe.