Common man and the unplanned trek... concluded

The story so far.

The story continues.

Spoiler alert : Cuplord actually turns out into the unlikely hero at the end. end of Spoiler alert

So, Cuplord and Common man found themselves at the top of a hill after a trek which left the Cuplord in the same state as the Ruhrland after world war two.

In their first few minutes atop the hill, they learned to their dismay that it was supposed to have been a very bad day for a trek, given the lashing rains which had turned all other trekkers back halfway up the trek (which explained why they hardly ran into any other trekkers).

That put paid to their plans of trekking back downhill the next day (nobody actually told them not to do it, but the fact that everybody just laughed in their face every time they suggested it was enough discouragement). On the other hand, they might just have been laughing at Cuplord's Marathi. (in fact, even if the locals were telling them that it was an excellent day to trek, and Cuplord was just bluffing to Common man to get himself out of another potentially draining trek, we'll never know).

This also tied in very nicely with the fact that they didn't have a place to stay. After walking the whole length of Bhimashankar, which took 42 seconds, they found the bus stand. Common man embarked upon what he thought would be a very simple task, meaning inquiring when the next bus to Mumbai or Karjat would be.

The first 9 people he asked mixed various results. Some denied all knowledge of the existence of a bus stand (odd containing these included the inquiry counter of the bus stand), but most plain stared back into his face without responding. Common man thought he must have died and turned into a ghost, but then he remembered how every time he asked for directions in Mumbai, and all the more in Pune, he was met with the very same blank stare.

Common man and Cuplord briefly conferred on this. The latter had a very plausible theory for the same, and I'd suggest that the discerning reader contact either of Cuplord or Common man to know the same. The so called discerning reader would note that this is the first instance in the story when Cuplord did anything useful.

Anyways, to cut a long story short, they soon learned that the last bus to Mumbai had long since departed, and no one could find where the bus(es) meant for Pune were. An employee at the bus stand helpfully suggested that Common man and Cuplord trek back the way they came, to which the two of them just laughed back the way they had been laughed at just three paragraphs before.

Then they got their first bit of helpful information. Share taxis of some sort plied between Bhimashankar and some place called Mancher (spelled like Manchester without the "ste" but pronounced like the Hindi word for mosquito). Mancher, Common man was assured, was merely an hour away, and a large sprawling metropolis and hub of economic activity, from where they could get direct transport to anywhere in the world.

The two of them were then herded into a World war two era jeep designed for about 7, but carrying about thrice the number. Cuplord was dangling from the back of the jeep, which just about enough space for his little toe, while he clung on for dear life. Common man on the other hand, sat down in relative luxury, in the front seat, sandwiched between at least four other co-passengers and a driver. The driver dangled out of the jeep in much the same way as Cuplord while Common man took his seat. Common man actually could keep his feet down every time the jeep was in an odd gear. (Such luxury, sic). Try this sometime in a jeep as a driver clinging on to the steering wheel navigates through the western Ghats in the monsoons. If not anything, it at least rekindles your love for religion.

After an indeterminate period of time which was certainly longer than an hour, the jeep dropped them off at a junkyard which was used to total old buses. Shortly afterwards, the two of them realized, to much horror, that this actually the much vaunted bus stand people had been raving about. Queries to the effect of "When is the next bus in the general direction of Mumbai ?" were met with the same answer. That it had long since parted. Common man fancied that there wasn't actually any such bus, and an inquiry at any time of day always met with the answer that the last bus had just left.

The arrival of a bus which was clearly on its last legs (or wheels) much excited the gathering which had gathered (sic), who chased after the bus, in a scene which was very much reminiscent of Beatlemania. Common man politely asked a few dozen people, all of whom were jostling for a place in the bus as to where the bus was headed to, and all of them politely stared blankly back at him. In a brilliant bout of innovation, all these buses had their origin marked, rather than their destination. So the conventional method of looking at the board in front of the face simply failed, much like India's middle order in the Sri Lanka test series.

Then the two of them agreed to get a bus to any place which both of them could point on an atlas. But given Cuplord's geography, this meant pretty much nowhere. (Hint: To readers unfamiliar with the Cuplord and his ways, all they need to know is that his knowledge of world geography makes the average 'pointing to Iraq when asked to point at Canada in a world map' American look like Mercator in comparison).

Meanwhile, Cuplord and Common man thought of a different tactic. Mancher being a town around half the size of Mahalakshmi layout , polite Hindi and English queries, or for that matter, impolite Hindi and English queries, were unlikely to reveal Tutankhamen's tomb or any other such treasures. The only alternative was Marathi.

This presented some minor problems. As the guide had already discovered in Part 1, Common man was completely incapable of any conversation in Marathi. He did know two phrases and he wasn't even sure what they meant, and didn't expect that they would be of too much help here. One was pudhey which seemed to be the standard response by bus conductors to questions such as "Does this bus go to Dadar?", "What is the time and can I have my change please?", "Did India win the match ?", "Can you say anything apart from Pudhey ?" Common man presumed, given the general tone in which he heard it spoken, that it must mean "Look, like this is the best impression I can do of Graham Chapman in the Argument clinic sketch. So sod off".

The other Marathi expression Common man knew was Baarah dabyachi dheemi local ahey. Given the reaction it usually sparked, he presumed it meant "A pot of gold has been discovered on platform two. Please rush immediately to claim your share". So, that option was ruled out. Cuplord on the other hand, claimed to have multiple Phds in Marathi, but the fact that the two of them were still standing in the mosquito bus stand, unable to take bus after bus, showed he was being as truthful about his Marathi speaking abilities as he was about his trekking abilities.

Common man now tried out a simplistic, language agnostic method. This method involved saying "Pune" with a question mark painted on his face, the question being directed in the general direction of the travelers already in the bus. To not very considerable astonishment, he got blank stares in response.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. The two gentlemen in question were soaked to the skin, hungry, Marathi-less and bus-less, and surely tethering at the edge of what can surely be construed as the D word. What would Bryan Boitano do ? I sure don't know, but our two gentlemen jumped on board of the next bus, irrespective of its destination. The fact that the bus was far more jam packed than a BMTC bus number 176 at rush hour will be glossed over for now. They discovered, to general merriment, that this bus was headed to Pune, which had among other things, neon lights, Cafe coffee days, and more significantly, a bus stand with buses to Mumbai.

Now Cuplord, for all his failings, had one claim to fame which very few people in the world could claim, especially when you have just experienced two parts of "Common man and the unplanned trek", and at some indeterminate time of the night, when you are hurtling into Pune since that was the only place the state transport service would take you to.... In laws living in Pune.

A short phone call later, it was established that the two tired trekkers would in deed have a home and hot dinner waiting to welcome them in Pune, Common man was almost willing to forgive Cuplord for all his past sins, but then again, not really.

The next few hours will feature very little in this narrative, much like Sam and Frodo's return to the Shire from Mount Doom. But after some unmitigated hospitality which led to our two heroes staying back in Pune for far longer than they had planned to, they finally terminated their peregrinations on Sunday evening back in Mumbai.

The ending might have been somewhat tame, but Cuplord surely learned two things over the trek.
1. Why Common man was called Common man.
2. Why you should never go on a trek with a blogger.

Thats all folks.

Common man and the unplanned trek

Common man was having the time of his life.

Actually that was while he was narrating this blog post. The actual run up to what constitutes the post that follows was quite different. For that, the flashback shall ensue...

Flashback: "And if we can't find a place to crash for the night, at least it will make for a good blog post" remarked Common man nonchalantly as he and Cuplord made their way out of Karjat railway station one rainy Saturday morning. Now Common man wasn't accustomed to making his way out of Karjat railway station, or for that matter, any railway station, on rainy Saturday mornings, but this was no ordinary Saturday morning.

For one, Common man and Cuplord had taken the 5:37 AM local train from Dadar, reaching Karjat in a mere 7 days, or what felt like 7 days. Yes five: thirty seven in words, and 5:37 in figures, that was no typo.

"Why 5:37 local train on a Saturday morning ?" is a question that may strike the discerning reader. When the author will add (as he is just about to add) that it was for a trek to a place neither of them had heard about, during a long weekend, to a place where they hadn't yet found a place to stay in; and the question "Why 5:37 local train on a Saturday morning ?" may strike yet again.

Further, the very same discerning reader may wonder why Cuplord, who was known for his extreme cheapness in never responding to calls and always ditching meet-ups and friends' engagements, was doing initiating a trek, and calling Common man for it.

Common man's extreme popularity was only a small part of the answer. The larger part (or bigger picture, as we MBAs like to say) was that Cuplord was a masochist, and he was punishing himself for all his cheap deeds. And being work-less and wife-less that weekend meant he was free to pursue other extra-curricular activities.

So, Common man and Cuplord made their way into some indeterminate Maharashtrian town/village which was to be the base of their almost vertical ascent to Bhimashankar. Common man was something of a tyro at this trekking business, but Cuplord's reassurances that he had been trekking in the Himalayas right from the days of Mohammed of Ghazni's marauding invasions meant that Common man was worrying less about the trek and more about the aperture setting on his camera as he took photos.

The reality couldn't be further. Two years of Mirinda, an MBA and no exercise meant that Cuplord wasn't even fit to cross Linking Road at peak time, leave alone trek 3000 feet of a steep mountain in monsoon. Common man didn't seem to be afflicted as badly as Cuplord with such fitness problems. Every 20 steps or so, he'd realize that Cuplord had fallen back, and he'd have to wait for the aforementioned person to catch up.

That only gave Common man all the more time to admire the natural beauty and use his photographic prowess to good use. Exhibit A shall serve as a sample of how exactly Common man utilized all those waiting periods.

From then on, to cut a long story short, the two intrepid trekkers enlisted the services of a guide from about halfway up the trek. How they managed to find a guide halfway up an extremely challenging trek is quite a story in itself, but since it involves making fun of Common man rather than Cuplord (as the rest of this story does), it shall conveniently be bowdlerized.

The guide had several peculiarities, one of which was to continuously make conversation with Common man in Marathi, in spite of his repeated denials to any knowledge of the language. In the guide's defense, he merely might have been trying to convey "Watch out, that landslide is headed your way" or "Your fly is open" or something to that effect, but like Einstein's last words, we'll never know.

He did occasionally pause from his Marathi monologue, but that was only to turn around and cast dirty looks in the direction of the Cuplord, who was now dropping so far behind Common man and the Marathi speaking guide that Eliyahu Goldratt was said to be inspired to complete the Goal trilogy, and further enhance the ever increasing study in English literature of bottlenecks.

A mere four and a half hours or so later, the triumvirate descended upon (actually shouldn't it be ascended upon) the town of Bhimashankar in extremely foggy weather. By now, the visibility was so poor, and Cuplord was so exhausted, that the guide probably just had enough of the two trekkers and just left them off at some random point in the forest, saying "this is Bhimashankar", much like the sign which says "This is Anfield" at the stadium of the football club which finishes fourth every season, and yet believes they are favorites to win the title when the next season kicks off.

Anyways, Cuplord and Common man were finally at Bhimashankar. Or what they were told was Bhimashankar. Common man had been awake for over 12 hours that day, and he hadn't even had lunch. Or found a place to crash for the night.

That was just the start of his troubles though.

The rest of the story will be concluded in part 2.

PS: Gotcha suckers! Betcha didn't know when you started reading this that there would be a part 2. To be perfectly honest, even I had no idea.

Common man and the street protests

Common man was having the time of his life. He was actually. For one, it is a less clichéd opening line for a blog post than "It was a dark and stormy night", but cliché nonetheless.

So, he was having the time of his life. Normally, "work" and "time of his life" wouldn't even feature in the same postal code, but unusually here, this "time of his life" was directly linked with his 'work' (sic). Sure, common man didn't have a hot secretary nor did he have a bunch of minions saying "yes master" every time he passed by at the workplace, but a junket cum sinecure in the hallowed environs of central London was a far better substitute.

Common man did everything a good tourist should do in central London. He crossed Abbey Road, then he crossed Abbey Road again, waltzed past the Tower Bridge, polkaed past Big Ben, troikaed past Buckingham Palace, flamencoed past Hyde Park, and then, crossed Abbey Road yet again. The fact that common man couldn't actually dance his way out of Funky Town is only yet another issue.

This post, however, is not about any of the above.

Meanwhile, Common man stared out of the window of the top decker of the red bus he was traveling in. Even allowing for his somewhat poor eyesight, common man chanced upon something he only chances upon too often.

An obstacle in the form of a large public demonstration was hindering his (bus') path forward.

Now Common man had a way with these. From Naxalbari to Rome, from Jakarta to Glasgow, and other such places where his travels took him, common man always ran into these protests/demonstrations. He had no idea how these demonstrations followed him wherever he went, or whether he was the one unconsciously following them in the first place. In fact, it is now acknowledged that the "jester in the sidelines in a cast" was referring to Common Man and not Bob Dylan, as popularly believed.

Either way, the very reason he was christened "Common man" was owing to his remarkable similarities with the eponymous RK Laxman character.

And here it was again. His London trip was punctuated by yet another of those street protests. And there were not one, not two but three protests, all happening at once, in the little street that is Whitehall.

The first protest was on behalf of the Armenians against the Turks, or vice versa, Common man wasn't sure. In fact, neither were the protesters. One was the usual mandatory weekly protest against the mayor. And the last one intriguingly was by the Sikh community, and Common man couldn't quite make out over the din what they were protesting.

Two things stood out in the above scene in Common man's mind. One was a bunch of protesters who were taking some time out of the whole protest thing and sharing a bunch of beers sitting down in the street, in true hippy style. And the incredible thing, going by the placards they carried, was that they were all there for different protests. He couldn't quite imagine whether a bunch of random people had just met up in different protests here, or if a bunch of people came to protest for the heck of it, and all joined different ones.

Either way, Common man imagined that their conversation would be something like this.
A: Awfully sorry to bother you ol' chap, but which protest are you here for ?
B: The Mayor one, mate. And terrible weather.
A: Or'rite. I did the Mayor one last week, so I decided to do the Turk/Armenian one this week.
B: Right ho ol' chap. So are the Turks protesting against the Armenians, or is it the other way round ?
A: I don't know mate. The Turks are busy settin' up Doner Kebap shops to cash in on the opportunity, so I can't be bothered to ask them.
B: Arsenal lost again.

The other striking thing was the signboards being put up all over the place, starting a fortnight before, warning people that there would be some kind of disturbance to traffic at this day between this time and that time, and apologizing for the inconvenience caused and all that. Common man wondered where else in the world would the mayor of a city put up signs that the people of the city were taking out a protest against him, and apologize to the people for the inconvenience they (the people) themselves caused. And the people in turn take an appointment with the mayor to protest against him at that specific time!

Yes, London was truly an amazing place.

More site metering

Your homework for the day.
Get on google and type...
Pornstars of Goa picture
And hit "I'm feeling lucky".

Yes, go do it.
Trust me, its worth the risk of office IT sending you an automated warning, for the laugh.

I haven't quite figured how this happened but sitemeter can be blamed for uncovering this bit.

Also, special mentions to these seemingly arbit search strings which chance upon this blog
ness security guard 3 dial in (I sure hope you found what you were looking for)
Mumbai airport terminal 1a better than 1b (That's what net surfers are searching for in Brighton, West Sussex nowadays)
alpha lima yankee (Nothing to add, really)