YELLOW

Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And everything you do
Yeah, they were all yellow

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow

So then I took my turn
Oh what a thing to have done
And it was all yellow

I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh what a thing to do
'Cos you were all yellow

I drew a line
I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow

It's true
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine for you
Look how they shine

Look at the stars
Look how they shine for you
And all the things that you do

- Coldplay

I can't make much sense of the lyrics. Aspersions, joy, mellancholy, longing all melded into one. Are colours are what you want them to be? Do colours change? Aren't we the ones who change? Sanjeev Jijaji's favourite colour. Maybe Raghav's as well. Wassa Daisy?
I think yellow is creepin up behind me. A couple of years later if I see yellow, I'll wish I hadn't.

C H E A T

I cheated on Vanita in my dreams. (Yes Raghav, Mental Adultery) Anyways, I was discussing with my cousin about such things (he's also in a heavy duty relationship), the real deal, and it turns out he's apprehensive as well. I believe, human beings are capable of anything and surprisingly so does he. (I really thought only I thought this lowly about myself)
A N Y T HI N G.
For a minute let's put aside that our faith in ourselves is astounding. The reasoning is like this, situations can master a man far better than what can be imagined. The guy who dropped the bomb on Nagasaki, knew that he was going to kill a lot of people. Probably he was vile enough to feel honoured about getting a top-secret mission to kill people; but he also was a nice enough man to promptly go insane once he came to know of the actual scale of the devastation that he had created. I mean, what did he really do, twiddle his thumbs cooped up in the cockpit of his plane for two hours and then pressed a single button; then headed right back home. C'mon. Adultery is kind of like that, not really. But kind of. You never want to do it(I hope most of you agree), but you could. Ask Freud if you don't believe me.

But, (drawing inspiration from another Japan centric source) I remember reading in one Karate book that half the preparation in defending oneself is to be aware and know what to do. But if one does go about to prepare oneself form a quick right hook, or a blow to the solar plexus or quick jab to the obliques, it's fairly easy. I mean, Karate is kids stuff. Hell, worst case you get beaten to pulp. The USAF pilot could have asked what the hell he was going to drop on the East Asians, maybe he could have stepped down from the task. But he never imagined it did he? This adultery business quite like that. You keep thinking, "I'm not like that" and then one day WHAM. You wake up with aTequila bottle in your neighbours house. (Not just Tequila. Whisky, Vodka, Rum could do the trick as well. If you mix 'em, you are screwed)

I do not think that I am the kind to stray, but, even if I was, I think my mind just put me on a one-night crash course of why not to. The dream may have been unreal, but the fear, shame and web of lies to veil even the dream were very real.

I don't have a good enough memory to pull off something that needs to be supported by a stack of sulphur matches (the million lies) that will not even last a second in the rough. Amen.

Expansion & Restructuring

Keeping in view the response from the TG, rather the "Anonymous" comments I have branched out and started off with a secondary blog. This will deal with my incurable itch for all things mechanical and shod with wheels.
I think this is good enough proof that I did my MBA.
TG - it's time to applaud.

If anyone would like to know what the new blog is like please follow the link on the left or go to - theoutsideline.blogspot.com

Blabbering Fool

The Unicorn... once more.
Soon I will be writing the long term update of the Unicorn.
The report contrary to the name, is very very short. And I am hoping that the test bike remains with me for long long long. I happened to think of my riding style and it struck me that I'm not likely to be the rider to claim extracting the most kmpl possible.
For one thing, I like to warm my bikes nice and long each morning. For this, I check two things -exhaust header temperature and cylinder head temperature. You got to be a little careful with the exhaust header - a light flick of the fingers on the pipe is good enough. light and quick - otherwise you might smudge your fingerprints a bit. The other is no sweat. just touch the "head" of the engine. It should feel atleast warm to the touch (The temperature inside the engine is more than 5 times the outside temp). All this is done with the choke on. May Greenpeace forgive me!
Then while riding, I tend to blip the throttle when down-shifting. It just feels sooo right when the revs trail off in the very tempo you desire. And on the Unicorn, this is even more sublime. You can just feel the cogs meshing and synching with the crank almost as a single cohesive thought. They can almost sense what is desired. Yup, I am quite besotted. But, not blind. The shift from first to second has to be done with a lot of care. If you go like mad and then try to switch to second in haste, the resulting - KADANG- is nerve wracking. It's vey frustrating as well, it just kills your speed, tempo and concentration. AND BURNS MY BLOODY BLOOD....
breathe... breathe....

I hate having to molly coddle my bikes once they are off the stand and all warmed up.
But flaws are good, it kind of lends character. Not this flaw though. It's plain annoying.
And it has little to do with this aspect of non-character but, if I was the Badshah of the automotive kingdom, I would want a Unicorn! Yes... I would. But, only as Begum No.x. The necessary spice, vice and enigma is something I refuse to do without. And the please-all Unicorn is little too obedient to make me happy.

BTW : Vanita Singh is Vanita Kartikeya Singhee from this day on. By her own will and admission. Blabbered a little long, have I?

Just hangin'

That's me just hangin’ out of our long term test car, holding the boot open. Why, you ask? Just wanted to prevent our snapper from getting decapitated. He was clicking away from the derrière of our VTEC.

Frankly speaking...

Never, ever say -
"To be frank,...." or "Honestly speaking..." it sounds like smarm, and only a wuss would say that. Say what you want and what you will... "Frankly speaking..." is another nono for that matter.
I think this will be the first entry in my thippets/snoughts section.

Cosy Gardens and Mugs of Coffee

From my point of view Alibag is definitely a garden district. Sure, the name does imply gardens. So don’t believe people who tell you of long strips of clean sand. Furthermore, these were supposedly isolated beaches, with rarely more people than the toes on my feet. But , I caught sight of neither populated or unpopulated of the sandy specimens. We did end our day at a dry patch of sand (a few grains of sand hardly make a beach!!) to let loose the 116HP 4-wheeled sports monster that we were tagging along with. The creator – I’ll call him GB- was the man in the business seat. Jayesh and I were keenly thinking of ways to change this fact. But ethics and morals deplored us from using strong arm tactics. Ha!
Well the baby was his and there’s no way, legitimately, could we prise him out of the envy-causing seat.. Well GB is pretty pally with the likes of sockets, bolts, wrenches and allen keys. He teams up with them to great effect, turning Standard Heralds into Lotus 7 look-alikes. But those little nuts and bolts seem to lose a little bit of their determination half way through their respective tasks – looking at the end product. GB himself is a hardy fellow, given to working on his 911’s in his younger days, tuning Isuzu splutterers nowadays must be quite a step down now... Don’t see his brow creasing unduly with that thought.
He’s happy in his 1/4th acre garden. His garage and house are nestled together there. The back wall of his garage doubles up as the back wall of his house. A door-less bathroom inside spells out his easy life and visit record of ‘others’. He’s also a coffee lover. Presumably so, since he takes straw polls for a cuppa every so often. We had a cup, two actually, but the second was the memorable one. Not the cups- though they were nice as well. The mould for the cups must have been made of tree bark. The cup texture also seemed that way. Lounging on the patio, shaded by a neem tree and. The wind echoed of the surroundings ebb – gently drifting by. Easy does it in Alibag.
The company was awesome. And seemed even better when sprawled out in the flatbed of the GB's Nissan pickup. We had plonked two Christmassy coloured bean bags (green and red, individually) in the back. We plonked our well padded rear ends in the overstuffed bags, and hung our feet over the tailgate. Thus, we got introduced to Alibag district in style, we did. Only a bottle of beer in each hand was missing. That would complete the image of White bad boys on a typical day after college (movie style!!). Only we are brown and in India. Also, long since out of college.
Now that’s enough. I could just go on (and blogs are meant to be short). But I’ll let it go at this - it was a lot of fun. Later I fell sick – a little give, a little take.
Oh yeah – one more thing. Mr GB lives with his Mrs in all this seclusion, who helps him out with his tasks. My idea of paradise.

Good Man Ali’s Gardens

Well, school has declared a field trip. A trip to Alibag. A small sleepy town (that’s how I am imagining it) in Maharashtra that has much renown for its beaches. Even the flotsam and jetsam are clearly engraved in my daydream in which we sail from Mumbai all the way to Alibag. This highlights the glaring omission of any form of tyrannical leadership on such a journey. Yes. You read it here first. The Quartet that departs from Pune will transform into a trio by the time in Alibag. We will go past Mumbai and offload one member at Sahara.
In Alibag we will drop in to admire, and experience, the craft of one Mr.X. He hand crafts cars, something along the lines of the Lotus Sevens, Caterhams made in UK. Leaving for Mumbai at 6:00a.m and have no concrete plans about our return. But we return this very evening. So please feel free to picture me running (better still, driving) up and down the beach, all day (in all sorts of exotic machinery (while you dribble away in front of your screens cooped inside the office)). Maybe get a ride in his dune buggy as well. I’m hoping it turns out this way (not the dribbling away bit!!).

TG, Pay Attention!!

I was listening to Radio Mirchi this morning (while in the gym) and the RJ (the hoarse voiced female) was yakking about the Indian mentality. Basically, how whenever the general Indian populace wants something real bad, a strike is a must. Essentially drop whatever we were doing and start lamenting – LOUDLY. What she forgot, (Mandy -the RJ’s name), was to mention about the mutant beings that seem to be my T-fucking-G. A particular member of my TG is so adamant that the chants of “Humari Mangey Poori Karo!” that the queues of downtrodden chanted in Amitabh Bachhan movies would seem weak in comparison. This protester not only drops whatever work is at hand but also take up morchas and protests at all odd hours. Here it is acknowledge my mistake of not having posted in the past soooo many days. Please, now that you have received a tuppence worth of words dedicated in your honour – let me sleep.

Another interesting titbit that RJ Mandy happened to mention – the Japsanese version of a protest is to wear black arm bands, go to work- do twice the amount of work while fasting. Beat that.
I’ll settle for moderation.

BTW – TG: Target Group; TA: Target Audience; The protestor: One round faced imp from West Bengal