Malvika's Ramblings

Smelly ol books

Filling questionnaires once in a while, as fun as painting toes.

1. One book that changed your life

Can’t decide between Mistletoe farm, and Dervla Murphy’s Full Tilt, and Nausea by Jean Paul Sartre and just maybe Wuthering Heights. No, actually not Wuthering Heights.

Mistletoe Farm, built all the pleasure in tramping outdoors, looking for rabbits and snakes. You know a kiddie version of Man vs Wild. And then, as in all Enid Blyton books, the picnic mats or ‘high-tea’ would always be loaded with scones (never seen them), large chunks of fruit cake and ginger ale. Mean aunts were the ones who serves thin bread slices with light buttering. Food was constantly passed to dogs under the table.

Full Tilt – 21 year old Dervla Murphy cycled from Ireland to India, going over Afghanistan mountains, falling sick, sorting visas, fighting off men towering over her bed at night by whipping out her revolver. A true story there.

2 am

No position is the right one. Can’t breathe through the nose, the wind passage seems clogged. Breathe through the mouth and it’s parched in a few seconds. Gasping for air like a fish out of water. Turn on the fan and it’s too windy, and even under sheets one is too vulnerable. Switch off the fan and it’s stuffy. Another sweep of goosebumps, of chills. Nervousness like suddenly needles pricking under the skin. As if all the molecules inside are not very certain where their exact position is. Sleepy delirium but no sleep. TV that one has stopped registering. Books where after a point one can’t identify a Rushdie from a Rohinton Mistry. 5 trips to the fridge, of opening it, only to shut it as one is not really hungry at all. Another attempt to sleep. Face down or face covered or foetal rocking. No use. So much bechaini inside. The continuous tingling feeling as in before a sneeze, not just in the nose but the whole body. But no sneeze of course. Fuck Insomnia.

To MS Word & blog

Dear MS Word,

Nice to see you again. Waiting, eagerly with your cursor blinking. All clear and blank to be used.

Been a long association, huh? First in school, with articles from teenink.com stored in careful docs and folders. My own writings, the unsure ones firmly passworded. And here today, you’re making my living.

So much written, a lot backspaced. Rants, secrets, immature expression. Narratives, stories, unrhyming poems, reflection, retrospection. And then I stopped retrospecting. So, then a lot of TVC scripts, radio, print ads.

Umm.. where is this going. Is it just sentimental, maudlin thinking like a drunk old man at a bar. Why analyse so soon in this post about it's tone, it's purpose? Why not just let go, flow? As Ravana does.  Even as students do, sparkling bright when they present things that have been said, discoveries that were made long before they were born. Or as Bhumycka does, blowing me over every time, with just the nakedness, strength, perverse truth of her writing.

Maybe it’s time to hear something new, mind opening. Hey mom, I need one more conversation with you. Shaadi-free. “Dimaag ka dahi” free. And then maybe it’s time to write something new. A blog dying is person dying. But then, as Sartre would say – What’s the use of suicide? You are either a worthless living person or a worthless corpse.

Cheer up, pinch your cheeks. I am not that cynical or down in the dumps. The worth of life’s been proven again and again to me. Drunk nights of fun, rides, pats on the back, falling in floaty love. Wait … am I missing something here? I don’t know.

Oh shut up Malvika! (I just began a sentence with 'Oh!' Lol.) Not backspacing again. At least this just gives my blog some electric heart thumps.

Actually, maybe blog, you were shifted around so much, left to gather your entrails at times, your links revised, images lost, by very well meaning people that you became kind of stray.

MJ

Floored

Steinbeck

"When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job."

I hunted for a worthwhile book far and wide, high and low, among bestsellers in book stores, from promising friends.. and finally found one that had somehow escaped notice for a few years, tucked away in the good old family bookcase. Opened the book.. yellow pages and all; and found mom's ink scrawl - Divine book 1983.

Lift

This lift is fitted with IB device – Introspection Broadcaster. Feel free to mull over personal thoughts. Also fitted with R.B.E.C.O – Random but Effective Conversation Starters. Use generously. In case of emergency, use KVITC – Kryptonite Vial in the Corner. You shall duly transform into a superhero and save the universe and in doing so, salvage the elevator from grave peril as well. To tackle annoying co-passengers, break glass with hammer. Please bring your own glass, your own hammer. Lift Capacity – AMPALWA – As Many People As Love Will Allow. In case of complaints, contact Elisha Graves Otis. Kindly knock at his grave before interrupting.

In May 10, India Today travelPLUS

My experience at Enduro3, the Adventure race held in Pune.

Thanks to Ajinkya (Race Director) for co-operation and photos. Neeraj, Trilok, Savvy, Nischal, Divyamann, you are in the article.

Enduro3

The Adventure Race

2010

I started seeing Eskimos. And Red Indians. Sombre families of them along the roadside. Blinking under the starlit sky.

I turned over my shoulder to check and no, it wasn’t an Esky or a Red I. It was just a bush. Ride on, I told myself. And with wide open lemur eyes, tearing at the corners I pushed into the black night, whizzing right behind Trilok on a sort of auto pilot.

My team: Trilok, Savvy and I.

Up Trilok went, up I did. Down he went, down I did. Hairpin in the dark, Ok, hairpin in the dark. Savvy’s rear lights blinked ahead too. For hours I just followed their flashing pedals.

Clockwork.

Nothing pained. No aches, no cramps. We had enough Electrol, Enerzal, Nature Valley energy bars, salted dry fruits, you-name-it. But it was definitely past my bedtime. No need for 1000 thread Egyptian cotton bed linen. Wherever we stopped and got off our bikes, just for a second, I would doze off. 30 seconds later someone would say ‘C’mon’ and I’d shake back to the Western Ghats, the night sky, the road; shake back to Enduro3.

Do Enduro3. If you hate yourself.

We thought we were studs. And directly participated in the Open category. Not the Amateur category, not the Corporate one. Trilok, Savvy and I went for the biggie.

So did Neeraj, Nischal and Divyamann, friends and a competitor team – the Juggernauts, registered by mistake as the JuggerNUTS.

THE RACE

Enduro3 is India’s top adventure race, held in Pune. It takes one through several kilometers of NDA campus, and the Sayadri hills adjoining the backwaters at Panshet dam. 

Each team consists of 3 participants, one of which has to be a girl. Everyone has to carry their own food and sleeping bags (or not). One can’t buy food during the event. The race includes cycling, trekking, rappelling, rifle shooting, river crossing, paddling and swimming over 2 days. About 70% of the race is completed in Day 1 itself. Details and race-format are only given out just 1 hour prior to flag-off. So one has better be up for whatever.

The spirit of Enduro3 rocked. It was hardcore. The volunteers saw you approaching, entered your time, and expected you to just go on. Whether it was 6 m, 10 pm, midnight, 2 am or 3 am.

SUNSHINE HOURS

Early on Friday morning, we gathered in a maidaan, a large ground in Pune. A music system blared out a song that went something like – “I am a young boy, you’re a young girl, ENDURO! ENDURO!” when suddenly, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, the drummers started a heart-thumping beat. They tilted back and swung their arms like demons, beating those nagaadas as hard as they could. It was nuts. Powerful as hell. Animal mania.

And then suddenly we were told, Go! What? No speech? No hi-hello? Nothing? Ok. And all the cyclists shot on the stage and whooshed down the long, red carpet ramp, giving the reporters a grand spectacle, more than they could have asked for.

After some smooth city road, we branched off-road. Pretty soon we were wheeling our cycles up a sandy slope. The sun beat on our heads like a hammer on the anvil. After that, wherever I found a hand-pump, I sat under it. Spotted some contestants who seemed to be from the Middle East. They wore cycling shorts, all the cool gear and still had the hijab in place. Must have been good in the heat.

1st stop. The rifle shooting range. Rule: Only girls would do this. OK. The jawaan cocked the gun and much to my surprise I heard myself say- “Bhaiyya aise mat karo naa. Haath dukhta hai.” All my fine aiming went for a toss. Each time I shot, the rifle recoiled and went several inches off the mark.

Next stop, NDA’s naval area where WaveRunners were parked like cycles. Here, we paddled a boat in the lake.

Cycled. Cycled. Cycled. Crazy Sinhagad uphill. And then we came upon a mountain. So, up we trekked. I wish we could have gone without our backpacks, but as the rule went we had to do it with all our stuff on our backs.

 “Ok, let’s hurry down.” And we descended down the slopes. We crossed to the wrong mountain but finally made it to the road, running down steep grass meadows as night fell. Thomas Hardy’s Tess must be sweeping across these slopes in one of her despair spells, I thought. Ok, road. Here’s road.

Our friends and competitor team, the Juggernuts were still up the mountain, figuring their way among boulders. Their cycles lay waiting for them. Without a backward glance, my team and I shot off.

SUNDOWN HOURS

It took me a while to get used to night cycling. As the headlamp shone on the road, it didn’t look like a path, but more like a white wall I had to adamantly ride into. I couldn’t see if it was uphill or downhill ahead; just had to be super alert and immediately position my body to the incline, decline or the potholes.

Night. Highway. Cycling in the middle of nowhere. The locals helpfully directed us the correct way. Savvy, my team-mate would stop and tell strangers our entire route and plan. “Whoa” I thought, “If I were in Delhi or Gurgaon, I I wouldn’t be doing this. I’d just proclaim that there are 20 cyclists behind us, 20 ahead and that I am the Police Commissioner’s daughter.”

I lost idea of time. I didn’t know if it was 8 pm or 10 pm or midnight. As we passed villages, we caught strains of full-bodied, melodious singing from village temples. The idea of a spot where people gathered in warmth was so tempting. While the sun had blazed in the day, it was now cold. My fingers froze on the brakes. But we could not stop. We moved on. Jai MahaShivratri!

And then I started falling asleep on my cycle. Caught myself snoozing on downhills. “Why am I doing this race?” was a question I just didn’t have an answer to. Maybe Nischal is right. It’s just an event of masochists.

When I could go on no more, I dropped into zzzzzzz. It was 2 am. My team-mates still wanted to go on, but sorry guys, that was it for me. I dropped under a tree, far enough from the road to avoid passing, swerving trucks. And no sooner did I rest my head on earth, than I fell into sleep that a hundred shaadi-baraats couldn’t mess with.

____________the end________________

FROM OTHER PARTICIPANTS –
 
Divyaman Singh Rawat (Open Category)

For me the most memorable (and painful) moment would be when we spent the whole night trying to sleep on the roadside. It was cold and we were sweaty which kind of made us feel even more cold. Only one of our team mates (Nischal) had a sleeping bag and even that wasn't fully functional (The zip wasn't working). Me and Neeraj spread a piece of newspaper on the ground and tried to sleep on that.

We could barely sleep for 20 mins and early in the morning tried to light a fire to keep us warm. We tried everything that we could remember from 'Man Vs Wild' to get a decent fire going but the fundas just failed. Finally, we stopped a taxi waala, piled our bicylces on top of the taxi and headed back to Pune.

Lesson learnt: - The 'Open' in Open Category doesn't mean any joker can taken part in it.

Neeraj Saini – Team Leader nut of Juggernuts  (Open Category)

We used all our gadgets NOT for finishing the race but just for our own survival in the middle of nowhere.

• Lighter/Match - To light a bonfire and keep warm in the cold night.
• Torch - To hunt for wood to burn, I almost burnt the wooden shop next to us.
• The Route map - To lie down on after we burned all the newspapers in the bonfire.
• Reflective jerseys  - To help incoming traffic not to run me over while I was taking my sweet nap almost on the road.
• Rucksack - to keep our legs inside it and keep them warm because our team-mate Nischal was too strong for us to snatch the only sleeping bag in our team.
• Compass- To climb all the wrong hills before we actually got on the right one.

 

Manjula Sridhar (Amateur Category)

My most memorable moment is crashing on the hard lake shore after gruelling cycling and trek; I slept few hours like a log. One thing that has to be highlighted in this is it is an out and out team event. Strategy is as important as stamina.

ENDURO INFO

8^th edition of Enduro3 held in 2010.

Organised by NEF – National Education Foundation in Pune

Route: NDA campus > Sahyadri mountains> Panshet backwaters

Total distance: 200 km

Cycling+ Trekking + Orienteering + Paddling + River Crossing + Rapelling

Teams spent almost 21 hours on road

80% of distance was cycling

TEAMS

Total: 200 teams

60% teams were from Pune. The rest from Nagpur, Mumbai, Nasik, Bangalore, Kolkota, Secunderabad, Delhi and other cities.

 

SURVIVORS

70 out of 200 teams dropped out at 1^st day itself 

 

WHO PARTICIPATES -

In the open category, it’s mostly Defence people and others hardcore adventure athletes.

Amateur sports enthusiast from all walks of life participate in other categories.

 

CATEGORIES
Open Mix 

Open Men

Amateur Mix

Collegian Mix

Collegian Men

Collegian Girls

IT Mix

Corporate Mix

Juniors Mix

40+ Mix

Doctors Mix

IN THE HAVERSACK

Compass

Matchbox

Bicycle repair tool-kit + puncture kit + 1 pump

1mountaineering rope (20 ft minimum)

First aid kit

Torch per participant

Water/ Food/ Clothes for 3 days

Sleeping bag (optional)

Food included dry items like theplas, chocolates, energy bars, glucose powder.

Route map

 

PRIZES

Total Cash prizes given was worth Rs 5 lacs

Total Gift vouchers worth Rs. 2.5 lacs given to winners. Vouchers for Trek bicycles, Bofyfuels, etc.