I sat next to this hot girl in ...

I have had my share of bad experiences and random encounters in all modes of transport. Some of my good friends who have known me since college would vouch for it. Experience of all sorts – missing flights (not once), having my ‘behind’ poked by an eunuch -who took 100 bucks from me, from whom I managed to get back Rs.90 after gathering courage and complaining to the head-eunuck of the pack ( whose identity was inferred by the hand bag) and getting scolded in Bhojpuri, having been spat on by a drunk fellow traveler who was sleeping on the upper berth, traveling unreserved, sleeping on the floor and waking up next to baby poop. To top it all, having a fat Punjabi lady place her rectum inches away from my face, when she sat on my face when I was sleeping..You name it, it has happened.

Recently, I was trying to get my tickets to Bangalore and I could not find any tickets on the train. So I decided to take a bus. Thanks to all the internet revolution, you have online booking these days. It was a bus operated by a very rich man who hails from the part of the world where I was born. I was trying to book my ticket online. Boy, this stuff is cool. You can choose the seat which is being visually depicted on the screen and it shows which of the seats are occupied and gives the gender of the fellow travelers.

One of my good friends from college, an eligible bachelor, keeps hoping that he will get to sit next to a dripping hot woman and make the rest of us feel jealous. I am sure; deep inside everyone fancies such a situation. But to this day the guy has not turned lucky and his hopes get trashed by some old man, a child and the like.

So, going back to the story, I was trying to book tickets. So I chose my seat and proceeded to pay. Then popped the following message –
“Management reserves the right to change the seat at the time of boarding, if the adjacent seat is a female”
and it asks me to click ok or cancel. I later got to know that all the bus services do this. Good lord, moral policing on a different level. Now I knew why my friend never got lucky. But I suppose he has a fair share of bad luck too, since trains, I suppose do not do this. Well, I hope not!

I boarded the bus and there was an adjacent seat and a woman got placed next to a guy due some cosmic conspiracy. But.. no, the guardians of culture will refuse to succumb. The woman was removed and placed next to another eve right at the back. I don’t think the woman even demanded a change. The seat next to the man was empty. He must have felt a bit lonely, but comfortable for sure!

Having a good time!

Yesterday it was my birthday
I hung one more year on the line
I should be depressed
My life's a mess
But I'm having a good time

I've been loving and loving
And loving
I'm exhausted from loving so well
I should go to bed
But a voice in my head
Says "Ah, what the hell"

- Paul Simon

Tumkur Chronicles

I decided to stop by after a while. Its been a near mind numbing madness at work and I hardly find time to write, although there have been quite some incidents that are blog-worthy. I work in a small town and the rural areas in and around this place. I have about 17 people working for me – a unique collection of exhibition material. No kidding. One learns loads when you have to work with these guys, they provide you with never ending entertainment. Almost all of them have dying grandparents who always die close to the festival season, almost all of them have a degree in ‘Evasive reply’ and use the same knowledge at almost all instances that call for it. Regardless of the question that I ask, their only reply is ok sir. Here is the sample conversation that I had with one of the officers:

Ragu: Why is the loan application not complete?

Loan officer: Ok sir.

Ragu: ( quite stunned by the reply) What do you mean by ok sir, do you understand me?

Loan officer: Ok sir.

Ragu: please delete the two words "Ok sir" from your Vocabulary

Loan officer: Ok sir.

This is normally when I give up.

Yesterday, one of the officers called me and he told me some of them were waiting outside my room. I went out of my room to see that, not some, but all of them were there. They all surrounded me and said “ Sir, We need to talk to you about something”. By now, I am thoroughly confused and wondering whether any physical measures would be resorted to. One of them came forward ( la representative) and made a speech about how they want a raise in salary. They handed over a formal letter to me.

Leaving aside the fact that I had to make tough negotiations and had to call a few of them separately and investigate them to find who organized this blah blah...it was quite a strange experience to go through.

As a youngster I watched a lot revolutionary movies when I was young, where the 80’s story line normally had a hero- who works hard. He would be the representative of the labour union, who is also in love with the Managing Director’s daughter, fighting for the cause of the employees and the evil employer trying to squash him etc. I used to sympathize with their cause and I still do. However, catching myself saying ‘No’ to their demands and using the good old tactic by the high school head-master to get to know the people behind this by threatening a weak student, stunned me. Thankfully I realized it. I ran in to this whole dilemma as to whether some or all values are situational.

The letter was funny nevertheless.

Elegy to a friend

After a long break, I am back. I have started to work. It should explain the homecoming to the blog world. I am giving the travel stories a little break, but it will follow soon. I am back in India. Despite the fear of sounding obnoxious ‘foreign’ return, I must admit that the first thing that strikes you is that there are way too many people here. Compared to the large Indian cities most of them that I have visited are like villages, if not towns at best. I was walking through a busy road in Chennai and it was literally like swimming through people and vehicles. The number of two wheelers seems to be ever increasing in this country. An autodriver who I spoke to feels that it is because of the banks giving loans. I did not know how to react to that seemingly profound statement. There are always changes when you get back after being away for sometime – good, bad, on your face, subtle, jaw dropping etc. The places that you leave are never the same. No matter how well you had known it then, you always feel a bit strange. I am sure if I go back to any of those cities where I lived in Europe, I am sure it will be an entirely new experience.

Every time I go back home to my village, I see a few things have disappeared - the small shop which was run by an old couple that used to sell honey candy, sesame balls and peanut bur-fee, for example. They used to take forever to give me the change back and with my 15 odd kilo school bag -with English I paper, English second paper, social science - class work note, home work note, composition note and godforsaken notes pushing my spinal chord's tolerance limits to unheard of levels, this was not always pleasant. They also used to argue among themselves about the exact amount of change. The shop was called "Aiyan Kadai" literally translating to "The old man's shop". I used to get down from my bus and it was on the way to my house. So I used to spend my pocket money – which would be about one rupee or so in buying those candies, eat them and walk back home with my friends. He is not there anymore. I heard they both passed away,one after the other within a year.

There are cycles with funny horns, who sell indigenously made ice-creams too - atleast, not as much as they used to. They used carry these ice-creams in a archaic refrigeration box, tied to the carrier behind a bicycle. On a good day, my mom will buy "paal ice"- a creamy, milky ice cream for the people working in my farm. I used to look out for the guy selling cone ice creams. He was the 'brahmin' among these guys- the high class. I used to run out when I hear the ice man's honking and my eyes would light up if I see a stack of cones in front. Then run to mom, sweet face, a few please pleases would do the tricky. I didn't see them much either. I hear they are still around. It is not just the change in terms of vanishing customs, unique bucolic traits, places, things and shops. It is also about the change in terms of people in the village. This is about one of them. Every village has its own unique characters, especially the elders. His name is N.S. Kumaraswamy Gounder( Nadayamuttu thatha).

His house is right next to mine. Although, we do not share walls, you can call him my neighbour. He is related to me both through my dad and through my mother. He must have been about 6o when I was born. He was tall man, well-built with a fair complexion, (fair according to Indian standards my friends). There are people without whom your childhood memories won't be complete – he is one of them for me. He was popularly called "Jippa-karar", due to the fact that he wore a jippa – a variant of a kurta, over his dhothi, while most men only wear white shirts. He always had a charming disposition. There are a lot of things that are interesting about him. He is like the guy in "Zen andthe art of motorcycle maintenance" in the sense that he liked to fix things that have gone wrong by himself. It was amusing for me as a child to hang around in his house.He used to have all sorts of repair kits – for repairing watches, fixing a flat tire of a cycle, spanners, and different types of needles and threads to stitch clothes, gunny sacks.

I remember him having a really old watch and he used to open it up and he used to fix a magnifying glass in his eye, which was in the shape of a bottle cap and examine the watch. I used to wait next to him for him to give me chance and I used to trip on the periodic movement of the springs. He also had an elaborate shaving set with different types of scissors. You can think of him as a metrosexual of his time. He always wore starched and pressed clothes; his hair was always in place. He, until recently used to advice me about how I should comb my hair. He was well read, would quote a lot of verses from tamil literature on top of his head. He also taught me very interesting verses and made me read out some verses from his books to entertain his relatives, if I happened to be around. He would pat me on my back and he would also make me do some yogic poses. Sometimes I was like his monkey who would dance to his commands – in a nice way. I must admit I liked the attention. I was always in awe of his literary skills and knowledge.
He had the tallest cycle in the village and he later got a moped, which was his new found love. He would give it to me to ride, despite the fact that I was as tall as the moped itself and didn't have license. Every year on the Tamil New Year day, he would wait for me to come back from my temple to take me to his temple (we belonged to different temples) every year for about 8 years without fail. He was respected there and I used to sit next to him and he used to introduce me to everyone and he used to buy me something or give me some money. His wife was rather short and his mom always used to grind beetle leaves and chew them. You would expect someone good looking chap like him to marry someone pretty, but I thought they were a misfit. The story behind this is hilarious – Apparently, he went to see the bride before marriage and her dad took him around and showed the stable. He saw the horses and cows which were all well-built and well maintained. He thought to himself that if the horses are so good looking the bride must definitely be and he agreed before looking at the girl - the arranged marriage saga. A promise is a promise and there he was a 6 foot tall man stuck with a 4 ft 3. This is something that his friends and relatives used to tease him about and he would passively smile or agree. I never knew whether this was a legend or it was true. But she was a nice lady, nice to me atleast.He was also our family astrologer. The best thing about him is that he never did it for money. People used to come from far away to consult him. He never took a penny from them. It contradicted with all that I were to learn later in economics. I left the village when I was 17 and since then our meetings were brief. When I went home, he used to come to the window and wake me up saying it was late and I have to be an early bird.

A few years ago, his mom passed away and his wife passed away in a few years. Suddenly, he became all alone. He was not able to manage his farm and gave it for sharecropping. There were also a lot of gossips about him in the village that he was casanova and he had some extra marital affairs etc. It was always a subtle accusation and people used call him a "minor" – a term used in my part of the world for a Casanova. But he was 70 by then. He appointed a woman whose husband ran away from her to help him out in his household chores. She was from a different caste, but she stayed in his house in a separate room – something that is uncommon in the village and it made a lot of people to raise eyebrows. People spoke, gossiped, bitched about it. On one fine day, someone set fire to his house, when both of them were inside, or the house caught fire. It was almost completely destroyed and everyone blamed the woman and chased her away from the village, branding her as the evil one. The peace that NSK seem to have found also vanished and he was left without a house. His brother and his son agreed to fund the rebuilding of the house, but this meant NSK lost the respect he used command due to his financial independence. NSK's son was a prodigy and he went on to study in one of the top institutes of the country. But he went to the city and was around to take care of his dad. He used to eat in my house during the troubled time and then his house was fixed and he moved back in. But the bad times were far from being over. His relationship with his son was bad and it was nothing less than terrible with his daughter in law. They could never sustain a conversation for more than 10 mins without fighting. My sympathies always used to be with him. Apparently, he used to go and play cards (gambling) in one of the local casinos- referred to as "reading room". His daughter in law blamed him for loosing all the money from the farm by gambling it away. So they started severely restricting his movement and started asking him questions about where he goes etc.

In the middle there was a drought for 2 years and this only made things worse for him. I use to go in the middle and meet him. He never failed to be amused to meet me, but used to sound less and less confident about all that was happening. I was witness to one of the fights between him and his son and it was ugly. But, there were too many things happening in my life then to pay keen attention to this. By now, he was reduced to getting a monthly allowance from the son, from the proceeds of the farms that were directly given to them by the sharecropper. They gave the money to my dad and asked him to give NSK money when he asked. My father was reluctant, but there was no other option. His attachment with my family grew a bit more. To top it all, he had a renal failure and he had to be operated. The man started shriveling and I came back home for a holiday and with every holiday he was growing weak and his eyes started looking pale. My mother used to give him some curries when she made something special, but for most parts he cooked himself. His son was against him keeping a servant afraid of his escapades. But his brother and his family were very supportive and always kept a check on the affairs.By now, I was leaving to Europe and I went to his house to get his blessings. He was looking. He stopped everything and asked me to face the east and sang a verse, wishing me all the very best in whatever I did. I felt very touched, had that strange feeling in the throat. I told him not to throw away his watch as it symbolised my childhood curiosity.

I got a call one day when I was in Italy and I learnt that he has passed away. I was numb and had forgotten how to react. I came home and learnt that his daughter-in-law put him in an old age home(which everyone agreed had good infrastructure and kind attendants) against his wishes and the wishes of others. My parents were unhappy but they had no say. One day, my father and mother went to the old age home to visit him. They got him a lot snacks, biscuits etc. My mother told me that he called everyone in the old age home and made sure everyone got a share. He begged my dad to take him back and asked my mother to give him whatever is leftover from her house. He even turned to the guy who worked in his farm and asked him to give him one meal a day- just rice and curd, or whatever he eats, but to take him away from that place and he cried . But apparently, his daughter in law warned my folks that if they indulged in any such attempts, he would be their responsibility. So, my parents gave him some money and left the man behind, who was desperate to get back to the soil which he breathed all his life.

A week later, my dad got a call which informed that NSK passed away. The Tamil scholar, my childhood icon, an astrologer, a man who walked around the villages with pride, my teacher, he who was liked by a lot of people, more importantly my friend, was no more. He had a habit of writing all the expenses down in a diary/journal. He even made an account of all those who visited him in the old age home. He might have played cards, he might have done things that were inappropriate, but the treatment to him cannot be justified on any moral grounds either. He didn't just die, but he died after going through misery, seeing all the glory fade in front of his eyes, begging for one meal -'Sic transit Gloria mundi'. Some things are never going to be the same! I miss him.

From Juliet's Balcony in Verona

18th March, 2008

Verona

Travelling alone is like an unpredictable bag that can throw very mixed experiences at your face. While the disadvantages being that you don't have anyone around to whom you can go 'oh, dude, what a beautiful building' or 'Awesome view no machi?’ etc etc or even leave the burden of deciding where to go for lunch. You may think that these things are trivial. But oh boy, believe me they are not. But the bright side of travelling alone is that you can be entirely flexible about your trip, not listen to the ' you know this one time we were there in...' tale of your friend and about this one time he got sloshed like mad stories for the hundredth time. I was apprehensive about travelling along for long when I started from Trieste. Being comfortable with oneself for a long time is a lot tougher than opening a wine bottle with out the opener. Only gurus, sadhus, buddhas, Tommys and a few others are capable of doing it. I know I am not in that league, but I didn’t have much of a choice either.

I landed in Verona, after leaving the Italian Alps behind me, passing through a lot of the quarries (I am guessing that’s where the famous Italian marbles come from) meadows and small villages. In a moment of bright ideas, I had decided to keep my luggage in the store room in the railway station. It was surprisingly cheap. Then the routine started – Buy a map, get a bottle of water, plan the route, find out the free museums, get the ticket to the next stop, the ceremonial first cigarette in the city right outside the station etc. I then started walking towards the old city. The city is divided in to two by Fume di Adige , the river running in the middle of the city. I passed through what looked like a city gate or a memorial, very Roman looking structure. I was headed towards the Roman Arena, which is one of the main attractions of the city. Camera hanging around the neck, map on one hand, the lost look, word book in my pocket – I just was not wearing a Tshirt that said “Hey! look I am a tourist’. At one point I even got scared that I am becoming Japanese when I started taking pictures of a bus, for god’s sake!
The rule of thumb that I have set for myself is that, even though I am really confident about my way, I ask every 200 metres, just to confirm. You don’t want to be exploring the urine stained dark alleys of any city, especially when you have got only a day in your hand. I asked a guy who was walking along the side to confirm the way. He nodded his head and gave a big smile. A few metres passed without any exchange of words. I asked him whether he is a local resident. He said that he is from the South of Italy and that he was studying art here. I told me about my whereabouts and he got excited. He asked me whether I knew about the bronze statues that are made in India. Thankfully, I knew something about bronze statues of Nataraja and how they make, just enough to sustain a conversation. He told me that he is in to sculpture and more precisely marble sculptures. Wishing me a good stay in Verona , he left in the next turn. I then reached the centre, where there is a nice park in the middle and the houses with balconies that were lined with white and red flowers were breathtaking.
I then entered the Roman arena. It was in much better shape than the colloseum and was aesthetically pleasing as well. There weren’t too many people and there was no huge lines with tourist guides. I had some time for myself. I sat in those steps and I was trying to imagine how things would have been two thousand years ago at the same place. There were some children playing around, lovers taking pictures, families and some American tourists, all busy viewing the once operational and a brilliant theatre through their view finders. I was trying to imagine the different gates for different classes of people, the gladiators who fought, the plays and other cultural events that were staged there. This very place would have been the Zenith of a big artistic career for many artists, who knows? For some other gladiators this would have been the place where they died smelling their own blood mixed with their breath. The sun was out and it was a real good show. A little bit of imagination can make a lot of ruins come alive I think. The next stop was the bell tower and this time there was a lift. The view from the top is always nice. I sat down for a bit and gazed for a while through the aperture there at the river. It was lovely, the roof tops of these typical Italian houses, narrow streets – it is just a bonanza if there is a lot of sun. By this time, the winter was slowly giving way to spring and you can feel it at your door, in your footsteps, the small buds start appearing and you know the good times are not far away.

After walking through the market, I reached La casa di Julietta. This is the house of the Juliet museum – located in a residence of medieval origin that, along with a cluster of surrounding buildings, has been the property of the Dal Cappello family since the 1200s. From this derives the name of ‘capuleti’ the noble house of Juliet. I was not clear whether this was the actual house of Juliet. But the marketing efforts have clearly sidelined such doubts. There were hundreds of tourists, writing their names and that of their loved ones in the graffiti wall in the entrance of the house. The focal point was the balcony where apparently Juliet used to meet Romeo. I decided not to be sceptical and decided to walk in to the museum. It was pretty decent, bringing the image of a medieval Italian house in front of your eyes. Of course there were some corny Romeo and Juliet bits, but it was worth a visit. After buying some post cards, I set off to the castle along the river. It was a good two hour trip- paintings, ammunitions, royal rooms, view of the rivers, bridges etc. I picked up some late lunch form McDonald’s and I got back to the station. There is an assignment that I have to give in before the 30th and I am trying not to think about it.

Next stop is Trieste - a long one indeed. I am going to have some good Indian food, I was already dreaming of some good dhal. The changeover was at Venice. There was a sense of relaxation that I can feel - may be this is what they call as grooving in to the vacation mood.

Ciao bella Bologna!

Bologna, Emilia Romagna, North-central Italy

It is that time of the year where I had to pack my bags, clear out debts and bid good byes. I personally do not like saying byes, even to people who I have known only for a few months. I did not like Bologna initially when I came. It will not be as impressive as Hamburg in my memories, but I must admit that the last days were quite delightful. With the sun coming out and I could feel that I actually made some good friends in the Villa. The last week was a long party session with a lot of community cooking, drinking, clubbing. The Villa inmates at one point of time even got 2 bottles of wine, 5 litres each and polished it of all in one night between some 6 people. They said it was quite cheap. I did not dare or bother to ask about the state of their stomachs the next morning. Sometimes these cheap wines can turn out to be like vinegar. The day when I left the regular lump in the throat feeling occurred, but I tried to quickly brush it off. Some of my friends even walked all the way till the gate and said bye. I waved at them wondering whether I would meet any of them ever again in my life. An interesting bunch of young and carefree souls! I hope the years to come do not take away the energy and enthusiasm in them. Well, I now set off to Trento, the city that hosted me first in Europe. I had quite a few hours of travel ahead of me. I had to pass through Verona and go further north to the region of Trentino. I was invited by a professor there, Dr.Velupillai to spend a few days.
I had a heavy feeling that my flirt with Italia has almost come to an end. But, every end marks a beginning I guess.
********
Spontaneous order and Juliet’s Balcony!

Trento, Trentino. Northern Italy

I arrived at Trento by about 8.00 Pm and I called Vela who was on his way and he asked me to wait in the station. I was with my day bag, a very immigrant looking and not so respectful luggage bag. I had forgotten to send the poster box along with my luggage to France earlier. This meant that I will have to carry a long black tube containing boteccelli and few others all over. I was told that there is Tamil guy in Trento, who will come and pick me up. I was waiting in the station. The thought that my beret might make me look like a European to my Tamil comrade and I was contemplating on removing it. The illusion lasted exactly a few minutes when the guy entered and had one look around and came straight towards me. Well, atleast I have a unique identity. Vela joined us in a bit and he took us to a restaurant. I later dropped him to his hotel and it was good to back in a city that is surrounded by alpine mountains on all sides and truly magnificent to be in summer. Fume di Adige runs through the city and the Dolomite Mountains are an hour drive from Trento. It was quite chilly there, unlike Bologna, I suppose it is because of the mountains. It has a strong Austro-Germanic influence. As you travel north, prevalence of Law can be felt. The streets are cleaner, people are quieter, no jay-walking and people use the Zebra crosses, food gets uninteresting (Food in southern Italy is supposed to be Fantastic) - that’s truly Germanic isn’t it!
I stayed in the apartment of a professor who was not living there. It was not the first time I was living in a place where the owner was not there. A lot of my friends in the past have kindly let me stay in their houses even in their absence. Some willingly and others like George, have no choice. I walked around a bit at night and got a nice sleep and gave my body some rest that it deserves after all that post exam partying. The next day was really nice. I spent my time walking around the city with Dharmaraj, the Indian guy who came to pick me up. He was from Salem and he is doing his Phd there. What are the chances that I met a Tamil guy from Salem in Trento? There was a Danish guy as well, both of whom were trying to tell me the pros and cons of doing Phd in Trento. By this time I had already made my mind about not taking up Phd for other reasons. I met Vela for lunch and it was a pleasurable experience, which only got better over dinner. There were some intelligent ideas, witty cracks, anecdotes, heavy topics and general Tamil bonding as well. At one point he told me in the middle of a conversation that "Girls come and go (pause) like recessions" with a mark of a macroeconomist. For some reason I am really fond of him. Though I am not sure how he feels about me or what he thinks of me etc, but I am really fond of him. Behind all that arrogant neoclassical bashings and the hi-funda dynamical systems, computability etc, I think there is a real nice heart. He told me that he has moved in and out of 62 places so far. I think he missed a sense of belonging. I think that is what explains his fondness Tamil speaking lot. What more can be a firm identity than your mother tongue? Though I am not a particular patron of such cohesions that share nothing but a common culture or a birth place, I see there is nothing wrong with it. We are always trying to identity ourselves in some club or the other. The most bitched about being the bong clans, but the others are no better. Stephanians, IITians, Oxbridge- everyone has the some crisis at some level.
He was asking what my plan was for the days to come. By then all I knew was that I am spending some time in Trieste with Saravana and then I am supposed to meet Fibi and Lim in Lithuania. As usual this was the vague agenda and there was nothing concrete to tell about where I am going etc. I knew that I could go to Bratislava to meet Dev and Yoni, who do not take no for an answer by principle, especially the latter. There was a ‘slight’ complication however. My German resident Permit was expiring on the 31st of March and I am supposed to meet Fibi on the first week of April. Flying was definitely ruled out, largely due to cost and partly due to the fear of being deported. I had a French Visa but it was not a Schengen. For this to be a Schengen I need to go to France and get a resident permit which might take up to 3 months. Someone told me that I can travel by road and since there are no border controls now I can get away. So I told Vela the vague agenda , that I am heading towards the east from Trieste. It was then he told me about the famous statement that Winston Churchill made.

He told me that it was the first use of the term Iron curtain and he was telling me about Trieste and how it is a nice city. I had been there already but I hardly got around to seeing it. It then occurred to me that I can actually scale that Iron curtain from the Adriatic to the Baltic, if I succeed, since I had an invitation to the Baltic state of Lithuania anyway. It was a spontaneous outcome of that conversation and I decided what my trip is going to be called. It was also interesting because I had read a lot about the October revolution- thanks to the cheap Russian books that were available during my father’s time which he promptly acquired. I wanted to see how these countries looked like, wanted to feel the air of transition, reminiscence of the soviet times and also reminiscence of the cities that survived the soviet times. The next morning I packed my bags and Vela came to the Station to drop me and gave me 150 Euros for the way and told me to have good dinner with my friends. I could see that he doesn’t like to say bye to people. He looked away and I could see that he got a bit emotional, or I could very well be assuming. He left, without turning back and as he faded away in to the cityscapes of Trento reflected on the glass doors of the railway station, I boarded my train to Verona- The city immortalised by Shakespeare’s famous play Romeo and Juliet.

Prelude

I am sitting in the air port in Riga,a doggy town and the capital city of Lativa. I realise that I am on the last leg of a trip that I have always dreamt of. It was something that I feared would never be accomplished, like many other dreams that were spelt out- when a teacher picked you in the class and asked you what your dream was – an astronaut, the president and whatever you may think of. This was a dream that I had when I was in college – Backpacking across Europe. It was not anywhere else, it was always Europe. May be close competition from South America, but the winner was always Europe.

I thought of it as one of those things that you do before you come off age. When I look back at it, now that I have all the time in the world, being the only other soul besides the cleaning staff at the airport, I think my earlier notion was not that skewed. I feel a little more grown up, a little more soaked – in the experiences that life can offer you, good and the bad, exciting and tiring, awe-inspiring and awful- I feel a little wet and chilly, metaphorically of course, not too much, as I know there is a lot more to come.

I have finished a month long journey, scaling what Winston Churchill famously remarked as the Iron curtain, which according to him was hung from Trieste in the Adriatic all the way to the Baltic – the so called soviet sphere. I will not pretend that this trip happened with complete organisation, foresight or intention to scale the Iron curtain so precisely as it looks at the hindsight. It happened this way surely because of a random coincidence, like most things in my life. I was trying hard to divert myself from a lot of other painful things that have kept me captive in the past months and I wanted to take my mind off. I wanted to reassure myself about the world and its virtues and surprises. I decided not to go to India and decided to travel.

Thanks to my friend Saravana- who gave me a roof when I had no place to stay during the Easter holidays, who had by then conspired to give me the right start. The other players in this loveable and fortunate conspiracy were Wei and Jurgita ( Fibi) - the latter for giving me the invitation to come to Lithuania and there by marking the destination, which would become appropriate at the end. The former, of course, for charting the route and for her meticulous organisation (along with CG - my walking talking lonely planet of course!), which was how I made it till the end. Dev played his part by making me take an interesting diversion, but as usual never making it to the place. Other factors like high price of my tickets back home etc need not be mentioned I guess.

Before this becomes a long acknowledgement session, I should briefly mention what made this trip even more special. I travelled all the way without a Shenzhen Visa ( C). I just had a D visa and a Transit Visa with which I managed the whole way, which again, is the part of the conspiracy! In the next few posts, I am going to trace the journey as I remember it and as I have noted it in my new found love – Mohit-inspired Moleskin diary. I am not travel writer or even a writer for that matter. I hope to sketch the travel so that I have some record of it, so that when I get senile I have something to aid me narrate this again. Well, it is all about angle, is it not? There were times when I felt a little low, depressed, missed some people. But there was always someone or something that pulled me up. The community of backpackers are quite a cheerful lot I must admit, specially after 8 around the bar area and over a beer.