Death of a Carnivore

Biting into an animal was never a natural instinct for me. Born into a Curd rice community the only animal produce at home was milk . The closest thing to an animal cooked at home was an egg. The question never rose in my mind as to which came first, chicken or egg. The egg came first and went in as an omelette. I never considered bypassing the egg and biting into a chicken.

And then one holiday I went to Nellore(AP) to my friends place. Was going gaga over golti land and the farm we were staying in. I had always liked the spicy andhra food, now thrilled to be able to gorge in all the goodies for at least a week. Actively participated in chasing chickens thinking we were playing some sort of local sport. Only to be served at dinner a spicy, juicy preparation of the game. Moved by the aroma of spices and avoiding my mothers stare, i bit into a juicy leg piece(mustve been, cos a long bone stuck out). It was deeleeecious. I liked the tough nature, and the bloody feeling. Of biting into something other than veggies. I was hooked. Overnight i had shed my cured rice cloak and had become a carnivore. Or so i thought.

Then came meat at a community feast of a friends' wedding - it was a disappointment. Was tougher than chicken and didnt taste too juicy. Fish - I couldnt stand, the stench, even in a well prepared dish was too much for me to take. Then all sea food was out. For all the pride (misplaced) I claimed to be a non-vegetarian - i was justa chicken eater. Just chicken!

To play along with my friends (thats what you do when you drink) - some who were regular non-vegetarians, i used to order chicken. After a while it became chicken only in manchurian style. Chicken neatly covered in indo-chinese spices. My taste was moving towards the garnishings more than for the main dish. I was losing my carnivorous instincts, if i had had any to begin with.

Then came the last straw - on this trip. My pardner redefined what it meant to be a carnivore. A regular meal for him should have something that was now dead which used to move about. To him it completes a square meal. For me eating non-veg (read chicken) was a luxury, and when drinking. He would be disappointed if we landed up in an all vegetarian restaurant after a hard days ride. And when he was in a gluttonous mood even the bones would not be spared. I could never do that. And it doesnt matter if that creature used to fly, swim, or just graze about -after it was cooked properly - it would all go into his mouth with equal ease. And well appreciated.

I could never do that. In fact i never did that cos it never came naturally to me. I was just a curd rice freak trying to wolf down chickens. My mask is blown. I am back to where i started, only now bypassing the chicken and going to the omlettes. But happy to have taken a trip down the carnivorous lane. Curd rice! Here I come.

Bindhi Bindhi Bhang Bhang

After a long days ride, checked into a hotel in Jaisalmer. Was freshing up and as i looked up at the mirror from the basin - I noticed it. Again? Oh no. There it was, right next to the mirror - A bloated Red Period. I paused for a while.Who was this woman or women? And why were they going around putting up their Bindhis all over the country. Was This some kind of a joke being played on me?

For the last four months whichever Hotel, Lodge or Guesthouse i have been to - Its been there. A Dot (sometimes as big as a saucer), A mango motif, a rombhus or some other weird geometrical shape in a sticker form, on the mirror or right next to it. Varying colors from bright marroon to striking Yellow and occasinally a black bhindi. Why do these women discard this stricker in this advertising form? Was a it a compulsive habit of theirs or was it just a way of marking "Kilroy was here" with just a dot? I was flummoxed.

Or maybe, just maybe - someone was leaving a trail for me to find them! Now that was interesting. It wasnt me thinking this - but the bhang Lassi i had just had downed Jaisalmer doing its rounds - in my mind.And i was willing to go along. The Bindhis colors were changing, probably to co-ord with the beautiful ladys' Dress. (I have to assume such things - no point dreaming about a girl, thinking she could be a hunchback:) And so were the shapes of the Sticker. So this person was also had an aesthetic eye. And what beutiful eyes (again the bhang). And this person was intelligent too - Yes sir! She wasnt just going to be putting up the Bindhis right on the mirror or just next to it all the time. I remember, not finding any sticker at the guesthouse in Leh, and getting Disaapointed. Surprise of surprises - As i closed the door of the loo - there it was snuggly stuck up right in the corner - a flashing blue designer pottu*.

And she was playing hard to get - For the last four months to just stringing me along, a long and winding road without giving me a glimpse of herself. She must have some inside information. And i confronted my partner in this journey - asking him if he knew this girl. He said he might, but would not divulge any information(He too had bhang you see:).

I went to the big bindhi on the wall again - For the first time, after hessitating a long while, i touched it. Electric shock passed through me! I had by mistake touched a live wire. Got back to the Bindhi and felt the felt. And with one smooth move removed it from the wall. It came of smoothly - It was fresh, meaning the girl was still in town - In Jaisalmer. I rushed out of the Hotel thinking i could spot her. No luck. Rushed to the hotel manager and asked him if anyone checked out recently from the room we had checked into. No luck again.

Fondly feeling the velevet dot, i retired to my room. Defeated for now, but looking forward to the next big dot around the corner. Sooner or later Ms.Bindhi would be caught.

*Pottu - Bhindhi in Tamil

Home, is where the house-fly is!

One constant on the road when you travel, whether you like it or not is the housefly being your compadre. Whoever Came up with the name housefly mustve not ventured out of his four walls. This insect is everywhere, hotels, guest houses, in the roadside loos. Hell, they dont even leave my helmet alone. I go everywhere to find them buzzing around - making me wonder if they actually run the world.

At home i never used to mind these guys. But to travel the whole day and end up on a bed to be constantly buzzed around, and itched upon. Gradually you start resembling an half eaten bun butter toast with these miniscule creatures hovering around you. We tried everything and failed. There simply are no housefly repellents available. We tried burning a mosquito coil only to find out that these coils invite mosquitoes. They just swarmed in as though they had heard a mating call. We only made it worse.

Even in a monastery, the buddhist housefly (should be, considering its whereabouts!) managed to end its nine fold path right on my nose! I wasnt amused at all. And i couldnt be as calm as the buddha. Rolled up a newspaper and tried destroying my pest only to end up slapping myself silly.

Finally something worked, by accident rather on purpose. Some Hash fell into my cigarette and when that was rolled up the problem was solved. No the flies did not leave the room. Instead, i got more conducive to the company. Unwanted as it may be, it was no longer unpleasant. The buzzing and the flying were more of a trance music i could hum to. If you cant beat them - join them. Home, is where the housefly is.

Shiny happy people ... till moonshine strikes

Whats with this liquid? This Acidic, Acerbic bile churning thing we called liquor. It makes this sober guy a whimpering, whining mongrel. I can understand pent up stuff coming out after a few drinks. I am used to that. But what pisses me off is that it acts as an excuse to make fools of ourselves.Recently i happened to stay a couple of days with a friends acquaintance while on the road. This guy was a senior govt official and he worked in a high capacity, something that was evident in his drinking. A personable gentleman, cheerful and composed. He talked about his work with a lot of josh(enthusiastic frevor) and was very upbeat. He was gloating about his wife, who also worked for a govt. agency and her achievements. He went on and on lovingly about his son that for a few moments i could imagine actually being in his place, his kid in my arms and his wife by my side.. He painted such a lovely picture around him that i got this feeling that he was one shiny happy person. Michael stipe was possibly singing about his type.But all this was in the daytime.Moonshine (It was a more refined version from Seagrams') struck in the evening and my new found buddy simply tore to shreds the picture he had painted in the morning. His life was suddenly filled with so much misery that I wanted to almost run away from there. The hundred pipers blowing in ears didnt allow me to though. He could not stand his bosses, his work was ridden with politics, and his team was filled with stupid people. Just in the morning they were described as the best team he had worked with. His wife was very demanding and would not accept for a transfer. She was always asking for some help for her family. Frankly I thought thats what families were there for. To ask for help. His bright n lively son was being adamant and not taking up activities that his daddy would like. Common' Give that kid a break - he is just 4.At the end of his inebriated diatribe, most of the pipers had left and i was somewhere between High n Dry. The mistake i made was i was shaking and nodding my head, when he was speaking, but it was too late to explain that my head bangings were because of the liquid i had consumed and not the flowing story (or stories!!) of his. The shocker is he back to his shiny happy persona back in the morning. I had a hangover though. One bitten twice shy? No way, when you have a smirnoff twist staring at you the second evening. Moonshine struck again.In a way its a good thing I keep my ears sharp and tongue still when i drink. Otherwise my drinking partner wouldve posted a similar story. Cheers!