my ajja strongest

i was working on my laptop today, reading a pdf when grandpa came and asked me if the magazine i was reading was good. i said yes. he went and sat back only to reappear with the same question in less than five minutes. i repeated my answer. the next time he asked me what my name was. i felt a bit bad. not offended, not disturbed; i felt bad... for him.

he was born in the same year as che guevara, 1928. yet, thanks be to the almighty he's never had any physical health issues for 81years. only after that did his blood sugar levels increase a bit which my grandma brought down within a month through a wonderfully strict diet. even now my grandpa can read without spectacles and hear without a problem. he still speaks in english at times and he still inspires me.

without a sense of self decoration, i can safely say that my english is good enough and the reason for this, is my grandpa. the first person that talked to me in english. he taught me, relentlessly, patiently, till i would learn to his satisfaction. he never made me do homework or read me stories or anything, he just called me names that i would find weird and then asked me to guess what it meant. after i tried and failed he'd tell me what it meant. samples are:- ugly worm, irritant, ape, etc. :)

clearly he had the same wacky sense of humor which i carry now. the best advice that i got as a child was from him, arguably. people compliment kids every now and then saying, "good boy." grandpa did that too. but one day i asked him what it meant. he said, it's just a way of conversing and that i shouldn't take it to my head as it basically meant nothing. in truth he taught me not to get carried away with appreciation. i still have trouble reacting to good words told about me.

that was ages ago. now grandpa suffers from AD or Alzheimer's Disease. simply put it means that the cells in your brain are dying out one by one. relate it to a pc's memory being formatted, chunk by chunk, day by day. it began when we found out he had trouble remembering the names of distant relatives. it always begins that way; with tiny things. then he couldn't remember which bus to take from a town to his house. he forgot where his house was, then he forgot who was who.

now it's pretty severe. he hardly recognizes people. sometimes he mistakes me for his son, and sometimes he thinks i'm his buddy and begins addressing me like he'd address grown ups, in plurals. he doesn't remember the faces of his children, he doesn't remember that the house he lives in is the one he constructed, he doesn't remember that his son is married. grandpa sometimes cannot get his brain to process the word that he wants and most times the sentences are incongruent. they are usually never completed.

how much life changes...

he was a gazzetted health inspector. something great for his times, i hear. grandpa was intelligent, respected and feared in equal measures. there are still relatives that i meet in functions who tell me that they still remember images of the man who wore the crisp white shirt and the khaki colored pant who's baritone would straighten a few hairs of people who indulge in indiscipline. in a way, he is still feared. :)

i am told that virtually all his married life he had to stay away from home, but he did so because he had to provide for a family of four back home. yet, he has educated all his children, all of them successful and living well  now. grandpa was always neat and orderly. papers wouldn't be strung out like nomads in a desert. a spotless career graph at a time of political comedy and not being lured into accepting bribes, i can go on.

when i was tiny he would make me rifles from the barks of coconut leaves and would take me along with him to pick up fallen cashew fruits in the compound. now, all he does is sit in a corner and see things. things don't register in his mind, memories are constantly vanishing. the last ones to go are language and other things i had read. that point of no return is not too far.

it is easy to get impatient, to get angry, to scold, to force. but it is impossible to know what his life would be, to see it from his perspective. imagine not remembering who your loved ones are, not remembering if you just ate or if you haven't eaten since two days, to not remember if you slept or not, to not remember your life. it's not even a consolation to feel that he's still here. this is simply not him. this is just the shell of a spent man.

i write this not because i feel sympathetic towards him, or because i feel guilty sometimes that i do not do enough for him at this age of his. i write this simply because i miss my grandpa that was. the grandpa that gave be pieces of jaggery. the grandpa that would tell me there's more fun in playing outdoors and falling than sitting indoors, the grandpa of mine who could lift me and make me feel he's stronger than anyone else in the world.

i miss ajja.

2wheels 2freedom

biking doesn't begin with a bike, it begins with the mind.

i can hear my friends smirking, saying bugger wasn't able to convince his parents for gokarna and now he's talking philosophy... mama talks all big big things but beep beep beep... sorry for that.

anyway, that is not at all the point. i read in the hindu today that harley davidson launched a showroom in bangalore and that got me thinking and get deeper into all this. so there began the thought train. a harley is clearly the mother of all bikes, every serious biker would definitely respect it if not like it. after all they are in a way the creators of bikes, arguably. they've been around from before the time that my grandpa was born!

their slogan is "live to ride, ride to live." imagine. riding for life. like riding is an occupation, paid one at that! a v-rod or a nightster, unlimited fuel, a HOG jacket and a bandanna, never ending roads, clear skies, the sound of a V-engine, eating those miles... now get back to reality. petrol price rising each Friday, your same old bike, pot-holed roads (dotted for extra pleasure!?!? :D ) sweaty weather, mean buses, menacing truckers, irritating autos... biking is almost a pain.

then there are these jerks who modify their bikes and make them sound like those poor bikes are suffering from sore throats. is it truly macho to ride fast? i agree that when i began i also felt a thrill to ride faster and faster, but with age there comes maturity; at least generally it does and now the aim is to enjoy driving my bike.

i love the cool breeze whistling in my ears, the horizon staying constant while the scenery becomes a slow blur; the low growl of the engine being a constant companion and humming your favorite song as you drive by without any heavy thoughts bugging you. it surely is an escape from the monotony of life. for anyone who happens to know both me and the story of "Into The Wild" there is a tiny possibility that you may notice that there is a small similarity. the wild... exciting... being out there all alone, no idea of the current location, no idea of the next... no idea of the availability of food nor of water... i've always been enticed by the idea of it. although i don't share the disorder of Alexander Supertramp i do share his curiosity. the question always nags:-what's out there? there maybe a few of you who would call me mad but being mad in this way is better than being childish and playfully mad, like skipping stones on the road and calling it as a lifestyle without caring for the world.

since a long time there has been the idea of a monstrous chopper, and a ride into the horizon, destination unknown. but the closest i have got to a big beast of a bike is a bullet 500, '80s made. then i have driven a thunder-bird 350 of late. yet, the hunger is insatiable. there has to be a devil waiting for me. my own machine, which is going to be a part of me, my bike of which i will be a part of.

i started off with harley and reached into my imaginatory world. :( sad. there was this statement about a harley. when you wanna impersonate thunder and rumbling, just start a HD engine. i heard it ages ago, in the year that Arnold did a stunt on a Fat Boy as Terminator2 and it has stuck since that time.

all the same, boys and girls, ladies and gents, i will go wandering off some day and that is a promise. for a biker, the journey never ends; only the routes change. destinations may vary but destinies won't. by the way try typing "biking" on your cell phone with the dictionary/prediction on and the words that come before "biking" appears are something that you get as free gifts if you're on a never-ending-tour. ;)

so start you're engines, (shift the gears! ashwath will help...) and ride away!!!