Organised Chaos = LiveLodgycal ???

While we are busy looking for logic in everything that is done,

the moments of absolute mirth are the ones with dearth of logic.

Having said that, it is that want of Logic in everything is what is keeping us from becoming ISIS !

So when someone comes up with a product ‘Lodgy’ and drives the campaign around ‘Live Lodgycal’, you know for a fact that a lot of logical arguments have been already shown the door :P ;)

Anyway, the Renault Lodgy is something that will logically appeal to most people of the country. We are still a far way away from the West where a family is a man, a woman and kids of the two. Except when we travel for office, we have a fleet of people called ‘family’ waiting to get into the car. If not family, at least your old neighbour would want you to drop him to the next block even if you are embarking on a thousand mile drive and you can’t say no because ‘Sanskar’!

Well, even Alia Bhatt is appealing for me. So what if she comes across as dumb as Rahul Gandhi? But is she logically right for me? That would be something like buying a Rolls Royce by selling your only house for the down payment and raising the rest in loan. (I am sure it is technically impossible but then you can’t explain logic without explaining illogical). So what I meant with all these words was that is the car Value for Money? And I think it is. It has two head lamps and two tail lamps. It has three seating rows, three outlets for AC, three 12V charging points. It has four wheels, four power windows, four decent speakers and a four cylinder highly efficient diesel engine.

It has five doors for you to get in and shove your luggage, six gears in the 110 PS car and an option to seat seven or eight people.

The equipment, features in this car are at par with the competition but it loses out a bit on power, especially when you talk about the 85PS. It is a downer again with those quirky French looks but that’s where it ends. It is almost as spacious as the Innova – something that people in India swear by. 

Where it starts winning is when you talk about ride and handling. It is not really Ferrari fast but then that is okay because you can’t go 7/8 people in a Ferrari. It brakes okay and can be chucked into corners where it will stick and not scare you with humongous body roll like most boats in the market do.

It has got a touchscreen system if you are ready to spend like a good fifteen lakh or else you will have to be happy with quirky looking system. It has cruise control at the top end, but unless you are driving on the Yamuna or Mumbai-Pune Expressway, you will not be able to use it for more than two minutes at a stretch. The Multi-Information Display gives you the trip log and any other information you want on the go.

I am not going to say only good things about the car because Renault and Blogadda hosted us at a super luxury property in Goa for two days and treated us like royalty. For me the car is value for money except for my reservations about Renault service back up. If I am buying a diesel people mover, I am expected to travel and if my car spares are not going to available readily, I would certainly be really pissed off. Also, a slightly bigger clutch pedal would keep our wet, muddy or just worn our soles from slipping off making it slightly more comfortable.

Yes and for the next face-lift, please rope me in for the design of the tailgate!

For the Detailed Review : The Renault Lodgy First Drive
For Detailed Information : The Renault Lodgy Features

Away I go!

Flitting through the countless fields,

Sampling eyes cutting the yields,

Holding on to each one of my shields,

away I go!

Masquerading a million dreams,

Looking for that perfect one of the creams,

The leather with its bursting seams,

away I go!

Taking cover with a submarine,

Wondering if my slate is clean,

Carrying my badly bruised sheen,

away I go!

Ohhh that longing to ride,

Wanting no rules to abide,

None of the million gods by my side,

away I go!

Mission Bolt : Accomplished!

April 19, 2015

Target: Raid De Tiger Point

Mission: Bolt 

Operation: Secure target and report to base. NO casualty allowed. Absolutely not. No Weapons.

0600 hrs
      - Ready to leave safe house. Pickup point 25kms away.
      - I start my red devil and zoom

0700 hrs
      - Pickup is at the stroke of the hour – perfect timing. The Transporter HK is raring to go.

0800 hrs
      - Meeting point – Café Infinito
      - Co-agents introduction – Sanjay and Purujeet

0900 hrs
      - Bacon and chicken sausages with fruit juices and yummy sandwiches (You need to stuff yourself up to think straight in crunch situations)

1000 hrs
      - Mission Brief
         o Task one – conquer the DOTS
         o Task two – beat the sun
         o Task three – burn the tarmac
         o Task four – get a cooler and get back to base!

1100 hrs
      - The CAR
         o A bright red Tata Bolt. (If James Bond swears by the Aston Martin, just because it is British, it has Tata for me. Not that I cannot get a Jaguar – Yes, its Indian now – blending in with the crowd would be much easier with so many Tata cars on the road!)
      - The Equipment
          Well, the list is long, really long but here are some highlights
             Revotron – the first petrol turbocharged engine developed by an Indian manufacturer
             Voice Command with Touch Screen Entertainment – I am a secret agent and to do a trillion things when I am driving, I need the car to listen to me! So, I got Harman-Kardon to custom build one!
             Corner Stability Control – I am going to be driving like a mad man most of the times trying to save the world. Commoners get 8th-gen but I have a 9th-gen ABS with EBD with a bit of special assistance through corners to ensure that I do not have to worry about making the turn while saving the world.

1200 hrs
      - Task One – We ran around the dusty cones trying to find traction on the withered soil, baked to the core by the blaring sun on to the hurdle. While we braced ourselves to avoid being tossed around in the car, Purujeet made a mockery of the dots making us look like fools as we glided across the hurdles.

1300 hrs
      - Task Two – We had to drive a 100 kilometers on an exceptionally hot summer afternoon.  You could almost cook an omelet without even a magnifying glass. But the HVAC engineers have pulled a rabbit out of the hat, just like the suspension engineers. With no tints to save us, the cabin mercury levels never got a chance to shoot. The ride was so comfortable that I actually thought we were doing 60 when we were actually doing 80. *cough*120*cough*beyond speedlimits*cough

A video posted by High On Throttle Customs (@godsentevil) on Apr 19, 2015 at 8:49pm PDT

1400 hrs
      - The essential F&B break. Time to hydrate yourself for the daunting task three. The food was sumptuous. A morsel more and I would have forgotten the mission!

1500 hrs
      - Task Three – I take the Revotron. I had only heard about it, but nothing prepared me to come to terms with what it really was. The first Indian turbo petrol is a gem. There would be many who would point out its shortcomings – the foremost being economy – which is true – but, the way this engine behaves, is a revelation. You keep the tacho needle a tad above 1500 and you are at the sweet spot. Till 4500, the car is just going to add oodles of power. Yes it has a sport mode which has all the magic. The Economy mode, as most Indians would prefer using, though, is not really tragic. In terms of performance –no – you expect the car to be mellow but economy – yes- it is a bit tragic. The diesel in this regard is the perfect buy for the lousy Indian car buyer. Just enough power to lug you around and loads of miles per drops of a gallon!
      - I revved the petrol hard, gunning through the winding roads with two of my co-agents and a damsel (no she wasn’t in distress) holding on to dear life trying to force a smile on their faces just not to possibly offend me in case I may decide to go even faster.
      - Reached the vantage point. The tiger covered! No casualties. Just passed under the radar!

#BoltDrives @blogadda @harishk99 Hyper Lapse! We bolt through the expressway!

A video posted by High On Throttle Customs (@godsentevil) on Apr 18, 2015 at 11:52pm PDT

1600 hrs
      - We stopped for a cooler. Time to split and bid adios to my co-agents. And yes the damsel too!
      - Well, until the next time! Mission impossible is just too cliché!

      It was a Sunday well spent at #BoltDrives with the Bolt, the brand new hatch from Tata Motors in association in our good friends – Blogadda. The car looks fresh and new but carries over the legacy of the legendary Indica in terms of humungous cabin space. But the best part is what it doesn’t carry is the lack of refinement, NVH and bad handling and poor interiors. The new car defines the new ideology of Tata Motors where they plan to build cars that are well built, good to look at and nice to drive and luxurious to be driven in!

To know more about the Tata Bolt and read expert reviews, 
http://www.carwale.com/tata-cars/bolt/

The-press-ion : the art of living a fucked up life!

दिल मे लगी आग को बुझाओगे कैसे?
होंठों के बीच अंगारो को, पैरो तले जैसे?
वक़िफ़ तो है हुम अप्ने मुक़द्दर से मगर,
बसे इस जेहेन मे सिकन्दर को, मिटाओगे कैसे?

कोशिशे कि लाखो, पर नैय्या कभी लगी ही नही,
जिस किनारे घर हमारा बना हो जैसे.
वो साहिल हि था, जो दरिया से दरिया ले चलता हमे,
के बवंडरो से कश्मकश हि थी जिन्दगी जैसे!

Poetry is that lucky emotion to find words to express itself. Not that I am a great poet or something, but the words above have just been put together by yours truly.

So sad is the back drop of this story that I sometimes wonder how badly depressed I am. Meet the Speedosopher, the guy who is excellent in giving unnecessary gyan because probably that is the only thing he thinks will not fail! I had written about ‘the Rock Bottom’ before and no Dwayne Johnson has anything to do with it. It was then, when I was trying to mask my depression under the mask of thought.

But then what is the point in hiding! My life, my depression, my fucking choice! It has been quite some time that I have been trying to do things right for a change and it turns out that I am digging my own bloody grave. We all have been taught that doing the right thing will always make you happy. But the truth is, fuck my lord, it doesn’t.

That is because – here is the crux – you can not define the ‘right thing’. The right thing, by virtue of its definition, is that deed which when done would probably make the stake holders of your life think you are not going to the dogs yet! Reminds me of ‘Sadda Haq’ – what an amazing composition by AR Rahman – getting the emotions out of the noted perfectly!

I am no politician. I believe in doing things the right way and it doesn’t matter if the thing is wrong in the first place. If I have chosen to do it, it has to be precariously planned and ruthlessly executed. Well, this brings me to my professional life. Well, I am lucky enough to find a workplace that seems to be awesome and the job that I do feels super awesome. I guess it is the excess of ‘awesomeness’, like Barney says, is screwing things up. I may be wrong, but from where I stand, I see a lot of disparity in the responsibility vs authority matrix. I thought the two years I was wasted in MBA, were a complete waste but no! Mistaking accountability for micro-management and trying to measure everything are the two biggest mistakes one can do and if that gets drilled down as a culture in a growing organization, it’s a disaster in the making.

But, fuck that. That is not what is bothering me the most now. Is it not super awesome when you get hired for a role where well, you will have to figure out what you would do. Take my word, it is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. Because, you can not tread on to any one’s closely guarded territories unless your appointment letter says so, neither can you expect a good appraisal because they were always so many things you could do. And when you have friends like mine, well, I will have to wish you the best of luck twice over.

But fuck that too. That’s not again the point. After years of doing the right things, trusting the good in people, I still am stuck. I have a rusted motorcycle, my car is in shambles, I haven’t been on the road with no chut telling me to slow down and at the end of it, I don’t even have money in my bank. I am tired of living a good life.  I am tired of doing the right things. I am tired of being what I am – a foolish wreck. But the best part of this is, if I break away right now – hell would break loose. Not that I fear it, but somehow I have got used to avoid it.

ढुंढते रहे वजूद, अनजनी उन लेहेरो मे,
आके कोइ बतलाएगी आशियने का पता जैसे!

Tick tock tick tock tick tock.

PS: Do not expect me to thank you for the sympathy or empathy or whatever, I don’t need any of those. This is my shit, my choice! 

Fighting thy Demons

Well, I am back! Hell yeah!

For those who thought this mad man really had a million masks, well – he does. It is just that most of those are either built of cars or bikes!

The Versys 1000.

Enough said?

No.

260 kilos and tall enough to make a six footer toe-tip and packs a little less than a hundred and twenty horses across its mid-range.

I have ridden two wheels packing 180 horses before, and I know a lot of people would be starting to get ‘wuss’ into their minds.

Clocking speeds over two tons on a straight line on these kind of motorcycles is not at all an achievement. As I climbed on to its saddle at Kolhapur, it seemed as if I was hovering above the burning tarmac. The straights till Belgaum gave me enough time to calm my nerves and get comfortable with her.

But it was the Chorla Ghat that kicked me out of the comfort-zone. As I tried tipping the motorcycle into corners, the diva in the Versys started throwing her tantrums. She likes straights, she likes to go easy on brakes and she hates being leaned on to.

I had been out since 6 in the morning after a 2 hour nap, the night before. We had been shooting and the sun showed absolutely no respite, roasting us clad in full motorcycle gear. I was tired, and a bit fried and a bit cranky.

And Chorla it was. The rough levelled tarmac on the narrow curvy mountain road was what I was riding for all day – to brake late, brake hard, turn in with a knee down and bang the throttle open at the apex, powering out of the corner like it was the last one I ever had!

The battle was intense and every drop of adrenalin added to my blood-stream made me madder. I was looking two corners ahead, looking for its exit, planning my entry, gauging the pace without even realizing how fast I am right now, with my head just about two and a half feet away from the tar. I was talking to myself, trying to remember every word someone or the other had to say about sport riding.

‘Brake late, but don’t trail-brake’ 

‘Get your arse out, anchor the thigh’ 

‘Get your balance right – the gyroscope needs to be in your favour to make the next corner’ 

‘Steady throttle before the apex, gun it after that’ 

‘Try entering a corner like you have no brakes’ 

‘Keep your head Steady’ 

‘Hold the line and NEVER cross to the oncoming lane’ 

‘You need to work on your right handers’ 

‘Keep your hands light – flap them like wings into a corner’

Damn, so much to do and the bike was not really happy being held by the scruff of her neck and shoved wherever I wanted. It was exhilarating. It was a moment of no fear, no remorse, clarity of thought, attention to the minutest feedback – It felt like Nirvana!

I think I conquered quite a few of my inner demons then – the fear of letting loose, the fear of uncontrollable bursts, the fear of missing a detail. 

As I slowed down at the top of the Chorla ghat, I was exhausted – exhausted by the happiness I garnered in those 30 kilometers of dark tarmac, exhausted by the goose-bumps I had when I knew I haven’t gone so fast here ever before, exhausted by the fear of never being able to come back to this, exhausted by the fear of life!

Communities, conversions and conversations!

WARNING : The following opinions and content is controversial and reader's discretion is advised to avoid any hurting of sentiments. If you are reading this further, it is at your own risk! 

It has been a while the ‘Pro-Hindutva’ government has been at the helm and the secularists have gone on an overdrive raking up the conversion issue. The communal tensions in Mumbai have just added fuel to the fire – the embers that have been carefully kept warm all these years.

India is a conclave of diverse faiths, traditions, geographies and languages. The political system in India, has been pretty much successful in maintaining the divide with one tool – reservations. It started with reservations based on caste for the upheaval of the bereaved – a noble intention to get all classes of the society at par. But what it resulted is in doling out undue sops to the unworthy. It is a known fact that the average aptitude of the reserved classes is lower and when such people rise through the ranks to be decision makers, you are going to have more decisions that go wrong than the ones that do good. Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar, must be really riling in his heavenly abode for the idea that he brought into the system. The man was good, the intentions were good, but, the en masse was not really up for it. The illiterate got literacy certificates but the maturity of thought that comes through generations of knowledge was absent. When the going becomes easy, there is no enhancement and it is evident.

Coming to religions, Hinduism is not really a religion as all the ‘experts’ say. It is more of a way of life where you have a set of gods you pray to. You have to be born a Hindu and can not be converted into one as faith is imbibed into you and cannot be just taught to you. It is the main reason why different religions like Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism et al could grow and prosper on this land. If you can take the cue, none of these religions believe in proselytism except Buddhism. And then, proselyte religions like Christianity and Islam made way to this land. The Muslims brought people to their fold with a dagger in their hand as chronicled in the history books while the Christians used coercion. Evangelism was celebrated for centuries and continued under the secular rule after Independence. Billions of dollars were pumped in through various routes to ensure smooth flow of the rituals. The question that how much of this actually helped the people is a different story all together!

It was all hunky-dory until the emergence of the ‘Hindutva’ bandwagon and its aggressive outlook. The secularists, who all these years had successfully manipulated the majority population in to believing that the minorities are different species that need special quotas and handling and sops, suddenly ran into a dead wall. When the majority started voicing their concerns about the right to equality, hell broke loose. The minorities who were by then used to the spoon feeding, took it as their birth right and started crying foul. The cash rich church wasn’t bothered. They have gobbled up billions worth of real estate for ‘convents’ where Christianity has always been portrayed as modern and sophisticated (which is kind of true as the literacy and knowledge quotient there is quite high. That may be also because of the knowledge and sophistication our foreign rulers got here with them) The Muslims though got stuck in their sandy roots, no real money as such, living in ghettos, oblivious to the world outside. The whole community, in general, seems to have missed at least a couple of decades of growth of thought.

The juncture, where we all stand now, is very critical. The majority that had been lying dormant now perceives a threat to its existence. The minorities, that faced only scathing glances till now, are being pushed back to ‘size’ (as many would like to portray). But this has been the course for a multicultural society. The minorities will always be slightly sidelined unless they shed their minority tag and be a whole hearted part of the mainstream. That is democracy where the majority always counts. Giving undue importance to trivial things like race or religion and identifying yourself with it will only widen the divide and create further tensions. Add proselytism to it and the mix will turn explosive.

‘Ghar Wapsi’ should not be about religion at all. Ghar Wapsi should be about making yourself at home with everyone and not confining your good intentions and good work only to your locality, community, caste, creed, religion or region! ‘Ghar Wapsi’ should be that umbrella under which you should need no crutches to establish your identity. It is all about your tryst with the truth. Your truth is that illusion you believe you have seen. If you believe that the country is a family, you will not bother if your sibling is white or black or Hindu or Muslim. And that is when India will start to grow!

Dreams of a rusted rider!

I am flashing the headlamps repeatedly, trying to warn that zillionth driver on the road today who has decided to swerve into my lane without even giving a passing glance to the desperate biker asking for his own space. As I grab the brakes and blip to drop the cog, my arms cringe and my back groans. I am holding the handle-bar firmly, forcing my eyes wide open against the wind, the gust of air drying my eyes up as I make an attempt to improve visibility keeping my muck/shit laden helmet visor open. Its twilight and all I can see are blurred tail-lamps and blinding headlamps. No, I don’t want to stop to even clean the visor. To stop means to shift gears, brake and then get off the motorcycle. However tempting that may be, I know for a fact that getting back up on the saddle would need much more effort and then getting the concentration back would be a gargantuan task. Why are my thoughts drifting? I am not giving up, not now.

They always say ‘it is the last few miles that eat up the smiles’. But what about the 900 kilometres I have ridden since morning to fulfil my promise? My best friend is getting married to the love of his life and I had promised to co-host his sangeet that would start in an hour. There I was today morning, 950 kms away, I was cheering other bestie as he participated in the last round of the Indian Rally Championship fighting to be the champion co-driver for 2014. If I said I was tired, tears would well up litotes’ eyes! The Suzuki though, is cool and calm as ever, just like she was in the morning – not even one bit tired, not even one bit grumpy for all the grime stuck upon her. She is the one who is driving me up to pull myself up or rather what was left of it and reach home safely.

The calm and serene hills of Chikmagalur, famous for the sprawling coffee estates, were alive with the with the growling and screeching exhausts of rally cars that turn up here every winter to race against nature, terrain, rain and time to finish one more round of the Indian Rally Championship. The beaten dirt track of Birur with its narrow flowing high speed sections has always been one of the toughest challenges for the Indian rallysts. I am actually able to recall some of the sections like it was yesterday! Sadly, the stage has been phased out since last year with increasing traffic and safety concerns. A new stage has been built through the coffee estates. Though it is not as fast as Birur, it is scarily narrow and immensely technical and now an even bigger challenge.

All the cars were gleaming in their colourful liveries - spruced up and repaired after the beating down they had taken over their previous outing - ready to hit the road as fiercely as they can in the able hands of their drivers. But as fate would have it, it rained the previous night, throwing all equations in to a tizzy. Friday morning it was and the pits transformed into a war-zone with tuners fighting hard to change the suspension set-ups and tyres for each car to get them to their competitive best in the short one hour time window before the super special stage. Wrinkles of worry were quite visible while I prayed for my friend to get a fair chance in his race for the title.

My phone started ringing. I wasn’t wired nor I had Bluetooth synced helmet and I had forgotten the phone in my shorts that were buried under my riding pants. I was sure it was my friend who had called me to ask where I was. He was completely against me starting on the Sunday morning, the day of his sangeet, to ride down 950 kms and make it in time. Everyone said I was out of my mind to ride across the Deccan plateau within a day. My mother even offered to buy me air tickets but then, I had to salvage my lost pride of being a tourer, a long distance rider – something that I had not done in at least the last two years. There are quite a few riders who have sailed through the Iron-Butt challenge, doing close to 1700 kms within 24 hours, almost twice my target – but this was my ride for redemption.

The adrenalin rush to conquer my quest had me going strong for quite some time since my departure into the freezing cold at 6 am. It started getting better as the sun steadily made its way up. In the meantime, I had joined the NH4 – one of the few roads in India where you can crunch miles steadily and at good speeds. I did not even stop for breakfast, not wanting to lose time. As exhaustion started creeping up, I stopped in Kolhapur for a quick bite just after noon.

Slightly ahead of my schedule after the dream run I had since morning, I did not want to relax. I got back on to the saddle wringing the throttle open every time I found an open stretch. I was carrying good steady pace but somehow, I don’t know why, the odometer seemed to have slowed down. My body was tiring out faster than ever, may be due to that extra pack of fries I munched at McDonalds. After riding hard for two hours, I was still at Satara. I stopped in the shade of a massive roadside banyan tree for a break, trying to evaluate what was going wrong.

The rally is spread over three days with the Super Special stage on Friday followed by six special stages on Saturday and three on Sunday. He did well on Day 1 and Day 2, looking poised to bring the trophy home. I had wished him all the luck in this world and left today morning. I called him up when I stopped over at Satara. The ‘hello’ was low and I knew something was wrong. An electrical failure robbed them off the power steering and they went straight into a tree stump that ripped the front suspension and axle off. Both occupants were safe, but he lost the championship by just 6 points! Aaaarrggghhh!

Only 250 more kilometers to go - which means a maximum of four hours of riding left to be done. Yay! I just did 700 kms in 9 hours. A pat on my back and back on the road!

Well, the phone is ringing continuously now. Well just 50 more kilometers. I have been riding for the past 13 hours. The traffic in Pune and Lonavla have already taken a huge toll on my flailing spirits and Mumbai was yet to come. Well, just 50 more kilometers, you can do it!

a-ring a-ring a-ring a-ring!

What! Why is my morning alarm ringing? Am I day dreaming on the motorcycle? Wait!

a-ring a-ring a-ring a-ring!

Let me snooze that one first and then think!