27/12/2022
Indore
As is the way in this country… We deal several centuries in 0 to 30 seconds. Not a moment where people don’t hark back and return and leap into the future all in the same conversation. Confusion and aspiration. Debate and conflict. All the time.
Returning to the city to spend a week as the year ends.
23/12/2023
It’s called the ‘slab’ here. Roofs are made of reinforced concrete and marks a milestone in construction of a house. In these parts one doesn’t just ‘take possession’ after signing documents. Life here is brick by brick. Today is when that milestone is hit.
Workers look forward to a meal of chickpea curry and puffed rice snack as the intense bout of work on pouring and casting the concrete is finished. The curry is cooked on the farm, and the entire group eats together. The group looks satisfied with the work. The contractor stands triumphant too. It has been a long day for everyone.
There is barely a step taken here without half the village turning up.
Rolled out from a swanky new railway station that the city added to its messy urban sprawl. The good old engineer had to lend his name again. Sir M Vishveshvaraiya Terminus became SMVT. These are trick questions for auto drivers until they figure that they can turn it into a secret local scam. ‘Isko loco shed bolta tha saab pehle’. There’s nothing new about it they say. But the fares for the same distance are new.
In company of Buddhist monks of all ages and sizes, a coach load of them, arrived early hours from Mysore, and probably bound for Bodh Gaya, the train pulls out on time.
Sat by the window all day. Berth and sleeping bag laid out for the night show now. A WAG9 shuting around at BZA as we take the platform. On another, goods train pulled by the stop signal, the loco pilot finishes his packed dinner from tiffin box opened on the dashboard while waiting for a passenger train to pass.
The network is forever busy. The country forever heaving under its heavy bags, sleepy eyed on the platforms.
20/12/2022
Ran a 100 KM outside the city on Sunday. Couldn’t make it to Malnad Ultra this year. The next opportunity before the year turned was Bangalore Ultra. It had everything that I don’t prefer for a long run – road, laps of a short distance and around an urban sprawl. The only upside was that this run was easy to ride down to the start line, no planning or logistics load and getting back home within the hour after finish.
First 24 KM were gorgeous through a light veil of morning fog that’s typical of this city’s periphery. Occasional hornbills doing a flypast. A few owl calls. Some talks on conservation, winters and cold regions of the world. Fellow runner knew much. It’s his profession.
Came in by the 32nd KM to a breakfast of idlis. Ran more. Returned for a scoop of sweet Pongal. Slowed down. 50th happened and it felt like going home. But then there were 75 KM runners still going and 75 looked like a better finish stage. Ran some more.
Rolled into base at 75th and then turned around… Because how much is 25 KM ? 2 laps of that 12 KM loop. That’s exactly why laps are not my thing. Maths over spirit.
Finished at 5 PM. 100 KM on the odo before the year turned. Can go back to the farm and forget about running. Cycle awaits return.
It is a distressingly indifferent world that we seem to live in. Nothing can come in the way of the show.
12/12/2022
Returned to the city. A rainy week here. Was late to reach the park that stood dark and wet. An upside – the whole park was available for just one runner. Had an easy 5K before the security men would organize their late evening shikaar for the visitors. Ran. Swallowed insects. Weighed out options of coffee at Third Wave vs coffee in drawing room couch. Also threw in the prospect of the bookstores. Drawing room won.
Another plot by the waterline has a rocky access path going down to it. The stream overflows and floods the access in rainy season. Winter is the only window to cycle down to it.
Another 4 acres of chickpea sown here. Winter wheat to be sown a few weeks later from now.
Stood watching.
6/12/2022
December always brings along a sense of restlessness for outdoors. It’s an easier time weather-wise, unlike the Northern hemisphere.
Road bike was here, packed and prepared for a trip that didn’t happen. Assembled it back again and rode down to the farm. There tends to be a hunger to ride, run, walk and consume the landscapes here. To be in it is an urge that is getting intense with age. Who knows for how long the capability remains.
Forgot to carry a headlamp along. Ended up riding in the dark and wrecking both the tyres on the way back. The crater of a pothole that I was watching out for, came earlier than where I expected it. As always.
Looking forward to a few more rides before the next train.
A post lunch walk to the hillock first and then down to the reservoir.
Last month of the year. Daily life and pace of activities on the farms blur out the sense of time. One registers it only with a change of season. Weeks or months don’t cut it. It has to be a weather event – a change in temperature, sunlight, rain etc. Dispensing with a manmade clock is fun. The compulsion of weeks is non-existent in farm life.
Everyday Shorts 