Anchors Away

The Rooster is a funny bird. At odd times, it shivers a bit making you notice it, puffs up quite a lot with so much pride that you think it is going to sing an opera, but merely ends with a cackle. The male ego is something very similar.

When our ego shivered, we dutifully took notice of that and decided we had to feed it with something egomaniacal. For some unknown reason, Kayaking hit us. Consider this. In a country where many of them know only the name of the streets that is right next to theirs and think any other street could be in mexico, your map-provider shuts shop on that sunday driving you somewhat insane. A sleek-looking chevrolet cobalt reminds you that it is ONLY sleek-looking, and throws some strange error message on the panel much like Windows, and refuses to run, driving you completely insane. Now, arent these good enough signs for the oncoming tragedy ?? Being the reader of this blog, you see it. Being the writer of this blog, i didnt.

A newly-dating couple and an elderly-couple woke up from their beds and saw something devilish first thing in the morning. They thought it was superstitious to believe in all that and proceeded with their kayaking trip to monterey bay. They only retured a bit wiser. Monterey Bay, such a beautiful place. Sunny weather, calm backwaters, schools of otters and sea-lions. Perfect runway for our weekend ego-puffing.

The first lesson for any new kayaker is to realise the truth. Kayaks have a mind of its own. I know you think this only proves i am schizoprenic, but yes, the kayak we had a mind of its own. Why would we be making Zs and Ss the water when all we wanted was to keep it straight ?? As we slowly zig-zag our way to much shallower waters, we saw a maze of watersheds into which we need to go. Much like driving an F1 car in monaco when you cannot keep a T5 straight on the autobahn. Perfect.

Elderly couple: through.
Youngsters: through.
We: stuck in the marsh and unable to wiggle our way out.

"Pull away guys, Pull away", shouts brian, our guide for the tour. Bull throws his paddle on the mud in a certain angle to push the kayak away. It surely pushes the boat back to the water due to some property of geometry, but as an undocumented corollary, splashes salty-black-marsh in my face.
"Turn left, Turn left" hollers brian. I seem to overdo the rudder and turn into the other bank. Some more intellectual paddling by Bull and some more mud in my face.
"Paddle backwards on your left", screams brian. I paddle, but on the right.
"The other left, the other left" brian gives up. I get embarassed at that instruction, paddle on my "other left" a bit too hard and bump straight into another kayak.

When we took the final bend back home, Bull and I were plainly relieved that we dont have to look embarassed anymore and before anyone asks us some sympathetic questions, we should probably get out. That was when Mother Nature threw her ace. The skies darkened, The wind worsened and blew against us and the current pushed us back. As we took pity on the elderly couple and saw where they were, they zipped past us like they had secretly-built motors in their kayak. What followed for the next half-hour was sheer masochism with me and bull splashing water on each other, hitting each other with paddles, taking deep breaths and swearing loudly, almost crashing into a pillar on the mooring pad (courtesy: my ability to use the rudder with my feet) and nearly tearing our elbows with some super-human paddling.

When we got out, everyone had already assembled in a circle for the usual parting-ways thingy, the one which we desparately wanted to miss considering the harassment we had done to everyone else in the bay (including those poor otters and sea lions who are contemplating suing us for trespassing and property destruction). Brian started "everyone of you did a brilliant job today, a round of applause for all of you". For some reason, i dont think he looked at us. Heck, we were too busy watching the seagulls to see if they cackle too.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

VCHE

For all those lovable friends of mine who sent me those thinly veiled death threats, thanks. Yes, i do know that christopher columbus beat my by 513 years, but cant a man go on a trip for even two blogs ?? No America, not anymore. Not in this blog atleast.

Have you ever been fat ?? No, we are not talking about "Heyyyyy, hes so cuuuuttee" fat, thats chubby. We are talking "Jeez, what does he eat" fat. Fat. The word oozes of inhumanity. Maybe we should call them Vertically Challenged and Horizontally Endowed (and thus the cryptic title of this blog is explained).

There is one age when being fat does not matter. You still eat your curd rice and your ice-creams without a guilt. The age when senior girls and school teachers find you attractive for some unexplained reason. You laugh at exercise and fitness, while they laugh back at you behind your back. Someone reminds you that you might just explode, and you laugh thinking it is a joke while your body considers the possibility for a micro-second, realises it could be a possibility and shudders. But you are just too hungry and too happy to care.

Then comes the stage where you run short of attires. I have friends who complain that their shoe size is 13 and they have to order a special edition everytime. They groan. They crib. They complain. Now consider yourself saying that your waist size overshot the standard limit and you have to specially order a pair of jeans everytime you need one. Did i you hear you just saying you feel blessed ordering shoes alone ?? Aah, should have guessed.

You try to learn the sax after watching a fat prabhu romancing with meenakshi seshadri. The question that is often thrown at you is "Endha kadayila nee arisi vaangara??" ("Pray tell me the name of the business establishment where you procure your rice from", in a tone which surprisingly has only sarcasm). You tuck in your shirt in an effort to stem the tide, but you notice in the mirror that you are a challenge to geometry. You realise that you are too old to call it "baby fat" and resign to the fact that the right name for it is "flab". You respond for the name "Gunda" ("fatso") with such precision that you start to think if you were a trained police dog in your last birth. The fact that you take your lunch in a hotpack, thus making it look twice its size, does not help to add to your burgeoning popularity. The cricket team's captain sends out a by-runner for you after you bat for an over citing "illness" but meaning "incompetency to run quick singles".

One night, you think about this whole business eating your favorite dinner. Do you have to reduce ?? The first reason that comes to your mind is women. But then, if you start doing it for women, there would be another list of nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine things to do to stay in their "good" books. You realise it was never promising anyways and ditch the idea. You try health. Now, that sounds promising. You try fitness, now that sounds refreshing. You try body building, you hear your conscience laughing. You stick to health and fitness.

You visit the gym even before the bajans start in the next perumal kovil. You curl dumbbells, push barbells, do crunches and run like a rabid dog. You reduce two inches. Ghee is out of the food menu. Sweets are equated to mustard gas. Pizzas are gobbled by friends when you eat garlic bread without cheese. Ice-creams, they look good, period. You curl dumbbells hardber, push barbells faster, do twice as more crunches and run, this time like a rabid dog in summer. You reduce two more inches. You dont get off the treadmill now. You run. You run until you feel the taste of your sweat. You run to beat the guy in the next treadmill. You run to buy those boot-cut jeans which would look good only if you cut two more inches of fat from your waist.

Finally, the boot-cut now fits. You look for everyone from your past and show them what you have done. The first guy comes and tells you that you look like a thug on parole. Ughgh. The second one comes and asks you if you fell sick with some terminal disease. So much for the early morning alarm calls and the running. The third one, a girl, comes and walks past you without even noticing. What, she didnt see even the new boot-cut ?? And only then you know while you were doing all the running, boot-cuts got dated. Darn. The fourth girl comes, this one better say something worthwhile. In she comes, and blurts the words "Hey, how are you ?? by the way, we thought you looked better before, when you were slightly built". Note the replacement of the word "fat" with "slightly built". Remember what i told you ?? You search frantically for a strawberry-caked double sundae which you missed all this while. If there is one thing you need now, its that. Before indulging on your sundae, just remember: Being fat is not disability, Being fat is not a crime, Being fat is simply being illiterate and also (although cliched) those who matter dont mind, and those who mind dont matter. (There, we now have a message from this blog. phew)

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...