Confessions of a BRAG!

Last fortnight has been very taxing physically and mentally. The viral fever took its toll and the impotence of not being able to run took its toll on near and dear ones. Finally patience gave way on the fourth day and the Gandhian succumbed to seek the aid of an antibiotic. Well meaning advice from wife and my good friend Bala grated and I must have done damage to the friendship. A premature return to the course on Friday and lay off on Saturday was the last straw. My wife also has been saying that I have become intolerant of criticism of late.

What I decided after hearing my good friend Bala’s well meaning advice for rest was totally inexcusable. I decided to stop posting on Dailymile and sharing my running stats even with my wife. Last I was secretive with my wife was when I used to fib about the number of cigarettes smoked. Bala backing off the Dandi Sabarmati run set me thinking.

I thought long and hard during the run today. I thought what my Guru and mentor, MKG would have done in the circumstance. I was reminded of his letter to his father to confess when he stole. I decided to put down my thoughts in a blog to have a cathartic effect.

I have been observing that I have started to revel in praise and any advice however well meaning .but, perceived as contrary to my bull-headed ways was simply shut out. Seeing that such advice has come from my wife and Bala, two of the people who could only have my good at heart and who do not need to sugar coat their advice, I decided to make amends and take criticism in its stride even if I may not agree finally. My posts must have become too vain if it is starting to incite the competitive streak in fellow runners while ostensibly claiming to be running to my own beat. Bala’s directness has shown me the mirror; maybe, others are being too polite and taking my bragging quietly.

Maybe, my little talent of being able to run is getting to my head. Unrestrained praise at Dailymile is also having its effect. What is the use of reading Bhagvad Gita, if I cannot be ambivalent to praise and criticism. I have decided to start posting on Dailymile and not get affected by praise or criticism. I just hope that this foolishness does not cost me the friendship of my good friend Bala.

Marathon in a Kamandalam…

Abrupt transition to barefoot running and the painful consequences have been shared with my readers without sparing any of the gory details. Looking in retrospect on my running career so far, my decisions have always been abrupt. I ran my first Ultra of 50K in my alma mater when I was only one Half Marathon ripe. I have now started believing that there is a divine plan in this and I trustingly take each step without much thought.

            When I started running on the highway on a regular basis after the Bangalore Ultra in November last year, forsaking the Gym’s treadmill for good, plan was to increase distances gradually. As I have chronicled earlier, the only disadvantage in running on highway is choosing the mid-point from where to turn back. Wherever you decide to turn back, you still have that much distance to cover to reach base. There is also the issue of carrying supplies like water and eatables. These two factors, largely, impact the planning for increasing distances. As a result, I have been stagnating at 30K for a long time, so much so, the distance was in the danger of being named ‘Vishy’s constant’. While I was experimenting on barefoot, knee guard shedding and like, the distance was stuck at 30.

Today I attempted what should rate as foolhardy even by my standards, having read about my friend and partner in crime in the Ahmedabad to Dakor run, Piyush Shah, running a marathon every week, I decided to attempt the 42K barefoot on one ‘Kamandalam’(it is a name for the utensil holy men used to carry for water, empty 500ml Gatorade bottle from SCMM 2012 in my case) full of precious water. Looking back now after having done the run successfully, the attempt was not without backups, I could always trust the highway driver friends of KSRTC buses to give me a lift if I am stranded with injury. As for running out of water, I could recoup at Temple at KM7 or the Masjid at KM10 or the village at KM10 and KM 21 the mid-point. Even though these areas are reeling under severe drought and water shortage, I could trust the famed land of milk and honey and known for its ‘Atithi Satkar’ to at least refill my water bottle, even if the quality of water could be suspect. I can’t say I had all this planned out before starting.

I started at the usual hour of 05:30 after Biscuit (my four year old Labrador for the uninitiated) had been given his leash-less morning walk. I felt good as the right foot, even if slightly painful, was matching the left foot stride for stride. I completed the first 3 KM of the minefield for bare-foot without many pokes to my tender sole. I met the usual morning walkers coming from the opposite side. While taking the biological break at KM3, I rationalized that I could decide whether to go to the 21K mark after I reached the usual 15K distance and after taking stock of my physical condition at that point. The slight stitch in my right bum had eased out by now. I mentally promised myself not to stop for picking cotton as the longer run would get me in trouble with the Sun while returning. After KM6, I could not resist a white ball of inviting cotton almost at the edge of the highway; I broke my pledge and pocketed it, and like an inveterate drunkard promised myself not to slip again. The line of coloured pots between KM 8 and 9 was unusually long today and it saddened me no end as usual. The hollowness of all the economic prosperity and ‘India Shining’, when we can’t afford to provide clean drinking water to a large part of our population makes you feel impotent.

I crossed the Masjid with a wave at the Moulvi, Peerzada with a wave of the hand which was promptly and cheerfully reciprocated. I was itching to tell him that I was attempting a full marathon today. Kusugal village at KM 10 was deserted today and I missed my young friends. The loiterers outside the Petrol bunk beyond KM 10 waved to me. I did not find Gangadhar or the bunch of talkative old women today. I took my second biological break at KM 11. Sun peeped out from behind a cloud threateningly. Still no water break, can I stretch it to the half-way mark of KM 21 like I do at KM15, fingers and toes crossed! My feet were holding fine despite encountering a few oversized pebbles on the way. The right sole was a little tender. Could this be my Achilles heel for the attempt?

While approaching KM15, I was running in a zone and did not think twice before crossing the usual half-way mark. The die was cast. I crossed the bridge after KM15 after a rough stretch of road strewn with pebbles. I remembered by earlier failure of locating KM 16 stone. Missing a KM stone makes you realize how important the encouragement of each KM mark in a long run. The road after the bridge was narrower but more importantly smooth on the soles. After what seemed an eternity, I crossed KM 17. I met a few buses with enthusiastic drivers waving at me. I was itching to tell them that I was doing an FM today. You really miss crowd support on such solo runs. I took a walking break at KM 18, still no water break. I crossed the fork announcing the way to Hebsur Railway station after KM 18. I marked this place for giving up and catching a train if I did not feel good on the way back. I crossed from under the narrow Road Over Bridge with trucks forcing me to take a walking break on the edge of the road. There was no kilometer stone after a long time of crossing KM 19. I crossed a bridge on a culvert and I could see sign of village life with men proceeding for their morning constitutional. KM 20 was missing, I entered the village square having a mandapam with a Gandhi statute with the KM stone announcing Hubli KM 21. I took a long swig after capturing both the pictures (Gandhiji and KM 21) for posterity. I took a long swig of water and walked back for sometime much to the curiosity of the people in the square, but, knowing from my earlier experience of people of Kusugal at KM 10, I can say that it’s better not to approach them for a few times. I will interact with them after they get used to me over next few Sundays (Yes, I had made a promise to repeat this madness every Sunday!).

 The Sun was out in full glory and I dreaded the prospect of a HM in the sun. My first target was to reach the familiar point of KM 15, somehow I felt that the distance after 15K would be manageable. I met a man waiting for a lift from some private carrier at a little distance from KM21 on the way back. He asked me if I was coming from Hubli, when I said Yes, he sought to know if I came from ‘Madhura colony’ (KM 2). I could not resist gloating Keshwapur (a full 2 KM further). He must have crossed me earlier in so many vehicles whose drivers are on waving terms with me. There was no traffic when I crossed the ROB after KM 19. I met the family of KM 10, who used to enthusiastically greet me on many days and who was missing today, crossing me in a vehicle beyond KM 18 after the fork in the road leading to Hebsur station. I did not even think of the option of giving up the run and taking a train. The children greeted me enthusiastically. I kept running looking for the bridge after KM 16. I wanted to reach KM 15 without a break. I crossed many horses grazing between KM 16 and KM 15, they must belong to the sheep farmer who were camping in a field nearby.

Presently, I reached the familiar point of KM15, much to my relief and to a welcome long walking break. Liberal swigs had brought the water to the halfway mark in the bottle, I had to run the balance 15K with fuel on reserve switch. I had completed 27K in a little over three hours. I was on course for a 5 hour finish. I stopped once more to pick up another boll of cotton between KM 14 and 13. The climb between KM 13 and KM 12 was a bit tough on my feet, I was tiring. After the continuing climb even after KM 12 (my original distance of 30K done) I felt drained. I continued to goad myself to use the slope into KM 11 and promised myself a water break at my original sunrise point on the bridge after KM 11. I had to cross the cart (bullocks of which were originally scared of my red cap) which I found very bothersome as it involved change of direction. I took a biological break, a water break and a longish walking break after KM 11. I was not very enthusiastic in reaching KM 10 as my friends would surely not be there to greet me. I was running low on water but crossed the Masjid in a breeze. I did not want to break my rhythm. I would take a call at the temple about recouping water. Some part of my brain kept challenging me to try and complete the run without a water recharge. I took a sip of water at KM 8. I could afford two more breaks with the available water if I drank miserly. The straight stretch between KM 8 and 7 dragged on interminably. My next promised water break was at KM5. I reached KM5 with a lot of struggle, I took a biological break and took a small gulp of water. I was now on my last two gulps and more than almost 35 minutes of run left. The downward slope for the next 2 kilometers was welcome, but, being a Sunday the tonic of school kids (I was not even sure if summer vacations had started) would be sorely missed. I ran in strongly to the HDMC limit at KM3. Now was the home stretch, even if, pebbly. I walked a little stretch after KM 3 which had lot of pebbles and forced myself away from thinking of a water break. I wanted the last gulp to be a safety reserve till I finished the run. I crossed the Gym with headless chickens and Reliance Fresh in a breeze. Now I was into my last kilometer. The dairy stores owners welcomed me with a wave. I finished the last half a kilometer strongly, but, I could not beat my watch to the 04:45 mark. I finished the run in 4:45:24. I gulped down the last swig as soon as I reached the gate of my colony. I drank 3 bottles (2.25 ltr) of water on reaching home. I played 20 questions with my wife on the distance run, she guessed it on the 7^th question. I ran into the bath to avoid her murderous glare. I hope I can do the next Sunday run in my new top! So another milestone breached, I can’t wait to post it on Dailymile and invite concern and wrath of Bib-Bala.

Making some bones about it…

I have recently switched to barefoot running as my faithful would have followed from my Blogs. After my infamous episode of the encounter with the angry thorns, the swelling on my other foot refused to go. I made the ultimate sacrifice of staying off running for three days, but to no avail. Even though the X-ray showed everything in order, time to go to the bone merchants again. The Doctor pronounced a Bone scan and my conservative Doctor brother concurred. This was purportedly to rule out a stress fracture or a hairline as the knowledgeable call it. They assured me that the radiation exposure was less than what a normal X-ray gives. So I got one scheduled for the Good Friday. Hope was that all would turn well. Good news was that I need be on empty stomach for this test.

After a solid breakfast (I haven’t got to normal calories even after quitting running for the last three days), I left for the Scan centre. My wife offered to accompany, but, I manfully asked her to be with daughter who had come on a break from college. The building said Nuclear radiation center and looked spooky and right out of a Robin Cook novel. Only saving grace was the hustle and bustle outside complete with the South Indian snacks smells wafting from nearby Kamat Hotel. I walked in by the stairs and the ramp alongside reminded me of the serious cases which must be coming here. It was all deathly silent inside. One young man was assiduously cleaning the table top with a wet rag. I could hear the sound of a young child from inside the room. Note these two characters as both have a decent meaty role in this episode.

I went and showed the attendant (his name is Basavaraj as I found out later) the prescription from the Railway hospital. He politely asked me to sit and told me that the Doctor and Radiologist will come shortly. He told me to drink lots of water after the radio isotope injection. He seemed to be the Mr. Jeeves of the Scan center, he having completed wiping the table moved on to sweep the rooms. In the interim he carried on conversation with a young couple, the lady had come for suspected hyperthyroid. She had lot of doubts about the size of injection and whether it would be given on the neck (next to the thyroid). Basavaraj patiently explained the process, solicitously asking them if they have had breakfast. They said they had not, but, not wanting to lose their seniority in the waiting list they said they would break fast after the procedure. The husband was being quite frivolous about dismissing his wife’s concerns. I just thought how he would have behaved if it was him to have undergone the procedure instead. Men are sissies, and I accept it manfully. They however, like to appear manly and the wives humour them.

Shortly the doctor arrived at around 11 AM a full hour after my appointment, apologizing about her baby not being well. I told her she could see the serious ones, particularly the child, before me and I could wait. I was feeling guilty about competing with people who were there due to no fault of theirs while I was a case of masochism (as Bib-Bala would say). The Doctor was arguing with the parents of the young girl (must be less than a year old by the look of her) about their not having brought the child’s case papers (she had been referred from the Govt. hospital). Much about her later. While the lady with the suspected hyperthyroid was with the doctor, I gleaned some background from Basavaraj. He was a second year Arts dropout and was very much interested in medicine. He had joined this place recently and coming to know that I am from Railways, built bridges with me by claiming many uncles and cousins in various railway establishments in Hubli. He also stated that he was studying computers in evening classes. I wished God to ‘Lift Karade‘ him. The Doctor then called me. She was quite young and asked me to tell her as to how my foot got injured. I set off on ‘Barefoot running’, realizing that I would hold forth on this subject indefinitely, I told her the gist of (the interested may read my previous blog of my encounter with the angry thorns) my injury to my left heel and my overcompensating with my right foot. She showed polite interest in my barefoot experiment and sought the reason for going barefoot. I told her the gist that it is easier on the body (except the soles) and more importantly the pocket.

She explained that I will be given a small injection containing a radioactive isotope and a short scan will be taken immediately to be followed by a longish scan session after three hours. I entered the room, the radiologist was sitting in front of a computer with a very complicated looking radiation unit. He was looking like Dr. Spock about to get the room to fly into space. He looked at me and barely acknowledged me. She gave me a very small injection ( I now knew the hyperthyroid lady would have felt silly). Dr. Spock and the Doctor (the Old and the young, a la ‘Final Diagnosis’) had an argument about whether I should sit or lie down while my feet were scanned. I showed them both the poses and said I am comfortable either way. The lady won. I was asked to lie down while the robotic ring like apparatus hovered over my feet under instructions from Dr. Spock. The scan done I was bid bye to report at 2:30 PM. The Doctor said that she may not come in the afternoon and repeated that I should drink lots of water. She told me that the report would be ready at 11:30 AM on the next day.

I came back and hit the bottles (now don’t get me wrong, I meant cold water bottles from the refrigerator). After having consumed four bottles (1 ltr more than prescribed 2 ltr). I then had a good lunch and after a small nap and after emptying of the bladder reached the scan center at the appointed hour only to find no Dr. Spock. Basavaraj welcomed me with a smile and informed me that Dr. Spock had gone for lunch. My session started at 3:00 PM. After asking me about the water intake, he asked me to lie on the gurney. Basavaraj helped Dr. Spock strap me up to the table. He went to his console and the robotic arm came over me much as Biscuit (my four yr old Labrador to the uninitiated) sniffs me after I come back from office. The arm seems to be doing a thorough scan and was in no hurry. A full holiday meal to top a bladder full of water and the AC room put me to sleep. As soon as my head nodded off to the side. Dr. Spock walked up put my face straight again, much as a barber does while ministering to the short hair on the neck. I apologized and woke up. I asked him if he found the funny bone in the scan so far. He was not amused. Such fainting episodes happened thrice in the one hour scan, but, Dr. Spock was nice about it. Just when the cold room and full bladder was about to force me to ask for a biological break, he on his own asked me to empty my bladder and come back for further interrogation. After having scanned me from head to toe he pored over my feet inordinately. I could not decide whether Dr. Spock had a foot fetish or was he contemplating resorting to third degree to find out if I had a stress fracture. The machine got bored after some time and Dr. Spock decided that sufficient images of my inner secrets had been captured for the Doctor and let me off for good behaviour. I asked him if he found anything wrong with my foot. He said there is some concentration of the dye in both my feet, the right one more and cautioned me that the Doctor would have the final say. I came back none the wiser and the repeated phone calls from well wishers only made it worse. One thing was sure, I could not run on Saturday.

After paying my LIC premium (with a late fee to boot) I landed at the scan center promptly at 11:30 Am. The Doctor and Dr. Spock were going through my inner secrets only. She called me in. I shot the question, am I cracked? Much to my relief she said there is no fracture and that it was only trauma and would go away with rest and fomentation. I could have hugged her. She then got to talking about this and that. She explained that she could have got my report ready on Friday evening itself but for the longish procedure of talking to the referring Doctor of the General Hospital for the baby girl’s case. I asked her what was wrong with her. She told me that the child was born with severe jaundice and that her liver was badly damaged. The General Hospital Doctor had told the parents that the child would not survive. Not satisfied the parents had insisted on being referred to this place. The Doctor said that she also confirmed the diagnosis of the Government hospital only. Why I am telling this story is, the parents looked quite poor and for them the bill of Rs. 2,500(I checked up while coming out of the hospital from the rate list displayed at the reception) would be a lifetime’s saving. My heart went out to the parents. In this day and age when we hear stories of Baby Falak and abandoned girl children, the episode brought me a warm if sad feeling. May their tribe increase! It turned out that Dr. Spock's brother was a Station Master in the Railways. It's a small world! I got his name but still cannot remember it. Dr. Spock suits better. I entreated with the Doctor to be kind to Basavaraj and give him opportunities to study. She said he was a bright boy and had picked up work beyond his normal duties in a short time. I told her he would make a good receptionist and the center should encourage and help him work towards it.

I came back and reported to my Ortho that the report is clear, after going through the report he asked me to change my shoes. How do I tell him that I cannot, I was wearing the original equipment of the manufacturer, Gods own boots!

I am eagerly waiting to hit the road the next day, my way of celebrating Easter Sunday.

Barefoot plunge

While I have been laying injured and unable to run my thoughts go to why I took the plunge into barefoot running so soon. Have I been hasty?

The germ of going barefoot has been lying dormant in my mind since I heard the talk by ‘Barefoot Ted’ at Auroville. After that it has been only the question of timing. The miser in me was waiting for the shoe to wear off (much like a quitter fondly smokes till the filter point on his supposed last cigarette). Events in the last few weeks conspired to push me to it so soon. I get a sense now that all this is ordained and you follow meekly trusting the Lord even if he shows only one step at a time.

Gus, my friend Gerald and Habari’s (running couple from Meghalaya) dog died about 10 days back. I started taking Biscuit (my four year old Lab to the uninitiated) for the morning walks without a leash. It was my idea of giving him space and letting him free. To my surprise, even though he runs all over the golf course, he comes frequently to rub himself against you as if to say ‘Main hoon naa’. It seems the more you let them free the more they get attached to you. The death of Gus set me thinking on the perennial question in each pet owner’s mind. Is it better for the pet to pre-decease you or otherwise? I looked back at the two of my all time favourite movies, ‘Hachiko’, where the pet survives the owner and ‘Marley and me’ where the pet pre-deceases the owner. If one is not selfish considering that we are the higher beings having a capacity to understand and rationalize, I feel that the pet pre-deceasing the owner is better.

This thought which has been agitating me since Gus’s death off my chest, let me get back to my transition to barefoot. I have been walking barefoot on the golf course and the colony road’s and sometimes even sneaked outside barefoot for fetching milk when wife is not watching. Last Saturday, I stepped out in my bare feet to run. I planned to do as much as possible and take it kilometer by kilometer. The first few kilometers went in a breeze, it was easier than a walk in the golf course too. While I could see pebbles on the road, I was not stepping on many and even if I were they were not hurting. When I stopped at KM3 for the bio-break, I found the sole of my feet numb. I don’t know if this was the reason for no hurt feeling while running. The numbness went away after a few kilometers. It was as if the soles of the feet were awakening with a tingle. Awakening of the Soul! I still did not think of the distance to go. I seem to be landing lightly and with the road more clean (away from the so called civilization) the feet seem to gliding on the road. Negotiating the rumbling strips was so much easier than with shoes. I met Mr. Fernandez (retired from Canara Bank and usually meets me between KM 4 and 5), Mr. Simon (Carnatic singer) and Mr. Balakrishna (Accounts office staff of Hubli Division) in that order and proudly showed them my barefoot. It was turning out to be very easy. The legs were straining less and the mind was freer not to keep monitoring where the foot lands. I could sense the road, its texture and the temperature. It was as if a meeting of hearts without formality. I have said this before but would repeat, If eating MasalaDosa (or Chole Bhature, if you please) with a knife and fork is like Making love through an interpreter, so is running with shoes on!

Met Gangadhar my barefoot friend of KM 11 who was mighty pleased to see me run bare foot and confirmed that it’s more comfortable to run barefoot. There was no effect on timing with or without shoe. What is remarkable about barefoot running is that the body recuperates faster for the next day’s run. The soles of the feet were nicely scrubbed and softer to touch, it was as if they got a natural pedicure. The return trip was a bit more painful, as you get tired the feet found more pebbles, still the overall pain from the run was much less and localized to the soles.

The next day the tragedy struck, without realizing that I was barefoot, I walked on the sidewalk to pick up an alluring boll of cotton and my left heel stepped bang on a twig with a row of angry thorns which pierced right into the heel. I hobbled back on my toes and painfully pulled out the thorns the two extreme ones having drawn blood. I was at a wits end as to how to reach back a little more than all of 13 Kms. Having reached so close to the half way mark, decided to try the remaining part of the run.

Tested my injured heel and started on the run gingerly. The right foot overcompensated for the ginger heel. I completed the run in more than 3 hour 45 minutes. The right foot was paining more than the thorn-struck heel. I completed the day in a haze dreading whether I had caused irreversible damage to my foot. I had the temerity to post on ‘dailymile’ that the soles were the original tubeless tyres of God’s creation. The thorns struck back the next day when having run about 12K, my right foot gave up. The swelling on the metatarsal (doctor’s told me later, I didn’t know its name frankly) looked like a fracture. I rang up my Ortho-doctor and fixed up an appointment. By sheer will-power I completed my run, interspersed with a long talk with my daughter.

Doctor looked at my foot and asked why this ‘Kolaveri’ on my running barefoot. I told him this is a step towards minimalism. He clucked his tongue and said old men will be old men. The X-ray thankfully showed no cracks, I was scheduled for a blood test the next day to rule out the uric acid (this is said to cause problems in joints). I was given Tetanus free as the Medical Director scared me out of my wits of the possible infection and even death. I have a sore forearm to show for it. I rested the next day the New Year’s Day of the locals, Ugadi. I must mention here that there is a running joke between me and Bib-Bala about me shedding clothes from bottom up starting with my Shoes. I ran without my knee guard the next day and am in the process of now getting Khadi outfit designed to replace the sports top and bottom. I think I will have a full khadi outfit to go with my barefoot for the Dandi to Sabarmati run.

God has really been kind to me and there seems to be a method in his leading me step by step on my journey of running and spiritual progress.

Tryst with the Lord and the Mahatma

It had been more than a year since I had visited the Sabarmati Ashram and touched base with my mentor, Mahatma Gandhi. Only two things, a marathon or a visit to my mentor could get me to leave my kingdom of Hubli. So, when @Vishwas Bhamburkar sent out an event invitation for a 100 KM run from Ahmedabad to Dakor for a visit to the famous Ranchodji (One who deserted the battlefield, one of the many names of Lord Krishna. This was given to him because of his decision not to bear arms in the battle of Kurukshetra between the two warring Cousins) temple. This was to be a run to coincide with the annual pilgrims take from across the state to visit the Lords abode during the month of ‘Phagun’, the various pandals to feed the pilgrims were to double as our aid-stations. This was a Gujju masterstroke and appealed to my Gandhian ways. Pilgrimage and a long run without hurting your pocket seemed too good to resist. This would be a natural progression from the Auroville! Despite the long journey and the busy times March are for an Accounts officer, I started harbouring thoughts of going for the run. The added attraction was always a few hours at the Sabarmati Ashram. I overzealously slayed files in office to be guilt free in seeking leave. My Boss, as I had occasion to mention elsewhere another day, was at his sporty self and acceded to my request for two days leave. The doubt still remained, will @Vishwas be sincere and really do the run, we were after all going to be three runners only, here I must pause to introduce @Piyush Shah, who would be the third musketeer and as readers would see, the hero of the event. After confirming from Vishwas, I went ahead and brought my tickets for the journey (yes my penchant for saving the Passes and asserting my Gandhian ways of travel by the cattle class continues..).

I left for the train on 2^nd March morning after giving the morning walk to Biscuit. I was a little uncomfortable leaving Biscuit because his foster father Mathew was also to be away around the same time. My wife assured me that she would manage, she was also not very happy (‘Radha Kaise na Jale’) at my deserting her for a visit to the stealer of hearts (another epithet for the Lord Krishna) without her by my side.

The train was already on the platform when I reached the station. I picked up two newspapers more to have material for eating food on and the Sudoku than keeping myself abreast of the happenings around the world. The allotted coach was jam-packed, and I was reminded of my earlier journey from Chennai to Bangalore where the TTE had not come to enforce my right to reserved accommodation and left me to fight my battle. Thankfully, the co-passengers parted on my entry to my bay much as the Red sea must have at the approach of Moses. I buried myself inside the first Sudoku acting pricy. Co-passengers were not impressed. The co-passengers were mostly Rajasthani migrants going from the land of dreams (read Bangalore) to their dream-girls for the festival of colours. They were busy chattering in their Marwari little realizing that I had spent 5 years in Jaipur and could manage a little with their language (enough to make out any snide comments about my physique or bearing). The TTE came and went after checking tickets, all the co-passengers had tickets (even if waitlisted), the TTE decided that discretion was better part of valour and did not attempt offloading the wait-listed passengers. I did not assert my blue blood of Railway lineage and batted for peaceful co-existence. I opened by plastic cover full of buns to continue my carb-loading for the proposed run. The co-passengers gave a curious look at my wiry self downing bun after bun, neat. Enough was enough, I can’t act high brow for the long journey of more than 24 hours, I asked the most vocal of my co-passengers in chaste hindi, if he was going to Rajasthan and does he work in Bangalore. I got my answer in the affirmative but I was still not included in their deliberations of local Kannadiga population bashing of how they were forced to learn the local language or go back! The person was a veteran of 15 years, but, obviously the treatment rankled still. He spoke fluent Kannada and ribbed new entrant locals at Belgaum station. A young boy who boarded at Belgaum and going for a job in Rajasthan (reverse migration?) was ragged by these youngsters about having to speak in Marwari in the same tone that they were asked to speak in Kannada by people here. I had to butt in. I asked them if they could turn the other cheek. Can they not teach their adopted state a lesson in Indian (Marwari) hospitality and shame them instead of repeating the vicious cycle. Then each new entrant to Karnataka would be welcomed like the tourists are on ‘Palace on Wheels’ train. I asked them why with their knowledge of both languages they cannot print a small booklet of Marwari to Kannada and vice-versa. This seemed to appeal to their business sense. The old man was accepted into their circle. Around 1130 hrs we reached Miraj, I got down and got Janata Khana neatly packed in paper box. Water faucets were functional and sink clean. Out came their food baskets, They ate with gusto and without discriminating into whose basket who was drawing from. Similarly, from the seating you could not make out who had the reservation and who was wait-listed. What a contrast from the high-brow AC passengers, where boundaries are drawn the moment you enter not only for sitting space but also the proportionate luggage space beneath the seat.

My mobile ran out of charge by mid-day. No charging points in the second class coaches (it’s not easy being Gandhian in today’s times of mobile touting).

Not being able to make out my origins from my accent, they wanted to know where I came from. I told them my journey through life so far, including 5 years in Jaipur, and said I am truly Indian and no state could claim me for its own. They took turns to sleep two to three to a berth but did not encroach on my berth. I offered it to them for sleeping in shifts while I read. Thought never entered my mind to de-train the waitlisted passengers or levy a penalty by summoning the TTE. This now seems to be a problem of inadequate infrastructure rather than intention to defraud Railways and where co-passengers are so thick with each other, I simply looked the other way.

After a quick dinner of flavored milk and Janata Khana at Pune station, I turned in at 07:30 PM in anticipation of the hectic day to follow. I should not forget to mention here, how I collared Ananth, my colleague IRAS officer presently on deputation at Pune to report about the bad quality of food and overcharging in the milk-parlour. I did apologise after returning for the abruptness of the call.

The co-passengers kept playing cards all night in a relay with people taking turns to sleep. I was in the process locked up in the upper berth and not even able to go to the loo. The entire aisle was lined with sleeping people; they must have got in during the night. Here one thing struck me, the railway catering services from the pantry car are not really patronized by the passengers but for the beverages and an occasional water bottle. With frequent stoppages and adequate facilities on station its time railways should replace pantry cars on trains with passenger carrying coaches to satisfy the growing demand for accommodation on trains. This also makes economic sense as earnings from a passenger coach will far outweigh the meager earnings from a pantry car (food for thought!).I was given a rousing farewell at Ahmedabad station by my co-passengers with ‘best of luck’ for the proposed 100 K run.

My friend and colleague now posted at Ahmedabad ensured a royal suite in the Construction rest house. The various gadgets in the room and the bath made me feel like an Alice in Wonderland. I had hot green tea going and after making safe arrival calls to Wifey from the Railway phone in the room settled down to a good brunch of bread and jam with green tea. This would be my last meal for Carb-loading before the 100K run. Touched base with my colleague and juniors at Ahmedabad and called up Piyush and Vishwas announcing my safe arrival. After finishing my meal I quickly bathed and changed into my Khadi gear for my tryst with the Mahatma.

A comfortable bus-ride at a price tag of Rs. 8/- dropped me near Subhas bridge, walking distance from Sabarmati Ashram. I decided to first go to the workshop opposite the Ashram to get my spinning wheel (charkha) overhauled and to get a bundle of cotton for spinning at the Ashram. I met Kalyansinhji, who had originally sold me the charkha. He remembered me and made my day. We talked of how to get the yarn woven with the handloom weavers disappearing. My charkha required minor attention which the workmen did with a smile and at no charge. I enquired if they have a machine for ginning which is handy and portable. I was shown a not so small contraption which could do the job. Pressing could be done with a small rod on a wooden flat surface. The cost of the ginning machine was Rs. 925/-. I promised him that I would pay after reaching Hubli and that my colleage at Ahmedabad would pick it up and put it on the direct train to Hubli. I will now be able to convert cotton from the plants in Hubli (or what I pick on my run) to pressed cotton for my charkha. I felt great, this would be a fitting birthday gift for myself!

Thanking Kalyansinhji and his friendly staff profusely, I reached the Ashram. Outside the workshop I met Shri Hariom, my partner of the earlier aborted Dandi walkathon last year. I had left the walk at Baroda after starting from Sabarmati ashram when I found neither Gandhi nor a physical challenge in the event. The daily walk of 20K was I am sure less than what a rural housewife puts in for collecting firewood and water. I got Hariomji’s mobile number and he dropped me on his scooter to the Ashram and reintroduced each other with Kishore bhai who demonstrates spinning to the visitors outside Gandhi’s cottage. Lata behn, my fan and volunteer who explained the history of the place to the visitors had still not come in. After bidding Hariomji bye, I sat down to a session of spinning with Kishore bhai after getting him to promise that he would put my that day’s output around Gandhiji’s photograph. There was a steady stream of visitors young and old. What always impressesme about the ashram is its opn to all and security staff has still not invaded it. There are more signs of ‘You may keep your footwear on’ than the contrary, the place makes you want to remove shoes, the whole place exudes holiness! People’s interest in charkha and spinning is phenomenal. Now I realize what masterstroke it was for Gandhi to have resurrected the humble spinning wheel for uniting people and teaching dignity of labour. I also met a few railwaymen from Chennai who were pleased to meet a co-linguist and railwayman. They promised to meet me at Hubli. They were impressed to find that a FA spins yarn and not stories! Latabehn arrived and met me with warmth and affection as a long last friend. She insisted that I write in the visitor’s book (I usually do to report to my mentor my progress in aping him). I get so much respect simply by wearing khadi and spinning that I feel like an impostor cashing in on the great man’s deeds. It eggs me on to ape him more. Kishore bhai taught me the right way to spin and fixing the spindle. This reduced the noise also. I did 125m of yarn in the time till 12:15hrs which was my deadline to leave for rest-house to hand over my spare clothes to Piyush. Latabehn was disappointed that I wouldn’t stay for lunch and pressed on me roasted gram and groundnuts. When I told them of the planned run from Sabarmati Ashram to Dakor Ranchodji’s temple, she suggested that we start after the evening prayers at 6:30PM. I checked up with Vishwas and Piyush and they concurred to the change in plan. I took a shared auto on the way back and it cost me only Rs. 10/-.

Piyush met me outside the station building and I gave him the plastic bag with my slippers (I would have to be barefoot till evening) and a set of kurta payjamas to change into for the temple. He pressed me to come to his place which I politely but firmly declined saying that I needed a quick lunch and some sleep for the all night run. I went back and bought a Janata Khana not before I had thrown in my designation (they claimed out of stock, which came out after I called for the complaint book). I had a quick lunch and tried to sleep a few hours before the wake up call of 4 PM for hydration. I read Gita while hydrating for the run with green tea. Interestingly, the theme was ‘self dedicated action with a spirit of sacrifice’ was this where Gandhi’s obsession with physical labour begin?

After downing two glasses of HPMC apple juice at the station and impressing the vendor with my proposed run, I left for the bus-stand. I had kept my driving license and cash in notes in a plastic cover in my running shorts to avoid their getting wet with sweat. I dropped the change I got from the juice stall to an old lady outside the station. I got further Rs. 2 change in the bus to provoke further piety from me. One middle-aged man stopped me and asked me if the knee guards I was wearing were useful. I told him that they surely don’t harm. After sending a message to the two other musketeers of my arrival at the ashram I settled for photography session on my mobile camera (I was early for the prayer meeting). Prayer song was rendered soulfully and Latabehn read out about Gandhiji. She acknowledged my arrival and embarrassed me after the prayer to speak to the gathering and I politely refused. I was constantly drawn to the young girl who was posing with the Gandhi statue and fondling his bald pate and sitting on his lap. I was tempted to go and get a snap of her. My mobile camera could not get her from such a distance. Gandhiji seemed to come alive with the girl’s ministrations. I got introduced to the secretary of the ashram (director was out of station). I broached the idea of a run from Dandi to Sabarmati to coincide with his birthday (My idea for the reverse run was that while Gandhi had to fight foreign rule, our challenge was to involve the masses in politics and governance). She was very enthusiastic and asked if the ashramites could run the last lap with us. I said we would also walk the last lap. She was very enthusiastic about the idea. Vishwas and Piyush got late because of a traffic jam on the way. She wished us well for the run and asked me my age diffidently. I proudly proclaimed my half century of age (shortly) and told her than runners don’t mind sharing their vintage and in fact are prone to overstate rather than understate. We three took photographs in front of Gandhi statue and started for the run.

Vishwas gave us each a belt to wear our water bottle in. In the novelty of trying it out, I forgot my red cap. I realized after about 500m of run. Latabehn would have to search for it and keep for me. I didn’t want to turn back after starting. I and Vishwas started chattering from the word go. Piyush kept running steadily and quietly. He was economical with sound even in his tread and breathing. He seemed to glide on the road. I had found my match in Vishwas, had a tough time in getting a word in edge-wise. Vishwas sought a walking break within 2 KM at the sight of a piddly flyover. Piyush got me alone and told me not to encourage Vishwas’s talking as that would break his rhythm and I could not hope to catch the train the next day at 3 PM. I soon realized that Vishwas’s style was different from mine and Piyush, he took lot of breaks and that broke our rhythm. Piyush sped off to drop his spare water bottle home and to instruct his wife and bro-in-law who were to later join us in their car and escort us all the way. We all took a biological break at a petrol pump after 1 hour and 20 minutes of run. I informed my wife of the pilgrims progress and told her I would call by 9:30PM before her bedtime. I had switched off my mobile to conserve battery. We had done a little over 12KM in the first 80 minutes, a bit slow even considering the traffic and setting sun. The weather was becoming pleasant, the humidity was tolerable. Vishwas I continued our banter and exchanging notes about what we thought when we ran long distance and our blogs. We came around to discussing about should one run opposite to the direction of traffic or otherwise. I pitched for opposite to traffic so that the driver has to look you in the eye while running you over. The other two musketeers stuck to their guns, I had no option but to do in Ahmedabad as the other Ahmedabadi did! Vishwas also suggested that it is harmful to wear knee guards while running on roads, I have been wearing them on my orthopedics advice. I however, agreed to try out his idea. He pointed out the sights and landmarks as we passed them. We turned short of Juhapura slums (where the displaced people of the 2002 riots stayed) not having the heart to confront their presence in the land of Gandhi. The pavement outside the famed IIM-A, where the dwellers (Harsh Mander’s subject matter of study for the graduate students) were settling for the night. Piyush’s wife and Bro-in-law (Ashok) met us and went ahead to meet us at the next stop. Vishwas took another break for cold water this time, and it was to be fateful. I and Piyush carried on with the run deciding to wait at the next stop of his car for Vishwas to catch us. We had a good run evenly matched. I admired his economy of breathing. We reached the cross roads where his car was to be waiting for us. There was no sign of the car nor of Vishwas from behind. Piyush was fretting and fuming at the loss of time and kept trying his wife and Ashok’s number. I went a little back and kept looking for Vishwas, it was already over 20 minutes and I was worried. Vishwas was not carrying a mobile. Piyush’s wife and Ashok were located and we had banana and a drink of water. After further 10 minutes Vishwas came limping swearing at us at having deserted him. Vishwas had been hit in his business area by a drunk bike driver. He had puked twice and had difficulty in tunning. He had bruised his what he jocularly called the family silver. I and Piyush commented that ours was past the use by date and he being a bachelor should take care of his. Piyush was thus rendered hor’s de combat a little after the first quarter of the run. I admire his courage in having completed the run after all this. He became more generous and justified in his walking breaks, the pain in the middle was bad for him. We now asked our Car escorts to follow the last runner so as to make sure that all of us are together. We entered our first pandal on the road side. The welcome was spontaneous and ministrations legendary. We were fed ghee ladoos and water. Tea was promised. Vishwas and Piyush took off their shoes and sat down. I leaned against scaffolding and munched on ladoos. I can’t bend at my knees after running this distance and I can sit only after I complete the run. It becomes increasingly difficult for me to start running after each such stop and the longer the stop the worse it gets.  I could not get milk to wash down the ladoos, they finished their tea and we started. I and Piyush promised next stop after 7K more much to the chagrin of Vishwas. Piyush understood my problem with frequent start and stop and asked me to go ahead while he stopped with Vishwas for his walking breaks when his pain got worse. Vishwas kept feeling guilty for having spoiled the party. On one of the pandals outside which boys were dancing, I did a small jig not realizing that it would evoke the Gujju hospitality even more. Even when not due a break I was kidnapped and taken inside for plying me with water, chaach (drink of buttermilk laced with good helping of salt) which would be good to avoid cramps. We also were fed Shira (a sweet concoction of broken wheat, sugar with ample helpings of Ghee). I was worried if my tummy would complain at this mix of fuel it was to make me run. I took a snap in front of the Ranchodjis’ photo and we started for the run. My stomach held well. The Gujju aid stations had found a desi-mix to give the sports drink/gel companies a run for their money.

The run was too smooth till then. It was like a party. Families with young kids and ladies on foot, boys on cycles were doing it in hordes. I am sure Lord Krishna must have taken a liking to the Gujju spirit and migrated to this place for the sheer fun of it, Bodana simply thought it was for him. He ust be among one of these kids doing the annual pilgrimage with his devotees. The impromptu tea breaks every few kilometers were fun and throwing back and forth of ‘Jai Ranchod’ was infectious. The passers by added an appellation ‘kaka’ to the invocation in deference to my and Piyush’s white hair (of whatever hair are still left standing on my tome), we didn’t mind it in the least. Around the 66 KM mark when we had still a marathon to go, we turned to a smaller road. The road was not lit and the aid stations had still not come up, we were among the first daredevils to reach. Stray dogs also asserted their sovereignty (Biscuit’s charm must have worn out or maybe I was beyond his zone of influence). The going got tough, the weather was also very cold, and in fact we were found praying for early sunrise both for the heat and light. There was more walking than running. I was getting worried about my being able to catch the return train. I even contemplated returning to Vadodara and asking my colleague to load my luggage on train at Ahmedabad. This way I could gain 2 hours. Piyush was absolutely certain that we would make it comfortably. I must admire his quiet confidence. When about 20 KM were left Piyush suddenly took off leaving me to give company to Vishwas. I simply could not see myself walking the 20 KM’s. I did not want to enter the temple limping, I have always finished any distance running and with energy to spare. I hope my frustration did not show on Vishwas, poor chap was doing his best and he was determined to complete the 100K come what may. He even offered to walk at his pace and asked me to go ahead. I simply didn’t have the heart. When we were about 15K away we read the Km stone as 11K and since the temple was at a diversion at KM 8, it meant we were 100K from start. Vishwas said he would sit there and I should send back the rescue vehicle of Ashok and Mrs. Piyush for him. I took off without looking back, only after completing a KM I realised we had read the board wrong we were 14K (from the temple and Vishwas 3K from his 100K point). I didn’t have the energy to go back to him to tell this. I met the car at KM 8 and I asked to fetch Vishwas, Piyush’s relatives car also met me from the opposite direction, the lady told me not to give up or take a ride. She gave me the killer laddoos and I took off after thanking the good lady. God bless her. I also gorged on Bhajiyas more for salt. I also took cut watermelon with lots of salt to avoid cramps as the sun was beating down now. The vehicle with Vishwas crossed me when I was 3K away from the turning to the temple. They guided me to the crossing. Piyush was waiting at the entrance so that we two could run the last stretch together. Hats off to his sportsman spirit. He even decided to post a timing of mine of 15 hours 7 minutes and not the 13 hour plus in which he had reached.

We ran the last two KM to the bathing place (Radha kund) at good pace and kept apologizing for having left us behind and wanted to make sure that I enjoyed the run.

The water at the pond was very dirty and I didn’t risk a dip. I washed my hands and feet and sprinkled a few drops on my head and changed into my Kurta-Payjama for the darshan. The place was choc-a-bloc with pilgrims and the temple was closed for alankar of the lord. We waited at the temple and listened to the singing and dancing competition between silver haired seniors. They would have put us youngsters to shame in the way they were shaking a leg. They really know how to celebrate love. The temple finally opened and the mass of humanity pushed. I and Vishwas were pushed to the exit, I could only glimpse the lord in the rear view mirror. Piyush in his daredevil act somehow got in and managed to play Holi with the priests. He met us at the main entrance after 10 more minutes. I was now positively getting fidgety. Piyush was cool as a cucumber. He first wanted tea, after which he had his pinch of tobacco which we used to call Cola power! He went ahead in search of a loo to relieve himself and I and Vishwas settled for a Lemon Soda. I also got to purchase Garlic being sold at Rs. 30/- per Kg. which was a steal considering that it generally sells above Rs. 100/-. The vendor told me it was from MP. My wife found fault in that it was wet. But, I am sure even if 10% weight loss for drying is given still it was a bargain. We left the place at 12:00 with the journey touted to be 2 to 2 and ½ hours.

That is till we had seen Piyush Schumacher Shah. The way he was threading through heavily laden trucks and pilgrims, I and Vishwas were reminded of Jackie Chan driving in Rush-Hour2. We were in the city limits in 1 hour and 10 minutes, the vehicle rarely going below 100Kmph. He surely has another profession waiting if he ever decides to hang his running boots. His wife was cool as a cucumber next to him and it was delightful to see her absolute confidence in her husband’s driving skills. I have grown up to believe that the spouses are the worst critics of their partner’s driving skills. May the sportive couple have and long and spirited innings. I am looking forward to many more runs with this team. Hope Vishwas is more careful of his family silver in future. Onward to Jagdish Damania to finalise the next pilgrimage from Dandi to Sabarmati. A separate blog on my return train journey, which was as interesting if not more as my onward journey, if time permits. The highlight of the return journey was a couple who got in at Surat, they had two wonderful kids who took to me and we had a wonderful journey. This has gotten too long already.

Limping back to base…

It was 11:00 by the time we realized that Bala Express would not take my daughter to Chennai, the daunting task of reaching Chennai after getting back to Pondicherry before the Hyderabad Express chugged off brought out the schisms in the family. The blue blood in my wife’s veins cried Taxi and my Gandhian (nee stingy) blood signaled a battle royal. My daughter in whose honour the battle was being fought was at her diplomatic self (she has always been her diplomatic self since she was eight and was asked to choose whom she liked, papa or mama by her would be school principal in Delhi). Coffee-Toffee continued all the way from Auroville to Pondicherry. I put my foot down and said a day’s class at her college was not worth a Taxi fare to Chennai. I marshaled all the Gods I had visited Manakula Vinayakar, ruling diety of Basilica church in my holy cause. We packed in a hurry, paid off the rest house caretaker (we couldn’t say a proper goodbye, next time) and rushed to catch an auto, we had found out from the caretaker that it was 50 bucks to bus-stand from station. I rushed to an ATM to recoup my lean purse. The auto driver was a model of virtues and took his time following all traffic rules while we needed a Schumacher or at least a Rush-hour Jackie Chan. It was 12:35 when we got on to an East Coast Road bus leaving Pondicherry. We got seats in separate places. The best part was that the fare was Rs. 255/- for the three of us, I decided to lean back and enjoy the journey. I did not exchange glances with my wife who must surely have been looking daggers drawn. After a little while a request to my young neighbour let happen the first family reunion, my daughter got to the seat next to me. I worked on her with my photo offerings of the marathon. We got talking. I now had the numbers on my side. The bus was terribly crowded with mothers carrying children, but, I had to put paid to chivalry owing to battered legs from the marathon. I explained to the lady next to me and asked her to let the child sit between me and my daughter. I wanted to do as many good deeds as possible to win the race to Hyderabad Express. The ride was nice with the sea breeze cooling us and picturesque backwaters for scenery. We kept looking at our watches like we were running the Olympic race. The driver got the hint; we crossed the previous bus which had regretted missing at the bus-stand. Before we could celebrate, the driver decided to give some business to his roadside shop friend. I shed all inhibition and took a biological break amidst the reeking roadside. I was not the first offender and would not be the last (why can’t we build toilets on wayside stops?). I gave my wife a water bottle (premium of Rs. 5/- over the printed fare of Rs. 15). I only hoped the water was potable (I had no hopes of it being mineral, which it boldly claimed to be). I ventured to ask the conductor as soon as the bus left the break-point, as to what time it would make it to Tiruvanmiyur (it was 02:3 PM). He said another one hour to one and a half. I crossed my uncrossed toes! The lady got down after taking the sleeping child from us, thanking us profusely. Rest of the journey was watching the scenery and time on the mobile between snatches of conversation with daughter. I could see signs of civilization and with it the traffic on the road picked up, it was a brake on the driver’s rush into town. We reached the stop at 03:30 hrs. Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost, this match will go to the last overs! My wife interjected what about an auto from here to station. I wanted to win fair and square, luckily the bus came out of depot and stopped next to us and we got comfortable seats. The bus fare was Rs. 15/- per head. Amma means business; I remember having traveled this route during probation below Rs. 2/- per ticket. The bus entered Chennai station at 04:00 PM. That left us enough time for packing lunch for her from Saravana but not enough for a bath at MMC rest house. We put her on the train and came back to the rest-house and crashed. I did not gloat and was humble in my victory. Money saved is more than money earned!

We had lunch and next it was 10PM, almost time for putting my wife on the train to Bangalore. There was some amount of expected coldness as between rivals after a closely fought match!

I had my entire morning free and I wanted to make the most of it. My plan, walk on Marina, visit to Parthsarathy temple, breakfast at Ratna café, visit RVNL to see my old friend Pradeep, Kapaleeswar temple (balance Shaivism with Vaishnavism), pick up my brand of Cheap Green Tea and finally meet Bala to pick up the book ‘Born to Run’ and settle accounts of the stay at Pondy. Tall order would you say between 06:30AM and train at 01:30PM.

I walked to Marina and took photos of Kannagi statue (symbol of chastity and bone of contention between present Amma and her predecessor) and Labour Statue. Watched the sunrise, but, it was not as alluring as the one back home in Hubli. Walked to Parthasarathy temple and had a good darshan followed by wonderful Idli sambar at Ratna café. The bearers know if you are a pro if you are able to absorb the first installment of copious sambar in the mashed idlis before he says Jack Robinson. He pours another mug of sambar which again gets absorbed by the idli as the first few rushes of water in Indira Canal in the deserts of Rajasthan. The dish was filling and the taste of Sambar heavenly, I did not want to spoil it with coffee. There were many foreigners who knew their south Indian and traffic policemen who paid for their fare. With the tip the royal breakfast cost me Rs. 30/-. I took a bus to Chennai Central. Pradeep rang back to say that I will be picked up by the driver before he goes to pick him up. I waited till 10AM, when I rang him, he said that the rest-house was out of the way and that he had sent the vehicle after reaching office. I asked him to call off the car as the MRTS would be faster, he wanted to impress his ex-colleague and senior. I got to know Immanuel, his driver, and got educated about Catholics and Protestants when I asked him if he had visited Pondy church. We both agreed that Christ was a great inspiration and what was good for Gandhi was good enough for me. I asked him to drop me near Mylapore Tank so that I can cover the temple and my tea shop on foot. I would have created a mionor riot if I had gone on the official steed on Kutchery street. The tea shop chap, Mohammed remembered me and made my day. The Kapaleeswar temple was severe and austere as compared to the grandiosity of the Parthasarathy temple of the morning. I reached office at 11:15 AM, Pradeep insisted on feeding me something, I settled for an Aavin flavored milk, which took long in coming. I still had to collect the book from Bala and settle account with him. I was cutting it too fine. This did not stop me from expostulating with Pradeep and his finance officer as to how converting food in the body as glycogen was a mechanism of old times when availability of food was uncertain. Now that food is within opening of fridge door, the insulin was actually vestigial and diabetics were ahead on evolutionary chain. This did not stop him from force feeding me 200 ml of flavored milk. I escaped with one, while his plan seemed to be to try all flavors on me. We Indians show our affection and respect by assaulting the stomach of the adored. I rang up Bala to ask if he can send the book through someone, he did one better and said would meet me in 10 minutes at the Sai Baba temple nearby. I said my hurried farewell at RVNL and refusing his offer of vehicle for return trip ran to the Sai baba temple. I got the book and had a minor scuffle in thrusting the money which I thought was due to him. Explanations would have to be on phone, I also felt I was a bit abrupt in matters monetary. He advised me to take the MRTS as that would be the fastest way to get to Chennai Central. I took a little while finding the entrance to the MRTS station at Mylai (so much for our signages). I rushed to the SM’s room after ascertaining from Pradeep that our Metal Passes were valid on MRTS (that saved me precious minutes of buying ticket). The SM did not take me seriously when I said I was an FA&CAO ( I was dressed in khadi shirt, bathroom slippers), believed me when I offered to show him my talisman (my silver metal pass). He said there was a train at 12:40 which should reach Park at 12:55. He called his staff and exhibited me as his model of simplicity and put me on train which came at the appointed hour and minute. I reached the rest-house, threw in the unpacked stuff, tea purchased, book borrowed and hurriedly rushed to the train. Having reached the platform, I realized that I had not planned for lunch. I stopped at the Jan Aahar outlet for my pack of Poori-Bhaji, he looked down on me and informed me that it was out of stock. I remembered to advise my junior and Accounts officer in charge of Chennai division about how he should always inspect availability of Janata Khana and drinking water in station taps for poor FA&CAO’s among other needy passengers. I shed my Gandhism and settled for two packs of Brittania cakes and Nutri-choice biscuits to last me till the train reached Bangalore.

I had a middle seat in second sitting class (my kinship with Gandhi and way of saving pennies when traveling on my own) coach D4. A lady with a child and her well to do hand bag in that order were sprawled on the three seater berth. She told me that she was waitlisted as that should satisfy me. I told her I cannot do anything about it as I was not the TTE and that I don’t mind her and the child sitting as long as I was allowed to seat myself. There was no sign of TTE, and I settled for my one day of incognito travel to sample the customer’s view point of Railway service. The lady’s husband came and said that the TTE would come and help after he checked all the seats and settled, the child kept eating junk food and mis-behaving with parents. I tried to act stern and said that I would call the TTE, as if, the TTE would come for this duty when he could not come for the allotted work of checking tickets. People kept getting on as the train stopped at stations enroute, within no time the compartment looked like the Hitler’s cattle car ferrying its cargo to death. I should not be harsh on Hitler, he would have appeared humane compared to our treatment of the passengers. The rightful claimants to the berths next to me came at Katpadi and the couple had to get up and it fell on the lady to carry the child. I offered to let the child sit between me and the window seat lady (it would also let the lady breathe easy!). The child refused. All the while the crying of a girl child and her mother’s frustrations turning into beatings further down were a contrast to the way these parents were handling their child. The mother made a game of putting her down when she got tired of carrying her and did a countdown of four hours of journey left. My legs were still not strong enough to let asset my chivalry. When this lucky child asked why the other child was crying, I told her that she was lucky to have a good set of parents and that she should not disrespect them. I don’t know how much of it the child understood. There were passengers with Kingfisher airlines ticket tag still on their baggage. Still there was no sign of the TTE. The frustrated and angry lady kept beating her child as if daring co-passengers to intervene. I was tempted to go snatch the child, I was afraid that she would throw her out of the running train.

The FA&CAO in me asserted himself, I did not mind blowing my cover. I called up my SAO/T and asked him to check tickets of a few passengers when the de-boarded at Bangalore Cantt. or Bangalore City. My idea was to nail the TTE for being negligent in his duties. The train stopped just outside Bangarpet and a team of squad rushed into the compartment to check tickets. They were very rude to passengers and the TTE was the most zealous in the checking now to impress the inspectors. I felt sorry for the passengers. All of them had waitlisted tickets, I did not disclose my identity to the checking squad, but, messaged SAO/T to ask his team to be polite to passengers. I felt we Railways were as much to blame as the passengers. Shortly, the train entered Krishnarajapuram, the lucky child’s stop. I told the lady that she was a brave and good other and she blushed. The child beater got down at Bangalore Cantt, the child had survived another day’s ordeal. The train reached City station bang on 20:05 hrs. leaving me enough time to catch the earlier train to Hubli. Having bought the ticket for the 21:55 train, I had to spen the intervening time at the station. The time was not enough to make a dash to my f-in-law’s place for a quick dinner. I decided to inspect the Jan-Aahar outlet and the II class waiting hall at PF 1. The man at the counter of Jan-Aahar was very courteous when asked about availability of Janata Khana and lamented that people don’t patronize this fare. The food was hot and well packed in casserole. I blessed him and told him my designation if that would make the blessing sweeter. I spotted a purified clean water taps outside the II class waiting hall. I filled up my bottle and went in and settled to have my food. The Poori and Bhaji was fresh and hot but since the Bhaji was liquid, I had trouble in eating without a spoon, I suppose, you can’t have everything. After this starter I walked across to Kamat’s to have a regular meal for the missed lunch. I could call up DRM Bangalore after two days only to compliment him for the passenger friendly services for the common man. I had a chattering gang of Rajasthani youngsters for company on the Jodhpur Express. I told the leader in chaste Hindi that I have office to attend next day otherwise his exploits were the stuff bed time stories should be made up of. He got the message, shut up and switched off lights. The train reached on time the next day and I went home and claimed Biscuit from his foster parents. A very eventful outing and a memorable Marathon wouldn’t you all say.

It runs in the family now!

When I booked for marathon at Auroville it was redemption time. I could not do it last year after registering as I was called away to a training trip to France then. I had written to organizers at Auroville while trying for refund that when Paris beckons you with your wife on Valentines Day with passage paid by the Government, what chance does a French colony or spiritualism stand. Result I lost Rs. 400/- of booking amount but did not grudge knowing that the well meaning souls in Auroville would have spent it well on fellow runners. My brother who registered last year to run with me gave me glowing account of the hospitality at this Marathon. This year he could not run because of an injury.

This year I registered as soon as bookings opened and my daughter did not require much coaxing in graduating from cheer leader for father to a 10K runner. Final cherry on the cake was both of us convincing my wife to give it a go and she also registered. Just before the event my wife was called to be by her father’s bedside as he was recuperating from a heart surgery. My father-in-law encouraged her to go for it. I went from Hubli, picked her up and we reached Pondicherry on Saturday at 10:30 AM. Bib Bala was kind enough to chauffer my daughter in his car from Chennai to Pondy. Story would not be complete for my Biscuit (I must repeat again for new readers, he is my 4 year old Lab) lovers, if I do not say about the parting from him. Having been dropped by me in the morning he started expecting me in the evening, I was in a dilemma whether to get him home for a few hours and drop him back again, I decided that the joy of reunion was not worth the parting again. I asked Mathew to feed him and tell me, I would have gone if he did not eat. He ate his food and adjusted with Mathew’s kids for the night and I was saved the ordeal. If only Auroville had an event for the Dogs, then the family reunion would have been complete!

A few lines are not out of place about our Garib Rath journey from Bangalore to Pondicherry. A distance of little over 450 KM took almost 12 hours. I am sure a few Tarahumaara runners of our ilk could have given the train a run for its money. The rath did not have any Garib on it unless you count yours truly as one. The middle berth on the side which caused such a furore initially was still there. But, it runs only once a week and precious time of the passenger (generally tourist) must be wasted in the journey. The train had long and seemingly unwanted stops enroute. We felt it more because we decided to pay and go as the journey was too short to sacrifice one precious Railway Pass for it. Bed-roll were being handed over on payment of Rs. 25/-, it would be interesting to see how many Garib passengers opt for this service (my wife ordered one, I managed with my bed sheet), this would be good feedback for making this optional on all overnight trains. Most people may opt to carry their linen for reasons of economy and hygiene. Railways anyway are struggling to maintain this service with this price line. I get the same feeling with the rich food served on Rajdhani/Shatabdi. I am sure most people would not eat that kind of menu and at that frequency on train, but, are force fed at their expense! The overeating particularly the lunch when crossing the Vidarbha region with children scouring the waste basket is criminal. As for myself, the humble poori bhaji (Mamtadi’s Janta khana) would be ideal for journeys, that’s what my mother packed for me on my journeys. Incidentally a fiat to all hotels that they should have a separate section to mandatorily sell Rs. 10/- poori-bhaji as part of their CSR could easily give the Right to Food.

Got into the rest house and after a restorative one hour nap made a visit the grand church opposite the station. Wife agreed to stand vigil for Bala’s party with the precious consignment of our daughter. The caretaker told us that the tap water was not safe to drink and that they spend about Rs. 30/- a day for buying canned water. Is Montek-Manmohan listening, I don’t know if this was factored in our Rs. 32/- budget ceiling for the poor? I trusted myself to the potency of boiling and the goodness of green tea. I definitely could not afford bottled water for the copious quantities of green tea I consume! I am fine to this day (one week after the Pondy visit).

The Saturday mass was on, the church was very grand from inside and very crowded. The priest was conducting the service in Tamil, I could follow bits of the sermon. The CCTV was telecasting the service live, I saw it on TV on a local channel after getting back to my room also. I knelt on the pew (knees hurt) and prayed in the same way as I do with all gods (carrying on a heart to heart conversation and unburdening myself of whatever that is which was bothering me then, having a good trip and a marathon). Bala and family arrived and I was called back from prayer, I got blessings and the Christian equivalent of Prasad, the priest individually was placing a piece of some kind of bread on the tongue of each faithful with a young assistant holding a plate to catch if any piece fell. We settled for a nice South Indian unlimited Thali at Hotel Jayaram, few of our contingent opted for the North Indian meal (Krishna, Bala’s son defected to the lure of the North). The waiters served hot piping food and I overate with the confidence of being able to burn anything in the run the next day. Krishna, having been given exaggerated accounts of my running exploits, sat next to me and hung on to every word. When he wanted to know if I would finish the marathon next day in 3 hour 30 minutes (his father’s dream maybe!), I gave him a good lecture on how I did not bother with the outcome and only aimed at doing my best and enjoying the process. I hope he got the message in the larger context of his life too!

Bala and his family went in the vehicle to his place of stay. He promised to meet us at the Aurobindo ashram gate at 15:30 to proceed to Auroville to listen to Barefoot Ted talk and collect our running kits. Self, wife and daughter walked the street to reach the Ashram in hot sun on a full stomach. Daughter felt at home in her shorts, I overdressed in my khadi kurta-payjama in the midst of lot of ashramites on cycles in their shorts. We saw the ashram and bought a few books and memorabilia from the attached shop. Bala arrived at the appointed hour and we walked back to his place along the road parallel to the sea to drop my wife at his place. Self, daughter, Bala and Krishna were to go for the talk and collection of bibs. Bala was unstoppable after he reached the venue and found his friends. He lives on chatter and company. He makes everyone feel great and comes out as sincere in his praise, I think, that his the secret of his popularity.

Barefoot Ted was impressive in his bald tome and commanding voice (I hadn’t read the book, ‘Born to Run’ till then), considering the crowd, the venue was shifted from an indoor auditorium to outdoors. He took a liking to my khadi attire and Bala praised me (not the complete truth) that I got the dress made of the cotton I pick on my run. I corrected the account to that I buy pressed cotton for spinning on Gandhi’s charkha, and the journey from picked cotton to pressed cotton, yarn to cloth and stitching are still outsourced. He was impressed nevertheless, being a Gandhian opens doors! The talk on running bare foot was very well reasoned, I for one was tempted to run barefoot the next day itself. He cautioned that graduating to barefoot running require training. Anand, his associate and a Mumbai runner announced a barefoot marathon on December 16^th later this year and I pledged myself to running it. I have something to practice for and I don’t have to replace my running shoes when they wear out (My shoes have logged about 2500K, at least 5 times the distance recommended for change of shoes, I think these recommendations are more for the financial health of the shoe manufacturers than the well being of runners feet). Anand also told me later after the marathon that simple canvass shoes of old are the next best to barefoot running and that these expensive shoes are in themselves a cause of so many running injuries. I don’t double check when I get such advice which is easy on my pocket (I never could reconcile my Gandhian ambitions with the costly shoes!).

Bala stayed back to meet friends and passed us off to a Railway friend of his (Amit from IRTS, presently with CONCOR). Amit is presently posted in Ahmedabad and is an avid marathoner. He was staying with his brother at JIPMER campus. He got dropped there and sent the vehicle to drop us in Pondicherry. Bala and his son returned at 9PM after finishing their meal, we, his family and ours waited in Rest house for them to come for going to dinner. His mobile running out of charge was an acceptable reason to assuage the Kolaveri of Bala’s wife and daughter. We ended up having hot idlis at a restaurant ‘Surguru’. The incident of one diner walking off without paying the bill and the waiter (our table wala) left to pay the damages was saddening. Surely the person didn’t look like he could not afford the modest rates of the Hotel. From our experience of eating out at Pondicherry, I can say that the restaurants are good and reasonably priced, a rarity in tourist places (hope some of them set up shop in Goa). It was almost 11 PM by the time we got to bed. Bala and I decided to meet outside his guesthouse at 02:45AM (our start was at 5 Am) for the pickup bus the next day. My wife and daughter were to take a later bus for their 06:45 start of the 10K run. I have never has such a hectic pre-race night and the rest time looked grossly inadequate. I hit the pillow with lot of foreboding. I had a dreamless sleep and woke up to alarm at 1:30 for the spinning and hydration session (luckily this rest-house had a big ante-room). I did not bother to wake up my wife or daughter till I was ready to leave. I attached my bib to the race T-shirt myself (another first) and took my own snap in front of the full length mirror (good innovation) and woke my wife to lock the door and promised her to tell her their pickup time after I reached the venue.

The morning was crisp and muggy. The municipal sanitation workers were already busy working off the sins of the revelers of the previous day. Found out from them that they were contract workers and kept timings of 10PM to 06AM with no weekly off (our caretaker staff in rest-house were also contract workers). It’s an unfair world, either the employees become permanent to exploit the employer or they remain contract labour and get exploited. Where is the golden mean! I could a noisy group of youngsters, were they our runner group. The plume of smoke hinted otherwise. They were a bunch of youngsters out at this ungodly hour to serenade lady nicotine. I gave them an unsolicited advice to quit the habit. The youngster after hearing my story of quit (never get an ex-smoker on that topic!) stubbed out his cigarette and declared that he quit. I told him it would take a bigger addiction like running to quit smaller vices like smoking and drinking. I reached the appointed spot and could see Bala coming from the other side. We talked till the bus arrived at 03:10AM. The driver did not take the spot payment of Rs. 75/- I wanted to offload to him. I may have to carry it through the race and pay to the organizers later. He didn’t tick the passengers against his paid list. TRUST seems to be bottom line of this event. We took the back seats, Bala get introducing me to his acquaintances. The occupants were unusually silent, maybe, catching up on sleep! But, Bala can get an Egyptian mummy talking! I tried to rouse the runners to a cheer of Hip-Hip-Hurray before getting down.

Met an old admirer and compatriot runner from Bangalore International Midnight Marathon. His wife was planning a half marathon and was undecided whether to go ahead or take a change of event to 10K because of her back playing up. Finally she ran the half. I met her twice on the course and she looked ok. Group warm up was organized followed by graded starting positions based on individuals pace liking. No grading by organizer like in Mumbai marathon(another trust factor). I met a lot of Dailymilers, Yogeesh, Avnish and Sandeep to name a few. I didn’t know Yogeesh was carrying a tooth ache. The first lap was a cautious one with the aim being to avoid tripping in the dark. The course to be fair to the organizers was not as bad as the Bangalore Ultra one. I was pulled in two directions on whether to put in maximum mileage before the Sun came out with vengeance of be cautious. The Sun came out tentatively in the second lap (the race was 3 laps of 14K each) and I remember asking a helpful volunteer whether he could switch off the heat button and leave only the light button on the Sun. I really believed the volunteers could get anything done; they were so helpful and devoted. The Power of Love! The ultimate act was reserved for the third lap in the scorching Sun when one middle aged lady volunteer asked me if she could pour cold water on my head. I welcomed the idea and was overwhelmed when she not only poured cold water but also rubbed the head while pouring the water. It was as if the Mahamastakabhisheka was being performed to the Gomateshwar. With the CPU cooled down by a few degrees the nagging headache subsided and I could make some speed. The incident of the little girl with her parents sitting outside her home with a plateful of 5-Star chocolate pieces is too good not to tell. When I took a piece, she asked me to take a full bar. When I congratulated the parents for the wonderful self control of their daughter within striking distance of so many chocolates, she opened her mouth wide to show her mouth full of a chocolate piece. It was like the Bhoolok darshan to Yashomati maiyya in Lord Krishna’s mouth full of earth!

The scenery was enchanting, there were so many photo-ops and my skill and archaic mobile camera were the only hindrance to breathtaking pictures. I managed to get a few snaps.

I could not find any volunteer noting down the laps done or the bib numbers crossing each point. The race was entirely run on trust; this is the best way and can be the USP of Auroville Marathon. They should not spoil it by allowing the intrusion of technology and sponsors, which will take away the charm. I met barefoot Ted’s Indian colleague of the previous day, Anand on the course. He had a nice way of stuffing the canvas shoes on the back to be used in hostile terrain. I later got his mobile number and have been able to establish contact with Ted by email. I think I will be able to go barefoot sooner than later!

I crossed a lot of people in the last lap; I seemed to be taking the heat and the course better. I finished strongly, but cannot say was entirely satisfied with the timing of 4 hours 30 mts. My wife and daughter had done very creditably in their event and they were now hooked for good. I shall no longer feel guilt in dragging them along to all race venues. Krishna made his disappointment of my poor timing clear. He expected me to come in much earlier. I was able to satisfy him by showing him the wonderful snaps on my mobile.

The finishers’ medal was very thoughtful and priceless like the crown of olive leaves the gold medalist got at Athens Olympic. The quality of T-shirt is very good and now my regular jogging wear. The crowning glory was of course the sumptuous breakfast of Pongal, Sambar and Uddin Vade. For the people with minor vices, there was piping hot coffee. The runners were being guided to the tent where masseurs were offering free massage to the tired body. My shy nature and ticklish body kept me from going to the tent. I will probably give it a try in my next essay at Auroville. Krishna regaled Barefoot Ted with a rendering of Hanuman-Chalisa which Ted recorded on his mobile. I must not forget to mention that Ted’s favorite animal is Monkey and he had taken a nom-de-plume of Monkey in the book ‘Born to Run’. One more incident to build on the underlying theme of ‘Trust’, I had to thrust the transport cost for all the three of us on one Mr. Balaji of Chennai runners and a part of the organizing team at Auroville by force. He asked me, I remember, if I trusted him enough. I remember to have told him that Trust should be the middle name of the Auroville Marathon!

We were expecting Bala to drop our daughter off at Chennai for her train at 04:45PM, but, not having brought her stuff (most importantly, tickets) to Auroville, we were forced to rush by the last bus to Pondicherry to try and make it to Chennai. Justice cannot be done to the story of the chase as a sub-plot in this, it deserves a full blog, maybe, sometime later. In all this I should not forget to mention the brilliant timing by Bala in his marathon effort. Cheers!

All in all we had a very satisfying outing. Not being able to spend time on the beach was the only regret of me and my daughter. We would make a trip separately for that!