Holiday travails

Either the world is going mad or I have become too soft. Everywhere I turn, the fad amongst people planning a break is to go on adventure holidays. These involve travelling to hard-to-reach destinations, living in camps and indulging in other assorted outdoorsy activities. Just recently I was chatting with a few friends in Bombay, talking about prospective vacations and trips, and most of them were planning to go into the jungles to see tigers, or trek through Nepal, or drive (if you can call fighting a car over potholed bullock cart tracks that) to Leh and Ladakh. Now these may sound exotic, but most of these places are in the most infra-structure challenged regions of the sub-continent. One cannot reach these places by air. You need to use multiple modes of travel, quite often including horses, camels and carts to get there. The views and scenery, once you reach your destination can be quite good, that is if your body and brain can appreciate it through the pummeling and jarring that they have endured. 

A few of my friends are soon embarking on a motorcycle trip to Northern India, on low technology Royal Enfield bikes. They will traverse the worst roads (if one can call them that) imaginable, over harsh terrain, in terrible weather, on a contraption that should have been abolished a century ago. The machine is uncomfortable on the best of roads; to actually pay good money to ride it for a week in those conditions is the height of masochism. For the pleasure of doing this, they will pay top dollar, risk physical injury, probably suffer from dysentery, live in scruffy hotels and come back with photographs of mountainous scenery that could have been taken from any European town.

Most of these places will not have electricity, or cut it off once it gets dark - basically when you need it most! (Seems quite a convenient way to save costs and charge your customers for it.) Food would also be extremely basic, and very often served when there is no chance that you would feel hungry. Pre-dawn breakfast and post-dark dinner without lights, are not conducive to eating well. Basically the concept is that you pay five star rates to enjoy negative star amenities, and you get bragging rights for the rest of your life as part of the package.

I have had endured hardship and “roughing it out” as a kid. Being brought up in a lower middle class family in a developing country, provided me with enough perspective and first-hand experience about the harder aspects of life, to seek those any longer. We travelled to nearby hill stations on shoe string budgets, with three meals a day as optional. We used to grace establishments, where to call the conditions coarse would be an understatement, but we accepted them as we accepted a lot of other inconveniences. And this was when one travelled as a family - I would not even like to comment on our trips with friends. We had not seen better, and to be away from the madding crowd for a few days, even if it was to an undeveloped part of an under-developed country, was a luxury beyond compare. The quality of the air itself was worth the hardships, coming as we did from the smog-ridden polluted mega-city. To get brief glimpses of vistas with no signs of humans loitering, littering or defecating was priceless.

Now I favor staying in modern hotels, to colonial era buildings that provide you with an experience of life in the Eighteenth Century. I am definitely not at ease with tents, using leaves to wipe oneself, and the absence of electricity and running water. I also prefer to travel to places that are easily accessible to middle aged and slightly fussy tourists. Smooth roads and air-conditioned cars are a necessity, and direct air travel is the more preferred modes of conveyance. I seek comfort, over experience and being one with nature. If there is a good view, it has to come with Twenty First Century amenities. If there are animals to be seen, I would prefer to see them from within air-conditioned comfort, with a tall glass of a refreshing drink in my hand, and canapé’s within easy reach. If that is not possible, then watching National Geographic on a wide screen television will suffice. The only hardship I would ‘choose’ to endure now is a rain shower - in the comfort of a hotel bathroom!

As a wit put it – The road less travelled, is less travelled for a reason.

Exercise... the poor person's Plastic Surgery

In the last few months we heard news of at least two people, we know quite well, who have had surgery related to coronary issues. Both of them were gym regulars and very much into health and fitness, though in completely different age groups. This re-opened the perennial debate that I have with my wife, who will use these as examples of why exercising to her is no guarantee of good health. In her experience, most of the fitness obsessed people that she has come across are the more whiny ones - always complaining of aches and pains, constantly groaning and wingeing or raising some issue or the other (myself included). If it is not soreness, it is stomach bloating, and if not that, a general lack of energy. She also believes that such people are more prone to illnesses and other related issues. I guess she subscribes to Henry Ford’s view that – “Exercise is bunk. If you are healthy you do not need it: if you are sick you should not take it.”

 

I on the other hand just cannot wean myself away from my masochistic work outs, even though the regularity of my sessions has diminished considerably due to time and other pressures. My idea of a nice session is dripping with sweat from head to toe, puffing and panting, and feeling a nice soreness emanating into my muscles. If my heart is not pounding at its absolute maximum, and my breath coming out in gasps I feel as if I have just been fooling around. I see people who meander in to the gym, and 45 minutes later stroll out with not a drop of sweat or strain to show for it, and to me that is an utter waste of time. Indians (excuse the generalization here) in particular hate to push themselves physically. I have been a member of an Indian Sports Club now for years. The gymnasium there is as good as any I have ever been to, the machines, the space to move around etc. are all excellent, just as the entire club facilities are actually superb. But apart from a couple of 40-something enthusiasts, the remaining regulars barely break a sweat. I guess something IS better than nothing, but what leaves me perplexed is why not give it all you have got?

Why do most people not workout, even though they know it is good for them?

I guess they need some motivation....

Why do smokers continue to persist in smoking, knowing fully well it is bad for them? Fundamental questions with really no easy answers! We all have this amazing gift to build mental models (beliefs) which suit our situation and preferences, and leave all dissenting information aside. It is called selective perception, and is a common human trait. I have this tendency to put all sorts of junk into my mouth, knowing fully well that it is bad for me. I guess I justify the same by saying that I will work it out the next day!

People, who know me, know that exercising is very close to my heart. I have been a gym-rat now for over 20 years, interspersed with other sports like squash and running in between. Physical wear and tear and niggling injuries have forced me, over these years to stop some of these activities, as well as tone down the intensity of my routines. Many times over these years I have asked myself as to why I do what I do, and I have failed to find an adequate response. I could understand this dedication if my overall fitness (by whatever standard) was improving steadily, or that I was into competitive sports, or even if I felt great at the end of it all. But on the contrary, I am almost always either stiff or sore, recovering from some injury or complaining about some ligament stress. I cannot remember a decent period of pain-free time in the last 10 years or so.

I seem to have given myself a Hobson's choice of either this type of painful existence or to stop training altogether. Problem is that after periods of prolonged breaks from working out, my stress levels manifest in horrible ways. Headaches, irritability and impatience become the alternative. As these symptoms become noticeable, my loving wife changes her mind and starts realizing the benefits of my working out to her.

 

“Exercise is done against one’s wishes and maintained only because the alternative is worse” – George Sheehan

Camping happy

One never knows the impact of ones words until they are spoken, or in some cases written. This has come true many times in my life, and there have been times when I have had to retract my statements, or change my mind in light of new evidence. Anyway one of my previous posts "Happy Camper" got the goat of some of my closest friends, who love to live on the rough side of life. The last time that I had ventured out camping was over two years ago and that blog, written with a bit of poetic license, seemed to them as an unfair summary of proceedings.

However, instead of sulking away in a corner, as any decent guy would do, these friends decided to rise to the challenge and make me change my mind about these sojourns. For the last few months, ever since the weather here in Dubai has improved there have been suggestions and whisperings of another camping trip. Of course I would only grunt incomprehensively or laugh at any insinuation that I should join, making sure that there was no way that that utterance would be taken as a commitment. Knowing that that tactic was not working, these guys, who are as shrewd a bunch as one is ever likely to encounter, targeted the weak link in my armor - my better half. She has made committing me to all sort of activities and pastimes, that I would otherwise not indulge in, into her cause célèbre. It was very easy to influence my wife into this camping trip, as the word “NO” does not exist in her dictionary, and so I was ensnared.

As the day rapidly approached, my stress levels were rising, and by the time we actually took off for the trip my temples were throbbing with the beginnings of a headache. It started much as I had written earlier - we took off towards late afternoon to beat the heat, cars were overloaded with gear, food and creature comforts and I had no clue, as usual, whereabouts in the UAE our destination was. A quick fuel stop and then a short ride to the Margham Road, which is where the tents were to be pitched this time. Again, as expected, deciding on the perfect camping site took as much time as the actual drive from home, since we had to be sure we were not in the way of errant dune bashers. But it was at about this time that the story started to change tack, like a boat keening into a fresh wind. Before I knew it the tents had come up around us, like desert blooms, with seemingly no effort. Hot tea was arranged for, which went a long way towards alleviating my headache. The children were throwing themselves off sand dunes, thrilling in the glory of messing themselves with no parental intervention. The boys were chasing a football up and down the sand ravines like mindless puppies after a stick, and before I knew it I was completely enamored by the scenery and the company.

All residual doubts vanished by the time the suns rays were dimming. As the camp fire was being set up, my mood was almost exultant as the serenity of the desert and the whisper of the wind over the dunes, mingled with the muted voices of my friends soothed my stress. There was no immediate clamor for food from the children, and no loud music blasted the tranquility of the desert. Even though there were a few dune bashers in their quad bikes, they gave us space and kept their distance. Just sitting there on the crest of a big sand dune, with clean air and open vistas completely relaxed me. The stars came out in all their glory, a sight that we rarely see and the more astronomically inclined among us started to identify the stars that we grew up with – Orion’s belt, the Big Dipper etc. For once it was me, I think, who suggested that we start the barbeque as it was getting late and my stomach felt like it could do with some nourishment. There was a fantastic spread of meats, salads, and of course delicious desserts. Bearing in mind the tribulations that awaited me the next morning, I decided to stay light and did not overstuff myself.

There was a moment of panic when my daughter decided to eat a sausage with the plastic cover and then complained of stomach pains. It is testament to the preparedness of my friends that they had carried appropriate medicine, just for one night. Once that crisis was tided over, the serendipity resumed for the rest of the evening. We stayed up past midnight, chatting, playing games, listening to some music on my Iphone and feeding the fire.

The next morning my fears of a bowel rush remained unfounded and we got up quite late after a good nights sleep. Feeling rested, a few of us drove down a few kilometers to pick up fresh tea, while a wholesome breakfast was being prepared. Post breakfast we played a few competitive games of volleyball, and the fact that my team was undoubtedly better and won, improved my mood even more. We decided not to let unsportsmanlike behavior and cheating by the other team, get us down. Even the ritual of getting the tents down and packed into their tiny bags was accomplished quickly, with minimum effort (on my part I should say). By midday we were rolling back home and feeling just great.

I had ended my previous blog with the statement that said “I look forward to the next camping trip to get closer to nature, maybe with portable satellite TV’s and auto cleansing chemical toilets, not to leave out catered food to alleviate the adversity”. I did not realize that the next time we would in fact get closer to nature without any of the technology that strips nature off its grandeur, and would not have believed anyone, if they would have told me that I would enjoy it. Having come this far on my personal journey to master this untamed universe, my mental horizons are already expanding towards a bike trip through Southern Africa, or maybe a fifteen day hiking and camping trip to the frozen waste lands of Leh and Ladakh in North India.

Thanks to Farrokh, Neville and Shahrukh for a memorable weekend!

Happy Camper

All (well most) of my friends love to go camping, - I don't as much! It is as simple as that. However that one little distinction morphs into a macho thing, with anyone not immediately ready to live in the wild seen as a wimp. I guess this is our pre-historic instinct coming to the fore; to be one with nature, cooking over a fire, gazing at the night sky and waking with the dawn. It definitely looks fantastic in movies and does quite make for good reading as well. However the reality is as far removed as Pluto is from Earth. In actuality camping to me symbolizes our descent into man's Bronze Age. Why anyone would actually enjoy sleeping in a flimsy tent, eat char burnt food, and use open air facilities with no plumbing, is beyond my threshold of understanding. In my opinion it is disrespectful to our ancestors to indulge in such activities. They worked hard, over centuries to ensure that we do not have to endure a lack of electricity and plumbing, and here we go turning our backs on it all. Even if it is for a day it is the principle that matters. My great-grandparents would definitely frown and cluck their tongues at this stupidity. The narrative that follows is a uniquely individual perspective of our camping trips of the past, which might or might not be echoed by others.

Our camping trips normally start to get organized a week in advance. A detailed list of items to take to the campsite is circulated, which leads to numerous trips to the hardware store as well as the supermarket. About ninety percent of the luggage being carried (by weight) if you exclude cars and ourselves, would be of the ingestible variety. By my approximation, we normally attempt to tuck away our own body weight during the 15 hours that we shall be in the wild outdoors. Knowing my ignorance about these matters, my friends generally take pity on me and provide me with a list of day to day groceries to pick up, as the other specialized camping gear is way out of my area of expertise. It involves such arcane stuff as next generation lighting fluids that could operate in a vacuum, xenon and night vision lamps that could be worn on your forehead (keeps your hands free in case you get attacked by wild creatures), special drinking water dispensers with desalination plants and filters, state of the art tent pitching equipment and all sorts of other widgets that are critical to our survival.

The time to venture out on the given day is critical, and requires precise calculations of trip distance and time to set up camp. We normally leave the comfort of our homes towards late afternoon, a time set to ensure that we, both beat the heat and set up tent before it becomes too dark to see what we are doing. A couple of enterprising buddies would have already scouted out the camp-site a few days in advance, to make sure that we do not get lost or mistakenly pitch up tents on a major caravan (4WD) route. These sites over the years have been pushed further and further away - firstly due to the expansion of the city limits and secondly to discourage my habit of waking up before dawn, to drive home for my quotidian ablutions before driving back for breakfast. My personal preferences have been for sites close to a small restaurant where tea and coffee are available 24 hours, and decent washroom facilities are at hand, but I was generally overridden in the past and now not even consulted. We stop along the way to pick up bags of ice to put in the box cooler to cool our drinks. There is a mounting sense of excitement in the children as we reach the chosen campsite, which is almost 25 meters away from the road. I did not know this, but there is an art to choosing a campsite, which involves juggling complex conditions like distance from the road to lug our food and water, judging windward and leeward sides of the dunes surrounding us, as well as ground gradient to ensure that the tents do not get blown away, and of course availability of flat ground within the camp site for the centerpiece attraction, the campfire.

A couple of camping trips ago this selection of a proper campsite almost resulted in the entire trip being put in jeopardy. Once at the site itself, the two alpha males could not agree as to which side to pitch the tents on, with both insisting on the diametric opposite side as the ideal location. There was a point where I thought that the entire trip would be cancelled due to non-agreement, but unfortunately a happy compromise was reached. Both decided to pitch their own tents where they thought it most appropriate and the other tents would be strung out in a line between them. Now that the site has been marked, starts the backbreaking work of setting up the tents. It normally takes about two hours for all tents to be set up, sleeping bags to be rolled out, pillows fluffed and torches and lamps set up. As we had only one 4WD in the group, that one is used as a workhorse to bring the water, drinks, barbeque pit and coal, as well as the food to the site. It takes several trips from the road, as the rations are distributed in various vehicles, and the groaning off roader might get stuck if it is overloaded. The tents are pitched up and ready for occupancy just as the light is fading, and a quiet descends around us.

This is a moment to savor, away from the city-lights and sounds. As your eyes start to adjust to the twilight, your ears pick up the distant sound of surf on the shore. It is a peaceful moment, one to be shared with your children. But as your eyes start to pick out a few stars winking in the sky, and your body is unwinding from all its city induced stress, you realize that it was the calm before the storm. The sound of ABBA breaks the silence and bright headlights turn twilight into day. The 4WD has been brought onto the periphery of the site, to entertain as well as give light while the campfire is being set up. The ladies get busy with setting out the food and the guys start doing what they were born to do – light up fires. Shaken out of my reverie I get up to help with something, but do not really know what I can help with. As the campfire starts going, people get thirsty and hungry, and the soft drinks and the assortment of crisps and chips are taken out. The barbeque pit is laid out over the fire, and as the meat starts to roast and spit, the strong aroma of cooked meat starts to overpower the clean air and smell of the desert. Being the fifth wheel in this group, I normally contribute by eating as much as I can. This is my way of appreciating my friends’ efforts. It is awe inspiring to witness complex human behavior wherein within a group of so many adults and children each picks out his role and task, seemingly without being told or asked – my task is to not interfere and to eat!

Knowing our visceral fear of the dark, on the last camping trip a friend who works in a factory managed to procure wooden pallets which he got cut as fire wood. With the quantity of wood that he got, we knew we were set for a month of continual fire, and so we went overboard on the size of the pit. As the flames grew we fed them more and more till the fire was as tall as a standing human and we could have barbequed a full grown water buffalo over it. As the fire grew, so did our fascination with gazing into it, and such was the intensity of the flames that the bright Dubai streets would look dim in comparison. It took a few days for my night vision to return from staring into that inferno. We had calculated precisely the size of the blaze so as to be able to feed the flames all night long, and hence not carry any wood back. There was a veritable feast laid out for dinner as the ladies had all excelled each other in their offerings. Apparently, they were afraid that we could die of starvation overnight, and each had carried food to feed an army. I ate till I felt I would burst, and then tired from the back-breaking physical exertion (of standing around), and replete and content from the food, I kept looking at my tent fondly as it beckoned with open flaps. It was only 09.00 p.m., but out here in the wild, if you stripped away the hulking SUV and its headlights, the music, the lit-up tents, the barbeque and the torches, it might have felt like the middle of the night.

By the time food is done and we sit around contemplating what to do, it is 09.30 p.m. This being the great outdoors the light is still too dim to play the games we got and so we just chat. The lack of beamed entertainment drains our childrens' spirit and boredom sets in. Their mood impacts ours and just as we are beginning to get annoyed at their lack of appreciation of the rustic life, we decide to alleviate their hardship by giving them chocolates and for us some post dinner beverages. Eventually tired (and a bit bored) of sitting around the campfire, everyone starts to drift away to their respective tents, until only a few die hard pioneers stay back to keep watch and fuel the fire. By 10.30 p.m. the site is still and hushed and the only thing to disturb us is the pop and crackle of the fire, the sound of intermittently passing cars on the road above us, and the revving SUV engines of thrill seeking dune bashers, as they try and circumvent the dunes around us. By mid-night even these are gone, and then it is only the snores of fellow campers to indicate any human presence. In the middle of the night you realize that your tent is pitched on a slight slope and the silky sleeping bags keep making you slip downhill every time you move, but you are too tired to care. By morning it is only the one fabric wall of the tent, pegged firmly into the ground with my entire family’s legs pushing against it, that is keeping us from sliding enmass into the campfire.

We get up at the crack of dawn, and some intrepid soul has already put the water for tea to heat on the fire. Since there is no facility to brush one’s teeth or wash ones face, (much to the children’s delight) all that is required is to walk a few meters away to pee into the wind. One feels a unique bonding with nature at this intimate act being performed in such a way, just as one prays fervently that no other scatological act will be required that morning. The campsite is a hubbub of activity as the morning tea and breakfast is being prepared. There is again a spread of eggs, sandwiches, biscuits and other savories, meats, and a selection of cheeses on offer. I am not hungry and my stomach is rumbling from last night’s meal, but since when has that prevented me from tucking in, at the sight of such food. Breakfast done we now look around at the sheer beauty of nature. We struggle over the small dune to look upon a beach and the ocean and decide to go for a walk. A few hundred meters down we realize that the desert sun has already become too strong, and that if we do not start packing up soon, the heat will get unbearable. We return and begin the tedious task of packing up and taking the tents down. Since there is no technique involved here I can also be of help, and I am thankful for the open sky and a strong wind which masks my farts as I bend over to take out the tent pegs. I notice that putting a tent back into its bag is infinitely more difficult than taking it out, and make a mental note of next time volunteering to set up the tents rather than folding them back. By this time my stomach is aching to empty its contents and I cannot wait to get within sight of a restroom. By 08.30 a.m. we have managed to pack everything. We scan around to ensure that we have not left an ecological footprint, and as we depart I salute the site with a gaseous release.

It is 10.00 a.m. as we reach home and I frantically rush for the bathroom. I thank the fact that most people cannot take the desert sun for too long and hence our camping trips do not extend beyond sunset to sunrise. As I relieve myself, I swear that I will subsist on salads for a week as penance for the dietary deprivation during our sojourn in the wild. As we start putting our tent and sleeping bags back into the store room, the family talks about being one with nature, and our collective experience in the wild and the hardships endured. We look forward to the next camping trip to get closer still, maybe with portable satellite TV’s and auto cleansing chemical toilets, not to leave out catered food to alleviate the adversity.

Well not immediately, but maybe a few years down the road.

Trouble in Paradise

Most of you who know me, will know that I am a bit of a technophile. I have always been one, and over the years have managed to access and keep abreast with the latest technology, either by reading about the advances or by purchasing, within the boundaries of my limited affordability, the latest gadget. Two recent experiences however, reminded me of my fallibility as regards keeping pace with developments in the tech arena are concerned. Because of my infatuation with technology, I had always assumed that I had a flair for it, and that a glancing encounter with any device, would be enough for me to be on top of any advancements (at least hardware related). This little mental paradise was shaken by the events that unfurled in the last month.

The first incident happened a few weeks ago. I had just opened an account with a new Bank, as part of the requirements of my mortgage arrangements. I was supposed to fund that account with a certain minimum balance, for my instalments to be released to the property developer. Since I had run out of cheque leaves from my existing bank account, I decided to fund the new account, by taking out cash from my old account and depositing it into the new one. Easier said than done! I reached the premises of the new bank, cash in hand and entered an air-conditioned room with a bank of ATM machines, the likes of which I had not encountered before. I took out my card and tried to insert it into the card slot of the first machine. No luck. I tried with the second machine - again the same result. Walked to the third machine, which had no slot for the card at all. By now I was completely confused. I was trying to maintain my position in the rapidly forming queues and read the instructions for the ATM’s at the same time. I could see other customers using their cards and hence knew that there was nothing wrong with the ATM's.

Eventually out of desperation I turned around to the man behind me for assistance. He looked to be a construction site worker. On hearing my request, him and another Good Samaritan, who had sensed my situation, took my card, pressed some buttons, inserted my card, asked me to type in my PIN and then deposited the cash into my account. I was completely cowed by then and as I shamefully left the premises, I thought about the number of times I had seen others struggle at similar machines, while I have been standing behind them, tapping my feet in impatience. I never thought that I would be in that situation – ever.

The next incident happened just a few days later, in the UK. I was at the Lensbury Club, my company’s convention center in Teddington. I had flown in the previous evening and wanted to quickly get into my groove by starting my exercise sessions. I headed off to the gym in the early morning, through light rain and biting cold. There was a shortcut, from my residential quarters to the club, which avoided my having to walk all the way around through the main entrance. Suffice to say, that the shortcut involved navigating a set of revolving doors, which despite my most fervent pushing refused to move. Much to my embarrassment I was made to realise that they were again, access card operated. As I was trying to figure out my next move, a young lady who had been outside jogging, excused herself past me, and used her card to gain access. She had probably seen my struggle with the door, and volunteered to let me in ahead, but gallantry prevented me from preceding her through the doors. As I saw her rapidly retreating form, I realised with a growing sense of desperation, that I would have been much better off accepting her offer of assistance. There I was, left out in the cold, desperately trying to swipe the card and push the door, but to no avail. Eventually, I decided to take the long way round, through the main entrance to access the gymnasium, much chastened and deflated.

These incidents might seem funny to you dear reader, but to me are a watershed moment in my life. They make me realise my own mortality, as the phase of my life, which was comfortable with advancing technology, draws to a close. In the last few years I have been increasingly impatient in the face of tech products and it has been the concept rather than the product that has held my attention. Even though I have periodically bought new products, be it Ipods, Mobile phones, LCD TV's or the latest DVD players, I have not even scratched the surface, as regards my knowledge of their features go. In fact, I always question the rationale of cramming them with so many buttons and features, the vast majority of which will never be used in that products lifetime.

This mindset was not always so. I still remember the time when a new product involved days of happy study, learning the features and operating limits of that gizmo. The operating manual was always read cover to cover, before the product was unpacked. I was not always as impatient in connecting the wires and setting up the system, as I am now. In fact I used to like to take the product apart and reassemble it just to see its innards with all the circuit boards and small transistor valves. Now the operating manual is a port of last call, to be resorted to, only when there is a breakdown or a major snafu. I cannot wait for my son to take on the mantle of tech-in-chief, so that I can resign and consign the mundane tasks of setting up, connecting and synchronising the various products, reading the instruction manuals and sorting out operating problems, to him.

The dilemma is whether these events have been catalysed by the fact that each product is now unbelievably complex and feature ridden, or is it to do with my advancing years? I sincerely hope it is the former, and that it is a subconscious decision on my part to better utilise my limited brain capacity in other more fulfilling areas. I shudder to think of the consequences of what a slippage in my tech prowess at this stage in my life, foretells.

My parent’s generation skipped the entire PC revolution and all the ancillary progress that ensued. They still function in a paper-dominated world, using typewriters and landlines for communication. There is a high level of discomfort with any machine that seems more intelligent than a human. ATM’s, computers, entertainment systems, tech-laden cars, in fact the very fabric of our material universe is non-comprehensible to them. Every day that passes by, increases the distance between them and the digital world.

My Dad and I still laugh about the time, many years ago when I introduced him to a laptop. He was visiting Dubai, and I told him to spend a day getting acquainted with a computer, writing letters to his friend’s back home. I told him not to worry, and that these machines were idiot proof. Famous last words! After giving him (according to me) failsafe-operating instructions I left for the day. When I returned I gazed upon the screen, to see a sight that I have never seen since. The laptop was frozen, did not react to any commands, and to add insult to injury could not be hard closed. It needed a visit to my Company’s IT helpdesk to prevent its untimely death. After that day I have never felt comfortable leaving anything with an integrated processor, in the hands of my father.

The next generation is only slightly better, though many in its population have had more than a passing association with the PC and the Internet. Their comfort levels, though orders of magnitude better than the previous generation, do not even come close to the aptitude of my generation. They trip and stumble around in this world, more often than not, totally bemused with their predicament.

My children’s generation are of course, completely in tune with this world. They seem to have an instinctive bond with technology and do not get intimidated with its complexity. They were born after the PC came into the house, and hence are completely at ease basking in the monitor’s LED glare. The digital world truly belongs to them, and often, small incidents remind us that we are just visitors in their world, strangers in a land getting ever stranger. If you have ever seen a 3-year-old interfacing with these products, any doubts about the veracity of this statement will be erased.

For example, we (my wife and I) love gaming, and we do, as a family, play Xbox games. We severely restrict our son from playing more than an hour a week, though my wife and I sometimes play in excess of 10 hours a week. But once in a while, we use the multi-player option to go head to head against our son, in games that we are infinitely more familiar with. Let me tell you that it is total mayhem. He absolutely massacres us, be it driving games or shooting ones. We stand no chance at all. We rave and rant and fly into fits of rage. In that emotionally charged moment, I often use my prerogative as head of the house, to ban him from ever playing the Xbox again.

I love technology and the cool products that it constantly spews out. I hate the fact that I might not be able to manage and handle the cooler gadgets yet to come. I hate even more the inevitable future, where I will require the youth to assist me through my tech infested life, as my feeble eyes try to read the operating instructions on machines that are the size of my fingernails.

The Desert Bandits

The title is used with apologies and (I hope) the permission, of the small band of die-hard bikers in Dubai, who comprise this group.

I started this blog more than 4 months ago and I cannot believe that I have not written on a topic that is so close to my heart. It has been almost two and a half years since I got my riding licence and a motorbike, and a bit shorter since we started our Friday morning rides. For those of you, who do not indulge in this activity, a lot of what is to follow will not be very interesting and you are free to surf further or choose another blog to read. For the rest who persist in reading on, this blog will try and illuminate my fascination with getting onto my "iron horse" and thundering down the highway of life. How else can one describe the feeling of being on an open road, just after dawn, with the black ribbon of freeway stretching ahead as far as the eye can see, and the speedometer needle inching further right than it should. The wind whips pieces of loose clothing into a frenzy, and pushes any exposed body part into the most aerodynamic form, as you slip through the air with a rapidity that is simply exhilarating. As you twist the accelerator upwards, the tiniest movement becomes increasingly difficult, and above 160 kph, only your eyeballs can swivel with ease.

A lot of people appreciate fast cars - but for me it has always been bikes (all bikes). Just the sight of a motorbike at rest increases by heartbeat, the sound of one, gets my heart racing. Many a times I have been fortunate to have had a near-miss, because I was so intent on following the path of one passing me by, that my attention was not where it should have been. A bike gives you the feeling of being one with nature, exposed to the elements, with differences in temperature and wind, dictating your progress. Very unlike a car where you are cocooned from the elements and quite often oblivious to the small wonders around us. Riding can however be extremely unforgiving as it punishes (sometimes severely) any mistakes or lapses in judgement.

Consisting of almost 20 regular members, this group has grown (unlike other such groups) only through personal introductions. There is no affiliation to a manufacturer or a make of bike. With so many riders, it has now become big enough to have its own momentum and the Friday rides continue through the year, even if only a few riders are present. The only impact the changing seasons have is on the start time of the rides in the morning (earlier in the summer!). Biking has built a fraternity of like minded individuals, who meet up, indulge in their passion, talk about their machines and enjoy each others company. One of the great pleasures is to stop for breakfast, at a "mallu" joint for some "saada chai" and "omelette naan". The more refined amongst us have a soft drink and a sandwich instead.

Very often the route is decided in the morning at the meeting place, and varies from a distance of 150 kms to 300 kms round trip. These rides have ensured that we have covered almost all 7 Emirates, and the vistas that I have been privileged to see, have quite often blown me away. The group varies in size from 3 to sometimes more than 10 riders on any given Friday. Even now I can picture in my minds eye, all these bikes either as a line of bright headlights in my rear view mirror if I am leading, or as a formation stretching away for kilometres ahead, if I am trailing the group.

To join this group there is no requirement to own a particular brand of bike, or even a similar type. The Desert Bandits have sports, mixed-utility, cruisers and touring bikes. All are welcome and all are taken care of. Every one rides at the speed they are comfortable with, and no rider is left behind. The group includes speedsters as well as others who prefer to stick to the legal limit. Personally these rides are a way to escape the quotidian stresses that our way of life imposes on us. As my vision narrows through the visor of my helmet, my mind frees itself in tandem, from its minor burdens, and the faster I go, the further behind my worries seem to get. At that moment nothing else matters other than the road, the bike and me hunched into the bubble of my fairing, to be as aerodynamic as possible. Very little noise seeps in through the protective cocoon of my helmet, and in fact a lot of my fellow riders have earphones piping their favourite music.

We have not yet managed to get the wider involvement of spouses and families, whose presence would only enhance the overall experience. I cannot count the number of times that I have wished that my wife were there to see the beautiful scenery unravelling in the early morning. The blues, ambers and reds of the sky and the different hues of the sand, that I otherwise would never have seen. Many is the time that I have stopped to capture the rugged scenery, but the resultant photograph never does justice to the grandeur of the vista as seen through our eyes. Actually, quite similar to trying to pen down, in this blog, the sensory overload of riding a performance machine – it has to be experienced first hand!

The first snap is of the original trio (all riding different bikes now) who decided to explore the Nations highways and byways rather than sleeping away Friday mornings. What started out as an occasional ride, has now transformed into an impromptu group affectionately called "The Desert Bandits", who share a common passion. The logo of the Desert Bandits is a work in progress (courtesy Neville Deboo), and the last photo shows the increase in our tribe (may we flourish).