Nothing has brought the significance of human nomenclature more into the forefront than the phenomenon of Globalization. After becoming aware of the fact that western vocal chords will refuse to process the complex analog signals embedded within the likes of Krishnamurthy, Ranganathan & Jeetendra Chaturvedi, the outsourced oufits imported the anglicized names in order to boost the exports. Krishnamurthy and Ranganathan metamorphosi-zed into Kris and Randy, while Jeetendra Chaturvedi simply initialized into JC. Here is a brief name-centric phone conversation between Subramaniam and me.
Subramaniam : Hi ! This is Sam. Can I talk to Mr. Satnam Doad.
Me : Satnam is not here. Can I take a message?
Subramaniam : May I know who I am talking to?
Me : Yes, This is Robert de Niro.
Subramaniam : Mr. Niro, are you the decision maker in this house?
Me : No, I am a happily married man !!!!! Hello….Hello…Hello…I can’t hear you Sam….where are you?
Getting back to the main issue, let’s look at the brief history of Punjabi nomenclature. Having stood in the way of every armed invasion which came from the north-west, Punjabi nomenclature began with infusion of bravery and tones of military brass band. We had Sher Singh (literally Lion Lion), Shamsher Singh (Who can shame even a Lion), Jhujhar Singh (Don’t mess with this guy), Gajjan Singh (Thundering Lion) and Karnail Singh & Jarnail Singh (Ranking members of the military who directly went from the womb to the war). Southern Indian nomenclature might have been also forced to add a wild animal character to their nomenclature, if the genocidal armada of Christopher Columbus had found the real India. Tamil Tigers of Sri Lanka have been rolling out this strategy on a group level basis.
A relatively calm period of the history perhaps softened the Punjabi lexicon but definitely not their intent. This era brought us Baljeet (Victory by force), Jagjeet (Victor of the universe), Inderjeet (Victor over the Gods), Sharanjeet (Take his protection and victory guaranteed), Ajeet (No victory possible against this one) and Paramjeet (Winner takes all). Having a vested interest in linguistic connections, I searched for evolution of Daler Singh (Lion with a big heart). Now, to be clear, the “Big Heart” here is big, strictly in the sense of physical courage. Writing a million dollar check to the Green Peace won’t portray you as Daler in Punjab, but saving Hema Malini, Zeenat Aman and their comely “Saheliyan” from “The Burning Train” definitely will. In fact, if you write a million dollar check to the Green Peace, some might call you a Kammla Singh (Lion who went nuts). Daler perhaps has its twisted linguistic roots in spanish “Dolor” (pain). Many Daler Singhs have been known to be a constant ‘dolor’ in the ‘you know what’ of governments of India and Pakistan.
When our old ways were touched by the sprawling urbanization, we got out of the military bases with Gurjeet Singh (Victor of character), Surjeet Singh (Victor of melody) and Manmohan Singh (The gracious mover of hearts – No wonder he became the prime minister). We also had a rare but special Montek Singh. This lion is a product of English “Money” and Punjabi “-tek” (support). Obviously, he was destined for a roar in the finance and planning ministry.
And then came the time when Punjabis made love and not war. And did they put some “Preet” (love) into their act. This era gave us Kulpreet (Love of the whole clan), Jaspreet (Glorious love child), Jagpreet (Love of the entire universe), Amarpreet (Product of undying love) and an occasional Samarpreet (product of hot summer afternoon love – pioneered in the countryside, exported immediately to the nearest city). And let’s not forget the loveliest of all the love children – PREETI. Preet Singh and Preet Kaur made Pritam.
A prolonged absence of any major turbulence in the Punjabi society has led to further mellowing of nomenclature. The image of a hard drinking, jovial and friendly Punjabi becomes even friendlier when you meet Harmeet (everyone’s friend), Manmeet (A hearty friend) and my good friend Gurmeet (A Friend with good character – He knows all the sweet spots in town). The lion seems to have been tamed quite a bit though. Punjabi males are beginning to omit “Singh” from their names altogether. The pressure to get in touch with the feminine side is so great that even Daler has added Mehndi (Henna) to his name. Though from what I see in the news reports, Daler Mehndi has caused some serious “dolor” to the immigration sleuths.
And one important aspect of Punjabi nomenclature is religion, which brings the issue closer to home. My brother and I were named with words picked in sequence from holy book of Sikhs. My elder brother Onkar comes from the starting words in the book - Ik Onkar –meaning God is One. Profound and most misunderstood (the words, not my brother. The need to understand anything about my brother is not expected to arise for a few millennia…at the least). One God…...as in indivisible One…….but Whose One? I have One. You have One. Dalai Lama is an incarnation of One. George Bush and Hillary Clinton have One too. Mitt Romney has a Mormon One. Middle easterners can’t agree on One. Communist party does not approve of One. A good friend of mine believes in Two-in-One. One God is watching all this and perhaps having fun. My name Satnam came from the next word - meaning Truth is God. But the question arises again…..Whose Truth? The fact is that very few people can hear the Real Truth over the din of My Truth and Your Truth. If you do then you will agree...perhaps there is something in the name after all.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Saturday, December 1, 2007
A season to get physical
Thanksgiving just went by, so it is time to talk turkey. Thanksgiving is the day when America intensifies its annual assault on Kingdom of Food with a proverbial “Surge”. Outside the cocky world known to homo-sapiens form of intelligentsia, the day is celebrated as “Temporary Independence day” in the bovine world and as “Thank God it is no fry-day” among Chickens. Except for a mild surprise for taste buds, the day is just another weekday in Alabama. The success of surge is well known as it continues its assault around the offices with sugar concoctions appearing mysteriously and disappearing rapidly at the coffee stations. As the assault progresses, the birthday of Christ is celebrated with a summary crucifixion of Atkins. Jenny Craig goes into hiding and Sara Lee comes out of exile. The Krispy krime wave runs unabated until New Year marks its ebb with arrival of XXXL credit card statements while we renew our annual subscription to some old resolutions. Two from an apparently popular list in a recent newspaper clip caught my eye – Get Physical exercise and Get Physical.
Get Physical !!!!!Does everyone smell the sneaky lobbying by AMA here? The physicians at AMA are real helping bunch.
Physician : A person upon whom you set your hopes when ill and set your dogs when well - Ambrose Bierce
First, the AMA hires really good lawyers to help our legislators craft a simple and straightforward health care system. And then to extract some extra bucks off the backs of middle aged hombres, they start helping us pick our New Year resolutions as well. I am sure that most of you middle-aged males at one time have sensed that not-so-faint streak of sadistic glee when your physician suggests “Physical”. They so much love seeing you in that rear-cooled paper gown that they suggest Physical even if you are in their office to get your ear wax removed. And when they do, a chill runs down your spine and terminates exactly at the point which is going to bear the brunt of the procedure….and for the physician, highlight of the report. At least, you should take solace in the fact that the section of your body, which hitherto was known to have contributed primarily to the Global Warming, could begin its lengthy atonement by making significant contributions to the livelihood of many physicians, some with overdue educational loans and mostly with alimony payments. Incidentally, it also completely explains the vehement defense of the cause by Nobel laureate Al Gore. He can prevent global warming single-cheekedly…. by blocking the sun.
My health care needs were recently reassigned by the omnipotent insurance company to a lady physician. It was hard to detect any glee in her inscrutable voice. However, she happens to be fan….a fan of Star Trek. A poster of Captain Jane of the Starfleet adorns the wall and the caption serves a notice to patients – “I will boldly go where no Human has gone before”. As Dale Carnegie suggests in his infinite wisdom – Things could have been worse. The poster could have been that of the Borg and caption could have read – Resistance is futile. You will be…...
Get physical exercise as a new year resolution is no surprise. Very popular indeed. However, during the surge time, watch out for questions disguised as statements, especially from the fairer sex. There are very few correct responses to statements such as “I think I have put on ten pounds” and she is the only one who knows them. All other responses, ranging from complete silence to “you think” are plain wrong. Ten pounds does not move me anymore anyway. Not after I have had the honor (and furniture in our house had the burden) of spending time with my elder brother. He is also known to put on ten pounds….sometimes just during the breakfast itself. There are no perfect analogies to describe his dinnertime fare but suffice to say that anomalies have been observed in earth’s gravitational field. Recently his physician suggested getting at least ten percent more exertion. He increased the distance between his bed and refrigerator by another 1.5 ft. He is mentally sharp and physically well-rounded.
And while I end my blogging to heed to the loud reminders to take out the trash and other items on the honey do-list for the weekend, I am reminded of the words from Canadian comedian Steve Smith – If Women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy….and who knows, she might decide to get physical. A happy season to all of you.
Get Physical !!!!!Does everyone smell the sneaky lobbying by AMA here? The physicians at AMA are real helping bunch.
Physician : A person upon whom you set your hopes when ill and set your dogs when well - Ambrose Bierce
First, the AMA hires really good lawyers to help our legislators craft a simple and straightforward health care system. And then to extract some extra bucks off the backs of middle aged hombres, they start helping us pick our New Year resolutions as well. I am sure that most of you middle-aged males at one time have sensed that not-so-faint streak of sadistic glee when your physician suggests “Physical”. They so much love seeing you in that rear-cooled paper gown that they suggest Physical even if you are in their office to get your ear wax removed. And when they do, a chill runs down your spine and terminates exactly at the point which is going to bear the brunt of the procedure….and for the physician, highlight of the report. At least, you should take solace in the fact that the section of your body, which hitherto was known to have contributed primarily to the Global Warming, could begin its lengthy atonement by making significant contributions to the livelihood of many physicians, some with overdue educational loans and mostly with alimony payments. Incidentally, it also completely explains the vehement defense of the cause by Nobel laureate Al Gore. He can prevent global warming single-cheekedly…. by blocking the sun.
My health care needs were recently reassigned by the omnipotent insurance company to a lady physician. It was hard to detect any glee in her inscrutable voice. However, she happens to be fan….a fan of Star Trek. A poster of Captain Jane of the Starfleet adorns the wall and the caption serves a notice to patients – “I will boldly go where no Human has gone before”. As Dale Carnegie suggests in his infinite wisdom – Things could have been worse. The poster could have been that of the Borg and caption could have read – Resistance is futile. You will be…...
Get physical exercise as a new year resolution is no surprise. Very popular indeed. However, during the surge time, watch out for questions disguised as statements, especially from the fairer sex. There are very few correct responses to statements such as “I think I have put on ten pounds” and she is the only one who knows them. All other responses, ranging from complete silence to “you think” are plain wrong. Ten pounds does not move me anymore anyway. Not after I have had the honor (and furniture in our house had the burden) of spending time with my elder brother. He is also known to put on ten pounds….sometimes just during the breakfast itself. There are no perfect analogies to describe his dinnertime fare but suffice to say that anomalies have been observed in earth’s gravitational field. Recently his physician suggested getting at least ten percent more exertion. He increased the distance between his bed and refrigerator by another 1.5 ft. He is mentally sharp and physically well-rounded.
And while I end my blogging to heed to the loud reminders to take out the trash and other items on the honey do-list for the weekend, I am reminded of the words from Canadian comedian Steve Smith – If Women don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy….and who knows, she might decide to get physical. A happy season to all of you.
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Portrait of a Companion
I remember the chilly morning in the town of Berthoud looking at her, waiting while they came to take her away. I stood by her side while she lay there quietly, devoid of all signs of life. Later, friends would tell me stories of similar situations……frustration, anger and some had tried just walking away. Her demise brought that hidden pang of sadness out from under the weight of life, which lately had begun to resemble nothing but a bunch of billing cycles waiting for a weekend escape from reality. Only in the moments of sadness, we are suddenly reminded of the only un-shattered truth of life – mortality. Her heartbeat had suddenly become very erratic. I tried but it was too late to help and I said my good bye.
We had met each other a few years back and had grown really close. I still remember the evening we met for the first time. She was an Asian and just like every Asian, it was hard to tell her age…at least for me. A light milk chocolate complexion with slim and trim features. A pointed nose and those small eyes, which she blinked coquettishly on occasions. She had a light make-up on with not so faint aroma reminiscent of a recent visit to the spa. Adorned in a late model footwear, she was dressed up for the occasion. And from the inside, she exuded warmth and a faint glow of satisfaction. It was a brief conversation but I knew all I wanted to…..her close friends had begun to move away to other important things in their lives and she was beginning to be more and more and lonely. Someone did mutter something about her age but I didn’t care…..I was charmed. I was to be a man in her life and she was to be my companion.
I treated her like one of the guys and she wanted to be treated like a lady. A few loud screams and I began to let go off my roughness. On our first date itself, I found that she had an affinity for public radio. Every time we got together, it was always war, presidential follies and news from around the world. I did try once changing the dials but she wouldn’t have it any other way. I found them reverted back to NPR the next time. The topic really close to her heart though was the environment. Some members of her extended family had been quite active in the environmental campaigns for a long time and a young cousin of hers had become a very well known name among the environmentalists. She was just content that she has done her part in the bigger scheme of things. Though I was careful not to exert her too much but once, we went up Mount Evans and she accompanied us. The ascent was difficult and we went up really slowly. There was a time we thought we should turn around with her. She huffed and puffed but made up to the top. I still have picture of her proudly standing atop the peak.
My grandfather used to say that warnings will start arriving long before a “Yamdoot” is dispatched for you. She was no different. She had begun to show her warning lights too. A cough here or there, difficulty waking up in the mornings, old arteries and a heart which was beginning to slow down. The visits to care facilities were increasing but there was no medicine for age. Aware of the impending end, a will was drawn to donate her estate. Even in her end, she wanted to leave on a positive note. I can only wish that it would be the same for me, when I enter the winter of my life. All the troubles squeezed into the last few months and a departure wrapped in the satisfaction of a fulfilling life…right until the last moment.
I lost my dear companion, my 1991 Toyota Camry last week. She lived a wonderful life for sixteen human years. The children’s charity who took her body said she can still put smiles on the faces of a few children. She is survived by her bereaved chauffeur, who is currently inconsolable.
We had met each other a few years back and had grown really close. I still remember the evening we met for the first time. She was an Asian and just like every Asian, it was hard to tell her age…at least for me. A light milk chocolate complexion with slim and trim features. A pointed nose and those small eyes, which she blinked coquettishly on occasions. She had a light make-up on with not so faint aroma reminiscent of a recent visit to the spa. Adorned in a late model footwear, she was dressed up for the occasion. And from the inside, she exuded warmth and a faint glow of satisfaction. It was a brief conversation but I knew all I wanted to…..her close friends had begun to move away to other important things in their lives and she was beginning to be more and more and lonely. Someone did mutter something about her age but I didn’t care…..I was charmed. I was to be a man in her life and she was to be my companion.
I treated her like one of the guys and she wanted to be treated like a lady. A few loud screams and I began to let go off my roughness. On our first date itself, I found that she had an affinity for public radio. Every time we got together, it was always war, presidential follies and news from around the world. I did try once changing the dials but she wouldn’t have it any other way. I found them reverted back to NPR the next time. The topic really close to her heart though was the environment. Some members of her extended family had been quite active in the environmental campaigns for a long time and a young cousin of hers had become a very well known name among the environmentalists. She was just content that she has done her part in the bigger scheme of things. Though I was careful not to exert her too much but once, we went up Mount Evans and she accompanied us. The ascent was difficult and we went up really slowly. There was a time we thought we should turn around with her. She huffed and puffed but made up to the top. I still have picture of her proudly standing atop the peak.
My grandfather used to say that warnings will start arriving long before a “Yamdoot” is dispatched for you. She was no different. She had begun to show her warning lights too. A cough here or there, difficulty waking up in the mornings, old arteries and a heart which was beginning to slow down. The visits to care facilities were increasing but there was no medicine for age. Aware of the impending end, a will was drawn to donate her estate. Even in her end, she wanted to leave on a positive note. I can only wish that it would be the same for me, when I enter the winter of my life. All the troubles squeezed into the last few months and a departure wrapped in the satisfaction of a fulfilling life…right until the last moment.
I lost my dear companion, my 1991 Toyota Camry last week. She lived a wonderful life for sixteen human years. The children’s charity who took her body said she can still put smiles on the faces of a few children. She is survived by her bereaved chauffeur, who is currently inconsolable.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Random thoughts on Physics
For the voracious readers of scientific inclination out there, please allow me to refer to the bestseller of circa 1687 – Philosophiae Naturalis Principiae Mathematica. When God hit Mr. Isaac Newton in the head with that ripened apple, He was aiming for certain emotional nodes in the left parietal. He missed and the out came a few more chapters of the textbooks, which became the source of chagrin for some high school freshmen a few centuries later. No compassion there, only gravitation and motion. God’s flawed aim has also been argued over for centuries. Recently, He sent down “Katrina” to an American city and only area left untouched was surrounding the “Bourbon Street”.
In Principiae, the first law declares that a body will try to persist (protest and even refuse to budge) in the same state unless an external force is applied to compel it. Mr. Newton…..you will be glad to know that you have been gone for a while but the external force has continued its pestering.
The primary source of this external force is generally one’s significant other and she applies it gently, disguised in a dulcet packaging,” Honey, I made salad for you today”. No one has been ever able to explain to me as to how one can MAKE salad? By all technical and non-technical definitions provided by the FDA, salad can only be nomenclature-ized under pre-fabricated consumable. To “make food” one must alter the form, fit and function of the starting material. Chopping a broccoli into three pieces does not qualify, unless you dip them in batter (change of form), deep fry them (change of fit-ness) and serve with a pint of beer (change of function). If you still insist on salad, I would rather gulp a cup of ranch dressing and call it food. Coming across this particularly tricky source of external force, some brave ones among us retort by saying things such as ”last time I had MADE food was when I was dating you”. But then, one risks the suspension of one’s constitutional rights followed by excruciating distress from the declaration of martial law and external force turning vindictive.
Parents are also catching up with changing times. Father and mother have embarked on their own path of “fit seniors” in the era of satellite television and pirated DVDs. A few exercise DVDs and mom has begun to explain the finer points of brisk walking and benefits of yoga. And father…..father has begun to talk suspiciously fondly of Jane Fonda. The duo’s external force is neither disguised nor dulcet, and it renders you absolutely retort-less with ,”when you walk, there seems to be another person walking in front of you…when are you going to get rid of him”.
And then there is whole crop of pestering physicians, marathon running cousins, teenage children who do not want to be seen with you, but think that it is becoming harder since you are one of the few man made structures who are now visible from the outer space, and last but not the least is that “militarized” Uncle, whose vocabulary has been confined to two English words – Boot Camp. I say stand-at-ease, soldier.
The second law quoted as original : Mutationem motus proportionalem esse vi motrici impressae, et fieri secundum lineam rectam qua vis illa imprimitur. Translated into American English…..The fiery force will hold the body by its rectum and proportional mutation will follow. Just kidding……actually this is the law, which establishes a relationship between force, mass and acceleration. When the external force becomes unbearable, the male masses gather their woods and irons, and accelerate towards the nearest public golf course. A notable exception has been pointed to me by some keen students. Close to the closing time of 2:30 PM, large masses have been observed to make lightning rounds of buffet line under the influence of scientifically feeble aromatic forces.
While we are at the subject of physics, we might as well discuss the third law too. The third law states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction…..unless you are a married man. If you are, you are perhaps used to seeing a very high number of reactions. Sometimes, you might be vaguely aware of the action which triggered the reaction. The disproportionateness of this particularly lopsided action-reaction system makes the engineer inside me wonder. Maybe this is the system which could be the source of perpetual energy scientists have been looking for. The deterrence to the scientific community of course is the extreme instability of one of the electrodes.
Moving on from Mr. Newton to Herr Einstein. Since there is no record of God hitting Einstein with an apple (or a falling piano), a popular belief during my graduate school was that E=mc2 was a result of “Drinking and De-riving”. If circumstantial evidence is of any consequence, it was published for the first time during “Oktoberfest”. I lied (repeatedly) during my freshmen college class when I claimed to have understood the Einstein’s theory. When the speed increases, the time slows down. Many years later, well advanced from my freshmen years, I had a live demonstration of the theory when I got onto the tread mill for the first time. As the speed increased, time not only slowed down, it almost came to a screeching halt. My exact words were….What ???? I have been running only for four minutes and 32 seconds !!!!! Check the clock.
I can continue with this random scientific discourse on this lazy weekend from the relative comfort of my couch but I hear the external force turning vocal upstairs. My immediate presence is being demanded and I must go…….my engines are set to warp……God Speed !!!!
In Principiae, the first law declares that a body will try to persist (protest and even refuse to budge) in the same state unless an external force is applied to compel it. Mr. Newton…..you will be glad to know that you have been gone for a while but the external force has continued its pestering.
The primary source of this external force is generally one’s significant other and she applies it gently, disguised in a dulcet packaging,” Honey, I made salad for you today”. No one has been ever able to explain to me as to how one can MAKE salad? By all technical and non-technical definitions provided by the FDA, salad can only be nomenclature-ized under pre-fabricated consumable. To “make food” one must alter the form, fit and function of the starting material. Chopping a broccoli into three pieces does not qualify, unless you dip them in batter (change of form), deep fry them (change of fit-ness) and serve with a pint of beer (change of function). If you still insist on salad, I would rather gulp a cup of ranch dressing and call it food. Coming across this particularly tricky source of external force, some brave ones among us retort by saying things such as ”last time I had MADE food was when I was dating you”. But then, one risks the suspension of one’s constitutional rights followed by excruciating distress from the declaration of martial law and external force turning vindictive.
Parents are also catching up with changing times. Father and mother have embarked on their own path of “fit seniors” in the era of satellite television and pirated DVDs. A few exercise DVDs and mom has begun to explain the finer points of brisk walking and benefits of yoga. And father…..father has begun to talk suspiciously fondly of Jane Fonda. The duo’s external force is neither disguised nor dulcet, and it renders you absolutely retort-less with ,”when you walk, there seems to be another person walking in front of you…when are you going to get rid of him”.
And then there is whole crop of pestering physicians, marathon running cousins, teenage children who do not want to be seen with you, but think that it is becoming harder since you are one of the few man made structures who are now visible from the outer space, and last but not the least is that “militarized” Uncle, whose vocabulary has been confined to two English words – Boot Camp. I say stand-at-ease, soldier.
The second law quoted as original : Mutationem motus proportionalem esse vi motrici impressae, et fieri secundum lineam rectam qua vis illa imprimitur. Translated into American English…..The fiery force will hold the body by its rectum and proportional mutation will follow. Just kidding……actually this is the law, which establishes a relationship between force, mass and acceleration. When the external force becomes unbearable, the male masses gather their woods and irons, and accelerate towards the nearest public golf course. A notable exception has been pointed to me by some keen students. Close to the closing time of 2:30 PM, large masses have been observed to make lightning rounds of buffet line under the influence of scientifically feeble aromatic forces.
While we are at the subject of physics, we might as well discuss the third law too. The third law states that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction…..unless you are a married man. If you are, you are perhaps used to seeing a very high number of reactions. Sometimes, you might be vaguely aware of the action which triggered the reaction. The disproportionateness of this particularly lopsided action-reaction system makes the engineer inside me wonder. Maybe this is the system which could be the source of perpetual energy scientists have been looking for. The deterrence to the scientific community of course is the extreme instability of one of the electrodes.
Moving on from Mr. Newton to Herr Einstein. Since there is no record of God hitting Einstein with an apple (or a falling piano), a popular belief during my graduate school was that E=mc2 was a result of “Drinking and De-riving”. If circumstantial evidence is of any consequence, it was published for the first time during “Oktoberfest”. I lied (repeatedly) during my freshmen college class when I claimed to have understood the Einstein’s theory. When the speed increases, the time slows down. Many years later, well advanced from my freshmen years, I had a live demonstration of the theory when I got onto the tread mill for the first time. As the speed increased, time not only slowed down, it almost came to a screeching halt. My exact words were….What ???? I have been running only for four minutes and 32 seconds !!!!! Check the clock.
I can continue with this random scientific discourse on this lazy weekend from the relative comfort of my couch but I hear the external force turning vocal upstairs. My immediate presence is being demanded and I must go…….my engines are set to warp……God Speed !!!!
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Tickets, tales and John Doe
On a bright friday morning, I was on my usual commute. My 91 Camry (aka Indiamobile in friendly circles), with 152467 miles on the odometer, rushing north, logging its daily quota of 126 miles. Cruise control (it still works) was set to exact speed limit of 75 mph and NPR news was lamenting the exploding cars in Iraq. And that is when I noticed the familiar dancing lights atop the police cruiser behind me. The usual routine started with the officer,”I have been watching you for over ten minutes now. You were driving in the left lane”. And my thoughts were – Shouldn’t you be enforcing law somewhere. And what in the world was this left lane thing. If I trampled over an imaginary object in the left lane, I am very sorry. The words however were, “I was within the speed limits, officer”. More inquiry followed, “Didn’t you notice the sign posted back there”? My thoughts – you mean to say that sign board of the size of a postage stamp. My alter ego kicked in with his own thoughts,” Officer, he was too dumb to notice you for more than ten minutes, how do you expect him to notice a sign”.
I learned afterwards that officer was actually enforcing a law, a recently dusted off Colorado statute 42-4-1013, which clearly states – A person shall not drive a motor vehicle in left lane of the highway of speed limit 65 mph or more unless such person is passing other vehicles that are in a non passing lane or turning left, or unless the volume of traffic does not permit the motor vehicle to safely merge into the non passing lane. Such lucid description seems to be handiwork of a lawyer on a state payroll, trying to justify his job.
A week later, I made my peace with the “Left Lane Mafia” by parting company with a sum of forty five dollars.
My chequered criminal history in the arena of traffic goes back a bit. In Texas, a friend of mine (John Doe I) was a famed ticket collector. A zig-zag trail of ticket collection he blazed covered a good number of counties in the state and the vicinity. At one time, he even tried going about it alphabetically. You can only imagine the peer pressure for me.
A friendly one
One morning, I received a harried call from a dear friend (John Doe II),” Hey, my car was stolen last night”. Generally my reaction to such calls is friendly and sympathetic but having known John Doe II, it was a tad interrogative,” Did you park again in the spot, which has a sign as if a guy is sitting on a chair – a sign you are more used to seeing on public rest rooms?” His initial surprise was followed with defensive,” but everyone parks there”. Of course everyone does, that is one of the disadvantages of living in a gated complex with high incident rate of cerebral handicap. So we agreed to pick up his car first. A slight hurry, misplaced pressure on the gas pedal and there “HE” was, waiting at the strategic location by the side of Krispy Kreme, sadistically mixing work and pleasure – “You folks seem to headed somewhere in a hurry this morning. Any emergency?” And I confessed, ”Officer, we were speeding to the tow-car lot to pick up my esteemed fellow passenger’s car, which he had parked in the handicap spot. Now please tell us, how we can contribute to the donut kitty for the Texas’ finest”.
Don’t mess with Texas….and Arkansas
While returning from a weekend in Ozarks of Arkansas, I was pulled over for venturing into the unexplored territory of the speedometer of my vehicle. Later, swayed by the anti-Arkansas lobby in Texas, I assumed that state is truly behind the curve and I left the US for an extended vacation without paying the ticket. Upon my return, among the other bills, a letter declaring that warrant for my arrest have been issued in the state of Arkansas was waiting for me. Since then, I have become so prompt in paying off my good citizen dues that I can easily qualify for a good payer discount.
The unfair one…perhaps to the cop too
The incident occurred during the somewhat chaotic days of post September 2001, in a small north Texas town of Memphis (pop. 2479). You might think “unfair” when a cop tells you, “you were still 20 ft. behind the 45 mph zone board, when you started speeding up. I clocked you at 43 mph”. However before you argue the “perceived unfairness”, make sure that you are not wearing a turban, cop is not standing one foot behind the window with one hand on his gun, he is not eyeing the large unmarked transparent bag of wheat flour in the back of your truck and latest news headlines do not contain the word…..ANTHRAX. If so, just offer an apology and take the serving from ticket buffet.
When I promptly called the county court to pay this ticket, the person told me that he was unable to locate my record. And then suddenly he asked, “Was the cop who gave you the ticket was a fat one”? Well, he sure had some serious gravitational pull, if that is what you mean. And for next few minutes, a rant about a lazy cop from a responsible court officer was served free of charge.
I have a ticket…but it is not for you
With our golf bags in the back of my truck, my friend (John Doe III, most venerable of the Doe family) and I were headed for another round at the links when we were strangely pulled over. This time I was sure that I haven’t broken any traffic rule whatsoever. Even more strangely, the cop approached us from the passenger side window. John Doe III enquired, “Officer, what’s the problem”? And officer replied, ”Sir you are. You are not wearing a seat belt”.
I can tell you with absolute certainty that if you ever receive a ticket, while sitting in the passenger seat of someone else’s vehicle, the expletive section of your vocabulary will tend to suddenly grow by a many orders of magnitude and it might contain certain additions, which were banned from use during the first meeting of the United Nations.
Unsure about the deadly linguistic viruses and bacteria left floating in the small cabin of my Frontier, I almost called CDC for a decontamination procedure. Thank almighty for my good, extremely devout and very humorous friend (Jane Doe), who came armed with her collection of cleansing "Bhakti Sangeet". I guess, finally it was Anup Jalota's "Aisa Mantar Maro Prabhu Ji", which restored the air to its baseline levels.
And it all started here...
I had just arrived in the US and started the graduate school when I received my first crown jewel of the upcoming series. At that time, I did not have a car or even a driver’s license for that matter. I was on a rickety bicycle when I failed to make a “dead stop” at the stop sign. My good intentions of slowing down to zero+ speed and checking for a (non-existent) traffic were dismissed as groundless facts under the traffic law. I knew I was going to like living in the US, when my ticket carried more value ($35) than my ride ($20). Realizing my foreigner status, the cop offered me a way out of the financial quandary– a Defensive Biking class. Yes, only the chosen few receive this biped-centric education, which is a genetic offshoot of its well-known and certainly well-attended quadruped-centric “Defensive driving class”.
So folks, if you see me approaching you on a bicycle at sub-mach velocities, just relax. I might have learned to pedal on the dusty streets of my village in Punjab, but my re-training comes with a seal of approval from none other than Arizona Police Department.
Disclaimer : All incidents and characters described here are figments of my imagination. And thus, any perceived resembelance to certain homo sapiens must be a figment of yours.
Glossary :
Bhakti Sangeet : Gospel Music
Aisa Mantar Maro Prabhu Ji : O Lord, Do thy magic.
I learned afterwards that officer was actually enforcing a law, a recently dusted off Colorado statute 42-4-1013, which clearly states – A person shall not drive a motor vehicle in left lane of the highway of speed limit 65 mph or more unless such person is passing other vehicles that are in a non passing lane or turning left, or unless the volume of traffic does not permit the motor vehicle to safely merge into the non passing lane. Such lucid description seems to be handiwork of a lawyer on a state payroll, trying to justify his job.
A week later, I made my peace with the “Left Lane Mafia” by parting company with a sum of forty five dollars.
My chequered criminal history in the arena of traffic goes back a bit. In Texas, a friend of mine (John Doe I) was a famed ticket collector. A zig-zag trail of ticket collection he blazed covered a good number of counties in the state and the vicinity. At one time, he even tried going about it alphabetically. You can only imagine the peer pressure for me.
A friendly one
One morning, I received a harried call from a dear friend (John Doe II),” Hey, my car was stolen last night”. Generally my reaction to such calls is friendly and sympathetic but having known John Doe II, it was a tad interrogative,” Did you park again in the spot, which has a sign as if a guy is sitting on a chair – a sign you are more used to seeing on public rest rooms?” His initial surprise was followed with defensive,” but everyone parks there”. Of course everyone does, that is one of the disadvantages of living in a gated complex with high incident rate of cerebral handicap. So we agreed to pick up his car first. A slight hurry, misplaced pressure on the gas pedal and there “HE” was, waiting at the strategic location by the side of Krispy Kreme, sadistically mixing work and pleasure – “You folks seem to headed somewhere in a hurry this morning. Any emergency?” And I confessed, ”Officer, we were speeding to the tow-car lot to pick up my esteemed fellow passenger’s car, which he had parked in the handicap spot. Now please tell us, how we can contribute to the donut kitty for the Texas’ finest”.
Don’t mess with Texas….and Arkansas
While returning from a weekend in Ozarks of Arkansas, I was pulled over for venturing into the unexplored territory of the speedometer of my vehicle. Later, swayed by the anti-Arkansas lobby in Texas, I assumed that state is truly behind the curve and I left the US for an extended vacation without paying the ticket. Upon my return, among the other bills, a letter declaring that warrant for my arrest have been issued in the state of Arkansas was waiting for me. Since then, I have become so prompt in paying off my good citizen dues that I can easily qualify for a good payer discount.
The unfair one…perhaps to the cop too
The incident occurred during the somewhat chaotic days of post September 2001, in a small north Texas town of Memphis (pop. 2479). You might think “unfair” when a cop tells you, “you were still 20 ft. behind the 45 mph zone board, when you started speeding up. I clocked you at 43 mph”. However before you argue the “perceived unfairness”, make sure that you are not wearing a turban, cop is not standing one foot behind the window with one hand on his gun, he is not eyeing the large unmarked transparent bag of wheat flour in the back of your truck and latest news headlines do not contain the word…..ANTHRAX. If so, just offer an apology and take the serving from ticket buffet.
When I promptly called the county court to pay this ticket, the person told me that he was unable to locate my record. And then suddenly he asked, “Was the cop who gave you the ticket was a fat one”? Well, he sure had some serious gravitational pull, if that is what you mean. And for next few minutes, a rant about a lazy cop from a responsible court officer was served free of charge.
I have a ticket…but it is not for you
With our golf bags in the back of my truck, my friend (John Doe III, most venerable of the Doe family) and I were headed for another round at the links when we were strangely pulled over. This time I was sure that I haven’t broken any traffic rule whatsoever. Even more strangely, the cop approached us from the passenger side window. John Doe III enquired, “Officer, what’s the problem”? And officer replied, ”Sir you are. You are not wearing a seat belt”.
I can tell you with absolute certainty that if you ever receive a ticket, while sitting in the passenger seat of someone else’s vehicle, the expletive section of your vocabulary will tend to suddenly grow by a many orders of magnitude and it might contain certain additions, which were banned from use during the first meeting of the United Nations.
Unsure about the deadly linguistic viruses and bacteria left floating in the small cabin of my Frontier, I almost called CDC for a decontamination procedure. Thank almighty for my good, extremely devout and very humorous friend (Jane Doe), who came armed with her collection of cleansing "Bhakti Sangeet". I guess, finally it was Anup Jalota's "Aisa Mantar Maro Prabhu Ji", which restored the air to its baseline levels.
And it all started here...
I had just arrived in the US and started the graduate school when I received my first crown jewel of the upcoming series. At that time, I did not have a car or even a driver’s license for that matter. I was on a rickety bicycle when I failed to make a “dead stop” at the stop sign. My good intentions of slowing down to zero+ speed and checking for a (non-existent) traffic were dismissed as groundless facts under the traffic law. I knew I was going to like living in the US, when my ticket carried more value ($35) than my ride ($20). Realizing my foreigner status, the cop offered me a way out of the financial quandary– a Defensive Biking class. Yes, only the chosen few receive this biped-centric education, which is a genetic offshoot of its well-known and certainly well-attended quadruped-centric “Defensive driving class”.
So folks, if you see me approaching you on a bicycle at sub-mach velocities, just relax. I might have learned to pedal on the dusty streets of my village in Punjab, but my re-training comes with a seal of approval from none other than Arizona Police Department.
Disclaimer : All incidents and characters described here are figments of my imagination. And thus, any perceived resembelance to certain homo sapiens must be a figment of yours.
Glossary :
Bhakti Sangeet : Gospel Music
Aisa Mantar Maro Prabhu Ji : O Lord, Do thy magic.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Longs Peak : Second Attempt - 2007
I was lying on my couch in widely recognized male-comfort position, where body is parallel to the ground, one’s head is a notch above the horizontal line passing through the center of gravity, eyes are on TV and the fingers on the remote control. The comely newscaster declared,” Colorado has been deemed leanest state in the united states, once more”. There was a time I could bolt upright just at the sight of declaration making comely newscasters; now I just helped myself to an extra pillow to get my aural devices in line of approaching sound waves.
Though climbing, the obesity rate of the state of Colorado, the Mecca of outdoors-men (and ladies), stands at only 17.6%, national average being 31%. A minor berating of certain southern states, which followed in the news, was expected. In these states, the obesity has reached such gigantic proportions that Bush approved US internal spy satellites were beginning to lock on the large ambulatory objects with somewhat mysterious internal combustion mechanisms. The state officials of Colorado blame its increasing obesity rate on people moving in from state of Texas……hmmm…….(expletive) state officials of Colorado.
I ruminated for a while, got up from the couch and declared to my wife,” I will be climbing Longs Peak this labor day weekend”. She raised her right eyebrow at 30 degrees, while managing keep other horizontal, and demanded to handover the remote. More disturbing was the suppressed laughter coming from the subcutaneous fat down below. The homesteader has been working on establishing a permanent domicile in the mid-section suburbs of my body. I ignore it all the time.
Last time I tried to go up Longs Peak was in 2004. In the meantime, I have gotten married and have been learning to negotiate the slippery slopes of marital life, a subject matter so vast that it occupies its own three aisles at Barnes and Noble. Though euphemistically, they are labeled as “SELF-HELP”. Well, they sure have helped the struggling fortunes of some. And, in the Garden of Eden, Adam said to Eve, “Honey, I am more than half way through the book (Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus) you gave me for our first anniversary. Can I finish it after the labor day weekend”?
With great determination, I dusted off my hiking gear, packed up the essentials, slipped out of work on Friday afternoon and on the way to Estes Park. I tried but that evening I could get only three hours of semi-sleep before the 11:15 alarm buzzed off. I utilized the “Snooze” function till 11:45. Then I got up, got ready and was at the trailhead parking at 12:30 AM. It was quite dark and few more groups were getting ready to go up. Time to give the gear a final check - food bars, water packs, first-aid, lights, matches and lastly, a small flask with some Johnnie Walker (helps me through the pain). The helpful instruction at the trailhead says – Try not to go alone. Many hikers go up alone claiming that there is nothing to worry as God is with them. Well, things are fine as long as God is with you. Search and rescue missions are launched only after you try to be with God. Deference to the mountain is supreme. On an average, one person dies every year on Longs Peak. I was a little stupid to go alone, however I did join a Venezuelan student, who was not surprised by my Spanish. I have been taken for a Mexican before. One can find plenty of company on this well trampled trail but better to accompany a friend you can really count on. A decision always on the safe side is a good decision on this mountain.
I signed on the register at the trailhead, tapped a warning to my subcutaneous friend, and exactly at 12:52 AM in the morning, I walked into the forest. I had been to keyhole before, though starting earlier is always good. When city lights became visible at 12000 ft., I fiddled with camera to figure out, how to increase the exposure to take night pictures. Success achieved. It was chilly and somewhat windy, but otherwise, it was a clear, pleasant moonlit night with stars. I arrived at the Boulder field (5.9 miles from trailhead) at 4:30 AM and took my munch break. Protein bars washed down with water and Gatorade. Living in a mile high city seemed to have helped me with acclimation. Climbing up the boulder field to keyhole was the first real taste of difficulty. Sun wasn’t up and we debated as to if we should get on the ledges in this low light. Then we just tagged with four other climbers, who were moving swiftly over the ledges. On these ledges alongside some 1000 foot cliffs, is the first time, climbers feel exposed. Look down and thousands of feet below, you see mother earth…waiting.
I could see the roving headlights of a few climbers, who were already quite a bit ahead. The bulls-eye is painted on the rocks to guide the climbers. The quarter mile distance on ledges culminates in the onset of a section called the “Troughs’. This is a steep climb with about 700 ft. of vertical gain and I began to feel the altitude effect. I could hear my lungs rebelling against me. I tried to take full gulps of air but it just stopped short. Story goes that “Troughs” is where the mountain attempts to turn around the ones, who are unworthy of the summit. I just followed the trusted method of breaking down the climb into smaller sections….climb, rest, climb, rest. Halfway through it, I realized that Sun has been out and I clicked my first clear pictures. I could see only one climber behind me. The sweeping vistas of the North were simply 'breathtaking'. Close to the top of the trough, I encountered a couple who have been hit by altitude sickness. Throwing up is common at these heights. At the top of the Troughs, a tricky corner turn has to be taken over a large rock. A small foothold in the step, push up with your foot and grab the rock ledge above in one go. Use your knee to drag yourself up. Though do-able (saw a girl doing it on my way down), I advise not trying going from the right side which is sloped. The slip there could be unforgiving…at least 200 ft. unforgiving.
I hardly had few seconds of elation crossing the “Troughs”, when I stared at the section called the “Narrows”. They sure do live up to their name, nastier version of the ledges. This is where climbers are most exposed. Slow, steady and extremely careful. I was surprised to encounter three climbers here who were returning from the summit. These people must have climbed all this in the dark on their way up….unbelievable. The two way traffic on the narrows gets quite interesting.
The Narrows again culminate in a turn, where 15-20 ft. of tough and risky climb is needed to get one over into the base of the section called the “homestretch”. A steep climb resulting in 250 ft. of vertical gain and summit awaits. I was thoroughly exhausted here and my head floated a little. I could see my Venezuelan fellow and another experienced climber, some fifty feet ahead of me, going up with relative ease. I just made a run for it…after all, it was Homestretch. Precisely at 7:32 AM, I stood at 14259 foot, highest ground I ever touched. Besides my Venezuelan fellow, there were two more climbers up there. The summit, as I had read, was quite large area full of rocks and the panoramic views.....views to just die for. We clicked our accomplishments. A few clouds were gathering and few minutes later, we began the difficult task of getting down. It was equally exhausting. I encountered a heavy upward traffic at the troughs. My knees and feet were beginning to ache a lot. Two Advils did not help much but I got down to Keyhole at 9:35 AM.
I was awake for quite a while now and it was beginning to show in my responses. I began a slow descent to the trailhead. Close to the trailhead, a lady ranger congratulated me and asked me when I will be back again. And I said, “Never, I have marked it off the checklist”. But I know that the pull of the trail is magnetic. I threw my gear into the truck and lied down for a nap. I was on the terrain for exactly thirteen hours. The time was precisely at 1:52 PM.
Though climbing, the obesity rate of the state of Colorado, the Mecca of outdoors-men (and ladies), stands at only 17.6%, national average being 31%. A minor berating of certain southern states, which followed in the news, was expected. In these states, the obesity has reached such gigantic proportions that Bush approved US internal spy satellites were beginning to lock on the large ambulatory objects with somewhat mysterious internal combustion mechanisms. The state officials of Colorado blame its increasing obesity rate on people moving in from state of Texas……hmmm…….(expletive) state officials of Colorado.
I ruminated for a while, got up from the couch and declared to my wife,” I will be climbing Longs Peak this labor day weekend”. She raised her right eyebrow at 30 degrees, while managing keep other horizontal, and demanded to handover the remote. More disturbing was the suppressed laughter coming from the subcutaneous fat down below. The homesteader has been working on establishing a permanent domicile in the mid-section suburbs of my body. I ignore it all the time.
Last time I tried to go up Longs Peak was in 2004. In the meantime, I have gotten married and have been learning to negotiate the slippery slopes of marital life, a subject matter so vast that it occupies its own three aisles at Barnes and Noble. Though euphemistically, they are labeled as “SELF-HELP”. Well, they sure have helped the struggling fortunes of some. And, in the Garden of Eden, Adam said to Eve, “Honey, I am more than half way through the book (Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus) you gave me for our first anniversary. Can I finish it after the labor day weekend”?
With great determination, I dusted off my hiking gear, packed up the essentials, slipped out of work on Friday afternoon and on the way to Estes Park. I tried but that evening I could get only three hours of semi-sleep before the 11:15 alarm buzzed off. I utilized the “Snooze” function till 11:45. Then I got up, got ready and was at the trailhead parking at 12:30 AM. It was quite dark and few more groups were getting ready to go up. Time to give the gear a final check - food bars, water packs, first-aid, lights, matches and lastly, a small flask with some Johnnie Walker (helps me through the pain). The helpful instruction at the trailhead says – Try not to go alone. Many hikers go up alone claiming that there is nothing to worry as God is with them. Well, things are fine as long as God is with you. Search and rescue missions are launched only after you try to be with God. Deference to the mountain is supreme. On an average, one person dies every year on Longs Peak. I was a little stupid to go alone, however I did join a Venezuelan student, who was not surprised by my Spanish. I have been taken for a Mexican before. One can find plenty of company on this well trampled trail but better to accompany a friend you can really count on. A decision always on the safe side is a good decision on this mountain.
I signed on the register at the trailhead, tapped a warning to my subcutaneous friend, and exactly at 12:52 AM in the morning, I walked into the forest. I had been to keyhole before, though starting earlier is always good. When city lights became visible at 12000 ft., I fiddled with camera to figure out, how to increase the exposure to take night pictures. Success achieved. It was chilly and somewhat windy, but otherwise, it was a clear, pleasant moonlit night with stars. I arrived at the Boulder field (5.9 miles from trailhead) at 4:30 AM and took my munch break. Protein bars washed down with water and Gatorade. Living in a mile high city seemed to have helped me with acclimation. Climbing up the boulder field to keyhole was the first real taste of difficulty. Sun wasn’t up and we debated as to if we should get on the ledges in this low light. Then we just tagged with four other climbers, who were moving swiftly over the ledges. On these ledges alongside some 1000 foot cliffs, is the first time, climbers feel exposed. Look down and thousands of feet below, you see mother earth…waiting.
I could see the roving headlights of a few climbers, who were already quite a bit ahead. The bulls-eye is painted on the rocks to guide the climbers. The quarter mile distance on ledges culminates in the onset of a section called the “Troughs’. This is a steep climb with about 700 ft. of vertical gain and I began to feel the altitude effect. I could hear my lungs rebelling against me. I tried to take full gulps of air but it just stopped short. Story goes that “Troughs” is where the mountain attempts to turn around the ones, who are unworthy of the summit. I just followed the trusted method of breaking down the climb into smaller sections….climb, rest, climb, rest. Halfway through it, I realized that Sun has been out and I clicked my first clear pictures. I could see only one climber behind me. The sweeping vistas of the North were simply 'breathtaking'. Close to the top of the trough, I encountered a couple who have been hit by altitude sickness. Throwing up is common at these heights. At the top of the Troughs, a tricky corner turn has to be taken over a large rock. A small foothold in the step, push up with your foot and grab the rock ledge above in one go. Use your knee to drag yourself up. Though do-able (saw a girl doing it on my way down), I advise not trying going from the right side which is sloped. The slip there could be unforgiving…at least 200 ft. unforgiving.
I hardly had few seconds of elation crossing the “Troughs”, when I stared at the section called the “Narrows”. They sure do live up to their name, nastier version of the ledges. This is where climbers are most exposed. Slow, steady and extremely careful. I was surprised to encounter three climbers here who were returning from the summit. These people must have climbed all this in the dark on their way up….unbelievable. The two way traffic on the narrows gets quite interesting.
The Narrows again culminate in a turn, where 15-20 ft. of tough and risky climb is needed to get one over into the base of the section called the “homestretch”. A steep climb resulting in 250 ft. of vertical gain and summit awaits. I was thoroughly exhausted here and my head floated a little. I could see my Venezuelan fellow and another experienced climber, some fifty feet ahead of me, going up with relative ease. I just made a run for it…after all, it was Homestretch. Precisely at 7:32 AM, I stood at 14259 foot, highest ground I ever touched. Besides my Venezuelan fellow, there were two more climbers up there. The summit, as I had read, was quite large area full of rocks and the panoramic views.....views to just die for. We clicked our accomplishments. A few clouds were gathering and few minutes later, we began the difficult task of getting down. It was equally exhausting. I encountered a heavy upward traffic at the troughs. My knees and feet were beginning to ache a lot. Two Advils did not help much but I got down to Keyhole at 9:35 AM.
I was awake for quite a while now and it was beginning to show in my responses. I began a slow descent to the trailhead. Close to the trailhead, a lady ranger congratulated me and asked me when I will be back again. And I said, “Never, I have marked it off the checklist”. But I know that the pull of the trail is magnetic. I threw my gear into the truck and lied down for a nap. I was on the terrain for exactly thirteen hours. The time was precisely at 1:52 PM.
A Climb up Longs Peak - 2004
So I live in Colorado now. And hence, I have become that quasi-outdoor person who rides bicycle to work, goes for Skiing and goes for a jog when ashamed by his 50-year-old neighbor who runs in local marathons. But must I climb as well. Motivated by an urge to prove that my thirty-something frame can still take it, I decided to take on LONGS PEAK, the highest non-technical climb of the Colorado Rockies. I was told that climb is not very difficult, just long. Seven and half mile each way, to be precise. The base camp is an altitude of 9500 ft. and Peak top stands over 14259 ft. Peak is open to non technical climbers for two months a year during summer time. My comrade-in-arms Sardar Arvinder Pal Singh agreed to join but chickened out later. AP Singh lives in Wisconsin and the tallest thing he has ever climbed is his two-storey office building.
One has to start early in the morning, no later than 2:00-3:00 AM (Yikes!!!). Otherwise, you might get caught in afternoon thunderstorms and nature god always looks for an easy sacrifice. I camped out in the nearby Estes Park the night before, picked my backpack and started at 2:45 AM. First two miles is an easy hike through a dense forest, which has to be dealt with your headlight on. As steepness increased, I began to feel the impact of my heroic anti-gravity performance. I got to experience, first hand, the symptoms of altitude sickness. Fortunately I was well prepared. Consume a lot of water and pace yourself with frequent but short breaks. Only thing I did not feel short of was “shortness of breath”. For someone who spent a good part of his life in plains of Punjab, I sure do need a lot of oxygen, which was apparently absent at those altitudes.
Every now and then a slight drizzle ensued and rain gear came in handy. On Longs peak, as you go higher, the lights of surrounding cities become visible one by one. First Longmont, Boulder and then Denver. If you look up, you will catch a shooting star as well. Wish for more wisdom, if you see one….
Around 6:00 AM, the Sun began to rise and it gave a golden glow to the mountains around. I took a few pictures and treaded on. After some 5 miles, I reached Boulder field. It is named so as the place is full of Volkswagen size boulders. There is no exact trail here and you have to just jump from one boulder to another in the general direction of “Keyhole”, which is visible from far….
Unfortunately, in spite of summer time, it had snowed the night before and most of the boulders were covered with thin sheet of ice. I decided to go up to keyhole avoiding any major slips. While close, I saw a fellow climber ahead of me falling hard…. and I thought I heard a crack. The person was OK. The cracking noise was that of my broken resolve. I got close but wisdom prevailed and I made a U-turn.
I took a few more pictures, cursed the snow god for a missed chance and turned around. Return journey though is with gravity but still very difficult as there is a lot of thumping on the knees. With good sunlight, I got a panoramic view of Rockies. I made back to the base by 11:00 AM, thus covering some eleven miles in eight hours. My legs felt like a ton of bricks that night. I wish there was no snow, I wish I had taken some gear to handle snow, I wish Arvinder Pal Singh had joined me…...well there will be more chances down the road....
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