From the Half Marathon finish line – A salute to all the supporters!

5:45 a.m. January 15, 2012. Sankranti and Pongal festivities for millions and the special annual celebration of the Mumbai Marathon for a few thousand enthusiasts who gather at VT and Mahim Causeway to kick off on their event of choice: the 42 and 21 km runs, respectively.
It’s a cool morning. The weather app on my berry says 21oC. Humidity is at the 50%ish mark. Weather is going to be a friend today. For some reason only they know, the organisers want every runner to go through three metal detector gates. Hmm. Long distance runner terrorists.
Anyway, we run the silly gauntlet and soon enough we are in the vast holding area at the far end of which is the starting gate. I hear more than one crib about how there’s nearly a kilometre we will run even before getting started. What did we expect? Squeeze 5000 people into a single starting row?
6:15 and we are off. A loud shout ripples its way through the crowd as the run begins. By the time I cross the gate, it is nearly 6:24 though, having been at the back end of the crowd. Some film stars that I can’t recognise are benevolently waving at the runners from their machan like perch at the left of the gate but the klieg lights are pointed at the runners and all we see are starry, unrecognisable silhouettes.
The first stage of the run, just over 5 kilometres, gets us across the Bandra Worli Sealink. While you will never notice it in a moving car, the drive up to the midpoint of the bridge is a steady uphill and already the challenge of running against the gradient is starting to separate the well trained from the less so. I see people dropping to a walk and wonder what their plan might be to deal with the 20+ km that lie before them. It is dark and cool and the breeze, if there’s any at all, is Northerly so it only pushes us on and soon we are below the soaring arches. Look up and there’s a beautiful Moon in her second quarter almost exactly atop the arches, almost like a golden beacon illuminating the path for the runners as they pass below. As we hit the gentle downhill towards Worli, there is a stretch where the path broadens out and leaves a space on the far left that affords some distance from the running throng. India’s male, being of an incontinent constitution, can't pass up the chance to add his salty effluvia to the sea below and a hundred sprinklers spring out of their restraints as soon as they are a vaguely decent distance away. I hear many female voices loudly complaining “It just isn’t fair”. I can offer little defence, ladies, beyond acknowledging that as a gender, we are evidently of coarser stock than you. Forgive us our uncouthness.
As we curve on to the Worli Seaface, the Eastern sky begins to assume a pale orange-pink complexion. Dawn is breaking over the city. While I never run with music pumping into the ears through wee white buds, the inner Winamp is playing the mellow strains of the Beatles’ “Here comes the Sun, it’s all right”. This is also about the time when the first of the full Marathoners start passing us heading in the opposite direction. I salute them as they go. Having never done a distance longer than 21 km, I can only applaud the will that powers these bravehearts to overcome a challenge just vastly bigger. No, 42 is not just twice as hard. Walk up a floor. Then the next. And the next. Is the 3rd floor as easy as the 1st was? See the point?
And though it is still only about 7 a.m. the enthusiasm of Mumbaikars’ support for the runners has already started bringing them out in long lines strung along the footpaths and road embankments, clapping and cheering us all on. We cross the first timing gate just before getting on to Annie Besant Road near the Old Passport Office and turn right to head towards Worli Naka. Almost a third of the run- 7 km, is over and the wind and weather are still acquitting themselves very honourably insofar as helping us with the run is concerned. Cool, dry and tailwind. SASMIRA having been passed on the right and Doordarshan Tower on the left, we are soon at Worli Naka where we turn right again to get back to the Seaface. The 8 km mark passes and my left foot needs some attending to as the toes are getting somewhat squeezed. I stop and sit and start to unfasten the shoe. Almost immediately, a runner pulls up to check if I need any help. I thank him and gratefully decline. He is off again. The fellowship of running is a beautiful thing!
We curve left and the Worli Dairy heaves into view. By now the sky is quite well lit but the Sun is still straining to get over the horizon. The fishermen’s colony marks the end of the Seaface and we dogleg left to head toward Mela Restaurant (or whatever it is called this week). Just before we turn back on to Annie Besant Road, I spot Vilas Kalgutkar. He has to be the Mumbai Media & Communications Fraternity’s favourite photographer. Everybody knows him. He has captured everyone, in candid shot or in pose, on his camera. His self-effacing, mild demeanour cannot hide the talent and meticulousness that he brings to the discipline. I wave at him, give him an opportunity to get the shot he wants (oh, the vanity) and run on.
The cutest sight on today’s run is waiting for us a few yards further just shy of the Atria Mall: a group of five or six street kids who constitute a mini cheering squad. The Sun is starting to come up behind them and they are already there to add their spirit to the run. I am running today for Child Rights & You (www.cry.org) and the kids are a stark reminder of why we need to do all we can to ensure a childhood for every child. Fate dealt them a rotten hand but couldn’t steal the indefatigable ebullience of childhood.
Shivasagar Estate having been crossed, we are now past the 12th kilometre and on to the sweeping crescent at Haji Ali. Random diversion:  Did you know that this is causeway that actually connects islands of the Mumbai Archipelago and it was originally called Hornby Vellard after William Hornby, a Governor of Bombay for the East India Company, back in 1782?
The dome of the Haji Ali Dargah and the shikhar of the Mahalaxmi Temple just beyond it are beautifully illuminated in the early morning light. We run past the Race Course and the Haji Ali corssroads and the demon climb on to Peddar Road stares us in the face. Supporters are now out in near endless lines and several ministering angels are handing out Glucose biscuits to provide a boost of nourishment to the tiring runners. I pick a biscuit off a 4 or 5 year old who barely comes to my mid thigh. She has been hustled out of bed early on Sunday morning but is gamely joining the celebrations. The Asian Heart Institute has a tent near the Chhagan Mitha Petrol Pump that many gravitate toward  to get a quick spritz of muscle relaxant on their thighs or shins or calves or ankles or whatever else that has started to declare mutiny against the incessant pavement pounding. Remember that we are nearly at the 2 hour mark by now and many of the best amateur runners will already have crossed the finish line at VT even as mere mortals like us are plodding up the slope.
I abandon all pretence of running and switch to a walk. No point in burning out the scant reserves of stamina all in a blaze of heroic glory only to crash and burn at the top, would you agree? We crest just past Jaslok and across the road from Sterling Apartments, a motley group of 30-something ladies are making quite a lusty commotion with their police whistles. I can't help but turn to them and acknowledge my deep gratitude for being whistled at by young ladies. Adds fuel to their fire and I have cheery wolf whistles at my back as I start the run downhill to the Kemps Corner Bridge. The Sun has surely come up by now but the uninterrupted row of buildings at Peddar and Hughes (to be pronounced Huges, if you are a Mumbaikar) Roads ensure it doesn’t hassle the runners. Slight dogleg right on to Babulnath Temple Road and then the hairpin left puts us on the sweeping curve of Chowpatty and Marine Drive. We are down to the last 5 kilometres but at this stage it seems tougher than the 16 that have been accounted for. Also, the shade afforded by buildings will now last only ‘til Wilson College and then the Sun will be out to do his thing.
Every few hundred metres there’s an entertainment stage with people singing and dancing. Even the stout defenders of our seas, the Indian Navy has its band belting out a Belafonte set. I pass just as an old favourite, Jamaican Farewell is being reprised. The mind drifts back to parties of a gentler past. And while it is so engrossed, another few hundred metres melt away. The flagging spirits of runners all around me are now counting off hundred of metres and that isn’t a bad thing because it also speaks of the clenched-teeth determination to get the job done.
We take the left at Veer Nariman Road and the crowd keeps getting thicker. Also in evidence are many half Marathoners who, having finished the run are now making their way back home. Just as we turn at Flora Fountain and have less that a kilometre to go, loud sirens atop a pilot vehicle group signal the imminent arrival of the Elite Group finishers. They kicked off at 7:15. It is now about 9:25 and they have already put 41+ kilometres behind them. I stop and get on to the median to watch these perfectly toned and immaculately tuned bodies gallop past showing not the slightest strain from their massive exertions. I’ve said this before and I will repeat myself. I feel like a smoke-chugging, rattling banger of a 1980s Premier Padmini being effortlessly overtaken by a fleet of Pagani Zondas and Lamborghini Aventadors. It is a beautiful sight. If there’s nothing else that will convince you to come out and cheer the runners, think about what you are missing. The perfect human body in perfect, rhythmic motion.
Khadi Gramodyog and we are at the final 500 metres mark. The legs that have thus far held up, with only minor complaints, seem to figure out that there’s not a lot left to go and promptly decide to throw in the towel. The higher authority sitting in the brain is having a tough time keeping its recalcitrant members in order and a battle ensues. 100 metres and it seems the legs will have their way with a cramp abruptly starting to spring up in the left thigh. More gritting of teeth and a few groans, mostly drowned out by the noisome crowd and the finish gate has been reached. And crossed. The Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon 2012 has been bested. Oh, ok, not bested, just gooded then?
All that remains to be said is it wouldn’t have been possible without your support. Really. It became a troth as soon as the first supporter committed to my cause (which happens to be Aai, my mother) and those cannot be lightly broken. Can they?
Thank you all, ever so much!  

Annus Horibilis? AGAIN?

Another year nearly done. Hectic revelry will commence soon and run uninterrupted through midnight and into the wee hours of January 1, 2012. There will be much slapping of backs and hugs and handshakes and at least a few drunks well past their imbibing capacity. Yup, it will be a night of partying exactly like many other nights of partying.

There's plenty you really don't want to remember of the past year. Way back in November 1992, dear old Elizabeth II Regina gave the phrase 'Annus Horibilis' popular currency, and not withstanding the evident scatological punning that it continues to attract, every subsequent year has been thus labelled by someone or the other.

Once you set yourself the task of numerating misfortunes, any year should, statistically, expect to have a fair smattering. Just like business budgets, it is always this year that is bedevilled by problems and the next when the sun will shine and the hockey stick will turn upward.

Seen this same script play, again and again ad nauseum.

Live the moment, I say. Forget worrying about the year that lies ahead. A 13 year old child in the neighbourhood lost his life in a stupid motorbike crash early yesterday. Surely he had plans for the night of 31st too? Of course, it isn't imminent mortality that should cause you to live the moment. There are plenty of other good reasons. Starting with this: it is the ONLY moment in which you are actually alive. All the rest is memories and hopes.

So before you head out tonight, listen to Asha's 'Aage bhi jaane na tu, peechhe bhi jaane na tu, Jo bhi hai, bas yahi ik pal hai'.

Joys of Massage

If you have never enjoyed the sense of separation of mind from body that various popular alkaloids have legendary powers of conveying, don't despair.

I'm at the Six Senses Spa at the Heritance Kandalama Hotel (http://www.heritancehotels.com/kandalama/browse.php?catId=42) for a Fusion Massage. The therapies menu describes it as "a combination of therapy techniques from the world's most renowned massage therapies of Swedish, Thai, Aromatherapy and Sports massages". Ms. Sunita is my therapist ('masseur' is probably no longer PC) for the session.

I am instructed to lie, face down, on the massage table. The lights are dimmed, a mild 'aromatherapy' type, rosaceous fragrance is sprayed into the surrounding air, the body is swaddled in soft, deep pile towels and the massage is ready to begin. Already, the pace is beginning to slow, a mellowness beginning to grow.

A hot compress is firmly applied to the base of the feet. The pressure shifts, smoothly, to the legs. The calves are kneaded, then squeezed, rubbed, gently thrummed until the resistance and stiffness start dissolving away. The therapist's expertise is taking charge and the body is succumbing before a higher power.

As the process segues from feet to calves, then knees and thighs, up through the back and neck to the crown of the head, the mind starts to seemingly disconnect from the rigid connection with the body and drift lazily away.

The alchemy is complete.

I am losing my sense of humour

It is the day after Anant Chaturdashi. 

The final Ganpati Visarjan processions wended their way to the seaside all of last night and any attempt at a sustained period of sleep was thwarted by the incessant fireworks. When I start the car, I am able to sense the residual fatigue but duty- daughter’s school trip, calls.

Drive out of the compound, straight into the tonnes of detritus left behind by the celebrating hordes overnight. Litter at a scale which isn’t necessarily hard to imagine in our filthy city but on a truly breathtaking scale. Plastic, paper and food residue left behind by a million callous people tiles the road, without a visible gap to see the cruel joke of macadamised surface beneath.

All to the tune of, “Main karoon to sala, character dheela hai” pumping out of the car’s music system thanks to one of the several, identity-less, puerile FM channels our city is lucky to boast of.

At this point, I could get into a long rant about the pathetic combination of stupidity and arrogance that informs the average driver out on the road all around me – god knows I do it often enough, but that isn’t the point. I actually get upset because my daughter won’t let me change the music to a CD already in the deck. This is new, in a scary and undesirable way. We have always ribbed one-another during these school trips about what she calls, ‘Bad Music Day’, i.e. a day on which we must listen to awful filmy prurience during the trip but today is perhaps the first time that I actually turn it into a serious conversation about musical taste and aesthetic sensibilities.

Surely the child must be permitted her light-hearted fun at my expense? Surely I have been fully up to it all of these years? What is going on?

I must be getting old.

When did Mathematics become a bother for Indian students?

Back when I was in school, Mathematics was one subject everyone delighted in. After all, it was about the only subject which required no mugging and where by ruthless application of quite commonsensical principles it was possible to get every answer correct and thereby max an examination.

Somewhere along the line, things appear to have changed and my children; they aren't alone for this is a common gripe amongst all their cohorts too, are positively terrified of the subject.

What happened? Popular culture, that's what.

Take a look at all the television, film and online content that a typical pre-teen or teen is today exposed to. Originating from, or inspired by America, it contains endless allusions to Mathematics, nearly all of which are negative. Mathematics (I hate the strange American term Math) enthusiasts are nerdy, bespectacled, wimpy social klutzes. Mathematics dislikers on the other hand are macho, cool and effortlessly bully the nerds.

This seems almost trite but do check out the stereotypes with your own kids. 

Ashramas : What do we make of them now?

Vedic thought earmarks a normal human life span into four stages, the Ashramas. Briefly, these are:

i.                     Brahmacharya: Student

ii.                   Grihastha: Householder

iii.                  Vanaprastha: Retiree

iv.                 Sanyas: Ascetic

There must surely exist innumerable treatises on Ashrama Dharma with all the teleological questions it raises and I am scant qualified to attempt something so recondite. However, I have though often about making sense of these stages of life in a contemporary setting.

We can do no more than speculate about the way a neonate perceives and comprehends the world he is born into. It would be reasonable to suggest that as he grows, quite quickly, into infant, then baby, toddler and so on, he progressively widens her understanding and starts sprouting little tendrils of engagement that will strengthen into bonds of relationship with that world.

We will jump, jump cut- if you like cinematic vocabulary, to the other end, when at the end life is extinguished and, in a metaphoric sense, all those bonds that connected the person to the world are irreversibly snapped.

How does the journey play out?

Brahmacharya is Empowerment. Unlike many animal species that are born with a full complement of instinctual capabilities that will progressively express themselves to enable efficient survival, Homo Sapiens needs a supportive and nurturing upbringing before being able to function autonomously. Brahmacharya makes this mandatory. After allowing the first seven years for a carefree childhood and plenty of parental indulgence, the child begins a period of study with a Guru that shall transform the untrained innocent into a competent adult.

Grihastha is Enrichment. The child having grown into a capable adult must now harness her skills to social and economic wealth. ‘Kama’ and ‘Artha’ define this stage of life. ‘Kama’ is aesthetic, sensory pleasure. It is also the obligation to procreate and ensure continuity of the family, and by implication, the community into another generation. ‘Artha’ is economic productivity. It behoves the householder to create wealth and be the provider for the needs of the household. Wealth is not just material possession but also new knowledge created in the pursuit of household responsibility. The Grihastha builds economic and intellectual capital.

Vanaprastha is Repayment. The Grihastha having discharged his obligations to ‘Kama’ and ‘Artha’ must now ensure that the knowledge, the intellectual capital he has acquired is preserved and passed on. The practitioner now becomes the Guru to another generation of Brahmacharis. In so doing, he repays the obligations he acquired as a Shishya in the first Ashrama of his life. The Gurudakshina that the Grihastha parent provides for his Brahmachari child keeps the wheels of the Gurukul running enabling the Vanaprastha Guru to persevere at his job of preserving and enhancing the knowledge of the community by transferring it to a new batch of eager minds.

Sanyas is Renunciation. All worldly duties having been discharged as required by the Ashrama Dharma, the by now aged and frail Vanaprastha can shed all connections to the transient and quotidian and return to a higher pursuit, of the divine and eternal. The Sanyasin is bound by no restraint that the first three Ashramas impose and is free to seek the greatest liberation, from the cyclical law of Karma.

Look at the journey once more. Through childhood and Brahmacharya, the individual is caught up with himself and his own preparation for adult responsibilities that will surely follow. The family and the community expect little from him except dedicated pursuit of education. Graduating into Grihasthashrama, the individual must grow outward to encompass responsibility for his personal and professional ‘family’ in pursuit of the prosperity and continuity of both. At the next stage, the sphere of influence extends even further as the Vanaprastha becomes a guru to youngsters from the entire community expanding beyond the confines of the personal and professional ‘Griha’. At the final stage, though, life comes a full circle and the Sanyasin starts a final journey inward. To discover (or uncover-after all they are always there) great truths that because of their universality may be found in the innermost recesses of the being.

On an entirely prosaic level, the Ashramas also demonstrate great wisdom about social psychology. Before parental indulgence can lead to pampering, the child is sent away to practice the stern austerities of Brahmacharya. When the austere brahmachari could slip into premature Vairagya or disillusionment with worldly matters, Grihasthashrama beckons and brings with it the earthly delights of Kama and Artha. These indulgences are not permitted to overpower and corrupt the grihastha as he is conscious of his future responsibilities as a vanaprastha. Only at the very last stage do all fetters, quite appropriately, fall away.

Vanaprastha Ashrama deserves a little more attention, particularly in its relevance to contemporary times. Whatever profession we choose becomes our personal Lakshmi, the bestower of tangible and intellectual wealth. While we may enjoy the tangible fruit, it is incumbent upon us to share, and thereby multiply, the intellectual capital we accumulate. Strengthening our industry bodies by active participation, talking to students of all ages, particularly those who wish to pursue the same profession, taking on pro-bono roles in professional development organisations; all these are excellent options for people at the peak of their careers. Regrettably, very few step up to these responsibilities and risk destroying the intellectual capital that they have so assiduously accumulated through their working years.

It appears that ancient seers everywhere had similar insight. Look at what the very first book of the Bible, Genesis 9:7 exhorts the people of the Book, “And you, be ye fruitful, and multiply; bring forth abundantly in the earth, and multiply therein”. What a wonderful way to summarise the responsibilities of Grihastha and Vanaprastha Ashramas in just a single sentence.

Your best charitable contribution will replenish itself.

Last week I spotted a tweet Looking for donors of any blood group to provide replenishment blood to the TATA Memorial Hospital blood bank for a Cancer patient currently undergoing treatment there.
The tweet mentioned a phone number which I called. The lady Asked me to come to the hospital the next day where she would meet me so that the blood bank could be provided details of the patient concerned.
At the appointed time, I reached the blood bank and contacted the lady. Instead of waiting for her to arrive, I went through the short and painless process, to which I am no stranger, having been a regular donor for the last 10 years.
She had arrived while I was going through the donation and walked up to me soon as e needle came off.
The young lady, just 24, was the patient herself. She is undergoing her second round of chemotherapy. She came down just to thank the stranger who had walked in to Donate on her behalf.
Then as I was walking out of the hospital I saw dozens of patients, their heads having lost hairs under the ravaging effects of chemotherapy, some just toddlers of 2 or 3.
Blood can only be manufactured by one factory, the human body. Thankfully, there are at least 4 billion such factories that are old and fit enough to share some of their production, and days after they've shared it, it will replenish itself, with no residual I'll effect.
Go on, become a blood donor. There are thousands out there who need you to.