Hell

It is my belief that all Hindus are in denial of death. Death is something like a checkpoint in some eternal race of living through lives and hells, where you take stock of what your soul is up to, and pay for the consequences of your sins. Most people have heard of the concept of Karma, as a running account of how righteous and good you were in your life. The concept has gotten condensed on the long journey west, back in the east, it is Karmas in the plural. The account runs on many levels, and there are strange weights attached to totally irrelevant things, such as peeing while standing up and having sex during the day time. Good Karma and Bad Karma don't cancel each other out, so if you are a schizo freak, dedicated to accumulating plus points for half your life, and minus points for the remaining half, it is perfectly possible to gather a lot of both positive and negative karma. Fill in all the shades of grey in between, and throw in the entire spectrum as well for good measure, and there you have it. As normally understood, say if you murder somebody, then dedicate the rest of your life to charity, and helping others out and being generally an insufferably nice person, you dont really cancel out your bad Karma, and you are still subjected to hell for it. The worst hell you can get in christiandom is a lake of fire, or of blood and guilt, where you feel the pain and remorse. The worst hell you get in Hinduism, is being in a pit of pus, sweat, shit and piss. That is the very worst aspect of Hinduism I think, and for that matter, any religion. They try to scare you with things that you would only be scared of if you were a "good" person. Some people at least, would find Hindu hell pretty kinky, and think of it as a heaven of sorts, if they were really allowed to spend eternity there. Some day, religion will break, because of how inherently flawed it is.

Just so October does not feel bad

The Railway

Mutated rodents roamed the muck filled drains of the city that reeked of diesel, and the situation was little different above the surface. The city looked like it had been cleaved in two, with a massive pair of rails passing right through it, and stretching beyond forever on either side. The city had in fact, come around the rails, would not have existed if it were not for the tracks that passed through it. The southern end of the city was a refinery, a maze of desalters, distillation plants, and treatment centers, with pipes and valves running through in improbable and more often than not, impractical ways. A river of waste spewed out, that blackened the soil for miles around and encouraged the growth of strange plants that looked like very large, and very still insects.
Along the length of the city ran two concrete platforms, on either side of the tracks. Twenty five tiers of steel were erected on these platforms, to access each of the levels on the mammoth train. Two of the lowermost levels were always refrigerated. The seventh and the twelfth one were sealed off to the public. A strange assortment of structures towered over the various levels of the platforms, and the city sloped downwards on either side.
A solitary hovercycle made it's way towards the city, traversing the wastelands at an alien speed. The hovercycle was one of the hundred with pedals modified for curved leg bones, a special order for the special servants of the Railway. The long orange hair of the rider billowed around him like an aura. His riding jacket had a golden monkey motif - a mark of the Orang-Utan union. The rider ate on the move, throwing back an occasional banana skin in his wake. On paper, the Orang-Utan's identity was a number - made up of the location of the facility that cloned him, the batch of genetically modified embryos that he came from - and the number of the test tube that he crawled out of. As most beings, he ended up getting a nickname - an uninventive one at that. Mog was a little too Neanderthal for his liking, but it was better than M09.
When he reached the city, it was the dead of the night. The city boomed and throbbed of unnamed sins. Mog the Orang-Utan maneuvered his hovercycle to a hidden recess, which had to be accessed using his hand-prints as a key. The main road meandered to many places in the city, but not to where he wanted to go. The narrow motorway twisted and turned beneath the city, then sharply rose to end directly on the twelfth level of the platform. He parked his hovercycle, hopped off, and apprehensively looked at his welcoming committee of one giant insect. Nura the mantis always made him nervous, so he pulled out a banana, peeled it, and began to contemplatively chew it in small bits while eyeing the gait of a six legged, bug-eyed, green monstrosity.
Nura, as always, was as graceful as a cat with eight legs. "How was your journey?" asked Nura, in a matter of fact manner. Mog used the back of the hand holding the banana to rub his waist, while the long fingers on his other hand scratched his head, an instinct that no amount of genetic engineering could remove. "It was tiring, as always" he said. "Is the package safe?" asked Nura. The Orang-Utan was always confused while talking to an insect, because they utterly lacked any kind of facial muscles to express with, even if they could really feel anything in those strange brains of theirs. Stupid question thought Mog. He wouldn't have been there if he had not been careful. But Mog was not accustomed passing obvious remarks, so he answered as best as he could, in a low growl "Undamaged, rode with the right side pointing up throughout, and made sure that it was free of shakes and bumps for the entire eight weeks." Nura was pleased, so he made the gesture of prayer. "Then, we wait."
Like a false star, it shone on the horizon. The great lantern at the head of the monstrous engine that pulled the train. It would be a full twelve hours before that engine traveled from the horizon to the city-station. It would re-supply itself, people would climb in and climb out, crates and mail would be moved, and the journey would continue. It was a nation and an economy on it's own, just the train. But on the secret levels, something strange was going on. Mog was doing something he was not genetically engineered to do. Mog was philosophizing. With a goddamn mantis.
"I don't like the idea. So many people. So many things. All that copper and iron and steel. All the machines and gears and wheels. The engine is really unique. It is a beautiful work of engineering. Why do you want to blow it up?". Nura considered the question. His primary concern was this lowly employee to carry out his duties. It was a great thing for employees to question everything... but not in this line of work. He did his best to be polite. "I will explain only once - that is all the time we have to chat" he said "those humans have started taking the railway for granted. They do not care about the tracks, the stations and all the guards and engineers who service them. All they really see is the train itself. They will not move to something bigger and better if this one is not done away with. It is too good and too well built to fail on it's own. The designers did not plan on the contraption to last as long as it has. They did not factor in failure, so we have to make it happen. Only because we can replace it with something better. The corporation's profits are held up because this century old piece is not junk, and works so well. There has been nothing for all our engineers to do. So do your job, and don't ask questions. Now, if you will excuse me, I am expected to meet some of the Merox people, and you, my friend, have a Train to catch."
Mog was confused. There was still the servicing. So many ways to make it fail, why blow it up? Why be so dramatic? He shut that train of thought. It was going to be easy really. No one travelled on that level. An explosion originating there - no questions would be asked.
He climbed in, looking at the small part of the engine that he could see. On it's last voyage. The bulk of metal dominated his mind. At one time, it was a dream come true. The perfect machine. An engine that could run forever as long as it was fueled. A design that kept it at the cutting edge for a century and more. Then the deafening horn of the engine interrupted his train of thoughts. Mog had a passing impulse to shimmy up a tree and hide there. As the train gathered momentum, he returned to his thoughts. Something was going to change, and Mog felt nervous enough about it to finish of another bunch of bananas. As he climbed in, he thought of everything the world was based on. The fuel driving the enterprise. The distilled decayed blood of the lizard-lords that died out millions of years ago. It was not meant to last.

Tilt-Shift

Some trials. Original photos taken on an FM10, the rest is in Photoshop.

Political Compass

I took the test. Pretty good for clearly putting you somewhere despite the fact that you do not rigidly follow any single ideology. The test breaks it down to simple approaches that you will have while living your life. I am in a very unpopular sector, but am wondering if there is anyone at all who will fit in the purple quadrant. Pretty stupid to be a right liberteranian I think. Anyway:

This is where some other leaders stand. Notice the virtually empty bottom right sector.



Take the test here.

Bombay looks a little like a lizard

Somewhere a little beyond Queen's Necklace. This plaque stands. Bombay looks a little like a lizard. 



A lizard feasting on flies early in the morning outside my office. 



This one is not done in kuler and pixlr. But there is no spoon.  



Pretty as hell.



Not pretty as hell. Oh wait...



WD 500 GB SSD



Too many tissues at our table 



Another restaurant. They serve great chess dishes. 

Sound Pollution

It's a little strange to see people bursting with words, dying to throw out half-formed knowledge in a miserable jumble of language, something like shooting without taking aim. Not like these words are coming straight from the heart or anything, they are just words from limbo, not conveying what they are meant to mean. Often conveying something they were definately not meant for. Most of the ideas are recycled garbage, the words and sentences themselves often copied. It's painful to see a lack of originality in the way we express ourselves. Almost all the emotions we feel are forced out from within. When we feel something is surprising, or inspiring, or beautiful, we attach these to things simply because we are desperate to experience such words, in a situation where there is a dearth of it. Wish there was time, to wait, to think, and to speak only after that. Where each participant patiently and clearly crafts something important, something useful, and something memorable. Conversations made out of long, contemplative silences - that's what I really want to be a part of, that is what I would enjoy. Then the words would stand out. Like stars in the void.

Idiot

Just realised what they mean when they say that people cannot handle the truth. It's not some earth changing truth like the universe is controlled by pan dimensional reptiles, or that the solar system is a calculator, or that conglomerates are brainwashing people to spend according to their will... (I don't believe any of these are "truths") it's more on the lines of "You need to do a better job" or "you are a loser when it comes to..." or "you got this wrong all along" (fairly close, I'd guess). Small, insignificant truths - these are the ones that we cannot "handle".

Swat Kats Macros

Enjoy your nostalgia

Web 2.0 rocks

Ok. Swatches from Kuler. Stripe patterns generated on Stripegenerator. All the editing, complete with layers, and colour adjustment on Pixlr. Oh, and stock photos from my hard drive. But everything was done through a browser window. You need a good net connection to try such shit out though.

Bloody Indians should be banned on IMDB

Get the fuck out of the Internet, lusers.

Trek to Naneghat

Today,  something strange happened to me. Some random guy walked up to me, introduced himself, and recited poetry to me. Not bad, not great either, but... actually, yeah, it was pretty bad. Was something about not combing your hair and letting the wind set it for you, not washing mud stains and letting nature paint you. Anyway, his point was loud and clear... went on a trek to Naneghat last weekend. Went with an old friend, and her colleagues. Heard of the place for a long time, but never really went there. Turned out to be pretty decent actually. We walked to Naneghat by getting of a Nagar bus. It's a short walk really, but we took our own sweet time to get there. We started at nine from the Kalyan bus stop, which is a good three hours after the time we would normally start out on a trek with one of the trekking groups. Pretty short trek actuall. On the way we traded stories with an uncle who had come with a small group. Also, there was a large crowd of school kids, who came all the way up, but did not get on to Nana's thumb, which is a prominant feature on the trek. On the way, we stopped to take some snaps of goats, which were scary, especially if you read occult shit about devil worship. The eyes.
The wind was crazy right at the top, we were in the clouds, and the cliff was pushing the wind upward. Something like a smaller version of Kokankada at Harishchandragad. The clouds spiralled about us, and there was this one time when it seemed like we were in the middle of maelstrom of clouds. The tendrils of clouds were spiralling all about us, and it was raining upwards. We were standing at the edge of the cliff, and water droplets were hurtling at us from below us. Seconds later, the rain was moving sideways. Will probably get my hands on a video to show it.
We came back by catching a bus about half an hour from the top. Went all the way to Junnar, then took a great big ride all over Malsejh, before reaching home really late. Got tired out by the bus ride though. Photos:

Trek to Gorakhgad

Gorakhgad is a small hill fort in the Malsejh area, and has a very distinct pinaccle. There was a private bus organised for this particular trek, and we started from Mumbai at twelve in the night. We reached the base village of Dehri at three thirty in the morning, and started climbing at four itself. Against better judgement, I had not taken along my torch. My reasons for doing this were many. On previous treks that I had gone to, either the sun had risen by the time the climb started, or the moon and star light was enough to walk. This was the first true night trekking expirience for me, mostly because of a lack of any kind of light, and because the climbing started almost immideately from the base village. 

The first half of the trek was a more or less mad stumble over the rocks, trying to avoid the plants, and got bumped around a bit. Eventually, my eyes got used to what little light there was. One dangerous thing was climbing onto rocks thinking that they were steps to the levels above, when they were actually rocks on the side of the trail. So the next step, might actually take you back to the ground, and you might end up injuring your chin or something. 

Anyway, the lack of lights allowed a few of us to spot glow worms - strange creatures that give out a neon green glow on their own. Tried taking photos, but I hadn't taken my cam along as it was raining heavily when we had set out. Still, I had my mobile camera, which was good once the sun rose. By around five in the morning, it was light enough to see the path clearly, and we kept walking. It is a short trek, but pretty steep. There were caves at the top, where a bunch of us promptly went to sleep. By the time we woke up, had a few biscuits and a smoke, the rest of the group had gone up the pinnacle and come back down. This is the pinnacle opposite to where we were sleeping. 

This is the pinnacle from the base. The climb is a little tough, but there are crude steps in the stone.



A temple a little out of the way. Looks like two horsewomen fighting. Donno what that is. 


Midway to the top of the pinnacle. 



Near the caves. 



The clouds kept hiding and revealing the pinnacle.



This was the descent. Which started pretty early, at around ten. We had a quick breakfast just at the base of the pinnacle. Potluck, as usual. 


And two hours later, we were back at the base, Dehri. Noon is around the time that we reach our destination on most other treks. This was a particularly disciplined group of relatively expirienced individuals, so it was a fun trek. Chai and biscuits at the base. Then we just roamed around Malsej ghat for a bit. 


One of the fallen milestones. Something must have rammed into it. We tried setting it right, but it was heavy, and the mud had acted like a glue, sticking the stone to the ground. Not all of them were drunk, and not all of them needed protection. There was this cool lady in a wheelchair. Also, smart monekys on the road who gobbled up anything they were fed.


Bunch of bikers. Trekkers usually spot them on many locations. If there is a small group, we sometimes get lifts over a stretch where transportation is not available. 



A random feature that we spotted on the road. Some of us got down and headed over to this place. There was a waterfall nearby, with loads of drunk people getting wet. No pics to protect the privacy of anonymous people.


Then we headed out to this resort called the Falmingo resort. Maharashtra Tourism place. Great place to stay in Malsej, and has a bunch of booklets on things to visit in nearby areas. Also, very educative boards on the wildlife, snakes, insects, plants, endagered species etc, in the Sahiyadiris. 


Some random pipe I spotted on the road while hiding away for a piss. 

Centipedes, not earthworms. Came home by nine. Well organised and managed trek. In the evening, we went to the road that lead to Harishchandragad, and played stepping stones at the dam. Some of us had been to the same place over consecutive weekends (been to Harishchandragad). It was tempting to climb up and come down. One of the few treks where we actually went home refreshed instead of being all worn out and tired. 

The Caps Lock Poltergeist

A Poltergeist is described as a "distrubing spirit" on Wiktionary, but Wikipedia has a better definition, one that I know of, "an invisible spirit or ghost that manifests itself by moving and influencing objects, generally in a particular location such as a house or room or place within a house." 

I've discovered a strange kind of Poltergeist that seems to haunt my computers no matter where I go. This is the Caps Lock Poltergeist, and causes me to UNEXPECTEDLY UNLEASH THE FUCKING FURY from time to time. Every time this happened, I had to use the backspace key... which was irritating, mostly because I had typed well into the line before I realised what was happening. Spoke about this to a friend of mine, asking him if a similiar spirit haunted him as well. He denied it outright, thought about it for a second, and told me that he was haunted by the Insert Poltergeist. Yeah, I've had a few of those kind of attacks, but not too many instances to bother me. This is damaging, especially if you are not looking at the screen. Chances are that you overwrite what you have already written... god damn tech age spirits.

Then I set the tiny little ghostbuster part of my brain (tiny because I don't believe in ghosts), and got a wonderful way to get rid of the Caps Lock Poltergeist. If this spirit is haunting you as well, the solution below is really the best way out. Try this:


If you are good with the keyboard, chances are that your little finger on the left hand will feel slightly nervous for some time. It passes with time, in my case, by the end of a single post.  

Quick and dirty

It was a big house, furnished with odds and ends that were salvaged from the waste of the city above us. The clothes were kept in an old fridge, for example, and a bathtub with a rag in it was my bed. Interesting patterns showed up on the ceiling, because of the seepage from the sewers above. I never knew what work my father did, and was sometimes afraid to find out. He spent long hours in a room all by himself. The masters came down to meet him about three times a year. I don't know what was the business between them, but I don't think it was a very friendly one. One of the masters slapped my father once, and told him that he was a sewer rat, and that he should learn his place.
That night, my father explained to me how important it was to study hard and do well at school. The school was underground, so I didn't think it mattered.

***

It was a large spider. Large enough to grab my toy trucks and hurl them around. It was walking through all my miniatures. I ran and got my camera. The spider was moving across the room, and I tried to get a quick photo. It was in a perfect position, but I couldn't click, as the viewfinder was all dark. I removed the lens cover, then focused again. This time for a second, I thought the spider actually had a face, and smiled. The trigger was jammed. I tried to see why, and after some frantic searching, found a small trigger lock toggle on the side. That was strange I thought, I'd never seen a camera with a lock for the trigger. The camera was almost touching the floor when I got the shot. A spider between an earth mover and a cement mixer, its legs sprawled about them, as if it were attacking them. I was however staring at the spider - something had happened to it the instant I took the photo. When the shutter closed, the spider had a black body. When it opened, there was a red streak down the middle. I clicked again, and the legs of the spider changed dramatically. They were thin and spindly, now they were thick and shaped like knives. The body grew bigger, now the size of a small flower. And I saw the face again - it smiled at the camera - the face of an old woman.
I kept clicking, the spider kept growing, and in the end, there was an old lady-spider in front of me, the eight legs sprouting out of her spine, and she was smiling at the camera. One memorable shot I got was a closeup of her face, lined with age, and with her white hair as she looked wishfully at the skies she could not see. She kept moving about the room, in a strange spidery motion. It was difficult to catch how her legs moved. A little jerk with her ankles, and she was a foot to her side. Unfortunately I kept clicking. Suddenly, she realised what was happening, looked straight at me through my lens and viewfinder. I clicked. When the shutter opened, she was not there.

***

I was developing my photos. It was a room I had all to myself, and nobody knew about it. Had used tools and equipment from an abandoned bottling plant in the city to make all my equipment. The chemicals were difficult, but I got everything I needed from the chem lab at college. It was a little crowded, and I could not touch the rolls of films that were still drying. The photos were coming out well, but with an unexpected effect. There was a halo around everything, and the colour was spreading beyond the boundaries of the objects in the frame. This was because of something I had forgotten. I had put in a lens element of my own invention - the lens had water inside it. I was just experimenting, and forgot to remove it. The third photo was slowly showing up on the paper. It was a little grainy - which was an artifact of the chemicals. It was also out of focus, which was entirely my fault. I never got to see that photo.
Suddenly, the master bursts in, light floods the room, erasing a lot of effort in a second. I cant help it, before I can react, I can feel the tears waiting to burst through my eyes. I hold them back. The master walks around imperiously. He picks up my tray of failed lens elements. He observes the circular glass pieces, most of them with irregular mounds, some of them patched together crudely, some of them carefully carved out of bulbs. He is silent for a long time, carefully looking at all of it. The master laughs, my father hovers uncomfortably behind him. "You have bred an inventive little thief" the master tells my father. Then he turns to me, laughs again. "You will be disappointed with the city" he says.

***

The city has too many people. There are soft, faded colours everywhere. The grey roads go on for block after city block. The police zeppelins patrol the skies, with their instructions and their megaphones. I am in the blue sector, which is where all the number crunching happens. We maintain huge machines. Many of these buildings have nuclear reactors in their basements. Sometimes an axillary one dedicated to the cooling. I have a job in the city, making glass tubes and orbs - they are components of these machines. I am having a cigarette, looking into the crowd of people. I'm also talking to the vendor of the cigarettes, a friend and something of a psychotherapist. He follows my eyes as they stare at a young girl who looks something like the spider-lady I once saw — or an old friend from school, or maybe even a sister, I can't remember clearly. It was so long ago, that I wonder if it was a dream. Seems as if all that, my past life was unreal. Not that this one feels particularly real.
"The trick, around here..." he says "...is to learn what to say when you've just done something immoral"

Quick batteries fix for chinamade PMPs

If you have picked up one of those cheaper than dirt chinamade PMPs, and are not too happy with the default batteries provided, just shove in an old Nokia cellphone battrery, and it works for a longer time. Spotted in the wild, not original research... and also, use at your own risk.

Sleepcomputing

So there was this strange dream I had where I was answering a really long paper on English. In the dream, I knew that the questions were stupid, and too much space was given to very short answers. I had to do things like identify common and proper nouns and answer questions based on paragraphs of text. The electricity goes, so we use torches to write the paper. The question paper was stapled together, and I kept turning pages, coming across newer questions, never going to the start or end of the whole thing. This happened in school, and the supervisor was always there, going around doing something or the other. Sometime later, the electricity comes on, I turn a computer, and go back to answering.

Later on, after I wake up, I find out that a part of the dream was true. I can now turn on my computer, login, start up a torrent client and go back to sleep without knowing that I have woken up. Woo. Feel like I deserve a badge.

Trek to Harishchandragad (yet again)

Growing increasingly familiar with Harishchandragad. Started out on Friday night, caught the ten thirty train to Kalyan, and met up with the group at the station. There was another group scheduled to meet at Kalyan, at the same time, for the same trek. Got in to the luggage compartment , because  the regular compartments were crowded, even at that time of the night. A few regulars were chatting in a circle and passing around some biscuits and other shit to eat.  On the way over, met a guy (forgot the name) who was also going for the same trek - but with a different group. Had gone to Mahuli with that group (Baan Hikers)... I was going with Mangesh's Green Carpet.  We caught a bus at around eleven thirty, to Khubi Phata, which is the drop off point for going to Harishchandragad. This was a two and a half hour ride, which was great, we sang songs on the way, with a healthy mix of expletives thrown in. 

From Khubi Phata, it was a six kilometer walk to the base village... this took us a good hour with a light drizzle, and on a no moon night. We slept off in the school of the village. It was pretty chilly, and we were too stupid to look in a nice cozy and unlocked classroom. We started trekking at around eight in the morning, after having a breakfast of Kanda-Poha and tea at Hotel Aishwarya, which is at the base village. There was a redundant round of introductions, as we already knew each other well. After a while, we came to the rock patch, which takes about forty minutes for the entire group to traverse, and is the only remotely difficult part of the trek. 

The rest of the trek to the caves  was like walking a sine wave, we went up and down a few times. We were at a high altitude, and we were cloaked by  fog. Made a typo right now, and realised that the keyboard is arranged in such a way, that you can easily type out god instead of fog.  Been on this trek in the winter, which I guess now is the best time to go... all of this was green, and you could see the ground beyond where we were walking, far below us. 

Just after the rock patch, was a small plateu, and this is where all of got exstatic, because of the climate, and the location, and the rock patch felt like a small achievement. 

The group jumped for joy, and posed for the camera, while at it. 

















Some of us explained where we were and what we were up to to our near and dear ones. 

The vegetation consisted of interesting colours. There were drops of dew everywhere, and it was well into the day. 

We spotted this snake on the way. It was a tiny one, probably a baby. According to some, it was a baby cobra, and I could see something like a  the spec mark on the head, but I am not convinced. Little thing was pretty lively, and  apparently poisenous. You can tell by the shape of the head, and the pattern on the body, but I can't. 

Somehow, this reminded me of Avalon.

Some pretty looking shit on the way... all of these were taken on the relatively straightforward walk from the rock patch to the caves. 

This is at the little stream ten minutes away from the caves. A great source for water,  one of the few places on the top where water is flowing all year round. 

This dragonfly was friggin huge. I am at least four feet away from the insect. Wingspan of about eight inches. No kidding. 

Some splashes. Not advisable. Even for the sake of photos. My bad. The water was teeming with fish, which were put there to eat the garbage.

The entrance is marked by a small plaque. Supposedly at least two  big cats in the area, one on top, near Taramati, and one just before the rock patch. The area is huge, but no one explores away from the trail, so the whole mental map of Harishchandragad is deceptively small. 

Small crabs in the area. There were bright red ones too. Some of the guys caught bigger ones and had em for dinner. Was apparently very tasty. 

One of the Cobra lilies at the Temple on the top, around two minutes from the caves. 

This is the cave where the shivling is located. I got in with the camera, as the water level was lower than it was the last time I came here. We prayed on impluse, and this was the first time in at least eight years that I actually joined in when people were praying. 

Rare to get a shot from this angle... don't think another one of these exist. The three fallen pillars are supposed to represent the three yugas. The fourth one, is the present yuga, and will collapse when the world ends. The cieling is held up because of this one pillar. Wonder what will happen, or what story will be told, if the fourth one, too, falls, before the world ends, which is more likely looking at how cracked it was. 

This is the guy I met on the train from Thane to Kalyan. 

Growing in a ditch. 

The clouds and mist cleared for some time, showing the clear blue sky. The moment of clarity lasted less than half a minute. 

On an impulse, we decided to head over to Taramati. Taramati is the second highest peak in Maharashtra, which I didn't know till Saturday. Had been to Taramati once before, its a short walk from the caves.  The trail is steep, and goes almost straight up, so it is surprising how fast and how high we climbed. This is half way to the top from the caves, where we got a great view of the temple complex below us. 



Another one of those rare moments of clarity, that showed us how high we really were. After this, we were blanketed by the clouds, and it was raining below us. 

The absolute top of Taramati. The pole was secured by a number of cables, so that it does not topple because of the wind. 

Some introspection...

...and meditation...

...then the group came up. Some of us had gone ahead. We were on the top for hardly ten minutes. No view whatsoever, the clouds were rolling continuously, and it was very windy. 

So windy, that we walked down holding hands. The leader was scared of lightning. 

In the evening, we headed out to Kokankada, the highest cliff in Maharashtra. Unfortunately, we were blanketed by the fog, and those who had trekked to Harishchandragad for the first time missed out on the majesty of the cliffs. We sat close to the cliff edge, and took it in. I joked that we wouldn't be sitting so close, if we could see where we were. A little while later, for hardly ten seconds, the view cleared just a bit, enough for a couple of people sitting nearby to walk away. Those who weren't with the group did not believe us when we said the view had cleared for a while, and demanded to see photos. I explained to them that there was no time for photos, and anyway, I didn't think of it when the view cleared. Don't think they bought it. 

But a few of us kept looking in the hope that it would clear again. Fortunately, it did, and parts of the cliff was exposed now and then. Still, nothing compared to the entire view...

A very docile and camera friendly praying mantis showed up right at the top. Came pretty close to the lense too.







My lense got all wet, and the water condensed inside, so it was useless for the rest of the trip. Slept in the caves that night, was pretty warm this time around. Had a carrymat, and was not chilled to the bone, so it was a comfortable night. We spoke about stuff well into the knight, including a good general knowledge session.

The next morning, we walked down after an early breakfast of maggi. We reached the base at four, after many breaks for conversations in between. There was also an adivasi dance just before the rock patch, if something goes up on YouTube, will link it here. There was a slippery stretch, that I skid down. Good eight feet of it.
We had a great lunch at Hotel Aishwarya, then got a lift till Khubi Phata from a busload of people going to Pune. From Khubi Phata, we hailed an empty truck to Kalyan, which was a lucky break. Click here for more photos, and at better resolutions.

Trek to Kalsubai

Two weekends ago, but could not really find the time to blog. Closing the issue at the magazine over the past week, so...
Anyway, we started late on friday night, headed out to Kasara station, stayed the night on the platform. A lucky few slept, or pretended to, most of us lazed around, walked around, looked at the stars and had a fair few smokes. There were some policemen and gardullas out and about, so it was like the city does not sleep even in the more remote places.
Anyway, the next morning, we started early. A big bunch of us were crammed into the taxis, and although there were twelve to fifteen of us in each taxi, we were still not using it to its full capacity. Six more usually got on the roof, and around five more squeezed in, if the villagers were using it.
We headed out to the base village, also named Kalsubai, and had some thepla breakfast there. The theplas were a tad insufficient, so we stuffed ourselves with the local poha, which was excellent, and made right below my nose. The crows were smart here, they came right up to us begging for food.
After breakfast, we started the ascent. It was about eight thirty by now. This was a large group, a 110 people had showed up, and it was one of the largest groups I have ever gone trekking with. The walk to the top was interesting, but there were an unusual number of sub-groups, and I was towards the front of the group.
We were pretty high up to start with, travelling at least more than half of the 5400 feet that Kalsubai is. On the hills opposite us, were a whole range of windills. It has been my intention for some time to photograph these large scale wind-mill projects  from closer up, but just dont seem to find the time or location. Will definitely visit these sometime. My first sight of the large-scale windmill installations, and what is surprising is that a lot of people did not notice despite going all the way to the top with this right behind them. 

Around twenty minutes into the ascent, there was a small village with a temple and some cows. These cows were a little strange, and am saving up some images f0r the epic bovine close-up thread I have been talking about for some time. The funny thing was that one of the cows had turned all the way around, put its mouth bewteen its own legs, and using it to drink its own urine. Cows can autofellation, and human's cannot. Shame on us. Would think that something like a cow was less flexible than a human being... not the case.

The temple offered us rest. On the way up there was nothing, but on the way down some sweets, nuts and lemon juice were available. Last point for getting good water before the well at the top.

Pay close attention to this patch. Will refer to it later. This is about one third of the way to the top. The trail consists of steep and almost vertical ascents which are sudden. However, this is not really tiring, even in summer. This is because there is a well maintained way to the top, with well cut stairs and even metal staircases with rails. 

So you end up climbing high very quickly. This is the same patch, only twenty or so minutes later. Notice the large group of people still trailing behind us. We owned the mountain that day. 

Some of us stopped for Lemon juice, or numbu paani. The poor guy was taking his wares to the top, but we stopped him half-way. Then people kept coming and asking for more, so his stock got finished before he could go all the way up. So he goes back down, a day's work done at doublespeed because of the size of our group. 

You might remember the blue hills wallpaper in Windows XP. If I fiddle around with the colours in photoshop a bit, maybe I can get the same effect with this photo:


This is half-way to the top, there is a small balcony that affords a good view of the surroundings. The picture above was taken from there. There is still a long way to go, and in fact, the tiring part starts here. Most of the group is still far behind us, and I maxed out the zoom to get this one:  



That she blows! The first clear view of Kalsubai. Kalsubai itself is the name of the temple on top . A hundred people can, however, easily sit on the top. 

The highest peak in Maharashtra, and they defile it with god damn railings. Idiots. 

There is a well just before the final stretch. Wikipedia says the water is not potable in summer, but we know better. It was very cold, and very refreshing. Everything bottled mountain water claims to be and isn't. Funny when we have people on treks insisting on  "mineral water", look around strangely insistend people, this is what mineral water is. 
 
Around this point, you get level with the clouds. Ears pop. Altitute shit starts happening. Most importantly, ordinary lighters stop functioning. 

This is it, the final staircase. Beyond that is the highest point any human can go without flying in all of Deccan. 

The heat and the number of people traversing it has strained it a little too much. There  were many half-hearted attempts to fix these kinks. 

View from the top. This is right where the temple is. The clouds were approaching us, but they were below us. Old trekker tells me of times like these, where its raining below you, and you can see rainbows below your feet. Rainbows in the plural. These rainbows are supposedly clearer and closer than you can see in the sky. 
Eventually the clouds reached us, and rolled over the mountains below us. Great feeling.

We were one of the few people on the top.  Around five-six of us were so thrilled, that we kept going, and didn't stop till we reached the top. (Is that an old Jungle Book song?) Anyway, point being, if everyone sat down, and you were the only person to be standing, then no one stood taller around you for god knows how many miles. Kalsubai is not only the tallest peak in Maharashtra, but its the tallest point in the oldest mountain ranges in the world. This huge chunk of basalt was as old as the oldest continents human geology knows - back when gondwanaland sattered. More than the height, it was the age of the place, that got to me. Looking around, you could spot Harihar, Ratangad, Harishchandragad and the notorious triplets, Alang, Madan and Kulang. 

Ah well. There were many thoughts, most of them to indistinct to chronicle. Anyway, this is me, frozen in time, being the highest person in Maharashtra at that time. 

Kings

Another one. Took about an hour on a pixel editing program called Graphics Gale. Not at all anywhere near polished, but its a decent enough start. Will have to round off the corners, and fix the proportions. But, it is about as detailed as it can get - and this one is isometric. Pixel art is a great way to pass time.

Stoopid art and pixel art

Because

Press Card

I'm one of em now.

Prototype

Prototype is an awful excuse for a hack-and-slash zombie hunting sandbox game. The really strange part that I couldn't figure out after hours of gameplay, was exactly what I was doing. This was because the idiot Mercer would give the zombie-mutants and the military equal opportunities on being consumed. It turned out to be Mercer's fault anything happened in the first place. Everything sucks, but its still a thrill to pick up anything and throw it anywhere. If only there were no story and mission to complete, and the game was a kind of digital "toy". Ah well..

Thats me, not being dead. Unfortunately. Actually, that's not even me, its an infection's interpretation of me. Yeah, you get to play as an infection...

... an infection that consumes people. The consumption bit is not too pretty. But once I eat anyone, I can not only be them, I absorb their memories and their expirience. If only this guy could be a man...

Yeah, Mercer has seen her before. And, that's a strange looking OS to boot... what kind of a desktop environment has no minimise or maximise icons I ask you? 

One of the many not-awesomely bad meanies in the game. He is modelled less carefully than some of the saurians in Wolfenstein. The DOS Wolfenstein. 

This guy looks like some monsters from Turok wen't out and mated with the zombie bitch from Bloodrayne. In other words, fugly. 

Meet one of the many women in my life, this is my girlfriend. Goth looking female ... is a pain to speak with. Still, have to keep running to her house to get missions. 
Hmm... the face seems familiar... who could this be?
...
...wait a min... Mom?

With a mother like that, all of this is just... just...

A hive full of infected thingies. 

That's me looking over the skyline. Look's like the skyline from Mirror's edge, only less pretty. 

Did I mention that you can run up walls, jump from incredible heights, and be the bastard cloned offspring of Spiderman and the Hulk? I didn't? I should have - it's pretty important. 
Then there are those soul orbs from POP. You pick them up for some reason, I was too busy nostaligcally remembering Elika to actually pay any attention to what it was. 
I gobbled up Daft Punk.  Ok. That one was a little stretched. 

Now I can become superman too. Yeahah. You get to fly somewhere in the middle of the game. One third actually, but you are no mathematician. 

Now I am the bastard offspring of Superman and Wolverine. Yeahah. 
I can attack flying copters in mid-air. Just swoop at them and give em a flying kick. 

Now I am military man destroying water-towers marked by a ring of flying crows. What brilliance. 


I just threw a car at another car , and it exploded. 

Look at me, holding that guy up in the air  - look closely at his expression of horror. 

Yeah well, got a tank and shit. Whatever. Bad game, give it a miss. 

However, be sure not to miss this.

One for the road

Oh Shi...

Singer going by the monicker "Dead" shoots himself with a shotgun remote cabin, and the bandmembers hike to a store, buy a camera, come back, shoots Dead, and uses it as the next album cover.

Lyrics here if you dare.