Confessions

Confessions...
I make sure my gmail inbox displays 42 items (the answer to life, the universe and everything)
I always get on my bike from the left side
I do not use alarm clocks
I hate wearing a wrist watch
I use the mouse with my left hand, but the mouse keys are aligned as a normal right handed mouse
I hate email
I do not own any formal clothes or shoes(jeans and t-shirts-u gotta love em)
I love Mozart's violin concerto's
I hate boy band music
I really hate boy bands
I love big band music
I hate listening to music with the ceiling fan turned on
I have to read a book before I sleep
I carry around a tiny notepad and pencil...everywhere
I hate talking on the mobile
I like sms's
I think shaving is a waste of time
I hate shave gels..prefer the brush and soap ritual
I sing in the shower
I love goa
I hate madras
I forget...every date/appointment/event and need somebody to remind me...always
I remember... the first time i rode a bicycle
I write poetry
I love my bikes
I hate cars (coffins on wheels)
I hate mumbai traffic
I curse..under my breath
I think men and women can never learn to get along
I think i should stop here...

Unreasonably illogical. Guilty as charged...or am I?

Aargh...If you want your brain handed to you, scooped out of your head with a red hot metal hook,look no further...all of this past week 'He' has been bombarding me with useless rhetoric,
boggling logic and maddening wit. 'His' latest question goes this way...

Say you gave your final exams yesterday.
The results come out tomorrow.
And you have the opportunity to win a free trip to Switzerland/Goa/whatever tickles your feathers.
The offer expires today.
But you do not know whether you will pass or fail in the finals.
Would you take the opportunity, and go get that free trip anyway?

Then, without waiting for me to answer, he stubs his cigarette out, (I see a maddening lecture
on logical reasoning coming here, but am helpless to escape it...) . He assures me that I will
not accept the free trip. That I, being the conscientious individual that I am, will be
unwilling to commit a hundred percent to that vacation, without being sure of the outcome of
those final exams. And he says, while wagging his bony finger at me,
that I am being unreasonably illogical here.
(Stay with me..this head spin wont last more than a couple of minutes...).

Now, he changes the question. He asks me what if I was sure of the result.
I am sure that I have either passed, or failed.
Now will I take the free trip?
Again before I can mumble, he cuts in and stoically states..Yes you will.
If you have passed, you will party in Goa, and if you didn't, well, you'd be inclined
to go there anyway as there is nothing to be gained from not going.

While I scratch my earlobes, he offers to explain where I was being unreasonably illogical.

In case:1, he says, you did not take the trip, simply because you could not separate the
consequence of one event(exams) from the decision necessary for another(trip).

Now, in case:2, it is clear, that had you either passed, or failed...the only two alternatives,
he assures me, you still chose to go on that trip. Hence, your initial decision was
completely void of logic. You did not have the reasoning ability to visualize that the
consequences of the first event, would have absolutely no impact on the decision necessary
for the second.

Also, he tells me, that such obstinacy on my part, saddens him, and he wishes I'd get my act together.

As I trudged back inside, something nagged me like a vulture gnawing away at a carcass...
why didn't I answer the first question correctly?
Grrr... I didn't answer at all did I...
He tricked me again didn't he! Hand me that hammer now will ya...I'll return it to you, a little bloody but otherwise undamaged.

Blogger code of conduct...by and for retarded, slack jawed, smug, condescending s-o-b's

Tim O'Reilly, smug, do-gooder that he is...has come up with the "first draft" of the blogger code of conduct. He wants bloggers to put up badges on their sites, indicating that they comply with the blogger code. Wow. This is neither wrong, nor stupid...just criminal. The code of conduct implies that somebody somewhere decides what is and what is not acceptable expression on a blog. It implies censorship, even though as yet no governmental authority is enforcing it. For all I'm concerned, its the first step to enforced censorship....I mean, what the fuck! Tim O'Reilly mourns that the blogosphere is not a safe place for all, that theres discrimination, derogatory language, obscene content, violence etc...hence not a safe place. Well, the internet is not a safe place. The world we live in is not a safe place...and inside my head is also not very safe at this point in time! And badges? don't get me started on those badges...! I will not conform...not to this shit. O yeah..and if you'd like some laughs..go read about the code here

Here's my own personal code...

I'll write what I want to write here (no civility enforced).
You go ahead and comment whatever you want to comment (no civility enforced).
If I like it, it stays;If I don't, it doesn't (my way...no other).

Not writers block..I swear...

I had a post ready last week...well almost, but the whole of last week has been spent in working long hours, studying the rest of the time, and on the side, a sequence of events have er...well bamboozled me..if ya know what I mean....So no posts, but on the brighter side of things, the week did provide ammo for future posts, a lot of ammo!

Live to ride...Ride to live

Its dark outside, as it usually gets this time of the day. But the wind is unusually strong, and his jacket flaps violently against his torso. He walks out of the elevator, of the artificially illuminated, climate controlled prison building that is his office. And is greeted by a smile and a nod from the security guard.

He feels that old, familiar pinprick of excitement, as he spots his motorcycle from a distance. He walks over to her, straddling the seat, as the anticipation builds within him. Its almost as if she's urging him on...to kick start his freedom. his hands move almost automatically, and he begins the old routine. Engage the decompresser, half a kick to get the oil moving, disengage the decomp, give her a second to breathe in some air, shoop..! a light kick, buda buda buda buda, her engine awakes after so many hours of rest, and the rhythmic beats bring a smile to his lips. She's ready to hit the road...more than ready, eager, desperate even. As he shifts into first, she surges forward, now second, here's third, and finally fourth. And he cruises past the sluggish traffic to begin the stretch of highway separating the suburbs from the city.

For a few minutes, he's stopped thinking about her, thinking instead of the events of the day, he winces as if in physical pain...a day in that office is not easy, not for the best of men. Suddenly, he is brought back to reality. A red light. That old enemy. Why they ever put up traffic lights on a highway he cannot understand. His first impulse is to ride through it, and she agrees...unwilling to slow down, let alone stop. He hears the annoying voice inside his head, that one with the nasal twinge...(there are others!), threatening him with the worst consequences...imploring him to stop. He rides through it...its late and theres very little traffic on the highway, and he's reached the limit of his patience.

To soothe his anger, she responds as soon as she feels him tug at her accelerator. With all the power of her 350 horses, she surges forward into the night, the gusts of wind blowing away all his negative thoughts . He smiles again. He can feel his heartbeat rising, almost matching hers. The wind in his face feels good, makes him feel alive. Every second on the bike diluting the awareness of his own fragile mortality. The fear evaporates, his senses are razor sharp, and his eyes lock onto the road ahead. He teases her by slowing down a little, but before she can object, tugs hard at the accelerator, pushing the needle past 85, now 90, here's 100! His escape from reality is complete! Nothing worries him now, he is free, and his freedom comes at a 100 kilometers per hour, with the wind tearing at his face, the open road at his feet, and everything else momentarily meaningless.

But it cannot last forever....he's reached the end of the highway, and now faces another 5 boring minutes of sluggish commuter traffic. Those yuppies in their chauffeur driven coffins-on-wheels, sending yet another email from their laptops (may their batteries explode!), the college kids on their electric-shaver-ish, pathetic excuses for bike's, and the lazy buses lurching and straining against their loads. None of them will ever feel the ride, not in the way she makes him feel it. They are consumed by their commute....getting from A to B, thats all that matters to them. Not him, though...as he turns off her ignition, he has to force himself to do it. To leave her in the garage, and resume functioning as a normal human being. She makes him feel like a God, with unlimited power, speed and no concept of fear. As he walks away from her to step into another elevator, he looks back, almost guiltily...but her silhouette promises to make him a God yet again, promising a wild, violent escape from reality...the next morning.

Bike pics

The stripped bullet is Mario's (mechanic at Bandra reclm) work in progress. He's just painted it and shortened the swing arm, removed all unnecessary cabling, shortened the front fork angle, removed the front fairing and headlamp assembly, trying to give this bike an old school chopper look.

The red devil is Vicky's RD350. This dude has a spare engine at home to pull parts from, and somehow managed to break his gear-lever, and was trying to convince me that the bike has automatic gearing...April fools and all that...too bad it didn't work, it might have on someone else.
I like both bikes...but Mario has an old bullet, single seater,100cc,hard tail 1919 model...which I couldn't take a pic of, but I will soon....you see, I intend to own her.

Here are my own beauties, my Bull and her city cousin- the Kinetic GF 125.