Footloose : In the Wild..

Gwalior is a place strongly associated with my childhood memories. Memories of Badi Mummy, my grandmother's younger sister, but as openhearted and larger than life than my own grandma comes unbidden in my mind. I could almost taste the delicious homemade murabbas which she used to make. Well I was on my way back to the memories now, and passing the Chambal Valley was another step closer to my destination.

TheValley of Chambal, a huge tract of wasteland spanning states of UP and MP , is a place infamous for its dacoits, but if you cross it on road, instead of a distant, distrustful and furitive glance by a train, or an aerial look-see, you will notice the natural beauty of the stark naked mounts and hillocks seamlessly merging with each other- streching up to infinity. The serene Chambal river flowing through it lends it a surreal charm and the ancient bridge and the vistas it beheld made me stop the bike enroute and take in all this beauty in for a minute.A new bridge was alrady under construction next to it which showed amid other things,that the 21st century has finally arrived in this forgotten land.
Nested amidst the chambal valley , looking in all sense like a wild west frontier was one of my old haunts- Morena . I barely remember the two years I spent here as a kid, though some montages peek through the thick curtain of lost time. The sweet taste of Gajjak for which morena is famous for, and chuski, which doesn't lay claim to that kind of fame, but is even more delectable when eaten on roadside 'thelas'.
The premise looks deceptively simple: grate a slab of ice into crushings, pour on a thick layer of 'rabri'(concentrated milk) on it and top it off with sugar syrup. Simple recipe, but the result....oh the result is heavenly. And mind you it is way different (and better) than its country cousin (also named chuski) which is sold over thelas in rest of india(there's no rabri in those chuskis, just crushed ice and flavoured syrup..) Concoted and delivered to you courtesy a mustachioed guy who is probably some distant cousin of a dacoit (I mean it - even some rickshawwallas claim the dubious relation) in an earthenware 'Diya'. A sip from lip of the diya propels you to heaven as the rabri melts with ice and syrup and forms a sweet symphony in your mouth.
It was time to reminisisce. I did not have the good luck of having a chuski, the trip being in winter and all, but I took along a truckload of Morena's special Gajjaks for Badi Mummy.

An added bonus was spotting my old school ; still the same despite added floors and new furnishings. I was the privilaged kid here: my mother was a revered teacher and I was one of the star kids, first in my class , first in all co-curricular activities(a situation which i soon remedied..much to my parent's dismay). i did not have time to check out if my old teachers were still stuck in this time warp, let alone remember their faces, lost in time. So I moved on, after all, Gwalior, and my Grannny's murrabbas were waiting....

Footloose : the next step...

There I was, on the first leg of my first road trip- It started with many gliches, but by the end I was satisfied by the progress.

No brushes with disaster, no (big) goofups, and Agra just within grasp - my first step in a thousand odd km long journey home and my first tentative steps towards my aim - to travel far and wide across India.

Most of the time my Dreams are larger than life, just like Mungerilal, an eponymous telly character which my Mausi refererred to me as jokingly when i seemed too lost in my daydreams.One of the first to strike my fantasy was to roam around the world, to see it- to feel it, a yearning quite beyond any sane reason. I mean, what does this dream practically achieve? nothing but personal gratification.

But my personal freedom and the belief that I can carry out this long journey by myself was to be the first step towards realising that goal.

Moreover, It would convince my reluctant parents that i can be trusted on my own now, something they still could not believe after even

nearly quarter century of existance and five years of independent job.

So In short, I was just day dreaming of this triumphant phonecall I'd give to my startled and worried parents when tragedy struck - Murphy out to exact his revenge.

Till now I had under estimated the Power of UP PWD. I was getting too used to Delhi's glacial smooth highways et al.

So when I encountered a stray Cow, loose stone peppered road and a sharp turn , all at once, along with my fugue state of mind, it was a sure recipe for disaster. My trusted bike couldn't hold the ground, even with her wide treads, and skidded. After that, everything

seemed to go in a slow-mo. I could see my bag (which I foolishly loosned from its bindings & strapped on my back, resulting in an ever

shifting center of gravity- one more cause to the loss of balnce) breaking away from me and tarvelling dangerously close to the open

nullah at the other side of road and instead of thinking about my state, which was rapidly turning from bad to worse, i strangely recall

thinking - that bag continues on itas merry way and all my belongings will be literally down in the gutter.

A stage finally came when the bike gained its own free will And I had to let it go; i skidded and stopped midway on the road. the bike went

further, fuelled by its own momentum, and stopped.

Shock and dim realisation overcame the horror of it all and I slowly gained my wits about me.I some how got all my

belongings togather, and finally took a good look at myself.

My jeans was tornat the knees, blood was beginning to seep out. Okay. Shallow cuts and bruises, no fractures.My jacket saved my shoulder,

but it was ruined - so were my shoes. My helmet, I think it might have saaved my life, it bore the burnt of a hard hit. I was shaken, but not

stirred...=D..

My bag was thankfully lying just at the edge of nullah, holding itself there by sheer willpower, i quickly retrieved it , limping along all the way.

people now started to gather. Thank fully the road was deserted, no traffic to overrun a fallen biker.

Now I turned towards the bike with trepedition. I picked it up. The leg guard and the handle has taken all the burnt , she was relatively unharmed.

I gave a sigh of relief.

I was still a few kms away from uncle's house and It just wouldn't do to have gone in present state. I decided on Impulse(like everything I do...=D)

to chuck away the torn shoes, keep the jacket and Jeans in the bag and don another one. The shoes were one of my favourites, anew addition, but they

were useless to me now.

I found a deserted spot and changed. The blood was now coagulating - I could do nothing about it; macho maan seemingly had forgotten to carry a first

aid kit.

I dragged my sorry ass finally to Uncle's house, defeated, sure that the story will leak to home but determined to keep it a secret.

Uncle welcomed me with open arms.I could hardly believe it was years before I saw him, he seemed just the same.My cousin had grown up from a toddler

to a scrawny little troublemaker....=D....

As I had feared, the stiff knee and the limp gave me away, but I made light of the incident. The knee got its dressing and the ears got their due share

of admonitions.Tentatively, I called home and relayed a heavily sanitised version of incidents. at the end of all the verbal volleys , taers, and

I told you so's I could not believe my ears when i got a green signal for next leg!- with many cautions and warnings of course.....

The evening went by fast.my cousin was adorable and a master of video games...=D.... My acute knowledge of comics came in very handy as i narrated

many of the superhero tales and got the undivided attention of a raptured audience.I realised at the end of the day when he was safely tucked in bed

by aunty, despite his many protests, that despite knowing anyone for a really short time, kids judge you very accurately. They either like you . or not.

there is no middle ground, and you cannot do much about it. They have an inbuilt Bullshitmeter, they can sense it and keep a distance.

The next day I was stiff and sore but ready to roar.I woke up early, the next leg had to be started early in the morn, Gwaliior was 50 - 100 km further

than delhi -Agra leg.I bade goodbye to uncle about the same time my cousin was readying up for school and I was off. Next stop - Gwalior where I had another set

of long lost relatives and friends to reconnect with.This trip was turning out to be a journey for rehashing old bonds and exploring new vistas. I was really happy.