Pissing with the Taliban

There can be very few places on Planet Earth, where you would find a Talib, and a very senior one at that, standing at the cubicle next you in a loo, while you are doing your thing. Kandahar comes to mind, so does Bagram, certainly Peshawar, perhaps Islamabad. The place that certainly does not come to mind is the loo in the lobby at Hotel Grand Hyatt at Bambolim, in Goa.

Mullah Abdul Salam Zaeef co-ounded the Taliban along with the more famous Mullah Mohammed Omar and two others, in Afghanistan many years back. He was part of the leadership which refused to handover Bin Laden, he took part in the war over Kandahar and Kabul. Perhaps he watched, unconcerned, as his fighters destroyed the giant Buddha statues at Bamiyan. He retreated into the dark, narrow caves of Tora Bora as the B-52s overhead pulverised them with their 'bunker-busters'.

This day, however, he was standing next to me and pissing peacefully.

The fantastic event that he had come to attend was Think in Goa, where Tehelka annually collects a bunch of eclectic, extraordinary people from across the world and puts them in front of more than a thousand enthralled listeners. I went there last year and it blew my mind off, I went again this year and it blew away the rest of it.

I will write a series of blogs (hopefully) on this. Robert De Niro was there, so was Amitabh Bachhan and Gary Kasparov, Mary Kom and Priyanka Chopra walked in hand in hand, Medha Patkar and Chidambaram did not, Farhan Akhtar did a jig with Remo, esoteric professors came in to talk about esoteric stuff... But, to me, the signature event in this function was when the good Mullah sat down, hunchbacked and attentive, next to the ex-commander of the CIA for AfPak - Robert Grenier.

It was a fascinating discussion, ably moderated by the brilliant Shoma Chaudhary, and you can watch more of it at www.thinkworks.in. The Mullah impressed people at first, when the impression given was that the Taliban was moving away from its extreme fundamentalist stance, but subsequent conversations revealed him, and them, to be as cussed and uncompromising as they had always been. But he was articulate, forceful and did break a few shibboleths. He also, I noticed, washed his hands and used tissue paper.

Grenier, on the other hand, was bland, colourless, and spoke the party line. Skulking around the room were, I am sure, unobtrusive representatives of the CIA, ISI and the Mossad; and a highly obtrusive DG of the Indian Intelligence Bureau.

Believe me, I was glad they were all there: I am pretty sure that the other unobtrusive presence was a Predator Hawk drone several thousand feet above us, not hurtling its Hellfires down on the Taliban founder, because all these other guys were there...

Cycling around Kerala: Day 2: Cardamom

The great thing about going uphill is that there is a downhill after that.

We gradually left the tea gardens and cycled into cardamom territory. Unlike tea, cardamom is not an arresting plant. Knee high bushes, with large drooping leaves, they grow almost wild along the side of the roads we cycled on. It was hard to imagine, that this along with its cousins clove and pepper was what drove the Portuguese, the Dutch, the French and eventually, the English to take unimaginable risks across the great oceans and find India. It was not gold that paved the streets, but the spices that grew along them that brought them here, and made some of them stay....

Cycling uphill is gruelling, but downhill on those roads can be dangerous. You can reach speeds of 50-60 kmph, and there are hairpin turns, unexpected potholes and scores of lungi-clad, toddy-filled guys on bikes coming the other way. You got to be super careful. Unless you are Kunal Bajaj, that is. He tore down the hills, jumped BMX-style over the potholes, careened around trucks and cars, and scared the above lungi-clad, toddy-filled denizens shitless.

Needless to say, Kerala was beautiful - even more so when we cycled downhill. It was very easy to imagine, even on Day 2, why it was God's own country. But it was a non-alcoholic God. For  all that I had heard, and experienced, about Kerala's love for brandy, Old Monk and its ilk, I could not, for the life of me, figure out where they drank it...

There were no bars in Kerala. We cycled close to 400 km over 8 days, drove a couple of hundred kms more, went through all parts of the country - cities, villages, suburbs, tea gardens, backwaters, forests - but we did not see a single proper liquor shop. For the record, we did not see any improper one either. There were a couple of apology of a liquor shop in Kochi. But that was it. We saw some toddy places, we saw plenty of inebriated Keralites, but no proper bar. There were those in five star hotels, but I would wager that the number of bars in Kerala are equal to the number of five star hotels there.

Anyway, we cycled a respectable 40KM on the hills, dropped off into deep slumber in the car for an hour and then cycled another 20 KM to finally arrive at Carmelia Haven at Vandanmedu. It was the best place we stayed on in terms of the rooms. Large, luxurious cottages (made of cement this time), great property. But lousy food. And, of course, no bar. Not a sign of it at Carmelia or at Vandanmedu, or anywhere else in 50 km radius.

For the record, we had some great food at lunch. We shocked our guides by stopping by a real hole in the wall place called Yuvraj Hotel and had the most amazing avial and fish curry with mountains of Kerala red rice. And many other things. All for a princely Rs. 340 for four people. We also discovered this great snack that they have all over Kerala - huge fried ball-shaped stuff, filled with jaggery, rice and coconut. Fried bombs, we dubbed them, and they remained that till the end of our journey - we could never remember what the locals called them.

Oh, and we had our first Kerala massage at Carmelia, with the most obstinate masseur we met. More on massages later...

The night was predictable - vodka, orange juice, food, sleep, aching bums, sore muscles....

(To be continued - Cycling in Kerala: Day 3: Pepper)

Cycling around Kerala: Day 1: Tea

It is when you see the tea gardens of Munnar, when you start believing that God is a manicurist.

Orderly rows and columns and meticulously pruned bushes, climbing up and rolling down misty slopes - as far as the eye can see....

Not that we saw much of it in the first two laboured hours of our existence this day. The sadists that our guides were, they made us start our cycling with a 2 km uphill stretch, in the middle of a hot Kerala day, 4000 feet above sea level. We laboured up the (pretty) slopes, cursing cycles, Kerala, the tea bushes, ourselves... Only when we would stop every very few minutes, would we appreciate the manicured vista laid out in front of us.

For Vipin, on the other hand, it was a leisurely stroll in the park. Perhaps to mollify us, he also told us that it was his first time. First time, that is, with Indians. Before we assumed other more interesting meanings, we were told that in the twelve years of  their company's history, this was the first time that two Indians were doing this crazy cycling thing. Every single person until then had been Brit or some other European, most well into their middle age, some more than sixty...You know, there is this old quote about mad dogs and Englishmen...

The first day saw us do a measly 20 kms, mostly uphill though, until we ended up at perhaps our most beautiful camping site of the trip - Anaerangal Camp, called so since it was set above the Anaerangal lake. Anaerangal in Malayalam means 'where the elephants come down'. And, I believe they came down to the camp also, on some nights - in groups looking for food and liquor. Now, for those who have been around in these parts, the single most dangerous animal is the elephant. More than the tiger, the leopard, even the king cobra. When you hear elephants coming, you usually turn around and go in the opposite direction - fast.

The camp was half a dozen very basic tents. Made of canvas and sticks, rooted on strong plywood foundations, with doors that zipped up shut tight. Absolutely one hundred percent elephant proof - against an elephant born  about four hours before, that is.

We had a great bonfire, some vodka with orange juice, some great camp prepared grub, and then we retired to our reinforced tents and zipped ourselves safely in.

The elephants did not come. But the wind did.. and how. Great howling gusts of wind. Wind like a waterless tsunami - we could hear it coming from across the valley, picking up speed and momentum as it approached us, howling like a banshee, gathering more and more force as it hurtled towards us, and then it would hit our eggshell tents like an express train ran amuck. Again and again, through the night. When I crept out of bed the following morning, there was just me on my bed, everything else around was strewn on the floor. Cursing the place where the elephants come, we crept out of our (reinforced) tents, to see the signature view of our trip:

It is moments and sights like this that makes your forget the uphills, the howling winds, the flimsy tents, everything. And realise what a beautiful world you stay in, only if you let it be....

(To continue....Cycling around Kerala: Day 2: Cardamom)

Cycling around Kerala: Day 0: Earth

It is only when the mind is at rest, that it starts thinking crazy things.

My mind had been at rest enough, as I neared the fag end of a self-enforced six month sabbatical. Inevitably, the mind - rested and restless at the same time - started thinking of strange things to do. There was also this pressing issue of my trousers mysteriously starting to get tighter every day. And, while the sabbatical had been slipping by, one had not had a proper holiday which one could boast of to all and sundry.

Of all this ferment was born the idea of going for a long cycling ride around the hills and backwaters of Kerala - perhaps one of the most beautiful regions that India has to offer its harried citizens.

My friend and adventure travel enthusiast, who runs www.farinto.com  introduced me to Kalypso, a set of guys who could organise the bikes for us, and guide us around the state. I also managed to coerce my friend and partner in other crimes, Kunal Bajaj (@kunbajaj) to also mentally unhinge himself, and be my partner in this crime also.

Some negotiations, a little preparation and a thousand rethinks later, the adventure started, a day after I turned 43 - on January 14. Here is the story:

Day 0: Earth

Jan 11 was a pretty day, Jan 12 was  beautiful, Jan 13 was exquisite - sun out, birds trilling, bees aflower, etc. Inevitably, Jan 14 brought to Delhi its worst fog ever - in years. Coincidentally and unsurprisingly, it was also the day we were supposed to take a Jet flight to Kochi. The best laid plans of mice and men implied that we leave Delhi at 9.20AM, hop merrily by Hyderabad, land comfortably at 1.30 PM at Kochi and then have a scenic four-hour drive to beautiful Munnar. Some sight seeing, a nice dinner and then wake up next morning to begin our pedalling.

Well, both mice and men were wrong. Our flight never left. We scrambled to catch other flights, managed to board one via Chennai at 5PM which deposited two shrivelled and exhausted human beings at Kochi at 9.30PM.

The sight of three lovely Canondales on a Mahindra Xylo revived us, though. So did Joji, our intrepid and super-knowledgeable driver and Vipin, our guide for the trip.

We found a hotel close by, surreally named Lotus 8, emptied a bottle of red wine between us, ingested some mock Kerala food, slept.

(To follow very soon  - Cycling around Kerala: Day 1: Tea)