Out Of Transit?

Well well well, it's been three years but both the music album and the film titled "Still In Transit" are now done. As in, the album has been fully produced, mixed, and mastered by me (with plenty of help from plenty of friends) at Clementine Studios in Chennai and Steve in the meanwhile has declared in New York that the movie final cut is out. It took a while but this chapter is over. Now comes a new one which involves crazy words like distribution, publishing rights and other such hocus pocus...

But before all that - some good news! The film "Still In Transit" has been selected for screening at a festival in New York. It will screen on Nov 9th and I plan to be there with Steve when it happens.

In the meanwhile, the project now has a space where we've uploaded a few tracks and put up the movie trailer. It's at www.myspace.com/sitproject and there is probably where latest news will be updated.

So some good things happening at the moment. But out of transit? Not by a mile :)

Superman

Shilo was in Meghalaya recently and found this gem...

Swimming in sunshine

What a great trip this was! Summer fantasy fully fulfilled I'd say - sunshine, backwaters, magoes, fish curry & rice, cold beers, Cockroach, and endlessly lost highways. I thought I did well the first day when I left early and rode about five hundred kilometres to reach Gokarna before sunset. Kudle beach was totally shut in the off-season. Being forced to stay on Om beach was not the most desirable start to the trip but I was off the next morning. A leisurely ride, squid manchurian for lunch and a wild goose chase later I was on Palolem. By this point Cockroach was extremely happy to be back on the highway again, I could hear it from the sound of the engine - I can't say enough good things about Bullets and highways! And Cockroach is one stoned motorbike. Onwards to Candolim (Goa was charming as usual - this is what a highway in Goa looks like) and another day ride took me to Ratnagiri in Maharashtra. Family gatherings and random friendships on the inner roads between Ratnagiri and Ganapatipule took up a couple of days. During which time my dad took me to our ancestral house a couple of hours away and we met his distant cousin. I come from sea-side people. I thought as much. Saturday morning bright and early I prepared to leave Ganapatipule for the two day ride towards Bangalore. I rode that day. And I just rode and rode. By lunch the silly little idea of riding all the way to Bangalore lodged itself in my head. So I kept riding. Cockroach was beautiful. The sun set gloriously over the windmills of Chitradurga. The moon rose across the plains on the other side. And I kept going until I reached Bangalore at midnight. Eight hundred kilometres in a day ride. I crawled into my house ready to sleep. Suddenly Gautam's on the phone. "abhi meistaaaar! you're back! come to Maya". "no Gautam I just got back into....", can't finish that thought before, "abhi meistaaar! come on - one nightcap at Maya..." I think for a few seconds and then reply, "ok sir, sounds good."

Millions of hapoos, hapoos for me!

In mango country now - everywhere mangoes. Mango trees line the highways, mango orchards everywhere, mango sellers selling ripe yellow specimens, all hapoos! And I going delirious in the summer sun. Too much it is!

Under the bridge

Off the highway and on a local road somewhere between Palolem and Panaji in Goa. Cruising from one fishing village to the next, finally away from the tourist malls disguised as beaches, I thank Divya silently for telling me about this road. The last three days have been great in terms of riding, but the beaches are the same old Israeli Mexican Italian story. Enter Divya with a good suggestion over the telephone and here I am crossing a little bridge over some backwaters. I look below and see some boys frolicking in the water and a fisherman sorting out his catch. I ask Cockroach to stop and go down to have a chat with him. He speaks Konkani and I speak some mix of Marathi and Hindi and we manage alright for about ten minutes. Eventually I take a photograph. He takes a look and asks if I can send him a copy. Sure, I tell him, what's your address? Address. That stops him dead. Address, he repeats and scratches his chin. Half a minute of silence while he looks at the sky and thinks about it. Then he gives me an address which is so ambiguous I know nothing I sent there could reach him. But I note it down anyway. It takes me two minutes to pronounce his name. Fogu Bhikanpagi. From somewhere his friend shows up. Drunk? Mad? Something. Starts talking about good intentions, bad intentions, god and all. Money. Some people die for the stuff. Ask god for the stuff. Bad bad bad. The afternoon sun is making me dizzy. He's asking me questions. Do you ask god for money? No, I tell him, he gives me enough. Good. So are you in control of your destiny? Yes, I answer without thinking. Hah! He points at me, turns around, and walks away laughing. No, wait, what did I say - "No wait, sorry I'm not in control of my destiny", I shout out behind him but it's too late, he gaaan.

Tintin in Ratnagiri

Sizzling anticipation. The morning starts of well. Yesterday was a tiring day, starting with a late night, a full day of work, band rehearsal, and finally a couple of hours at the mechanic (par for the course) getting Cockroach (my motorbike) back. But worth it. The bike felt really good this morning on my way to work. I'm seeing visions of endless roads and sunshine. Twenty four hours from now I should be riding under canopies, fields on either side, a sea breeze almost in my hair, and a smile on my face. I've taken the whole of next week off from work and it's been ages since I took Cockroach out for a spin. Yummy.

Dodge ball

2pm on a weekday summer afternoon. Back at my apartment to get something. The security guy tells me I have mail. Is it my electricity bill? No, something else. Well has my electricity bill come in yet? No. Are you sure I ask him. "What apartment are you in?", asks a squeeky voice from way below. I look down at a little girl in a pretty white dress with a big green ball in her hand. She's about two feet tall. "S2 right?" Yes, I stammer. She opens up the security guy's desk and starts sorting out the mail. "You know how an electricity bill looks?", I ask with a smile. "Yes. She's in charge of the mail actually", says another squeeky voice soothingly but with authority. I turn around. She's much taller than the first little girl, maybe two feet + two inches, which is what gives her the authority I suppose. "She handles the mail?", I ask. "Yup" is the reply. So concise. "How come?", I venture. At which 2-2 leans over and says, "You know these security guys no? They're new, they don't know how to do it, so...". Ah, I see. "No electricity bill", declares two feet, and they go back to their game of throw-ball. Thanks.

Friendly advice

Dialysis is the way to go...