4.30 am in Darjeeling is not a pleasant time to wake up - any time of the year. Even if you do manage to do this seemingly impossible task, the sleepy hotel boy will just unlock the main gate and let you out but not give you even a cup of tea, let alone breakfast. You are supposed to have settled the bill the previous night. Otherwise they won't even let you out.
But we had to do precisely that because we were going to drive back to Kolkata and that 700 km stretch is an old highway - not the four-laned golden quadrilateral. So driving time would be easily more than 14 hours (subsequently it took us 17 hours).
Apart from the less congested road a side benefit of waking up early in Darjeeling is you are more or less assured of a view of the majestic Kanchenjungha rising above the cloud.
So here we were - me, my wife and four year old daughter driving down the pleasant hill road of Darjeeling, with Kanchenjungha as the only witness behind us.
We were driving gingerly down the snaking road. The world was perfectly at peace with itself. We even stopped near a stream to wash the car and in fact Monisha was so excited and happy she offered to do the job while my daughter and I happily pointed out all the dirt on the windscreen.
Just before Kurseong I spotted the narrow Pankhabari Road and took the diversion.
Those who don't know - Pankhabari Road is notorious for being narrow, extremely steep with bad surface and quite desolate. Vehicles are known to stop and slide back near those bends, unable to climb up.
But it goes through a beautiful desolate forest and some of the most well known and picturesque tea gardens in the world like Castleton and Makaibari.
Normal drivers avoid this road. In fact the administration has banned up traffic on this road. You can officially only drive down. Private vehicles do take this road because it cuts the distance to Siliguri by some 20 km. I took it because it goes through beautiful country.
Just after the Makaibari Tea Estate, there is a small grocery shop that also sells warm tea. So we stopped. Parked the car by the side of the road and were enjoying the warm tea when a brilliant idea flashed through my mind - let me check the tyre?
The steering was turned to the right and so the back portion of the front left tyre was quite visible outside the wheel arch. I just had a cursory glance at it and "oh my God - what is that shiny little thing stuck there?"
I realised it was the head of a very small nail. The nail was sitting pretty there, almost smiling at me. Neatly stuck. It's really a small nail. The size that street side cobblers use when your sole needs to be kept in place.
My first reaction was "Monisha give me those pliers. Let me pull it out." The pliers came out in a flash and I was about to start work on pulling it out. Suddenly a voice inside me said "don't". I was too scared to even check the pressure. But the tyre obviously didn't look flat.
Those who don't know - Esteems now come with tubeless tyres and I don't have much experience with tubeless tyres except that last time when I discovered a flat I had to junk the tyre and get a new one.
I thought probably the nail was so small that it has not been able to penetrate the rubber completely. I had and still have no clue how thick the rubber was or is in these tyres.
Anyway, I kept on driving and enjoyed the road immensely but with that constant prick of the nail at the back of my mind. After reaching the plains I mastered enough courage to look at the pressure. It was about 28. Perfect for the warm tyres. I checked the pressure once again after some distance and it had not gone down one bit. I was fully convinced that the nail was indeed too small to penetrate.
Finally the day after reaching home I called up the Maruti mechanic (my only guide with cars). He said what's the worry? pull it out and see what happens. So I did.
And hissssssssssssss. All the air came out.
I took out the tubeless repair kit. Smiling. Now is my first chance to use this gadget that I bought the day I took delivery of the car but could never use it. Remembered the advice of the guy who sold it and started to work on making the original hole larger with the needle like thing. It just wouldn't go in. I almost stood on the damn needle in an effort to push it in. It wouldn't budge. So I tried to hammer it in. It was just as useless and the needle started slipping away. I gave up the dream of fixing my own tyre. Certain things are best left to the people who know how to do it, I finally realised.
Later the tyre repair shop owner told me if you see a nail stuck in a tubeless radial let it be there. (Please cross-check this with someone you trust before ever actually doing it.)
By the way - one thing I realised. The lever that comes with the jack from Maruti these days is hopeless. It is so small that it is virtually impossible to use it. It took me close to half an hour to raise the vehicle two inches off the ground. Maruti is taking cost cutting to ridiculous heights.
I used to replace tyres in my 2002 Zen in 15 minutes flat (pun intended). The lever with which you turn the jack used to be much longer, giving you better control.
Anyway. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it and learnt a few things about tubeless tyres. I am glad I listened to the inner voice in that desolate place.
This write up was originally posted for fellow drivers on the forum of www.team-bhp.com .
Monday, August 27, 2007
Type, type, type
Growing up in Calcutta in the 70s and 80s I learnt to hate type writing!! Those days in Calcutta we had various type writing training schools, which used to churn out a large number of students with the basic knowledge of type writing and shorthand. Not all of them got jobs as “steno-typists” and most of them would end up as yet another unemployed young man or woman with a particular skill that was of no use. But still they learnt it. Generally during vacation after higher secondary exams and religiously apply for the post of steno-typists.
I used to hate this mindset. I mean, if you had to aspire for something you might as well aspire for something really big. You can’t dream to be an ill paid typist in a small commercial firm. I never dreamt to be anything – least of all a typist. And therefore I grew this healthy disregard for typing as a skill to learn with the intention of monetising it later through a job.
By the way, I don’t think type writing or any other job per se is bad or demeaning or below anyone’s dignity. If one has to survive he has to take up whatever comes his way. And I salute those who sweep the roads to support their families. But, to have the ambition to be a typist is a very bleak and gloomy way of looking at one’s own future.
Anyway, my priorities changed a bit when I went to Bhutan as a teacher. There we had to type our own question papers and then cyclostyle them ourselves. And being an English teacher my question papers used to run into several pages. And it used to take me days and days of really very hard work. Finding out each letter from a typewriter’s keyboard and punching the keys is quite a struggle.
I realised that I had to learn typing. And one afternoon I saw the Irish volunteer in our school typing really fast on the keyboard. I asked her if she had learnt typing and she said it was a basic skill taught in their schools to all the students. I was pretty amazed and (as always with her) pretty impressed too. It opened a new eye to me.
Later in Mongar I found my Bengali friend from the high school - Jayanta Sen - had a small red, cute, portable typewriter. I borrowed it from him to type my question papers at home in the evenings. He had not only learnt typing (to be a typist, which he could never ultimately become) but also had the machine. So I asked him to teach me the basics, which he gladly did.
I think they call it “fingering”!!
I learnt it diligently and could soon type out things pretty fast.
After this when I entered journalism – quite by chance - I was told that you wrote your stories only on the computer. Initially I used to find this an extremely daunting task – thinking and writing on the keyboard!! It almost sounded impossible. I was so used to writing with pen on paper. Unless the nib touched a soft paper my thought process wouldn’t even start. It was a completely different feeling. Almost like making love with pen and paper.
Writing on the keyboard in comparison was like making love to a lifeless doll.
But once you are forced to do something you start learning how to endure a thing that cannot be cured. Soon I became an expert at typing. And it worked as an asset in my growth as a journalist.
I once read a book on professional writing and there the author argued that typewriting skill is a must to be a good writer. He said, people ask that Shakespeare never had a typewriter!! His logic was, Shakespeare would have been a better writer if he knew typing and had a word processor.
I think it is true.
Friends think I am absolutely amazing with the keyboard. I can quite write a whole story on my computer while chatting with a friend across the table. Indeed even I think I am a good typist now.
But that’s not the point. The point I am trying to make here is no knowledge – acquired first hand through hard work - goes a waste. Some day or the other it will save you in a critical situation.
I used to hate this mindset. I mean, if you had to aspire for something you might as well aspire for something really big. You can’t dream to be an ill paid typist in a small commercial firm. I never dreamt to be anything – least of all a typist. And therefore I grew this healthy disregard for typing as a skill to learn with the intention of monetising it later through a job.
By the way, I don’t think type writing or any other job per se is bad or demeaning or below anyone’s dignity. If one has to survive he has to take up whatever comes his way. And I salute those who sweep the roads to support their families. But, to have the ambition to be a typist is a very bleak and gloomy way of looking at one’s own future.
Anyway, my priorities changed a bit when I went to Bhutan as a teacher. There we had to type our own question papers and then cyclostyle them ourselves. And being an English teacher my question papers used to run into several pages. And it used to take me days and days of really very hard work. Finding out each letter from a typewriter’s keyboard and punching the keys is quite a struggle.
I realised that I had to learn typing. And one afternoon I saw the Irish volunteer in our school typing really fast on the keyboard. I asked her if she had learnt typing and she said it was a basic skill taught in their schools to all the students. I was pretty amazed and (as always with her) pretty impressed too. It opened a new eye to me.
Later in Mongar I found my Bengali friend from the high school - Jayanta Sen - had a small red, cute, portable typewriter. I borrowed it from him to type my question papers at home in the evenings. He had not only learnt typing (to be a typist, which he could never ultimately become) but also had the machine. So I asked him to teach me the basics, which he gladly did.
I think they call it “fingering”!!
I learnt it diligently and could soon type out things pretty fast.
After this when I entered journalism – quite by chance - I was told that you wrote your stories only on the computer. Initially I used to find this an extremely daunting task – thinking and writing on the keyboard!! It almost sounded impossible. I was so used to writing with pen on paper. Unless the nib touched a soft paper my thought process wouldn’t even start. It was a completely different feeling. Almost like making love with pen and paper.
Writing on the keyboard in comparison was like making love to a lifeless doll.
But once you are forced to do something you start learning how to endure a thing that cannot be cured. Soon I became an expert at typing. And it worked as an asset in my growth as a journalist.
I once read a book on professional writing and there the author argued that typewriting skill is a must to be a good writer. He said, people ask that Shakespeare never had a typewriter!! His logic was, Shakespeare would have been a better writer if he knew typing and had a word processor.
I think it is true.
Friends think I am absolutely amazing with the keyboard. I can quite write a whole story on my computer while chatting with a friend across the table. Indeed even I think I am a good typist now.
But that’s not the point. The point I am trying to make here is no knowledge – acquired first hand through hard work - goes a waste. Some day or the other it will save you in a critical situation.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
The first drive on snow - hilarious in hindsight
The month was early December and the year was 99. My wife and I were on our way to Kufri in Himachal Pradesh in a nicely broken in Daewoo Cielo Nexia (5000 km). Our first long distance travel on our own, in a car. I won't tell you how I managed to get this vehicle but it wasn't mine. Someone gave it to me in Delhi and his driver dropped us off near the exit of Delhi at around 2 pm and told us: follow this road straight and you will reach Chandigarh.
I was supposed to return the car without any major dent after the trip.
So off we went. Those days I didn't have a mobile. And I don't think roaming etc were available also. I was used to a rickety old Maruti 800 and that too in the lanes and bylanes of Calcutta. So this four-laned highway (in those days one of the best roads in the country) and a new Cielo was a thrilling new experience to me. The speedo never dipped below 100 and frequently touched 130.
Finally when Chandigarh was about 50 km or so and the sun was about to set we stopped for some tea near a roadside dhaba - our first stop. The guy told me to push the car a bit behind so that his shop's front wasn't blocked.
Sure thing. I must oblige the fellow.
I got into the car and looked at the gear knob for the first time. Ooops. The reverse gear is not quite where it is supposed to be (extreme right and then down, as we are used to in most of our vehicles). In fact it is to the left of first gear and the line marking it from the neutral point is slightly curved.
So I pushed the stick in that direction - even with a swoop to trace that slightly circular path. Nothing doing, the car moved forward - meaning it was in first gear. I tried some ten times or so. Profusely sweating. Nervous. Even if I do oblige the dhabawala for now by going forward, what am I supposed to do if I get stuck somewhere where I need to back out? Chandigarh is still a good 50 km or so, the road is dark and much narrower now.
Monisha assured. Don't worry we will push the car back if it really comes to that.
So the last leg was driven very carefully. The road was just a two-laned highway and whenever I spotted a stationary truck I was overtaking it with lots of space left in the front. No way do I want to get stuck in a place where backing out might be the only option.
Somehow we managed to reach this hotel in Chandigarh (where we were booked in advance) without any need to back out. But I don't want to get in. No way can you park a car in a hotel without knowing how to engage the reverse gear. So a brilliant idea flashed through my mind.
Leaving Monisha in the backseat of the car and after parking it outside the hotel I went in to check if my booking was confirmed. The car was facing a wall and whoever drives it has to reverse it first. I did it deliberately. They said yes sir, you are booked. Where is your car? I said it's parked outside; could you please get your driver to bring it in? I am too tired to go now.
The valet appeared. Took the keys from me. I followed him silently at a distance. Just as he was about to enter the car I came running from behind - "wait wait I have something in the car that I need." I sat on the front passenger seat. He started the car and reversed it immediately.
I watched the process intently but couldn't understand what exactly he did. So now I asked him casually - show me how you did that? He showed - simple. You hold the knob between your fingers palm facing up, push the knob in a bit with your thumb and pull the other half up a bit and then push the lever to the extreme left and then up - it is reverse. Hoooooray. Now I know it.
Next morning we started off for Kufri. Confident that now I know how to reverse a Cielo. One of the front page news was yesterday Shimla had its first snowfall. I had planned already to bypass Shimla and a friend had told me to turn right after Solan (the small town that is always full of that sweet smell due to its brewery) and reach Kufri via Chail (the erstwhile summer capital of the Maharaja of Patiala). This way you don't have to go via Shimla.
It is a lovely picturesque road. Almost like a private road. Virtually no vehicles. A bit narrow but lovely. When we stopped for lunch in a small restaurant we overheard them discussing that the road ahead of Chail is closed due to heavy snow. Our faces paled. First reaction was let's go back to Shimla. But then we reasoned that if we find the road is indeed blocked then we can always turn back from there.
Cross the bridge when you come to it. It has always been my motto in life.
We had enough time in our hand. We kept going on and on. Finally after Chail we started seeing snow. Initially only near the bends and that too on the side of the road and in the shady parts. Finally we realised we were actually driving on hard snow, technically it is perhaps called ice. At least two feet deep. There were deep tracks for the wheels like in village dirt roads. For about five km I drove on that scary road but along the track made by drivers before me. On second gear. My brain said I should not go for hard braking. But since there wasn't a single soul on the road there was no question of using any brake and I was driving probably at 10 kmph.
Finally we reached Kufri. It was white all around. Although Shimla got its first snow yesterday, this region had obviously seen the first snow much before that. Anyway, there was no problem with locating Kufri Resort. It was bang on the road. On your right hand side. And I stopped near their gate.
The gate was wide open right in front of us but a steep road inside - covered in god knows how many feet deep snow/ice - was staring at us. You have to climb straight up - a very short distance of perhaps 150 feet and then turn sharp right for another 150 feet or so.
Those who have seen this place without snow may not be able to understand how dangerous it was looking especially to a first timer. I was really scared. I was wondering what happens if the car can't negotiate that bend and starts sliding backwards?
I spent some ten minutes there. Completely stationary. Pondering over various things in life. Finished two cigarettes. Talked to my ego. Explaining it "beta - walk this short distance up and let the resort driver take care of the car". But Mr Ego told me very firmly, "look at those tracks on the snow. Umpteen number of people have driven on this snow before you. You still want to walk? What a ridiculously coward guy you are."
Finally Mr Ego won. I drove up. First gear. And the car and the tyres obliged pretty fine. I mean nothing dramatic happened and I heaved that proverbial sigh of relief once I reached the top.
I parked the car in the portico and never even looked at it for the next four days.
While coming back, the resort manager offered to help me with a driver to cross the snow zone. But Mr Ego politely refused the offer. I came back without any worry or any drama.
Another old lesson learnt first hand - it is good to be cautious and even be fearful. But only for the first time.
I have the pics in hard copy format and therefore I can’t load them up as I don’t have a scanner at home. By the way, subsequently we went with that car back to Delhi and then to Agra and Fatehpur Sikri etc and returned it to the owner with no dent.
A bit of an explanation as to why I resorted to all those tricks to learn the reverse gear secret. I have never had a problem admitting to people, even strangers, that I don't know how to do a particular thing. But here if I did that someone might think I had stolen the car. Although I had all the papers for the car and a letter from the owner explaining who I was and why I had the car with me, I thought it would be unnecessarily inviting curiosity from strangers and I might even be hauled to the police station etc etc.
I am happy that it never ocurred to the hotel valet as to how I didn't know the basic about the car's operation. Thank God he wasn't too intelligent and was happy and proud in his thought that he could teach something to an educated guest to his hotel. Of course I tipped him more than a normal guest would.
I was supposed to return the car without any major dent after the trip.
So off we went. Those days I didn't have a mobile. And I don't think roaming etc were available also. I was used to a rickety old Maruti 800 and that too in the lanes and bylanes of Calcutta. So this four-laned highway (in those days one of the best roads in the country) and a new Cielo was a thrilling new experience to me. The speedo never dipped below 100 and frequently touched 130.
Finally when Chandigarh was about 50 km or so and the sun was about to set we stopped for some tea near a roadside dhaba - our first stop. The guy told me to push the car a bit behind so that his shop's front wasn't blocked.
Sure thing. I must oblige the fellow.
I got into the car and looked at the gear knob for the first time. Ooops. The reverse gear is not quite where it is supposed to be (extreme right and then down, as we are used to in most of our vehicles). In fact it is to the left of first gear and the line marking it from the neutral point is slightly curved.
So I pushed the stick in that direction - even with a swoop to trace that slightly circular path. Nothing doing, the car moved forward - meaning it was in first gear. I tried some ten times or so. Profusely sweating. Nervous. Even if I do oblige the dhabawala for now by going forward, what am I supposed to do if I get stuck somewhere where I need to back out? Chandigarh is still a good 50 km or so, the road is dark and much narrower now.
Monisha assured. Don't worry we will push the car back if it really comes to that.
So the last leg was driven very carefully. The road was just a two-laned highway and whenever I spotted a stationary truck I was overtaking it with lots of space left in the front. No way do I want to get stuck in a place where backing out might be the only option.
Somehow we managed to reach this hotel in Chandigarh (where we were booked in advance) without any need to back out. But I don't want to get in. No way can you park a car in a hotel without knowing how to engage the reverse gear. So a brilliant idea flashed through my mind.
Leaving Monisha in the backseat of the car and after parking it outside the hotel I went in to check if my booking was confirmed. The car was facing a wall and whoever drives it has to reverse it first. I did it deliberately. They said yes sir, you are booked. Where is your car? I said it's parked outside; could you please get your driver to bring it in? I am too tired to go now.
The valet appeared. Took the keys from me. I followed him silently at a distance. Just as he was about to enter the car I came running from behind - "wait wait I have something in the car that I need." I sat on the front passenger seat. He started the car and reversed it immediately.
I watched the process intently but couldn't understand what exactly he did. So now I asked him casually - show me how you did that? He showed - simple. You hold the knob between your fingers palm facing up, push the knob in a bit with your thumb and pull the other half up a bit and then push the lever to the extreme left and then up - it is reverse. Hoooooray. Now I know it.
Next morning we started off for Kufri. Confident that now I know how to reverse a Cielo. One of the front page news was yesterday Shimla had its first snowfall. I had planned already to bypass Shimla and a friend had told me to turn right after Solan (the small town that is always full of that sweet smell due to its brewery) and reach Kufri via Chail (the erstwhile summer capital of the Maharaja of Patiala). This way you don't have to go via Shimla.
It is a lovely picturesque road. Almost like a private road. Virtually no vehicles. A bit narrow but lovely. When we stopped for lunch in a small restaurant we overheard them discussing that the road ahead of Chail is closed due to heavy snow. Our faces paled. First reaction was let's go back to Shimla. But then we reasoned that if we find the road is indeed blocked then we can always turn back from there.
Cross the bridge when you come to it. It has always been my motto in life.
We had enough time in our hand. We kept going on and on. Finally after Chail we started seeing snow. Initially only near the bends and that too on the side of the road and in the shady parts. Finally we realised we were actually driving on hard snow, technically it is perhaps called ice. At least two feet deep. There were deep tracks for the wheels like in village dirt roads. For about five km I drove on that scary road but along the track made by drivers before me. On second gear. My brain said I should not go for hard braking. But since there wasn't a single soul on the road there was no question of using any brake and I was driving probably at 10 kmph.
Finally we reached Kufri. It was white all around. Although Shimla got its first snow yesterday, this region had obviously seen the first snow much before that. Anyway, there was no problem with locating Kufri Resort. It was bang on the road. On your right hand side. And I stopped near their gate.
The gate was wide open right in front of us but a steep road inside - covered in god knows how many feet deep snow/ice - was staring at us. You have to climb straight up - a very short distance of perhaps 150 feet and then turn sharp right for another 150 feet or so.
Those who have seen this place without snow may not be able to understand how dangerous it was looking especially to a first timer. I was really scared. I was wondering what happens if the car can't negotiate that bend and starts sliding backwards?
I spent some ten minutes there. Completely stationary. Pondering over various things in life. Finished two cigarettes. Talked to my ego. Explaining it "beta - walk this short distance up and let the resort driver take care of the car". But Mr Ego told me very firmly, "look at those tracks on the snow. Umpteen number of people have driven on this snow before you. You still want to walk? What a ridiculously coward guy you are."
Finally Mr Ego won. I drove up. First gear. And the car and the tyres obliged pretty fine. I mean nothing dramatic happened and I heaved that proverbial sigh of relief once I reached the top.
I parked the car in the portico and never even looked at it for the next four days.
While coming back, the resort manager offered to help me with a driver to cross the snow zone. But Mr Ego politely refused the offer. I came back without any worry or any drama.
Another old lesson learnt first hand - it is good to be cautious and even be fearful. But only for the first time.
I have the pics in hard copy format and therefore I can’t load them up as I don’t have a scanner at home. By the way, subsequently we went with that car back to Delhi and then to Agra and Fatehpur Sikri etc and returned it to the owner with no dent.
A bit of an explanation as to why I resorted to all those tricks to learn the reverse gear secret. I have never had a problem admitting to people, even strangers, that I don't know how to do a particular thing. But here if I did that someone might think I had stolen the car. Although I had all the papers for the car and a letter from the owner explaining who I was and why I had the car with me, I thought it would be unnecessarily inviting curiosity from strangers and I might even be hauled to the police station etc etc.
I am happy that it never ocurred to the hotel valet as to how I didn't know the basic about the car's operation. Thank God he wasn't too intelligent and was happy and proud in his thought that he could teach something to an educated guest to his hotel. Of course I tipped him more than a normal guest would.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Heroism on four wheels
When a famous Guruji visited Kolkata last year to hold a “shibir” in a football stadium, I somehow got involved with this and got entrusted with the task of bringing a golf cart from a resort near the city and keep it in the stadium, so that Guruji could move around the ground distributing ashirwad to his disciples.
Sounds like a simple task, right? Even I had thought so but as I soon realised it went on to become my most nerve wrecking driving experience on four wheels.
I reached the resort with a small Tata 407 to pick up the cart on the designated day. The resort manager had told me that they have a concrete ramp from where the cart can be easily driven into the truck. But when I reached the spot it was found that the ramp was not usable. The guy in-charge of the cart said it will be driven up using two long wooden planks. They had an in-house carpentry workshop there, so eight-ten feet long strong planks were available aplenty.
They set these two planks parallel to each other at an inclination; one end touching the ground and the other end the back of the truck. But the guy who was taking the lead in organising the whole thing backed out at the last moment and told me, why don’t you try to drive it up sir?
The inclination was like 60 degrees. I would think twice to take even my car up on a proper road with that kind of inclination and here I was being asked to drive a golf cart up these two wooden planks on to a truck.
But I had to teach this smart Jack a lesson, because when I had initially said let me see how best it can be done he didn’t even look at me. So I took the challenge. They initially tried to push the cart up, but with eight extremely heavy Trojan batteries inside, it was impossible to push it even a few inches up that incline. It had to be driven up.
First I checked if the planks were properly aligned to the two front wheels of the cart. This was perfect. The planks were, by the way, narrower than the tyres. And I ensured that each plank would be just in the middle of the tyre. There were two challenges – first the cart has to gather enough momentum to climb up the inclination. Second, the cart has to be stopped the moment I reached the top. Because it was a small Tata 407 which was just about the size of the cart. If I couldn’t stop the vehicle, it would bang into the wall behind the driver.
So I started the drive some 20 feet away from the plank. And drove really really fast. People were standing on two sides of the plank. And I drove almost with my eyes closed. The vehicle climbed all right and stopped like an obedient boy just where it was supposed to. No drama there.
But the moment the vehicle stopped instead of heaving that big sigh of relief, I realised now bringing this down in that stadium will be an even greater challenge. Because I have to repeat this feat in reverse gear.
What we did not calculate while climbing up was that, the couple of inches of the plank that were jutting out from the level of the truck’s platform made the plank move up, horizontal, and then fall from there with a big bang – like a seesaw. Someone who was standing in the crowd got badly injured in this. Probably his toe was broken.
To compound matters I realised there were no such wooden planks in the stadium. And whatever boards and planks that were there were either too small or too thin. Finally the labourers brought in a few wooden choukees (I don’t know the English for this but those short squarish wooden bench like things) and they created an inclination that was even steeper than what we used earlier to climb up. In fact the inclined choukee was so small that to make the gradient slightly safer, they made it land on another choukee that was put on the ground. It didn’t look very safe, to say the least. I even took a couple of pictures of this with my mobile camera before getting up to the truck.
I really felt this cart could just overturn. It looked absolutely impossible that it would come down safe. There were several risks. The choukee combination could just give way. One could make the other slip away with the weight and force. The cart could just overturn. But since these carts are open from all ends, I decided to take the risk. Probable worst-case scenario was the cart would break and I would break a few bones. But it wouldn’t be fatal and I didn’t really care for the cart’s safety.
I don’t really know how to say this – but the cart came down just like an obedient boy in a split second. No drama, nothing. The final point where it hit the ground was a big thud, but beyond this nothing really happened. I didn’t really do anything once all the four wheels were on the inclined plane of the choukee. But before this when the rear wheels were on it, I controlled the speed with brake modulation.
The lesson that I learnt from this - most difficult things look difficult when you think about it. But once you overcome the fear and actually do it, in hindsight it looks rather simple.
The pics (taken with my Motorazor) show just one choukee; another was kept on the side for the other wheel, before the final drive. After taking these shots I called up Monisha to tell her to call me back in another 15 minutes to check if I was in the hospital or still in one piece.
The first one
I think it is important that I note down somewhere my reflections on various things that happen around me. Therefore this blog. I uploaded that image of my daughter for the want of any uploadable photograph of mine. Actually I use the camera most of the time and therefore my daughter becomes the most photographed person in the family, followed by Monisha - my wife. There is hardly any photograph of Sudipto Roy worth putting up. I do have a few taken by myself on my iMac, that came with a camera. But those are not usable because I am always bare chested when I am working on the computer and therefore they are counted out.
That photograph was taken this year at the 100th kilometer point from home on our way to Darjeeling.
Let me see the result of what I wrote.
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