July Issue Sangamam Times Pdf

Volume 1 Issue 4

July 2008

Sangamam Times The Noblest Hand—Vidya Tadanki “Every drop of rain water reaches the ocean and every act of goodwill reaches Him.” Many a time while traveling, we see a face which haunts us for the longest time. The face with a running nose, limp hand, and eyes full of hope. Eyes following our moves, eyes assessing our intentions, and eyes fading away when we pass them. The face haunts us, friends. We carry on with our lives. Work and more work in different forms. The face we remembered for few days has become faceless and now only the feeling remains. There is a feeling of helplessness. Are we stopping on our tracks to do something? Maybe, maybe not! The story is the same everywhere. The characters may change from young to old, man to woman, girl to boy. Friend to friend, classmate to classmate. It is a feeling that we all need to reckon with. Twenty five years have passed by with a blink of an eyelid. Friends have become strangers and strangers have become friends. In these magical years of our forties, can we ignore the faces in need of help? The hand which reaches out to help another is the noblest. Twelfth batch of NOSA, I invite you to come forward and let your hands become the noblest hands. Let us all reach out toward the haunting face on the street, the classmate in need, the grandmother in the home for the aged, the deaf boy, the blind girl who dares to dream, and a school student who needs a bench to sit and write. Isn’t this what we all feel? Isnt is what we want to do ? Isn’t it what we are born for? Isn’t this the truth.? Let a Corpus Fund be created from the hearts of the 12th batch.The batch which believes in doing good. Our support can wipe away tear, give a smile and a reason to hope to those who never dared to hope. Ladies and gentlemen of the great school, let this Silver Jubilee Reunion be an event of Giving, event of Joy and event of Awakening. This July issue is unique in many ways. For the first time we have a pictorial article. “A picture speaks a thousand words,” is absolutely true, and can be seen in that section. Rajkumar’s camera captured the beauty of Kashmir. The awesome mighty Himalayas enthralls the visitors to Kashmir. Sundari’s musical journey, Anitha’s Israel visit, Yamini’s conclusion of his honeymoon, and Sastry gently brings us back to reality when the urgent need of physical fitness for all of us is mentioned. Finally, Sainath’s humorous ride leaves us all with a warm feeling inside.

My Jerusalem Experience– Anita S As a non-Jewish believer who has come to some understanding of the purpose of god for the nation of Israel and the Jewish people (Israeli’s) in this end time generation, let me share a few things about me and my visit to Israel.

I am a very god fearing and god loving person and through some of my personnel incidents, I have come very close to god in the recent years, and I really had a wish that if at all I step out of India, it should be Israel. So when I got the invitation from the GOD TV (which is a Christian channel) I just grabbed the opportunity. I am a partner to god TV, which means I keep supporting them financially. So god TV partners from 34 countries have joined us, about 1800 of us were in Israel, out of which 70 are from India. It’s really a different experience for me, meeting different people from different parts of the world. I met people from U.S, Hong Kong, Kenya, Spain, Srilanka, Britain and the list goes on. Some of them were really so loving and nice.

Israel is the Holy-Land for Christians and it’s the place where Jesus was born, died, rose and ascended to heaven. And it is to this place he is going to come back again, that’s our belief. We stayed in Jerusalem, which is the capital of Israel. The very first place we visited was Mount of Olives where Jesus ascended to heaven and will be back again there. We had met the founders of god TV and we had programs for three days, which were telecasted, live on GODTV. 14th of May was the 60th anniversary of Israel. And according to Bible who ever loves and supports Israel will be blessed. So that’s the reason why U.S always supports Israel. In fact George Bush was in Israel on 14th may for the anniversary and he had a meet with presidents and prime ministers from 15 other nations. Their meet was held in Jerusalem convention center, which is just besides the hotel in which I was staying.

Today’s Israel looks like any other modern country. U can actually see lot of western influence in every part of it, the food, the way people dress up. Climate is very dry, hot in the day and cool in the night. Its basically hilly area and the unique feature is all the buildings are built with a same stone, which is called ‘THE LIME STO>E OF Israel’.

Israeli women are the most beautiful people. I heard like they are the most beautiful people of the world. So guys, who want to see some beautiful girls, check into Israel. And its got very tight security, and my advice is don’t go alone, join with some group or go with your family or friends.

Actually ten days of my stay is very short trip. U needs to stay at least a month to see all the places. I want to go back and stay there for a year, to feel the essence of it. It’s a nice beautiful place to visit, not just for Christians but also for any one who loves touring. It’s not a place for shopping except for some holy things. U.S dollars are accepted everywhere though their currency is Shekels. Their local language is Hebrew, the language in which ‘ THE BIBLE’ is written. Israelis love India and Indians, I don’t know why? In fact I met some of them on the flight who are studying in Mumbai. \ So it’s a very nice experience one can feel, where one U can feel the divine connection.

Sangamam Times

My Musical Journey– Sundari The adage “Sruti Mata and Laya Pita” refers to Sruti as mother and Laya as the father of Carnatic Music. Music is divine. Carnatic Music uplifts and soothes the listener’s soul. Music composed by the great composers in praise of God is sung in pristine ragas and Bhava can take one closer to Him. My musical journey began at a very tender age where I wasn’t interested nor knew the greatness or value of this Music. My father Late Shri. Nerella Surendra and my mother Late Smt.Nerella Prasuna introduced me to enjoy the fragrance of music. Along with them our school played a pivotal in molding me as a musician. The competitions conducted in the association hall completely put me at ease and removed the stage fear in me. The applause and adulation that I received inspired me to learn more and do well in this field. As said, before Music is it is Western or Indian is universal”. Sisurvethih Pasurvethih, Vethi gaana rasam phanih” (Music is enjoyed by babies, animals and even snakes). In the school going years my music teachers used to come home and would be waiting for me. I used to sing along with them with total boredom and irritation. But gradually boredom turned into passion. I used to sing for hours and used to play Veena. Veena, they say is the closest to the human voice. I loved it and continue to play to date. In fact, I did my M.A in Veena from Padmavathi University, Tirupati. Before that I did my 6 years Diploma in Veena from the local Ghantasala College of Music. . I used to be there by 6.45 a.m to learn Veena. Before the teacher came in I used to dust the Veenas and set them to tune. My Gurujis and parents blessings and stress Free education has helped me to procure the seat in M.A in Tirupati. Todays’ children live in pot boilers. Tensions and pressures are part of their lives.The healthy competition existed then had brought me to the place where I am today. I urge all of you to listen to good music to make you relax and encourage Carnatic music in any which way either by being Srotha or Poshaka. “When people hear good music, it makes them homesick for something they never had and never will”.

Volume 1 Issue 4

Yehi hai jannath– Raj Kumar

Travelogue– Yamini C. Roy Day 6(5th May) Monday morning was very cold and cloudy, as we decided to go for local sight seeing. We first went to a natural hot water spring that is just 6kms, from our resort. The place is called Vashisht after the famous Vashisht Muni. In the same compound as the temple for Vashisht muni, there is this spring with very hot water and one can take bath in the small pond and it is a popular belief that one can get rid of any kind of skin diseases after you take bath here. I felt the statement is true as the water there is very rich in its sulphur content. Santhi spent a lot of time buying woolen jackets and other local articles. We went to Hidambi temple(wife of Bheema), and Gatotkach temple. At Hidambi temple, one can see the gigantic feet of Hidambi, and all of us remembered Maya Bazaar after visiting these temples. In the evening, we had guests…Surprised to know that we had guests at Manali? Yes, I mean it. The newly married couple, Gangadhar(younger brother of RS) and his wife Vijayalakshmi visited us at our resort. We all played Housie(Bingo) conducted by the resort entertainment team, where I won the first prize for Full House. I got a woolen stole as gift. ….. To be continued in the next Sangamam Times… Day 7 (6th May) It is time for us to check out of Manali… We started off at 8:30am after our breakfast to our next destination Shimla. The distance from Manali to Shimla is about 250kms. We first need to reach Mandi and then proceed on plains till Bilaspur and climb up to Shimla. We stopped for lunch at a roadside Dhaba and again ate hot aloo paranthas. Whenever u go to North India, Aloo Paranthas are a safe bet. This is one thing the cooks out there know to prepare the best. Do not experiment with any other cuisine unless and until it is a star hotel of repute. We reached Shimla around 4pm in the evening. Our hotel is in the same street as the High court and Chief Minister’s official bungalow and there are severe traffic restrictions. Only government cars are permitted beyond a point and therefore we had to get out at least one kilometer before our hotel. Fortunately for us, we had the hotels bell boys at the car park station to pick up our luggage for a small charge, Rs. 150. The hotel we stayed was “Honeymoon Inn” and guess what… we four are the only odd ones and the entire hotel is packed with newly married couples. At Shimla no body can miss the beautiful Mall Road. This Mall Road is at a very high elevation and people reach out to mall road using lifts. There is no vehicle allowed on Mall Road and it is a pleasure walking on it. There are all kinds of shops reminding us of a “Santha”. It also reminds of our Besant Road at Vijayawada where we used to go in search of “Colors” and girls go in search of handsome looking boys. That night, we had a candle lit dinner along with many “newly married couples” at out hotel. Day 8 (7th May) The morning was bright and sunny. We set off to a place called “Kufri”. This is about 16kms. from our hotel. This place is also full of lush green hills. Kufri is a small hill station and one can go up the hill on horses. The horse that I rode was named as Laloo and I felt I am riding entire Indian Railways. It took us about 30mins, to reach the hill top and from the telescopes people can see the building at which Indira Gandhi signed the historical “Shimla Agreement “with Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. India-china border also can be seen and Yak riding is available for a price. We visited Hanuman temple later in the afternoon and went again to the Mall Road in the evening to spend our time.

Day 9(8th May) We checked out of our hotel to board the Toy Train. The distance of 90kms., takes about six hours by this train. We asked our driver to reach Kalka, the final destination. The entire route has 102 tunnels, few long and many small. It is very scenic with valleys on one side and the mountains amidst clouds on the other. Children will enjoy the tunnels. At four in the evening we boarded our car at Kalka and proceeded to Chandigarh. On our way, we stopped at Pinjara Gardens built on the same lines as Brindavan Gardens (Mysore). We didn’t spend much time there as it was very hot on that day. We reached Chandigarh in the evening and visited Sector 17, a beautiful shopping area. This is my first visit to Chandigarh and I must admit… Chandigarh is the most beautiful city in the entire country. The city is very clean and has broad roads. Even the five star hotels cannot have a lavish “front view” and can only give luxurious interiors to their hotels. Sector 17 is wonderful and is like a pack of Malls laid out in a horizontal fashion. A must see if you visit Chandigarh.

Day 10(9th May) The thought of visiting the Rock Garden excited us beyond our imagination. For those of you who haven’t heard of this marvel, Mr.Nek Chand dreamed of a wonderful museum with all waste material such as bulbs, blades, bottle caps, etc.., and made it real. To be honest with you, we thought the architect of this beautiful Garden is no more…, but to our pleasant surprise, we saw a board inside the Rock Garden stating we can meet him. We were fortunate enough to meet Mr.Nek Chand on this eventful day. His office is full of junk and is a museum by itself. He posed to photographs and signed autograph books of our daughters making it more eventful. We spent a good four hours at the Rock Garden and spent the afternoon by a visit to a Milk Factory, “Milk Time”. This factory belongs to our school junior Maninder Singh’s Uncle. (Father’s sister’s husband). We felt very happy to speak Telugu while at Chandigarh and discovered Maninder Singh’s aunt is also an alumnus of Nirmala High School from the second batch. We spent the night shopping and returned to our abode(Hotel Maya Palace). Day 11(10th May) We took the early morning Shatabdi to Delhi to catch our return flight to Bangalore and thus concluded our summer vacation….

THE DAY WE WERE TAKEN FOR A RIDE– Sainath “Happiness or unhappiness depends far more on the way we meet the events of life than on the nature of these events themselves.” – Karl Von Humboldt. The difference between optimism and pessimism is just a laugh. While the optimist laughs to forget, the pessimist forgets to laugh. Seeing the sunnier side of life has often been suggested as the best remedy for all tensions and heartaches that life throws up. I am going to share one such incident with you all. The situation would have developed into a grumpy and grouchy one, but for the fact that we decided to laugh it out. I remember the day when five of us hired a taxi to take us from Bangalore to Puttaparthi. The taxi that finally turned up was an undoubted piece of art – straight from the museum. The Sumo looked perfectly normal at first glance. The true terror it was capable of unleashing unearthed itself only once we started the act of locomotion with this mechanical contraption on four wheels. The first problem appeared even before the engine sputtered to life. “Look there!” my friend urgently whispered. I did and discovered to my horror that all the four tyres of the vehicle were as smooth as a baby’s bottom. No semblance of any treading on them at all! Choosing not to further scare myself and my friends out of our wits, I decided to keep silent. “Sir, can I get a lift please?” The stranger who approached us with this request explained that his own taxi had broken down and he wished to be deposited back at Puttaparthy. Those familiar with Dante’s “Divine Comedy” will recollect the appearance of a spiritual guide who takes Dante safely through hell, purgatory and finally heaven. In retrospect, much similarly, this person too safely guided us through a kaleidoscope of emotions before we finally landed at home. The next problem appeared about 25 km. out of Bangalore. The taxi appeared to be grasped by spasmodic bursts and suddenly kept veering to the right before bouncing back to normal in an equally fitful exercise. We soon learnt that the taxi was in perfect sync with the somnambulistic patterns of the driver himself. Since none of us appreciated the idea of meeting our maker so soon, we took corrective measures. Two of us with the loudest of voice and sunniest of disposition parked ourselves next to the driver. This took care of the problem. Whoever said that problems do not come in singles knew what he was talking about. Soon, the engine was seized by paroxysms of coughs. As we threw anxious glances at the driver, he shrugged, slithered to a stop (no treads on tyres, remember?) and tinkered around. It was clear from his puzzled ex-pression and furtive looks that he had absolutely no idea what was happening. Enter the saviour – our passenger who has asked for a lift. He diagnosed the problem and said, “The piston is not pumping fuel into the engine. The driver did not fill enough petrol and there is an air lock in the fuel line.” “So what do we do now?” we asked. “Push till the nearest petrol station”, he replied. No shouts of enthusiasm greeted this announcement. But he was right. At this late hour, it was unlikely that anybody would appear at all, much less stop and give some help.

This person perched himself on the top of the taxi on the luggage rack, while we all put shoulder to car and pushed. As and when a slope appeared, he would yell and we would all leap into the car through every window and the doors, riding out the slope. And then get down pushing till the next slope. And so the miles were slowly devoured when the driver suddenly stood on his brake pedals, bringing us crashing into the back of the car. “Here, what do you think you are doing?” we yelled. “Some kerosene would help, sir”, he replied. We blinked our confusion as scary thoughts and visions flashed before our eyes. Dismissing them, we asked him why. “Maybe a little kerosene in the fuel tank would push the fuel and the airlock out till we can fill the petrol. It is done often.” Under the circumstances, we thought that was brilliant going. We woke up a shanty owner on the road side and bought a liter of kerosene. It did not help matters. The engine stubbornly refused to move until it had its share of petrol. “There is only one option” the passenger said. "I will sit inside the bonnet and manually pump the fuel. After all the fuel station is only a few miles away.” We agree and got going. “I can’t see a thing” complained our driver. Of course! With the bonnet wide open, how could he? So he leaned far out of the window to see the road. To prevent him toppling over, one of us held him in a rugby tackle about his legs. A third person shifted the gears whenever needed and also held on to the waist of the rugby tackler to doubly ensure that he too did not follow the driver on to the road. This then was the apparition that trundled along the road until we zoomed into the petrol station. We made a sensational entry. The pump attendant opened a bleary eye to see the source of the noise and took off clean from his bed – blanket and all – and dashed for the safety of his office. We shouted out to convince him that we were not a specter but a Sumo in need of petrol. He kept a wary lookout before convincing himself that we were indeed harmless. Thereafter, the petrol was filled and we were off. The story has a poignant end. When we paid the driver after reaching our destination, he somberly handed back some of the amount and said, “For you all sir! You drove the ride as much as I did!” There is a lesson in this maddening affair. Like Christopher Reinhold Niebuhr said” "God, grant me the serenity to accept The things I cannot change, The courage to change the things I can And the wisdom to know the difference.” We have little control on the sequence of events that unfold in our life. But we can certainly chose to make the best of the situation rather than letting the situation control us. We need to unwind and relax. After all, humour is the greatest panacea for a host of ailments and God has given it free to us!

Mind and Body -Sastry The signs were all there - drowsiness, lethargy, inability/unwillingness to do anything that would constitute as some work, an overall general feeling that days are way too longer than nights and that I am deprieved of sleep by at least a couple of hours on a daily basis. As a young man in his late thirties (uhhmmm.., I mean), close to forties, and as an avid reader and watcher of all the electronic and print media, I have been made painfully aware that age, however tender that might be, finally catches up with you and the only way of pushing it far and far away is to indulge in the painful pratice of physical exercise. I am a typical Indian. I have a sweet tooth and a spicy tongue. I am impartial as much to the pleasures of the pastries as I am to the mind-numbing spiciness. I love food. Downing the glasses and emptying the bowls is what my idea of healthy diet. It has been made aware to me right since my childhood that strength is somehow directly proportional to the intake and I never questioned neither the veracity nor the integrity of the statement, lest my sibling steal my portion of masala mixture or get an extra slice of juicy mango. Oflate, remorse and guilt were taking turns harassing me to the hilt. I cannot imagine how stomach that flat and body that hard could be developed, without physically starving oneself to insane levels, looking at the imagery on the television and the silver screens. Rippling ribs, bulging muscles, protruding calf, taut skin in the male varierty, slender frame, glowing skin, flat stomach, zero percent body fat in the female variety. How could this be possible? Are these people genetically enginereed with camel's genes to retain and sustain on meager amounts of food, that metabolism is a more a feedback mechanism to them (the produced energy acting as the fuel to burn more energy)? Pills, drinks, creams, belts - the different advertisements attacking me from all sides, for the fastest and safest way of dealing with my growing waistline, I had to make a decision fast and pick an option to deal with this possible threat to the glamor. As it was nearby, I picked up the idiot box (computers have long taken over TVs for that coveted title) and tried to find the easiest way of handling this imminent danger and every health site worth its salt pounded on this singular way with quite some passion - work-out, work-out and work-out. As life was cruising quite nicely in the twenties / thirties, whenever I was passing by gymnasium or a work out area and found people of all sizes and shapes shedding weight by the pounds and shedding sweat by the liters, I thought I never had to do what those people were doing there, for I wasn't like any of them worried about thier bodies. Well, I am worried now. Subversive advertising and subliminal imagery have got the better of me. For the first time in my life, I started to look at the nutrition facts label that is printed on the back of each item, and worry some more about the numbers printed against the calories and the fact, regardless of whether I really understand the significance the numbers of or not. I made myself a rule of thumb with regard to the numbers - more is bad, less is good, even if the numbers are weighted in the vitamins sections or the fat section. Again for the first time in my life, I seriously contemplated of going to the gymnasium, for a short while to start off with, to rid myself of the anxiety that I have got now. Go there for a few days, spring back into shape, and remain worry free. No sooner I made up my mind, I promptly paid a visit to the trendy gymnasium near-by, unburdened my wallet by $300 (introductory fee + application fee + facility usage fee + non-renewal cautionary deposit are the only ones that I could understand in the breakdown of for $300 charge. For understanding the rest, I probably might need a Chartered Accountancy degree), paid a fresh pair of work out clothes ($60/pair), good training shoes, and a head-band (for whatever it is worth. I imagined if I would be sweating profusely like those other people did, I might as well look good, a la Bjorn Borg, with a striped head-band) The D-day finally arrived and as I set foot into the trendy gym a strong whiff of sweat engulfed me. If that would not serve enough motivation to shed a few pounds, I wondered, nothing else could. The treadmills were placed neatly one next to the other along the breadth of a huge hall, numbering around 50, and right in front of them were lined up, steppers, ellipticals, cycles (stationary, of course), and other such cardio-vascular machines. Avoiding contact with other people and the machines, I carefully slid through the spaces to find myself in front of the 38th treadmill which looked like a giant elephant waiting to be rode upon. A few warm up stretches, like the curvaceuous beauty next to me performed before getting on the treadmill, and I was on the machine raring to conquer the extra baggage that had me in its lethal grip. There were at least 20 instructions

written on the top of the machine, which had a STOP picture next to it, urging the patrons to read it before embarking on the weight reduction journey. I was in no particular mood of engaging the gray matter, when all that I wanted to do was attack the fat deposits at the earliest. I did what every man would. Start it first and figure it out along the way. I selected a "treacherous terrain" as my work out mode and set out to work for 60 mins straight. I entered my age particulars (high thirties, that is), weight particulars (one hundred forty (in pounds), that is) and started the session. The first few minutes was a cake-walk, literally. I didn't know what the big deal was about, when people complain about work out sessions. They might not be as nimble and as agile when they started, I thought. After the first few minutes, the mode shifted to a short terrain, which elevated the machine by a few degrees and increased the speed by a few miles. Nothing drastic, but certainly, not as easy either. I started taking deep breaths and walking faster to catch up with the machine. On a side note, the beauty beside me had already downed an entire fresh water bottle that she brought along with her, and was running on the machine full blast. As much as it was a treat to watch her dedicating herself to the routine, the slight discomfort that started to set in made me shift my focus elsewhere. I gripped the handles on the top of the machine and started the little jog to keep up the pace with the rubber conveyor below. Few more minutes passed by and beads of sweat started to take shape. I felt a little proud summoning the sweat with only a few paces (it was only later that I knew that, one should not sweat right away at the beginning of the exercise routine) and continued my little jog on the start of the "treacherous terrain". Minutes rolled by, and sweat pouring along, a little pain started to take root at the base of the foot and started to climb along the knee right to the joint. I covered that part of the machine, which had all the LED indicators about the time progressed, miles run and the calories burnt thus far, so as not be swayed either way by them. It started to get a little uncomfortable, to say the least. The breath was getting short and fast and the thump in the chest was getting loud and pronounced. I shifted the respiratory intake from the nose to the mouth (though an dispassionate observer might term it "gasping") and chugged along the terrain, that the machine has now shifted into full gear. The inclination was terrible and the pace was horrible. The little pain, a while ago at the base of the foot, has turned into a full blown muscle contraction, where one could feel the tightening of muscle around the region but could do nothing about it. The beauty next door had ear plugs planted right into the ear drums blasting music full bore, to hear the desparate cries for fresh air and pathetic pleas for slow pace on her side. I was sweating like a pig and gasping like a dog, desparately trying to keep the pace with the machine, which shifted into "harder as hell terrain". I felt I was going to die if I continued any longer. The dizziness, the shortness of breath, the pain in the limbs that have long lost communication with the central nervous system and hence operating independently under the direct supervision of the treadmill below, the aching spine - I could not continue any longer. It felt as though I have been on the machine for eternity on a figurative level and at least 50 minutes on a physical level. I removed the towel that was covering the display on the front and was crashed to find that it was only 20 mins and that I had a full 40 minutes to go, before the machine would slow down, and another 10 minutes from there to cool off. Almost another hour before I could get off. Another hour before sanity would return to the proceedings. Another hour before I could start thinking normal, provided I do not die of a heart burst in another 10 minutes. I could literally hear the tick of the distant clock, which seems to be much slower than the beat (or is it, the race) of the pounding heart. I tried to picture all the inspiring imagery that would help me sustain this pain – Bhuvan from Lagaan, Rocky Balboa from Rocky, Aswini from Aswini. I know I was waging a losing battle and I was dead set against giving up. Until... (Cont'd)

It is a general feeling that things we do not like, or more, that we want to go away, stay and last longer than the ones we like. It was never more true than my current situation on the feet burning rubber killing machine. Just when I thought the pain in the ankles shooting up to the knee eased up a little bit, I felt a little tickle at the bottom of the spine, courtesy, the inclination of the machine acting in tandem with the speed of it. If I hadn't done anything sooner, it was certain that the extremities were going to be disassociated from the rest of the functioning part of the body and that my only hope for fame and glory would be representing my country in para-olympics. The heart stopped the thumping action and upgraded itself to the next version, the pounding one. It was one where one can clearly hear the pound (or the yell, the anguish, the cry) of the heart in one's ear directly. It was exactly at this point, I was struck with the fundamental question - why was I putting up with this painful exercise? As some wise man once put it, the only reason why people go to the gym is to keep themselves fit, so that they could go the gym regularly. No sooner did I understand the irony of the statement, I reached out to the stop button and put an end to the torturous session. 25 mins, 2 miles, 350 calories - the indicators on the treadmill spit out mockingly. 25 mins??? 25 mins??? just freaking 25 mins???? My whole life flashed in front of my eyes, my limbs jointly declared revolt, my senses lost a sense of direction and orientation, and it was only 25 mins since the whole ordeal started? Well, leave alone these atomic clocks, my biological clock said otherwise. It felt to my body that it was at least double that time, close to an hour. The beauty next to me was going full blast now. It seemed a little awkward and embarassing to get off the routine so soon, when the someone who started along side was sprinting away to glory. This is when one has to start looking for excuses to account for the lack of persistence and perseverance. I could come up with twi right away. 1) At least I am vegetarian. I do not have to work out as much as her, from the looks of it, a definite meat-eating carnivore. 2) Women have slower metabolism that men and consequently have to work out for longer intervals to burn the same amount of the unwanted deposits. (Psuedo) Science comes to your rescue once in a while, if you are sincere and dedicated. After the work out routine on the treadmill, the rules of manhood usually dictate that the hormone raging alpha male proceed directly to the area where wrought iron cast into different shapes, sizes and weights were arranged, and start pumping iron with some gusto. Before I proceed further with this description, there are a few things that one ought to understand to grasp the behavior of males around these weights. Men basically want to show off. I mean, women show off too, but it is called putting-out. Men's putting-out is called showing off. Men like to be considered as omni-potent, extremely powerful, do-all types, all amounting to, a garden-variety Super Man and men would do anything, go to any extreme, to prove that point, specially in front of females. The looks of admiration and amazement (from the females, that is) that one garners upon embarking / accomplishing an impossible task, is totally worth all the pain, all the suffering

and all the stupidity. Which brings us back to the point of description. Huge mirrors extending from the bottom to the floor all the way up to the roof usually cover the walls in this area, so that people could vainly look at themselves and their rippling muscles while pumping iron. There was one more curvaceous figurine working out with a 5 pound dumb-bell in each hand, trying to pump up the dormant biceps to shape. I walked past her and while picking up a 30 pound weight, I happened to glance into mirror, and caught the figurine watching me. I felt self-conscious all of a sudden and my hands automatically and involuntarity proceeded from the 30 pound weight to the 50 pound weight (refer to the show off syndrome). I picked, at least tried to pick up, both the 50 pound weights in both the hands and walked next to her. Well, lifting the things was only the first part of the job. Doing 30 sets, in alternative fashion, with one hand up while the other one down and the other up while the first one is down, was the job description. I had never lifted weights in such synchronized fashion for 30 times at a stretch before and 100lbs is not feather weight that could be done in rapid fire sequence. I could see the veins on my hand bulging up by the sheer pull from those two weights and I haven't started lifting them yet. I dragged myself to do 5 sets and anything beyond that was just out of my league. The figurine next to me was lifting her share blithely least bit unaware of my clenched jaw, and slightly shivering head. Damn the gravitation! Damn Isaac Newton! I didn't know why physics has been on my case ever since the session started. First, it was the vertical forces on the treadmill, now it is the gravitation, with the weights. And next to me, lined up like birds on a high tension wire, were a bunch of other alpha males, with weights more than twice or thrice than what I had, lifting them casually and bantering with each other during the act. And the first thought that popped in my head seeing their bulging muscles.... STEROIDS! (contd)

Nature and biology usually work in tandem to make sure that humans are not blessed with extra-ordinary musuclar strenghts to beat out a cheetah in the running race, to stand out against a tiger without the use of fire arms, to tackle a bear bare-handed, so that the delicate balance of ecology is not disturbed. But, in the current scenario, the pharmaceutical companies working hand in glove with genetic engineering seem to outwit nature. How else could one explain the bulging muscules, each the size of the Eiffel tower, protruding grotesquely from the arms, the 6-pack rib cage, and the skin that seems to have completely been stretched over these muscles, just taut enough. These men.... they disgust me. And to top that, the 100 lbs wrought iron piece in each hand that they seem to be pumping, as though the whole world is to believe that the upward-downward motion of iron over a period of time was the sole reason for their shape and growth-inducing hormones had nothing to do with it. There I was, a home grown, natural born, organic human being, sustaining on nothing but leaves, vegetables and some rice (and the occasional pizza, of course, which was the primary reason why I was in the gym in the first place), finding it extremely difficult to pump 20 lbs, while these humungous humanoids gleefully pump iron, in the upwards of 200 lbs each, trying to spread a sense of insecurity and inferiority all around. As always, a satisfactory explanation sprung in my mind, just in time, to soothe me - Courtesy God, the sum of brains and brawns is always the same in all the human beings; if branws make up for much of the equation in one, brains bring a lot of weight to the equation in another. After I had done away with the charade of pumping iron, I had to tackle to the root cause of the sad realization relating to my waist line. The idea of a trim waist had been such a distant image since a long time that I don't even remember anymore, how it used to be when I was fit, trim and fitting into the slacks without having to suck a lot of air in, or without going past the first three holes on the belt. Rekha, the film actress, made it look so easy. One question about her glamor, she starts with the yoga mantra. How come you look so young - yoga. How come you never seem to age - yoga. How come you still seem to be earning looks of envy from the younger stars - yoga. How come your dog looks so cute - yoga. I had taken her word seriously for a second, before hitting the tracks to the gym and the result wasn't quite to my liking. Whenever I see the westerners associate the name India with yoga, I feel proud to be an Indian instantly, and any questions from them in that direction, regarding the poses, techniques and methods, would have me answering them with great enthusiasm, regardless of the fact that my only brush with yoga, was a television program anchored by the now deceased Dheerendra Brahmachari, in the glory days of Doordarshan. I felt that being born as an Indian, I would naturally acquire the agility of the limbs that one ought to have in ample measure, if one were to attempt the complex manuevers either of a Padmasan, or a Chakrasan or Sarvaangasan. One attempt at it, all my claims of agility crumbled, signs of flexiblity shattered, tells of maneuverability tattered. No matter how easy Dheeru bhai made it look on the black and white Dyanora set Doordashan TV, no matter how casual Rekha words sound in the glossy paper of the Star&Style, yoga is HARD. It just looks so easy. Place one leg on the opposite thigh, the other one diagonally across and sit straight for a couple of seconds - the calm voice of Brahmachari instructs you to strike a Padmasan pose, the pose of a lotus in a full bloom. While you watch his two assistants demonstrate this with not so much as a wince on their faces, it is only natural that you think that it is that easy. But, seriously, give it a try. If only each part in the body has a voice, the legs would scream in unison, the thigh muscles would join the chorus, the spine would start its own opera, and the symphony of the whole body is bound to move you. There was no way that I could continue on with this twisted art of waist line reduction, no matter how much Rekha, in her husky voice, calls it the easiest exercise one could do to drive off the spare tires around the waist line. Here I was staring at a inverted V shaped stand, that you are supposed to climb on, so that the legs pivot at the tip of the

inverted V and you rise upward and fall backwards, causing the abdominal muscles to expand and contract, causing enough commotion in the lower abdominal and the stomach region. So much for the theory. I got on the horse, bent all the way backwards and tried to rise up in one quick motion. Imagine someone tearing your stomach mid-way (like the Hiranyakasipa episode) or someone punching in the abdominal region contniously for a few minutes without a break. I almost lost breath coming upwards and within a second, found myself falling backwards, unable to fight gravity. I tried getting up the second time and by mid-way, I could not bear the excruciating pain anymore. It was just the second one and I was supposed to be 38 more, if it were to yeild any results. 3....8..... more.... I tried one more, but could not put up with the shortness of breath and the excruciating pain the rib cage region, right below the diaphragm. Who am I kidding here? I was not cut out for this. Some people can solve math problems, while some people can exercise. It is only unfortunate that the former category would die early, but, come on, the scenery around isn't going to change much in 5 or 10 years, and as they say, it is always going to get worse. So why was I torturing myself now physically, only to get tortured some more in the future with all the extra years that I would be gaining with this exercise. It didn't make much sense if I looked it that way. But, on the other hand, it didn't quite address the problem that stared right at me, whenever I looked into mirror topless. Some wise man said before that maths is the solution to most of the world's serious problems. I just realized then the full meaning of that statement. Medical science made some calculations and arrived at the number 2000 - the number of calories that a person can consume on a daily basis to keep his motors running. 2000. Now, even if I were to run an hour on the treadmill at the top speeds, the amount I would expend would be around 950 calories (believe me, I took time figuring this out, so don't question these numbers), add to that the pumping of iron, the stomach crunches, the leg curls and the stretching exercises - the total would not exceed more than 1200 calories (it is a proven fact that lifting weights was purely for cosmetic purposes, nothing more). Now multiply that number with 3 or 4 (depending on how many times one wants to go the torture chambers, the gym, that is) - 3600 or 4800. Everything was so clear to me then. Either I could go the gym, spend a couple of hours every day, for 3 days, sweat out the 3600 calories a week and end up wasted, beaten up and hurting all over or I could just sit on the couch and expend those 3600 calories without so much as lifting the pinkie finger/toe. Needless to say that I only shop for 5 days worth of groceries in any given week. Who said that starvation is a bad thing after all?