Finally, there is enough pent up frustration to diffuse the inertia of posting here- grades for the semester! While I have been away, there have been innumerable instances, tailor-made for mention on this blog, but have simply been suppressed by sheer laziness and the warmth of covers and great books and superlative movies. Recently, I've had Introduction to Psychology for a mandatory subject as a part of the degree course. And we've labeled a portion of the human brain as "dark" or "black" simply because an individual himself cannot tap its deepest secrets. Wisps of emotions are often delivered to the conscious being when confronted with similar dark and confusing circumstances. Here is where we come to the bridge.
Me and a friend were in charge of surveying a potentially good site for making astronomical observations- nestled within the typical central Maharashtra terrain and far enough from the lights and maddening haze of the city pollution. Around 50 kms from Pune, just off NH4, there is a road that leads off towards the foothills of the forts Rajgad and Torana. After being annoyed by the familiar, jarring noises so characteristic of this city and its people (and lets not forget their driving habits), it was a relief to get on to open expanses of the Highway. We were buoyed by the adrenaline of speed and kept alert by the embrace of the cold January night. We hit the detour to leave the highway towards our destination with vague directions and a hope that cell phones stowed in our pockets would rise to the challenge if we lost our way.
The lights deserted us almost as soon as we hit the interior road; the sharp outlines of the head lamp led us along. We concurred that we must make subtle but sure landmarks along our route so that they would prove useful while retracing our steps the same night and many similar ones to follow. This exercise after all, was nothing more than a reccee. Shadows of trees moved in pivoted arcs as the head lamp swept over them. Quickly, we realised that landmarking was useless unless we were to memorize technical bends on the road or cold rocks that adorned the road edges. The only other sharp pricks of white light ensued from the displays of both our cell phones (I'd volunteered to hang on to them for quick calls if needed- I was riding pillion). They read an identical, disdainful "No Coverage".
Fear(n): a feeling of dread, a sense of ominous foreboding. eg: Fear filled the boy's heart as the dog pounded on towards him.
My job was navigation. It would hardly have been a solace if I were to vocalise my discomfort, given the circumstances. So I did the only thing I could- psychologists call it the "fight or flight" mode- I made small talk. Duniya ki baatein. Random shit. We spoke of how tyre temperature affects the compund setting on F1 cars, of why the ecliptic seems to have shifted due to the gyroscopic wobble of the earth, of when the dude who taught us a common subject would wake up to the reality of mis-pronouncing the word "disc", of where the street food rates were having a downward trend. Hidden below the garb of the carefree navigator was a mind crouching in the corner of a darkened room. The road slipped cautiously beneath us as we were greeted (I'm not sure how much time later) by the fervish bobbing of torch-light. We'd made contact.
The night sky at the farm of the dude was beautiful. We were delighted to be greeted by such a quantum of intergalactic trash, usually lost in the smog overhead back home. Easily recognisable stars and constellations were now accompanied by their more shy cousins- the site and the sight seemed to be perfect. A hot chai later we were back on the road home. The apprehension that accompanied the ride to the farm had ebbed away a bit; I found myself a lot more relaxed and making conversation easily. We came around a bend and the bike skidded to a voilent halt. Rubber on the road, et al. The Grey Sith flicked the lights to high beam and back to low. He did it again. His hands left the handle and eased open the visor of the helmet. There was an intense unease in his stare. He shook his head.
The single beam of light in the night had illuminated a narrow bridge. It was sufficiently wide and seemed very much part of the road forward. "Dude, I could've sworn there wasn't a bridge on our way here". My mind had been temporarily numbed by the revelation. I hadn't seen it either. An intense battle raged between ego and logic, eventually won by the former. "Nahi yaar, tha naa, I think...". He responded with an expression of sombre superiority and deeper understanding of the mysterious world we live in. He shook his head again and stressed, "It wasn't here before- we've taken a wrong turn". That accusation was enough to trigger a "No way, this is the only road back". Dark looks were exchanged. I hadn't seen the bridge- it would have made the perfect landmark. He obviously hadn't seen it (or he shall laugh at me for the rest of time of having conned me into thinking that way and being prabhaavit and writing this post). We rode over its span, confused in unison and unsure of what to expect. Swarms of anxiety flitted across any empty pockets of the mind still uncluttered by dread.
We hit the highway soon enough and flew back in the cold winter air. I have visited the site around 5 times after our initial visit- there is of course only one road that can take me there. I have seen the bridge there evertime, eyeing me with an air of deep amusement. Many days later the Grey Sith confessed of being gripped by a similar sense of fear of the unknown that fateful evening. An emotion strong enough from preventing both of us registering the presence of the bridge that sometimes isn't there.
Read a more sensationalized account (a far more colourful account from The Sith himself ) here.
Me and a friend were in charge of surveying a potentially good site for making astronomical observations- nestled within the typical central Maharashtra terrain and far enough from the lights and maddening haze of the city pollution. Around 50 kms from Pune, just off NH4, there is a road that leads off towards the foothills of the forts Rajgad and Torana. After being annoyed by the familiar, jarring noises so characteristic of this city and its people (and lets not forget their driving habits), it was a relief to get on to open expanses of the Highway. We were buoyed by the adrenaline of speed and kept alert by the embrace of the cold January night. We hit the detour to leave the highway towards our destination with vague directions and a hope that cell phones stowed in our pockets would rise to the challenge if we lost our way.
The lights deserted us almost as soon as we hit the interior road; the sharp outlines of the head lamp led us along. We concurred that we must make subtle but sure landmarks along our route so that they would prove useful while retracing our steps the same night and many similar ones to follow. This exercise after all, was nothing more than a reccee. Shadows of trees moved in pivoted arcs as the head lamp swept over them. Quickly, we realised that landmarking was useless unless we were to memorize technical bends on the road or cold rocks that adorned the road edges. The only other sharp pricks of white light ensued from the displays of both our cell phones (I'd volunteered to hang on to them for quick calls if needed- I was riding pillion). They read an identical, disdainful "No Coverage".
Fear(n): a feeling of dread, a sense of ominous foreboding. eg: Fear filled the boy's heart as the dog pounded on towards him.
My job was navigation. It would hardly have been a solace if I were to vocalise my discomfort, given the circumstances. So I did the only thing I could- psychologists call it the "fight or flight" mode- I made small talk. Duniya ki baatein. Random shit. We spoke of how tyre temperature affects the compund setting on F1 cars, of why the ecliptic seems to have shifted due to the gyroscopic wobble of the earth, of when the dude who taught us a common subject would wake up to the reality of mis-pronouncing the word "disc", of where the street food rates were having a downward trend. Hidden below the garb of the carefree navigator was a mind crouching in the corner of a darkened room. The road slipped cautiously beneath us as we were greeted (I'm not sure how much time later) by the fervish bobbing of torch-light. We'd made contact.
The night sky at the farm of the dude was beautiful. We were delighted to be greeted by such a quantum of intergalactic trash, usually lost in the smog overhead back home. Easily recognisable stars and constellations were now accompanied by their more shy cousins- the site and the sight seemed to be perfect. A hot chai later we were back on the road home. The apprehension that accompanied the ride to the farm had ebbed away a bit; I found myself a lot more relaxed and making conversation easily. We came around a bend and the bike skidded to a voilent halt. Rubber on the road, et al. The Grey Sith flicked the lights to high beam and back to low. He did it again. His hands left the handle and eased open the visor of the helmet. There was an intense unease in his stare. He shook his head.
The single beam of light in the night had illuminated a narrow bridge. It was sufficiently wide and seemed very much part of the road forward. "Dude, I could've sworn there wasn't a bridge on our way here". My mind had been temporarily numbed by the revelation. I hadn't seen it either. An intense battle raged between ego and logic, eventually won by the former. "Nahi yaar, tha naa, I think...". He responded with an expression of sombre superiority and deeper understanding of the mysterious world we live in. He shook his head again and stressed, "It wasn't here before- we've taken a wrong turn". That accusation was enough to trigger a "No way, this is the only road back". Dark looks were exchanged. I hadn't seen the bridge- it would have made the perfect landmark. He obviously hadn't seen it (or he shall laugh at me for the rest of time of having conned me into thinking that way and being prabhaavit and writing this post). We rode over its span, confused in unison and unsure of what to expect. Swarms of anxiety flitted across any empty pockets of the mind still uncluttered by dread.
We hit the highway soon enough and flew back in the cold winter air. I have visited the site around 5 times after our initial visit- there is of course only one road that can take me there. I have seen the bridge there evertime, eyeing me with an air of deep amusement. Many days later the Grey Sith confessed of being gripped by a similar sense of fear of the unknown that fateful evening. An emotion strong enough from preventing both of us registering the presence of the bridge that sometimes isn't there.
Read a more sensationalized account (a far more colourful account from The Sith himself ) here.
