Return of the Squall

Many people will tell me I'm insane, but that is to be expected. The fact remains, I love Delhi summers. They're amazing fun, they're hot, sweaty and throw up strange and unusual behaviour all the time. How could any straight man not like a Delhi Summer?
On the strange and unusual behaviour front is the much mentioned squall. Nice and proper one we had today. Around sixish, the skies became dark, around six-oh-one-ish, a wind started blowing. Around six-oh-two-ish, the wind almost took out all the windows in the house, but as one is used to the intricacies of Delhi weather, when the skies turned dark, I raised the claxon call, for the windows to be shut and boarded up good. The wind lasted for around ten minutes, at which point it started to rain. Lovely rainfall, that made the wind turn into a cool breeze. In the space of fifteen minutes, the entire weather of the city had changed. You have to love squalls, for their sheer power, and ability.

On top of that, my Gulmohar had it's first blossom today. In a few days time, the whole tree will be ablaze in fiery red, putting shame to the scorching summer sun. In storms, the tree holds still, losing maybe a branch or two, during the harsher squalls. It's the best, it's stood almost as long as the house has, through sickness, termites, 1984's riots, horrible monsoons, bitter winters, and year after year it blooms. It's my ultimate symbol of perseverance and beauty, and fuck anyone who's got a problem with me putting up more photos of it soon.

Gol Gappas and Pani Puris

A Comparitive Analysis

During my trip to Mumbai, one among many other "done things"( such as visiting Papa Pancho Da Dhaba) was eating the local chaat. I'm a chaat fan, as has been mentioned before, with a particular interest in Gappas and their variants. It was only obvious that I was to indulge myself with Mumbai's Pani Puris.
Lets go over the two, step by step. First, the Gappa/Puri. In Delhi, these are of aata or suji whereas in Mumbai only the Suji ones seemed to be availible. The gappa is much lighter and crisper in Mumbai, which is one thing I enjoyed. It disintegrates very well in the mouth, and allows the Pani to hit your tongue with full force(I may not know much about the world of fashion, but in the land of the Gappa, I am king).
On to the Pani. The pani in Delhi definitely has more of a zing to it, but that I guess may vary from place to place. Haldiram's pani and the pani you get at that Eatopia Place in habitat is quite simply insipid. Inputs from frequent Mumbai chaat afficionados will be appreciated, I'd like to know if the lack of zing is a general event, or was it just me. Lets just say, it didn't make me hiccup as much I'd like.
Anyhow, on to the deciding factor, the masala. In Delhi, Gappas are stuffed with chana and aalu, which gives them meat and substance inside, and gives you something to work through. In Mumbai, they haven't understood this concept quite as clearly, and Pani Puri is stuffed with of all things, Boondi. Boondi I assure you, is the absolute WRONG thing to put inside. It gets soggy, and spoils the entire experience, I was all happy and comfortable right upto the point that the texture of the boondis hit my tongue.

End analysis: I liked both, each was special in it's own way, but as I didn't like Mumbai as a whole, I'll stick to my local Gappas anyday.

Look Out!

Bewarned!

I'll be landing in Mumbai this morning, so board up yer windows, and keep the virgins safe.

Beauty and the Beast

God I love my new job.

The two least fashion concious people in Lakme India Fashion Week

Interro-Banged!

I conducted my intra-school trainer quiz "Interrobang", along with partner in crime Manav Kapur, and a motley gang of helper children. It was the exact opposite of the now famous and copylefted phrase "an unmitigated disaster". It was in my opinion, incredibly fun and exciting, in as much as it had a close finish, and now I shall brag and say that our questions were really great. They were varied, well researched, and mostly workable, which by the way is exactly the way a quiz should be. The level of arbitness was kept to a distinct minimum. It also put me back on my spiritual homeground, the AVH at DPS R.K Puram. I have a great comfort level with that stage, and it's fun tending to a packed, bored and highly abusive class 11 audience. It's even more fun doing this wearing the loudest tie in the entire world.
About the tie, let me expand. This monstrosity had tulips in four different colors: red, purplish blue, orange and yellow. The tulips were contrasted with squares colored in various combinations of said colors. On top of that, I ensured it did not go with my shirt, and was thus the most jarring thing on stage, taking the stress away from my questions. Have to protect my precious little questions.

Anyhow, the quiz did end up being fun for parts of the audience, all of the teams, and most importantly, me. There's nothing a quizmaster enjoys more than being complimented on his repetoire, and all was much appreciated. Additionally, the school was nice enough to pay me for my efforts, and hard earned efforts those were. All in all, a wonderful experience. My question bank is now open, now that the quiz is over and I don't like repeating questions, so anyone who wishes to have a peek, drop me an email.

FU Fashion: The Phoenix Rises

A long time ago, one of my less successful side blogs was one "FU Fashion", no guesses what the FU stood for. Anyhow, it touted both me and my friend PC's expert views on fashion, and was thus a remarkable failure. People didn't seem to buy the fact that we are in fact, fashion genii. I mean, we're talking about me here, the man who did away with all the problems associated with matching the right clothes by doing away with all but three non-clashing colors in his wardrobe. If that isn't genius, I don't know what is.
Anyhow, everyone told us we were nuts, and thus it died an untimely death.
Why do I bring this up? Well, as you may recall, JAM magazine had asked me to write for them, and I just got my first job, a couple of weeks back. You see, I'm going to be covering the Lakme India Fashion Week for them, the mecca of Indian Fashion. I find this highly ironic. They laughed, oh yes, they laughed, and now the world conspires against them, so I can laugh back.
So sit back, while I have a good bellow, I deserve it.

Semi-nude models and Yana Gupta tomorrow, bey.
Sweetness.

Asimov's Influence

No mention of author's or books that have shaped the way I think and hence act is complete without a mention of science fiction author Isaac Asimov. He has been one of my favourite writers, and my absolute favourite writer for a good many years, before I lost all my lovely childish ideas of absolutes. Don't you just remember with cold dread the days you could have an absolute best friend, and an absolute favourite movie, when the world was in black and white? I much prefer my shades of grey.
But I digress, as usual. You should at this point lean back in your chair and breathe a sigh of relief that this post does not, incredibly, revolve around or introduce food at any time. Back to it, then.

Yes, Isaac Asimov. The first thing I read of his, and my favourites to this day are his short stories. They are also the first things he wrote, starting at what must have been my age for pulp SF magazines. The short stories are works of art, weaving ideas of science with philosophical and societal conundrums with perfection and ease. They, in a short package, explode with creativity of thought and a simplicity of language. His later stories are almost Wodehousian in nature, with their language and style, yet with a content that simply cannot be recreated, sometimes prophetic in nature.
My understanding of what motivates people probably stems from reading Asimov, for in his own way, he conveys the message far greater than any of the classics writers ever could.

My own short stories, of which I will say I am proud, started off modelled on his Robot Stories, the first one even used (with prior creditation) his three laws of Robotics, and was called "he who laughs last". It was not a patch on his, and I suspect the idea for it was a mish mash of a couple of his stories, but I cannot be sure. You never can anymore, about which idea is original and which is not, because everything seems to have been done before. It's a great tragedy.

After the short stories, I read The Foundation Saga in toto and the Robot Novels, both of which were exceptional. If the short stories gave you a brief of human psychology, Foundation gave you the full fledged "Encyclopedea Galactica" entry. (The story was also good, by the way)

But here's the deal. These books, these authors, they can't really influence per se the way you think. To some people, Asimov is just another author, to some people, Fountainhead is just another book. The fact is, works of literature put in concrete form ideas that existed in your mind. They open doors for you, then don't furnish the room.

Review: Hitch

Will Smith in a romantic comedy? Who'da thunk it, he pulled it off quite well, and the best part of this movie is that it worked without any of the now terribly ridiculous hollywood style "Black Guy" cliches, he was a person more than a community that is to say. The story is, as many reviews will have told you, very Bollywoodish, and is thus very good timepass in a nicely timed short package. The humour is good, fast paced, and makes you watch Doug from King of Queens and Will Smith dance. These two people, I assure you, should not be allowed to. It reminds one eerily of my friend Souvik Da, the best part about whose dancing can be said to be energetic.

The movie however did disturb me greatly. It involved Smith and the Female Lead Googling for information about dates, and I found that very disconcerting. But it is a little late to find that disconcerting as I am, by the nature of my blog, ultimately googlable, and should thus just hope never to have a date who googles me. The thought frightens.

All said and done, it was an enjoyable watch, and I reccomend it to anyone who has the time to spare.

F Block Square

The fact that I'm out of school is really starting to sink in now. Each morning is my own, the only schedules that exist for it are my own, and each day I wish to meet people, it requires an effort. There's a meeting ground that has ended permanently, there's no more F Block Square.

The F Block Square, I realised, has never been properly written about. At least, a google of my blog revealed I had never properly written about it, and considering it was the focal point of my life at school, that's a pretty big unwritten chunk.
See, once I entered 11th and 12th, it became the proverbial water hole of us all, our day began there, it ended there. Before security and dramebaazi became a norm at our school, we used to be left undisturbed there towards the end of school, no one would push us out, no one would give us dirty looks for hanging about. It offered peace, it offered new and fresh conversation, and it offered a place where you could get messages across before the lot of us departed for our classes which were spread over the vast yet miniscule expanses of DPS.

The F Block Square always allowed you to meet and mix with people, anyone who showed up was immediately a part of it, all that was required was that you weren't shy, and didn't run off to your class in the morning. Fellow blogger Karan made most of his new friends over there, ditto for Manx, or Sid Sinha, or Shorty, or anyone or everyone that hung around there for those two years.

The surprising thing was that the place was ours for two years. in 11th, our seniors made no claims to us occupying the square, and in 12th, our juniors, who were as it is useless, didn't try to move us off either. One of them claimed it was because they prefered to take peeks at Manx from the third floor, rather than come down, but I believe that a lot of these are merely stories. I don't think the mentality existed in our juniors, to meet and mix, and they prefered staying in their worlds. The F Block Square was not for them.

It also, as I have written about, used to get great eddy currents of winds during the monsoon season, which would enivitably result in the raising of many skirts. Such was it's design. It also almost resulted in the untimely death of a friend, when the windowpane directly above crashed down to where she had been a second earlier. Thank god for larger mercies. It was, in short, an eventful place.

I don't have anything like that right now, and I don't think I will for a while, at least till I join a college. I hope something in it's spirit exists wherever I go. I don't think life would be complete without it, there's certainly something missing now. I'd love to go back and check if this year's 11th has adopted it in a style of their own, if for nothing but a sense of nostalgia. If they haven't, their loss. They've given up a center of RKP Culture.

Philosophy Review: Ayn Rand's Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged

Ayn Rand's two magnum opii(I'm assuming it's the pluras of opus) cannot been seen individually. They're a part of a greater whole, her way of thought and philosophy which finds fluid form and expression in her two great novels. It is a philosophy that has fit with me, and my sensibilities almost completely, there is little I disagree with and that's a lot coming from me.

First, a history. I first read The Fountainhead in Class 11, and immediately fell in love with it. To this day, it remains one of my favourite and defining books, and I've read a lot since then.
However, I did not read Atlas Shrugged till two weeks ago. There was almost a two year gap between reading what should hvae been read together, and I'm very glad. It gave me time to reflect, to compare and come to terms with both in a far easier fashion.

Now, let me start by saying that these are two books not everyone can appreciate. They've got a very stark, arrogant style about them, which time has taught me is not always appreciated. The lead character in The Fountainhead, Howard Roark, is someone who people immediately dislike before even fifty pages of the book are through. He is, however, the Ryndian Character I enjoyed and identified with the most.

The Fountainhead in many ways has been called a philosophical trailer to Atlas Shrugged, where all of Rand's life views are succiently expressed, in the garb of characters, nay individuals the like the world sees lesser and lesser of every generation. But this is something you can get off any Rand site, and I have my view to offer.
The fact is, I liked Fountainhead better. I loved both, true, but to me the philosophy and characters of Fountainhead were far more appealing. I found that the characters in Atlas Shrugged were always fighting for a purpose sometimes greater than themselves. Howard Roark in contrast was always simpler, and had no further motivations than himself. The other thing I found about Atlas Shrugged that made me reach my conclusion was that it always had the feeling of "Us Versus Them", in a sense which almost approached mythological proportions at time. This in itself isn't a bad thing, as I said, I loved the book, but I enjoyed the stark nonchalant individualism of The Fountainhead better, largely due to the fact that it is the kind I myself aspouse to.

Characters in Rand's world a perfect, however, and unflinching in their actions and beliefs. Can I be? How long can I be, seems to be the bigger question. I've managed so far, but I'm told by my friends, my peers, my parents, that life will make me compromise, eventually.
Well, I'm no Roark. I'm me, I'm Bhavya, and whereas Rand's philosophy was her whole world, it isn't mine. As long as I never have a conflict of interests, I still refuse to compromise.

How long can I last? Only time will tell.

Reruns

My subconcious is as boring as I am. They say that a man's subconcious contains a hidden side of him, I think that's quite apparently tosh. Mine is just a non-waking image of myself, it sticks to the tried and tested more often than not, experimenting only with situation.
I refer of course, to it's dreaming and more specifically nightmare habits. I've now had pretty much the same nightmare for two years, and have become grimly aware of the fact for the last six months. This is because, after a point, you start recalling that essentially the same thing keeps happening to you, and much like Agrajag, I am now awoken from the nightmare not so much with a sense of fear and dread, but with the sensation that echoes "Oh no, not again" in a highly bored and frustrated manner.

Here's how it goes. Subconcious will first insert random situation for me to be in. This could be getting up in the morning, being at school, going for a walk, anything. Next, a new person will enter the dream, it's always a different person, thankfully, so it prevents me from complete boredom. Then, the predictable bit happens. My teeth start falling out, very rapidly. I can feel them coming out, and I can taste the blood in my mouth. I can feel the serrated edges biting my tongue as I brush them out of my mouth, as if I was seven years old and having my first few milk teeth leave my mouth.
At this point, the person in the dream starts explaining what is going on, and before I get to hear the explanation, I always wake up, in a start, and check to see if my teeth are all still there.
Thus ends my nightmare, except it's not scary anymore, because it's always the same one. Maybe my subconcious is trying to tell me something, which is likely because I'm dense enough to not get the point even after two years. But then maybe my subconcious should think of a new way to get the message across, because this is getting stale. I'm sick of this nightmare, and don't wish to have it again. Maybe by giving it full reign in the real world of my blog, it will dissapear from my dreams.
Then again, maybe not. I'll never know till I know.

Moshe's Oliva

It's Restraunt Review Time! Woo hoo!

Today, to partake in the holy activity of lunching, in the vain and sad attempt to live up to the traditions established by the editors of the Hithchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I went out for lunch to a place we've been looking to try out. It's Moshe's Oliva, and it's in Munirka's Big Glass Building.
Right, on to the place. It's another one in the recent trend of Mediterranean Restraunts, whose USP is the few Isreali and Turkish dishes you will get here, and not too many other places. It's menu and range is also larger than the other Med places I've tried over Delhi, and their Dessert Selection is, as I will elaborate in detail, decidedly superior.
Right, to the appetizers and soup first. My mother and her friend, whom I went with, spilt a Spinach and Mushroom soup, which I will say was superior. It had a great green color to it, it had raosted garlic flavouring it, and the mushrooms were sauteed just right. Exceedingly well done, comparable only to the tomato soup I've had in The Big Chill.
For the appetizer, I ordered the prawns. These were delicately flavoured, and tasted quite fresh, in contrast to most prawns you will have in the city. This is a good thing. They were, however, not warmed quite enough, and that could be improved upon.
Next, we move to the main course. I ordered a Fish Tangine, which was very very nice. Continuing on the spinach theme one seemed to have chosen, this was a lovely fish in spinach and olives stew, with good rice with peas on the side. The fish was Rawas, which I must pick up from somewhere, for it is the lightest most delicate fish I have had till date.
Ah, but the best came towards the end. No mention of this fine place is complete with a mention of their desserts. Now, I know there are many supporters of a place known as The Big Chill, in the Delhi circle, and I have sampled their selections, and let me tell you, as good as they are they are NOT as good as what I had today. The Walnut Chocolate Tart was simply divine, and the Chocolate Warm Mud Pie was like having a molten brownie. Both were served with a scoop of icecream, saving you the bother of having to ask for one.
The decor was also highly respectable, and the service was as good as anything Goran Ivanisevic ever tossed up. Thus, I give the place a wonderful 8.5 on 10. I will go back, oh yes, I will go back.

Very Fishy

Today, I had my first not satisfactory result in the kitchen. My fish curry lacked zing, it needed more spice. Aside from that, the fish chosen was Rohu, which I will advise everyone in the entire world never to attempt eating. It's not worth it. It's really not. The fish has bones, several several bones, and scales. It does not cook evenly, it doesn't even taste nice, it's generally a waste of time and effort. I was much dissapointed, and next time I even attempt cooking fish, I shall ensure we stick to our usual Catfish(Singhara).
However, all was not lost. I learnt several valuable lessons, such as, how to fry kadi patta, how to prepare masalas for curry, and just how much salt is too much salt. These are all very wise things to know in the long run, and should definitely be taken as positive lessons.
Lets move on.
I've finally settled down with my new keyboard, which was in fact my brother's college computer's keyboard. I had this wonderful Samsung jobbie, which had volume controls and soft touch and everything, which I unfortunately had to give up, because PC came, dropped the bloody thing, and broke the P. One cannot realistically function on a computer with a broken P, so I immediately replaced it with this one.
Now, this is also a samsung, and I'm not CNET, but anyone ever buying a keyboard should definitely go for Samsung. They're the second best keyboards I've ever used, the best being the HCL ones in the Alma Mater's computer lab. One's fingers just flies over those.
On the matter of keyboards, it is interesting to note that Apple Computers, usually the forerunners in design technology, cannot for the life of them design a decent keyboard, or mouse. They're just terrible, they don't hit right, and lock up every so often. You have to be some bloody expert to keep them moving at a decent pace.

Enough about that.
Summer is here, and if I had the energy to step outside with a digital camera, I would give you the defining moment of a Delhi Summer, in a beautiful snapshot moment. It's there everywhere, it's the Mother Dairy or Kwality Walls Ice Cream Cart under the shade of the nearest tree. They're all over the place, with their respective gentlemen sellers enjoying naps on top of the carts. They make getting ice cream exceedingly simple, and ice cream is one of those things you need to exist in a Delhi Summer.
Another one of them is Aam Panna, and that shall come around shortly. How I richly await my Aam Panna.

Thodi si toh Lift Karade

I love my life, I love a lot of things about it. I'm one of them, as many would have noticed. I'm an out and out narsiccist, not about my looks, but the very nature of me. Thus, it pains me greatly to see myself in any light I do not like, and it pains me greatly when I know I can do something about it.

My physical appearance is one of those things. Now, I can't do anything, as I have previously mentioned, about my height. Genetics dealt me a lousy hand there, and there's not much further I can go. My face, again, short of Plastic Surgery cannot be improved upon, gotta live with that again. But it galled me to no end that I had to spend life as a scrawny underweight kid. It galled me that my bones showed everywhere, and it galled me that it didn't have to be this way, that I had payed a cardinal sin of wasting away ages 5-10 without playing enough sports. After that age, it doesn't seem to matter, you're screwed for good.
So I resolved, a long time back, that once I stopped growing vertically, I would ensure I grew the rest of me. There are things that need to be changed, and this was one of them.
That time came this year. I haven't grown in a year and a half, and I've given up hope on that front. I've peaked out, nothing more I can do there. That's the motive taken care of.
I now also had time free, in the mornings, opportunity was there. To finish the triumvrate of action, the Means were availible to me, a decent gym with a good trainer.
So I've been going to the Gym for a while now, and it's starting to pay off. I've gained a decent amount of weight, and the scales which had become permanently stuck in the early fifties, have gone past the sixty mark (after I've rehydrated myself with some water, of course). The weight, a fact that pleases me even more, is all in the right places, no paunch for this little piggy.
I plan to hit my target weight in June, a wonderful month where I plan to hit my target for many things I've set out to achieve. I shall be a cook by June, I shall be able to do my own books by June, I shall be able to drive competently before June.

The rest of the world may or may not give me opportunities, there are no garauntees on that. The only garauntee I have is myself, and I refuse to cheat myself of that.

Here's to me, and here's to about as personal an entry as you'll ever see on this journal.
Don't expect more, there won't be.

How to Do South Delhi on Rs. 13

Statuatory Warning: The events further described were performed by trained professionals at velagiri. Do not attempt them unless under supervision. Hell, do not attempt them at all.


"...and the road becomes my bride
I have stripped of all but pride
So in her I do confide
And she keeps me satisfied
Gives me all I need"

Wanderlust hit home today, and I felt a need to get out of my house, again. Everyone was busy, and the cricket match was going along swell enough, so I thought I'd hit the road at around 10ish.
I'm currently suffering a liquidity crisis, I have at this point no money in my wallet, and in the morning, I had all of Rs. 13 in assorted small change. With a wallet containing the above mentioned money, my iPod on half charge, and a mind not to get back for a while, I set off down the road, knowning not where I was to go.
Twenty minutes later, I land myself up at Green Park Market, only to realise that it's not really opened yet. After helping out random strangers looking for classical music, but confused as to why the Musicworld hadn't opened yet(I gave the brilliant advice to "wait for ten minutes", as everything would open shortly), I myself took a diversion through Park, and on my way to Aurobindo Market, to Midlands Bookstore.
Now, the Midlands chap knows me well, and was sweet enough to procure for me a glass of water on a hot summer day, while I spent half an hour in his bookstore without buying anything. But he humours me, for he knows me and my family will be back, to buy half his bookstore one day.
But I had the bug to move on, and soon took off for further locales. I took a grand tour of Hauz Khas, and Safdarjung Devolopment Area, walking through one of the nicest, and largest, colony parks I have ever encountered. The thing even had a jogging track, that was almost a kilometer long. I was highly impressed. The track ended, and I got back onto the main road, to end up at IIT Gate, where I promptly went and sat in a Barista, to get another drink of water, catch up with the newspaper, and watch the final ten overs of the Indian Innings. This was highly dissapointing, as they generally made a hash of the whole affair.
As the final overs ended, I decided to move on. It was now scorching hot, and I didn't wish to have another long walk for a while. So I went to the bus stop, and boarded the first thing that came my way, which happened to be a 764, taking me all the way to Vasant Vihar Depot. I didn't particularly want to go all the way to Najafghar. Total Money used till now, Rs. 2. Total distanced covered? Possibly 12 kilometers.
At Vasant Vihar depot, one realises it is a kilometer and a half to Priya, and it's also pretty darn hot, so I stepped to it, and did the journey in record time, to end up at, yes, you guessed it, The Barista.
Barista's are great for people with no money in their wallet, you can sit for hours without anyone really caring, while enjoying a nice airconditioner, and live cricket coverage. The place was full of cheapsters like me, who had just showed up with the intentions of catching a few overs, without paying for anything.
I also saw in the place a table with Two more iPod minis, and the chaps with them were highly shocked to see that I had the third offered color dangling from my shorts. You don't see three iPod Minis in the same place often, unless you're at an Apple Showroom.
But I move on. I watched the first 15 overs of the Pakistani Innings, till the point they were four down, and I said, hell, we can't really lose now. Besides, I was rested again, and it was time to spend time at Fact and Fiction, randomly browsing through books.
Now, there is only so much book browsing you can do in one day, and I needed to get out of the place. I had had my share of cricket, books, Vasant Lok Babes (There was one with a tattoo very low on her back, made visible by her even lower slung jeans). I needed another change, and took off down the road. I had a drink first, a Rs 6 Chotta Coke, which as I recall, Aamir Khan promised should cost Rs 5, and I am thus highly upset with their marketing. If it is not Paanch, what the hell use is it, anyway.

"...and my ties are severed clean
The less I have the more I gain
Off the beaten path I reign"

Rejuvenated, I took off, hoping to catch a bus at Malai mandir, for I no longer had suitable amount of cash to take the bus home from Priya. Besides, I had no intentions of going home just yet, and the blazing sun had probably made me mad as I Walked On(note suspicious U2 pun).
Somewhere around 45 minutes later, I had reached the edge of R. K Puram, and was fast approaching home, a place I still didn't wish to return to. So, for the third time in the day, I took a detour, and headed off to Deer Park, my childhood's fondest place.
I love Deer Park, it's full of trees and birdies, and Geese-Who-Give-You-Threatening-Looks. Oh, it's got some deer too, or at least it used to. I dunno where they've all gone to now. Anyhow, I took a good round walk through the park, with my iPod off, so I could listen to the rustling of the leaves, the chirping of the birds, and the loud accusatory noises made by the squatting geese.
Generally the geese are upwardly mobile, and make the loud accusatory noises while rushing at you for half a second, with open wings, but today, they calmly squatted, looking like hens about to give eggs. Perhaps that is exactly what they were attempting to do, but who knows these things.
My sojourn through the park ended, I exited and look for nearest ice cream stand to finish the last five bucks in my wallet, on a well earned and needed Mango Popsicle(Lick Lolly, for those Mother Dairy Inclined). I then finally decided to call it a day, for I was dehydrated, suffering from heat stroke, and had acidity, due to missing lunch. You cannot, I realise, eat lunch out when you have Rs 13 in your wallet at the beggining of a day.

I wouldn't reccomend anyone do this, ever. It's a ruddy foolish idea on a hot April Day, but sometimes, It's a fools life, and a fools' paradise. And sometimes, the road just calls you.

"Rover wanderer
Nomad vagabond
Call me what you will"

All quoted lyrics from Metallica's "Wherever I may Roam"