This is the story of a denim that fought like Achilles and survived during its invasion trail of 5000+ kms across the distant lands. It carried on its ancestor’s legacy of facing boldly the harshest conditions and only got polished and sexier with every passing day.

This is my 2007 GAS denim, made in Tunisia (comm.. 01820000, art. 03-35-0673-34-04-2558 ALBERT RIC., lab. 44-3669).
I bought this wonderful mid-wash denim just before my marriage and yeah it did survive that invasion too. It wasn’t my favorite though and at times got lost in the many shades of blue hanging in my wooden wardrobe…..few months passed and it adorned me just a little more than fewer times. Then began the planning of ‘RIDE TO FREEDOM’ trip….freedom from the monotonous life…life that needed a much needed break….to break free our spirits from the clutches of predictability….and to leave our fate on instincts and not daily plans. A bike trip that was to start from Mumbai and storm to the desolate lands of northern India. The route was planned (not the halts)….music was I-podded (not the moods)…..medicines were packed (not the spirits)…..and clothing was decided (not this denim).

Came the day of rolling out my machine….to gun down the road. I loaded my 500cc Machismo and garbed myself in the pre-decided armor…..but something didn’t feel right. It was the denim I wore that didn’t seem to be in the right mood. So, went for a change and lay my hands on this lady hiding somewhere in the closet. It hugged me well… as if thankful to me….and I could feel the warmth and comfort in it.

550kms was a good long distance for the first day of ride. We reached Ahmedabad under the shadow of stars and dropped like dead-meat, while she lay bundled at one corner of our abode. We wished Sun ‘gud morning’ the next day and got on with cladding ourselves. I set my eyes on her lying in a corner as if vying for my attention…..and she did manage to. I picked her up and held from the waist with her legs dangling in air. And as she unfolded I was sodomized by her mystifying charm. The tan from the last days ride gave her a dusky blue complexion that tickled the indigo running in my blood. Then and there I decided she’ll adorn me for the rest of the ride.

The only time she was off me, was at nights when we both needed a much awaited break from the tiresome rides. Together we rode the highest peaks….roughened roads and ‘not-so’ roads….we braved the chaffed nature….survived snow, landslides and sandstorms….muddled with puddles…. And shared the endless emotions day and everyday. At one point she was stretched beyond her capacity and tore right from the crotch….and her smiling face just drooped like an autumn leaf. But her smile was stitched back by my lovely wife Jace, and though it reminded me of the Joker….it nowhere behaved like the character. The stitches did give up time n again but only to strengthen our bond. While I was worried about her survival through the ride she was concerned about my embarrassment, but soon we got over it and paid no heed to the staring eyes.

The 45 days ride soon got over but the denim left its indigo on my soul. She still hangs in my wooden wardrobe but always standing out amongst the many shades of blue hanging in.

She’s the warrior….she’s my HERO.

I was trying to fall asleep last night, but the sleep seems to have gone out of the window (for over three weeks, I guess) One thing that kept jogging through my mind was............ we'd be there tomorrow!
And here we've reached 'tomorrow'.... it is today. A morning where almost nothing is done, be it the packing or wrapping up the household or even having thought of what has to be carried. There sits a fat feeling, which fills me up, not an outstanding thought to anyone but me. The past one week has been frenzied for the two dozen people that we are. As I sit up here, almost sure someone else is also thinking of GDC if not typing their mind away. We are the people going through the same pressure, the same dream and the same process, yes, I did say process. We all are going through the same chemical reactions everyday, of thoughts rattling at one moment and going numb the other.
We have built a connect, a strange thread that is tying us all in a bond & a weird telepathic connection. We are learning to interact in our own quiet way; we end up thinking more than often the same things.
We are all looking forward to meet each other. On the occasion of friendship day, we shall meet, the twenty four people, 12 couples, all with one common dream.“Competition” they mentioned we'd be meeting, and I think of them as friends, isn't that what we have all become with the delicate strings GDC has tied us in. I begin to wonder how often these situations have I faced in life, competing with people I like. Are the other people also going through similar emotions? Well, well, well..... its just s few more hours. We shall meet & find out.
Looking forward to meet all the twenty two and the team, what an eventful day I say.

This blog is dedicated to the people with not-so-good memory, like me. We believe in the power of the suffix ‘st’ or rather I should say that our brain reads/remembers only the files with an extension ‘.st’
Well I don’t remember my friend’s birth dates and at times it gets tough to even recall their names. I DO NOT REMEMBER.….i'm not guilty but my brain is not programmed in that way. Forgive me guys, my ‘no calls’ on right days to you is not my fault.

Some memories are etched forever just because of this extension,like.....my first date…..my longest kiss…..my first school…..my cleverest friend…..my wickedest teacher…...my lamest excuse…..the croakiest singer…..my prettiest neighbor …..my highest marks in a subject ever.….my last day at school/college …..my highest cricket and goal score…..my first interview …..my latest trip to Goa…..my detest for the dentist…..my dumbest moment…..

So how do I remember things that doesn’t have that extension?? It’s easy....to remember our wedding anniversary, I have to add '.st' extension to it. I think of the 'best' day of my life....and voila!! 21st oct. flashes like a watch-tower light in my brain. Or to remember any moment cherished with my parents, all I have to think is about the 'best' parents in this world....and the unending clips of those lovely moments just play like a flash presentation in front of my eyes....see, I said it’s easy

Well you might be thinking how is this blog related to travel…..well it surely is.…do u remember your first car/bike…..your fastest / swiftest drive.….your first Mumbai local ride…..your costliest stay…..the yummiest food at a road-side dhaba …...the wildest terrain you’ve been to..…your craziest stunt…..the absurdist map ….your highest speed…..your longest ride/drive…..
Yes I do remember all these ‘estees’ and many more;

I do remember my 'longest' ride (5000+ kms)


I do remember my ride to the 'highest' motorable road in the world (Khardung La)


.....and to the 2nd 'highest' motorable pass (view from Taglang La)


.....crossing the 2nd 'coldest' inhabited place in the world (Drass)


.....my 'crazieset' ride ever (Losar to Koksar)


.....and the 'scariest' one (Nubra - Khardung La - Leh)


I do remember the 'highest' petrol retail outlet in the world (Kaza)


.....and being at the 'last' point of a border, till where civilians are allowed (Nagasti Post, Chitkul)


.....my 'first' stay in a tent dormitory (Pang)


.....the 'highest' village in the world with motorable road & electricity (Kibber)


.....the 'first' sight of Bactrian camels (Hunder, Nubra Valley)


.....and the 'weirdest' end to a spiralled mountain road (More Plains - around 40 kms of flat land)


Well a not-so-good memory is not-so-bad if it gives a different perspective to look at things around, and life in general.

From the horrifically narrow roads, to the highest peaks, from the deserts to rafting creeks...... something which has traveled India as extensively as none of us, is this wonderful two minute recipe.

In places which were dependent only on solar energy, where cigarettes to find were only IMPACT and not any familiar looking thing but for the orange candies which reminded me of my childhood days. There lay a thing on the shelves, dwelling as if it were home....
The wondrous little yellow packet almost smiling as if to an old acquaintance, and I returned the gaze with a surprise of "hello buddy! you? here? how come?" .... Quite a magnificent job done by the distributors, its almost like finding Indians in India,
This is a dedication to this old friend, which has been loyal from our school days when we were so in love with singing "badi zoron ki bhookh lagi maggi chahiye mujhe abhi" while it was cooked.
To the days of the hostel, where we weren’t allowed to keep any electronics, not even an electric kettle. We cooked maggi almost soup like, by filling it a flask, with the hot water from our bathroom geyser.
When maggi was sometimes distributed at school, (promotion of course) we couldn't ever wait to get back home & eat it cooked. We tore the packets after crushing the insides into the smallest possible bits and adding the masala. As a child I found it too spicy, but I still couldn't resist eating it.
As we grew up, my boyfriend cooked maggi for me sometimes when I went to meet him, and I thought he could cook.
Dumb! DUMB! D.U.M.B! who couldn't cook maggi?
and even today with a tough day at work or when TGDC keeps us so engrossed, maggi becomes our saviour for the midnight meals.
Surprisingly It just doesn't take two minutes only to cook, but also to get consumed.
Hail maggi! from the smallest villages, to the college canteens, to some hip cafeterias we loved you raw, cooked, buttered, souped and cheesed.....
we've loved you for many two minutes in our lives.