U2 Brutus vs U2 Bono!

I knelt down to get a closer feel of the fresh radiance from the rain-drenched creepers outside my home here in Chennai. It was an attempt to revive my numb senses in the only way I know, through memories.

Rain brings back those images for me, the ones covered in dust deep within the dark cellars of my subconscious. It is the same for everyone, I’m sure. Because rain is special, it is life for all being on this planet!

And the memories!

Be it the first skid fall from you bike as a kid while splashing through the flooded lanes in Kochi or the romantic rendezvous with the special person in your life just outside her college, followed by a walk under her umbrella, craving for each others’ warmth but abstaining from indulging in any form of PDA, respecting the sensibilities of the Malayalam-speaking, love-hating, well-educated average citizens of the biggest metro in my home state - Kerala.

“You too, Leslie”, would have been the snide remark from that elderly gentleman who was staring at us from the opposite side of the road that monsoon day when I held the girl in my life close and walked, getting wet all over.

Hey... Wasn’t that line reserved for Brutus for the most famous betrayal in history. “I don’t deserve that remark, dear sir,” I should have replied, holding my girl even tighter to convey the truth and the bare truth that I would never betray her.

But did Julius Caesar really had enough time to turn and see Brutus’ power-hungry eyes and then raise his hypnotic voice above all the commotion on the Ides of March to express his pain in three simple syllables. “Et tu, Brute,” they say was the great Monarch’s last words before resigning to his fate; though even now history freaks have a field day arguing that the phrase was first used across the channel in England and not in Rome or thereabout.

Whatever it is, since the English happen to be the keepers of history till the Yankee resurgence in the twentieth century, the version best known in the new world is the Latin phrase Et tu, Brute?, which is derived from William Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, where it actually forms the first half of a macaronic line: "Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar!"

Shakespeare in turn was making use of a phrase already in common use in his time: It appears, for instance, in Richard Eedes's Latin play Caesar Interfectus of 1582 and The True Tragedie of Richarde Duke of Yorke of 1595, a source work for Henry VI, Part Three.

Shakespeare's version follows the Roman historian Suetonius, who reported that others have claimed Caesar's last words were the Greek phrase "καὶ σὺ τέκνον;" (transliterated as "Kai su, teknon?": "You too, my child?" in English or "Tu quoque, Brute, fili mi" in Latin). But Suetonius himself claims Caesar said nothing as he died. Plutarch too was sure Caesar was silent and merely pulled his toga over his head when he saw Brutus among the conspirators. While some others believe the phrase was meant to be a curse on Brutus which ultimately brought forth the violent death of the statesman.

‘You too’ remained though, even now, and in highly abbreviated forms in modern-day text messages. “U2, u fucking asshole,” says the evolved man through his IPhone 3G, the adjectives taking on more biological implications which one can attribute towards the rather high awareness our generation has towards sciences, especially biology.

U2!

“U2, so what is U2 sir?” A friend of mine was asked this question by an eight-year-old kid at an obscure village in Bengal not so long back.

Why would a primary school kid in a laid back Bengal village want to know about Caesar and his supposedly last words – U2? And what prompted him to ask this question to my friend who is hardly Plutarch.

My friend, who was standing next to me during my sense-stimulating exercise mentioned at the start, explained, after snapping my attention from the trip down memory lane to the music at the background. He was playing Bono and the gang you see; wait a minute, The U2! Now I get the connection.

The music he was listening to, apparently took him a few years back to his university days in Kolkata. Music took him for a ride just like I was taken to where I belong by the rain.

“Back those days I had this habit of taking train rides and getting down at a random station and just walk around for a while and get lost. Of course getting lost was literal as I didn’t have a mobile phone then,” my friend said unassumingly.

I wanted to interrupt saying, “dude, these are the same things that the modern day spiritual types do and then glorify it as trips to the depths of nirvana”. Am sure Buddha turns in his grave each time he hears that. But that’s the way the world is now.

My friend continued: “I got down and some station and was walking. I was wearing a red U2 T-shirt and then this kid comes up and asks me ‘what is U2, sir?’ I still remember his face. He must have just started learning the English alphabets or something and he asked me this. And when I listen to U2 these days, the first picture that comes to my mind is the boy’s face.”

But sadly the boy’s question as never answered, my friend’s justification was that “he would never understand”.

How could he be so sure, I felt. It’s the age when we are all so well informed and misinformed too by the G-Thing, Google, I mean. So you can never fathom what people around you know or don’t know.

Anyway, back to the all important question that has come out from all these random memory trips. What is U2?

I, being inclined towards pessimism these days would say that it points only and only to BETRAYAL of the highest order. While my friend here would say, shut the hell up and listen man.

I am listening and he has a point, you see. The guys from Dublin (read: U2, the band) are not betrayers at all. They are very honest in their music.

So is the definition of 'U2' evolving? Are the history books being re-written by a bunch of musicians? I would be very happy if that is the case because, for a pleasant change, history books would not be written by war-thirsty generals and oil-thirsty presidents; but by musicians.

But my friend didn’t help the peace cause one bit by not explaining to the kid, who is the next generation, that U2 is not a word of betrayal, but U2 is music and love and all things that love stands for.

I guess “you too, Brutus” will stay for some more time. So will U2 and their Joshua Tree and history will take its own route.

Aha! It is raining again. Time for another trip, another route!

Vain Reaction

It was a few minutes past midnight. The splashing rain drops in front of me got illuminated suddenly by the head-lamp of a car fast approaching from behind. It was probably a metre or so away from my cycle when I cut to the right to negotiate a puddle. But the driver slowed down to give me space; a courtesy you don’t often get from megalomaniacs – the average Chennai driver.

This car had slowed, then it overtook me and the driver looked at me: Can’t blame him for that, can I? I was a sight!

Wearing a three-fourth pants and my rain coat over my t-shirt, I was half drenched, pedalling in the steady cadence I have attained after a year of the ‘cycling to office’ routine.

Besides, seeing someone cycle at midnight in heavy rain is something people are not used to either. So I decided to forgive this driver, who happened to be the big-boss at office, my Resident Editor.

He looked and then zoomed past me, perhaps trying to figure out what I was trying to prove or gain by braving the elements, when I could take the office car and reach home safe and dry.

Same question was asked by a senior colleague of mine. “Are you crazy? The entire city is flooded and you just take your cycle and come to office. What if you fall or something?” he had quipped, in a scolding tone.

I just smiled and blabbered something about the fun of riding in the rain. In the last one year I have answered a lot of questions like these, but more importantly, I could find answers to a lot of questions from within me during my long solitary rides. I dream while I ride you see and only cycling can provide you with that opportunity.

And I have seen my share of adrenalin rushes too – all with my soul-mate here in this city, the lady in red, my cycle.

And the city is fast catching up with the idea of going green and healthy on two wheels, I was told by a friend of mine through her article in the newspaper she works.

She was featuring ‘Chain Reaxion’, the group which organises a 40-km monthly ride to Mahabalipuram, an effort to popularise cycling among the city’s young as well as the old elite. My writer friend went on to add, quoting one of the celebrity members of the group, about the impact cycling is making in their lives and the environment.

Good for them, but I just can’t digest the “good for the environment” bit!

I bet my saddle-hardened rear side that it ain’t making any difference to the toxin-infested Chennai air. Is the city getting green because a bunch of wine-sippers and arm-chair warriors pedal down East Coast Road once in a month? I beg to differ maam!

“Chain Reaxion, a great idea isn’t it,” I was talking to a cycling enthusiast, who was hunched over his expensive imported bike at the cycle shop I frequent. Actually we both were, rather childishly, hunched over our bikes, mine looking all dressed up after a service, while his was getting greased up after a wash.

We looked like a couple of kids but grown up kids I would say because, like any adult males homosapiens these days, we had exchanged our visiting cards.

“Chain Reaxion is very good but it is something for beginners. I am glad cycling is catching up in the city and events like these may help popularize it. But I am not sure how many will take up serious cycling after one 40-km ride. Cycling is not a monthly affair pal. I cycle daily and it’s a passion for me, and it keeps me fit without the rut of hitting a gym,” added the senior executive of Royal Enfield Motors, who hits the East Coast Road (ECR) every morning for an hour of pedalling.

“Sadly, my office is far off so I can’t pedal to work,” he added.

Well this guy sure seems genuine; one could fathom the passion in his eyes when he was holding the wheel of his bike, examining the spokes for signs of metal fatigue. Now, here is a guy smitten, just like me, I had told myself then.

Back to Chain Reaxion, the city’s answer to the problem posed by the thousands of smoking guns – the cars and buses and trucks!

The event, which charges 600 bucks per participant, is maybe aimed at promoting cycling but it is hardly hitting the mark when it comes to making the participants give up their motorized modes of daily transport to pedal power.

A classic example is a colleague of mine who had messaged me one Sunday evening last month saying she can’t walk properly because her legs are buckling after 30-odd kilometres of Chain Reaxion.

“My legs are buckling but it was fun cycling down ECR with friends. Only thing is that I had a fall and couldn’t complete it,” madam said before adding: “I shall do it again next time and complete it.”

“Good,” I had said at the same time criticising her for jumping onto a saddle for such a distance without any preparations. Of course her legs were sore for the next couple of days and as far as continuing cycling: Well, she has not gotten on a cycle after that. Maybe she is waiting for the next event.

So much for inspiring people to take up cycling! The organisers here are just promoting the event, the higher ideals probably getting lost in the mad chase for sponsors, publicity and of course the entry fee.

Cycling, for me, has been a liberating experience. It has brought out the kid in me, the kid I identify each time I get involved in a down-the street drag race with school boys.

The kids want to take on “the geared cycle” I’m riding while this grown-up is trying to relive those lost days.

So, will I ever need a bunch of marketing honchos to tell me when and where to pursue my passion or, pedal in this case. No!

Now, what about the environmentalists in Chain Reaxion?

A hundred cyclists embarking on a monthly odyssey which takes them down the ECR is hardly a means to make an impact on the Carbon Signature of the city. If the participants really want to make a difference then they should give up their gas guzzlers and start pedalling, be it going to office or to the movies.

Of course, it will mean no high-heels or tuxedo and probably getting no parking space at the socialite watering holes in the city. It also means walking in sweaty, and at times, with greasy hands to your office cabin. Well, it is a small sacrifice you can make for your Mother Earth, right?

It is funny though that suddenly the city is going ‘ga-ga’ over cycling. The change began a few months back and it coincided with the launch of high-end imported bikes in a city shop. It shows how glitterati obsessed Chennai is.

I remember a salesman telling me which model of bike to buy when I was window-shopping a few months back in one US-import bike showroom in the city.

“Get this one; it was brought by Kamal Hassan and Gowthami last month,” he said. A sales trick but one which will work, especially here.

“My bike cost one lakh you see and I’m riding it because I am so conscious about the environment,” I can imagine a technocrat boasting to his pals.

The same technocrat, who drives the most fuel-inefficient of cars to office six days a week and is obsessed about leaving the AC running while his wheels are parked in the sun so that he needn’t sweat when he gets back in after a ‘power-lunch’.

I see many cyclists on road everyday, riding to work – some doing it because they don’t have a choice while others opting for pedal-power. They could easily take the bus or the train, all efficient means of travel. But they choose to cycle and I would say they are the heroes making the difference to the environment, not the weekend activists.

Now, where do I stand in this dilemma of higher causes?

I cycle because I love the physical exertion, I love the freedom it provides, and above all it gives me an avenue to release the accumulated negative energy due by my sedentary lifestyle and of course the unavoidable career complications in a post-recession world. My contribution to the environment is just a happy by-product.

Damn right I am selfish here. I cycle for myself, for the kicks, not for anything else and I don’t glorify my hobby or passion.

From, out-running angry dogs, to falling head first on a road covered in knee-deep rain water from the city’s share of north eastern monsoon. From, being not allowed entry at the city’s big shopping malls to asked whether my company doesn’t pay me well; this journey-man has seen and felt it all; including saddle sores and achy joints, after that bad skid while racing down St Thomas Mount.

Yesterday, around two in the morning, I got lost inside T Nagar while purposely taking a long detour coming back home from work. Now, getting lost in a city late in the night is no fun, but I don’t mind as long as I have my partner with me, my two wheels.

Kind of make me remember the lines from an old song – ‘Stand by me’ – by Ben E King. I am sure King won’t mind me rewriting his lyrics to suit the situation here.

‘... I won’t flee, I won’t flinch,
and I won’t stop pedalling,
just as long, as you stand,
stand by me... Oh darling, darling,
stand by me, stand by me...’

Finally...

After almost four months of contemplation, research, plain old search, and a small bout with Malaria, I, on the ninth day of October 2008, brought my first wheels ever.
Now let me get it straight, I have had wheels, my three-wheeler as a kid, my BSA champ, which took me places during the years of uncertainty between being a baby and a teen and of course my BSA mach and Hercules MTB which saw me through my crazy high-school days, before I switched to the less physically demanding motorised version of two-wheelers.
My scooter - LML Vespa, and then my Bullet Machismo. But all of em, brought by my dad's money. That makes this one special. My first wheels. I brought it, big deal right.
Change of plans though...
I didn't buy a Firefox as planned. I went for an LA-Sovereign (Wave) and by God she is sexy. My first trip was memorable too. From Saidapet to my office at Nandanam. A short trip, but I decided to get myself lost in the lanes near Saidapet, simply exploring. Did that for an hour till it was time to get to my office.
Finally I felt freedom for the first time in Chennai. The freedom to move, to explore, to see what this city is all about, a city struggling between different identities, or is it just a myth.
I plan to get lost here.... Let's see what comes out of it...

Why this road!

Doing my bit for the environment? My decision to buy a bicycle to carry me around town would be a noble act if that was the case. But it ain't.

Although, in the process, the environmental activist in me will have his share of the glory, my move has much more selfish motives - to improve my physical condition, from pathetic to at least a situation where I can jog away from danger, if not run. I am definitely out of shape at this point in time.

The other hope being that my new companion, will wake up the free spirit that would send me in search of the off-beat roads that this part of the world can offer. Kind of an adventure...

But why now...

The scene dates back to a month, in Coimbatore, where I was covering a karting event for my newspaper and the thought struck me right when everyone else around were slowly letting their minds run wild.

It was the post-race party and with a healthy doze of Carbon chain-compounds in me, and excited by the Ukrainian girls at the floor, I was shaking my injured leg, desperate to show that I have what it takes to endure the pressures of partying.

But seriously I didn't. The moves were there but my body was not following my heart and will. After a couple minutes of jig I would rest, panting like a dog. I turned to my buddy Sandip and said: "Definitely out of shape man, definitely".

Well, coming back to Chennai, I really couldn't make any changes to the active yet aerobically static lifestyle I was following. The only exercise I have here is the anaerobic activity of lifting weights. The weight of a glass of fizz-filled drink of sailors to be exact. Not good right.

Now that I have made up my mind about pedalling my way to physical and spiritual enlightenment, let's see what unfolds in this new journey. The wait is now for my new baby, a Firefox six-speeder. But it will take a couple of weeks for the wheels to roll it seems...