I can see you!

Fastfood, Amritsar style ©JMatthew

There I was clinging on to the side-rail and my dear life as the auto-rickshaw needled its way through the tiny alleys squeezing through the passage with surgical precision that only a neurosurgeon can outdo. Stunts that these fellows can do, even Evel Knievel would fail. They knew their vehicles like the back of their hands as if their machines were extra appendages of their bodies. They do not need a reverse camera to judge the distance to the car behind them. Neither required is the irritating tones of sensors for their work. They just need their car horns. Have honk will travel! They swerve past pedestrians leaving a trail of dust and smoke without a care in the world. The blaring horns seem not a last-minute desperate measure to alert but instead gave rhythm to the rickety vehicle and noisy engines like Illayaraja's percussions accompanying his masterpiece. The automan's joy and pride, his horn, gave warnings of different tones, from a light whisper to a yell to an almost angina-inducing 'foul-languaged' curse that 
would chase animals and even people into hiding. Welcome to India. 

This was an entirely new experience for me. Guarded against the vultures from the land of the survival of the fittest, I had it cushy. I had been taught and was expected by the fellow users of the road, to uphold certain decorum. I come from a land where rules were made to be followed, not flaunted.

Here, red on the traffic lights are mere ornaments like the ones that dorn the Christmas trees. Traffic signs are just accessories. Traffic rules are Aesop's fables, only for children. Seat belts, safety helmets, overloading... what are they?

Despite all the chaos, the continuous trail of movement of people with the heated brake pads, nobody seems incensed. Nobody shows any emotion. Like an emotionless poker player, motorists just overcome their obstacles with monastery students' patience. Nobody has time to show their displeasure, either with their middle finger or steering locks. Perhaps, they realise that the mascot-idol on their dashboard is watching their every move.

There is no bottleneck, just a slight hiccup in the system. There is always a little space for an oversized vehicle to squeeze through in these narrow lanes. The pavements are still there for the autos to do a side wheelie!

I see you!

"I was here first!' screamed the tree echoed by other tree
huggers! ©FG

             There is place for everyone on God's Earth ©FG

What maketh a human?

So it is yet another run, my personal competitive run #35 since I took the plunge into my first run in 2009. This time around it is the Adidas King of the Road 16.8km run, third time running. As  I was running along the mammoth monolithic man-made structures amidst the mixed affluent and the not so affluent part of the suburbia, I realized that nothing about the race had changed. The wannabe runners with their 'gaya muthusamy' way of branded dressing and gizmos filled to the brim, heart monitors, sweat head band, logo flashing florescent compression suits, Gel Kinsei (the Bentley of the running shoes) etcetera, etcetera. Even the loud mouthed hooligans with nonsensical hurls and catcalls at the the 15km mark were there this time around. Only this time around, they had gotten their stereophonic bass beating high trebled high fidelity systems to complement their rowdy act!

Also in saree

So there was nothing new, it was just same old, same old... And as I was running and thinking what to write about the run, it came to me. Why not write about the dressing of some of the participants, I asked myself?

In saree

Some dress to flaunt, some want to flaunt but cannot due to certain social and cultural restrictions. Some flaunt anyway (because they can and they want to) whilst others modify their dressing to flaunt the law to be acceptable and to cover the restricted taboo zones.
Like they say, sarees are worn by people like Mother Theresa and sarees are worn by sex workers in the most remote area of India. What may the difference, the modesty versus the alluring inner desires? It is the composite act of carrying oneself and speech that complement the whole package, is it not?
So, I chuckle to myself and ask myself why all the effort to colour code, to enhance the contour and leave none to imagination and let it all go to waste? Just a thought whilst I continue the run....

I can't get no satisfaction**

After completing two full marathons, looks like there is nothing more to achieve. Everything else seems pale compared to the joy being a finisher in the 42.195km race. Still, life has to go on and the joints have to be spared to last to the dying days - like doing a Fauja Singh at a ripe age.
After the KL Marathon, our group of similar minded running junkies seem to find content in our weekly Sunday Bkt Aman runs followed by the thosai breakfast at Brickfields. To break the monotony, a few runs have been lined up for the future over the next few months. First on the list is 'Adidas King of the Road' on 9.9.2012. 
Predictably, seeing the name Adidas, one can imagine many members of the brand centric Y-generation coming in droves. Sure enough they landed there all geared up with sports paraphernalia up the brim that would put any every warm blooded marathon running Kenyan to shame. You name it, they have it - head sweat band, arm band for I-phone, head phones for music, compression pants and T, and spanking new, hardly worn fluorescent psychedelic hued tick embossed Nike shoes to match!
It is a good thing that they were indulging in a healthy activity on a Sunday morning rather than being slumped in a post Saturday party stupor. It also gives a good feeling to old dogs like us to this dressed to kill newbies panting, jaywalking and holding hands with their loved ones rather than chasing the clock. Guess for them it is one of their social function for them so that they update on their social media so that they can be liked by hundreds of unknown people.
The run itself was boring. The kilometres of tarred road undulating like a waking dragon was less interesting than people watching. The race started from the artificial bourgeois neighbourhood of Sunway to the dirty part of PJ Selatan where low cost flats lined the skyline. The air also became fetid with open burning in progress. The SMEs of the working class - repair shops, cottage industries and smoke belching factories paved either sides of the later of our route.
Still managed to catch up with a secondary school buddy whom have not been so active in the running scene of late. Running and chatting was a breeze until I politely asked him not to wait for me and off he went!

Again the trip back was hindered by sea of multicoloured singlet donning 10km 'just for fun' runner who were hogging (there is a reason why this particular choice of word) the roads, all three lanes. The 16.8km'ers  had to zigzag their way like a knitting needle through these boyfriend/girlfriend, fiancee, soon-to-be-married, just married, one night standers/ hit and runners, or whether their relationship fits into, who were walking arm in arm or arm to hip!

With the good organisation of the organisers, we breezed through the finish line and collected the post run goodies. The outing would not have complete without our weekly dose of thosai. And so we did. Raj and I (the only valiant soldiers of the group of 4 to grace this outing) had ours and returned home to do our worldly deeds. (unofficial timing: 16.8km - 1h42m34s, 2 minutes off last year's timing)

**I can't get no satisfaction- Even though it is bad English and coming from an English band at that, it is Rolling Stones' all time high ranked song. At the time of release in 1965, it created quite with its unpleasant lyrics.(It starts off fine with bashing of the early creep of commercialization into media. Then Mr Thick Lips goes for girly action but the girl says wait till next week as she is loosing streak (slang for menstruation!) But they try and they got by....

When I was king!

2nd October 2011....
In a bar somewhere in India...
"Sorry, Saar! Today is Dry Day - Gandhi Jayanthi - No alcohol today."

Well, it was definitely not a dry day for the 10,000 odd runners in the Adidas King of the Road race who were wet drenched with their own sweat trying to outbid their inner naysayers to complete the 16.8 and 10km road race on one the new highways in the Klang Valley called New Pantai Expressway (NPE).
The morning started with runners armed with their armamentarium of cardiac heart rate monitors, foot pod pacers, I-pods with headphones and all the necessary paraphernalia, fuel belt (not for rocket launchers, but to fuel their energy and hydration needs) as if they were off to war.
After parking their vehicles (not horses or Humvee), all contestants made it to the starting line in front of the mammoth stony structure of Sphinx-like lion-head atop Sunway Pyramid. After being flagged off at 0645h as scheduled, we went to war on foot trying to beat the challenge put up by the concrete ugly monument of modern man called highway. From Sunway, the war path took us to the beginning of NPE near Sek 14 where we ascended on the elevated road. It was a relieve to act like a king of the road on the highway weaving from right to left at your fancy as the road were closed to traffic between 0300h and 1100h. On a normal day, the warriors would have all been road kills to break-neck speeding Malaysian drivers!

The battlefield extended through the toll booth where we pass through without paying dues, like royalties. After about 9km, we retreaded down the highway and made it back to the starting pen. 

It was a well organised run with no rush and people falling all over the place trying to get their start, drinks or finishing goodies.

I managed to finish the duel of 16.8km in 1h44m while my partner in crime who seems to be improving by leaps and bounds by the run finished his in 1h35m!

Kudos to Suresh, Adidas and the organizers.