Theatre of Life

In the 80's the brand Danskins made its appearance. It is still around. The brand tag line was 'life is a stage'. I guess that always kind of stuck with me. Its so true. We are all in a 'performance' of some sort. All characters in the production of life. 

We remain the central characters, the constants in the multiple scenes; but the real quality of our production comes from the supporting cast. They are the ones who influence us and guide us throughout the production of life. They are the ones who add the colour and the themes. They influence the music and the sets. 

They are parents, siblings, teachers, coaches, school and team mates and neighbours. 
I have been fortunate throughout my life to have had some amazing cast members. 

While I have had the fare share of psychopathic assholes to deal with, by and large i have been fortunate to have had my life cross paths with some unique individuals. 
One such person is 'Uncle Nihal' or the famed Sri Lankan Photographer, traveller, author and all-round nice guy, Nihal Fernando. 

Uncle Nihal was our neighbour down Skelton Road and the father of my friends Yohan and Anu Weerasuriya. 

We moved to Skelton Road around the early 70's. The country was under the ham fisted rule of Sirimavo, a horror of a woman in more ways than one and a totally incompetent Head of State. Her policy of nationalisation and extreme socialism had driven us back to the caves and most of us had converted what were lawns and gardens into vegetable plots in order to supplement our diets and keep from starving on the meagre rations dished out by the cooperative store. 

My daily routine included walking to the bread line early morning and coming home and watering the mannioc, sogum, soy bean and cow pea we had in the front garden and the tomatoes and chill plants in the back. I even had some Aubergine plants that I was quite proud of. After that it was a forced 'rest' ala the rules of the senior Mrs Unamboowe and then it was off to play. Invariably, bare bodied and bare footed, still in my kerosene smelling blue drill school shorts. Thankfully, by this time my mother had given up her traumatic practice of 'dressing me up' to go and play. Too embarrassing for mention. Maybe later. 

Gates and walls were apparently meant to be vaulted over or walked along and having navigated the perimeters of a few of the neighbouring houses, I would end up at Yohans. 
He was one year younger than me and Anu was one year older. While Anu didn't really waste her time on us, Yohan and I would invent games ranging from 'hora-police' to 'cowboys and Indians'. We built tree houses, and club houses and started a secret society along with our friend Aku who lived a few walls away. We climbed trees as routine and swung between branches in Tarzanesque fashion, and ran along roofs of the never too pleased neighbours houses, for no reason but because they were the shortest routes from pint A to B. 

Uncle Nihal was a patient observer of all of our antics  He would watch us with slightly angular stance and a half smile; a kind of perplexed, amused, curious look on his face and he found great humour in what we were up to. He helped us build a rope ladder that got us to the top of the 'dhung' tree. He helped us get our tree house complete and most of all he encouraged us to be boys, to be playful and carefree and mischievous. He famously encouraged us to play a prank on one of our less 'humoured' neighbours and gave us various seeds of ideas that sent us off on great adventures, bounding over walls and up trees. He definitely wrote a scene in the production of our lives that was unique and valued. 

The Fernando family home was a meeting place for the who's who in the art and social world of the 70's. Aunty Dodo and Uncle Nihal were surrounded by characters like Pat Decker, Scott Direckze, Ena De Silva, Lucky Senanayaka, Barbera Sansoni, Dominic Sansoni, Nanda Senanayake Lyn De Alwis and Winston and Iranganie Serasinghe all of who were a constant source of education, entertainment and awe to me. We met Dieter Plage the world renown wildlife photographer and watched his films in the living room, sipping ginger beer. We spent countless hours in the Zoo as his friend was the curator and played with everything from Gibbons to Leopard cubs and Pythons. 

We would hang around in hope of the odd cigarette or a 'little shot' that was handed our way but for most of it, just to absorb the conversation and the atmosphere. Aunty Dodo's unmistakeable laugh and uncle Nihal's soft chuckle still echo in my memory. 

As we grew older, then came the trips. I was old enough for my parents to let me travel with the Fernando family and to this day, I consider that one of the greatest privileges I have enjoyed. This was travel with 'Travel Royalty'. This was travel with one of the greatest travellers of his time. We went to Anuradhapura, Mihintale, Sigiriya, Yala, Wilpattu, Marawila where they had a property and to so many more destinations over the years. 
These trips were epic. 

first, the old Land Rovers were pack full of Uncle Nihal's photography equipment. Cameras, Lenses, tripods, bags of film and bags and bags of other equipment such as flashes. Al this filled a built in platform that extended half way through the back of the rear of the Land Rover. They were both canvas topped and with open sided and we rode in the back, open to the elements, and loving every second of it. 

Under Aunty Dodo's supervision the supplies were packed. Food and drink to last the trip. My mother made date cookies that were named 'Mama's biscuits' by Uncle Nihal and quickly became a staple addition to the packing list. 
Once we were all packed and ready we awaited an early morning departure as was customary. I hardly slept. I was so excited for the morning to come, i would keep checking my room clock to see if the designated hour had arrived. Once it painfully got there, I would bound out of bed, grab my things and bolt over to number 18. Shaking with excitement. 

With Uncle Nihal, nothing was rushed. He was the most laid back individual i have ever met. The trip was not just a drive to the destination. It was the journey. We stopped at temples and rock carvings, at water holes and old buildings. We drank tea and picnicked along the way and all the while, he would amble around, photographing random subjects. This is where I first developed my love and passion for photography. I heard a click of a shutter and I was smitten. He once gave me a camera to take a picture. I held it in my hands like it was gold and once I looked through the viewfinder and took a shot I was sold. I clearly recall his patience when taking a shot. It wasn't about just pointing and shooting. These were the days of black and white photography. It was all about the light, the angles and mood and the setting. He would take hours to find the prefect shot. All these were invaluable lessons absorbed by me and which I tried to put into practice years later, when I decided to photograph for more than just fun. 

On one instance when we were in Anuradhapura. He woke up before dawn on almost every morning we were there. He made the drive over the the lake shore and photograph the great Buddhist shrine, the Ruwanweliseya. Each morning he moved just a little bit away from the previous place, capturing different angles and light. He made sure he was there and set up before the light came up.  When it did, he took time over each shot, never rushed, never flustered. 

Anu says that the only time he hurt them physically was once when they were photographing a leopard and she had started moving in the Rover. He had pinched her tummy to make her stop. This I can relate to having abused my amused younger son Sachin for the same offence in Horton Plains, when he 'spoiled' a shot i was about to make. Sachin learned a few choice new words that day but no physical pain was dished out. I am sure Sharya and Sachin would both have another accounts of my outbursts while photographing.. but this is the one I recall. 

While photography was the main purpose of these trips, it didn't stop us from enjoying the locations we were at. We climbed rocks in Mihintale, Scaled The rock fortress of Sigiriya, we ran through the rain in Marawila, and Yohan and I went fishing with Uncle Nihal. I learned to bait a hook and give it a yank when the fish bit.  Our first fishing trip ended up with a bucket full of 'sprat' sized fish that was happily consumed by Scott Direkzes cat. At night we listened to stories of past trips and experiences and while the adults sipped Arrack and Ginger Ale, us kids lolled around munching cookies and cadju nuts and enjoying the nights. 

Another memory I have is of Uncle Nihal, sitting in the open balcony of Manikkapolauttu Bungalow in Wilpattu, at night, photographing Deer in the rain, by the light of the flashing lightening. He sat for hours into the night taking shot after shot. I am not sure of the technique he used and haven't seen the results of that night but I learned the lesson of patience in the field from none other than him, on many occasions like this. 

The years went by and I went overseas. On returning, life took over and marriages, children and careers got in the way. I dropped in periodically to see Aunty Dodo and Uncle Nihal. To enjoy a laugh and listen to a tale of a trip or something Yohan and I had done. He still found great humour in our escapades. We sipped an Arrack and chatted in to the night. A few years ago, while photographing in Yapahuwa ( i think)  sadly he suffered an injury that has made it difficult for him to enjoy the things he did. This means his travels are now over and he is confined mostly to his home. I am guilty of the great crime of not visiting him in years. Yohan and I have met from time to time but I haven't got around to meeting Uncle Nihal in recent times. The last contact I had was when Aunty Dodo called me to congratulate me on something I had done. 

Its sad that with time, we lose touch with those who mean so much to us; who  have had such profound influences over our lives; who gave us so much happiness and peace and were such a joy to be around. Aunty Dodo and Uncle Nihal, Anu and Yohan created a little oasis of happiness and learning for me. As I grow older and move on into the late summer/early fall of life, I look back with an amazing fondness and appreciation for all those hours spend in the company of a wonderful human being. A man who was patient, kind and an inspiration to me.  I will make the time to go see him when I return from the next business trip I have to make. I hope this like the many intentions i had before won't fall by the way side as well. 

Uncle Nihal, Aunty Dodo, Anu and Yohan. Thank you for an amazing scene in the drama of my life. i am a better man for the time spent in your company. 

Class Rooms and Head Winds.

Been a while since my last post.
Not sure what really happened but somehow i didn't really seem to have much to write about. The sad thing is, when life is rolling along un ruffled by 'something different', it may seem comfortable and happy, but the fact is it's boring and doesn't inspire anyone to be creative. 

Have you every heard a song, poem or prose saying "oh my life is average to boring and I have nothing exciting to write / sing about"? 
Its the disruption to routine that makes for writing. Its getting out of our comfort zones and getting ourselves into situations that make us wriggle with discomfort or glow with happiness; Anything different to the routine, that inspires us to write. Well; at least that's what it takes for me to tap away at this keyboard.

What happened to me? Well; First, I was sent back to school. I kid you not. Three weeks of formal classroom sessions. Averaging 8 hours a day, six days a week. If you do the math, you will see that it adds up-to almost one entire semester (in the US system) of class room time. Anyone who was with me through my time at Ithaca College would probably tell you that, it was more time than I spent in all eight semesters of my undergraduate  years in class.  I however dispute that, as I was a diligent student as an undergraduate, even though that diligence was not necessarily displayed by my class attendance or towards anything academic. 

This time however, things had to be different. For one, I was fifty years old. You can't play truant at fifty can you?
Second, I was being sent by my employers on a very expensive Executive Education Program to one of the worlds leading homes of academia, no less than Dartmouth College, an Ivy League campus situated in Hannover New Hampshire.
Third (and I shock my self as I 'write' this) I really wanted to learn. STOP LAUGHING.

I have come to a stage in my career where I have few choices. Either I learn new tricks and change with the times and handle the challenges of a new world [while learning to handle a younger and very different set of team mates] or I fade away with the dinosaurs of the business world and plonk off towards a 'regulation' retirement, a mediocre golf handicap, and arthritis. 
Fuck that.. this boy is going down fighting. 

I drove to Hanover with my 'brother in arms' Niranjan AKA Butchchi. We both work for the same group and we had been picked for this course together. While we have been friends from the time we were ten, Niranjan is an almost Medical Doctor, with double Masters Degrees and brains to share among the masses and a very intellectual outlook to life. He loves this stuff. I have gastritis, anxiety attacks and have to clench my butt cheeks at the mere thought of it.  
Three weeks of intense eduction, thousands of pages of pre reading and homework every day? Yup. Enough to make a grown man cry. Well... enough to make THIS grown man cry. 

Arriving in Hanover on beautiful summers day, I had a warm fuzzy feeling that it would be a great three weeks. Our 'home' was the cozy and comfortable Hanover Inn. A small but luxuriously appointed hotel, with a decent gym and a limited room service option that ended at 10 pm. Across the road from it was the Dartmouth Green and campus and to one side was Murphy's, a pub that was to become a somewhat familiar hang out. There was also the Canoe Club, which was a Bistro / Bar and a scattering of other eateries and boutiques. What I soon realised was our home for the next three weeks was two blocks by two; At best a once horse town; but I suspect that horse left to join the circus, many moons ago. Ithaca NY was a small, quaint College Town, but this made Ithaca look like Gotham City in comparison. 

I will spare you the tedious detail and cut to scene two. 
We are in a class room of a forty executive students, mostly from the US but a few from Japan, a couple from Saudi Arabia, an Indian, a Columbian and the two of us Sri Lankans. 
Among the Americans were several military and ex military folks thrown in for good measure. 
This mix of people were actually the highlight of the next three weeks. Although I consciously shied away from most of the social activity, more to discipline myself and stay true to a work out and diet plan i had, than and other reason, i did really enjoy the time spent with them. Over the course of time, they did become family of sorts, as would be expected when you throw a mixed bunch into a 'brain bootcamp' like we were a part of. 

Five days of accounting started off the course, and I had to keep sharp objects away from myself. I resorted to buttering my bread with a spoon etc, as I was tempted to slash my throat whenever I saw an opportunity  I hate accounts and finance and starting off with five FULL days of finance was insane. I enjoyed two hours of this period, and that was when much to my relief (not that i give a rats ass about soccer) we were allowed to break away from debits and credits to watch the world cup final. I personally hate soccer but given that the option was accounts I was thrilled. Truth is given a chance, I would have watched the knitting club take on the crochet club in darts, rather than sit in accounts class. 

Thankfully we never saw the finance guys again, barring a social event later on in the program. I stayed well away from them. 

The course picked up momentum post the 'big yawn', and while we did have some great faculty spend time with us, there was a low point when the Former Governor of New Hampshire was brought in as a guest speaker. Seriously??? The Former... well. you know. 
In addition, on that day I got the sad news that a dear friend and someone I respected immensely had passed away. The net result was I got up and walked out of his 'enthralling' monologue, opting to skip the evenings 'event' with Mr personality as well. 

The highlight of it all was a great session with Marshall Goldsmith. Google him. He is a legend. He is considered the guru in leadership and an amazing speaker. A sprightly and fit looking man in his late sixties he has an amazing ability to hold an audience and hit home with some sensitive messages that make you seriously sit up and think. 
Check out his web site as well. He has free access to all his material and its well worth your while bookmarking those pages. 

All in all, the three weeks passed quite quickly. I stuck to my plan of working out everyday, Butchchi and I became the 'darlings' of the only Chinese restaurant and Only Indian restaurants in town and sadly it was only on our final night there that we discovered the only restaurant that stayed open beyond 10pm within a twenty mile radius. 
We also made some great friends among the participants and the faculty and i am sure we will continue to stay in touch with reunions planned periodically in various parts of the US. 

I left the program a day early to get back home in time to attend the 50th Birthday Bash of my College group. The Royal College Group of 82. We had two tables of ten, which meant 10 couples of my old friends and Sharya and Sachin with their girlfriends. There were also a whole bunch of my class mates and friends at the dance, many of whom had gathered from around the world. It was great to see former team mates from the various sports I had been fortunate to be a part of, and friends who had been in class with me from the time we were 6, all gathered to celebrate this event that was brilliantly organised by my dear friend Ashan Abeysundere and his team. An excellent evening was had by all and considering that we wobbled home at way past sunrise, its fare to say, the old boys can still party like teenagers. 

The next big thing for us was participating in the CCC1333 ride around Sri Lanka. Well; we didn't do the entire ride but joined the riders from Colombo to Chilaw, took a break for work and other commitments and rejoined the riders in Trincomalee to ride to Batticaloa and then on to ArugamBay. Having already done the ATP ride around the country, I guess we had our biases how things should have been done. 

When we joined the group in Trinco I was amazed to see them all playing a rather vigorous game of soccer and then onto play Volleyball and then into that spool for a swim. As I recall, at the end of the day (during ATP), the only energy I could muster up is for a nap, a cold beer or two and then another nap. These guys were crazy energetic. This however took its toll as the next day we had a couple of casualties who were too exhausted to continue. 
That evening we joined the group for dinner.  I have to say they were very organised and structured in all they did, with a team 'talk' and download of the days events to cap off the evening. 

The CCC foundation was set up by Jetha Dewapura who started off with a transit home for Cancer patients in Maharagama and now set up a Suicide Hotline in Colombo. They have done some incredible work and credit goes to him and his team in Australia as well as Sri Lanka for making such an amazing success of this. 

His discipline in running things was seen in the ride as well with simultaneous events planned in Australia as well.
Now my next few comments should not be taken amiss by anyone. I am writing this purely in the context of my personal quirks and should in no way be see as criticism. This is more an illustration of how poorly I fare with rules, regulations and orders. 

To me the structure of the ride was too rigid. Group riding is never easy but being forced onto formation and not 'allowed' to stretch my legs occasionally meant that to me the ride was painful and irritating. I am not a strong rider by any means, but I do like to have a bit of a 'stretch' now and then to keep the blood pumping. I am also very susceptible to cramps and if I go too slow, its the kiss of death. Every time I tried to move out on my own, even for a brief period, I was greeted by hysterical screeches from the pack of "slow down", "ride with the group", "stay in the pack" etc.... This for me is death. I hate being ordered to do stuff and this got my blood pressure on the boil from the moment we set off. 
In addition, the fact that the ride would start very late meant that although the cause was awesome, the organisation was awesome and the riders were a really super lot, I was extremely pleased that I had not opted to ride more than a few days in total. It was just too 'boy scout' for me. I half expected to be told to kneel in a corner for disobeying commands.

One of the toughest stretches on the ride was the approach to ArugamBay. The late departure, the lengthy stops and the slow average speed meant we rolled into the surrounding plains in forty plus degree temps with howling cross winds. I recall these same winds (at least the intensity) when we rode in from the other direction, while on ATP. The air is hot, the blowing strong and across, and it's had to stay on the bike leave alone keep any momentum. I was very impressed by the tenacity of most of the riders who battled into it. Especially the only (full distance) lady rider Erica. She was also one of the few riders who completed 100% of the ride. I was [by this time] quite surprised by how many of the 'full distance' bunch were happily chucking their bikes in vans when they felt like it. Some due to genuine injury and sickness but others not. Discomfort to me, on a ride like this is no excuse. No one who takes on a challenge like this should expect it to be easy. I recall many of my fellow ATP riders in acute pain. Pinched nerves, blistered bums, gashed limbs from falls and stiff muscles, but they just motored on through the pain. Not so here. This meant that there were only a handful of riders that completed the ride 100%. Kudos to all though as it was by no means an easy ride and even a day completed deserved credit.

Having 'retired' at Arugambay, Charlene and I treated ourselves to the comfort of a nice Jetwing Hotels bungalow on the beach. The evening was spent driving down to Kumana and enjoying the sights of a beautiful slice of our amazing country.  The next morning we headed out after a late breakfast and were very impressed to find that most of the riders had kept a decent pace up the rolling hills to Monaragala. Having stopped to greet and wish the riders, we headed back to Colombo and C and I had a flight to catch the next day for a rather long trip to Canada and the US. 

Since this ride my workout program has gone to hell in a bucket. Having got off to a great start in Vancouver, I pulled a calf muscle in LA, recovered, came back to Colombo and popped an achilles tendon and have been reduced to hobbling about on crutches. 
This setback has inspired me to take on a new challenge. I want to complete a Triathlon. Olympic length first but who knows after that. I also ( as much as I abhor running) want to run 10k; but that will be another tale.. 

Hanoi Hilton

I am not trying to be funny. I am actually seated in my room at the Hanoi Hilton.. and NO!!!!. Its not a bamboo cage, and I don't have my finger nails removed or testicles electrocuted. 

For those of you who don't get what i am 'on about'; the 'Hanoi Hilton' was a notorious prison camp during the days of the Vietnam war where many US prisoners spent weeks, months and sometimes year in captivity, enduring untold hardship and torture. 

Today, the most torturous thing I have to endure here is, 'what malt shall i sample tonight?'. The Hotel is not the best of Hiltons global properties but its grand in outward appearance, has comfortable, substantially appointed rooms and a wonderfully stocked bar. 

Fifty has come and gone, and nothing fell off, everything still works, and I haven't suddenly taken on the appearance of a hobbit.I am back to the grind of work and family and travel and airports and hotels and fast / unhealthy food and too much drink. I am back to the reality that is my life, my struggle with staying healthy in the face of all the temptation to hurtle me down the freeway of fat. 
as much as i looked to some significant landmark.. looks like stays quo remains. 
We resort to 'bada thibbata weds thiyanawa' and plod on down the road. 
Vietnam is potentially a new base for us and an exciting new opportunity for growth. Both for the company and for me. 
I am excited. I love the challenge. Its time to build a world class plant now. 

Fifty Sneaks Up On Me.......

 And so I turned fifty. The strange thing about that is that this can never be a surprise; but there you are… a day or two from the event, and guess what?? You are surprised. Wow! How did that happen?

Surprised?  Seriously?? Moron. It has been happening for 49 years and 360+ days. Get with the program.

The thing is, we don’t really pay attention to our age till we hit a milestone. 20 was probably the most looked forward to of these. I was no longer a teenager. I was TWENTY. Then came twenty-one. For the life of me I cant understand the significance of that number. What the fuck is so great about being twenty-one? What halfwit set laws to make drinking legal at 21? You can marry at 18 (or 16 if you were a woman), drive at 18, vote governments in at the same age, but you cant drink? Go figure.

Thirty. Now things get serious and you start to worry. I was a father of two. I was supposed to have been responsible and mature and close to middle age. Well, I think thirty is [if I am not mistaken] where middle age starts. Careers are supposed to be up and running and you are supposed to have a clue about what you want to do with your life. Damned If I had a clue at that age…

Forty. Divorce number one and marriage number two, all around the same time. I now have my size tens firmly planted in middle age, with an ever-expanding mortgage and overdraft. Collar size sees a dramatic increase from 15 ½ to 16 ½ and waist from 31 to 34. Weight sees a corresponding upward movement and thankfully so does career. Hair starts to thin, chins increase in numbers and my mid drift seems to block the view of my manhood, at least till I crane my neck to see if its all there. I survived.

Suddenly I am fifty. I planned and re-planned my celebrations. Bands, Halls, cocktails, dinners, went through lengthy guest lists for a year and finally settled for the most sensible thing in my opinion. Give most of the party budget to charity and settle for a few nights of alcoholic mayhem with those near and dear.

It all fell into place when the Bradby Shield, the annual Rugby encounter between my High School and one up in the hills, was scheduled on the weekend of my birthday in Kandy.

For the past 24 years, barring a couple, I have made the annual trip up to Kandy, to the Citadel Hotel, the annual gathering place of most former Royalist Rugby players and alumnus, to spend this weekend in a alcoholic haze under the guise of being vaguely interested in the game or the outcome of it. It has been a great excuse to get together with many an old and dear friend and drink copious quantities of booze and behave like teenagers.

Rugby songs are sung and acted out, old yarns are swapped and one has been known to have run screaming through the hotel lobby stripped down to his undies, in the wee hours of the morning, with a rugby ball tucked under his arm, or leaping into the pool still in said undies much to the horror of the long suffering bar staff, some of whom have watched twenty something boys, grow to fifty something men and still behave the same.

This year was no different.

It all started off on Thursday night, when we finished an official conference call that was a great success and decided to celebrate that along with my colleague Roshan’s birthday, which it was. Drinks early and home. Early and home worked out well. Early morning that is. Charlene had arranged for my friend to surprise me at the bar (kind of misfired when Ranil forwarded the text to me).  One drink or two, turned out to be many drinks and laughs and a great evening. My sons and Sahar (Sachin’s girlfriend) dropped in as well and it was an awesome start to my birthday.

I had to drag myself to office the next morning as ‘surprises’ had been planed [that I knew all about] and I could not let the folks down. Surprisingly I was quite bright eyed and made it without too much grief. After the celebrations and wishes, I headed back home. C and I had decided to fly to Kandy that afternoon so the trip was painless. 20 minutes of bouncing around and we were there. A far cry from the three plus hours of traffic we would have endured had we not given ourselves a birthday treat.

The boys and Sahar had driven up earlier with a big box of booze and when we got to the Citadel, the familiar faces greeted us with big grins saying “babaala denna awa” (the two babies had arrived) although far from babies, the boys had been coming up with me since they were babies and were the same in the eyes of the older staff members.

The box of booze was quite ‘adequate’. A dozen bottles each of Scotch and Vodka. I was expecting the usual suspects to be there and in addition my former boss and ‘mentor’ Ajit Gunawardene, had made special effort to be there for the Friday evening and long with his band of merry men (and women) who were regulars at the event.

I will spare you all the details, but let me tell you that, ‘that was the best fiftieth birthday I had in my life’. Well, that was the bright statement I made at 6.30 am when I was getting out of the pool having soaked in it since 4 am. It all seemed like a good idea at that time. I’d like to think based on the humor the song and the conversation that was had by all, and that all those present and accounted for had a great time. The fifty year olds, out lasted the twenties and the sixty and the seventy year olds out sang us all. There is nothing quite so special than spending a spontaneous evening with closest friends and this night was exceptional. Chulaka, Ranil, Butchchi, Deb, Wathsala, Sriyan, Minal, Shiraz, Ajith and Ruwani, Ajit G and Co and of course my amazing sons Sharya and Sachin, our ‘daughter’ Sahar and their bunch of merry men, thank you. To the many others who drifted in and out of the evening, thank you as well; you’ll truly made my day (and night) special.

They say a man is as good as the company he keeps. I have had the best. I could ask for no more. My Z3 brothers and sisters, The riders, The walkers, Dinesh, Niththi, Bunny, Ro, George and D you were missed; Those who are no more, Harith, Harish, SA, Josh, Ravi and many others. Not being mentioned here does not mean any lesser degree of importance in my life; I owe what I am to you. Thank you. I am forever grateful for the friendship, shared experience and companionship.  

Milestones: 1. Graduation

  Once again, I am seated in an airplane, several thousand meters above sea level, making my way back home. I was in LA for a landmark occasion. Sharya, my older son graduated from The University of Southern California; A grand graduation ceremony for a thousand kids (that was just the business school) and their proud parents.

  I was there with my first ex wife (Ex1), who is the mother of both my children, and my younger son Sachin, who is also a student at the same institution. I tend to be somewhat dismissive about ‘sentiment’ at such events, attempting to be nonchalant and aloof of the hype, but when you are seated in a hall with tens of thousands of people and watching the grand ceremony, its hard not to feel a pang [or ten] of emotion and a lump the size of significant discomfort in your throat. I have to admit; I even sprung a leak in my eyes when I saw him walk on to the stage arms raised in triumph, bellowing at his mates up on stage with him. A triumph to us, Ex1 and me, as it was to him. 

  He had done it. He had done well. In spite of him looking somewhat dazed and exhausted from several days and nights of continuous celebration (much deserved) and consumption of who knows what, seeing him in his cap and gown was something special. His grades were good, which is more than I can say when I staggered on to a stage 26 years ago.

  The graduation from university, of a child, marks a huge turning point in ones life. You are now the father of a ‘true adult’; A man who has now got the foundation to go out and make his mark in the world. What that mark may be is no longer up to Ex1 and me. We were responsible for getting him to this point. Now its all him.

  These two weeks in my life, I have looked forward to from when I first became a father 24 years ago. I knew that if the math was right and if Sharya especially, stuck to the plan he would graduate in 2014. Probably May, which is graduation month. The month of the year, that I turn 50; two monumental events in my life, a few days apart from each other.

  I wish I could say that it was the mid point in my life, but we all know that’s long gone. Making it to a hundred would take a miracle of biblical proportions. Not after what I have put this poor body through.

  When you are younger you don’t take your body and your good health seriously. In fact, you take it totally for granted. You abuse it with junk food, alcohol and tobacco and with several substances that feature prominently on the banned list of almost every sport known to man. Yet, you expect to make it to middle age unscathed. The arrogance of youth gives us a sense of invincibility. This bubble most often bursts with your first health check past the age of forty. Sadly several of my friends didn’t even make it to forty, let alone the health check. 

  One day, you are a sportsman, with sub 10% body fat, strutting around bare bodied whenever you got a chance and suddenly you are an graying, balding, wrinkling man, peering at an almost unrecognizable image in the mirror, buying loose fitting clothes and wandering where it all went.

  50; the big half-century; what does it mean?

  To me, it’s a wake up call. It’s a final chance. If I don’t reverse some of the damage through a healthier life style, the quality of the however many years I may have left is going to deteriorate and do so rapidly.

  The ride changed a lot of things. I got me back to a reasonable state of fitness and now I have the momentum to improve from this point onwards. However, the challenges are the same, if not greater.

  As soon as you gather some traction with a routine, travel comes up.

  This trip was no different. My nephew Shahin had made reservations at ‘Wolvesmouth’ an incredible dining experience that is one of the most sought after tickets in LA. This along with celebration dinners, In and Out Burgers, Panda Inn Chinese, Breakfast Taco’s, My cousins Cherine’s well stocked fridge and larder meant that that the battle was a tough one.

My trainers approach to it all would have been, “don’t eat it” and stick with the leafy, healthy stuff that was good for you. However, being a mere mortal I don’t have that level of self-control. I did however reduce quantities, tried to stay away from the obvious calorie bombs and walked for many miles around her neighborhood to burn at least some of the calories I was piling in.

  How does one find this balance? Lets face it. The books or magazines have prescribed lifestyles that don’t work for most of us. We can’t stick to those regimes, hence the great success of diet books and fads. Everyone seeks the magic formula of weight loss without great sacrifice. Is that the Holy Grail? Are pills the answer?

  My plan is to hit the gym and the bike as hard as possible when I am not traveling or committed to weekends such as the one coming up. You don’t turn 50 every day and I am certainly not going to see that landmark in sipping soda and nibbling on celery sticks. I will enjoy it as I normally would but minus piles of junk food or ‘bites’ accompanying the liquids. I will cut down on quantities I eat and drink lots of water.

Come Monday, it’s back to the regime, Smoothies for breakfast and healthy lunch and dinner, regular workouts mixing cardio and weights and yoga if I could possibly fit this all in. This may result in some fluctuations in weight but overall it may just provide the balance that I could sustain for the duration of what’s left of my life.

  My friends Anithra, Shazna and I were chatting recently and we have a plan. I stole the idea from another friend Murtaza. Charlene will most likely join as well. We are starting a Whatsapp chat group. What we plan on doing is sharing among each other our adherence to, both diet and workout regimes. The lofty goal is two workouts a day and low starch, low sugar diets. The intention is that it will keep us honest and keep us focused on our goals.

  Charlene and I have many plans for the years to come; a lot revolving on riding a bicycle, but some walking as well. We are hoping to make ‘Around The Pearl’ and annual event and ‘TRAIL’ will do one more walk, this time from North to South. I would like to ride in the Himalayas, at high altitude and walk the Camino de Santiago. I hope to be able push the boundaries of my physical ability for as long as I can and when I cant ride, climb and trek and my body is finally telling me to slow down, I will get back to Golf; but if my dreams become reality, I will die painlessly in some beautiful place on this planet, long before I ever am so old that I have to take up golf.  

And life goes on.....

Its been a couple of weeks since the ride ended. I am not sure if that was the end of something significant or if it was the beginning.
I would like to think it's the latter. 

For most participants of something 'epic' when it ends there is a crash. 
Emotionally, the participants all feel a sense of emptiness and of 'what next'. I am no different. Its exactly how i expected to feel and exactly how I did feel after the ride. 

Waking up in my own bed, my psychotic dog trying to break the bedroom door down, attempting to give us his version of a good morning kiss (big globs of spit lavishly spread on any exposed part of body) and the familiar bird calls in the background  Kingfishers, Drongos, Koels and Orioles, all gave the dawn a strangely disjointed sense of normalcy. 

However, what was 'normal' seemed unfamiliar, at least for now. It would take a few days for our minds to get around the fact that the ride was over. Till then my 'normal' was still an urge to hustle out of bed, get dressed in our riding gear and stumble out of our rooms with hastily packed luggage to mount our bikes and ride off into the morning. 

It would take us a little while to get over the feeling of it being over. To enjoy the accomplishment and to re live the memories; That would come. Its almost like the multiple steps of grief. In a way, thats exactly what this was. Grief; that something special that we were a part of had ended. That we had to go back to our offices and lives and routines. That the buzz and the thrill was over. 

Its kind of surreal that i can even think fondly of the ride, as for most of it, all i kept trying to do was remind myself as to why i was doing it. Have I figured that out yet? No. However, I have renewed confidence in my ability to push beyond what I thought was possible and to achieve what at times seemed like the impossible. I have also ( much to my horror) developed a tolerance for heat. Suddenly 35 degrees celsius doesn't seem all that hot. Maybe as Ajith said so often on the ride.. it did build character. 

The other lesson learned was that there really was no point bitching to the gods about the pain you were in and counting down the km's till the end. First, the gods don't give a shit about the discomfort you are going through. I figure they have more pressing issues than sore bums and numb testicles to worry about. Second, trying to count down only seems to make things go slower. Painfully, mind numbing, hysteria rising, slower. Just go with it. Live in the moment. Think good thoughts and focus on whats happening then and there. Spin your wheels. Before you know it, your smoking that first post ride Gold Leaf and sipping that cold beer. 

How will this translate into my daily life, and will this help me continue to strive towards my fitness and life goals? Yes. I honestly think it will. This time I paid attention to what my body and mind was going through. i know the whole thing about old dogs and new tricks but this time I hope I have learned. 

Since returning, Charlene and I have been spending more and more time on our bikes. Riding three times a week, including a ride to Bentota and many early morning rides to and around Colombo. It feels great. The bike is no longer the object of terror it once was. My bum hurts far less or not at all, as do my wrists and elbows and I can actually bend over to grip the lower part of the handle bars.  A feat unachievable in the past due to a huge lump of belly fat folding up and suffocating me. 

The level of confidence I feel about riding is also high. So much so that I am now thinking of joining this ride on an annual basis (that's what Ajith and Yasas plan on doing), making it a goal of mine to be able to ride it better each year. I have also got a few 'extreme' rides in mind, which have won  a nod from  Ajith but I haven't  shared it with the rest. I am sure a few others would jump at the chance. I am also planning on joining a proposed ride around Sri Lanka in August. Maybe not the whole thing but a few of the legs. 

If you had asked me abut riding, while half way between Mullaitivu and Jaffna, the odds of you having to make a hasty trip to the closest hospital to retrieve a size 10 riding shoe (with cleats), from the depths of your rectum would have been far better than even. Now however, it would be a welcome conversation. 

I have also signed up with a personal trainer to work on my diet, lifestyle and to work out three days a week. I have actually started monitoring what I am eating. I have cut down my alcohol consumption and while I don't want to call it a diet, in fear that my mind will immediately go into 'fuck dieting' mode, I think of it more as 'sensible consumption'. 

My first workout was was two days ago and apart from feeling like I have been raped by a Gorilla and then thrown under the feet of a rampaging Rhino, alls well. I am not sure how I am going to manage to tie my shoe laces, leave alone work out again today, but that's the plan. I would like to ask my trainer for some sympathy today, but knowing her she would probably push me harder, so I shall shut up and push on. 

I have set myself a new goal. I want to drop my weight a further 10kg and be able to ride in the 'front pack' with the big boys. I want to get back to wearing my thin clothes and give my fat clothes to charity. I want to be able to see my 'willie' without having to peek over a belly roll and I would dearly love to see an old friend, my six pack, come back to say hello to me. I have been bitten by the fitness bug who seems to be closely related to the bike bug and I am loving every minute of it.