[MotoNanu]

Originally Posted by StrangeWizard

Great travelogue kamen_rider! Glued to this thread, can't wait for more.




I guess the public holiday was only for MH because 1st may is Maharashtra day!

International Workers' Day/ May Day (not the other meaning )
Well, I was not knowing it was Maharashtra Day till now! But please update the log, the suspense is killing all of us now!

[Fraz33r]

One Word WOW! Words like 'Holy Cow' , 'Amazing', 'Awesome' were invented so that they could be posted in threads like this.

Hats off to all the prep you have gone through and continue posting such adventures.. The crisp writing with pictures is just an icing on the cake!

[Kamen_rider]

If a fortune teller had told me about day 7 before my trip began, I would have gladly given up all my kayaking plans and spent my vacation time in Goa, doing nothing at all. But I had no inkling of the events that would unfold, and that is what makes the future interesting, which leaves nothing to be assumed. So I present to you - part one of the craziest day in my life.



Bright sunshine streaked in through the windows and woke me up. It was only 8 am, but I could hear the sounds of busy footsteps in the corridor outside. It seemed like other guests on the floor were getting ready to leave. The hotel was close to a bus stand, so they were probably travelers who had stopped for the night at the small guest house. It made sense. In midst of the commotion, I could hear a man shouting, 'Hot water!' 'Hot water!' outside my door. I opened a crack, and I saw a boy holding an metal bucket, with steaming water filling about three fourths of the container.

'Hot water is for kids! I don't need it!', I laughed and told him. The boy smiled, and as he walked away, I could hear the hard rubber of his flip-flops slapping his soles. And from the common bathrooms a few meters away, the sound of metal grating on metal filtered through the thin acrylic doors, as the occupants repeatedly dipped their steel mugs inside the buckets to pour the precious hot water over their bodies. From the looks of it, it seemed like I could have the entire row of showers and toilets to myself in a few minutes. So I waited. Meanwhile, the sound from the metal buckets flooded my mind with memories from a distant past.

I've developed a superhuman tolerance for bathing with cold water. This started when I was in seventh grade at a boarding school. Mornings used to be very cold; high altitude mists rolled in regularly over the barren football fields, devoid of any grass. Then the mist would gradually meander upwards, and seep in through the meshed windows of the dormitory, bringing the mountain cold inside. This nipping chill would pass over the sleeping bodies like an unseen spirit; and an exposed toe or an arm would feel the sudden change in temperature. That resulted in that vulnerable body part urgently drawn inside the cocooned safety of a thick quilt. I tell you, those were the days.

Then came the bath time. Most of us avoided this dreaded ritual, and took showers only once or twice a week. So during most of the week, a quaint smell hung in the air across the classrooms. You'd think it would be reeking body odor, but no. We did not sweat much, and the multiple layers of woolen clothing would cover the rest. The odor would only escape a tiny whiff, from beneath the collar and underarm, like an aroma of a dish steaming out from a covered pan. The smell, if I can describe it correctly, was somewhere between mildew and musty old books. It wasn't unpleasant, I assure you. But there was one young gentleman who smelled terrible. Exactly like chicken fodder, chicken poop and cattle-dung mixed together, accented with a unmistakable stench of urine. Needless to say, he got beaten a lot by other kids. Not fitting in was bad enough; and his smell only compounded his woes. But he was a brave sort, and he took all the beatings very well for his age.

So when time came to take a shower, each of us would be issued a dull grey metal bucket which had rounds rivets running the length of it. Remember, I was still very little, so the bucket was exactly half my body height. I needed to lug this empty bucket up a flight of stairs which never seemed to end, only to join a long queue to get to the tap of the gigantic boiler. The water inside this monstrous iron beast was heated by logs of wood, and in all my years there, it never got the water temperature quite right. It was either lukewarm, which meant that by the time you got back downstairs, it was cold as the air around you. Or it would be scalding hot, and the unlucky carrier would inevitably end up splashing some of its contents on a body part. This happened often, and this would be followed by a high pitched scream and letting go of the bucket. Then the bucket would tumble down the stairs with some enthusiastic clanging, and the boy would let go of his shower dreams and arrive at the 8.30 am class smelling slightly different than the rest.

The odds were always stacked against you. So despite my careful handling of the hot bucket, I lost the battle one misty morning. The water splashed on my leg, and I jumped a foot into the air and let go of the bucket. It did not go tumbling at the very instant; it stood on the edge of a step for a brief second, and slowly, it pitched over. The water splashed and gushed down the stairs. A few opportunistic weeds which had sprung between the cracks came in contact with the super heated bathwater and met a sudden demise. The empty bucket eventually reached the end of the stairs after an enormous racket, and steam rose up from the water trail. I picked up the bucket; it had a minor dent on the side. That was it, I decided. I am going take a cold water shower, I thought bravely.

The bathrooms were located in a small building just outside the dorm. Rows of five bathrooms on each side, with open rectangular vents letting the cold in. Once inside, I took off my sweater and that was when I realized how chilly it actually was. But I was a determined 12 year old, and I stripped down to my undies and sat right under the faucet. And then I let open the tap of horrors.

For a split second, I didn't feel a thing. Then the water drenched my hair and then flowed down in little rivulets over my body. Then it hit me, hard. The water came in contact with my skin and instantly cut all sensation. No skin. I just felt that I was sitting there with no skin, with just my eyes floating in mid air. I stopped the flow of water. Then a surprising thing happened. The shocked body got back to its senses and pumped blood, lots of it to the surface of my skin, and I felt warm. Very warm, as if I was still under my beloved quilt. This was a funny feeling. I opened the tap again. No skin, numbness. I turned it off again. Warmth. It was like a game. No skin/ Warmth. Numbness/Fuzziness. Icy drink/Warm soup. So at the tender age of twelve, I had mastered the art of bathing with extremely cold water. And thereafter, I stopped dozing off in class, my brain crisp with the memories of an icy water encounter each day. Not that I dislike a hot water shower. I love it when it is available, and I make good use of it. And by the way, I also have extreme resistance to heat, but if I start telling you how that happened, I will never finish my travelogue on time.

As expected, I was soon staring at an empty row of bathrooms at the guest house. Last night, I did not have a chance to take a shower, so the cold water was welcome, washing away all the salt and grime of yesterday. I felt alive again. Back in my room, I dried myself and prepared a bowl of Muesli and milk. I took a bite of the last remaining energy bar and then walked across to the open windows and looked outside. The streets were still empty. There was a red building which looked like a warehouse or a factory, and a rather large house which had a sloping tiled roof, typical of the architecture in that area. I looked to my right, and I saw the place where I had dinner last night. A white Ambassador was parked nearby. Ah, an early Sarkari customer.




I grabbed my packed bags, and got out of the place around 9 am. I just left the room door open, leaving the lock with the key hanging with on the aluminum latch. It was a quick ten minute walk to the police station. I got a bit confused so I had to ask someone for directions, and he told me where to go.




It was 9.30 when I sauntered into the Dapoli police station. The police tends to work late, so there were little signs of life in the morning. The reception had a long wooden table, with benches on either side. A lone policeman in plain clothes was seated behind the wooden table, and he was hunched down over some paperwork. He looked up when he saw me walk in. I told him that I was here last night, and inspector so and so had asked me to come here in the morning.

'Eenh?'

And that I had collect my stuff which was lying in the police station.

'Heh?!!' 'Eh?!!'

I wondered if I was ever going to have a conversation with him. But he soon broke into something coherent. 'He will be here in sometime. Sit there.' He motioned me to a bench with a perfunctory wave of his chubby arm. I sat in that area for around thirty minutes, and meanwhile, the staff started walking in. As they walked past, they glanced at the rather unusual guest seated on the bench. One of the cops from last night saw me, and it was not long before everyone knew my story. I chatted cheerfully with them. They asked if I wanted some tea. 'No,' I refused politely. 'I must show you something,' exclaimed someone from the group. 'Your name is in the newspaper. In the headlines.'



He led me to the main chamber inside the police station, and sure enough, there were a couple of newspapers lying on a plywood topped desk. 'Boatisheh Paryatkshi Ghuskori' (Tourist on a boat intrudes from the sea) screamed the black letters, just below the masthead. It was so absurd, it was hilarious. I burst into laughter. I picked up the newspaper and pored over the article. Though I did not understand Marathi, it seemed to have a lot of detail, including my name, where I came from and how the alert police of Dapoli caught me. It was obvious that the police had typed a detail report and emailed it to the newspaper the previous night. 'Tarun Bharat' was a popular newspaper in Konkan Maharashtra, and the police grabbed this opportunity for some PR, at my expense. So here I was, an Indian born citizen, labelled an intruder by the police and the local rag. One thing off my 'to-do' list, I chuckled to myself. Get your name on the front page of a newspaper.

The newspaper, despite its sensational nature, was well read in Maharashtra, and I instantly became big news, at least in Dapoli and the Ratnagiri district. A few reporters from other newspapers came to meet me, and take my pictures, probably to write a even more ridiculous story. I humored them, telling them what they wanted to know. Around 10.30 am, the inspector from last night appeared in the doorway and asked me if I could come to his room. I followed him outside the main building into an annex.



My kayak and rest of the gear had been unloaded from the Sumo and stored in a corner of his room. And there was lawyer who was going through a lot of law books spread on the policeman's desk. I wondered what they were up to. The inspector settled into his desk. 'You have to go to the court, appear before a judge and pay a fine,' he said. 'You have violated the law.'

I looked at him blankly. As part of my two year preparation, I had gone through most of the laws, and any permission, licence or regulation was applicable to 'mechanically propelled' vessels. And now he was trying to tell me that kayaking was illegal. 'Which one?' I asked him.

'The Bombay Ferries and Inlands Vessels Act, 1868.' shot back the inspector. 'And here is what it says.'

"Section 14C: No person shall ply any vessel on any river, stream, creek, tank, lake or other collection of water affording passage for a vessel, whether for hire or not, except under a license granted by an officer empowered by the state government in this behalf and under accordance with the provisions of this act, the rules, regulations and orders made there and under the conditions of such a licence."

And there was an addendum which said that any 'contravention' of this act would result in imprisonment, fine or both.

Mandawa jetty, they reasoned, was inside a bay and hence it was inland waters. This was absurd. I was ok with the police questioning me at the beach and going through my things. I was also ok with the temporary detention and further questioning. All of this was within their rights. But to dig up an obscure law which, in most likelihood did not cover a hand powered kayak, was downright silly. 1868 act? - this law was older than the combined age of everyone in the room. They had achieved their objective of verifying my credentials and that I had no objectionable cargo. But with this, they were just trying to create paperwork just for the heck of it, regardless of the intent. I tried talking to them, but they were adamant and told me that I had to go to the court and pay the fine. They would prepare all the paperwork, they said, and a constable would come along to expedite all that was needed to do. I was told that it would take just an hour at the courthouse.



I thought hard. I had three, clear choices to make in the next few minutes.

a) I could pay the fine and get out of this ridiculous situation by noon.

b) I could spend sometime finding a lawyer and contest this charge.

c) I knew no one in Dapoli or Ratnagiri, but I could make a few phone calls to see if someone could reach a higher-up.

Ultimately, I decided to go with choice (a), though a part of that decision went against my better judgement. Paying the fine meant that I admitted that what I was doing was legally wrong, and I hated that. But this was most practical decision. I did not want to spend the rest of my vacation in court rooms or in Dapoli, and I wanted to get back on the water as soon as possible. In retrospect, I made the right decision. And if you think I had it bad, here is what happened to Sandy Robson. Five days later, when she was trying to cross the Dapoli bay, a fisherman who thought she was a terrorist rammed her kayak with his fishing boat and forced her to land on the beach where she was met by the same police-customs-port troupe. By this time, Sandy Robson had clearance from the coastguard, Gujarat port authorities and a letter signed by no less than the Superintendent of Police, Alibaug. Sandy also had tons of national newspaper coverage. She was legit as legit can be. That did not deter the Dapoli police from detaining her for full three days before she was allowed to proceed, and that is because she called up her contacts and coastguard tried to help too. I am sorry to say this, but despite their civil behavior, the Dapoli (Ratnagiri) police loved their bureaucratic BS. And why only Dapoli? Our beloved country is full of it. We all come from the same mold.

A few of my friends who I was exchanging messages with told me not to pay the fine. What was I supposed to do then? It is easy for people to offer advice sitting in the comfort of their home, but when one is in a police station with two dozen cops and everyone's opinion is against you, it is not a good place to get argumentative. This was not the first time I have dealt with the police, and I know how exactly it goes down based on the choices you make.




The friendly constable who had helped me with the accommodation was assigned for court duty. He looked at me with genuine sympathy, and while he was getting his motorcycle out, me and some of the policemen took pictures together outside. And then off I went with the constable, perched high on the pillion seat. I took in the sights of the street over his navy blue police cap. The Dapoli court was just a kilometer away, so we were there in a few minutes. The constable led me through a few chambers, and we got the police paperwork stamped in one of the rooms. The ever helpful constable asked me to sit on one of the benches, and he disappeared into one of the rooms with the stamped paperwork. There was another person sitting alongside.



'What are you here for?' He asked. I told him my story. I did not get to hear his, but he had a worried face, so I guessed his predicament was much more severe. 'All this court-kacheri. Useless.' he remarked, with a frown.

My constable's face peeked out from one of the rooms, and gestured to come inside. The room was full of clerks, and a few of them were going through my paperwork, preparing it for the judge. The constable had told everyone about my adventure, and the newspaper had done the rest. So I entertained them with my tales of the sea.



Once the paperwork was ready, the clerk told us to wait outside the courtroom and listen for the name to be called. The constable and I stood outside and watched as people got called in, one by one. ' There's one way to look at this' said my friend in good humor. ' You have not spent any money so far since yesterday, so think of this as paying for your hotel.'

Soon, I heard the peon announce my name grandly, and 'Hazeer Hoooo..!' in an impressive voice and even more impressive trail, as he stretched the 'Hoooo...!', like a gong from a bell being struck. I entered the courtroom. It had a worn down look, but was still a grand place. High ceiling, rows of wooden chairs and benches and a wooden witness stand. There was sign saying that taking pictures was a punishable offence. The room was empty, except for the stenographer, the judge seated high up and the peon in an unbelievably white starched uniform, complete with a Gandhi cap. The clerk who had earlier talked with me, went to the judge with the paperwork and whispered something in her ear. I could see the judge's face break into a smile. She asked me whether I agreed to pay the fine, and I said yes. Things moved very quickly after that. We took the signed papers to another office, paid the money and left after collecting the receipt.

I was back at the police station. The inspector kept the copy of the court judgement, and asked me for some pictures from my trip. 'SP saheb is coming here soon. I want to show him all this.' Nice move. They would be able to say, 'We caught an unauthorized intruder who had kayaked in from the sea. We sent a release to the newspaper which published the news on the front page, and we also fined him for violating the inland waters act of 1868.'

Some of the other policemen asked me if I had lunch, and they invited me to go with them to the Kisan Bhavan, Dapoli. It was a few kilometers from the police station, and has a canteen serving affordable food. Most of the government employees went there for lunch. Once there, the policemen ordered Sol Kadi and Banghda fry, the lip smacking Konkani speciality. It was very delicious, and coming to think of it, this was the first proper meal I had in two days. I ordered for seconds, and when it was over, the police paid for the meal. I insisted on paying, but they wouldn't have any of it. That was a wonderful gesture. Thank you my friends - while I will definitely not visit the Dapoli police station again, I would like to catch up with some of the friendlies some day.





As I bit down on the tasty morsels of lunch, I was thinking about what my next move was going to be. I was told in no uncertain terms by the Dapoli Police that I needed permission for kayaking along the coast and I would not be allowed to proceed. They warned me that if I continued down the coast, I might detained by the police in other areas. I had no reason to disbelieve them; after all, Sandy Robson had been detained half a dozen times already, and that was WITH a lot of permissions.

But I had spent far too much time, money and energy for this to let go, so I needed to come up with a new approach. And as I thought through this, a germ of an idea started to grow, till it became a plan.

A plan which would allow me to kayak the rest of the unexplored coast till Goa - and I suddenly knew what I had to do. I looked at my watch. There wasn't much time. I needed to hurry.

Next Episode: Day 7, part II of crazy - the plan B, a vehicular collision, the police of the Dharavi slums, and over the top accommodation for the night. Phew.

.

[normally_crazy]

I have read a lot of superb writing and descriptions in travelogues here but this above is some of the most brilliant writing I have ever read !

I can only BEG you to continue and not take the whole week off while the rest of us chew off our finger nails !

Mod Note: Post edited. Quoting a full, long post inconveniences our mobile readers.

[SDP]

Brilliantly written!

The Police can be so unreasonable at times. I remember, when I was in 8/9th standard, during a 'bandh', I was playing cricket on the road and I was 'caught' by two constables for 'playing on the road' and taken to the police station. And no, there was no curfew in force...just in case you are wondering.

Anyways, its pointless to argue with the police and "Ho saheb" "Ho saheb" is possibly the only way to avoid making a situation worse.

Kamen_rider, eagerly waiting for the next. Loved the cold-water-bath flashback, very well written.

Looks like physical hardship indeed builds character.

[Kamen_rider]

Originally Posted by deepaktpatil

Guess what? its a really small world. These guys operate those ferries at Janjira fort for tourists. The darker guy with black hair is the captain and the older one with white hair is the engine operator

It IS a small world. Give my love to these guys the next time you see them. I might drop in to Murud myself. I still to need to see the fort from inside

Originally Posted by R2D2

What an amazing travelogue. The likes of which were hitherto unseen on TBHP.

Thank you, oh, Star Wars fan!

Originally Posted by DipakDZireLover

You know what? For the first time in my life, I was feeling that why can't I read faster! Just want the story to unfold so fast.

Originally Posted by getsurya

Great show and waiting with bated breath for the next episode!

Originally Posted by voyageur

Oh Man,

Isn't this crazy. Respects. Hope you will upload some more pics of your feat.

Originally Posted by rrsteer

need to commend your deft writing skills and what is, an absolute perfect placement of words.

Originally Posted by heman_369

Absolutely riveting narration of the police episode Kamen !!

Originally Posted by Fraz33r

Hats off to all the prep you have gone through and continue posting such adventures.. The crisp writing with pictures is just an icing on the cake!

Thank you everyone for the comments and compliments. More to come, the trip is far from over.

Originally Posted by carzone

Kamen_rider, this is getting interesting with every passing episode. Sad, but true, anything UNSUAL is termed as ILLEGAL in the first view.

Actually that holds good for cops in other countries too. Read my comments below on the incident in Japan.

Originally Posted by SDP

And you took snaps while in the vehicle and later in the police station?
!

Originally Posted by Rudra Sen

Phone camera with silent mode should do this without much issue here.

Yes, I took pictures with my camera phone on silent mode. I HAD to capture these moments! And like you can see in this travelogue, they were worth it. I will never be in that moment again, so the best way is to take a picture. And like one of my good friend tells me, ' It is better to beg for forgiveness than ask for permission.'

Originally Posted by mm403

Worth the wait to hear about your rendezvous with Police/Customs/Port authorities. Do we get to read Day 7 this week ?

Originally Posted by Jignesh

Request you to alteast finish off this encounter with police authorities soon, if your weekday time schedule permits.

Your wish is granted! Not the last week, but better late than never.

Originally Posted by LithiumSunset

We will forgive the grammar and the typos if they slip by, though going by the quality of your writing I don't think you need to worry.

I worry, trust me, I worry!

Originally Posted by rajwheelz

Am curious to know why the customs guy insisted on getting a permission? Did you check it up again later after your trip? Is there a law saying so mandating permission for kayak'ing in Indian waters?

No permissions are required unless you are kayaking in restricted waters, like a naval base. But the police is a whole different story, and you have to inevitably deal with them.

Originally Posted by ASHISHPALLOD

^^^^^^^
Though there is nothing illegal in kayaking by Indian national in Indian waters, the police should be vigilant to notice the unusual activity in their jurisdiction and Dapoli police had done it perfectly.

Originally Posted by Dodge_Viper

Agree with Raj wheelz about police. Really appreciate that they are taking things seriously, specially the coast guard helicopter scene.

Originally Posted by Sisu

We have to accept that in order to secure our borders and coastline (especially in times like this), we as citizens also have to endure and go through some inconvenience by way of frequent checks and answer some questions. The key lies in the way the authorities handle the way these checks are carried out.

Originally Posted by samarjitdhar

...or voluminous and verbose reports filed showing how diligently they went about their job so they may be please considered for a promotion or a better (read profitable) posting.
.

Originally Posted by Saptarshi B

The police 'tried' to do their job here. Just because they didnt understand what was going on, they didnt let go (like the port/customs) And in the entire process they were apparently civil about it.

Originally Posted by sukhoi30

But, yeah, as the station in-charge said, these are difficult times and they need to be careful. I guess this is the best in the larger interests of our security.

Originally Posted by manolin

You know this reminds me of a situation in Mcleodganj last year when I was there. There was a massive hue and cry when the HP police said they have caught Chinese spies in Mcleodganj posing as tourists.

Originally Posted by tsk1979

LOL. So now harrassing people even after the customs authorities and port authorities have verified papers is police's job? Strange!

Originally Posted by svdath

i think we should just appreciate the job these cops did instead of feeling that the common man is being harassed.

I'll try to sum up my sentiments in light of the happenings on Day 6 and Day 7:

1) The police and the coastguard did a good job by spotting me and then questioning me.

2) Temporary detention for further questioning was also warranted. I did not mind that.

3) Everyone was well behaved during the whole process. I appreciated that.

4) Their actions on Day 7 - releasing the sensational headlines to the newspaper, and then booking me under some obscure law, which would have been thrown out if I had chosen to contest it legally, was not. This was over the top behavior which did not align with the intent of detention.

5) The police should be better trained to deal with such situations, and once the identity and credentials of the person is established, he or she should not be detained any longer.

Originally Posted by sen2009

But, gotta say it dude.. the wait is so much worth it. And your writing is beautiful. That takes time, I understand. But I don't understand.
Please reduce the "hang in between" time periods for us. :-)

I'll try my best Sen! Thanks for the lovely comment.

Originally Posted by manolin

I can only echo Tanveer, and recommend you read/watch this.
If you are not English speaking, suavely turned out, Indian police is generally as bad.

This reminds me of two separate incidents in Japan. Once I was detained and questioned at an immigration post at the Tokyo airport, because the embassy issued me temporary visa with a 'for business' notation instead of tourist, for which I had applied. And it was not written in the visa anywhere, so I had no idea till the inspector pointed that out in his room. He was asking silly questions, like if I had a copy of the visa application.

Then on another trip, I was reading an English language map of the labryinth that is the Tokyo metro, and I was approached by a detective from the Tokyo Metropolian police. He was a young chap with striking blue eyes ( he looked straight out of the 'Twilight' series) and flashed his badge at me. He questioned me for ten minutes, inspecting my company identity card suspiciously. I did not have my passport on me, so he then called more detectives, who were senior to him and after I explained patiently, they left with a lot of Japanese style bowing.

And then, once we were flying through New York, and one of us got pulled out for questioning. He was led to a different room, where his entire luggage was pulled out, and they did not bother to re-pack it.

The list goes on...

Originally Posted by StrangeWizard

I guess the public holiday was only for MH because 1st may is Maharashtra day!

Originally Posted by SDP

Kamen_rider, Public holiday today!

(Any chance of publishing another episode?)

Originally Posted by MotoNanu

Well, I was not knowing it was Maharashtra Day till now! But please update the log, the suspense is killing all of us now!

It was a holiday alright, and I spent most of the day writing about my bathing story and editing the pictures. I'd like to think it came out well!

Originally Posted by normally_crazy

I have read a lot of superb writing and descriptions in travelogues here but this above is some of the most brilliant writing I have ever read !

I can only BEG you to continue and not take the whole week off while the rest of us chew off our finger nails !

Thank you NC! Actually, I work the whole week on the travelogue on weekdays and publish it on the weekend. But then, days 6 and 7 involved a lot of interaction with different people, and I need to describe everything properly for the story to come out readable. Day 8 onwards (stage 2) are lighter days, so it will take lesser time to write.

Originally Posted by SDP

I was playing cricket on the road and I was 'caught' by two constables for 'playing on the road' and taken to the police station. And no, there was no curfew in force...just in case you are wondering.

Thanks for the comment, SDP!

Taken to the police station for playing cricket? That, my friend is a new one! I thought all of us love cricket.

[rajwheelz]

Jeez, Kamen_Rider. The last super excitement I had was when watching the Burj Khalifa scene in MI-4. And now this TL of yours.

Well, what more can I say. Can't wait for the crazy part-2 !

[NevGin]

An absolute stunner of a thread. Thank you!

[phamilyman]

You know, you really have a way with words - paint sensory pictures like that. After Sam Kapasi, you are one of the few guys to move us like that.

BUTTTTT let any of that not get to your head. This is not enough progress. We want moar!!!!

[parsh]

Originally Posted by Kamen_rider

It was a holiday alright, and I spent most of the day writing about my bathing story and editing the pictures. I'd like to think it came out well!

Indeed, it came out immensely well undoubtedly. Hats off for that small yet highly significant part of the story. It takes back to the cold water treatment days from hostel-life and NCC camps. However, you did it quite early in life at 12 yrs, bravo man, you do have some highly conditioned body since ages.

[himadrimondal]

This has gone beyond words.
I have absolutely no idea what I should pen down.

While the reaction to all this reading is overwhelming, penning down the after thoughts seems impossible.
Calming myself down, am clueless whether I would suggest you to be a Hollywood story writer or an anchor for the National Geographic.

[Jignesh]

Originally Posted by Kamen_rider

'The Bombay Ferries and Inlands Vessels Act, 1868.' Next Episode: Day 7, part II of crazy - the plan B, a vehicular collision, the police of the Dharavi slums, and over the top accommodation for the night. Phew. .

Hello Kamen,

Nail biting, nothing sort of a thriller, etc., the list goes on. But to sum it shortly the narraton is simply brilliant. Also your name did appear on headlines of a leading Marathi newpaper - amazing.

Loved the description of your getting used to cold water bathing & the smelly affair at schools.

But the most important thing - you were detained, booked & fined for for a 1868 law defined by colonial rulers is absolute pity. Add to the fact that in 1868 a thing like "Kayak" would not have exist. God knows when we will get rid of this age old laws. By the way what wsa the fine amount that you paid?

Further, you have indicated that your ordeal of day 7 has not ended? There are still episodes of vehicle collusion & accomodation coming up. Hats off to your perseverance. Can you please give us some tips on keeping cool during situation like these?

Thanks,

[fiat_tarun]

Originally Posted by Kamen_rider

.
.
.
I've developed a superhuman tolerance for bathing with cold water. This started when I was in seventh grade at a boarding school. Mornings used to be very cold; high altitude mists rolled in regularly over the barren football fields, devoid of any grass. Then the mist would gradually meander upwards, and seep in through the meshed windows of the dormitory, bringing the mountain cold inside. This nipping chill would pass over the sleeping bodies like an unseen spirit; and an exposed toe or an arm would feel the sudden change in temperature. That resulted in that vulnerable body part urgently drawn inside the cocooned safety of a thick quilt. I tell you, those were the days.
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.
.
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Man, you have written this brilliantly. I too spent most of my schooling in a boarding school at Ooty and reading this brought back all those memories

We sure did have an easier time though. We had piped water running from the boiler to the bathroom, but the steel buckets with the rivets - oh so familiar !

There were timings for hot water and if one was late, you had to make do with cold water if you wanted to have a bath. There was this tub that was there with this freezing cold water and at the count of 1-2-3 we'd drench ourselves with as many mugs of cold water as we could, to get that initial part over with !! After that the cold water bath was indeed refreshing.

Back to your adventure, good decision there to just oblige with the cops. In an unfamiliar area it is best to play along to avoid the trouble.

[narsi_6989]

Originally Posted by Kamen_rider

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So I waited. Meanwhile, the sound from the metal buckets flooded my mind with memories from a distant past.
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But I was a determined 12 year old, and I stripped down to my undies and sat right under the faucet. And then I let open the tap of horrors.

Man this is awesome writing. I have told this before will tell 'n' number of times. This log is driving me crazy. The narration of the boarding school life had me

Originally Posted by Kamen_rider

And by the way, I also have extreme resistance to heat, but if I start telling you how that happened, I will never finish my travelogue on time.

If it is so well written, we wont mind reading about this incident and the resultant delay.

Originally Posted by Kamen_rider

'The Bombay Ferries and Inlands Vessels Act, 1868.' shot back the inspector. 'And here is what it says.'

"Section 14C: No person shall ply any vessel on any river, stream, creek, tank, lake or other collection of water affording passage for a vessel, whether for hire or not, except under a license granted by an officer empowered by the state government in this behalf and under accordance with the provisions of this act, the rules, regulations and orders made there and under the conditions of such a licence."

Making you pay fine according to an age old law is simply ridiculous. But as it happens, it is easy for us to tell from here but to the face the situation is different altogether. Even I would have taken the same decision.

Originally Posted by Kamen_rider

It was a holiday alright, and I spent most of the day writing about my bathing story and editing the pictures. I'd like to think it came out well!

Do you have a doubt? It came out fantastically well. Awesome man

['72 Bullet]

Wow! That is definitely an adventure and a half

You guys might also find this interesting

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pZ46cuM62ZE

and an interview

http://bibekjournal.wordpress.com/20...summit-to-sea/