Coked to the Gills

It's been a while since I traveled to Corvallis. As I am thinking this, a crisis pops up and I am called to jet across the world to help with it. I pack my bags. The wife is also going to be travelling to LA later this year. She shows me her itinerary. She is going for a three day conference and her whole trip will last thirty days. She is spending the rest of the time visiting with friends and hiking the trails. Not a bad plan, I think and a germ of an idea begins to form in my mind. I work in a week’s vacation and start planning for a road trip. But more about that later.

My flight takes me through Dubai. The first leg is short and sweet. Dubai to Seattle is the long leg of over 14 hours. I am in 39C and I squeeze in. The seats seem to be getting smaller each time I travel or maybe it’s just my gut which is getting bigger. I am seated next to a strange guy. I try to think of what is wrong with him and it suddenly hits me. He is built upside down – his feet smell and his nose runs.  I wait for the liquor service to start. Thank God for small mercies. I quickly get drunk. To sit next to this guy for any length of time, drunkenness is absolutely mandatory.

I land in Seattle to good weather. The temperature is exactly half of what it was in Bangalore although it is sunny. This is a welcome relief from the sweltering heat of Bangalore though it makes me feel cold. I pull on an extra sweater and get weird looks from people around me who are all in shorts. 

I drive leisurely, enjoying the feeling of déjà vu as I pass familiar landmarks. I tune the radio to my favorite station. Someone is talking about the salmon in Oregon. Apparently, people have been flushing cocaine and Prozac down the drain, though why they would do that I have no idea. This ultimately ends up in the river and the salmon absorb and accumulate this in their bodies. This explains why they are jumping up river. They must be feeling pretty high being ‘coked to the gills’, so to speak. I don’t grudge them their high – I mean, wouldn’t you do drugs if you had to swim 900 miles upriver to have sex once and die? I decide to eat salmon at every opportunity. It’s an easy and legal way to get a hit.

P has a hot meal waiting for me when I arrive in Albany a few hours later. G has cooked some Indian curry to welcome the weary Indian traveler. She is a great cook and it is some of the best curry I have tasted, in India or outside. I partake heartily and feel refreshed. I steal some of P’s whisky to take back with me to the hotel. Food and drink on arrival – it doesn’t get much better than that!

 Friday night finds me at Flattail Brewing, meeting up with old friends. Old habits die hard and we make our way to the Peacock. The women of Corvallis seem to love the top of the ‘cock! I meet Al here. Al was a kid when we used to live in Corvallis many years ago but he is grown up enough now to legally drink in a bar. J is playing the fool as usual and Al pulls me aside “What are you doing with that woman?” he asks. “Be careful of her. She is a hustler!” It’s sweet to see this young man looking out for me.

They decide to put the cheap Indian labor to good use and I end up cooking at Tiffs the following day. Of course, we have salmon. The Americans have never eaten real Indian food and they are easy to fool; which works out well for me and my culinary skills. It’s either that or the coke in the salmon is doing its thing and making everybody happy.

Work is hectic and the days go by quickly. A part that was supposed to be here when I arrived was shipped on time, but ended up in Singapore. It takes a few frantic phone calls to track it down and get someone to overnight it back to Corvallis. It arrives a week later and I am about a bit apprehensive of whether I will be able to get it to work in time. My road trip is at risk if it doesn’t work. The electronic Gods smile down on us and it works like a charm. My work here is done. I can start planning my road trip.

Gajagajaga.... Ghostbusters!

"Gajagajaga!". "Ghost busters!" The sound reverberates across the hall and transports us all to a different dimension of thirty years ago. As our minds float back to the sparsely populated campus at electronics city, there are smiles across the room by those who remember that Ghostbusters was often replaced by other choice words, especially one involving the mother of the recipient. There were only a few buildings and lots of open space. No trees yet - that would come later, planted lovingly by Jacqueline and cared for by many hours of hard work in the hot sun. The hostels are just one floor with barely enough space for all. The mechanical workshop is an imposing structure that dwarfs everything else - imposing until one looks inside and realizes that it is as empty as a drunkard's wallet at closing time. This is the first of many lessons that we will learn here - things that look imposing on the outside not always as sturdy on the inside.

August 15, 1984. India's 48th Independence Day. A bunch of youngsters arrive at NEC to voluntarily lose their independence. This loss is temporary for all except four of them; these are the four that find their wives on campus. It's a motley crew that's gathered there - a guy in a leather jacket, one with hot potatoes in his mouth and one with a perpetual itch in his unmentionables. One has bucket hands while another is so short that he looks taller when he sits down. One boasts of being an expert in electronics thereby earning a lifetime nickname that even his daughters use today. One has glow-in-the-dark teeth while another speaks with a German accent ("Vere is the Vaarden?"). There are a bunch of animals too - buffaloes, camels, cocks, ducks, monkeys, mice, foxes, rhinoceros and chameleons. There were even one who is suspected to be Neanderthal. (Yes, try and guess if all of this is really true).

Life is hard. There is a lot to do and we start with building our own workshop tables. This is a practice that will continue - we get to build every lab as we progress through the years. We have mixed luck with the teachers - from extremely good to sadistic jerks and everything in between. The evening trips to Konappana Agrahara are a pleasure especially the pooris at the little shop or the delightful offerings of Manu. But there is not much money to spare for puris and we are mostly at the mercy of Christie and his cronies. There is an advantage to that - if you survive that, you can eat pretty much anything and still be happy.

There is so much to learn. Our primary teachers are our beloved Principal and his deputy - the Vice-Principal, who is is so named because he is wiser (or so he claims). Then there is Which-un and weekend cricket matches with Fibora. We learn a lot about life and a little about love; or maybe its the other way around. The four years pass quickly and we are eager to go out into the world to prove our worth.

The sound of singing voices brings us back to the present. "Old Jaq Delisle had a farm .... ". The weekend is a roaring success. Fourteen out of the twenty two who passed out of the first batch are present. That's a great percentage. The numbers for the second batch are similar. People have come in from all parts of the world - Brazil, Australia, The United States, Indonesia, Singapore, Chennai, Belgaum, Hyderabad, Kerala and of course the Grand City of Mumbai. There is a lot of fun and laughter and one thing strikes me: there is not even one unpleasant incident during the entire weekend spanning across three days. 

Friday night is campfire night. After a few games by the fire, the children settle down for a game of Dumb Charades. All goes well until our boy from Brazil mishears 'American Hustle' to mean the American posterior. He does his best to describe it, gesticulating wildly and even waving his hands down the middle to better explain his position. Of course, everybody gets it and it leaves them gasping on the floor, laughing until the tears roll down their faces.

Kickboxing

Room 102 is commandeered and turned into an makeshift bar. After a few bottles of Scotch and wine, we find that there is still a lot to learn from our erstwhile Principal. We have come a long way from NEC to necking. He breaks it out into small steps for us. Step 1, Step 2, Step 3 are easy to describe but beyond Step 4 are activities that cannot be elaborated in this children friendly blog. Saturday morning sees everyone up bright and early for a kick boxing class. The wives seem extremely interested in learning how to punch and kick. Somehow, this does not bode well for the husbands in the coming months.

After Kickboxing

All good things must come to an end and finally it is time to say goodbye. There are ideas for the next such reunion in 4 or 5 years and our CEO is retained for that period based on the excellent job he has done. It was a great feeling to reconnect after so many years and we are all looking forward to the next reunion.