This is not my first attempt at learning swimming. The first was a good 11 years ago. That time, I had floundered. Thanks to absent instructors, over-confident peers, and the sight of merrily romping children, my self-esteem had drowned.

The second time was with friends. We planned to do rafting across the river Varahi in Karnataka. I struggled to stay afloat even with the rubber floaters shielding me from the water.

The third time was better. I have my friends Steph and Jenny to thank for it. After my failed attempt that left me vulnerable and wondering if it was worth it, they came up with new strategies to make me feel home on foreign watery ground. My phobia of water receded like waves receding from the shore; gone for now, but soon to come back, I am sure.

This time, I am taking it slow. I have enrolled for only 15 days, just so I get the hang of it. I visited the three places I had in mind, and have selected the place with a fairly good instructor-student ratio (1 is to 5) and a very neat, well-maintained pool. The other was to have 7 instructors and 50 students in the pool at once! The third seemed better than the second, but the instructor-student ratio was closer to the second one. The place I have selected falls mid-way between my home and my office, so it should be rather convenient as well.

Tomorrow, as the sun shines down from the sky above me, the ground beneath my feet will feel less slippery, I hope. Ready I am, once again, to make peace with water.

I’ve enjoyed superb health benefits from the diet aspect–increased stamina, better immunity, almost-zero tummy upsets.

But the vegan diet has also been challenging. As my knowledge of nutrition deepens, I find that maintaining a vegan diet long-term brings its health challenges; I’ll list the ones other than Vitamin B12:

Calcium: The vegan literature tells us we find enough calcium from plants because cows also get their calcium from plants. Which plants? Spinach, they tell us, isn’t a particularly good source because it contains oxalic acid, which inhibits calcium absorption. Sesame seeds, they tell us, probably isn’t one either, because it contains too many phytosterols or whatever–and maybe contains too much iron to block out calcium absorption. They tell us kale, collard greens, and turnip greens are really cool sources. Problem is, I don’t know what these leafy veggies translate to in my language, and am not even sure they’re available where I live. Then they tell us to drink fortified soymilk. But I don’t consider soy-milk to be food, and my experiments with consuming any fortified foods has always made me feel really tired and groggy afterward. I am trying to find my way around it. So far it has involved rediscovering my magical favorite grain, the finger millet (ragi), and increasing my consumption of it along with some coconut/saturated fat (which somehow seems to help with assimilation of calcium).

Vitamin A: I thought I was getting enough Vitamin A until recently, when I read that plant sources contain only Beta-carotene, which 40% of the population does a really poor job of converting into Vitamin A. The problem is that there’s no real way of knowing if you are one of those people; besides, there are precious little signs of deficiency of this vitamin. Foods fortified with this vitamin is one way around this problem; but the fortified foods use a synthetic version of this Vitamin, which might have problematic long-term effects. Like Vitamin A, vegans (especially the fat-phobic ones) are also prone to getting less of vitamins D, E, K (all of which require fat to be effectively absorbed).

Omega-3 fatty acids: It wasn’t until I literally felt the brain-boost from eating a pumpkin-coconut curry that I realized I may have been deficient. Vegan males are known to be particularly prone to Omega-3 deficiencies, because unlike vegan women they have no evolutionary advantage. The omega-3 from plant sources needs to be converted into a different form to be usable by the body, and apparently vegans (no matter the confusing literature) don’t do too well. From personal experience, eating saturated fats seem to enhance the conversion and absorption of these important fatty acids–and vegans are notorious for their avoidance of saturated fat, which they (mistakenly) believe increases cholesterol and heart disease. The good news is that vegan versions of the needed omega-3 fatty acids, made from algae (from where the fish get theirs), are becoming available. But I haven’t found a version where I live, yet. What I did find was a very convenient way to get it–it was right under my nose. The popular South-Indian breakfast items, idli and dosa, when had with chutney, can provide reasonably adequate amounts, in addition to providing protein, zinc, B-vitamins, and possibly even B12. And my favorite Appam and Veg Stew probably provides even more nutrition (and taste). This discovery has really made me appreciate Indian dietary traditions–they, who must have known rather little of these individual nutrients, had yet come up with these unique ways of preparation that nourish and please.

Then there’s zinc, and iron, and so on.

It’s also problematic that being vegan promotes a high-carbohydrate diet and over-reliance on starches/grains (unless one is doing high amounts of fermented soy products). High amounts of starch and fiber in the absence of high protein seem to be detrimental to the digestion, while also promoting cravings. And grains, unless well prepared using methods such as soaking and fermenting, seem to be problematic to the absorption of other nutrients as well, besides being acidic in nature and requiring strongly alkaline elements (such as calcium), and maybe some fat (to buffer the protein) to balance their acidity and prevent them from compromising physical and dental health.

There might also be as yet undiscovered elements that the human body requires and are not found in plant foods.

This is where I have to admit that adding the wee bit of dairy and/or eggs in extremely limited amounts (like a cup of milk or an egg a week) can remove the reliance on supplements and enhance health too, while adding variety and also making the diet easier to maintain.

This will help in two ways:

- Prevent people who enthusiastically jumped into a vegan diet with no knowledge of nutrition from discarding overnight vegan-ism and vegetarianism, and with it the compassion that apparently drove them to being vegan in the first place.

- Actually help reduce animal suffering. Vegans do their own health a great benefit (if they supplement heavily), but do little to actively reduce animal suffering. In India at least, dairy production was far, far less cruel than it is today, and vegans can do their bit to help improve dairy production standards. This is something non-vegans can identify with (for who isn’t concerned with their health and the quality of food they eat). It paves the way for a transition towards less cruelty. And promotes inclusiveness, not exclusivity.

I sometimes wonder what I would do if I were averse to the humble yet mighty coconut, had little access to it, or had a body type that required severely limiting its presence in my diet–my current Vata-type (acc. to Ayurveda) seems suited for moderate to high inclusion of coconut in my diet, so I’m good. So far.

I’ve tried replacing the coconut with high amounts of nuts–which seems to have other negative side effects, or with high amounts of greens–which seems to have negative side effects too. I believe that, for optimal health, saturated fat and/or monounsaturated fat must make up a large portion of the fat one consumes.

More later. I would love to hear your experiences.

Adventure will arrive armed with bicycle riders (bikers) passionate about cycling and adventure.

Nature will disarm this visitor with its sal and Pine trees, sambar, chital deer, spotted deer, langoor, and eagles, many streams, unspoilt air, and serene silence.

It will be an explosive meeting.

MTB INDIA (MTBI), a professional racing series, could not have chosen a better location to flag off their first event in a series of races designed to promote professional racing in India.

When my cyclist friend Joshine told me about this event, I was envious. I told her I was hardly the racing type but that I would have loved to visit Utttaranchal. She suggested the possibility of volunteering for the event, and I did.

Thus came to pass my tryst with my two lovers writing and cycling.

I will be at Ramanagar, Uttaranchal from Nov 15-20, blogging about MTBI’s first event. Check out PedalZen, an online space I have created to share my journey.

I recently met with some of the participants online. Their passion, sense of adventure, and spirit overwhelms me. Meeting them in person, I am sure, will overawe me more. I am thankful I am just blogging about them, that I am sharing some of their space but not their racing terrain.

I reckon one would, if one were crazy or if one had ulterior motives.

I had both, so it did not matter. My strong ulterior motive–meeting my friends from Bangalore–was motivation enough.

Additional reassurance arrived a day before the trip, as my train ticket to Goa flashed Confirmed status. My weakness for traveling by train is well-known to the point of being exploited. Give me a train ticket and I’ll follow you to the nether regions–especially to the Nether-lands, where I can sublimate my other weakness, cycling.

The train chugged into Goa on Saturday morning, but not before I could indulge my many moments of indecision. I alighted the station at Madgaon on a whim or rather a co-passenger’s poor judgment. Until I had stepped out, I did not realize that it was early morning in lazy Goa and that my brain was not ready yet for haggling with rickshaw drivers. Another co-passenger pointed me to the motorbike stand from where some willing soul would waltz me into the bus stand (not without charging me, of course) wherefrom a bus to Panaji would bring me within striking distance of Calangute beach, according to my friend.

Thankfully, the EMPTY motorbike stand decided for me, that at the last minute I should rush back to the train and alight at the next station, Vasco. I beat a stampeding crowd of student-tourists to Goa to catch the same train. I eventually reached Panaji, so I’ll end this train of thought here.

At the guest house, I caught up with my friends. Not-so-sweet nothings were shared over tea (and lemon tea). The day saw us like it sees any other tourist: checking out temples, churches, and the beaches. Nostalgia struck me, and with full force at that: I had visited the exactly same temples, churches, and beaches more than 15 years back, and in the exact same sequence. Eternal reccurrence, anyone?

The day ended with me sampling some fenny mixed with Limca. I find it difficult to describe its taste and can only offer an analogy. It was to lemon tea what Goa’s caricature of misal-pav is to Puneri or Kolhapuri misal-pavs. The word bad hardly does it justice. What fenny did to me, however, was invaluable. Before it doused put my friend into a nightmare of puking, and drowned my other house-mate into a nightmare of choking, it had induced in me a dreamless sleep that forgives all because it remembers nothing.

The next morning I headed to the beach,  my mouth awash with sublime lemon tea. I was dreading what would happen next, and for good reason. I am in water what the fish are out of it.

Luckily, my friend Devu is in adventure what I am in water. While my other friends had, a couple days back, gorged themselves  on paragliding, jet-skiing, and other water sports, Devu had remained a spectator, a staid observer of this leela on the beach.

Put the two of us together, and you’ve  got a recipe for disaster. But our fear-y combination worked like none other would.

We competed on fear and completed in cheer.

Like the chime of Goa’s Mangeshi temple bell, our cheer hung over the surrounding air and followed us into the fading evening light.

Thankfully, with the spirit it’s just the opposite. Every sight regenerates it; every experience enriches it.

The crash-trip to Hampi, a one-day affair with the majestic ruins, happened on Aug 7, just two weeks before I moved out of Bangalore. When I met two friends from that trip this last weekend, Hampi regained its nostalgic spot in my mind. I returned to those sights, those experiences, the madness. And decided, this time, to record some snippets so I don’t have to jog my memory the next time.

My beloved reader, be transported to Hampi without any of that physical and mental tiredness.

The hills of Khopoli house such a dream—our Guruji’s: a village in the lap of nature, where the spirit, mind, and body can every moment renew itself. To this village are invited all, artists included.Click to view slideshow.[slideshow]

I recently spent a day at this paradise. The occasion: a mega tree-plantation drive.

The first many minutes had me soaked in an unknown bliss—“spaced out” literally of the existence of the world I had only just left behind. Not for long, though. Reality announced itself soon in the form of Dada’s voice. Our work was cut out. In groups we proceeded to our tasks of the morning. Our group had to de-weed the garden; other groups had to move huge boulders or identify and mark equally-spaced spots for mango trees.

Self-appointed supervisors Manoj Nair and Sunil Pai kept us on our toes, or stepped on them (I think the latter), reminding us of how incomplete and lacking in love a world without supervisors would be. The breeze appointed by Dada excelled in its job too—caressing us whenever the hint of a wrinkle made its rare appearance on our tired faces. Songs with creative lyrics—and unmentionable interpretations—provided comic relief.

After two hours of hard labor, we were visibly exhausted. Lunch was well-timed and well-deserved. We experienced first-hand the satisfaction with which a farmer or laborer must enjoy a meal at the end of a hard day’s work. As we munched our meal, we heard a sound outside, first faint, then much louder. We looked at each other and screamed in unison: Rain! This manna from the heavens and our sweet accompaniment to the meal drained away our exhaustion and reenergized us for our next main task of the day—digging ditches and planting trees.

Once again we set about the task in groups. In the next two hours, we dug ditches and planted eight mango trees and more than twenty shrubs in addition to putting together a fine garden patio.

Coursing through the spiritual village is a river, Amba. Now, earlier in the day, some of us had expressed a desire to rest our legs in its flowing waters. This desire was to be fulfilled just moments before sunset. We were ready even as Da’s voice beckoned us; off we stormed to a shallow spot by the river.

Some of us—myself included—tried to escape from getting soaking wet. But sau-sonar-ki-ek-lauhar-ki Sunil Pai had just to flutter his fingers once—and before I knew it my entire body was soaked. Even my phobia of water could not survive such a rude shock. It died an instant death which I am only too happy to celebrate.

We recovered, but just enough to enjoy a splashing three rounds of Ringa-ringa-roses. Inside the water! Da’s definition of a spiritual person came literally to mind: “No one should know how deep in the waters you are.”

With a high-tea session at the corner restaurant ended my first visit to the spiritual village. The heart remains pregnant with memories of an experience that touched the soul and filled it with song.

Gratitude wells up, and a spontaneous desire arises to experience once more this village of dreams. The day is not far—17th of October, 2010—and I am visibly excited. This time I will take recourse to the Zen saying: One never falls into the same river twice.

Brought back memories of my ride to Anchetti. I couldn’t believe that was almost a year ago. Since then, I’ve done but the occasional long-one. Why would that be?

I really am not into long distance riding, I reckon. I prefer the 10kmph-pace leisurely ride through tree-lined streets. Tell me to ride all day at this pace, and I’ll gladly do it. Okay, not so gladly, but I’ll do it.

I dream someday of touring cities on a bicycle, at a pace that makes cattle envious of my speed.

But variety adds spice. The undulating terrain brought as much variety as it did suffering. And, I am surprised to add, I secretly enjoyed some of that suffering–the keen anticipation of and the subsequent gliding down on a breezy downhill after an arduously “clinched” uphill brought sweet pleasure and added sanity to the proceedings.

Madivala check-post in Bangalore was our meeting point. Only, we knew not where it was, and that different people called it by different names — sounds like God, doesn’t it? — hardly helped.

Tiruvannamalai, around 220 km from Bangalore, was to be our first destination. I had been there once before, and was taken in enough to want to visit it again. There is nothing to “see” there, just a 14 km temple-studded walk around a hill (“malai” in Tamil), and another huge, beautiful temple.

My friends Swarnata and Mohan, though hardly keen on the idea of an unplanned trip, much less to boring-sounding Tiruvannamalai, decided to accompany me. As warm-up for the 14 km marathon walk, they walked 2 km in hunting for the starting point.

The bus to Tiruvannamalai arrived just as my friends reached the opposite side of the road. Crossing the road, like crossing the final shore, required a leap of faith. On this side, the bus driver kept threatening to drive away, with me pleading with him and gesturing frantically to my friends. On the other side, my friends were dodging vehicles armed with their lack of expertise. A couple of minutes and a few missed opportunities at dying later, we caught on to an interesting bus journey.

A wicked sense of humour the driver had. When asked if we had to yield our seats to ladies, he replied ” no need, it is all co-education.” Touching. His un-repressed, uninhibited joy at another’s discomfiture when Mohan accidentally banged his head against the TV was touching, too; I have filed this lesson away for my book, “Cry, and the World laughs at you.”

A planned trip assures one of delays at the starting point and during the journey. But an unplanned trip assures one of beating the expected time–especially because one doesn’t expect. We reached Tiruvannamalai at 11, half-hour earlier than scheduled.

The next hour would be the newcomers’ test of faith. Mohan and Swarnata, though not exactly beacons of peacefulness, had thus far exhibited remarkable manly (Mohan) and un-manly (Swarnata) fortitude and indomitable courage. But the sight of slabs of unfinished concrete and the fumes of many, heavy vehicles triggered off visible “exhaust” and “fumes” of discontent, under which even the otherwise calm Prasad was choking. I longed to see the hill if only to escape these flames of fury.

Naturally, and as human-ly as humans in the concrete jungle that is our cities, we had lost our way. Passers-by guided us correctly this time. We circumambulated the hill. More than four hours later, we had passed our first test of faith.

At 5 in the morning, after some bananas and tea, we took the bus to Pondicherry. If there was something to write about this part, I missed it, because I was sleeping peacefully. We reached Pondicherry at 8.

Pondicherry proper and the prospect of staying there did not appeal to us, so we took an auto to Auroville, where our un-planning again helped us. We checked out a few guest houses/hotels within and outside Auroville, and chanced upon the most beautiful guest house inside Auroville, thanks to our friend Ramya. Our hosts appeared divinely instructed: they prepared breakfast for us for free, drove us around Auroville when we were without a vehicle or escort, and even provided an extra table fan in the room to beat the heat.

Auroville was nice. I see why it is in some sense an ideal township. The spirit of sharing, the unhurriedness, and a non-competitive work ethic give to the place an aura of goodness and silent beauty. People from worldwide have made it their home, and for a reason. We visited also the Sadhana Forest, which houses and nurtures eco-conservation projects, and is a worthwhile experiment in sustainable living.

We set out for Pondicherry the next day. The beach was our first halt. It was hot. The road to it stank of urine, mostly, but there was also no poverty of spirit — of the alcoholic kind. Beauty pristine and indifference sublime can co-exist only in India.

Evening saw us at the Aurobindo Ashram. A serene, nice place. The French Quarter and the beach nearby beckoned us next.

With hours to spare before the return train, boredom struck. Coincidence struck immediately too: Jenny and Steph of the French Half–Steph is French–called upon us, and what’s more, were just a few minutes away. Sharing of experiences, a long walk, forgettable dinner, and a nice relaxing time at a lounge bar finished off the evening.

Pondicherry pleasantly surprises with its huge bicycling population: even girls, ladies, and oldies think just once of cycling in sarees and salwar kameezes, and at times, double-seat. The place has H. G. Wells’ blessings: Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race.

Our return train was, without doubt, the most beautiful train I have ever travelled in. Our heart rates hardly tracked our experience these last two days: Swarnata topped the list with 98, Mohan came second with 80, and Prasad lagged behind at a measly 60. My heart is beating, hopefully faster this time, for another unplanned trip.

I don’t mind dying, and I don’t mind deaths. But if only there were a reason, a logic to them. Oh gloominess and melancholy, drown us but throw us some light, some reason.

The last of these three deaths reminded me, after slightly more than twenty-one years, of my dear grandmother. Such a fine, simple and refined lady, and she suffered so much and died so young. I wasn’t half as affected by her pain, and maybe I did not even understand it then, as I am and do today. Maybe it was my deep attachment to her — unexpressed then but ever present and potent even today — that causes my knees to ache; she too suffered acutely from arthritis.

They say we pass through many births and deaths. But never have they whispered about the many births, and the uncountable deaths, in different forms, we see and experience during each birth. Maybe they want Death herself to whisper that to us.

Edit Mar 29 – And one more death last weekend, making it four deaths in 2 months!