Phir Se

This has been the year of sequels and remakes in India. Krrish, Munnabhai have done really well. Don, Dhoom II, Sholay are eagerly awaited. The promoters of Delhi half-marathon seem have been inspired by these as well. They must be hoping that the promotion campaign will be as successful as the movies.

Phir se, Again. This prosaic line is the fulcrum of the Half-Marathon promotion campaign this year. The exhorting of different areas of the city to run is nice but it is somehow difficlut to relate to Phir Se. Its not as if they only wish to talk to people who ran last year. For them it may be Phir se but for all others its the first time. Still it does not take anything away from the mass movement that the event has now become in Delhi. It is steam-rolling across the city. I heard from friends in Chandigarh who had registered.

My tryst with the half-marathon is upon me. I am still unable to run any longer than I did last year, but I am now able to walk a bit longer. On week-ends I have been going for long walks. Since a month this has become a satisfying twenty in a stretch of three and a half hours.

Noida roads are not made for long-distance walking. If you try this early morning you will need to contend with road sides dotted with endless rows of men sitting patiently like crows. Arms dangling over knees, a PET bottle of water perched next to his foot and a constipated expression on each face. And a stink strong enough to make you walk faster.

In the evenings the roads are owned by buses. The bus drivers think blowing horns is a symbol of virility and that the traffic lights are basically meant to make the roads look festive. In the maddening noise of diesel engines and pressure horns they still find enough lung power to hurl abuses. Thankfully they all drive on the left side of the road. I try to walk on the right so as to make sure I can see the guy who finally runs over me.

The rickshaws must be giving nightmares to guys who make up traffic rules. Noida seems to have more of them than pedestrians. They really do not know which side of the road they should be on. You can see a chattering bevy of punjabi women, carrying basket of vegetables and stuff climb laboriously on to these. The bangladeshi on the rickshaw will then just turn in the direction he wants to go and pedal on. I try my best to keep one eye on the tri-cycles and one on the buses bearing down on me.

I have preferred evenings for my walks, have a small FM radio plugged in my ear to drown the noise. Seem to have survived everyone's attempt to kill me. So far. The stretch on the Toll-bridge is really nice with the setting sun and relatively safer.

And twenty is something worth boasting about!