When does 3.3 equal 4?

I recently relocated to Bangalore from San Francisco. I had to work from home, which requires inter alia a steady internet connection with decent bandwidth. I was advised by my friends that BSNL is the best bet, if I can manage to get it. Airtel was the next best option which is easier to get but wouldn't have the bandwidth I am looking for. I called from the US to a local BSNL office. A kind lady that picked up the phone - kind because the act of picking up the phone by anybody in a BSNL office, when you call them is an extreme act of kindness which the BSNL employees are unfortunately , though willing are not able to perform at all times - informed me that it will take 1 week to get the connection. I wasn't entirely thrilled as it takes only a phone call and 4 hour wait window the following day to get a new connection in California.
I landed in Bangalore on a Monday evening. Tuesday was taken up in jet lag, getting a cell phone and figuring out how to get drinking water and enrolling in the complex coupon system for home delivered milk. On Wednesday morning I applied for the broadband connection to Airtel on the internet using my data card. I got a bland “We will get back to you shortly” response. Unsure about its efficacy, I also called by phone. After applying over the phone I went to the bank. On the way to the bank I was called by Airtel that somebody would be over to my home to get my application in person. I asked him to wait as I was held up in the bank. He agreed. I got home. As soon as I got in, the door bell rang. An Airtel person came in. Sticklers for grammar : The use of indefinite article 'an' is deliberate here, the reason will become apparent shortly. He took all the documents for the application and my signature and said I will get the connection by Friday. After he left I got a call from Airtel again to check if I was home and could I receive the person waiting for me. I was bewildered. I told them that I just gave the documents to the Airtel person. Apparently my use of the definite article here was immediately corrected by the other end with the explanation that my application has been chased around by multiple channels and the fastest guy got me first.
Impressed by the speed I proceeded to apply for BSNL as well to see who can beat the other to the finish line here. I went to the Customer Care Center in Indira Nagar with a friend who had an acquaintance working there. By the time we got there he had already retired, so we were just sauntering in the lobby. We met 2 gentlemen there. Don't hold your breadth, no real names will be forthcoming. Let us just call them Frank and Eddie. Frank seemed to be a higher official based on the safari suit he was wearing. Eddie seemed to be a go between. When we were probing them how fast can we get a new connection, we were told it cannot be less than 3 days. Eddie asked all the right questions and provided his mob. Another revelation : For everything there is a Mob in India. Milk,Water,Learning English, you name it. You just call the "concerned" mob.
I was satisfied and I came back on Monday to submit my application. I took a bus to the HAL bus stop and an auto from there to the 80 feet Road office in Indira Nagar. The application was to be accompanied by one address proof and one identity proof. I had my passport copy with me for the identity and the rental lease agreement for address proof. The lady who was gracious to take my application told me that she needs to see the original of the passport if she has to take the passport copy as ID proof. The passport was not with me , but with my shipping agency to handle the customs at Chennai/ I had my original PAN Card but no copy of the PAN Card. So she told me that she needs to see the original of the document that I intend to submit as ID proof. Impressed by this irrefutable logic, I stepped out to take a photo copy of my PAN Card. I came back. The lady was gone. I mean gone as in vanished. Nobody knew where she was and when she will be back. After few attempts it was revealed that she was in some kind of training and will be back only after a few hours.
Disheartened I thought of Eddie. I asked where does Eddie sit to couple of other employees. They told me that there is no one called Eddie in the whole building. I called Eddie‘s mob. Eddie materialized in minutes and told me these folks didn't know anybody or anything. That should have raised an alarm in me. It didn't. I was taken in by Eddie's magical appearance at the hour of my need. Eddie took me to Frank. Frank was all smiles. Eddie got all the documents, corrected a few things, completed some other details. Taught me how to write a check among other things. Then he took the lease agreement copy, went somewhere and came back down in the mouth. He spread his lower lip and said, this will not do. I asked him what will not do. He said the lease agreement notarized by a California notary public won't do. It needed to be in Karnataka stamp paper. I said I didn’t have it and it cannot be had because the owner lives in US. I explained the role of a notary public and the validity of the lease. He then said, he will see what could be done. I volunteered to remunerate for his offer of help, which he politely declined and said he will accept once the help is rendered. This was Monday.
Meanwhile the 3 day deadline for Airtel had passed. I called Airtel. Somebody always picks up the phone in Airtel. My call was dutifully answered, my mobile number obtained, my problem listened to, a 10 digit case number provided with the reply that the "concerned" department will get in touch with me. It took me a few attempts to figure out that there is an ongoing turf war between multiple departments in Airtel over who should have the high honor of concerning themselves with my application and there were no winners. I found the brochure which "the" Airtel person gave and on it was stamped in blue ink a Mob number. So I called this mob. After few tries he passed on his supervisor's mob. I had to call the Supervisor's mob a few times and then his supervisor's mob, rehashing each time the previous mob's take on the matter. Finally on the following Friday afternoon, two gentlemen came. They were brisk like bees. Within minutes I had both my phone and internet working with the promised 2MBPS. I was elated. Now if only the BSNL also came through, I thought.
That weekend I went to my hometown. While I was there, the owner's mom who lives in Bangalore called me up. I explained to her the problem of this BSNL, Lease, Karnataka Stamp Paper thing and if she could...Before I could complete, she asked me what for do I need that. She said she knew the Divisional Engineer personally and she can take me to him and it will be a matter of minutes. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My whole attitude to Eddie changed. Once I was back in town I called up and gave an ultimatum that if things don't move within 5'0 clock that evening, I will be taking the help of the Divisional Engineer. Those who know the organizational structure of BSNL will wince at the use of the definite article, but more on this later. Believe it or not Eddie called up before 5PM and said my order is done. He gave me a work order number and a phone number which was to be mine. Should be a matter of days I was told.
Then a few days later after having no BSNL connection, I called Eddie again. Eddie asked me to come over with the remuneration for having worked so hard to get my California lease accepted by the authorities. I went to the Indira Nagar office, the route which was getting familiar to me. A Bus from Thubarahalli gets you to Old Airport Road for Rs.11. An auto will get you to Indira Nagar for 50. This time I went far to Murugeshapalaya and took the auto to the BSNL office. Having known at this time which floor Eddie met me last time, I went there directly. There was no Eddie. Frank met with his wide smiles. I told him that Eddie asked me to come. He said but Eddie was called up for work [which apparently wasn't at Frank's]. So Frank got his mob, pulled up 2 phone numbers literally out of his posterior and told me that those are my probable numbers. They were different from what Eddie told me. Taken in by his speed, I walked out a happy puppy. A happy goat I should have been.
I got home. Two days passed. Almost a week passed. No call from Eddie. No sign of BSNL. It was time for desperate measures - like taking the help of a 85 year old lady to get your internet connection. I called my home owner's mom. I submitted humbly that I need her to take me to the BSNL office to meet "the" Divisional Engineer. We fixed a time, I got a cab, went there well before time. I thought why not pay a visit to Eddie and Frank. I walked across the corridor, which I had done many times. But this time my eyes studied the nameplates on each cubicle. Every one of them was "a" divisional engineer. My sense of certainty shattered. I ran into Eddie. Eddie had the face of a ghost when he saw me. His lips went dry. I expressed my displeasure and indirectly broke any sort of implicit quid pro quo. No quid, No quo, cabbish?
Frank was as usual all smiles. Then they told me the truth. Somebody had botched up my application and assigned the wrong phone number to my work order. While they were figuring out whom to call to rectify this mistake, I went to see the old lady. The old lady dropped a bomb on me as soon as I entered. The guy she knew was on long leave and she just had a bunch of phone numbers that won't be of any help , but still she could come. What for I thought? I politely made small talk, had tea, looked admiringly at the family photos and took leave. I went back to Frank who was still figuring out the wrong phone number mishap. Then I asked the local exchange's number. He gave the number and added as a matter of fact with a smile 'but they won't pick up'.
Now I had a number to call and my work order number. I called and called until some one picked up. I became friends with the only 2 people that took that phone. There was a guy and a lady. The guy finally said, your botched number is not rectified and it can be done only in Indira nagar by an officer and saints alive, he was sympathetic to me and gave her mob. I called at 10:30 AM, allowing for all considerations. She didn't pick up. I call the guy again. Guy told she might be driving to the office and asked me to try again. Finally I get hold of her, she got my mobile number, my work order number. Told me that she would get back. I didn’t know this was SOP. I learned this when I called the top man in that building. And his number 2. And number 2.2. The only difference is they all have secretaries who can speak with neutralized accents.
Finally my last trip to Indira nagar, I found the perfect balance to get as far as to the Domlur flyover by bus and taking an auto thus minimizing my travel expense. I asked around and I got to the lady who was supposed to fix this. She was busy talking to another person who was busy like a bee. Then the truth hit me on the head. The people that can fix things in India are just too busy, because they have too many things to fix and there are only too few of them. Precisely because all the things to fix falls on their head. It is hard to reach them but once you reach them, your work will be done. Her face was provincial , may be Hubli, may be Arsikere. She had so many files on her desk. Little bits of papers on which were scribbled 8 digit numbers. I looked more. They were numbers on the walls next to her chair scribbled with pencil. I patiently explained to her the problem. She instantly recognized. She proceeded to fix the issue on the CRM system BSNL right before my eyes. Guess what? Some schmuck had made the phone number field read only !!! She was disappointed and said she will fix it later. She took my mob and then gave me her number and asked me to call her the next day to verify it. I asked her name, she pointed to the phone next to her and told me only she will pick that up. I wrote her number on my BSNL File and against it "the person to fix". The next day morning my mobile rang, and it was the fixing lady delivering a curt message, "your number is changed".
I was relieved. Now I called the "guy" in the local exchange and made sure the number indeed was fixed. I asked him when the connection will be installed. He said that will take 2 or 3 days. 4 days passed. No BSNL. Called again. This time I got the phone number of the lineman who is supposed to install the connection. Not his land line, saints alive, his mob! So I called his mob, the line man said he couldn't come that day and the next day he was on vacation. Sometime the following week he turned up one evening. Installed the phone line and told me that internet was not his business. It will have to be done in the exchange. Good Lordy! Next day I took the modem to the local exchange, the guy who was supposed to configure the modem was gone for lunch and wasn’t going to be back in 2 hours. I went back home and came back. I was invited into the sanctum sanctorum. There was a huge server rack about 12 feet tall with million telephone wires running all round with switches, small wires, big wires, small wires clumped into big wires. The lady and the "guy" were sitting around it. There was another guy in a movable ladder walking around the rack, pulling wires and putting them back.
I gave my modem. The guy asked the wire guy to give him "yyyyxxxx". In 5 seconds the guy on the movable ladder gave him the wire he was asked. I was amazed. If I was asked for my pen I would have taken longer. Now I had not owned the modem before and I didn’t know the admin password. After a few tries and a few more tries to reset, my connection was set up and humming at 1.7 MBPS. I asked why I was not getting the 4MBPS that I paid for. I was told I will get it after the weekend. May be the remaining bits are taking a weekend off? I came home. Monday came and Tuesday came. On Wednesday I lost patience and called the "guy". This time the lady picked up and I asked her about this 4MBPS speed. She said she has to call Indira Nagar and tell them to open up my connection for higher bandwidth. I thought oh no not again, but she somehow managed to do it herself, because when I checked later that evening I was getting 3.3MBPS which is just about what you can expect on a 4MBPS line.

Farewell, America

I lived in Marin County, California. Until six months ago, I was oblivious to this serious oddity - living in a county among so many cyclists and my own nonchalance to bicycling. But I was prodded in the right direction by multitude of small steps, each, in and of itself were disconnected, but together led me one evening to try out a CAAD 8 that was on sale with a price just enough to tickle.

This is how it started. I had decided to move back to my home country India to be closer to my parents. I wished to check all those boxes before I leave Marin: things I wish I had done, things I had done, but would have to liked to have done more. Fortunately due to same strange circumstances I was forced to take paid time off - time that I hadn’t taken off in years - to stave off a lethal HR policy that would gobble those hours. Having nothing else to do, I did long hikes every few days on the Marin Coast. Starting from the headlands, catching up again at the Palomarin trail head, of course taking the diversion to see the next-to-Niagara size Alamere Falls, all the way to Wildcat Beach, up the Inverness Ski Trail, Mt.Vision and beyond. I would typically start late in the morning, with a water bottle, a cold turkey sandwich, a fruit. I would drive to the chosen trail head of the day, hike for 8-10 miles, return to the parking lot and drive back home.

My final hike before my vacation ended was picking up the coastal trail from the middle of West Ridgecrest Blvd up on Mt.Tam. The Seven Sisters were draped in a beige carpet of dry grass enveloped by thick white fog from the west covering the redwood trees. To my amazement I found a bunch of dare-devils riding on those steep hills! It didn’t occur to me that I would ever attempt that myself. Even if it had occurred it would have seemed ridiculous to think that I would make it alive on the other end.

But the experience from the long hikes was encouraging for me to pick up some activity that would move my limbs enough to raise my heart rate above 120. So I walked into our LBS^* and explained to Bruce the salesman, what I was looking for , of which I had no idea except that I didn’t have a fat budget to go splurge on something that I hadn’t even been fond of doing. But he guided me deftly to a CAAD 8 on sale. Inside the store between the racks of new bikes there was a path to “test” drive. He explained all the features in detail, including the mechanism of shifting and braking. Everything he said went over my head except the braking part. I hopped on with great difficulty as the height of the seat post was intimidating. I started pushing the pedals. Within a few strokes I felt the magic. Myriad thoughts came to me as I was riding the 40 yard loop inside the store. Why is this thing so light? Is that why it flies? Or Is it because I am so good at this?

After a week long tussle between rational decision making and the power of first intuition, I went back to order my frame size. I had to wait another week to get it in the store. After making daily phone calls at all hours and learning the first name of all the employees in the store, I finally got it. After picking up the paraphernalia^* that a cyclist needs, such as a biking shorts, a helmet, a bottle cage and a water bottle. Kelly at the store taught me how to operate the quick release levers and helped me load the bike onto my car. As she waved bye, she had a look of concern and incredulity as to how I was going to put the front wheel back. It was a miracle I was able to do that when I got back home

The first week I started riding a grand total of 3 miles every morning , returning winded and sweaty. That weekend I charted my way to work. Half way to my work the “hills” that I didn’t even register living in this county for 10 years began to announce their presence in a hurtful way. I turned back home. The thought that if I commute to work, I wouldn’t even make it to work was depressing and forbidding. I pushed more that week end. I asked a friend, an experienced cyclist to join me on a ride. He asked me to plot a ride route to Marin Headlands. Little did I know that with my fitness it was near delusional to think I would reach the top. But we rode on, stopping on a few occasions, grabbing a bite or gulping a few sips. Once we reached all the way up, I thought may be this isn’t so bad, pushing 4 miles an hour up the hill. It takes twice the time if you walk.

All this time, I hadn’t even got the chain on to the big ring on the front. Every time I tried it wouldn’t. get on. Suspecting something wrong with the bike, I took it the LBS. I learned that I had to get my cadence high enough to make the up shift. There I saw a flier for a Sunday no drop group ride. I returned back the next Sunday on time. I was greeted warmly by Wayne, our group leader along with a few other riders. Wayne took instant stock of me, saw the way I was sitting on the saddle and must have thought ’dog on a fence’. As we began the ride, he taught me how to sit, where to keep my hands and how to pedal. As we were coming up against a roller, he advised me which gear I should be on (granny gear of course). We rolled on to Lucas Valley road up the big rock. The group that came with us were way ahead. As the grade got steeper I was panting and my lungs were discombobulated. Wayne was persistent and he told me to keep pedaling. He coaxed, encouraged, threatened, cajoled, insulted and humored me up the hill. He said,’ We are going to break you down and make you a strong rider’. If I had been able to speak my mind, that is to say if I had been able to speak at all, I would have said, I was sure about the first part but not about the second part. He was wise enough to send me home after we climbed the big rock.

He was shocked to see me return the next week for the ride. He announced gladly that ‘we haven’t killed you after all’. So the self-inflicted misery began again. This time I had our ride director Scott with me who seemed to be more sympathetic to my plight. But even he got perplexed as I slowed down to a snail’s pace. He said, ‘Please yell if you were going to stay behind’. Yell? If only my lungs were able to even whisper I thought.. But I reached the top my legs got cramped from all the inefficient pushing and I couldn’t get out of my clip less pedals. The thought that I would have to ride on was equally horrifying to me as well as the group. But I was able to clip out after 100 yards of trying and turn my way back home. Apart from effortless clipping out I wondered what it would take to ride with the group all the way.

Then we started to do the “short rides” around the Tiburon peninsula as winter progressed . It is a pretty sight when our paceline rolls along the bay on Seminary drive. You might wonder how would I know if I was in the paceline myself? Trust me, I could see it from far behind, so I know. Slowly I was improving and Wayne was very pleased to see me ride with the group some of the time. The long coffee breaks followed by heated discussion they had on whether to revise the group’s no drop policy helped me to eventually catch up with the group.

Emboldened by this huge success, I decided to ride the whole 50 miles next week. I was going fine on the first 15 miles. We had a pit stop and followed by announcements on who wants to be on the group turning back. I was getting some water because I had consumed 2 full bottles for the first 15 miles and nobody in the group thought I would be continuing on for the long course. I wouldn’t blame them, so they took off. I rode for the next 15 miles alone through the rolling hills of West Marin smelling horse manure around the picturesque Nicasio . Luckily the group was still around at Point Reyes Station, enjoying a post-meal chit chat. Lesson learned: better to stay dehydrated or to hold your bladder than to leave the group.

No cycling experience is complete without a crash (or two^*). Mine was due. It was great weather, everybody was in the zone, I was right behind my ride leader Brian on the Paradise drive, I was scrubbed for speed at a few sharp left turns. Trying to be aggressive on the next turn, I lost control of my bike, tipped over the handlebar, landed on a soft muddy spot 1 feet away from a boulder. Next thing I know Dave was leaning over my face, asking me what was the day of the week. Luckily I was able to ride on after a sort break. But Brian wouldn’t trust me, so he came right with me to my door step and dropped me off. Boy, these guys really mean it when they say “no drop” I thought.

One of the unforgettable experience was riding the Seven Sisters. It was Tuesday the Dec 27^th. It was unseasonably warm that day. I got fully hydrated and ate a bowl of oatmeal and a banana 2 hours before the ride. I pushed on to Fairfax to the Bolinas-FairFax Road. Soon the climb got serious. The only way I knew to climb the hill was on granny gear, seated. This time I tried to do something different. I stood up on the saddle for 30 seconds for every minute of seated pushing. Finally I reached the Alpine Dam. Decision time : To go back to Fairfax or dare to climb the Seven Sisters and descend to Mill valley? To me both were equally horrifying. So I decided to climb the Seven Sisters. Once I reached the top of every hill, I rolled down as fast as I could to get enough momentum for the next roller. After seeing off the last sister I started the unrelenting descent down to Mill Valley. It was the hardest part of that ride. I never knew descending could be this scary and would require so many prayers. I was looking forward to the next climb on the route .

My last ride before I left Marin was to Point Reyes Station. As it was my farewell ride, I was eagerly looking forward to it and enjoyed every minute of it. Well almost, if you don’t count the minutes up on Whites hill. We had a pretty uneventful ride all the way home until we reached Fairfax. I skidded on a water puddle and sacrificed an inch of skin to the pavement God. It was my tribute to Marin for providing me an unforgettable riding experience the past 6 months. Once I reached our LBS I saw an older couple fixing their bikes at the service station. The lady looked at me and said , “I wish I had your legs“. I thought, to myself “Excuse me? Have you seen these legs in action on Whites hill?” But I smugly accepted the compliment. So here is the takeaway: if you live near Marin or any other place with roads safe for cycling and wish to be complimented on your legs by ladies 30 years older than you, do yourself a favor. Grab a bike and start riding!

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^* Six months ago I would have certainly thought that LBS means pounds, but would have wondered why it has to be capitalized

^* I learned later that when it comes to bicycling the word paraphernalia is woefully inadequate.. It requires something even more grandiose

^* Clipless pedal accidents don’t count