Absolute Lee

Moving News!

I�ve done my time at Rediffblogs for three (long) years. You�ll now find me at

absoluteleela.blogspot.com

Please point your blogrolls and feedreaders right there. Thank you folks. See you at my new co-ordinates.

The road to Jebel Hafeet

A few years ago, while on a trek in Ladakh, I stood enraptured at the Advanced Base Camp of the peak Stok Kangri. At 17,000 feet, it was the highest I'd ever been, and my quickened breathing wasn't because of the thin air alone.

Last weekend, standing on top of Jebel Hafeet, the highest point in the UAE, I felt a faint stirring of that old magic. True, the altitude bore no comparisons. At 4,000 feet, Jebel Hafeet was more molehill than mountain. Still, the thrill of feeling a step away from the sky, of being surrounded by jagged outlines of mountains, of looking down at the city with an omniscient gaze - all of it more than made up for the lack of altitude for someone afflicted by acute mountain deprivation.

"The journey is the destination," announced my philosophical friend, M, who was also the guide on this trip. M has cris-crossed the length and breadth of the UAE in his tiny but trusty Mini Cooper, and had been coaxing me to do the drive for a while. My 3-month old car was raring to get out of the traffic-clogged city limits and tear away on the highways. Things came together last weekend. When most of Dubai was napping away the afternoon heat, five of us and two cars set off for Jebel Hafeet, on the outskirts of Al Ain.

The route between Dubai and Al Ain might have been drawn using a ruler, so rarely does it meander. And that's what made it an absolute pleasure to drive on. Empty roads and a speed limit of 120 � it was everything a newbie driver hoped for. Sand dunes rose and fell like waves on either side of the 6-lane highway. The horizon was mercifully exempt from towering half-finished structures, which dotted so much of Dubai.

Two hours and a couple of rest stops later, we reached the first of the roundabouts which announced our entry into Al Ain. Some of the roundabouts seemed familiar from my previous trip to Al Ain six months ago. But the circuitous route soon turned into a maze and I lost sight of the car I was supposed to be trailing.

Perhaps it was a case of �bringing the mountain to Mohammed� but even as I was searching for a way to retrace my steps, I saw a sign up ahead which read �Jebel Hafeet�. Quite serendipitously, I found myself at the base of, what has been adjudged, �the world's greatest driving road�

Photo courtesy: www.edmunds.com

The sun was beginning to set when we started our ascent. Bathed in the evening glow, the craggy, limestone rocks were a soothing sight to city-weary eyes. The AC was turned off, the windows were rolled down. Heads swiveled back and forth not wanting to miss anything. It was hard to imagine that this �flat-as-an-airstrip� road was hewn right through a mountain. Even my car purred in contentment.

According to some estimates, there are 60 curves en route to the top, and each time we rounded a bend, the view turned even more spectacular. As dusk set in, the lamps on either side of the road lit up, turning limestone into gold. The peak now resembled a dazzling tiara. Undoubtedly, a good deal of planning had gone into this route. There were emergency parking areas after every 150-200 metres, and observation points with ample car parking at two or three places.

A cool breeze was blowing when we finally reached the plateau at the top. There were almost a hundred cars parked all around the periphery, with people spilling out of them � families with picnic baskets, kids, even a few pets. There were more hordes milling around the vapidly titled �Top of Hafeet Mountain Cafetaria�. There was even graffiti scribbled all along the surface of the peak.

A bit of the magical spell cast by the drive up the mountain was broken. But we found a tiny quiet spot to take it all in, and to gaze at Al Ain below. The city was ablaze with lights. The snaking route below, bathed in an incandescent light seemed almost surreal from our vantage point. We took a few pictures, walked around the periphery of the plateau and then headed back.

Perhaps M was right. The journey is the destination�

Six

The early years are a bit fuzzy, but the one memory that stands out clearly is of the day I turned six. I even remember the frock I wore to school. It wasn�t pink or yellow or anything else cutesy. It was beige with a criss-cross pattern in front, and it ended just a little above my scarred knees. It also had two roses embroidered on the lapel, and I couldn�t stop running my fingers over its knotted texture. I remember the day so well because I was the only one in beige in a sea of blue uniforms. I was also the only one with a plastic bag bursting with toffees. �Two for each girl� � mum had counted.

I waited impatiently for the class just before the recess. That�s when the teacher, Miss Pushpa, closed the book, looked straight at me and called me to the front of the class. I acted coy, just like the other girls who�d gone through this routine on their birthdays, but in effect, I simply lapped up all the attention, even took my time getting to the front of the class. That�s a Leo for you. But then, you would know that.

I grinned from ear to ear, not knowing where to look, while the class went through the birthday chorus. When the applause had subsided, I sashayed through the rows handing out two toffees to the girls, and holding out the bag to the teacher, so she could take as many as she wanted. Which was usually one. And then, as girls before me had done, I pulled out a fistful and pushed it into her hand while she protested initially, and then, accepted with a sigh. The dozen or so toffees left were reduced to wrappers by the time the school bus reached our lane.

I cannot remember any other birthday in school, except for this one. Maybe it was because it was my first year in school, just like it is yours. I�ve been trying to imagine what your day will be like. Will your classmates make you feel special? Will you be carrying a bag full of sweets? Will you be overrun with gifts this year, like every year?

Speaking of which, I bought your gift before you expressed your desire for �something with a remote control�. I was wondering if you meant a TV, when you clarified that it was a car. Were you serious? A car? You never fail to surprise me.

This would be the second year that I�m not around to wish you on your birthday. But you can be sure, I will be celebrating with you every moment. Happy Birthday dearest Alison.

Abby Lee, I'm not

To all of you who've been directed here by your search for the Abby Lee blog, um... welcome and thanks for the gratifying increase in traffic.

I'll admit I won an Abby a couple of years ago, and that my blog pals call me Lee, and that the tag line of my blog, 'the girl next door....' rings somewhat with '... seductress next door', but my life isn't half as exciting as the real Abby Lee. Well, I'm only guessing it's exciting and racy since it has been deemed "...inconsistent with the religious, cultural, political and moral values of the United Arab Emirates", and has subsequently been blocked.

Guess I'll just have to buy the book.

Priceless Pictures # 8: What was that again??

Also see: Priceless Pictures # 1, # 2, # 3, #4, # 5, # 6, # 7

Love Hurts

Tucked in between Britney Spears: The Ultimate Collection and The Pussycat Dolls at the Virgin Megastore in the Mall of the Emirates was the intriguingly-titled anthology: Break Up Songs.

Break Up Songs?! What marketing insight could have prompted a compilation of this nature, I wondered. Would you snap up the CD as a reminder of a relationship gone south? Would it make you feel better to hear ballads like 'I can't make you love me' or 'Just when I needed you most'? (In your distraught state, would you even notice the contradictions in 'Leave right now' and 'If you leave me now'?)

On another note, was it meant to be Gen-Y's equivalent of a 'Dear John' letter? ("Aw, I couldn't, you know, send him an sms that we're quits. That's so, cruel. So I gifted him the CD on Valentine's Day.")

One couldn't also overlook the possibility of it working as a subtle hint to a love-blind friend that the person he/she is dating is a loser.

My respect for the marketing brains behind Break Up Songs went up a few notches when I spotted the price tag. Where the average price of a CD ranged between 45 - 70 Dhs (roughly Rs. 540 - 840), Break Up Songs was priced at a heart-stopping 100 Dhs (approx. Rs. 1200). Clearly, according to the men in suits, there's no fool like a lovelorn fool.

I can't wait for them to come out with an anthology called, Songs to Inspire Regular Blogging...

It's possible...

� to read every single article in every single newspaper, travel from blog to blog assimilating first person accounts, updates and pictures, and feel sadly disconnected from it all.

It�s possible�

� to feel a wave of admiration for the unyielding denizens of my city and anger at their �resilience� born out of helplessness.

It�s possible�

� to be shamelessly grateful that none who perished were my own, and feel a strange ache for the friend�s friend who wasn�t so lucky.

It�s possible�

To be relieved that one is far from it all, and feel a faint sense of betrayal that one is far from it all.

Smokescreen

The Annual Cannes Advertising Festival results are out. The creative department in the agency is agog. There�s a huddle around the computer downloading the winners� list. It�s a great year for Indian advertising � 58 nominations, of which 12 have turned into gold, silver and bronze.

The brilliance is sizzling; humbling even. Some ideas leap off the screen and strike you between the eyes. Some creep up slowly and punch you in the gut. A whistle of appreciation. A dismissive snort. A reverential silence.

There�s this winning entry in the Outdoor/Poster category from Everest Advertising, Mumbai, that demands a closer look. There are two pictures. The first picture depicts an unusual vantage point � a view from the bottom of a freshly dug grave. A square patch of sunlight is visible; around the edge of the �grave� stand mournful relatives and a priest ministering the final blessing.

The second picture shows the first picture stuck on a ceiling of a Smoking Zone. Two people standing under the poster with cigarettes dangling from their fingers look up at it with tremulous expressions.

The penny drops. It�s a poster for the Cancer Patients Aid Association. By putting it on a ceiling, it gives those smoking below the impression that they�re being readied for burial.

A bold new way to convey an age-old, almost clich�d message. The murmurs of approval from those huddled around the computer reaches a crescendo. Even the cynics among the lot hail it. The finger on the mouse pauses before moving on to the next entry. Two questions hover in most minds - How did they think of this? Why didn�t I think of this? This is the best Indian entry, one person declares. What a killer idea, another repeats for the fourth time, shaking his head in awe.

They troop out one by one and meet again in the passage outside the office. The sole lighter is passed around. Amid puffs of smoke, the killer idea is once again given the thumbs up.

P.S. I doubt if my description of the poster did enough justice. Here it is

More than one good reason

1. I have no time

2. Work's too hectic

3. I've lost the rhythm

4. I have nothing to write about

5. I have so much to write about I don't know where to begin

6. I can't write with interruptions

7. I'll write on the weekend

8. It's such a shame to be indoors on a weekend

9. I'm not inspired

10. It's too hot.

11. The A/c is freezing. I'll write when my fingers thaw.

12. After this call...

13. Tomorrow..

14. It's time for a blog break.

15. It's time for a blog makeover.

16. There are more important things in life than blogging.

17. I've run out of excuses and I still don't have anything to write about.

18. There's a Sale on across the street.

19. There are better writers...

20. It's all been written before...

21. I need my sleep.

22. Writing excuses is such fun...