Rice...

Man has indeed, come a long way, when it comes to his journeys and experiences in the demesne of food. From the natural instincts of survival to the gourmet style of life, the sheer mind-boggling variety of food items available, has always been a wonder to the author. This post marks a new beginning of a series of articles, ranging from rice, the first grain that he had received as a child, to the others. The simplest things in life are the most extra-ordinary. Imagine, the first of our ancestors, who had the courage to draw out the grains from a rice plant, and then, consume them. Would you merely pluck something from an unknown plant, and consume it? In fact, what differentiates food from poison.

After that most important first step of overcoming the fear of the unknown, who ever thought of steaming it or boiling it with water, so as to get to the right required consistency that one is used to now. Then, did man, just stop with eating plain steamed white rice? No, even here, he has amazed us. A simple seasoning and the right use of various spices, (even here, one must heavily appreciate the courage shown), transforms white rice to lemon rice, coconut rice, tamarind rice, jeera rice, pulao, pongal, biriyani, etc. Further, he developed beaten rice, to help make different kinds of poha; and puffed rice, to be had plain with kadalai (groundnuts), or as that important ingredient of bhel-puri. Then, what did man do?

To obtain the batter, which is used to make idli (pancake), dosa (crepe) and uttapam (indian pizza), he grinds the rice along with a few pulses, after soaking it over-night. How did he come up with the right ratios of the ingredients, so as to obtain, the different consistencies? And, here, he goes on experimenting and improvising, so as to come up with different varieties. With his brainchild, he then, comes up with chutneys, of all different kinds, molaga podi, sambhar, potato sabji, etc. to go as accompaniments to the dosa/idli/uttapam. He decides to have dosa with potato sabji and not idli with the same. Likewise, he develops the concept of rava idli, which, leads to a totally new form, that includes garnishing with coriander leaves (just an another random plant), and cashews, carrots, and peas, etc.

Then, be it the dumplings from China, or the kozhakottai's from India, which are products made from rice flour with different kinds of stuffings, man has ventured into newer territories. Further, it does merit a mention of the wonderful rice based vadams (crispies) that are now fried in oil, which totally lend a unique taste, if had as a side-dish with sambhar rice. And pray, what all items go well with rice? Sambhar, Kootu, Gojju, Vartha Kozhambu, Kadi, Dal, Rasam, etc. Another feather on his cap, was to use rice flour, as a thickening agent in sambhar. Of course, for the health-conscious people, or for those recuperating from an illness, you have the simple rice ganji (gruel), which is, in fact, one of the healthiest options.

Last but not the least, he did research on the various steps involved in the processing, right from the time of harvest, to the storage and distribution of rice; and how, the right temperature and moisture settings, helps minimize the wastage of rice in terms of yield. Further, he came up with several developments in the field of agriculture, to make cultivation of rice, more productive. In parallel, one of the important things to learn about rice, was its nutrient content and importance to one's health; be it the more healthy brown rice, or the plain white rice, or the more celebrated basmati rice. He did all that, and with it developed a systematic way of characterizing food in terms of minerals, vitamins, carbohydrates, fats, etc. and calories.

The author has tried to paint a picture of the different options available, from rice, and it is no doubt, not comprehensive. Most of the dishes mentioned here belong to the Indian vegetarian cuisine. Just imagine, as to how mind-boggling it could become, if one were to talk of all the different forms of cuisines. Further, what is of most wonderment, is that, all these events have happened, in almost all parts of the world, almost independently. Obviously, the rice-eaters of Mexico had little in common with the rice-eaters of India, during those old days, of limited travel. Likewise, the same about the rice-eaters of Japan. So, how did everyone converge on the same plant, rice, possibly, at different times, and at all these different places in the world. Isn't it a wonder?

PS: The only reasons that the author can think of, for all these wonderful achievements, are, good judgement; willingness to try, experiment and improvise; and not having that fear of the unknown. And, good judgement, reminds the author of a profound saying, "Good judgement comes from experience; and experience comes from bad judgement".

PS2: Replace all references to he/him/man with she/her/woman. The idea for this exclusion is not to portray the author as being a sexist. It is more so to imply, that he and she, mean one and the same. Further, the author acknowledges the fact, that, women tend to contribute equally, if not more, when it comes to all the wonderful achievements in the world.

PS3: When you have time, and would like to play word-games, you may do so here, where, you also help the UN World Food Program with its "grains of rice" collection drive to end hunger, depending on how well you do.

Of Grand-fathers....

Today happens to be the Maha Aalaya Amavasya, of the Mahalaya Paksham fortnight. A fortnight of activities in thought and action, towards and in honor, respect, love of our fore-fathers. Amavasya, or the new-moon day, which occurs every month, is also set aside for the same purpose. It is therefore apt and appropriate to write about two of my earliest heroes, my two grand-fathers, Thatha(father's father) and Aja(mother's father) on this special day. Both of them taught me certain important lessons, during my childhood and youth, and some of my thought processes were, are and would be heavily influenced by them. This post is rightly dedicated to them, and to all the grand-fathers and the grand-mothers of the world. I am sure that the bonding a grand-parent shares with its grand-child is something really special, no matter where. What makes it special, is the fact that the grand-child becomes an important part of the grand-parent's life, post retirement, and it is the time to revisit or experience certain experiences, that one would have denied oneself in the past, with one's own children.

Needless to mention, there could be wheels within wheels in such relationships, like any other, due to the relationships of the parents with the two sets of grand-parents. When one realizes that no one is perfect, this, at least makes it possible for the grand-child to accept the idiosyncracies of the person, made more so difficult due to their iconic status during one's childhood; and respect and love them for what they were/ are. Further, most elders are neglected, when they go past their primes, and become a liability in terms of time, health, money and getting about their daily activities. Ironically, during these times of neglect are when they need our love the most; and not when, everything is rosy, prim and proper. To make matters worse, there could be the eye on the inheritances, if it be so applicable. This is something that the author has seen happen, in India, the US, and heard so from a Taiwanese friend. I am sure that the fact of the elders becoming a non-issue with time, would be an issue in most parts of the world, since time immemorial.

Moreover, every rose has its thorn, and it is up to us, and us alone, to think of the rose or the thorn or both. And every behavior, be it warranted or un-warranted, polite or impolite, nice or rude, is more so because of a reason. Two hands are needed to get the sound of a clap. It is pointless to point fingers at one side, without truly knowing what is it that makes one behave the way one behaves. What complicates matters, is that, all of these incomprehensible behaviors are the off-shoots of love. Love can be as destructive as constructive, if not more, when it comes to human relationships. Most of the wrongs in the world, are again, off-shoots of love, love and love alone. (As a brutal example, love for one's vision/ country/ religion is what makes a person a terrorist, who goes about killing the harmless victims, without an iota of guilt). With that as a long aside, the author would want to paint the portrait of the two gentlemen, thatha and aja, out here; for an essay on the human relationships between the aged, mid-aged, youth and the children, is not the real purpose of this post.

Thatha

My earliest hero, for all that I can remember. Pampered me beyond any doubt and I was evidently his favorite grand-child. Memories of my earliest childhood revolve around thatha, chocolates, playing all kinds of games at all odd-times, walking with him to the Srirangam temple market with a fancy little red shoe that would squeak in a playful way to my delight as I walked, pens, pencils, colors, street cricket, dresses, Raghavendra Swami Mutt, encounters with the temple elephants, brown covers on note-books and books before the start of a new academic year, etc. He was extremely religious and used to perform sandhya vandanam and pranayama, twice every day. He possessed an assorted variety of sanskrit sloka books, ranging from the Bhagavad Gita to Vadiraja's treatises. And, no matter what, he used to write the entry for the day in his diary, in his beautiful handwriting. The surest way to win his heart would have been to present a beautiful diary during New Year's eve. His writings were simple and effective, sans flowery elements; and he was fluent in Marathi, Kannada, and Tamil, as well.

From what the author remembers, the author was scolded once by thatha, much to his shock and astonishment. As someone very particular about coffee, and, sadly, tobacco; he used to have raw green chilli's too, with curd rice, to the author's bewilderment. A very simple man, the father of three children, the youngest being my father, had retired as a Commercial Railway Inspector, from the Southern Railways, Tiruchi. His work was known to have taken him here and there, to the remote parts of Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Tamil Nadu, all by trains, much to the amusement of his grand-child, and very much to the dismay of his family. Unfortunately, thatha had lost his mother at a very tender age, and his father had re-married again. Being the eldest, he was responsible for all of his siblings and step-siblings too..... Thatha passed away at the age of 78, after a brief illness, when the author was 12. Hence, most memories are from childhood.

Aja

One of my earliest heroes, I grew to respect aja, a real lot, with space and time. An extremely simple person, with a penchant for writing. His lambastes of many a politician tinged with satire would often make a conversation amusing. Like thatha, aja had lost his mother at a very very tender age. His father followed soon, and exact information on his siblings is not very clearly known. After his marriage, I believe, he had no living relative from his side. He fathered nine children, the sixth being my mother; and he saw to it, that everyone was educated well, in the domains of both academics and music. A man with a vision, he believed music would be the panacea for all problems in one's life. He being the sole bread-winner of the family, did struggle to get his children the education that he envisioned; and, marrying off his five daughters, indeed, proved to be a greater struggle (especially during those times). He retired as the Post Master General, Hyderabad.

My earliest memories of him, would be his trips to the market and the delicious Banganampalli mangoes and his harangue of the shop-keepers who he believed where out there to loot the common man. Not to forget the time when he had come over to Madras for 15 days when the author was in Class III. That, and, banana chips (used to get them everyday, for me), cold drinks, colors, pens, pencils, TT racquets, etc. His English was impeccable; and he was fluent in Marathi, Kannada, Tamil, Telugu, and Hindi as well. He had correctly spelt out "mountaineering" for me, when I had made a mistake in a home work. Further, the author vividly remembers an incident where both of us were lost from the family crowd during a trip, and as to how cool he really was. The author believes he was fortunate to have been involved in several intimate conversations with aja, post his undergraduate education and before his graduate study phase...... Aja passed away at the age of 86, after being in coma for 3-4 months, when the author was 23.

*****

Both thatha and aja, had the same name. Seshagiri Rao. The author would consider them to have been successful men, who made the best of what life could offer to them, and who provided the best that they could offer to their families. May their souls be at peace.

PS: Of course, both these men, did make a few mistakes in life. That, is not the purpose of this post, and, who doesn't make mistakes in life?

The Pilani Express...

This post is a tribute to the harmless ones killed and injured in the Delhi blasts. Further, dedicated to my companions during the various train journeys on the Pilani Express.

The author was reminded of his Pilani days and the umpteen train journeys from New Delhi to Chennai Central and vice-versa, courtesy, the Pilani Express, which used to be otherwise known as the Tamil Nadu Express (we never really cared about the Grand Trunk Express); when he first got to know of the highly deplorable and unfortunate Delhi blasts. With a government that is pretty soft on terrorism, and, a coalition that follows the deplorable vote-bank politics, just like everyone else; it is beginning to seem like, nothing much can be done about the blasts. Going after the terrorists, should be done more so, because, what they are doing, is evoking terror in the minds of the people, by the means of cowardice. Moreover, the bomb doesn't really care for the religion of the people it endangers; and for reasons of political gains and victory of their point of view, harming the harmless is downright detestable, deplorable and unpardonable. The government and the political leaders, should rise above from politics and mere soft talk; for it is high time for action. On that poignant note, the author would like to delve more onto the topic of the post.

New Delhi is a beautiful city, pretty well-planned, and rich in terms of history and heritage. Connaught Place is a great place to hang out; and everything about New Delhi has a distinct charm for the author, maybe more so, because it was the author's first experience, on his own, up north, after living a majority of his life till then as a madrasi. Moreover, the author and his group of friends, were, exposed to New Delhi, at a time, when their hormonal reality levels were pretty high or beginning to kick in. Girls in tight, thigh-caressing and low-rise jeans; and equally tight body-hugging tops, were a heady whiff of change, from the "usual". It made so much more of a difference for the students who were from Chennai and the other parts of Tamil Nadu. (Indeed, Bengaluru and Mumbai would give a healthy competition to New Delhi.) And, no matter what, be it their attitude, or their ways of life, the girls were indeed highly impressionable. And, the New Delhi guys, who were termed TDCs, were never really in the picture, for us guys. With quickly overflowing counters, courtesy, the abundant amounts of ocular strain, New Delhi was an important part of the author's life, in terms, of his growing up.

Who can forget those umpteen train journeys? Sarai Rohilla station of Old Delhi, the New Delhi railway station, journeys to Kalka, Loharu, Allahabad, etc. The open dis-respect for the concept of reserved compartments. Sumo's and filmi episodes with drunken and rash drivers. The bus rides in winter, with most people smoking beedi's in that suffocative environment. The visit of the hijras on the train near New Delhi. The visits to Connaught Place, Palika Bazaar, Karol Bagh. The often repeated feeling of "being cheated" at the markets of Palika Bazaar. The sly glances at media material containing pornography, be they compact discs, or the famous magazines for men, or the extremely rustic stories in Hindi printed on the lowest quality paper. The roadside dhabas, serving amazingly unhygienic, yet, extremely delicious alu gobhi, shahi paneer, tandoori roti, and matka lassi. The Madras Cafe. MacDonalds, Burgers, Fries, Pizza's, Nirula's, Wimpy's, etc. The strains of all possible, filthy and extremely commonly used swear-words, that would ideally shake one's balance. The cosmopolitan mix of Punjabi's, Madrasi's, Bengali's, Sardarji's, immigrants from the villages around Delhi, the rich and the poor. The smoke, fog, chillness, cold, of the winters. The sand storms of the summers.

Now, it does merit to write about the train journeys too. With a group of 6-8 friends, travel over those 2500 odd kilometers, was great fun. Sharing stories, food, munchies, ideas, opinions, etc. were indeed, unforgettable experiences. The Pilani Express used to mostly run for BITSians alone during those special days. And, oh, boy!, we were notorious for sleeping late at night, and waking up equally late in the morning, to the dismay of the normal co-passengers, wherever they were. Talking of nights, the birthday parties on train and the "bumps" sessions, where all were invited. Word-games, Card-games, DumbC's, gossip about the happenings on campus and off-campus, the high-profile and low-profile "psenti" couples, discussion on "babes" and their hotness quotients, crushes, the actresses, fights over Aishwarya Rai and Madhuri Dikshit, movies, Metallica, Nirvana, G&R, Pink Floyd, Sting, Savage Garden, MLTR, Boyzone, and others, the comprehensive examinations, the instructors, the grades, GPAs, jobs, and what next; well, pretty much anything and everything. Not to forget the mention of the extreme dependence on the Railways food, during breakfast, lunch and dinner while returning from New Delhi; and the equally sheer boycott on the way back from Chennai.

Well, even the visits to the pantry car, on the train, were great fun. It gave umpteen opportunities for both boys and girls, to check out each other. Not to forget the inevitable going through of the reservation list pasted at the entrance of the coaches, so as to have an idea about the co-passengers. Then, there was the more fruitful, catching up with friends, about the New Delhi based incidents. Moreover, incidents of ragging of the first yearites by the psenti-semites was great fun for all, with most inhibitions gone for the juniors. The gorgeous journey on the ghat section from Itarsi to Nagpur and the beautiful sceneries. The customary halts at Nagpur, and the purchase of Dinshaw's ice-creams, be it Winter/Summer, Haldiram's soan papdi and the santara's. After a good two nights, the Pilani Express, would ultimately, arrive at Chennai Central. The dirtiest portions of Chennai would seem like heaven along with the lush green fields, the hoardings in Tamil, and the PTC or the MTC buses. And, the final homecoming. The platform would be filled with the family members, who would have come to welcome their wards.

Well, it is indeed strange and pretty natural, as to how a lot of things change for the better, as we grow up. Some of the things we did were down right stupid and silly. For one, girls are not sex objects. (The reader is recommended to read the author's post on what beauty is). Some of the things we did were more on the lines of being naughty and playful. And, nothing that we did was wrong. We were obviously within our limits, in terms of everything that we did. Overall, those umpteen train journeys and the associated happenings, were an important part of our growing up, then and now. Many things, indeed, cannot be taught. One has to experience them, the way it is meant to be, so as to get the most out of them. All said and done, these experiences evoke sheer memories of memorable nostalgia.

PS: The reader is strongly recommended to read this post, from a BITSian girl's point of view, which the author happened to come across by chance, later on, after writing the post.

Time....

This post is inspired by the grand visions of the Grand Canyon and the midnight sun by Gobbler's Knob in Alaska, two of the greatest "live" shows on earth. And, in an indirect way, the movie Rock On(2008), and Pink Floyd's Time.

Time, time, and time, a space, in which even non-causal events become a surety with time. We are gifted with a limited amount of time, to learn as many lessons as possible; and to seek, suffer, soar and surrender. We come into this world, and leave this world, when the time comes. And everything that we do, is to do so, to bring in a purpose into our lives. Make the best of what we can, and take all efforts to lead as complete a life as possible. In a way, given a blank canvas to an artist, time shows us as to what all masterpieces the artist comes up with. Similarly, given a blank canvas called life, it is up to us, to come up with whatever we can.

Often, most things, happen, because, there was no other thing that could have happened. Like, whatever has to happen, has to happen. Well, some of my friends, find it difficult to believe that the author believes in such a philosophy. However, from the author's limited experience, it is more so vindicated. You want something badly, at one point in time, to the extent that life without it would have seemed meaningless and empty. Later on, it could so happen, that the non-happening of the event would have been the best thing to have happened. All this goes to show, as to how limited our understanding is, and how little we know as what we really want.

Does the Grand Canyon really care as it goes on making love with the sun's rays, at different times of the day, in different positions, almost every day? It knows what its purpose is, and it doesn't do anything to trumpet about its greatness. People who miss out on this great show, practically, miss out on it. As simple as that. Likewise, people who seek, finally surrender to the greatness of it all. Does the show really care for time. This is something that it has been doing for centuries, with we, the mankind, a mere insignificant speck in the vastness called time. Similarly, the loving interplay between the clouds, sun, mountains, etc. that goes on everyday during the Alaskan summers for almost 24 hours, that sadly goes unnoticed by most people.

The inspiration from the movie Rock On, and Time by Floyd, comes from the fact, that, ten years is a lot of time, at the personal level, for your idealistic dreams of the tender adolescent youth to come crashing down on you, as you embrace life in its more developed form. A few compromises, here and there, that could haunt you for life. At times, one would feel, that, it is better to not be dangerously crazy about anything, and lose it all; than be really really passionate about something. Anything could happen with time, for one never knows what life has in store for you. But then, wouldn't it better to live the fullest during that time, than compromise on issues, that are veritably, metaphors for your own life?

PS: Likewise, ten years is a lot of time, for you to actually lead the life you want to, and take it into the realms of dreams and fantasies. For, if that is what has to happen, that is what will happen.

PS2: Of course, one important point of mention. Not doing one's duty or following one's calling, in the name of, "whatever has to happen, will happen", is foolishness. It is more so with the idea of fixating the concept on the result or the outcome, rather than the very journey, itself. The journey is ours; and it could be tortuous, difficult, baffling, and incomprehensible, at times.

PS3: Everything happens for a reason, and for the best.

The Olympic Gold...

The ever-elusive olympic gold in an individual event, finally came to India, due to her hero, Abhinav Singh Bindra. With this, the common man is elated. Likewise, the politicians are extremely happy. For all one might know, the ruling government, might treat it as an another(?) feather in its cap. Till now, the Olympics was something of a painful event, that used to occur every 4 years. Shame, resolve to do something about the dismal scenario, helplessness over the lack of resources and encouragement, etc. over a period of a month or so, to be soon morphed by the euphoria over cricket and its activities and players. If only cricket had been an event at the games!!!! Well, even then, could we assure ourselves of a gold, if not, a medal?

Well, the author belonged to a generation, where, cricket was necessarily considered a spoil-sport for the child's education, and dreams of becoming an engineer or a doctor. Now, cricketers, who make it, definitely make more than the smartest engineer, and can further retire early. Thanks to the Indian Premier League and the Indian Cricket League, the process of getting rich quickly, is made possible. It wouldn't be surprising if the present generation of parents, in fact, encourages their children to play more cricket than study. Maybe the Indian parent would further tout for an Indian Woman's Premier League. Nevertheless, cricket does and would continue to retain its #1 position, sadly, so, at the cost of the other sports.

Recently, the author came across a few comments in a newspaper portal, that was down right shocking to say the least. The main theme, was, as to how the North Indian's are performing and getting medals for the country, while the so called South Indian brainies, slog for an IT firm, both, in India and overseas, and hog on idli-dosa-sambhar. Well, talking more on this ridiculous argument or point of view, would be utterly insane. So, what does the future hold for us? China, courtesy, its 32 year boycott of the games, got its first gold medal in 1984, in Shooting. Can we expect, India to top the gold medals tally, in Olympics 2032, and further expect India to be the hosts? China was clear in its mission 2008, maximize the gold medals in events where it is good. So, if we were to follow a similar policy, then, what options do we have, and do we have to do?

By the way, one genuine question - why isn't Chess one of the sporting events in the Olympics.

The Indian in America...

This posted is dedicated to those readers, who have tried their best in encouraging me to start writing all over again. This absence from blogging is both inexplicable and inexcusable.

The author, as in the Indian in America, turned five, a few days ago. Five years back, living on American soil, for such an extended period of time, definitely seemed impossible, if not insane. Ten years back, US was all about the rich, the developed nation, and the megalomaniacs. Fifteen years back, US was all about the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Alaska, Denali, Rocky mountains, Yellowstone, Pueblo Indian civilization, New York, San Francisco, Pacific Ocean, Golden Gate, Chicago, Wodehousian characters in America, etc.

Anyway, over these five years, one thing is utmost certain. Never ever rely on the judgment of your unjustified assumptions, ideas and opinions. Lack of culture, heritage, spiritualism, family values, "neighbourliness", etc. are some of the oft mentioned critiques at the US. US is definitely the land of the immigrants, and, is conspicuously lacking in any of those ancient monuments. History in the US is a mere 300 years old. But then, the presence of the national parks, and the care/maintenance towards them, with the sincere wish, of making them a legacy for the future generations to come, is worth, appreciation.

The culture in the US mostly revolves around the natural topography of the land, the musical history over this century, sport, cinema, entertainment, etc. Los Angeles, the Hollywood capital, has a distinct culture of its own. Likewise, the small and beautiful beach towns of the Orange County. Austin, the blue dot in the red lone star state, has a fairly off-beat culture in terms of music, cuisine, arts, etc., with Lance Armstrong, being a happening phenomenon. New Orleans is all about jazz, and Miami is all about reggae, dancing, and the likes. Broadway in New York is about theater and musicals, and Minneapolis is all for the lakes and related activities. Nothing really wrong.

My experiences with Team in Training, for almost a year, in Orange County, CA, was so different. That to me is what US is, and what Americans are and can be. Not necessarily rich, they are normal people, for whom family means a lot. Surprisingly, quite different from those notions we have about the lack of family values in the West. (Of course, the divorce rates can get high; and the probability of a man or a woman, under 18, being a virgin, be almost zero.) Setting aside the side note, weekends are meant for family. Vacations to national parks revolve around camping, hiking, biking, fishing, etc. with family.

Further, this lack of "neighbourliness", stems from the fact, that people keep to themselves. If you need help, and you ask for it, you normally get it. It is not that people are unfriendly, (of course, there are the rednecks!). People are very respectful of you, and respect that space around you. Also, a perfect stranger, asks you, as to how your day is going, and further, wishes that you a great day! Often, it is a mere greeting scenario. Then, there is this extreme case of thanking people, to the point that, it seems like a mere formality. All in all, surprising behaviors.

The true purpose of this post is to not justify the American way of life. It is more so, to amaze myself and see, as to how unjustified, assumptions/notions can become. Further, no matter where we live, it is always good to take the positives, and try incorporating it into our way of life. The negatives are always there, everywhere. After all, isn't life all about opposites?

Love...

This post is dedicated to Jason Cooney, Tara Hussey, John Gronnel, Vicki Varela and the other survivors who are true intrepid fighters. Also, written in memory of the angels.

Love, one of the most exalted of all emotions, has always been an enigma for the author. Wherever you go, love is the most potent force in this planet. A beautiful thing, that finds itself manifesting in a myriad of ways. The love of a child for its mother, the mother's love for the child, the love between father and son, the love between siblings, the love between friends, the love between a man and a woman, and what not. What exactly is love; and can it be defined, if at all. Well, even the very thought of definition of love sounds so crass and vulgar. However, the exact purpose of this post, is not to delve into love, but to celebrate the true victory of love, which was very evident during the author's first marathon with the TEAM in training.

The TEAM in training, is the largest endurance sports training program in the world. It is a part of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society, whose mission is to fund research to fight blood cancers and to improve the quality of life of the patients and its families. The unique feature about TNT is that, they accept and train people, of various fitness levels and all shapes and sizes, and get them across the finish line, in return for the fundraising, that goes towards fulfilling the Society's mission. The strong motivation for this otherwise rare and dream-like goal of an endurance event for the participants comes from the heroes battling with these dreaded cancers: both, survivors and angels.

In the moment of gloom, when one of their near and dear ones is fighting with cancer, the patient and their family choose hope over despair, with the hope that the cure can be found so that no child or adult along with its family has to undergo the pain of anything and everything associated with cancer. The author has come across quite a few inspirational people, who train themselves for endurance events, battling their own aches and pains, all for love. Like they say, "26.2 miles is nothing when compared to chemotherapy". The author did the P F Chang's Full Marathon, recently, and out there, was the true picture of USA. It was a purple movement, that didn't really care about the red and the blue; and for that matter, the white, the brown and the black.

So many runners/walkers/runners-walkers/walkers-runners, including survivors, were battling against their bodies to complete the full marathon in honor of their beloved survivors and angels. They were the "elitest of the elite" athletes. Outside the course of the run, and without their purple TNT singlets, you wouldn't even think for once, despite, batting your eyelids so many times, that they are the proud marathoners. That's what love does to you. This is a wonderful victory for love. A true celebration of life. The author considers himself highly blessed to have seen this all in live action. Now he is able to comprehend this enigmatic and wonderful love better. Go TEAM!!!

Peanuts....