Chapter 2:
It was nine and my room looked neat. I had changed the bedsheets, the quilt covered up looked nice, the pillows were wearing matching pillow covers, the carpet looked okay and the room smelled nice. Erika was home and I had apologized formally for having abandoned her in her time of crisis. I told her I was having family over and she forgave me. I looked at my watch and typed in a text message “Details about your journey will be appreciated”. Minutes later, I received “Details will be dispensed on a need to know basis.” I liked this game. I typed in, “Codename: JohnDoe”. He responded “Is it raining in Oxford?” I said to myself, “Non-sequitur” and chuckled like a bad guy. It’s fun interacting with geniuses. I replied “No. Give me a call when you reach.” An hour later I received, “Liar. We’re in Oxford and it’s raining.” I chuckled again, grabbed my jacket and an umbrella, and set out to receive my favourite cousin and favourite Bhabhi.

Chapter 3:
It was 2330. I was busy making breath rings in the cold air when I saw the red-blue Oxford-London Express from the corner of my eye. It had to be this one. It was. Two minutes later we were smiling at each other. It was still raining, so we ran for shelter. “So what do we do?”, Bhabhi asked. It was a Friday night, we didn’t have many options but to sit at a pub or go dancing. I had noticed they didn’t have much luggage, just a bag that could be swung over one’s back. I wished everyone in the family had this impeccable packing sense. “Any of you want to use the washroom?”, I asked. “We’re good”, they responded in a chorus. “So we’re going to a pub”, I declared. Bhaiya drooled at the statement.

Chapter 4:
“Let’s sit here”, I yelled, to be heard over the loud music. We were inside ONeills, my favourite pub in town. We left Bhabhi at the table and headed towards the bar. The band was playing Carry on my wayward son. I loved that song. We returned with goodies and stared at each other. A conversation seemed tough in the loud music, but we still did a good job. We managed to know how each one of us had spent the last week and talk about what we’d do the next day. I managed to describe the Saturday scene at the Cornwall market. The band played a medley of We’ll rock you and Back in Black, my excitement was palpable. “The guitarist is Good”, Bhaiya remarked. He had been a Floyd fan since his college days. (This is a partial non sequitur. Boy, I’m on fire.) Anyhow, we had a fun time at the pub. Bhaiya duped me into having Guinness, telling me it was good. I gave him a taste of his own medicine (he had to finish it). Despite the fun and the fanfare, the band had to stop playing at some point and the people had to go home at some point. That point came and we decided to look for food. It was more than an hour past midnight, give or take a couple of hours. (The point of the story is fun, not accuracy.) Minutes later, we were ordering food at McD. Two girls in pretty dresses had a row with the security guard over something trivial, it was an entertaining dinner. Content with the night’s events, we walked home.

Chapter 5:
“Are you sure the two of you will survive in this dungeon?” was what I could have asked them. I didn’t; we didn’t have any options. I later realized we had an extra mattress in the house (so if anyone wants to be my guest now, I can be a better host.) Anyhow, I had asked Juneja to let me crash at his place, and he had graciously agreed. (He’s one of the dudes I can always bank on.) I bid goodbye to my two companions, Bhaiya expressed his desire to see me out, I let him follow me. We had sneaked into the house without really announcing our presence, so I felt obligated to let my flat mates know I had company. It was 3 am, Erika was asleep and I wasn’t keen on inducing oaths in Mandarin, so I didn’t disturb her. Andrea was still awake, so I decided to disturb her. “Andrea, this is my cousin from London. His wife and he will sleep in my room tonight, I’m going to a friend’s place. Don’t be alarmed if you see them” were my exact words. “Okay”, she said and held out her hand. Bhaiya reciprocated. They exchanged names. “I must get going”, I announced. I was outside the house, and Bhaiya was staring at me, waiting for me to leave. We looked at each other for forty seconds, then I announced, “Bhaiya, go in. I am going to lock you in.” “Alright, see you tomorrow”, he responded. And I left for my haven. It was still drizzling; I walked in long strides. With this company, I was sure the next day would be fun. It was more fun than I had imagined it would be.

* Large chunks of text intimidate the common folk[Citation Needed?], so I’ve been organizing the stuff as several small installments lately. This is how far I’m taking you now. Keep checking this space for the remaining part of the adventure.

Chapter 9:
The next twenty four hours were going to be eventful. I was on my way to the coach station, humming the tune of a ghastly song, occasionally whispering the lyrics. The cold was sending in shivers down my spine. I reached Gloucester Green at around three in the night. My bus had not arrived. I had hoped I’d meet people at the station. There were none, except a drunk girl who thanked me three times for telling her the time. She was not travelling to London, she was just waiting for a cab. I tried to direct her to the cab stand but apparently I was not making a lot of sense. While we were trying to establish my right was not her right, my coach arrived. The british people are very amiable, you just don’t end conversations abruptly with them, so I had to lie about her right being my right. I bid her goodbye and hopped onto the coach. I showed my ticket to the driver and walked to the middle of the coach where the seats were the most comfortable. The time was 0310. The coach took off in a jiffy. I was the sole passenger in the sixty seater double decker bus. Scenes of Indian buses flashed past my eyes: a hundred people – relying only on the inter-atomic repulsive forces that prevent all matter from combining – trying to fuse into a single blob, some hanging out from the doors, in a moderately sized vehicle. I looked around to reassure myself I was alone. I collapsed in the comfort of my cosy seat and prayed for a change. I tried to doze off, but the streets looked so lovely in the moonlight, I couldn’t help not stare at them. It was 0440 and I had reached London, Victoria coach station. I thanked the driver. I was excited and relieved as I got off the bus. As much as I love travelling, I don’t like spending time getting to the places. My next task was to locate Stop D and board the bus N73 to Kings Cross St. Pancreas. I groped my pockets for the map of the place and retrieved one from umpteen nicely folded print outs of more maps and bus routes and bus timings. I have never prided myself for being able to learn road routes and in the next thirty minutes, I was beginning to doubt if I was even a literate. I had the map and I was walking along what appeared to be the right tracks, but the destination seemed unreachable. I reverted back to my starting point twice, made slight modifications to the paths I had taken earlier, but it didn’t work. I knew I had missed the 0510 bus and I’d have to catch the next one. I had made up my mind to take a cab, but fortunately I spotted N73, the bus I was supposed to board. I couldn’t stop it, for it was not my country. For what was worth, I saw where it was coming from, so I walked in the direction I thought it had originated from. I managed to find Stop D and realized how Archimedes must’ve felt after the knowledge of buoyancy hit him. The next bus was in twenty minutes. I had a lot of time to reach King’s Cross. My cousin had promised to be there at eight for our breakfast together. I would’ve missed the next bus too had I not been reminded to buy a ticket from the ticket dispenser by a kind elderly man who learnt from me how I had missed the bus. Fortunately, I didn’t.

Chapter 10:
I was at the London King’s Cross St. Pancreas station. The time was was 0552. I had time to kill. I had a small bag that I was carrying. I decided to take a walk. There was a KFC nearby, it hadn’t opened. I walked towards it to read the offers pamphlet and it started raining. It was a drizzle at first but grew into a downpour in a jiffy. I ran towards the train station to seek refuge. The station was huge but there was no sitting room. There were white, black, brown, yellow people everywhere. There were a couple of stores inside: selling books, chocolates, fruits, water, soft-drinks and chewing gum. There were restaurant outlets selling food. I checked into a book store to kill the time; spent the next forty minutes reading the gists of different novels. Suddenly people started to leave the benches and walk towards the trains. A couple of trains were ready for departure. This implied sitting room. I jogged towards an empty bench and perched my rear on it. I had not slept in two days, and there wasn’t going to be any sleep that night. So I decided to take a nap. I rested my bag on my lap and my head on the bag and tried to sleep. I was unsuccessful and gave up. A couple of chinese looking people were banging their heads, trying to scan the huge digital information board to locate the timings of a train to Cambridge. I joined them and found the train to Cambridge in three minutes (not my personal best though). “Thank you mister“, replied one of them. Suddenly I felt a vibration in my pant-pocket. It was my cellphone. I picked it up. “Robin, where are you?“, my cousin from the other end said. “I’m at Kings Cross”, I responded. “Be there. Sorry, I overslept. I will be there as soon as I can. I’ll take the train from Wembley. Eat something if you’re hungry. We’ll still have breakfast together“, he said. “Okay. I’ll wait here, and you take your time. There’s no hurry“, I hung up. I walked out, it was still raining. I checked into another shop, bought an apple and read the headlines from a newspaper that was up for sale. The rain had mellowed down so I walked along the streets, breathing in the fresh, moisture laden breeze. I received another call from my cousin and we decided to meet outside the King’s Cross station in 5 minutes.

Chapter 11:
We hugged. Saurabh Bhaiya (that’s how we address elder brothers in India) asked me if I had any food preferences. I had none. So we started walking, talking about my future, daylight savings and other things I don’t quite remember. We had traditional English breakfast at a cafe. It consisted of vegetables, an omlette, bacon, bread butter and tea. It was nine thirty. I had decided to catch the 1006 train, so we walked back towards the train station. We reached the station well in time, and we still had about fifteen minutes before the train arrived so we used the time to see Harry Porter’s platform nine and a three quarters. There was a long queue of young people waiting to be photographed at the platform. Soon it was time and I bid goodbye to my cousin and embarked on the train to Stevenage. I didn’t have a music player then, but the moment I stepped into the train, I could hear Rammstein’s Kiene Lust in my head; it was the effect of seeing the people I was travelling with. It was the biggest Heavy Metal crowd I had ever seen. People with tattoos covering three-fourth of their bodies, people with piercings, people with muscular builds, people with hair reaching their waists, people with knotted beards, I knew the next fifteen hours were going to be fun. I looked around, there were two attractive young girls wearing Motley Crue T-shirts in one booth, and three older men wearing Metallica and Slayer in another. I weighed my chances, and sat with the Big 3, because 3 is an odd number after all. Thirty two minutes of heavy metal trivia later, I found myself in a queue to the shuttle that would take me to the Knebworth Park. Twenty minutes and a bus ride later, I was outside the Knebworth Park; my first reaction was, “It’s freaking huge“. The shuttle dropped us outside the park from where we had to walk a couple of miles to get to the actual park. On the way we saw parked cars for a mile and camps for another mile. Finally I got to the huge queue to the main site entrance. I could still hear music in my head, but it was drowned in the actual music coming from inside the park. I noticed I was excited, which was a rare occurence for someone with a slow brain and a dismissive attitude towards most things others are interested in. I found a gentleman with a BMVC bag ahead of me in the queue, I was fascinated (BMVC is an annual Research Conference for those seeking answers to similar questions as I am). I held out my hand and introduced myself, explaining why I had poked him. He responded, “so you’re a machine learning guy” and introduced me to his two Italian companions. I joined them, three is an odd number after all. We talked and walked to three the main stages: Apollo, Saturn and Bohemia. Well technically Bohemia is the smallest of the three stages, where the smaller bands perform. It was not noon yet, so Bohemia was the only stage in business (bigger bands don’t quite like the sun). Some band was playing some form of heavy metal, I could hear the growling vocals. It was good, but, as I told my companions, there were bands in Hyderabad like Skrypt, Sledge, who’d kick arse harder.

Chapter 12:
It was noon, Lacuna coil would go first. I had expected them to be a bigger name; anyhow, they did a decent job, but they were not so good Live. There were girls jumping around to their music, and the one in front of me landed twice with her wooden boots on my left foot. It was excruciating, but when she asked if I was okay in her husky voice, I could manage, “No I’m on local anaesthesia, it doesn’t hurt”. We had a laugh and she offered me beer. The rest of the evening was spent seeing and listening to bands like Anthrax, Slayer, Good Charlotte, Skunk Anasie, Katatonia, Evile, Papa Roach, Soulfly, Apocalyptica, Fear Factory, Motley Crue, Placebo. I had never heard Fear Factory, but they were a force Live, I respect bands who are good Live. I got into a huge moshpit while they were on, and I lost my companions. I had southern fried chicken for lunch, and a softy for dessert. Rammstein started playing around 2130 and continued till 2300. They set fire to the stage. The back-drop of the stage changed several times, they did their shenanigans and tantrums, the keyboard player was thrown in a coffin which was set ablaze, someone from the crowd jumped on the stage and was set on fire; it was a crazy awesome performance. Rammstein was Rammstein best that night. I had to take the last bus at 2352, so I ran like I hadn’t in ten years. The natural process of companion selection landed me with a Portuguese dude (he basically had the same speed as I had) and he volunteered to show me the way. He was travelling to London too and was an IT technician, so we had other stuff in common to talk about. So we sat next to each other in the Shuttle and the shuttle left us at a strange intersection. I looked at the Portuguese, he looked at his watch and back at me with the “everything is under control” twinkle. We walked in a direction he dictated and stood in a queue for five minutes, it was hardly moving. I asked him if we were standing in the right queue, he reasoned the station was crowded because everyone wanted to get on that train. I was skeptical about his theory because everyone in the queue was so dressed to kill, it was certainly not the Heavy Metal crowd. I asked him to save my space and went on ahead to find out why the queue wasn’t moving. I felt a shiver down my spine as I saw a huge bouncer chatting with two women in raunchy outfits. It took me less than ten seconds to realize it was the queue to a disco/drinking club. I cursed my fate, ran back to my companion, pulled him by his arm and announced “it’s a fucking disco.” He smiled and responded, “Not in the mood to dance?” We laughed like war veterans, it was a bloody brilliant line. Twenty seconds into the fanfare, I realized this train was my only chance to not miss my flight to India, so I decided to tell him I HAD to be on the train. He realized the urgency of the situation, pulled out his modern cellular phone with GPS tracking and asked me to follow him. I could see a smaller route to the railway station on his tracker map, but I didn’t want to confuse him, so I just followed him. He was kind enough to remind me we’d have to run again, and we ran our way on the longest route available to the railway station out of three available options. Basically it was like going from the east coast of America to the west coast, only taking the route via China. One and a half miles of running later, we finally reached the train station at 2351. We had no time to read instructions, so we jumped into the first train we saw and the doors shut instantly. I leapt for the door realizing it could be the wrong train, but it had started to move. Thankfully it was not the wrong train, as was announced later. At 0040, we reached London, and I knew this was it; I had made it. The Portuguese and I bid good bye, he said he’d be glad to see me again sometime, I said the same, but I didn’t mean it. He was a nice bloke, but I swore never to trust a Portuguese. The rest of the trip went as planned, I met no talkative strangers at the Kings Cross. It was perhaps the most memorable twenty hours of my life, but several incidents recently have made me question my assertion. Nevertheless, I’m looking forward to a life full of similar adventures, I’m going to Sonisphere next week again.

It fell across the blue sky
And landed on the grass all green.
Where little Johny was chasing
His little sister Jean.

Jean stopped, picked up the coaster
Gave it to her brother who was chubby.
He rubbed it against his small tummy
Until it looked not at all dirty.

He then set it on the grass again
And the two of them stared at the thing.
Robbie, Samantha and Summer were summoned,
The little children sat in a ring.

Little Johny reached for the coaster
And held it in his palm.
It was light and it was white,
It was pure, honest and calm.

It had a logo and a printed word
In raging red crimson.
The crimson stood out on the white
With fieriness, with energy, with passion.

Below the letters was a drawing,
In many colours, not one dull
The colours were lively and cheerful,
The colours were bright, almost real.

While the children looked at the drawing,
Rosina groaned and flapped her wings.
It was a tree with flowers, with leaves,
They grew out like little offsprings.

The flowers and trees held onto the trunk
Like to a cat cling the kittens.
The trunk was thick and strong and sure
Yet, firmly rooted to its foundations.

The flowers had vivid colours,
Some red, some blue, some yellow;
Like Different moods at different times,
Sometimes tensed, sometimes mellow.

Big and small with different shapes,
The leaves sat on the tree grandly.
They fed it, nourished it, provided for it:
The bread winner of the family.

Summer grew impatient at Johny
Who had held the coaster for long.
She pulled his hair and he gave in,
The little girl was strong.

She held the coaster, admired the drawing,
And then gave it a flip.
She wanted to see what lied beneath,
She felt the surface with her fingertip.

While the top was smooth like butter,
The bottom was coarse and rough.
Like a father who pampers you when you’re good,
And checks you when he has had enough.

Miles away in a foreign land,
A lonely girl does the same.
It’s not every night
That you see this tragic spectacle.

Night is but darkness,
That obscures the truth,
That hides the pain,
That veils the light.

And in the darkness,
Is lost the love,
That they believe still is
In the darkness.

The cold wind blows in his face,
It blows past her hair,
It’s bleak, for it brings no warmth,
It’s bleak, so it dries the tears.

He’ll not sweep her off her feet,
She’ll not wake him from his sleep.
The old man who tells the tales of love,
Lives in his humble hut alone.

March will follow October,
And October March.
The dreamers will die
And be born again.

There was no coffee
By my bedside,
I had made my own bed
The last night.

The silence was quiet,
The colours were dull.
I wish there was music
Playing in the distance.

I couldn’t remember if
‘Twas a monday or a friday.
March or October,
I didn’t care.

I’ve been in a trance
Ever since.
I remind myself,
You were just a dream.

Chapter 6:
July 27th, 2010. I mailed Amr, asking if he’d make it to Knebworth. He replied that he wouldn’t, owing to his illness. That was sad. I started to have second thoughts about my plans. My reasons for calling the trip off were:
A. I was about to embark on a journey to the unknown. Alone. There was a chance I could die of boredom.
B. I was skeptic about my travel plan. If I missed a single bus or train, I’d be struggling to not miss my flight. Having orthodox people around (orthodox to the extent of being called wusses) did not help. In fact, I was even suggested to have my flight rescheduled.
My reasons for going were:
A. I had blown a hundred pounds on this trip. Flaking out meant all this going down the drain.
B. Rammstein.
I weighed the pros and cons like any sane man would. This helped me to arrive at a conclusion any insane man would. Even if I missed my flight, I’d have a story to tell the grand children. Besides, I reasoned, I would not be alone, I could make friends with strangers (I’m actually good at it). Finally, I thought to myself, one man can have a lot of fun alone (no I don’t mean that), and dismissed all the discouraging thoughts. By the time I realized I was going, I was the human equivalent of a fully charged AAA battery. I punched the air like it was Ravindra Jadeja’s jaw.

Chapter 7:
July 28th, 2010. I was going to Knebworth, alone, to witness the vulgar display of power of some good bands and I was thrilled because there was the uncertainty of my timely return. I had spent the week shopping for parents with Marco, the Italian dude. We had literally spent hours, window shopping which made us feel like a couple of sissy girl-friends. His long blonde hair does tad justice to the last remark. At home, we had packed our stuff because I was to leave the apartment one night earlier than my companions. I wouldn’t have the time to wind up later. It was about six-thirty, I was at my desk, in the lab. Most of the people had already left. Matthew approached us from his office. He diffused his warm Californean smile, peered out his glasses, and asked, “Plans for dinner?” “I’m in.” It took us a while to convince Omkar to eat at Nandos, famous for its Southern African cuisine. We picked our laptops and started to walk leisurely towards Nandos. We were talking about some stuff, and Omkar asked me for the umpteenth time if I had called Emirates to have my flight rescheduled. At times, I have to pretend to be polite, this was one of those times. I took a deep breath and smiled at him. I told him, I wouldn’t mind missing the flight, I was really looking forward to the adventure. Matthew remarked, “There’re adventures worth doing, and there’re advenures that you just pay for. Your adventure seems to belong to the latter kind.” I read out my travel plan to him. His smile burst into a grin. It was visible he was working hard to supress a roll of laughter. It was an over-rated plan, I guess. Now it was his turn to play polite. He had to say something to justify his excitement, so he said “Beware of strange men at Kings Cross. Let me tell you something.” “I don’t wanna know”, I responded, anticipating his next statement. “Let’s just say that you might meet strange men around Kings Cross who might offer you money. Just make sure not to get lost in one of the dark alleys there”, he adviced. “I will try my best”, I said. Then he described the somewhat repulsive scene from a British sit-com where the protagonist had a similar experience. His description was hilarious.

Chapter 8:
July 29th, 2010. It was my last working day in England. Sure a man can work on stuff, even when he’s not working, and I meant working in the latter sense. I had a meeting with AZ later that afternoon. We were to discuss my results over tea at a posh English cafe. Towards the end of the meeting, I was given a truck load of experimenting to do, and I was supposed to report my findings the day I reached India. I reminded AZ, “do you remember the Rock concert I mentioned?” He smiled, “Yes, I do. This means you’ll have to set all your experiments running tonight, before you leave.” Everyone on the table laughed. It was a jolly brilliant line. My arse was hotter than Apollo 11′s rear ten seconds after takeoff. Marcin took some heat off by asking if anyone had heard Saxon, the British Heavy Metal Band of the 80s. He took my note-book and scribbled the name of the band as the last item in my to-do list. He’s a genius, and he’s hilarious.

We had a lot of stuff to do this day. Bart, our land-lord was meeting us at six to inspect the apartment for any changes we might have caused; he’d decide whether or not to return our security deposit on the basis of his findings. I was supposed to handle him, the refrigerator door was not closing properly.

Then it was my last day in Oxford, so we (all the lab people) had decided to gather at ONeils, the pub where bands played live on weekends. Marco and I had been coming to this place for three weeks. We loved the ambiance here; I loved the Music and he their waitress. She used to come to our table, pick a single empty glass, then come again later to pick another one and so on, when she could just take away all in one go. Once we had decided to tell her we loved her (in a chorus) but Marco saw her smiling and talking to another guy and it broke his heart.

So, we gathered at this place, drank, talked, people left one by one. I had the bus at 0310, so I was keen on staying till they kicked us out. I couldn’t afford to go home and sleep. Omkar, Juneja, Relja, Natraj, Marco and I finally left the pub at 0215. We spent another thirty minutes saying goodbye to each other. Separation sucks, but is inevitable. We went home. I made sure I had the print-outs of the train and bus timings, the road maps of London and the tickets. I walked out at two-forty five. It was cold outside, I had a woolen hoodie with me, but it was a gift for my cousin so I couldn’t wear it. I rubbed my palms together as I walked towards the Gloucester Green Coach Station, into the night. I whispered the lines of Angelo Badalamenti’s Into the Night:
Into the night, I cry out your name.. Into the night, I search out, your love… Nights are dark, where are you, come back in my heart… So Dark…
It’s a ghastly song and the eerie music was giving me goose bumps.
The next twenty four hours were going to be eventful.

***
I’m afraid there’s more waiting. Stick for the last part. Read it here.

Chapter 2:
“You seem to know a lot about sweet picking, how come?”, Amr asked me. “That’s because I’m a Rock lover, and I like to know how stuff is done”, the words escaped my mouth without hesitation. We were sitting in this lavish Indian restaurant with the other researchers, he was on my left. The sparkle returned in his eyes, and he said “Dude, I see that we have more stuff in common besides food. What bands do you listen to?” “Maiden, Metallica, Sabbath, Floyd, Pantera, Rush, Kiss”, I added a few more popular names, “ and Megadeth.” “Megadeth is my favourite band of all times, I’ve seen it live thrice”, he added. I fell to his feet. Moments later we were singing Last Resort.

Chapter 3:
It was the 15th of July,2010. Amr and I had struck quite a chord after the conversation two nights earlier. We had talked about our influences and decided to attend this Rock Festival at the end of the month. It was called Sonisphere Rock Festival, and it had bands like Maiden, Rammstein, Slayer, Anthrax, Fear Factory, Alice Cooper, Motley Crue, Papa Roach, Lacuna Coil, Pendulum, Alice in Chains to name a few. The concert was more attractive than Death by Chocolate, the addictive pancake at Chocolate Room or even Ashley Tisdale with brunette hair. I hadn’t seen Amr in the lab that day. He had told me he’d get a weekend ticket, and I had decided to get a Saturday Ticket, because the Friday line-up was pretty okay, and I had my flight to Hyderabad on Sunday.

Chapter 4:
22nd July, 2010. Amr had been absent the entire week. It was malaria, we believed. I had a meeting with AZ, and after the meeting, I had mustered the courage to speak to him about the concert.
“Andrew, I was wondering if we had any plans for Saturday.”
“No, we don’t. What do you have in mind?”, questioned AZ.
“There’s a rock concert and …”
“Go. Where is it? Who’s playing.”
“It’s in Hertfordshire, the German band Rammstein is headlining.”
“I’m sorry, where’s the concert again?”
“Hertfordshire, there’s a place called Knebworth.”
“Knebworth? How are you going there?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet, but I’ll find my way.”
The conversation ended there, and I didn’t pay much heed to his last question, which came back to haunt me later.

Chapter 5:
It was the 26th of July, 2010. Over the last few days, I had spent a hundred Pounds buying the entry tickets, the train and the bus tickets. God didn’t intend for people to reach Knebworth. People born in Knebworth lived and perished in Knebworth with minimal contact with the outside world. The fact that I was flying to Hyderabad on the 1st of August at 10 am, and the fact that Knebworth fell in the middle of nowhere and there were very few travelling options available to and from that place had caused me to make some bold and unconventional choices. Anyhow, here’s what my travel plan looked like:

July 31
Depart from Oxford, Gloucester Green 0310 hours
Reach London Victoria Terminal 0440 hours

Depart from London Victoria Terminal 0510 hours
Reach London Kings Cross St. Pancreas 0536 hours

Have Traditional English breakfast with my cousin Saurabh at London Kings Cross

Depart from London Kings Cross St. Pancreas 1006 hours
Reach Stevenage 1038 hours

Figure out a way to reach Knebworth from Stevenage before 1200 hours and get to the Knebworth Park in time for the gigs.

Leave Knebworth park and reach Stevenage before 2350 hours

Depart from Stevenage 2352 hours

August 1
Reach London Kings Cross St. Pancreas 0040 hours

Depart London Kings Cross St. Pancreas 0052 hours
Reach London Victoria Terminal 0118 hours

Depart London Victoria Terminal 0205 hours
Reach Oxford, Gloucester Green 0335 hours

Depart Oxford, Gloucester Green 0415 hours
Reach London Gatwick Airport 0630 hours

What you just saw was the single most perfect plan ever made in the history of mankind. It had just one flaw, it was a waterfall model, and if by any chance at any stage things didn’t work out, I’d be doomed.

***
Will JohnDoe be able to pull off the ambitious plan he crafted? Will he meet any strange men in dark alleys around London Kings Cross in the middle of the night who’d offer him money? To find out, read the remaining part of the adventure when it hits the market. Until then, good bye.

Read the next part here.

I’m flying back to New York. I can’t wait to get back to my place and meet my family and friends. The past few days have made me realize what I truly am and I have a hint of what my future’s going to be like.

After meeting Imagina last night, I realized what part I was playing in the plot that had caused me to be brought to Europe. The books in the room helped me to totally understand what was happening. There was a telephone in the room; we made a few calls, to the police and to the American Embassy. Half an hour later, the place was stormed by the Police and we were rescued.

EPILOGUE:

Luxembourg is a parliamentary representative democracy with a constitutional monarch; it is ruled by a Grand Duke. It is the world’s only remaining sovereign Grand Duchy. Succession to the throne is inherited by Salic law, as dictated by the Nassau Family Pact, first adopted on 30 June 1783. The crown is passed by agnatic-cognatic primogeniture within the House of Nassau, as stipulated under the 1815 Final Act of the Congress of Vienna and as confirmed by the 1867 Treaty of London.

Count Henry II of Nassau had two sons, Walram II and Otto I, Walram being the older of the two. In about 1247, Henry II abdicated, passing the reign to Otto, the younger son. Sometime between 1249 and 1251, Walram began to share the reign as Co-Count of Nassau. Because of continuing disputes with Otto, Walram II divided the inheritance with him on December 17, 1255, beginning a centuries-long political and geographical separation between the two lines of the House of Nassau.

As per the provisions of the Nassau Family Pact, the Walramian line was to rule the Nassau lands. Only in case of one of the lines becoming extinct, the other would succeed in its hereditary Nassau lands. This implied the Ottonian Line could take over only after the Walramian Line became extinct. The Ottonian line “allegedly” had long been lost in its internal disputes; and its claim to the monarchy was more or less rendered invalid after the death of John II.

The present-day Grand Dukes of Luxembourg are descended from Walram. “Agnatic-cognatic primogeniture” allows female agnates (or their descendants) to inherit once there are no surviving male agnates.

Jean Felix, the Duke’s only child was also the only heir to the monarchy. After the old Duke’s demise, he would be the last male descendant in the Walramian line. Robert XII was the torch bearer of the Ottonian Line. He realized that Jean was the only wall separating the throne and his (Ottonian) lineage. It was common sense that Jane be removed. However, the old duke had expected Robert’s intentions, and to stop him, in his last days, he introduced a change in the Family Laws that prevented anyone suspected of foul play to be eligible for the throne.

Thus, Jean had to be removed from the picture without raising any suspicions. What if Jane was killed and replaced by someone that looked exactly like him. Of course, Jean’s replacement would have to be rendered harmless first. That was the plan. It could succeed if Jean’s replacement were someone that would allow himself to be a silent playing-along John. But he was not. And their plan did not succeed.

Michael Baker succeeded not only in marring the success of their plan but also in saving two innocent lives- his and Imagina’s. Imagina was Jean’s fiancé. That fateful night when Michael found Imagina a hostage, he realized why he was in Europe. They called the American Embassy and the Police and were rescued.

Next I opened another tab in my Mozilla and typed “IIT Hyderabad map” in the search box. No relevant results. I modified the query to “Hyderabad Map” and I selected the first result. A map of Hyderabad was on my monitor. I searched for IIT Hyderabad in this window, google instead responded with IIIT Hyderabad. At times I wonder if Google is really as intelligent an organization as it is supposed to be. Look at my goddamn IP before throwing those suggestions! I reminded myself that big table was optimized for speed and not correctness. The bottom line is, I could not locate IITH on Google Maps, so I had to make sure someone knew the way before we set off. It was Vedant who claimed he could get us to our destination and we believed him.

We set out at five; someone said the show would begin earlier than the scheduled time. We were five out of work blokes on three hard working bikes. Our destination was thirty kilometres from our source, give or take a couple of those units. Avinash (not Abinash) joined us at Lingampally. He perched his rear on Vedant’s bike, Soumen’s came behind mine and we set out to explore the terra-incognita, the part of Hyderabad that none of us believed was part of Hyderabad owing to sheer geographical separation. We raced forth on NH9 for about 18-20 kilometres and then took a left, speeding through the village markets and finally on thinner roads with agriculture on both sides. There were some chemical factories along the way that almost paralysed us with their utterly-butterly repulsive gases. For miles we had to constrain our inhalation procedures; at one point of time I craved mouth to mouth for fear of fainting but I just did not have the right company. At one point, I did a Pulsar Stunt Mania manouvre and Soumen and I almost ended lying by the road when the rear wheel slipped in the sand and the centre of gravity of the bike,biker and pillion system shifted by a metre and the net force forced us into the dense undergrowth on the side of the road. For forty seconds we experienced a complex harmonic motion superimposed by the centripetal gyration and accelerated motion on an inclined plane; then we were back on the road. Soumen uttered a four lettered word when we resumed rectilinear propagation.

We reached the spot (no pun intended). It was a stadium in the humblest of surroundings. One of the bands had just begun. There were chairs laid out in the field and a big stage was erected. The band that was playing was called Eagle Riders. It was good. We looked around for add-ons, there were none. It was one of those scenarios where you said to yourself “Just the Music, nothing else”, except that this time the scenario was imposed upon you and despite the lavish arrangements, the sound was not exceptional.

We walked as close to the stage as our conscience allowed and started to bang our heads involuntarily, to cheer the jammers; no band likes a cold response and there were not enough people around to satisfy the quorum at a Gram Panchayat. A volunteer from the organising committee was sent to dampen our spirits by asking us to step away from the stage; he reasoned the audience was unable to see the performance. “This is not some Nautanki chum, it is a freakin’ Rock show” I was tempted to say, but they were IITians, a species considered more evolved than our own, so I refrained. We complied. Our keyboardist Abinash, who is often found listening to bands like Lamb of God and Dimmu Borgir, and has had long chats with Mephisto, found the explanation preposterous and demanded “Why do you have chairs in the first place?”. The volunteer gulped a lump in his throat, probably felt an outward thrust in his bladder, and responded “for families and old people”. Another question was raised, “Families? Old people?” and the answer was “We support that”. I intervened with “that is good,God bless your noble intentions” and the issue was not pursued further. Meanwhile the KB Bakers and Frankie vendors had arrived and they were selling edibles. We had something to eat.

The other bands followed, among which we adored All the Fat Children and liked Death Note and the track Maha Kali by Downpour. More people gathered; these included more IITians and several old aunties, several fathers and mothers with their small children. We met our friend Swaroop from Cerebral Assassins who shared our view about the crucial ingredients missing in the show. We discussed about the bands. Meanwhile the IITians had sprung into action. They were dancing, jumping around, throwing each other in the air, pushing, pulling, and what not. They were exuberant. We grabbed all the inspiration they had to offer and upon Swaroop’s invitation -which was an elbow jab in my chest- started our own moshing pit. We took turns at head banging and moshing and observing the vigour of the hosts. We witnessed people doing Bhangra,Kathakali,Bharat Natyam,even Salsa at the growling vocals and heavy music. It was quite a sight. It looked like a disco theque, if not someone’s Baraat. Young girls and guys, dancing hand in hand; the guys swirling the girls around; God it was annoying.

Suddenly it was time for Kryptos to set their feet on the stage. The vigour of the crowd did not diminish, Au Contraire, it increased. Fathers, with their small kids holding their fingers walked up, thumping their feet and adding to the amount of dust in the air. Kryptos did a fine job; they were the reason why we were there. We still hope the sound system was better. It was brought to our attention that the Rock show was to be followed by the Dance Competition and our jaws dropped. WTF? Kryptos was given the hint and they played Descension, the last track of the evening. They did not play more than six tracks. Nolan, as he was leaving the stage uttered the words “Thank You guys for keeping metal alive in Hyderabad”. I remembered the words of Pulkit, “Now you’re being judgemental”. Metal was on a ventilator and perhaps even a catheter that night if not lying peacefully in a grave. I expect all rock listeners to understand this statement.

All in all, the rock show was decent (another brick in the wall), but are rock shows supposed to be decent?