I am a stockholder. I am in Mumbai. And I think I could make it. And I did.

This was my first attendance at a company's Annual General Meeting. I was extremely curious to know what the AGM is all about and took some time off to attend the TCS AGM at the Birla Matushri Sabhagar, near Marine Lines. I thought it would be a very sombre affair with people in pin-stripes and well-ironed suits discussing the proceedings silently. Well, most of that variety were up on the dais. A small fraction were helping themselves to the complimentary refreshments outside and couldn't care less about the proceedings inside.

An imposing and calm, Mr. Ratan Naval Tata sat at the centre of the dais, flanked by other members of the Board of Directors of the company. I got in just when the first stockholder was allowed to put forth her questions. It felt like a Parliamentary Q&A session. The Lady recited a few quotes in Hindi and showered praises on the company. The rest of her slow and elaborate speech was in English. It didn't feel one bit like a professional meeting. The other speakers spoke at lengths and their speeches consisted mostly of prose and poetry, interjected with two or three questions. Some of the agitated ones were loud and demanding. Nobody on the dais spoke a word on the microphone, though people whispered, and everyone seemed to be excitedly scribbling on papers. Mr. Tata gently invited each of the speakers one at a time. And he made it a point to stand-up every time he announced a name, inviting a stockholder to speak.

One gentleman in his senior years, was extremely graceful. He had been escorted to the Speaker's stand by an attendant. He spoke softly and mentioned the fact that he had lost his eyesight and had reviewed the company's Annual Report with somebody's dedicated assistance. The man had dissected the company's financials in his mind and quoted figures from his memory. His questions seemed pertinent and his sense of ease, masterful. He even made suggestions, with a subtle amount of humour. The man didn't radiate the kind of aura as Mr. Tata did, but I liked the way he spoke. Strangely, Mr. Tata conducted everybody, from the irate, to the downright polite, like this elderly gentleman, with the same brusqueness - every second of his time was accountable.

The voting session, towards the end of the AGM, was another interesting highlight. People seemed over-eager to second a motion or oppose it. Mr. Tata would cast a quick glance at the number of hands up and announce, motion passed unanimously, or motion passed with clear majority. There was opposition too, but never in majority. Everything was executed swiftly, but the AGM still lasted over a few hours - I guess the man chairing this one had a reason to do so - there are 93 companies under the Tata Group, and I suppose he attends as many, if not more, AGMs every year.

Made it home pretty late last night but couldn't help waking up at 0600hrs. The weather was way too good to be sleeping. Nike popped in from Pune at around 1030hrs. He didn't believe me when I said we were headed to Gorai beach. He intended to enjoy his customary hot-water bath, breakfast from Laxmi and also get some much-needed rest. I think he managed to grab a quick bite before we rode off to make it to the proposed rendezvous with TV and Suds, somewhere near SEEPZ.

Noon worked out to be the ideal time to be riding to Gorai beach. Its better known as the route to Esselworld, but we weren't even headed there. It was sunny through most of the ride and we were soon at the Ferry Boarding point at Gorai, after our brief stopover for Lassi. Its corny that the ferry halt for an amusement park is next to a massive garbage mound. In fact, this was a garbage hill, and crows and vultures hovered above. The Ferry here was much smaller than the one at Manori, with space for about 8 two-wheelers. I got my baby in, and somehow managed to keep her balanced through the short ride across the creek, cause there was no place to put her on the main-stand.

Once on the other side, Gorai isle was a different place. Most of the crowd diverted itself to the amusement park, and we guys let our engines roar on the empty road ahead. It was hard to believe that the place had a Mumbai pincode - it was devoid of the noise, pollution and traffic of the metropolis. Gorai Village was unspoilt and beautiful. TV led the way to the splendid beach and that's where most of the humanity on the island re-emerged. It was Sunday and groups of people spread across the vast expanse of the uncluttered beach.

I did a couple of things. I shunned everything until I was only in my cargoes, and then rode my baby through the waves. It was brilliant fun. Nike too, took turns and had by now stopped cribbing about being tired. Then there was the Beach shanty's chilled beer, fried chicken masala and egg bhurji to relish on.

We spent a good part of the afternoon lazing at the shanty. The sky remained overcast and the winds were strong. All of us eventually took to the water. I now know that cargoes are the last thing to be worn on a tempting beach. One dip in the water and I had sand in every inaccessible corner of my eight-pocket.

We decided to leave only when it began to get darker. It didn't make sense to go home, except that someone remembered that it was Monday tomorrow. I dried myself on the ride back. The Lady slipped on the algae-covered jetty when I least expected it. I think it'll be a major accomplishment once I've learnt to keep her from falling.

Although Nike had started the day complaining, he hadn't finished having his fun yet. It started to pour and he suggested visiting Inorbit in Malad, ostensibly to buy floaters for himself. We explored the shops at a modest 2055hrs, leaving a slug trail everywhere we went - courtesy Gorai beach. But most fun was the Liberty Revolutions store. The attendants helped us take our shoes off to try on the floaters, and there was sand all over the place. After a lot of fussing over the footwear, Nike decided against buying anything, while I made a purchase. The best thing about the whole thing - I can now enjoy the rain-rides even more, with cold water droplets splashing on my feet!

Up at 0345hrs today, despite having slept at an obnoxious hour, well past midnight. We were headed to Tikona fort, in the Sahyadris. Considering the excellent arrangements, I didn't have much to do after boarding the bus - settled into the seat by the door, gracefully accepted the nicely-packed Thepalas and pickle, and soon after, dozed off. Woke up at the Food Mall halt on the Mumbai-Pune Expressway. Helped myself to a coffee and chatted up a conversation with TV. He'd done some trekking too and had even explored some places solo.

I don't know how long we had driven, but as the signs indicated that Lonavala was approaching, the enrapturing greens, characteristic of hillstations in India, began enveloping the path beyond. It was around noon, but the visibility dropped to about 30m, and the mist - added to the delighting cold.

I think we turned some 17kms before Lonavala, and went through a hamlet called Pawna Nagar. Then there was a climb, some hair-pin bends and before we could realize, the Pawna Lake was visible - looking splendid with the greenery around. The bus parked itself somewhere near the base of Tikona hill. TV and I greedily helped ourselves to the Thepalas. Thepalas and green chilli pickle taste even better in the ravenous hunger.

This was a trek-cum-plantation drive and we helped ourselves to little Mango, Banyan and Gulmohar saplings and also collected a few varieties of seeds. I found the idea of planting saplings alongside the trek route really nice. We didn't have no implements and everyone scouted around for hard twigs or sharp-edges rocks to do the pit-digging. It wasn't too tough to identify ideal spots in the moist earth and before long, we were requesting for even more saplings and seeds.

The climb uphill was comfortable, with most of the path being a modest incline. The final climb of steep stairs was quite tiring, and most of us reached the top and lazed around for a good while. It was fun finishing the apple and sandwiches lined with jam, at the top. It also gave me some time to learn of TV's passion for the beach he often visits.

The bright sun had made the climb a little tiring, so the descent in pouring rain was very welcome. We planted multiple saplings on the way back. The little exercise made me sweat inside my raincoat and I thoroughly enjoyed the cold splashes on my uncovered forehead, accompanied by warm moisture from the inside.

The drive back was brilliant in the pouring rain. Most of us were soaked to the core and we halted briefly on the Expressway to enjoy piping hot Vada Pav and steaming Coffee. This also gave us the time to confirm the plan for visiting TV's much raved about beach haunt - tomorrow.

Spent time at my cousins' place in Altamount Road this evening.

There was a time when I couldn't stand Okra. I dunno how, but I seemed to have developed a taste for the dish cooked in Indian spices. My nephews seem to love the Crispy Bhindi fry prepared for them, and it tasted great when I tried it the first time today! And that's how the evening went, popping Bhindi crisps while watching the rain fall down.

The main course was Dal-Chawal-Maandia, prepared by my sisters-in-law. Anything cooked with affection tastes doubly better!

Had stepped out for lunch and as I was returning, spotted the TCS CEO waiting for the elevator today. This is Mumbai. Yes, he's a Padma Bhushan awardee, he heads Asia's largest software company and he boards the elevator - just like any one of us. No, there were no bodyguards either. I was very amused. Maybe a few of the over dozen people who boarded the elevator wouldn't even know who he is. Or probably didn't care. It was weird.

I was kind of dumbstruck. Didn't know what to say or do, had he looked in my direction. This was a man I had only read about in the magazines and papers. He didn't make any eye-contact. He looked very much like any other Consultant, going about with his daily business - waiting for his floor to come as his eyes fidgeted impatiently, cramped in that elevator, just as everyone else. I know this gentleman is toasted and people pat him on his back at public functions that make newspaper headlines, but this was a closed space of 5' x 5' and everything, including this man, seemed so very ordinary, so next-door-neighbour types. I dunno what happens when a Narayana Murthy or Azim Premji move around in public spaces, though my friend from college almost ran into the Wipro Chairman when he was crossing a Bangalore street - yeah, he too was alone, unaccompanied, and very much the 'common man'.

I liked the simplicity, but couldn't savour the fact that a person who I felt is so BIG, experiences life exactly the way I do. I like this city. It sometimes makes me pine for more, much-much more, and sometimes, with experiences such as today's, it makes me feel content and very very satisfied !

You know what I want to experience next - running into Ratan Tata. And see if things work out differently. I'm not expecting a surprise anymore.

I rode down to Manori island this weekend. This was more of a brash decision taken because the weather was so very good. The Eicher Map indicated that I could take the Western Expressway till Malad and then take a left for Marwe. The traffic wasn't too bad except for the stretch from Malad to Marwe. But the cool breeze made the ride a pleasure.

Marwe beach was quite crowded at 2030hrs but I knew from past experience that my girl could be taken on the ferry to cross-over to Manori island. I did manage to navigate through the sand somehow. Helped myself to a hot 'bhutta' while waiting for the ferry to arrive. Negotiating the 45° ramp was the tough bit. I thought I'd manage well with the new tyre she had, and made the incorrigible blunder of trying to ascend gradually. I skidded half-way up the ramp and the engine died. It was insane. The girl was really heavy and there was no way I could have got her up the ramp and sought help from the ferry's crew. Two chaps eventually got us up. I was nicely shaken up. I knew nothing about negotiating ramps.

The ferry ride across the creek to Manori was swift. On the other side, I decided to try my hand at getting her down. I observed the others starting their bikes and so brought her to life as well. The slide down was no better. I tried using my brake to slow her down and skidded again. Again the crew helped. I smelled leaked petrol. My fingers had numbed on getting struck by metal. When I managed to put her back on stand and inspect for damage, I could feel my heart pounding more strongly than the engine. Luckily, there was only some specks of sand that needed dusting off. I was quite disappointed with my total lack of experience at handling my girl.

People on the ferry had recommended the Manori Resort for food and drinks, but I had trouble locating it and was also low on fuel. The nearest petrol station was 2kms. behind, back in Marwe, and I decided against further exploration. Dinner was Goan Chilly pork and Beer at 'Manoribel' Resort - the first well-lit banner that I sighted. It turned out to be a pretty neat place with hammocks by the beach, though the surf was barely visible in the faint moonlight.

I was wiser from experience on the return trip and paid a crew member for loading her. I watched nervously as he revved her to a high-throttle and raced up the ramp. It took nerve, and considerable skill. The descent involved very minor braking, it was more like a free fall with a good sense of balance. It would take me a while to get this right. But the overall experience had been pretty marvellous.

I don't normally travel on the Western Line. Had plans to visit Sid's place in Andheri and decided to take the fast Local from Churchgate. The Virar fast local was leaving 5mins before the Borivali fast local. People in Mumbai worship their time, and I thought I'd made a wise move by boarding the earlier one.

I was able to manage quite well until the train reached Dadar. Here's where the term 'can of sardines' loses its efficacy. One can't be better packed than a peak rush-hour Mumbai local train compartment. This was a First Class coach and I had three persons' sweat on my own face. The Veterans were barking instructions to the rookies on how to stand - apparently raising both hands and holding onto the overhead hand grip makes more space available in the compartment, and even more people can board. One person missed getting-off at Bandra station and the crowd snickered, suggesting that he would now get off only at Virar - the last stop.

I told the person beside me that I wanted to get off at Andheri - and people around me sighed loudly. It was sacrilige to be on the Virar train and wanting to get off anywhere in between. But they relented when I told them that I usually travelled on the Central Line. I was standing in the aisle, but had to literally inch my way to the exit. At Andheri, commuters were ready to board, and getting off was a nightmare. I got shoved and pushed and somehow managed to get my feet off the train. As for that gentleman who missed his stop at Bandra, he couldn't get off at Andheri either. He's not boarding the Virar local again, and neither am I.