travelogue | The Dandelion effect

The childhood adventures of train travel now remind me of a dark nightmare

Posted on July 1, 2017 by Girl in the green $hrug

28-May-2016: The Udyan express was en-route from Mumbai to Bangalore. Every compartment was brimming with passengers from the initial stop- CST. Within an hour, stowaways and general class commuters hitched every spot available in the nooks and corners of the train. Few cheeky passengers squeezed their way into the already occupied seats of the sleeper class, under a sense of righteousness which is used and abused with the line ‘Thoda adjust karlo’ (Adjust a little)- the unsaid slogan, burned on the back of the minds of every Indian.

Delayed timings, lack of safety for women, revolting toilets, overcrowded compartments, and stowaways- loitering by the passages and open stairs, are probably the five significantly depressing and well-known facts about our popular mode of transport- the Indian railways, which is responsible for the daily commute of 18 million people. It’s also why rail tr`ansport has been made the butt of several jokes.

A month early booking had served me with a last-minute RAC seat, by the door. The likes of which were shared between my mother and I, along with the innumerous strangers who snuck up on the vacant spaces of our 190 cm long berth. The silver lining to the day was that we got the chance to bond with the three families traveling in our compartment, who were kind enough to let us use the upper berths to rest, as it was impossible to stretch our legs in air, amidst the hullaballoo.

Things were mighty fine, until an enormous group of people hoarded our bogey at Dudhani, turning the sleeper class into a general compartment of a Mumbai local train at peak hour. It was 6 in the evening and people hopped onboard as though it were the last train on the planet, whilst they hung onto window railings, door frames and handles- A regular day in the Indian railways.

A family of 20-so Muslims treaded into the fairly breathable environment, after most of the day commuters got off at the next station- Ganagapur. The RAC seat now bore an additional passenger- our upper seat neighbor, who’d stepped down to temporarily offer his berth to a woman from our compartment who was travelling with her daughter, granddaughter, and daughter-in-law: Bhakti. During the two-minute break at the station, he swiftly darted away to grab some food. At which point, a lady in hijab, belonging to the fresh-onboard-gigantic-family, approached the vacant spot next to me. Out of instinct, I patted the seat with an empty bottle cradled in my hand, and plainly informed her that the seat was taken. Imagine those simple words tumult the situation out of hand in the next hour, so much so, that it almost sealed my fate on one of the three: Death, rape or both.

What I’d failed to notice during my honest revelation, was the bulk of a man, towering over me. He apparently was the husband of that woman, who’d somehow perceived my statement as uncouth, insulting, and demeaning. In the next five minutes, whilst he lectured me on how educated, civilized, and well off- he was, and reminded me how people such as himself should be treated, I simply reminded him that I’d merely informed the lady about the availability of the seat. How those words had offended and wounded his flimsy ego- was beyond me.

His eyes grew deeply red; his voice growled over several decibels, and his face appeared threateningly close to exploding. Out of nowhere, the man started barking on me to shut up. I’d had enough of his chauvinism. Yet, carrying on an unpleasant one-sided argument was pointless, as it was clearly a numbers game. Against the 20-so family of the immature meat-sack of a man, I was a twig. Within the fraction of a second, Bhakti jumped to my defense, and growled back at him. His fury had switched towards her, as they fell into a yelling fit. Each demanding the other to shut up, as their faces inched terrifyingly closer- every passing second. The fit ended with the intervention of his family, who frantically pulled him away like a meat sack, when he’d raised his fist at Bhakti- a girl who wasn’t nearly half his size.

The matter turned from bad to craptastically worse, after that exchange. Meat sack sneered at me from the doorway, whilst his ‘brothers’ persuaded me to apologize to his wife- who’d been watching the meaningless back and forth with unfaltering curiosity. The ground breaking argument being: Meat sack was only enraged, because I’d made his wife cry. Yes, yes, seeing an empty bottle and hearing someone say, ‘this seat is taken’, can be quite a traumatic experience. That’s why writers use such dialogues in movies, to make people cry. Apparently, he wouldn’t back down unless someone apologized. Flimsy ego, see? I wasn’t about to grovel and beg for mercy, with no fault of mine.

Whilst all this happened, the train had moved past Gulbarga where his family was supposed to get off. He hadn’t allowed a single soul from his family off the door. Clearly, they didn’t have a choice, since their Klazomaniac was on the loose, plotting his revenge by phoning up his gang-buddies (Rickshaw drivers) to pull me off at the next station. He wanted revenge. He wanted to teach me a lesson. He wanted me to know, what kind of a man he was, and why people should NOT mess with him. His words were loud and clear, backed with the dirty looks that he threw me from the passageway.

I was afraid for myself, yet disgusted by the whole lot of self-proclaimed, civilized bozos. Sadly, education doesn’t guarantee basic human civility. One glance at his wife, and it was clear to me that the nonchalance on her face was an attempt to veil the shame that she felt underneath. She was bound to a man, who terrorized and picked fights with girls half his size; whose acts were nothing but a travesty of his concerns for her. In that very moment, I felt sorry for her, because of what she was married to. There was a chance I could get out of this mess, but she was stuck with it for life. No wife should’ve to live with that.

I apologized to her, clarifying, that my intention wasn’t to insult her. It was the only way to put an end to the charade, considering the fact that I was traveling in a train with my frail mother. Deep down, I knew that if something were to happen to me, there wouldn’t be a lot of people who’d jump to my defense. It is after all a world, where each one fends for oneself.

My apology made no difference to the situation. In turn, it only stroked his ego, further convincing him of his power in the situation. Two armed guards passed us by, which temporarily stifled the situation, and his blatant threats. A second after they’d left, it dawned on me to seek their help. But they were far gone, by then.

I was six feet away from the maniac- plotting my assault right in front of my eyes. The only thing stopping him was the mixed resolve of a few women from his family, who’d blocked his way by the passage, so he couldn’t approach me. This nightmare had gone on for an hour. For an hour- I was afraid I wouldn’t live to see the morning. For an hour- I felt helpless, powerless, and regretful for taking the train in the first place. For the first time in my life, I was furious for being a girl. I was disturbed, to be a part of a pathetic society where the safety of a woman is disposed at the mercy of her assaulter.

A few minutes before the next stop- Shahabad, his mother stood guard in front of me and begged me to quickly close the shutters and windows behind me. Another woman sealed the door beside me. All this to protect me, while the men in his family, forced him out the other door. A mother had to protect an absolute stranger from her own son’s monstrosities; No mother should’ve to face that.

By the time the curtains had fallen, we’d rallied a minister of the state government and a politician of the district on our side (which was futile, as I knew nothing about the freak or his family). I refused to sleep for the rest of the night, aware of the unnerving truth that losing my dignity, freedom and life could come down to just that- an unavailable seat.

‘But thank god. Nothing happened to you’- was the consolation I received, every time I narrated this incident. Do death threats, Verbal assaults, cat-calling, ogling, and rape threats mean nothing? Why are women conditioned to believe that until the man lays a hand on her, every other obnoxious behavior of his can be tolerated and swept under the rug? Why are we okay, being not okay? Why do we adjust and compromise our aspirations, dreams and self-respect for crap-bags? Why is the society worried about women staying in toxic relationships rather than fixing the ones creating the toxicity? Why does the society slut shame women who can stand up for themselves and others?

We’ve been taught and reminded to be careful and alert all our lives. We keep pepper sprays and Swiss knives in our bags to defend ourselves, or clutch onto the keys while returning home late at night, we grow a thick skin to ignore all the lewd comments, wear unfeminine clothes to escape the bawdy looks, mold and break ourselves to fit in- into the ridiculous image that the society has perceived for us, for centuries. There are rules for us: Who should we talk to, and who we shouldn’t talk to. Who can be our friend, what kind of clothes are we allowed to wear, what kind of places can we go to, what kind of things are we allowed to drink, what kind of experiences we’re allowed to have, what time we should get home, what kind of things we’re allowed to speak in front to others. Every bloody double standard in this society is bestowed upon us.

It has been 5317 years, since the first civilization on earth was formed. But how civilized is this society, if almost half the population of this world has to fight and explain their need for equality, every step of the way?

I’d like to meet a woman who has never once faced sexual assault of any kind. If you’re wondering what classifies as one, here’s your poison.

Treat people the way you want to be treated. Perhaps, five thousand years wasn’t enough for that basic principle to evolve.

Hampi- Remnants of an ancient era (Part 2)

Posted on March 21, 2017 by Girl in the green $hrug

Our enthusiasm and curiosity to explore Hampi had resulted in sore foot and tardiness the next day, hence we woke up late and started off at noon. If we were aware of the sights that awaited us on the other side of the river, we wouldn’t have slept the previous night out of sheer excitement.

Patches of paddy fields on one side and large boulders and lakes on the other. If this isn’t heaven, I don’t know what is!

On the banks of Tungabhadra river, a ferry service is available that can carry 20-30 people (along with a scooter or two) at a time, across the river at a minimal price. Upon reaching the other side, we rented a scooter and rode west, in the search of Sanapur lake. Unsure of the route (Absent-minded too, since we’d forgotten that we lived in the 21^st century and Google maps were a thing!), we asked an elderly man walking by the road for directions but he pointed us in the opposite direction. Taking a U-turn, we rode back, hoping to confirm our direction with another local. A cozy looking café caught our eye and all the neurons in my brain screamed “Fooood”. It was a shack, with a board in front that read “Good Music and Home-made Food”. So, we entered the café, forgetting all about Sanapur Lake.

Now, let me tell you something. All that civilization, architecture and fine art that the Vijayanagara dynasty had built and let go? You won’t catch a whiff of it, once you’ve crossed the river. Which is why, Hippies and foreigners from all over the world prefer to rent huts and shacks on the other side of Hampi.

The tiny café had a few musical instruments (mostly broken) lying around. To my surprise, there was a finely tuned guitar with all its six strings in place. I picked it up and strummed a few chords that I knew. The aunty who owned the café had busied herself in the kitchen and within 10 minutes, an uncle (who, I presumed was the co-owner of the café) popped inside and sat in our opposite table. He patiently waited a few minutes until I stopped playing the notes and inquired our whereabouts. Once upon a time, he worked in the music industry and played with several groups, for several music directors. He was proud enough to proclaim his love for music but was humble enough to accept that it didn’t end well for him. It reminded me that,

“Talent, is not genius”- a quote from one of my favorite books- Little women.

On our request he played a few songs, while aunty served us delicious, warm food.

Dum dum da rum da dum…

The day got interesting when a man named ‘Gaali’, dressed in a loose cotton kurta and jeans, having shoulder length hair and a dark complexion (mercy of the hot sun), entered the café. Gaali runs a musical instrument shop by the river bank, and jams with the locals and foreigners at sunset point. He mentioned that he had a sliver of opportunity to perform at the Hampi Utsava (I hope he did. It must have been wonderful). He sung a composition of his own, written in the honor of Kannadambe (Mother Karnataka).

If you ever visit Hampi, spare your evening to watch the sunset jam, where locals and foreigners gather to play music and sing along.

We bid goodbye to the wonderful trio and made our way to the Anjaneya temple, Anegundi- the birth place of lord Hanuman. A flight of steep stairs (approx 570 steps) takes you to the top of the hill that offers a panoramic view of the landscape. From afar, large boulders appear like tiny pebbles strewn across and acres of paddy fields resemble pieces in a jigsaws puzzle. Later that evening, we took a diversion from the highway and headed to Pampa sarovar (Lakshmi temple)-a world of its own. It’s believed that Shabari, a devotee of Rama had waited for his arrival there. An abundance of Gray Langurs can be found in its vicinity. Unlike its mischievous cousins, these docile-intelligent beings kept to themselves and studied the visitors from a safe distance with a pair of eyes that could probably see through you. In front of the temple is the Pampa sarovar, protected by tall boulders on all three sides.

Spend a few peaceful moments here and I promise you, you can feel the cracks in your heart mend. (PC: Madhu)

After spending a few calm, refreshing moments there, we embarked on our journey towards the final destination of the day- The Durga temple which is built on top of a hill, surrounded by giant boulders (I was paranoid the whole time that one of them may collapse downhill and would crush me like a grape). Near the entrance of the temple, is a small cave that remains cool throughout the day. It is believed that Lord Rama once took shelter here. A large tree, whose branches were laden with colorful bundles bearing coconuts (as a token of the devotee’s wish), stood magnificently in front of the temple. Paying our respects to the deity, we headed back, as the ferry service to take us across the river would cease at 5.30.

Hastily, we returned the rented scooter just in time to catch the last ferry (which was extended to 6 p.m, thanks to the visiting season) and witnessed a spectacular sunset by the river. That same evening, we moved out to Hospet, collected our Luggage and boarded the bus back to Bangalore.

Until next time,
The Hippie Soul

Hampi- Remnants of an ancient era (Part 1)

Posted on March 20, 2017 by Girl in the green $hrug

The decision to spend a weekend in Hampi was a spontaneous one. On a whim, I asked my bestie to join me on a weekend trip. The destination was vague. She agreed, as she always does! Quickly, I did a little research and the tiny signs pointed me towards Hampi. We left Bangalore the following midnight, and due to some mysterious reason, all of Bangalore’s traffic was accumulated in the Majestic- Yeshwantpur junction. Our mighty bus took 2 hours to cover a km of the toll road. Though our ETA at Hospet was supposedly 6 a.m., we arrived four hours later. (Our driver had chosen an impromptu diversion. Spontaneity- A trait, I DID NOT appreciate in drivers).

Now, the ideal place to stay while visiting Hampi is the hippie islands, but unaware of it then, I had booked a hotel in Hospet (a half hr ride away from Hampi). After freshening up, we caught a decent brunch at a local hotel in Hospet. An absence of fellow travelers was clearly obvious as the occupants at each table were either men-catching up on old tales or families having a quite meal. And then there was us- two girls, oblivious (at least, we pretended to be) to all the curious looks shot our way.

An hour later, we found ourselves in Hampi talking to a rickshaw driver who had jumped into our moving bus while it was being parked. He sure was keen on catching a customer, and after a bit of haggling, we agreed for a tour of the city at 500 Bucks (Which, by the way is tad pricey as I later realized). Our auto-driver had sworn to be worthy of the price, or else there was a complete-refund policy (Yeah, right. We all know how that ends).

We started off with Sasivekalu Ganesha (Translation: Mustard seed Ganesha; only because there was another idol which was fairly larger in size, as compared to this), moving on to Hemakunta hill temple complex- a large expanse bearing many temples, with no idols to worship in them (Emphasizes, why the city is now called Ruins of Hampi) and offers a generous view of the Virupaksha temple and its surroundings.

For miles and miles, you see rocks, boulders, sculptures and trees that have witnessed the glorious years of Hampi. (PC: Madhu)

Built on varying leveled platforms, this art of architecture set in stone, with carvings on every inch is simply astonishing. It seemed to me as if the hill stood like a lone soldier, helplessly watching the catastrophe of a war that laid waste to the land, destroying everything familiar. A carefree evening on these hills, in the company of loved ones watching the golden crown of sunset, talking about life, sipping tea was all I wanted at that moment.I vowed to return, determined to capture every bit of the wondrous smithereens in a sketch.

Even time pauses here for a moment, imploring Hampi to re-tell its story. (PC: Madhu)

One thing I found in abundance in Hampi, other than the buildings of course, were the brown squirrels, skittering about willy-nilly.

The Guardian of Hemakunta, savoring his meal- a tasty peanut! (PC: Madhu)

Then on, we paid a visit to the Shiva temple and the partly-destroyed Ugra Narasimha. The original sculpture had a small figure of Goddess Lakshmi, resting on his lap. It was mutilated when the Mughals raided Vijayanagara Empire in 1565 A.D, also marking its downfall.

We met a man, who once was a former member of the archaeological committee. Now, an artist who carved out beautiful sculptures out of Soap. He explained that during the restoration, a few features were added to the sculpture (such as the large distinguishable mark on the chest of the sculpture) an addition made to make the idol more stable.

Awesomeness in progress

A few specimens of his work

Rivers or rainfall, ditches or muddy water. Kids know how to celebrate life!

The second section of the city is the palace ground. One of the major attractions was the Lotus Mahal (a.k.a Chitragani Mahal or Kamal Mahal). A mesmerizing example of the Vijayanagara architecture, built solely to serve the royal ladies of Vijayanagara Empire. The structure was originally surrounded by four Watch towers, of which only three can be seen today.

Every monument at its best. It’s as if the craftsmen competed against each other and filled every inch with their soul.

The foundation to a queen’s palace (which was never built) can be found near the entrance. An elegant-long building with beautiful domed chambers that once served as an elephant stable, now was being adorned with lights. The reason being- The infamous Hampi utsav. We were visiting only a few days prior to festival, and hence the city was bustling with foreigners and local tourists, while the major attractions were embellished. A stage was being set up for the performances and plays scheduled for the festival. The air was charged up, as actors rehearsed their roles and carpenters busied about, building wooden platforms and beams. We were lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the forthcoming celebrations of a fabled empire.

Break time! What’s happening around the world?

An archaeology museum laid within the same premises- a treasure trove to all the architectural artifacts, relics, coins, tools, miniature paintings, ivory items, copper plates and several other things from the glorious era of the Vijayanagara Empire.

We then headed out to explore the Pushkarini (temple tank)- an ancient step well, located near the Mahanavami Dibba (a.k.a Dasara Dibba) constructed by King Krishnadevaraya to celebrate his victory over Udayagiri (Modern day-Orissa).Later, our Auto dropped us off at the final location of the tour- Vijaya Vittala temple.

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One can choose between availing a government facilitated utility vehicle (at a fair price) or taking a good ol’ walk uphill, for about a km to reach the main entrance of the Temple. A ticket bought to enter the palace grounds, also can be used to enter the Royal temple. But, being the goofball that I am, I lost it somewhere on the road and had to buy it again.

Not the only goofball here! (PC: Me)

Vijaya Vittala temple is the Taj Mahal of Hampi. The amount of effort, craftsmanship, creativity and art that is poured into every inch of the ensemble is exceptional. The stone chariot is an artistic marvel in itself, and bears a striking resemblance to the stone chariot situated in Konark Sun temple, Orissa (Incidentally, Krishnadevaraya was fascinated by the aforementioned chariot whilst his war against Udayagiri and thus, ordered an establishment of one such chariot in his own empire). The musical pillared temple is yet another marvelous contribution of the Vijayanagara Empire. Among the other structures are the shrine of the Goddess (a.k.a Devi shrine), Maha Mantapa (a.k.a Sabha Mantapa/ congregation hall), Ranga Mantapa, Kalyana Mantapa (marriage hall), Utsava Mantapa (festival hall). Even in the middle of such loud ambience, I found a moment of tranquility in the Vittala temple, by the closed gates watching a horse graze peacefully. The winds whisked away my thoughts with their stories about distant lands.

The sunset point, at the Matunga Hill is one of the most sought out places in Hampi. But, we neither had the stamina, nor the will to mount a hill!

Gateway to heaven. Care to venture? (PC: Madhu)

On our way out, amongst many children who sold photographs /postcards of Hampi, I met an adorable little boy- Abhi (Abhishek).

As it was the deepavali weekend, all kids had the week-off, ergo a golden opportunity to earn some extra cash. At every major tourist hub in Hampi, we’ve been pestered by children to buy postcards. (I for one ain’t a fan of it, but a friend of mine- an old soul, loves postcards for souvenirs). Unlike other children, Abhi didn’t badger us. Instead, he politely requested us once, took one look at our camera and before we could respond, uttered bashfully “Okay, thank you. We don’t want it” in an attempt to imitate every other tourist. His quick wit intrigued me, so I struck up a conversation with him, examining the postcards. A moment later, a family walked past us, as Abhi walked along with them. The older woman spoke kindly to him, laying her hand on his shoulder. I watched them walk out of sight; surprised that he would leave behind a stack of postcards in the hands a total stranger. (What if I ran away with it?)

Few minutes later, he returned with a grim look on his face, stating “She just wanted to feel good about herself by talking to me, but had no interest in the postcards”.

Smack! Truth slapped on the face.

I felt sorry for him, but at the same time wanted to convince him that the world is not all black & white!

As we walked back to Virupaksha temple, vaguely in the route of Kampa- Bhupa’s path- a walk along the rocky, boulder strewn trail by the banks of river Tungabhadra; Abhi opened up about his family. A drunk-abusive father that he resents, a mother-struggling to make ends meet, a sister- who’s quit college and is expected to be married off soon. The society burdens us all with its expectations and here was a boy sharing the burden of his family, trying to earn a little to ease the lives of the living. His dream? To become an engineer one day, move to the city and earn good money. I realized, this is the dream of most children in Karnataka who live in villages or rural areas. Their dreams- our reality. Yet, here we are trying to escape it. I wonder, if it’s the lack of imagination or support that refrains children from dreaming large, colorful, powerful dreams- that means something to them, instead of choosing the regular career path.

A moment of a beautiful sunset graced us at the banks of Tungabhadra, while fishermen rowing coracle boats made their way home. En route, Abhi pointed out a fascinating spot, one that contained neat piles of stones. Apparently, it is a belief that by doing so, one’s wishes would be granted.

A castle of wishes! (PC: Madhu)

We parted ways at the temple. He followed a supposed customer, and I took a tour of the Virupaksha temple. It boasts of a huge elaborate structure with an inner sanctuary, a large courtyard, an open pillared hall, 3 ante chambers, a stable for an elephant- a delightful little creature who accepts coins from your hand with his trunk and in return plants a kiss on your head, as a blessing.

At night, the monuments of Hampi are lit up in shades of multicolored lights, intensifying the beauty of its intricate carvings. Seated atop the Hemakunta hill, we watched the mystifying dance of the lights on various structures, as the sky full of glowing stars reminded us that this wasn’t a city in ruins, but a testament to remnants of a grand era!

Abracadabra! (PC: Madhu)

Until next time,
The Hippie Soul

A day Tour in Mysore.

Posted on March 16, 2017 by Girl in the green $hrug

Mysore!

The first thing that comes to my mind when I hear the word Mysore is Dasara. The grandeur of heritage and architecture of Mysore is well known to everyone. An empire left behind by the Wodeyars, stands proudly, boasting of its magnificent history, royal palaces, museums, and art galleries. Though Dasara is the peak visiting season in Mysore; it still remains the best time to visit Mysore, as one gets to relieve its history. Oh, the glory of the durbar (royal assembly), the Jambu sawari (procession of the royal sword and the idol of Goddess Chamundeshwari on a golden throne) is majestic.

Our visit to Mysore was a short one- on the third day of Dasara (luckily a weekend), assuming it to be a safe bet with regard to the coterie of tourists. We caught an early morning train from SBC (Bangalore) to Mysore that took approx 2.5 hours to reach. During our journey, we had the privilege to befriend this little angel- Janvi, who loved playing the game of choosing a different name for herself as per her whim.

The world is full of happiness as long as there are children-smiling!

A friend lived in the city and let us crash at her place, also allowing us to borrow her scooter- A boon in disguise. The major attractions are spread across the city, and having a vehicle at your disposal reduces the efforts of advanced planning. Having begun our exploration at noon, we decided to randomly ride across town, instead of playing the tourist.

The first thing that captured our attention was Karnataka Kalamandir standing in solitude, across the Mangalore-Mysore highway. It hosted a display of paintings, photographs, miniature models by different artists.

A click of a picture, in the game of reflections and shadows.

The surroundings of the gallery were embellished with sculptures and a larger than life sized peacock- built entirely from wood and coconut branches.

Majestic, ain’t it?

In the very same campus exists Rangayana- An institute that promotes theatre and stage craft.

Dancing along with the sunlight to the melodies of the wind!

Vividly colored bamboo sticks placed vertically at various points imitated a maze like pattern and scintillating head-shaped clay pots were positioned on the ground or were hung from poles across the entire path which led to an open ground where we caught a glimpse of the scenes of an act, played by a small gathering of students.

Caught in the act… (PC: Madhu)

Their mentors’- two women, one in her early thirties and the other in her late twenties, emanating an aura of wisdom and discipline guided and corrected them, by and by.

Show! Don’t tell. (PC:Madhu)

The play was to take place each night during the Dasara festival in the open air theater- Vanaranga. The wonderful decorations were set up to create a wonderful ambience when lit up by bright colored focus lights at night.

After a satisfying lunch, we rode to the Mysore palace- the first overcrowded destination of our day. The scorching sun didn’t allow us to explore the grounds.

A royal evening is being awaited, as the clouds play peek-a-boo with the sun. (PC: Madhu)

Hence, we chose to take shelter inside the walls of Jaganmohan Palace, dipping our senses in the ocean of paintings, monuments, grandiose architecture, and history. I would never be able to justify in words, what I witnessed in reality. If you are a true lover of art and architecture, history and monuments, you’ll realize that the Palace itself is too small to encompass the richness of the Wodeyar Empire. On the outer gardens of the Palace, one can take a small tour across the grounds on an elephant, or hunt for souvenirs in gift shops.

Later that evening, we proceeded to the sand museum, located on the way to Chamundi Hills. Intricate sculptures of Srikantadatta Wodeyar, Jambu sawari, Lord Ganesha, Goddess Chamundi, Laughing Buddha, Islamic Culture, Geetopadesh, ancient civilizations and tribes have been molded in the sand with fabulous precision. The interesting fact is that the artwork was created by a budding art student- MN Gowri, in 5 months. Unlike most sand sculptures that are put on display for a temporary period, this museum is here for the long run.

A day in Mysore can never be concluded without a visit to the enchanting Chamundi Hills. Since it was Dasara- the peak tourist season, the cops had blocked the way to prevent private vehicles from traveling uphill, as it would cause congestion. Instead, there was an alternative option of traveling via the royal public transport- Buses. We waited in line for more than an hour, until we could finally board one (My only concern was that we would miss the sunset at the peak, thanks to all the waiting). Just, a few meters away from our boarding point, the government had stationed a landing pad, and a Helicopter facility that offered rides (at a fair price) across the city. Though, it was post sunset when we made it to the top, the view was breathtaking. Colorful miniature lights adorned trees and street corners, creating a festive atmosphere.

Light up the night! (PC:Madhu)

The soothing wind combined with the pleasant music playing from tea stalls made our short visit magical. I befriended a dog, after I shared a lump of my ice-cream with her. But she kept following me around with no remorse, as if I was the gingerbread man. (Isn’t it shameful, when one can’t even shoo away a dog?) On returning, we made our way back to the Palace grounds to witness the marvelous view of the palace lit up at night, backed by a carnatic music concert.

These hallways were once the witness to an entire generation of a royal dynasty. But now? (PC: Madhu)

Every building in its own shadow proclaimed its stories into the dark that night- A tale of a royal dynasty thriving through centuries ruling an empire witnessing love, loss, curses, wars and famines. One whose love for art and architecture transcended boundaries, whose richness and prosperity was a common knowledge to people, even across the oceans.

Mysore- An empire that once attracted awe with its elegance, heritage and richness. It will continue to so, for generations to come. (PC- Madhu)

Until next time,
The Hippie Soul

Souvenirs from Wayanad!

Posted on March 9, 2017 by Girl in the green $hrug

Wanderlust is something that was buried deep in my soul, a long time ago. But it’s only now that I fully see the vibrancy of its enchanting colors & ‘Wayanad’ was on my bucket list of ‘places to go’ for over 2 years now. If you compare the past 20 years of my life v/s the last 2 years, it would be evident that I wasn’t much of a traveler before. A tourist? maybe! See, there’s a difference between visiting places, and exploring places- and that’s what distinguishes a tourist from a traveler.

I have never traveled alone/ with a group of strangers before; at least not without the company of a close friend. Though, this time I was traveling with a group of 45 people, who belonged to the same organization as I. This idea had initially frightened me, as I barely knew any of them. I know that a lot of people go on adventures with complete strangers, but I was never one of them. Crowded places, large gatherings or get together unnerves me, though I can be the chirpiest and liveliest person you’ve ever known, on one-on-one interactions. But in groups- I am no different than a lost puppy. Anyhow, I had to go, because exploring Wayanad was far more important than my innate fears as an ambivert.

We started from Bangalore on Friday night in a bus that could put a Discotheque to shame. It was painted in bright colors with a caption on the side of the bus that read ‘Are you ready to Dance?’ The interiors of the bus were covered in mosaics of funky colors, The bus had large speakers that could boom loud enough to wake up an entire neighborhood. Various disco ball lights flooded the cabin of our bus, converting it into a retro dance floor.

It felt like I was back in college having one of those trips when life was simple, reckless and carefree, when the prejudice and conditioning of the society still hadn’t seeped into our hearts. For a change, it felt good to be away, along with perfect strangers who knew very well, how to celebrate each moment. No one slept that night until the wee hours of the morning. We celebrated the birthday of a friend, danced mindlessly to the beats of the music, swapped Hulk & Dora masks like 13 y.o and sang along awkwardly to every song that emanated from the giant speakers but barely slept for 3-4 hours. When the first rays of Sunshine peeped through the foggy clouds next morning, we stopped by an old petrol bunk. A few of us stepped out and rid our body & mind of motion sickness by playing football while the others slept peacefully inside.

A few hours later, we reached our dormitory- PI residency in Kakkavayal and quickly scattered to our rooms to freshen up. After munching on a minimal breakfast, everyone was recharged and we set off towards Meppady through the narrow winding roads where only one large vehicle can pass at a time. Incidentally, we encountered a large bus (alike ours) en route due to which our bus had to roll back for at least half a km, to find a decent spot to let the other bus through.

A bouncy- magical ride through the slopes!

On reaching Meppady, our large group dispersed into packs of 8-9 and hopped into jeeps which took us via Chembra tea estates to the beginning of the trail path. One has to walk 2 km, via tea gardens to reach the trek starting point.

Oh! What I’d give to live in this moment forever!

The difficulty level of the trek is moderate, though the path is a lot slippery during monsoon (a few friends dared to trek the entire path in slippers and sandals). I, being not a regular Trekkie, took a lot of breaks to catch my breath while a few of my groupies jumped across rocks like acrobatic monkeys. Halfway through the journey, one can find a large heart-shaped lake (believed to have never run dry) named ‘Hridayasaras’. Past that, the trek gets easier as it is just a steep path uphill. It took us almost 2 hours to reach the peak, and there is yet another lake at the top. Though, there are multiple peaks visible from the top, most of them have restricted access.

An enchanting view of Chembra tea estates.

From the top, one can see almost all of Kalpetta and Meppady covered under the clouds, draped in lush greens. We got drenched several times during the trek and every single time, I had to encase the camera which felt like an annoying charade. The playful fresh wind and the timid rain showers along with the breathtaking view soothed our souls. We spent a little time by ourselves in peaceful silence, until the others made it to the top.

Descending downhill was much easier, since we slid most of the way down on our butt, thanks to the rain showers that had turned the steep paths all the more slippery. We took tiny breaks, exchanging jokes, poetry, philosophies, bits and pieces of our own life stories, our dreams and fears. In a group of 48 people, I found a tiny family-even if for a small duration and I’ll always be grateful for that experience.

At the end of the trail, we treated ourselves to several cups of lemon tea and a tummy load of pakoda’s (compensating for the lack of a proper breakfast and lunch). As our group was the first to complete the trek, we waited until the others reached back and finished their share of hogging. Magical as the day was, we were lucky enough to spot a faint rainbow across the sky.

Thereafter, the jeeps drove us back to Meppady. Later, we visited Lakkidi view point (a scenic spot on a busy hair-pin curved highway), just in time to catch the sunset.

Hues of Blue at Lakkidi

After a much satisfying dinner, we headed to our dorm, while most of us dozed off in the bus-drained from the physical strain from a long day. Thankfully, our group was full of enthusiastic people who wouldn’t let the night end that way. So, we started a bonfire, gathering around its cozy warmth, played games, sang and danced. As the night grew dark, everyone resigned to their rooms, one by one.

Next morning, we were ready and replenished by 11 a.m. Though we had plans to visit Kuruvadweep and soochipara falls, they were both closed due to the rainfall. A quick breakfast later, we reached Pookode Lake and spent the afternoon there, exploring the fish museum and trailing the lake while a few tried the communal fish spa (Though, I enthusiastically turned it down, for I pitied the fishes that had to nibble down all that dead skin).

Spreading joy into the wind. Bubbles that carry the memories of our sweet childhood.

After skipping lunch later that day, we traveled to Meenmutty falls. The water was extremely cold, the surrounding rocks were slippery and the current was strong. Undeterred by such challenges, we spent our evening frolicking in the water. The walk back to the bus (almost 2 km) was memorably fun as we were drenched from head to toe, cold & shivering, hungry, with no change of clothes in hand. Yet, that didn’t stop us from slurping delicious-hot Maggie and tea on borrowed money.

Meenmutty falls in all its glory!

There were no specific changing rooms in the area, but we found an old-uninhibited house in ruins that solved our problem. I was so madly in love with Kerala, as I knew that I could spend my eternity in that old shack.

As we returned, our driver raced the bus like a hurricane to the Karnataka-Kerala border at Bandipur since the police closes off the check post at 8 p.m., (which didn’t deter the singing, dancing and the havoc that was being created by us inside the bus). Luckily we made it in time, but unluckily we were held up in a long queue before the checkpoint and worried that the guards wouldn’t let us through as it was almost 8 p.m. But, after an anxious wait, we crossed the border and witnessed an elephant cross our paths (Which, let me remind you was the only ‘wild life’ we spotted on our entire journey).

On reaching Gundlupet, we were delighted to find a hotel that was open at 10.30 p.m. Without a second thought, everyone rushed in and emptied their kitchens. At about 11 p.m., we vacated the premises (with not much option) as the police had rallied down, demanding to shut down the hotel (Since, there had been a few riots in the area over the past few weeks).

The journey back to Bangalore was mostly uneventful, since most of us slipped into deep sleep while the ‘ever-enthusiastic’ bunch cracked jokes, gave speeches and awards (imaginary ones, of course) under several categories.

At 4.30 a.m., our driver abruptly started playing songs over the speaker (Apparently, that was his way of saying- Good morning. We’ve reached Bangalore!), much to our annoyance. Angry girls yelled at him at the top of their voices while astonished boys stared at the outburst. If the music hadn’t woken us, the abuse that followed, definitely did. I bid goodbye to my new endearing friends and made my way home, as I had to go back to office a few hours later.

Just the way the right book, finds its way to you, I believe the same goes with people and places. When it’s not the right time, even the right people or places can’t serve their purpose in your life.

Like a caterpillar that reincarnates into a butterfly, my understanding of this world has changed, now that I see the world with a different pair of eyes. There are stories woven in every city, every street corner, every sunset, behind every wrinkled face, in every tide of the ocean, in every breath, every sigh, behind the twinkle of an eye that has shed a million tears, behind every smile that masks a million emotions and if it deems you worthy, those tales will be woven deeply into your memories.

Reach out, and you’ll find your tribe!

Until next time,
The hippie soul!

City of dreams- Travelogue Day 2 & 3

Posted on May 15, 2016 by Girl in the green $hrug

Day 1 had been eventful, because of the beach and the people who chose to be themselves. From being stupendously idiotic to gooey romantic, people were sweet, kind, generous, annoying and exhausting. They all reside now in my castle of memories.

Day 2:

Day 2 began with the incessant buzzing of alarms under the bed covers, and my failed attempts in snoozing them. Alarms on a vacation you ask? Well, it’s because there was this rustic little church near our hotel that we wanted to see, whose gates would graciously close at 8 a.m. and yet when we shot out of our rooms in a record breaking time of 10 minutes, we were faced with closed gates and a board displaying the timings that mocked us!

We explored the streets, walking in the path where the roads took us, occasionally stopping at food stalls for jalebis, vadapavs, pakodas, tea, lassi, and everything that looked delicious. I lost count of how much I ate that morning, but I can never forget that it was the best off-the-menu breakfast of my life! My only regret was that I didn’t carried the camera along, hence missing out on the various epic shots of the mumbaisqueness!

The pictures that I dreamt of capturing, but couldn’t; of kids playing with paper balls and cardboard bats on the curbs, of a family that officially herded hybrid cows right on the road, washing and feeding them, selling the cow feed, of the old man who pulled the cart loaded with long pieces of wood which probably weighed at least thrice his own weight, of the kids who chased each across streets, hollering and screaming for no apparent reason, just because! Of shops that had just opened up for business, of little girls treating themselves with candies and ice cream cones after finishing the exams that day. (I too was surprised that the exams were over by the time we woke up that morning, what?!). I guess the pictures would never be truly captured with the emotion that I perceived that morning!

Once we returned to our hotel, we spent the morning having endless conversations about everything and nothing (you know, the usual girl talk!), playing card games and acting silly.

The evening was set aside for the shopping haven in colaba. I wouldn’t be wrong for saying that the market has never seen an uneventful or silent day! We had to make our way through the tiny path between the crowded stalls and the haggling customers. I, for one am not much of a spontaneous shopper, because it has to be pre-programmed, so that I’ll be all set in my mind.

There were a few shops were we had to put our foot down on the asking price, and a few times where pretending to walk away from the shop did not change the shop keeper’s mind; luckily, flattery can go a long way in such cases; praise the owner, admire the shop, take a few pictures with the owner, and voila!

I’m adding his picture as promised 🙂

An interesting foreigner crossed my paths, who was searching for an antique piece of an elephant. He wouldn’t settle for anything else, which made me wonder, India isn’t known just for elephants, right?

But most of all, we made a lovely friend on the train; a girl who was just visiting the city over the weekend. She is anybody’s perfect shopping partner; from picking the right dress for you, to matching them with the appropriate accessories, and ferociously haggling with the shop owner to bring down the price for next to nothing, all just for you! Boy, could she haggle! I would’ve applied for tuitions, it’s just that, I would still be terrible at haggling even if I had a major in it.

At the end of the day, we bid adieu to our lovely friend, and we strolled past Taj Hotel after being chased by a watchman for taking pictures of it.

Highlight of the day? Gateway of India, at sunset!

A foreigner couple had picked a spot in front of the great monument to showcase their skills. A crowd had gathered around them, mixed with curiosity and nonchalance. For some reason, the male performer was slightly nervous, and dropped the juggling batons a few times, and we Indians are a shy crowd, generally not the cheering kind (well, the youngsters are, but a mixed crowd eagerly watching two foreigners, hoping to be amazed isn’t any help, Really!)

So! Boom!! Enter the cool cats! (Okay, we were already at the scene, peacefully sitting among the crowd) but we did help in lifting up their spirits (now, this I say with all the shattered humility that I possess). We hooked my phone with Bluetooth speakers that my friend help up in the air, for added effects. As the song “Alive” by the empire of the sun roared out of the speakers, the mood picked up, the performers effortlessly completed their act. I occasionally played an ass, booing at the unresponsive crowd for not cheering along. We completed the day trip at Nariman point, witnessing a breathtaking view of the queen’s necklace. I guess, for the locals, it is a usual sight, but I particularly swoon over beaches, no matter the conditions.

Day 3:

We finally made it to the church, early morning, while my remaining two friends snored peacefully under their duvets. In the church, a Sunday mass was in progress that I shamelessly tried to disturb with my oh-so-enthusiasm for photography, yet didn’t succeed. Our flight was at noon, which gave us very little time for round-3 shopping, yet, we set afoot for one last shopping spree, not making much out of it, the reason being Sunday.

On our way back to the airport via the local train, we accidentally took the handicapped compartment that is right next to the women’s compartment; hence in turn confusing every female who boarded our compartment, assuming it to be the women’s bogie. Especially, at Dadar, when more than a dozen women swarmed into our bogie, fiercely pushing us back, only to realize their mistake later, then jumped into the adjacent compartment It takes a lot of stupidity, mixed with chaos and confidence to fool a dozen passengers, all at once.

If I had to describe Mumbai in one word, it would be lively!

When I first started on this trip, I was a muddle of thoughts and emotions, but when I returned, I had clarity on one thing; i.e. look beyond the picture, and you’ll see the truth. I could finally see my friends for who they really were. One girl, with whom catching up felt more like a page refresh, because we were always updated about each other’s lives, it was that simple. I see her now for the confident, fierce, driven, independent, over-the-top bonkers, super girl. Another friend, on whom I’d possessed many misconceptions was really just a guarded angel with a childish glint in her eyes, a soul who learnt about this world all on its own. She has grown dear to me now, more than ever. Another girl whom I prided to call my best friend, until we fell off the wagon and drifted apart. I could finally see her for the passionate devil, yet the absolute child that she is, covered by layers and layers that one has to take the time to peel them off to really get to know her.

None of them, are what meets the eye! They are more, much more than that.

I realized that you really don’t need to know where you’re going, as long as you feel that you’re on the right path. And in that regard, your soul and the universe will help you a long way.

If you want to heal, the universe will find a way to do so, you just need to silence your mind and believe.

There exists a mountain, called Mount Mazama, in Oregon. It was a dormant volcano that blew up 7700 years ago, in a cataclysmic eruption. ON the collapse of the summit of the volcano, it then turned into an empty bowl- A mountain that had its heart removed. Over the years, it was filled with rain water and snowmelt that has turned it into a wide lake, called the Crater Lake. The lake is so pure and deep, that it absorbs every color of the visible light, except for Blue, hence it reflects pure blue.

Once a wasteland of lava and pumice, turned into a pristine lake, after it was healed.

Imagine the wonders we’d be capable of, once we’re healed!

City of Dreams- Travelogue Day 1

Posted on May 14, 2016 by Girl in the green $hrug

The City of Dreams:Mumbai!

What a city! Words fail to describe it, and photographs cannot merely justify the sheer magnitude of its true beauty.

When I first started on this trip, I felt mellow; I didn’t have butterflies of excitement in my stomach or any feeling of anxiety as if the lizards were eating up those butterflies. It had nothing to do with the city i was visiting but more to do with the state of my mind.

I’m more of a nature lover, rather than a city bird. You can throw me into a deep jungle and forget all about me, until the day you start wondering if I’d survived after all. Nevertheless, I would live in bliss with little or no resources.

So, spending a few days in the middle of a big city, crowded with people, enduring the tropical summer heat was just not my cup of tea. But, you know what they say? if you want to write well, you’ve to travel, and then travel a little more.

Travelling opens your soul to all sorts of experiences, people, and emotions. It just paints a whole new picture on the canvas of your mind, when you have just adjusted yourself to that one picture that you’d been carrying all along.

Learn, Adapt, Transcend;

The journey continues, so on and so forth! This is what travelling has taught me!

It was a 3 day trip, with 3 of my girlfriends whom I had known forever. The outline for this trip was more of a bachelorette party, rather than just another outing. A friend would be getting married soon, and we wanted to show her the city and present her with a big basket full of memories, that would be a prelude to all the other great ones to come.
Day 1: The trip started with my friends catching an early morning flight, while I headed to the airport to catch a different one. I had booked a different flight taking off on a different time, owned by a different company, and as I realized after a lot of running around, and a dozen phone calls, that we had landed on different terminals of two different airports.

Yes! Apparently, their flight had landed in the international airport, but I walked out of the domestic airport terminal.

Sure, the day had begun pleasantly!

I’d witnessed the magnificent sun rise above the horizon, colouring the sky in hues of orange and red, putting everything else out of perspective. As my flight soared to a height of 27000 feet above ground, gliding through the skies, and cutting through the oddly shaped fluffy clouds, the sun seemed different from that height. It appeared real, closer (obviously!) and gloriously a lot more bright!

We all dream of the sky, the stars, the moon, and the mysterious universe that is set in continuous motion. We aspire to witness the cosmos; we want to reach out to all the heavenly bodies that are beyond the atmosphere of our planet, and in that particular moment, in that flight, I felt closer to that magic!

Flying in a plane could be considered as the least interesting of all the fantasies in life. But in my case, every single time I take a train, or a flight; I feel the gap closing between my dreams and the reality. It bridges those two divergent worlds, helping me find the balance.

I wonder if the people who fly through the skies on a regular basis, ponder about such things. I wonder if they consider it mundane, or feel lucky to fly a little closer to the sun than 99% of the people on this planet do!

However they perceive it, I witnessed 80% of the folks in that flight catch up on their morning nap, missing out the clear blue skies, which kept me intrigued throughout the entire journey that lasted more than an hour.

So, once the clouds of confusion were cleared, on which coffee shop was nearer to the terminal, which part of the terminal we were in, on which airport we’d landed ; we decided to meet halfway at Ville Parle railway station.
(FYI: We had no itinerary per se, just a list of places jotted in the back of our mind, which we wanted to visit within the short period of 3 days.)

As the excellent packer that I am, I’d carried a trolley suitcase, which had enough space to stuff a baby elephant in it (or a baby panda, if you’re into pandas; never mind, who isn’t?)

So, as pleasant as the day was, I had a peachy time, carrying the suitcase, up and down the stairs across various platforms, amidst the crazy crowd.

(Why not just take a cab, you say? Yeah! We did that after i felt like Varun Dhawan from the American tourister add, chasing a bus, but ultimately losing the challenge miserably. Yes, all this was just on DAY 1)

After the imaginary treasure hunt in the railway station, we ended up having a relishing breakfast at a restaurant that co-incidentally belonged to a gentleman, who hailed from our native town, during which we received special treatment from the waiters who let me open my suitcase on one table as I dug out my power bank, camera, and all the cords that refused to be untangled. They let us sit at another table, and confuse the remaining waiters with witty remarks in our native language that they didn’t understand!

We even offered a friendly meal to the owner instead of paying the bill like normal customers. An offer he couldn’t refuse, yet he politely turned it down.

We then took a cab to Siddhi Vinayak temple, which surprisingly, wasn’t crowded that day. The main thing that I noticed about the temple was that, it was a small temple, glorified by its architecture and sacredness.

Where I come from, there is a certain pompousness associated to temples that are traditionally famous; Though there are exceptions to this rule.

I never understood the necessity to consecrate idols made of gold and jewels, or to surround them by other glittery arrangements, which ultimately will be kept safely behind metal bars.

Temples that are painted in gold dust every year, temples that hold more financial reserves than the entire state government, they don’t make sense to me, no offence!

But, if you take all that away – the glorification, the unaccountable richness and the mysteries and myths associated to each of them; ultimately what remains is faith in its purest form! And that’s something, isn’t it?

There was a white marble hung to the wall like a board, and a bunch of people were writing something on it using their fingers, and the only explanation we could fathom was that it was a wish board.

It’s funny how logic kicks in at certain situations, because when it was our chance to write on the board, our primary concern wasn’t regarding the wish. Instead, we were wondering what language do we write in? Which language would be comfortable for GOD to understand?

Once we were done exploring the temple, we marched out to the nearest railway station to catch a train to Byculla! (Oh and by the way, American tourister is the classiest suitcase one can ever use! Because it can be dragged anywhere, literally anywhere! The wheels of my trolley have kissed every part of Mumbai)

The only upside of travelling in a train or wandering mindlessly on platforms, was that I met the cutest, nicest guy, who volunteered to save our day by helping us reach the correct platform, and catch the right train from Dadar! (Yes, I know that I’m shamelessly glorifying his existence, but it was like a scene out of a movie, where I blankly survey all screens, talk to every other stranger in order to find the right platform, and he walks into the picture out of nowhere, and helps me out! Okay, Helps US out!)

After helping us into the right train, he went off to catch a different train, and my friends make a secret wish to the universe, so they’d run into him again.(psst, I did too! )

At the hotel after freshening up, and having a decent meal, we headed out to explore the city in the evening. The buildings that mark the city have a wonderful history and a beautiful architecture.

We set out to CST in the local train, and then wandered aimlessly across the city, marvelling at the spectacular terminus. The Former Victoria terminus with its ancient Gothic style architecture blended with the perfect madness of a modern Mumbai, is a wonderful place to start the exploration. Strolling around the city, we then chose a cab driver to show us around the local beaches and other interesting places. As it turns out, the cabbie was the sweetest guy you’d ever meet.

His name was “Sharmaji” (the ‘ji’ came with the name is suppose, I didn’t question). He had been working as a cab driver since 1979 in Mumbai (“Bambai” as he liked to call it). Sharmaji spoke Hindi in a dialect that could be probably heard only in Ramayana and Mahabharata serial, but on on a logical front he was from banaras, and hence the kind nature. He explained a lot of things about Mumbai in a way only a son would talk about his mother. (I won’t go into the details, mostly because I don’t remember it all) The love and respect he held for the city was so pure that it could turn even the biggest cynic into a fan.

He drove us through the streets of chow Patti beach, marine drive, describing bits and facts about the city in which he’d spent more than half his lifetime, finally dropping us off at the hanging gardens. I don’t know if it was the splendid evening, the overall glorious experience or just my good mood, but the day turned out to be more magical, than I’d had imagined.

I felt a deep connection to the city, and for the very first time in my life, I felt like I belonged there. The city had so much to offer; the glorious architecture, the simple-minded people, the wide beaches, the lavish lifestyle and the intense poverty; all encompassed in one city.

Khwabon ki nagri, Mumbai! (The city of Dreams)

If you ever want to taste a slice of the real Mumbai, at its age of transformation from Bombay to Mumbai; if you want to taste the unadulterated, pure and ethnic version of this city, in all its nakedness, roam the city late at night, or early in the morning. This I have realized, is true for most of the cities, because at such times, the city is exposed of its own harsh reality and subtle beauty. People are people, without any pompousness, or façade. Just pure, real and refreshingly themselves!

Be a Traveller and never a tourist. For, a tourist only explores the places he has on his list, but a traveller explores everything that comes along his way

The city has so much of history, it makes you wonder. You have to turn into a child to see the magic that it holds!

To be continued…

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