Tiny Travel Tale – BySunita Vellapally

A recent visit to Hampi amazed me for several reasons. My search for all things old had taken me across the seas on many an occasion. However, as I discovered, sometimes there is more to be learnt in one’s own backyard (so to speak).

From Bangalore, Hampi is a five and half-hour drive by road. I arrived at the ruins of the Vijayanagara Empire in the late afternoon and headed straight for the Virupaksha Temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva, which dominates the skyline. The temple is a place of pilgrimage for Shaivites, as according to mythology, the nearby Hemakuta Hill was the place where Lord Shiva, who was performing penance before marrying the River Goddess Pampa, opened his third eye and razed Kama, the God of Love.

The gopura of the temple is stunning with its beautiful carvings. From atop the nearby Hemakuta hill, where most tourists head before sunset, the temple in the foreground with the Tungabhadra River separating the stark rocky hills on the opposite bank is a spectacular sight. 

The next morning, we saw more of the ancient Kingdom, this time accompanied by a guide for gaining a better understanding of the region’s culture and history. The first stop was the Vijaya Vittala Temple (a Krishna temple that is no longer active), famous for its stone chariot, which was used to carry the deities on procession during festivals.     

A unique aspect of the main temple is its musical pillars (though one can no longer test the sound as it is a protected national monument), which were incorporated into the design by King Krishnadevaraya, for his first queen, Chinna Devi – a dancer and musician. Outside the temple, stone pillars stretch to the horizon, hinting at the spectacle that might have existed in this international horse trading market in the empire’s heydays. 

The next stop was the royal enclosure, where the zenana and the nearby elephant stables take the centre stage. The Lotus Mahal, with its unique roof design that resembles the lotus, is the only surviving structure among the summer palaces of the three queens, as it was made from brick and mortar instead of wood.

The rest of our morning tour took us to the important sights, Ugra Narasimha, the monolith of the half-man half-lion avatar of Lord Vishnu, and back to the Hemakuta hill to visit the two Ganesha temples – one for the Royals and the other for the commoners. 

There were many more sights to be seen, but like Rome, Vijayanagara wasn’t built in a day. The Kingdom and its temples and palaces had grown over two centuries (1336-1565) under the patronage of four dynasties. Tragically, it took a mere six months for Muslim Kings to plunder and destroy it.  

In Hampi, lies the story of art, craftsmanship, romance and prosperity, but along with it comes the reminder of human destruction. The stone edifices around Hampi stand testimony to both the good and bad that humankind is capable of.

Tiny Travel Tale – By Sriparna Saha

Kabul, at the first glance, exudes the impression of being a city inhabited by a singular gender. It is males, males and only males everywhere.

Men, tall and tough-looking, crammed into Taliban-era Toyota pick-up trucks, recklessly race through the streets still nursing their war wounds. The ever-blowing dust has significantly dulled the carrier’s bloody red colour and the passengers’ claw-like hands too are no longer showing off their favorite toys- the Kalashnikovs. But old habits die hard, for their hawkish eyes still harden and jaws tighten at the sight of beardless men in western attire, confirmed offenders during the Taliban rule whom they would have the pleasure of picking up and whipping.

The rigidity in the appearance and attitude of the men folk is aptly complemented by the ruggedness of the landscape. A view from an elevated point opens up an endless a vista of buildings- scarred by bombs and bullet-marks, with insides exposed like that of a severely injured man whose wounds have been left unattended.

The eye slowly shifts beyond the city limits, where fields lie barren, filled with mounds of rubble amidst which shark-like, lurk landmines. It is spring time, most of the snows on the brows of the brown mountains ringing the city have melted, but a speck of green, the visible sign of new life is hard to spot, like the women of the land.

But are they really not there? I look all around me and am finally able to locate them, behind me, beside me, in front of me. Presence visible, but identity strictly under wraps, they are just a wide variety of forms in blue- scurrying blues, static blues, squatting blues, stooping blues. Different women with diverse expectations, expressions and emotions! But the burqa devours everything and relegates them to just a mass of moving blue, barricading them from the world which they are forced to view through the wire mesh, like the inmates of a prison van.

The blue burqa near me with a frail outstretched arm was once a highly-popular teacher in the country’s most prestigious school for girls. Now, the only identity that she desperately clings to is that of a war-widow, one amongst the faceless two millions. She supplements the measly alms given by government by begging near the busy tri-junction.

To me, someone from the outside world, the burqua strictly symbolizes bondage. But to this woman and many like her; it is looked upon as a blessing for it allows them to conceal their scars, fears, whipping marks and disfigured limbs. It offers dignity and a strange sense of shelter. Under it she feels liberated, for she can curse the world of men to her heart’s content and regain her sanity as she struggles for survival like the battered buildings in the background.

Tiny Travel Tale – By Purnima Ranganath

Most of us have trouble sitting alone, quietly, doing nothing. We have the need to do something, to check our inboxes and social media, to talk to someone, to be productive. Sitting still can be difficult if you haven’t cultivated the habit. You have to learn to be content with stillness.

You have to learn to savor the quiet. It’s something most of us don’t have, quiet, and it takes some getting used to. When we’re driving our cars or out exercising or eating or working, we have music playing or we talk with people or we have the television on. Quiet can be amazing, though, because it helps us calm down, contemplate, slow down to savor the emptiness, heal our over worked bodies and minds.

Start by doing nothing while you are on a holiday, waiting in line, at the doctor’s office, on a bus, or for a plane. Wait, without reading a newspaper or magazine, without talking on the phone, without checking your email, without writing out your to-do list, without doing any work, without worrying about what you need to do later. Wait, and do nothing.

It's more palatable to clean a closet than clean our brains. Why? We're a culture of "doers." All of life's problems are resolved in a 2-hour movie (or in Ashutosh Gowariker's case, 3 1/2 hrs!!) or a 1-hour sitcom. So, doing nothing in our mind equals to wasting time. Who has set the parameters of what should be done when, in what duration? Its us. We have decided that we should complete our studies by mid-20s, get married by late 20s, have a child asap, have so-many promotions in so-many years, buy a home by x age, 2 cars by y age…so on and so forth…think, how important is it, really? What'll happen if you are able to complete your studies a couple of years later because you decided to do something else like travel and see the world or learn a hobby, or just take a break…not much will change. Yes, you might get a few queer questions, but if you don't let it bother you, it won't. Same goes for the rest of the list too. If you retire as a mid-management employee instead of the top, because you took some time out to spend with your family/hobbies and in the process missed the escalator a couple of times, is it a disaster? Don't you have the rich memories of enjoyable times keeping you warm rather than the cold steel of your work station? Do you really need 3G? Do you need the 80" LED TV or the blu-ray disc? Is your 32" LCD not giving you a clear telecast? Get your essentials list in perspective to your life, not Mrs.Reddy or Mr.Patel's in the club. Are you having enough finances to be independent and all your needs (not greed maybe!) are met? Then you are lucky. 

Thats what we did last week – at Casa Deep Woods, Masinagudi, NOTHING, just blended with nature, listened to the magnificent silence and calmed our minds. Simply too beautiful to put down in words.

Tiny Travel Tale – By Aarti krishnakumar

Four girls, three days, one agenda was how the trip was chalked out. We worked together, practically spending more than 8hours in each others' company, and all we yearned for was a break, albeit just for 3days. The tickets were booked and we were all set to getaway. As we boarded the train, the bunch of us looked forward to the holiday. We were headed to Yelagiri, in Vellore district. A destination that was new, a resort we had not seen and one that was 3hours by train and 14 hairpin bends away.

Alighting in Jollarepet, we grabbed our bags while scanning the parking lot for a cab with our names on it. Warding off dozens of other auto drivers, we spent a few minutes in the tiny station when suddenly a driver came rushing gasping for breath asking if we were headed to Taj Gardens[ no connection to Taj group of hotels & resorts]. We were indeed! The cab ride uphill was quite a joy ride, with the mountains on one side and the city below on other spread like a green carpet. Our mobiles were silent, not because we had switched them off, but because back then there was no connectivity up here.

The car drew to a halt after about 45mins and we realised we had arrived at Taj Gardens. An elderly couple greeted us while few others beamed as they enquired about the journey and our bags. Within minutes, we were settled in our cozy cottage, and sipping on hot chai listening to stories from the owners- Mr & Mrs Rahman, who were in the leather business, but have now retired and converted their farm house into a resort of sorts. 18acres of vast land, no TV, no Computer or internet, they were happy and content.

Yelagiri was beautiful, unexplored and quite virgin. We walked a lot, enjoyed a lazy stroll around the majestic lake, and spent few hours every day playing cards and word games with the staff at the Resort. They told us tales of how Yelagiri was once the private property of the Elagiri Zamindar Family. The Government took over in the early 1950's and since then many had built holiday homes in Yelagiri.

We even helped them paint the fences and the gate till the painter pleaded with us to let them finish their task [we were obviously slowing them down..] One evening, we noticed there was boating in the lake, and hopped into a boat for a relaxing ride, that soon turned adventurous. Shweta squealed within minutes, she had spotted a snake  swimming fast, along the boat. the boat man tried to nudge it away, but it persisted. Almost like it wanted to keep us company. What fun it was..

And before we knew it, it was Sunday evening and there was our cab waiting to take us back to Jolarpettai station…

Tiny Travel Tale – By Aparna Thyagarajan

It was intended as a short ‘Leave Fare Concession’ break, after-all. My first thoughts on a holiday to the Andamans was because thats the farthest you could go within India for my entitlement limit. However, I was compelled to change my views. Be it the stay in Port Blair or the hiatus that was Havelock, it was total bliss.

Port Blair, to begin with, was a visit to the several museums and shops to pick up local sea-shell based souvenirs. Well, that was not all. We did make it to the famous Cellular Jail (Kala Pani) which is now a National Memorial for all right reasons – a place which would easily wake up the patriot in you. The visit to the prison was all the more relevant since we were there on the day India became a sovereign republic (26th Jan). The Light and Sound Show at the prison which was conceptualised as the old Banyan tree over there explaining all the brutalities it had witnessed before its own eyes would move even a stern rock solid heart. Visits to the Corbyn’s Cove Beach (where we picked up fabulous conches and sea shells) and Ross Island were memorable too. The latter is now under the control of the Indian Navy. I don’t remember seeing such several herds of deers freely running all around me ever before; and whats more, we fed them with our hands!

Just when I thought that I had seen enough aqua at Port Blair, came Havelock Island – a place so idyllic that it can rightly be called Heaven. A small island village untouched by polluted roads and minds; where newspapers and magazines were a luxury and internet connectivity unheard of; where a single mobile network tower caters to the entire village, and television cables would not be functional for most parts of the day. For someone from maddening metros like Chennai/ Mumbai who thinks that the world comes to a standstill if I don’t have web connectivity 24*7, cycling for about 15 minutes to reach mobile tower even to just phone the car driver was indeed quite an experience. We fell in love with the endless mangroves, coconut trees and betelnut trees and had only the birds and a couple of local people from the resort for company. The days begin at 9 am and end by 6 pm – and they don’t really give a damn for the night life thats absent for them! The beaches are as pristine as they can get. The Radha Nagar Beach was voted as the most pristine beach in Asia by the Times magazine, a couple of years back – deservedly so! The Kala Pathar Beach, Elephant Beach (where I attempted a li’l bit of snorkelling to experience arguably the best under-water life and coral reefs in the world) and the Vijaya Nagar Beach with some awesome sunrises/sunsets, white sand and several hues of endless aqua marine were a visual feast.

 A thing of beauty is a joy forever. Indeed!!

Tiny Travel Tale – By Sheila Jesudasen

Standing on the beaches at Holiday Inn in Langkawi where we were staying; I gazed into the tranquil ocean. Langkawi’s troubled history of different rulers and pirates surfaced into my mind. We were staying on one of earth’s true masterpieces – tropical Palau Langkawi, the largest of the islands, part of archipelago of ninety-nine islands.

Nestled close to the Thai border, Langkawi lies to the North West of Malaysia in the Andaman Sea. Currently it is a paradise for tourists, but in the 1700s Langkawi had a seven generation curse laid by princess Mashuri who was killed on account of infidelity.

Sightseeing and idling on the beach was our routine. My son played snooker beating the local champ while my father played tennis and got his portrait sketched. Mashuri’s curse dominated my thoughts during my customary forays on to the beach. I clutched my bag with our passports and foreign currency tightly.

As the day wound down, the ambiance of the night spelled out a romantic dinner under the jeweled skies. No curse can thwart the gastronomical adventure at a small restaurant owned by a south Indian couple from Tamil Nadu. This eatery had a spectrum of delicious Indian dishes. “You can take Indian out of India but you cannot take India out of an Indian.”

After dinner, I followed my family unaware that I had left my bag behind. We witnessed a scuffle ahead and the authorities were checking everyone’s papers. A suspected Sri lankan terrorist was on the loose.

Suddenly I realized to my horror that I had left my bag in the restaurant. I became numb with fear. Seeing me trembling, my son asked, “What ma, are you feeling cold?” “No,” I said, “I’ve left my bag with the passport and dollars in the restaurant where we had dinner.” Both of us knew what can happen in a foreign country without passports and money.

Quickly we ran towards the restaurant. As we neared the place, we could hear voices emanating from there. On reaching the place, I managed to croak in fear to the proprietor of the firm. She replied when I asked her about the bag. “What bag? There is no bag here.” I almost fainted. But my son patted me and said, “Don’t worry. I know where it is.”

My son addressed the man at the counter who was busy going through my bag. “Sir, this bag belongs to Ms. Jaswinta who is involved with terrorists. The police are coming here to question you.”

The man pushed the bag away from him. While picking up the bag, my son said “I am Ms. Jaswinta’s son and this is my passport.” The man moved away keeping a wary eye on him. My son counted the dollars. He gave a flamboyant salute while walking out with Ms. Jaswinta who quickly grabbed the bag and walked behind the actor who posed as a terrorist.

God had intervened on our behalf, dismissing all curses bringing about an apt ending.

Tiny Travel Tale – By S. Shiva Kumar

For Helen D’Souza life had always been a path of roses. Her angelic face, simple attitude, cognizance and evergreen smile made her the center of attraction among her peer group and family. Even the mighty gods envy upon a contented heart. Loki, the god of mischief smiled upon her. Her exams results which were unexpectedly poor came as a thorn in her life. After all the effort she put in, she felt cheated. Helen felt miserable about herself and hated the world for it. Her negative side put off everyone and her world crumbled like a cookie. Unlike her Raul D’Souza, her father who was the captain of a sea cruiser had lived a tough and testing childhood which had made him tough and never feared in the face of failure. He felt he had committed a mistake by overprotecting his angel from the cruel stares of the world and he wanted to undo it. When Raul entered Helen’s Room, “The Flop song” was playing. Raul told his daughter to get ready and pack her bags as they were leaving for Topslip the very evening. Helen retaliated at the beginning by saying she was not in mood to do anything but due to her father’s persistence she unwillingly agreed.

They reached Coimbatore, a small city which reminded her of her own ”Namma Bengaluru” early next morning Mr.D’Souza hired a cab after spending a lot of time bargaining the rate. These trivial things pissed her off and she stared at her father showing her displeasure. Topslip was 75km away from the city. The journey lasted about two hours. Raul tried various tactics to cheer up his girl but none worked. Meanwhile Helen wondered what kind of name was Topslip, her pessimistic mind said “Slip from the top like you”. After two hours of her father’s boring antics they reached Parambikulam. The huge welcome arch reminded her of welcome arch in the Jurassic Park movie. Amidst all the hulla balloo she didn’t think Topslip was an animal reserve. The early monsoon had spread her wings around the mighty Western Ghats over which they were climbing. The forest with all its lush green and drizzle, cuckoo’s and other birds chirping made Helen feel light. Topslip was a magical haven far away from the modern day hurry burry. They stayed in a tree top house which was like the one which she had envisioned in her dreamy fairy tales. The taxing journey couldn’t break her spirit, she felt lost in nature’s demure beauty. That night she got a sight of a Tiger wandering below her tree top house. She was quick enough to capture some pictures. That adrenaline pumping moment made her jump with sheer excitement and joy. Raul felt happy that his girl was back to the way she was. The next day awaited more action for the duo. The elephant safari through jungle terrain was fun at its best. But when the day ended Helen had to go back to her normal ways. But the trip had changed her mentality towards life, challenges, success and failure. Helen learnt that “it’s hard to stay mad when there’s so much beauty in the world”.

Tiny Travel Tale – By Shriparna Saha

The rickety bus ornamentally embellished in psychedelic colours panted for breath as it clumsily climbed up the infamous Khyber Pass. Its inside was overflowing, not just with people- but also their peculiar smells – the odour of unwashed clothes clinging to bodies long unexposed to soap and shower, the strong stench of cattle and their urine stagnating in little pockets on the uneven wooden floor.  I sat surrounded by a sea of gigantic men in tightly wound turbans and loose fitting kurta payjamas. Their female counterparts completely concealed in black burkhahs squatted on the floor alongside their four legged co-passengers. From bits and pieces of their conversation, I could gather that they were fleeing Afghanistan where during the day the sky bled terror and night was burial time for the dead by those still alive. The land too, had transformed into a fearful entity, hidden landmines shattering not just body parts, but their very heart.

A veiled figure and her little daughter occupied the floor space near my feet. The girl, who had been eagerly eyeing my sunglasses for quite some time, began badgering her mother about her desire to try them out. The woman made many futile attempts to quieten her, but the child stubbornly stuck to her demand. Peace returned to our little corner only after I handed her the treasured piece, indicating that she could keep them. At my unexpected gesture, the woman lifting her veil smiled at me, her green eyes glowing with gratefulness.

“Sharbat!” as a man seated behind me, in a razor-sharp tone roughly instructed the woman to immediately return the “fashion” item, the combination of the name and the gaze rang a bell in my mind. “Aren’t you Sharbat Gula?” The words involuntarily popped out of me in recognition of the famous “Afghan Girl,” whose haunting, hazel – eyed gaze had once captivated the world from the cover of a popular magazine. Now, time had eroded her youth and the face was full of creases and crevices; only the eyes were still the same.  

She hastily looked away pretending not to have heard me, which only confirmed my suspicion about her identity.

Sharbat Gula, the famous Afghan Girl! Her penetrating green eyes and poignant gaze, portraying endured hardships and the perseverance of the human spirit, had inspired many to come to the aid of refugees, but her own fate had remained largely unchanged.

It was almost evening when the bus stopped at a dimly lit bazaar where racks of meat lit by naked flickering flames hung from the ceiling. As Sharbat stood up to go, I discreetly pushed  the sunglasses into her hand.

“Daera manana “(thanks a lot) she whispered, and I could see, that, in spite of the suppression and suffering, to which she had surrendered as a precondition for survival in a man’s world, her eyes were sparkling–with intensity and interest about accessing a forbidden domain, which hopefully her daughter in her own right would gain access to.

Tiny Travel Tale – By Suraj Shah

The land of snow, the land of mist, the serenity, the beauty, the wonderful sight of the Snow Peak mountains, the golden sunshine making its way through the clouds, the freezing temperatures and garam chai  to go with it! Yes, this tale is about my trip to Heaven on Earth, Manali, Himachal Pradesh. Along with 3 other friends I set out on a trip in January with the intention of running away from the City Heat and Pollution in search of Paradise. There, I found it, Manali.

We stayed there for about 4 nights and with a no fixed itinerary we set out for the adventure. The trip began with an amazing tour of Snow Point near Kothi, where Krishh (the movie) was shot. All I could see was White! The whiteness was so thrilling; I did not think twice of getting into a ski suit and tried skiing around. All of us tried our hand on it, and must have easily fallen at least 30 times each! But yeah, that’s the fun of skiing! Followed by a wonderful session of skiing we proceeded to the Manali Club House and relished on some amazing Paneer and Chole Bhature. That’s the essence of North India. The wonderful meal brought in a lot of warmth and energised us to get back to our resort and drool into sports like Table Tennis and Snooker through the evening!

The trip had just begun indeed, Day 2 we went out for local sightseeing. Spots such as Hadmiba temple, Nehru Tank etc bring out the Traditional Manali and the Yaks eased out in the coldest of temperatures. God’s creations are unique indeed. Tried our hand on the Italian bar in the main market and it was delightful! Amidst the pine trees as we lay on snow, the feeling was worth all the travel, all the effort of reaching Manali.

Just what we wanted happened that night. The sun was shining all evening which made the land, the pastures, the mountains look green, brown and white. Extremely tired, we had dinner at the hotel, joked, watched some TV and dozed off. Next morning as we get up, we slid the curtains. All we could see was white all around. Manali was painted white. God’s Magic for us! We couldn’t control ourselves and got down and made a charming young snow man and had snow fights and played and enjoyed! Nothing can ever beat that moment we had! It was snowing like how it should in a fairy tale. We felt like we were living the fairy tale!

The trip of Manali was one of the best trips of my lives and I cherish it as one of my best vacations ever! Man made Magic, God made Manali!

Tiny Travel Tale – By Sneha Jain

Around the world in 80 days? Sometimes it takes one complete lifetime to see around a small city and yet many things go unnoticed. Travel is not just roaming about absent minded but absorbing each and every minute detail of the things you see, hear, and touch.

I’ve travelled to various places in India and each journey had been equally mesmerizing but the one which I recall the most, is that of my trip to Ajanta Ellora caves. It had been an awe-inspiring trip where I had a blended experience of rich architectural heritage and religious harmony.

The caves are located near the city of Aurangabad in Maharashtra. I visited the place in the month of November when the temperature was moderate and didn’t obstruct in travelling peacefully. I, along with my parents, took a train to Aurangabad and from there, hired a cab to the caves. Considering the huge range too which these two caves spread, we decided to cover one place in a day. To start with, we took the road to Ellora and en-route enjoyed the scenic beauty of hills of Deccan range.

The sight of the Ellora caves gave me goose bumps. It was magnificently grand with Buddhist, Hindu and Jain religions mingled beautifully. We hired a guide from outside the caves. This was important in order to understand the intricacies and delicacies of the place clearly. Otherwise we would have passed across many details unnoticed. Taking pictures was allowed there except for certain restricted areas. It took us one whole day to cover the vastness of the Ellora caves but at the end of the day, we were very happy with our days’ voyage.

Next day we proceeded towards Ajanta caves again to nothing but admire the beauty of the paintings and sculptures.  Those paintings and frescos depicted the Buddhist religious art. The work was really appreciating, knowing the fact that it was accomplished centuries ago when there were no modern techniques available. Another day went by quickly, enjoying and admiring the rich culture of India.

No wonders that Ajanta and Ellora are a part of UNSECO World Heritage Sites. They deserve more tourists and more admiration. Overall it was a wonderful trip and I am happy that I brought back with me thousand of memories to cherish.