A cold January morning in Delhi, Thesis was looming and my mind was blank. I had a topic, but “the big idea” eluded me. That’s when I heard the 3rd year students are going for a study trip to Jodhpur. That night I was on the train with them.

With the others I visited Pinjore Gardens and the awe inspiring Mehrangarh fort. But I knew I couldn’t stay on with hardly any cash and very little time. I had to be back soon and wanted to see Jaisalmer. So, that night, I walked out of the hotel and thumbed an approaching car.

“Where do you want to go?”
“I need to catch a bus to Jaisalmer.”
“So why are you going that way? Come, I’ll drop you at the local travel agents’.”

Four o’ clock in Jaisalmer, dawn was yet to break. My heart beat faster with excitement. As I walked into the fort, I saw women washing the yellow stone inclined ramps. The palace was not open yet. So I went to see the Havelis.

At the Patwon-ki-Haveli the large, turbaned, big mustached door keeper was surprisingly elated at the sight of a lonely traveler with a backpack visiting his Haveli that early. He first took me for a foreigner, but when I told him I hail from Bengal, his elation was more than ever. He offered me chai and matthi (that took care of breakfast!) and conspiringly told me that the Palace-on-Wheels visitors are due that morning. Once they leave at one, the entire Haveli will be left open with no other tourists. He would let me take an unhindered tour at my own leisure before he locks it up again.

I went back to the fort. Every nook and corner of that golden stone clad centuries old living city stirred me.

I was hungry but was short on cash. The rupee each bananas saved me the day. At one I was back at the Haveli and had my own no-restrictions private visit.

Later I found a Hotel, who in their own jeep take their guests to Sam for sunset and gets them back. I chatted up the manager and earned a free trip to Sam. The dunes and the sunset beyond left me gasping. The same night I was on a bus to Jaipur.

Next morning in Jaipur, I was left with 75 rupees. The travel agent stared at me incredulously when I asked him to give me a ticket to Delhi for that much. “Bhai, the govt. rate is 80!” I stood ground and told him, I HAVE to get back to Delhi, and I do not have more cash. He relented, gave me a ticket for 70, paid a rickshaw to drop me to the bus, and after half an hour I was dozing off in a bus to Delhi.

That was when I saw in my dreams the building I wanted to and finally did design for my thesis.

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.

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.

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.

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…

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!!

What would it be like seeping in the melody of mighty flowing waters crushing onto the taming rocks? How would you feel to be the chosen destination for the few droplets of water bumping off as the river traverses through the rocky terrain?  For the less adventurous, it also showcases another facet of itself; a true reflection of nature in the crystal clear but still waters of the great Cauvery.  And a must question for them: how would you feel to hear the murmurings of a few remote villagers sitting right next to the bank of the river?

Bheemeshwari, an attraction about 150 kms southwest of Bangalore, is located in the district of Mandya, off the Kanakapura-Kollegal Highway.

Bheemeshwari offers a whole range of activities from common-place boating to fishing, from adventurous river rafting and trekking to the observant star gazing and bird watching.  Unfortunately, I was flocked with less adventurous people and had to settle for not-so-adventurous activities.  Needless to say, Bheemeshwari will ensure you don’t have a dull day!

We started off our perfect sunny morning on the banks of the river observing the topsy-turvy curves of the same.  It was a perfect morning for some river rafting but alas, I was the lone volunteer.  Nevertheless, the cool breeze, bringing along the dew particles gingerly putting across our faces, was a tickle to be cherished.  And being in nature’s lap, it gives countless opportunities for the lens lovers to capture the panorama of the place.  Be it water gushing over the rocks or the vegetation careening along the breeze, every part of nature was asking us picture them!

Ok, so how about boating?  And it was a unanimous decision!  So we started off our short travel again to see the metamorphosis of Cauvery from a wild roaring beast to a gentle and timid pet.  The scene is inexpressible in words.  Birds chirping around, leaves smashing against one another and growls of some distant animals would keep you engrossed in the exotic nature.  And another delight for the shutterbugs!

After a short boat trip of 30 minutes, in a hemispherical vessel made up of buffalo hide, we reached to the other end of Cauvery.  A sand basin, which becomes non-existent in Monsoon owing to rising water levels during the reason.  This basin gives an opportunity to do any recreational activity that one can think of: playing cards, freeze-bee, Antakshari, Dumb Charades, a picnic place and even physical strenuous games like kabaddi, kho-kho, and lot many more.  A perfect base for a family trip!

As the dusk was settling in, we thought to pursue of journey back and another short 30 minute boat trip.  We tipped off the captain of the boat (that’s what we called him jokingly) to show some antics which he did with all his pleasure.

With that a beautiful day at Bheemeshwari came to an end. 

My definite next trip would involve night camping, river rafting and trekking. (Sorry! Cannot help you there.)

Adventure for the adventurous, tranquility personified for the inactive.  That’s Bheemeshwari for you!

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.

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.

LUNACY OF A BOTTLE OF MARBLES SCATTERED ON THE FLOOR

I had so much fun it was almost lunacy. 

The location was Lonavala .A much traveled place but always bursting with life showing different horizons in different seasons.

Be it the milky waterfalls in rains, chills in winters or the sunny picnic spots.

Don’t forget the chikkis and lovely restaurants.

The strawberries, ‘buttas’ ,chats….the list goes on.

Sunset point, bushi dam.. all utter bliss.

The food too tastes great in the weather. 

Trekking ,horse rides ,great shopping, wonderful roads.

Hillls ,valleys define the highs and lows in one’s life.

Great place to write and read for the soul.

No vehicular pollution ,we enjoy so many bicycle rides.

Listening to the birds and their sweet music is a music unheard

Shady trees ,great vadapavs .

Oh my life seems a roller coaster ride.

Shopping for honey ,chikkis ,sweaters .

Well its a mecca for women.

A home away from home.

 A must destination for all visiting Maharashtra.

One should also visit its twin city Khandala.

The waterfalls reinstates one’s idea of milky rivers in heaven.

A very rejuvenating and relaxing place.

Great connectivity with major cities makes it easily accessible.

The moment one enters the hill station it seems that one has entered a beautiful scenery hung on a wall.

The beauty is unbelievably true.

A pleasure for the eyes with  sprawling trees ,deep deeper valleys and high higher hills.

The journey itself becomes pleasurable.

Beautiful flowers RAISING

and cattle GRAZING

from such a  pretty effect i am still REELING.

I  have the most amazing family picnics here but still we keep wanting to go again and again.