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.

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.

I wondered why an India-Pakistan match at Sharjah came into my head the very instant my family was having a heated debate with my fiancée’s family in my house. It was the unavoidable and painful marriage discussion. We were reaching nowhere.

What could I do that we have more decisions than declarations? Ah…Sharjah! I needed a neutral venue! After that moment of (rare) brilliance I needed no time finding my “Sharjah”. It had to be Club Mahindra. Perfect family atmosphere. Self-sufficient. Lots of group activities. And, Goa was fantastic in January. I poked into the still ongoing argument and suggested, tactfully, that a change in ambience would freshen us up and help us brainstorm new ideas! Hmmm….

A few emails and days later, we were on a train to Varca Beach playing antakshari. The verdant Konkani countryside, the chilly evening breeze and the constant cacophony of truant kids in the bogie meant my fiancée and I could take our minds off the discussions and just be. On reaching the resort itself, we felt a sense of relaxation. My in-laws were elated to find out they had a kitchen right inside the room. The kids were already playing on the swings while we checked in. We were home.

After a scrumptious dinner in one of the resort restaurants, we headed for the activity hall. They wanted young folks to play group games and we volunteered. In the fashion round, we were supposed to catwalk in an improvised dress made within two minutes. My fiancée, a designer that she was, made a great gown from a dupatta and a tiara from a wreath of leaves. But I beat her with sheer comedy, dressed up as a scantily covered tribal chieftain with a walking-stick for a scepter and potato chips in my hair for a crown. Her brother almost fell off his chair laughing. He was literally ROTFL, so as to say in SMS lingo!

A great night’s sleep refreshed us for a sight-seeing tour. There was so much to Goa beyond its fame as a party place. The mighty forts, the tranquil churches and warm people reflected Goa’s eclectic Konkani-Portuguese culture. So consumed were we that we almost forgot the beaches.

But they were spectacular in their own right. We killed hours sitting barefoot on the soft sand, soaking in the balmy breeze. It was great how Goa offered different beaches for different people. The youngsters went ahead to the “happening” beaches while the elders took this opportunity to “get away from it all” at the quieter, less commercial beaches. We had been adequately refreshed. It was time for the BIG discussion now. So that night, I asked my future mother-in-law, “Mummy-ji, are we ready for the discussion?”

“What discussion, beta? Your parents and we already took care of that… on Agonda Beach. We found we actually wanted the same thing. ”

What an awesome trip. I guess that’s why at Sharjah, Indo-Pak cricket matches always end nicely.

“He who has health can travel and he who can travel… has everything” – A travel freak…J

He stood below the branch of the Deodar tree, from where he could see the distant path, that narrow fenced pathway, of the alpine ranges, disappearing into the Himalayas, whose tops glistened with the brilliance of the cold sun and where bottom seemed to mingle with the edges of the world, where all balance seemed to have disappeared and the world seemed to have regained some of its pristine glory once lost in those dark ages.

Reflecting on those glorious days, where there is no happiness or grief, but only living, he felt if he could somehow he could stop time now, it would be the perfect situation, positioned in suspended animation, he would think, reflect, ponder, pause and then imagine, plot, attend and finally execute. Execute what, to what purpose, in whose aim, to whose happiness or grief. He had survived many a situation, situations as he called it. It had nothing to do with grief, happiness, contentment, discontentment or frustrations. These situations were just places in the relentless march of time. He didn’t understand happiness or grief, because nothing sustained, nothing remained forever. He was a young boy of ten watching the eternal drama of “Ramayana” where the lord of the universe battled the most evil of forces with the help of the monkey god. He was baffled, fascinated and finally overwhelmed with the finer intricacies of the drama unfolding before him. He was lost in it, eternally, beautifully and could be caught in its maelstroms forever.

He finally took the plunge and started from a big city like Calcutta. The generalities and specifics with the hustle and bustle lost in a maze of blank disconcerted faces in the generally hot and humid weather filled him with a distaste and loathing he could not understand. He somehow knew he could never hope to conquer this feeling but still hoped to make it an asset instead of a liability. He tried to make it work for him in such a way that it would help him find ways and means to escape this tropical maelstrom. He sometimes loathed himself for this and tried to rationalize the same again and again till he reached the heavenly foothills of the Himalayas…!

He knew he had a long and arduous journey ahead of him, but the present prospect of spending a few pleasant days in the heavenly environment was quite inviting and jumped into the fray quite enthusiastically. He had stared to show her a thing or two about fishing especially remarking about the necessity of not disturbing the waters where the bait was expected to lure and catch the target and the art of sitting still in one place for long hours to come with the help of some yogic ‘asana’. But the long journey ahead was still daunting!! 

Life is a journey, not a destination. We progress through our journey walking, riding, driving,
sailing and flying. We cover miles through our journey – seconds, minutes, hours, days,
weeks, months and years pass by. We never realize how far we have come; we never realize
how long we have journeyed. Highways and roads, unpaved paths and cobbled streets,
winding passages and narrow by-lanes, brightly lit ways and darkened alleys are left behind
as we strive on. Milestones mark the distances and calendars mark the times.

Villages, towns, cities and metropolises flung across the map become full of trees and lakes,
temples and multi-storeyed buildings, cattle and people, bullock carts and Mercedes Benzes
as if some cosmic camera has zoomed in. A name of an obscure never-heard before place
becomes populated with Patels and Iyengars, Singhs and Chaterjees, D’Souzas and Khans.
The old woman with the backache and the teenage beauty queen with pimples, the tired
housewife and the schoolboy with broken teeth, the little school girl with the cute lisp and the
retired colonel with the waxed moustache – all became parts of our own life. When we leave
them we take a part of them with us.

India – 33 crore gods, 125 crore people, 5000 year old history, rivers, plains, mountains, hills,
valleys, forests, and deserts. You travel across the length and breadth of the subcontinent.
Buses, trains, auto-rickshaws, bullock carts, boats and ferries take you from point A to point
B. You tread the paths where Shri Rama walked, you pass through the forests the Pandavas
trod, you trudge the ground where Shri Krishna danced, you stroll across the places Buddha
meditated. Places where the ground was saturated with blood in battles, Places where the
greatest victories were won, places where diseases decimated humans like flies, places where
the sweetest music was played, places where earthquakes and cyclones flattened complete
cities and places where the most beautiful maidens.

The train was braking; I could feel the jerk of compartment protesting against the sudden
brakes. What had been a blur of green and brown and grey was slowing being transformed
into fields and trees and scattered houses. I was coming home at last. Home sweet home.
After seven years. I had been a stranger in strange lands for seven years – I had made home in
strange places but now I was back. A lump formed in my throat, tears formed in my eyes
blurring my vision, I could not breath. The train stopped. I grabbed my bags completely
oblivious to the people pushing and pulling all around me. I longed to fall down on my knees
and kiss the ground. Seven years. I jumped on to the platform with my bags in my hands.
Suddenly I saw my old classmate, my best friend from school waddling towards me. The dam
burst and the tears flowed out. I wanted to run to him and hug him.

He looks at the bags in my hands.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

The beauty of Kanatal is unpolluted and unexploited. Unlike other hill stations, we discovered Kanatal was well connected by road to other parts of the country.

 We headed to Kanatal by road enroute to Mussorie. To those of us living in busy cities, being in Kanatal is such a breath of fresh air. As we rode along the near empty roads, we spotted a temple high up in the hills. Our cab stopped at a point from where it was a good 2km uphill climb to the temple. Though we wondered if we should embark on this expedition, we decided to go for it. It was well worth the effort and climb. We had reached the gates of the Surkunda Devi temple. A man who was sitting near a wall told us a big of history about the place. Legend has it that Lord Shiv carried Sati’s dead body on his Trishul to this very point. It was nearly 11am, and we noticed the snow capped surroundings all around and the chill in the air felt in the early hours of the morning.  It was quite an experience walking on the snow inside the temple.

The view from the temple was breath taking. We got a 360 degree view of the hills below. We spotted a board that said this temple was at a height of 9995 feet. A lady passing by pointed out two peaks nearby saying they were Badrinath and Kedarnath. Being there, listening to the tales, feeling the chill bite into our fingers, this was like nothing I had experienced before. Cant be described in words, needs to be felt.

As we made our descent, we saw quite a few people sitting in meditation or practicing yoga. Hunger pangs beat us down leaving us with no choice but to march ahead back to the car park. We could not spot a single hotel and realised finding a resort or hotel was our only option.

After fueling our body and warming up, we decided to visit The Tehri Dam. Though the dam was finally completed in 2006, the initial stages of construction began in 1961.

As the day wore on, we wanted to explore Chamba, 16 kms from Kanatal. If you thought Kanatal was u touched, Chamba is practically undiscovered. All these places have not been exploited and there are practically no signs of urbanization anywhere. That night we decided to camp at Chamba, under the stars with nothing but the mountains and music for company. We created a small barbeque to add to the flavor of the night. This was definitely one of the highlights of the trip and probably the most memorable adventure camp. Deep into the night, there was silence engulfing us and all we heard were the sounds of the forest.

Our cab driver told us there were few other places we could explore that were within few hours’ drive from Kanatal- Dhanaulti at 12kms and Shivpuri at 75 kms from Kanatal The later is renowned for the white water rafting and so we knew it was where we were headed. Eight of us piled into a boat, rafting in the Ganges, racing against the gushing water gave us such an adrenaline rush, we decided to savour the experience and visit Dhanaulti next time around. We were exhausted after the 5 hour ride and all we did was dig into the hot cup of Maggi we found. We were chill to the bone and soaking wet. As we warmed our bodies, we wondered what more was hidden in Kanatal waiting for us to explore.

Getting to Kanatal is quite easy, one can either drive down from Dehradun or Rishikesh, or alternatively enjoy a train ride along the mountains. If travelling by air; the nearest airport would be Jolly Grant Airport which is about 95 kms from Kanatal.

Club Mahindra has launched their new property in Kanatal. Set amidst serene surroundings, the resort will offer a view of the snow capped Garhwal-Himalayas ranges,  the town below and plenty of lush greenery. Booking into this resort will add to your experience and be the highlight of your vacation.

The Tiger’s Cave – The first structure that we visited enroute to Mahabalipuram.This mandapam contains a shrine dedicated to the goddess Durga. There are large figures in front of the caves.

As you walk further into the campus, you stumble upon this piece of structure. A temple, a nandi and a rock with engravings on it.

Then came Arjuna’s penance. This magnificient structure was  carved in the mid 17th century. Measuring approximately 30meters in length  and 15meters in height, it is the most popular of all structures in Mahabalipuram. Arjuna’s Penance is a story from the Mahabharata of how Arjuna, one of the Pandava brothers, performed severe austerities in order to obtain Shiva’s weapon.

To the left of Arjuna’s Penance is where we find Krishna’s Mantap. It depicts the incident when Lord Krishna lifted the Govardana Giri mountain offering shelter to the people and cattle of the village against torrential rains.  This is a 12 column cave temple.

As you make your way towards the interiors, along the ocean sits the magnificent Shore Temple. The temple earned its  name because it overlooks the Bay of Bengal. It is one of the oldest structural stone temple in South India. One of the key monuments at Mahabalipuram, this is now protected by the UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Spend  a relaxed weekend unwinding and relaxing at  Club Mahindra Big Beach Resort in Pondicherry. Wake up to the sound of the ocean, and enjoy the laid back atmosphere for a perfect weekend getaway. When planning your weekend, remember it is the right time to visit Mahabalipuram now. The Dance festival happens in the months of January – February. There are quite a few historic places worth a visit in and around Pondicherry, and Mahabalipuram is one of them. it is in fact one of the many attractions between Chennai and Pondicherry, along the East Coast Road.

If you take a leisurely walk down the malls and markets of these towns, they still smack of the colonial legacy. These hill stations were dubbed the summer capitals of the Britishers who lorded over them for several  years. And yet, one little hill station stands apart from the rest, defying the colonial hangover . It owes its existence on the political and tourist maps to an Indian ruler who made it his summer capital. This is the story of Chail , a town barely 45 kms from Shimla in Himachal Pradesh .

Located at a higher altitude than Shimla, the story goes that the Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala made Chail his summer capital when the British barred him from entering  Shimla. Although the conflict was not on military grounds, the story goes that the Maharaja was romancing a daughter of Lord Kitchener, who was then the Commander in Chief of the British army. The Maharaja decided to give the British a fitting reply and went on to create his own summer capital in Chail.  He first built a palace near Khandaghat  called Chail View Palace and then  built a road to Chail and finally his own summer retreat in this little town surrounded by deodar forests. Ironically Chail itself had been gifted to the Maharaja by the Britishers earlier .

The Maharaja was an avid cricketer and had captained many an Indian team besides playing several first class matches himself .  He left Chail a trophy – a cricket ground which has the highest ever pitch located at 2140 metres and it doubled up as a polo ground as well.

Like many Indian towns , Chail has its own share of myths and legends. We visited a temple dedicated to a saint, Sidh Baba built on a hillock by the king. The locals believe that the king had planned to build his palace here earlier , but the seer had visited him in his dream and asked him to choose another location.

Nevertheless, the Maharaja couldn’t have found a better place to create his summer capital. With the Himalayas in the background and the valley beneath,  the river flowing down and three dense hillocks covered with deodar forests, Chail looked every bit a royal capital. The lights of Shimla and Kasauli came up  as I stood there for awhile watching the sun went down. Chail had indeed come a long way from an idyllic hamlet to a royal seat and now a tourist resort .

This story was published in The Hindu , as part of the author’s column, Inside Story

Club Mahindra has a lovely resort in Mashobra , near Shimla and the author was invited to the property as part of a blogger’s trip

CLAY wishes all its readers, members, travel writers and bloggers a very happy and prosperous new year. Here is wishing all of you exciting travels in 2012.

We begin this new year with a  sunrise in The Himalayas , as seen from our resort in Mashobra, near Shimla .

What is a Chenda?

The Chenda is a cylindrical percussion instrument used widely in the state of Kerala. It is also used in some parts of Karnataka where it is called the Chande. A Chenda is made out of a cylindrical wooden drum and has a length of 2 feet and a diameter of 1 foot.
Chenda is an essensial accompainment to Kathakali,the classical dance drama of Kerala.This instrument is famous for its loud and rigid sound.

Shri Poornathrayeesha Temple campus

The tower was tall, white paint with a tinge of yellow on the borders and along the window. We also spotted a figure peeping out through the window [ it was a figuring that looked very life like].. Apparently he pops out and salutes at every hour and his clothes are changed multiple times during the day…