Ajanta-Ellora: Worth the hype!

It's taken me a fair bit of time to even begin to write about this trip. Of course, it was overwhelming and a lot to document at one go, but I realised this was a travelogue, not a user manual.

So Ajanta & Ellora – the two UNESCO classified World Heritage Sites about which more information can be found ALL OVER THE INTERNET had suddenly surfaced on our Maharashtra-trips radar for the simple fact that we indeed wanted to travel, but the beaches were getting too hot to handle and too expensive – not to mention the lack of being able to strip into your bare minimums and saunter around (c’mon pardon my first world problems, will ya’?).
The buses to Aurangabad were surprisingly cheap – however if you are a boy-girl duo travelling anywhere in India, I suggest either book yourself into a very fancy 5 star or carry a fake marriage certificate, if you don’t have a real one. Sorry, but in India, we are fine gaping at even fully clad women but not with another man. No sir.
But as always, the feminist Jhansi ki Raani in me digresses.

We didn't begin too early in the day - by the time we were at Ellora, the clouds were our only protectors!

We divided the trip across two days with Saturday for Ellora and Sunday for Ajanta – or Ajintha, as you will discover on the signboards. Aurangabad itself is like every other city that the Moghuls ever touched. Sturdy grand gates with their elegant pointy arches, with little or no ornamentation, but plenty to awe.


The comparatively easy and planar walk at Ellora; entrance visible in the distance

Silhouette of the monolithic pillar
at the entrance of Ellora's cave #16

But this story still hasn’t begun. We wondered if our Couchsurfing karma had matured enough to pay yet, and tried our luck with Joshua – the journalism student from Kenya studying in Aurangabad. Joshua Boitt couldn’t have done more than he did for us. Not only did he make sure we had a warm place to sleep, but also one that was free from mosquitoes! He let me cook classic Indian fare in his kitchen (on a fancy automatic stove!) and gave us the experience of eating with a warm bunch of friends over some conversation and laughter. His roommate, John too kept us company. In fact, he insisted he cook us something Kenyan too – and made this sooji-halwa kind’a preparation – except it had nothing but water and broken rice – no salt, no sugar, no nothing. Needless to say, to our spice and salt-bomb accustomed tastebuds, it was nothing short of vile. However, they tried and we couldn’t have said on their faces that it sucked. Rao even downed it like a good boy. I reckon I’m a tad less tolerant.
It was then that I realised how contagious the disease of hospitality is. Whether you are a guest of India for a few odd years, or an Indian far away, you just can’t help host like a pro when there’s an Indian somewhere in the whole circuit.

And to top it, Josh made sure we were two well-fed children at breakfast so our travails would not be hindered by oddities such as hunger! He even noticed the chain with the filigree pendant on it that I had on – my grandmother’s, when I told him, he smiled.
Ellora was our first experience of sheer open-mouthed wonder. The very first cave you see there – #16 – is a temple complex carved out of one solo rock. How they cut metres of rock vertically with such geometric precision all those centuries ago is what leaves you staring at the heavens – and to the top most part of the atrium.

The Mahadev temple at Ellora

Cut to precision: Ellora

Very oriental lions at Ellora

And while Ellora is an easier linear walk to the left and a slight climb on the right, it was Ajanta that felt even more worth our while. 3/4 of a horseshoe, the caves have been carved out from a natural ‘U’ shaped hillock of rock along the river Waghora in Maharashtra. The very first climb up is just of feeler of things to come. As you proceed further, there are all sorts of climbs up and down, gradual and steep. And this is where you discover far more intricate forms of the two arts in their resplendent display – sculpture and painting. The vegetable dye paintings have lasted over a couple of centuries, and the sharpness and attention to detail threaten to take your breath away. With much of the depletion of the paintings caused by flash photography, I don’t blame the ASI having banned it. But if you have a great digital SLR that can withstand a moving hand and produce some good photos with prolonged exposure, you will have captured something that peaked over 2000 years ago.


Intricate & uniform

Ellora and Ajanta have also been maintained surprisingly well. I reckon just as the Golconda in Hyderabad or any other place of archaeological heritage under the UN’s straight supervision, this one too has been spent upon. A sense of pride and reflection fills you. We saw a foreigner reading right outside the caves at Ellora under a tree. His sense of calm flummoxed me. At the time, I thought, what a man to come so far and sit here to read. Now I see what he did – a sense of gratitude towards those who built something so strong and beautiful that all this time later, we in our retarded sense of what is precious, can sit and enjoy still.


Cathedral, Ellora

But the trip in itself was a humbling one. Our host Joshua lives on one side of the outskirts of Aurangabad in a fairly newly constructed tenement. From his terrace is visible a huge horseshoe of hills on three sides. On the fourth, where the terrain dips towards the river, you see the Rani ka Maqbara. Apparently a miniature version of the Taj Mahal built by Aurangzeb (possibly in some fit of juvenile competitiveness to his ancestors), this one presents a soothing view to the eyes. By night, when the stars light up the sky, or perhaps when the moon shines on the horizon, I’m sure the Maqbara looks nothing short of charming.



Quirky Aurangabad!

But as is the case with every city with a considerable and prominent Muslim population, Aurangabad also has an aromatic culture of food. We ate our last meal at Sagar – Rao was too sold on the idea of Naan Quaila and it was ordered. The influence of rich Mughal cuisine is high on the dish – but so is the spice of the Maharashtrian interiors belt.


Cathedral with painted frescos, Ajanta

All in all, if you’re in for a new experience with the ancient, do it differently – register with Couchsurfing, book on RedBus, meet a few strangers and load up on the food you get. The memory – that’s how it becomes something of a capsule to last forever!
 

More ceiling frescoes, Ajanta (read last paragraph for preparation method)

Guhagar: 6 things you'll love!

Last weekend was the beginning of Rao & my joint exploration of Maharashtra - we figured we might as well tick off all that's on this immediate travel list instead of day dreaming about utopian distant lands (in terms of time as well as miles). We began with Guhagar. Rao had sung paeans about the place and that had sort of made me a tad skeptical. However, on arrival, I realised he didn't do justice to his description. To have a clean stretch of sand in your backyard and staying at a simple cottage is a regular feature of accommodation at several places along the Konkan coast. But even that is not it.

Getting there

Guhagar is about an hour from Chiplun by the rickety State Transport bus (no private ones, or cabs - sorry). It's about 270 km from Bombay. You can take an overnight sleeper to Chiplun and then the hourly ST bus from there to Guhagar. The care-taker of our cottage (we stayed at Nishigandha, more on that here), Deepak told us he could arrange for a cab so we could drive around and go to Hedvi too. But we decided paying a full grand instead of the unbargained 400 bucks was a steal.

Besides, Konkan's beaches are dissimilar not so much for what's right next to the sea, as the things and places you stumble upon in the villages. That is not to discount the beauty and charm of Hedvi, but as a professor once said to me, 'where you have been twice, you must go a third time.' And so perhaps Rao will make it to Hedvi as well next time, and hopefully I'll be lucky to be his companion again!

Stay Put

Surprisingly, even thought there weren't many tourists to be spotted in Guhagar, there were several guest houses all around town. We later discovered that most foreigners on their way to Goa on New Years' Eve invariably break the journey at Guhagar. This little snippet of information made the plethora of places to stay obvious. All these places are more or less cottages and promise access to a little piece of private beach.

In themselves, they're clean and well ventilated. we had access to a fairly spacious attached bathroom as well. Only, the hot water was a challenge on day 1 because the boiler had burst. But our host actually came in early on Sunday and boiled a full two bucketfulls of water so we could dunk ourselves in fresh, hot and steaming peace!

Painting the Town

Guhagar is a small Mahadev & Laxmi-Narayan-worshiping town. In fact, the cottage where we stayed was right across the road from what seemed like an ancient structure. Gargoyles in animal forms were seen on all the outer roof skirting. However, the compound was large enough to house not only two medium sized temple buildings, but also a badminton court!

Guhagar also has quite a few 'kund's or ponds. The water, as you may imagine, is not clean, but green with algae and out of maintenance. Some of these stepwells are quite apparently meant for washing. I saw once in the marketplace that was all marble!

The narrow lanes make walking around town even at midday quite easy with all the share of shade - of both trees as well as shops and houses. We had to walk about 10 minutes to reach the town centre, and realised it was so much easier getting around here on foot! I even got my long-pending revenue stamps at the post office on the way to one of our lunches.

Houses in Guhagar are just the most charming you might ever come across. They all have sloping roofs with drying little premature coconuts fallen from the coconut trees in their gardens. You'll catch an octgenarian or a couple of women in the neighbourhood gathered in the mornings in the verandahs preparing one or the other food item. The compound walls are all moss ridden and thick - the bricks that give them their form can easily be mistaken for red stone - somehow, the holes in them and their texture gives them the appearance. You can see that the people of Guhagar take good care of their abodes.

The shy Starfish - it was actually as big as the outside outline of the sand
that looks all dug out!

Sea Surprise

The beach is a pristine stretch with hardly a soul around. We spotted a few starfish on the shore - tiny ones and rather dull looking. But then, I guess when you look like that, you hardly need colour!

But that's not the only way to take in the vast exposure of Guhagar to the sea. Drive up to the lighthouse for better views - you'll pass steep slopes and a mesh of mango trees growing wildly on them along the way. You have to cross a bit of the goats in a rickshaw and the valley views are as pretty as they come. And then you suddenly rise to a flat table land. The surprise wears off in a while but the cool breeze even at midday is refreshing. You might spot remnants as well as developments on the Enron project. The facility runs for miles and so does heartache. We end up ruining so much in the name of infrastructure. The steep slopes of the valley are all chockablock with mangos trees. You can only imagine how much they've cleared off to build their factories and smoke emitting power stations. The ones that are now out of commission because the company filed for bankruptcy to save the asses of a few suits.

Gobble-de-Gook

It took me a while to begin this section. Not because I had a hazy memory about it all, but because there's just so much to try out. It's not a tourist town, so you won't find any hip shacks like you would in Goa. The Lagoon comes closest to what one might call a diner. We entered the town and had poha-sheera-chai at the first place we could find, Musale, which later turned out to be run by the same people who ran our guest house. But those who've visited Guhagar swear by Suruchi.

And while this unremarkable-in-appearance place has a community kitchen sort of seating, with everyone in town (from local affluent middle aged businessmen to young Bihari labourers) and the tiller attended by 3 different people depending upon the time of day (the owner in the morning, the caretaker/ waiter/ steward in the noon and the missus in the evening). Suruchi serves classic Maharashtrian fare - thali-pith, misal, vada, bhakhri, puri-shrikhand, sol kadhi (which I have finally come to LOVE) and the standard limited thaali.

Rao had more than his fill of the local sea fare at Annapurna. His Kalamari and prawns even made me salivate! The sol kadhi competed with Suruchi's, however the difference was stark - this was quite apparently made of fresh ingredients while Suruchi's was some sort of a pre-made concoction. The service at both places was unintrusively attentive.

Round and about

Ah! This is my favourite part - the juicy bit of the whole trip. There's the Anjanvel lighthouse about half an hour from the town. A pleasant drive along the river that ultimately meets the sea at Guhagar, you can hire a local auto-rickshaw for about 400 bucks. The chap should be willing to wait and also take you around to the nearby fort.

On your way to the little lighthouse, you encounter hundreds of mango trees that grow on the steep slopes of the hillside. Much like other parts of the Western Ghats, you'll definitely spot the trademark red mud. What you'll also see is a combination of that and yellow and black soil. Something that flummoxed me beyond words. However, a sight that is both overwhelming and hurtful both at once, is Enron's now-dysfunctional plant. Just their cooling towers occupied the length and breadth of a whole table land! The only thought that raced through my mind was... what a waste. Of time, money, resources. Such a compromise and deep impact on the environment this scam made. What was the outcome?

You leave this cry for help behind as the road finally yields you to the coast again - through a little town and then a dust track upwards again to the light house.

I was perhaps singularly unfortunate in not being able to get entry into either the lighthouse or the fort. The lighthouse at Guhagar is open to public only between 3:00 pm and 5:00 pm, which no auto guy chooses to tell you. But we did get to walk right up to one of the many tips of the land mass and take in the mighty ocean in its entirety - its currents, its colours, the fishing boats and the crooked rocky coast.

If you go there later in the evening though, may be after your lighthouse visit, you can walk down to a site that seems to be in the preliminary stages of development as a particularly fine viewing point. Situated just 10 minutes away this viewing point is at the end of a long dust track that is currently being flattened and concretised. You'll find a railing only at the end (they were probably hoping that will prevent a truck from sliding on and tumbling over). The pathway itself if the upper slope of the hill parallel to the road that leads to the lighthouse, and the other side is yet another steep slope that overlooks more of the rocky façade that runs along Guhagar. In short, don't venture there with your kids or even wobbly, accident-prone adults (like me). I imagine that as one of the many tips of land spilling into the Arabian Sea, this would be breath taking - with the water shimmering and the mellow breeze. Actually, it'd make for a swell sunset point!

View from the temple outside the lighthouse

Our information on the Shivaji Fort nearby too was outdated. Apparently it's closed to the public since someone has actually claimed ownership of the property and cordoned it off as a private mango plantation. You can still take in breath taking views of the sea from around both these spots.


So that is Guhagar. With its decent men, hardworking women, coastal weather, views of the hills and some awesome food even for vegetarians this little town really set the tone for our series of sojourns!

Pondy Hopping I

This time the Pondicherry trip series will have loads of meat in a day 1 to 5 form. I'd written a series of mails to 5 of my favourite people - to have them live a bit of the fun we were having. Here's day one, from the time we were on our way...

So we just got done with our first midway stop to Pondicherry from Chennai. The first thing to hit me, was neither the dark nor the deserted highway cafeteria itself. The strong cool humid breeze is what freshened me up instantly. Add to that the sweet filter kaapi.

Uff...

Some old Tamil music plays on the radio, lovely Carnatic lull to it, the ghatam and mridangam adding the finishing touches to the first experience of the East Coast Road - one of India's most premium connecting routes.

Needless to say, I've been adequately roused from my sleepy hangover of the train journey. The highway is well fitted with direction reflectors, milestone signs, freshly painted road markers and dividers. Lined with foliage, punctuated by palm trees, about 20 minutes into this second lap, we witness daybreak - almost an ominous
welcome for us into the sojourn, as if telling us to sit back and take in the magic that is Pondicherry...

Oh! We just crossed Pearl Beach! And now the cab races right beside the sea - barely a couple of metres from the road is the coast running parallel - we're hoping to see the sun rise on our way...

Later that night...

The view from Seaside

Pondicherry is like a place of pilgrimage. It calls out to you... And then nothing can stop you from walking the path. But until then, it's an elusive idea. I lie on my bed at Seaside Guest House, tired from the evening jaunt, listening to the sea. The waters are choppy tonight. No, choppy isn't the word, aggressive, in rage, at war almost. Yes, the ocean sounds as if a battle ground. It collides against the land, pushing, hauling its sword, shouting in true warrior fashion to instill fear in its sworn enemy so half the battle's won.

I began my day with a visit to the Eglise de Notre Dame de la Conception Immaculee Church or the Church of the Capuchins here on Rue Dumas. We rented out bicycles and loitered around town afterwards. for 75/- bucks a day, the mostly circles and random lefts and rights seemed something of one's childhood's happy return. Add to that, the beauty of a well planned town - you'll never hit a dead end, though I reckon if you're drunk you'll definitely get dunked in the drain!

We intend to exchange our cycles for motorized 2 wheelers tomorrow so we can go visit Paradise Beach and Auroville, both about 6-8 km from the guest house. Rao says Paradise Beach truly personifies the name.
Looking forward.

I think we shall also end up doing the jetty the day after or on Thursday. The availability of so much time and so much to do is such a rare occurrence...

Vishrambaug Wada

Where maintenance is forever at Vishram
Laxmi Road, Budhwaar Peth, Pune
Entry: Rs 3 (and a pound of heart burn)
[Built 1803-09; 10 years before the British conquered Pune]

Pune. A history of roughly 400 years. A culture that has absorbed from the fading Mughals, been in loyal servitude of the Maratha rulers, and weathered the peak of British imperialism… but I’m only précising a Wiki page and parroting accounts penned by historians. Stepping on to the other side of the threshold of Vishrambaug Wada, and looking up at the sky from the atrium threatens to erase much of all that background knowledge in an instant. My partner and I try to imprint a preliminary sketch of the sight that we have only seen in several pictures during our individual as well as joint research in preparation for the visit. Our fascination, competitive. Our purposes, different. His was to add a photo document to his portfolio. Mine, another capsule from the city to assign to my memory. Perhaps through the carvings etched in another time, or the wood itself, weathered through the ages.

Asking the guard at the doorway for a sangrahalay does not yield much of a response – no directions nor recognition of the word itself; he does point towards a signboard about 15 feet high. The entrance has two rooms on either side of the door, beyond which is the chowk, typical to old houses around the country. Vishrambaug’s identity, though, lies in the exteriors. Said to be the only surviving Peshwa wada, its meghadambari or curving pavilion at the front entrance is lavishly carved in cypress wood in the kalamdani style. The others were destroyed by fire in the 19^th century for reasons I’m yet to discover. This one too was victim of some minor flames, but was saved and restored in time. The restored motifs are believed to be more akin to the neo-Gothic mould – one finds depictions of a monkey and dragon instead of just the erstwhile intricate flowers and creepers.

The edifice has played several roles, like the recycled others of its grandeur. After the then Peshwa was exiled, Vishrambaug Wada assumed the part of Pune’s first British sponsored educational institution – the Poona Sanskrit College and went onto become the Deccan College. The Pune Municipal Corporation finally deigned to set up a tacky ‘heritage display’ within the premises, on the first floor. The last development is rather recent.

The rooms at the entrance are a handicrafts outlet run by an NGO for women’s empowerment. The rest of the ground floor is some kind of a printing press, devoid of charm or any sense of even monotonous regularity or neatness. A feature that held both our attention is the spiral wrought iron staircase that leads up to the second floor and meets a jammed closed window, overgrown with weed.

This is where you will begin to suffer the full throttle of my lament.

When I mentioned the fires of the 19^th century at the beginning of the write up, I’m sure a disdainful ‘why’ came to your mind, but the present state of Vishrambaug Wada hurt more on our visit recently. The efforts of the powers-that-be to suppress its splendour have borne copious fruit. We climbed up the stairs that led to the permanent display to be welcomed by a polite but fairly bored looking young lady at the ticket counter. Tickets paid for (PMC, I implore you to charge more and please justify the building’s history, if not what is left of it), my partner’s helmet left on the side, we walked on to behold bhwhat made both our jaws drop. We seemed to have disembarked onto another planet. The planet of a primary school local history project abandoned to dilapidate in layers of dust. The ante room of the heritage display at Vishrambaug Wada is created with wood planks from floor to ceiling, vainly camouflaged by lengths of black chart paper, textured with forks to give the feeling of old stone walls.

Yes, please laugh.

The displays conform to the primary school project imagery: low resolution photos blown up and labelled neatly on handwritten notes. Rudimentary hand drawn maps and sketches on more chart paper (yellows, pinks, greens and blues), again labelled in fountain ink, follow. The absurdity does not end there. Dark brown varnish covers ALL of the once-elegant wood carved angles, balustrades, pillars and beams of Vishrambaug Wada. To add to the beholder’s anguish, these cakey fixtures have obviously not been dusted in at least a few months. Now if it was a bachelor’s shack, the present state of affairs would have been acceptable. But we’re talking about a monument, however minor.

To illustrate the sense of the culture, they’ve spread moth-eaten double-bed mattresses and bolsters in the coves, with old style desks for company. These mattresses and bolsters have been wrapped in handloom sheets with cheap orange and brown floral prints. When you peep out into the the market surrounding Vishrambaug Wada, you see identical linen hanging from cabin shop displays. The studied neglect all around amalgamates to corner you into helpless disgust. Much like incestuous rape. Fucked by one’s own kith and kin.

The disrepair gets clearer when I tried to open one of the large low windows (that was me monkeying around) by unlatching the links at the top. Varnish has been so ruthlessly, thoughtlessly and in such haste pasted all over, that removing the links to cover the surface beneath did not occur to them. The pale yellow paint from a previous effort patiently peels away. Furthermore, the musicians’ jharukha in the front (the balcony that you admire from the outside sheltered by the pavilion arc) has been sealed off with the exception of one grilled door open so you can see where they sat. I saw a red plastic bucket and some length of wire eating more dust and rotting more merrily.

Apart from the shocking upkeep, the layout of the display too is quite confusing. You may lose your way! No directions (an elderly solo gentleman asked us how to get out) – somebody’s idea of showing the place to public. Yes, lock away what you can’t have cleaned every day and confuse the visitor to prevent other conceivable damage.

Such action is, (I’m willing to withdraw the opinion if anyone proves otherwise) representative of the attitude of the city’s denizens at large. I speak from not just my visits to the city, but also from observation in my six and a half months of residence in Pune. The city’s façade may portray a certain dispassion. Puneris take this maaz to the next level. They seem to revel in their blind adoration for the status quo; for mediocrity, for what they call balance and outsiders term laziness. Balance or laziness, they have little regard for their architectural legacy. Little wonder then, that their old buildings are either the colleges or left behind in debris and ashes. What remains, is their aggression towards preserving this blindness as if it is the answer to all questions of the universe and their narrow path to salvation.

This aggression manifests itself in many ways: verbal hostility comes first. Masochistic offense and unapologetic defence follow close behind – those are the only remaining elements in their anyway rusty armour.

My disgust though is for this obstinate protectiveness for the long gone. Of which remains only faded memories, guesswork and speculation. This mutual back-patting diplomacy discourages constructive criticism or novelty or both.

Pune’s attempts at the new seem like juvenile gun jumping. Unplanned in its layout, its civic infrastructure is its only saving grace. First it attracts throngs of techies and culture vultures, then it leaves them to forage. Its people endeavour twice as hard as say, a Bong to appear worldly wise. However, like an 11-year-old, Punekars live in the contentment of false, shallow promises without any grasp for posterity. Fancy malls, cafes and chains of bookstores do not a city’s characters make. Where is the human infrastructure to support the service experiences and details for which these brands have stood? Dishevel is ingrained, not studied or striven for in Pune.

My melancholy is for Vishrambaug Wada, but a latent sense of brotherhood between my city of birth (Baroda) and Pune absorbs me more. The former was a key province of the Bombay Presidency; the latter its monsoon capital. Sons of a mother, to use a cliché. The rooted Marathi culture. Cultural capitals of their respective states. Perhaps I should not claim the epithet for Baroda anymore. I have nothing to support it with. But Pune does. And yet its proximity to Bombay, its non-dry status, and heavy cosmopolitan student influx seem to give no momentum to its pace. They continue to start their day at 11:00 am, take their three-hour siesta break from 1:00 pm, return from work at 5:30 pm; their day still ends at 8:30 pm. 11:00 pm is late.

But I stray.

Vishrambaug Wada does not care for frowns – yours or mine. The intricately carved pavilion can eat the dust it is force fed each day. Its age can go live its reclusion in inattention. Its utilised spaces can be spat upon, iron trunks be dragged upon its flooring, and its general state of upkeep can leave as much to desire as it likes.

My reaction to this visit has built upon itself over a period of over a week. I was asked to build my writing upon this criticism even before we visited Vishrambaug Wada, but the dissatisfaction and despair is my own, and runs deep. In hindsight, both, my partner and my own motives for the visit sound not only pompous but a tad misplaced.

Questions surged.

What is the state government doing towards this end? Or the city’s municipal corporation. Is it not the responsibility, at least in part, of the keepers of official administration? Where is this city’s own pride of inheritance, however meagre?

I’m not yet entirely willing to write off Pune. मला हि नगरी आवडली, पण लग्गेच नाही . तरी एक दिवशी ती नक्कीच माझी होइल , तश्य भावनेची मी वाट बघते ...*

*SPECIAL THANKS TO Aditya Kulkarni & Ankur Hande for all the editing help with the last two lines in Marathi :)

Diveagar

You must be a sea lover to trudge all the way to a Konkan beach. Not a swimmer
nor a boating or paragliding enthusiast, someone who could listen to the song of
the waves in the mild January sun, or stroll aimlessly picking up tiny red shells and
purple ones…

Diveagar is like that. At the end of a 10-mile diversion from Shriwardhan is this quaint little village. Apart
from a rundown MTDC shack, some clean facilities have come up in the past couple of years in the area.
Most are palm clearings of private land owners, who have erected some absolutely functionary brick
cottages. There are no views, except the one you can walk up to in a jiffy (c’mon, what would you call a
pristine beach five minutes from your stay?). But I’m jumping the guns here.

So the Konkan was on my list of destinations to visit for a longish time. Being a salt mist breather in
the Max City was never enough. But as soon as my guy got himself his first high power bike, I began
prodding him to go do test runs to the outskirts. Little did he know that I’d pounce on the first offer he
made to ride out. Where, was the question we both contemplated. After some discussion about my
aversion to the hills (it was COLD) and his to early morning rides, we zeroed in on Diveagar.


LOST & FOUND

Coordinates were googled. So were directions and things to see. Directions, we found alright, but things
to see, zilch. So when we got lost on the NH7 and couldn’t find the Goa Highway, we had the good mind
to stop for breakfast (we’d packed, please do, no vada pao wala at 7 in the morning, sir) and take in
the sun. Once on the right path (thanks to brilliant directions from a couple of petrol pump attendants
that my lovely man had the brightness of asking), the going wasn’t too tough except the last muddy
patch under construction. The red variants of flame of the forest flowers added to the arid beauty of the
Western Ghats.

Once you take the gala turn towards Diveagar from Shriwardhan, the road is pretty much one straight
path and suddenly you find yourself in the middle of a sleepy sea town. But everything was so dry, that
we doubted just how far the beach would really be.

Typical home in Diveagar

STAY WHERE YOU MUST

We decided to head westwards and found ourselves one of the many cottage stays (@1500/- a night,
I’d say it was a bit steep, but options across these pristines are governed by Mumbai standards). A
comfortable bed, fairly clean and cosy, plenty of storage space and a bathroom as neat, we couldn’t be
bothered more about our accommodation. Having changed into beach gear, we decided to play it safe
on our first day and against our cottage keeper’s advice, drove down to the sea face. Two minutes flat.
Despite asking twice. We must’ve looked like two idiots.


SPARSE SURPRISE

At 4 in the evening, the beach was as crowded as it could be at any given point of the day. 20 people
(give or take a few) on a 5 km stretch. Some firangs and a couple of families, a horse carriage and a

camel. That was all the commercialisation one could see for as far as the eyes stretched.

By the time my partner had parked his vehicle, I had already run about a foot into the waves. We had
been told dolphins frequent these waters at the time of year. We forgot to look out, sorry. The kiss-n-
embrace happy couple was too busy to notice the hours spent lazing there. We promised ourselves an
early morning treat back on the beach. Not ones to rise before 11 on a weekend ever, Mr Boyfriend and
his girl caught each other staring wide eyed at 8 am, in anticipation of the surprise in the waiting.

View from our room

BREAKFAST ON THE BEACH

A giggle later we were already in our beach wear again. But mornings at the Diveagar beach are an even
greater digression from the evenings. A chai wali and a nariyal wala greet you without much ceremony.
We decided to make a breakfast date at the nariyal wala’s – resplendent with impossibly sweet malai
and the water, chilled as I remember it.


SERENDIPITY

The sun was beginning to get hot and we decided to head southwards on the beach. The walk wasn’t
one bit tiring, what with the breeze being a constant companion. Then the ornithology enthusiast in me
spots a mob of birds at a distance. White and gracefully moving in tandem, I decided to move closer.

A half kilometre down on foot and I realise there was water both sides of me. A river (Vashisti, I was to
later discover) met the sea here! Why didn’t anyone tell us this piece of detail, hullo?! On closer look,
we found the birds were migratory seagulls here for the mating season. One also saw another migratory
bird, the ruff, which few people would spot unless they went really close. These birds nest in the sparse
grass that sprouts on the muddy banks near the confluence and run around as if a mini football match
were on.

Only the river bed itself was firm,
everywhere else the feet sank at least 6-8 inches deep!

SINKING SINKING

The sand sinks really deep – almost like quicksand – and it is pretty hard to walk. We still waded the part
to land ourselves into the last bit of river water (do not even THINK of stepping onto the beach on the
other end here – you can spot the carpet of seagull poo from pretty far off). Our trigger happy boy shot
a few hundred snaps before calling it a day.


FOOD FOR THOUGHT

Surprisingly, for a couple who thrives on great food, we weren’t too fussy about the lack of variety.
Diveagar is still a budding destination (and may God keep it that way). For a town so tiny, the take aways
are too many to count. Be sure to leave at a sane morning hour and savour the vada pao around the
bend. A couple of the most melodious and dignified bhajan singers visit in their finery, with a well tuned
harmonium and tabla.

Passive anger

Of course everything changed. What took 10 years now took two, so what the fuck was I thinking? This is not the shade under a banyan tree, darling, it's the glare of the igneous. No one can stand it. Everyone's keen to demolish the boulders. To make space for shelter. It's probably the only way there'll be a home for the people as well as creatures in the city.

Until the last day of my MA, I'd never known what KPHB stood for. Today will be my last day here, in its heart. Does it even have one? Heart? I'm sad that I'm leaving Hyderabad, but not because I fell in love with it, but because I had a fallout. All the things I loved about it stopped to exist. The easily approachable locals, the by-meter autos, the efficient public transport, the wide 'n smooth roads, the class, the intellect... Not once did I manage a nocturnal trip to Charminar for that memorable cup of Irani chai, though Geetha's place was a regular feature for so long thanks to coKo.

The one time that biryani happened at Paradise, it was so terrible I wanted to run home. It didn't even remind me of Veeresh or the spin he gave me along hi-tech city and Durgam Cheruvu. When I saw Tumhari Amrita, it had none of the student charm of watching Aapki Sonia at Shilpakala Vedika. There was no one to delight. There was no one to shock.

And the pace! God, many times slower. Painful even. The attitude, conceited, convoluted. The men here have no balls. And while plenty of those will muster up some two ounce of fury to proclaim that it's ''not true'', please keep it for your three-minute ejaculation. Hmph.

I had once been told, ''that was British style Bombay, enjoy hospitality in Hyderabad Nizami style.'' No thank you. Quite apparently the Nizam had no sense of punctuality, priority nor heart. I'm disenchanted with Hyderabad, and I shall make no bones about it. I also know that I'll probably boast how broad were the roads or how authentically Tam the food and ambience at Minerva or even how well maintained and accessible the amenities in my township.

I found a big fat rat scurrying out of the dustbin downstairs. I wonder what Priyanca has to say to that!

And while I'm all upset and giving an old acquaintance a second shot, neither of us are doing each other a favour. None of the parties will pay more than her share this time. They will all be exact transactions. However cut and dried. Better anaesthetised than numb, no?

I hope the cheque deposited smoothly, Mr. New.

Standard Deviation

After my split a month ago, it was a little difficult letting myself out of the city.  As if the fatigue of simply getting someplace got to me.

So apart from the self-mandated Diwali trip to Baroda, I've been avoiding all travel.  Even a biking trip. A lot of people have been complaining.  But since the complaints are seldom in words, I chose to ignore them all.

Something turned around last Friday. Anubhav called unprompted, and we fixed up for me to travel to Pune. Pune, of all the places!  I've always associated Pune with the Shivneri Volvo, the drive through the Pashan DRDO road, E-Square, Not Just Jazz by the Bay, Pizza Marzano, Tareef & Punjabi Tadka, MG Road, Camp, Aundh & Parihar chowk.  Before that, with Kothrud, and Chandni Chowk.

Pune's returned* to me often.  More than once.  It's been my resurrection destination.  Like a pilgrimage that I take to relieve myself of yearning, longing, nostalgia, boredom, pain, loneliness...

It made me nervous all the three times that I've had to make this return.

The first time around was right after high school, when I was seeing my first crush after two years.  It was nerve racking because I didn't know how he would react, how he would behave, how awkward or comfortable it would be.  Always one to obsess about having perfect moments, I was in for a huge disappointment.  D. and I had both moved on.  He didn't quite care, and I thought he walked like a transvestite.  I don't know which was worse.

Meeting Ad. in Pune was insignificant, though it was with him that I discovered the newer parts of the university town.  With him, I experienced Pune in the winters, for the first time. Weather in the city seems to be a constant reason for me to go back and soak some of it in.  You can smell burnt wood in the evening, a little smoky.  And the air is dry, yet a mist seems to kiss your earlobes as if to remind you of what clean air feels to the senses.  Of course, when I was riding pillion with Anubhav back to his shack, I kept wheeeeeing (like the Bombay gaonthi that I have become) about how clean and lovely Pune is and how I was already in love with the decision to spend the weekend with an old pal over alcohol and music we both loved (thanks for Aaj jaane ki zidd na karo, Bunnz).

My most extensive touch-n-feel of the Marathi culture hub though, was with Ni.  Of course, even with him being there, there was never initiative to venture out to watch a play or two every month or music concerts or attend a weekend workshop together.  It was always pizzas and films and dinners and other regular riggin' things IT techies do to kill time over the weekend.

But last weekend was different in such myriad ways.  I met Meenakshi. I mean, I've met her before alright, but I spent time with her.  Saw the vulnerability of a woman dying to get out, but stuck at home with of parents who aren't exactly conservative, but not quite willing to let go.  Get out Meera, get out'a that place, I maintain.

It was also the first time ever that I've actually slept with a guy.  Slept.  Like snoozed off listening to his snoring and sleep-chattering (yes, Bunnz, you talk in your sleep- Meera will vouch for it). What's poignant about the fact is that he made sure I was absolutely comfortable.  The razaii,  the food, the alcohol, even letting me mop the floor when I broke the glass and allowing me to prepare dalia next morning for breakfast (at lunch time :P).  The champi was my tiny thank you note, Bunnz.

Parallel to my physically being in Pune, I was also living the nostalgia of a boy who spent his most precious moments in this city.  My first drink went out to him.  In my thought, in my sip.

To be in the warmth of a home with pals can be healing.  It's like phoenix tears or vampire blood.  Mytically healing, yet unexplainable.

I'm ready to start traveling again, come January+.  Make the most of my quota of PLs and explore places on my list.  Being in Bombay only helps - you can get anywhere within a reasonable time frame, whether by train or a flight.

I'm finally solo. On a trip of my own.  Single and Unavailable, as my Tantra tee announces!

*It is remarkable how I'm so full of myself to talk of places returning to me, and not me returning to them. But it is the idea that visits me, that makes them return in thought, and therefore, beckon me to revisit. Not to revisit a past memory or an old haunt, but to explore it in its all new avatar.

+Pondicherry is first on list in February.  I'm afraid it will have to be solo. No tag-alongs this time. Heck, they might all end up solo trips to pile on friends to take me around and show me their place of thrive.


IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER:
Kolkata | Chorwad | Kutch | Pushkar | Gokarna | Cypress | Vizag | Greece | Sicily | Berlin