Forgotten Below

The sunlight still lit up the higher floors of the buildings as I walked toward home. It's a little unusual for me to be on foot these days, the convenience of my motorbike having overcome my desire to keep fit. There isn't a footpath on the flyover, so I walked by the side of it. And suddenly, I was in something out of the past that perhaps is a vision of the future.

This little world below was dark before sundown. The sunlight doesn't reach here any more. The light is from dusty, dim lamps, the neon signboards having gone dark. Voices echoed against the thoroughfare up above giving the feel of being in a cavern. The traffic above sounded muffled. The road has fallen into disrepair down here. Little mopeds bounce over the stones shoving the bicyclists out of the way. A faded banner proclaiming 'मेरा भारत महान' sagged from one of the pillars, symbolic perhaps of how this great country of ours does not do its people justice. My imagination was getting the better of me, perhaps, but the smiles of the people seemed tinged with a pale desperation. The contrast is sharp. The expensive cars roaring overhead, and this dimly lit world below.

Perhaps I'm being unfair. How does one treat a billion people equally? I guess some people will inevitably fall through the cracks of the flyovers of development into the dark, forgotten world below. But if I'm being unfair, then think of the people that are left behind.

Bucks and Lakes

Mydenahalli.

I wonder why it's called the brother-in-law's village. There's a story here that needs a teller. Anyway, it's also the place you ask for when you're looking for Krishna Mruga, and no, I am not talking about some mythological rooster. The handwritten directions were augmented with little complaints from an absent cohort, brightening up the rather convoluted journey to the grassland sanctuary of the endangered black bucks.

We spotted them straight away, not too far away from the track; beautiful creatures standing in the grass, bounding across the track, always just out of range of my 200mm lens. I strained my eyes looking for the Indian Courser and the Bengal Florican, but that wasn't to be.

After Dillu was satisfied that his Safari could take anything that the grassland could throw at it, we settled down to a picnic of bread, jam and bananas under some acacias. And then this guy walks up to us and says, "You need permission from Madhugiri." We says, "Oh really! We didn't know. Who are you?" He says, "I am forest." In my head, I says, "Wow! I wonder how many people have met a walking talking forest!" And then the hand reaches out and we pack up, deciding to visit one of the pretty lakes we'd seen along the way instead of lining his greasy palm.

And so, ignoring a bunch of very tempting lakes, we found one at the foot of a rocky hillock which we promptly shimmied up. The world is very photogenic from up there, and the light from the sun setting behind the clouds flattered the people as well. We spent a couple of hours exploring the rocks and waiting for the dusk. It drizzled a bit, making the palm grove glitter in the light of the setting sun. Under a huge boulder, I found a nice sand patch that would have provided us comfortable shelter (Priya would disagree since it was also home to a snake, probably an olive keelback). Someday, I will go back there and camp!

And then it was the not very long, but very frustrating drive home followed by a most excellent dinner at Mangalore Pearl. A trip worth doing again.