42 The N Family

2011-08-06T22:03:00.013+05:30

Coorg.

Last year's visit to the Synthesis Homestay made me a new friend, Namratha. Her parents, Naresh and Namita, took such excellent care of us that when she said she was going home for the holidays, I offered to drive her home. And in the process, I invited myself to their estate again.

Since it was the monsoon, I expected it to be raining heavily and constantly for the entire weekend, so I planned to sit in the patio with cups of tea getting my fill of dripping green. As it turned out, the rains stayed away, mostly, and I ended up with a bunch of highlights: Blue bearded bee-eater, what a blue! Pork for every meal. Shield tail snake, Uropeltidae, while walking at night. Crested Serpent Eagle sitting close enough to identify without binoculars. Buff-striped keelback at my feet. Namratha as a guide to the estate.

And then when I got back to town, I learned that Shield-tailed snakes are only found in the Western Ghats! And what I've spent my life calling hammerhead leeches are really terrestrial planaria, or flatworms! There's still so much to learn.

Oh, and the Ns are seriously wonderful hosts!

More photos...

Same, Same, but Different

2011-01-15T16:56:00.006+05:30

Vietnam.

Same coffee, but whitened with condensed milk, sometimes iced. Thoroughly enjoyable either way.

Same spring rolls, but wrapped in rice paper.

Same stalactites and stalagmites, but so much bigger than I've ever seen, in caves named 'Amazing' and 'Surprise'. The surprise was the source of humankind.

Same Latin script, but not a single recognizable word. Well, recognizable if pronounced, but what would 'Bich Lap' or 'Phuoc Long' mean?

Same pieces of paper, but spent in millions of dongs. A significant amount of time went into wondering if we were actually paying a reasonable amount of something we were buying - I mean, is it reasonable for dinner to cost millions?

Same sounds of war (probably), but now made by tourists shooting AK-47s and M-16s.

Same tunnels, but no longer used by rebels, just by well-fed visitors.

Same taxis, but some of them have meters that run at five times the speed. I think we were taking for a ride in just one of those.

Same ancient Hindu temples, but pockmarked with bullet holes. The ruins at My Son are relics of a Cham civilization that thrived for many hundreds of years.

Same communism, but you wouldn't know it, apart from the blocking of facebook.

Same international apparel brands, but available at two different prices - the brand price, and the locally made price. The quality is still excellent though.

Same songs, but covered in an undecipherable accent.

Same secret war strategy room, but now a family shrine to the man who ran 'Pho Binh' right under the American noses through the war. The chairs on which the leaders of the Viet Cong planned their attacks on the Americans are still there.

Same En Chiang though. No matter that they thought I was Vietnamee.

Lots of photos...

Root Beer and Bubble Tea

2010-11-13T11:18:00.033+05:30

Malaysia.

When Air Asia added Bangalore to its list of destinations early this year and offered cheap introductory fares to Kuala Lumpur, a bunch of us made a spur of the moment decision to visit the country that was 'truly Asia' during the Diwali break. We didn't realize then that early November is the beginning of the monsoon off-season. It turned out to be quite a blessing because the hotels and resorts were all offering low season discounts.

The Paradiso Bed and Breakfast in Bukit Bintang is a clean, comfortable, backpacker's hostel, which is, interestingly, and initially frighteningly, located above an 'unprofessional' foot massage parlour. The narrow staircase is guarded till the wee hours by overly made-up women in short-skirts hawking their wares making every return to the hotel vaguely embarrassing. The proprietor and the employees of Paradiso more than make up for this inconvenience with friendly service, a convenient breakfast, and useful suggestions about how to spend time in Malaysia.

The first suggestion was a walk through the more interesting parts of Kuala Lumpur. The Islamic Art Museum apart from their regular exhibits was hosting a display on Islamic architecture in India. For me, the fascinating part was the discovery of how big an influence Islam has had in China. Actually, I should have known; after all, the Mongols were all Khans!

At the Bird Park we sheltered from the giant raindrops in the Hornbill Restaurant. This restaurant's balcony is within the walk-in aviary of the Bird Park, so we had three species of hornbill, a hill myna and some really greedy, beady-eyed egrets for company over lunch.

Petaling Street, on the way back in China Town, has all the designers that I have heard of and plenty that I haven't, all made locally. Oh, and I love bubble tea - the original milk tea flavour.

Bukit Bintang is a fascinating place. There was something happening every evening on the sidewalk just across the road from our hotel - a BMX biking competition, a Brazilian martial arts demonstration - on Halloween there was a Count Dracula, two vampires, five Stormtroopers and an assortment of night creatures walking about the street. Oh, and I love root beer.

If Bukit Bintang is the place where things happen, then Tioman Island in November is the place where nothing happens. Colourful fish in clear blue water, white sand beaches leading steeply up forested slopes, lonely waterfalls - paradise. We met a man there who's probably living the retired life that most people just dream of. This man of Punjabi and Malay descent retired from KL to be the caretaker of a shack on Juara Beach, spending his days bumming around one of the most beautiful places in the world.

From one of the world's most beautiful islands, we went to one of the world's oldest tropical rainforests in Taman Negara. The journey to Taman Negara was a three hour bus ride through rubber and palm plantations followed by a two hour panoramic boat ride up the Tembeling River. We had a huge dorm room to ourselves. The pair of tapir we saw on the first night were probably the highlight of the trip. The forest floor is alive with scorpions and centipedes and the trees are hung with webs in innumerable patterns. Actually, maybe the highlight was the tarantula we saw. Or maybe the barred kingfisher or maybe swinging from a tree into the river or maybe the walk through the canopy. Or... sigh! Or maybe it was just the company of Sylvie and Jean-Loup and the plans we made of exploring Nice and Cannes with them.

And then there was Melaka. The best part of Melaka was Jonker's Walk and the visit to the Baba Nyonya museum (the guide, Sabrina, was full of loud, innuendo-laden advice about the matters between the sexes). Of course, there was the Hakka artist whose home studio we walked into. One look at me and he says in Hakka, "You have long earlobes, just like the Buddha. You will live long." There's something comforting about finding someone that speaks the same language that you do in an unfamiliar place.

My visa's valid for a year.... Langkawi, Penang, Borneo!

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Peace be...

2010-09-30T15:31:00.003+05:30

There's an eerie stillness in the air. Or is it just the trepidation in my heart? I hope this beautiful day is not the calm before the storm. Just the day that India chose the higher road.

Do I believe that the voices calling for calm will be heeded? I pray they will.

There will be peace, I know.

Strains On The Kapila

2010-09-21T23:23:00.008+05:30

Shishila.

The first little rapid on the Kapila, and 'supplies!', my oar snaps in half, I hit a strainer, my ducky flips over and I get a serious arse-whupping from the rocks. Quite an introduction to kayaking, wouldn't you say? As I was tipped into the racing water, I wondered if I should have stuck to my plan of going hiking. But as quick as the thought came, it was gone and I enjoyed a thrilling swim down the rapid.

With my slightly painfully gained respect for the river, I got back in the ducky with a fresh oar, and spent an exhilarating six hours paddling over rapids, wave-trains and pools back to the 'Stream of Joy', the home-stay where we were put up. We practiced tossing the throw-bag at people body-surfing down one of the larger rapids. Sohan, Manik and Vijay practiced their rolls in the pools between rapids with varying degrees of success. It is amazing how quickly breakfast is digested when one is paddling. The packet of dates and chikki didn't last very long at all.

Sohan managed to get everybody out of bed and eating breakfast by seven the next morning. The local food wasn't doing my stomach any favours, and it was only at the last minute that I decided to run the river again. Naren, Jaggi and Chetan decided not to join us so that they could head back to Bangalore early, but they did come along to the put-in. We caught up with them at the temple where they were feeding the Mahseer that live protected in that stretch of the Kapila. The second run down the river was quicker but not without incident. Just as we approached the largest rapid on the stretch, Sid floated into an overhanging branch which tipped him over. Vijay and Kiran had to scramble to retrieve his boat and paddle. Then while surfing one of the holes a little further downriver, Kiran's paddle broke and he ended up sitting on a rock in the middle of the river with his boat beached on the bank. That same rapid saw Sid's paddle break as well.

Back at the home-stay, we loaded the equipment into Naveen's van so that they would be able to get back to Bangalore before it got too late. Sohan, Kiran, Sid and I then hired a jeep to go the the Neriya river to recce a Class IV rapid. One look at the crashing water, and I knew that I would have to spend a whole lot more time studying rivers and rapids before I would be ready to take the rapid on. On the way back, we stopped at a point that is downstream of the 'Stream of Joy' on the Kapila where there is a waterfall and a gorge. It's a beautiful stretch of the river and one that I probably would not take on even if I had a lifetime of studying rivers behind me!

And in the manner of all birders, I must mention that there are a large number of Stork-billed Kingfishers on the river, apart from the White-breasted and Small Blue. Pied and Grey Wagtails and some variety of Sandpiper. One Malabar Pied Hornbill and two different species of large raptor. Rufous Treepies, Racket-tailed Drongos and Coucals. And Cormorants aplenty. Oh, and two Rat Snakes crossing the road for those more reptilian in interest.

Row, row, row your boat, gently..... Oops! Splash!

One Not-so-rainy Monsoon Weekend

2010-08-26T17:35:00.021+05:30

Dandeli.

The long awaited monsoon trip to Dandeli finally happened. The Friday evening traffic did give us a scare but Ajmal knows his way around and after waiting a longish while under a cloud of passing fruit bats, we made it to Yesvantpur well in time for our train to Hubli.

The short walk from the Dandeli bus stop to the Kali Adventure camp passes over the Kali river. Cinnamon Bitterns and Little Herons aplenty roost on the banks and on the little rock islands under the bridge. The surprise of the morning was the huge White-bellied Sea Eagle that flew gracefully over us as it headed upstream. The Brahminy Kite looked so small in comparison. At the camp gate, we spotted a Rufous Woodpecker and a Black Rumped Flameback. When we finally made it to the camp, all of us had neckaches from lugging our bags along while peering through our binoculars.

Malabar Grey Hornbills and Malabar Pied Hornbills argued raucously in the trees above our tents as we washed the unsanitary smell of the Indian Railways from our nasal memories. The rest of the morning was spent walking through the forest department nursery and the forest beyond. An uneventful safari in the Dandeli National Park after lunch resulted in us wondering if there really were any mammals in the forest. We didn't see anything at all! No deer, no bison... nothing for any invisible black panthers to prey on.

Back at camp, darkness came along with calling frogs and glowing worms. The view from our tents was of the paper mill spewing smoke into the orange-hued sky above the trees. The guides told us that no one had been to the Cavala caves since the monsoons began and that there would be leeches and that it was King Cobra breeding season - reasons for us steer clear of the caves - and so we decided that that would be our destination in the morning.

The walk to the Cavala caves starts from the end of one of the safari paths in the Dandeli forest. The intrepid couple that accompanied us on this hike soon found us stopping for every little creature along the forest floor - frogs, spiders, ants, mushrooms, caterpillars, millipedes - each one got its turn in front of our cameras. Suddenly, there was the sound not unlike the rotors of a helicopter accompanied by a loud buzz. I ducked thinking that someone had disturbed a beehive, but the guide grabbed me by the shoulder and pointed into the canopy. Above me, I saw the sunlight shining through the yellow stripe in the wings of a Great Indian Hornbill. And I was left gaping in wonder as it flapped and buzzed its way over the valley to the opposite ridge. And I gaped some more as three more of these huge, beautiful birds that inhabit this patch of forest took off into the distance. Only when they were gone did I realize that I had not even pointed my camera at the hornbills! Oh well, photos in the mind.... photos in the mind....

It took us four hours to make it to the stairs that led down to the caves. The algae on the stairs and the sudden appearance of a steeply diving hornbill resulted in Shreeram landing on his rather substantial backside which in turn resulted in a raft of poor jokes about the invention of chapatis and other such flattened preparations. The ceiling of the cave is covered in thousands of bats (false vampires, perhaps) and while we were examining the bats through our binoculars, Suma spotted a snake up amongst them. On closer examination, it turned to be a Forsten's cat snake in the act of swallowing one of the bats! And from its distended stomach, it looked like the bat was the third in the line. We found one more cat snake coiled in the holes in the limestone ceiling. The walk back to the jeep took just a little more than an hour.

In the evening, we visited Syntheri Rock, a large monolith being slowly worn away by the raging Kali River. The whistling schoolboy, the Malabar Whistling Thrush was hopping on the rocks by the water. The rocks, where they were wet, had little tadpoles with bluish spots heading off to become frogs. The rock face has nesting swifts and the hives of rock bees and fruiting wild banana trees.

The last morning, we visited the Old Magazine House at Ganeshgudi where the guide said we would see many birds, but by the time we got there, the sun was already high in the sky and apart from a Ruby-throated Bulbul and a soaring pair of Crested Serpent Eagles we didn't see much in the way of birds. However, we found a huge Tarantula nest in the mud near one of the huts at the Old Magazine House, but we'd have had to have been there at night to catch a sight of the spider. We did spot a rat snake by the road and Romit saw another one high up on a bamboo.

Back at the camp, we relaxed until it was time to catch the bus to Hubli and the train back to Bangalore. It was a trip with much to remember, the snakes in the bat cave, the Great Indian Hornbills, the White-bellied Sea Eagle, but mainly, it was memorable because of the meeting of so many curious minds.

More photos...

Far From The Madding Goa

2009-11-12T17:36:00.014+05:30

Goa.

It was almost too late to catch the 9.30pm bus when I finally decided that the twelve hour bus-ride would be worth enduring for three days in sunny Goa. That sentence eventually ended up being truthful in just one aspect - that the bus-ride would be worth it, though even that was a close thing.

For starters, the bus left only at 10.30pm. And, the cyclone Phyan in the Arabian sea clouded up the sun for all but a few minutes of my stay. And, twelve hours... well, the Seabird Travels bus broke down at Ranebennur which is about halfway to Panaji. The conductor then tells me that they would arrange for another bus, but that would take four hours, maybe. The passengers were encouraged to make their own way, and so I did - from Ranebennur to Hubli and then on to Panaji, enduring a massive traffic jam close to Ponda. And so I made it to Panaji at 4.30pm instead of the scheduled 9.45am effectively making my stay two days only. The journey has one magnificent memory for me though - the first rays of the sun, lighting up the cotton clouds from below, hitting the faces of huge fields of blooming yellow sunflower. This sight, somewhere between Ranebennur and Hubli, lit up my entire journey.

Saturday was almost gone by the time I bathed the dust of the road off me so all Abhi and I could fit in was a walk on Miramar beach in the dark. There were hundreds of jellyfish beached on the sand and another unusual anemone-like creature attached to the outside of a discarded shell. We must have looked quite suspicious searching the sand meticulously in the dark with the dim light from my cellphone torch. But then it was time for a dinner of excellent pork balchao at Mum's Kitchen. This mum of mine sure does charge a lot for her cooking!

We woke Jyothika early on Sunday to take us to the Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary on the island of Chorao showing her her first Goan sunrise in the process. The mangrove forest had Abhi and I mesmerised. The habitat is so different from the forests of the western ghats which we'd explored together. There were fiddler crabs duelling in the mud with their single large pincers, mudskippers hopping around with their fins and Little Herons skulking around in the shadows. We saw Greenshanks and Redshanks and Common Sandpipers aplenty. Oh, and the ferry ride to the island is free if you're not taking your car!

Back in Panjim, we explored Fontainhas, the old Latin quarter with brightly coloured bungalows and white churches. Goan sausages and prawn curry for lunch at Panjim Inn. And then we caught the ferry (another free ride!) from near the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa to Divar Island, taking our rental bikes this time. The ride up the wooded hill on the island passed many beautiful homes that I would love to live in. There's a beautiful church, the Church of Our Lady of Compassion, on top of the hill and plenty of birds in the trees. Small Minivets darted through the sky above us as we explored the church grounds. Back on the mainland, we passed the Viceroy's Arch, which, in my head, is the Portuguese equivalent of the Gateway of India and visited the Church of St. Cajetan. I was quite captivated by the inside of this church. The paintings mounted on its walls are magnificent! And, apparently, the dome of this church is modelled on the one in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.

Abhi and I spent Monday morning wandering first around Fort Aguada where I saw the Grey Headed Bulbul for the first time, and then around Baga Hill and Baga Creek. There was absolutely no one on Baga Hill apart from some frustratingly evasive birds and a patrolling plainclothes cop who warned us to be careful as there had been many "incidents" there. It's really peaceful up there in the dancing gold grass. Back down the hill and across Baga Creek is the Xavier Retreat House, and once we had walked beyond that, there was one last shack and then just the Arabian Sea washing up against the shore. We sat on a rocky promontory and watched it drizzle on the waves.

Thankfully the ride back to Bangalore wasn't as eventful as the ride to Goa.

More photos...

Without A Care

2009-11-02T16:30:00.003+05:30

Manchinbele Dam.

The setting sun reflected off the water in pink and purple. I leaned back in the gently bobbing kayak and watched the dark specks in the water grow slowly larger, listening to the calming sound of the water lapping against the boat. I was almost afraid to breathe in case my breath disturbed this peaceful world that I had wandered into.

The figures of my friends were still visible as I reluctantly dug my oar into the ripples and headed back to shore. Behind me, a full moon had risen into the sky turning the pink into silver. The grey heron stood motionless in the reeds as I floated on by.

We grilled bacon and sausages, ate feta and tomatoes, laughed and danced. The moon was high in the sky by the time we ran out of stories. The fire was doused, the garbage was collected, and we left, promising to be back another day.

Loosing My Mind

2009-10-29T19:20:00.004+05:30

Another year's flashed on by and still the elevators tell me that I might loose my hand. I guess long ago I was all right, but now it's ok to be alright. I'm so loost that I'm not sure whether I'm seperating or separating. Another ten-fifteen years, and I'll definately be in an asylum.

Perhaps English is moving on and I'm getting left behind. Or is it that the world's moving on and I've gotten off?

Bittersweet Galle Kandy

2009-10-21T16:12:00.017+05:30

Colombo, Kandy and Galle.

After much arithmetic gymnastics, I managed to convince myself that I could afford the four days off that I needed to make the Sri Lankan holiday. Once that was sorted, the realization dawned that four days to explore a country was not even remotely possible and the dropping of things off the agenda began. No Sigiriya, no Yala National Park.

The Hornbill Homestay was a pleasant surprise, providing excellent air-conditioned digs for US $27. Arriving in Colombo at two in the morning had us producing our passports every few kilometres at the police checkposts that reminded us that Sri Lanka was just about done warring. The other reminders of recent disaster were the signboards near the homestay showing us the evacuation routes in case of a tsunami.

I'm not the most enthusiastic shopper, but feedback from many corners had me imagining a nice Lowepro bag for my camera at half the Indian price and other such magnificent bargains, but after Odel and House of Fashion though, I was ready to move on to more familiar forms of entertainment. A lucky visit to the promenade opposite the Galle Face Hotel at sunset and we were witness to the Sri Lankan flag being ceremonially taken down for the day. And then it was time for some devilled (they devil almost anything) calamari and parotas from one of the roadside stalls across from the oldest hotel east of the Suez Canal.

Instead of staying a day at Kandy, we opted to go on a day tour that would take us to some of the places worth seeing in the hills. The first stop, after breakfast at a beautiful colonial bungalow, was the elephant orphanage at Pinnawale where the store sold elephant dung paper and all seventy eight elephants paraded across the small town to the river for a bath watched by hundreds of tourist voyeurs. At the spice garden I finally saw the plants and trees from which the spices which I've eaten for most of my life come from. The two enthusiastic Bangalore boys, Kenny and Preetham who'd joined us on the tour, volunteered for face massages and a little hair-removal (just Kenny for that one). There was also a back rub with a spice oil to encourage me to splurge on some of the ayurvedic concoctions on sale there. I resisted. For me, the star of the magnificent botanical garden with its palm avenues, orchid garden and japanese garden was the huge weeping fig (Ficus Benjamina) in the middle of a large grass field. The Temple of the Tooth Relic, on the bank of the Kandy Lake, is where the Lord Buddha's left canine is housed after being taken from his funeral pyre and smuggled into Sri Lanka in Princess Hemamali's hair when her father's kingdom was under attack. The walk around the lake has some beautiful trees and bungalows. And then, just before the drive back to Colombo, I witnessed the tail-end of the famous Kandyan cultural show with the performers eating and walking through fire.

The road down to Galle goes along the coast and at some points is just metres away from the water. What I found amusing was that each town along this road, even though you can see the water from your seat in the bus, has a signboard declaring its height above MSL (mean sea level). This, by the way, is, on an average, 3.5m!

Unawatuna is just a few kilometres further down the road and immediately reminded me of Goa with small roads and lots of beaches and seafood shacks. We put up in a guest house a two minute walk from the beach where a friend of a friend, was staying with her Sri Lankan surfer-fisherman-boyfriend. With rented bikes, we rode down the coast to a fishing village Mirissa, stopping along the way at Kogalla for a boat-ride to an island in the clear-glass backwaters. From Mirissa, we watched the sun go down over a cup of tea. We were entertained with fishing stories over a dinner of "curry and rice" and how he learnt to climb coconut trees because he had to get out of the way of the tsunami (noting that he had the perfect view of the incoming waters from his precarious perch!)

I was still sorely tempted to visit Yala, which is another 3 hours down the same coast but 6 hours on the last day was a little too much to do for a couple of hours at the park. So we opted to visit the Sinharaja rainforest instead which was supposed to be half the distance. As it turned out, we
spent 6 hours in the car anyway. But it was well worth the ride and the couple of leech bites just to see the large Green Pit Viper resting on the fronds of some fern-like plant. We also encountered hump-nosed lizards, kangaroo lizards and green garden lizards on the way to the Kekuna Falls. But the lack of time didn't allow me to 'stop and stare' at the giant trees and climbers or search the canopy for birds. On the way back, we stopped at the Galle Fort to watch the sun set. The fort is a fascinating city inside a city with Dutch cafes alongside mosques and old mediterranean-looking guesthouses.

Back at the Nirmala guest house, Sri Lanka had one last surprise for me. As I sat on the parapet with a cup of tea thinking about the journey back home, a toddy cat leapt from the roof just above my head onto the coconut palm behind me, pausing just for one disdainful glance before disappearing into the darkness.

My visit to Sri Lanka was too short. And even then, there is so much more to tell. Like how the food is similar to Tamil food - string hoppers, kotthu parotas, dodol. And that there is a dessert called Watalappam which is a dark brown eggy-coconutty custard with raisins on top. And that the ladies wear a form of the saree known as the Kandyan saree which I shamelessly enquired of the receptionist at the place we had lunch one day. And that the Sinhalese word for river is 'ganga' and for water in 'watura'. And that water monitors are quite a common sight. And that people tend to say that things are closer than they are.

Sigh. There is still much to see and do in this beautiful and hospitable country.

More photos...

At The Edge

2009-06-10T16:01:00.011+05:30

Onake Abbe, Agumbe.

I sat on a rock with my feet dangling dizzyingly high above the dive pool. Beside me, the water rippled around my fingers and dove unhesitating over the edge. The wind gently blew the cool spray back into my face as I looked over the rain-forest far below. Behind me, the path wound through the dense, dark forest of pit vipers and leeches that I hope will deter many a monsoon trekker.

I sat on the rock and dreamed. I dreamed I was an eagle, soaring unbounded over giant trees and crystal streams. And I despaired in my heart for I knew that my being there was a sign that man was at the doorstep.

I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes, I would. If I could, I surely would.

- Simon & Garfunkel (El Condor Pasa)

Tequila Uchila

2009-05-26T21:21:00.033+05:30

Uchila.

Uchila is a fishing village somewhere between Mangalore and Udipi on India's western coast. And Akuna Matata (no, I haven't mis-spelt it), is the resort in Uchila where I spent an idyllic weekend.

The bus from Bangalore reached earlier that we anticipated. As soon as my morning ablutions had been completed, I headed off along the beach to where the fishing boats were coming in with the morning's catch of shark, mackerel, crab and an assortment of fish that I had never seen before. I watched as the fishermen carried the boats in from the water. And I watched as the women of the village bid for baskets of the catch, covering them with tyre-tube rubber weighed down with bags of sand to keep them safe from the brahminy kite and crow bandits.

After breakfast, the Arabian Sea, clad in its green-blue best, tempted us into its folds. The waves looked mild but perhaps the nearing monsoon winds were already lending them power. We enjoyed being tossed around for a while before a strong current out to sea convinced us to get our feet back on solid ground.

Back at the bungalow everyone was settling down for a snooze, so I decided to explore the village. The villagers watched bemused as I walked along the path in the midday heat with camera in hand. They must have wondered what it was that I saw in the bugs that inhabited the bushes on either side of the road. Anyway, I learnt very quickly that the coastal humidity can turn a fresh dry t-shirt into a soaking rag in a matter of minutes. Garden lizards scampered out of my way as I headed back to read in the relative comfort of the indoors until the day cooled a little.

The evening low-tide exposed rocks that were home to hundreds of skittish
crabs that scuttled away as we clambered up. We poked around in the cracks and pools disturbing the fish and the anemones until the returning tide sneaked up on us and had us scrambling to get back to dry land. The sun sank gently and beautifully into the sea.

Sunday morning, after the fish auction, it drizzled lightly. I walked along the beach, narrowed by the high tide, playing with the sea's ebb and flow, stopping to examine an eel here and a starfish there. It's a wonderful feeling to know that the marks you leave behind are being wiped clean by the sea and that the people who come after will have a flawless beach to walk on. I'm sure there's a beautiful moral in there somewhere!

Football on the beach is as exhilarating as it is exhausting and after fifteen minutes we gratefully stopped for a lunch of deep-fried prawns and prawn curry and rice (at least, that's what I ate). Lunch was followed by the arrival of the monsoon which we watched bear down on us from the west. It's a magnificent sight; the dark rain clouds charging in from the sea and the water being whipped up by the monsoon winds.

Another weekend went by in a flash. And what a weekend it was - Sneha's birthday, Paul popping the question, Lisa accepting, tequila cheers and Taboo!

More photos...

The High Life

2009-05-19T16:10:00.003+05:30

Yercaud.

The bird song that woke me on Sunday was a little too loud. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn light and tried to remember where I was. "Ah, yes... the weekend in a tree house!" The bird sang again and I crawled across the creaking floor to the doorway and peered out at the leaves silhouetted against the grey of the morning. Covering myself with a blanket, I sat and listened as the chorus of birds greeted the rising sun.

It was still too dark to distinguish between the birds and the leaves, so I shook off the cobwebs in my head and tiptoed back into the room, washed my face in the alga-green water, grabbed my binoculars and headed down the ladder and out. I'm sure the others were awake but didn't share my feathery obsession.

As I walked through the coffee shrubs to the road, a little Jungle Owlet silently glided out of the leaves and alighted on a twig in front of me. A glance over his shoulder and he was off again. Just past the gate of the estate, an Asian Fairy Bluebird was hunting from his post on the tree by the road. The deep red eyes, in sharp contrast to his blue and black coat, ignored me as I watched him shuttle to and fro across the road.

Up the road I went, towards Pagoda Point (or Pakoda Point, depending on which sign you choose to believe) smiling happily at all I met on the road, stray dogs and humans alike. Anjali had mentioned that she'd seen some woodpeckers near the check dam that we'd walked to the day before, that's where my footsteps turned. A crowd of Jungle Babblers babbled noisily in the clump of trees caught in the turn of the road. Among them, a Brown-fronted Pygmy Woodpecker made his way up the trunk of a silver oak. A pair of Gold-fronted Leafbirds flew from tree to tree near the check dam.

By this time, my stomach was crying out for breakfast, so reluctantly I turned back. A Crested Serpent Eagle sat watching me watching him, and then regally spread his wings a flew over the valley and into the distance. The White-cheeked Barbets sang a loud chorus and the Plum-headed Parakeets screamed along. As I walked through the gate to the estate, I spotted three Greater Flameback Woodpeckers getting breakfast and I was reminded to go get my own.

'Twas quite a morning with Magpie Robins, Scarlet Minivets, Ashy Woodswallows, Coppersmith Barbets and Rufous Treepies added to my list.

After breakfast and a guided hike to the edge of the Shevaroy Hills, we drove down to Yercaud town, found some bicycles and rode some way around the lake. After lunch, we left Glenrock Estates and Yercaud behind and drove back to Bangalore. The tree house stay was too short; high in a banyan tree, it was surprisingly large, easily holding all five of us, though the bamboo partition for the bathroom is not for the shy. Perhaps I'll visit again some day and listen to the Racket-tailed drongos scream outside the window once more. And perhaps I'll pay more attention to the many butterflies that flitted through the trees.

Ten Sunny Days

2009-05-12T19:32:00.012+05:30

It was like a scene out of an old sepia tinted movie. Just outside an abandoned railway station, a dust covered traveller steps out of a bus with just a bag on his back. The bus leaves in a cloud of dust, and every face turns around to watch the new arrival. But that's where the movie switches back to colour.

To the people of Kallidaikurichi, a chinese face is a rarity. Rare? I don't think they'd seen one in the flesh until I stepped off the bus. They have, however, seen Jackie Chan in Tamil dubbed movies sitting on mounds of sand in their open air theatres. And so, for ten days, I was Jackie, and expected to teach little kids kung-fu.

But that wasn't why I was in this sun-scorched village in south India. Abhi was looking for someone to help with her survey of waterbirds in the tanks on the border of Kalakkad Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve, and I wasn't about to let such an opportunity pass me by. And so we visited the tanks and counted birds by the hundreds - egrets, herons, storks, moorhens, jacanas and kingfishers. The birds that were the highlight of my stay though were the Cinnamon Bitterns and a Red Collared Dove. And the Ashy Woodswallows chattering animatedly in the Palmyra trees silhouetted by the sunset.

There were Bark Geckos and the Fan-throated Lizards aplenty, and a walk by the canal showed us a few baby Checkered keelbacks.

The heat prevented us from venturing out most of the day, and so I spent a lot of time in the nursery helping Ruthamma with the saplings. It's a joy communicating with someone without words. We spoke sans words about butterflies and trees and slugs and mosquitoes.

It was fascinating to hear the story of the tilted lingam of the 1200 year old Thirupudaimaruthur Temple from one of the priests. The temple is named because the lingam was found in the hollow of an Ashoka tree by the king who built the temple. Legend has it that a sage was coming from a long way for a darshan, and found the river near the temple in spate. Unable to get to the temple, he prayed and the water subsided. When he got there, he found the lingam tilted to one side and he asked god why, and the god replied that he had tilted his head to hear his call. And that's the story of the idol in the temple.

Atree, the organization that was playing host to me, has various programmes to get the local people involved in conservation. One of them is the flying fox census that the kids of the village participate in. And so, one evening we set off to this temple compound with huge trees where the bats roost and waited for them to take off to their feeding grounds and then counted them as they flew by. The kids have been doing this once a month for the last two years for this particular population of 2000-3000 bats.

Ten days went by in a flash washed in sunshine and lemon juice. Ten days of eating breakfast, lunch and dinner off banana leaves with my hands. Ten days of trying not to spoil Jackie Chan's name. Ten days of birds. Ten days of stalking the insects and frogs in the garden with the 105mm. Ten days of stories that would fill volumes!

And then it was time to say goodbye and time to get Ruthamma to smile for the camera.

More photos...

Stand Up For Your Back

2009-04-23T13:05:00.003+05:30

After exercising my franchise for the first time, I decided to take the public transport home. Six years of fearing the Bangalore crowds had just been overcome by watching my retired parents tame the Kannada boards on the buses.

The first bus I jumped on was headed in the wrong direction, so off I hopped extremely proud that I didn't stumble when I leapt off the accelerating bus. Then, guided by a grey-haired gentleman, I boarded the appropriate bus and found myself a comfy seat away from the burning sun. It took just a little more time than driving to get home.

Ah, but you must be wondering what the title's got to do with anything. Well, on the way, while the bus was toodling along at a pace not very friendly to the bikes on the road, suddenly, all the passengers towards the rear of the bus stood up without making a move towards the exit. Hmm, I thought, that's odd. And then it struck me... the realisation, as well as the jolt up my spine! Bloody speedbreakers!

Holi Colours

2009-03-13T14:47:00.006+05:30

From beneath the flowering Persian Lilac (Melia Azedarach) tree, I looked up and saw a sky of the truest blue through the fresh green leaves of spring. White clouds sailed across the blue, silhouetting a pair of crows in shiny black.

The sun went down painting the clouds pink and purple, leaving behind a soft golden glow. Behind the hibiscus, the full moon rose fading from yellow to white, till finally, the world was just different shades of grey.

Happiness Rains

2009-03-06T13:43:00.005+05:30

Paper boats racing down the storm drain with four kids cheering them on sheltered from the lightning and the pouring rain by a tin roof.

Returning home soaking wet after winning a football match we should have lost since we were playing with most of the regulars banned for poor academic performance.

Continuing the Founder's display as the lights blew, one by one, in the summer storm.

Riding an auto through the gates of a green Pune University through the drizzle of the monsoon.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere in a downpour with darkness upon us, singing.

Sprinting up to Cheena Peak in a drizzle stopping only to pull leeches off our ankles.

Spending an hour in a village home not understanding a word of the conversation, invited in from the pouring rain.

Wandering through the Himachal hills, splashing each other by jumping in the puddles, not wanting to get home.

Discarding umbrellas and walking barefoot through paddy fields looking for frogs and mushrooms.

Scrambling for higher ground in the middle of the night as the swollen Alaknanda washed the sand away from under our tents.

Is it any wonder that I love the rain so?

Adios, Amigo

2009-03-04T14:28:00.004+05:30

You made your way quietly into my world, accompanying me on walks, sitting with me by the pond, sharing my meals. You welcomed me into yours, with its quirky inhabitants, all in need of help. You made me laugh with your dances in the water, with your games of tag and the wrinkles on your forehead.

And now you're gone, my guardian from snakes in the grass and elephants in the night. Tears come unbidden.

And I will miss you.

Ha Achi

2009-02-10T17:02:00.004+05:30

Sangram, Arunachal Pradesh.

"Ha achi", she said, her head bent so I couldn't see her face. Without knowing what it meant, I felt the phrase pull at me.

"What does that mean?", I asked.

"Ask Sister", and she turned and quickly stepped out of the kitchen.

"It means, my heart is aching", Sister said.

And now, gno ha achi.

Blue Skies

2009-01-16T21:47:00.010+05:30

Solur, near Masinagudi.

The best laid schemes o' mice and men, gang aft agley. Robert Burns must have been talking about my plans for the year-end closure at work. Every plan seemed to be falling apart as the holidays got closer. For want of anything better to do, I even volunteered to work through some of the holiday. So when a plan to camp somewhere in the Nilgiris came up, I jumped at it.

The guide met us at Masinagudi and guided us through lunch, tea breaks and gardens to Solur. From there, after a rather long discussion with the owners of the tea garden about whether or not it was permitted to camp in the hills, we hiked to a large grass field where the tents were pitched. Notice that I do not say that we pitched the tent. Anjali, Manik and I shirked our duties and headed up to the top of the hill to catch the setting of the sun. Suffice it to say that the sun has a lot more practice getting over hills than us city-slickers. As we stumbled our way down, we watched the campfire flicker to life and the stars follow Venus' lead in punctuating the deep indigo sky.

Sneha joyfully took charge of the supplies (Chinese camping and supplies joke's making me smile) that Ashwin and Roshan had lugged up and handed out tuna, luncheon meat and cheese sandwiches to go with the rum and coke. I can't remember what the conversation was about, but it was warm, in sharp contrast with the air which was beginning to bite. The cold chewed through the tent, through my sleeping bag and chomped on my toes, making the night rather restive.

We woke to see the sun rise and then decided to go up the hill again, and with Manik around, there's always a higher hill to climb. There were stone walls built at various levels on the way up, and near the top, there were some large flat pieces of granite placed so that people could sit and admire the view. I wonder what the walls are for - not supporting anything and too low to keep anything in or out. And I wonder who made those seats.

And then it was breakfast and the hike back to Solur. For the crazies in the bunch, it was walking all the way down to Masinagudi. And then surviving a hair-raising drive back to Bangalore so that I could make the airport in time.

AWOL Clouds

2008-11-11T15:21:00.001+05:30

Skandagiri.

Fashionably late, we piled into Dillu's Safari and, stopping only to pick up supplies enough for an army to march on, we drove to Chikkaballapur and the temple at the base of Kalwarbetta. It took just a couple of hours to follow the moonlit path up to the top of the hill and the remnants one of Tipu Sultan's forts.

It was a quiet night on the hill as we ate our tuna, turkey, chicken, cheese, cucumber and tomato filled sandwiches. With sated belly, I collapsed and let the old light from Orion, Taurus and Cassiopeia impinge on my retina. A couple of hours of stargazing later, I ducked out of the chilly breeze into the tent and pretended that rocks make good mattresses. My snoring soon announced the success of the sandman.

My repose was unkindly intruded upon by a screaming horde of invading Huns. Wait, perhaps they were a troupe of monkeys leaping from rock to rock in the moonlight. Or maybe I had fallen asleep in a fish market. My sleep confused mind struggled with these possibilities and came to the conclusion that I was actually in a stress-induced nightmare. And I slept.

I awoke as the sky turned from black to indigo and scrambled out of the tent. Whoa! The nightmare was still there! Then, with the day, realization dawned. The clouds that were to greet me were AWOL. Instead there was a TV9 crew shooting the loudly chattering crowd of people that had gathered to watch the sun rise.

At least the sun didn't disappoint, and I watched the miracle of day unfold before me.

Bridges and Tunnels

2008-11-06T14:59:00.007+05:30

Yedakumari.

Five years ago, we had trekked along this unused railway track that wound its way through tunnels and over bridges in the Western Ghats from Donigal to Edukumeri. The plan had been to spend the night at the railway station and trek onward to Kukke Subramanya, but exhaustion got the better of a couple of us, and we had hitched a ride back to civilisation and come back to Bangalore. A feeling of incompleteness has nagged me ever since, especially since someone told me that the trek beyond Edukumeri is far more scenic.

And so I set off again with tent and sleeping bag and enthusiastic company. The Mangalore KSRTC bus dropped us at Manjarabad Fort in a chaotic deadlock of vehicles at 5:30 am. It was four kilometres on the tarmac before we found the path onto the tracks. From there, the just past monsoon ensured that the "green route" lived up to its name. The flowering grasses waving in the breeze and screeching Racket-tailed Drongos accompanied us on the eighteen kilometres from there to the station at Edukumeri. The grass seeds attracted many Black-throated Munias. Noticeably missing were the thousands of bats that had lived in the thirty-five tunnels the last time I walked the track - yes, the same ones that had pissed on us - what a waste of the cap I bought to shelter my head from the unwanted conditioning! The butterflies were present in large numbers - Common Bluebottles, Lemon Pansies, Chocolate Pansies, Eggflies, Common Lascars, Common Sailers, Blue Mormons, Southern Birdwings were the ones I could identify. A few goods trains passed languidly by giving us ample time to get out of the way. Just a little before Yedakumari, we decided to cool our heels, literally, in one of the many streams that cross below the tracks. Then, as we picked up our tired bodies to make the final push towards our destination for the day, I spotted a scaly pattern on one of the rocks. The beautiful Malabar Pit Viper made our day, posing unmoving as we took our photographs.

I was surprised to see the station sign saying Yedakumari and not Edukumeri. I tried to translate it into English, and what I got amused me plenty: Yeda Kumari = Mad Maiden. I wonder what it really means though. The blogs had warned us that we would not be allowed to pitch tent at the station, so we hiked on looking for a spot to camp for the night. We had spent twelve hours on our feet when we finally settled down near a stream next to our tent with jam, cheese and bread. I must admit, it wasn't the most comfortable night I've ever spent. The pebbles beneath the tent made my fidgety sleeping quite painful. Still, it was a pretty night with stars peeking through the strangler fig under which we slept.

Scarlet minivets watched as I brushed my teeth in the stream in the morning. The Malabar Whistling Thrushes sang their happy songs and bright Yellow-browed bulbuls picked the fruit from the trees above.

The linesmen on the tracks had given us a target of the 80/400 marker as the spot from which we should turn off the railway line onto the forest path that would take us to Gundiya and a bus back to Bangalore. Armed with this information, which turned out to be 300 metres off, we set off knowing that we would have plenty of time to make our destination over the remaining bridges. To our right, for this entire stretch was a magnificent view of the shola forests of the western ghats. I spent much time wondering if one of the hills was Kumaraparvatha which is said to be the toughest trek in Karnataka. I will find out some day.

With a little difficulty, we found the path down to Gundiya, marked by some helpful soul in the moss with a stick - "GUNDY ->", and down we went. A sweaty, oily, uncouth, vest-clad trekker passed us by and turned around to ask me where I'm from and was extremely disappointed to hear "Bangalore". The group he was walking with made their noisy way past us, destroying many plants along the way. A little further, he turned around and asked if I had a lighter or matches - to light a fire! And then a little further, he came back to say, "Do you have some food? We're all very hungry. We have money but didn't find any shops." What I thought of this intrusion has been censored! Anyway, this caused us to take a detour which led to us getting a few leech bites (just one for me) and a far more interesting walk through the forest down to the town.

The buses to Bangalore were packed and we exhaustedly stood the three hours to Hassan before we got seats.

Here's some information that would have made the trek a little less interesting:

1. Take the 11:15 pm bus heading to Mangalore from Bangalore and request to get off approximately 4 kilometres after Donigal. If the conductor doesn't agree to that, then Donigal/Manjarabad Fort is the place to get off (usually some time between 4:30 am and 5:30 am). It may not be possible to book tickets to Donigal, so Uppinangadi should do.

2. The trains are not a problem. And no one tries to stop you from trekking on the track.

3. Definitely carry a torch. We switched off the torches in the middle of one of the tunnels and I couldn't see my palm 2 inches from my face (and people will tell you that I practically glow in the dark!)

4. You get on the track around the 50/400 marker and Yedamukari is just past the 68km mark. The turn off to Gundiya is at the 80/100 marker just after tunnel no. 35 and just before a bridge.

And so, five years in the doing, it is done.

Till The Rhododendron Turned Into Shrubs

2008-10-22T17:21:00.004+05:30

Mcleodganj to Kareri Lake.

Is a perfect holiday the one in which every little thing goes according to plan? Nah! That would be a perfectly boring holiday. Perhaps that's why life throws all these problems at us, to keep us on our toes and alive! Ah, but that's a discussion for another day and another campfire in the mountains.

The fun began when the cab to the Old Delhi Railway Station broke down in Daryaganj in the middle of heavy traffic - living in Bangalore, I do not use that phrase lightly! The thought that I was paying the cabbie (too much, I might add) to push his cab through a stream of honking Delhi cars bounced around in my head. A gleeful autodriver saw me waving ridiculously on the divider and made hay, taking us and our backpacks for a ride to the station. And so, we were on our way.

We got to the Dalai Lama's monastery only to learn that the last of his series of lectures to the public had ended a couple of hours before. Soooo, that's why all those people were headed in the other direction! Oh, but wait, the security guard says, he's giving another talk to a group visiting from Taiwan, so you can sit upstairs and catch a glimpse of him on his way to the prayer hall. And so, we waited with the Buddhist faithful, watching them twirl prayer wheels and murmur prayers inaudibly. We sat for close to an hour on the stairs and all this time, a Tibetan lady bowed towards the prayer hall in a manner akin to doing pushups, stopping only to wipe the sweat off her brow. Faith can move mountains?

From Mcleodganj back to the hotel is a short walk on the hillside, and after my first glimpse of a Nobel prize-winner and lunch, I decided to take this path. Of course, a walk is not worth taking note of unless it pours. The rest of the gang decided to catch a taxi back to the hotel, leaving just Anjali and me to splash through the puddles looking for the way back. The directions said that we would reach a field which we would have to cross to get to Dal Lake and from there, it would be simple. The field turned out to be a school playfield on a very washed-out Sports Day with the viewing galleries filled to the rafters with students and onlookers. Casting aside my stage-fright, I plopped across the field with my trousers rolled up above my knees looking like I was wearing nothing but my newly acquired rain poncho-like-thingy. Oh yes, we even stopped for directions. Dal Lake was duly found and in our relief at being out of the spotlight, we promptly headed up the wrong road. The chinese features did seem to bring more greetings than usual. Anyway, someone pointed us in the correct direction and we were soon back at Dal Lake sipping tea by the roadside watching the kids from the school running the marathon in the pouring rain.

The next day dawned bright and shiny, and forecast of our guide was, "It's good it rained yesterday - now the trek should stay dry." With most of our baggage on pack-mules in true sahib-adventurer style, we set off towards Kareri Village. The first break, after a steep downhill walk, was at Ghera and after a cup of tea we were on our way across the bridge and up the hill accompanied by the constant chirruping of cicadas. Lunch was a welcome break near a small settlement as we crested a ridge. The village kids stopped their games and watched us shyly from a distance.

The climb continued after lunch through rhododendron, oak and pine, with many breaks to look at butterflies and spiders and wildflowers, or at least that was the excuse.

We set up camp a little below Kareri Village by a small stream on a grass field occupied mostly by grazing sheep. The calling birds drew me towards the village, and while the rest of the group washed in the water, I clambered up the hill. Sitting on a boulder, I heard with joy the sound of life without motors. Suddenly, "Thump!" A stone the size of an orange landed in the mud a few feet away. And then a scream, "Yaaaaa!" A boy from the village was chasing the horses off his farm, and had come within a few inches of seeing the inside of my skull. I hastened out from the rocks and made my presence known. As my pulse settled down again, Subhash came up behind me and says, "Sir!" My skin stayed behind while the rest of me leapt into the massive oak trees, before sheepishly creeping back. After carrying our lunch the entire morning, he was headed to his home in the village to get us some firewood and मक्की की रोटी. And so I was invited home and treated to walnuts from the tree outside, introduced to his children and told stories about life in Kareri - the struggle with the black bears, the snow in the winter, the planting of trees for the forest department and school for the kids. Then, supplied, we raced down the hill in the dusk to camp.

We sat by the fire and sang songs for our audience of sheep. After the others had turned in, two boys emerged out of the darkness and asked, with a wink, if I would like some "ककडी" since they were going to get supplies. They grinned and pointed in the direction of one of the farms. I declined, and they disappeared cheerfully back into the dark. I'm sure the cucumber they 'borrowed' tasted a lot sweeter!

The second day was supposed to be a long climb all the way up to Kareri Lake. But after spotting a Crested Pied Kingfisher and a Spotted Forktail, the rains came again, in buckets. The decision was to split the second day trek into two days and camp somewhere halfway up. The sky cleared, and in retrospect, it was very fortunate that we shortened the second day because a couple of us really struggled on the climb. The view was breathtaking.
Himalayan Griffons and Lammergeiers studied us from above as we made our way to our second campsite, wondering if one of us would thoughtfully keel over and provide them with a meal. The tents were set up by the side of a stream with White-capped Water Redstarts and Plumbeous Water Redstarts flitting from boulder to boulder. The Grey Wagtails just wouldn't sit still for the cameras.

The next day, we followed the stream up towards it's source, following the path used by the Gaddi shepherds. The slopes on either side were littered with huge boulders probably deposited there by long-disappeared galciers. Raptors flew overhead thoroughly exposing my lack of skill at identifying them. Pheasants called raucously from the trees on either side.

And suddenly we were part of the idyllic scene that is Kareri Lake. The lake is considered sacred because of the Shiva temple on its shore. The rock-strewn Minkiani Pass rose from the edge of the lake towards a sky of the deepest blue. Sheep grazed on the emerald green banks lit by a sun on the way down. Rosy Pipits shot into the sky from their hiding places as I walked through the rocks at the base of the pass. Past the shepherd huts, the land drops away into a deep valley before rising back up in another ridge. As I watched, the clouds drifted slowly through the valley and climbed up over the lake.

My restless feet led me up the path to the ridge on the right of the valley we'd hiked up. The sun went behind the mountains, and the sky turned a deeper blue. An almost full moon was already in the sky, giving the mist an eerie glow as it curled around the oak trunks. And then I noticed that the shrubs all around were rhododendron. Unexpectedly, this silly dream of mine had come true - from the time I had learnt that rhododendron trees became shrubs at higher altitudes, I had wanted to see this.

A rather heavy shower had me checking my tent for leaks in the wee hours of the morning. My neighbours, being more paranoid than me, packed their bags and got into their raingear in preparation for the collapse of their tent! When we clambered out of our tents to greet the daylight, we saw the hailstones by the tents, and the snow on Minkiani Pass. I wish it had snowed.

And so we said goodbye to Kareri Lake and set off on the long trek back down the mountain, back to where the rhododendron were still trees. Coming down is hard on the knees as we all learnt, and when we finally got to Brrlay, our final camp site, we were all exhausted.

The next day, we hiked back to concrete and glass and bathrooms.

It's more than two weeks now since I unpacked my bag, and there's still so much I remember that hasn't found place in this post. And with my memory, that's saying something! Every time I looked up, there was a spectacular view that burned itself into my memory. Every time I looked in the grass, there was a butterfly, a grasshopper, a flower, something I hadn't seen before. So many birds flitted through the view of my binoculars. The people everywhere greeted us with an honesty that sometimes had me blinking that watery stuff away from my eyes.

And that, I guess, is what will remain.... that bag full of memories.

Mamta, Mamta and Mamta

2008-10-22T15:19:00.001+05:30

Mamta, my very sharp-witted and equally sharp-tongued travelling companion. The provider of much entertainment through the entire trip.
Mamta, the girl that put the beauty of the Himalayas in the shade with her smile. Halfway through the first day of the trek, we stopped close to a village for lunch. There was a bunch of kids playing there with a carefree joy that made me wish with all my heart that I was one of them. They politely and discreetly kept their distance while we ate and then shyly answered our questions about their village and their lives. She was one of these kids.
Mamta, the girl that held a stranger's hand for protection from a darkness far more familiar to her. I was the first one to get to the camping site on the last evening out on the trail, and I was greeted by the kids of the village of Brrlay. "घूमने आए हैं", they told me and spoke to me about school and goatherds and black bears lurking in the darkness. They then asked me to take them home. I must have looked much like the Pied Piper with a bunch of happily dancing kids walking off into the darkness. Mamta held my hand the whole way home. One of the kids also offered to drop me back to the campsite! She was back the next morning to say goodbye to us.
Mamta, the thread that ran through my Himachali trek.

Beautiful Destruction

2008-09-26T16:23:00.005+05:30

There is a quarry that is no longer being quarried. The landscape is fascinating. The huge crater has been filled by the monsoon, and the water has brought with it succulent vegetation of bewildering variety.

The destruction that man has wrought on what must once have been a beautiful hill, has created this moonscape of a stark beauty with abundant surprises. Rock faces, reflecting white in the sun, drop steeply into pools of clear water. In these pools are worlds of waving plants, boatmen and tadpoles. Cracks and ledges have been inhabited by Peninsular Rock Agamas which scamper away if you step too close.

I walked through this quarry one early morning this is what I saw - the monsoon had filled this pond, and the plants had burst into flower.

105mm

2008-09-26T16:00:00.001+05:30

I splurged on the 105mm Micro-Nikkor VR and bugged my friends until I arranged for it to make it from Mountain View to Bangalore in time for my trip up north. A tough day at work only let me get my hands around it at 10pm on Wednesday.

The packaging was off before the leftovers had left the fridge. And the D80 was shooting through it a few seconds later. The plastic bag in which the lens travelled the world was the first subject, and was I surprised by what I saw.

There's a whole new perspective the world waiting for me through the macro lens!

The Lotus Lake

2008-08-13T22:50:00.004+05:30

Shivanasamudra.

Visiting the waterfalls on a holiday is not a good idea unless you get there early enough to beat the crowds. So, I set off at half past five in the pre-dawn and the light drizzle. At a little past six, Anjali was riding pillion and we were on our way.

The ride down Mysore road on a bike in a light rain is exhilarating. It wasn't so much fun for Anjali who was getting a pounding from the rain falling on her face. We were at Lokaruchi nice and early for breakfast, and we then turned off Mysore Road at Maddur towards Malavalli. A few kilometers past Malavalli a signboard directed us left to the Shivanasamudra bluff and Gaganchukki. It is getting close to Ganesh Chaturthi, and there were groups of children on the road asking for donations for their village pandals, adding more obstacles to the ubiquitous potholes.

Gaganchukki and Barachukki are magnificent in the monsoon. The water was white against the rocks. Swallows were flying about in the spray. Brahminy kites soared high over the falls.

A short walk past the 'Entry Prohibited' signboard took us away from the Sunday revellers to a quiet spot upstream. To our delight, we spotted a grey-headed fishing eagle alight on a branch on the other bank of the river. We watched it for a while, until a policeman came and shooed us off.

You can only stare at water falling down a cliff for so long, so we decided to visit Thalakad which was only a short distance away. Unfortunately, that short distance suffers from a certain lack of tarmac. My bike's shock absorbers and our backsides were severely punished on our way to this historical monument. It is surprising that a monument such as this is only approachable through such a pathetic excuse of a road.

The temples at Thalakad have long been studied by students of architecture. Sadly, the finer points of architecture escape me. The intricate carvings on the walls and the pillars do make excellent subject for 'abstracts', or so I was told. The temples are built on a huge sand bank on the Cauvery, and a little past the temple, on the banks of the river, hawkers were selling all sort of wares to the visiting tourists. A pesky little boy insisted on following us around saying that we would need a guide to tell us the history of the place and to save us from getting lost in the sand. When we finally got rid of him, a woman came up to me and told me the whole story of the place in Kannada. At least, I think it was the story of the place. Note to self: Learn Kannada.

Just a little past Thalakad, we turned off the road onto a dirt track that ended at the river. We sat there for some time, enjoying the sounds of the wind in the reeds and the water flowing by.

We'd asked the people at Thalakad if there was a better road back to Bangalore, and they'd replied in the affirmative. However, I suspect their idea of better just means longer, and a sterner test for the shock absorbers. The route is definitely more scenic though and we stopped more than a few times to identify birds we saw flying by. Blue-winged leafbirds and ashy-crowned sparrowlarks were firsts for me.

And then, as we were riding by a lake covered in lotuses, I casually mentioned that it would be great if a pheasant-tailed jacana were to walk by just then. And suddenly, there they were, pheasant-tails waving in the wind. Lots and lots of them! And they are so beautiful. And there were bronze-winged jacanas and watercocks as well. And coots and purple moorhens. I'm sure we'd have seen much more if we'd stayed. Perhaps even the snakes that Anjali had been hoping for.

Is there a word like brunch which describes a full meal at a time between lunch and dinner? Well, we stopped just before Ramanagaram on the way back and had that. There wasn't much else of note on the way back apart from two black-winged kites by the side of the road.

Quite a trip. I did forget to mention that it rained intermittently making the ride quite enjoyable. And yes, that we stopped many many more times to watch baya weavers and common flameback woodpeckers and scaly-bellied munias and rollers. And I am very happy that we didn't have a puncture.

No Black Panther

2008-08-06T13:45:00.004+05:30

Dandeli.

It was pouring when we sleepily disembarked from the Ajmer Express at Londa. I could see the taxi drivers' eyes light up when they saw us descend the walkway over the tracks, what with two French women leading the way. With a start like that, the fare bargaining, expectedly, was most unfair. Anyway, after unsuccessfully haggling a bit, we drove off into the monsoon green and to our home for the weekend - two spacious rooms at the Jungle Lodges' Kali River Resort.

The Kali River, the boatman told us, is named after the black appearance of the water. The rains, however, had turned it into the colour of a light coffee. The crocodiles took the opportunity presented by the short break in the rain to drag themselves out of their lethargy by soaking in the cloud filtered sun-rays. Women from the village across the river took the same opportunity to wash clothes down by the river. They've always done this with no fear of the crocodiles because there are fish aplenty in the river.

The driver stopped the jeep suddenly and killed the engine. The silence of the forest is shattered by the shriek of a Crested Serpent Eagle. There he was, perched on a leafless branch looking over our jeep at a ripple in the pond. He shrieked again, gave us one disdainful glare and gracefully soared into the trees. Methinks he was mightily displeased by our interference in his hunt of the rat snake in the pond. The ripple that was the rat snake must have thanked his lucky stars. The other creatures we disturbed that evening were a herd of gaur, a wild boar, a malabar giant squirrel, some spotted deer, a few emerald doves and dozens of peafowl. The forest is clad in its thickest coat at this time of year, so I wasn't surprised at the meagre returns of our safari.

Screeching hornbills woke me up the next morning. Gathering wits and camera, I stumbled out into the grey dawn. Malabar grey hornbills and malabar pied hornbills adorned the higher reaches of the trees, squabbling about what I do not know, but kicking up one helluva ruckus to be sure. The racket-tailed drongos we saw on the morning walk, the noisy ones in any hunting party, seemed courteous and polite after the chaos of the hornbills. They were accompanied on their hunt by common flameback woodpeckers and scarlet minivets. The path we walked through the forest was netted by spider webs, most prominently those of the giant wood spiders. Frogs and grasshoppers leapt out of our clumsy way giving the forest floor a nervous appearance. A rufous woodpecker on a silver oak completed my morning walk.

The rest of the day was then spent trying to fool each other at bluff, and other card games. And then it was time for the bus ride back to Bangalore. Aurelie, Emilie, Manik and Dillu... merci beaucoup!

Forgotten Below

2008-07-18T17:22:00.002+05:30

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

2008-07-14T17:14:00.002+05:30

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.

Of Clouds and Leeches

2008-06-17T15:30:00.003+05:30

Agumbe.

I'm pretty glad Siddharth made it to the bus seconds before we left. So much would have been lost in translation had he missed the bus. Reminder to self - learn Kannada.

I was a little sceptical when Kasturi Akka told me over the phone, in a mixture of Kannada, Hindi and English, that all I had to do to find the house was to ask for where Kasturi stays. But Dodda Mane was exactly that easy to find. Just around the corner from the bus stand, and everyone knows Kasturi Akka.

Stepping into the house is almost like stepping through a window in time. A hundred and ten years, the house has stood; stone, supported on ornate wooden pillars, built in the traditional style of the people of the ghats. In the middle, the courtyard that once had been the place where the head of the village had dispensed his justice was being pounded by the monsoon. We were directed to a large room upstairs with windows that seemed to glow with the emerald green of the rainforest.

After a breakfast of Neer Dosas and too-spicy chutney, we headed off to Jogigundi: "find electric pole 67 and turn right off the road and follow the path. And watch for the leeches." The road wound through the greenest green accompanied by butterflies fluttering whimsically from flower to flower. The rain stopped and started, drizzling sometimes, pouring sometimes. The birds took every pause in the rain to break into song, teasing us by flitting about in the leaves, just out of sight. Frogs, toads and grasshoppers leapt joyfully by the side of the road. The unfortunate ones had been run over by the overnight traffic. We saw a malabar pit viper, a checkered keelback, two caecilians and hundreds of frogs dead on the road.

A little way down the road, Nisha snorted disgustedly at what looked like fruit packing on the side of the road. As she bent over to pick up the litter, her expression changed to wonder. It was the most amazing mushroom any of us had ever seen; a peach-pink lantern on the forest floor. As we walked along we caught little glimpses into what must exist deep within the rainforest; the beautiful purple plant parasite, the yellow succulent flower, the wood-ear mushrooms, the orchids in the trees.

And then we were at electric pole no. 67. The path to the right was there, leading invitingly into the forest. My research before the trip had taught me that insect repellents do keep leeches away, so we smeared some on our feet and stepped in. The first thing to greet us was a bicolored frog, confident in its camouflage sitting on the forest floor. And then there were leeches everywhere. Stopping only to pull the leeches off our ankles we were very quickly at the waterfall. The water falls through large boulders on the side of a wall of rock into a pool from where it continues down to where I know not. We spent an hour exploring the rocks around the waterfall and a little way downstream. On the way back, Rohan and I saw a Malabar Trogon, one of the birds on our wish-list. There were so many birds in that one place that we decided to come back there if we could; electric pole 42.

We slept through the afternoon and then went to the edge of the Someshwar Ghat to watch the sunset. There wasn't a sunset in the way of a traditional sunset, but the view was breathtaking . The clouds looked like they were pouring down the ghats on our right into the valley below. Little clouds between the trees on the forest floor looked like puffs of smoke. And this green and white carpet spread out before us as far as we could see. A bright red crab sat on the rock with us as we watched the light fade behind the clouds.

Undeterred by the lack of a sun in the sunset, we set out early the next morning to see the sunrise. The Jain temple on top of the hill had been built of stones quarried from the rock it stood on. One of the pools that had formed was full of huge bull frogs croaking their hearts out. The clouds swirled around us and the rain beat down heavily. The sun must have risen behind all that. There's an indescribable peace standing on top of that hill in the pouring rain

Nisha and Siddharth went to Sringeri to see the temples there while Rohan and I decided to go back to the electric poles to see if we could spot some birds. And spot some, we did! Racket-tailed drongos, scarlet minivets, pompadour green pigeons, white-bellied treepies, black bulbuls, black headed bulbuls, dark-fronted babblers, malabar parakeets, malabar gray hornbills, hill mynahs were the highlights. There were so many others which we didn't identify because we couldn't keep up with them. I finally saw the malabar whistling thrush which has been teasing me with it's schoolboy whistle through so many forest hikes. And we saw the malabar trogon again! On the way back, we had to take shelter from the rain in a cowshed. The owner of the place saw us standing under the eaves and invited us in. They were a most jolly family, thoroughly amused at our inability to understand a word they said (learn Kannada). On the way back, we were startled by a barking deer and our third malabar giant squirrel. My good deed of the day was to pick up a pill millipede off the road and put it back in the leaf litter.

Lunch was special - mango curry, bamboo shoot curry and a snack made of acacia leaves wrapped around something I can't remember. Rohan's appetite wasn't tickled.

Onaki Abbe was our final destination. The path was a carpet of leeches. We moved swiftly through the forest till the path disappeared in the undergrowth. It was getting dark when we finally turned around. By then, we had surrendered to the leeches and were letting them have their way with us. Back on the road, a truck driver saw the blood on my feet and stopped to tell me to put salt. 'Uppu Illa' I told him and asked for a ride into the village, and so we rode atop a sand truck to the nearest restaurant where I asked for salt and watched as the bloated leeches dropped off my feet. We walked barefoot back to Dodda Mane, stood outside and washed the blood off our feet. Tissue paper served to stop the bleeding. There were so many leeches in Nisha's shoes that she decided to leave them behind.

We said goodbye to Kasturi Akka and headed to the bus stand, just in time to catch the bus back to Bangalore. I broke out in rashes because of my allergy to leech-bites, making me look rather scary, but that subsided halfway back to Bangalore. And I found a last couple of leeches; one on my ankle and one on my arm.

The infection from the leech-bites has gone away now after a heavy dose of antibiotics and the wounds have almost healed. It was quite an adventure, and methinks it's time to plan a trip back there. I still have to visit Onaki Abbe and Barkhana.

Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed

2008-05-13T13:15:00.006+05:30

Bandipur and Wayanad.

Labour Day fell conveniently on a Thursday this year. Conveniently, so that we could take Friday off from our labours to make the weekend four days. Add to that the enthusiasm of Anureita because of Priyanka and Martin's visit from Amsterdam, and Bangalore was positively kicking us out of town!

After an incredible number of emails discussing where we should go (and some which had nothing to do with the weekend at all), we settled on a day at Bandipur and two at Wayanad. And so we set off, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, precisely at seven in the morning or thereabouts (read eight thirty). The well-laid road to Mysore flew by below the rumblings of nine hungry stomachs. Lokaruchi could not come soon enough.

Down the Ooty road we went, or so we thought, until we realised that we'd missed the turn towards Bandipur and were almost at Wayanad a day before time. The detour through some village roads in the dust and the heat started murmurs about losing precious holiday hours. The bright eyes had dulled over and the bushy tails were anything but. We finally made it to Tusker Trails at three, in time to swallow lunch, minus the recommended masticating, and to head off for a van safari into the national park. Peacocks and spotted deer were plenty. Bison, elephant and sambhar a little rarer. The Changeable Hawk Eagle and the Crested Serpent Eagle were the raptor representatives.

Back at Tusker Trails after the safari, the more aquatically inclined swam with the toads in the pool. The entertainment followed in the form of Jerry's insistence on a game of dumb charades and word building. And what entertainment it was! By the time I stumbled off to bed with my gut aching from the laughing, almost everyone had backed out of the next morning's safari.

Ben was, to my surprise, the only one awake bright and early for the morning safari. The Asian Paradise Flycatcher and the Indian Roller at close quarters coloured the morning, but the sighting that dwarfed everything else was the leopard sitting on a rock. It looked at us through the dry twigs with these incredible eyes, gracefully got to its feet and stepped off the rock and disappeared. Anureita didn't want to believe that in all the trips we've done together, it was the one time she didn't go on safari that the leopard showed its face. But, hey, life's like that!

And so, with paisa already vasool (for me at least) and two and half days still to go, we headed off to Wayanad and Marmalade Springs. The manager met us on the main road and guided us to a house at the foot of a hill and told us that we would be leaving our vehicles there and continuing in jeeps. Okay, I thought, the road mustn't be too good. But, whoa! even off-road rides would have been less treacherous. The path up to the resort was more a dried up stream-bed than a road, complete with tiny waterfalls and plunge pools! Brilliant fun! The rest of the day was spent in camp chairs surveying the coffee shrubs around us. And, oh yes, the basketball was fun with Kurush and Manik throwing their weight around.

Day three - I completed a climb I started three years ago - from Edakkal caves to the top of the hill. A determined Dileep clambered to the top wiping out the ignominy of the not making it to the top of Chembra peak. The view from the top was breath-taking. Coming down is always harder, but Priya made it look easy. Manik's ankles didn't fare too well though.

The beef fry in Wayanad is to die for.

Martin had never seen a tea estate before, so we decided to go to the foot of Chembra. Driving through the estate we stopped to watch the employees play football, and were invited to join the game. We got back to the Marmalade Springs exhausted.

And then, it was time to drive home. The Malabar Giant Squirrel was probably hit by a vehicle that was just a minute or so ahead of us. The Oriental Honey Buzzard watched me as I picked up the poor creature and put it on the side of the road.

Holidays end too quickly, and with them go the bright eyes and bushy tails.

Maybe

2008-04-22T14:05:00.003+05:30

The problem isn't so much in writing as it is in writing beautifully. I struggle to put words together to express my thoughts because the words just don't seem to accurately translate what's floating around in my head. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier if there was just one language up there. Truth be told, there is only one language that rolls comfortably off my tongue. But, maybe the culture from which I was born has the expressions that describes me better. Unfortunately, that is not the language I read or write.

Anyway, the reason I blog today is to let out this feeling of being lost. The age old question of "What do I want to do with my life?" has raised it's ugly head again. The problem would not have been so acute if I knew the answer to the short term version of that question: "What am I doing these days?" Or, maybe, the problem has arisen because I know the answer. "Nothing" is the answer I usually hand out to people that ask me. The expression on their faces usually tells me that they think I'm doing plenty but I'm just too much of a snob to deign to tell them about it. If only that were true!

Midlife crisis? Quarterlife crisis? Are these real? Maybe I'm thinking myself into one.

Well, you're in trouble when almost every sentence begins with maybe!

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

2007-10-23T18:31:00.001+05:30

The train ride to Hardwar from Delhi on the Shatabdi was a pleasant surprise for someone accustomed to the slight dementia of the second class. Hot tea, biscuits, breakfast, bottled drinking water... the works. That's not to say, however, that the second class is no longer my preferred mode of railway travel. We arrived at Hardwar and watched with amusement the astonishment displayed by a couple of Japanese ladies at the sight of a goat lying on the stairs to the over-bridge. From there it was a ride in a jeep up to Camp Silver Sands past a host of temples on a series of craters masquerading a road.

Before we had a chance to look around the camp, we were shepherded to the lunch table and treated to a delicious vegetarian lunch. And those that know me will tell you that this is not lightly said! I only paid slight attention to the apologies about the fact that the camp had been moved up into the forest to get away from the river swollen from a week of unseasonal rains. Perhaps, if the food hadn't been as good, I might have been more prepared for what happened that night.

The camp is about twenty kilometers upstream from Rishikesh, and our initiation for the expedition was to raft down from the camp to Rishikesh. Most of the rapids were washed out because of the level of the river, or so the guides told us, but it was still a fun ride down the river. And that is what we did on our rather full stomachs.

It drizzled enough when we got back to bring the barbecue into the kitchen. But by the time dinner was served, the stars were twinkling cheerfully where the almost full moon wasn't overshadowing them. (Overshadowing? Moon? Really?)

Bring your own poison, they said. Manik, Dileep and I sat and watched the clouds roll in. It had started to rain by the time we hit the sack. The sack was in tents on the sand bank about twenty feet from the water's edge. It seemed safe enough until the sand below my head and my feet fell away. Manik takes a look out the tent and says, "It's a bad dream. Go back to sleep." A shove and a kick later, both of us are standing in the pouring rain at midnight watching in amazement as huge parts of the sand bank that the tents were on started collapsing into the Ganga! The path to help had disappeared under a raging torrent. We scrambled across, and then came back to get Dileep from the other tent which seemed to be on more stable sand. His answer, "Take whatever you want!" Another shove and kick later, he shuffles out with his bedding straight to the corner of safe tent, plonks down and starts snoring. Anyway, after collecting our stuff, and the collapsing tents, we got some sleep.

I awoke to bright sunshine streaming through a gap in the canvas, and the disorientation that comes from waking from the first night spent anywhere. Manik's exclamation came to mind; maybe it had all been a bad dream. Then I stumbled out of the tent and saw the destruction. It was exhilarating. I just wanted to scream and dance!

Due to the heavy rains, the expedition down the Alaknanda was postponed by a day, so the day was spent rafting down past the camp to Rishikesh from another twenty kilometers upstream. The rafting cheers were getting louder as we got more familiar with the people on the trip with us. The comfortable floating down the river in our life-jackets was interrupted by the presence of a semi-decomposed corpse floating down along with us. It had us all scrambling to get into the raft and out of its way. The highlight of the day was the Changeable Hawk Eagle that I spotted when we got off the raft just before Rishikesh.

And then finally, we were on our way. It was supposed to be a four hour drive to Rudraprayag, the start of our trip, but there was a landslide just a little before preventing us from getting all the way to the put-in point. So, we let all the gear down from a bridge across the river, ate lunch and set off.

The first stop was the camping spot for the night, and I can't imagine a more perfect place to pitch tent. It was this stretch of sand hidden from the river by a little hill. We could see that this hill would have been an island just a couple of days ago because the sand was completely untouched. There were just a few tracks of birds on the sand. The other side of this stretch of sand was a sheer cliff from top of which, every now and then, would peer a ghooral, a wild goat. The guides warned us not to pitch tent on that side, and the reason was soon apparent. There were langurs and macaques and barking deer and ghooral, all disturbing loose rocks at the top and dropping them onto the sand.

Antakshari by the campfire with songs in Hindi, English, Danish and Nepali thrown in. We learnt some part of a rafting song that night:
Resham phi ri ri, resham phi ri ri,
Sometimes I'm rafting, sometimes a trekking,
Resham phi ri ri.
Resham phi ri ri, resham phi ri,
You are a monkey, I am a donkey,
Resham phi ri ri.
There's a whole lot more to the song, but it's in Nepali, and I can't remember it any more.

Curse the guys who left the vodka bottle along with the water bottles! I tried to rinse the toothpaste from my mouth with it. That did wake me up in a hurry though. We saw a pair of pine martens make their way across the cliff face going about their business without seeming to notice our presence.

The hills on either side of the river were wearing their sparkling new clothes after the monsoon. Everywhere, there were the beautiful White-capped Water Redstarts. And every now and then there would be a deer grazing on the slopes. Sixty kilometers down the river that day. It would not have been possible had the water levels not been so high. We passed Devprayag, the confluence of the Alaknanda and the Bhagirathi rivers and really, the start of the Ganges.

Another night spent on a sand bank. Puzzles this time. And the morning was brightened by a game called Dizzy Sticks. A description will never do it justice, but if you're ever out in an open space with a group of people and in need of entertainment, this is the game to play.

And finally, after negotiating 'The Wall', 'Deadly Duo' and other such interestingly named rapids, we were back at the Silver Sands. That afternoon, after the rest of the group had left, I sat by the river and looked back at the expedition, the camping, the bonfires, the amazing food, and I nodded my head. Yes, life should be this way!

Opportunity has but one hair on his head

2007-08-01T19:45:00.001+05:30

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to my country." Or something to that effect.
What?!!

"You've been thrown out of Australia. Don't worry, I'll make sure you have a job." Or something to that effect.
Good grief!

Write

2007-02-23T18:31:00.002+05:30

The urge to write is there, but the words that come are dry. Years of disuse have made them reluctant to do my bidding. Yet the parched words seem ready for that little spark to set them afire. That little bit of inspiration that will change this trickle into an uncontrollable flood surging toward the infinity of the ocean.

Words have been rushing through my head, not letting me rest ever since you told me that I should write. "Write anything", you said. But I cannot harness this chaotic stream into coherence, and all that appears from the pen in my hand is a series of disconnected thoughts. It is exhilarating to have this pent-up force within me, but infinitely frustrating that I cannot.... I do not know what it is that I wish to do with these words.

And the chaos grows.

How does it feel to write something of significance? The picture in my head is that of a man tearing through the heavens on the back of a dragon. He holds on for all he's worth, but he hasn't the faintest idea of where he's going or how he got on the dragon in the first place. All he knows is that he will not survive if he does let go.

I imagine that it is exhausting to write that "significant" piece of work for I believe that the work will become everything that you are. Something from you must go irretrievably into those words so that even when you recover from the effort, you will never be the same.

Estranged

2007-02-23T17:01:00.001+05:30

You understood me, and I understood you.
Every word meant more than it said,
And the silence wasn't empty.

You understand my words, and I understand yours.
The dictionary describes every word,
And the silence is true.

Why? Oh why?

Inanities

2007-02-22T19:49:00.001+05:30

How are you?
I'm fine, how are you?
How's work?
Isn't it nice outside.....

AARGH!

A Beautiful Day

2007-02-22T19:11:00.001+05:30

Awake to the sound of birds singing,
Breakfast to the hymns of children,
To work under the bluest blue,
Tea under the trees,
Lunch with friends,
Every problem solves itself,
The sun sets in a pretty pink,
Ride home to dinner
and a comfortable bed.

Escape

2007-01-10T15:45:00.001+05:30

It hurt me to see you lying there helpless.

You will be free, I promise. Just give it a little time, a little time for your stamina to build. And then, you will be free like I can never hope to be.

Seoul

2006-12-08T16:26:00.001+05:30

The dust has settled from the trip to Korea and Singapore. I had intended to put down my impressions at the airport on the way back, but lately, words have been eluding me. It's taking a lot for me not to blame it on my inability to write those crazy MBA essays. But that's a story for another time.

The first surprise was the cost of a taxi ride from Incheon Airport into Seoul. 120000 Korean Won! In the style of Bertie Wooster, I goggled at the taxi meter, and then in the words taught me by the driver, I thanked him and walked into the Shilla Hotel.

The depictions of the far east in the movies have always had people bowing at each other in greeting, but somehow, movies have always seemed unreal to me, or perhaps relics from a distant past. It was a surprise, therefore, that everyone does bow. And the curious thing was that my automatic response to the greeting was to bow in reply. It just seemed a natural thing to do, and every time I caught myself bowing my head, I found myself smiling in surprise.

The visit to Gyeongbokgung was fascinating. I learned a little of Korean history and the Joseon Dynasty. The walls were covered with white paper to reflect natural light. The ceilings had five colours, representing the four directions and the centre. Everything was built with Feng Shui in mind and it all makes sense when you see it like that. The guardians of the palace are the creatures of the chinese zodiac, each having a particular direction and a function. The roads in the palace compound had 3 lanes - one for coming, one for going, and one for the King and the Queen!

Outside the hotel, the airport and the office, I found very few people that could understand English. Getting directions or help in any way, was fun! Ordering food was even better - I decided that I would like to experience the real Korean food, so I walked into this hole-in-the-wall place in one of the bye-lanes and used the universal sign for "I'm hungry" (rubbed my stomach and pointed at my mouth). I'm not really sure yet what I ate, probably pork, but it was nice.

Another time, I went to this place where the seating was on a short wooden platform. Since I can't squat for more than 5 minutes without cramping up, I decided to take the food back to the hotel. Unfortunately, I didn't realise that the menu had pictures of plates that served two. I thoroughly overate!

Oh, and tips.... I'm not sure, but I think I insulted a few waiters by leaving tips.

The Koreans are proud of being Korean, of their language and of their culture. That's a very strong impression I got, and something that I'm a little envious of. Sometimes, I wish....

On my last day in Seoul, I walked up Namsan Hill. The winter colours were red and yellow. I picked up one red leaf and one yellow one for keepsakes.

The maid knocked on the door on the day I was leaving, and handed me a feedback form and pointed to the part where I was to put any 'other' comments. She then proceeded to very animatedly tell me something in Korean. When I looked at her in confusion, she rushed out a brought her colleague with her who then explained to me, in Korean with two English words ('name' and 'maid') and plenty of gestures, that I was to mention the maid's name in the feedback form. I thought it was wonderful that the maid knew with absolute certainty that the feedback would be positive.

And, just so I wouldn't have to goggle again, I took the shuttle from the hotel to the airport (only 13000 Won)!

Helmets and Insurance

2006-11-03T20:30:00.001+05:30

Save your head, they say.
Insure your life, they say.
Insure your apartment, they say.
Stick your middle finger at fate, they say.

Round The Bend

2006-10-30T19:12:00.001+05:30

and over the hill...

Summer. Seven years ago. How we laughed as we hiked around Nainital! The winding road to Kilbury took us round many bends and over a few hills.

That summer was like something out of one of Gerald Durrell's books. Idyllic - is that the word I'm looking for?

Our ages said that we weren't children any more, but for those two weeks, in our hearts, we were. The blue skies, the breeze through the trees, the butterflies dancing in the garden. What wouldn't I give to be that person again!

Well, I've gone round many bends since then, and over many hills....

Elephant Diwali

2006-10-25T13:46:00.001+05:30

The elephants came on the eve of Diwali. They weren't greeted with lights as Ram and Sita were greeted by the people of Ayodhya so many aeons ago. Sal and I were sleeping. Tension, our dog alarm, announced their arrival with a volley of loud barks. If he weren't so scared of snakes, maybe I wouldn't have mistaken his excitement for the escape of the cobra from its box (its fangs are still growing back after its encounter with a snake-charmer). Arghh... if only I had looked out of the window instead of into the snake box!

So our guests stopped ten metres short of the room where I was serenading the stars with my snores. They left their calling cards and left - the flattened electric fence, a peepal tree we can't find and elephant dung everywhere. The recently built hide was left intact (perhaps my snoring scared them off!).

We wished they would return. We spent Diwali patrolling the quarry scanning the tree line for the hulking shadows that would signal their return. But they'd moved on.

And so we watched the crackers from our vantage point, cursed the people sending up huge clouds of sulphurous fumes into the already smoggy air, and wished each other a Happy Diwali (neither of us is Hindu). And we wished that the people would give the money that they burned every Diwali to the poor. Yes, there is employment in manufacturing the crackers, but must surviving be so hazardous?

The Grey-headed Mynas (Sturnus Malabaricus Malabaricus) turned up on the owlet tree. The White-throated Fantail Flycatcher (Rhipidura albicollis) has been in our sights for a while. And the skulking Blue-faced Malkoha (Phaenicophaeus viridirostris) has kept me amused with its carnival mask-like face.

Scary Conversations

2006-10-19T11:44:00.001+05:30

Monday, you come to work, and your product architect is not around. Unusual. He's usually here at eight in the morning.

Eleven o'clock, he's still not in. This was supposed to be an important directional meeting with management.

Then management walks in and calls the team (team of two, hahaha) together. And he tells us there's bad news. First thought - the product architect has quit the company. No big deal, it happens all the time. It's worse though... at 40, he's had a heart attack! I almost have one in shock! He's in intensive care and will be out of office for a month.

Tuesday evening. My manager never calls out of office hours. I get a call at choir practice, well after office hours. The hair on my neck stands on end. Phew... it's good news. He's going to be fine.

Thursday morning. He's being discharged. The team (read me, for today) is left to work with a vague feeling of being set loose. No product architect for a month.....

Man, I've got to exercise, eat right, and do all those things!

Rehab

2006-10-16T12:10:00.001+05:30

How do I recuperate from a long week at work? I go to the Banerghata Rehab Centre. And what do I do there? I undergo therapy. Therapy, in the form of cleaning the living quarters of the patients, cooking for the staff, washing the utensils, recording the activities of the visitors, building assorted shelters for the various activities that take place there.

BRC is a wildlife rehabilitation centre. The patients are mostly birds and reptiles injured and displaced by the urbanisation of the areas around Bangalore. Saleem, the bearded keeper, and his bunch of friends look after them till they're ready to resume their lives back in their natural habitats again. There are also the occasional confiscated pets and show animals that need care. These are the 'lifers' - animals that can never make it back in the wild.

The visitors are the birds, amphibians and reptiles dropping by from the National Park. The staff are the humans, the volunteers.

Sometimes though, more than the animals, it's the people that volunteer there that are in need of rehab. Perhaps that's why they volunteer there.

For me, time at BRC is time free from my cares. When I peer out of my binoculars at a Booted Eagle soaring in the sky, there is suddenly no one else in the world. Just me. Or when I watch the Indian Pond Frog calling as the sun sets, bright red behind the abandoned quarry. Sometimes, there is someone else watching. Someone I can't see. I know the eyes are there, but.... The leopard has been seen by others at BRC, but not me. I'm sure it has watched me scan the undergrowth for it a hundred times. Or perhaps, the eyes belong to the huge silhouettes of the elephants that come to feed on the Ragi.

The Shikra chick has grown up. On Sunday, it decided that a kite was coming too close to home, so it jumped on it. The sight of the Shikra, identified by a missing tail feather (a souvenir from its encounter with Bangalore's development), diving in on a Black Kite more than twice its size. Nice! It still comes and sits outside the kitchen window and asks for little pieces of meat though.

The rickety jackal is still in his enclosure. No one had seen or heard him in months, so Saleem and I decided to walk through the grass to find him. There was no sign of him until we gave up and headed back to the gate. And then, there he was, hiding in a clump of grass just by the gate. So, he's still around, and the food's not been taken by something else living in there.

And Mr Johnny Walker Mynah. He doesn't like loud voices, and will let you know. I was giving him a dressing down for crapping on my clean jeans when he jumped me, digging his claws into me face. Hmm... I learnt my lesson. Mr Walker's the boss!

And, and, and.... there's so many things ...

Maybe the hide that Ajay and I put up this weekend will help us photographically record the birds that frequent BRC. Maybe it'll just fall over when the wind blows. I'm not really an engineer, you know!

Bandh!

2006-10-06T14:23:00.001+05:30

Tomorrow I will be working on a Saturday, and I will reflect on the conflict between the Maharashtra and the Karnataka governments. It's strange how little I know or care about the argument. Whose side am I on? Well, the side which ... once again ... what are they fighting about?

I woke up on Wednesday morning, and I heard birds chirping outside my window. This was the first time in Bangalore that the sound I've heard on waking up was not the sound of an autorickshaw roaring by Ulsoor Lake. Slowly, my mind adjusted to the thought that there was nothing I could do today, absolutely nothing. Was the thought uncomfortable? Not at all! My being rejoiced in the fact that there was nothing to do, nothing to accomplish.

Bangalore stood still. Perhaps it is coincidence, but the temperature dropped at least a couple of degrees on Wednesday. And when I rode to work on the next morning, the sky was just a little bluer.

I thought ... this should happen more often. Maybe once a month, everyone should stay home and give nature a chance to refresh the city, refresh our minds.

A pipedream I'm sure. I can't imagine the corporate world accepting the massive losses that are incurred on days like this. What about closing down on a Sunday? Well, the retail world, the entertainment world, and others of their ilk, would they be willing? Most of all though, would people stay at home if there wasn't the threat of someone stoning their cars?

I don't believe that this thought is mine alone, but....

Hampi

2006-10-04T20:57:00.001+05:30

Ruins. Admiration tinged with sadness.
Magnificent sculptures, created by taking parts of the breathtaking environment.
A kingdom that tried to be tolerant, destroyed by the Mughal Empire which destroyed anything that didn't look like their own.
Ingenious constructions; the aqueducts that brought water from the Tungabhadra River; the pin-hole camera in the walls of the Virupaksha temple; the system of pipes in the Lotus Palace to keep the hall cool; the pillars that reverberate with the sounds of musical instruments. Perhaps the technology still exists, but the art is dead.

The Tungabhadra dam. A wall holding incredible amounts of water. Man harnessing nature. Does living together mean one controlling another?

The JSW steel factory. Spewing smoke into the sky, planting trees to ease their conscience.

All in all, a contradictory trip, and a wonderful time.

Social Work

2006-06-23T15:06:00.001+05:30

Why is social work considered a higher cause? Everyone does social work.

An example is the the truck driver who blows his horn (blowing everybody's eardrums away) when the traffic signal turns green. Hey... even though he's 10 cars away from the light, it's his duty to inform the guy in the front that the signal has changed. He's so kind to the people being blocked by the insensitive guy in front who's taken one second to get his car into first gear.

What about the guys who stop by the side of the road to water the trees. Hey... the trees need the urea, you know.

The beginning

2006-05-16T12:06:00.001+05:30

The world has been blogging for a while now, and I've been feeling a little left behind.