Admit your mistakes and win a continent!

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It is important to admit your mistakes and take necessary action as soon as you realise that you have made a mistake. Otherwise you will be ignored when the continent is named.

What continent, you ask?
Remember Christopher Columbus? The poor dude who went all the way across the world and discovered America, thinking it was India or at least some obscure corner of Asia. We can forgive him for his blunder.

But then he did the unforgivable - he stubbornly refused to believe that the land he touched was not India, not by a long chalk. He kept insisting that it was.

So what happened? Finally, when it was time to name the continent, they called it America after Amerigo Vespucci, the bloke who travelled to the New Land after Columbus, and not Columbus himself. Shri Vespucci figured out that the land was new, previously unknown to Eurasians (source: Wikipedia). The land Columbus sought for and dreamed of reaching? Offended at the grave error he had made, we the people of India, demoted him to a location inside the pages of our English textbook and henceforth refused to have anything to do with him (except have a few chuckles at his expense).

That's why I say, be quick to admit mistakes. You do not want to lose the chance of having a pet continent of your own.

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Mumbai Diary: Summer

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Girgaum Chowpatty. Image by R R Pappadi

Heat, heat, heat.
The word circles within your head and ricochets off the walls of your skull. You are normally oblivious to everything else but the heat. It gets into your thoughts even when you are doing something a million times more important, and drives you crazy.

The heat hovers below your eyes when you read, slides off your nose while you watch TV, dances on your head while you work. It gets under your skin and squeezes out perspiration that could be collected in buckets. It seeps into your blood and boils until you begin to have hallucinations about blue swimming pools and breath-taking waterfalls and lashing sea waves and refreshing rivers, and you imagine jumping into them and vanishing into their depths where Summer does not exist.

You think about nothing else when you sit in air conditioned rooms: "God, how hot it is outside!"
You talk about nothing else when you meet acquaintances: "How's the heat, by the way?" you ask. They shake their heads and wipe their necks with their handkerchiefs or the edge of their saree, "Unbearable."
When you aren't thinking of heat, you occupy yourself with an abundance of worries on global warming and the vanishing ozone layer and the depleting water table.

Even when the next most popular summer obsession, IPL, is underway, the thought of heat floats like a halo around your head. "What a shot! Oofff, isn't it hot!"

If you are unfortunate enough to be on the road during the day, you get to witness dust hopping off the ground and heat waves rising from asphalt. Car and scooter seats left idle under the sun attain boiling point within seconds.

The sea, lapping up the Mumbai shores, tempt and tease people until they throw themselves into it.
Delicious mangoes and other fruits lining the fruit stalls provide momentary relief, but the heat still creeps up your skin and numbs your senses.

You wish to take a twenty-four hour long shower every day, and you emerge from the bathroom bathed in sweat as though the encounter with water had never happened.

Bottles of drinking water empty before your eyes, and you refuse to believe that you are the one who emptied them.

If you make the mistake of sleeping during the day time, the heat sneaks into your dreams and turns them into nightmares about people you had wanted to forget, exams you had written decades ago, places you had run away from, and images you believed were erased long ago.


But after a sizzling April-May comes the fabled Mumbai monsoon, the non-stop torrent that drowns the city as if with an apology for leaving it unattended while the heat devoured everyone, and sets everything right - or upside down? - once again.

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Spring

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Photo by @agnnair, Bangalore, 2010

Spring in Bangalore is a very brief affair. It creeps in through an open window or a gap under the door, and catches us by surprise. It does not announce its arrival with the drumbeats of thunder or the music of rains or the winds of heat or the chill of sunset. One day you switch on the fan because you feel warm, but you keep your blankets on because you feel cold, and then you ask yourself, is it here yet?

It comes in different disguises and makes us wonder if it really is what it claims to be. And before you know it, it has gone out the back door and vanished into the woods. Blink and you will miss it. Breathe in, breathe out, and Spring is over. As though Winter had paused on the doorstep to catch its breath before handing the baton to Summer, and this merry little fellow with flowers in its hair and a sparkle in its eye slipped in where it wasn't normally allowed. As though Summer, just before pouring the cauldron of boiling water over April and May, let Spring have a look around, with a stern warning that it shouldn't break a thing.

Like a spoilt kid, it runs around the house, hands outstretched, squealing, breaking bottles of honey, leaving ripples of laughter in its wake and causing blossoms of all colours to burst open and flutter and blush.

Then Summer storms in like a stern teacher and scowls at the pretty, fragrant mess, and this cheery little bloke chuckles in glee and takes off, leaving behind flowers to grieve and wither and fade and wait for its return the next year.

Blink, and you will miss it.

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Ten Days in Navi Mumbai - Lonavala

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Continued from "Ten Days in Navi Mumbai - Somehow Rules"

 

Humidity is the ruling emotion of Mumbai, Old and New. I had so forgotten how unimaginably exasperating it could get. The fact is that when you're in Bangalore, try as you might you would not recall the exact nature of Mumbai's (or, for that matter, Kerala's) humidity. I did carry enough summer clothes with me but I discovered I was ill-equipped to battle the weather.


The difference between Bangalore's summer and Mumbai's is that in Bangalore's dry heat you wish to cover yourself when you go out so that the sun doesn't get to burn your skin. In Mumbai the more you cover yourself, the more you sweat, and the more times you yearn for a bath or a gulp of water. One has to keep this fact in mind when choosing the wardrobe for the trip.

Every evening between eight and nine o'clock the door bell would ring twice. First comes the ironwallah, then the man who sold eggs. The ironwallah keeps an account on each house, and the payment is done at the end of every month. The clothes he takes away one night would be returned the next. The system seemed so different from Bangalore: our local ironwallah makes his appearance in the morning once or twice a week, or whenever it is convenient for him, and vanishes with the clothes, sometimes for two-three days at a time. The payment is made when he returns them, pressed and folded. By that time, naturally, he and I would have forgotten how many pieces of clothing were given.

Lonavala, off the Mumbai-Pune Expressway, about midway between Mumbai and Pune, is one of the places that people from these busy cities throng during weekends. The best thing about Lonavala is, in my opinion, its distance from Navi Mumbai: you reach before you can say 'Lonavala'. Well, almost. 

 Lonavala - 'Lion Point' as per the signpost and 'Tiger Point' as per the locals

We joined the bandwagon one Saturday morning and drove to Lonavala. There was a food court on the highway where we stopped for breakfast. It was 9AM and the breakfast flock was out in full capacity. The counters were crowded and one had to squeeze in if one's desire for food had to be conveyed. It was not the people who came first that were first served, it was the ones who had the knack of squeezing through and making themselves heard. People did not wait for others to finish their order before speaking, and there was no queue. Only the loudest and swiftest would survive. 

There was not a single chair free. When one of us went to place the order, the others kept an eye on the chairs that were falling vacant and pounced on them. After all, we had to sit down and have our food. Somehow.

I cannot let the food court pass without a brief mention of the mistake I made of visiting the public toilet near the food court. Suffice to say that cleanliness and hygiene are some of the important lessons that are missing from our schools.

Lonavala was pleasant, and we had a good stay at a resort that had enough space for kids to play and a swimming pool where they could splash all evening. My son lost his footing twice inside the pool and swallowed a little water, which, over the next few days, became the hot story he would narrate to everyone he met. There were a few places of interest around Lonavala and Khandala, though the waterfalls had all dried up and we could only see some rocks. We returned the next day, after purchasing Lonavala chikkis and other varieties of sweets that Lonavala is famous for.

We could not put our finger on who/what the culprit was, though we leaned heavily towards Lonavala and the food we had on our way back - especially at a small hotel with the enticing name of Cochin Café or something. One day after we returned, two members of the gang fell sick, throwing up continuously and complaining of stomach pain. My five-year-old was one of them, though he responded immediately to medicines and was okay after a few harrowing hours. The other person was not so lucky and had to be hospitalised. 

Once the ordeal was over, it was time to pack up and return home. If the flight were not delayed by 30 minutes, we might never have made it - the evening rush hour caught us off-guard.

Bangalore welcomed us with a cool, relieving drizzle, showing no trace of summer. The landing was slightly unsteady and delayed due to thundershower. The five-year-old was eager to catch up with his friends, many of whom would return after vacation only much later.

The holiday was over and we were home.

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Ten Days in Navi Mumbai - 'Somehow' rules

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The best time to hit Mumbai is early morning.

For a few lucky ones it makes no difference, but a majority of Mumbaikars are unlucky folk who find their homes at least half an hour away from the closest railway station or airport. At least. And I am talking not only with respect to the kilometres to cover. If you arrive later in the day, you find yourself at the mercy of the blistering sun and infuriating traffic jams, and the expected half hour drive could stretch to (or seem like) eternity. 

Which is why we opted for 6AM Indigo Airlines from Bangalore. If I thought holiday rush was a thing that was part of the history within the walls of the old HAL airport, I could not have been more mistaken. I reached the airport at a few minutes past five, assuming I had enough time to check-in. Alas, flowing out of the airport was a long queue - to enter BIAL. 

A man in Kingfisher Airlines colours approached and asked, "Madam, Kingfisher?" Already regretting that I was not travelling with their airlines, I shook my head. I was stranded in the sea of humans, with no one from Indigo in sight. Suffice it to say that I broke into the line, pushed the trolley and pulled my five-year-old into the airport, hoping that the lady behind me would make no fuss. I had to get in. Somehow.

The flight was delayed by about 20 minutes, but we still managed to cheat the Mumbai sun and traffic by a hair's breadth.

Mumbai and Navi Mumbai (a.k.a New Bombay) in Google Maps

Right outside Mumbai airport, there was an open-air food court with a few kiosks (dosa /sandwich /pizza /pasta /tea /juice et al) where we wasted no time in pouncing on dosa and other breakfast delicacies. 

The drive to Navi Mumbai seemed to take forever, so much so that we got sick by the end of it. The road, the crowd, the slums and the dust lost their charm after half an hour. The five-year old became restless and kept asking, "When will we reach? Will we reach today?"

At one chaotic junction (nothing compared to the rush hour chaos, though), our car brushed against an auto. The autowallah immediately stepped out and started gesturing and sputtering. For once, the fault was not on the side of an autowallah (the whole of India knows and fears the driving and other skills of the autowallah) and he intended to make the best of it. The girl in the passenger seat was tapping on her mobile, a picture of nonchalance. Our car slowly eased out of the situation and sped away. No trouble, no involvement of policemen, no traffic jam, no time wasted. We all had to get going. Somehow.

Almost every vehicle you find on the road carries smudges or scratches, dents or other marks of having survived (and daily surviving) Mumbai. There is a certain recklessness in the way they manoeuvre the roads that leaves us amazed that (touch wood) so few accidents happen. 

"Navi Mumbai is the largest planned city on the planet." - Wikipedia

The house on the top floor was a furnace slowly getting heated up. We were not surprised to see air conditioning units protruding from the walls in every floor of the building. I was warned about the temperature indoors and already knew how humid Mumbai could get, but was still taken aback by it.

Thus began ten days of isolation from the lure of Internet - with only books, TV and people for company. Okay, I admit I did check emails once or twice (or... maybe about five times!) but then a writer on the look out for opportunities (who has already made a mistake once) cannot keep herself from emails that long. I convince myself it is not wise to be so totally in isolation.

Among the books I read were the Diary of a Wimpy Kid series and City of Djinns. (If you're smirking at the first, I am sure you're one of those who don't adore KungFu Panda or The Lion King or Calvin and Hobbes or Dennis the Menace, so there's nothing more to be said.) I finally managed to complete The Catcher in the Rye. The TV happened to be taken over by the kids so most of my watching was dedicated to cartoon channels.


Sector-17 is a commercial area which, I am told, is the first place people turn to, to find what they need - from chatt to toys to shoes to clothes to other essentials of daily life. One evening we went there to pick up a few items and do some window shopping. 

On our way back in an auto, we had to cross several traffic signals. Our autowallah obviously had no regard for them, and was hopping red lights whenever possible. There was no sign of any policeman anywhere. The auto was flying, as if the driver forgot it was merely a three-wheeler on an Indian road. He must have fancied himself as a Boeing pilot. We hugged the children closer, afraid they would shoot off and bang their heads on the bar when the fellow eventually hit the brakes. The way he was going I almost expected the vehicle to topple over. The autowallah had to reach the destination. Somehow.

At one of those junctions, to our surprise he chose to stop for the signal. When it turned green, the auto dashed forward only to be brought to a screeching halt because a car from one side had jumped red light and was right on our path. Our hearts were in our mouths. When we recovered from that shock (the autowallah was unconcerned and continued his victory lap of red-light-hopping), I finally told him, "Please go slow. We're in no hurry to get home."

For all their shortcomings, I appreciate the Mumbai autowallahs for one thing. Real Mumbaikars may have a different opinion on this, but during those ten days, (I must have travelled in autos seven or eight times) every time the autowallahs took care to return exact change, be it one rupee or two or ten.



Part 2 - Ten Days in Navi Mumbai: Lonavala

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Kerala Diary: Crossing the tracks

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The 'foot overbridge' is half a kilometre down the platform and dragging luggage all the way to it and over it is next to impossible. 

As I stood there, about ten or twenty people (maybe more) crossed the tracks, with a policeman looking on.

Can we blame anyone?

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My part of the town

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We are a sleepy group of people. I know many of my neighbours would take offence at this, but I like us that way. We pretend we are very outgoing - the way Bangaloreans should be or are reputed to be. The fact is that most of us would rather be home after eight or nine in the evening, catch a program or so after dinner and go to bed early.

The day we celebrated India's epic World Cup victory, close to eleven at night on April 2nd, when India needed 7 runs from 15 balls to win, when it was evident that the Cup was ours, I heard a shout go up from a couple of floors above. "Someone else is watching the match as well," I thought. Till then there was no sign (meaning, no animated responses) from any part of the apartment. And when MS Dhoni hit that memorable six, sealing the match and the Cup, another roar went up, followed by a few claps. Fifteen minutes later (probably after someone rushed to locate a shop to buy crackers) came about six bursts from a distance that did not even make my sleeping son turn to his side. That's it. We were happy and we went to bed happy. Elsewhere in the heart of Bangalore, I am told, the celebrations continued throughout the night. Most cricket-unlovers would not have slept, with all the noise.

On New Years' eve, I kept my son awake, promising him fireworks at the stroke of twelve. When our clock showed a minute to twelve, we rushed to our balcony where faraway sounds of a party were floating in. A full ten minutes later (during which I was bordering on frustration that there was not even a single colourful cracker to show my eagerly waiting son - sound must have taken ten minutes to travel one kilometre that night), I could vaguely hear the countdown to zero from the party. All of a sudden, the sky was lit with rockets and crackers of all colours - for about ten minutes. Soon the cars sped by, signalling the end of the party. Then, absolute silence. It was over, and people had gone to bed. There was no New Year celebration in our own apartment, people either looked at the TV, or watched the crackers from their windows, or went out to celebrate, or slept peacefully like any other night. New Year would come in whether we stay awake or not, whether our doors are open or not. The sole reason I sat up late this year was for my son.

Diwali, though it is meant to be noisy, is a comparatively quiet affair. We step outside with our crackers of all kinds and kids of all ages, take over the road, make noise and leave the place a mess - but it will all be over by eight or nine in the evening. There are elders and babies in the apartment and they need their sleep. Even in the apartment nearby where college students stay, the celebrations don't go beyond ten.

Boring, old-fashioned place, is it not?

I am the last one to complain. Even as I write this, I fear things will change in my part of the world. The pace of change is frightening, and we won't be able to stop it. But for some more time, many of us would remain so - old-fashioned.

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I like small towns...

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Passing through...

...Udupi

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The Mangalore take-off

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No one can enter or leave the mountain-top airport at Mangalore without being affected by a string of emotions.

As we climb to the airport by road, we brace ourselves for an awesome view during take off. But not for a moment can we forget the price that Awesomeness often comes at; the tragedies and dangers that the table-top runway conceals.

The small aircraft seems to take a deep breath before its jittery, noisy, unsteady lunge across the runway for the lift off.

As the plane ascents, the terrifying gorge comes to view where a small human error in judgement had claimed lives just months ago. There is no sign to remind us of it, in case we do need reminding - the remnants of the disaster have long been swallowed by the ravine. Only a vague uneasiness remains in the viewers' searching eyes. Yet, if for a moment we're willing to forget the tragedy, we can allow ourselves to take in the breathtaking view as the aeroplane makes a turn above the cliff and heads towards its destination.

As we complete the turn and proceed on our way, I look back at the receding gorge, surrounded by green mountains, calm and ominous, now resembling ant-hills with a dash of pale green sprayed at the top, and could not but heave a sigh of relief that we're leaving it behind to its unpleasant memories, and say a quiet prayer that there occur no more errors - human or divine - and that it holds no more tragedies on its lap.

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Thematic Photographic - Blue

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Thematic Photographic, hosted by Carmi at Written Inc, explores Blue, this week.
Head over there to see interesting photographs by others...

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Thematic Photographic - Spring has Sprung

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The theme for this week's Thematic Photographic, hosted by Carmi at The Written Inc, is "Spring has Sprung."

Posting a few pictures taken from our trip to Yelagiri Hills, off Bangalore-Chennai highway.

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TVM diaries: Helicopters

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People of TVM jokingly refer to two things as 'Helicopters'. One is mosquito and the other is auto-rickshaw.

Mosquitoes have been TVM's woe for a number of years. I cannot remember a time when we did not worry about mosquitoes. But the mosquitoes themselves were quite organised - they never struck before dusk, and they retired when darkness had fallen. In short, the time between 6.30PM and 7.30PM was allotted to them to march around sucking human blood, droning their rotors like Helicopters in the offensive, and humans sought safety between the concrete walls of their houses, windows and doors barred against the invaders. As per the unspoken agreement between Men and Mosquitoes, any one within the vicinity of the Mosquitoes during the wartime is their property to treat as they wish, and when windows and doors opened at 7.30PM, not a single Helicopter would trouble Man. If ever a young'un made the mistake of crossing the Line of Control after hours, they were shot down by a Mosquito repellant or coil. As days passed by, the Mosquitoes started evolving at a pace that would have put Charles Darwin to utter chagrin. At every visit to TVM, I began noticing that they were growing larger in size, their syringe held more stronger stuff than before, and most importantly, they were invading during cease-fire time. Nowhere else in this Universe do Mosquitoes attack mankind at 10 o'clock in the morning! And yet, such a thing is seen in TVM today. And today they truly look like Helicopters, as opposed to the tiny, almost-invisible ones of the past.

The second 'Helicopter', namely auto rickshaws, and their pilots - drivers - of TVM have also evolved, though in a much pleasanter way. Auto drivers of the past had always been difficult beings to reckon with, some were pleasing, some were difficult, some refused to take you for a ride (I mean a real ride), and some showered profanity on their customers for paying only the exact meter fare and so on. This visit, I have been pleased to note that all the four or five times I hired an auto, the drivers have been polite, even referring to me as "Madam", which is quite new to TVM, and quite content with the fare that they received. Perhaps, in this case, the change is not for them alone. I have changed too - for in the intervening years, I have encountered the incomparable Bangalore Autowallah! And once that Encounter has taken place, TVM autowallahs seem nothing in comparison.

Also read:
TVM diaries: Water Crisis
TVM diaries: At TVM airport

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TVM diaries: Water crisis

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I am sure every adult goes through a stage, once every few years, of looking around at his/her hometown and sighing, "How my Town has changed!" I guess my grandparents must have (though in their days the differences must have been less pronounced), I know my parents have, and now I do. Sometimes the changes are very welcome, and sometimes not so much.

A few years ago, my Father told me about a senior colleague of his, who did not belong to Kerala but loved it very much, who was asked what he liked best about Trivandrum. He got up, opened the tap, drank some water from his cupped hands and said, "Where else can you drink such pure and tasty water directly from the tap?"

When we were children, we used to drink water from the tap - there was no concern about its 'purity', it was the purest one could find on Earth. There were no water cans to hold water in case of a scarcity. In fact there was no such thought as "water scarcity." When we read about drought in the newspapers, we did not understand what drought meant.

Those days are long gone. Water that was always taken for granted, is a scarce, precious resource. We do not drink directly from the tap any more, we need to filter and purify it first. Late last night, I noticed that there was no water in the direct connection tap (we had to resort to the tank-connection) I asked my Mother if it was because the main water supply line from Aruvikkara was burst a day ago. She said, No, direct water comes only some time late into the night, and stops in the morning. So, all through the day, she uses the water from the tank. The tank is large enough to hold water for an entire day (or more if required). To think that ten years ago, we did not even have a tank. It was built only as normal life became difficult when water stopped coming in the mornings.

There are a lot of good things happening in TVM - developments, progress, technological advances, etc. etc. But some of the little luxuries are disappearing as well. We live with it, we find ways to get around their absence but still somewhere inside we feel, aren't we losing something precious?

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TVM diaries: TVM Airport

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I love Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum / TVM) airport. It is small, cosy and has a homely feel to it. The airport terminal is a small building, with "Arrival" on one side and "Departures" on the other. With a few planes on one side and mundu-wearing public at the other.

I use the word homely with a purpose. I doubt if there are many other airports (of course, my knowledge of airports is limited to TVM, Kochi, Bangalore and Mumbai) where your aircraft glides right to the doorstep of the "Arrival" Terminal, you step out from it and take five steps to reach the sole luggage conveyor belt, collect your bag and turn around to face the sliding Exit doors. Nothing could be simpler. And when I compare this with the new Bangalore International Airport (inaugurated last year) where we have to ride a few kilometers by bus to reach the terminal, walk miles inside the terminal to reach the conveyer belt, and look around for "Exit" signs to find the escape route, this is Simplicity itself. Speaking of Bangalore International Airport, it has a past too, the old HAL airport was almost as small and homely... but I do not intend to digress.

One would find it difficult to believe that this little airport I just sketched out for you has an "International" to its name, (as in "Trivandrum International Airport") and, as per statistics from the Internet, is the second busiest airport in Kerala. I just heard that the terminal is coming of age - to try to do justice to the 'International' in its name - there is a new, big terminal under construction, and a state-of-the-art runway getting ready for the International traffic. Soon the facet of the airport will change, this could as well be the last time I am seeing my favourite little airport as it is now.

And the landing at TVM? Ah, the landing! You would not want to miss it for the world. If you have a weekend to spare, try visiting TVM. Just land, and take off in the next flight. Breath-taking is too mild a term to describe the landing. (I admit that I may be biased in my recommendation, one always finds one's hometown breathtaking, no matter what.) If you have more days to spare, you would like to visit a few places - but I warn you, the heat that hits you right in your chest could make your knees buckle.

I tried to find some good snaps of TVM International airport in the Net, but could not. If you have access to any, do leave them here as links/comments.

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Glimpses of God's Own Country - during Onam (part II)

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In the previous post, I shared some snaps from Ernakulam and the road to Kottayam. Here are the remaining snaps, from Kottayam to Thiruvananthapuram. Please read the captions below each snap. (As before, many of the road snaps were taken from a moving car, so the quality may not be excellent.)


I wanted to capture a beautifully illuminated shop at Kottayam, but a bus got in the way. Then I spotted this coconut tree and tried to shoot it instead. I know it doesn't look great, but this was the best of three attempts - it was late evening, and we were in the middle of crawling traffic, and unable to stop for a snap.


Josco, Kottayam - on the other side of the coconut tree. Same condition as above.



It was raining the entire week, almost non-stop. Here Munnu stands getting drenched, wondering whether to continue or come into the house. He finally took off his clothes and took a bath in the rain. Ah, the joys of childhood!


Onassadya - the lunch, in traditional style, on banana leaves.


This monkey loves mango trees!


We encountered a khoshayatra on Avittam day, and the 'deer' came to make friends with Munnu.


Munnu and his grandpa at Shanghumugham beach (Thiruvananthapuram.) The only thing that Bangalore lacks is a beach!


The sea was rough - the tide was high, it was noon-time and the day of the full moon.



Munnu tasting sea water!

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Glimpses of God's Own Country - during Onam (part I)

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Here are some of the snaps from our trip to Kerala last week. Do read the captions below each. (Most of the road snaps were taken from the car, and hence lack clarity.)

Oberon Mall at EKM


Had to capture this hoarding on the roadside. But could not manage to avoid the electric lines!


The writing on the auto (pic taken from the car) says, "Roadside Friend"



Ernakulam - Kottayam Road


As we passed a bridge...


Couldn't resist this - looked very colourful!


Ernakulam - Kottayam Road


View from another bridge




We managed to meet King Mahabali and an elephant on the way. Munnu was excited ! The elephant isn't real, by the way - though the King is. Both were advertising "Archana Textiles."

More snaps in the next post...

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I'll see you when I see you!

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As I had let slip several times this week, we are going on a short trip to God's own country, Kerala, to celebrate Onam. The vacation is not going to be the kind where we sit back and relaaaaxxxxxx one whole week, it is going to be hectic with the three of us - AK, Munnu and I - sprinting from Nedumbassery to Thiruvananthapuram in seven days. But I am excited that we can catch the different faces of Onam in the towns we pass! Believe me, Kerala is the place to be - especially at the time when King Mahabali is around.

Though I plan to be totally out of touch with the Outside World, considering my obsession with the Internet, I suspect I will peek in now and then - perhaps towards the end of next week - to see how things are faring in the cyber world.

And I do not intend to completely neglect my blog while I am away. Taking a leaf from Sandra Bell-Lundy's blog, I am scheduling a few posts for the next week.

Do come over, read them and leave me comments!

Happy Onam to all !

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Murud Janjira

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This is a place I have visited with my family a number of years ago and enjoyed the two-day stay where we did nothing but spend time on the beach from morning to evening.

Murud-Janjira is near Alibaug on the southern tip of Mumbai. We reached there after travelling in almost all kinds of transport - train, cab, boat, auto rickshaw. The tiresome journey was worth it and we all had a great time.

My nephew (who was a year and a half at the time) wanted nothing other than to jump to the sea ('chee' in his language) and wet his clothes!

The beach was a different colour than usual. The sand had beautiful patterns left by the water.


We had an adventurous (and really scary - since none of us could swim) ride in a fishing boat to reach the Janjira fort.

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Day-4: Nisargadhaama

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Continued from Day3- Madikeri, Day2- Kushala Nagara and Day1- WonderLa


We checked out from Veerabhoomi Resort before 10AM, and set out for Nisargadhaama which was a few kms away. Our plan was to spend an hour or so and then start for Bangalore. However we ended up spending about four hours there!

Nisargadhaama is a small island wildlife sanctuary, where Rabbits, Deer and other animals(we were told) are housed. We climbed a tree house on our walk towards the Deer, and the bamboos made quite a forest around us. The deer could be fed with cabbage we could buy there, one could also feed the two elephants that were taking people for a ride - I mean a real elephant ride. We too climbed on top of one and made a small tour. However, being as old as we are means we wonder about whether the elephant is well-fed, what it feels to be walking about all day carrying humans in addition to the saddles(whatever heavy stuff they are made of) and the ropes binding them, does it get enough rest in between the rides and so on. They seemed to have resigned themselves to this life.

We had taken tickets for a four-seater pedal boat but when we reached the starting point, a number of people were already waiting and there was only one four-seater. When our turn came and the free boat was a two-seater we settled for it (otherwise we would have ended up waiting for another 20 minutes or more).

It was now time to leave, have lunch and start back to Bangalore. Madikeri-Mysore was covered in an hour and a half (we did not enter Mysore town) and then we hit the Mysore-Bangalore highway at a consistent pace except at Mandya where the town slowed us down with its share of traffic, however all those were nothing compared to what we endured when we entered Bangalore. One and a half hours of moving at a snail's pace, it was all we could do to keep from screaming out our frustration. The fact that our house is in the northern point of Bangalore didn't help, either. I have no idea how Bangalore is going to cope with its ever-growing traffic. I believe someone should stop new vehicles from being brought to Bangalore... no amount of trees cut down is going to make the roads wide enough to cater to the number of vehicles on the road today(and increasing!).

It was good to be back home, to have a cup of tea and dinner and settle in for the night.

The vacation was almost over and it was good while it lasted.

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Day-3: Talacauvery, Madikeri

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Continued from Day-2 Kushala Nagara and Day-1 WonderLa

By this time our driver had a fair idea of what to expect when we informed him our scheduled time of departure to Talacauvery as 8.30AM. As could be predicted, the actual departure was at 10AM, largely owing to the little three year old refusing to budge from the children's park where he was climbing up and down the slide and the swings.

The first part of the journey to Madikeri, 30kms from Kushala Nagara, was smooth and escaped most of our notice as we were reminiscing old stories and jokes and, laughing our heads off, remembering the foolish games of our youth and all the cheating we did. We stopped at Madikeri for a quick tea and to ground the static electricity that may have accumulated in our bodies. The real Ghat Road began from there. We had to stop many times in the route since some or other of us was feeling dizzy and on the verge of getting sick, though fortunately nothing happened.

Talacauvery is the point of origin of the River Cauvery, where it begins as a dripping spring before swelling in its downward journey and becoming the major topic of controversy between Karnataka and Tamil Nadu. There is a temple where the holy water from the spring is worshipped. The temple premise was apparently rennovated recently, for the convenience of tourists.

A climb of 369 steps (as my nephew counted it) would take one to a scenic location probably the highest point in the area and would guarantee a beautiful view on a clear day. I did not attempt the climb because I was already dizzy from the uphill drive, but some of my family did, however they could not get a good view because of the thick mist.

Photography was not allowed in the temple as per a directive at the entrance, however we spotted someone with a video camera shooting away the dieties. There is always someone who is ready to break rules who believes every rule has an exception for him! We did not take out our cameras so I do not have any pictures to share.

There are no good hotels at that height, only small shops where we can buy vadas or packed crispies like Lays or cheese balls. To get lunch we had to come down around 10kms to Bhagamandala. Every other hotel in that area had the name 'Cauvery' in it. Hotel Mayura Cauvery, Hotel Cauvery, and so on... We requested our driver to go slow on the drive down, so that we don't feel uncomfortable after lunch. Everyone started word games to distract themselves; even the ones who were not playing listened and contributed here and there, so the twists and turns did not make a great impact on any of us.

We were all very exhausted by the time we reached Madikeri, but proceeded to Abbey Falls where the waterfall was thin, we were told that after the monsoons it would be heavy and quite a sight to see. We had to travel down a flight of steps to reach the falls and the very thought of climbing back terrified me. But as always the return journey is easier than the forward, and we reached the top where our Qualis was parked, almost in no time.

I just wanted to get back to our rooms and relax, but Raja's seat was just 2kms away from Madikeri town, so everyone suggested that we see that as well. So we had tea and dosas, and proceeded to Raja's Seat. It is another view-point, where the Rajas of old are believed to have sat listening to the grievances of the citizens. The park now has a Musical Fountain, indeed as my sister remarked, there seems to be a musical fountain in almost every tourist spot in Karnataka!!

Then started the next 30kms back to Kushala Nagara Veerabhoomi resort, for dinner and a collapse.

Day 4 - Nisargadhaama, and back to Bangalore.

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