To Bangalore...

If you have never lived in Bangalore,

you will never know

the warmth of sunshine,

the comfort of those few rays

after a chilled night

and drops of rain...

If you have never lived in Bangalore,

you do not chance upon

a torn old book, with love notes

somewhere in the corner

of an old, winding book store...

If you have never lived in Bangalore,

you cannot figure

your way around different

combinations of turns

in a maze

of carelessly designed one ways...

If you have never lived in Bangalore,

coffee is a conversation-starter

inspiration for graffiti walls

and cool merchandise

but never just

a cup of well-brewed beans...

If you have never lived in Bangalore,

Metallica and Iron Maiden

Oh maybe I should not dare

venture there

If you know Bangalore

you'll also know why!

If you have never lived in Bangalore,

well, you've just never lived in Bangalore.

Too Bad!

Before you think it, or even worse, say it, let me accept that there is much more beauty to Bangalore than just the few specifics I've just mentioned...

This, however is just the small tale of my personal love for this city..

After over three years of constant comparing, I have learnt now, to accept and even love Bangalore for Bangalore and not bicker about how it is not, ermm, Bombay! I see now, how, my love-hate relationship with Bangalore is tending more to the former side of the scale..

And I am glad that albeit taking a few years, lots of idlis and even more cups of coffee, I write this.. To Bangalore...With Love!

Again

You know that moment...

The one you think of

ever so often.

Smiling

with dreamy eyes?

That same one

which transports you

to a dusty bus-ride,

a meandering conversation

that distinct smell,

a dear taste?

The moment you hold so close

to your heart.

Cherish. Share. Recreate

Again.

And Again.

The same one that

your recording device cannot do justice to.

The one that

your words cannot do justice to.

You know?

But do you also know

something strange

about that one?

That moment

Even memory cannot do justice to.

It's there,

right there,

just there.

Guarded

in Time.

And you can never

be there, do that

again.

Ever again.

Binge!

Don’t give a damn

For this daily strife

Ain’t no wretched moment I can’t survive

Would lose my shirt

To that spoonful of life!

If there’s a damn rule

I’ll cheat it.

That forsaken deadline,

I’ll meet it.

And when the world is my oyster…

I’m jus gonna eat it!!!

I figured that waiting until then is, well, not happening. I’ve decided to care a damn (if that can really be called a decision) and just eat to my heart’s content right away. Eat at different places, at different prices and with different people… So there lies the entire point of making you read all this self-indulgent blah. Different people! Since you’re not me, you obviously belong to that category… and I would love to invite you to dinner (and lunch and breakfast and coffee and tea).

Now, I don’t fully know why you would choose to come with ‘me’, but if you truly, sincerely love food then you wouldn’t care to figure that out either!
So, whoever you are and whatever you eat, please come join me. Let’s Binge!

Place: Britannia and Company, Colaba
Day: Sunday, 24th July
Time: 1 pm (or whenever you eat lunch)
Reason: Because I have never eaten Parsi food!

I didn't make it to Bhutan.

No.

I didn’t make it to Bhutan.

Came here instead

to the dreaded dreamland,

where time is money

as is everything else.

Where slow

is the dheemi local

or the internet!

No.

I didn’t make it to Bhutan.

Woke up instead

on early afternoons

of eventless days.

To a diminishing rain

and flood-threats.

No.

I didn’t make it to Bhutan.

So?

Could I not walk for a kilometer and a half?

Let the rain drop fall on my hair

and the muck lay aside.

Could I not just walk?

Push, one foot and another

through waves of rain water?

Step on semi-stones

and half-jump over dividers?

Watch those school kids, wet inside ankle-length raincoats

cause a traffic jam

marching across the road

single file.

Could I not?

Walk.

Watch.

Wonder.

Could I really not,

just stand here,

drenched,

pleased at a 30 minute mini- adventure?

Console myself.

So what?

I didn’t make it to Bhutan.

Soul, Smiles and the Last Shangri-la!

Whoever you are, whatever you do…

I urge you to, if even for a moment, stop.

Stop doing, stop being and

Imagine.

Imagine that right in the middle

of two racing economies

lies a small, very small kingdom;

where the people are unaware of the race.

Imagine

a tiny haven nestled in the mountains;

where height is measured by

how tall you stand

Imagine

a land of people who choose

a monarchy;

that defies the balance-sheets of the world

in favour of

Happiness.

Imagine

waking up to an open blue sky

dotted with yellow-blue flags

of Wisdom;

and sleeping to chants

of an Ancient Secret.

Imagine.

And then, Imagine

some more.

And when you are done imagining

Please do tell me.

Would you

or would you not

come, if even for a moment, and

live in this World

with me?

If you would, then I think we are up for some vagabonding, conversation and great meals together!

Allow me, now, to share with you some more details in the simplest, fastest way. Here goes...

Where?

I am optimistic that you are sure of our destination by now! ;) And, as to where all and where exactly in Bhutan, I think we should figure that out together, right?

When?

July 1st to July 14th is the surest tentative date! Though, we could do a period of 14 days, anytime between 25th June to 20th July.

Why Bhutan?

Well, for a lot of reasons, and for no reason at all! In fact, you should share with me your reason.

For some more 'real' and 'objective' thoughts, insights and experiences of the country you should look at/read:

http://www.littleexistence.blogspot.com

http://www.kingdomofbhutan.com

So Close to Heaven: The Vanishing Buddhist Kingdoms of the Himalayas by Barbara Crossette

A Baby in a Backpack to Bhutan by Bunty Avieson

The Monies and other Concerns

The budget very much exists and should be a maximum of 10,000 per person for 14 days from Calcutta onwards. And though, like most other matters, the budget is flexible, we should try and adhere to it!

Other concerns like visa, currency, passport etc can be taken care of easily... It is quite simple for Indians, all you need is some photographs and and ID proof. However, we can correspond on that at a more direct level (ie: we'll just chat/talk!)

Should I seriously be coming?

Well, yes of course! If you have read this post so far, I am positive that you seriously want to!

You should reconsider only if any (or all!) of the following apply:

• Serious problems with flexibility. In fact, any problems with it at all! Backpacking, with a fixed and small budget cannot be enjoyed without being able to make/break/alter plans, or not have plans at all!
• OCD! Some places we go to might not exactly be the most hygienic or aesthetic...
• Need to carry hair dryers/matching shoes and accessories for every outfit/gels/anything else that is not exactly a 'necessity'!
• Dislike for walking! We just cannot, not walk and still explore a place!
• Lastly, no respect for the environment.

Now, I do feel old and boring with the information over-dose. So if there is anything else you want to know please write to me at poorvaagarwal.89@gmail.com. More importantly, write to me with your suggestions, ideas, wish-lists... And then assuming, there's going to be more than just you and me on this wonderful adventure, everyone should get involved, excited and talking!

See you soon, on the road!

Rajasthan 10 - Opening up my heart

“I just open up my heart ya!”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

We were sitting by a make-do fire, the four of us.

Me. My friend and fellow traveller. And two strangers. Photographers we had met on the train to Jaisalmer – Rohit Sabharwal and Santosh. Some co-incidence and a really good bargain offer had brought us together on this ‘desert trip to see the dunes’.

With a half a day long camel-ride, a few gorgeous sun-set pictures and an evening dinner behind us, we had resorted to the good old travel pastime – Conversation. And I had just asked Rohit some naïve question about how do you know who to trust and where do you draw the line.

To which he said, “I just open up my heart ya…”

What? Opens up his heart? That’s it?

What did he even mean, opens up his heart just like that!

How could one possibly afford to do that…? Open up their heart to the receptionist of a functional, budget hotel? To any fellow passenger on the local bus? To sweet-sellers across the street from your hotel?

How could one warm up to someone at the risk of becoming vulnerable? Or maybe just let go, at the risk of also letting go of precious cameras and saved money?

Though I smiled back at him, it was the half-curved smile of disbelief. Of course, he did not mean what he had just said. It was a good line, perfect for the moment and the ambience. That’s it.

I looked away. Questioning.

Then I saw.

The unending expanse of desert around me. No sign of any civilisation for miles. The five camels and the two camel-walahs sitting beside. In the stark darkness. The two strange men I was talking to. I didn’t know where I was, my parents didn’t know where I was. There was just one person there who I could trust. He was almost asleep.

And then all of a sudden, I saw what he had meant.

For I had opened up my heart too. Just like that.

Rajasthan 9 - The Desert

I am a very peaceful sleeper on train journeys. No tossing and turning. No jolting out of sleep at random intervals. No upheavals in the stomach caused by the constant moving. Nothing. I sleep a deep, dreamless sleep through the night.

That night though, I woke up. I could taste grainy particles in my mouth. Thus, I woke up. To check what was going on. As I sat up, I banged my head first of course. Then I noticed that not just my mouth was filled with sand, but in fact, I was in fact sleeping on a bed of sand. Not figuratively.

With much effort and the consequential pushing around of grains of sand, I climbed down to check on my friend.

He was stretched out on his berth. Window open, as always. Smiling. This time, I knew why.

We had spent over a week in the state and had had varied experiences. We had been to forts, palaces and a village. Found step-wells, heard folk songs and seen puppet shows. We had experienced the heat and dryness and everything typical of Rajasthan. But he was always a tad disappointed as it did not ‘really feel like the desert’

And tonight, as he smiled, I knew exactly what he thought.

“Finally it is here. The desert.”

Rajasthan 8 - Where is the Village?

So it was decided. Transport was found. Prices were fixed. Dress-code was picked.

And thus it began. The village adventure.

At the very border of the not particularly small Guda-Bishnoi village we were greeted by an old lady.

“Jao toh dhyan se rehna”

The greeting came as a warning. And I wondered how many people it had already warned.

Much to our relief, a middle-aged man took us to his home.

Ah! Now that was perfect. A hand-crafted roof, earthen boundaries, a hand-pump tucked away in a corner. An old woman choking up to cook a meal.

My friend made sincerely felt but terribly distant enquiries about education, life and the difficulties of their life. All I wanted to do was look around, see how the food was being cooked, look at the freshly arrived farm produce but most of all, operate the hand pump.

The family showed us around, smiled constantly, answered our questions with enthusiasm, told us some stories and served us lunch. Until that point in time, I was not aware that parts of cacti were cooked and eaten as dry vegetables, that sour curd made for healthy gravy and that home-made ghee could be surprisingly delicious. We ate spoonfuls after spoonfuls of it, accompanied with chewy ‘bajra rotis’.

As my palate relished the rustic meal, my mind wandered.“How must it be, to live disconnected, in a world so different from the one outside.” I was creating images of a pure life, sufficient and satisfied.

However, those ideas did not get a fair chance. It was getting late and we had to get back before sunset. We prepared to leave, not without some pictures with members of the family. And the pictures were clicked. In different settings. With different combinations of people.

It sure was worth recording the ‘village’ that had matched the descriptions in our minds.

And as I was dreaming over the camera, our host said,

"Aap mera e-mail le lo, mujhe photo e-mail karna!"

Rajasthan 7 - "We are Students!"

“Here! Yogi Guesthouse. Traditional courtyard… blue… panoramic view of Mehranharg Fort, Umaid Bhawan Palace, Clock Tower and Old City… 150 authentic Indian flavours…roof-top restaurant… umm… tariff 400 upwards…”

It sounded great. We decided to call and confirm, having stayed under a highly suspicious roof the previous night, due to overconfident carelessness.

“Hello? Haan… Yogi Guesthouse?”

“I want to know… do you have rooms available?”

I smiled at my friend. In return I got a glitter-in-the-eye type grin.

“Umm… the cheapest one…”

“800? Why? In the guide book it is Rs. 300… you have that one?

Ok, Hold on”

I needed advice. A nudge sufficed, accompanied by an inspiring pat on the shoulder.

“See actually, we read about this and called. It is good… but…”

“Yes yes, Indian…”

“650? Umm… can you give better deal… actually we are backpacking…”

Silence on the other end. And another nudge.

“See, we are on a budget trip… Anything is possible? Please… try no…

We are students!”

“Fine Thank you, sir”

The moment I hung up, I could feel those enquiring eyes upon me…

And I replied…

“400!”

Two hours later, we finally ended up tasting 2 of the 150 authentic flavours at the roof-top restaurant. And drinking cheap beer; in celebration of our greatest achievement so far, as ‘students’.

Rajasthan 6 - In transit, Merta Station

I am sitting, quite at ease, at Merta Railway Station. The station is not really as obscure as it looks. One can easily locate it on the map of Rajasthan. One can easily comfortably choose it as one of the better access points to Jodhpur.

As I sit on a clean, broad bench wanting a cup of tea… I find my mental image of a ‘railway station’ slowly being recreated. This is no place throbbing with contrasting sounds of typically accented, rhythmic announcements and hurried, incoherent goodbye advices. There is no constant chugging of trains against metal tracks, no engine whistling the final warning either. No porters eagerly seeking to carry my meager baggage.

The only semblance of character is bandhini turbans smoking beedi, or white-bangled arms pushing to reach the ticket counter. This is also the only colour there is.

Yes, there are a dozen A-1 tea-stalls that are quietly going about their business. And yet again, the quiet transactions are rebels against the railway station’s identity of confused noise.

This very ‘quiet’ would be poetic to me if it were an abandoned station in the middle of a barren place, seldom used by anyone but the regular village-folk or the rare traveler trying to explore. But that is not what it is: well-lit, concrete platforms, a decently furnished waiting room, more than countable people. And yet, Quiet!

Now, it is not like I observe stations at a regular basis. Neither do I want to offer any insights. How could I possibly know?

Maybe this station is looking like it is, only today, only to me? Maybe it is my ninety-minute wait for the train. Transferring its boredom onto the platform? Maybe all stations in Rajasthan are this way… And the bustling stations with their recognizable chaos. Those exist in other cities. Or in studios!

Maybe.

I don’t know.

I don’t even know what it is I am feeling at this point. Am I shocked, confused or plain disappointed?

I know this:

I better get my cup of tea from across. Now.

Rajasthan 5 - Ferris Wheel

And then comes a day,

When all we see

from up there

Are scores of sheets lying

below our noses.

When our stomachs feel dizzy after

doing rounds of Jack Daniel's.

And our hearts,

they beat harder after

doing some other

Jack in the cabin next door.

When we go round and round

in circles,

to make some godforsaken point.

Finally there comes a day,

when we substitute;

and then forget

the pointless pleasure

of sitting

on the Ferris Wheel!

P.S. - My pleasure courtesy - Evening Ferris Wheel ride at the Pushkar Mela!

Rajasthan 4 - Rooftop Restaurants

The occasional drifts of warm breeze felt refreshingly cool on my face. I just sat, reclined easily into a cane chair. A medley of sounds came to me from all directions. And somehow, locating each one was becoming rather fun. An oldish bollywood song from the bangle-seller's shop. Attention-seeking advertising couplets from a brightly tented exhibition. Loud-speaker announcements from the mela grounds, calling camels to assemble for a race. And the constant cacophony of broken hindi bargaining.

A few sips of cola refreshed me enough to get my hands on my camera that I had only recently gotten to using. Being new to this pleasure it was taking me a while to settle on a good shot.
I considered the appealing pile of sweets laid out in small, orange hills; then moved to a couple being transported to the mela-grounds on a wooden cart. I paused at a display of huge chunks of silver jewellery. I also liked the circle of pink and yellow dupattas scrutinizing a mass of jaggery.I had just about found the perfect shot. Just then, my muse, the little blue turban walked away with his pink candy-floss in hand. I turned to explore a bit more and saw that my brown-yellow parathas and white curd were served.

I gave photography a rest and sat to eat. This was one of those rare times when my eyes, ears and taste-buds were rejoicing all at once. And given that, I made it a delightfully long lunch.

In there, I knew my camera was itching to record the vivacity of Pushkar.
The waiter was waiting impatiently for his tip.
The jaggery was constantly being judged and rejected.
The camels were still assembling.
Another child was walking away with her rupee ten worth pink reward.

Meanwhile,
I was just falling in love with the concept of -
Roof-top Restaurants.

Rajasthan 3 - Pushkar Mela, Morning Prayers

There is more to Pushkar than meets the eye (or tongue!). Pushkar is not just about the annually held Pushkar mela, with its parading camels and evening cultural programs. Neither is it about the few kilometers long display of colour made into clothes, bags and handicrafts.
It is, in fact, not about that at all.

Pushkar, in its primal identity, is a holy land. It is the 'tirth raj' (ie: King of the pilgrimage sites) of the Hindus. Now, while I knew this from my mother, it is only when I set foot into the Brahma temple I realised how unaware I was about my own land and its people.

To my good fortune, the 'pujaris' and dedicated devotees did not let me remain in that state of ignorant bliss for long. I entered the temple and soon learnt that one must take a dip (or, in keeping with the time - wash hands) in the holy Pushkar Lake. This, of course is holy water blessed by Lord Brahma, who perhaps instructed the government to conserve it, which is why it resembles a ground with water leakage currently. I chose to ignore these inconsistencies and take a dip nonetheless. Only to be informed that is a holy procedure. Holy procedures need holy manners and therefore, holy men.
And holy men come with a plate of flowers which comes at anything between Rs.10 to Rs. 100 depending on your attire, accent, camera and nationality.
After purchasing my Rs. 10 worth of flowers, I could proceed to wash away my sins.

Wait a minute, while I am doing that (in sanskrit of course) I encounter, yet again, various aspects of my ignorance. I thought that I was performing an act of devotion. It turned out that devotion is not devotion unless accompanied by generosity. And generosity is that of the monetary kind. In religious sanskrit you call this 'daan'. And the amount of 'daan' depends only on your heart's desire and faith; which of course, is directly proportionate, to things of prime importance which regular souls cannot understand. The only consequential learning for us is that the value of 'daan', for religiously inexplicable reasons can never be a two-digit figure.

After having spent 45 minutes and 200 rupees, I saw the economics beyond the camel-trading at the fair and the bargaining at the markets; the true splendour of Pushkar!

Rajasthan 2 - Ajmer Sharief

To stand in front of this gorgeous dome and contemplate the tedious untying of shoes. Then contemplate some more. Imagine the precariously intricate floral patterns on pristine white pillars. Be lured by thoughts of lovely pictures. And then decide that a small effort must be taken.

To then remove the camera from the backpack, before depositing it safely at an inconspicuous, orange flower shop.

To then go back to the bag. Remove a scarf and cover your head, having been looked at suggestively.

Move on to get security check-ed.

To be informed that cameras are not allowed.

To contemplate, again.

Shoes are already removed. Grandma said to never return halfway back from a temple. Fine. Enter, with bare feet, covered head and a plate of flowers.

To not know what to do with the flowers. “Just keep it there? With the plate?”

Just follow all the others.

To not know how to pray.

Just follow all the others, again.

“Fine. That was good. Now? Out?”

To look around. “Nooo! Am I lost?”

Just follow all the others, yet again.

To reach a prayer hall.

To look around.

For signs this time.

To carefully maneuver way out.

Sigh.

"To be a tourist at a holy place."