Cal Calling (horrible cliche, I know. I suck at titles)

So then I was in Calcutta. Amidst a cold wave, bird flu and from what it looked like…some off-season rain.

The crowded pavements sent off some whiffs of momos, bus exhaust, tea in matkas and strangely enough…old shoes – this with the backdrop of the off-season drizzle. Lolling around in bookshops (an effective combat rated ahead of lolling around in Museums) happened. Happened a lot. Even when there was no rain. Habit forming, these vices.

Anyway…

I was in Esplanade station, waiting for the metro and wondering:
1. Whats with the Spanish sounding name
2. When Bangalore will finally go metro
3. If I should nip out and get a matka chai on the road again
4. And why that strange Bengali in a monkey cap was staring at me…

I was wondering all these at the same time. (I have powerful mental faculty. I haven’t got a Noble Prize for it yet) Soon…the metro I was waiting for came and I zipped across the length of the city, got out, got a rickshaw and got on with my life.

But…the point is that Calcutta is quite a Trip.

The place is full of interesting stories. Not just in bookshops. The streets are quite a study. Streets like College street are museums by themselves. Speaking of intresting...under that broad heading right at top would figure the Art galleries and bookshops – Classic and Seagull. CIMA and Academy of Fine Arts ...not in that order. Or disorder. Considering its Calcutta we're talking about.

Days passed and...
One morning - I trundled myself (in the middle of a small drizzle) into a rickshaw and further into the waiting doors of a tram. It slid peacefully across streets that looked like Byomkesh Bakshi lived in ‘em. I clambered down…the friendly conductor waved off my tram fare (so much for funding a Living Heritage). I landed a bit off from India Coffee House near the Old University into some awning streets covered pavement to pavement with books from across the Hyperuniverse – just then the sun broke through the clouds. I bought a Byomkesh novel and settled near a window in the House (where it was brewed for the likes of Tagore and Ray)…and read my book over some really bad coffee. Life’s like that. A perfect coffee would have been well...perfect. But. Sorry. Not happening.

Anyway…as I was saying…The place is quite a Trip.
Except when, straddled along with a White Caucasian Female – it can turn out to be quite a Zoo. Spectating the spectators is quite a done thing. Good way to kill time, they seem to have decided unanimously. Not unlike the Monkey cap clad gentleman I was mentioning earlier.

Anyway...

Monkey caps were out in full force one surprisingly sunny morning… so Dakshineshwar seemed like a reasonably good plan. Some places of “Peace” are claustrophobic with tranquility, but Belur Math stays quietly wakeful in the midst of clamour. The long boat ride over Hoogly meanders along across the bridge and the banks of the Math and when it lands - it does so with a certain finality. A sense of having arrived.

Grub on the streets are to die for. The light and sound show at good ole Vicky’s isn’t. It sucks.

Many tea-and-perusal-of-The Telegraph-mornings passed and the sunshine looked like it was there to stay. Heath Ledger died, unofficially of an OD and the bird flu had officially reached Howrah. Some time later that day I caught a flight and amidst the various sized cabin baggage I shamelessly lug around, I sat poring over a fresh page...

Another case for the intimable Byomkesh Bakshi.

Mirages and similar blah

I sit here nursing a mug of the steaming stuff…fending off a characteristic Bengaluru-style chill in the air. My mind bends around the memories of a recent trip to Rajasthan…and like a mirage I look at it…with a sense of disbelief…

…Maybe that’s something the desert does to you…out there… time just slips by and a lulling calm of unreality settles on everything …The fine sand shifts and spreads and the hot afternoons turn into cool evenings…stars burn in the night sky and the Golden city glows in the night…the cold nights turn light and the scorching sun rises again. The days just pass…without effort, seamlessly…

Seduced by the shifting sands and the lure of the dusty old havelis and many a regaling story by old time travel buddies, we decided that this Diwali… the coordinates would fix on the Great Barren plains.

A worthy decision, in retrospect, but when you’re baking in an iron cauldron, creeping along in Sleeper class across the smoldering landscape …disembarking into the arms of a veritable army of touts… doubts begin to plague the mind. But believe me, sitting here …now I know that the battle of mind over matter had just begun :)

Dunk yourself into shelter…post being watered, fed and sufficiently beer-ed up… light one of the thin long ones and you’re ready for what the hell-ever the Desert has in store for you.

Ajmer-Pushkar
Give Ajmer a miss. Seriously. People will try to tell you not to, but like some smart cookie once pointed out: “Heed not the ignorant traveler’ s ramblings”. In this case, heed not like the Dickens…cos one neat little half hour bus ride later (don’t miss the super-tech tickets issued on the ride)…you hit Pushkar.

I love the way Lonely Planet describes the place: “…a dusty little town at the edge of the desert… tourists experimenting variously with bhang, spirituality and facial hair’. Peppered with Gurudwaras that emanate some haunting singing late into the night and early in the morning… this touristy little place has its modest share of hippy lanes running alongside the ghats - Perfect to stop here for a day or two…smoke some beedis in some scenic spots and get going.

• Catch the sunrise atop the Savitri temple hill (Alert: the climb is tough on them ole smoker gills)…
• Wander down the ghats… they’re cuter than the regular Varanasi experience… and cleaner (in case things like hygiene bother you).
• There’s a Swinging Baba outside the Brahma Temple…on some obscure hatha yoga mission, he lives his life swinging off a wooden platform suspended from a tree. The junta claims he’s been there forever. Interesting chap.
• Among the other oddities… from when you disembark from the bus, the touts offer you a special open cart ride to the town (which is a few hundred yards away)…. novel fleecing technique. I was impressed.
  

Jodhpur
Mehranghar fort and the famous view of the blue houses. Well. That’s all I’m admitting to. But must say the tourism blokes have pulled up their socks a bit on this one. Full marks this time.

…Flit past these places and get some practice learning to beat the sun…for the real trip hasn’t begun till you find yourself standing outside the formidable fort walls of…

Jaisalmer.
The exact moment you step into the Fort city, the feeling of having left another world behind envelopes you till you leave…and you live the rest of your life with its haunting images tucked away somewhere. They surface suddenly …in the middle of a meeting at work…or a traffic jam on the street…. like some goddamn hallucination, the walls of that city rise again…

The Bhang Shop.
And yes…its ‘Government approved’. And manned by a self-confessed healer…Dr.Bhang. The man is made of stuff the world has never seen before – spouting eternal truths, as politically incorrect as they come…he is half the trip, really.

A menu is handed to you and great advice to ‘take it easy policy…’ The menu outlines the ‘good effects of Bhang’ that includes anti ageing, euphoria and fights fatigue, amongst its varied miraculous properties. The stuff is available in you name it…tea, apple juice, lassi…and in different measures …Baby shots, medium, large and the ‘Full power 24 hour No toilet No shower’ which is reserved for ‘Camels and Israelis’ (By the Doctor’s admission, not mine)

As you wait for the stuff to take its effect…he signs a Bang passport for you with a flourish…talks about his ‘Dream project’ … advices you on bhang consumption vis-à-vis life in general.

Unbeatable stuff. Double thumbs up.

One man show A.K.Sharma’ s Puppet Show:
Mr. One man Show Sharma – many a weary year this man has spent bringing the dying art of puppetry to a nation that doesn’t really give a...um…rat’s ass…(to cut a long story short). So hence we trooped into his house cum show space, parted with some crisp notes at the counter and squeezed into the packed hall to watch the Desert Puppet Show.

Mr. One man Show Sharma is quite a mastermind. All his lead-up stories to the ‘extravagant display by talented desert artists’ start with a splendiferous tale of love, loss and quest for happiness…and somehow the show that ensues, magically manages to convey it all using one SINGLE freakin puppet that does nothing even close to entertaining…except a few lewd gestures that left some kids who attended the show going back with some seriously damaging ideas on sexuality and camels.

But…the outdated old man means well, I’m sure and I should not be so hard on him, so here’s the verdict: ‘Mostly harmless’ (with all due credit to Mr. Douglas).

Disclaimer: If you were to go in there with the entire line up of hard facts straight, it can turn hugely amusing. Especially after a stop at the Bhang shop.

Aunty’ s Restaurant - 8th of July:
The restaurant at first glance makes a killing – occupies the best vantage on the view of Jaisalmer – the central square where the cows, tourists, tight rope walkers, tea shops, carpet sellers and similar troopers collate in befuddled mass.

Aunty will swoop down and tell you a lot of things you really don’t want to know, but you can forgive her cos she makes it all up with her cooking – she whips up a veritable storm! Wow. But to get to the goodies you will need to endure long lists of different lassies available – blackcurrant, would you believe…is from Nigeria! Uncle is an Australia returnee and can’t quite get over that fact of life.

Heck! I should really curb this mean streak… before I get any worse, I’ll wrap by saying I recommend everything about the restaurant. Sit there and watch time ebb away in its curious desert fashion.

Hotels, street shops, lodges, teashops, and cafes…everything is in the fort – everything IS a part of the fort. It’s unreal and totally magic, all at once!

Kitschy little rooms with haveli feel about it, long winding low ceiling rooms nestled close to the roof top, looking down into the streets out of tiny windows covered in bright silk! Its feels like living in another century…another time.


Don’t miss the musicians sitting around playing some haunting music on their little stringed thingies accompanied with some full-throated singing! One old guy sitting by the entrance to the fort was quite a great guy – the only one who didn’t ask for money and played as long you sat down to listen to him. That kinda thing really does it for me :)

And one last thing…don’ t leave if you don’t have to. Stay on. For however long it takes.

Aunty at the Restaurant says she’s been looking over the square for ten years now and she’s not tired of it… So ... give it a shot.

The lonely Fisherman’s cove

I wouldn’t recommend this to everyone.
… Not everyone is ready for Heaven ;)

But if you’re among the tribe of Joseph who likes your beaches deserted…then you’re in for a bit of paradise here… This place is straight out of a soporific dream.



Crystal clear water lapping the sands breaks the silence…
Float like a dead log in the water…Hear the ocean in your ears…
Walk for miles and not see a single soul on the horizon…
Its the place for some lonesome reflection…some running away in your head…

If that sounds like the place you’d want to wake up in… You’ll find Bengre Beach, tucked into an unknown corner of Costal Karnataka to be a bit of absolute rapture. Buried along the Mangalore beach line, nestled in calm neglect and isolation- it’s exactly how a beach should be.

Getting there is no problemo – it never is - anywhere in small town Karnataka which, according to me, has the world’s best public transport and networking.

Get a on a bus from Udupi…and ask for Hoode-Bengre beach, then sit back and let the little open-windowed bus rattle you through the most charming towns in the whole world – clear channels of rain water running under the bridges, a smell of fish in the air mingled with salty sea breeze… rattle along the coconut tree lined town roads.

Suddenly, the engine goes off, tyres whistle and the local junta clambers down and disappers. So you get down doubtfully and then...you'll see why it had to stop like this - what you see is a view you'll remember for a while to come.

The road ahead doesn’t exist – ahead the land stops and you'll see a lonely beach shining in the sunlight…heaving and glinting between the coconut glades.

The usual reaction is to …RUN …yelling like a lunatic till you’re neck deep in the warm water, somersaulting in the waves…gasping in the crisp water without a CARE IN THE WORLD!! A few locals will look at you like you’re mad but heck. When you’re on cloud nine and climbing… you don’t really care.

Dolphins are quite common if you stare long enough into the deep.

Take a small walk and you’ll find the miracle doesn’t end here – a short road separates the beach from a river. The road walks through a picturesque village and ends with the Ocean and the River meeting.

Clamber on a pile of sandstone and watch the sun set. You’re done. Sold. For life.

When the Thunder Dragon beckons…

It was one of those dreamy afternoons when time takes a break. There was nothing to do but sit out on faded red Nilkamal chairs at the local chai shop and talk big small talk…

We were in the middle of a healthy mid afternoon flight of fantasy – taking off to Bhutan and then traveling by road to the rest of the world, teaching English to the locals. Not the best plan, yes…but like the ancient adage says: “When perched on Nilkamal chairs, the best thing is to abandon all reason”.

With abandon we proceeded.
And got Nowhere.

Which was fine by us…But what with the Universe conspiring to make you achieve the pointless… in less then a month after we had the Teach-Locals-English-Fund-World-Tour conversation, we were actually taking off to Bhutan. Just like that…

From chai shop in the sunlight to the Land of the Thunder Dragon, hidden among the mountains, known to be one of the most isolated nations in the world in less than 30 days… in financial dire straits… to an unknown country…in the middle of a cruel winter.

That's one of the best things about being broke…you have no choice but to be fearless.

The Great Indian railway was the chosen mode of transport – to cut across the country in Gandhi class - across the land on rail, chugging along rivers and states…

12-noon reading a book on the topmost berth…
8 pm squatting on the door, watching villages flash past…
3 am in a compartment, freezing to death…

7 days later. Here I was, crossing the border town into Druk-land and my city blood conditioned to the loud and crass - just died in my veins.

It’s a Royal kingdom in every sense of the word – upright, charmingly simple. There is a stillness abound – like a gong for prayer has just been sounded. Surrounded by mountains with shining snow and large colorful monasteries rising at the skyline. Gently elegant/proud but friendly – Bhutan is like the Mountains that surround it.
Every structure - from hotels to theatre halls, homes and shops lining the streets have dragons and Buddhist motifs staring at you from the stark-white wood-lined walls. Lines and lines of vibrant prayer flags pepper the mountainous roads, chanting in the cold wind…

And here comes the reccos - useful if you want some random insights :)

If you’re an Indian citizen, all you need is a driver’s license to a permit to visit Bhutan. One of the many perks of the (debated) Aryan lineage! And make sure you carry your permit with you wherever you go. They check it. Everywhere.

To get a whiff of that untouched – get your hands on the ‘weekly’ newspaper. It has news about India. Only. Nothing much else happens to report. No robberies, no bomb blasts, no page 3 idiots, random coups and pointless editorials. Refreshing!

And beat this – there are no traffic signs in the Capital city. Just that occasional Lamborghini or a Land Rover driven by a Bhutanese who thinks its no big deal.

Try the alcohol – its dirt cheap and fantastic. ‘Apple cider’ spiked with rum, ‘Hit beer’ is high on my list ;)

Check out the Dzongs, they are fortified monasteries that used to house warrior monks. Make sure you get a special permit to visit them… making bambi eyes at the guards doesn’t work. I tried. And failed.

The brilliant blue skies makes for excellent photography.

Drink Hit beer and don’t move much. Soak it all in. Then move on…to another spot.

The Thunder Dragon likes you to take it easy.

Nirvana, anyone? Try travel. Its the closest thing.

Travel – there’s just some thing about it that’s indescribable.

Here’s a bad try:
A sense of taste that’s tasting the air – atmosphere …tired feet, a cut of the backpack on your shoulders – fleeting images pass by, nothing recording ...catching them just at the periphery of my vision…it doesn’t matter…nothing does… I’m glad for everything – a composition that’s whimsical. Whiff of masala tea and cigarettes in a haze around my head...from the last stop in a hippie café..
Oh well…its indescribable.

Another bad try. Shorter this time, though:
It’s a state of complete acceptance and happiness that’s perfect – dependent on nothing but just BEING. The continuum blows my mind.

Oh that sucks harder…. Now on to more constructive rambling…

Guess one of my favorite pointless travel locales will have to be Varanasi… The Eternal City of India, located on the banks of the Ganges. I love this city of holy men, musicians, silk saris, poets, tourists and seekers of Nirvana.

Imagine a city that is founded by an insane Sex-Drugs-Rock n Roll propounding God - the God of Destruction, Shiva – and open your eyes in Varanasi and its right there : just what you imagined. Picture perfect.

Ganga, Ghats and ganja…just walking in the sun, through little cobbled roads speckled with psychedelic shiva cafes, rubbing shoulders with Aghori babas and pot smoking saints, dead people and the not so occasional cow – old men playing chess on the side walks and some fantabulously amazing street food.

Really…. what more can you ask for…my hippie blood was baying that it had come home. Finally.


Recommendations...if any of you are in the mood for some generic gyaan:

A trip to the burning ghats (Manikarnika) is super-surreal. The smoke lifts off the burning body and mingles with the air you're breathing...and suddenly all distinctions start to blur... at that point, step aside and and you tell yourself, 'Welcome to Varanasi'.

I recommend the boat ride to anyone – anytime of the day, anytime of the night. Early and late and don’t miss it during the Ganga aarti.

The café overlooking the Assi ghat ..where time just endless floats between some truly amazing hot apple pie topped with cold ice-cream… don’t miss that either.

Stay? Go for the guesthouses… I recommend Sindhia Guesthouse…lovely collection of books, lovely ganga view, great food and clean rooms.

Make sure you take good solid shoes and WALK. Everywhere. Or take the rickshaw. Or the boat. Or preferably…do all three.

Don’t forget your camera …more than 3 days off…and an open mind…that way its ready to be blown.