War between Two States - Mullapperiyar

With the blockades in the various inter state roads in Kumily-Munnar region entering its 9th day, the Mullapperiyar issue has truly escalated into a substantial issue. The sharp rhetoric and unprecedented popular mobilization from Kerala has now been matched by even more vociferous responses from Tamil Nadu, in the process driving the people of two states apart.

The issue of dam is not likely to be resolved any time soon. The bureaucratic lethargy in both the states and the center, political opportunism by random parties and of course the presence of an impotent Central Government and irresponsible Supreme Court ensures that the only thing to do is to wait out the rest of the Dam's lifespan. It is meaningless to conceptualize on what would happen if the dam breaks. In the near future, there is nothing to stop the rupturing of Mullaperiyar Dam from destroying the lives of thousands. No matter how much breath we exhaust in ranting and railing about it, there is no way anything can be changed in the short term, in so far as the dam is concerned. If the dam breaks lakhs of people would die, me included and chapter closed. If the dam does not break people would continue agitating to be heeded or ignored by the political classes and media as per their seasonal whims.

Thus in my opinion there is nothing to be gained by worrying about it now.

However the real and present situation that does merit our attention is another after effect of the escalation of tensions. Closely following the Munnar-Cumbum-Bodi blockade, Vaiko, the infamous chieftain of MDMK has declared that from December 22th, 2011 onwards the Walayar pass, the single greatest trade corridor between Kerala and Tamil Nadu would be blockaded by his people. This threat coupled with the steadily escalating pattern of violence and fear mongering on both sides of the Western Ghats brings a unique situation in the region.

India is no stranger to its states being blockaded. Manipur, was only recently alleviated from a blockade that lasted fully 121 days. That is four months when a state of India ceased to be a state of India. Four months when the Government of India astutely emulated its esteemed Prime Minister in his trade mark silence and spinelessness.

However a blockade between Tamil Nadu and Kerala would be an altogether different thing entirely. For one thing the trade volumes have to be considered. Kerala is a massive importer of food items from its neighboring states and Tamil Nadu's agriculturalists are especially benefactors of this massive market. Tamil rhetoric claims that Kerala ought to be grateful to the food products Tamil Nadu sells it. Frankly when I buy a bottle of Pepsi, I do not thank Pepsi for selling me it. If they dont sell I can always buy Coca Cola or make a stiff drink of my own. That, I fear is an aspect of market economics that the ruffians threatening blockade are forgetting.

In a cash rich market like Kerala there would be no shortage of suppliers. True in the short term, especially in the eve of Christmas, the shortage of vital supplies would be a big hit on festivities in Kerala. The price rise would be a crushing blow on the poor of Kerala who would not be able to outbid for the basic commodities which suddenly become even more scarce. However there is no doubt that agriculturalists in Karnataka and other states would make any delay in hastening to fill this shortfill and capture markets that were once dominated by Tamil sellers because of their proximity advantage. The massive increase in prices of food products has also the potential to encourage a rise in the dying agricultural sector of Kerala. With real estate market in a slump, cultivation of food products could in fact become even more valuable than filling the fields and building apartments.

The Palghat Coimbatore stretch of NH47, one of the busiest roads in the region would find itself strangely deserted once the blockade hits. The execrably maintained NH17 stretches between Kerala and Karnataka would come into greater prominence as also the Sultan Bathery-Gundulpet stretches. The buyers of Kerala would continue to get sellers but the question is what would happen to the sellers of Tamil Nadu? In today's markets where the buyer is always the king, the upcoming blockade would only be a bane for the agricultural industry of Tamil Nadu. With the usual bumper sales season of Christmas in Kerala denied to them, what would the food producers of Tamil Nadu do? The flare up of emotions of Mullaperiyar coupled with the loss of assured supplies due to blockade would also ensure that dealers in Kerala would lose trust in the Tamil Nadu suppliers in the long term.

On the political front, it is to be seen what successes the parties in Tamil Nadu could hope to accrue by denying its entrepreneurs the markets in Kerala. Also it is to be seen how much the general spineless of the electorate in Kerala would bear the stringencies of a blockade especially during the festive season of Christmas. Already the people of Kerala are ruing the absense of viable regional parties from Kerala, parties who represent the voice of the people of Kerala rather than kowtowing to the diktats of Politburos and High Commands in North. The way the regional parties of Tamil Nadu hold power over even the national parties in this Coalition era is a definite cause of jealousy for the more politically aware youth of Kerala. The Marxists who renewed the Mullaperiyar Agreement in 1970 and the Congress who are dithering in their duties to their voters for fear of punishment from the "Madam" deserve to be beaten into obscurity. With BJP continuing to be a non entity, this issue is bound to lead to truly interesting times indeed.

War between two neighbors is truly unfortunate, especially one between two states as closely woven culturally and spiritually as Kerala and Tamil Nadu. However in the absence of a political and governance system that bestows any value for human life, perhaps the turbulent days ahead of us could in fact lead to a better system.

Through Srinagar to Uttarkashi

The bus ride from Badrinath to Srinagar turned out to be one of the most exasperating bus journeys I have ever made. Labelled a "Daak Bus" or Mail Bus, this bus along with several other private buses perform mail service, collecting and delivering mail to the sundry little villages along its routes. If Haridwar to Badrinath took a travel time of 12 hours, the travel from Badrinath to Srinagar, a halfway point took an excruciating 11 hours. Additionally encumbered by the fact that I no longer had two entire seats to fit my generously proportioned frame, and seats that had leg rooms designed for people half my height, the very long stops the bus took every few kilometers in some random little village was getting on my nerves.

So as our bus creaked its way into the town of Srinagar at evening it was a very edgy me who Srinagar welcomed. To make things worse, our heavier bags which we had stowed in the rear luggage compartment had acquired a uniform color of white caked all over it from the tonnes of dust that the bus drove through. The only potential respite for me was the comfortable room awaiting us at the local GMVNL guest house. After checking out the two cheapest classes of rooms available, costing Rs. 400 and Rs. 800 per day, I finally chose the more expensive one, as after the excruciating ride I did not want to compromise on comfort at all. My fellow traveller however seemed displeased at the selection of the more expensive room, but at that stage, at that time I could not be out-insisted by even Odin himself.

A leisurely shower and feeling considerably much alive we rested for the night after I had made due enquiries as to the first bus to Uttarkashi, our destination for the next day. Informed about a bus being there at 0630 and 0700 in the morning, I assisted by a bellhop from the guesthouse went out and made two reservations for the earlier bus itself.

The next morning we arrived at the bus stop in time to find that the bus was filled to the packing. There were however the rear most seats vacant and ignoring the conductors remonstrations of keeping the luggage in cargo hold, we made ourselves comfortable or as much as we could do in the confined seats of yet another Garhwal bus. This time however I opted out of the window and aisle seats and instead sat at the very middle seat which had no handlebars and whose legspace was the very length of the bus itself. Though the bus ride would be quite jerky as ever and a slighter proportioned person may find himself propelled to the front of the bus every few jerks and sudden brakes, I trusted on my girth to provide the adequate braking power for my frame in case any such incidents occurred, a reasonable observation as I figured in due time as the bus became a virtual pinball machine for me.The journey around the Tehri Dam was quite picturesque and traffic was much less than the roads till now.

Roads in Uttarakhand are no child's play and the best of roads here would make any Kochiite proud of his home roads, but past Dharasu, the road to Uttarkashi was one of the scariest roads I have ever gone through in my life. Truth be said there was no road per se, but some trails the vehicles and bulldozers have cut through the unstable mountain sides pretty much like how the mountain goats pick their way through. And of course the pinball sensation was on an altogether new level!

As a passionate biker, I have a habit of evaluating all the roads I travel through on how I would ride through them myself and truth be said, I was scared out of my wits at the prospect of riding these roads. The vehicles plying these roads have at least four tyres of whom at least three would be having contact with ground. Alternately getting scared and rebuking myself for getting scared, a ray of relief passed over me as I watched a group of Bulleteers riding past. Then I saw a local riding a scooter and then I totally felt relief. If the roads are ridable, then definitely I would be able to ride. Then I spent my time until Gangotri enjoying the immensely beautiful vistas of the land.

Reaching Gangotri in the evening I was too exhausted to have any idea about how to lug my heavy luggage to the Kailas Ashram, where we were supposed to be staying. Thankfully my fellow traveller, Jayan, exhibited one of his rare acts of initiative and procured the services of a jeep to drop us at the Ashram. So we had to fork out Rs. 100 apiece but that is a small price to pay for this luxury and soon we were dropped at the front of the Kailas Ashram located near the banks of the swift flowing Ganga River. We had agreed upon that Uttarkashi is Jayan's turf, as this was where his guru Hari Om Swamiji stayed and our accommodation at Kailas Ashram was also arranged at his behest. We were soon given keys to a simple room. By the time I had freshened up the Swamiji had arrived and after conversing for a while with the pious soul we accompanied him to his Ashram located a few distance away. The night had fallen as walked through the dark streets and the upward climb up the narrow path to the Swamiji's Ashram was quite tough for me. The hyper cheery stream of advices emanating from Jayan was not helping either as I was putting all me efforts in walking up the path. However the sight that met me at the top made it all worth the while.

For several years I had been looking forward to the sight of the dark cloudless sky when I can see all the stars in the sky. For years I had been lusting to see a night sky unhampered by ambient lights and pollution. This was the closest I had ever reached to that dream. Leaving Jayan to socialize with the Swamis, amongst whom I did feel an odd man out anyway, I just relaxed staring into the sky. After a while we hurried back to the Kailas Ashram in time for the dinner.

The dinner at the ashram was a serene affair, we visitors were offered plates made of leaves and we dined on a simple but delicious meal of Chappattis, Rice, Dal and Sabji. However the highlight of the meal was when one of the senior Swamis of the Ashram distributed 10 Rupees notes to all the other inmates and the visitors. It was apparently some donations he had received on the day. It was after the dinner that we made our acquaintance with two other Malayalee travellers staying at the Ashram, two Vedic Scholars from Panjal, Kerala who were on their annual pilgrimage to the Himalayas. We spent several enjoyable hours discussing on various topics until aware of the lateness of the hour we bid them adieu and returned to the room. The next day we were to travel to Gangotri, the second highlight of the journey. If luck favored us we also hoped to make a trek to Gaumukh, the glacial source of River Ganga.

Badrinath - Beautiful Badrinath

The morning of 12^th October was one of the coldest I have experienced in a very long time. Memories of dressing up in layers upon layers of clothing before setting out for Kerala School, Vikas Puri came rushing in as I bathed and got ready to pray at the Badrinath temple. Sankarji had advised us to keep our slippers at the Rawal’s house and also suggested we try meet him. Walking across the cable bridge towards the temple amidst gusts of white steam from the geothermal springs that abounded in the place was indeed a serene feeling. There was a moderate queue to get into temple and the ubiquitous hawkers, instant photographers and sadhus abounded the place. Spotting the Rawal’s house, which was described to us by Sankarji we walked in. We were first met by an acolyte of the Rawal named Narayanan Namboodiri. Requesting permission to keep our sandals outside and making our introductions, we were instructed to wait at an antechamber to meet with the Rawal himself. Now that was indeed a pleasant surprise.

The very young Rawal, the head priest of the Badrinath Temple, met with us and after receiving our introductions gave us small parcels of Prasad. Duly prostrating before him we made our leave and prayed at the temple. The queue was fast moving and we had a pleasant darshan before the Lord. After the prayer and thoroughly refreshed in body and spirit we set out to explore the town. The rising Sun had started creating beautiful vistas in the land. Walking ever more South of the temple we left the normal touristy places and we were walking amidst t regular population and habitations of the people. Looping East we crossed the river across another cable bridge and soon reached the main highway, the NH58. The highway, one of the border highways of the nation going from Ghaziabad to Mana village soon reached a fork going towards Badrinath and Mana village. It was a pleasant day, nothing much had been planned so we just decided to start walking towards Mana village, a distance of just around 3 kilometers. After yet another exorbitantly priced Masala Tea (15 Rs) we started walking casually. It turned out to be one of our better impromptu decisions. The sheer landscape was an artist’s dream. Various angles of the great Mount Neelkanha flanked by t Urvashi and Nara peaks and soon the great mastiffs of Mana and Satopanth trail making their glory visible to us.

A very comfortable road to walk on I was surprised that people pay Rs.150 per jeep ride to go from Badrinath to Mana. Why give Rs 50 per kilometer for what is otherwise a very easy and pleasant walk?

The village of Mana, the last Indian village as it proudly proclaims, is a Bhutanese settlement, quaintly perched across the sides of a mountain. Extremely narrow roads we walked through taking ever more clicks before stopping at a beautifully located coffee shop. Resting for a while being refreshed by delicious coffee laced with chocolate powder and with me downing a delicious Maggi noodles we watched in amusement as a little kid was playing with a hammer by the side of the street playfully attempting to break rocks. The hilarious antics of the toddler further lightened our mood and we walked on.

Reaching a fork in the street we took the rightward fork first. The upward going trail led first to Ganesh Gufa ( Ganesh Cave). Further up is the Vyas Gufa (Vyas Cave) which apparently is more than 5100 years old!! It was indeed a serene place and a place fit for meditation and contemplation. Resting for a while there and taking numerous photographs of the simply beautiful vistas all around we were also accompanied by two Sadhus sharing a beedi. Adjacent to the Vyas Gufa is the self proclaimed “IIndia’s Last Tea Shop”. The temptation was given way to and soon we were on the way to the second of the forked roads. This road angling downwards led to a beautiful waterfall and a rock bridge across a massive gorge. This was what the locals called as the Bhim Pul or Bhim’s Bridge, a stone bridge laid out by Bhima during the Pandavas’ Swargarohan or Ascent to the Heavens. The waterfall had a rainbow adorning it in a beautiful play of lights. However the presence of a pretender Naga sadhu who had set up a shrine in a roadside rock crevice and another shop named “India’s Last Shop” were eye sores. Angling closer to get a better shot of the waterfall I was horrified to see the trash heap that people had made this place. The abhorrence deepened as I saw several rock faces defiled by people proclaiming their loves and sundry whatevers, an act of eternal infamy in defacing this beautiful land. From there the trail to Vasudhara Falls and Satopanth trail starts. Since I was wearing only a slipper and not my boots I did not progress further but Jayan was lured up the trail by the prospect of yet more amazing shots of this wondrous landscape. By this time it was afternoon giving way to evening and we hurried to earlier located vantage points to attempt to take rare and choice photographs of the mountains in the dusk sun. The image of the golden Neelkanth, an image that had tantalizingly lured us to the mountains was however elusive.

That evening as we talked to Sankarji in one amongst several interesting and education conversations that defined our stay at the Sankar Madham he instructed us that the best time to take the pictures we wanted was early in the morning ideally at 4 AM or at best 5.30 6AM. This amazing person, a former Indian Navy officer who later worked with ONGC had set this institution up several years ago as a resting place for the Malayalees who travelled to Badrinath. In all the pilgrim places of the Himalayas every single community have their own establishments and institutions which gives shelter and succor to travelling pilgrims except of course Malayalis. Hence affiliated to Sankara Ashram, the Rawals of Badrinath, Sankaran Nampoothiri set this place which had literally become a home away from home for us travellers, who did not have luxury of package arranged pilgrimage. A very erudite scholar and a remarkable wit, Sankarji or Sankarettan as we have come to call him have made a massive impact on us travellers.

So the next day woken up abruptly by loud knocks on our door we were met by Sankarji who reminded us about taking the early morning photographs. Hastily dressing up we raced out to find some good vantage points unobstructed by electrical cables and pylons, that great destroyer of beautiful photographic frames. The silvery Neelkanth was shining ever brightly, apparently taunting us for our slovenliness, however we persisted in waiting in the frigid morning air. We were standing there like a bunch of fools staring off into just a routine piece of landscape when suddenly our wait attained fruition. I had surmised that it was only oblique light that is shining upon Neelkanth now and direct rays of sunlight would bring out an altogether different visage of the mountain. A golden crest that slowly spread downwards, turning silver into liquid gold gave me satisfaction of a bet hedged right.

Towards evening we bathed and set out for the temple where I hoped the Rawal would consent to bless some prasads I was buying for my family and relatives. It was then that I encountered the pleasant surprise of the well warmed ATMs and due to the absolutely scant queue, we prayed to our heart’s content, unhurriedly and peacefully at the shrine of Lord Badri Vishal. We then rested and drank in the serene and peaceful atmosphere to await our expected appointment with the Rawal. After buying the selected Prasad packets we went to the Rawal’s house and after being assured that we can collect the duly sanctified prasads at around 9PM we left back to Sankar Sadan.

I had come to Badrinath with two principal aims, to see Mount Neelkanth in all its resplendent glory and to see the glaciers. The first was granted to me but the second blessing was denied to me. I could not go on the trek to Vasudhara falls, I could not go to the base of Mount Neelkanth and neither could I go on the Satopanth trail. However I am thankful that I have those mesmerizing lures to draw me many more times to Badrinath.

Cutting short our stay at Badrinath by a day in view of the cancelled treks, we left for Srinagar, the intermediary point towards Uttarkashi on the morning of the 14^th. As we boarded the bus and bid mental goodbyes to Badrinath, the gods bid us adieu in their own fashion. The mountains of Nara, Narayana and Urvashi had accompanied their sibling Neelkanth in being snowcapped that morning. A truly memorable goodbye to us.

Until next time.

Badrinath - Arrival

One of the most remarkable aspects of Badrinath is its ATM kiosks. While in the rest of our hot and humid nation ATM kiosks are at best Air Conditioned or left unventilated.  The ATM kiosk at Badrinath is however kept warmed, a pleasant and welcome surprise in a very chilly town. But then it is just one and trivial of the many remarkable things that define Badrinath.

The journey to Badrinath began in the early hours of the morning of 11^th October as we woke up at around 3 AM to catch the first and only bus to Badrinath from the Government Bus Stand in Haridwar. Arriving at the Bus Stand at around 4 AM we waited for a half an hour for the bus to open and immediately grabbed prime seats. Making acquaintance with an old gentleman who used to be a Bus conductor in the Garhwal region also helped while away the time. At around 5 AM the bus pulled out of Haridwar and promptly into an early morning traffic block.

For what would be one of the longest bus journeys I have ever made my ever constant worry had been to reach Joshimath on time. The substantial town of Joshimath is in many ways a gateway to Badrinath. Located around 60 kms before Badrinath it is also the winter quarters of the entire population of Badrinath including the temple and priests of Sri Badrinath temple. During the months of pilgrimage to Badrinath proper, it is imperative that vehicles reach Joshimath before 4PM in the evening else they would not be permitted to drive up the perilous mountain roads of the Himalayas. So imagine my worry at every road block and traffic bottleneck that caused us to delay our timings. A burning desire to reach Badrinath on that day itself kept a constant prayer in my thoughts.

The mountains start abruptly after Rishikesh on the road from Haridwar. The vast Gangetic plains suddenly and dramatically make its way over to the ever rising hills and mountains of Garhwal. Most of the details of the early morning travel has been a little hazy for me as I was catching up on my interrupted sleep in the pleasantly wafting in cool mountain air though I did managed to pick out names like Devprayag etc. We had a breakfast of fresh and warm Aloo Paranthas at a mountain side tea stall outside of Devaprayag accompanied by piping hot cardamom tea. That was the moment I started to enjoy the taste of tea, a beverage that I had always shunned in favor of coffee. Throughout this journey I have continued to appreciate the taste of tea. My friend Jayan however was discovering a new life of his own, Aloo Paranthas. An acquaintance developed in the early morning of 10^th at the Ginger Rail Yatri Niwas restaurant in New Delhi was growing into a close bonhomie as the second batch of Aloo Paranthas are being ordered to the frantically busy waiter boy at the tea stall. Before the end of this journey I would not be surprised if Jayan declared Aloo Paranthas to be the love of his life second of course to his photography.

Rudely rebuffed in my attempts at establishing 3G internet connection in the Cosmopolitan capital city of New Delhi I was surprised to learn of the surprisingly good BSNL coverage in the Garhwal mountains. Of course the sheer contours of the terrain ensure that coverage is unpredictable but I did manage to keep track of our positions using my Mobile’s GPS and Google Maps.

The roads had been absolutely horrendous at several stretches of what only maps would describe as a National Highway. Reminding myself of countless accounts of travellers describing the monsoon travails including landslides and heavy mud flows I was being ever gladder that I was travelling during dry October when the rivers of mud had turned into mounds of white dust, which do however make the life of an asthmatic treacherous. The entire vegetation by the sides of the road was covered in a palette of white indicative of the nature of travel during monsoon. Scores of landslide locations which abounded the road made progress of the traffic very slow, but I was appreciative that slow though it is at least it is moving which would not have been the story a few weeks earlier during monsoons.

By afternoon after we passed Srinagar we were making good progress when around 2 PM tragedy struck in the form of a puncture to the rear left outer tire of the bus. At a slower pace we managed to pull by a mountainside puncture shop which apparently made brisk business of the reprehensible road conditions in the area. During nearly an hour of tire repairs I was praying that we do not get slowed down and would manage to cross Joshimath on time and would reach Badrinath today itself.

As 4 PM passed we had only managed to cross Chamoli and it was a literal storm in my mind. My reason, based on the information I had researched told me that we would not be able to pass Joshimath and would have to camp out there, my heart was praying itself out hoping that by some miracle we would be able to reach Badrinath today itself. The ever increasing crowd in the bus and the ever increasing dangers of the road were ignored by my constant mental prayer for a miracle. The town of Joshimath was at its crowded best due to some sort of religious rally that clogged up all the streets. For nearly a half an hour we were stuck in this town with me having no idea what is going on. Would we be able to go forward or are we to disembark. I dared not ask anybody lest I somehow jinxed the whole thing. At around 6.15 PM we finally made our way out of Joshimath to extreme jubilation for me. The snippet of a conversation I had heard about the lower route being closed and the higher route being selected finally made sense to me now. There is a backup route after all! Thank God! It is a climb of nearly 2500 meters in altitude from Joshimath to Badrinath over around 60 kilometers of extreme off roads. The entire countryside was awash in bright moonlight and truth be said it was at that time I became appreciative of moonlight. Who needs torch when moon is shining so brightly like that? And the mountains! Ah how heavenly they were bathed in the silvery lights of the moon! As yet another valley was crossed and the bus turned the corner around yet another mountain I saw it. Moonlight reflecting off bright white snow caps. The Hima Alaya is finally here. The true abode of snow is nigh. With ever increasing awe and jubilation I watched the snow capped mountains coming closer. A chance look up gave me another whelp of joy as I saw a fully star studded night sky, something I had dreamed of for years of my life in the polluted urbania. A few co-passengers were amused by my dog-with its head out- of the window antics but seemed understanding after I explained about my joy of seeing stars. With the weather getting chillier I started pulling on my woolens.

It is impossible to describe the effect of the first sight of Badrinath town. After hours and kilometers of travelling through the most inhospitable of terrains devoid of any sigh of human settlement, you turn a corner and lo behold the entire town of Badrinath is upon you in all its resplendent grandeur. Flanked by the twin mountains of Nara and Narayana with Urvashi giving company and the lofty Mt Neelkanth giving benign oversight, it was a sight that I had dreamed of for ages. Indeed I felt heartened about my choice not to attempt to describe it in my fictional travel to Badrinath that I penned a year and some earlier. As the last few kilometers to Badrinath was slowly being tredged up, I gave sanctity to a promise that I had made to the Gods during those tense moments when I feared of not reaching Badrinath that day. It is a promise that I shall uphold.

Arriving at the chilly town of Badrinath we slowly started walking our way towards Sankara Sadanam, an establishment that is run by a Sankaran Nampoothiri in association with the Rawals of Badrinath. It had been a hard going with my backback, satchel and extremely heavy shoulder bag making any progress painfully slow. We had to stop several times to finally be sure of the way but everyone seemed to know the enigmatic Sankarettan aka Sankarji and his establishment and finally through a small alley we reached his establishment perched on the banks of the River Ganga.

Sankarji welcomed us warmly and rumors of his legendary wit and intellect was in evidence in the very first minutes of our interaction as he regaled us with differences between Indian and American Democracy pertaining to the rights to Kiss and Piss in Public.

Laughing our hearts out, lightened both in body and spirit we went off to have some heavy dinner, yet again Aloo Paranthas for Jayan and to buy a few extra woolens including warm gloves for the cold Himalayas.

As I settled in for the night tugging in the thick woolen blankets snugly around me a joy of immense volumes swept around me. It was a wonderful sleep that night.

From Marketing Sharks to a River of Lamps

The first few hours in New Delhi brought all sorts of feeling to me, amazement at the vast modernizations including the spectacular Metro Rail, pleasant culinary memories of the cuisines of Delhi and of course bitter memories of the callous cruelty that has been a definitive impression I have had about New Delhi.

I still remember that evening while walking in the District Park near Vikas Puri with my father I witnessed a pack of boys torturing a turtle. Turtles are by nature rarely seen in New Delhi however I was horrified to see the boys grabbing one limb each and the head of the turtle and pulling it apart. That sight horrified my 9 year old mind and it was at that moment that I hated to live in New Delhi. Of course what I witnessed may have been an isolated incident but it still scarred me such that even after 16 long years the memories rushed in with force as I witnessed yet another act of callous cruelty as the train made its approaches to New Delhi Railway Station. A young urchin, a scavenger of old paper and plastic things was crossing the bogey when a bunch of people who had been clogging up the entrance to the compartment with their luggage for the past hour or so screamed at him to go away. The child however walked on and immediately around 10 or so people who were screaming at him started pummeling him. Even creeps on the upper berths were craning to get a whack on to that boy. Soon the boy himself started slapping himself in what was a surrealistic and psychotic act by which he wanted to compensate the cruelties of the attackers by attacking him himself. It was however his eyes that were the most scary. Absolutely devoid of any emotion. It was a mask of resigned neutrality, eyes that had seen such horrors and no affection of any sorts. In a few years as the kid grows stronger and more able to fend for himself he would not have any qualms in striking a knife into one of his victims. He is a child who is being made into a criminal by the society.

As is wont to happen with any helpless citizen like me soon this incident went into the backdrop as I arrived at New Delhi. I have never seen a railway station with these many number of platforms. I suppose a bigger railway station would exist only in China or Russia. I had made prior reservation at the Ginger Rail Yatri Nivas, a well situated hotel located just outside the Railway Station compound. It was one of the fastest check-ins I have ever seen with my arrival to the receipt of key occurring in 2 or 3 minutes flat. After a refreshing bath which saw at least 4 kilograms of dirt and grime wash off from me from the three day train ride we set out for Connaught Place.

Soon as we reached the outer circle of Connaught Place our priorities started making itself felt and that too quite audibly. Spotting what seemed to be a quite popular restaurant we walked into the “Kake da Dhaba”. The little Punjabi restaurant and we were lucky to get in time to get a good table. We had not had anything to eat after the puny semblance of breakfast IRCTC offers in trains and so we really dug into the rotis, Dal Makhani and Tandoori Kebab. Now that was heaven! Tasty Punjabi food. Our hunger satiated we set out exploring Connaught Place. I was saddened to see that many of the beautiful streets of the area had been closed or under works for the Metro Rail project. After doing some window shopping in the streets here we finally headed towards Palika Bazaar.

I remember thinking while on a pilgrimage to Palani that an MBA academy taught by the hawkers of Palani would beat the best IIMs and Harwards. I correct that statement now. An MBA academy taught by hawkers of Palani and Palika Bazaar would beat the best IIMs and Harwards. It is not as if they have any great variety of things to sell. Nearly all the shops almost the entire set of merchandize but they do compete madly exhorting passersby into getting into their shops. The enthusiasm is at times a bit overbearing in fact with the hawkers from numerous stores blocking your way, screaming at the top of their lungs, pushing you and pulling you, quite a bit like how hammerhead sharks behave in the company of shipwrecked plump people. My friend Jayan, did succumb to one shark as he was tempted in by the sight of some cargo pants. Ever since he saw my cargo pants, my constant touring and travelling accessory he has been lusting after a similar piece himself and it seems his search had attained fruition. As a person who prided himself as an expert bargainer Jayan was bargaining for the cargo pants which was almost exactly similar to mine, negotiating from the hawker’s price of 1200 and his own quoted price of 800. I who had bought my pants for the princely sum of Rupees Five Hundred Fifty, 550, tried to warn Jayan, but he in his infinite bargaining wisdom brushed me off without even hearing from me. So I decided to have my bit of fun. Settling in for about 850 rupees and 100 rupees additional for a minute size modification, Jayan the Photographer was happily strutting out of the shop pleased at himself for a bargain stuck when I gently told him the price I paid for my cargo pants.

Buying a Cargo Pants : 550 Rs

Train journey to New Delhi : 1500 Rs

To see the face of Jayan shell shocked like that in Palika Bazaar : Priceless

I too picked up a pair of trousers for about 200 rupees and we finally resurfaced. It was now that I remembered the old Stamps and Coins store somewhere around here. Introduced to it by my father, this was a literal treasure trove for all sorts of collectors and it was in this sub terranean shopping arcade that I rediscovered the love for lassi. Having figured out the address of the place as Mohan Singh Place we set out for it. Unfortunately being a Sunday the collections store was closed and the old Sardarjee’s lassi shop was nowhere to be found but an equally good lassi shop we found at the entrance of the arcade. The lassi we savored there made us forget for a moment the intense heat and strains of tackling New Delhi. It was simply put heavenly. The large glass of lassi also served to demolish any sign of hunger we may have for the rest of the night.  

Slowly walking back towards the hotel, I had some dinner and we were off to sleep, hoping to catch an early bus to Haridwar.

We caught what seemed to be the first metro on Yellow Line on Platform 2 of New Delhi Metro Station and boarded the metro for Kashmere Gate Station. Delhi Metro turned out to be indeed as impressive as was heard so far. However appreciation towards Delhi Metro turned to disgust as we entered the stinking garbage pail that is Kashmere Gate Inter State Bus Terminal. The only thing the place was missing was the ubiquitous black pigs that are mandatory in the cesspools of the region. Made aware that buses to Haridwar ply only from Anand Vihar ISBT we boarded a bus to the other ISBT which turned to be marginally cleaner, around Kottayam Bus Stand status. We soon boarded an Uttarakhand State Transport bus to Haridwar for what would turn out to be a nearly 8 hour journey.

Initially all was well but then we got stuck in a massive traffic block at Modinagar. The amount of dust I inhaled from this dust bowl would have been enough for Dubai to dredge out another Palm Jumeirah. After innumerable more delays we finally arrived at Haridwar Bus Stand. I had already figured out the location of the Haridwar Ayyappa Temple from Google Earth so without much issue we arrived at the cozily located temple and inn. After depositing our bags in the room and after a nice bath we set out for the Har ki Puri Ghat to witness the dusk Aarati. Navigating our way through the insanely crowded streets of Haridwar we first stopped at a small restaurant to have some food. It was a good Thali meals and I could easily let my hunger block out the sights of rats and mice scurrying around the tiny restaurant.

Hunger satiated we walked out to the Har ki Puri ghat. After washing the hands, feet and face in the chilling cold Ganga at the Ghat we took out our cameras to start taking shots. My inexperience and lack of skill in handling the Canon 300 D was making itself more and more obvious. Soon as the Aarati started getting into full swing we decided to walk off and beat the crowds. Jayan the consummate shopaholic immediately started window shopping. For ages he had been looking for a camera bag and despite my suggestions on going for a sturdy and reliable Wildcraftg bag he insisted on looking for something cheaper. While window shopping the streets I also made a fool of myself by buying a camera pouch which after I bought it turned out not to serve the intention I had for it, a loss of around 250 rupees.

Jayan finally walked into a shop run by two old shopkeers who were bringing out bags from the wood work hoping to satisfy what I am sure must have been the most picky customer to have walked into their shop ever. After one person exhausted his entire inventory trying to satisfy Jayan, the other person brought out three other models which drew Jayan away. As I watched the first seller threw away his bags in extreme disgust and irritation. However it was from him that Jayan bought the bag finally.

After some exhausting more hours of shopping for various woolens for our stay at Badrinath we finally walked into a tiny shop run by an old Punjabi who made some delicious lassi for us. As in Delhi the previous night, this time too the lassi demolished any craving for dinner. It was thus sated that we walked back to our inn. Since we had to leave for the bus stand very early in the morning next day we settled the dues for our rooms. The rate for a two bed room was just 200 rupees!

Bracing myself to wake up at around 3.30 AM the next morning to catch the first bus to Badrinath I went to sleep. My dream destination is nearly at hand and I could not let any delays or obstructions in attaining it.

Machine Gun Maami and Grandma Maami

The first time we saw them were when the Grandma Maami and her husband boarded the train at Palghat and immediately saw her husband get into a scuffle with the hot and rude foreigner lady in our compartment over her appropriating the windows seats reserved by them. While the senior uncle got ballistic with their hapless son helplessly trying to make peace, the old gentle lady was keeping her peace.

The second full day of the journey while engaging in one of our conversations on Advaita, Mandukya Upanishad, Matrix movie and GTA San Andreas the Grandma Maami overheard our discussion on the Butterfly Dilemma and joined in to our great joy. Apparently a great follower of Ramana Maharshi and a disciple of Nochur Venkitaraman she was apparently reading some works on Advaita at the very moment of our discussion and the serendipity was too intense even to risk violating her husband’s strict orders not to talk to anyone. A pleasant conversation ensued that could be continued only in the fag end of her journey nearing Mathura where we conversed freely on our travels and destinations and matters of mutual interest. An intensely private and serene woman she greatly reminded me of my own maternal grandmother who passed away several years ago.

However the more prominent character of this story boarded the train only that night at Coimbatore and though her entry was rather subdued the rest of the days and nights were dominated by this feisty old lady, whom we dubbed “Machine Gun Maami” for her rat-a-tat talkathon with the poor Grandma Maami. In the previous blog I have already told about how she terrorized several unreserved encroachers for daring to sit on the compartment floor blocking their access. This fiery temper came to full stride on the second night of our journey to New Delhi, the night when we passed through Maharashtra.

That night several unreserved passengers fell victim to the sheer fury of this indomitable little old woman who yelled and scolded the hell out of the unreserved passengers who dared sleep on the corridors blocking the passage of these women to the toilet. She did have merit in what she is saying, one is after all well aware of the several unscruples committed by unreserved passengers in harassing bonafide passengers. One particular person tried every trick in the rule book and then some to ward off the scoldings of this Maami, but who stands a chance in front of Machinegun Maami in full throttle. Sleep deprived as I was already cramped up in the Side Lower sleeper berth, in an Indian Railways that has always been adversely prejudiced towards people of a loftier disposition, it was a night full of entertainment to make the sleep deprived train journey much more bearable.

This tirade continued throughout her journey even until her departure stop at Mathura. Even though at times she did seem to be an overbearing, unreasonable and insensitive senile old lady, her final moments of interaction with us gave glimpses of a soul much more loftier than we had ever imagined. While my friend, Jayan the Photographer congratulated her on her bravery in handling those intruders, she said all was in jest as part of one enjoying her retired life. Her answer to Jayan’s question of what profession she had retired from left us speechless and awestruck.

“Housewife Aayirunthen. Full life naanoru Kaaidi aayirunthen. Ippo thaan viduthalai kedachathu.”

“I have been a housewife all my life. Nearly all my life I served the life of a prisoner. Now only I secured my freedom.”

Simple words from a simple woman, but has the depth and weight of a lifetime of truth. The story of every Indian woman, a life of servitude, first serving her parents, then her husband and then her children. Having dutifully completed her penal servitude upto what we believe the maturity of her children as adults of their own means and death of her husband, who loving while he may be in his own means was the enforcer of a harsh life of servitude for her. Now unshackled by all such duties she is finally free to live a life of her own, starting at roughly 70+.

Understanding this perspective it is possible for me to empathize with why she had been a terror through this trip. A lifetime of suppressed rage and humiliation venting its way out towards those who threaten her few years of freedom and happiness. A lifetime of things unsaid finding its way out in a torrent of conversation that swept the gentle old Grandma Maami to the heights of exasperation. Empathize though we do with her, I am still thankful to Jayan that he only chose to express his admiration as the train chugged into the Mathura Station. Else we too would have been victims of Machinegun Maami.

Throwing a coin into the Krishna River

It has been a regular routine whenever I traveled in the Kerala Express that whenever I reach Vijayawada Railway Station I throw a coin into the massive Krishna River as the train chugged along the bridge. A habit I learned from my father who used to help me throw the coins accurately into the swirling waters below, it is one that is still quite cherished as one of the landmarks of the New Delhi - Kerala train ride. This is a habit which I have resumed after a gap of nearly 18 years.

Running about 2 hours late, the Kerala Express has just pulled into the Vijayawada Railway Station and October heat is really turning out to be quite stifling. A strange lemon scent floats around the station, no idea from where, as I am starting the blog-a-thon for this ride.

The last week had been an exercise of the utmost strain. On one hand excitement of having finally about to embark on a journey that I have been dreaming for ages, and on the other hand my studied subduing of passions using my innate pessimistic realism where I was gearing up for some mishap or other that would get this trip cancelled. The trepidation came a shade closer to becoming real as a few days before the trip, my father had some liver issues that necessitated a checkup. At the advent of symptoms itself I had mentally geared myself for cancelling the trip, but thanks to God's grace it was a false alarm and he came out of the checkup diagnosed as quite healthy.

My older self would have been actually gushing with excitement during the wait for the train at Ernakulam Junction Railway Station not the least as the train chugged out of the city. However it was with a welcome detachment that I have been able to take this journey, a detachment that I believe would only lend greater sweetness to this dream journey.

It has been an interesting mix of co-passengers so far. The night was replete with several verbal scuffles amongst the passengers based on seating and bedding issues. A foreign tourist couple in the adjacent compartment has a particularly rowdy female who albeit her stunningly hot looks is quite scathing in her behavior with other passengers. Then the old lady who scolded out several hikers for talking latte into the night and sleeping on the compartment floor. I almost expected her verbal spat with the hot foreigner over ceiling fan to get really acerbic, but old Tamilian lady showed far greater grace.

Waking up to the Tirupati hills shrouded in the morning dawn was a beautiful wake up call for me. Taking the sleepy calmness of the dawn I did my routine internet activities, a habit nay addiction, that I have found to be quite troublesome as I found that my hands hurt while writing in my journal folder and an entire evening without laptop or internet access driving me to the depths of boredom. At least I have my mnemonics to keep me busy.

But now as the train is slowly pulling out of the Vijayawada station  I can let my excitement out. This trip is not  a pilgrimage, though I am in fact heading to Badrinath. This trip is not exactly an adventure trip. The best way to describe this trip is as a reconnoiter. A reconnoiter of what, the reader may ask, but that is a question better explored than explained over the coming days and the intermittent posts. After all any attempt at putting words to my goals right now would only invite ridicule and laughter from near and dear who "know" me.

Hence for now this post limits itself to a  travelogue. Here is to the hope that the heat does not get debilitating and the lost hours would be made up before we reach Delhi. After all I do not want to miss the Lassi !