Khudi to thi humaare paas,
Par Khud ko kabhi banaya na tha.
Papa fakr se kehte
'Aji..humaara ladka to 'Ye' banega!'
Aur 'Ye' waqt ke saath badal ta raha.
'Jo bhi ban..par ek accha insaan ban'
Maa kehti.
'Mere fancy dress competition me
Mujhe ek gadha chahiye, aap banoge?'
Behan ne laad se poochha ek din.
Teachers akad te
'Student ho...
student hi ban ke raho'
'Abe O...Itna mat ban'
Dost log naraaz hote to kehte.
Theatre ke director to
Har rehearsal se pehle poochhte
'Is baar kya ban ne wale ho?'
Naam ke aage peeche
Chand Akshar jode,
Graduate Bane,
Post-Graduate bhi bane...
Phir naukri karne lage,
To naukar bhi bane!
Tum ne us raat, jab dheere se
Sehmi aakhon se poochha,
'Tum mere ban ke rahoge na?'
Mano is ban ne, bana ne
Ke udhed-bun se chhoota,
Tumse kuchh kaha nahin tha maine tab,
'Haan, yahi ban ke rahunga'
Tuesday, 27 December 2011
Monday, 19 December 2011
Transformation
Transformation: Is it a process of evolution, a strategy to grow, an em-betterment, an improvement on the past ? It could be, but most importantly, it is not a matter of choice, it is something we all have to go through, whether we want it or not, whether we are aware of it or not, whether we are currently ready for it or not, it is a process that happens by itself but sometimes it is even a matter of survival.
There is no option but to shed the scales of past and crawl out of it, no matter how painful or long the process might be, how much unfriendly the environment be, how much the odds be stacked against; into a new beginning. The process eventually opens up new realities and makes newer dreams and brighter hopes possible. Could the caterpillar ever dream of flying in the open air, without the process of transformation, without the wonderful wings of a beautiful butterfly?
Transformation is essential, and hence the environment that incubates transformation becomes critical.
The whole effort behind "Love...one another" is to create an environment conducive and as helpful as possible for that transformation to take place. To put many signboards that would help the builders, the planners, the observers and anyone willing in any way, to find their respective ways to create such a large pool where thousands of caterpillars would find the right impetus to turn into butterflies and get their rightful wings to soar in the skies, at their own will.
I have a similar story to share. This one is not spectacular, may not have the anticipated climax, no miraculous results could be shared and no exaggerations will be made.
Me and a group of friends visited Pravartak Sangha - a home for mentally challenged orphans in Salt Lake, Kolkata. How we found out about this organisation and started our relationship is a story of chance and persistence. I walked back to my home in Salt Lake after work everyday, and my route used to generally depend on the odd vegetables to be carried home or the sudden pangs of hunger that had to be met. That day, I took another route without any particular reason. The dimly lit signboard of the institution caught my eye. I had been working with special kids for over two years now, but had not been very active in the City of JOY.
'Should I go in?'
'This place looks closed; there is something in the air that suggests that casual visitors are not welcome here'
This hunch was proved right in the next hour of struggle and persistence to speak to the manager/owner of the place. The gates were barbed, locked and guarded. But, with little courage and lots of hope, I managed to sneak in and even though I was not welcome, I managed to convince the manager and his stout wife that I could come again with friends and do a useful programme with them.
'Theek acche, aapni aaasun...letter niye asben' their tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disinterest. I had been in similar situations in Bhubaneswar before.
The voice of the principal of a special school in Bhubaneswar rang in my ears.
'Na, Na, Na...mu kahili para Na' which in means 'No, No, No..I said No'.
This was her determined reply on the last day before an event very close to my heart 'Know your special friend' in which we paired up special kids with "normal" kids to create a painting together. An event we conducted in 33 cities.
That principal was to send a the largest contingent of special kids to our event - 30 in all.
So, with that faith, I started to plan for the first and may be the most important visit. Winning the trust of these inmates, who not only had no parents or siblings, but also, were not looked after in the best way, the most important task.
(Authors personal note: I would though apologise for making a statement like that without having run an institution. I am aware that this is almost a blasphemy on the part of a arm-chair consultant like me and could appear as criticism, but the idea is to only highlight that there was lot of scope for improvement)
I spoke to Diana, the founder of Chrysallis and my guru in this field. She has taught me how to work with special kids, how to have faith despite odds, how never to loose heart if you are alone and the spirit of volunteerism, above all. I chose a few volunteers to help me: the odd colleague who would become a friend now, the friends who would become family and the strangers who would become friends.
None of them had any experience of working with special kids and as with most sessions that we do with kids, I did a dry run with the volunteers, which most of them attended.
So, we reached there with a laptop, a small sound system, some sweets but no letter. But, we were allowed in. They thought we got some sweets, food etc. which would be distributed and then we would leave with some smiles and tears. To their surprise, we set up our laptop, music system, inserted the CD and asked them all to come in one room. The helpers and others were not very happy with our simplest of demands - get all the kids, get them in a line, ask them to be quiet, don't give them anything to eat now. Our volunteers were struggling and juggling a variety of emotions - love, compassion, pity, anger, frustration, fear and insecurity. I did not intervene then but I knew when to be firm.
The hall was set. 10 kids each in 4-5 rows. The music was on and so was the conundrum and utter confusion of all concerned. It took 10 minutes, some help from volunteers and my loud voice to finally get some semblance of the co-ordinated movements which Diana had asked me to do with the children. I had no idea how they worked, but I trusted Diana and continued the steps for 30 minutes.
The helpers and other people of the orphanage were curious but not sure of what we were trying to do. The volunteers had no idea either, they just had trust in me. I acted well to show that I know what I was doing. Ha!
Then, sweets were distributed and we all returned with promise to come again. We all had a chat in an adjacent park to chalk out our plans. I knew by then which volunteers I could count upon to come again.
I gave some feedback to some of the volunteers:
'dont cry in front of kids',
'dont be too lenient with them',
'we have to make them independent not dependant'
'never, ever have or show sympathy or pity'
'we are here for our own joy above all, no help to anyone but ourselves'
I went back home, tired, exhausted, with a hoarse voice, but a moist and happy heart.
We would continue to go to the Sangha at regular intervals of a 7-8 days.
Diana's visit after a month acted like magic for children and a training session for us. Diana repeated all those 'isms which I had ranted with the volunteers.
We continued our visits and sessions.
Many things were added, the odd gifts we would get for the kids, the prayer 'bhabasagara tarana karana he' which we would sing together on many evenings, the snacks that would be shared, the festivals that were celebrated together and the relationships built.
We was 'kaku', 'didi', 'dada', 'police', 'hero', 'heroine' and many more things.
But, what we started to notice after two-three months in most children was a transformation. A slow, tentative and vulnerable one. The children were using their bodies in a more better and confident manner, they were able to understand instructions, follow them and co-ordinate their actions with their friends. There was joy in what they were doing, they looked forward to these sessions and asked us to come more frequently.
Some of their hopes were met, some did not.
'You promised Kaku, you will take me to my village. You will take me this time no?'
'I want this bag' pointing to the laptop bag.
'I want to go to city, we are not allowed to go anywhere'
We could not do anything about these. But, what we could do, we did, slowly and ever-so surely.
Transformation, is a process, not a destination. I had to leave Kolkata to work at Mumbai. I urged the volunteers that we must continue. I knew, it would not, not in the same fervour. I thought of the hitherto unknown kids in Mumbai, who will give me a chance to work with them. I thought of the new set of volunteers, strangers who would work with these children in future. Some other kind of transformation would take place, I was hopeful. The agent is not important, the process is!!
A few years later, I am hopeful, that the board of Pravartaka Sangha is brighter, a volunteer more determined, a set of friends more frequent, the children much more independent, the workers much more cheerful, the owner much more resourceful and the transformation much more spectacular.
I sincerely hope.
There is no option but to shed the scales of past and crawl out of it, no matter how painful or long the process might be, how much unfriendly the environment be, how much the odds be stacked against; into a new beginning. The process eventually opens up new realities and makes newer dreams and brighter hopes possible. Could the caterpillar ever dream of flying in the open air, without the process of transformation, without the wonderful wings of a beautiful butterfly?
Transformation is essential, and hence the environment that incubates transformation becomes critical.
The whole effort behind "Love...one another" is to create an environment conducive and as helpful as possible for that transformation to take place. To put many signboards that would help the builders, the planners, the observers and anyone willing in any way, to find their respective ways to create such a large pool where thousands of caterpillars would find the right impetus to turn into butterflies and get their rightful wings to soar in the skies, at their own will.
I have a similar story to share. This one is not spectacular, may not have the anticipated climax, no miraculous results could be shared and no exaggerations will be made.
Me and a group of friends visited Pravartak Sangha - a home for mentally challenged orphans in Salt Lake, Kolkata. How we found out about this organisation and started our relationship is a story of chance and persistence. I walked back to my home in Salt Lake after work everyday, and my route used to generally depend on the odd vegetables to be carried home or the sudden pangs of hunger that had to be met. That day, I took another route without any particular reason. The dimly lit signboard of the institution caught my eye. I had been working with special kids for over two years now, but had not been very active in the City of JOY.
'Should I go in?'
'This place looks closed; there is something in the air that suggests that casual visitors are not welcome here'
This hunch was proved right in the next hour of struggle and persistence to speak to the manager/owner of the place. The gates were barbed, locked and guarded. But, with little courage and lots of hope, I managed to sneak in and even though I was not welcome, I managed to convince the manager and his stout wife that I could come again with friends and do a useful programme with them.
'Theek acche, aapni aaasun...letter niye asben' their tone was a mixture of sarcasm and disinterest. I had been in similar situations in Bhubaneswar before.
The voice of the principal of a special school in Bhubaneswar rang in my ears.
'Na, Na, Na...mu kahili para Na' which in means 'No, No, No..I said No'.
This was her determined reply on the last day before an event very close to my heart 'Know your special friend' in which we paired up special kids with "normal" kids to create a painting together. An event we conducted in 33 cities.
That principal was to send a the largest contingent of special kids to our event - 30 in all.
So, with that faith, I started to plan for the first and may be the most important visit. Winning the trust of these inmates, who not only had no parents or siblings, but also, were not looked after in the best way, the most important task.
(Authors personal note: I would though apologise for making a statement like that without having run an institution. I am aware that this is almost a blasphemy on the part of a arm-chair consultant like me and could appear as criticism, but the idea is to only highlight that there was lot of scope for improvement)
I spoke to Diana, the founder of Chrysallis and my guru in this field. She has taught me how to work with special kids, how to have faith despite odds, how never to loose heart if you are alone and the spirit of volunteerism, above all. I chose a few volunteers to help me: the odd colleague who would become a friend now, the friends who would become family and the strangers who would become friends.
None of them had any experience of working with special kids and as with most sessions that we do with kids, I did a dry run with the volunteers, which most of them attended.
So, we reached there with a laptop, a small sound system, some sweets but no letter. But, we were allowed in. They thought we got some sweets, food etc. which would be distributed and then we would leave with some smiles and tears. To their surprise, we set up our laptop, music system, inserted the CD and asked them all to come in one room. The helpers and others were not very happy with our simplest of demands - get all the kids, get them in a line, ask them to be quiet, don't give them anything to eat now. Our volunteers were struggling and juggling a variety of emotions - love, compassion, pity, anger, frustration, fear and insecurity. I did not intervene then but I knew when to be firm.
The hall was set. 10 kids each in 4-5 rows. The music was on and so was the conundrum and utter confusion of all concerned. It took 10 minutes, some help from volunteers and my loud voice to finally get some semblance of the co-ordinated movements which Diana had asked me to do with the children. I had no idea how they worked, but I trusted Diana and continued the steps for 30 minutes.
The helpers and other people of the orphanage were curious but not sure of what we were trying to do. The volunteers had no idea either, they just had trust in me. I acted well to show that I know what I was doing. Ha!
Then, sweets were distributed and we all returned with promise to come again. We all had a chat in an adjacent park to chalk out our plans. I knew by then which volunteers I could count upon to come again.
I gave some feedback to some of the volunteers:
'dont cry in front of kids',
'dont be too lenient with them',
'we have to make them independent not dependant'
'never, ever have or show sympathy or pity'
'we are here for our own joy above all, no help to anyone but ourselves'
I went back home, tired, exhausted, with a hoarse voice, but a moist and happy heart.
We would continue to go to the Sangha at regular intervals of a 7-8 days.
Diana's visit after a month acted like magic for children and a training session for us. Diana repeated all those 'isms which I had ranted with the volunteers.
We continued our visits and sessions.
Many things were added, the odd gifts we would get for the kids, the prayer 'bhabasagara tarana karana he' which we would sing together on many evenings, the snacks that would be shared, the festivals that were celebrated together and the relationships built.
We was 'kaku', 'didi', 'dada', 'police', 'hero', 'heroine' and many more things.
But, what we started to notice after two-three months in most children was a transformation. A slow, tentative and vulnerable one. The children were using their bodies in a more better and confident manner, they were able to understand instructions, follow them and co-ordinate their actions with their friends. There was joy in what they were doing, they looked forward to these sessions and asked us to come more frequently.
Some of their hopes were met, some did not.
'You promised Kaku, you will take me to my village. You will take me this time no?'
'I want this bag' pointing to the laptop bag.
'I want to go to city, we are not allowed to go anywhere'
We could not do anything about these. But, what we could do, we did, slowly and ever-so surely.
Transformation, is a process, not a destination. I had to leave Kolkata to work at Mumbai. I urged the volunteers that we must continue. I knew, it would not, not in the same fervour. I thought of the hitherto unknown kids in Mumbai, who will give me a chance to work with them. I thought of the new set of volunteers, strangers who would work with these children in future. Some other kind of transformation would take place, I was hopeful. The agent is not important, the process is!!
A few years later, I am hopeful, that the board of Pravartaka Sangha is brighter, a volunteer more determined, a set of friends more frequent, the children much more independent, the workers much more cheerful, the owner much more resourceful and the transformation much more spectacular.
 |
| painting made by a kid |
 |
| smiling volunteers with kids |
 |
| i will tell |
 |
| what's that? |
Wednesday, 14 December 2011
Acting Out a Fight
Again, T - could stand for Traveler
and, F - could be for Friend
T and F were in the middle of a conversation when this idea occurred to T.
‘Let’s act out a fight between us, as it could happen in future’
‘Okay’, F agreed without protest.
What followed was ten minutes of intense acting and superb rehearsal. T has had an exposure to theatre and was not exactly the worst actor in Delhi. F seemed a natural. There was no breaking out into laughter or breaking off the act.
The act had a beginning, middle and an end. F won of course, but T shouted otherwise.
‘Hey, isn’t that great, we could actually act out the fight’ chuckled F.
'I am impressed to say the least!' T really was impressed.'Felt, kind of good, acting out this fight' F was amused.
‘Yeah, and I am wondering that how these things would change if the fight was for real. I mean the same words and expressions would end up hurting us.’ T was thinking.
‘Hmm, the words would be just the same but our tone, pitch and body manners would do the damage.’ F was thinking as well.
‘I guess there is a big learning in this. Whenever we get into such situations of anger, frustration, bitterness and fighting, which is not exactly our natural or normal state, we should remember that we are merely acting. This is just a rehearsal and we are actors, not the characters that we are playing. That the emotions of joy, anger, pain, angst and bitterness are of the characters, not ours. We should just be faithful to the roles that we play and not think that we are those characters themselves. That would make things so simple’ T was preaching now.
‘The tough part is most actors get too engrossed in their roles and think that those emotions are their own. Imagine, it would be so funny then for them to feel real pain, agonise and die as many times as their characters die.’ F was grinning.
‘Yeah, some people call it method acting and rake millions out of it’. T added.
F was silent for a long time, T knew that the old topic has ended and no further discussion would ensue.
‘What are you thinking?’ T asked finally.
‘Will you really fight with me like that? Mmm? ’ F asked and looked up to T, like a small pup would look up to it's master in the morning begging for a morning stroll.
‘It’s hard to avoid fights and disagreements; they are a part of the game. They….’ T was interrupted before his long monologue.
‘Fight like that, in real?’ F interrupted and asked again.
‘Mmmm..we would use this lesson of acting out!’ T replied.
‘Yeah, let’s do one more’ F was grinning again.
Friday, 9 December 2011
Kuchh Benaam Nazmein
Aaa baadlon ki saahil pe nange paon bhaagen,
Thoda aasmaan chalkayen, 'chapaak' se ek doosre par,
Kisi baade se baadal par tek lagaa kar baithen aur
Kuchh tasveren banaye aapni ungliyon se aasman ke canvass par.
Kisi redi par chalke kale khatte ki chuski khareeden aur
Chuski lete hue awaazon ko sun kar dheere dheere muskurayen.
Ye dekho, ek plane laambi si taar chhod gayi hai,
Aa isi ka bana kar jaala, lal-lal suraj ko pakden subeh-subheh,
Aur thak jo jayen chalte-chalte to raat ke seene pe sar rakh ke so jayen!
(1)
Chand chhup chhup ke dekhne ki koshish karta raha,
Kali ghataon ne parda jo kar rakha tha,
Ret ne apni sufead qaleen bhi bichha di thi,
Lehron ne apne sur aur tal saja liye the,
Nadi apna bulawaa bhej rahi thi,
Vaadi ka kohra nadi ke aangan me baith tha,
Waqt khamosh apne hi saath masroof tha,
Besabri ka nahin;
Ik sukoon ka, ik itmenaan ka intezar tha;
Raat, raat bhar ko nadi me khone ko,
Pahadon ke kandhon ke sahare
Dheere dheere utar rahi thi.
(2)
Thoda aasmaan chalkayen, 'chapaak' se ek doosre par,
Kisi baade se baadal par tek lagaa kar baithen aur
Kuchh tasveren banaye aapni ungliyon se aasman ke canvass par.
Kisi redi par chalke kale khatte ki chuski khareeden aur
Chuski lete hue awaazon ko sun kar dheere dheere muskurayen.
Ye dekho, ek plane laambi si taar chhod gayi hai,
Aa isi ka bana kar jaala, lal-lal suraj ko pakden subeh-subheh,
Aur thak jo jayen chalte-chalte to raat ke seene pe sar rakh ke so jayen!
(1)
Chand chhup chhup ke dekhne ki koshish karta raha,
Kali ghataon ne parda jo kar rakha tha,
Ret ne apni sufead qaleen bhi bichha di thi,
Lehron ne apne sur aur tal saja liye the,
Nadi apna bulawaa bhej rahi thi,
Vaadi ka kohra nadi ke aangan me baith tha,
Waqt khamosh apne hi saath masroof tha,
Besabri ka nahin;
Ik sukoon ka, ik itmenaan ka intezar tha;
Raat, raat bhar ko nadi me khone ko,
Pahadon ke kandhon ke sahare
Dheere dheere utar rahi thi.
(2)
Jajabara Trips III (Ajmer - Jaipur and Khwaja Moinuddin)
I had Ajmer in mind, since the time we started on this trip. I had been once to Ajmer with parents and in the tradition of tying a knot with a red thread over the perforated walls of the 'dargah' had made an extraordinary wish, which is rather too personal to be shared.
Sachin, had no idea about the place or the legacy of the most famous of acclaimed and much revered Chisti chain of sufi saints. His plan was to visit Chittaurgarh fort built by Rana Kumbha and then proceed to Jaipur and even Delhi the same day. Crazy, you say? I could not agree more.
I had known by this time that it will take little of my patience, sales-pitch-stories and some sun and wind to wear the gumption of Sachin. It happened sooner.
'I am feeling sleepy' he said.
'You have been driving sloppy on excellent roads' I commented.
'You drive bikes right?' He asked.
'Get off!' I jumped at the long expected offer.
I drove for 20 min, and just as I started to enjoy the drive on the beautiful sun-soaked roads, Sachin took over again. 'I may not have another chance to drive again on this trip' I thought, as I slipped back to pillion seat.
The decision being already made in my mind was conveyed to Sachin, who realised that I would go to the dargah come what may.
'I will also come, it would be my first time as well' he said and put his visor down rode into the city of Ajmer. The crowd thickened as we got closer and closer to the hub of the city - the dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti. The peerless saint was succeeded by illustrious line of disciples that includes Baba Farid and Nizamuddin Auliya.
What followed was our slowest drive of the trip. The bewildered crowd and local touts found us weird and complete nuisance. We got glances within the many cloured burkhas and suppressed smiles and irritated faces of elders. The youngsters but were spell bound by us and were awed by our journey and tales. We parked near a stone shop (there were millions of them) at the backside of the dargah, near a small mosque.
We took turns to visit the dargah. I went in first, leaving mobile, glasses, wallet etc. readying myself for the huge crowd of Sunday. By the grace of Khwajaji I found a less crowded entrance and for a moment was wondering if I am in the right place, but the smell of inscence, rose petals, atr and above all the peace that descended in that hot, busy hour of the day removed all doubts. I did not even get a chance to buy a customary chadar. Next time, I thought and consoled myself.
I was reminded of my extraordinary wish which remained to be fulfilled.
Wish = Will = Work
This thought flashed in my mind as I was running back to allow Sachin his first glimpse of the dargah. We had lunch at Ajmer after Sachin's visit to the dargah and then rode back to Jaipur.
The food was not liked by Sachin's stomach. I got my second and last chance to drive. This was a one hour high-speed, ride alongside trucks and fast cars on the national highway. I settled at 80 kmph for some time and found my zone of comfort.
We entered Jaipur but could not find a hotel to enter. I dialled some 15 numbers from 'The Rough Guide' without success. Sachin's rant about riding back to Delhi the same night fell on deaf ears. He suggested plan A, B, C..D, but as long as they had Delhi as destination I was not listening.
We found one right in the heart of the old city. As we were riding upto that hotel, we got the taste of strict traffic policing of Jaipur city. After, almost 1600 kms of riding in so many cities, the police forced me to buy a helmet. We had a pleasant stroll in the streets alongside the Hawa Mahal and returned to our room after having dinner.We were so sleepy that we struggled to finished two glasses of the fine Malambo wine that we carried from Udaipur.
The intoxication of the roads proved stronger that that of wine.
Sachin, had no idea about the place or the legacy of the most famous of acclaimed and much revered Chisti chain of sufi saints. His plan was to visit Chittaurgarh fort built by Rana Kumbha and then proceed to Jaipur and even Delhi the same day. Crazy, you say? I could not agree more.
I had known by this time that it will take little of my patience, sales-pitch-stories and some sun and wind to wear the gumption of Sachin. It happened sooner.
'I am feeling sleepy' he said.
'You have been driving sloppy on excellent roads' I commented.
'You drive bikes right?' He asked.
'Get off!' I jumped at the long expected offer.
I drove for 20 min, and just as I started to enjoy the drive on the beautiful sun-soaked roads, Sachin took over again. 'I may not have another chance to drive again on this trip' I thought, as I slipped back to pillion seat.
The decision being already made in my mind was conveyed to Sachin, who realised that I would go to the dargah come what may.
'I will also come, it would be my first time as well' he said and put his visor down rode into the city of Ajmer. The crowd thickened as we got closer and closer to the hub of the city - the dargah of Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti. The peerless saint was succeeded by illustrious line of disciples that includes Baba Farid and Nizamuddin Auliya.
What followed was our slowest drive of the trip. The bewildered crowd and local touts found us weird and complete nuisance. We got glances within the many cloured burkhas and suppressed smiles and irritated faces of elders. The youngsters but were spell bound by us and were awed by our journey and tales. We parked near a stone shop (there were millions of them) at the backside of the dargah, near a small mosque.
We took turns to visit the dargah. I went in first, leaving mobile, glasses, wallet etc. readying myself for the huge crowd of Sunday. By the grace of Khwajaji I found a less crowded entrance and for a moment was wondering if I am in the right place, but the smell of inscence, rose petals, atr and above all the peace that descended in that hot, busy hour of the day removed all doubts. I did not even get a chance to buy a customary chadar. Next time, I thought and consoled myself.
I was reminded of my extraordinary wish which remained to be fulfilled.
Wish = Will = Work
This thought flashed in my mind as I was running back to allow Sachin his first glimpse of the dargah. We had lunch at Ajmer after Sachin's visit to the dargah and then rode back to Jaipur.
The food was not liked by Sachin's stomach. I got my second and last chance to drive. This was a one hour high-speed, ride alongside trucks and fast cars on the national highway. I settled at 80 kmph for some time and found my zone of comfort.
We entered Jaipur but could not find a hotel to enter. I dialled some 15 numbers from 'The Rough Guide' without success. Sachin's rant about riding back to Delhi the same night fell on deaf ears. He suggested plan A, B, C..D, but as long as they had Delhi as destination I was not listening.
We found one right in the heart of the old city. As we were riding upto that hotel, we got the taste of strict traffic policing of Jaipur city. After, almost 1600 kms of riding in so many cities, the police forced me to buy a helmet. We had a pleasant stroll in the streets alongside the Hawa Mahal and returned to our room after having dinner.We were so sleepy that we struggled to finished two glasses of the fine Malambo wine that we carried from Udaipur.
The intoxication of the roads proved stronger that that of wine.
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
Jajabara Trips III (City of Lakes and Malambo)
We visited the daunting Kumbhalgarh fort, again in the morning, built by the great Rana Kumbha and engrained with memories of Rana Pratap and Panna Dhai. This fort is surrounded by the second largest wall in the world, 36 kms long.
Rana Kumbha was one of the greatest Maharanas (not Maharajas mind you!, Maharanas were warriors first, kings later) of Sishodia Rajputs of Mewar. His victory tomb at Chittaurgarh is a testimony of his military might as it of his fort builing apetite. He defeated and then allowed Sultan Mahmud, King of Malwa to go scott free. This simple, magnanimous gesture would have serious repercussions in history later, some of it, not so welcome.
Panna Dhai sacrificed her own son by switching babies and the enemy soldiers killed Panna's son mistaking him to be the royal heir Udaisingh. Panna ran away with the heir and the royal lineage was saved. History has many such humble figures whose simple, yet courageous acts have shaped the course of kingdoms and kings.
Rana Pratap, is the most famous Maharana of Mewar, whose self-respect and spirit of freedom is matched by very few figures in history. His advesary, no small figure himself, the great moghul Akbar, had the highest regards for this Maharana. Rana Prataps popularity is matched only by his legendary horse Chetak. There are paintings depicting how an elephant's mask was put on Chetak to give him a look of elephant to match to the elephant of Rana Mansingh (Akbar's general, who fought with Rana Pratap at Haldighati and was humiliated by both words and the sword). Chetak saved Rana's life and was a lion in the battle and is a household name in India, and not just because of the Bajaj Scooter named after it.
We started for Udaipur, at our own casual pace today, after being rejuvenated by the beauty of Aravali mountains.Mountains, even in the arid land of Rajasthan, retain their charm and beauty and have similar effect on the Traveler.
'One has to stop comparing them to Himalayas though' I told Sachin.The ride was very pleasant, green fields basking in the sun, farmers tilling their fields with bullocks, village girls going to school, women carrying water pots in head for cooking and drinking. The sun was rising and so was the heat of the day, but we were in anticipation of the beautiful lakes of Udaipur.
We reached Udaipur, 80kms away, around noon. We headed straight to Hotel Jaiwana Haveli, where I had stayed before and had made friends with the young owners-managers Yash and Harsh who were called 'Banna' (local for raja or chieftain). Our thundebird needed some servicing to thunder again. Harsh directed us to a good Royal Enfield mechanic, to whom he sent his own RE.
Harsh helped us with the itinerary - City Palace for the grandeur and richness in vulgar display, Vintage car showroom for for ticking off an item on list, Monsoon Palace for sunset and then back to Pichola and Hotel Ambrai for dinner.
I had been to Ambrai last time as well, with parents and did the unthinkable - offered my father some of the fine wine they had in half-jest, half-seriousness. Rest is unmentionable! My father hurled at me the choicest of abuses in all four languages he is fluent in - Oriya, Hindi, English and silence!!
Sachin was unstoppable at the Ambrai, clicking several hundreds of his thousands of photographs taken on this trip. The view was magnificent and lights of the palaces and hotels danced on the Lake Pichola in sheer playfulness and mischief. The dinner was royal and the wine was divine. This time I did not have my family around and had an uninitiated Sachin to taste the wine from Argentina - Malambo. We could not finish the wine and carried it along with us on the bike all the way to Jaipur.
We settled the bill after a discussion with the manager on Rajasthan's cruel tax system which made the wine more pricious! We returned to our Lal Ghat Guest House and I jumped into our bed, to get ready for the next day's long journey to Jaipur (for sure) or Delhi (I was not even thinking of this option). We planned to visit Chittaurgarh fort en route.
Rana Kumbha was one of the greatest Maharanas (not Maharajas mind you!, Maharanas were warriors first, kings later) of Sishodia Rajputs of Mewar. His victory tomb at Chittaurgarh is a testimony of his military might as it of his fort builing apetite. He defeated and then allowed Sultan Mahmud, King of Malwa to go scott free. This simple, magnanimous gesture would have serious repercussions in history later, some of it, not so welcome.
Panna Dhai sacrificed her own son by switching babies and the enemy soldiers killed Panna's son mistaking him to be the royal heir Udaisingh. Panna ran away with the heir and the royal lineage was saved. History has many such humble figures whose simple, yet courageous acts have shaped the course of kingdoms and kings.
Rana Pratap, is the most famous Maharana of Mewar, whose self-respect and spirit of freedom is matched by very few figures in history. His advesary, no small figure himself, the great moghul Akbar, had the highest regards for this Maharana. Rana Prataps popularity is matched only by his legendary horse Chetak. There are paintings depicting how an elephant's mask was put on Chetak to give him a look of elephant to match to the elephant of Rana Mansingh (Akbar's general, who fought with Rana Pratap at Haldighati and was humiliated by both words and the sword). Chetak saved Rana's life and was a lion in the battle and is a household name in India, and not just because of the Bajaj Scooter named after it.
We started for Udaipur, at our own casual pace today, after being rejuvenated by the beauty of Aravali mountains.Mountains, even in the arid land of Rajasthan, retain their charm and beauty and have similar effect on the Traveler.
'One has to stop comparing them to Himalayas though' I told Sachin.The ride was very pleasant, green fields basking in the sun, farmers tilling their fields with bullocks, village girls going to school, women carrying water pots in head for cooking and drinking. The sun was rising and so was the heat of the day, but we were in anticipation of the beautiful lakes of Udaipur.
We reached Udaipur, 80kms away, around noon. We headed straight to Hotel Jaiwana Haveli, where I had stayed before and had made friends with the young owners-managers Yash and Harsh who were called 'Banna' (local for raja or chieftain). Our thundebird needed some servicing to thunder again. Harsh directed us to a good Royal Enfield mechanic, to whom he sent his own RE.
Harsh helped us with the itinerary - City Palace for the grandeur and richness in vulgar display, Vintage car showroom for for ticking off an item on list, Monsoon Palace for sunset and then back to Pichola and Hotel Ambrai for dinner.
I had been to Ambrai last time as well, with parents and did the unthinkable - offered my father some of the fine wine they had in half-jest, half-seriousness. Rest is unmentionable! My father hurled at me the choicest of abuses in all four languages he is fluent in - Oriya, Hindi, English and silence!!
Sachin was unstoppable at the Ambrai, clicking several hundreds of his thousands of photographs taken on this trip. The view was magnificent and lights of the palaces and hotels danced on the Lake Pichola in sheer playfulness and mischief. The dinner was royal and the wine was divine. This time I did not have my family around and had an uninitiated Sachin to taste the wine from Argentina - Malambo. We could not finish the wine and carried it along with us on the bike all the way to Jaipur.
We settled the bill after a discussion with the manager on Rajasthan's cruel tax system which made the wine more pricious! We returned to our Lal Ghat Guest House and I jumped into our bed, to get ready for the next day's long journey to Jaipur (for sure) or Delhi (I was not even thinking of this option). We planned to visit Chittaurgarh fort en route.
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
Jajabara Trips III (test of gumption and Fort-itude)
I said it so easily in a moment of contemplation on the second day of our trip 'The first thing to do to enjoy the journey/ride is to take your eyes off the milestone'. TBK (Sachin) heard it and nodded in agreement.
The statement was tested many times on this day, when we covered more than 500kms in one day, half of it on pathetic roads, hot sun, dust, semi-starvation, lack of route plan and destination. We started early alright, at 5.30 AM. Watched the sky change clour ever so slowly and come to its full glory with the sunrise. We were on reserve and had covered 90 kms without a gas station. We found one soon, where the young boy was amused to find Air Force people (blame my driving glasses! and Sachin's leg-guards!) tank-up and put Rs1000 worth of petrol in a bike. We continued to amuse villagers and stop over a small shops for tea and biscuits.
A wierd breakfast, cigarettes (for Sachin only) but fresh curd helped us to strech our legs and decide upon a route plan for Ranakpur Jain temples and Kumbhalgarh fort. The choice of 'and' is important as we thought them to be quite nearby. This 'and' would be revisited.
The roads were the worst we had faced till now, sun was at its most atrocious, dust - more than generous and shops for water and breaks few and far between. We were inrcepted frequently by cows, cattle, camels on our way. This was a slow day.
I was frequently looking at the milestones and wondering why the time taken to cover each successive kilometer is increasing. I was looking for more and more pleas to make a stop, tried out all yoga asanas for the back, used my iPod for sometime and even chanting. I was clearly struggling for more gumption. It did not help that Sachin was struggling in his own way, though he never admitted it.
Sachin, drove all the way, urging me on and telling me stories of his 800kms, 19 hr non-stop drives etc. etc.
'Its nothing man, I have done so many kms non-stop, non-stop!'
'Hmmm'
'You are giving up so early, what will happen to the rest of the trip'
'Hmmm'
'We won't stop now man, after an hour more, may be two'
'Hmmm...No No No, I am not you. This is my first bike trip. You got to consider that' I snapped. I had clearly lost it and was thinking of taking the train back from Udaipur if Sachin insisted on 12 hr rides on road.
But, Sachin was using his brakes, less and less at speed brakers, changing gears less frequently than required, getting more irritated at people while getting directions. He was unaware, but his gumption was tested as well. He did not allow me to drive as well, which would have helped the gumption levels of both.
I was tired of being the pillion!
We reached Ranakpur well past noon. We had not had lunch, and made this frustating discovery that Kumbhalgarh was 60kms away on hilly pathways!
As I said, I had lost it. I got into an argument with the female guard at the Ranakpur temple.
This temple had 1444 pillars and no two were similar. There was more to it as well. The quality of carvings and attention to details was superb. It encited admiration and disbelief. The works were on white stone marbles. No part of the temple was deprived of beauty of carvings and detailed stone work. We came out happier and fuilfilled.
The next 60 kms would have been the proverbial straw that broke the back of the camel, but for the evening and the calmness of the hills. Sachin wanted to experience the light and sound show at Kumbhalgarh, he drove fast, but that was not the only reason. A bit of race with two cars also helped to divert our attention from the cruel milestones.
We reached Kumbhalgarh on time for the show. The show helped us to catch a breath after almost 12 hrs of riding and my entire body echoed 'thank you' when I sat down for an hour. We headed out to find a hotel and Sachin cut a nice deal with one of the best hotels near the fort. We had dinner near fireplace and witnessed traditional dance and songs. The food was good, I called for the cook and thanked him. I chatted with the singers and got the story of Ramdev (not Baba Ramdev of pranayam and ramlila maidan fame!).
Sachin had a few drinks with Gujju men under the stars, I did Garba (danced) with their wives. It was unsually cold for Rajasthan and for what we went through the day. The mountains and cold wind had refilled our gumption levels. We were ready for sleep and the next day.
(c) Photographs - Sachin Gupta
The statement was tested many times on this day, when we covered more than 500kms in one day, half of it on pathetic roads, hot sun, dust, semi-starvation, lack of route plan and destination. We started early alright, at 5.30 AM. Watched the sky change clour ever so slowly and come to its full glory with the sunrise. We were on reserve and had covered 90 kms without a gas station. We found one soon, where the young boy was amused to find Air Force people (blame my driving glasses! and Sachin's leg-guards!) tank-up and put Rs1000 worth of petrol in a bike. We continued to amuse villagers and stop over a small shops for tea and biscuits.
A wierd breakfast, cigarettes (for Sachin only) but fresh curd helped us to strech our legs and decide upon a route plan for Ranakpur Jain temples and Kumbhalgarh fort. The choice of 'and' is important as we thought them to be quite nearby. This 'and' would be revisited.
The roads were the worst we had faced till now, sun was at its most atrocious, dust - more than generous and shops for water and breaks few and far between. We were inrcepted frequently by cows, cattle, camels on our way. This was a slow day.
I was frequently looking at the milestones and wondering why the time taken to cover each successive kilometer is increasing. I was looking for more and more pleas to make a stop, tried out all yoga asanas for the back, used my iPod for sometime and even chanting. I was clearly struggling for more gumption. It did not help that Sachin was struggling in his own way, though he never admitted it.
Sachin, drove all the way, urging me on and telling me stories of his 800kms, 19 hr non-stop drives etc. etc.
'Its nothing man, I have done so many kms non-stop, non-stop!'
'Hmmm'
'You are giving up so early, what will happen to the rest of the trip'
'Hmmm'
'We won't stop now man, after an hour more, may be two'
'Hmmm...No No No, I am not you. This is my first bike trip. You got to consider that' I snapped. I had clearly lost it and was thinking of taking the train back from Udaipur if Sachin insisted on 12 hr rides on road.
But, Sachin was using his brakes, less and less at speed brakers, changing gears less frequently than required, getting more irritated at people while getting directions. He was unaware, but his gumption was tested as well. He did not allow me to drive as well, which would have helped the gumption levels of both.
I was tired of being the pillion!
We reached Ranakpur well past noon. We had not had lunch, and made this frustating discovery that Kumbhalgarh was 60kms away on hilly pathways!
As I said, I had lost it. I got into an argument with the female guard at the Ranakpur temple.
This temple had 1444 pillars and no two were similar. There was more to it as well. The quality of carvings and attention to details was superb. It encited admiration and disbelief. The works were on white stone marbles. No part of the temple was deprived of beauty of carvings and detailed stone work. We came out happier and fuilfilled.
The next 60 kms would have been the proverbial straw that broke the back of the camel, but for the evening and the calmness of the hills. Sachin wanted to experience the light and sound show at Kumbhalgarh, he drove fast, but that was not the only reason. A bit of race with two cars also helped to divert our attention from the cruel milestones.
We reached Kumbhalgarh on time for the show. The show helped us to catch a breath after almost 12 hrs of riding and my entire body echoed 'thank you' when I sat down for an hour. We headed out to find a hotel and Sachin cut a nice deal with one of the best hotels near the fort. We had dinner near fireplace and witnessed traditional dance and songs. The food was good, I called for the cook and thanked him. I chatted with the singers and got the story of Ramdev (not Baba Ramdev of pranayam and ramlila maidan fame!).
Sachin had a few drinks with Gujju men under the stars, I did Garba (danced) with their wives. It was unsually cold for Rajasthan and for what we went through the day. The mountains and cold wind had refilled our gumption levels. We were ready for sleep and the next day.
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| sunrise on way to Barmer |
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| trucks n cattle n me posing (only) |
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| ranakpur entrance |
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| pillars and elephant inside temple |
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| roof view |
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| miniature carvings |
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| light n sound show @ kumbhalgarh fort |
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| fort outside |
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| fire |
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| singers @ hotel |
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| dancing barefoot on broken glasses |
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| girl dancing |
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| me dancing |
Saturday, 26 November 2011
Jajabara Trips III (the golden city)
Notes from a day at the Golden city
Jaisalmer - this city has been our hub for the last three days. We have travelled in and around this city, to different destinations, but the only place we knew about this city was the highway. Cities have their own private lives, rooms, stories, people, joys and sorrows, but you need to step off the highway and get into it, be in it, to know it. This was our day with Jaisalmer or the golden city.
Sonar Kila, or the golden fort dominates the landscape of this city and the golden yellow color is as ubiquitous as the sky. The yellow sandstone used for construction of fort, palace, havelis and even the roadside homes for the poor is the reason. The stone, the golden colour is the unifying factor.
Ben, TBK and I had a sumptuous and filling breakfast at ‘8 JULY’, where we found the ‘madam’ who runs the place to be quite a friendly, caring and warm person. Her smile and care took our eyes off the right hand column of the menu card and focus on the taste of the food and juices and our respective stories. Ben, was to head northwards from there to Bikaner and we were to head southwards to Udaipur. ‘This where as I go’ as Ben would put.
TBK helped Ben figure out his road plans and stop-overs in the state of Uttarakhand on his way to Nepal. The English say ‘Nepal’ in a way that sounds chic as compared to the ‘desi’ way we do!
The traveler knows that he will find a way. How? When? , are questions that do not deter his will or delay his start. His start is a call from within that has to be answered, that will not leave him, that will find cessation only when it is answered and he is on The Way. Help, comes: at the right time, from some infinite source of all good and beauty: he knows that. He is thankful for the help, but more responsible that he has to return to the infinite balance.
I was never good at goodbyes. Couple of hugs and ‘byes’ were exchanged and we had not said good bye! Ben was still there, a smile on all three faces, looks were exchanged. I started to have a conversation with the manager and discuss local politics to avoid the exact moment when we say good bye. Ben was still there, saying goodbyes to the managers of their restaurant.
‘Will see you at Delhi’ I said and looked the other way.
‘Sure!’ TBK and Ben echoed.
That helped.
TBK and I resumed our photography cum culture cum touristy cum explorer cum adventure cum fun trip in the city.
Shopping was added to the list. I was the first, but not the only culprit!
Wonderfully colorful kurtas, capris, trousers, skirts, hats, Rajasthani safas (to be worn as pagdis) were bought during the day. We had global cuisine on streets and continued our visit. Jaisalmer is a ‘phirangi phriendly’ city, as are Rishikesh, Dharamshala, Bundi, Benaras and many more in India. These cities have restaurants where you will be hard pressed to find Indian food and if you ask for some, the waiter will give you a look which would resemble his counterpart’s in Iceland, being asked for Sambar and Idli.
We visited some havelis of the rich Jain merchants who has contributed significantly for the construction of 80% of the forts 99 bastions. They also financed the beautifully sculpted Jain temples in Jaisalmer. The architecture of the temples stole my heart. I belong to Orissa where temple architechture is taken to levels which is paralleld only by devotion withing those temples. Even I, was mightily impressed.
'The havelis could give the palace a run for its money' TBK said.
'Well, this is where the money came from' I laughed as I said.
One of the unplanned 'Things to do' was to tie a Rajasthani safa or pagdi. A 9 meter starteched cloth is given a shape of a beautiful turban. I did not do bad for my first attempt in guidance of a teacher-cum-seller. We then got to know, how the style of tying the safa could tell which community you belong to.
We headed back to our hotel for a brief pause called ‘taking a shower’ and then to explore the rest of the city. ‘Taking a shower’ in the midst of a road trip and especially if the trip is in the middle of the sand, sweat, dust and heat of the ‘desert city’ or ‘gateway to Thar’ can have an effect like a pause in eternity, a moment that you would want to remain.
We rode on our bike for our the rest of the day. We also witnessed wind-cutting, fast-tracked (at 70kmph!), innovative advertising – bikers chasing bikers for desert safaris, tent stays and other attractions of the desert. These young ‘agents’ would chase you down, if you are on a bike or car to and from Jaisalmer and speed up to you and urge you to stop. If you do not, they had you out ‘visiting cards’ and shout ‘50%-60%-70% discounts’ ‘only for you’ etc.
The Bada Bag Chhatris was our afternoon destination and yet another Sunset for TBK to capture.
(Watch video)
We spent the evening watching earthen lamps floating on the Jaisamand Lake and a puppet show, though the highlight was the young singer who stole my heart with his smiles and singing, both of which he enjoyed.
The dinner was equally royal and accidental. We dined at the palace where the current prince lived and part of the Maharani Palace was made into a hotel. I could only get to bed after the sumptuous ‘thali’ and soothing and cool desert wind. TBK had his fair lady to charm!
Jaisalmer - this city has been our hub for the last three days. We have travelled in and around this city, to different destinations, but the only place we knew about this city was the highway. Cities have their own private lives, rooms, stories, people, joys and sorrows, but you need to step off the highway and get into it, be in it, to know it. This was our day with Jaisalmer or the golden city.
Sonar Kila, or the golden fort dominates the landscape of this city and the golden yellow color is as ubiquitous as the sky. The yellow sandstone used for construction of fort, palace, havelis and even the roadside homes for the poor is the reason. The stone, the golden colour is the unifying factor.
Ben, TBK and I had a sumptuous and filling breakfast at ‘8 JULY’, where we found the ‘madam’ who runs the place to be quite a friendly, caring and warm person. Her smile and care took our eyes off the right hand column of the menu card and focus on the taste of the food and juices and our respective stories. Ben, was to head northwards from there to Bikaner and we were to head southwards to Udaipur. ‘This where as I go’ as Ben would put.
TBK helped Ben figure out his road plans and stop-overs in the state of Uttarakhand on his way to Nepal. The English say ‘Nepal’ in a way that sounds chic as compared to the ‘desi’ way we do!
The traveler knows that he will find a way. How? When? , are questions that do not deter his will or delay his start. His start is a call from within that has to be answered, that will not leave him, that will find cessation only when it is answered and he is on The Way. Help, comes: at the right time, from some infinite source of all good and beauty: he knows that. He is thankful for the help, but more responsible that he has to return to the infinite balance.
I was never good at goodbyes. Couple of hugs and ‘byes’ were exchanged and we had not said good bye! Ben was still there, a smile on all three faces, looks were exchanged. I started to have a conversation with the manager and discuss local politics to avoid the exact moment when we say good bye. Ben was still there, saying goodbyes to the managers of their restaurant.
‘Will see you at Delhi’ I said and looked the other way.
‘Sure!’ TBK and Ben echoed.
That helped.
TBK and I resumed our photography cum culture cum touristy cum explorer cum adventure cum fun trip in the city.
Shopping was added to the list. I was the first, but not the only culprit!
Wonderfully colorful kurtas, capris, trousers, skirts, hats, Rajasthani safas (to be worn as pagdis) were bought during the day. We had global cuisine on streets and continued our visit. Jaisalmer is a ‘phirangi phriendly’ city, as are Rishikesh, Dharamshala, Bundi, Benaras and many more in India. These cities have restaurants where you will be hard pressed to find Indian food and if you ask for some, the waiter will give you a look which would resemble his counterpart’s in Iceland, being asked for Sambar and Idli.
We visited some havelis of the rich Jain merchants who has contributed significantly for the construction of 80% of the forts 99 bastions. They also financed the beautifully sculpted Jain temples in Jaisalmer. The architecture of the temples stole my heart. I belong to Orissa where temple architechture is taken to levels which is paralleld only by devotion withing those temples. Even I, was mightily impressed.
'The havelis could give the palace a run for its money' TBK said.
'Well, this is where the money came from' I laughed as I said.
One of the unplanned 'Things to do' was to tie a Rajasthani safa or pagdi. A 9 meter starteched cloth is given a shape of a beautiful turban. I did not do bad for my first attempt in guidance of a teacher-cum-seller. We then got to know, how the style of tying the safa could tell which community you belong to.
We headed back to our hotel for a brief pause called ‘taking a shower’ and then to explore the rest of the city. ‘Taking a shower’ in the midst of a road trip and especially if the trip is in the middle of the sand, sweat, dust and heat of the ‘desert city’ or ‘gateway to Thar’ can have an effect like a pause in eternity, a moment that you would want to remain.
We rode on our bike for our the rest of the day. We also witnessed wind-cutting, fast-tracked (at 70kmph!), innovative advertising – bikers chasing bikers for desert safaris, tent stays and other attractions of the desert. These young ‘agents’ would chase you down, if you are on a bike or car to and from Jaisalmer and speed up to you and urge you to stop. If you do not, they had you out ‘visiting cards’ and shout ‘50%-60%-70% discounts’ ‘only for you’ etc.
The Bada Bag Chhatris was our afternoon destination and yet another Sunset for TBK to capture.
(Watch video)
We spent the evening watching earthen lamps floating on the Jaisamand Lake and a puppet show, though the highlight was the young singer who stole my heart with his smiles and singing, both of which he enjoyed.
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| Add caption |
Tuesday, 22 November 2011
Jajabara Trips III (a moonrise and a moment of pause)
We met Ben again. He recovered faster from the Crash than his bike. A Royal Enfield Classic 500. We checked in into the same hotel as Ben at Jaisalmer with one more killing fort of Sonar Killa. The yellow sandstone dominates the landscape of this part of Rajasthan and gives the fort, the havelis and the houses their golden hue without any colour.
We were keen to recover from out disappointment by making a trip to Khuri village, which promised to, and as we would find out turned to be a real Rajasthani village. I pillioned on Ben on our ride to Khuri village. There were many windmills on the way, and before we realised Don Quixote took over and we charged towards one. We had a short conversation below the huge windmill. I was looking at it from the scientific and economic perspective, Ben's was literary.
We met Vikram Singh and his friends who took us across the sand dunes on three majestic camels to their village, which looked like an oasis of level land of greenery, animals and life in the middle of infinite desert of Thar. A short stay there for tea and we headed out for sunset, which again eluded a disappointed TBK.
TBK and Ben were busy with their beer, the village lads with camel talk but I walked a few paces and saw one of the most beautiful moonrises ever. The clouds parted ever so slowly, but it was as if moon was just over my head and I could see everything on moon. It was so clear and lovely. The clouds parted further to reveal a solitary star. There was sand all around us, all draped in ivory white of the moonlight and there was silence and calmness. The wind was just perfect and sky, mysterious but friendly.
I have had such moments were I really felt that time has stopped and the breath that I take in could take infinite time to get in. My heartbeat, breathing and body become absolutely calm and I feel content and happy. This was certainly one such moment, I felt thankful, for this life, for parents, for friends, for opportunity to make such travel and have such experiences.
'This is magical'. It was Ben. 'This is why I travel, this is why I come to India'
'This moment is worth anything and everything of this trip' I seconded.
'I could go back to England tomorrow, I could end this life' 'This is a moment that will flash before your eyes when you die' Ben was getting warmer.
He hugged me and we both hugged TBK and thanked him for this detour which was more THE TOUR now.
Ben writes about this moment in his blog Moment . This was moment where he found his true calling and his life changed. He wished the same for me as did I.
We headed back to the village for a wonderful Rajasthani dinner at the village in moonlight and then rode back to our hotel in Jaisalmer. Ben and TBK went up to have a smoke and I retired to bed. We all felt that we left some part of our selves in that moment and that moment will stay with us forever. Truly, time seems conquered in such moments.
We were keen to recover from out disappointment by making a trip to Khuri village, which promised to, and as we would find out turned to be a real Rajasthani village. I pillioned on Ben on our ride to Khuri village. There were many windmills on the way, and before we realised Don Quixote took over and we charged towards one. We had a short conversation below the huge windmill. I was looking at it from the scientific and economic perspective, Ben's was literary.
We met Vikram Singh and his friends who took us across the sand dunes on three majestic camels to their village, which looked like an oasis of level land of greenery, animals and life in the middle of infinite desert of Thar. A short stay there for tea and we headed out for sunset, which again eluded a disappointed TBK.
TBK and Ben were busy with their beer, the village lads with camel talk but I walked a few paces and saw one of the most beautiful moonrises ever. The clouds parted ever so slowly, but it was as if moon was just over my head and I could see everything on moon. It was so clear and lovely. The clouds parted further to reveal a solitary star. There was sand all around us, all draped in ivory white of the moonlight and there was silence and calmness. The wind was just perfect and sky, mysterious but friendly.
I have had such moments were I really felt that time has stopped and the breath that I take in could take infinite time to get in. My heartbeat, breathing and body become absolutely calm and I feel content and happy. This was certainly one such moment, I felt thankful, for this life, for parents, for friends, for opportunity to make such travel and have such experiences.
'This is magical'. It was Ben. 'This is why I travel, this is why I come to India'
'This moment is worth anything and everything of this trip' I seconded.
'I could go back to England tomorrow, I could end this life' 'This is a moment that will flash before your eyes when you die' Ben was getting warmer.
He hugged me and we both hugged TBK and thanked him for this detour which was more THE TOUR now.
Ben writes about this moment in his blog Moment . This was moment where he found his true calling and his life changed. He wished the same for me as did I.
We headed back to the village for a wonderful Rajasthani dinner at the village in moonlight and then rode back to our hotel in Jaisalmer. Ben and TBK went up to have a smoke and I retired to bed. We all felt that we left some part of our selves in that moment and that moment will stay with us forever. Truly, time seems conquered in such moments.
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| food at Khuri village - Neem ki Dhani |
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| the moment |
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| moon and the three |
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| ben and I with the villagers |
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| Camel Ride and races - I was on Tiger - Tiger won! |
Monday, 21 November 2011
Jajabara Trips III (Of lust, pride and lost villages)
We started late, around 8.30 AM from the SAM sand dunes. A ride on Royal Enfield was the best tip for our host Dilavar Khan, a teenager who confessed that this was not his real name but something he had to attract tourists!
I had to persuade, coax and cajole TBK to drop the plan to ride to Tanod - pakistan border. That was some 100 kms away and all it promised was a barbed wire and temple of Tanod Mata. We rode back to Jaisalmer but TBK's sight was set on making some detour before we reach Jaisalmer. As it would turn out we would make two.
Kuldhara is a deserted village, 25 kms away from Jaisalmer. It is not haunted, as I earlier thought, but deserted. We were greeted by a mysterious elder man at the gate and there was no one yet inside. It added to the mystery, that we rode thorough the deserted lanes of what would have been a huge village once all by ourselves. It was spooky and silent. Bricks and wood were all that were left of this large human habitation of 206 villages. What was the reason? What could have happened?
A couple of cars joined us and thankfully a guide who told us the story and not for the last time in the day of LUST, PRIDE and DESERTED VILLAGES.
A military commander enchanted by the beauty of a village damsel, asked her hand in marriage. Normally, this should not have been a problem, Senapatis (commanders) were held in high regard and enjoyed king's favour. But, the commander was Bhatti (a caste) and the girl belonged to Paliwal Brahmins who inhabited the villages. The commander true to his style, fixed a date and hour for the marriage and asked the villagers to be ready to welcome him and his procession.
But, all of the 206 villages deserted their in the dark of night and went some where else, rather than hurt their pride by marrying off their girl outside their caste. Intriguing tale.
I started to wonder, where could have so many people gone in one night ! Do the generations of those families remember this tale. If yes, then how? What do they think of the girl, do they sing songs of her beauty? How can a village in the middle of desert land be 'desert'ed? Why did nomads not come here and settle down in the well-lived village? Did the commander chase/search for the girl and her family? Dis he destroy the villages in frustration and anger?
Such is the stuff of folklore.
(Watch video below to hear the story from the guide)
We came back to the entrance and had a chat with the elder and rode ahead to Khaba fort. This is one of the smallest forts we had seen and 'fossillii' (fossil) as pronounced by the elder were our main attraction to go for another detour to Khaba. There were many wood fossils and stones which were as old as the earth maybe. But atop the fort we saw remains of many more deserted villages. The story narrated by a French speaking guide was very similar.
This time the dividing factor was religion. Hindu brahmin girl -Muslim military commander.
The tales made me think the kind of people who deserted entire villages and left for unknown deserts just to protect their pride. The pride of a woman. A true test of a society is the way it treats its women, specifically, the pride of a woman!
I had to persuade, coax and cajole TBK to drop the plan to ride to Tanod - pakistan border. That was some 100 kms away and all it promised was a barbed wire and temple of Tanod Mata. We rode back to Jaisalmer but TBK's sight was set on making some detour before we reach Jaisalmer. As it would turn out we would make two.
Kuldhara is a deserted village, 25 kms away from Jaisalmer. It is not haunted, as I earlier thought, but deserted. We were greeted by a mysterious elder man at the gate and there was no one yet inside. It added to the mystery, that we rode thorough the deserted lanes of what would have been a huge village once all by ourselves. It was spooky and silent. Bricks and wood were all that were left of this large human habitation of 206 villages. What was the reason? What could have happened?
A couple of cars joined us and thankfully a guide who told us the story and not for the last time in the day of LUST, PRIDE and DESERTED VILLAGES.
A military commander enchanted by the beauty of a village damsel, asked her hand in marriage. Normally, this should not have been a problem, Senapatis (commanders) were held in high regard and enjoyed king's favour. But, the commander was Bhatti (a caste) and the girl belonged to Paliwal Brahmins who inhabited the villages. The commander true to his style, fixed a date and hour for the marriage and asked the villagers to be ready to welcome him and his procession.
But, all of the 206 villages deserted their in the dark of night and went some where else, rather than hurt their pride by marrying off their girl outside their caste. Intriguing tale.
I started to wonder, where could have so many people gone in one night ! Do the generations of those families remember this tale. If yes, then how? What do they think of the girl, do they sing songs of her beauty? How can a village in the middle of desert land be 'desert'ed? Why did nomads not come here and settle down in the well-lived village? Did the commander chase/search for the girl and her family? Dis he destroy the villages in frustration and anger?
Such is the stuff of folklore.
(Watch video below to hear the story from the guide)
We came back to the entrance and had a chat with the elder and rode ahead to Khaba fort. This is one of the smallest forts we had seen and 'fossillii' (fossil) as pronounced by the elder were our main attraction to go for another detour to Khaba. There were many wood fossils and stones which were as old as the earth maybe. But atop the fort we saw remains of many more deserted villages. The story narrated by a French speaking guide was very similar.
This time the dividing factor was religion. Hindu brahmin girl -Muslim military commander.
The tales made me think the kind of people who deserted entire villages and left for unknown deserts just to protect their pride. The pride of a woman. A true test of a society is the way it treats its women, specifically, the pride of a woman!
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| with the mysterious elder at Kuldhara deserted village |
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| view of some more deserted villages from Khaba fort |
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| with the young in-charge of khaba fort |
Saturday, 19 November 2011
Jajabara Trips III (the pillion rider and the art of meditation)
Notes from Day 2 at Jaisalmer and SAM Sand Dunes
We wanted to start early, but one of the best sunrises that Sachin (aka TBK) would click on this trip, delayed the start. The silhouette of Umaid Bhawan of Jodhpur captured my attention as I climbed up to the roof of our heritage hotel, Juna Mehal. The changing colours on the horizon told me that the sunrise was going to be special. I rushed down to wake up Sachin and used the only medicine that could get him up in one call – photography!
Ben was surprised to see us start at the same time as his. We all started at the same time.
Remember I had no helmet, so I took some time to figure out the best gear for my head, face and throat. I would keep on the experimentation for the rest of the trip. Once we were set on the highway and we ‘tanked up’, there was a silence and we kept on riding without talk for fifteen minutes first and then thirty. TBK would occasionally pass a remark and I would nod. Later, he would remark that he tried to have a few conversations but I simply did not respond.
‘Were you doing meditation?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ I replied with a grin.
He had a look of disbelief on his face. Then, he walked over to me and saw me make the first entry in my diary ‘Biking and Meditation’.
Riding on a bike, especially as a pillion rider is like meditation, and if you do it consciously: you could really meditate.
To start with, you have the right posture or what the scriptures call ‘Asana’. ‘Asana’ is a posture where one can sit comfortably, with one’s back (spine), neck and head straight for more than an hour or two without physical restlessness and disturbance. That is easily achieved on a bike as a pillion rider. You don’t even have to shift gears, accelerate, take turns or maneuver the road.
Next comes calming or subjugation of the senses. Riding at a good speed on a Royal Enfield (popular in India as Bullet) there is very little chance of you hearing anything other than the uniform sound of the Royal Enfield’s revolutionary Unit Construction Engine. Also, though you tend to see many things as you fly past them on a bike, you just register them and simply acknowledge their presence. There is no fierce reaction, attraction, repulsion or excitement that would make the heart restless. Other senses are not in any significant threat on a bike ride and nor do they stray often.
The important one is mind. To put it simply, if you know that there is not much to engage your mind and you do not take assistance of memory of past or fancies of possibility, you would rather engage it in something which is vaguely called meditation. Most seers say that you cannot ‘do’ meditation, it happens to you. It is not a verb, rather it is a state.
I had in the past used this kind of an analogy for one of the trickiest, most mis-understood word of our times – LOVE. ‘You cannot love somebody; you are in love.’ I had written.
In either of the cases, you are driven to state of meditation, so why not do it of your own volition! The other important aspect of meditation, or any act of concentration, is breath. The slowing down of breath, and the rhythmic flow therein, is something one becomes more aware on a bike ride, and even that is a form of mediation.
We reached Jaisalmer and paused briefly to head to SAM sand dunes. I ran out of gumption at Jaisalmer and wanted to have food first or freshen up before moving, TBK insisted otherwise. SAM was a rather disappointing pit stop for us. The camel ride was short; the sunset interrupted by clouds; the food bad and oily (so much so that I wondered if they get that free); and performers of the folk dance and music disinterested. The only thing I picked up was a local song ‘Jhini re Jhini, Bhabhoot me Jhini’, which evoked instant smiles wherever I hummed it again.
Ben, meanwhile had met with an accident, just when he thought he had achieved his goals in life. (Read blog)
I was reminded of Richard Bach ‘There is a test to find out if your mission on earth is fulfilled. If you are alive, it isn’t.’
Photographs Courtsey Sachin Gupta, Parthajeet Das (c) 2011
We wanted to start early, but one of the best sunrises that Sachin (aka TBK) would click on this trip, delayed the start. The silhouette of Umaid Bhawan of Jodhpur captured my attention as I climbed up to the roof of our heritage hotel, Juna Mehal. The changing colours on the horizon told me that the sunrise was going to be special. I rushed down to wake up Sachin and used the only medicine that could get him up in one call – photography!
Ben was surprised to see us start at the same time as his. We all started at the same time.
Remember I had no helmet, so I took some time to figure out the best gear for my head, face and throat. I would keep on the experimentation for the rest of the trip. Once we were set on the highway and we ‘tanked up’, there was a silence and we kept on riding without talk for fifteen minutes first and then thirty. TBK would occasionally pass a remark and I would nod. Later, he would remark that he tried to have a few conversations but I simply did not respond.
‘Were you doing meditation?’ he asked.
‘Yes!’ I replied with a grin.
He had a look of disbelief on his face. Then, he walked over to me and saw me make the first entry in my diary ‘Biking and Meditation’.
Riding on a bike, especially as a pillion rider is like meditation, and if you do it consciously: you could really meditate.
To start with, you have the right posture or what the scriptures call ‘Asana’. ‘Asana’ is a posture where one can sit comfortably, with one’s back (spine), neck and head straight for more than an hour or two without physical restlessness and disturbance. That is easily achieved on a bike as a pillion rider. You don’t even have to shift gears, accelerate, take turns or maneuver the road.
Next comes calming or subjugation of the senses. Riding at a good speed on a Royal Enfield (popular in India as Bullet) there is very little chance of you hearing anything other than the uniform sound of the Royal Enfield’s revolutionary Unit Construction Engine. Also, though you tend to see many things as you fly past them on a bike, you just register them and simply acknowledge their presence. There is no fierce reaction, attraction, repulsion or excitement that would make the heart restless. Other senses are not in any significant threat on a bike ride and nor do they stray often.
The important one is mind. To put it simply, if you know that there is not much to engage your mind and you do not take assistance of memory of past or fancies of possibility, you would rather engage it in something which is vaguely called meditation. Most seers say that you cannot ‘do’ meditation, it happens to you. It is not a verb, rather it is a state.
I had in the past used this kind of an analogy for one of the trickiest, most mis-understood word of our times – LOVE. ‘You cannot love somebody; you are in love.’ I had written.
In either of the cases, you are driven to state of meditation, so why not do it of your own volition! The other important aspect of meditation, or any act of concentration, is breath. The slowing down of breath, and the rhythmic flow therein, is something one becomes more aware on a bike ride, and even that is a form of mediation.
We reached Jaisalmer and paused briefly to head to SAM sand dunes. I ran out of gumption at Jaisalmer and wanted to have food first or freshen up before moving, TBK insisted otherwise. SAM was a rather disappointing pit stop for us. The camel ride was short; the sunset interrupted by clouds; the food bad and oily (so much so that I wondered if they get that free); and performers of the folk dance and music disinterested. The only thing I picked up was a local song ‘Jhini re Jhini, Bhabhoot me Jhini’, which evoked instant smiles wherever I hummed it again.
Ben, meanwhile had met with an accident, just when he thought he had achieved his goals in life. (Read blog)
I was reminded of Richard Bach ‘There is a test to find out if your mission on earth is fulfilled. If you are alive, it isn’t.’
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| sunrise - umaid bhawan, jodhpur |
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| TBK and Ben |
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| Royal Enfield getting out of Juna Mehal |
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| 50 odd people surrounded us wherever we went |
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| Jaisalmer |
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| Saffron Knight - front - One of the headgears |
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| Saffron Knight and Ben |
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| TBK and Thunderbird |
Photographs Courtsey Sachin Gupta, Parthajeet Das (c) 2011
Thursday, 17 November 2011
Jajabara in the Town (of gumption and restlessness)
- Notes on fist day in the city after a travel of ten days
I was back in the city after ten days of travel, seven of them on a bike across the sands and colour of Rajasthan. I stepped out to meet a friend, not very far off from my place. The interaction with the city starts with small things - the pace of people on the road, the manner and tone of people, the traffic congestion, the patience level of people and the ease of getting affordable public transport.
The city in question is New Delhi and I do this routine very often. The city and I whizz past each other many times during the day, the city leaving more impressions on me than I on it. This is how I believe, people belong to a place – by daily interactions, by watching, by talking, by listening, by reacting, by meeting people and by dipping in the dyes of the cities’ colour.
That is why, when asked this usual question, ‘where are you from?’, I am tempted to quote (Paulo Coelho I think) ‘I am from many places’ as reply. I have lived and more importantly belonged to many cities. The language I speak, the food I like, the clothes that I wear, the pace with which I move, the way I deal with people is not a product of one city or ‘culture’, rather it is a mixture of many. Of course, the recency and primacy (maximum time spent) effect are always there, not to mention the effect called 'parents'.
I do not get into this long line of thought for answer, often I respond, ‘I am from Delhi’. I do reflect some hues of the city now – aggression in manner and talk, creating and grabbing an opportunity where there was none, hubris, loudness in tone, decreasing civic sense, dwindling concern for others and restlessness.
Restlessness has not been entirely a product of Delhi, and has been with me since I was a child, but it found its fullest expression in this city. Delhi is not only the political capital of India but also a huge melting pot of different cultures and events of the country and the world. There are many things to see, so many things to do, hundreds to meet and million things to learn. This is unlike Bombay, where you see people but do not observe them, where you talk to people occasionally but do not know anything about them, where there are many meetings but no interactions, where everyone is trying to save that one-hundredth of a second and either rushing to or from home to make money. Money is the life-line or blood of Bombay, but Delhi itself is Delhi’s lifeline.
Restlessness is like fire, the more oil you put into it, the more it spreads. I have realized it that the more things you do, the more things you see and the more people you meet to get rid of restlessness, the more it grips you. Its like a habit, the more struggle, the deeper you get into the quicksand. Repetition only makes the bondage more certain. Fire can not be put out by more fire or by a different kind of a fire. What is commonly understood as patience, and what Robert M. Pirsig calls ‘gumption’ in ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, is probably the antidote of restlessness.
After travelling for six-seven hours a day, on the average for six days, at an average speed of 60-70 kmph, one’s gumption improves, more so if you are not driving. I will talk about that last part – ‘the gumption of the pillion rider’ in a later post. But for now, a distinction has to be made between the inner and outer pace. There is an effect no doubt, on the body and mind, after a long journey, which results in urges to continue the motion, but one gains an inner patience. If you are riding for six-seven hours out of your own will, without doing what most people would do in a situation like that, such as listen to music, talk over phone, read a book, chat with people around, look at different people/things etc, you got to have something within you, to keep you sane. That ‘something’ is gumption or patience.
So, it would be fair to say that I had a shot of that gumption or patience which I do not know will last for how long. The effects were obvious in the interactions that followed with the city. Four auto-wallahs refused to take me and after a walk of half a mile, the fifth one wanted a higher price, but I waited till the sixth agreed. I could not notice anything till now, then, the auto-driver took a longer route with more expected traffic than the one I usually take. But, I was silent and not worried. Words refused to come out of my mouth and my heart was not restless. Out of the auto, I took the sub-way which I usually do not, considering that a waste of few seconds, I risk my life and sanity by crossing one of the busiest roads in front of AIIMS. Inside the sub-way, people were there usual hustly-bustly selves, brushing past you to get somewhere, but I did not seem to mind. Inside the hospital, I saw people waiting outside the elevator and took the stairs, one step at a time. I usually find that pace boring, so I either run or take two at a time. I could sense that shot of gumption at work then.
That gumption was again evident while chatting with my friend Sakina as well, who was there for operation of her child. She also lost her elder brother that morning. I was calm, my reactions muted but not without empathy. I had no long speech or ejaculations to give but a simple tightening of lips and nod to convey my feelings.
On my way back, this gumption helped me to absorb all the information without much disturbance. At the metro, I was not in my usual rush to get into the first metro I see enter the station. I chose to walk the distance from metro station to my home, taking a longer but more silent route. The walk was very relaxing, one step at a time. I was conscious of all my breaths and steps and their rhythm.
I was in no hurry to get back home.
Note: This is not the last post of Jajabara Trip III; this is about the last day. More posts on Jajabara Trip III - Royal Rajasthan on Royal Enfield would follow soon.
I was back in the city after ten days of travel, seven of them on a bike across the sands and colour of Rajasthan. I stepped out to meet a friend, not very far off from my place. The interaction with the city starts with small things - the pace of people on the road, the manner and tone of people, the traffic congestion, the patience level of people and the ease of getting affordable public transport.
The city in question is New Delhi and I do this routine very often. The city and I whizz past each other many times during the day, the city leaving more impressions on me than I on it. This is how I believe, people belong to a place – by daily interactions, by watching, by talking, by listening, by reacting, by meeting people and by dipping in the dyes of the cities’ colour.
That is why, when asked this usual question, ‘where are you from?’, I am tempted to quote (Paulo Coelho I think) ‘I am from many places’ as reply. I have lived and more importantly belonged to many cities. The language I speak, the food I like, the clothes that I wear, the pace with which I move, the way I deal with people is not a product of one city or ‘culture’, rather it is a mixture of many. Of course, the recency and primacy (maximum time spent) effect are always there, not to mention the effect called 'parents'.
I do not get into this long line of thought for answer, often I respond, ‘I am from Delhi’. I do reflect some hues of the city now – aggression in manner and talk, creating and grabbing an opportunity where there was none, hubris, loudness in tone, decreasing civic sense, dwindling concern for others and restlessness.
Restlessness has not been entirely a product of Delhi, and has been with me since I was a child, but it found its fullest expression in this city. Delhi is not only the political capital of India but also a huge melting pot of different cultures and events of the country and the world. There are many things to see, so many things to do, hundreds to meet and million things to learn. This is unlike Bombay, where you see people but do not observe them, where you talk to people occasionally but do not know anything about them, where there are many meetings but no interactions, where everyone is trying to save that one-hundredth of a second and either rushing to or from home to make money. Money is the life-line or blood of Bombay, but Delhi itself is Delhi’s lifeline.
Restlessness is like fire, the more oil you put into it, the more it spreads. I have realized it that the more things you do, the more things you see and the more people you meet to get rid of restlessness, the more it grips you. Its like a habit, the more struggle, the deeper you get into the quicksand. Repetition only makes the bondage more certain. Fire can not be put out by more fire or by a different kind of a fire. What is commonly understood as patience, and what Robert M. Pirsig calls ‘gumption’ in ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, is probably the antidote of restlessness.
After travelling for six-seven hours a day, on the average for six days, at an average speed of 60-70 kmph, one’s gumption improves, more so if you are not driving. I will talk about that last part – ‘the gumption of the pillion rider’ in a later post. But for now, a distinction has to be made between the inner and outer pace. There is an effect no doubt, on the body and mind, after a long journey, which results in urges to continue the motion, but one gains an inner patience. If you are riding for six-seven hours out of your own will, without doing what most people would do in a situation like that, such as listen to music, talk over phone, read a book, chat with people around, look at different people/things etc, you got to have something within you, to keep you sane. That ‘something’ is gumption or patience.
So, it would be fair to say that I had a shot of that gumption or patience which I do not know will last for how long. The effects were obvious in the interactions that followed with the city. Four auto-wallahs refused to take me and after a walk of half a mile, the fifth one wanted a higher price, but I waited till the sixth agreed. I could not notice anything till now, then, the auto-driver took a longer route with more expected traffic than the one I usually take. But, I was silent and not worried. Words refused to come out of my mouth and my heart was not restless. Out of the auto, I took the sub-way which I usually do not, considering that a waste of few seconds, I risk my life and sanity by crossing one of the busiest roads in front of AIIMS. Inside the sub-way, people were there usual hustly-bustly selves, brushing past you to get somewhere, but I did not seem to mind. Inside the hospital, I saw people waiting outside the elevator and took the stairs, one step at a time. I usually find that pace boring, so I either run or take two at a time. I could sense that shot of gumption at work then.
That gumption was again evident while chatting with my friend Sakina as well, who was there for operation of her child. She also lost her elder brother that morning. I was calm, my reactions muted but not without empathy. I had no long speech or ejaculations to give but a simple tightening of lips and nod to convey my feelings.
On my way back, this gumption helped me to absorb all the information without much disturbance. At the metro, I was not in my usual rush to get into the first metro I see enter the station. I chose to walk the distance from metro station to my home, taking a longer but more silent route. The walk was very relaxing, one step at a time. I was conscious of all my breaths and steps and their rhythm.
I was in no hurry to get back home.
Note: This is not the last post of Jajabara Trip III; this is about the last day. More posts on Jajabara Trip III - Royal Rajasthan on Royal Enfield would follow soon.
Tuesday, 15 November 2011
Jajabara Trips - III (Royal Rajasthan on Royal Enfield)
1900 kms | 18 cities/towns/villages | 9 forts | 3 temples - 1 dargarh | 6 n half sunsets | 5 n a quarter sunrises | 1 moon rise | 2 camel rides | 1 bike | 2 travelers
View Larger Map
Yahi to Hum Karne Aye Hain
(this is what we have come to do)
Going on a bike trip for several days, exploring the roads, cities, towns and people was one very special dream of my college days, one which you choose to ignore and forget as do not see the possibility of it happening. This was such a dream which I now categorized in the ‘too childish for my kind of kick’ and ‘not necessary’ category at this stage of my life. I was wrong on both accounts.
I was always fascinated by the concept of biking along long, black and beautiful roads of India witnessing even more beautiful scenic beauty around the roads. I remember standing in the front of the old Bajaj Super scooter of my father and looking eagerly at the landscape and feel the wind whizz past my hair. In my graduation days I used to head out on short trips around Bhubaneswar on a bike, but they were day trips. The way you explore the landscape of a place on a bike is unmatched. In a car, bus or train you just see and observe things. On a bike, you see, observe, feel and breathe the landscape with your proverbial body, mind and soul.
The road running at the speed of your bike beneath your feet, the wind so noisy that it drowns everything, the sky changing colours ever so slowly for you to observe, the curious look on faces of people, the smiles exchanged, the hands waved, the potholes and humps killing your back, the smell of burnt petrol and the taste of dust on your tongue.
For me travel, more so on a bike with no specific plan or route or purpose was an idea of freedom. There lay the biggest appeal of that idea, freedom and at the risk of sounding too patriotic, independence ! Iconic brands such as Harley Davidson, Royal Enfield, the stories read on internet, Books such as ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, above all the movie ‘The Motorcycle Diaries’ were all seductions that were not tamed but subsided due to lack of opportunity (we all say that, but is the biggest lie!!), lack of a bike and so called rationality and reason.
Che was always an icon for a communist-at-heart like me, but 'The Motorcycle Diaries' added an altogether different dimension to the reverence. Che went for his famous bike trip around his continent of rich history but then troubled present as a bright youth, a student of medicine and came out as the Che Guevara and change the history of many countries including his own. The movie caption says it well 'Before he changed the world the world changed him'. I said it to someone 'never under estimate the power of travel'. Link on IMDB. Che earned my respect for letting the world that he saw on the bike trip, affect him, shake him to the core, change him and make him.
I called up TBK ( The Black Knight, name given by Ben see blog ), Sachin on Friday evening 5.30 pm on my way back home to meet for a coffee, as I had got free early. I was heading out over the weekend to attend a wedding and was exited about the thought of revisiting Lucknow. Visiting a city for the first time has its own charms, of the exploratory type, but revisiting one is more romantic, poignant and warm.
You tend to feel familiar, a kind of ‘feel at home’ at the sight of roads, turns, shopkeeper, restaurants and places you have been before. You love the things that are still the same, and you love the changes as well. TBK informed that he was on a solo bike trip across Rajasthan.
‘when are you leaving?’ I asked the customary question.
‘tomorrow morning to pushkar’ he replied.
‘where would you be on Monday?’ I checked
‘Jodhpur may be. Yeah, Jodhpur’
‘I will call you in a bit’ I hung up
I called him back after an hour and half after reaching home.
‘I would join you at Jodhpur on Monday. Will fly down from Delhi and reach around 1.30PM.’ I was still tentative and unsure though I had already booked my flight tickets and was packing up for the trip.
‘Okay. I would fix the carrier on the bike for our stuff. Pack light.’ TBK said as though he was expecting this or this is kind of normal for him.
I switched on my phone after getting out of the aircraft at Jodhpur. It rang, it was TBK.
‘I am standing outside the airport, to the right as you step out of the airport’ he instructed.
‘okay, cool, give me ten minutes’
I was sleepless for two nights and had a run and four hour dance sessions to strain my back and stamina. I had a message at the airport which helped to some extent but I was still walking with a hand on my crooked back. But, the moment we packed up our stuff and sped past the airport on TBK’s Royal Enfield Thunderbird, something took over me. I felt no pain, no strain on my back and was raring to go.
We found a hotel and met an Englishman, Ben, who followed TBK from Pushkar. This is where we would get our names. I was christened The Saffron Knight for my ‘sunflower coloured shirt’. Later, at the Mehrangarh fort, Ben remarked.
‘You don’t look like you haven’t slept for two nights and are tired’
‘I know. I am very happy that I could make to this trip. I am looking forward to it.’
‘Where are you guys headed from here?’ Ben asked.
‘I don’t know exactly. Do we have a plan TBK?’ I checked.
‘Not really. Maybe Jaisalmer’
‘No problem. We will figure out something tonight’ I said.
‘Mind if I tag along?’ Ben was almost apologetic.
‘Sure’ I said. Sachin was busy clicking one of his 7 and half sunsets that he would shoot on this trip. We all walked down the fort, Ben and me chatting, and Sachin clicking.
We had some street food and some unusual combinations. Some of them worked well (peanut and jaggery) and some did not (salt on sugarcane!!). Ben walked back to hotel while we headed out to get two essential requirements for a bike trip for two – a helmet for the pillion and sunglasses for the rider. After, enquiries to different shopkeepers, going to couple of recommended markets on extra-narrow auto-rickshaws and walking several miles up and down on busy markets we ended up buying two cricket hats and one bandana. It turned out that Sachin would not have sunglasses for the rest of the trip and I would not have a helmet till the very last day when an unsuspecting policeman forced us to buy one in Jaipur.
Sachin and I had a conversation regarding gumption during those hitherto futile walks, though the word was not mentioned.
‘Its important not to get irritated during such travels. Not to worry, if your plans do not work out quite the way you thought or a surprise comes up your way and changes your schedule’ I started the talk indirectly referring to the never ending walks and arguments with shopkeepers and rickshawallahs.
‘yeah. Its okay to take a wrong turn, miss a road, go ahead several kilometers only to realize one has reached a cul-de-sac and return from there.’ TBK was warming up as well.
‘yeah, this all a part of the journey. Its important not to feel irritated or frustrated and keep up your enthusiasm levels. Everything is okay’
‘yeah. This is what we have come to do’ actually he said it in Hindi [yahi to hum karne aye hain!]
‘yeah!’ I was grinning.
That line hit a chord and we would use that line umpteen number of times during the trip when things did not quite go the way we thought or our patience levels were depleted. We had our dinner at a rooftop restaurant which took us an hour and few hundred yards to find, after reaching almost 50 meters of the restaurant. The stars were out and the blue city was looking almost purple. The fort was in full view, rather ‘killer view’ as the restaurant ‘Cozy’ claimed. Sachin was out with his camera to shoot pictures with long exposures and I was wondering what to eat. I ordered and sat looking at the sky.
Dinner was hot and tasty; Sachin was generous with the tip (more than half a bottle of beer) and the owner was generous with a sweet dish. We were staying at his heritage hotel ‘Juna Mehal’ which was 300 years old.
Our trip was on.
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Yahi to Hum Karne Aye Hain
(this is what we have come to do)
Going on a bike trip for several days, exploring the roads, cities, towns and people was one very special dream of my college days, one which you choose to ignore and forget as do not see the possibility of it happening. This was such a dream which I now categorized in the ‘too childish for my kind of kick’ and ‘not necessary’ category at this stage of my life. I was wrong on both accounts.
I was always fascinated by the concept of biking along long, black and beautiful roads of India witnessing even more beautiful scenic beauty around the roads. I remember standing in the front of the old Bajaj Super scooter of my father and looking eagerly at the landscape and feel the wind whizz past my hair. In my graduation days I used to head out on short trips around Bhubaneswar on a bike, but they were day trips. The way you explore the landscape of a place on a bike is unmatched. In a car, bus or train you just see and observe things. On a bike, you see, observe, feel and breathe the landscape with your proverbial body, mind and soul.
The road running at the speed of your bike beneath your feet, the wind so noisy that it drowns everything, the sky changing colours ever so slowly for you to observe, the curious look on faces of people, the smiles exchanged, the hands waved, the potholes and humps killing your back, the smell of burnt petrol and the taste of dust on your tongue.
For me travel, more so on a bike with no specific plan or route or purpose was an idea of freedom. There lay the biggest appeal of that idea, freedom and at the risk of sounding too patriotic, independence ! Iconic brands such as Harley Davidson, Royal Enfield, the stories read on internet, Books such as ‘Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance’, above all the movie ‘The Motorcycle Diaries’ were all seductions that were not tamed but subsided due to lack of opportunity (we all say that, but is the biggest lie!!), lack of a bike and so called rationality and reason.
Che was always an icon for a communist-at-heart like me, but 'The Motorcycle Diaries' added an altogether different dimension to the reverence. Che went for his famous bike trip around his continent of rich history but then troubled present as a bright youth, a student of medicine and came out as the Che Guevara and change the history of many countries including his own. The movie caption says it well 'Before he changed the world the world changed him'. I said it to someone 'never under estimate the power of travel'. Link on IMDB. Che earned my respect for letting the world that he saw on the bike trip, affect him, shake him to the core, change him and make him.
I called up TBK ( The Black Knight, name given by Ben see blog ), Sachin on Friday evening 5.30 pm on my way back home to meet for a coffee, as I had got free early. I was heading out over the weekend to attend a wedding and was exited about the thought of revisiting Lucknow. Visiting a city for the first time has its own charms, of the exploratory type, but revisiting one is more romantic, poignant and warm.
You tend to feel familiar, a kind of ‘feel at home’ at the sight of roads, turns, shopkeeper, restaurants and places you have been before. You love the things that are still the same, and you love the changes as well. TBK informed that he was on a solo bike trip across Rajasthan.
‘when are you leaving?’ I asked the customary question.
‘tomorrow morning to pushkar’ he replied.
‘where would you be on Monday?’ I checked
‘Jodhpur may be. Yeah, Jodhpur’
‘I will call you in a bit’ I hung up
I called him back after an hour and half after reaching home.
‘I would join you at Jodhpur on Monday. Will fly down from Delhi and reach around 1.30PM.’ I was still tentative and unsure though I had already booked my flight tickets and was packing up for the trip.
‘Okay. I would fix the carrier on the bike for our stuff. Pack light.’ TBK said as though he was expecting this or this is kind of normal for him.
I switched on my phone after getting out of the aircraft at Jodhpur. It rang, it was TBK.
‘I am standing outside the airport, to the right as you step out of the airport’ he instructed.
‘okay, cool, give me ten minutes’
I was sleepless for two nights and had a run and four hour dance sessions to strain my back and stamina. I had a message at the airport which helped to some extent but I was still walking with a hand on my crooked back. But, the moment we packed up our stuff and sped past the airport on TBK’s Royal Enfield Thunderbird, something took over me. I felt no pain, no strain on my back and was raring to go.
We found a hotel and met an Englishman, Ben, who followed TBK from Pushkar. This is where we would get our names. I was christened The Saffron Knight for my ‘sunflower coloured shirt’. Later, at the Mehrangarh fort, Ben remarked.
‘You don’t look like you haven’t slept for two nights and are tired’
‘I know. I am very happy that I could make to this trip. I am looking forward to it.’
‘Where are you guys headed from here?’ Ben asked.
‘I don’t know exactly. Do we have a plan TBK?’ I checked.
‘Not really. Maybe Jaisalmer’
‘No problem. We will figure out something tonight’ I said.
‘Mind if I tag along?’ Ben was almost apologetic.
‘Sure’ I said. Sachin was busy clicking one of his 7 and half sunsets that he would shoot on this trip. We all walked down the fort, Ben and me chatting, and Sachin clicking.
We had some street food and some unusual combinations. Some of them worked well (peanut and jaggery) and some did not (salt on sugarcane!!). Ben walked back to hotel while we headed out to get two essential requirements for a bike trip for two – a helmet for the pillion and sunglasses for the rider. After, enquiries to different shopkeepers, going to couple of recommended markets on extra-narrow auto-rickshaws and walking several miles up and down on busy markets we ended up buying two cricket hats and one bandana. It turned out that Sachin would not have sunglasses for the rest of the trip and I would not have a helmet till the very last day when an unsuspecting policeman forced us to buy one in Jaipur.
Sachin and I had a conversation regarding gumption during those hitherto futile walks, though the word was not mentioned.
‘Its important not to get irritated during such travels. Not to worry, if your plans do not work out quite the way you thought or a surprise comes up your way and changes your schedule’ I started the talk indirectly referring to the never ending walks and arguments with shopkeepers and rickshawallahs.
‘yeah. Its okay to take a wrong turn, miss a road, go ahead several kilometers only to realize one has reached a cul-de-sac and return from there.’ TBK was warming up as well.
‘yeah, this all a part of the journey. Its important not to feel irritated or frustrated and keep up your enthusiasm levels. Everything is okay’
‘yeah. This is what we have come to do’ actually he said it in Hindi [yahi to hum karne aye hain!]
‘yeah!’ I was grinning.
That line hit a chord and we would use that line umpteen number of times during the trip when things did not quite go the way we thought or our patience levels were depleted. We had our dinner at a rooftop restaurant which took us an hour and few hundred yards to find, after reaching almost 50 meters of the restaurant. The stars were out and the blue city was looking almost purple. The fort was in full view, rather ‘killer view’ as the restaurant ‘Cozy’ claimed. Sachin was out with his camera to shoot pictures with long exposures and I was wondering what to eat. I ordered and sat looking at the sky.
Dinner was hot and tasty; Sachin was generous with the tip (more than half a bottle of beer) and the owner was generous with a sweet dish. We were staying at his heritage hotel ‘Juna Mehal’ which was 300 years old.
Our trip was on.
 |
| Juna Mehal |
 |
| the blue city - jodhpur |
 |
| sunset atop Mehrangarh Fort |
 |
| One of the sunsets Pictures Parthajeet Das (c) 2011 |
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