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.

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.



sunrise on way to Barmer



trucks n cattle n me posing (only)



ranakpur entrance



pillars and elephant inside temple



roof view



miniature carvings



light n sound show @ kumbhalgarh fort



fort outside



fire



singers @ hotel

dancing barefoot on broken glasses



girl dancing

me dancing

(c) Photographs - Sachin Gupta

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.

Add caption

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!

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.

food at Khuri village - Neem ki Dhani



the moment



moon and the three



ben and I with the villagers



Camel Ride and races - I was on Tiger - Tiger won!

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!

with the mysterious elder at Kuldhara deserted village

view of some more deserted villages from Khaba fort

with the young in-charge of khaba fort

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.’

sunrise - umaid bhawan, jodhpur

TBK and Ben

Royal Enfield getting out of Juna Mehal

50 odd people surrounded us wherever we went

Jaisalmer

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 



Saffron Knight - front - One of the headgears



Saffron Knight and Ben

TBK and Thunderbird

 
 
Photographs Courtsey Sachin Gupta, Parthajeet Das (c) 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.

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


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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

ek aur trasadi - II

Why should one pay with one’s life for greed of others?


The title sums up all that is going to be written below. There is a provocation to get emotional while you write about someone dear to you, more so if that person has suffered a lot and not for any fault of her/his own.

Sana, is a eleven year old girl from Nawab Colony, old Bhopal. This is a part of Bhopal which the students of the top colleges in the city are unaware of, or at the most, went for some project work for a day or two. This is a part of Bhopal that the CCDs, the multiplexes, the brand stores, malls and restaurants do not acknowledge to belong to the same city. j

She dresses up as a boy almost all the time, has short hair like boys, smiles to a boyish chuckle but does not speak like a boy. In fact, a few months back she could not speak at all. Her voice moved from being like a five year old girl’s to a hoarse whisper and to complete silence five years back. After an operation and continuous treatment at AIIMS, New Delhi for a year, the process has been reversed. It is a delight, unfathomable and hard to contain, to hear her call out one’s name or add a comment or two to her mother Sakina’s chatter. Her smile is infectious and bright as a day.

When I met her a year back, her operation was due in a fortnight. She was terrified, sad and worst - silent. She had a steel pipe thrust into her throat to help her breathe. This steel pipe protruded out and was bandaged. She also had a problem which is usually not obvious to a visitor - breathing problem. Her eyes were pale, lips silent, touch tentative and her mother Sakina was no better. Sakina carried Sana all the way to Delhi from Bhopal in one of the many ‘rallies’ for justice organized by one of the many NGOs working for this cause. She is increasing being cynical of the rallies as are many more people of the town. There is a sense of triviality and hopelessness. Sakina is 25 years old and has two more children. The youngest, Aris, is a fearsome gangster at the age of two! Sakina is intelligent and independent, not the best of assets if you are a muslim woman living in a small city such as Bhopal. Her untiring trips to Delhi for Sana’s treatment which starts with struggle for a seat in general compartment in Bhopal Express, to finding the right mode of transport at right price to AIIMS from Nizamuddin, to going to the right department and right doctor in the hospital, to getting an appointment, to getting food and accommodation, invite criticism and mockery! This all she does without the support of her husband who is either indifferent or away from home driving a truck while Sakina does all this alone with help of few friends and volunteers (long live the spirit of volunteering and friendship!).



Today, when I met her for Sana’s final operation at AIIMS, Sakina was unusually down. I was pretty pensive as well, thinking about Sana’s condition, the Bhopal gas tragedy, the erstwhile Union Carbide (now a part of Dow Chemicals), the 26 year old one-sided struggle for justice (or rather travesty of it), the NGOs, the governments promises of restoring justice and compensation to the victims, numerous farcical memorial hospitals in Bhopal and the continuing pollution of soil and water in Bhopal even today of which Sana is a rather recent but not the last victim. There was anger but a deep sadness close to helplessness which I felt while walking from the metro station to the ward in the cool winter evening. After a while Sakina told me that her elder brother passed away today. He was 35, the only bread earning member of the family of three children and a wife. The reason – unknown infection in the ear and throat.

‘How long did he have this problem?’ I asked rather calmly. I was not terribly surprised. I had read, heard many such incidents and met many of the victims of the continuing pollution due to the untreated hazardous chemicals dumped by Union Carbide. One of them is another little girl who would remain little as her height has not increased after her seventh chronological year. She is the grand-daughter of Tulsabai, whom I met at one of the rallies in Delhi and promised to visit her home in Bhopal.

‘Fifteen days back. There were no symptoms or illness before. Everyone thought it is paralysis, but I knew it is what it was. I had seen many such people on my innumerable trips to ENT departments of many many hospitals. But no one listen to me as I am the youngest’ Sakina replied. ‘Even doctors could not diagnose is properly’ she added.

She did not cry, did not complaint against the UC, Dow, doctors, government, NGOs or her fate. There was no anger or restlessness in her voice, just plain acceptance of the way things are.

‘They informed me in the morning. I wanted to go back immediately. But, they all said, ‘what has to happen, has happened, you take care of the girl’. Sakina said it as matter-of-factly as she did everything else.

As I was walking back, I was feeling less anger and more helplessness. The question in the title started to fade away and another one was taking shape. I was thinking about my role in all this and the usual ‘what can I do’ question popped up. This question has been very heavy for me on many occasions, wore me down and crumpled me as well. I did not want to get into that now.

I reminded myself of the story of the squirrel who wanted to do his bit in the great construction of the bridge by Lord Ram and his army of monkeys over the ocean from India to Sri Lanka. While the powerful monkeys and bears carried heavy boulders and rocks and placed them one after the other after writing Lord Ram’s name on it, this little animal rolled over and over in sand and then went up to the bridge and shook off all the sand to contribute to the building of the bridge. The benevolent and thankful Lord was moved by this gesture and caressed the animal’s back many times. This is how squirrel got white stripes on its back.

Such, acts of escape by using ones power of imagination or memory is the way we avoid the voices of our conscience and continue to live as usual.

Notes from Jajabara Trips I

We travel for the sake of travel ! - Earnesto Che Guevara in Motorcycle Diaries

Man - is someone else. Could be anyone really.
Traveler 1, 2, 3 are fellow travelers.

Man: Where are you?

Traveler 1: Mmm…actually I don’t know. I can’t explain but, it is not very far off. Two other travelers are with me. We have been here for two hours now.

(…It is always somewhere off that road we all know and follow. We took a detour and followed one of the many roads we liked. None of us knew where we are headed, no one bothered to ask the other, there was no worry of being lost or being late, no irritation not knowing where we are headed or missing on something, no plans were made, so none could be changed.

We reached a small pond at the end of a village, where are dimly lit temple, half-crescent of moon, and millions of lamps called stars waited for us. One look at each other and the decision was made. We slowly let go of the gas and shifted gears to maneuver the sand and stopped at the edge of the pond near a peepal tree. We knew that our evening belonged to this place.

We waited on our bikes for half an hour, for the last of the surprised villagers to finish their evening bath and return. The evening lamps of the temple were further dimmed after the sound of the conch shells and cymbals died down after the presiding deity village was put to rest.

The beauty of the evening was now in full bloom.

The stars smiled at each other and exchanged a few glances

“who are these men?” chuckled one as it asked this question


“shhh…they are looking at us” said the other.


“they could even be listening to us!”


“one of them is looking at the pond, searching for something”


“no…he is also looking at us! He understands that the reflection in the pond and us are the same. There is no difference, the image and the object are the same. He can appreciate our beauty even by looking at the reflection in the pond.”


“that can’t be true! The image in the pond is not steady. It shifts and moves with the waves. The image needs the object, but the object doesn’t need the image. Are you out of your mind?”


“ What is absolutely steady in this universe? Are not all things in this universe moving – all our sister stars of milky way, our enemy the SUN, the small planets, the smaller bodies and even the men and the other living things. Someone called Hiesenberg on this planet earth called this the uncertainity principle – position can not be determined without changing it. I don’t think this is how he stated it, but this is what he meant.


“Is there anything such as ABSOLUTE?”


“even I don’t know, no other star knows, we with millions of years of age, we who have seen many many ages and many many things being created and destroyed, do not know if there is something such as THE ABSOLUTE.”


“ why?”


“because we are NOT ABSOLUTE and only the absolute CAN know THE ABSOLUTE!”


Traveler 2: I see something moving. It’s moving at quite some speed. It is not a jet, not a shooting star either. It is still moving.

Traveler 3: Must be a jet.
Traveler 2: No, it has to be a star.
Traveller 3: Not possible, stars don’t move.
Traveller 2: What!
Traveller 3: They do. But, not at this speed…I mean, not this fast.
Traveller 1: I see it too.
Traveller 3: What! No!
Traveller 2&1: Yes.
Traveller 3: Where?
Traveller 2&1: We can’t show now, you will have to wait for your turn.


“I think, they saw us”

“Yes. You should not have made a dash towards me like that. You know, some things are not to be revealed to all men.”

“I became conscious, shy. Sorry!”

“Its okay. They are no ordinary men either. They are travelers - students of nature. Sooner or later they would have known that things have no fixed speed or movement. It all depends on what and how that wants to move. It is the will that matters. They know it in fact. Haven’t they progressed from walking on four feet to these ugly, noisy and mannerless Jets which are sometimes mistaken for us stars”

“Yeah. They should know, of all things and creatures that we have seen till now. I think they are the best”

“ They can be the best. I will tell you something I have suspect”

“what?”

“I think these men know what is the ABSOLUTE. I mean some of them do.”

“really? Why did you think so? Most of them just claim that they know some higher being, some supernatural power, some GOD. But, we all know most of them lie.”

“No. There have been men, salts of this earth, who have in their lifetimes experienced and realized what they can not explain through a thousand words or portray in a thousand pixels. They can not explain what they felt during those moments – not to eager ears of other men, blank pages or nature or us.”

“That explains few of things, that even we do not understand.”

“That is why I suspect that during those moments, Man realises the ABSOLUTE.”

“But, did you not just say that only the absolute can know the ABSOLUTE”

“yes, and that is my greatest apprehension and anxiety.”

T 3: You know my parents have done the Kailash mansarovar yatra thrice.
T 2: I know.
T1: Reallly?
T 3: And why I told you this now if that my mother and now even my father have seen a steady beam of light come down from Kailash mountain, decend over the Mansarovar lake and then go up again.
T 2: Seen?
T 1 (imitating T3): “Not possible, stars don’t move”
T 3: Guys! I would be the last man. But, I have seen the photo taken by one of tourists who accompanied my parents in one of the trips during Kailash Mansarovar yatra.
T 2 : Seen?
T 1(imitating T3): “Not possible, stars don’t move”
T 3: You guys can come home and see that picture. It actually looks like a human fugure with six hands and six heads.
T 2: Looks like?
T1 :Errr…Shouldn’t there be 12 hands?
T 2: Have you heard of term called ‘morphing’ and a product called Adobe Photoshop?
T 3 (resigned look on his face): Not once, or twice. Parents have SEEN it thrice. You need to get out of your base camp at 2am in the night and be on your guard till 3 am. It is vey cold out there and most people are exhausted by the height and climb at 13,000 ft. So, most of them miss it. They sleep. My parents and a few others who don’t have seen it for consecutive days on all three trips.
T 1: How old are your parents again?
T 3: Bou (mother) is 60 and Baba (father) is 70.
T 1: Kailash Mansarovar Yatra – thrice!

They all looked at different directions after that. T3 was thinking about the myth of the light and what lens and camera to use to capture the same, T 2 was trying to figure out something on his smartphone, T1 was thinking of the amazing trek at 13,000 ft and the amazing gifts of nature that would be on display at Kailash-Mansarovar.

No words were exchanged, no schedules were checked. No plans would be made. Travellers know by now, that you don’t plan to travel. You travel.

T 2: Lets head back. It getting really dark, mosquitoes have had a good meal and frogs have had company for long. Man is waiting for us to pick him up at the bus-stop.

We all got on our bikes and some noises were heard before the sound of the 2 stroke engine of T3 took over.

T 1: why do they call is bus-stop? Why not bus-go? I mean some buses go from that place as well. Actually the same number of buses go as they come. Why use a negative term such as stop?

T3: Maybe because buses are on the GO everywhere but stops are where they stop!

T2: cut it off guys!

T1&3: Okay.

T1, T2 & T3 - in no particular order - parth, narsingh and jitu