Lost in Kerala !!!!

Sitting in the chillness of AC two tier compartment of shabari express enroute to trivendrum we sighed a heave of relief from the incessant tantrums (advices of dos and donts) of our parents, as it slowly left behind the south central railway junction. It was hot mid afternoon but the enclosed cabin of ours did not let us know the outside temperature. We spoke about numerous things through out our journey.

Next day at 7 am the train reached Erode immediately after which Coimbatur came by. From here on I found a sudden change in the landscape with trees covering everyinch of hills and ridges, coconut trees being the major benificiary. Then there were a string of stations like Wayanad, Trissur, Palakkad, Shoranur etc all covered with the similar green blanket. On enquiry came to know that Coimbatur was the last stop of Tamilnadu and from there on we were in Kerala famously called as ' God's own country'.

At Shoranur the direction of the train changed as the engine that was pulling our compartment in the direction in which I was sitting started pulling it in the opposite way. Even I had to change my sitting position in line with the direction of the train. From here on it was like ride of my life. As the train trudged along in the forest of greenery on the serpentine like tracks my heart also just lingered along without even once thinking about the normal life. This was the best getaway that I can get at least this way at the end of the year. The sky started to get gloomier aiding to the beauty of the surroundings. Our 36 inch large LCD monitor like Relytuf glass window showed us the numerous pictures of nature in myriad hues. Large grasslands with buffalos chewing along, bordered with hills of tall and lean coconut trees, farm houses in red oxide coloredroofs, huge electric poles carrying wires on it's shoulders bifurcating the land. Two eyes and words wouldn't be enough to grasp the complete beauty of the exemplary nature.

The sleepy town of Ernakulam welcomed us with a whiff of fresh air as we entered the station. Many foreigners were standing near the door to get down. As this is the high season the rate of incoming tourists is also high. The taxi driver greeted us with a reverent smile and opened the back door to keep the luggage. It's a 2 HR drive to Komarakam, a village on the beautiful backwaters of Kerala adjacent to the lake vembanad. When we started, there was no rain at all and it was sunny too. As we neared the 200 km long backwaters the rain started playing hide and sick with heavy showers battering our AC Indica hatch back car now and nothing at all in seconds. A paradise of dazzling bays, lagoons and coves, Komarakam is home to stunning resorts and hotels which are upper crust, leisure destinations. Along the rain battered roads, our car driver took our journey fatigued souls to the resort where we would be staying.

Abad Whispering Palms lake resortis on a sprawling 10 acre land with the background of back waters and house boats sailing through them. This world class leisure resort has stylized individual villas, a plunge pool, private garden and back water front.

The sari clad receptionist escorted us to our pent house style Bamboo villa cottage. The cottage was nice and decent just for us two to spend some time. As the name suggested the roof was covered by bamboos and so was the wall of the back yard. Open air bath, exotic outdoor garden showers, private beach sit outs and glorious views of back waters were some of the attractions part of a privileged life style. After inquiring with our travel agent we came to know that there was no further program on the curriculum the whole day. So we just idled in the closed interiors of our room before going for a small walk. As we were having our coffee in the restaurant I unconsciously enjoyed the sound of flute coming from some where filling the evening air.

When we came out I realized that it was the light cultural program of instrumental music being held adjacent to the swimming pool. The soothing music, the full moon playing hide and seek in the cloudy sky reflected in the serene back waters, the surrounding still coconut trees, me sipping the coconut water from the straw laying down on the couch beside the swimming pool aaahhh!! Heaven, if at all there was one.

Next day after a plate of honey spruced pieces of banana, two wadas with cups of different kinds of chutnies- one made of coconut and other one with ground nuts, a glass of pine milkshake, a cup of coffee ( a great and filling breakfast mainly due to the fact that it was complimentary) we started of to Munnar 190 kms away. This time it was a different driver and looked like a typical malyali with the sandalwood tilak on the forehead. As soon as he opened the door of Mahindra Logon car a nice spacious perfumed interior invited us. The road was not as flat but as we neared

NH 49 it was good but quite narrow. Muvattupuzzha( spelt as muvattu pura - muva means 3 pura means river, a junction of 3 rivers) was one of the first stops along in highway. There we stopped to take some photos of the drum players. About 12 white lungi clad people standing in 3 rows rhythmically playing some traditional drums with remarkable unity that would make even Sivamani proud.

As we cruised along the narrow snake like road there were varieties of trees on either side of the road of which Pine trees and rubber trees were the most. Seeing at the limitless greenery I decided it was better to give rest to my eyes and put my head on the pillows and slept. By the time I got up, we had covered good distance and now we were swirling and twirling like a mad bull on rampage at 100 kmph on the ghat road that had a twist every 100 mts. I requested the driver to go a bit slow as the twister like ride made us feel like vomit. We prayed to reach as quickly as possible. We did stop in between to have a couple of mango pieces near a water fall as a quick breather. As we were nearing Munnar there was a sudden change in the landscape from a thick forest to neatly arranged tea estates on either side. We were good 9 miles away when we reached ambady estate where we would be spending the rest of the time as long as we are in Munnar. It was lunch time by the time we reached this place.Ambady estate looked very unusual to me to start of with. Right at the doorstep of Munnar beside the national highway it is nestled in the middle of a hilly forest interspersed with tea estate and thickly grown tree vegetation. The entrance hardly makes any attempt to attract your attention. Two rusted gates, a small square board of Ambady estate dangling to a pole on one side of it, a narrow ( didnt think there was enough space even for our car to enter) mud road ascending the hill in zig zag direction getting lost in the forest of trees is all that you can find. It looked like a setting straight out of a

horror movie like Evil Dead. Had it not been for the booking of the travel agent as a part of package I would have been very scared even to enter it. But as the car started to climb the carved out road it was a whole new world that met my eye. With out disturbing much of the natural beauty, 8 well done cottages made of local wood and mud exteriors offering a plethora of views to gaze upon were built upon different levels on the unevenly descending mountainous range. The manager smiled and welcomed us in his old fashioned and rustic hut like office. The main hall was well furnished along with a mini library that had various novels and history books of Kerala. He gave us tea made of various spices that had sweetish tinge of taste. After check-in formalities the office assistant showed us the way to our cottage through the narrow pathway covered by grass. The interior of our cottage had a very mild lighting and was well furnished with deewans and bed. For someone who is so used to the noisy city life, the silence of the woods especially in the night might be very haunting as even a small sound might be heard with magnified effect.

For the next two days we went on to visit in and around of the small at bustling with life town of Munnar. We visited the Kerala tourism run Hydel park, roamed the streets of the local market ( bought pain relieving oil and honey from adivasees there), speed boated in rain water of Mattupati dam (the best of all experiences), shopped handbags at the Echo point, learnt how the tea is manufactured in kannan Devan hills plantation manufacturing unit, traveled amidst tea estate to visit eravikulam national park and viewed the exhilarating performances of the local Kalaripayattu

practitioners performing the martial arts in front of spectators sitting in a gallery. The martial art performance was akin to watching a set of gladiators fighting for their lives. We also visited spices plantation and bought some of it while returning descending the hill back towards kochi. We reached Kochi in afternoon and spent rest of our time in the 19th floor of the 5 star Dream hotel. Next day we were supposed to leave back during early hours.

It was a great experience all in all except for a little out of tune effect in the form of delaying of our return train due to the derailing of a goods train. We were left biting our nails on the platform from early morning for about 4 hrs. From the comforts of a 5 star hotel we suddenly found ourselves fighting for sleep on the slippery steel chairs of the station waiting for the special train ( for the increased rush to Shabarimalay) whose interiors were quite ordinary. This we found out after boarding it.
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One rainy night at Venkatapuram - Part 2 (last Part)

The cellar was quite wet and windy – the effect of incessant rains. But in spite of this I felt my hands were sweating. Like distant waterfall in the hills that flowed in some zigzag motion channeling through the trees and hillocks, sweat was dropping down flowing through the forest of hair onto my wrinkled and worried forehead, its course of direction disturbed by the over sized black haired twin caterpillars like eyebrows on either sides to my billowed blabber like cheeks. A slight shiver not because of the chillness but a shudder caused somewhere from the left side of my chest spread to all parts of my body like a wave. As I walked to move out as quickly as possible from this state of discomfort I just looked side ways. There was no one but just felt as if some shadow just crossed overtaking me. Before I could understand what was happening that was gone.

Coming out of the cellar of my apartment I was walking on the rain battered and water laden muddy roads of venkatapuram (that’s the name of my area) that had street lights at every step but rarely giving light to the walkers. Looks like the government at last has woken up to the hardships faced by us people that they have decided to lay the cement roads. But the work is still incomplete due to the heavy rains (As usual even if it doesn’t rain) which is also the cause for further hardships with stones and chunks of cements scattered everywhere. From far I could see the Kirana Shop beside one of the dimmed but blinking street light. By the time I reached that shop there was some lady talking to the shop keeper whose back was visible in the blinking light. May be she was the usual customer but quite unusual to find a lady at this place at this hour.

With out looking at the shop keeper, in my own thoughts I asked for my usual brand of marlbrando cigarettes. As I took the money out of my pockets of my T-shirt to pay for the cigarettes casually I just looked at the face of the women standing there. They were the same dug up staring eyes. Some liquid was flowing through her nose, may be that was blood!!! The blinking light made that face even scarier with the hair falling on her eyes. Out of nowhere a small beetle like bug came out of one eye and crawled in the other one in a jiffy. Horrified!!!! I jumped at that very place with a scream that was half shut even before it barely arrived out of my mouth. The words of the shop keeper bringing me back in to this world. He asked me if I needed something else. I looked at his face to give the money for the cigarettes. Where was the face???? That was only a headless body. My heart at once galloped into my mouth at that sight. I looked side ways to see if the lady was still there. She was not there. It looked as if she just vanished in the thin air.

I started running from there towards my apartment as fast as my legs (any athlete would have been ashamed of) could carry my not so lanky body; to be precise the 110 kg burly mass of wobbling flesh covered barely by skin stitched together with muscles laced with loads of fat and supported by the framework of bones (I never felt them). The lift was not working any more. With out even thinking how I would reach my home ascending those stairs (This would be a Guinness World record if I do so) situated on the 7^th floor, I ran towards the staircase. As I crossed the ground floor I heard some kind of a hauling sound coming from somewhere. May be it was from the terrace. No!!! That was a cry. Initially it could be hardly heard. But as I kept ascending the steps with descending energy levels the shrillness of the cry gradually increased until it reached unbearable limits.

There with her head bent on her knees on the way to 6^th floor with all her air falling from over her head the night gown clad sobbing lady sat on the steps with her hands clasped on her head. The same stink of the dead body could be felt. Blood like stream of liquid oozing from somewhere scattered on the steps. There was silence now with the cry just stopped. I could hear nothing else but my breathing. This was the final step after which my home could be reached. But I have to cross this hurdle. Out of a lot of difficulty I filled my mind with some courage and tried to bypass her in the narrow space between her and the staircase wall.

She suddenly lifted her head with her hair flying over to her back. With screeching sounds like some kind of a bat she caught hold of my leg. In the dim light of the staircase I saw her crusted teeth with some kind of green colored liquid squirting out. With all the strength in the world I kicked her on the shoulder to escape her grasp. She fell on the other side. As I tried to run, my feet fell on the scattered liquid and slipped. I fell with my face downwards. With all force my chin hit the sharp edge of the step and my rest of the body pushed my head in the forward direction to make it skid through the smooth flooring of the stair case only to come to a halt when my head banged in to the wall of the staircase. The whole world revolved around me for a few seconds. My chin now resembled that of a ripped apple slit into two pieces fallen just from a tree. My whole face was ruptured with blood all over. Turning over I saw at the lady. Screeching and squealing intermittently, crawling on the steps and over to my body she brought her scary face directly on to mine, with her snake like tongue hanging……

Suddenly woke up. My whole body was wet covered by sweat. I was more than happy to realize that it was just a dream. I was not on my bed but looked like I had fallen of it in struggle with that scary lady in my dream. It was 3:00 AM. I was alone in my apartment as my parents had left to Ananthapur to attend some occasion. Still with 4 hours to go for the Sun to rise I relaxed on to my bed again.

Triiiiiiiing!!! The calling bell rang. Who could come at this odd hour?? My parents cannot come. Even friends cannot disturb me. May be??? With fear I proceeded towards the main door of my house. I saw through the key hole. Same starring dug up eyes. Same face was looking through the keyhole!!!!!

(The result of a just seen Horror movie with little madness added to it)

One rainy night at Venkatapuram - Part 1

At 11:30 in the night I Pressed the Lift Button. The railing see through doors of the lift opened. After entering it I directed it to the cellar. Slowly and slowly the lift started moving down. The heavy rain looks like has not stopped at as it was quiet wet everywhere with the water flowing from terrace to all the floors. I was headed towards nearby Kirana shop to have a cigarette puff. This is my usual daily habit of relaxing and also I consider this to be one of the (in fact just one) daily exercises that I can give to my already bulky body with flab jutting out from my sides pushing the stretched T-shirt (Double XL) after a day of – Fevicol ki masboot jod to a chair- mentally exhausting and Physically relaxing (but back spraining) software job.

As the lift crossed 6^th floor through the railing door of the lift, very unclearly through the foggy atmosphere on the balcony of one of the flats I could see a vague lady figure standing out. It was as if she had a head bath and just came out to get her hair dry. It was strange though - who would have head bath and come out to dry hair, that too at this rainy hour?? As I had moved to this apartment complex very recently, I hardly knew anyone. Hence with out putting too much of stress on my brain went ahead with the flow of the lift. Now the lift crossed the 4^th floor. Outside someone just moved somewhat swiftly from left to right. It was difficult to digest what I just saw. It was the same lady who was there in the 6^th floor. Even if I were to think if she was playing running around, there was hardly anybody else apart from her. At this hour what was the fun I couldn’t understand.

In the ground floor again the same lady was standing to board the lift. This time she was staring at me directly. With mixed feelings – Little fear and little Shyness – I too looked at her. The face was half visible with the other half covered by her flowing brownish hair. Initially her skin seemed very fair but on deeper look I felt there was something in that color. It was as if the skin was half burnt and the fairness being the result of that. The eyes of her as if dug up in between the crater caused by the walls of her nose, cheeks and eyebrows. She also had grayish circles circling her eyes. Those eyes were searching something in my face. I do not know whether it was the proximity of the distance between her and me or my nostrils being over sensitive, I felt suffocated with the emanating stink from her that smelt like that of a dead body.

The lift stopped with a thud at the cellar. The watchman’s dog always slept beside the lift. As I kept my foot out opening the doors it looked at me and started barking instantly so loudly that it caught me unprepared. Usually fearful of dogs- because of the lesson learnt to never play with your friend’s pet even if it’s just a puppy after I was pierced 11 times round my bulging tummy as soft as a dough cake from a rabbit teethed sneering animal doctor, after the puppy dug its teeth onto my right leg. After barking continuously for few minutes the watch man’s dog ran away as if it suddenly realized the presence of my bulky frightening( to say the least) figure. I could not fathom whether the dog that hardly ever made its presence felt was barking at me or something else behind me. Was there really something behind me?????

Shopping at Tnagar in Chennai one evening.

We had come to chennai all the way from Hyderabad via tirupati to do my wedding shopping. Named on the legendary poet Thyagaraja, Tnagar (Thyagaraja nagar) is a bustling locality where it seems whole chennai congregates to do some serious cloths shopping with almost all the rich and famous silk saree houses located in this area in a span of 1 km. After reaching my cousins house 1 hour from central railway station we had a lunch and a quick nap. We started to this place at around 4:00 in the evening reaching it one hour hence. As we got down the regional transport bus we were welcomed by a sea of people inundating the whole area where the tall buildings looked like some kind of ships docked to the shores floating on the sea. We then trudged along the forest of people like an army of cadets if not as agile, who were on a mission to save people kidnapped by Naxalites, only difference being that our mission was to buy some sarees. I say it as a mission because looking at the crowd made me feel as if buying a single saree there would dwarf even the triumph of conquring Mount Everest. As we passed shop after shop like shore after shore, I felt we were getting submerged under the incessant waves of people hitting us hard without respite. In between all this there were also some cars and two wheelers like hills and rocks in the sea changing our course of direction from time to time. It was hard to digest such an unprecedented crowd as we were struggling to even breath forget about staying together. With deepavali still three weeks away if this was the situation I would be scared to think what would it be during the festival days. My guess would be that we got to enter into some new avatars like spiderman or superman flying above everyone or walking over the ceiling upside down.

Out of a lot of diffulty we managed to find one shop which we chose to buy some sarees. But the queue to enter it with so many of them trying to out do each other made it look as holy as the abode of lord venkateshwara of tirupati which we visited a day before standing in queues for hours together even after paying hefty darshan fees of Rs 300. We also lost the same amount to a con jeep driver on the pretext of driving us to tirumala being a different story. The 5 floors huge shop looked small and spaceless with so many people occupying every inch of the space. Had it not been my wedding shopping I would never have entered the locality forget about the shop. There were several counters with different ranges of prices to different varieties of sarees. The mission that I had was to select three sarees to be given to my fiancée for three occasions while my parents's mission was to buy sarees which will be given to the near and far relatives who would visit. Muhurtham, Nagavalli and Reception were three of the occasions.

Finally we were out after buying just 3 Saree which took us about 4 hours. It was finally a relief as we were completely dehydrated but nevertheless it was a good experience.

Horrified!!!!@Toronto

It was 11:00 in the night and raining heavily in Toronto. Returning after shopping, parked my car in the dingy basement of my 20 floor apartment which had tube lights flickering here and there. There was not even a single soul around. The whole place looked very gloomy as if filled by some kind of snowy smoke like never before. I always dreaded this kind of atmosphere because back in India it is always crowded any time and it was still initial days here. I had to carry all the shopping bags myself and out of a lot of difficulty walked all the way to the extreme right corner of the basement crossing several rows of darkness and pressed the Lift button. As I waited for the lift I felt a sudden gush of chilly wind from some where that made me frenzy. I looked around to see that it was coming from a small enclosure in the ventilator.

As the lift descended from above I could hear the beep sounds and the numbers on the digital board beside the lift button changing in decreasing order to come to a stand still at -1. The doors of the lift opened and I stepped into the four walls covered by mirrors and pressed the number 13 button. As if the chillness was following me I felt even chillier inside the lift. I couldn’t understand the reason for this as there was neither fan nor any gap through which wind would flow. The lift stopped on the 3^rd floor and the doors opened. But there was no one to enter as if some one waited and waited for the lift to arrive and left through stairs when it did not come. The chillness did not abate even after the doors opened. Infact it seemed to have increased by a degree or two. I heaved a sigh of relief as the lift came to a halt with the number reading as 13.

As the door opened I saw one of the tenants with her pet dog. Usually a calm dog barked so loudly that it scared me and ran away hurriedly taking his master along. I then understood that it was not barking at me rather at something behind me. I just looked around to make sure that there was no one except me and my chillness. But it did dent my confidence and filled my heart with fear. It is about 100 meters from lift to my flat. As usual the whole corridor was deserted and had to cross the several closed doors of other flats to walk to my flat. With so many bags in my hand I decided to keep some of them on the floor so that I can take them on the second turn.

As I walked, though with so much of chillness around I had sweat dropping over my forehead. I could hear my heartbeat echoing through the shrilling silence of the corridors. Nobody was there around but felt as if something was following me all along. Was it my feeling or really happening? Unsurely I trudged along. Reached my flat door, searched my pockets for the keys and opened the door. The moment I opened the door the chillness was gone and I was invited by the air that normally flows from the window in the kitchen. I kept the bags inside the hall and ran back to pick the rest of them. From far I could see a faint figure of a lady in huge gown like dress with short hair standing along side of my bags. Before I reached the place it was gone so were my bags. I couldn’t understand whether I was dreaming or was having some kind of a memory loss. These days I have been forgetting a lot. May be this was also one of those cases. I got back to my flat only to find that my bags were already there. This was a shocker as well as horrific to me.

Next day I woke up with a heavy head. I had to drink coffee to shake it off. In the evening edition of the newspaper as I was turning the papers, came across some pages with excerpts from some of the people leaving in the same area as I do. They seemed to have experienced some kind of a super natural phenomenon similar to what I faced. This caused a flutter in my heart and this fear remained for ever whenever I parked my car in the basement.

Bride searching

Have you ever thought bride searching is so difficult. I never thought so until I found out through my friend's experiences. To get the right bride he did every possible thing. Enrolled himself in matrimonial sites, performed poojas, did homas, covered his fingers with what not rings, edited his profile repeatedly, visited places. It was akin to a job search. I should say even for a job he never ever struggled so much.
In earlier days brides used to give dowry to bridegrooms but now it seems the time has changed. As I guess it's the turn of boys to pay. The population of girls being lesser than boys not withstanding their demands are also the reasons to add to the prolonged difficulties faced by boys to find a girl. Just to give a sample of their demands(this he found out when he visited some matrimonial centers) minimum PG, minimum IIT or IIM, settled in Bangalore, green card holder, minimum salary of lac and the demands go on. He was happy when sombody asked for an MBA (as his qualification is MBA). But on deeper analysis he came to know it was pointing at BTech with MBA. I don't understand as to why are we so obsessed with qualifications when job is the only thing that should matter. For that matter even age of a boy should not be of concern. Just to point out my friend's experience, a mother of a girl asked him where he worked. Her face lit up as if a 1000 watt bulb when she got the answer she wanted. But that glow existed for a few fleeting seconds before it was gone with the advent of the next answer. The next question was about his age.

At this point one might be forced to think that love marriages are better. But let me beware you that even this carries many hurdles. You might have to be handsome, rich, intelligent talker, smart etc. But then again inspite of possessing all these qualities you have high chances of loosing out in the tough competition as the girls go on from one to another by dumping to find the best of the lot. As usual the boys are left behind with their bleeding hearts with nobody else to treat it with the bandage of love.

The Mangalore Airport Tragedy

Today morning I landed in Hyderabad flying on Kingfisher airbus from Bangalore. But all the way I was in a tizzy, my hands covered in sweat, my heart beat racing at superior rate than usual, specially during take-off and landing like never before. I could not fathom the reasons for this behavior but on digging deeper in to my thoughts I could find the reasons of fear.
The Mangalore airport is a picture of serene beauty sorrounded by enchanting greenery. As serene as it might be it is considered as one of the dangerous airports specially because of the short hill top runway. To cover this anamoly a second runway was also built. There has never been any kind of incident till now. It was a picture perfect until now. But it may not remain any more specially after 22nd may.

"I am lucky to see this day". This was the statement made by one of the lone survivors. As heart breaking as it might be, the mangalore plane tragedy leaves behind many heart wrenching tales that would take sometime to forget. If some people preponed their journies, others postponed theirs to meet the same tragic end as this doomed flight on this fateful day. It was even more difficult to digest the fact that this flight lost it's control after landing on this newly laid hill top 2.45 km runway just inaugurated 10 days back. My heart wept as I heard some of the mournful tales. If somebody was widowed, then others lost their sons and daughters. A person lost 26 family members all travelling on the same flight. A family had to wither a double tragedy where in a son lost his life coming to attend his mother's funeral. A 3 year old girl with innocence in her eyes did'nt even know that she had lost both her parents as she came to attend the funeral service wth a flower in her hands to keep them on their coffins. And the list goes on....Only few were lucky survivors. If some missed the flights, some jumped out of the crack formed in the last few minutes before the flight met its end with a blast. Now it is difficult to debate as to whose mistake it might have been. The black box has been found. But what difference does it make now. It certainly can't bring back all those lives lost. As I am an idealist I never want such incidents to happen ever to any person. I always ask this question " Is there a way to avoid any kind of an accident at all?". I guess it is hard to answer such questions.
The people who have survived to leave another day might talk about it as some kind of a scary legandary tale in future. But this day might remain as an incorrigible scar etched with fear for all those people who have lost their loved ones and for some who are still fighting to get the correct charred bodies of their near and dear after DNA sampling.

Laila o Laila

Not just my friend's village submerged under water. But many in and around it. Countless people died. some have become homeless, left with nothing but the clothes that they are wearing. Last 48 hours has seen 31 cms of rainfall. As if thats not enough the lakes and rivers around can break barriers anytime to inundate the already Laila battered villages leaving the people no time of respite. Such is the plight that though you can find water everywhere, there is no water to drink. In such circumstances the one obvious casuality is the power. Even for small rains the sources of power are usually cut.
Problems created by such tropical cyclones are arduous tasks to handle by the people and the politicians alike. But should say we are somehow used to it. Our skin seems to have hardened hearing and experiencing these issues in day-to-day life. As usual this laila will leave to give way to majnu(another cyclone) which would again destroy homes, leave people orphaned and the sequence continues. In my father words "The cyclone would weaken in few days and the life would return to normalcy". Every year it seems to be the mantra and some kind of a ritual of sadness only to return again and again.
It does not matter how many times the cyclone will return with different names, each time its the same careless approach we take to deal with it. Our MLA's and MP's are too busy in finding ways of increasing the value of their lands(forcefully occupied some other's lands) by building roads and airports to even be concerned with what is happening for the poor people stuck in the cyclone. Like police who come only in the fag end of a movie, when everything is come and gone, people have lost their lives, homes destroyed etc these politicians go to these villages with eyes treated with glycerines that would remind you a story from panchatantra. Apart from the issues that project the callous approach of our politicians, like every year even this year so much of rain water is wasted to the sea. We do not have any ways to harvest this much of water created by the twisting of dancing Laila along the coast.
Looking at the kind of difficulties we face, I certainly want these so called MLAs and MPs to come and leave in our homes and experience the same struggles that we experience every day since the time we step out of the house to offices, schools and colleges. Then only possibly if their hearts melt I think we might progress for betterment. Else there is no other go, the cycle continues so are the cyclones. But one thing for sure, how many ever Lailas and Majnus come, people would fear the demons existing among people more than those demons of nature as these come and go only once in a year.

Bangalore Bus stand

Bangalore bus stand has not changed. It might be 15 years since I visited this place. No change. Same filth, same dirt everywhere. Disgusting people putting dust everywhere as if it were to be some kind of an unbearably stinking Municipal Dust bin. Buses everywhere, some in red, some in blue with blinking electronic boards showing destinations all running in zig zag directions like school children with their school ID cards during lunch hour. How many ever Goverments come and go the same waiting period, the same over crowded buses. Like pregnant women having a leg pain, the buses are always bending in one direction unable to bear the weight of hanging people on the foot board. I found it so difficult even to sit still at one place. one man on his way to somewhere in hurry stumbled upon my leg only to stare at me and mouth words in some unknown language. If anything I was sure that he wasnt asking apology. Next minute I was doing some kind of a Matrix stunt to evade an attack from an army of a ghutka fountain that originated from in between the space of a person's teeth. That person maintained an expression as if he just missed me. The municipal van taking city's dirt left a trail of some kind of stinking liquid which immediately reminded me that of the line created by the shadow of the rock tower to point the entrance to the canyon that showed the way to gold in the movie Mackenna's gold.

The family beside me started having their lunch. Immediately I could feel as if we were stuck in the sea of plastic bags, spoons, plates etc strewn everywhere. Just to avoid drowning we decided to follow the trail of the stinking liquid. At that very instance I felt something fell on my head. The roof of the busstop was leaking along with its century old deposits of waste, the after effect of the drenched roof from last night's rain. Went to clean in the public toilet. The queue there resembled me that of a queue which otherwise would have been for a first day first show movie with heavy star cast. Had to wait for about halfanhour to get through. Inside, the floor was like a battle field with stains of various flavours with unique colours filling the air with different odours.
After getting out we had to cross various platforms to reach ours for the required bus. Here some platforms didnt have Dustbins at all. Where there were dustbins, it was overflowing like a swiss account of a politician. I need not tell the condition of platforms where there were no dust bins. You can very well imagine that.
Regarding the security of this Busstand, one word - Pathetic. Especially in this golden age of terrorists, I could find only one police man gaurding at the entrance. That too he was too busy reading some latest gossips of swamijis and politicians stuck in various sex scandals which happens to be the trend now. The arch of metal detector which is supposed to be the only entrance as a matter of fact was used just as one of the several passages entering the busstand.
Just about when I was going to giveup on the description of this rotten Kempegowda bustand, we sighted our bus and left without looking back.

A Trip to Belur and Halebeedu

It was tough to wakeup in the early morning - 4:00 to be precise- specially after a sleepless night. Ultimately we were on our way. My friend slumped on the push back seat of the AC bus for a quick nap immediately after it started to Sravanabelagola as our first stop. It meant "The Monk of the white pond". Since I had already googled some information about the trip I was quiet excited about the prospect of coming face-to-face with the History. As the jungle of greenery invited me into its fold I was not disheartened by its vastness and was more than happy to leave the jungle of concrete. My view covered a pallet of farmlands, numerous coconut trees, beetle nut trees and small villages doted here and there. As we neared Sravanabelagola, like a dieting Anakonda the road on which our bus travelled, crawled into oblivion of timelessness. At this juncture I wished that the restless time would stand still for ever never returning to the regular life. But alas!!! all good things dont continue for too long.
Like two pillars,the hills Vindyagiri and Chandragiri stood on the either side of road.The 600 steps vindyagiri was majesty personified with the so called white pond beside it. And that is where we were headed to. History was calling us to revisit it so that it could reveal its numerous treasured flashbacks to make us more knowledgable. Many people who had started to ascend the hill with over confidence had been outdone by the steepness of it. I was one among them. The steps were etched on the hill and hence the reason for its steepness as it took the shape of the hill. The Chandragiri looked dwarfed from top of Vindyagiri.
The serene smile of 57 feet largest monolithic statue of Bahubali cooled our workedup nerves. Traditional music filled the air as we entered the shrine. It was a photo time now as we were awed by the height of the giant. This giant gets its princely bath (Mahamasthabhisheka) every 12 years. The smaller version of the giant is more luckier as it is bathed everyday.
To suggest you a piece of history, After defeating king bharatha in a battle, Bahubali entered the state of abstinence and took the root of an ascetic to finally attain moksha on this hill. This statue built by Ganga king in 981 AD is still an eye-ball grabber. If it is hard to imagine how they would have built this magnificent structure in the technology deprived age, it is equally hard to imagine what would happen when thousands of worshippers walking the only thin line of engraved footsteps to congregate in 2018 to do the Mahamastabhisheka.
Our next stop was Halebeedu. As our bus traversed through the tunnel of trees, I was thrilled to see the variety that it offered. Nowadays its become so difficult to accomodate so many trees in our so called urbanised societies uprooted to make way for bridges and flyovers that it takes a while for we urbanised souls to distinguish the names of it. Its always worthwhile to go for such outings just to keep in touch with what the nature has to offer. As the window of my bus provided the endless canvas of greenery what numerous paintings would not offer as if a movie unfolding in front of my eyes, my thoughts veered backward and front so on and so forth.
Just to give you a piece of my thoughts,
There was a huge Banyan tree in front of one of the houses in the colony where my friend stayed. Since it was huge tree it not only gave shade to the passers by but also to the nearby houses. During the fall season when dead leaves fall from the tree it also gave that much excercise to the people in the houses under the shade to clean the mess it created. It was easier for them to accuse the tree for its careless behavior than remember its service of shade for all these years. The irked people - who nowadays are more used to the comfort lifestyles and dont like to put there body to any kind of physical stress and strain- resorted to pressurizing the house owner in front of whose house the tree was located, to chop it. My friend played the hero part to protect the tree's rights(like human rights) by complaining to various organizations but only in vain. It was an anti-climax of sorts where villans had the last laugh instead of the hero. The tree was chopped. What should have been the major source of feeding to the impoverished villagers are being used as mere embellishments in front of buildings in this Global village.
The entrance of Halebidu evoked me out of my thoughts. It was lunch time by the time we reached this fallen kingdom. Halebidu means ruined city. In its heydays was called by the name of dwara samudra - capital of Hoysala dynasty in 12th century. It was destroyed by the surging Bahamani sultans. The Hoysaleswara temple which is the only surviving piece is a masterpiece in itself. It took over 3 generations to build this incomplete temple - as considered by Historians as it does not have the temple top. If an incomplete temple like this one can be considered as masterpiece what would it be had it been completed. In this current technologically advanced age we still cant match the perfection of the then skilled artisans. There was no cement used to arrange these beautifully carved stones. Though the heat of the afternoon sun would move our shoeless feet within a second, the wonderful artifacts carved on the walls of the temple could not move us for close to an hour. Even today Hoysaleswara is worshipped. Two of the largest Nandi statues are found here. The walls toled us many untoled stories of Mythology in which Ramayana, Mahabharatha and Bhagavatha being the major beneficiaries. We were curious enough to know that if a single temple of Hoysala carried such richness of artifacts how much more would all the sorrounding temples put together carry. But time was running out.
Our last stop was belur about 16 kms from Halebidu. The channakesava's statue is a treat to the eyes. If Halebidu was an external showpiece, this was an internal classic. The 80 pillars in the temple which are unique in their own way enriched by the skillfull craftsmanship adorns the internal space.
On the whole the trip gave us a taste of a different facet of hindu kings older than vijayanagara kings. Reading a google might give all the facts and details but it would not reveal us the greatness of those skillful ancient artists who gave us some of the most beautiful timeless sculptors. You have to experience it to know it.