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.