So, the sun is finally setting on
my Bangalore days. And I am trying hard to figure out if I will miss the place
or not. I have seen enough friends and mates leave this city, for various
reasons. Some folks miss it for a while, swear by the invisible emotion that
city invokes, and then forget about it. There are some who are about to call it
home and then there are some of loathe it right from the start and simply want
to pack up and get out.
Now, in all fairness, I have
spent a better part of a decade in this city, seen it transform from the utopian
cantonment, where evening showers were a norm and the weather demanded that air
conditioners be chucked to a city choked with people, where the roads, or the lack of them, are
choked with vehicles and people – no space to even cycle! And the weather has
turned brutal, standstill traffic, scorching sun.
Sure, the brewery scene is
attractive and the food scene is brilliant, but that’s just a Saturday in a
painful week. Not a good case for my affections then. Nope.
So what is it that thing creating
a pit in my stomach at the very thought of leaving this city? At this point,
don’t go all ‘you getting the jitters before a big move!’, ‘you are getting
cold feet’. It’s none of those.
Come to think about it, the
reason for that pit it is that Bangalore has made me what I am. From a
scared, fat village boy from Ranchi with no real world skills
to the person I am today. I think myself to be a serious tourer. Traveller.
Travelling around Bangalore is
what made me. I think I have explored every place worth exploring, not to
mention my love affair with Tamil Nadu. And through all this, I have developed
special relations with some places, places that define me.
The first time I went to
Mahabalipuram was Christmas time, peak season. It’s an unlikely place; the
epitome of juxtaposition. The place is a UNESCO heritage site, some really
impressive architecture and sculpture that has been dug up, defiled by Akshay
Kumar’s pelvic thrusts ‘tandao daon daon daon…..’. But that’s getting off the
point, as I was saying; it is an epitome of juxtaposition. There is the main
street that divides the neo from orthodox. Branching from the main street is
Ottavadai Street, the happening place for Mahabalipuram, where the world comes
to visit, where the kids know skating and surfing and where the usually
orthodox folks mingle with women in skimpy bikinis, comfortably ignoring us desi's, trying to hawk their pendants and
necklaces. And then there is the other side of the road where the same people cleanse themselves of all the sins of the west at the central temple.
The sculptures, the Panch-Ratha’s,
the shore temple – sure they are attractions, but it is this opportunity to
witness this juxtaposition that keeps bringing me back to this small shore side
town. Where u can peacefully sip on an ‘illegal’ beer on the wrong beach,
gazing into the endless ocean starting at the feet of the shore temple, where
people still go prostate in devotion to the God who has long forsaken the temple
ravaged by the salty ocean in search of more comfortable thrones.
And then look back at the ever-twinkling Ottavadai street, where a French woman found love and life with a local; and where you can be comfortably be in trance in the trance of weed; enjoying the fresh catch of the day. The juxtaposition of modernity (if I may call it that) and relics.
And then look back at the ever-twinkling Ottavadai street, where a French woman found love and life with a local; and where you can be comfortably be in trance in the trance of weed; enjoying the fresh catch of the day. The juxtaposition of modernity (if I may call it that) and relics.
But then I am a guy, I can’t
stick to one ;) My travels took me to my mistress – Gokarna. Poor man’s Goa in
common lingo. But not for me. The approach is a contrast to Mahabs. A winding
country road through the Karnataka countryside as compared to the arrow
straight 6 lane NH4 to Mahabs. Of course she is not easy to get – you have to
wake up early, move through the foggy countryside – concentrating on the road
counting down to the magnificent sunrise behind some hill on the way. Then
brave the scorching heat of the way – sneak across landmarks like the Jog
falls, the Western Ghats!
And then reach the peninsula – a conglomerate
of 5 beaches – known to the world for its hippie ways – emanating from the religious
temple town of Gokarna (All roads lead from Rome). There is the beach for the
masses – a drive-in beach where you can find the common Indian mass. Peeing, pooping
and picnicking on the beach.
Then comes the Kudle beach, next to a cliff, the proxy Goa where the water is calm, the beer is plenty, the crowd is varied – firangs contorting in the name of Yoga, Desis ogling at the elasticity and there is me, floating in the water, saying to myself – WTF, I don’t belong here.
Then comes the Kudle beach, next to a cliff, the proxy Goa where the water is calm, the beer is plenty, the crowd is varied – firangs contorting in the name of Yoga, Desis ogling at the elasticity and there is me, floating in the water, saying to myself – WTF, I don’t belong here.
This drives me to the Om Beach. Where
cultures clash, the lower loop of the Om, where the common masses come to feel equal
to the foreign crowd, where big bellied uncles sleep on the beach in their Rupa’s.
Next is the upper loop of the Om, the land of Shiva, beyond the Parvati Rocks,
where weed is easier than beer and where the more courageous arrive, differentiating
themselves from the common masses, trying hard to pretend that they are not ogling
at the white skin on display while ogling at the white skin at display with
contorted eyes. And where all the ‘hip’ places including the Nirvana Café reside.
And before you get all judgmental, I am sitting on the Parvati Rocks, trying to
figure out which side of the loop I belong to, trying to use my flimsy camera
phone to capture the chameleon like sunset – taking a different form every
evening(before heading to the Nirvana café for the night, ogling at the white
skin on display).
Next morning, I try to figure out
my place in Gokarna, I trek beyond the Om Beach, still trying to get the ‘Om’
shape with every step of the hike (unsuccessful. Period.) I reach to another
cliff, jutting out of the landmass, a solitary palm tree adorns the drop of the
cliff.
This. This is the place. Where I spend my mornings, waiting for the sun to rise behind me and warm the water below and where I spend my evenings looking at the sun going down, contemplating what I saw through the day. The chameleon sunset displaying its skills again.
This. This is the place. Where I spend my mornings, waiting for the sun to rise behind me and warm the water below and where I spend my evenings looking at the sun going down, contemplating what I saw through the day. The chameleon sunset displaying its skills again.
So what about the day? I use it
to hike to the half-moon beach. If I may call it that – my apartment’s swimming
pool feels about the same size, But there is something different about it, the
green hills rising behind it, a few scanty shacks on the beach and the few people,
some in transition to the Paradise Beach, and some like me, who like the
solitude. Bathe. SunBathe. Bathe. That’s all – sure you can read a book in the
while or sip on a cold one. But be warned, there will be tourists from India,
on boats, looking at you like animals on display thinking – why can’t they be
normal and swim in the abundance of the Om-Beach :/
The palm-adorned cliff and the
Half-Moon beach – that is Gokarna for me. A state of transition, yet a state of
desired permanence. My mistress. That sinful feeling. Away from all the worries
in the world, how can I be so peaceful here when there is so much chaos in my life?
The lust for solitude. Where there is nothing else. Me and her. Mahabs sulking
with her overflowing masses somewhere as an afterthought.
But.
There was someone else. A secret
love affair. An unfinished business. Something hidden from both Mahabs and
Gokarna. Something wonderful happened.
Hampi.
It was a chance visit, might I call
it a forced visit in an unlikely time. The roads to Hampi are beautiful and
bad. Potholes the size of moon-craters and twice as frequent amidst the
beautiful North Karnataka countryside. The road to Hospet seems to be forsaken.
But the inconvenience of the road is actually a build up to the place itself.
An unlikely ode to the place of places – where the rocks are plenty, the roads
are none and the beauty is unbound. The juxtaposition of modernity and relics
is to be found along with the solitude strewn amongst the rocks and monuments.
Like the narrow stretch of untouched tarmac between the potholes on the
approach road.
The juxtaposition. The village
and the island are separated by the Tungabhadra, meandering around stubborn
rocks and connected by a lonely ferry piloted by a captain of many languages. The village has the central temple that dictates
the purity of the place, uttering the word ‘meat’ itself feels foul. Across the
multilingual ferry is the island – Veerupapura Gaddi. The island of decadence,
the dream of Caligula. Whatever is your vice, you name it, and you will get it,
grown in the fields, or plucked from the huts of Anegudi. But yet I love
it.
Come evening, you can sit on one of the rocky outcrops on the sandy shores of the island and gaze into the sunset, pondering over the meaning of existence and then once the sun sets, squander the existential crisis in the haze of the hookah – exchanging stories with unknown people across the table and tapping into the rhythm of trance music in the background.
Come evening, you can sit on one of the rocky outcrops on the sandy shores of the island and gaze into the sunset, pondering over the meaning of existence and then once the sun sets, squander the existential crisis in the haze of the hookah – exchanging stories with unknown people across the table and tapping into the rhythm of trance music in the background.
But that is not all. No sir! Hampi
after all is the land of boulders and architecture. Days can be spent exploring
every nook and cranny of the place. Looking at the same temple from arm’s
distance and marveling it from atop a hill reward you with different
experiences.
Hampi to me is transcendent. There
is a piece of home here. She is complete – there is a constant display of the
rigors of daily life in the agriculture of Anegudi, yet there is the comforting
embrace of the island at the end of a tiring day. A representation of...many
things. Where you can be and cannot be…
Yes. This is it. This is why I
love Bangalore. The ‘emotion’ that people talk about when referring to
Bangalore is a very personal thing. Bangalore can give you anything you want.
It might not be in the core of the city, but surely there is someplace close-by
that she will guide you to.
For me, it is and always has been
riding and exploring, and Bangalore never disappointed. You don’t choose the
destination here, and you choose the direction. Rest assured, you will land in
a place that you like. This is what is
creating that pit in my stomach. The fear of losing the place that I have
explored, that has revealed me, yet there is so much to be revealed.
But then, that is the secret of
long lasting love – leave something more to explore. That urges you to know
more, learn more, and love more. Make you come back for more.
Which, someday will bring me back
to Bangalore. The city that made me.
P.S. I know it’s sad that I am
actually romanticizing places rather than women.
P.P.S. Pardon my love analogies. I whole heartedly
endorse monogamy.
Pic Credits :
Suteja Kanuri
Udayaditya Kashyap Photography
Pic Credits :
Suteja Kanuri
Udayaditya Kashyap Photography