Travelogue approved.

Waiting for the next lot...

Hampi | Chapter 2: Hospet-ality

November 5, 2011


I am close to Hospet. How close, I know not. Perhaps not at all. Perhaps it's just wishful thinking. It wouldn't be the first time. My exhaustion blinds me to reason. All I need do is ask one. All I will do is throttle on hopelessly. As if to compensate, the tarmac turns flawless even as the pathways turn narrow. They seem shy of motored metal, these paths. But the wind whispers, "Let not their mellow demeanor deceive you. For you must remember, it is their resoluteness that has brought you here. They carry much. They can much more." As if to prove a point, the rumble of a load-carrying metal beast breaks my reverie, driving me off the road.


I now find myself in the presence of formations in stone that dwarf my own. There is magic in insignificance for in it lies the freedom to do as I please. For if I, and consequently, my actions are insignificant, as indeed history has deemed them to be, why take the pain to judge them? Why not, instead, take the liberty to commit as many as I can, if only to amuse myself.


The 5MP phone camera can decipher only a fraction of the detail. My fatigued eyes, lesser still. I turn to turn back, only to be interrupted by a brazen "Hello!" from across the path. I ignore the gesture. "Hello!", the voice repeats defiantly. I look up to find its source walking over to me. He is joined by two others. He shakes my hand, introduces himself as Muttu, and inquires of my destination. I tell him. He asks me of the rest of my troupe. I tell him there is none other. Perhaps that was unwise. "I too ride on my Enfield. I've travelled extensively in the South. I have seen only a little of the North", he continues. I ease up some. In time, we share stories and swap numbers. He will give me a roadmap of Hampi - one that will serve me well in the day to come. As we bid adieu, he reveals a pathway that cuts across the rock formations and leads to a higher plane. "Try coming here at sunset. The setting sun gives these orange rock formations a unique glow.", he says. I thank him, survey the path, photograph some, but decide not to wait until sunset for I must find accomodation in Hospet. I know not if I will find some.




15 kilometers pass. I hit Hospet, just as Muttu promised. I ask an elder where I might find accommodation. He recommends I try Maurya, in the vicinity of the bus stand, a kilometer up north.

"Rs 150 per night for single-bed rooms", says the inn keeper. "But we have only double-bed rooms free. That is Rs 300 per night. No towel and soap facility and hot water from 8 in the morning.", he adds. I survey the rooms, liveable but claustrophobic for all the windows are wired shut. I decide to survey other options. I find one other for Rs 750 a night. There is but a single window open. The mind suggests, "Survey some more". The body crumbles onto the bed. I find my voice, strangely detached from my being, uttering, "Yeh chalega. Payment ke liye neeche aa jaoonga." (This will do. I will come down for payment).


It will be 10 minutes before mind meets sanity. I deposit the customary Rs 1000/-, an anomalous requirement to account for the possibility of additional days of stay. The balance Rs 250, I am told, will be refunded should I check out within 24 hours. Most don't, I am told. "I will", I assure them.


I shower of which I remember little. I change, of which I remember nothing. As I stand over the bed, the mind murmurs, "17 hours of riding". And then... nothing. Not an iota of sensation. Not a thought in my head. Ecstasy. I slip into oblivion.


2 hours on the clock; the phone display flickers, "9:03 pm". I must find food. I have the option of room service. Instead I decide to step out. I settle on a restaurant stuffed to the brim with children dressed in faded school attire. Presumably on an excursion, each one digging into the meanderings of rice plates aka thalis. I walk up to a lone table, pre-occupied by two males in their late 20's and ask for permission to share the table. One nods. Neither says anything. In time they will converse on many things. One will tell the story of Tiwariji, a shy gentleman from a village in Northern India, recently transferred to Hospet. Tiwariji, it turns out, survived on tea and Parle-G biscuits for a whole week before he mustered up enough courage to ask a colleague where he could find edible food on a tight budget. My heart warms up to stories of their fears and struggles. In their concerns, I find company. In the midst of strangers, suddenly, I don't feel so alone.


There's a flurry of activity as the children wrap up their meal, line up to wash their hands and try to convince the waiter that they didn't get any papad insisting that perhaps he should hand them one before they leave. The waiter knows better. They have all got their papads. "No extra papad!", he screams in mock disgust. They leave grudgingly, guided by their teachers. One child remains. He has eaten little. His coach, a large man with dense facial hair, reassures him that there's no need to hurry. "I will wait for you Aryan. Eat slowly.", his voice booms. Aryan nods shyly, rocking his dangling feet, never looking up, never saying a word, thinking thoughts I do not hear. His eyes betray a glint of comfort in his mentor's words, if only for a fraction of a moment.


My thoughts turn to the coach. What is the source of his compassion? Parental instincts? An abused childhood and therefore perhaps, a desire to give what he did not get? A fortunate childhood and hence no knowledge of the alternatives? I may never know. But I do know this. I will wait for Aryan to finish.


10 minutes on, I have found my way back to the room. My consciousness will dissipate into the comfort of my bunk.


[ For high-resolution images visit the Picasa album ]

Hampi | Chapter 3: Hampiness

November 6, 2011

"8:30 am. Wake up!", screams the phone display. A synthesized tune makes a feeble attempt at drama. I'm convinced just 5 minutes more is all I need. 20 minutes later I drag myself to the washroom, one muscle at a time. Another 10 and I'm out the door. I get my checkout refund; the cashier furiously punches in the details; from deep within the network, an SMS finds its way on to my phone confirming that the cashier has just refunded my balance. "Checks and balances", puns my head in mild amusement.


I peek onto the street. My ride's safe. I hand a 20 to the guard on duty and thank him for his care. He wipes the steed down as I suit up. I ask him for directions to Hampi. He points and mumbles "Seedha (Straight)". I follow his point. A board confirms that I am indeed on the road to Hampi-ness.


A brief stop; a shy temple. For as you approach its domain, it hides beneath fauna, conscious of its significance. I circle it, for I wish to get a clearer picture. And I do.








A local coaxes me to enter. I assure him I will on my return. For now, I must attempt to reach Hampi at the earliest for I have but a day to experience its magnificence. I turn to return, only to be stopped by a young boy, perhaps eight, maybe even all of nine. He draws my attention to my phone cover that lies orphaned at the foot of the temple - a fact that was brought to his attention by his grandmother - one who stands demurely at a distance, ensuring the message is passed on and property returned. I thank him, collect my cover and resaddle. It will be days before I notice that my camera captured this very duo moments before they turned around to offer help to a trespasser.


I don't ride far when liquid glimpses catch my eye. I capture sights;






I cross lines;






I envy simplicity;





And just like that, I find myself revelling in the magic of Hampi for it is now that I see what I was meant to see. A treasure so ancient, that generations would perish before I would be fortunate enough to stand in its brilliance.





Little did I know, I had barely scratched the surface or more appropriately, it had barely touched me...

[ For high-resolution images visit the Picasa album ]

Thank you for the quick approval Sunil!

great going mate..btw is it a pinhole magic filter?

For the images? Naah, took them with my HTC Wildfire S phone camera, then used a bunch of Lightroom adjustments for post but not a single specific filter.

After a looong time, i am reading such an awesome travelogue.Last time i read was a Leh trip by some guy called Alankar.

Hahahahahahaha yeah, I've heard a lot about him too :P

Amazing stuff, very nice write up and complementing pictures.
You made my day.

Ride On,
Akshat

Glad you liked it Akshat!

Hampi | Chapter 4: In sanity



"Where do you come from?", asks an unfamiliar voice.


"Mumbai"


"Do you need a guide? I can be your guide for Rs 800."


"No thank you. I am on a tight budget. I will try and discover things on my own."

A few feet away a child, perhaps 7, runs up to me. He points at my knee guards and murmurs inaudibly. I can only presume he speaks Kannada. Unfamiliar with the language, I request the guide to translate. This is the conversation we have:


"What are these things for?"


"These are to protect my knees in case I fall off my bike."


"Where is your bike?"


"Right over there, beneath that big tree. Can you see it?"


"Yes I can. Where do you come from?"


"Mumbai."


"Is that far?"


"Yes, it took me a day to ride all the way here."


"You must have ridden very fast no?"


I smile.


"Yes. But whenever you start riding bikes, you must remember to ride carefully. OK?"


"I don't know when I'll ride a bike!", he exclaims gleefully.


"What's your name?"

"Krishna."

"Well Krishna, I'm pretty sure you will ride a bike some day. But you promise to be careful?"

"I promise", he says, earnestly.


Taking Krishna's cue, his little sister, perhaps 4, makes a run towards me as well. Wobbly steps, eyes wide open, a curious mind attempting to make sense of the Universe around it. Her journey is cut short by a concerned mother. Krishna too makes his way back.


I thank the guide. My attention now turns to the architecture that envelopes me. As an artist, my being goes into overdrive as I soak in every inch of sculptures chiseled in stone - a medium that affords but one attempt.


I wonder if anyone should have been so fortunate as to find remains of early attempts by a budding artist. A deity carving gone wrong - perhaps the arms were too skinny, perhaps the appendages were not as per scripture*, perhaps the eyes felt soul-less. What if you made the head too large? Did you start over or did the stone-carving guidelines permit you to invent a story that validated the largeness of the said head during a brief period in mythical history - perhaps from absorbing evil for the sake of humanity? What if you ran out of stone canvas? Could you just tack on more canvases on the side and pretend nobody noticed the division? Or did you work the division into your art? I do not know, and I suspect, neither does the guide.


[ * Indian deities often have a generous number of appendages ]


I lap up the architecture, capturing as much as I can within the confines of a very limited SD card.






It's almost noon. My throat is parched. The sun beats down mercilessly. I walk along the ruins and find a structure at the edge of a cliff, overlooking the landscape. I seat myself within its embrace, as I take deep sips from an almost empty water bottle. The sultry wind cools as it enters the confines of the stone structure.


Not far from where I sit, I see another - perhaps in his 50s. He rests on a high rock, shirtless, staring into the distance, disinterested in my presence. In time he will leave, leaving me wondering what good it would do to disrobe. Curious, I will un-shirt too. I haven't much experience in disrobing in the wild. I find myself to be self-conscious. The wind will rush in and caress my body. I find its touch mocking for I am ill-at-ease. The wind laughs gently, ruffles my hair, nuzzles my body and floats away leaving me to myself.


In time, I recognize my own folly. For in a world order that seems to have replaced human contact with pings and pokes, in a professed career that negates three of the five senses, in seeking comfort that rapes a body built to exert, in entertainment designed to dull the intellect, in replacing a desire for the warmth of human contact with the coldness of emoticons, in an environment where trending topics, popular posts, must-watch spectacles suffocate original thought, I have perhaps given my being very little room to flourish. In my quest to conquer digital contraptions, I have willfully neglected one of the greatest machines I ever will possess...


Me.

Amazing travelogue sirji....its always a pleasure to read your logs...you are trully gifted my friend....

Nice one Bugger.Its time when you buy a good camera.Atleast start with a P&S.



Note:- This is a paid reply(like paid fans etc).Please send the money by DD(We dont accept cash and checks and Credit card and Petro Card too )

Thank you!

LOL! Thought of a new camera but I just bought a Contour Helmet Mounted HD cam, toh abhi I have no paisa. Maybe in a couple of months.