The Vagabond situation

"So what do you do?"

 I travel full time...

"No, No what is your PROFESSION ? What do you do for a LIVING?"

Well all I do pretty much is  travel ... 

"Ok Ok who do you travel with ? A bunch of friends?"

No.

"Do you mean to say that you travel alone?" , eyeing me up as if I might be a potential rapist or axe murderer.

After digesting that information comes another beauty.

"But you CAN'T travel full time!", as if I've just defied the laws of gravity.

Oops, I forgot again, full time travel/enjoying life to the hilt/doing what you really want to do is against the Indian law !

This is a conversation I have every day when I travel in India. 3 times a day at the very least !!! Yes folks,  like a bitter pill to be taken after every meal ! Travelling full time is considered by some in this country as worse than being a drunkard, philanderer, and adulterer all rolled into one. A thousand times worse! A good friend asked me the question recently, ‘Why bother? Is it really worth the sneers, criticisms and free advice that you have to hear on a daily basis?' Yes, my friend it is… and then some :)

I’m chilling out right now in a city Mark Twain once famously described as older than history, older than tradition, older even than legend and looks twice as old as all of them put together ! My temporary abode is  a hostel frequented by the odd mix of backpackers, college kids, vagabonds ,etc. The critic Arthur Compton-Rickett defined vagabonds as men "with a vagrant strain in the blood, a natural inquisitiveness about the world beyond their doors."

In the hostel I've had conversations with the well educated, ‘well settled’ young Indians who are kind of a little bit in awe, in envy of the vagabond situation. This is something new for me, adulation from my own countrymen! For many of them, especially the affluent guys, it’s an attainable dream to travel for an extended period since they can afford it, yet the time factor plays spoilsport. I met quite a few students from Mumbai in the hostel who stopped short of waving aarti to me for doing what I do. At least some of them found the vagabond situation incredibly cool.

To walk away from the crowd...

So you have guys who despise you, who think that you should be put behind bars or at the very least be committed in a lunatic asylum. Then there are others who think that you are Mr. Cool living ‘the life’ with no responsibilities no deadlines, no work…

The truth lies somewhere in between. Travelling alone, living alone, sleeping alone, takes some getting used to for most people. You have to be your own best friend, love your company and be able to laugh at your own jokes since often there won’t be people around to laugh at them. I've always been an introvert and am OK with this. Yet there are days, I have to admit, that you feel the need for a little companionship just like the guy in the city sometimes wishes for solitude.

I’m not doing this as a rebellion, as a statement against the system or anything. It’s because I love nature, travelling to unseen places and meeting people (once in a while !). I learn from my travels just like you learn stuff at work (or at least you're supposed to !) and for me its fun! I try to be not too bothered when the shit hits the fan as it often does, when things don’t work out even remotely as you planned them.

With a companion on the way

 I started travelling when I realized that my life was going to be short. Not just mine but yours as well. We will all be gone in a blip. Why work my ass off and save money I will never use ? Why to buy a house and pay mortgage for the rest of my life? Why live in a polluted city whne the mountains constantly beckon? Why ? Why ? Why ? I thought hard about these things,  found the answers and hence I decided to hit the road, to do what I thought was important. 

If you think that being in the corporate world and working your ass off is your thing and that you would do it even if you got paid zilch, I’d say go for it full steam ahead. That’s a good test. If money was no concern would you still be doing the thing you’re doing now ? If maintaining status and facing uncomfortable questions were no longer an issue would you still be doing the thing you’re doing now? Maybe if you really think about it,sweeping the road is your passion but you're afraid to do it because people may ridicule you. I thought about all these and more for quite some time before I decided to take the leap… 

So as S and a lot of others have been asking what the hell do I do the whole day? It may surprise many of you that I get up quite early for yoga and a bit of meditation. I read for sometime then maybe head out for local explorations. So its not about sleeping late and just lying around in a hammock all day ok? Everything is done because I love doing it. 

But I do chill! The wise call it laziness. I don’t feel the need to compulsively work just because 99% of homo sapiens believe so. I’m not living off my parent’s money or anything earned through the hawala route. It’s all been earned by the sweat of my brow (not literally of course!). Work is not just something you do for money. Well, if you look at things that way, getting your ass off bed in the morning is work. Cooking and cleaning is work. Meditation is work. The hardest work is to just sit still, be content in not doing anything, allowing the world to just be as it is…that way I'm a workaholic.

The French Connection

"Are you from France?"

I wheeled around to face the questioner, a dark young pot bellied guy in a faded gerua T shirt and pants, trying hard to put me at ease with his paan coloured smile.

That had to be the best compliment I got in my life, being compared to the sexiest sub species in the human kingdom. For a moment let us not focus too much on the qualification of the commentator in making such a statement but just let the comment sink in. Ahhh ! I’ve been mistaken for being a Brazilian, Sri Lankan etc but that was ages ago in a far away city called London. But the fact that I've been complimented for my looks here in my own country by a fellow countryman , I realized I had finally arrived. Big time ! This had been the purpose of all my years of wandering, vagabonding and travelling. The grand finale ! The climax ! The setting was also scenic and intensely spiritual, right on the ghats in Benares by the inky black Ganga. I had to summon every ounce of my inner strength not to get misty eyed...

Sunrise @ Benares

Seeing my blissful knowing smile, Mr. Pot Belly assumed that I must indeed be French and  began a conversation in French to which I responded gamely with smatterings of the language I picked up in college and later. He offered his services to buy me hasish, ecstasy,,ketamine and 10 other drugs I didn't even know existed. I slowly realized that Mr Pot Belly was hinting subtly that I looked less like a French sex God and more like a French drug addict.

After I stopped running for my life from Mr Pot Belly, I met an old gentleman who headed me in English and wanted to know which country I was from. Look guys, I was dressed in kurta and jeans just like any other self respecting Indian intellectual. The only difference was that I just had my bath. Was this some sort of scam where these guys lower your defences by softening you up comparing you to a gora and then try to sell you hasish and  a boat ride? Having learnt early on in my travels never to underestimate the ingenuities my countrymen were capable of, I gave him the cold blank expression befitting a French drug addict.

A very short train journey

'GE-1' misspelled the sms from IRCTC. So I  walked into G-1 compartment and confidently parked my ass there.  Another half an hour for the Garib Rath to Delhi to take off.  I decided to go for a stroll. Just 10 minutes before departure I return to find a seductively smiling bhabhiji occupying my seat. She cooed that 69 was her number and that GE-1 was a different compartment altogether. Shell shocked by this revelation, I hauled my luggage out and started looking for GE-1. G-1 was just behind the engine so there was just one way to go. The train seemed never ending as I walked/ran the platform. G-9,G-10....G-14, G-15...  Where was GE-1? Was it a part of the train at all or just a figment of Railway's imagination? A perfect case for Mr. Bond. Then the platform started to curve so I was not really sure whether there were any more bogies. Finally after a million miles, I see GE-1. Why shouldn't it be called G-20 since it came after G-19? Maybe the British had forbidden more than 19 bogeys from being named to a train and this was Indian Railway's ingenious way to circumvent the law.

An elderly hair dyed Auntyji immediately pounced on me seeing I had the coveted LB( Lower Berth). Since nodding my head and saying yes involved the least exertion, I did just that. Thankfully her berth was the middle one, just above mine, so I didn't have to climb to Mount Everest which was the height of the Upper Berth. The TTE (Train Ticket Examiner) came at the ungodly hour of 10:30pm to check tickets. I was really tired and was looking forward to a good night's rest.

The inside view of a Garib Rath coupe

The next thing I know my blanket is being pulled down and a torch is being shoved at my face. Thinking that either it's a hold up or rape attempt I go for the wallet hoping to pacify the attacker whatever his intentions, with money. I just wanted some sleep. But no this was the TTE asking Auntyji to get down at my stop. I tell him in a gruff voice that my name is Bond and I'm not Auntyji for Christ's sake ! He slithers away and I notice that Auntyji has already vacated my LB so I shift down. The time dear friends :1:30 am.

A couple of hours later the incident is repeated except that this time I don't use the Bond line but the choiciest Hindi expletives at Mr. A.K Singh the TTE villian. More like A.K 47 if you ask me and no where near fancy as Dr. NO. He slithers off again with no reaction and I lie awake the rest of the night anticipating the next intrusion. But all that happens to break the monotony of the rocking train is somebody yelling that their phone has been stolen in the wee hours of the morning.

Tunganath - A Himalayan trek Part 2

The next morning we got up early to catch the 7:30 bus to Chopta. This is the only bus to Chopta for the entire day so if you miss this, you have to shell out 2 grand as taxi fare to reach Chopta. The bus stops right outside GMVN and you can actually see it climbing laboriously from the other side of the valley. Chopta is an assortment of shops and lodges that serve as the base for the trek to Tunganath, the highest Shiva temple in the world. The ride between Ukhimath and Chopta has to be one of the best rides in india. The road was freshly tarred and tall pine trees stood in majestic silence en route. It felt like one long journey through never ending  forest. There is little traffic and if you can haul a cycle up there somehow, this ride is highly recommended.

On the way to Tungnath

Paved pathway

A sight for the Gods !

Tunganath at 12,000 feet is just 4 km from Chopta. You will be entertained with amazing vistas of the Himalayas en route on a clear day. It is the easiest temple access wise on the Panch Kedar circuit. Since we had munched on our quota of aloo parota at GMVN we just had tea at one of the numerous dhabas  and headed out. After an exhilarating climb made more fun by running up ‘short cuts’ we reached Tunganath in quick time.

Tungnath Temple

The accommodation in Tunganath is mostly dormitory. The Kedarnath Badrinath Mandir samithi has nice rooms but they are usually ‘booked by a party from Delhi’ who always fail to show up. We were holed up in Hotel Soorya (in reality a shack!) , a double room with attached toilet, a luxury, for a princely sum of 500/-. As usual we were strongly persuaded to purchase thalis to please Tungnathji. The thalis contain assorted bizarre items to ‘please the lord’ and a priest chants mantras to make sure that  your son/daughter/parents/neighbours are all ‘taken care of’. These offerings contains plastic as well which are dumped just outside the temple . Sad !

Waste outside the temple

We declined this opportunity to please the lord and instead tried to sit inside for sometime. Luckily for us it was a quiet period during the day and for a couple of hours we just sat there enjoying the silence. Where there are devotees in large numbers, there  are Pandas or priests whose sole aim in life is the money in your wallet. I’ve heard that Tunganath had just one priest not so long ago but now to cope with increasing tourist footfall ,there are at least half a dozen. They are all very keen that you buy the‘thali meals’. A shame coz this is a place of meditation, contemplation and silence. The pandas yap away when they are not busy looting devotees so you need to be a good meditator to shut out the noise and focus on the divine vibes. Unfortunately this problem is not exclusive to Tungnath, it’s there in every big popular temple in the Himalayan region. If only these guys devoted some time to their personal sadhana  they would see at what a special place they are privileged to stay at.

Sunset at Tungnath

R is certainly feeling the chill factor !

The evening aarti was simple and by six the sun had set in a blaze of glory. The chill was setting in and like all self respecting yogis we dived under the rajais (thick quilts). We had dinner later at night and washed our hands with ice. It felt that way, whenever contact with water was made.

Sunrise over Tungnath

The cold felt so bad that we continued with the rajai sadhana and opted to miss out on the morning trek to Chandrashila, a nearby peak, for viewing sunrise. We started our journey back to Chopta  early as we had to catch the only bus to Mandal that would leave at 9. We visited the temple for a final darshan and meditation. I took an instant liking to a panda who had come running to the temple in the morning as soon as the doors were opened. My eyes filled up as I thanked God for showing me at least one sincere priest. All was not lost in this kali yug after all ! However when I went inside the temple I realized that Mr. Panda had rushed there because his devotees had already arrived with the thalis.  He was all smiles screaming Sanskrit mumbo jumbo and invoking the God’s blessings. One could literally see Rupee signs in his eyes like they show in cartoons ! Later I saw Mr. Panda celebrating his latest conquest with a beedi in one of the adjoining dhabas.

For more pictures click here

Read the first part here

A Himalayan Trek - Part 1- Ukhimath

This was my first foray into the Himalayas wielding a camera. I find that not having a camera slinging on your shoulders enhances the ability to enjoy the journey and also not look like a goddamn tourist. But as fate would have it, just before this trip I got a camera and I thought I might as well use it. Also I had a travelling companion for almost the entire duration of the trip, a break from travelling solo.

 What is the tangible result of undertaking a challenging trek in the Himalayas ? What can you expect to show friends and family when you head back home ?

  Here it is and it's definitely not a pretty sight  !

Not a pic from the morgue but a foot selfie depicting 3 busted nails

I'm sure you're dying to know where I have been and what I've been up to after seeing this selfie. So let me begin the tale..

 After a tearful parting (from her side) from the the Poha Maniac I left Rishikesh for Rudraparayag early morn on an empty jeep. An uneventful journey to Ukhimath from Rudraparayag barring a 5 minute spat over Rs.5/- between a passenger and the conductor. I jumped off the bus a couple of kilometres before reaching Ukhimath at the beautiful GMVN Guest House.

View from GMVN Ukhimath

R, who had already checked in early morning was chilling out with chawal, dal, roti  discussing the intricacies of sthithaprajna with the Manager. Let me introduce R , my travel companion for the weeks ahead, a Tamil Iyer settled in Bangalore, a Type A personality who delves into disscussions on the Gita, Yoga and other unmentionables at the drop of a hat to anyone remotely interested. He's a genuine seeker, unlike yours truly , who meditates regularly and takes his sadhana quite seriously. But apart from all that , he's basically a nice guy.

Our hut for the night !

If you ever get to go anywhere near Ukhimath make sure you spend at least a night at the GMVN Guest House. You can sit on tha lawn and just gaze unendingly at the mountains. It's in a quiet area with breath taking views of the Himalayan peaks and walking distance of the famous Omkareshwar temple.

First kiss of the sun

Kedar mountain range visible from Ukhimath

It's to the Omkareshwar temple here that the murtis of Kedarnath and Madmaheshwar are brought every winter to be worshiped. The temple's undergoing renovation now but the inside compound retains an old world charm that transports you back in time.

When we visited the temple in the evening, there was already a family from Kerala inside the premises. A panda took them inside the math  in the temple premises. We followed close behind. In the shrine room of the Devi, he proceeded to ask them for 'oil money'.

'Give me money for oil for worship of the Devi and I'll pour it in your names!'

I have noticed that remarkable funny things happen inside temples. History was repeated as the head of the family(HOF) was forced to dish out a sizable amount by his Devi fearing wife.

After pocketing the cash, the panda then told them to leave as it was time for arti in the main temple. As they were leaving, the incredulous HOF remarked to the panda that he had not asked for their names.

'Ah, Yes, I forgot! Tell me your names !'

Before they could finish telling their long South Indian tongue twisting names he rushed them out.

'But wait you didn't ask my name..', one of the group members spoke up bravely, 'It's Unnikrishnan'.

'Maalum hai Maalum hai, ab aap aarti mein jao' . They left us in the room with the bemused Devi.

The main priest of the temple is from Karnataka, a tradition from the times of Shankaracharya. He was the main reason R headed to the temple. R with his inexplicable talent for extracting useless info had found out that the priest had two daughters of marriageable age . But alas, he was unable to get their darshan. The temple's a quiet charming place with the unique presence of having a prowling guard who looks as old as the temple carrying an equally antique gun ...

The flute playing divine cowherd on the temple wall

Inside the temple compound

Old age charm

Dilapidated math building inside the temple

Main tower of Omkareshwar temple

Temple premises

GMVN garden. Just to balance the gross effect from the 1st pic ! ;)

To be continued...

Get lost !

By the time you are reading this I hope to be lost in the Himalayas, lost in the beauty of the mountains and the forests, not in an ‘Into the Wild’ way. But right now as I’m typing these words, I’m lost in the ‘lungi dance’ as its blaring from a wedding reception from an adjacent ground! Not something you would associate with Rishikesh, right?

I once managed to lose myself in Munnar. This was years ago when I was just out of college. Amma (my mom, not Ms.Jayalalitha) had arranged for me to stay in the Government Forest Guest House. Don’t ask what I was doing in Munnar, a honeymooner’s paradise, alone. I’ve always been strange that way….The next day after arrival, I went for a walk to this obscure lake I heard about. It was ‘just’ 4kms away. Piece of cake I thought! There was not a soul on the road, I kid you not. There were houses of plantation workers on the way. Maybe because it was a Sunday there was hardly anyone even outside the houses.

Finally I reached my destination after much wandering about. It was heaven, a beautiful deserted lake and a small house by the side which was locked. I spent quite some time just sitting and enjoying the silence and the view. I believe I even dozed off for sometime. Important point to be noted here. I was not carrying any food or water. Insane you say? Absolutely! Maybe I didn’t take into account the Sunday factor or that there were very few shops on the way, all of which were closed.

I decided to explore some exciting scenery on the return leg of the journey and soon I was lost. I was in the middle of some jungle without a clue on how to get out, on the verge of collapse. I’m sure that was the day that I really prayed sincerely for the first time in my life. It was nothing short of a miracle that I managed to drag my sorry ass to a bungalow and begged the guard outside for some water. Finally after 8 hours of adventure I limped back to the Guest House. Hot tea was waiting which I gulped down and threw up within 5 minutes.  I had cramps in my legs and I couldn’t move for a couple of days.

But it was a moment of enlightenment. I realized for the first time that I was hopeless with directions. It still holds true that I’m hopeless with all things spatial. I suck at reading maps. Even if I go to the same place 10 times in 10 days, I’ll still make wrong turns and get lost. Yes, a good handicap for a vagabond!

At present I’m trekking in the Himalayas for some weeks. I hope the Munnar experience is not repeated as there won’t be any fancy bungalows where I am headed.

Actually when I sat down to write, I wanted to write about something entirely different. Yes I’m a much disciplined writer that way, I do tend to get easily lost in the labyrinths of my mind. It also reflects on the number of posts I have managed in 10 years!

An enduring love affair

                                        The train journey was uneventful in the Jana Shatabdi. It was amusing to see many people travelling ticketless standing in the doorway on this fast train to Dehra Dun. In the South, it’s pretty hard to get into a Shatabdi unless you have a ticket. Here the TTC only asked for tickets from people who were in seats. The corridorwallas and stepwallas (people standing on the corridors and sitting on the steps of the train) were not even given a cursory glance.

As I make my way through the crowds of ochre coloured sadhus in Haridwar, I am at ease again. I’m back home again by the Ganges, in the foothills of the Himalayas. I remember my first encounter with Gangaji. In Trivandrum of all places! As a teenager, in a movie hall enjoying a Malayalam film, I was caught unawares by the opening scene and song of the movie. The protagonist walks in Calcutta (not Kolkatta then!) by the banks of the Ganga searching for a long lost friend and there’s a song about the river in the background. My hair stood on end and an incredible feeling coursed through my entire being. This strange reaction was all but forgotten in the intervening years until I finally had my first real life darshan of her. My eyes thrilled by her sight welled up with illogical tears and again that strange elation coursing through the body. It was definitely love at first sight.

I have since been her companion in the mountains and seen her various moods. She is never the same ever. Her moods change every day and all along her course she constantly surprises you with her infinite hues. I’ve plunged into her icy waters at 4 in winter mornings chilled to the bones taking the ritualistic 3 dips before scampering back out for dear life! I’ve swam in her welcome cool embrace in the scorching summer never wanting to leave her. It’s not that I’ve not been with other rivers. Many have been bigger, wider and more beautiful but there’s something about the Ganga that always draws me back. Not surprisingly I’m not her only lover.

.

Twice I had the audacity to raft on her waters. At the second outing,  on the most dangerous rapid on the river, the boat did a mini flip and I was thrown overboard. The last thing I saw before going down was the look on the raft guide’s face: pure unadulterated panic!  I was dunked under the water repeatedly by the huge screaming waves all around me. All I could see was water; all I could hear was water. I liked the way she played with me. When I went under, I held my breath, strangely thinking that there couldn’t be a better way to die than in her arms. I was OK with that. The raging waters took me way ahead of the raft. Later on her banks, dripping wet and recollecting the experience, I was surprised by my calmness. People usually drown in a rapid even with a life jacket because they drink too much water when the dunking happens. Not a single drop entered my mouth. A true miracle and relief all around especially the guide who looked like it was he who got the 2^nd life.

For 3 years she has been my constant companion. The first thing I hear on waking up is her gentle murmur or roar depending on the season. I sit by her at night gazing at the stars. Under the full moon her beauty transcends the mind. Sitting by her side gazing into her waters is meditation. I’ve swam, dipped, played and almost drowned in her. She’s beautiful when she flows gently over the rocks murmuring sweet nothings. She’s majestic like a queen when she tears through the land in her floods.

Ganga dazzling under the full moon

 I was there right by her side when the floods came earlier this year. As with many other people, we were cool because Gangaji has never flooded in June. When the levels kept on rising, we hurried with shifting things. But again I felt no sense of panic but just immense wonder at how a shy demure little thing suddenly turned into an angry vengeful woman. The room I was staying in was flooded for a day. When she went back she left a present, around 5 feet of Himalayan mud in the room! How that was cleaned is another story.

Like some women Gangaji has a peculiar beauty when she’s in one of her angry moods. I remember standing on the ghats in deserted Rishikesh during the floods and watching her make huge waves after waves. It seemed that the sea had come down to the land of the rishis! Oh what a performance it was! She carried with her everything from chairs, beds gas cylinders to humungous trees that defy description. The sound of her roaring waters still rings in my ears. The way we are abusing her and the mountains, I think, that this show was just the curtain raiser.

 The only evidence of her fury now is the enormous piles of sand and the scattered logs on either side of her banks. Uttarakhand  is deserted, one scolding from the Mother and all the bhaktas seem to have taken to their heels. Rishikesh resembles the town I’ve read about in the old travel chronicles and what I’ve heard from the sadhus who have been here for ages. I like it this way, especially because I have to endure less competition for her attention.  And she’s back to her inviting shy demure self again. My love affair with her continues…

Gangaji ki jai ho !

Another journey begins ...

Swarnajayanti Express sounded very fancy but knowing Indian Railways as I did, there was no expectation of gold plated furnishings, cutlery et al.  Of course being a magician and an acrobat helps in any train journey in the subcontinent. I didn’t want here to get started on the toilet first but it’s an integral part of long distance travel even though the actual time you might be spending there might be small, God willing. But let’s get the dirty part over with first. I don’t think the railway official who decided how long the chain has to be that ties the steel mug has ever travelled on a train or washed his ass for that matter. You have to be a magician to know how to use it. Being a yogi is also helpful if by your will power you can add several meters to the length of the contraption for it to be of any practical purpose. Previous experience of acrobatics and gymnastics is absolutely essential. It’s like passing motion in a washing machine in spin mode. But to give credit where it’s due, the toilets were cleaned twice during the 3 days trip. 

I travelled III A.C, putting the reality that is the heat and dust of India at arm’s length. There’s always romance in a journey, the romance of the voyage into the unknown, the unseen and a million other things even if your journey is preplanned to the minutest detail. Anything is possible including meeting a beautiful witty stranger as depicted in ‘Before Sunset’.  But as I survey the scene these days, all I see are people obsessed over their cell phones and laptops. How do you start a conversation?  But then I would have to remind people what exactly a conversation is…

  A family of three gave me company on this journey. The dad, mom and daughter all lost in their respective mobile world. I’m still fascinated by India speeding along outside a train window but it seems very few people are. They talked in monosyllables and occasionally glanced in my direction as well. There were so many kids in the compartment that we could have started preschool but they were surprisingly silent and well behaved.  

The trip to Delhi from Thiruvananthapuram took 50 hours most of it spent in deep sushupti. There’s something deeply relaxing at being rocked to sleep in the AC compartment in a train. Quite a few fellow travelers spent a considerable time curled up under the blankets. Alluring as this is, it is always a good idea to step outside once in a while to smell the ‘fresh’ air outside. In India the possibilities are endless.

On the outskirts of Vijayawada, the train stopped on top of the bridge over the river Krishna. It was fascinating to look down from the door of the train into steps and then a sheer drop into the green waters swirling below. The gentle lapping of the water could be heard clearly , and one could see fishermen struggling with their catch on a boat not far away.

In Bina jn, I saw that somebody had come to see their family off. She was so arresting in her appearance that I had to click some pictures…

HOLY COW !!!