enough money to take a flight
and enough time to travel by train
and enough time to travel by train
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Travel. Show all posts
February 08, 2015
February 09, 2013
Ticketless Travellers
An old song
with you and me
stood ticket less
at the door
of the train
that passed the sea
and listened to
soft whispers
of silhouetted lovers
forever
found staring
at hopeless eternity
with you and me
stood ticket less
at the door
of the train
that passed the sea
and listened to
soft whispers
of silhouetted lovers
forever
found staring
at hopeless eternity
May 22, 2012
To our silliness that travels with us
I was in Goa. It was Sunday. Kiki Bakshi and I were hungry. We decided to go eat a full english breakfast somewhere. So we set out on our hired red scooter. Name - 'Pleasure'. Kiki in front (and helmet to control mad hair). Me at the back (careful not to hurt already sprained foot). We got to some place, ate some Ham and cheese, Kiki ordered some bad papaya lassi and we were done. yeah, so much for english breakfast.
'Ab Kya Karein?'
'Chaltein hain'
'Kahan Jaogi?
"Kahin Bhi. We can go to the interiors of Goa. Find a jungle perhaps. We can get lost also. We have a lot of petrol in the scooter basically!'
'Chalo!'
So Kiki and I rode. We rode on a really sunny Sunday. Without sunscreen. Kept riding with the logic that if the beach was on our right, we had to keep going left. Into the interiors. We had plans to get lost. But how does one get lost when parallel roads and road signs all bring you back to the highway! We rode into dead ends of small hamlets, we rode up a steep road into a private property, got caught and were sent back. We rode behind a foreign cyclist who rode really really fast. We were determined to lose our selves on the road. And perhaps find something - a beautiful riverlet somewhere, a jungle with animal sounds, the controversial coal mines. Something! Anything!
We were getting desperate and I was getting bored. I cursed my broken foot. Lost interest in checking myself out the rear view mirror and complained about my tight bra. To console ourselves we stopped at an unimpressive river body, chatted with an old Konkani aunty, made stupid hand gestures to ask if there were snakes in the field, crossed a fisherman, slipped a little, laughed a little and sat in the sun. Harsh May sun. But feet dipped in muddy water felt good.
Then we were off again, we crossed another village, rode into a ferry with our scooter which dropped us to the village across the river. Suddenly we knew nothing about the place, or the road or the people or anything. We were no where close to the highway. We didn't use the 'go left' logic anymore. Our real adventure was about to begin. We drove past small villages, smaller lanes, crossing daring pink-yellow Goan houses, with men sitting outside on concrete chairs and women peering through small windows.
Then we drove past ghost villages.Not a single car, scooter or cycle on the road. Not a single pair of walking legs. Absolutely deserted. Although the place looked gorgeous. We were driving deep into it. Our narrow long road split the vast yellow landscape into two - spread out far and wide on either sides. Wind blew in our hair and ears. Suddenly Kiki decided to stop our scooter under an orange Gulmohar tree. I was relieved. We had been riding for hours. The tight bra finally came out, cold water splashed from a bottle to our faces and two cigarettes lit up as we sat down on the side of the road. After a while stood up to check myself out in the side mirror, wind dried hair looked perfect with orange gulmohar reflecting in the back. I looked on either side to check something. Not a soul. And then we did what we were dying to do in a secluded place like this.
We played Gustavo Santaolalla on Kiki's phone!
(Please play the following video to enjoy the music as you read)
Yes we played Gustavo Santaolalla! Reclining on our scooter that stood still on the narrow stretched road we looked to one side exploring the depths of the distance afar. We lived the moment. Allowed ourselves to feel the glamour of standing in the middle of yellow fields with a beautiful sun and a sky blue sky with strokes of pretty white clouds. The music played on and we soaked it all in - our silly little motorcycle diaries moment happened right there.
When we looked to each other - we burst out laughing. Uncontrollably. We laughed so hard. It was really some kind of madness. And my favourite so far!
Its Kiki's birthday today. So here's to you kiki - to our silliness that travels with us.
Happy Birthday.
I love you
(Now you can watch the rest of the video! or read this)
'Ab Kya Karein?'
'Chaltein hain'
'Kahan Jaogi?
"Kahin Bhi. We can go to the interiors of Goa. Find a jungle perhaps. We can get lost also. We have a lot of petrol in the scooter basically!'
'Chalo!'
So Kiki and I rode. We rode on a really sunny Sunday. Without sunscreen. Kept riding with the logic that if the beach was on our right, we had to keep going left. Into the interiors. We had plans to get lost. But how does one get lost when parallel roads and road signs all bring you back to the highway! We rode into dead ends of small hamlets, we rode up a steep road into a private property, got caught and were sent back. We rode behind a foreign cyclist who rode really really fast. We were determined to lose our selves on the road. And perhaps find something - a beautiful riverlet somewhere, a jungle with animal sounds, the controversial coal mines. Something! Anything!
We were getting desperate and I was getting bored. I cursed my broken foot. Lost interest in checking myself out the rear view mirror and complained about my tight bra. To console ourselves we stopped at an unimpressive river body, chatted with an old Konkani aunty, made stupid hand gestures to ask if there were snakes in the field, crossed a fisherman, slipped a little, laughed a little and sat in the sun. Harsh May sun. But feet dipped in muddy water felt good.
Then we were off again, we crossed another village, rode into a ferry with our scooter which dropped us to the village across the river. Suddenly we knew nothing about the place, or the road or the people or anything. We were no where close to the highway. We didn't use the 'go left' logic anymore. Our real adventure was about to begin. We drove past small villages, smaller lanes, crossing daring pink-yellow Goan houses, with men sitting outside on concrete chairs and women peering through small windows.
Then we drove past ghost villages.Not a single car, scooter or cycle on the road. Not a single pair of walking legs. Absolutely deserted. Although the place looked gorgeous. We were driving deep into it. Our narrow long road split the vast yellow landscape into two - spread out far and wide on either sides. Wind blew in our hair and ears. Suddenly Kiki decided to stop our scooter under an orange Gulmohar tree. I was relieved. We had been riding for hours. The tight bra finally came out, cold water splashed from a bottle to our faces and two cigarettes lit up as we sat down on the side of the road. After a while stood up to check myself out in the side mirror, wind dried hair looked perfect with orange gulmohar reflecting in the back. I looked on either side to check something. Not a soul. And then we did what we were dying to do in a secluded place like this.
We played Gustavo Santaolalla on Kiki's phone!
(Please play the following video to enjoy the music as you read)
When we looked to each other - we burst out laughing. Uncontrollably. We laughed so hard. It was really some kind of madness. And my favourite so far!
Its Kiki's birthday today. So here's to you kiki - to our silliness that travels with us.
Happy Birthday.
I love you
(Now you can watch the rest of the video! or read this)
March 24, 2012
Bhartiya Rail Suvidha
Elements you find on the train. Planted in every compartment. Almost like a conspiracy. You'll find them no matter which class or train you travel by. No matter which city you go to. These are, as follows:
1. The Child: It screams, it whines, it eats, it shits (it gets escorted to the loo by poor old mother). It asks. It cries and cries and cries. Loud. louder, loudest! It tries to create a ruckus around the train. Parents think co passengers find IT cute. And you sit fuming in your berth. Its not your fault. You're just lucky to get stuck with a child every single time. It finds its way to you.
2. The Aunty: Mostly found reading her Sarita or Grah Shobha, she carries a big plastic bag full of food. If found to be Sindhi or Gujju, she'll have enough supply of khakra, bhujiya and namkeen to feed the entire train. She makes sure her family gets ghar ka khana even when not at home. She carries aachar and paper plates as well.
3. The Bhaiyaji: He hates being called bhaiya. But loves his phone. Because he has music on it. Music that he can blare out and loud for others to hear. He doesn't like his ear phones though. He has a list of once popular but now forgotten old hindi songs. Since that is his only mode of entertainment, he plays them ALL THE TIME! Loud enough to reach 15-15 people on each side of his berth.
4. The Rich College Kid: This kid is too cool. He doesn't talk to anyone. He likes his ipod and earphones. Always plugged in, a book or a magazine in hand and eyes romantically staring outside the window. These types are often the ones who have to exchange berths with oldies who are too old to climb to the upper berths.
5. The Antakshari/ Taash Gang: They are the happiest of the lot. They have a gang and they have things to do.These types are loud, friendly and most annoying. They sing the same old songs stuck to the same old letters, in the same old baritone. They think they are on a picnic. They have friends and families in other compartments having their own picnic. They, ofcourse, have to be visited as often as possible.
6. The Uncle who talks too loudly: Unlike the lover types who whisper into the phone, so soft that you can barely eavesdrop, these loud uncles are the least self conscious people on the train. They don't care if the whole compartment knows what they say to their wives, colleagues or the persons who will receive them at the station. They are so comfortable. No boundaries. Personal is public.
(The train who have been a quieter place had it not been for the bloody phones)
7. They - who snore: They start their business at 8.30 itself. Sometime even before the ice cream arrives. And they are at it the whole night long. As the night deepens, people from other berths join in, quite unintentionally. They have the talent of putting together an orchestra. The worst orchestra on earth. With different sounds, volumes and styles. They are the most disgusting. And if you don't have music and ear phones to drain out their symphonies, good luck to you!
Then there are the regular cuties who believe in befriending the housekeeping/pantry guys to extract extra favors, those who follow the TC (why do people call him TT?) to get a confirmed seat, those who dodge him to quickly smoke in the loo or hang outside the door. And finally those who just sleep from the minute they enter the train. Whats your type?
1. The Child: It screams, it whines, it eats, it shits (it gets escorted to the loo by poor old mother). It asks. It cries and cries and cries. Loud. louder, loudest! It tries to create a ruckus around the train. Parents think co passengers find IT cute. And you sit fuming in your berth. Its not your fault. You're just lucky to get stuck with a child every single time. It finds its way to you.
2. The Aunty: Mostly found reading her Sarita or Grah Shobha, she carries a big plastic bag full of food. If found to be Sindhi or Gujju, she'll have enough supply of khakra, bhujiya and namkeen to feed the entire train. She makes sure her family gets ghar ka khana even when not at home. She carries aachar and paper plates as well.
3. The Bhaiyaji: He hates being called bhaiya. But loves his phone. Because he has music on it. Music that he can blare out and loud for others to hear. He doesn't like his ear phones though. He has a list of once popular but now forgotten old hindi songs. Since that is his only mode of entertainment, he plays them ALL THE TIME! Loud enough to reach 15-15 people on each side of his berth.
4. The Rich College Kid: This kid is too cool. He doesn't talk to anyone. He likes his ipod and earphones. Always plugged in, a book or a magazine in hand and eyes romantically staring outside the window. These types are often the ones who have to exchange berths with oldies who are too old to climb to the upper berths.
5. The Antakshari/ Taash Gang: They are the happiest of the lot. They have a gang and they have things to do.These types are loud, friendly and most annoying. They sing the same old songs stuck to the same old letters, in the same old baritone. They think they are on a picnic. They have friends and families in other compartments having their own picnic. They, ofcourse, have to be visited as often as possible.
6. The Uncle who talks too loudly: Unlike the lover types who whisper into the phone, so soft that you can barely eavesdrop, these loud uncles are the least self conscious people on the train. They don't care if the whole compartment knows what they say to their wives, colleagues or the persons who will receive them at the station. They are so comfortable. No boundaries. Personal is public.
(The train who have been a quieter place had it not been for the bloody phones)
7. They - who snore: They start their business at 8.30 itself. Sometime even before the ice cream arrives. And they are at it the whole night long. As the night deepens, people from other berths join in, quite unintentionally. They have the talent of putting together an orchestra. The worst orchestra on earth. With different sounds, volumes and styles. They are the most disgusting. And if you don't have music and ear phones to drain out their symphonies, good luck to you!
Then there are the regular cuties who believe in befriending the housekeeping/pantry guys to extract extra favors, those who follow the TC (why do people call him TT?) to get a confirmed seat, those who dodge him to quickly smoke in the loo or hang outside the door. And finally those who just sleep from the minute they enter the train. Whats your type?
January 24, 2012
Something really pretty happened here
Friends who work together and live together often forget to hang out with each other. So Takloo and I just left. We left the city in the midst of chaos. The chaos of finishing work in its last two weeks, the chaos of packing up the house we are so emotionally attached to, the chaos of our emotions. We left the madness of this noisy city to hang out with each other in Kochi.
Totally unprepared. Without an itinerary. So unprepared that I kept wanting to go to a cyber cafe to at least find the right places to eat.
The paranoia of missing out on good food.
Our modus operandi in this dire state was to just grab each and every tourist brochure that came our way and quickly screen through it to remember some, if not all, of the recommended places to visit (to eat) We felt so rushed. So much to do in four days. Not knowing where to start. Stop.
Kochi at first was a little disappointing. The spice market we went to, the beach we saw was nothing like the pictures we had in mind. Mental pictures are often photoshopped. But we are hopeful travelers. It started to grow on us, slowly, as we spent more time with it, as the sun signaled to set, as the evening breeze floated on water and the magic of the night took over. Its like we got over our photoshopped expectations and something started to happen!
Fort Cochi was our first stop. It is not a fort. Its an island of sorts connected to Ernakulam by a 10 rupee ferry ride, known for its huge Chinese nets meant for small fish fishing. Made in the 1840s, these nets are a major tourist attraction. Lots of people come here to watch the sunset. But the trick is to come here after the sun sets, evading the shadiness of the night, to hear the water and watch the light ripple from afar. The trick is to trip on your trip.
The trick is to walk down the Princess Street just when the night has taken over, when gorgeous stars hang from small arched doors, from old archaic dutch balconies, with the lights and shadows of closed antique shop windows - the trick is to walk and explore - and once tired to sit at the Loafers' corners - cafe on the first floor which allows you to watch the entire street (through old dying windows) and watch the purposeless tourists move about - and the trick is to do this while sipping a good cup of coffee or while stealing Takloo's well ordered banana milk shake!
Yes the trick is to discover a walk. And in the walk discover quaint shops (we found one selling stationary made from elephant poop), and buy a filter less Charminar and smell the streets perfumed with Kerala oils. The trick is to walk through a spice market and for once really know what a walk in a spice market feels like (in your nose, in all your senses) as described in one of those novels. The trick is to enter the Dutch museum and find the prettiest ever wall paintings in natural dyes, to notice the greens of the hands and feet and find a pattern, and to slowly move away to find another pattern.
The most important thing to do is to do the backwaters. Tak and I were picked up from a folk and theatre museum in a yellow minibus which took us 45 min outside the city to Viacom. And this is where we found some magic. A small row boat took us through small canals and riverlets by small villages. We met the trees, the birds, the weeds, the ducks, the fishermen and found the palms hiding the sky from us. Suddenly someone made some noises and a young man wearing his mundu came to give us two bottles full of toddy. Then we floated on toddy, streamed under small water bridges and saw some green and some brown and more green and more brown!
Then we moved to the glamour of a big house boat and sailed on Vembanadu to find a boat man sing to us from afar, and to find a man bathing fearlessly in the deep and have a fisherman's wife cook hot baby mussels with coconut. The backwaters are not like the photoshopped photographs. They are far more magnificent and deep and serene and hued and calming than we can imagine.
Since food is important. One last thing I'll tell you about is the Ceylon Bake house. I actually found the best place to eat in the city. They served us karimeen masala, roasted prawns, fried fish, parontha and idliappam. Absolutely brilliant! And arguably cheaper than any of the fancy places in Fort Kochi or Mattancherry. This place is beautifully modest and sincere. Nothing fancy shwancy except for the food. The ambience is simple, shockingly plain, the mood is nothing extraordinary. You come, you eat, you love it and you leave. Full and satisfied. Maybe the reason I liked it so much is because its glamour and fame has not gone to its head.
We did so much and saw so much and ate so much! So overwhelming in such a short trip. The art of not doing anything while doing some things. The art of finding an itinerary which flowed so beautifully. So effortlessly. We are all such artists!
And it ended with a perfect train journey. With a long train journey up the west coast. So long that it threatened to get tedious. But stopped just when we had soaked it all in.
Now I'm back to the madness, to a city I'm going to leave. Wish me luck!
Totally unprepared. Without an itinerary. So unprepared that I kept wanting to go to a cyber cafe to at least find the right places to eat.
The paranoia of missing out on good food.
Our modus operandi in this dire state was to just grab each and every tourist brochure that came our way and quickly screen through it to remember some, if not all, of the recommended places to visit (to eat) We felt so rushed. So much to do in four days. Not knowing where to start. Stop.
Kochi at first was a little disappointing. The spice market we went to, the beach we saw was nothing like the pictures we had in mind. Mental pictures are often photoshopped. But we are hopeful travelers. It started to grow on us, slowly, as we spent more time with it, as the sun signaled to set, as the evening breeze floated on water and the magic of the night took over. Its like we got over our photoshopped expectations and something started to happen!
The trick is to walk down the Princess Street just when the night has taken over, when gorgeous stars hang from small arched doors, from old archaic dutch balconies, with the lights and shadows of closed antique shop windows - the trick is to walk and explore - and once tired to sit at the Loafers' corners - cafe on the first floor which allows you to watch the entire street (through old dying windows) and watch the purposeless tourists move about - and the trick is to do this while sipping a good cup of coffee or while stealing Takloo's well ordered banana milk shake!
Yes the trick is to discover a walk. And in the walk discover quaint shops (we found one selling stationary made from elephant poop), and buy a filter less Charminar and smell the streets perfumed with Kerala oils. The trick is to walk through a spice market and for once really know what a walk in a spice market feels like (in your nose, in all your senses) as described in one of those novels. The trick is to enter the Dutch museum and find the prettiest ever wall paintings in natural dyes, to notice the greens of the hands and feet and find a pattern, and to slowly move away to find another pattern.
The most important thing to do is to do the backwaters. Tak and I were picked up from a folk and theatre museum in a yellow minibus which took us 45 min outside the city to Viacom. And this is where we found some magic. A small row boat took us through small canals and riverlets by small villages. We met the trees, the birds, the weeds, the ducks, the fishermen and found the palms hiding the sky from us. Suddenly someone made some noises and a young man wearing his mundu came to give us two bottles full of toddy. Then we floated on toddy, streamed under small water bridges and saw some green and some brown and more green and more brown!
Then we moved to the glamour of a big house boat and sailed on Vembanadu to find a boat man sing to us from afar, and to find a man bathing fearlessly in the deep and have a fisherman's wife cook hot baby mussels with coconut. The backwaters are not like the photoshopped photographs. They are far more magnificent and deep and serene and hued and calming than we can imagine.
Since food is important. One last thing I'll tell you about is the Ceylon Bake house. I actually found the best place to eat in the city. They served us karimeen masala, roasted prawns, fried fish, parontha and idliappam. Absolutely brilliant! And arguably cheaper than any of the fancy places in Fort Kochi or Mattancherry. This place is beautifully modest and sincere. Nothing fancy shwancy except for the food. The ambience is simple, shockingly plain, the mood is nothing extraordinary. You come, you eat, you love it and you leave. Full and satisfied. Maybe the reason I liked it so much is because its glamour and fame has not gone to its head.
We did so much and saw so much and ate so much! So overwhelming in such a short trip. The art of not doing anything while doing some things. The art of finding an itinerary which flowed so beautifully. So effortlessly. We are all such artists!
And it ended with a perfect train journey. With a long train journey up the west coast. So long that it threatened to get tedious. But stopped just when we had soaked it all in.
Now I'm back to the madness, to a city I'm going to leave. Wish me luck!
December 06, 2011
Weekender Girls
Once you start working, you have no choice but to find delights in weekend trips to a place reasonably close to your city. I wonder why in spite of having lived in Bombay for more than three years, I had not discovered Maharashtra's true potential. Especially in the magic that lies down the Konkan coast.
I learnt from my mistake and found myself planning the forth trip within Maharashtra this month. It was actually a matter of chance. Ms. Kiki Bakshi and I were looking for a mid point between our cities. Hence we arrived at Ganpatiphule, a religious place, about 25km by a ST bus ride from Ratnagiri. (Trivia: Ratnagiri is the home town of Madhuri Dixit, Sachin Tendulkar and Dawood Ibrahim - as shared by a rather sweet, sweet shop owner). Known for a big ass Ganpati Temple by the white sand beach, this place is easy to effortlessly fall in love with.
The delights of having nothing to do!
The science of silliness!
Beaching it
A harmonica, a camera, a sun and a sunset! What were we missing? (though we did miss our dear little Bubbles)
And we did all this while watching the sky change on us, the sea change on us and grow on us. We did this while the night took over, while the stars twinkled one by one and the moon calmly took over the glamour.We got lost in the pitch of darkness, in the quite of the air, in the noise of the sea, in a place where the far away lamp lights tried in vain to reach us.
We fell in love.
The delights of having nothing to do!
So what does one do when there is nothing to do?
You sing. You sing to the sea, sprint a 100m race, chase tiny crabs, try cart wheels, bury things, bury each other, talk, laugh, feel silly, scream, stare at the dome like sky, yodel and scold the moon.
The science of silliness!
You feel silly. You tell yourself, honestly, that you are feeling silly. And then go a little crazy. Like nuts. Like two nutty nuts. (Two girls I know are experts at this. I am trying to get there!)
Beaching it
So Bakshi and I found ourselves at the beach getting lost in the blurring horizon. For hours. To have an entire white sand beach with see-through waters entirely to yourself? How does it feel? How does it fee-eee-eeee-eeel? (Susheela Raman cover Like a rolling stone) No, we didn't feel like we ruled the world. We didn't rule the sea, the sand, the birds or the crabs in their little hole-homes. We felt like we were friends. Katti-Abba friends. Abba at the moment. We felt welcomed. We felt the warmth. We felt the cold in the breeze. We felt like we were their guests. We felt like we were let loose. We felt unrestricted. Full of fresh air, fresh thoughts, full of smiles and full of silliness. We felt so full!
A harmonica, a camera, a sun and a sunset! What were we missing? (though we did miss our dear little Bubbles)
A swim. A swim with all our clothes on. A swim without any.
So we swam. Jumped the waves, heard the water, watched the birds above us go home, we tasted salt. We floated like dead bodies which rose with the swelling sea belly. We swam in the oceanic blue, the glistening sun dipped blue, the metallic blue, the far away blue, the blue which smudged the skyline, the blue which made way for white soldier like waves. The white washed blue, the blue green blue, the aquatic blue, the purple blue. The blue of the ocean that refuses to just be itself. And we jumped the waves, chased the waves, waved at the waves and danced like sea ballerinas, we fell, we swam, we sang and spluttered and splattered and laughtered! We laughtered our silliness!
And we did all this while watching the sky change on us, the sea change on us and grow on us. We did this while the night took over, while the stars twinkled one by one and the moon calmly took over the glamour.We got lost in the pitch of darkness, in the quite of the air, in the noise of the sea, in a place where the far away lamp lights tried in vain to reach us.
We talked. At times.
Sometimes the over celebrated sunset is too pretty for any words, any lens or any song.
You just have to see it.
You have to sea it!
You just have to see it.
You have to sea it!
But we didn't see the famous Ganpathi temple after all.
Among other things:
A fort, a jetty, a self proclaimed miraculous village museum, spasticated birds, a cinnamon tree, an exquisite auto ride, an all purpose kirana shop selling drum sticks, a perfect conqueror's picture, filter kapi, an exiled burmese king's palace, coconut water, some fish, some amul ice cream and some peace.
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