A Story in Stone

Come on. That’s more than a man can ever take. Around 10-15 mails a day talking about the glory of blogging and two trips filled with colorful snaps waiting to be written about and uploaded, screaming into my face every time I open my comp. So here I go … space man Spiff … on his ship exploring land, sea and air …. Blip, blip, blip with my radars going hay wire … Hmmm… perfectionist, as I am most often termed, lemme put things in a more chronological order.

Towards the fag end of another weary year 2007, when people at home had enough of looking at the same faces and brawling over the same topics, we decided that we needed a God damn break!... we were to do the thing that we never thought we ever would … go on a family vacation. The word was out. Father, mother, son and daughter had their mean monkey minds scuttling helter skelter trying to choose the best holiday spot. Dancing gleeful images of sunny golden sanded shores of bright blue beaches scored with gracefully swaying coconut tress peppered my minds 70 mm screen. Then all of a sudden there was this earth quake which ripped apart my iMax theater in which I sat dreaming of Casino Royale- styled vacations. My father and mother in unison expressed their deep felt, unfulfilled penchant desire of visiting the temples and places of Saints of Maharashtra. Swallowing hard I smiled politely and exclaimed what a wonderful idea it was. Over the following weeks … a couple of unforeseen happenings and the hand of merciful God and his companion fate decided to play the game mean. So our trip to Maharashtra got cancelled due to the non availability of train tickets …. Sigh … now what? The relief and pleasure of not going through a forced trip is one thing … while on the other hand, to see the dejection on the face of your sweet mom and dad is another. (Believe me I AM a good boy.)

As things would have it, Debo had come down to Chennai for a days’ stop over, amidst all that rocket launching and PhD work he had been busy with. There at home in the course of an after lunch chit chat he pulled out his memory stick to show all of us his recent pics snapped at an office trip that he had gone on to Bellur, Halibedu and Shravanabelagola ….blogh, blogh, blogh … my tongue got knotted … hold on a sec .. lemme untie it. It was spectacular … the scenery, the splendor of the temple carvings … at once we asked him how far these places were from Chennai. Assuring us that it is very close to Bangalore and that they can be covered in a days’ time (perhaps if we traveled on ISRO’s rockets), he urged us to go on a VACATION!!! The ball was set rolling once again. Spirited and over excited, the next few days saw us on meticulous preparation for the Bellur-Halibedu trip.

After an unpleasant last seat bus journey to B’lore and another rather pleasant day at Kadugodi, we were on a cab towards Bellur. We had estimated that it would be 4 hours before we got there. However, kinder souls who spoke to us put it in milder terms the fact that a trip from B’lore to Bellur will be just a wee bit strenuous. It was around 5:30 am that we started. Excited about the greenery that would accost our hungry eyes; we fell silent … and slowly slipped into our respective timely slumber. Shuffling in and out of my short naps I noticed that our driver lost his way and found it too adding another extra hour and half to our trip. The dawn broke and we left the city behind … and yet there was no greenery. All that the trip had to present was one long winding red mud cloud that followed us everywhere we went and a sun that chose to shine brighter on that day. Stifled by heat (despite the continued snore of a rumbling A/C) and thrown off our nerves by the fact that our time scale estimates of the journey had turned out to be grossly wrong, we cursed every single being who invaded our discussion topics …Approximately, close to 12:30 we landed at Bellur. The place by itself was not very impressive. Like any other haughty tourist flaunting their dark sunglasses and glistening cameras, we walked up the temple stairs and through its massive entrance. Right there a few steps within the premises of the temple we had to make another important decision; whether to hire a guide or not … after a few seconds of family brain storming we decided we would go about exploring the place on our own, at our own sweet pace… without the aid of an guide’s broken English and crafted-to-excite descriptions of the sculpture and history.

We had no idea of what was in stock for us. We spent about half an hour at the entrance to the first enclosure marveling at the quality of the carvings that adorned the temple’s base walls. Walking further up the steps into the sanctum sanctorium, we were welcomed by dark walls of finely sculpted figures and massive pillars that wore … believe me, its not a joke … laces and brocades through which one could pass his/her hand… all chiseled out of one single stone. The whole temple was like an enchanted dream from the royal past of a mystical kingdom. As you stand at the center of the temple with the four corners offering exquisite sculptures of dancing damsels in bovine settings, and close your eyes; you would feel transported into a beautiful story that the temple resonated.

From doorway to doorway we went, scaling wall after wall of intricate carvings. Every patch of the wall had a scene from an epic to narrate. War, dance, joy, coronations, miracles, descents, accents, birth, death ….Thanks to the Canon digicam that we sported, we clicked relentlessly at every nook and corner of the temple. We literally captured every inch of the temple on stills. How true it is … a thing of beauty is a joy for ever. When we come across a thing of such beauty our soul effortlessly surrenders to it. It made us wonder, if an object captivates so much of beauty, then how much more beautiful would the heart of it’s’ creator be? We would have spent the entire day ...nay … perhaps a couple of days, admiring the out-of-the-world works of art had we had the time. Just finding enough time to slip a sheet of news papers beneath the magical pillar that till date is suspended in air, we dashed out bundling into our waiting cab and set rolling towards Halibedu.

Spirited by our visit to the Bellur temple, we were briefed on the glory of what awaited us at Halibedu. Now … I must stop my self. I am running out of expressions. Halibedu was no less in magnificence or beauty. It was in the afternoon and the sunlight added a thousand kaleidoscopic patches of light, reflection and shadows, making the entire experience ethereal. Despite the mindless irrational scribbling proclaiming pastime love sports of pee brained road side Romeos, the carvings and idols wore the same …. shall we say … eerie shroud??? Because the sculptures here were more true to life. The smiles and smirks on the faces of the idols were more “reaching out”. It made me think, perhaps when the sun went down and the temple gates closed for the visitors, these idols and sculpture would come to life and relive the past of a long forgotten era.

Praising myself for having been thoughtful of clearing enough space on my memory card, we snapped at as much of the temple as we could before the grumble in our stomachs got louder than the chatter of the tourists around us. Slowly and very reluctantly we shuffled out of the temple towards our waiting cab. It was one of the most memorable holidays in our lives. The painful journey was worth its bit. Often in my school and college days I would sit in a silent corner of the library gaping in wonder at the heavenly statues of Rome and Italy. But this day’s visit added pride to my heart. So much of beauty in my own land, and all the while I have marveled at the creations across the seas! There certainly is more to be seen; more than the brief span of my earthly sojourn would permit. But be it as it may, this little serving would suffice, for it overflows like a spilling goblet of beauty.

A get away at Courtallam

It was that time of the year when the chain of mails begin to pour in, trying to stir the hornet’s nest, asking for interesting holidays spots that the batch “Navis” can bless to press the signet of fond memories upon. As usual it was Jaggu and Bali who took the max initiative. The choices varied from hill stations to seasides, to thick unseen jungles. Anywhere, where the weather would be delightful and the escape from routine life refreshing. After an ignited span of hot debating and Bali’s determination, it was “unanimously” decided upon that the paradise on earth that we would grace would be “Kuttrallam”.

Kuttrallam is a huge water falls that has gained exceeding popularity down south in India for reasons more than one. To begin with, rumors fly saying that the waters of this falls bear a therapeutic value, that when it lands crashing and lashing on our bear backs, as long as we choose to stand like buffalos in the rain and then walk out numb, we’re supposed to feel exhilarated, well massaged and completely rejuvenated. Of course, side effects vary from a prolonged distant siren-like whining in the far depths of our dark, waxy inner ears; a distant feeling of disconnected reality where we begin to wonder whether we’re still alive or half way up to hell and a couple of other symptoms which vary on a case to case basis depending on how much of a mash mellow one is.

The second most significant reason for this falls popularity is the number of incidental deaths of scrawny jelly legged people who come here annually to have bath, but miss that most needed foot hold over some slippery stone or boulder and choose to dive deeper into the unexplored depths of the gargantum falls, unfortunately never to return back to civilization. May the souls rest in peace, I mean them no ill will.

And to such a place we went, young and brave at heart. Three of us from Chennai and four from Bangalore. It was the peak season. Tourists from all over India, rather people who strongly believed that they should have their annual bath only at Kuttrallam, flocked and flooded the place. We looked up for a hotel on the internet and booked it over the phone. Take my word, not every hotel in Tamil Nadu that advertises on the net is tech savvy or decent. As things would have it, this one was a pathetic cramped hole for which we were robbed blind. One look at the room and it took me a great amount of self consolation and rigorous auto suggestion to calm myself down. It was only the joy of meeting the others from Bangalore that helped me turn a blind eye to the room’s aesthetic settings.

After all the hearty back slappings and leg pullings, we got ready to go to spot A, Shenbhaga Devi falls. This is a smaller falls which is approximately an hour’s trek through thick dark jungle. The reason why we didn’t go for the main falls was the frenzied clamor of a huge swarm of annual bathers pushing and dashing and standing in a long snaking queue just to get a chance to wet their scalps under the ragging thunder of the falls. We didn’t come all that way for just getting wet. We came for fun, fun that would last longer, at least longer than what the life guards at the main falls thought was permissible. After a quick coffee at the small stall in front of our danky lodge, we set of with our backpacks and polythene bags stuffed with towels and change of clothes and our cameras dangling from our necks, wrists and shoulders. I guess it was the trek that was more interesting than the falls themselves. Stopping over at every spot that presented a promising vantage point that would draw the ooohhhhs and aaaahhhhs of the people who would get to see the pictures we took, we posed and clicked away to glory. Every now and then, like the omnipresent monkeys that followed us, we would get drawn to wayside vendors selling spiced up pieces of mango, pineapple and gooseberries. Reddy and myself would keep munching and eating non-stop, while our official junk food sponsorer Deepu, would keep bailing out Rs10 notes at everyone of our stop overs.

Roughly about an hour and a half later we were at the falls. It was by no mean secluded or less crowded or anything that we imagined it to be. It was swarming, but … it wasn’t as bad as the main falls; there were no queues. Quickly splitting up the group into two, we got into the water while the other took care of our belongings. It was a small but fierce falls, falling over huge rugged mountainous boulders into a huge cup shaped basin at the foot of it. We had to walk over the rim of the basin, clutching a flimsy railing to keep our shaky balance; to get to the side where the men took their dips and showers.

Carefully scrambling on all fours we climbed half way up the boulders to stand in niche spots to enjoy the roaring and lashing of the falls. The water was cold and refreshing. Some how, standing half naked on slippery rocks under a treacherous falls seems more dramatic than taking a normal routine morning shower. (Oh! By the way, we in India take a shower every single day of the year, but of course with in the humble confines of our tiled bathrooms.)

After an hour or so, when we had enough of that tango-drums-played-on-your-head effect, we began climbing down to get into the basin at the bottom of the falls. None of us who got into the waters knew swimming, so we planed to stand waist deep at safe quarters on the rim of the basin. Reddy, Sara and myself stood as a group; when Sara and myself out of some sudden found spirit of discovery-kind-of-adventure decided to get deeper into the water. And so we began, hand in hand, gently drifting into the grey-green waters like some dreamy lovers!!!(Oh! For heaven’s sake!) All of a sudden in the same gentleness, the sure footed athlete that Sara is, began loosing his foot hold on the algae ridden pebbles that formed the bed of the basin. Like a slow motion scene out of Manoj Night Shaymalan’s movie, Sara started getting pulled deeper into the basin, purely due to the effect of serendipitous gravity and a pair of desperately thrashing arms. And all through we continued holding hands!

Before I realized anything I was getting pulled in, and began loosing my foot hold as well. Within seconds I was splattering with water getting into my nose and mouth. Sara, who turned all the more desperate, did what any hell-scared drowning guy with no idea of how to swim would do. He clung to my neck like a pallid squid trying to keep afloat. God! I knew he thought of me as a rubber head, but this proved it all!

Wage little bits and pieces of swimming class lessons from some long forgotten childhood memories splintered into my now racing mind. I tried some form of “Zambian” underwater cycling striving hard to keep afloat. But you get the picture, right? Its all too hard when someone is trying to hold you down under water like a rubber tube. So we eventually went down faster than we thought we would. All that panicking added to the soreness of our limbs.

But surprisingly amidst all that craziness, a clarity of thought dawned on me, like a clearing in the jungle. Boy! That felt as if I was standing on the other side of the door of death, just waiting to push through. I knew well that Sara and myself would go down try as much as we may to avoid it. But our best chance was to grab the attention of the others who were swimming at a distance from us. So I diverted all my energy in trying to signal to them asking for help. And then …. In seconds I went down. It was all too clear. In that split second I totally accepted what I was going through. Surprisingly, I thought of no God, no scenes of my life flashed across my mind. It was just an engulfing feeling of complete acceptance. I soon became unconscious as I gulped down gallons and gallons of water.

When I came to my sense, I felt a hard pull at my arm, and I was being helped towards the edge of the basin. Coughing out water, I burst into a fit of laughter and began looking around for Sara. There he was, not far from me, perched on a rock still shivering from fear and cold, with the blankest of expressions on his face. This was the first near death experience I had had. (Of course! Those exams at school and being confronted by enraged parents over dark score cards are beyond death experiences!) Loitering a little longer, we walked out of the basin towards our dry clothes. Later over hot tea and spicy mirchi bajji (a special sausage kinda food with a huge chilli in it) we recollected the whole episode. By far this was the most defining moment in my recent past after I left college. It made me question myself why “I” should have gone through all this. What was it that I was supposed to carry back home (apart from my living myself) out of this experience?

After this episode everything that I cared to cast my eyes on seemed to wear a new look. I felt reborn, no …. I felt as if the entire world around me was recreated. It was a beautiful feeling. I wanted it to last forever, like that magical early morning dream that we long never to fade.

Staying a little longer to snap a couple of more pictures, we retraced out steps back to our lodge. Soon we packed our bags and checked out heading towards Tirunelveli, for the next day we were to cover a few more falls. Landing back into the heart of a bustling township we found a decent hotel and guzzled and gorged on what ever crap the restaurant had to offer in the name of dinner. Absolutely worn out for the day we slipped into our rooms and crept into our beds.

Come day 2, we had a light breakfast and typical south Indian coffee and alighted a bus that rumbled through lush green waves of rice fields towards a place called Ambasamudram. We had plans to grace a few other water bodies that was on Bali’s list. Ooopppsss…. The names of these smaller and less known places seem to evade my poor memory always. Anyway, we had to take another motored metal box that ran on four wheels carrying a crowd of over stuffed helpless people. The first falls that we landed at was simply too crowded and fared no good on our internal evaluations. So we discarded it and went on to climb the hill near by, to which more adventurous souls around there pointed. But they warned us that the water there was far deeper and more dangerous and only experienced swimmers went that far. We were driven nuts by the long ride and the thought of an entire day going of waste. So we trekked upwards climbing over neatly decked steps towards a Shiva temple right at the top. Once there, we busied ourselves looking for safe shallow spots where clear water flowed. Sara, chose to stay on in the temple, while the rest of us getting roughish by now, changed into our shorts and found deep and perfect cuts in the rocks where we could lie down with the cool waters running over us. We spent nearly three hours fooling around clicking pictures and catching small colored fishes and chit chatting over everything under the sun. When the sun got blazing, threatening to char our delicate complexion, we decided to pack and leave for the day. The rest was one sad story of how we got back to our hotel, promising to go on more such holiday get aways … and parted ways to get back to our homes … back to our daily lives… routine work … syrupy sweet coffee and stale damp biscuits at office.

My Life ... and it will remain mine.

I caught myself again with the same question being asked on my face. Every time I ping or get pinged by a log-time-no-see buddy, the second or the third “Q” that gets flung at me would be “Hey!... what happened to ur blog? … get that lazy ass of yours moving and get writing more regularly.” That’s when I stop … when some invisible hand comes out of the blue to hit me smack on my forehead … helping me realize that I am getting carried away in the torrid currents of my wayward life.

Here I am far away from home, waking up late in the morning and draging myself to office, dying for those darn coffee and lunch breaks and getting back to home late in the evening to gape into the magical idiot box …. eat some trash and fall asleep dreaming of a better tommorrow. I do all this and ask myself what is wrong with me and my life, that it is almost dead as my brains! There seem to be no fun in it … no purpose to it … nothing to motivate me, keep me up and going. I go through all this like a zombie.

Normally I would have squatted squarely on these big questions of life and let them slip away. But this time it was very different. I wanted to feel good, I wanted to know that I was steering my life (Oh!... not that I turned an atheist … Holy God forbid ….). So the next day I woke up early. Put on my tracks and slipped into my running shoes. After a brief and brisk workout, had a refreshing breakfast of fruits and delightful cornflakes. Dicing and chopping lettuce, soy sprouts and bell pepper, packed myself a light meal of sandwich. Already feeling better, I remembered a quote I read on Men’s Health, “Dress for the job you want and not for the one you have.” So I pulled out the best pair I had, pressed it neat and set it aside. Showered clean, perfumed crisp and rightly dressed I left for work, telling myself that I was going to make my day interesting, exciting and perfect.

Believe it or not, it was one of the best day I had at work. Everything went beautiful. I was able to complete all the task that I took up. I made a dashing impression. I could almost feel that people were looking up to take note of the difference. I felt like a vortex of power and magnetism walking on two legs. It was amazing. The whole week went this way. I feel so much better.

Everything looks a shade brighter now. Though the deeper questions of life still remain unanswered, I find the subtle gloom now gone!!! A good shake up is always defining enough to make that extra needed difference in our daily lives.

My Bloody Ego

No more would I be apologizing to the huge mad crowd of die hard fans that I keep imagining are out there reading my blog, for not having written regularly. But then again … my dastardly bloody ego, makes me put on airs as I turn up my collars in swelling pride over a few paltry, friendly (and deeply understanding) praises that I receive from long time acquaintances. Hmmm…. Ego, what a damnable thing it is. For long I had no idea as to what it is, though I was categorically branded as tending towards the limits of egomaniacal exhibitions of outward behavior. God!...just see me … I have this dirty habit of writing twisted, extra compounded, highly sophisticated sounding sentences to convey a dumb idea .. That I am dumb!!! Phew!

As a school kid, we were often coaxed to build and exude self confidence. But as things would have it, the line between self-confidence and ego (and many other scary things) is simply too thin. Brought up amidst a bunch of spoilt brats in an affluent society; bragging was an indispensable mark of identification of the neighborhood. It was reasoned out thus – “It is true talent that comes with head weight.” (Kill the dog who said that.) Of course they were all talented … of course kids need encouragement to excel … but this is taking things a bit too far. Thank God! My parents were not of the same breed as those snobby, petulant, stiff necked aunts and uncles. They kept repeating a proverb in Tamil – “Nerai Kudam Thalzhumbadhu” – which, in essence, meant “Empty vessels made the most noise”…. Oh well … ok … here it is … the proverb literally meant that – “A pot that is filled to the brim doesn’t spill!!!” …. Hmmm…. Now I am scratching my head trying to make sense out of this for all my western readers! Well it goes like this. Women in the villages of India carry water from the river to home. And they often found that when the pots they carried were half filled, they spilt more than when the pots they carried were full. (God!.. it beats me ..trying to put it in scientifically, gravitationally, kinematically …. Bless all those dead physics teachers of mine …explanatory terms.)

Parents repeating good things on and off to get them into their kids’ muddy heads is one thing, and the extended incessant exposure to higher-than-normal-self-esteem attitude of your playmates is another. And unfortunately try as much as they may, my sis and myself didn’t escape the infection. With our noses thrown up and heads thrown back we walked from primary to secondary to higher school. I turned lucky when I walked this way into college.

There in college, I had in waiting a most needed rude shock. There were batch mates and seniors far more talented and gifted in ways more than one, a million times more humble and unassuming. They mutely shown like bight torch lights, highlighting my own faults to me. They would do this … they would do that … and yet when praised they would brush it all aside with a simple smile and go back to their normal routines like normal people. (uhh!... I mean like the rest of us …) God! … They had so much to teach by just being themselves. Slowly but steadily the culture of the place (my college) crept into my psyche. Somewhere down the line I learnt to learn the good things from people I come across. Woooo … boy! I sound like some weirdo. But it all paid me well.

I try sharing the same with my sis, but I guess we’re from different species altogether. We simply don’t understand the language we speak in, let alone more complicated concepts on humility. It all makes me wonder, why people want to SHOW their confidence to the outside world. Is it that we are incomplete all by ourselves without the reactions of the world around us, to what we are and what we do? What would it be like to stay absolutely unconcerned, unaffected and untouched by the world around us? Would that be a challenge? Would that be abnormal? Hmmm…. I think its worth a try. If it turns out to be disquieting and paranormal to the extent that I am branded as an unacceptable outcast amidst my own roost …I might have to turn around.

The 27th Of May

It was a very hectic day for all of us at home. It was the 27^th of May, a day for which, each year, as kids all three of us bro, sis and myself would stash away all our pocket money.

Back when we were kids, on the evening of 26^th we would pull out all those crumpled notes that had been so carefully tucked away into all unthinkable corners of our house and make a secret expedition to the local supermarket. (Oh! We would simply whistle and tell mom that we were going for a walk … and of course she would know well, but would choose to act appropriately ignorant.) Once there within the air-conditioned, well lit, polished floors of the supermarket, we would go about walking up and down the aisle stopping at every shelf, debating, estimating, recalculating and driving every sales girl crazy, scratching up the wall with our stupid questions. The store owner, a neatly powdered lady in starch stiff sari, in her late 40s would come snooping behind up, just to ensure that we were not there for shop lifting. Three little kids running all around the place inspecting almost every product she had displayed, would drive the old lady nuts. She would conspire and place all her worn out, half dead sales girls at strategic points in the shop to have a birds’ view (naa …. an eagle’s view) over us. But we cared nothing. The whole fiasco would last for about 3 to 4 hours. Well that’s about the time the three of us could be patient in one place on one task, before we get down to blows over small differences in opinions.

Within those few hours we would have “a” task in hand; to buy for mom and dad the most fitting anniversary gift that could be bagged for the all the pocket money we had been collecting all through the year. What we had in our minds never matched what we had in our hands; damn those flashy advertisements that interrupted all those cartoon shows! Finally, when we find ourselves well exhausted we would lay on the counter, all the prospective gift we could buy. Then there would be another round of intense heated discussion to reach a unanimous consensus on the right gifts. With decisions made we would proceed to have the gifts billed. Smirking at the old lady and growling at all the other zombie-like sales girls we would walk out of the store with the gifts in neat plastic bags.

We would then head to the florist’s. With the remaining paltry sum we would go about picking dewy, dainty, delicate flowers and soft colored leaves to make a bouquet back at home. After pulling and plucking at almost every organic stem the florist had in his little red buckets, we would stumble back home all too excited.

Once back, we would go into the master bed room and lock ourselves up, shooing out our highly irritable but sadly ineffective granny from the room. Bustling about gathering small pieces of assorted decoration material and anything of interest and attention we would finally settle down to make a huge anniversary greeting card and a big flower bouquet. Right from leaves, dried up petals, flashy stickers, color pencils, crayons, scissors, glue, etc … everything would conjure up from nowhere. After an eventful span of one hour twenty eight minutes and forty seven seconds we would crawl out of the room shouting out to mom (who would be making dinner by then) to stay away from the fridge … hmmm … to stay put in the kitchen long enough till we tell her that the coast is clear. We would run over to the fridge, make a large clearing in one of the shelves and carefully place the custom made bouquet. (That was our perception of keeping the flowers fresh and beautiful.) With that we would stick a note on the door of the fridge threatening anyone who moves anywhere within a few feet from the fridge. Sometimes we stood guard … till the night’s most important TV show started.

Then when the BIG day arrived, we would wake up nudging each other and roll over on our tummies to plants sleepy kisses on mom’s and dad’s cheeks, wishing them a happy anniversary. After all the initial hugging and thanking we would walk out to the fridge and pull out the bouquet and the greeting card, from the bottom most shelf of the cupboard. Both mom and dad would be amply pleased, with glistening eyes there would be another round of warm hugs and loving kisses.

And these days, when we’re all grown up like buffaloes, we still storm into shops on the 26^th of May and go about busying ourselves driving every pathetic store owner creepy mad. The only difference, instead of stashed away pocket money, it is the mindless swishing and swashing of shiny pieces of plastic, our bloody credit cads. Oh!... but the joy still remains the same. Ooooppppssss…. There’s my mom screaming at the top of her voice. I think she’s finally spotted the bill for the cake we ordered for her anniversary. God! I’ve now got to sit through another round of wont-you-ever-grow-up talk show!