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It is 7:30 am and Chittrakoot is already awake. a slow chanting of bhajan emanating from all the temple tops fills the air. It is drizzling lightly, as men dressed in saffron robes walk on the slippery roads to the temple. Canopy of yellow polythene sheets dripping with water stretched out on matchbox shops selling coconuts, incense sticks and other puja material, bring in an unusual brightness. The Lantana bushes growing wild look darker. All smiling or sneering, the expression is difficult to gauge.
I walk to Kanta Nath Temple. It is the famous place where Shri Ram spent 11 years of his Vanvas with his wife Sita and brother Laxhman. "It is a natural sculpture which was found etched on the moutain. It is this sculpture that Ram worshipped for 11-years during his hiatus. Ram still rests in the teeth of Kanta Nath," the temple priest is prompt with explanation if anyone wants to know. Hordes of pilgrims queue up to these temples. By evening there are processions with chanting bhajans and mantras. Rendering a spiritual feeling in the air.
This is Chittrakoot
***
5:30 am we alight from Mahakaushal Express at Karvi Railway station. In semi darkness we make our way to the exit gate from the station. A few Bolero jeeps, a few rickshaws and a few Autorickshaw or Vikrams as they are known stand at the entrance waiting for the early morning passengers. The destinations for one and all Ram Ghat on Uttar Pradesh and Madhya Pradesh border. Charge Rs 7. Tuck in your stomach and your luggage. Squeeze yourself as much as you can, if possible turn your luggage into thin air before you mount into the Vikram. It is the only form of public transport available here. So each one is packed to hilt, with the driver precariously balancing himself on the right hand side edge and still calling out for more to come. What a big heart! The 'Vikram' slowing hobble on the pot-holed roads which has just one last trace of tar left. We brush past the palatial government guest house, which after the temples are probably the only other big buildings in the area. Streetlights have been erected bang in the middle of the roads for purely decorative reasons, at night these roads are pitch dark. and our Vikram slowly zig zags through these streetlights, never sticking to one side.
This is Chittrakoot.
****
Vardha river, filled to the brim with rain water is happy. Around the river stands the mountain range of bundelkhand. Red gravel paths leads to these mountains, there are no roads. Occasionally you will spot a bright orange colour sculpture of Hanuman. It is a bright, clean blue sky with huge white clouds wafting through. It is the crystal blue that you see in ‘holiday package’ advertisements. A group of pelican stands in middle a barren paddy field. I could see Indian Robin, Eagles, Sunbirds, ubiquitous Mynas, Bulbuls, Kingfishers and many more unnamed ones. Some times sitting on branches pondering about some grievous matter, or sometimes simply hoping in front just few meters from our Bolero jeep. The kingfisher busy with flying from one water body to other. The pelicans standing on leg in silent prayer. And till horizon the land was of deep green hue, wild grass grew everywhere. The fields were not in sight. And in distance a cluster of brown mud-thatch house stood. A different world altogether. As soon as our jeep enters this terrain, the two police officers accompanying us are on alert. Two loud clicks of loading the rifles. The clicks woke me from the reverie. This barren but beautiful terrain is not as empty it looks.
It is the Dacoit terrain. Here the rule of law ends. It is the place where Dadua’s diktat begins, the Dadua land, Dadua’s empire. You whisper and he would know. Bullets would fly, blood would spill, limbs would be cut. But standing here, soaking in slight drizzle, with sprawling natural beauty it is so difficult to imagine that it is a land of guns. A land where roads, schools and hospitals are not built till permission is granted by gun totting lords. But for now let the pcituresque moutains of Chittrakoot overshadow the dacoit tales.
This is Chittrakoot.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Monday, July 2, 2007
Love at Lunagarh
My fingers pressed hard onto the red rope which was fitted onto the raft, holding it as tightly as possible even as the waves were pulling me hard with them. The rope was the only way to keep me onto the raft. The waves and me fought for a while. But they were more strong. I was beneath the water. And last I saw before my vision blurred the red rope slipped off my hands and there I went....
Bobbing in and off water. Voice of our rafting guide Kieran resonanting in my head. "If you fall off the raft keep your feet towards downstream, above the water lie on your back and watch the sky." Where were my feet or my head.
A few moments back Kieran had said, "And now in front of us is the next rapid, Longhorn." He smiled and then winked to say, "Lets try to make it a bit longer this time. Yesterday we avoided it, today we shall try to go straight into it," he smiled.
We were going straight into it, not it water right. This can't be happening to me, I thought. "I can't be off the raft." But there I was twirling and twisting with the waves, my head bumping into rocks. (Thanks to the helmet or I wouldn't be alive)
The waves are wicked creature, they were more than happy to have me as company. So by turns they would pick me up on their shoulders to show me the sky and the drop me back in the water. I floated away drinking the pure water of Yamuna, melting straight from the the glacier just 80 Kms away from where I was tossed off the raft. I floated for over 300 metres. For once, the coward that I am, I thought that I am gone forever. I bid goodbye to ma pa. Thankfully the waves, no more amused with my company, left me alone to follow my guides orders. Within minutes I was pulled back on the blue raft, frozen and wide eyed.
That was Tons river, a tributary of Yamuna, or say a younger and more spirited version of Yamuna. After a six hour drive away from Dehradun and beyond the crowded Mussorie is the virgin Mori. I spent three days there, away from work, from Delhi, from competition, from tension...... from everything and even from myself.
****
There were birds, insects, stars, river and rain for company to keep me busy. The first day we rafted on the river, I was a bit scared of it. I was timid, so everytime a wave would come I would tightly shut my eyes and hold onto the rope of the raft, not willing at all to slip into the river. The second day I was friendly and bolder. I looked straight into the river, rowed with more energy, challenging the river to get me. And it did get me the third day when I finally made friends with it. It shook hands with me, drowning me with it.....
****
It is such a relief to be sitting next to a blabbering river, you don't have to talk at all, the river will carry on the conversation. It looked like a noisy bunch of school children. A few waves rushed to go ahead while a few others pushing them back to return; not sure of destination the river merely laughed and forlicked around. A little bird sat next the river watching it as i was. I was searching for calm and the bird was looking for it's food. So it hopped closer to the water, still maintaining distance, it dropped it's beak look for food and may be located it. Then reluctantly it took a plunge into the chilling water and then off at once on top of the tree away from my sight. The bird and me both got what we were looking for.
****
It has been a long time since I felt the first rush of attraction, the alleged feeling of being head over heels in love, the time when you keep smiling and are happy for no reason at all. I was in love at the Lunagarh camp. With whom?
Bobbing in and off water. Voice of our rafting guide Kieran resonanting in my head. "If you fall off the raft keep your feet towards downstream, above the water lie on your back and watch the sky." Where were my feet or my head.
A few moments back Kieran had said, "And now in front of us is the next rapid, Longhorn." He smiled and then winked to say, "Lets try to make it a bit longer this time. Yesterday we avoided it, today we shall try to go straight into it," he smiled.
We were going straight into it, not it water right. This can't be happening to me, I thought. "I can't be off the raft." But there I was twirling and twisting with the waves, my head bumping into rocks. (Thanks to the helmet or I wouldn't be alive)
The waves are wicked creature, they were more than happy to have me as company. So by turns they would pick me up on their shoulders to show me the sky and the drop me back in the water. I floated away drinking the pure water of Yamuna, melting straight from the the glacier just 80 Kms away from where I was tossed off the raft. I floated for over 300 metres. For once, the coward that I am, I thought that I am gone forever. I bid goodbye to ma pa. Thankfully the waves, no more amused with my company, left me alone to follow my guides orders. Within minutes I was pulled back on the blue raft, frozen and wide eyed.
That was Tons river, a tributary of Yamuna, or say a younger and more spirited version of Yamuna. After a six hour drive away from Dehradun and beyond the crowded Mussorie is the virgin Mori. I spent three days there, away from work, from Delhi, from competition, from tension...... from everything and even from myself.
****
There were birds, insects, stars, river and rain for company to keep me busy. The first day we rafted on the river, I was a bit scared of it. I was timid, so everytime a wave would come I would tightly shut my eyes and hold onto the rope of the raft, not willing at all to slip into the river. The second day I was friendly and bolder. I looked straight into the river, rowed with more energy, challenging the river to get me. And it did get me the third day when I finally made friends with it. It shook hands with me, drowning me with it.....
****
It is such a relief to be sitting next to a blabbering river, you don't have to talk at all, the river will carry on the conversation. It looked like a noisy bunch of school children. A few waves rushed to go ahead while a few others pushing them back to return; not sure of destination the river merely laughed and forlicked around. A little bird sat next the river watching it as i was. I was searching for calm and the bird was looking for it's food. So it hopped closer to the water, still maintaining distance, it dropped it's beak look for food and may be located it. Then reluctantly it took a plunge into the chilling water and then off at once on top of the tree away from my sight. The bird and me both got what we were looking for.
****
It has been a long time since I felt the first rush of attraction, the alleged feeling of being head over heels in love, the time when you keep smiling and are happy for no reason at all. I was in love at the Lunagarh camp. With whom?
Monday, June 18, 2007
Rain......
It rained yesterday. It was a slight drizzle when I stepped out of house. Then the skies opened and it poured. Sitting on the window seat of the rickety blueline bus on a hour long trip to Nehru Place I was also flooded with thoughts.
****
Do you rememeber the rains during the school days. At 7:00 am even as I packed my bags for school, running around in the house, colliding with every possible object lying around and screaming at ma to get my breakfast, the sky would turn dark. And then the music will start.
The Kari Pata tree outside in the courtyard will start swaying to and fro. Each leaf yearning for it's share of water.
And then balancing the bag on my shoulders and my red umberalla on my hand I would step out. It wasn't a easy task at all. I wasn't an astronaut, but negotiating with puddles and plotting my way up to the dry road was equally difficult.
Will rains on, I would leap like a frog trying to ensure that my uniform remain as pristine as ma had kept it. Although I sure by the time I scrambled to school the skirt will dotted with dirt and my black shoes would look more brown. Umberalla or no umberalla I would still be soaked by the time I would reach school.
The best things about rain-no assembly. No saying prayers or the pledge. No hearing moral lessons from the prinicpal. Did I describe my class room to you. Somehow I loved it more when it rained. It had huge windows, which led the rain come inside. Out side the window was the huge green ground surrounded by Eucalyptus trees. Beyond the boundary wall a secluded road and a few houses. Next to the house was a big DDA park. Rains even makes the yellowed grass glow. I remember sitting near the window and looking at the rain desperately wishing that my Hindi teach Mrs Narang would stop reading the beautiful Hindi poem in a monotonous drone.
She had a talent to choose the right poems at right time. And then murdering them by reading it alooud in sonorous montone accompanied by noises of emptying her nose in her hankerchief. Every time it rained I just wished Mrs Narang would catch fever and not come to class, so that I can sitting on my window sill and watch the rain fall.
****
I must have been smiling and misty eyed. No wonder that idiot standing near me is oggling with his mouth open. I wish I can smash his teeth out. But then rain mellows you down. The bus has just reached Malai Mandir, my destination is still far away.
****
Do you rememeber the rains during the school days. At 7:00 am even as I packed my bags for school, running around in the house, colliding with every possible object lying around and screaming at ma to get my breakfast, the sky would turn dark. And then the music will start.
The Kari Pata tree outside in the courtyard will start swaying to and fro. Each leaf yearning for it's share of water.
And then balancing the bag on my shoulders and my red umberalla on my hand I would step out. It wasn't a easy task at all. I wasn't an astronaut, but negotiating with puddles and plotting my way up to the dry road was equally difficult.
Will rains on, I would leap like a frog trying to ensure that my uniform remain as pristine as ma had kept it. Although I sure by the time I scrambled to school the skirt will dotted with dirt and my black shoes would look more brown. Umberalla or no umberalla I would still be soaked by the time I would reach school.
The best things about rain-no assembly. No saying prayers or the pledge. No hearing moral lessons from the prinicpal. Did I describe my class room to you. Somehow I loved it more when it rained. It had huge windows, which led the rain come inside. Out side the window was the huge green ground surrounded by Eucalyptus trees. Beyond the boundary wall a secluded road and a few houses. Next to the house was a big DDA park. Rains even makes the yellowed grass glow. I remember sitting near the window and looking at the rain desperately wishing that my Hindi teach Mrs Narang would stop reading the beautiful Hindi poem in a monotonous drone.
She had a talent to choose the right poems at right time. And then murdering them by reading it alooud in sonorous montone accompanied by noises of emptying her nose in her hankerchief. Every time it rained I just wished Mrs Narang would catch fever and not come to class, so that I can sitting on my window sill and watch the rain fall.
****
I must have been smiling and misty eyed. No wonder that idiot standing near me is oggling with his mouth open. I wish I can smash his teeth out. But then rain mellows you down. The bus has just reached Malai Mandir, my destination is still far away.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
The Muggy Tales
It is 9:30 am, amidst sweat and confusion of Delhi I hereby begin my blog. This is a tale about a girl from a little village Panayur which nestled in the northen tip of Kerala. A tale of her confusions, her encounters with Delhi and few secrets. A tale of Janpath, a tale of Qudisia Garden, a tale of the slums near Dabri, a tale of blueline buses, a tale of wars with auto-rickshaw drivers and a tale of Delhi Malayalees. Confusions will be shared, problems will be discussed, trips will be planned and dreams will be weaved. There will be lot to said and lot to unravelled. But right now let the Delhi temperature take the lead. Let the perspiration bog down the aspiration to write. And I shall be back with all the promises.
Vanakam
Vanakam
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