Cutting Off Loose Ends

Another day, another long ending with the mandatory chai and breezy lullaby of the sea.

I realise it can get pretty iffy when we discuss about the shoulds and shouldn'ts but again, it'll be quite boring if we all agree isn't it? Agree? (smile).

Hubby and I had a mini "graduation" today where we had the opportunity to join in a morning session of yoga, on top of the arvo round. I walked off the mat conquering two of my niggling doubts - the head stand and the crow asana - lingering like a bad after taste for many years with a better understanding of getting past my own fears, finding my own balance, and trusting your teacher and yourself. There wasn't any pom. It was simple. Attempt. Take it slow, it's fine if you need to do it another day.

I found that I had been rushing through my life for so long. I didn't even become aware that I had been shifting through good and bad thoughts clearly, like an overworked secretary in a dimly lit filing room (thick glasses and pencil stuck in the bun, and all that). To the rest of the world, this may sound like all rubbish and light air, but it was a case of "when the student is ready, the teacher will appear". A resounding quote I read today.

My mind began the day in the most quiet sanctuary of the early morning silence. The blackness of the sky yawned open like a chasm, threatening to swallow even a flick of a breath thrown out away. I was confused that while meditating, good thoughts, random thoughts, useless ones and even some bad memories kept flooding like a chaotic river that had overflown from the monsoon rain. But I learned very much later upon consulting my guru that the realisation itself is an achievement. We know, we become aware. We don't hold or push on, we just let it be as it is.

A very, very strange feeling. But a profound one. And in time, clarity is achieved by a gradual cutting off of any irrelevant, unproductive thoughts. Yet I don't (for a long time, the first time) get anxious over the "what if" or "what will" - sort of like, you'll know how to cross the bridge when you stand upon it. It's not slacking off, it's choosing how to channel your finite energy smartly and consciously in a positive way.

Mindful (pun intended) that I may sound like a motivational / spiritual / new age (gasp!) speaker, I underline that I'm not heading towards the incense burning, Om-chanting, bell jingling facade. That space had become quite crowded of late, with what's already too little real practitioners now fading away amongst the swarm of pretension, the me-too, the fake prophets. Just because you don a robe doesn't make you any closer to a nirvana professor. I don't know, maybe I'm getting a bit jaded seeing so much proliferation and abuse of what's been a long living tradition of the Indian religious and cultural diversity. It's unfortunately, been further peppered and salted up in a brew of toxic money spinning schemes that corrupted the very pure essence of its beauty.

What happened to me today, perhaps it's weird lucky coincidence. But I do believe that somewhere up there in a place far, far away from physical conceptualisation but close to heart in a holistic way, the Big Chief is looking after me and has brought me back to where I should be at this moment. I find myself in a beautiful beach hangout yet my mind soaked in more warmth than all the sun baking anyone could possibly do. I still don't know how to put a finger to it, in fact, it feels strange writing this but I feel it's important that I put it down to words. At times I see myself looking back at me, sort of seeing myself for the first time as how it is.

It's not magic. It's not holy water. It's not too much time in the sun. Sometimes inexplicable things happen at the most unexpected hour. I think mine just hit me. It'll take some time to sink in. The intangible affecting a lot of tangible, significant parts of the you in yourself. Maybe it's learning to cut the pie pieces in different portions again, maybe it's prioritising the important in a new way. Overall, it's like cutting off and stitching a new fabric thoroughly again. It's the same you but it's different still.

Cool, ain't it?

Just Being (Present)?

Varkala could have been a sleepy strip of land that faces the beating ocean just like anywhere else if not for it being on the pilgrimage route. Yet Varkala is more than a "stopover" town and is all but unspoilt, at least for the moment. I do hope that in time to come, it would stay a perfect balance between those who want a bit of the best waterfront view and those who just had a tad of thick wad to spend here. In short, prosperity and preservation? But I think I am getting too serious for a midday conversation...

We found ourselves a tiny shack made from bamboo for the first two nights. Really comfortable although I had little desire for the mosquito net if not for practicality. Felt like I was sleeping under a spider web and I was playing the role of the helpless, wingless fly that got too entangled an affair for my liking. Our plan was to land and survey the territory. There was no shortage of stays and eateries. In fact, so good was our selection that we had to hunt around for really something that we thought would fit our budget and idea for a "vacation" from our long travels. Ten weeks into the whole gig I think we found our groove phase two, but the constant planting and uprooting albeit, exciting, was taking a toll on our stamina and we thought to pull the lever and pause. Varkala, besides the odd tout beating up some drum beats and flagging maps at your face, is very peaceful and beautiful.

Local women in long, nightgownish dress walked like billowing sails on a windy day along the village roads. They moved like quiet boats, their eyes ever intensely studying you. The men, in all forms and sizes, all suited up in their veshti dragged piles of nets off the sea, cycling past with a rusty ringing bicycle selling watery ice cream that soothed the throat parched from the hotness of the oven baked day. Kids run up and down the North cliff while you go about indulging in your hard decision of a thali lunch, or some grilled prawns freshly caught from the sea tonight?

On day two, we found a lovely patch that came in the form of coconut studded garden and an airy, bright room. This would be home away from home for at least the next two weeks. Our daily routine would vary from a swim in the sea, body surfing, a run or just a sit under the morning rays. I woke to this morning, the crows beating my alarm clock. The only reason was to embrace the purity of the first moment and I saw hubby sitting outside, taking in the freshness of the still, dark morning. Worth meditating, this unspoilt rare self moment. Softly, I took my spot behind him. My mind was wandering... a lot but there was no tension but to let the moments come and go. I remembered the dying light of yesterday when we concluded our yoga session, with the sea eagles - looking like a smaller version of the American bald eagle - crying out their signals, perhaps to close another day's hunt above the waves, in a low screeching tone, all yearnful and longingly wistful.

I look down and I see our property's old uncle. Funny chap he was. He'll walk about with his little black radio, tuning it with his ear angularly tipped to one of the speakers. Sometimes I almost thought he got a signal from Russia. His face, all wrinkled up in its intensity of the act, the seriousness of his responsibility. Getting the morning traffic and headline news had never been more important a task than now. His deep betel nut red lips pursed, I guess he didn't like the broadcast that morning. Well, hope that cricket in the arvo would be better then...

He would go about watering the garden with his green snakey hose. The grass, showing no short of watering, green as ever, proudly stood tall like mini soldiers under the swaying hammock in between the coconut trees. When the sun warmed up the day, uncle would walk about, carrying his unfolded, now lunghi fashioned sarong on both sides with his tiny hands. He would parade down the path to get his chai from our local thali joint. From where I was, he looked like a ballerina prancing on stage, delicately holding the sides of his floating cloth. Other men would join as his supporting cast, in lime green, checkered blue, spotted red. They all formed a choreographed movement of men heading to fuel up like how a car would before its morning journey.

Somehow, he looked so much less frail in his white ensemble than the oversized blue security "force" shirt that he wore last night. I walked past his inspector-looking hat hidden underneath some past dated Malayalam newspapers, dusty and coughy. Thinking to myself, perhaps that was his costume to impress the chicks or just the property manager during the once in a blue moon visit? Thinking, thinking - lots of them, trying to keep little of them.

You do get a moment of clarity here after a while. You think about being in the moment. The realisation of mindfulness. Being aware. Just really appreciating the gift that is known as the present. You don't come here to find yourself. Perhaps, it's really here that you do pause and catch that moment of being "here". It's never too late. After all, what is the hurry really?

Of course it is too easy to conclude this is a farce, a highly commercialised perception of "getting away from it all". The entire strip here consisted of purely non-locals who had come to get a less crowded version of the beachier Kovalam, an original in Kerala minus the cliffs. The locals are here to trade, with mainly all living off the strip bar the few boys who sleep overnight inside the restaurants after closing hours (they are the ones who get the unenviable job of starting the early morning shift).

But this place offers a kind of anti-movement that pulses with its own beat. Quite oxymoronic, I know but then again, it was the perfect brew for me. We were so focused on getting ahead, somewhere eversince our travels started... you get the idea, train by this time, the number of hours, which stop, where to sleep, it was always on the go, seeing, getting on and off. Here, we had the rare treat while being away from the normal predictable comforts of the known at home, that the luxury of being planted for a while becomes something I could get used to a bit - at least for two weeks! Maybe this will rekindle the eagerness to hit back the dusty trail, to endure the lack of assumption and surprises (good, bad and ugly) and also I believe, make the enjoyable even more so.

I don't see India, Varkala, or the many other beautiful places that we had stopped by, as "mystical" or anything remotely close to those "extraordinary experiences" or "search my meaning in life" kind of thing. It's a bit difficult to explain but I'll try...

Yes, the Hindu civilisation is ancient, yet India, with all of Her old ways, is a vibrant mish mash of the most chaotic colours, textures, sounds, smells, religions, faces, beliefs, and that's not including the diversity of travellers who had added into this potion. It's not, although noted of its presence, all about relic-like temples perched on the top of the Himalayas. It's not just monks chanting mantra. It's not just banana leaf meals. India is as accessible as your metro ticket. She may have a way to find Herself into the nooks and corners of your mind and never let you go, but She isn't all that hard to get to know. In short, She could be termed as being as regular or direct as a friend that you just couldn't forget. She's definitely a stunner though.

You just need to give in your best. As you would have shared with me previously, in India, you get as much as you put in. So I am not going to paint Varkala, or for the matter of fact even India, as a Shangri-La type of place where you need to meditate away your wits to conceptualise this vision. It's not difficult to get to India, to arrive at Her doors. This is one intellectually stimulating place but that's only the beginning too. Heck, AirAsia will fly you to say, Trivandrum and you'll be hanging off a boogie board before you know it. That's how easy it is that it's ridiculous. But come here and think you'll just get doped up, that's all you'll get - a lot of doping and not a lot else. To pigeon-hole this place too quickly as a mythical land, or to just assume this is where you can get away with ganja (how many smokers actually go into depth the relation of the substance with the sadhu's existence and reason of application?) is just putting a fantasy cap on a country that is real, very much having their best of strengths and worst of problems.

You don't need to decide to sell off your backpack and live like a sadhu here to "get into India's mysticism". Even if you get ten reincarnations, it will be presumptious to say you will grasp all that will ever be known about understanding the multi-layered complexities of Indian philosophy and way of life. We bring with ourselves too much baggage (not the literal) and expectations, I reckon. It takes time to get beneath it all.

Hence, it's all about my loving this place because it fits into the tempo of how things had flowed since we kicked off this leg. I don't want to send off an image of it being all hippy. What I have learned here, is the finer point of knowing when to stop, even when you're on the move. It's profound, minus the usual bull and smoke and mirrors. I think I may have or most definitely have, overstayed my explanation this time...

Sigh, it's true you know. Trying to keep it simple can be so hard (smile). But you get what I mean.

The Luxury Of Slow

Oh, where do I start?

Digging back through the dusty (but happy) corners of my memory, we were departing for Periyar Tiger Sanctuary... at 0530 hours. The morning light was a ghostly grey when we climbed into a beat-up 4x4 jeep (the kind that any planter would be proud of) and I recalled being thankful that I wore my fleece jacket. The fresh wind woke up the senses but it would be pretty uncomfortable should we had only worn our shirts alone. The rocky gravel bumped up our empty stomachs as we roared and wheelied towards the checkpoints.

On both sides villages were only stretching up to a wake-up, tiny lights dotted a house here and there but the smell of milk and tea leaves boiling was evident. Periyar had answered the call of another blissful day in India. I would later on the journey back, stared mouth agaped at how the same village path had looked so different in broad daylight.

Right now our jeep halted to a stop outside of what looked like a commotion of red and blue stop lights. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and saw, alike us, many had woken up early to make the long drive to Periyar's virgin garden to catch what we would hope to be some luck at the wild. I was very lucky to have hubby who spoke fluent Tamil and it made our interaction with our driver and the locals such as the chai shop owner easier. Between hot invigorating sips of the local brew, we joked about anything and obviously, everyone was in high spirits.

The drive had been unique in a sense that very little honking (thank you India!) was done to not scare the animals away. I remembered just the day before we took a small walk in the other end of Periyar near where we stayed, we stalked quietly amidst hoons of macaques above while we spotted wild boars. It was the code of the day. No honking, no shouting. The latter I did exactly in my excitement and I felt absolutely like a dumb tourist. I saw an Indian bison for the first time. Heck, it was the first time I ever saw a bison in form munching away! Mental note to self: Be quiet!

The landscape was purely a gift from the Gods. Not even the greatest artist in the world could ever connote such a wild yet subtle combination of hills, trees, flowers and stone all acted as a purdah shroud to cover what laid a massive plate of wildlife teeming to the brim. Only the trained eye could spot a movement out of the ordinary and it was our very driver who pointed out a gentle giant, again taking in its breakfast on top of a hill, hidden behind some tall grass - an Indian elephant, much smaller ears but huge animal nonetheless. I was touched (call me a soppy sod) to see its magnificent form in the wild. Shouldn't all animals be that way? Both hubby and I absolutely hate to see particularly birds in captivity and here, it was heaven for us. We heared so many chorus of variants, all sounded strange to our human ears but I was definitely sure they all meant a form of language only the initiated would understand. This jungle was a chaotic order, things just grew here and this little road that wound its way upwards had brought about a cooling day that was wonderful for us to be out soaking the sun while we learned of our whereabouts.

I loved particularly what I had nicknamed "flames of the forest" - a tree that shot up into the sky with blood-red blossoms pulsating like a hundred hearts. Our driver paused and pointed out to me a secret waterfall in the distance. It swelled up in the rain from the previous night, crashing down breaking the rocks and forming a dance of fertility that seemed to shout across the valley. From a close distance, I saw for again the first time, my Malabar squirrel - this fellow was grooming his big bushy tail in a cradling motion, quite vain I would say but if I looked like him, I would too! He was beautiful, with white lining cutting the sides of his face, he must had been as big as a small dog. Away he hopped like a seasoned athelete onto another branch. Further up, a pack of Lion-faced macaques sat staring at us. Being quiet did have an advantage. Our jeep took a while to reach the top but being away from the main group meant we had a good space in the forest.

Upon reaching the registration centre, we had ourselves a hearty healthy breakfast. That was necessary as we said our introductions to the rest of the group, some German and Swiss hikers as we took on foot a 10km hike into the jungle. This was to become a fantastic workout for me. Of course I got to meet my nemesis again - the jungle leech! In between stuffing my socks with rock salt and flicking off two of them (fat as sausages, no thanks to bleeding me) I enjoyed the hike tremendously. The jungle was unlike others that I had seen in the Equator but for the lack of tigers that we spotted, we learned a great deal from our guide the local trees that the tribes here made use of for things such as Sambrani, a bark peel that we took from a tree and throw in a lighter, it melted into a liquid that emanated the exact smell that was used in pooja. Another two different trees producing various pepper fruits, another one giving cinnamon! I was used to buying cinnamon sticks and to see them on a tree (obviously the bark rolled up was the end product) was a mind opener for me. We saw a tiger paw print, leftovers of honey by a bear, but overall, just fantastic undulating terrain. We hugged around the lake and took stop at a river bed. I thought it was quite funny that our guide (poor chap) must had felt a bit of pressure to spot some wildlife for us that he made some huge masala action about "do you hear that?", "do you feel that?" when I had to stifle a laugh as he went on to put up his act by asking his fellow guide if what he thought he heard was the sound of elephants breaking barks. In Tamil, his innocent friend replied "oh, I thought they were trees!" (translation thanks to hubby) and it was trees, swaying high above creaking under their weight as the wind took hold. Really, he was determined but I thought the animals were more adamant than he was. Anyway, our hike culminated with a hike uphill akin to Mt Abu and we descended towards the lake, only to take a sampan back to the main centre.

By now I was bumped and flattened. Happy but tiredly waiting to get back for a good shower and watched the evening bats head out. In the late afternoon, our jeep took a merry ride downhill back to our place. What a wonderful day and what a stunner!

So, here I sit, reminiscing about our days just maybe a week ago in the jungle? It was so different from Varkala, what not with the inflated horizon of the Indian Ocean, lined by a stretch of the Malabar Coast. But before I share further, let me take out a page from our times in the backwaters... and our 8-hour journey by slow boat towards Kollam, or for the old romantic at heart, Quilon (one of the oldest ports on the Malabar Coast, mentioned by Arab and Chinese travellers from as far back as the 9th Century).

From Periyar, we endured a winding Grand Prix-styled drive with some Italian road curves for three hours towards Allepey. Our driver, Ajit, funny guy but one ferocious driver. Once we got through the formality, he was much more comfortable revealing his real personality - a veshti donning Schumacher. In between educating us the lines between a dhoti and a lunghi, he wheezed and turned while hubby and I quickly but surely clicked on our safety seat belts (bless!). I saw what was introduced as a Levi's jeans wearer to a true Tiger so much as the local machan tag would go, he really was a fantastic guy to have with the journey. He loved his music and we sat through what must had been the Tamil and Malayalam's top 40 classic hits non-stop medley CD that he played over and over again. Oh, did I mention too that his reverse gear had a Tamil tune too? We do miss him, he was great - arranging for us to be dropped off nicely at the harbour before we took a slow boat out, but not before we got our tickets out to Kollam by boat (decided to give the 3-hour train a miss).

If anyone told you there was nothing to do at the backwaters, then you need to take it just so lightly. Yes, you do recede in a "do nothing" mode because it was just so nice to do nothing but kick back, with a book, dangle your feet off the boat, plant your teeth down a slice of juicy pineapple. Doing nothing had never been busier.

But if you invest some time to break the ice with the locals, you can learn a lot more. There was a vault of bird species to spot. From the split-tailed swallows to white egrets that were aplenty, we saw herons posing as stoic as a statue, webbed cousins of theirs diving gracefully for a river snake or two, a congregation of sparrows chatting away on power lines as my eye saw from the corner, a red spotted heron that must had been a giant spanning the height of half a metre. The padi fields opened away in miles, neat boxes that fed again nations. This was truly coconut land as everywhere I looked, their gentle arms swaying in the air fanning us with their shade. We chatted with our boat guys, happy to learn that the Keralan government ensured the livelihood of the locals who built their homes along the river - evident from the women in their tireless rounds of scrubbing utensils, beating their laundry and bathing their little ones - and men bobbing up and down the river, spotting the surface lines with their heads as they come up for air during catching for little fish and crabs - night time was strictly off limits for our sail as they moved out in their boats for bigger catch. Here, you truly understand that the river feeds many a mouth, and in return, how we manage that fine balance will determine how much our future generations get to enjoy a bit of the backwaters that had channelled so many travellers not only in Alleppey, but in between to other towns too. Tourism couldn't have been balanced more with reality and daily living more than here.

I remembered the late evening sun resting onto the horizon sizzling off the day's remaining heat as quickly as a hot plate. We just returned from a short walk into the padi field once our boat docked for the night. We had a quiet dinner of prawns and some local Keralan chutney and rice. Very simple, very peaceful and then it was bedtime. This was when the drama began.

From time to time, our bed rocked gently from side to side, caused by passing boats' ripples. But the overhead fan snapped with an ugly loud "tap" and the humid heat cut through our window while the mozzies whined mournfully around my ears (why dear Lord, were they ever created!). Accustomed to now, what is an Indian institution, power interruptions would be a normality. We waited, a few moments turned into a long side-turning marathon on the bed. In the end, we decided to wake our boat guys up and well, he nonchalantly decided to generate some power from what was a dead power generator (huh?). Anyway, to avoid more masala conjuring up, we went back to our room and laid our heads precariously on our pillows. Then the machine, being resurrected, coughed and pitted, rumbled and thumped, our whole bed was convulsing violently and my mind shot back to the Ben Hur epic 30-hour train ride to Bengaluru, when our heads rocked and bounced off our pillows from the bumpy ride. Ah, sweet memories!

And it rocked, groaned, somehow in that chaos, I fell back to sleep but hubby kept up, much to his advantage, to welcome a wonderful sunrise. I guess the early riser does have more in the bag of goodies! He saw boats ferrying the busy traffic. Women in colourful garments carrying bags and children across different sides of the river, fishermen throwing out nets for the morning flipper, school children in their starched uniform waiting for the boatmen. All here and everywhere, African moss floated and covered our water highways. I got up a bit later and with a cold shower (it's still river water) I settled happily to rest before our long crawling journey to Kollam.

We decided to take a cut through the villages via a slow boat to see more and meet the friendly owners of the land - in the faces of villagers and herded animals. They come out, especially the little children, running to the pier with shouts of delight and amusement. We waved until we couldn't anymore. Some stared some smiled but all knew that we were crossing and we came with full admiration of how these locals made a life out of the river and the land. It was raw and beautiful but it was also hard. You don't get fresh water without collecting it from a well. You don't get a flushing toilet, you just get out there on a little deck built suspended on a few planks and well, privacy came in the form of a torn gunny sack stitched tightly around some long sticks poked upright in four corners. But people existed, people went about their usual business of opening their shops, selling, buying, catching, schooling, washing, gossipping, crying, laughing and when the day got too much you can always sit under a hammock to chill and get away from it all. The cows and goats seemed to perfect that formula.

Most parts of the ride went through green fresh lanes but as we came closer to Kollam, it was unsettling to see certain sites were used as dump areas for mountains of rubbish and discardments. The smell stung you before you could see it. Hence it was a relief (at least for us on the boat) to sail on but I thought about the people who popped out of the local sand factories to wave us on our journey. They had to live here, use the water, make somehow a way through amongst those dirt and "aim to have a healthy, happy life" - all seemed quite difficult a concept for my mind to observe but again, you do try to not fit what is a different nut into what is yours, a different bolt. I try to recall the parts of the river beds that we stopped for lunch, the water was as clear as glass and it was brimming with fish. Hope, to not lose it is to, maybe, have a chance.

Our ass-numbing stretch came to a conclusion when we closed in on the port. Out of the evening ripple as the sun (I must had seen too many sunset variance since arriving in India!) broke in between the waves, creating golden layers of sparkle while shadows of fishermen hung above their boats. Two what looked like pipe-fish shot through the air in a skipping stone format. They were flying fish, minus the "wings". Fast and furious, they flew away. Quick as the eye had to catch it, I was riding high. My mind was still settling from the wildlife I saw from the jeep ride in Periyar, seeing another species of flying fish (compared to what we saw in our Borneo trip) was the cherry on the pie. We got off the boat and haggled a bit with our local cabbie.

This turned out to be our first ever, Indian Ambassador! It was a monster in the making, it was mean and it was rusty white, bearing the war marks from weaving deftly through the rough traffic. I couldn't wait. The tiny Ganesh adorning the dashboard gave me a sense of comfort (real or otherwise I didn't care) that we would make it to Varkala by dusk! He wore the rudimentary dhoti and thick microscopic lens. His fake gold watch hung loosely on his wrinkled arm as he peered above his steering wheel while muttering curshes in a dialect that was as strange as eating dhal with chopsticks. As the garland of seashells that hung from his rearview mirror swung smashingly as our Ambassador flew (yes, you read correct) across the sandy road, our driver honking for other cars and pedestrians, cows and fowls to get out of his way because he carried two travellers clinging onto their seats and he needed to make it to the final destination some 30km away, time just ticked away.

The only time that we stopped during the journey, no times, were twice. Firstly in a town where some huge road diversion took place. Somehow certain religious parade was going on and as our car tortoised with the passing human traffic foot-by-foot overtaking us, I saw a long line snaking into a tiny "Government-approved" shop, obviously partly I couldn't see the other remaining painted signboard. Hubby proudly told me it was the same shop he saw in Munnar - a shack basically, with the interior design of a hold-up cell. What laid behind bars was what was precious cargo: booze! This wasn't the sight blinding stuff, this was probably approved liquor that anyone could purchase but I still giggled at their labels "French vodka!", "Local Champagne!", maybe it was a better idea to stick with chai. On the other side of the car, I saw this huge platform of the Goddess Durga, riding three tigers loudly growling away with the works. Disco ball lights shimmered and reflected, casting spotted glows on the Goddess as the tigers hissed out smoke. The pyrotechnics were stunning! Beat this Broadway! Behind her, it seemed to be a baddie giant holding a princess, with some other floating mythical prince chasing on a chariot, brandishing bow and arrow, all decked in fake gold. There were people swarming around like angry bees only that mum and dad, kids and grannies, all toothed grins and smiles. Candy floss and popcorn permeated the air, here a lime juice wallah yelled out a cheap drink for all, there some roasted peanut sellers piped away repeatedly and quickly in a tune that I could only imagine meant "peanuts, peanuts, peanuts". It was a huge carnival and proof that Brazil exists everywhere there is a decent human population!

The other time was a long wait before the train tracks. It was dark, none of the gaiety we had earlier. A tired looking veshti-wearing cyclist walked past with his bike while some saree ladies waited by the bus station, a small little hut with a lone white lamp casting shadows on their youthful faces, making them aged at that very moment. Our train hooted and trumpeted across the tracks, sending rumbles of gravel teethering nervously off the lines. Once the barrier lifted, our driver kicked in the start and our trustworthy Ambassador came to life again. He was determined to go for the checkered flag. As we neared Varkala, we saw by now, the dark yawning sea, dotted by tiny yellow diamonds of fishermen boats. They formed a modest version of what we saw at Mumbai's Queen's Necklace. While we neared our stay for the night, I stared at disbelief at the passing sight. Here, the night air brought to life action. Action in the form of movement, sound, light and shadow.

Smells of tumeric fried fish came out from a loving home, children ran back with a curfew to hold. Men gathered to exchange news by the local tea stalls, while a few women closed in their last bargains for the day by the market. Goldsmith shops looked expectantly at passing traffic, rusty bicycles parked by the coconut trunks. Life here was safe, the village mentality protected and promised like how every panchayat would, with their set of laws and codes. The smell of red plums and jasmine filled my lungs and I took my fill. By now, I could not see the road as I could only make out the oncoming traffic by their headlights potruding beams of yellow light through the dust that worked up from the single-traffic road we were on. Many a time, our driver had to play eyeballing with the other driver. Sometimes, as hard-willed as we can be, the lure of getting home to chew on some paan and another cup of chai proved to be an overcoming factor. Hence, he mainly let them passed as we got to our place.

There you have it. Here I sit, in front of another beautiful serene midday. The waves were swelling and crashing up against the red cliffs as I pulled back my gears. You really don't want to go fast. You begin to discover the gift of slow here. I caught myself saying "we thought we would come and stay for a few days, I want now to stay for weeks".

There'll be more to come for Varkala. That's for another chapter and it took us quite an adventure to get here, but this place is truly stunning. I didn't travel to "find myself" or for things like that, but this little stretch of heaven perched on the reddish towers, with wild waves banging on their hems, it's quite something out of this world. Maybe I was here, somewhere beyond my usual world, taking it all in, one thing at a time.

Fort Kochi And All Sublimity...

As I bravely turned out the covers over my head that I had been hiding myself over the past few days or so, I came up to a beautiful Thekkady. Long travels are amazing but they can somehow find a way to worm into your psyche and wear you out. Admittedly, moreover in a guilty manner, I felt I had to shut off the world and from everything that moved and made a sound... probably including my own reflection. Perhaps this "break" from a break would do wonders but I haven't really felt the full effect yet. Although I am feeling brave enough to venture out to write about simply the most enthreal expriences that we had gone through since arriving in Kerala, the land of coconuts, trees, nuts and all!

The South of India oozes with a kind of fertility that only the vast stitched green pockets of never ending padi fields could lay out as a welcome, adorned by sashaying coconut palms that gently run their long leafy fingers, playing cooling shadows on the lightly dusty paths that lead you on a journey to a land loved by the Gods. Our train pulled onto a bright sunny morning that screamed of hotness and humidity that promised a positive day, enticed more by the thought of a cooling lime juice. Making (or shall I say continuing?) the journey to Fort Kochi from Ernakulam was a mad harrowing line of queuing and fending off irritating wanderers that seemed to like to breach the one-arm private space (what private space?) asking for a dollar while you were holding on to your spot. The ferry ride was bum numbing slow yet exciting as we passed by old looking remnants of Dutch and Portugese colonisations on the fort, hence imparting a legacy of curious mixture between the local customs, cuisine, and maybe a bit of song and dance, muscles and all - much to our own amusing discovery much, much later.

Our days in Fort Kochi was spent walking by the coast, digging into copious amounts of fresh seafood but also some extremely delicious Malabar dishes (I looked at prawns differently now), peppered by more mango ice cream and feeling (truly feeling) the wind in your hair. It's a strange feeling like we had stepped back into the good old pre-Independence Malaya days of our country. The pedestrians, their style of communication and daily wear, the smell of the sea, the bicycles, just the general easygoing feeling reminded us of a time that we only could recalled through history books and texts at school, while we reached deep into the vaults of our memories of growing up in a small town that perhaps, held the tail ends of a bygone era. It was a good era, and it was even more fantastic to experience a slice of it, here in a town thousands of miles away from home. The afternoons were extremely stuffy but what we paid for returned in the gentle caress of the evening goddess. Hence we were lured into the womb of an enchanting, surreal jewel box that opened up more secrets of the old practices. Welcome to the world of Kalarippayattu, Kathakali, and Classical Indian Dances.

Kalarippayattu, a form of Dravidian martial art that holds an esteemed position in Kerala has the pride of being one of the oldest, if not the oldest, form of fighting systems in the world. Yes, throw in a good measure of jaguar leaps in the air, clashing of iron shields and swords, rippling muscles that tightened in gritty form as their practitioners demonstrated the fine art of defence, attack, and to kill. History and myth even had it that an ancient Buddhist monk had brought this sacred knowledge back to China, thus sprouting a new branch of self dence that is popularly known today as kung fu. The modern lass in me was dumbfounded as the Kalarippayattu team of the Keralan Cultural Centre took to stage with skills and technique that were honed by years of dedicated practice. What we found inspiring were that these lads took onto the art purely for the love of it - there is no current government support and they rely completely on word of mouth through travellers to form an ongoing audience in order to share the art - and most if not all, came from a poor fishermen family background. One of them, perhaps of the more skillful fighters, had a slightly bad leg and we learned that it was not due to a former injury.

Instead of being given up for good, this man fought through early age Polio and rose to become a dashing knight of Kalarippayattu. What hubby discovered in the Dutch Palace was even more spice to the broth. Their elder ancestors were part of the colonisers' army and they were that skilled in adapting to the Western military training as well as intermingling their own brand of Kalarippayattu that the British, once took sight of their "soldiers" decided to band the latter's practice - just in case anyone disputed over some cream and scones?

Besides seducing the mind with the likes of Classical Indian music "jamming" sessions and the Kathakali - ours a tale of how Bhima slayed the demon Bhaka to save the Bhramin from eternal slavery - played out in minute details, what I took to was the invitation to witness as part of the audience of a heavenly court. That very night, it was no woman that was performing the traditional Bharatanatyam. We had angels. Each kajal-eyed expression, each smile, each heartache, shone through passionately through the lyrics and beats of the drums and singer, punctuated by the cling-clang of the cymbals. It was the story of Lord Khrisna and there were the stories of how a baby of the divine God stole the butter, then it was one of the many love stories narrated through the coming and goings of Him and a gopi. I was moved, and I was surprised to be touched by the haunting fingers of the songs and rhythm coming from a tongue that I barely understood. It was beyond the feast of the eyes, the costumes and flowers, the light and shadow all played and paid a divine bow to a God that had bestowed and inspired so many in this Subcontinent on their Hindu culture and song and dance. Whether you are a believer or not, it doesn't really matter. What I saw that night was a celebration of coming together by people and travellers of various grounds. In the end, the applause came as high as the spiers that reached the skies to tell maybe, of a tale of reverence and appreciation for such pure of a performance.

We departed Fort Kochi to move on to Munnar, the highlands of the Western Ghats where we camped out on a simple dwelling that ran fantastic water pressure (and hot!). Our home was in the middle of a huge cardamom plantation and we saw for the first time, what a cardamom fruit looked like before it arrived in our kitchen all pruned and wrinkled! Two nights of cool air and stillness. It was not hard to dream away and relax as the mist covered the valley. The next day we took to some easy hikes including to a vantage point called Hill Station. Much to our delight, you can actually camp there for barely a small fee. As poorly equipped as we were, our boots got us up and down the paths to witness some of the most inspiring rocky structures Nature could plan and hope for us to preserve. It's a kind of beauty that is bare, simple - no real big brass band - yet you can't help but hate yourself for rushing through it. So you sit down and you just stop talking. On the far off hill, you hear a bird screeching, unlike anything you have heard. A Sambar-like deer danced off in the river bed where some cows muddled peacefully away. Our bungalow was built by a plantation manager with some foresight back in 1925 that travellers like you and me today could enjoy a little bit of again, the good old days (smile). Far away, the morning tea pickers could be heard chattering away like happy sparrows while they combed through the acreage, arms rhythmically back and forward, graceful fingers plucking away the precious cargo.

Truly we were spoilt in a house that overlooked the "Seven Hills" hence the name - Kannan Devan Seven Mallay Estate. What's empowering of this place lies with the fact that the plantation is majorly held by the locals, whom became owners by right when the then, Tata Tea exited the holdings. Only a small part of that huge sprawling unending horizong of virgin green is planted and harvested at one go. In turn, you will notice the love and care that had poured into the land. Everything is pristine. Yes, there is commerce, there is production, but you do feel hopeful maybe that man and Nature can co-exist without the marring effects of what you read when you open the morning papers.

I never saw a live woodpecker until now. That little fellow was hammering away at a tree that we walked past below. Images of Woody came back and by golly, I think I almost lost my marbles out of excitement! And yes, we drank tankfuls of tea, tea, and more tea. Plus some really good Keralan Chicken Curry and Chicken 65 (spices perhaps?). Comfortable plushy bed, some cookies, it was very hard to be stressed.

Today we did an early morning walk in the Periyar Tiger Sanctuary. Unfortunately (or maybe not?) no tigers but we saw three wildboars with six small piglets burrowing in the mud looking for scrubs. It was quite cute and I never thought that piglets could be any cuter. One of the matriachs sensed us and with a snort, she commanded the whole team to move across the road. It was a perfect unison of movements and freeze actions as the piglets ran and waited for further instructions. Survival depended on intense attention being paid! Far off we heard some deep throated hoons from what we suspected as - apes? Darwin I am not but they were moving too fast in the canopies too high for my neck to crane although we did take time out to play peekaboo with a deer. Hubby caught sight of him and we did the "you can't see me" gig. Of course, all at a respectable distance so that we don't leave the animals flustered.

The nights here are cool and the days refreshing. I played with some calves and an elephant today. Tomorrow will be some more jeep safari-ing before we move out to Alleppey. So far the plan for the South is to "take things easy" but I'm beginning to understand that in India, it is very hard to not do anything and too easy to be overwhelmed (and I am saying this with a smile on my face!). Already my head is swimming with the thought of the week-long yoga in Varkala - meditative stance anyone?

Oh yes one more thing. I took on to the Ayurvedic massages including the Sridodhara treatments. In short, from the very bad that I have succumbed under to the very nice one that I took a relieved sigh from - this is not a spa relaxation session. This is medicative treatment. It is vigorous and intense. Throw in a James Bond-looking box of a steam machine that you sit in with only your head popping out while you well-oiled body is cooked under the vapour, life can't get funnier! But I have to admit, done properly, the after effect will have you sleeping like a baby and eating like a voracious baby elephant. So, althought I was pinched and squashed previously by con-jobs that I had gullibly walked into like a blinded sheep into the wolf butcher, a good Ayurveda session can lift your well being. I learned that it's "treatment" not spa.

Even if you have to tip-toe stark naked onto the treatment bed which looks horribly close like a sizzler pan!

Do I Bore You?

The railway coolie fought the onslaught of arriving passengers, their muscles rippling like old tree trunks as they balanced with deft poise bundles of bags and boxes above their heads and the train brakes puffed out like a giant "Pete, the dragon" unhappily announcing another long journey ahead as we cut across the country. The snow pellets dropped many weeks ago while the dusty grains of sand in my plate had dried up many memories in the past. I woke from a dream that was not so long awhile when we rode along the dainty muddy plains of quilted padi fields, spotted by mynahs that swooped around like fighter jets. Only that this too, felt like so far away now. I remembered aiming my lens at a family standing outside of the departing train, tears and waves mixing in a humid, crowded way that seemed so natural living in this part of the world. A goodbye was promised with a note to announce of safe arrival. Then as quickly as that farewell party built to its climax, it vapourised into fine mist that cooled off the night. Still more waiting, more mosquitoes that buzzed around my ears, teasing and flirting with a game of deadly accuracy - who got who first - either they perished under my thunderous claps when my palms made contact, or they would have to suck my veins dry.

Meanwhile my inbox screamed off updates from families and friends at home, wherever home dictated it to be through various courses of activities of our loved ones, close and far. Wedding preparations underway, passing of dear ones, some Christmas holiday updates, and a persistent note to enquire if we had succumbed to stomach troubles. It's amazing how life moved on with so much melodrama and exciting squabbles while I woke up to a mix of ridiculous disbelief at how wonderfully chaotic everyday for the last few months had been yet it all seemed too... "normal" too.

Perhaps I got into the groove of long term travelling. Maybe I'm not "vacationing" anymore. Possible that I am getting addicted. But most of all, I know at the end of whichever the destination is, I will be utterly gobsmacked at the incredible opportunity bestowed on this simple life of mine.

In a way, not so bad to keep living the dream. Waking up time will come. If this is boring, then it's pretty cool too...

My Best Shots Of 2009

Many felicitations for a new year.

You may have checked out my previous best shots collected to commemorate a year's observation in January 2009's entries. Entering a young 2010, I looked back at this year and marveled at the different tones set by a wonderful 365 days of meeting new faces and trying out strange things. This entry summed up amongst the many huge impact events that wrote the pages of 2009 in my life and in the barest of backpacking one can get, I had found the greatest comfort and challenge from the assortment of individuals on the path that we met.

I got asked many times "how did you take that photograph?" - the cheeky answer inside my head was "with my old little E510 companion?"...

But in truth, I was blessed with many great models who made it an honour to capture what I would sum up for 2009:

A year that opened up the biggest classroom of my life.

A year that reaffirmed the more you learn, the more you have yet to learn.

A year that you get back to basics and enjoy the simple joys of a genuine "hello" and "bye".

A year to meet others beyond your world, where strangers exchange curiosity about one another.

A year that will never be another one, and one that took me to extreme corners that hid the most raw, unassuming beauty, hardened only by the harshest of life's extremities.

So my dear friends, enjoy the diamonds that I have unearthed from the long dusty lanes along a simple person's travels. Many cheers and here's to what 2010 have in store! Just got to get out there!

A Mowgli Out Of Jungle

Our train pulled onto the platform on a foggy morning five before six. Bengaluru on a crispy wake-up phase, traffic was still stretching off last night's slumber as our auto zipped past sporadic lit buildings buzzing with school children getting ready to start the new year's syllabus.

Was it just five days ago in Hampi that we warmed our skin and basked in the dry comfortable breeze encircling the ancient Vijayanagar Empire? Of course you could stay in many padi field-facing huts, equipped with a swing and a mosquito net that was put to good use in a lot of stunning locations around the world - but it was also not in many places you will get an ethereal feeling walking along a spiritual Viru River, with temples and monumental walls that once saw bustling bazaar life and fervent worship intermingling along daily pursuit for some rice snacks, cooling coconut juice, some bananas for the temple nandi and being blessed by Laxmi the temple's elephant.

Along the 12km trek cutting past the villages, it was as easy as breaking an egg to catch huts built from mud and straw, wiry women carrying water urns, last night's crockery and laundry for wash. Some younger maidens see-sawed drying their saree while many a man sat underneath a charpoy sipping a small cup of chai, a perfect remedy to escape the day's increasing temperature.

Hampi is a strange city. Putting aside some really basic accommodation, bed bugs and deadly painted do-not-touch-me spiders, and yes a loony guard dog and some aggressive hippy wear peddlers with the river crossing boat cartel, Hampi is a unique city that seems to leap into life once you find your own groove here. We did each side of the river alternatively on a motorbike and met arms of green young padi fields that extended out to the horizons beyond, energizing villagers inviting us to partake in chopping firewood and shifting rice grain... I got a lot of big toothless laughters from the older women with my poor skill but the fun was priceless. High numbers of oxen and donkeys wandered or stood in the middle of village roads as we moved in between flying cockerels and sprightly puppies. Yes we had to put up with power cuts on the dot on 3am as part of the local BJP's lack of planning to supply sufficient power, hence Plan B was to divide and divert - but Hampi at night took on a shadowy figure as quiet as a grave where a flutter above you and a blobbing sound below you indicated that you were indeed, far away from a city and that the padi fields were very real. In the middle of the night's darkness, I heard a dog howled away while a baby woke up with a few grunting attempts at complaining to mum about the cooling heat of the hour. The blueness in the still air actually took on a spooky feel as my imagination ran wild. I tried to sleep hard... or went back to the escape of my slumber.

You can read a lot about Hampi from online and printed literature, but nothing could articulate a more meaningful way to begin a new year by revisiting a glorious past in the forms of ruins. For isn't it in our mistakes and downfall that we learn the most? For isn't it imperative to rise after each defeat? This place is rich in culture despite having their kings breathed their last many hundreds of years ago, but the villages, reeking with young energy as lads played cricket off green plains along Kamalpur village lanes and faithfuls making their way down to the ghat to bathe and wash, you'll be pained not to find many a nandi statue keeping by itsShivalingam, and just around the corner, on a slab of stone, a garuda carving stood out amongst the water weeds. As the last gurgle of the river gave way to a silent current washing off the day's memory, I sat down and looked beyond, to somewhere far away within myself, propelled by Hampi's romantic setting and knew that wherever I may be, I was exactly, again where I should be right now.

As I close here I realise quite suddenly the fatigue I have gathered over the last couple of days. There were rocky paths to climb, the heat to cool off from, and just battering yourself among the crowd of tourists, worshipers and locals who live there. Some will try to sell to you, some will try to take from you, heck, some even assume that you are an ATM machine that prints money to give at anyhow. There were cow dung patches to jump hopscotch over, slippery washed pavements to skid along, fantastic fresh fruit juices to indulge and incense-filled air to wander off to your mental chambers. Hampi, just like India on a bigger scale, take a lot out of you but in return, gives so much back to you too. I can rest well now knowing that I am so glad I did succumb to the lure of the fresh air and mineral smelling air from the old chapters between the rocky plains.

You may not obtain enlightenment but you may come close to it.