Emerald Islands - 1

My Andaman and Nicobar islands experience.

It is not a happy place you know. I kept telling myself, I kept facing this truth. My first 24 hours in Port Blair were not exactly what you call a happy tourist experience.

This archipelago of 572 islands situated in the midst of the Bay of Bengal, makes you believe that you are in in a totally new country. Even though it is just a two hour flight from Chennai or Calcutta, it feels like a whole new planet.



Port Blair, looks and feels like any other average city in India. Except the golden statue of Mahatma Gandhi and the Clock tower in the Aberdeen market, nothing that you see leaves an impression on your mind. When you speak to the locals, the most obvious emotion you come across, is that of fear and loss. An infinite sense of something being lost in the dark waters of the tsunami. It is a popular belief that every dark cloud has a silver lining, the fishermen folk here in andaman's are still struggling, are still searching, in despair, for that silver lining.

But it is in the midst of this sea of loss and despair, the most exotic, the most virgin, the most unexplored, and I would say the country's best kept secret - Andaman and Nicobar Islands. Out of the 572 islands, only 38 have human settlements. About 350 islands belong to the andaman group of islands. The 10° channel separates the rest which constitute the Nicobar group of islands. The Nicobar group of islands are not open to tourism, even the islanders need a special permit to visit these islands. And it is not because of inaccessibility, but for the fact that these islands are inhabited, by seven traditional tribes. The Jarawa, Onge and Sentinelese are among some of the world's oldest civilisations and of great importance to present day anthropologists.



Port Blair is in many ways, ‘Mini India’. You will find a representative of each Indian state on these islands, which makes this a true melting pot of cultures.

Andaman has the most beautiful beaches that you can see in India.
Most of the beaches are a 20-30 minute boat ride away from port blair.

Bus no. 83 part-1

This is the first part of a mini-series I intend to write on a set of strangers that meet on a rainy Tuesday evening. What follows is an amazing stir-fry of emotions and experiences...bon apetit!

DISCLAIMER:
(This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or object in real life is unintended and purely coincidental)


PART 1 - BUS NO. 83



His new alligator strap tag heuer was soaked because of the tiny harmless drops trickling down from the wooden handlebar of the umbrella that he carried. And that irritated him. He wasn't a 'soaked in materialism' kinda guy, but had his quirks about certain things and watches was one amongst the few.

She, on the extreme right of the bus stop, was a stark contrast to this irritated guy to the left extreme.
Calm, composed, almost untouched by the strong winds and the spray of cold raindrops, not literally. Her feet were wet, and little droplets trickled off her silver anklet, the only piece of jewelry she wore.
But her transparent knee long raincoat kept most of her body dry. What was not covered by the raincoat reveled in the sensation of being wet.

Her wildly curly hair looked like someone had leashed them, they were for once, manageable. Wet is not such a bad thing after all, she thought for a flash.

It was 6:20 pm on this wet tuesday evening, and surprisingly the bus stop was deserted, for what was otherwise considered Peak-Hour. Most offices had let their employees take a half-day and go home, for the fear of getting stuck in office in case the rains didn't pause.

For the last 8 minutes, both the boy and the girl waited for their BEST bus to churchgate station. It was a long way from the RC church bus-stop, not worth risking a walk, definitely not in this weather.

He glanced at his tag the 19th time since he had been at the bus stop and she checked her cell phone for any new sms...none!

Just then, after a moment of silence, there was a huge bolt of lightning that struck a 120 year old banyan tree. The bus stop stood bang opposite the now burnt by lightning tree. Splinters of wood flew in all directions as the 3 feet diameter tree trunk got sliced in two halves.

Both of them panicked, scared, got together. He proposed that they get out of there. She couldn't have said it in better words. As he unstrapped his tag and slid it in his backpack, she introduced herself, shouting over the strong winds and the whooshing sound of the rain “Hey, just so that you don't call me random names, its Shania for the record.” she smiled. He put his backpack hastily, where it belonged, on his shoulders, shaked his hand vigorously to make it dry and managed a semi-dry handshake muttering, “ Hi Shania, i'm Ron, whatever made you think i'd be calling you weird names”. “They do you know, most of my friends, they call me Medusa, its because of my lovely curly hair”. He chuckled and escorted her out of the bus stop whispering, “ they are gorgeous, why complain!”. That's when he first realized how soft her hands were. Wow! That was softer than any brioche dough, he thought to himself!

There they were, 2 strangers, stuck in the perfect stormy, rainy, evening. The walk to the churchgate station , under normal circumstances, would have taken them at least 30 minutes, if they walked at a steady pace. But today, was no normal day, it had rained 100 mm of rain since morning and the meteorological department had issued warnings of increasing rainfall and stronger winds after sunset.

So, they started walking, under the tungsten streetlights that shone on the raindrops, making them look like orange juice drops.

Painkiller!

It was paining, really bad, coz the thought and the impending realization had razor sharp edges. And every time the thought travelled through my nerves from the cortex to the hypothalamus, it would make an irreversible incision, a wound that needed immediate attention, a timely remedy. I was feeling purposefully purposeless. Was completely disoriented. Fatigue and aversion born out of the job had made me cynical. it did not manifest itself in words, but in a rare devastating form, in the form of withdrawal symptoms. and that feeling, uffff, my friend is unsuppressable.
I kept thinking to myself, WHY, why, oh why! am i doing whatever i'm doing? for how long will I keep doing what i'm doing? will it always be so hectic? o anti-social? where was my LIFE? When do i get to do something that i really wanna do? When...when will I get the time to do NOTHING?

When will I get to meet NOBODY? when will i not look at my watch or my inbox, WHEN?
The weekend came a s a god sent cure. Not a complete and long-lasting relief, but definitely a breather, a much sought after BREAK.
A break in good time, so that i don't break. Phew! Is the damage this BAD? Even I don't know when...or maybe i didn't wanna face the realization.
I will leave all of this ONE day. Someday soon, i hope. And succumb to the sun, the river, the mountains, the wild, the NOTHINGNESS in materialistic terms, the COMPLETENESS of mother nature.
I will surrender someday soon, to the clock of the wild, the leaves, the birds, the animals, the river. I will ONE DAY not have a schedule, a deadline.
I will dissolve someday, someday soon i hope, into the all encompassing NATURE.
Till then, I'll keep writing and recording my TRANSITION.

A Wild December - PART 1

Oh, december 2007, the last month of the year, I couldn't have asked for a better climax to the already "best in my life" year.

It was the middle of the first week of december n I was sitting over an e-mail sent by shazmeen, inviting us to experience the two new wilderness lodges by Taj n CC Africa in madhya pradesh. I tossed the idea of having a wildlife holiday series on our travel show - The Great Indian Traveller. As it turned out, all I had to was ask, coz my boss shweta was completely game for the idea. We had a short brainstorming session on the no. of episodes to produce under this series and the national parks that we would feature, n the plan was on.

Once the list of national parks was in place, the team got in top gear to line up the acco, safaris, travel arrangements for the shoot. It was december first week and we had less than 30 days to shoot, edit, package, promote and finally telecast the wildlife series. Our goal was to premiere GIT on Safari on the first weekend of January.

We had to slot our shoots over weekends so as not to disrupt our weekly scheds, I had to produc ethe weekly tech show for which we were doing best gadgets of 2007 episodes and my two other colleagues were tied up with year-ender stuff too. I slotted my shoot for the weekend beginning 14th december, I dont know if my boss knew that it was my birthday on the 14th and I had deliberatley got our rooms reserved at the Pench resort for that day onwards. Frankly, I was least interested in spending another birthday in the city, with me feeling older n everyone else having a hearty laugh at it. Hence, this was a godsent escape route, n a fabulous one.

The Ladakh Experience - part 1

THE LADAKH EXPERIENCE

It’s been about 3 months now, well, some days short of it, since my visit to ladakh. The one place that I was waiting to see for over a couple of years now. Little did I know that every bit of my anxiety was gonna be fed, my thirst would finally get quenched, only to make me thirstier.
Such is the magic of the place, its almost like a spell that’s been cast upon me. Everything that I do, every waking moment is shadowed by thoughts of ladakh. Thoughts, of two natures, one that revel in the experience that I had in September and the second, one that fantasizes my next trip there.

Just the entry to that sacred space captivates like nothing else does. When I got out of the air deccan aircraft and walked into the cab bay of the mini airport that handles thousands of thirsty travellers, domestic and international, I got a tingling sensation that nothing, nothings gonna be ordinary here. The rinpoche airport is flanked on all 4 sides by the great Himalayan range, karakoram range and the stok range of mountains. This results in a very immediate realization, one that involves you feeling like an ant, dwarfed by the enormity of Mother Nature and her creations. What also dawns upon you is the sudden drop in temperature, the otherwise chilly aircraft cabins that we got out of couple of minutes back, feel comfortably warm compared to the chill that’s now navigating up my spine and resulting in an involuntary rattling motion of my teeth. Its beautiful, but its ruthless.

The drive from the airport to the hotel is hardly a 5 minute one. But within those 5 minutes, I got a taste of ladakhi landscape, architecture, air, sounds and most importantly people. The briskness with which the cab drivers loaded our baggage on the carriers of the maruti omnis, the weather notwithstanding; the gentleness with which each one of them cleared the check posts, traffic jam notwithstanding; their liveliness, lifelessness of the landscape notwithstanding; their smiles, their sweet language, and above all… their eyes, almost all of them embedded in heavily wrinkled faces. I hoped, and over the next 8 days in the region, experienced that beauty in ladakh is beyond the obvious.

There is beauty, lots of it, behind those heavily wrinkled faces. There is a peculiar freshness beyond the almost cavemanish stench of the locals. There is a comprehension beyond the alien sounds of the ladakhi language, a comprehension aided by the incessant smile that’s as fixed on people’s faces, as the Himalayas on the lap of the earth.

Everything that you see in ladakh immediately gets tagged among the superlatives, the highest, the world’s tallest, and worlds largest, etc. these terms fall more often on ears than ever before. On our way to the airport, we passed the highest altitude civilian petrol pump in the world, bang opposite which we saw quite a peculiar structure, a concrete shelter housing a huge cylinder shaped object revolving around its centre. I know its sounding really vague, to cut it short, it is called a Prayer wheel. So this prayer wheel has text inscribed in Tibetan, which is basically the Buddhist chant “Om Mani Padme hoom”.

We pass through a narrow street which looks like more or less the only main road of the town of leh from the airport. To the left hand side of the narrow street are signboards and bildings of a lot of hotels. Most hotels wear the look of a newly constructed building, some of them are still being worked upon. But one thing jumps out clear from all the hotel buildings, and that is, the heavy use of local wood and the design patterns, the intricate work and the deep mahogany polish adorning it. 5 minutes are up, and we are driving down in the slope that’s the entrance to Hotel Bijoo. No, its not the french word ‘bijou’ meaning jewel misspelled, its actually the name of the co-owner, the other owner being Aashiqbhai. A traditional welcome awaits us, where beige silk stolls are gifted as souveniers and room nos. and keys allotted. After getting my camera equipment and personal baggage in the room, I headed straight to the dining room for breakfast, its funny, when you wake up at 3 am to catch a flight you feel super hungry by 730-8, n otherwise one is happily in deep slumber at that hour. Anyways, some hot omelettes, a glass of milk and toast jam, which would keep me happy till lunch. A full stomach also easily inspired me to hit the bed, to get that much essential nap that our tour head atma had prescribed.

Ladakh has harsh weather, especially for first timers to the region. The altitude thins down the air, resulting in a rarefied atmosphere, straining your lungs and your blood circulation to maintain optimum levels of oxygen in the body. Its not as scary as it sounds, but you could lose a precious couple of days if you don’t pay heed to the acclimatization advise. That’s right, acclimatization, means getting your body used to the atmosphere, and to do that, you have to do nothing, quite literally. One needs to slumber out the 1st 24 hours in ladakh, eat, sleep, wake up, eat again, sleep, eat some more, sleep some more. Depending on your fitness levels, you’ll either feel perfectly at home with the weather or have a slight headache or worse, start throwing up endlessly. Altitude does unknown things to your body; people feel pain in random places, jaws, forehead, knees, elbows, fingers, nose, the works. All of this just adds more character to the travel experience. (read as humor)

Ahh! The sinful taste of LUXURY: Devigad Palace, Udaipur!

I am convinced, I must have definitely done some good in my past life, why else would I get a chance to travel to such exotic and pristine places under the pretext of WORK!


This time around, my work took me
to the gorgeous Rajasthani state of Udaipur!

Am kinda feelin' lazy to write this post, so am just gonna paste the script that I wrote for my English story here, describes everything about the mighty Devigad Palace....so here it goes!

Udaipur, call it the city of lakes, Venice of the East, or the most romantic city of Rajasthan, call it what you may, but also holds the gates to one of the most luxurious palace hotels in India. Ladies n Gentlemen, This is the Devigarh Palace.
Once occupied by royalty, today it makes U feel like one, from the moment you step inside its magnificent courtyard.

Devigarh literally translates to Fortress of the Godess.
Nestled in the Aravalli hills, this 18th century palace was awarded to Sajja Singh, who hailed from Gujarat, for displaying his bravery and loyalty to Maharana Pratap of Mewar against the Mughal Emperor Akbar in the battle of Haldighati. Post independence all princely states and palaces were amalgamated in the state administration and hence the palace was badly ignored. In 1990s, Mrs. Chandralekha poddar acquired the property and revived it as a luxury palace hotel. And today its stands tall as an epitome of luxury, not just in India, but also all over the globe.


Originally, Devigarh palace had 150 rooms, but when it was renovated, only 39 rooms were kept. The average room is spread over a comfortable 400 to 500 sq. ft.; this sense of space with a combination of minimalist interiors translates to a sense of lavishness. Normal 5 star hotels generally have only 4 to 5 suites but in Devigarh, all rooms are suites. N choose them on the basis of the view you want, Aravalli suites, palace suites or the garden suites with an al fresco lounge. Bigger the room, higher the tariff. Get ready to shell anything from 400 to 900 dollars for this indulgence.


The Presidential suite here is also the Devigarh suite and has been occupied by the likes of Queen of Morocco, Liz Hurley, Arun nayar and our very own Big B. Spread over a sprawling 1050 sq. ft.; this ones meant for the kings only. Be it the master bedroom with hints of gold, or the traditional yet contemporary lounge space with interesting local artwork, every corner craves for attention. And Ladies, if u r the types whos very fussy abt da bathroom, Celebrate! But my fav part of the Prez suite is this private Jacuzzi, just sit back enjoy a glass of Dom perignon n soak in the palace experience.. ..This is Life!!! Cost of this priceless experience, seulement 1300 green bills for a night.

Devigarh Palace has so many courtyards and rooms that u can spend hours just exploring this beauty, be it age old paintings, palace doors, jharokhas or chairs.. or the pricley durbar hall n the billiards room, time stands still everywhere.
Feeling high n dry, head to the pool, get that perfect tan or do a few laps, but dont forget the open air Jacuzzi, theres almost nothing else like it.
After all that calorie burnin, its time to replenish them, so head staright to the restaurant which is also called, funnily, The Restaurant. Hey, dont miss the bar interiors.

Evenings at Devigarh are magical. A calm scented breeze, soothing sounds of the flute and appetizing aromas of food. Here you can have a candle lit dinner experience with cuisine ranging from lal maas to risotto.

But if the restaurant is too crowded for you just request the management and they will arrange a cozy and very personal dining experience for you, wherever you want. One tip, dont forget to try the rajasthani thali, its lip-smackin.


Devigarh arranges these camel rides that take you around the town of mewar where u get a pseudo sense of A king on his evening stroll looking down at his subjects.. a major ego boost I tell u.

If you are at Devigarh, do try the Serena spa which counts amongst the best spas of the country. The trained staff carries out a host of ayurvedic treatments here. From a head and shoulder massage to a full body massage, herbal aromatic oils are used for all treatments. Serena’s signature treatment is the Marma massage which is a full body massage where the therapist uses her feet for just the right amount of pressure. One n a half hours of this pampering will set u back by 4000 bucks.

Luxury, thy name is Devigad!!!

'SHETTY'ing the Mood Right - II

So here I was in Shettyland and the mehndi function was over….I had a blast coz I got to co-anchor the whole evening along with shonali (the bride’s sister) and from the compliments I received I figured that I dint do such a bad job after all.

While the evening was almost over, an enthusiastic bunch of cousins asked me if I would like to join them for NEMA, with a half smile…now at first NEMA sounded like some girl friends name, one whose I hadn’t heard of and going by the fact that going to nema was being suggested at almost midnight I thought that we were heading for another party. My other friends and people I knew said they were too tired and they wanted to romance the bed, so I succumbed to the enthu cousin bunch and jumped in Mithun’s brand new Tata Safari. And that was quite an enlightening drive, I must admit…

Not did I just figure out that Nema was no Girlfriend, but it was an annual peasant’s ritual that was held in honor of the local deities and was somewhat like a town hall meeting with God and the most respectable families in town with the peasants and working class people as audience held in a village far from the town….Now that itself had got me very excited. On the way, Mithun also told me about how at 21, he had earned enough dough to buy his own Tata safari thanks to his extremely offbeat and daring Mining business (the guy got attacked with knives on his face and hand by rivals) and a road jelly business among other minor ones like outdoor hoarding site leasing n all. Now, these are the kind of youth I was mentioning, the ones who are breaking away from the clutches of traditional professions such as Medicine and engineering…the point is the market is very responsive for anybody with ideas, you just need two four letter words in you…WILL and GUTS, n you’ll rule the place.

Ok, so now it was almost like 1 am, there no sign of dullness among the cousins, Nimakka was busy changing clothes…something appropriate to battle the cold and to look traditional while Nitin bawa (nima’s husband), Bobby (nima’s brother), Mithun (nima’s cousin brother) and I (am the one who’s writing this, check my profile for more details) spoke about the living conditions in London, Mumbai and mangalore, the use of alternative fuel to run water vessels over Thames, the booming radio business in India and our respective jobs…Well by then nima and her mom n her sisters had finally changed their clothes n were ready to go to Kopparige, which is where the Nema was to be held. Now after parking our cars at a certain spot, we had to walk in stark darkness through rice paddy fields with only the full moon serving as our guiding light for about 20 minutes. The thing about NEMA is that t is organized by a particular family each time, and this time it was the Shettys (don’t look at me like that I know mangalore is full of shettys, but I mean Shonali’s aunts), who had organized the ritual; and the NEMA does not start till the presiding family comes.

So once we were there, we, the main family(yeah by now i was considered one of them even though i couldn't figure out a thank you from a please in TULU, dats their native language) got to sit in the first row of chairs. There were about 300 villagers gathered there. The crux of the nema is a central character who apparently gets possessed by GOD and he then blesses each member of the organizing family and takes stock of the village, its development, its progress, its problems and praises or gives a solution. Throughout the length of the ritual there is this sense of revelry, celebration in the air, fireworks are being fired, music is being played loudly, audience is dressed in festive clothesritual A ritual which probably was started hundreds and hundreds of years ago as a form of entertainment, idol worship, faith, and spirituality still exists and that’s what surprised me…I mean none of the family members who knew they would be coming for the NEMA consumed non vegetarian food or alcohol. Each one was mentally prepared to stay up all night (yeah that’s how long this whole ritual takes, n by the time I figured it out it was too late to go back alone anywhere, if I stayed I would at least be dropped back to my club). So that’s what I am talking about, people who have gone and settled in London still appreciate and encourage our culture, our rituals, our beliefs and involve the youth in sustaining it, coz they are the ones who would keep it alive…I was very impressed by the dedication. My feelings apart, The central Character who plays GOD does a lot of hardwork…firstly he is dressed in this whole outfit made out of palm leaves, his face is heavily masked by colored make-up so that he is not identified in the day time, and his body is adorned with jewellery of every kind. Now this person has to keep moving around, sometimes dancing and hopping around, when he gets charged….with all this weight, he also takes turns in holding these two mashaals/ torches with which he passes blessings to each member of the family.
The entire ritual lasts for about 4 to 5 hours during which there is live music by local musicians, processions of the idol of the local deity which is a personification of Lord Shiva and lots of devotees offering flowers and taking blessings from the deity.

The climax of the ritual is when one of the central character i.e. GOD’s subordinate beheads a live chicken with a huge knife, the blood is drained off and the chicken is then cooked on site and distributed with steamed rice as Prasadam. I was told there is another sect who organizes a similar ritual but calls it KOLA, the difference being that Kola is more graphic, dramatic and calls fro the sacrifice of almost one dozen chicken as against one here.

So after this unprecedented evening of fun, frolic and faith (well the evening almost extended till 5 am), I was more than happy to hit the comfortable bed of my room in Mangalore club. There was one problem, my roommates were just not opening the door to my bell, I tried calling them, but both the phones were switched off. Then I think due to some divine intervention Ranjit woke up and let me in…both of them were obviously sloshed!

The next day was free for us so I decided to wake up late…