Kampuchea

This post could have been about Bangkok perhaps as a tribute to its backstreets, vivid and eclectic in their flavors, scents and emotions that overwhelm your senses if you're willing to just open up a wee bit. For whoever you are a footloose wanderer searching for your life's mission or a barren artiste looking for inspiration, Bangkok truly has you.

I could also have spoken about Pattaya, that parallel world for which words fail me. The streets lined by people from the world, aged westerners struggling to stand, reeking of alcohol, supported by their young "Thai-lady" as they lurch around the umpteen streets. It leaves you wondering whether to feel pity for the young woman or for the sorry old man in search of a last refuge from his loneliness. The place questions your very conception of righteousness as your intellect struggles to wrap your brain around and comprehend, even accept and not judge what is pretty much a way of life.

I could have even started this with the whiff of emerald green waters of Koh Samui, the salty scent of which  lingers on in your senses. The umpteen beaches, and lavish margaritas in infinity pools while you caked yourself brown or the simple remark of a tourist-worn woman, running her own business whose honest trepidation thinly hidden behind hardened exterior was only too apparent, all of which leave you exhausted and fulfilled at the same time.

Young Khmer painter pouring over his English Learning Guide

But not the hustle bustle of Bangkok or what could may well be called a counterculture of Pattaya and even the green eternal serenity of Samui...nothing prepares you for Siem Reap. Spend your days walking around the temples of Angkor, awed by the imagination of our forefathers, the sheer geographical scale to which they sought to stretch the portrayal of this living paean to their mythological fathers.Or just sit by one of those umpteen moats with a book on the fascinating character of Pol Pot (Saloth Sar) and the horrible legacy he left in this fragile fledgling nation. Only then, when you have a backdrop of a glorious country with a lavish enviable history which had a few decades and a fourth of its population simply wiped out in a jingoistic 5 year rule of the Khmer rouge. Only then would you be able to comprehend the earnestness of a boy sitting amongst the ruins of one of them temples trying to sell his paintings. As you walk away, one of the umpteen tourists who is merely interested in looking at his amazing work, asking for the prices knowing full well you'd not buy them, he simply returns to his silent attempts at learning English from his guidebook. That look of silent determination and an untarnished humbling simplicity which leaves you rattled for days after. Coming from Thailand, where tourist-hardened hawkers struggle to hide their ill-will, most Cambodians are yet to discover their ugly side. Perhaps it is an illusion, but a happy one which leaves you contended when you leave.

And then there is pub-street. After 9 days of holidaying, just when you have slowly reduced the tempo so you can adjust back in the drudgery of a routine life....the last thing that you want to happen to yourself is the pub-street. With pubs that play music loud enough to rouse the sleeping gods of Angkor and consider selling anything smaller than a pitcher of alcohol a shame, a street that is lined with these pubs and people simply spilling over so much so that the whole street is filled with dancing hoards who simply revel as if there is no tomorrow. People of forty different nationalities and beliefs. Or simply one people. This post had to be about Kampuchea.

Rediscovering the Art

I love my car. In the past 10 days of driving I must have covered at least 3000 kilometers, what with two return trips to Delhi, Neemrana and one to Bhilwara from Jaipur. I love the freedom that a car provides, the simple ability to be able to go anywhere, without bothering about the rain or the sun. To park outside your favorite roadside coffee-shop and lean back and sip away relaxing in your seat, while reading on the book you simply didn’t want to get away from (yeah “Mumbai-kars” in some parts of the world that IS possible). Getting four nutcases to fit in instead of just the one as on a bike, dumping all the stuff in the boot instead of hauling it all the way on the local trains or juggling it on the fuel tank of your bike, the simple pleasures.

All the new-car charm had actually made me forget what it feels like to be on two wheels, why I revered so much, the empowering touch of a bike’s accelerator. The degree of control and confidence, your high stance from the ground and your legs fitted into fuel tank crevices give you. The exhilaration of a powerhouse thumping beneath you, waiting for the twitch of your wrist, yearning to be commanded yet desiring to be unleashed. And then you let go.



The mute acceleration of a car gives way to the raging, revving anger of the bike. And just like that, in a flash, the world becomes mute, everything else ceases to exist as your heart, your fingers and the pulsating music of the engine, beat in perfect rhythm, rising and falling with every hint of your desire. The wind sweeps through your hair, pushing with all its heart, failing against an iron grasp, you have on the bike. The road spread out in front of you forever, luring you into its tricky turns, urging you on to let go, daring you smell it on every wild curl, the scenery changing with every moment, displaying yet another human emotion, yet another whim of God, yet another moment, which will never ever occur quite like that again.

Ride hard. Or stay home.

An Interviews with Udupi (part 1)

Prologue: A request to the reader. Don’t let this reach my mom. She’ll kill me if she knows I was sunbathing when I ought to have been worrying about my MBA interviews

I. Konkan Railway

"You have traveled through 31 hours of a grueling train journey, and have gone through a thousand questions you might be asked in an all important interview the next Day, each question as agonizing as only the next one. When you finally think you have made it to the last leg of the damn journey and thank God for that, just then, the train’s engine breaks down. How would YOU feel?" I shot at Chandan, out of frustration.
"Delightful. Blissful." says Chandan.

And I knew he was right as I stared down the lush green valley laden with vast spreads of Mango Trees. The morning sun made it look like one of those postcard dream-locations. Right down the valley a seasonal river curled through the mountains, like a sleek serpent disappearing into the bushes and rocks, the water in it, extremely placid. The only sound one could hear was the friendly banter of a group of friends in the next compartment, apart from that utter silence prevailed. No. Utter peace. We were in Ratnagiri, the Mango capital famous for its legendary Alphonso mangoes. It was only when I woke up this morning that I realized the place was not just about Mangoes. And the spot where our Engine, fortunately, chose to break down made it look even more fulfilling.

Chandan is a chap from Delhi. We met in the train the day before only, when he boarded from Godhra. We have been friends since. I am from Jaipur.

As the train finally moved after a wait of two hours, we started discussing the Konkan Railway. Chandan and I were going to Udupi, the temple town in Karnataka to appear for some educational interviews. And, well, at least for the moment we had forgotten all about careers and interview techniques. What would you do, after all, when you find yourself on a mountain top trek IN A TRAIN, where the tracks coil through a maze of more then 50 tunnels and over an equal number of valleys? Each time we relaxed feeling this one was the last of those tunnels another one engulfed us with its sudden ghoulish shriek. But it was not scary. It filled us with awe. It is a project one of the world’s leading consultancy firms declared unfeasible altogether. And we were watching it materialized and in fact were treading on it. We already felt this was a journey of a lifetime but as we later found out, this was only the beginning...

As we reached the southern borders of Maharashtra, the train began to descend. The high hillocks disappeared and the river (I really don’t know whether it was the same little stream or was it a web of small rivers) that seemed too distant and fearfully deep down the valley suddenly appeared within an arm’s reach. We hit the state of GOA. It was about 2:00 in the afternoon and we were wondering how late would we get because of that little snag with the engine that suddenly the whole train buzzed up with activity. Somebody told me we would soon reach Thivam, the first railway station in Goa. As soon as the train crawled into the station I understood why the entire buzz. The station was loaded with people battle ready. Clad in their best beachwear with surfboards and volleyballs, foreigners and Indians alike, got off the train as yet another hilltop station peered down a small countryside road disappearing into the horizon. Somewhere down there, I wondered, would be the legendary beach of Goa. And there it was, a signboard on the station told us as much. It mentioned several famous beauties and their distance in twenties (kilometers). "Twenties", my heart gave me a jolt. I was within walking distance (if you consider the 2200+ kms I had covered from Jaipur in the last 25 hours) of the best place on earth and was not going there. Well while I mused, and considered, seriously, making a move towards one of them beaches, the train started to move, solving the dilemma for me. I remembered the famous lines "The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep", and wondered whether Robert Frost had considered my trip to Udupi before writing them.

Margoa or Margao as they call it there was uneventful, but it was easily the best-maintained station of India. The newly laid Skybus route could be seen from the station and assured us that the Delhi Metro and Konkan Railway (Incidentally architecture-d by the same person) are not flukes but a part of the nationwide infrastructure revolution.

The train halted for a frustrating forty minutes at Margoa. As it slowly edged its way out of the sleepy station, we got a glimpse of typical Goan structures. The influence of the colonial era has not been lost even now. The predominant Christianity is celebrated in every structure, as is the happy-go-lucky attitude of Goans. I did not know what it was, the image of Goa portrayed in all those movies and rumors, or reality, but Goa did seem like a happy place. With poor but cute modifications on antediluvian car models parked beside the newest and the trendiest sedans, Goa portrayed a happily contrasting picture.

We were on the move again, I realized. The much-awaited last leg of the journey was finally on. Udupi was less then two hours from now and we were beginning to get restless, yet again.

The sun went down on day two of our marathon. The breeze was cool and I was beginning to wonder, how beautiful can nature be? As the train cruised through lavish greens of coconut trees and stark browns of the series of hillocks, my amazement only grew. There were a few things about this leg of Konkan railway, which made it absolutely delightful. First, the momentary glimpses of the Arabian Sea, which filled us with childlike curiosity as we raised our necks to the highest window bar to take in as much of the delight as we could. Second the setting of the houses in the countryside, where, each one of them was surrounded by scores of coconut and other greens, with another placid serpent flowing beside. The rivers were wide enough in some parts to be navigated by boat steamers, while in some parts they were a maze of thin tributaries. I realized later that I was witnessing a typical river delta. That brought back the memories of the school geography classes and how they described the phenomenon. One thing was for sure; in books the deltas never looked anywhere close to as beautiful as in reality. In fact they looked terrible in the books.

The tracks are at a higher altitude providing a panoramic view of the beautiful civilization to the passengers of any train. As we watched, mesmerized, a sudden desire to jump out and settle there for till eternity overwhelmed us. I began to wonder how much civilization was good? Well certainly life would be better off without the eardrum shattering noises in any metro, not to mention the choking city air. Do we really need the fast cars and air-conditioners when we can afford to live in this virtual paradise? But the question felt heavy and hypocritical. After all, the reason for this visit of mine was to be a part of that very "civilization".

Somebody announced that Udupi was the next station, and the whole train transformed into a hub of activity like a swarm of bees. I was surprised to see how many people were Udupi bound. The fact that they were all my age told me that even their purpose was same as mine. Also it gave birth to an expectation. Right through the past few days and this journey we had pictured an image of how Manipal and Udupi would look? The Oxford of India as people called it, Manipal had a zing to its name, which portrayed a town with ultra-modern facilities and metro-like lifestyle. That obviously was until we reached the town.

As the trained entered a dimly lit petty little station, I was recalled of the one, which had its most celebrated guests in form of Jimmy Shergil and party in the introductory scene of the movie Mohabbatein. It could not have been more similar to that, however the beautiful Preeti was somehow missing. The whole station had about ten inhabitants, who all are pushed into motion at the very sight of the train, not unlike a beehive disturbed with a pelted stone. The trite sight of coconut trees failed to cheer us as we wondered about the "Oxford of India". Udupi was not at all what we imagined it to be, it in fact it looked like a small fishing community town on the first sight. Where were all the temples of the "Temple Town" and where was the Oxford, which, supposedly was only three kilometers from the Udupi railway station. I was beginning to consider my decision of going there and by the look on Chandan’s face he was doing the same. But, we were going to find out, as always we had jumped to conclusions too soon.

An Interviews with Udupi (Part 2)

2. Uppi and Maipal

By the time we reached the hotel, my "first impressions" had begun to dissolve. We took the ten-minute ride in an auto-rickshaw to our hotel where I had reservations; it was decided that Chandan would stay with me, as he did not have any reservations. I was surprised to know that all the hotels of both Udupi and Manipal were jam-packed. Our auto-walah informed us that this was a normal routine at this time of the year when students from all over the nation poured in. But I had perhaps lost the "student" bit in me for the moment. I was more engrossed with the small town.

There have been several love stories in the past, stories of substance and eternal love. Soni-Mahival, Romeo-Juliet, Heer-Ranjha and Laila-Majnu, but at least I never came across one so scintillating as Uppi and Maipal. While Uppi could be a town materialized right out of one of those settings of R.K. Narayan’s Malgudi Days, Maipal looks as if a chunk of Pune has been sliced off and placed on a small hammock in the middle of a jungle. This contrast makes the synchrony between the lifestyles of the two towns seem even more beautiful. How the typical Loongee clad fishermen and coconut traders had come to terms with modern Cappuccino drinking and fun-loving youth was heart warming to see.

Oh! For those who are wondering what are these Uppi and Maipal, welcome to Udupi and Manipal buswallah style. Actually, Chandan and I wanted to have a look at the venue of our interviews in advance because they were scheduled for early in the morning, the next day. After unpacking at our hotel, we asked around for a public transport. The receptionist at the hotel informed us that an auto-rickshaw would cost us a ferocious amount, about sixty Rupees for a ride of about three kilometers, so we better take a bus. So there we were wandering around the local bus stand looking for one, which goes to Manipal. It took us a while to realize that all the busses were Manipal bound only that we were actually supposed to be looking for Mai…Paaall, and while returning we were coming to Uppi-Uppi-Uppi-UPPI.

I would rather skip the process of interview and its outcome in this narrative. At about 4:30 PM we returned to Udupi. The past few hours had flown past leaving little imprints on my memory. In spite of a discouraging morning, my exuberance to visit around had not died out. As soon as I reached my hotel after finishing my interviews I got to the reception and asked for the tourist places. The receptionist, with that "another silly north Indian" look, gestured towards a printed guide to the hot spots. This was the second shock I had received on the trip (after the interview that is) but this one was a delight. The place was called Malpe, situated only seven kilometers outside Udupi and it was a BEACH! The last time I had been to a beach was in 1998. Somehow all my vacations and trips after that had either been to Metros or hill stations. My train was scheduled for midnight the next day and we had a full day with only a few formalities to finish with the institute by noontime.

Chandan informed that some of his friends had already visited Malpe and had been in Udupi since the evening before we arrived. We called over Divyendu, Aditya, another chap from Delhi and Vijay (he was staying in the same hotel as us) for a chat. Over some hot Chicken Hot and Sour, we shared our horrifying experiences in front of the interview board and realized that except for Vijay who was planning to leave earlier, all of us were Delhi bound on the same train. No, I was not the only loser, incidentally all four of us could not get through the interview stage; we were a whole army of losers. So, after a quick shower, good byes and good lucks were shared with Vijay as the other three, Divyendu, Chandan and I left for Manipal.

Manipal is as modern as any of the other up and coming cities of India. Right from the best coffee shops to great restaurants, from the best-branded casuals to Delhi style garments sales Manipal has everything. It feels as if God has forgotten to bless the town of Manipal with adult life. Those seldom few adults who are there are the teachers and faculties of the various institutes. I just got a sneaking feeling that even they made their level best efforts to look younger. The students here live it up. While on one hand the town has world class teaching facilities on the other it has the scope for some good weekend fun. It also enjoys students from quite a few countries. Overall, it can prove to be a lifetime for a student studying here. Sorry if I sound gluttonous but I guess the word food merits a mention here. Both Manipal and Udupi have great food to offer. I believe it offers the cheapest food in the world. A sumptuous Thali with Rassam, Sambhar, curd, buttermilk and two Sabzis, along with Chapati and Rice would cost you only rupees seventeen; spiral pasta in white sauce about rupees fifty. We ended our day with some good non-vegetarian food.

Udupi is a beautiful town. The temples, which we for a while presumed were a chimera, are actually there, and quite a few of those at that. Hence the religiousness of the town is apparent. Also visible is the town’s occupation. While, you would invariably always run into fisherwomen in each bus journey, the shops laden with beautiful handloom cloth tell another story. The specialty of the town would be clothes ranging from handloom made crafty men’s wear to the beautiful Sarees and Salwar Suits. The textures and colors being the specialty of these predominantly women’s clothing, apart from the fine fabric, the shops flaunt the brightest of the colors on their windows.

Next Morning, before the final interviews, we decided to visit the Shri Krishna Mutt, Udupi’s most celebrated temple. The Krishna Mutt is an ancient temple and one of the holiest places of pilgrimage in Southern India. It is said that Shri Madhwacharya, the founder of Dwaita philosophy found the idol of Shri Krishna on a ship he rescued from a storm in the waters of Malpe. The idol is placed inside an enclosed chamber and is worshiped through a window with nine holes, called Navagraha Kitiki. Men have to remove the clothing they wear on the upper half of their body before entering the premises of the temple. The experience was divine. The Prasada had two ingredients. Being the glutton I am I ate it all up in one go, however, the typical taste of the Prassada was explained when right after my throwing it in my mouth the Swami ji began, "Put the chandan on your forehead and the flower in you pocket for rakshan". Well I had to eat what I already had in my mouth and take some more for the real purpose. God always has ingenious ways to teach you, I realized.

Finally, I thought, "Beach!" We were aboard a fishermen-loaded bus from Uppi to Malpe. It was one in the afternoon. In spite of the acrid smell of the fishermen’s prize catch and the fact that they spoke in rapid syllables of an entirely alien tongue (Kannada perhaps) that I could not gather a word of, I was on the seventh moon. A twenty-minute drive from Udupi shall take one to Malpe, they told us in a broken mixture of Hindi and English. I kept popping my neck above all to have a glimpse of the waters. And there it was. Somehow the sight of sea has always enthralled me like nothing else. Perhaps it is the enigma it portrays or the lack of boundaries or the depth, I do not know what, but it is majestic, powerful.

It took me only a couple of minutes to drop the philosophy (and my clothes) and get ready for a nice little swim. Meanwhile, Divyendu and his local contact had also arrived. What followed was raw fun. For the next few hours we had given up being grown up adults and touched our childhood again. Right from swimming out into the sea to throwing sand balls at each other, from playing football with a group of local youngsters to eating the ever-so-tasty Gobhi-Manchurian and burying each other in the sand, we did it all. By the time the Sun went down we were all dead tired. At the sunset all of us were strolling by the seashore. The soft waves of the sea caressed my toes and went back, the cold breeze, everything, felt blissful. I knew it then that Malpe shall remain in my memories forever.

The only resort around the Malpe beach offers some good shower and locker facilities apart from the legendary good food. Also it has a comprehensive pub to add flavor to the party. As Malpe enjoys good weekend crowd, the general cleanliness and other facilities are fine. With luck you can catch an opportunity to visit one of the islands (The northern-most island is called Daria-Bahadurgad, the middle one Daria-Gadara-Kallu and the southern most Kari-Illada-Kallu) close to the shore. The local tourism authorities run a boat whenever there is an assortment of 30 to 40 people willing to go out. Unfortunately, we were there on a Monday so could not find enough company. Malpe is perhaps not very popular outside the region and that is what makes it a complete paradise.

We unwillingly made the return journey. It was eight in the evening when we reached the hotel. Chandan and I bid adieu to Divyendu and promised to meat again at the station. But suddenly I realized I had forgotten something. Well it was time for some power shopping as I gathered some artifacts and a Salwar Suit and had a quick dinner (that sumptuous Thali for one last time) and took an auto-rickshaw (another 50 rupees! Preposterous!). Somebody told us that we would not find any means of transport to the station after 9:30 PM.

It is 10:00 PM. and our train is 10 minutes late and scheduled for 0015 hrs. To be truthful even I am fed up of this narrative as you might be by now, but I had to preserve this memory and therefore I decided to write this. For the past hour or so Chandan has been chatting up with a girl he struck up a conversation with in the morning and has met again. Her name is Ashvini (she was one of the interviewees). So, obviously I must be looking a lot less appealing to him now. Sir Cliff Richards has taken refuge in my Walkman somewhere and as he sings "Summer Holiday" in my ears, I am wondering if and when shall I ever be able to listen to that delightful voice of Buswallahs again, calling Uppi-Uppi-Uppi-UPPI.