Weekend wandering in Wayanad.

When I took my place in the car on a surprisingly pleasant Bangalore morning in the last week of March, little did I know that I would spend a good part of my time in Wayanad walking. We headed out bright and early, halting only for breakfast at my new favourite Bidadi Idly joint. Having travelled the same route to Masinagudi, I was fairly pleased when I could spot landmarks. After the forest area, though, the landscape changed drastically. Amusing English sign boards, palm trees, men in hiked-up mundus showing off their hairy legs and staring like they were seeing women for the first time and a faint fragrance of coconut oil… signs that we had crossed the border into Kerala.

Water spiders at Kuruva Island.

The desire to explore God’s own country (although technically, it should be God’s own state) had been around since the minibus ride via Calicut to a friend’s wedding in Trishur years ago. At the peak of the mountain, we had stopped to momentarily rule the world from above a sea of plump, light blue clouds. Having heard many tales of the state since, the opportunity finally presented itself during the Good Friday weekend.

Our villa at Blooms Green, Wayanad.

I have one word for Wayanad: Green. And hot (okay, make that two words). Wise travellers know which places to avoid during summers, and Wayanad is one of them; that I went there the last week of March does no credit to my wisdom. Our hosts at the home stay informed us that this was not how the weather was usually, and were themselves surprised by the heat. That left us with no choice but to sit in the verandah of our two-bedroom villa, surrounded by a canopy of tall, lush green trees, our feet stretched out on the coffee table, listening to birds chittering above us and occasionally swooping down to snarf an unsuspecting little insect. We weren’t entirely lazing, though – in between, we sipped a little tea and ate a few pakodas. And we went on a tour of the massive property on which the home stay was located, completely fascinated by the cherry trees, cocoa plants and rabbits and ducks and livestock.

Giant looming tree in the first cave at Edakkal.

The next day, we decided, pretending to be all brave and immune to the heat, we would go to Edakkal Caves and Kuruva Island. We drove to Edakkal and were informed by a chirpy young git near the tourist shopping area that cars weren’t allowed beyond the point. We would have to walk the rest of the way. Fine, we said. It can’t be too far, we said. The truth dawned heavy on us (adding to the load we already carried) as we climbed up an incline of 45 degrees, seeing multiple sweaty faces passing us in the opposite direction: a tiny point on a mountain far far away, that was our destination. We kicked ourselves, but shifted gears and changed the goal of the trip from seeing the cave to getting there in one piece. After all, there were local families climbing up with kids in their arms!

One of the cave paintings at Edakkal.

An hour later, we were outside the main cave, grinning with a sense of achievement despite the waterfalls of sweat pouring down our faces and backs. Of course, after all the strenuous climbing, the cave itself was a disappointment. A handful of drawings dating back to 4000 BC – the magnitude of which is somehow lost after all the trekking to get there - and a lengthy crack in a rock caused by an earthquake were all the things the cave had to offer us. My friend and I looked at each other, thinking the same thing: so much hard work for so little!

The heart of Kuruva Dweep.

Our next stop was Kuruva Island. I don’t know if it was our timing or some sort of divine joke, but the road to the raft that ferries to the island was closed for construction. We had to walk a kilometre to the raft. Once the raft left us on the island, we discovered that we had to walk a kilometer more to get to the heart of the island, the place that promised us some stunning views. And it was stunning - seeing naked, pot-bellied men emerging from a swirl of water alongside women in nighties left us rooted to the spot. Other than that, the island really is beautiful, a lot like what I had imagined the Cannibal Island from Yann Martel’s Life of Pi to be.

A view of Banasura Sagar.

On our way back to Bangalore the next day, we decided to go via Banasura Dam, by far the most picturesque place at Wayanad. We had to walk a good kilometre and a half here too. By the dam is a mini-forest of pine trees with swings on them, a perfect place to take shelter from the sun and feel young again.

Ruins of a Jain Temple amidst coffee plantations in the middle of nowhere. We didn’t venture in because it looked like the perfect location for a horror movie.

There was such peace in Wayanad, among the coffee plantations with a million shades of green everywhere, and the freedom to stop by fields, mountains – just about any place – and wander. Looking back, it doesn’t seem like we were very active, because there are a lot of places to see in Wayanad. I may not be doing total justice to the place because the weather was really hot and it wasn’t a pleasant experience to walk so much in the heat. I can say this, though: I don’t regret the trip at all since we managed to do the one thing we really wanted to: unwind.

Getting there: Wayanad is a six-hour drive from Bangalore, breaks included. Buses also ply regularly to Wayanad. The nearest airport is Kochi, and I wouldn’t recommend that.

Go if: You like greenery, history, Kairali cuisine, trekking, and generally enjoy walking around doing your own exploring.

Masinagudi: A jungle Haiku

Masinagudi from the Safari centre.

At the junction of

Nece Road, we meet early to

ride high with the wind.

Golden butter melts

Over soft, fluffy idlis -

Breakfast at Bidadi

Piping hot Tatte (South Indian for plate) Idlis and crisp golden vadas at the famous Shree Renukamba hotel.

The lull of the wind

whooshing past, rocks you to sleep;

The jungle wakes you.

Dry, brown crackling grass;

Not a leaf moves in the air,

Nor an animal.

Except, wait, what is

that in the distance? Oh! A

lone tusker, walking!

At Tiger Paws,

We all arrive, tired and tanned.

Lunch, and then the safari.

Deep inside we go,

Hoping for tigers. But there

are only peacocks.

Some bison, a hurt

elephant calf, eating slow.

…The safari ends.

The jungle’s quiet,

Like your mind; clear, like your thoughts

amid deep blue hills.

Maybe the jungle’s

plan is to keep you coming

back to see fauna.

Maybe the plan is

to share the stillness of the

tigers’ home with you.

That’s why, cat or not

When the jungle calls, answer

with a smile and go.

Getting there: Masinagudi is approximately a 6-hour drive from Bangalore. The roads are nice and the drive through the forest is brilliant. I’m not sure about buses plying to the place, but i guess there will be.

Go if: You love jungles, wildlife, nature, need some solitude and quiet time.

Biking 101 or what riding to Masinagudi taught me.

The bike that bore my weight with machismo.

When was the last time you experienced a whole new dimension to travel? Something that was so starkly different that it opened up a world of alternative travel experiences? Mine was last weekend, when I went on my first ever biking trip as a pillion on a Bullet Machismo 500. The wind in my hair, the tarred road under my feet that dissolved into a motion blur as we picked up speed, the machine gun doog-doog-doog of the Bullet’s engine… I can confidently say that the pleasure of a biking road trip has no equal. The traffic is just background noise and your 9 to 5 becomes an alternate reality; nothing is of consequence any more. All that matters is the love affair between you and the road and the elements. It’s a liberating experience.

Of course, biking is not everyone’s cup of tea, especially if you’re going with people you don’t know. Experienced as well as novice riders will have a hundred things to say about it, a sore backside being a constant warning. But you’ll never know what works for you (or doesn’t) till you get on a bike and hit the road. The two days I spent riding into the wilderness taught me some very important life – and biking – lessons.

#1 Choose your riding club with care

Going with friends is great, but what works for riding clubs is that they’ve done this thing a hundred times before and are extremely organized. There are a few biking clubs in Bangalore, but the friend I rode with is a part of Bangalore Motorcycle Club, and it was a great first experience to go with them. The bikes travel in single file on the roads, flanked by a pilot – the biker that leads the group – and a sweep – the biker that rounds up the group and is always the last one riding. Hand signals are passed down like Chinese Whispers along the line and were damn fascinating to watch. Spare parts and a mechanic are mandatory, and there’s no place better than the middle of the jungle to help you understand how crucial they are.

Riding back to the resort after the jungle safari.

#2 Leave your hang-ups at home

Learn to let go and get friendly. Your riding group is going to be your on-road family, and it makes sense to establish a certain familiarity with them. If you’re riding pillion, make sure you know your rider because it’s the two of you on the bike and really, you’ll be bumping into his/her back a lot and that can get awkward with strangers. The BMC bikers I met were just as crazy and uncomplicated as the people I usually meet, so I had no problems bonding with them.

The advantage of riding with someone familiar: you get to do crazy things like take pictures of shadows on the road.

#3 Protect yourself against the elements

At the end of the trip, my face looked like it belonged to a Matrioshka doll – I had two spots of deep red on my cheeks and chin, thanks to the sun. But that’s also because I went without sunscreen lotion like a stud muffin. So, protection gear must include a comfortable helmet, an all-weather jacket, a scarf to cover your face, sunscreen lotion and a pair of good shades. Oh, and good shoes.

Riding jacket: check. Helmet: check. Shoes: check. Gloves: check. Sun glasses: check. Pillion: Oh wait, did she fall off somewhere?

#4 Biking is as basic as it gets

It’s not exactly about roughing it out, but it’s not like a car where you can carry your house and (your neighbour’s) with you. Biking trips teach you to be frugal with your packing. You don’t end up spending too much either – our ride was supposed to be to Bandipur, but things changed and we ended up in Masinagudi, at a resort with a gorgeous view of the Nilgiri hills. Because the bookings were last minute, we had four rooms between 17 of us. And we managed just fine.

Travelling light is key.

#5 Save your backside by shifting positions from time to time

Take turns at moving your legs, sitting straight, slouching and raising your backside off the seat over speed bumps. I gripped my friend’s shoulder at regular intervals to leverage my weight (I was numb at one point) and lift myself off the seat or slide forward a little. Oh, and definitely carry some meds with you if you suffer from motion sickness.

I call this the ‘Straight Leg’: bikers often use the bars in the front to stretch their legs over them or raise them over it.

#6 Biking knows no discrimination

Anyone can ride. There was a woman rider in our group and four women pillions, including me. Some of us didn’t know how to ride a geared bike. Some of the bikers had been with other biking clubs before. Some were new at long rides and some were seasoned trippers. Some were techies, some teachers, some from HR and marketing. All of them were bound together by one thing only: their love for biking.

En route Gopalswamy Betta.

I would recommend at least one biking trip for everyone at least once in their life. This was my practice ride before my two-week biking trip to Bhutan. And now that I’ve got a taste of this, I don’t want to let go of it.

Sometimes, they travel from faraway places to say hello.

Sometimes, I get exhausted with packing and unpacking my bags, exploring places and coming home and running again to explore some more. That’s when I prefer to lie spread-eagled on my bed and re-live my many journeys. When that happens, the universe conspires to bring interesting visitors to the eye-glass that is my room’s window and at times, the terrace of my home. Here are my top four acquaintances.

Little Monkey
Its favourite place is the tree outside my room, making it a regular morning visitor. Seeing as I’m not a morning person, this pint-sized acrobat does everything to replace a super-sized frown on my face with a laugh.

Madamoiselle Luna
The telephoto and I conduct a love affair with the moon once a month. Sometimes, she relents and poses for us beautifully, her radiant happiness setting her aglow. And sometimes, she likes to be shy and make us work for a mere glimpse of her well-rounded face.

Dwagonfwy!
I have no idea what it is that makes bees and birds flock to my room (they also generously fly smack into my face when I’m out riding my bike), but they do. And they adore my tube light. This delicate winged creature stuck to the light like its life depended on it and vanished before the break of dawn. Its kin have been paying me the odd visit since.

Mister Crawley
He’s the one-man mafia, striking fear in the dead of night. A rare visitor (because I pay my dues on time), he comes over to let me know that he exists and to remind me of how afraid I am of his kind.

Tell me, do you get uncommon visitors as well?

Potli Baba travelled over to The Girl Next Door’s blog home last week.

So, Potli Baba’s been busy on the blogosphere. Just last week, we went over to do a guest post on The Girl Next Door’s blog. Catch our views on travel essentials here, and share Potli Baba’s words of wisdom if you like, or add some of your own.

I, meanwhile, will figure out our next travel destination.

Going back in time: Gulbarga and Bidar.

What makes some of us travellers? I prefer to believe that it’s genetic, even hereditary, although this may be an exception rather than a rule. Back in the day when I was a youngling and my grandfather was a civil engineer with the Indian Railways, he used to take us all on impromptu holidays at least once a month.

My earliest travel memories are associated with him and his white Fiat, the only car number I remember to date; as an only grandchild (then), I would be squished between my aunts and mother or sitting daintily on someone’s lap, concentrating all my weight on my little hands resting on the front seat rather than the lap of the person on whom I was sitting. Many wonderful years passed exploring Karnataka and the surrounding states. Drives down to Hyderabad, spotting foxes crossing the road near Baba Budangiri Hills, buying melons fresh from the river from farmers by the river bridge, picnicking under a massive tree by a random stream in the middle of nowhere, exploring fields of sunflowers… my grandfather had us experience it all.

The older he grew, the fewer holidays we took. By the time he passed away, travel was not a conscious ‘thing to do’ in my life. Yes, there was the occasional holiday from college or work, but never a burning passion to go see places and meet new people. It took a few more years for the dormant gene to stretch awake. Since then, there’s been no looking back.

I like to believe that this itch to travel is something I’ve inherited from my grandfather, a legacy of sorts that I’m carrying forward and that I will hopefully pass on to coming generations. That’s why this post is dedicated to him – the greatest traveller I have known and the man who introduced me to the abundant pleasures of travelling. Oh, and food.

***

I started my holiday with Gulbarga, a bustling town in North Karnataka, close to the Maharashtra and Andhra Pradesh borders. Also known as Kalburgi, the town was a major pawn in the game of thrones, changing hands with every passing dynasty. There are decent-sized medical and engineering colleges in and around the town with students coming from all over to study, and yet the place has been culturally untouched by time. Traces of the old world remain in every facet of people’s everyday lives, in what they eat, wear, think and talk.

Locks as mannats – wishes – at the Khwaja Bande Nawaz Dargah. This was the first time i saw something other than threads being used to ask for a wish to be granted.

As a tourist place, Gulbarga doesn’t have much to offer. The Khwaja Bande Nawaz Dargah – a shrine built for a great believer – is one of the main attractions of the place. Legend has it that wishes asked for here are granted in no time at all, so people of all religions and from all walks of life can be found here. Gulbarga also has its own fort, but I was discouraged from going there because it’s ill-maintained, dirty and a place where youngsters go for a little private time away from prying eyes. By implication that means that a ‘good girl’ should not be spotted anywhere around the area.

A river just outside of Gulbarga. The bridge adjacent to it fell, making it impossible for buses to ply. So people coming into the town get down on one side of the bridge, walk on the pedestrian path to the other side and board a bus that takes them into the city.

I did manage to binge on local cuisine, though. Jolada roti, pathar gosht (meat cooked on stone slabs) and susla (a dish made out of puffed rice).
The best thing about Gulbarga is that it has many historic places around it that can be seen in a day. Bidar is one such location.

A view of a part of the fort from Rangeen Mahal.

A one and a half-hour drive from Gulbarga, Bidar promises a peek into life during the Bahmani Empire, and delivers on it. I vaguely remember visiting the town when I was much younger (and crawling through secret passages that even my limb won’t go through anymore), but I don’t remember being so moved by it. Getting affected by ruins is a phenomenon I cannot explain, but I find my peace in the midst of the rubble of forgotten dynasties.

The main fort with the Sola Khamba Masjid (16 Pillar mosque) to the right.

Despite its state of despair, the fort is beautiful and commands a fair bit of land as its own. I managed to get the resident ASI authorities to let me in to see parts of the fort that are being restored and was blown away by the skill and precision of the craftsmen back in the days. The architecture is different from any of the forts I have seen across India – I’m told its modelled on Turkish palaces and stands mossy and stark against a scorching sky of blue and sunshine.

Inlay work at Rangeen Mahal – the part of the fort used by women – using mother of pearl and precious metals. This type of craftsmanship typical to Bidar is famous and known as Bidri work.

You could spend an entire day just sitting under the shade of the walls that seem to touch the sky, or walk around exploring the many mini-palaces inside the fort. But I’d recommend you leave some time for the other attraction of the place – a school that was struck down by the wrath of God.

The facade of the madrasa. You can see hints of the destruction caused by fire on the extreme left of the picture. 

So this is how the story goes: a man of God, Khwaja Mahmud Gawan built a madrasa – an Islamic school of sorts – and proclaimed that this was the greatest structure in the entire world and that nothing could bring it down. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a bolt of lightning struck the school down. I’m not sure about the casualties, but the Khwaja’s ego sure must have hurt like hell. Of course, the ASI board there will tell you differently – a gunpowder explosion caused a good chunk of the structure to collapse. One can still see the remnants of the fire.

Karanji Reservoir on the way to Bidar. Sweltering, vast and still.

Visiting Gulbarga and Bidar has whetted my appetite for exploring more of Karnataka. I realised that there’s so much to see, but I’ve been fascinated by so many places for so long that my own state has taken a bit of a backseat. So here’s to starting the new year with a new hope – that I can explore more of my own state in the coming months.

Inside the Sola Khamba Masjid, Bidar.

Getting there: Gulbarga is accessible by road and rail. There are many buses and trains to Gulbarga every day. Bidar can be accessed by car or bus, but I’m not entirely sure about trains.

Go if: You like history, want to experience life in towns, need a break from urban living and are the ‘I like local foods when I travel’ types.

A list of wishes from Potli Baba to you.

May you have wings on your feet.

May you drag your friends and better halves away on a much-needed break.

May you experience the pleasures of being a traveller, within your own country and outside of it.

May there be more long weekends in your life.

May you experience new sights and sounds and emotions.

May every holiday and vacation be a small dream come true.

May you never fall sick or develop an allergy during those holidays or vacations.

May every flight, train, bus and road trip you take carry you away from your worries and give you a taste of heaven, however brief.

But most of all, may your life be the most satisfying journey of the year.

Meet the traveller: Prarthana Krishnamurthy

*Meet the Traveller is a new series on Potli Baba, of conversations with people who have been inspired by travel.*

***

Prarthana Krishnamurthy discovered photography in the days following her move away from practicing law. I’m not even half the traveller she is. Her face lit up with every little anecdote and journey she recounted for me, turning me into a six-year old who hung on to her words with every ounce of interest I possessed. Her passion shines through, and talking to her has given me new perspectives on travel and photography. She’s holding her first photography exhibition at Atta Galatta in Koramangala, Bangalore from December 9-16. If you’re in the city, you must visit her exhibition to know what I’m talking about.

Describe yourself in one word. Simple.

Where do you live? Currently, Singapore.

Where have you travelled to till date? I’ve covered most of Europe, Asia and India, and a bit of the U.S.

Travel to you is: Everything. I think places talk to you.

Five things your travel bag will always have: My camera, iPad, hard disk, phone… I always travel with my gizmos.

Wanderer or tourist? Wanderer.

Mountains, beaches, deserts, jungles, nature or adventure sports? All of them!

Plan your own travel or get someone to do it for you? I plan my own travel.

I took this picture mid-conversation with Prarthana, as she was talking about her trek to Everest Base Camp early this year and how it had changed her.

What’s your favourite journey to date? Your travel memory? After my tenth standard, I travelled across Karnataka with my dad. We were complete wanderers over those 15 days.

My travel memory is arriving back at Lukla, Nepal to Nak cheese pizza at a fairly questionable Starbucks – it meant that I had made it back alive from Everest Base Camp!

If you were a city/town/country/place, which would you be and why? Mumbai. Everything changes and yet, when you stay there, you know that nothing does.

How has travel inspired you? It overwhelms me. I can’t stop travelling. I remember the first view I had of the Himalayas. Nothing can come close to that experience. You realise how small and insignificant, how much of a zero you really are. It was a life-altering experience for me – I came back humbled, calmer, more accepting of things…

Complete this sentence: If the world could fit into your palm, you would… Stay that way forever, holding it.

This is one of the many photographs from Prarthana’s exhibition. It was love at first sight for me.

The colours of Jaipur.

Ever since I can remember, the mere mention of Rajasthan has brought a look of wide-eyed wonder to my face. The royal (and ghostly) palaces, the filigree windows, the food, desert safari, Pushkar – there wasn’t a single element that didn’t fascinate me. Having lusted after it for years, I finally managed to spend two days in Jaipur. It worked wonderfully well as an appetizer, making my wandering feet thirst for a longer, more detailed exploration of the city and its cousins in the near future.

I love Jaipur for its vibrancy, bustle (especially since we went just a few days before Diwali), food, architecture and salesmen. But what I love most are its colours – of streets, people, places, clothes, just about everything. If I could paint the world with it, I would; but I’ll restrict that to this blog for now.

The 7:30 a.m Green

The train ride from Delhi to Jaipur is a lovely one because the landscape changes from concrete-buildings to sun-kissed fields to patches of barren land and mountains with fort walls visible in the distance.

Hues of hardwork

The designs true to Jaipur are available in every store, and sometimes within easy grasp on the roads as well.

Thick, sweet White

Lakshmi Mishtan Bhandar, or LMB as it is more widely known in Jaipur, is a must-visit for foodies. My desire to order everything on the menu was quelled by my limitation of possessing just one stomach. Fortunately, it was big enough to ingest the most amazing Lassi I have ever had, Dahi Bhalla, Raj Kachori, Dal Bhati Churma, Paneer Pakora, Kadi Chawal, Samosa Kachori and Khandvi. (I think I’ve forgotten some of the other things we ordered.) I did have plenty of help from three other friends, of course.

Ageing Browns and Reds

Johari Bazaar is dotted by street vendors selling fruit and torans and decorative items of all kinds. And since we had gone pre-Diwali, there were even more people.

Ripe Red

One of the many wares sold on the roadside.

Lilac spread

These little meringue-like sweet treats, what we call Bataashe (Singular Bataasha), are sold by kilos to people who use it as prasad.

Palatial Pink

The Hawa Mahal is a straight walk down from Johari Bazaar and right on the main road. That it was on the road killed the romance of the palace for me, but the facade is still quite beautiful.

Moroccan Whites and Golds

To me, this shop seemed like a slice of the Moroccan markets I’ve seen on TV magically that magically appeared in Johari Bazaar. Cut-glass, coloured glass, mosaic, brass filigreed and patterned-glass lamps were everywhere. I went from one to the other, eyes glittering with the reflected light from within the lamps.

Daylight Orange

Almost every building in Jaipur is true to the design elements of the region. This one caught my eye because of the concrete meshes that double up as windows.

Dusk Blue

As we waited outside the gates of the City Museum, we saw it transform from a structure of shadows and green and blue lights into a welcoming, festive place lit with a number of diyas.

Blurry Black and Brown

Chokhi Dhani is a massive dining property, a sort of private co-op effort where food is served the traditional way alongside performances by local artists. The food was delicious, but we couldn’t do justice to it because we had hogged our hearts out at LMB. That said, I helped myself to multiple Kesar Pista Kulfis – they were the best I have had to date.

Dangling Copper

Wares on display en route Amber Fort, which we didn’t end up seeing because we spent the day donating all our savings to the cause of shopping at Rajasthan Small Scale Cottage Industries. It’s a clever setup – with everything under one roof, they whisk you away from the clothes section to the jewellery and shoes and art sections one by one, smooth-talking you into exploring each and every part shop. Not a penny’s regret, but we comfortably ran up a bill of over a lakh between the four of us. My advice to you? Don’t make the mistake I did. Spend your days scouring the shops of Johari and Bapu Bazaar – you get great stuff for half the price. We didn’t have enough time for it, so cottage industries was best for us.

Royal Cream

A view of Amber Fort from outside. We never got around to exploring it because we were busy donating all our savings.

Savoury Silver

Endless trays of fried goodness beckoned from behind grumpy store owners as we drove past them, faces stuck to the windows, salivating profusely. We didn’t stop, though, because we were broke from having donated all our savings. (See a pattern emerging yet?)

Watery Yellow

Jal Mahal awaiting the start of Diwali celebrations, standing as still as the water it lives in, with cormorants resting on its domes as they take a break from hunting for fish.

***

And that’s how my two days in Jaipur went. I was like a horse with blinders, all my attention focused on shopping for friends, family and myself. That seems to have worked in my favour, though, because not having visited any of the architectural marvels this time gives me a good reason to go back there soon.

Getting there: Jaipur is accessible by road, train and air from Delhi. It’s accessible from most other places by air. If you’re going from Delhi, I would recommend taking a train – either overnight or early morning.

Go if: You love shopping, food, architecture, want to soak in the richness of culture and love a good sales pitch (the shopkeepers and their staff are very, very effective with their selling skills, I assure you).

Spending time in the company of the Ganges.

The river banks of Ganga, our temporary home.

“Ganga’s very forgiving”, Vikram, our raft guide from Aquaterra, proclaimed as we paddled vigorously down the river, out of breath and watching in horror as our fellow paddlers from other rafts were carried past us by the currents. She didn’t seem very forgiving at that point, I can tell you that much, but as we continued to raft down the rapids of the Ganges, I could understand what he meant. The waters and the 15-foot rapids might scare the living daylights out of you, but they won’t kill you. (Not unless you do something stupid like panic, or disregard the instructions of the pros.) Instead, they’ll take you along on a joy ride – a very cold, liquidy, watery kind – injecting you with an instant adrenalin rush, and then let you drift gently in calm waters. The river has many moods: persistent, with waves gushing, rushing past and over each other constantly – one can almost hear them go ‘move, move, move, move, make way, make way, make way’; passionate, as the water rushes furiously over eddies and currents to form its famous rapids; and quiet, as it softly rolls to the river bank and slinks back slowly, riding the crest of the oncoming lap of water.

A neighbouring camp on the sand banks.

Rafting on the river – getting high on hormones

Rafting on the Ganges is an experience one must have in one’s lifetime. We covered 36 kilometers in two days, complete with many rafts toppling over, many paddlers washed away in the river, and many, many stories of horror and awe from our instructor. Resisting the water’s force to draw us into its depths, seven people paddling as one to catch the crests of the rapids, almost losing my balance (and my sanity) as the raft leaned dangerously to one side and nearly gave in to peer pressure from the water, taking me with it – these are memories I will savour for a long, long time. In those moments, I felt alive. What an adrenaline rush!

I shared a quiet moment with my feathered friend here, who derived vicarious pleasure from alternately posing for, flitting away from and flying back to tease me.

But the one thing I will cherish the most is the quiet evening I spent with just the river for company. Ganga and I said nothing to each other. She went about her routine quietly, flowing calmly while I sat on the banks with folded legs and watched her. There was only the tinkling sound of water, occasionally interrupted by the chirps of a flying bird or two. I must have sat that way for hours, I think, because when I dragged my eyes away from the river, it was dusk. I have now found my happy place to go to in my head when things around me get chaotic.

The Adventure Journey Nature Camp at Gujjar Dera.

Nature/eco camping – going back to the basics

Eco camping is not for the faint of heart or for those who love their luxuries. The camps are set up along the sand banks of the river and are miles away from Rishikesh town. The first time our jaws dropped when we saw the camp – three leaps away from the holy river, and without floating bodies too! – and the tents that would be our home for three nights. The scene was breathtakingly beautiful. Our jaws dropped a second time when we saw the bathrooms – longish tents, the kinds you find illustrated in Asterix and Obelix comics to show Roman camp settlements, with a deep hole dug into the sand for a toilet and a bucket of sand-limestone mixture for a flush. It. Was. Traumatic. Our expectations from the nature camp weren’t fully calibrated, so despite our ‘make-the-most-of-what-there-is’ attitude eventually, the first few hours were a total shocker. But let me be a good soul and set the dial of expectations to ‘Real’ for you. Here’s what you’ll find at nature camps in Rishikesh:

• No electricity
• No hot water
• No ‘modern’ toilet facilities
• Giant spiders, and very venomous-looking at that
• Great food
• Great views
• Absolute peace and solitude
• An opportunity to be one with nature

Evening aarthi at Parmarth Ashram.

Evening aarthi at Parmarth Ashram – a sea of yellow by a river of grey

As I left my footwear and walked past the arch, I was greeted by innumerable devotees donned in yellow. A little beyond was the Ganga, above whom loomed a large statue of Lord Shiva. Notes from the bhajans swirled around me as I took my seat behind a family who were wrapping up a special pooja. Non-Indians sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Indians, all of them clapping in sync to the tune. Disciples of all ages, dressed in yellow dhotis and kurtas with stoles of the same colour, closed their eyes and chanted away. Some others offered flowers and incense to the river, hoping for a blessing in return. Brass lamps took centre stage, waiting to be lit. As the evening progressed, the bhajans increased in fervour, reaching a crescendo as the lamps were lit and passed around for people to do the aarthi. The heady combination of the fire, the bhajans, the riverside, the rush of people and the feeling of godliness made for a mesmerising experience.

The crescendo.

Rishikesh was full of adventures, the likes of which I’ve never had before. The camping was different and memorable – despite the bathroom bit, the rafting was brilliant and the trip to town for the aarthi was just as good. In the three days that I spent there, I was more me than I have been in a while. If you’re interested in that sort of discovery, you should go too.

Ram Jhula caught in the sunset.

Getting there: Rishikesh is a six-seven hour drive from Delhi. There are no direct flights to the town. There are also day trains from Delhi to Haridwar, from where you’ll have to hire a cab and ride for about an hour.

Go if: You seek adventure, peace and yogic knowledge, want a tete-a-tete with the Ganges, love rafting, wants to see what stillness and silence feel like, want to do high rope courses, like nature camping and are a sucker for cultural experiences.