Day One

26th June 2009 - Friday

I woke up and found myself in Maharashtra. The train was approaching Sholapur. Where were we headed? Pune or Bijapur? “We’ve been all over the world…first Andhra Pradesh and now Maharashtra!” exclaimed SS. From Sholapur, we turned back to Karnataka, towards Bijapur. There was hardly anyone in the train ever since we’d left Gulbarga. Not surprising, considering the route.

Through barren lands we sped along. But still, it was a picturesque journey. En route, we stopped at the tiny village of Nimbal, where nothing interesting happens except the arrival of the occasional train. And as if it were a festival, there were people dressed up in all colours. The most ubiquitous is the yellow-saffron turban that everybody seems to wear – be it while plowing the field or tending the sheep.

A few minutes before we reached Bijapur we were assaulted by a barrage of Nadeem Shravan songs from somebody’s mobile phone. Thankfully not for long! At 10:10 we pulled into Bijapur. The first sight that greets you as the train slows down is the magnificent dome of the Gol Gumbaz, rising above the railway buildings! Truly a majestic sight!

Bijapur is like any other quintessential middle-class towns in India. Nothing much happens over here. Autorickshaws and bikes crawl past in hordes, with the appearance of an occasional car. There is only one main road, which serves as the “city centre”. There are no “Nikes”, “Reeboks”, “Mac Donaldses” and “Pizza Huts” – only the local “Fashion Stores” and “Darshinis”. The roads are narrow and filthy, but sparsely crowded. Life moves at a leisurely pace.

“Hotel Tourist” was quite shady to say the least, but we had stayed in much more shadier places. After all we just needed some place to dump our stuff. And what more, with a perennial power problem in the city, the hotel possessed a generator! It was next to the city market. Colorfully dressed ladies were selling juicy yellow mangos on the street side. It took just one photograph from me for them to starting clamoring for more of their photos. Even the tangewalas were not to be left behind. It took all of our diplomatic skills to break loose from there.

Mysore Restaurant is set in a corner of Gandhi Chowk. “The locals swear by it”, says The Bible, and so do we. The dosas are awesome! It comes with a sprinkling of chutney powder inside, and served with thick coconut chutney. The place is always brimming with people and for a little town it’s tough to find a place to sit. This would be our “adda” for the next three days.

Nestled behind the hotel are the ruins of the Barah Kaman – a mausoleum of curving arches named so because it has 12 windows and once had 12 tiers (according to the guard – pretty hard to believe, and of course, there are other versions on the origin of the name). Today there’s only one tier, sans the roof. The arches are nevertheless beautiful, forming intricate geometric patterns. The gardens surrounding the structure were crowded with people – the men in their yellow turbans and the women in their colorful garments adorned with metal ornaments. They are a sight to behold, the ornaments being made out of 25 paisa coins. I soon realized that this was some kind of ritual gathering. They sat in circles – the men and women separately – and seemed to be in some debate or discussion. Food, which they had brought with them, was being served. The women seemed to be singing some folk tunes. It was like a mini-carnival.

On top of Barah Kaman, we were accosted by a group of curious and enthusiastic kids – Rukhsar and her little friends. They wanted their photographs both in groups and alone. We playfully obliged. After a zillion photos in various poses, they were still not sated, until we finally gave up, fully tired. They continued playing around us, singing nursery rhymes. Just as we were leaving, one of them unexpectedly posed the question: “Yeh kab paper mein chhapega?” Uh…oh! We had to lie: “Do din mein…”

Opposite the Barah Kaman stand the ruins of the Citadel, which houses structures like the Jal Manzil, the Sat Manzil and the Gagan Mahal – all of them in various state of ruin. Touching the sky, the marble façade of the Gagan Mahal is majestic among them. The place was closed for renovation, but the caretaker beckoned us inside. That is when we realized that in the whole of Bijapur, we were the only tourists!

If you happen to be here, try the chilli bajjis from the roadside stall next to the Gagan Mahal. It was the spiciest chilli bajji I had ever had in my life.

Behind the bus stand rise up the twin domes of the Jod Gumbad. As we were clicking snaps, a chap shouted at us: “Andar mat jaana! Masjid hai!” We obliged, standing well outside. The kids were still enthusiastic – one in particular wanted SS to photograph him in various poses. He seemed impatient with SS’s focusing: “Why are you fretting around so much? Just click the photo!”

The evening was complete at the gates of the city. The city is enclosed inside the fort, on the walls of which stands Upli Buruj, the huge watch tower that gives a view of the whole city. It has two long cannons installed on top. But the more majestic cannon was the one at Malik-e-Maidan at the outer gate of the city – a huge 1.5 m diameter and (allegedly) 4m piece, intricate carved with the mouth resembling a lion sinking its teeth on a scampering elephant. As the sun started its descent, we sat there, discerning the huge saffron flag flowing in the strong wind.

The old lady at the gates tried to sell us post cards on our way into the Maidan, but we declined the same, with an excuse that we would buy them on the way out. She just smiled and did not utter a word of complaint. On our way back, we purchased two sets, for Rs. 20. She was happy to see us.

Swapna Restaurant was next door to our hotel. According to The Bible, it has a “70s lounge feel and outdoor dining” - probably a perfect place for dinner. According to everyone around, it was a favorite hangout for the tourists. The place turned out to be almost as shady as Brindavan Palace. The interiors were dimly lit, just like any other bar and restaurant. The place definitely had a “70ish” feel. The tables and chairs seemed to be 30 years old. A small TV at the centre of the hall was playing comedy scenes from Kannada movies of the 70s. Being thirsty, I ordered a Pepsi – the only thing I could trust to drink in that place. And for the second consecutive day, the dinner was nothing to talk about!

To be continued...