Day 8 - Udaipur

“Authentic Art Gallery” – screamed the name of the little shop of paintings in Hathipol. We were eager to check it out, but were stopped in our tracks by the guy next door. “He’s not there. He won’t come before lunch”, he said, and after a pause, continued: “And he won’t talk to you. He only deals with goras(whites). Not Hindustanis”. Pat came the reply: “Then he should also be packed off to Englistan!” In complete contrast was Rafeeq Bhai, the cloth seller from whom we bought a bunch of Bandhni dupattas. He explained to us in details what Bandhni was and how it was done. His whole family was into the trade and had even had exhibitions in Mumbai and other places. He even gave us recommendations as to where to buy paintings. 

Lunch was again at Maxim’s Café – our food joint since yesterday. It is a small cozy place with a view of the old city, particularly the magnificent marble edifice of the Jagannath Temple. After lunch, we went exploring the narrow winding streets of the old city, finally ending up in front of the palace…and the painting store. It was the umpteenth one we had visited…and this time, we struck gold! We’d found our painting. 

After an evening at Bagore ki Haveli, we headed to Café Edelweiss, where we ran into Jessica and Folaf, the duo from Venice whom we’d met yesterday at the haveli. It was their last week in India, before flying out on Thursday. And for us, it was our last few hours on the vacation. It was now time for the last rites.

Gangaur Ghat had come alive. The sun was going down. Across from the lake, came the throngs of a devotional song. Children were playing cricket. A few local performers were busy flaunting their skills to curious foreigners. Others – foreigners and locals – were staring across the lake as the colours of the sky changed. I stood there, taking in this wondrous atmosphere, and clicking the last of my photos of the Lake Palace.

The sun had set.

Day 7 - Udaipur

I don’t know what went through the auto rickshaw driver’s mind, but he had a sudden charge of heart. “It costs 20 rupees to Hotel Gorbandh” he’d said before we stepped in for coffee. No sooner had we finished coffee, than he pointed out the hotel just behind the big gate. Life is full of surprises.

According to Lonely Planet, Udaipur is the Venice of the East. But the lakes are hardly full. Expectations were high after being impressed by the photographs of Udaipur that I have seen over the years. The city palace opens at 7:00 AM – earlier than everywhere else. Hence, at 8:00 AM, we had the place for ourselves for all our photographs. This was reportedly the biggest palace in the whole of Rajasthan. The façade was imposing and beautiful. But the inside was a trifle disappointing. This was the land of Mewar, of the famed Rajputs who appear in loads of Amar Chitra Katha volumes. But from all the paintings hung up inside, it seemed as if the kings of Udaipur were hunting boar or tiger all the while, Perhaps expectations were high.

The palace still took half a day. A visit to the Lake Palace was denied since it was an exclusive hotel, not for the likes of me who live on a meager few rupees every month. We’d met Shannon from Sydney during dinner yesterday. She was in India for a 3-month vacation. Today we ran into her, while on the way to Lal Ghat. She was trying to learn some Indian music. She walked with us all the way to Bansi Ghat. After the unsuccessful attempt to get into the Lake Palace (where a lunch would cost about Rs. 2000 per person), we were determined to get to Jagmandir Palace. Perhaps a 300 rupee boat ride was not so much as a 2000 rupee lunch, and hence we decided to take it. After visiting Jagmandir, which was again just a hotel, it did not seem a wise decision.

As the sun set behind Gangaur Ghat, we wee seated in the cozy confines of Café Edelweiss, munching fried eggs and sipping hot coffee. The last thing on the agenda for the day was the Rajasthani Folk performance across the road at Bagore Ki Haveli. It began at 7:00 PM with the evergreen “Padharo Mhare Des”. And for the next one hour, we felt we had truly stepped into Rajasthan.

Pic(k) of the Day:

Incredibly, there are none - on a day when i clicked 340 photographs - the most i've ever clicked on a single day

Day 6 - Jaisalmer

In the morning, we were taken to Sam Sand Dunes. It was Mr. Desert’s plan to show us what we would have missed by going there. Indeed, Sam was like a marketplace, choc-a-bloc with tents and hotels. We were glad we had not been there yesterday night. We decided that once we were back in Jaisalmer, we had to visit Mr. Desert to express our thanks for his hospitality, and indeed we did. He requested us to make an entry in his guest book. It was astounding to see the entries made in perfect Hindi by the two ladies from Bulgaria. We made entries of our own, after which Mr. Desert obliged by posing for a photograph.

Our bus for Udaipur was scheduled for 3:30 PM. It would be a 15-hour ride to the city of lakes. As we sat down for a chai at the bus stand, a little boy started chatting vociferously with the white couple of the adjacent table. A man on the next table found it extremely amusing. “Kyun? Nanhe Jaisalmer banna chahta hai?” “Woh khud ko bechne ki koshish kar raha hai (he’s trying to sell himself to them)”, he addressed us. The kid was trying to sell them a hotel room. He had guts, since the white guy looked formidable, and quite irritated.

The bus ride was right from hell. For a start, I’ve never heard a shadier name for a bus than “Gogadev”. Its looks themselves gave away quite a lot about the bus. There was paint missing from various parts. Climbing into the sleeper compartment, I noticed that the window pane was missing. It would be a horribly cold night ahead for us. Thankfully the assistant assured us that buses would be changed in Jodhpur. 

The new bus at Jodhpur was nothing different - as shady as or shadier than the previous one. But there were window panes – thank god for that! No freezing at night. Most passengers got down at Jodhpur, but there were a few of us carrying on till Udaipur. Among them were Julian and Salomi from France. They were traveling all over North India and were trying their best to learn Hindi. “Aap se milkar bahut khushi hui…” they beamed. I was floored!

So much for window panes! They are not enough to grant you a good night’s sleep. If only the roads were smooth!

Pic(k) of the Day:

The magic carpet...

Day 5 - Jaisalmer

From the Pink City, to the Blue City to the Golden City - Situated on the eastern outpost, a few hundred kilometers from Pakistan, Jaisalmer is a sleepy little town on the edge of the Thar Desert. The town clutters in and around the fortress made famous as “Shonar Kella” by Satyajit Ray.

It was the first time I was having spiced coffee in India. The experiment with cinnamon coffee in Budapest had been a disaster, but the cardamom in Jaisalmer was refreshing. Loitering around in the streets, I realized that every other shop was selling a camel safari in the desert. It was by chance that we discovered we were in Gopa Chowk, the entrance to the fort. A man with shining eyes and a great moustache smiled at us from inside the office of Sahara Travels. It was a meeting I would not forget. Mr. Bissa was very down to earth, and was so confident of what he was offering that without hesitation, we ended up booking a camel safari worth 1000 rupees each. Later he confided in us – with all modesty - that he was indeed Mr. Desert, the face made world-famous through various advertisements about Rajasthan, and in that famous Coca Cola ad with Hrithik Roshan.

The fort at Jaisalmer was much different to the others seen so far:

1. It still houses residences inside the walls

2. There’s too much of tourism. There are more Italian restaurants and German bakeries here, than can ever be found in Baden Baden. Everyone speaks a multitude of languages – none of them Indian. It was a surprise to hear women dressed in traditional Rajasthani costumes and selling jewels on the street talk in immaculate English!

The sleepy town had just turned cosmopolitan

Our safari started at 3:00 PM. Our destination was Keswa Basti, a quiet and serene location, a long way away from the bustle of the ultra-modern Sam Dunes. To reach there, we had to travel by jeep for about 40-odd kilometers, followed by a two hour camel ride. We also stopped by at Kuldhara, an abandoned village, made famous in that "Rangeela" song in which Jackie Shroff chases a bare-naked Urmila. There was nothing much there except a few broken down ruins. Not even Urmila.

Little Daniel and Dilawar Khan (for the sake of foreigners, he states his name as ‘Abdullah’), were our expert camel drivers, to keep them under check if they decided to head off on their own. At first it was a bit awkward to sit on the beasts, but soon, I got used to it. The beasts seemed to be disinterested with the whole affair and kept going as if they had some inbuilt GPS. By evening we reached the dunes. As Mr. Desert had promised, there was no crowd oohing and aahing around the place. It was just the two us, two German students Arne and David, with Lilu – Mr. Desert’s deputy, his aide to assist us through the night and the occasional camel. There were no tents or mud huts out there. We were to sleep on the open dunes under the watchful eyes of the stars overhead.

To our pleasant surprise, the students turned out to be from Mannheim. As the sun set on the dunes, we sat and discussed on a variety of topics ranging from music to the financial crisis, from soccer to Indian culture. A sumptuous dinner of rotis and rice was served around the campfire. It was as if we were back in the time when camel riders camped in the desert for the night.

It looked like a bright firecracker, except that there was nobody around to light a firecracker in the middle of the desert. It was the brightest and the most splendid shooting star I had ever seen – even better than the one shown in “Kuchh Kuchh Hota Hai”. As we lay down to sleep, the stars glimmered above. Never in Bangalore would I behold such a sight! 

Pic(k) of the Day:

Footsteps in sand...

Day 4 - Jodhpur

As you go up the winding road, you wonder if you are in no man’s land. On the left, the barren land stretches to as far as the eye can comprehend. A few houses and a water tank break the monotony. But a look to the right takes your breath away. From inside the wall that borders the road rises the massive dome of the Umaid Bhavan Palace, one of the newest and the most beautiful palaces in India. Far away behind you, the majestic Meherangarh Fort towers above the blue houses of the old city. Welcome to Jodhpur!

Meherangarh fort takes your breath away. The massiveness and enormity of the fort walls become more evident as you climb up the fort. On the outer gate can be found, the marks of cannonballs that once bombarded this fort. Major portions of the fort are currently under renovation, but overall, the place is beautifully maintained. From up the fort you get a bird’s eye view of the beautiful blue houses of the old city to one side and the ugly structures of the modern city on the other. In the far distance, Umaid Bhavan rises up from Chittar Hill.

Our sightseeing in Jodhpur was aided by Pappu, an auto rickshaw driver who drove us around town. As with everywhere else, he was vociferous about where to shop and where not. We had just one day in Jodhpur, and our schedule was not helped by our train being late by more than 3 hours. Scheduled to arrive in Jaipur at 12:15, it finally turned up at 3:30 in the morning, and till the time, we sat shivering in the railway station. But more adventure was to come our way at night.

Jodhpur railway station is impressive. Deemed a model station, it is kept immaculately clean. At 10:00 PM, workers were hosing down the platform. Our train to Jaisalmer was on Platform 2, ready to depart at 11:00 PM. There were only two reserved coaches and the lights were off. Our coach was crammed with people. As I approached the door, a child yelled out: “Andar nahin jaa sakte. Darwaze pe sab log baithe hai (You can’t go in. People are sitting at the door)”. We headed for the other side, where the situation was the same.

Inside, confusion reigned, thanks to the newly installed side middle berths. Seat numbers had completely changed and nobody knew which was theirs. The most vociferous debate was for seat number 50, with two gentlemen claiming that the chart contained their name, neither of them willing to budge an inch. In the end it turned out that both of them were named Amrit Lal! Thankfully they were not of the same age.

The TTE was trying his best to evict the unreserved passengers from the coach – even resorting to holding up the train from leaving. Standing in his way were numerous army soldiers. “Bheed hai, aur kahin jagah nahin mili (It’s crowded. There’s nowhere else to go)”, was their excuse - A valid one except for the fact that they were travelling ticketless! To add to that crime, they were boasting about how they escaped being caught the various times they’ve travelled ticketless. These are the heroes who save our country.

Pic(k) of the Day:
Waiting for the next ride...

Day 3 - Jaipur

Happy Republic Day! It’s 11:00 PM, and I am seated on an iron bench at Jaipur Junction railway Station. Sleep is slowly tugging at my eyelids, and I am shivering in the cold! Our train scheduled for 12:15, is late by an hour and a half. But then, this is what Harem Globetrotter trips are all about.

“Aap bol dete toh aap ko lene hum hotel aa jaate! (If you had told me I’d have picked you up at the hotel)”, exclaimed the auto rickshaw driver from yesterday. We had run into him at the Hawa Mahal. 'Hotel??' I mused about what he said. According to the story we had fed everyone in Jaipur, we were staying with our (fictional) chacha. How did this guy know of a hotel?

Our first destination today – without breakfast – was the fort at Amber (pronounced as “Aah-Mare”). This is the fort that you always see on television on Discovery and other channels. It is situated on a hill-top with pachyderms winding their way up the zigzag path, foreigners gaping wondrously atop them. It’s a short ride out of Jaipur with buses available from the Hawa Mahal. The fort was indeed beautiful, its star attraction being the Sheesh Mahal, the Palace of Mirrors. It is an ornate chamber that overlooks a garden designed like a Persian carpet. The chamber is decorated with mirrors on all sides forming intricate patterns and designs. The place dazzles with a thousand reflections as every available space is occupied by gawking tourists. Guides abound, some genuine and imaginative like the man who was photographing the reflection of the foreigner and his girlfriend in a mirror to the shrewd lot who were proclaiming proudly that Mughal-e-Azam’s famous “Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya” was shot at that very place.

By evening, we were in a quandary about what to do in the remaining one hour or two. A cycle rickshaw puller promised to show us whatever else was open at that time (here, everything closes at 5:00 PM), for just Rs 4. He started advising us about where to shop and what to see in Jaipur. ‘We should probably recommend these rickshaw rides to Lonely Planet’, I thought. Stopping in front of a huge arch, he remarked: “These are the Mughal Gardens”. He volunteered to wait outside, but we sent him on his way.

I stepped through the arch and through the adjoining contraption resembling a door frame. It claimed to be a metal detector – much similar to the one we had come across at Chennai Central station on January 26th 2006 (what a coincidence). Be it the city palace, the Hawa Mahal, or the Jantar Mantar, we had come across these things aplenty. One had to step through it...and nothing happens. No beeps, no flashing displays. Just a bored comment from the police guard standing nearby: “Aage badhiye saab, rasta mat rokiye (move ahead sir, please don’t block the way)”. This was the city where bombs exploded less than a year back! So much for security on Republic Day!

As we stepped into the compound, I sensed that this was no ‘Mughal Garden’. A temple stood ahead, thronged by a massive crowd. I voiced my suspicion, and we stopped a gentleman to enquire where the Mughal Gardens were.

“Here?” He smirked “As far as I’ve heard, there is only one Mughal Garden. And that’s still in Delhi”.

My headache’s gone. I had my first cup of coffee in almost 60 hours.

Pic(k) of the Day:
"Pretty in Pink": This is the Pink City. The cloth shops are closed, but the fashion still adorns the street.

Day 2 - Jaipur

There are kites everywhere – whether entangled en-masse on high tension electricity lines or flying gracefully in the wind. We could spot kids flying them them everywhere – from the lawns of Jantar Mantar, to the serene settings of the Palace Café and on the medians of busy thoroughfares. One of the kites even found their way to the baggage claim conveyor belt at the airport. These are remnants of the recently concluded kite festival.

The place wakes up very late. At 8:00 in the morning, there was hardly a soul on the streets. But by 9:00, the huge tourist buses had started massing around the majestic flat-façade of the Hawa Mahal. Full-fledged restaurants are next to non-existent in the old quarter of the city. Throughout the day, we had to satisfy our stomach with hot samosas (thanks to the small – but shady – chat joints) and the cold kulfis sold in front of Jantar Mantar. Thanks to the (not-so-much-overpriced) restaurant – Palace Café – inside the immensely beautiful City Palace. I sent a boastful SMS to my colleagues that I was dining inside the palace. The day passed off peacefully, with the biggest adventure yet to come.

Dinner at Choki Dhani was still 20-25 kilometers away. We haggled with an autorickshaw driver, who demanded 500 rupees for the following reason:
1. To and fro it will take 50-odd kilometers
2. The place opens at 7:00 and closes at 11:00. Who the hell would drop you back at midnight?
3. The entry fee was 300 Rs.

We finally agreed for 350 Rupees.

350 bucks for nothing! - For as it turned out the traffic jam started just about 2 kilometers before the place. The whole of North India seemed to have decided to dine there. It took us an hour to cover those 2 kilometers. Once we reached there, it was difficult to see where the queue started. Probably a thousand or more people were banging on the doors, which had closed by that time. Someone said, there was no way to get in. We tried to squeeze our way through once the stampede started. But finally common sense prevailed and we decided to get back.

The less said about the rickshaw, the better. I was already starting to hate those big autos. It kept bouncing on even the smallest crack on the road. The driver though, was very cheerful. On the way to Choki Dhani he kept pointing out all the important landmarks in Jaipur. On the way back however, he decided to take an alternate route to avoid the traffic jam. He was driving at the maximum speed possible for his rickshaw, in the process overtaking BMWs and Honda Civics (“can’t you drive faster?” asked a guy rolling down the windows of his Honda). At every junction or roundabout, he stopped to ask the way back to Jaipur. He even gave a lift to a shady-looking character and his little girl. It was 10:00 PM when we reached our destination.

I was already having a headache. I hadn’t had a cup of coffee for more than 36 hours!

Pic(k) of the Day:
Breather...

Day 1 - Bangalore to Jaipur

Goa 2005, Goa 2007, Mumbai 2008 and now Rajasthan 2009. For me, every trip starts with a sprained leg. No sooner had I stepped out of the auto rickshaw in Jaipur than I twisted my leg. For the rest of the evening, I wobbled around on one leg.

As we headed towards the BIAL terminal – which to me, looks smaller than the old airport terminal – a guy in grey overalls appeared out of nowhere, directing traffic towards the left. “Traffic Control”, I thought, “mighty impressive”. Soon, a car with the name plate “member of the legislative assembly”, sped past on the right, and my thoughts came thudding down to earth. That's democracy for you...

It’s hard to miss the UDF counters at the entrance. They claim you can pay by credit card. But the guy at the counter refused the card.

Him: “Sorry Sir, cash only!”
We: “Why? (The board next to the counter) says we can pay by card”
Him: “Yes sir, but it will take 10 minutes. Our server is very slow!”

So much for the international standards, and all that “Silicon Valley” hoopla! We still decided to use the card, but the rest of the queue was not impressed by the guy’s answer.

Whatever be the impression from outside, the terminal interior is really world-class. A huge hall greets you on entry. On one side, an advertisement of SATYAM assures you to count on them to transform businesses. The security check is also very impressive leaving no stone unturned. The official made us drink more than half the bottle of water we were stupidly carrying. But we were not as stupid as the gentleman who thought he could carry a toy pistol as part of the hand luggage.

Security: "What’s this?" (Pointing to the toy)
Him: "That’s a part of it" (Pointing to the video game pack in front of him)
Sec: "Sorry sir, you cannot carry this"
Him: "But without this the game is useless" (and after a pause), "it’s only a toy"
Sec: "Then you check it in"
Him: "But I’ve already checked in my bags"
Sec: "Please go downstairs and check this in sir…"
Him: "But for that I have to go all the way down! Thats too much trouble for me to take"

Mind you, “ALL THE WAY DOWN” is just one floor! What can I say?

Stereotyped images of Rajasthan were erased as we approached Jaipur. The ground was green, and not scorched or filled with sand from the desert. The touchdown at the airport was far from smooth. It seemed as if he was doing a brake test for the flight. The flight came to stop near a little building that I surmised was the terminal. It seemed as if a train was making an unscheduled stop at a wayside railway station. The airport was small by all standards.

The biggest surprise awaited us when we reached the “guest house”. It was a small house, laden with heaps of clothes, probably used as a store by Mr. Gupta. The place was dusty, and we were initially skeptical. But soon, the ladies from next door got to work, and the place was cleaned out. By the time we finished lunch (at 5:00 PM in the evening), they had even put in beds and warm blankets for us. We felt at home.

Friday

12:00 PM: Another late day...Packing was done in half an hour. For someone who completed packing for USA in less than an hour, what's a domestic trip all about?

I am still undecided about how to reach the airport.

8:00 PM: After more swings that a pendulum might in its lifetime, i finally decided on how to reach the airport. So much for decisiveness. And finally the packing is done...or so it seems. 

Except for the odd trip to Lal Bagh, it has been an uneventful week!

Thursday

Nowadays, two names - both hyped up - dominate the news: Obama and Slumdog Millionaire. Agreed that he's the president of the world's richest/powerful nation, and he's black...but...what the hell? As for the 'Slumdog phenomenon'? It's swept along so fast that people forgot about Taare Zameen Par not making the final cut for the Oscars.

I am not mighty impressed.

Today i bunked office...to go to the Lal Bagh Flower Show - to enjoy something i enjoyed doing. Would somebody question me for it?

I am scared for tomorrow...I still am not ready for the weekend.

Wednesday

I was finally able to create the Wordle that Reshma mentioned...and say what! it says i am lazy...

Today was again late...Partly due to Obama's inauguration yesterday night. It was not a surprise when i woke up today morning and found that the whole word is going gaga over Obama. I wonder why...

It was again two games of scrabble today. And surprisingly, i remembered the driver's license. 

My wordle:

Tuesday

Lanner, Quannet, Feen...and much more. Most of you might not have heard of these words. These are what the daily games of Scrabble has taught me.

Today being appraisal day, I needed to reach office early, and i had to let go of my precious sleep at 7:00. Early by my new found standards.

It's quite an out-of-this-world experience to eat cold idli vada on a cold January morning. At 8:30 AM you can't get your hands on a hot plate of dosa. All thanks to our caterer.  As usual, Snag didn't even bother eating half of what she had taken. I managed to finish off everything...so much that i skipped lunch.

I need to remember about the driving licence.

Monday

Life has changed...

No more pseudo-camaraderie in the office. I live for myself, and not for my team. Hence, no team breakfasts, no team lunches and no team coffee sessions. The result? lethargy!

I get up at 8:30 or 9:00, spend an hour with the hindu crossword, have breakfast and then slowly head towards office. Driving has become a pain. I still can't figure out when to start from home, to avoid the multiple lane traffic at that wretched railway gate. 

By the time i reached office, people had settled down to work. All the more good, since i could just mingle in unnoticed. The day went as expected, with the usual game of scrabble followed by an elongated lunch session that i spent reading. Work got easily done.

Why bother? Just another ordinary day...

Tomorrow is going to be different. It's appraisal day. Early to rise and early to office...

Lethargy...

Is it the cold January morning?

Or my heart's long-suppressed yearning?

I've grown lazy

Lazy to bed,

Lazy to rise,

Lazy to take the bath,

Lazy for breakfast.

Lazy to drive,

Lazy to go to office.

Lazy to work,

Lazy to rise for lunch.

Lazy to go home,

Lazy to laze around.

...and Lazy to pen a few words.

What next?

Lazy to live and lazy to die?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Ah well... i thought I'd end it there...but my crooked wisdom got the better of me...(and lest i forgot, "lazy to get married" also). 

Answer this:

If i were a girl, what would the cab driver say (of course, girls can't drive!) when he's dropping me to office?

The wait

I waited for the rain...

It didn't come...

I waited for her call...

She didn't call...

I waited for them to get the sarcasm in my comments

They didn't get it...

Perhaps some other day...

The tale of two mothers

“Mommy, mommy, can I wake up?” asks little Simon. “You are already awake.  You can get up now darling,” replies Laura. An overjoyed Simon jumps out of bed, to step out and play with Tomas and his other imaginary friends. Laura, with her eyes open, is still not awake. She fails to see the dangers that lurk in her age-old house and in her little child’s imaginary playmates. She wakes up only when her son is taken away from her. By then, it is too late.

The haunted orphanage is a beautiful mansion set by the sea. Six children play on its grounds as flower petals float gently in the afternoon breeze. A scarecrow stands a mute witness to their frolics. These are Laura’s memories from her childhood. One day, her memories bring her back to the same old place, as she and her husband intend to set up a home for special children at the orphanage. Her adopted son, Simon, is suffering from AIDS and spends his days playing with imaginary friends. Laura is worried about them – a worry that soon turns to terror as one fine day, Simon is taken away by Tomas and his imaginary companions. Laura’s quest for her child would open the gates of her memories, as the gruesome tale of the orphanage and its inhabitants unfold.

‘El Orfanato’ (The Orphanage) comes from Guillermo del Toro, the acclaimed director of ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’, which undoubtedly is a classic of modern times. It is cruel to compare the two, but ‘The Orphanage’ pales in comparison, with the gentle human treatment that made a classic out of ‘Labyrinth’, missing in this film. But to do a follow-up job to ‘Labyrinth’ can be a Herculean task, and director Juan Antonio Bayona nearly manages to pull it off. Individual performances in ‘The Orphanage’ are just adequate. Belen Rueda gives a poignant performance as the anguished mother in search of her son, but the rest of the cast is just ordinary. ‘The Orphanage’, however, is not about individual performances. The real star of the film is the brilliant and powerful screenplay.

The story is simple and clichéd, but its nuances are driven into the heart of the viewer through the subconscious images presented through the camera. The subtleties in the story are too many for the casual viewer to comprehend, but for a connoisseur of cinema, they are too hard to ignore. Laura uses a table clock to reflect the moonlight onto the lighthouse to amuse Simon. This action perhaps acts as her trigger into the past, when the lighthouse used to protect the children in the orphanage. The movements of the carousel in the wind, and the usage of weather to depict events that are about to happen in the house are masterstrokes of genius. The inevitable fates of the characters are alluded to early into the film through the reference to Peter Pan’s Neverland and the children who never grew up. And what of the mysterious old lady, Benigna, who wreaked her deadly revenge on the children of the orphanage for the prank that led to the death of her deformed child? Her love for her dead child is mutely displayed through the little doll in the likeness of her son, which she carries unto her death. This is the story of two mothers and the extent to which they go in the love for their child.

Was it just a twist of fate that attracted Laura and her family back to the home of her childhood? Or does the orphanage have a sinister power that draws her back to be its helpless victim? As the story unfolds before our eyes, we sense that for Laura, there is no way back. However, rather than the inevitable sad ending, there is a deep sense of contentment as Laura sits around Simon and her childhood friends, relating the bed-time story of the lost children. A gentle smile adorns her lips as behind her, the lighthouse once again comes to life. All she wanted was to be with Simon, and unlike Wendy in the story of Peter Pan, she is in Neverland with the children who could never grow up.

‘El Orfanato’ is, without doubt, a masterpiece. To call it a horror flick would not do justice to the film. In spite of the fact that the haunted-house formula has been milked dry by storytellers throughout the years, Bayona and del Toro prove that a heart-wrenching tale can be spun around a tried and tested theme. The film has neither skeletons hidden in cupboards, nor the split-second scares that send shrieks echoing across movie halls in America. As the story unfolds there is only a deep sense of dread that permeates through the heart of the viewer – a feeling that arises out of the anticipation of the unknown in our minds, a belief that things are going from bad to worse. As the medium Aurora tells Laura in the film, “Seeing is not believing. It is the other way around.”

The Juggernaut

Puzhayoru Poonoolaay Malakale Punarunnu...

Upanayanam Cheyyum Ushassinu Kaumaaram...

One of my all-time favourite Malayalam songs - a beautiful composition in Mayamalava Gowla, but more importantly, it is pictured in Kalpathy, my ancestral village.

Nestled on the banks of the Kalpathy river, this quaint little village, 3 km from Palakkad gives us an impression that time has skipped by it. The afternoon sun beats down on the paved roads. There's nary a soul on the streets. Everyone is happily nestled inside their cool homes. As night approaches, a gentle breeze sifts across from the mountains that rise up from the opposite banks of the river. The noises from the nearby town are never audible here...

As we drove into Kalpathy on November 15th, the scenes were a little different. The streets were not vacant, for this was the day their grand yearly gala came to a stunning close - the Kalpathy Chariot Festival. I had witnessed the spectacle one - more that 24 years back. But now times had changed, or so it seemed.

Today was different. The Main street was not empty. In the sweltering heat of the afternoon, there were a few people ambling along on the road. As evening approached, a flute seller had set up his wares opposite periyappa's house. Soon, the street transformed itself into a mini bazaar with bajji sellers, hat sellers and even a local "gambling den". The huge chariots would pass by right in front of periyappa's house. Hence, we had the best view in the house. As the evening wore on, the crowd swelled - crowds that i had never witnessed in this sleepy hamlet.

As the sun began its descent, i could make out the thin outline of a huge chariot in the distance - the huge conical top, made up of flowers was bedecked with triangular flags. I was carried along by the crowd, as if it were a pedestrian crossing in Mumbai. Slowly, it advanced towards us. The verandas of the houses had now been taken up by people eager to have a glimpse of the chariots. 

It was a sight to behold, as the huge Juggernaut rolled closer to us. Little faces peered out from the mid section of the chariot. The deity would be seated inside this section, and the little kids from the village gave him company. The huge chariot was pulled by hundreds of people. For them, this was perhaps a yearly routine, but I jumped every time the chariot gave a mighty lurch as the crowd pulled.

The best was yet to come...

"It is really possible?" I asked periyappa, rather skeptically. "Just watch and see.." he said. The streets of Kalpathy are perhaps wide enough for two cars to pass. And on this street, I was to witness two grand chariots passing each other.  Emanating from driving on the streets of Bangalore, my skepticism was perhaps misplaced. But in that sea of humanity, the chariots did cross - helped along by the waves of people who steered them.

The sun had almost set. But enthusiasm knew no bounds. For the next two hours, under the lights of the fluorescent lamps, people were still dancing to the tune of drums. On that tiny street close to the temple, five chariots met together, in the grand spectacle that culminates the festival. 

I was spent! A harsh throat infection had caught hold of me. We had sumptuous dinner at periyappa's house, before embarking to our abode. As we walked along to RM's house, the sight that greeted me took my breath away. It was a full-blown carnival. The street stalls were brightly lit up...Vendors were doing everything to attract customers. People were busy jumping from one stall to another...

At 10:30 PM, when all the metropolitan cities in India shut up and sit in the comforts of their living rooms (the TV blaring for no one in particular), this little village had come alive

Homecoming

Everyone's busy worrying about the economic crisis - to the extent that i've rarely heard a cracker burst, today being Diwali. For the past two days, it's been a quiet time out here at home in Cochin - no television, no radio and no newspaper. It's as if I were in a different world altogether.

Kerala has always seemed different. As I rounded the bend that leads to the Kerala border outside Coimbatore, the sight in front of me took my breath away. The road slopes down to the bridge that splits Tamil Nadu from Kerala. A small sleepy lake lies still on the left. Ahead, lies the massive wall of the Western Ghats. Storm clouds are forming above. A table cloth obscures the top of the nearest hill. The only sore spot in this serene landscape towers above the thick greenery of the forest - the monstrous chimneys of a cement factory, that billows white smoke.

As you cross the bridge, a huge hoarding catches your attention: "Public Works Department of Kerala welcomes you" - it is an apt sign, for after the smooth roads that lead out of Coimbatore, the moment you cross over to Walayar, the roads are full of gigantic potholes - a fine welcome carpet from the PWD.

The Walayar Checkpost is usually a bustle of activity. You can barely squeeze through the maze of trucks standing here. But today, it was strangely empty. I was the only person on the road, making me wonder whether i had entered the state on the wrong day - what if there was a hartal today?

Strangely, it was never raining in Tamil Nadu, but the moment i entered Kerala, i knew that it was going to pour down. And soon, it did! It has not stopped raining ever since.

A little bit of life...

45 litres of Diesel  - Rs. 1900.00.

Toll Fee - Rs. 25.00.

Idli Vada and Coffee for breakfast - Rs. 48.00.

Water bottle - Rs. 14.00.

Sweets - Rs. 76.00.

Sitting in the temple courtyard in a quaint little village on the banks of the Kaveri near Tiruchirappalli  (after a 300 km drive) at 1:00 p.m. in the afternoon, eating curd rice - Priceless!

There are somethings money can't buy....

Eating the humble pie

On August 15th, our luck finally ran out...We ate the humble pie at the Chennai Landmark Quiz. We managed a measly 23 out of 40 as the "playing field finally caught up with us", as Shetty put it. The preliminary toppers scored something around 35 out of 40. To make things worse, we even missed out the best corporate team prize. Of course, the notable absence of Derek meant that the standards of the quiz had definitely gone up.

The trip was still memorable, especially with my silk-saree shopping in Kanchipuram.