The long wait continues

It's too short to be a blog post. But something has to give! Three years is a long time of inactivity. Is it laziness or a loss of creativity? Has social media destroyed the writer in me? In these three years I've made many a journey, but have never bothered to pen down my thoughts! Maybe it's time to alter things a bit. It's all about time...

The Silk Road - 8

It’s probably been the longest week for me here in Shanghai - probably because of the wait to see where I will be headed the next week. After see-sawing between Beijing and Chengdu, it’s finally been decided that I would head to Chengdu for the coming weeks. It could well be my last week at Shanghai.


Subash has started cooking. While he does the cooking, me and Yash sit and watch Horror movies. Subash keeps yelling from the kitchen to switch it off. Thanks to us, Subash is now too scared to sleep. Megan Fox (ala “Jennifer’s Body”) has invaded his dreams, keeping him awake through the night. He is the first person I know who is scared of Megan Fox.

Yash left on Saturday. He couldn’t fulfill his desire of visiting Xian. Neither could Subash go for a massage with Yash.

Discovery of the week: No pee-pee boys, but it's again courtesy Yash – “In the USA, ‘tall’ means ‘short’. If you have any doubts, check in any Starbucks outlet”.

The Silk Road - 7

Sometimes a whole day is not enough. We had time for a few hours of sightseeing before we headed for shopping. The Summer Palace was far away and hence had to be ditched. We decided on the nearer one – the Temple of Heaven.

The guy at the hotel front desk had given the directions to the farthest metro station in the vicinity. By the time we got to the metro station, it seemed far away. Beijing Metro is the oldest in the country, and for a single trip to anywhere, it costs just 2 Yuan. But the trains are so damn crowded!

The temple was beautiful, but strangely, looks like the ones you find in Kerala – the round body tapering roof types. Of course, here, you cannot go inside it. Whatever is there to be seen has to be viewed from the small door. Surrounding the Temple of Heaven is a huge park with other temples and pavilions – and a gazillion people selling all sorts of trinkets – and Subash wanted to buy them all.

Opposite to the temple complex stands the Hongqiao Pearl Market – where you get duplicates of everything under the sun. The rest of the guys went gaga over the watches. Yash successfully brought almost a dozen watches, driving the salesgirls to exasperation with his bargaining. But he drew a blank with the bags.

The Silk Road - 6

The discovery of the trip has undoubtedly been the "Pee Pee Boy". It’s a small clay statuette used to determine the right temperature of water for making tea. When hot water is poured on its head, it pees. Yash was fascinated by them. We got a free pee-pee boy each on buying tea. But Yash was not satisfied. He wanted to make sure that the pee-pee boy he had got was working. He asked for a demonstration.

"Is it made of clay?" He asked the girl.

"She doesn’t know what clay is," interjected Subash, who hadn’t yet found the strainer he badly wanted.

"Of course I know what clay is!" she retorted

It had been a day for wrong questions…and Yash had been asking them all the time, with his fascination for gardens and pee-pee boys. Our tour guide Jenny finally remarked: "You always ask the wrong questions!"

Two Columbian bicycle businessmen – Nelson and Jose – were part of our tour party. The first stop was Tiananmen Square – according to Jenny, the largest square in the world. She explained about the Ming and the Qing Dynasties, and how Chairman Mao had proclaimed the republic at the square – everything, except the obvious. Opposite the square stood the majestic gate of the Forbidden City.

"You are now walking along the same path as the emperor used to years ago", proclaimed Jenny. Only, now the path was lined with shops that sold souvenirs and woolen clothing. They had to be thanked though, since we were freezing. I bought a pair of gloves and a big Red Army cap – the most prized possession from the Beijing trip.

The Forbidden City is called so because you cannot enter or leave it without the permission of the emperor. As for the empress, she only entered – she could never exit the complex. As you enter, you touch the doors for good lunch. The place has 5 bridges, 980 buildings and pavilions and covers an area of 7,800,00 sq ft.

Next was a traditional Chinese Medical Institute. "They check your pulse, look at your face and tell you what is wrong with you," exclaimed Jenny. Not very encouraging! IT all started with the foot massage and an anatomy lesson on how the liver and kidney looks. The doctor came in, checked my pulse, said a few things about cholesterol and then asked: "do you catch a cold?" They had one look at Jose and explained to him about a dozen things that were wrong at him. At the end of the hour he had a load of medicines in his hand.

The doctors seemed to be much impressed with Yash. The masseur girl wanted to know his age. But he wouldn’t oblige.

It was a day for wrong questions.

We set out for the Great Wall at Badaling, but not before visiting a Jade factory. The lady at the counter talked a lot about India being their preferential neighbor. But there didn’t seem to be any preferential treatment in giving discounts. A Chinese lunch was waiting for us, and strangely, it was acceptable to everyone – no complaints of smell.

It was late afternoon by the time we reached the biggest attraction – The Great Wall. A cable car takes you to the top where you join the wall. Another option is to climb up the wall from down below – an endeavour that would take the whole day. Not surprisingly, the wall was steep. I huffed and puffed my way up to the watch tower – and got my name engraved on a bronze plaque claiming "I have climbed the wall."

As we drove back through the city, Yash pointed to an elaborately lit structure and asked: "Is that a temple?" "No! It is a hotel!" Jenny retorted back.

It was a day for wrong questions.

The Silk Road - 5

The distance between Shanghai and Beijing is about 1300 Km. The high-speed bullet train covers that in 5.5 hours. Wikipedia says it passes on the world’s longest bridge – a whopping 164 km.


That’s the train we’d booked ourselves into for our Beijing trip on Friday. It took one hour to reach Hongqiao Station. The station is huge – almost like an airport terminal. The metro arrives on the lower level which also houses the ticket counters with their snaking (and not single line) queues. The middle level exits to the outside and the upper level constitutes the departure concourse. After baggage screening, we headed to the nearest McDonalds, which would probably be our last meal of the day. For about 15 minutes, Yash regaled us with lessons in Chinese. The waiting hall was huge. But in 15 minutes, we were heading down to the train.

On first sight, you go…”Wow!!” The front portion that tapers out has a sightseeing gallery, and that is the most expensive part of the train. We were in the second class, which resembles the new-age rajdhanis and shatabdis that run in India – the only difference being that this train runs at an average speed of 300 km/hr. Attendants keep walking to and fro, cleaning up waste thrown by passengers. TVs are constantly running, but they can hardly be heard. An odometer in each coach informs the passengers of the speed. Being night time, nothing can be seen outside, but I don’t think we ever passed over a 164 km bridge.

At 11:30 pm we pulled into Beijing South Station…and everything was shut. A never-ending line waited for the taxi. Drivers were bargaining. The starting price was 400 RMB - too much by any standards. And Yash kept reminding us: “The hotel is just 4km from the station”. His efforts to bring the price down to 50RMB came to nothing. We had to finally settle for 150 RMB. The 5 of us were bundled into one car, and we drove for many miles. When we checked into our spacious three bedroom service apartment, it was already Saturday.

I can see the station down below from the window; it is just about 4 km from the hotel. But it happens to be some other station.

The Silk Road - 4

It’s a long way to office – a 45 minutes ride thanks to the Metro. It’s a small place like the Graphisoft Park in Budapest. SAP stands with other companies like HTC, Olympus and ICBC Bank. There is a small man-made lake in the midst.


And then, there are the mosquitoes…Too many of them in office.

Nobody wants the lunch served over here. Subash didn’t like the smell. The others didn’t like the taste. So, we bring lunch. But still, Subash wants to know why they need to pay to have lunch at the office.

To the east of People’s Square runs East (not surprisingly) Nanjing Road – a boulevard of lights. It’s an out and out walking street with a few tram-like contraptions thrown in for the benefit of people like Pragati who cannot walk the whole way. There are huge shopping malls – from the Shanghai No. 1 Department Store at one end to the huge iphone store at the other. At night, it is truly a splash of colour. On this road, there are always people singing and dancing, and then there are those trying to sell you iphones, bags, clothing and sex massages

About 500 m ahead, is the famous Bund on the Huangpo River. Thursday was a rainy night and the umbrellas were out. We had two ourselves. Across the river, the lights of Pudong shone brightly. A mist was slowly descending. The highest pearl of the Oriental Pearl Tower kept playing hide and seek. The massive Shanghai World Financial Centre and the Jinmao Tower were lost in the mist. On the Shanghai side, the beautiful old buildings blazed in various colors. We stood braving the rain until the lights were switched off.

The Silk Road - 3

Shanghai Old Town is a maze of galis and wooden structures – a place you should go, if you want a traditional flavor. And, it is crowded! The queue at the famous Nanxiang restaurant was miles long - thus evaporated my desire to eat the famous steamed buns. Next to the restaurant was a small lake with the tea house in the middle. A bridge led to it. In front of it were the dancing men – a posse of Indians (not red), making postures like Bruce Lee did in “Enter the Dragon”. Soon I understood the reason - their pal stood in front with a camera. Across the bridge was Yuyuan Garden - a serene oasis of wooden pavilions in the midst of this hustle and bustle. It was not crowded – probably people were dissuaded by the 40 RMB entry fee.


Lunch was at KFC. It tasted strange. Unlike anything I’d eaten so far.

The Silk Road - 2

The first experience at the hotel was not nice. They had booked me only for 6 nights. It took them half an hour to rebook. The room that they gave me had no telephone or internet as promised. It took me a couple of trips from the 8th floor to the reception to get it fixed.


The place has 18 floors, but only 15 stories – there are no floor nos. 4, 13 and 14.

According to the desk clerk, the nearest supermarket is 25 minutes by taxi. I need to check the definition of the term in a Chinese dictionary, for there were a few of them nearby. But none of them sold butter, and the least amount of rice they offered was 10 kg!

The newly set up Marriott City Centre towers over our hotel. Behind it stands the jazzy and glamorous Shanghai New World Emporium that houses a huge shopping mall, movie halls, Madame Tussauds and what else. Like a sharpened pencil, the miles tall JW Marriott looms over everything else. Across the road sprawls People’s Square, also the site of the nearest Metro Station. It is one of the most important stations – considering that it has about 19 exits. The metro is awesome. There’s a train every 1-2 minutes, and it covers almost all parts of the city (it’s the longest metro in the world). However, China’s not the most populous country for nothing. And of course, inside the train it is just like Chennai – neither do they go in from the door, nor give way for people alighting.

No sooner I stepped out of the station at Yuyuan Garden, than I spotted a young man eating something that looked like a small barbecued snake on a stick. Everywhere there were people selling raisins, cashew and dry fruits, but no exotic animals. Surely, I must be mistaken. All the stories about China are exaggerated.

The Silk Road - 1

I was impressed to see the Toyota Corolla waiting to pick me up outside the apartment. It was 12:00 AM in the morning, and for a change, I was starting so late to the airport. The chauffer was fast. By 12:40 I was at the airport. And then, all the hell broke loose.

The check-in baggage weighed 27 kg. On cue, they weighed by cabin baggage and it weighed 13 kg. Out went 2 kg of rice and some ready-to-eat stuff. I would need to depend on Chinese food. The weight of check-in baggage brought down to 23 kg. Tackling the cabin baggage was easy. I took out the 5 kg backpack (retrospectively, a bad idea to carry it along – a teched bag would have been better).

“This only contains the laptop. Can I carry it separately?” I asked

“Yes sir, you can” said the lady at the counter.

“So what’s the big deal if I just turn the corner and keep the backpack inside the cabin baggage?”

She didn’t have a convincing answer. After immigration check, I did just that – after more than an hour. Immigration check was hell. All the counters were open. But the personnel were so slow that a huge snaking queue had formed, and it was now approaching the other end of the terminal. It also meant that we had to dodge smartasses who tried to claim that they were the only people flying on the 3:00 AM flight to Hong Kong. To compound my woes, the security check was held up by the clever guards who claimed to have found an invisible pair of scissors in the bags of a gentleman. It was 2:30 AM when I reached the gate.

I never knew when the flight took off. I was fast asleep. Thankfully, there were no cry babies. Half an hour before landing, I was woken up for breakfast consisting of something disguised as upma and sambar. We descended into Hong Kong half hour late. Thankfully, the transfer gate was nearby. There were hardly 50 people on the flight to Shanghai. The vegetable pulao, bhindi and dal was more indian that the upma and sambar.

At 3:00 PM, we alighted at Shanghai. The ghost of immigration came to haunt me again. After an hour of waiting in the queue, I exited into a parking lot that was miles high. All the taxis had the VW symbol in front. Everything else was in Chinese. It was 4:00 PM and the sun was already setting. Soon, we were cruising from one elevated road to another. One could barely see the tops of the apartments. Add to that, it was foggy. A Maglev train passed us at some impossible speed.

But no sooner we crossed the Lupu Bridge into downtown, than the traffic came to a standstill. The last few kilometers, we crawled. Drivers are the same as in India. It’s a nightmare to change lanes. Nobody gives way.

And, there are mosquitos here…there was one in the car.

Bus hai na?

SS would love this!

One thing that we love about our trips is to see people make a fool of themselves...(we call them "champu"s for obvious reasons). This time though i did not have to go far.

It all happened because of a trip. Late night arrival on Sunday meant late waking up, forcing me to take the Volvo bus to office. Usually, I would have taken the day off and slept peacefully, but that day, I had to reach office - for the sake of a free book at a book reading session.

The nuances and the drawls of the Punjabi accent cannot be reproduced here. Hence I take the liberty of abridging and translating the following to suit my limited English skills.

These two sardars get in from the Leela Palace bus stop. Both are talking loudly enough to be heard above the decibel levels of the radio in the bus. Sardar1 sits down in the front row (and slowly passes out of our story, except for some notable reference). Sardar2 finds that one of the seats in the row in front of me is vacant.

Now, the other seat in this row is occupied by one of those typical software geek guys like me - you know the ones: immaculately dressed (though my wife would disagree), ID hanging out on their chest, typically uninterested in everything around them, even in the music blaring in their ears from their i-phones.

What happened next, sounded something like this.

While sitting down, Sardar2 stamps on the foot of our geek guy. Geek guy yelps in pain and looks at Sardar2 indignantly.

"Kya bhai? Bus hai na? Aisa ho jata hai...chilla kyun rahe ho?"

Geek guy doesn't bother to fight. His attention turns back to the song on the i-phone.

Sardar2 continues his conversation with Sardar1(ah! the notable reference) seated two rows in front of him, in the same animated tone. In between, he turns to Geek guy and asks some pointless questions. Geek guy just politely nods.

Geek guy unplugs his phone from his ear, and is about to put it into his pocket, when Sardar2's curiosity is piqued.

"Yeh kya? naya phone hai?" (apparently the guy's never heard of and has not gone gaga over an i-phone. I guess not everyone is an American or a wanna-be American)

Geek: "Haan, i-phone"

Sardar2: "Kya kar sakte ho?"

Geek: Something illegible, but i hope he said that you could make a phone call.

Sardar2: "Dikhao!" and lo! The phone was in his hand.

Geek seemed to be vexed, but chose not to vent his anger. He obliged by explaining all the features (trust a geek to do that. Never ever ask us what can be done with any gadget).

Apparently Sardar2 was unconvinced because he couldn't find a keypad. "Phone kaise karte hai".

Indignation grows, but our geek acts according to how he is expected to. He shows sardar2 the keypad.

Before you could even say "Ambikapuram Ambujam Maami", Sardar punches a number and makes a call. From the conversation, I could make out that it was to some near and dear one.

Indignation becomes shock. Geek snatches the phone back.

Sardar2 is non-chalance personified: "Achha phone hai!"

Pointless questions continue. Geek guy just politely nods.

A few stops later, the pink-faced geek guy has reached his destination. He gets up, i-phone safely tucked inside, and gives Sardar2 an almighty stamp on the foot. Sardar2 yells out in agony, loud enough to be heard in the outer echelons of the universe.

Indignation and non-chalance have now changed faces. As all of us watch, Geek guy turns to Sardar2 and remarks:

"Bus hai na? Ho jata hai."

When I get out later, Sardar2 is still massaging his foot.

Disclaimer: This is not a Sardar joke. It actually happened once upon a time in a volvo. Stamping someone's foot and laughing at them wince in pain is classified as a joke only in Tamil movies.

Korea Diary - 5

It’s 2:30 AM and I am sitting wide-eyed at Changi Airport. Still another 11 hours to go for my flight to
Bangalore. Eleven hours of flight from Sacheon to Bangalore, with 22 hours of transit. You might ask, why couldn’t you plan it yourself?” True, but I am not paid to do that. Anyways, it was my choice, to avoid “unnecessary expenditure” of staying in Seoul.

The first leg of flight was horrible. I take back everything I said about leg space in Singapore Airlines. My leg aches from 6 hours of flight. The guy at the aisle was grumpy. No sooner we started off than he went to sleep; refusing everything that came his way (“just stop bothering me!” – his exact words.) And then, in the middle of the night, he woke up demanding everything – from headsets to a toothbrush. Everything could be forgiven, if only the damn PA system would stop announcing turbulence every few minutes!

And the best part of the flight? Flying over Taipei 101 at night! And an hour later, as I gazed down, there were those five ghostly lights - Globules of diffused light shining through the clouds, moving slowly along with us.

OK. That was definitely not a dream! They were really there – probably a flotilla of sorts!

Korea Diary - 4

Two things I wanted to buy from Korea – a mobile phones and about 20 DVDs. It never happened. One was available but expensive. On our return trip through Seoul, we dropped in at Yongsan electronics market. I bought only an umbrella from there – since we didn’t want to get wet in the rain pounding Seoul.

One-third of the shops were closed – it was Sunday. Another third refused to sell us anything. The rest always had the same answer: “Mobile phones only inside Korea. Other country mobile phones, very expensive!”

DVDs were the bigger joke. Apparently, no one seem to want original DVDs here. Everyone I asked, had the same answer: “Copy?” I checked at our hotel reception about DVD shops in the vicinity. Their reply was even funnier.

Receptionist: “Do you have USB?”

Me: “Yes”

Him: “I tell you site. You can download.”

Sacheon is a nice little place – a small town, with the biggest industry being aircraft manufacturing. In fact, even the streetlights are shaped like small aircrafts taking off. Like everywhere else in Korea, everyone has a touch screen mobile on which they depend for their life. The roads are full of Hyundais and Kias, with the odd Chevrolet or Daewoo thrown in. In fact, everything here is run either by Samsung or Hyundai - From making roads to running bakeries.

Being a coastal town, the biggest attraction here, are the raw fish joints.

Food has not been all about the marine life in the Pacific Ocean. We have had something like a steady menu, between Korean sea shell soup, fried chicken, kanji and pizza, for lunch. As for dinner, the raw fish experience was there only thrice. And it has been quite an experience. As soon as you enter the restaurant, you remove your shoes, and sit down on the wooden floor. The table is just about higher than the floor. A lady brings in some 20-odd dishes – kimchi (the vegetarian part of Korean cuisine – and they say they have about 400-odd varieties), potato, vegetables, noodles, fried fishes and all that. This is a round of starters. The smaller (Raw) fishes come next – shrimps, oysters, sea shells, octopi, sea urchins, pupa and all that. Some of them you can make out, since they look exactly like how they are in the water. The big fish comes as the third course. In fact the fishes are chosen right from the fish tank. You just point out what you want and they pick it up, kill it and serve them. The rice and soup follow, finally ending in a round of desserts. With all this, the Koreans are still quite slim.

I have an aquarium in my stomach.

Korea Diary - 3

Our flight to Sacheon was scheduled for 7:30. We reached Gimpo (the taxi ride cost 1/10 of what we paid for yesterday) at 5:10. There were hardly 10 people at the airport (Gimpo ‘International’ airport is Seoul’s domestic airport and is as big as – if not bigger- than Bengaluru International airport). All the check-in counters were close. We wondered whether we were at the wrong place.

They opened only at 5:30. No queuing up anywhere –at check-in counters or at the security. To our surprise, they found a nail cutter in Vijay’s bag – something that he never knew was there. And so didn’t two other international airport security personnel. There were hardly 2 or 3 people waiting at the gate. And surprisingly, we had a huge 300-odd seat airplane. For the first time in my life, I was the first person on board a flight. There were hardly 20 passengers on the flight.

It was -10C at Sacheon. The airfield was huge, but the aircraft came to a halt next to a tiny building that resembled one of those village railway stations in India. You could see the parking lot from inside the aircraft.

Sunguk was waiting for us. It was a 30 minute drive on the highway. Hills rose up on either side of the road. Afar, you could spot the sea. Throughout the ride, he kept apologizing for not finding a 5-star hotel for us. The hotel turned out to be fantastic, nestled on a small hill, overlooking the beautiful Namildae beach. A tall wind vane towered over it. The lobby was decorated with various models of wooden ships. The room faced the beach. Jagged cliffs jutted out into the sea – the most prominent being the elephant rock, a rock that resembles an elephant’s trunk dipped into the sea. A small soccer field stood on one of the cliffs, with a big house – reminiscent of the Bates Manor from Psycho – overlooking it. In the distance, one can stop a massive power plant; its huge towers spewing forth thick white smoke. Opposite to it a small lighthouse guards the entrance to a fishing harbor.

The room is large, with two beds – one single and one double. There is a huge LCD TV on the wall facing the bed. The room also has a small refrigerator, a computer and even a water dispenser, but no microwave or cooking range (thankfully Vijay had gotten a tiny electric cooker). The lack of drawers is a drawback. But the place has something which you wouldn’t find even in big 5-star hotels – free internet.

So much for apologies…

After a bath, settled down and switched on the TV. To my surprise, they were showing a feature on Kalamandalam and Kathakali (in Korean of course).

Korea Diary - 2

The terminal at Incheon resembles a spaceship. On either side, the corridors look like the fuselage of an aircraft. There are more than 50 gates, but no Gate 13. Superstitious people, these guys are.

After landing, the captain announced that the outside temperature was -4C. The sun shone brightly. He must be joking…so I thought, until I stepped out and shivered.

The taxi was luxurious - spacious, with polished ebony interiors, leather cushion seats and what else. The bill was more than what we would probably spend during the whole trip. The ride to Hilton was long, winding through the traffic of Seoul. Driving was not any different from the haphazard style followed by the cab drivers in India.

It was late evening when we got our rooms. Wanted to go shopping, but didn’t know where to go. The concierge took out a map and pointed out the location of Yongsan market. But by then, the sun had set, and we had to eat something. The Hilton had nice restaurants, but pragmatism dictated that we should better try something that we could afford. It was ages (one hour actually – but a walk in the freezing cold can make it seem longer) before we found a McDonalds. Thankfully, unlike in Hong Kong, it didn’t smell of fish.

Korea Diary - 1

The worst thing about night flights is the dinner – they serve it at a time when you should be sleeping. Of course, you can choose not to have it and go to sleep. They wouldn’t disturb you for a paltry dinner. I never refuse, but still crib about how late they serve it. Singapore Airlines was awesome – ample leg space and personal TV monitors with a host of movies running. Yet, after dinner I decided to sleep.

In an hour and a half, the lights of Singapore were visible. The lights of a hundred ships shone in the water, lined up like cars on a traffic congested highway. We had about two hours of transit at Changi and thankfully, there was no change of terminal. Vijay was asked to take out all the eatables that he had stuffed into his bag. But it was not as bad as the two Korean ladies who decided to carry a bottle of jam or pickle or whatever. The Indian security lady refused to let them through.

“You can’t carry that,” she said in an accent that was far from Indian.

“They didn’t have a problem in Melbourne”, the Koreans.

“This is not Melbourne, this is Singapore. Here there is problem”, the security guard. “You have two options – check it in or ‘poosh’ it”

“’Push’ it?” a bewildered look from the Koreans

“Yes, poosh it” – a symbol of nonchalance, that lady was.

“Er…telegram”, interjected her hunky colleague helpfully.

Post it.

Nobody moved when the Inchon flight was announced (Of course, a Jackie Chan look-alike, with flowing hair, and wearing a vest – only a vest, had come running an hour before. It was politely pointed out to him that the flight had not yet departed). The English announcement was followed by one in Korean and suddenly, all the hell broke loose. Nobody understands English.

Breakfast was served immediately after we took off and soared over the sea. A few hours later came a heavy lunch. I refused neither. It was too much of food. I fell asleep out of exhaustion.

The flight was smooth – six hours to Inchon. We even had a stopover at Ho Chi Minh City, where the aircraft was towed through the busy streets by a truck.

OK…that didn’t really happen. I dreamt it.

Day 9 - The Return

5:15 AM: The only activity at Gwalior Junction is at the narrow gauge platform. A few people are crowding into the tiny train.

5:30 AM: Sachkand Express is late by 15 minutes. The information is not displayed anywhere. I have to cajole the guy at the desk to give me the information.

7:00 AM: 30 minutes after the scheduled time, there is no sign of the train. No information displayed, and no announcement.

7:25 AM: Chennai-Hazrat Nizamuddin Garib Rath is announced. I go across the platform to inquire about our train. There's no one to ask. I run helter-skelter to find out.

7:40: Finally, train arrives, but no coach information displayed. We take a guess and stand in the middle of the platform. Our coach comes to a stop next to us.

8:45 AM: Thundering over the massive bridge across the Chambal. The little hillocks around the river paint an eerie but interesting picture of the times when infamous dacoits prowled the area. We should perhaps convert this place into an Indian Wild West.

9:45 AM: Back at Agra Cantt. There are three things Agra is famous for: The Taj Mahal, the Agra Petha and false gold. Thus claims a guy selling false gold chains. "Have a look. You don't need to pay to take a look. You come across real gold everyday. But it's not everyday that you see DUPLICATE gold! I will give you two chains for ten rupees!" His sales pitch works! One lady is heard bargaining for the chains.

Around 10:30 AM: Mathura Junction. I slept long. A little boy with a painted mustache singing "Sarki jo sar se woh dheere dheer" in his own unique voice accosts SS. He wraps himself around SS's legs. It's quite a long time before he leaves.

12:30 PM: Faridabad. The maulanas were good company. They gave us pakodas and namkeen to eat. They disembark here. While saying goodbye, one of them even asks us to forgive him, if there were some discomfort caused.

12:30-1:00 PM: Faridabad to Hazrat Nizamuddin - everyone is sellign Spiderman. "Spiderman, Chinese Spiderman! Deewar par chipak jaata hai, dheere dheere palti maarta hai!", they holler

1:00 PM: We pass behind the massive Humayun's Tomb and the Purana Quila - our last "monumental" glimpses of Delhi.

1:45 PM: The guy has been after us, all the way to the pre-paid rickshaw stand. "Wahan pe sirf auto milta hai! taxi toh hamare paas hai! Achha sa Wagon-R hai!" he repeats. He murmurs angrily as we sit in the rickshaw.

2:45 PM: Terminal 1D is mighty impressive - not so congested like the old departure terminal. There are many restaurants around. The flight though, is an hour late.

6:00 PM. Inside the flight. The seat allotted to me, 28F, does not exist!

Day 8 - Gwalior

At 12:00 AM, our train got rescheduled to 2:30 AM. It was the last straw. We decided to chuck it and catch another one. Getting new tickets took some time, thanks to the scuffle at the counter between the people who were in the queue and those who believed that queues were destined for some other planet. Thankfully, the former won.

Malwa Express pulled in at 12:15. The ticket examiner allowed us in.

"The full charge for the sleeper is Rs. 280. You have already paid Rs. 97. Do you want pay the rest or leave it at this?" he asked, to my utter surprise.

"What ever you say, sir" I stuttered.

"OK. Leave it then. Just pay 100 more." He continued.

That 100 went into his pocket. At 2:00 AM, we reached Gwalior.

Gwalior is a small and sleepy town, caught in the headlights of the road and rail traffic to Delhi. It is still under the patronage of the Scindias, the erstwhile rulers of the state. The massive fort, referred to by Babur as the "Pearl amongst the fortresses of India", towers up in the middle of the city. Thanks to the patronage of the ex-minister, Madhavrao Scindia, Gwalior has seen much affluence.

The room at the newly opened Hotel Surya was quite impressive, with ceiling mounted lights and a wall mounted flat-screen television to add to the ambience. It looked like a high-end wanna-be, if you could ignore the view from the open multi-paned window. The lift played a queer piece of classical music.

On the way to the fort, we passed what was perhaps the longest railway gate in India. The narrow gauge line that skirts the base of the fort runs on the road, before veering away. Hence, the two gates are spaced at some 500-odd meters distance. Thankfully, there were no trains.

Urvai Gate had a deserted and scary look, as if we were in a forest away from town. A watchman sat to collect a nominal 50 paise entry fee (the board said 20 paise, but since 20 paise doesn't exist anymore, he's forgiven). The customary guide was loitering around. A jeep stood nearby offering to drive us up. The road wound up between the two massive rock faces, as if this were a mountain range. Figurines of the 21 tirthankaras were sculptured into the rock faces with the last one being 10 feet tall. Most of them had been defaced by the marauding hordes of Babur. Peacocks were strutting aplenty along the ridges on the rock.

We came out in front of the Scindia Junior School. Situated inside the fort, the Scindia School remains one of the most privileged schools in the country, catering to children of the royalty, the filthy rich and whoever else can mange to get in. Ahead was the Man Singh Palace. The small cafeteria by its side had nothing to offer us so early in the morning except a couple of patties. It was the umpteenth morning where biscuits had contributed to our breakfast.

The palace was beautiful. Decorated exquisitely with blue paintings, a strange and amusing frieze of yellow ducks adorns its walls. The carvings inside the fort are magnificent. For the first time, we were forced to employ the services of a guide, since two floors of the palace are situated underground and required torches to navigate. The place has a unique "telephone" system with pipes to communicate between the subterranean chambers and the upper floors. The underground chambers housed an indoor swimming pool and the torture chamber where Aurangazeb imprisoned his brother Murad, poisoned him with opium driving him mad, before finishing him off for good.

The rest of the fort is sadly in ruins, including the Karan Mahal, the Jahangiri Mahal and the Jauhar Kund. They are used by courting couples (who climb the crumbling ruins ignoring the danger of collapse), shepherds and playful children. The Sikh gentleman was happy to get his photo taken. Highly impressed, he requested us to take photos of the rest of his group. The Sardarni however didn't sound so happy at the opportunity. Decked up fully in the traditional Sikh attire (complete with the Kirpan), they made quite a picture. They were there for Kar Seva at the Gurudwara of Guru Har Gobind Singh, who had been imprisoned in the palace by Nur Jehan.

Descent through the Gwalior Gate exposes you to the colossal walls of the palace. It reminded me of the massive walls of Meherangarh. The stone-paved walkway leads to a crowded street. Further up, to the right, stands the beautiful tomb of Mohammed Ghaus. However, the main attraction of the complex is the small tomb that lies next to it: the tomb of the renowned musician, Tansen - Gwalior's most famous son, and one of the Navratnas of Akbar's court. A tamarind tree used to stand next to it, chewing the leaves of which supposedly improves the voice of any aspiring singer. Sadly it had withered under the onslaught of musicians who come for the annual Tansen Mahotsav. Oblivious to this, people were seen eating the leaves of all the trees growing around the tomb. The place was full of engineering students preparing for exams. A couple of them were subjected to career counselling from SS.

Right next to the hotel stood the immensely beautiful Jai Vilas Palace, the abode of the Scindias. A white arch leads to the garden enclosed by the massive white palace. In front of the facade stands a blue fountain. "Looks as impressive as Vienna!" I murmured to SS. An employee at the palace overheard us . "You've been to Vienna? Do you see any similarity?" he asked. "The architecture looks European," we said. "What about the gardens?" he quipped. "Yes, they too look impressive", we continued. "It is a blend of three styles of architecture," he proffered.

The interiors were exquisite. The first rooms house the portraits of the royal family. It also contains the hunting prizes of the Maharajas - heads and skins of various animals - much to the chagrin of a lady who voiced out her disapproval of killing animals. Most impressive was the long room dedicated to the life and career of Madhavrao Scindia, the enigmatic leader of the Congress Party.

Moving ahead, you get a glimpse of the royal lifestyle of the Scindias in the well-preserved rooms of the palace. Office rooms, bedrooms, dining rooms, dressing rooms, music rooms, prayer rooms and recreation rooms are all maintained in their full splendor like any palace in the world. Across the wing in the dining room, the famous silver sweetmeat train runs around the long dinner table. We were just in time to see it in operation. Above the dining hall is the famed golden banquet hall, where celebrities are frequently entertained. Two massive chandeliers - supposedly the heaviest in Asia - hung from the ceiling. To ascertain whether the roof would take their weight, eight elephants had been hung from the ceiling. A single piece carpet covers the floor - allegedly woven over years by prisoners from the fort.

On the walls and the gates is visible the royal insignia - the sun flanked by two cobras. According to SS, the symbol was adopted by the first member of the family, having been shielded by the hood of a King Cobra when he was a baby - considered an omen of royalty in India. It however has not convinced me to overcome my fear of cobras.

Pic of the day :

Day 7 - Fatehpur Sikri

It's 11:00 PM now, at Agra Cantt railway station. We are here because Mahakoshal Express was five hours late. It was like the wait at Jaipur Juntion a year back. I don't know why we chose to wait for it - probably laziness. The journey to Gwalior takes only 2 hours, and we could have caught another train or a bus. The waiting room was crowded. They are always interesting places. You see all kinds of people here. The huge crowd of girls from some university in Bijapur, mothers trying to pacify crying kids, people with laptops open, people reading books, people changing clothes, and people writing diaries...

The bus to Fatehour Sikri kept us waiting. It started more than an hour later. It was extremely clean - littered all over with banana and groundnut peels. Needless to say, the ride was extremely uncomfortable (The return journey was worse).

Fatehpur Sikri is a ghost town. Designed by Akbar to be his capital, it was occupied barely for 14 years before the capital was shifted to Lahore - probably because of the shortage of water in Sikri. Major tourist attractions here are the Buland Darwaza - the largest gate in Asia, the Juma Masjid and the palace complex, housing the various palaces of the queens, and the huge courtyard, where Akbar used to sit on top of the Panch Mahal and listen to Tansen's music or play 'Pachisi' with live dancers as the game pieces. Today, it no longer bears the look of a "ghost town" thanks to the multitude of hawkers and guides.

Guides at Fatehpur Sikri are a nuisance. From little kids aged 10 to old people aged 80, everyone professes to be a guide. They keep nagging until out of desperation, people agree to their demands. Our bible had warned that most of what they say was pure fiction. We were stern in refusing their services, but soon some of them were back again, trying to sell us photos. One guy even offered to take pictures with our own cameras for a fee. The dubious claims of these guys were on show on many occasions. At the entrance was a guy pointing to the well and explaining how the water of the well was used for Akbar's troops in the battle against Rana Sanga. Another was pointing out the blue Persian tiles in Jodha Bai's Palace to two Chinese ladies. "Look at them, that is a Chinese tent. This palace was built with Chinese architectural patterns," he said. Needless to say, the ladies were extremely happy. From another guy, I learnt that Tansen invented Indian classical music, and the seven notes that are used in music. The prize however went to the guy who got into Akbar's treasury and claimed that this was the palace for princes and princesses to play hide and seek. He even gave a demo of how they played the game!

Pic of the day:

Day 6 - Agra

5:00 AM. It's freezing cold in Agra, and the hotel informs that hot water will be switched on only at 7:00 AM. After much cajoling, they give us a bucket of hot water. At 6:00 AM, there is not a single rickshaw to be found. SS insists on walking all the way. After an hour of walking, we finally hail a rickshaw.

The first glimpse of the Taj is through the arched gateway. It looked small - an optical illusion since the moment you step through the arch, it towers over you barely 500 meters away. There is hardly anyone around. The sun is just rising, bathing the monument in a golden hue.

SS goes crazy on the minars and clicks some 60 snaps of them alone. Even in that sparse crowd, the Chinese tourists are a nuisance for photographers. A German guy yells at two college students for incessantly interrupting his shots with their antics for almost 15 minutes. After much pleading they buzz off, only for another Chinese guy to seize the moment and run into the shot. The German helplessly goes berserk. The Patel snaps are of course there - people jumping together, trying to fly, reaching to touch the top of the dome and the minars, and one Chinese lady going as far as posing like an Indian Maharishi - standing on one leg, with her hands folded in a "Namaste".

By the time we finish there, people are being regulated into a long and winding queue to enter the tomb. Next to the Taj, stands the Taj Hotel - in case it surprises you, everything in Agra is either named after the Taj or the Mughals - run by the Ashok Group. We have a sumptuous breakfast of Cheese Omelette and Toast - for once, we are spared the biscuit routine.

To visit the Baby Taj, we are advised to take a "tempo" which would cost just 5 Rs. It turns out to be a small auto-rickshaw into which is crammed in eight people - four on the drivers' seat and four behind. In some cases, there are even people hanging on behind the vehicle. Quite an experience!

The "Baby Taj", formally known as Itimad-ud-Daula, is the tomb of Nur Jahan's father. It was beautiful and stunning - probably more than the Taj, since we had never seen it in picture. Pre-dating the Taj, this was the first Mughal monument made fully in white marble. It doesn't have a dome, but is a flat structure with a pavilion on top and decorated with design inlays in colored marble. At the back, the Yamuna flows quietly. Children take bath in its grey polluted waters. Inside the rear enclosure, two shy artisans are working laboriously to restore the gate. Foreigners stop to gawk at them, and they smile coyly. In the garden, guards are busy driving away menacing monkeys.

When asked about Chini ka Roza, the shopkeeper advised us: "Bas juaa khelte hai, cigarette peete hai aur latrine karte hai. Mat jaiye. Usse achha Mehtab Bagh hai". The little fellow in the rickshaw offered to take us there for 30 Rs. Barely had we gone 100 meters before he had a flat tyre. Fortunately, we found another guy near the Yamuna Bridge to take us to the Bagh for 20 Rs. Realizing how far it was, we asked him whether he would wait. He politely refused since we were unsure how long we would take.

Mehtab Bagh is an attempt to recreate the gardens during the Mughal times. In a few years, it might become an exquisitely beautiful garden, but today it is just full of growing shrubs. The most exciting feature of this Bagh is that it offers a stunning view of the Taj, for it stands directly across the Yamuna from it. Rumours abound that Shah Jahan had planned to construct a Black Taj here. The edge of the river is cordoned off with two barb-wire fences, as if this were a contentious national border. In the space between the fences, there appeared a little boy. "Hariom", he said his name way. We clicked his photos and showed them to him. He appeared non-chalant. Suddenly, a little girl appeared next to him and said, "Mera photo!"

"Radha": she announced her name.

"Yeh tumhari behn hai?" we asked Hariom.

"Nahin!" she interjected. "Yeh mere bhaiyya hai".

She smiled at us for the photos. She seemed happy to see her photos. As we turned to go, we heard her voice from behind us:

"Hello! Me Ten Rupees".

We were stunned. Hariom was still looking disinterested in the whole episode.

Next to the hotel, there stands the Jaiwal Emporium selling marble handicrafts at very reasonable prices - so much that SS never bargained. Mr. Ajay Mathur, was quite an interesting person. A casual mention by SS of him being in Agra for one year, broke the ice. We stood there discussing about everything possible, from studies to photography to Shakespeare.

Pic of the day:

Day 5 - Agra

Meru refused us a cab to reach the New Delhi station at 4:30 AM - probably because the distance was not worth getting paid for. The rickshaw ride was freezing. We ended up at the Ajmeri Gate entrance, which meant that we had to cross 16 platforms with all our baggage, to catch the train.

The New Delhi-Bhopal Shatabdi is the fastest train in India. It covers the Delhi-Agra stretch in 2 hours flat. The train was mighty impressive, with Euro-style interiors and big long windows, but not as smooth or noiseless. It started with an all mighty jerk that woke me up. Adding to the noise was the unruly French kid in front, who kept getting spanked by his father.

At 9:00 AM, Sadar Bazar was empty. There were no breakfast places open - another day with biscuits. Hotel Pawan - run by mallus - was not as shady as the one in Delhi. The room was quite large - enough to accommodate items of furniture. But in Delhi, we had 24 hours of hot water supply. Here, the water was only lukewarm, and Agra was definitely colder than Delhi.

During this trip, we are yet to come across a place serving "Child Beer". But Agra offers quite a few gems of its own. The Mama Franky chain of fast food outlets seems to be quite a hit here in Sadar Bazaar, with stalls selling soups, vegetarian food and non-vegetarian food. Their breakfast specialties include 'Cofee', 'Tost Batter Jaam', 'Kone Falex', 'Chease Peeza' and 'Oniun Kapsikum Peeza'. With the stall opening at only 12:00 PM, there was no scope for us to eat from there. But the kebabs they served in the evening were better than the ones at the much-hyped Karim's.

Agra Fort i many ways, reminds me of Amber. This was one of the most significant fort in the history of the country. The entrance is skewed - deliberately intended at confusing the attacking enemy. Guides swarm the gate. You could get them in any language - German, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, you name it. I wondered if they could speak Esperanto. Inside, one of them was trying hard to explain to a lady: "Look, you don't understand. This is the Agra Fort. This is not the Red Fort. The Red Fort is in Delhi."

On the right sprawls out the elaborate Jahangiri Mahal - the logical starting point for the tour. Leading to the entrance, you can spot a large pot, allegedly used for bathing. As you step through the ornate courtyard onto the terrace, you reach the outer wall that skirts the bank of the Yamuna. On the left, the long and famed Yamuna Bridge carries the rail line from Agra Fort station, across the river to Kanpur. On the right, the river bends to fondle the mighty Taj Mahal. It was my first glipse of the white marble dome of the famed monument.

From the Jahangiri Mahal, you step through various buildings, as the material of construction changes from red sandstone to white marble once you reach the palaces of Shah Jahan. Shah Jahan's Mahal, the Diwan-i-Khas and the Sheesh Mahal are all majestically impressive. An exquisite garden (though not as impressive as the one in Amber), is laid out in front of the Sheesh Mahal (again, unlike the one in Amber, there are hardly any mirrors here). In these quarters, Shah Jahan was imprisoned by Aurangazeb for eight years, before he died looking fondly at his beloved Taj far away. Looking at the exquisite interiors, SS remarked: "This is just house arrest. When you have such luxury, it cannot be called imprisonment!"

Too many pretty firang girls were around, and not surprisingly, an equal number of local boys loitering around, to get their pictures clicked with them. Notable among the foerign crowd were four Chinese girls, for their antics - posing inside the Nagina Masjid and inside Akbar's masoleum at Sikandra as if they were on a photoshoot for a glamour magazine.

There are no restaurants either inside or outside the fort. Shady food joints throng the outer gate. We picked up one at random and had an immensely forgettable and tasteless veg thali. The auto-rickshaw ride to Sikandra was more adventurous. The driver was honking away to glory, dodging high speed vehicles on the Mathura highway, trying to do a speed test on his vehicle. Sikandra, the resting place of Emperor Akbar, was much similar to all the tombs we'd seen - immensely beautiful and filled with courting couples. It was better maintained than some of the other tombs - perhaps it was owed to one of the greatest kings of India.

Next to our hotel, is the store recommended by Mudit - Panchhi. We bought a kilo of Paan Petha for ourselves. They are delicious!

Pic of the Day: