TravelStream™ news feed for member p.rajesh on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/p.rajesh en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Fri, 31 Oct 2008 01:44:24 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/6/1198933200/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/6/1198933200/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/6/1198933200/tpod.html Fri, 31 Oct 2008 01:44:24 -0400 Royally, religiously - to land's end. Kanyakumari is just 3hrs away from Thiruvanthapuram.But you can prolong the pleasures of this short trip by adding a remarkable palace and a unique temple enroute

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Thiruvananthapuram (Trivandrum), Kerala, India

At the end of the land, we have God's own country. And at the end of that divine stretch, we have much more. Beyond the white sandy stretch of the Kovalam and before the magical 270 degree watery expanse at Kanyakumari, there are 80kms of tar that cuts through Kerala and Tamil Nadu. Most of this is just a road or rail journey which you can spend looking out at green, verdant landscape, or maybe catch up on a couple of hours sleep. &nbsp; And then, you could also do more. Like, catch up on what lies between. Two convenient and interesting stops are maybe what can easily be adjusted into the itinerary without really making a Kanyakumari visit tiring. In the process, you take in the royal ambience of an 18th century palace, and further down, a 1300 year old temple with a bizarre variant of <i>agni pariksha or a test of purity by fire. More on that along the way... &nbsp; Like most places in Kerala, six in the morning in Thiruvananthapuram is a good time to start the day. A great time to begin an 160km journey and return to square one by nightfall. Especially, more so, if you also want to fit in an audience with royalty and a feel of an authentic South Indian temple. &nbsp; We start off from Thiruvananthapuram's Thampanoor bus stand, just a stroll away from the railway station. Actually, you can reach Kanyakumari by train as well - but then stopping off on the way may not be practical. If you don't like travelling budget class, you can hire a cab or drive down. But, we did it by the state transport bus. The feel of travelling can never be bettered; and, there are plenty of buses plying round the clock. &nbsp; The traffic is still thin and the road out of Thiruvananthapuram city has just been repaired after the state's unforgiving monsoons. An hour into the drive, we have exited Kerala state, entered Tamil Nadu and, before long, are in Marthandam, the first major town across the border. The signboards now are more in Tamil, but for the records the folks living in the entire stretch manage each other's languages with reasonable comfort. &nbsp; 60 kms into our journey, we approach Thuckalai, and the busy as ever conductor nudges us to indicate that we smoothen our dresses, our hair and our general demeanour - Padmanabhapuram Palace is just two kilometres away. At the bus station, there are plenty of autos that charge you about Rs.50/- to deposit you at the palace gates. Walking isn't a very good option, with time at a premium - we also don't want to walk into a palace sweating and smelling! Padmanabhapuram Palace The first glimpse of the palace can give you mixed feelings. If your idea of a royal residence is on the lines of the Rajasthani extravaganza, or even the magnificient Mysore palace, the Padmanabhapuram Palace can be a little disappointing. But wait, don't fall for that deception yet. Royal architectural beauty isn't really just skin deep. Just for the records, you are in front of the biggest wooden palace in the whole of the country. To boot, this was the seat of the Travancore kings and boasts of 127 rooms spread across a 6.5 acres complex. A myriad of inner courtyards and underground passages fill the compound which is a repository of cultural treasures that include 17th and 18th century murals, exquisite woodwork on the ceiling and walls, the famed black and red shiny floors made up of a unique mix of jaggery, lime, burnt coconut, egg white, charcoal and sand from the rivers. &nbsp; If at first glance you wonder if there is anything palatial about Padmanabhapuram Palace, it's time to meet God - if at all, as they say, he lives in the details. So here goes. Out of ninety flowers carved in the ceiling in the <i>poomukham or the portico, there are no patterns that are alike. And there is this incredible trivia to sleep on. Then again, if you thought that the hanging brass lamp was just another, look again. The knight on horseback that adorns the lamp will continue to face ahead, howsoever many times you may twirl it around. The captivating murals, the floor to wall mirrors, the stained glass windows, the crafty trap doors - they are all subtle expressions of the craft that has made a palace that is royal without being ostentatious. But first, let's flip back the pages of history and trace the origins of the land we stand on. From the 16th to the 18th centuries, Padmanabhapuram was an important seat of royalty, trade and culture, peaking under the reign of Anizham Thirunal Marthanda Varma who ruled it mid-18th century. Straddling today's Kerala-Tamil Nadu border area, the palace compound comprised of 86 acres till the delineation of the states took place and the royal estate is a mere 6.5 acres administered by Kerala. As we step into the palace compound and walk into a large courtyard that must have seen many royal guests welcomed by the king, I feel the environs blend into a symphony of wood and stone. It is a revelation in how grandeur can be so articulate without being grandiose. Form flowing into function and not just a show of opulence is striking. Of course, when royalty resided here, anyone coming in uninvited would have to, otherwise, negotiate a moat, filled with crocodiles, that runs along the outer walls of the palace. &nbsp; &nbsp; If you were a hungry Brahmin in those times, you would most likely head for the <i>oottupura, the dining hall. This is a 78 metre long two storied affair with twin halls that could seat upto 2000 subjects, waiting for their banana leaves to get filled up. One look at the huge Chinese jars kept ahead gives you a gastronomic idea as to the delicacies and pickles stored in them. &nbsp; Now for a strange geographical fact. As I stand on the <i>ambarimukhappu , a balcony shaped like an <i>ambari or the seat used on an elephant, I realise that this was where the king used to sit and view the chariot races during festivals and appear before the public on special occasions. Looking out from the intricately carved out wooden extension at a small lane below, it's hard to imagine that you are standing in Kerala state and watching a pedestrian just 10 metres away in another state. Yes, the palace property is virtually an island bang in the middle of Tamil Nadu. &nbsp; It doesn't take long to get convinced that this is indeed the largest wooden palace complex in Asia. If there is ever a poetry - nay, an epic! - in wood, this is one. Generous portions of the best teak wood come to life in an artistry that blends granite to paint this quintessential portrait of the best Kerala-style palatial finery. We marvel at the teak beams that rise majestically from the polished floor and end with a gasp as we take in the magnificently carved rosewood ceilings, replete with myriad floral patterns. &nbsp; A walk around the bathing ghats of the pond leads you to the Upparika Malika. The four storied building houses the king's quarters, with the royal bedroom and its huge poster bed that is a gift from the Dutch, specially made up of 67 pieces of wood from various trees with medicinal properties. The third floor is where the king's puja (prayer) room is, filled with 8th century murals. The ladies quarters, the Veppumoottu Kottaram has cleverly crafted slats for the inmates to watch the world - especially the Durbar hall, the cultural events at the Mandapams (halls) - from the privacy of their own. &nbsp; With every corridor and room different in its own brilliance and individuality, there is still something extra built into the Navaratri Mandapam that takes your breath away. The floor, built to match the best of dancers step to step, shines back like a mirror. The pillars strike poses that could give a complex to the performers on stage. To one side of the palace is a well laid out museum which is a veritable walkthrough in the period history from the 8th to the 18th century. Once this was where the royal stable stood. Replete with an array of period treasures including stone and bronze sculptures, paintings, murals to weaponry and armoury, it is well worth a visit. While the rare coins and copper manuscripts give a glimpse of the brain of the times, the armoury section highlights the brawn. Don't forget to take a closer, harder look at the prize display here - a metal straitjacket used as capital punishment. Once fettered inside and the sharp iron pieces clamp down from all sides, you would wish you hadn't done that crime! As if all this weren't fascinating enough, for the regular Malayalee, the palace is nothing short of a cinematic pilgrimage. For no less than two blockbusters, megastar, mega-grossers have been shot here. And much less than die-hard film buffs will be able to match off these corridors, rooms and the surroundings to those famous scenes in His Highness Abdulla and Manichitrathazhu (remade in Hindi as Bhool-bhulaiyya). &nbsp; Needless to add, a guide may be able to help give you a better appreciation of the sights in this heritage wonder. The journey onwards begins from the Thuckalai bus stand. We don't bother to wait for a direct bus to Suchindram and just board one of the many headed for Nagercoil, the district headquarters. &nbsp; A 15 minute journey from Nagercoil and we get off at the Suchindram stop. A road, on our right, tells us the temple complex cannot be far off. We walk past a row of small shops, the commercial corridor that sprouts near most places of worship. Soon a large temple pond spreads out on the right and a towering gopuram looms up ahead. &nbsp; Suchindram&nbsp;Thanumalaya Temple We are looking at Suchindram temple, all of an imposing 134 feet in height, built in the best traditions of South Indian temple architecture. Sheer poetry exudes in the sculptures and inscriptions that make up the exterior, promising equal brilliance inside. We reach the covered area in front of the majestic door that is, apparently, 24 feet high, with beautiful carvings all across. The temple belonged to, and was maintained and administered by the Travancore kings till Kanyakumari became part of Tamil Nadu. Suchindram is unique in that this happens to be the only shrine where the deity is in the form of <i>Thanumalayan, which is a linga being the representation of the combined forces of the trinity of Hindu mythology, viz. <i>Siva, Vishnu and Brahma. Reason why both Shaivites and Vaishnavites flock here alike. <i>Indra was said to have been purified at the spot where the temple now stands, hence Suchindram - suchi meaning purity. It is popular belief that the God<i> Indra still pays a visit to the temple and performs the <i>Ardhajama pooja every night. While non-Hindus and foreigners are permitted inside, men have to take off their shirts. Nor are any electronic items - hence photography - allowed inside. The temple complex is ringed by a single corridor that envelopes the compound and its many <i>mandapams inhabited by the pantheon, priests and pilgrims alike. Inside, the crowd of worshippers begins welling towards the sanctum where a large lingam reposes. Around it are other <i>mandapams that house about 30 shrines, including one of <i>Lord Vishnu. Every panel, every pillar seemed to be bestowed with a range of carvings and sculptures. Scenes from the <i>Bhagwad Gita pan out wherever you look - but it is the rare depictions of <i>Parthasarathi (Lord Krishna) in the form of the Trinity and the female form of <i>Vinayaka (Ganesha) that arrests you. The <i>prakaram (the path that circumambulates the temple premises),<i> like the ones in the temples at Madurai and Rameswaram<i>, is quite long. As is the hallmark of all temples one would see in South India, the quality of workmanship is sublime. Beyond the exquisite beauty of the structure and its carving, it is sheer architectural and construction genius at work once you look around. Take for instance the imposing idol of <i>Nandi (Lord Shiva's bull) at the northern side of the temple. Also called <i>Maakkalai, an impressive 13 feet high lime and mortar creation that is 21 feet long and 10 wide, this is arguably the biggest <i>Nandi you could get to see. Just behind this is the <i>Alankara Mandapam which houses the fascinating musical pillars. Carved from a single stone are four large pillars which branch out into smaller ones. Two of these have 33 and the other two 25 smaller pillars, and these produce the seven <i>swaras when tapped. The hall is cool and silent despite the cacophony outside - with our ears to the pillar we tap hard and hear a muted "sa". Or was that a "re"? From an aural fantasy to a visual one, next up is a depiction of a <i>viswaroopam. An 18 foot tall figure of <i>Hanuman, carved out of a single block of granite, towered over mere mortals in the form of <i>Anjaneya at the eastern end of the northern corridor. Before we head for the stop to hop on to the Kanyakumari bus, I must let you in on the variant of the <i>agnipariksha, Suchindram style. <i>Kaimukkal or dipping of the hand, was a practice followed between the 17th and 19th centuries till a Government order prohibited it in the 1860s. Any <i>Namboothiri, or a high caste Brahmin, who was excommunicated following a suspected instance of immorality had to dip his hand in a copper vessel containing boiling ghee and pull out a small silver ox statuette to prove his innocence and, thereby, his character. The temple was, then, a part of Travancore and the trustees and the priests were Malayalee Brahmins; the dipping could only be done once the king gave his consent, and on a designated date. Despite the obvious risks that this bizarre test had in store, there was little for an accused to choose from. From the status of an upper class landlord, either he was pushed to the fringes of society, or hope for a miracle to happen when he unfolded his hand on the third day following the dipping. If the hand was found to be black and bruised, he was proclaimed guilty; and it was the end of the social road for him; if white and unscathed, he was given a clean chit, gifts from the king and his position back in society. Of course, there is also a personal angle to the story in that it genetically binds me with these events that took place so long ago. As per the temple records, the last instance (in 1802) of a gentleman who came out of&nbsp; the ordeal unscathed, and thereby exonerated, happened to be a few generations away in our family tree. With my head full of images from an 18th century palace and a 1300 year old temple, and the wind in my hair, I look out at the passing landscape hoping to catch a glimpse of the three oceans somewhere in the horizon. It won't be long before we pull into Kanyakumari town. A short walk would take us to Land's end and a small boat-ride to Vivekananda's rock and the towering statue of Thiruvalluvar next to it. A few hours later we would be back on the bus and hoping to reach Thiruvananthapuram by night. Of course, on the way we will pass a temple and a palace. As for now, I have seen enough of them and am sure to get lost in the countless rooms of the palace as soon as my head hits the pillow. And maybe wake up screaming from a nightmare where I am made to dip my hands in a cauldron of boiling oil.Reaching there: Thiruvananthapuram Thiruvananthapuram, the state capital of Kerala, is the nearest airport, and has flights from most cities and major towns in India. Rail connectivity is excellent, with superfast trains from all states. Just that, travel time can be quite long, esp. from the north and the eastern parts of the country. &nbsp; Reaching there: Padmanabhapuram Palace (2kms east of Thuckalai) Buses to Nagercoil and Kanyakumari are aplenty from the Thiruvananthapuram's Thampanoor bus stand, near the railway station. Thuckalai, the get-off point for the palace is 60kms from Thampanoor stand - remember to nag the conductor or your fellow passengers to let you know once you reach there...else you might well head for Nagercoil! Autorickshaws charge about Rs.30/- (one-way) from the bus-stop to the palace gates. &nbsp; Timings: 9am to 1pm&nbsp; 2-5pm (Closed on Mondays and national holidays) Entry fees : Rs.10/- &amp; Rs.2/- (Adults &amp; kids)&nbsp; Rs.25/- &amp; Rs.1200/- Still &amp; video camera &nbsp; Reaching there: Suchindram Buses carrying on to Kanyakumari from the Thuckalai stand will drop you off at Suchindram, 13 kms short of Kanyakumari. Alternatively, catch any bus going to Nagercoil, and hop on to the Kanyakumar bound buses, if you don't want to wait too long at Thuckalai. &nbsp; Reaching there: Kanyakumari If you chose not to alight at the Palace or Suchindram, you would drive into Kanyakumari town after a 3hr bus journey from Thiruvananthapuram. You could also take one of the two daily express trains and reach faster in 2 hours. Just remember to catch a bus by 6pm latest, if you plan to return to Thiruvananthapuram at a decent hour.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211293800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211293800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211293800/tpod.html Mon, 13 Oct 2008 03:32:00 -0400 Much more than a few dots on the map! Away in the Andamans...

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Port Blair, India

Day 2 - Tuesday, 20th May, 2008 &nbsp;They'd wonder just what waking up at 2.30 in the morning can help you do in a land famed for the sun and the sand. But, they can't have heard about Baratang and its limestone caves. Nor can they imagine the feeling of being part of a convoy passing gingerly through a dense forest inhabited by tribals with absolutely no links to the outside world. Well, more on the way...&nbsp;We wait in a group, near the Gandhi Statue next to the Aberdeen bus station, willing the bus to come. It is still pitch dark and some of us harbour hopes of continuing with their slumber once inside the bus. At 3.30, we spot headlights approaching and, soon, settle down in our seats. Once you nod off, it will be hard to stay awake, we tell ourselves sleepily. Keeping that in mind, we keep ourselves awake. In about half an hour, day breaks and the landscape outside the window begins to brighten. We are on the Andaman Trunk road, progressively heading north, passing houses on both sides of the road, interspersed with thick clumps of trees. &nbsp;After about 90 minutes into the ride, we pull over in what, at first, seemed to be a minor traffic jam. Just then the guide announces to a mostly sleeping busload that we have reached Jirkatang, the border checkpost to enter the Jarawa Reserve. We have a 30mt stopover here - any early morning emergencies, including an urge to have a cup of tea, could be attended to.&nbsp; &nbsp;That gives us time enough to broach the subject of the Jarawa forest and the tribe here. One of the six recognised tribes of the Andaman and Nicobar group, the Jarawas are predominantly nomadic in nature and rely chiefly on hunting and gathering. Bow and arrows remain their weapon of sustenance and defence - on occasion, attack too, as has been seen whenever an effort to befriend them have been made by official contact expeditions. &nbsp;Inhabiting the western coast of the Middle and South Andaman Islands, they restrict movements mostly in this area. Their inherently hostile nature thawed only recently when the friendly contact teams tried to win them over with gifts, mostly food. Numbering about 300, they continue to confine themselves to fishing with their bow and arrows and gathering fruits and honey from the forest. &nbsp;Given their sensitive disposition and the vulnerability to outside contact, it is not uncommon for police patrol to be seen throughout the ride in the Jarawa reserve. Also, vehicles (only four-wheelers allowed) move only in a convoy, with clear instructions to keep moving - no stopping till the reserve area is crossed. The guide also makes us sign off on a piece of paper and warn us against keeping the windows open, taking photographs of the tribals or handing over/throwing anything (especially food items) to them. The first set of vehicles crosses the border at 6am - and at 6 sharp, our bus also rolls on.&nbsp;Understandably, most of the bus has again gone off to sleep. But, for most of us, curiosity forces us to stay awake and we watch as the forest grows denser and absolutely devoid of any signs of human life. At a steady pace, the vehicles follow one another on the zig-zag road. About an hour into the ride, our guide springs up from his seat and spits out in a hushed, urgent tone. 'Jarawas! On your left! Keep all windows closed!' All those awake rise up as one and peerout excitedly. &nbsp;Sure enough, there is a middle-aged tribal, with just a loin cloth on, peacefully watching the bus go by. We resist the urge to photograph him, more as a mark of respect than anything else. Ten minutes later, there is another Jarawa by the roadside, again, content and minding his own business. If anything, it is the 'tribals' within the bus that are more threatening with their undiluted curiosity, staring and gesticulating animatedly. Some of them even whip out their cameras and start clicking away. One goes to the extent of pulling open her window and nearly throws some food item to the poor, non-plussed Jarawa when the guide yells at her.&nbsp;By now, the bus is awake and we are approaching the end of the Jarawa reserve. Another 90mts into the ride, at 7.30, we have reached Baratang jetty. We are to alight here and board a ferry that would take us across to Uttara jetty at the other end. Yet another, smaller ferry would take us towards the opening to the mangroves which lead to the limestone caves.&nbsp; &nbsp;Having done the above, we have all now shaken off any shreds of sleep that might still have clung on, and have stepped into an even smaller, motor-driven boat. And it is on this that we head into the narrow mangroves, dodging our heads away from any protruding branches - even as we take in the wildness of the flora around us. Within 15mts, we come to a stop and walk down a wooden bridge towards the entry point to the forest where the limestone caves lie.&nbsp; After taking in a briefing regarding the caves and a strict warning not to carry or litter plastic, we proceed on a 2km trek onwards. The sight of some plain land that appear to resemble fields, it is hard to imagine that we are in the Andamans - could well be somewhere in the mainland. Then, the landscape changes as we climb down some natural steps and enter a terrain of rocks and cliffs that means we are at the doorsteps of the caves themselves. Just before, we come across boards with information on limestone caves and its nature and formation. &nbsp;Excited and voluble, a Bengali family passes us by, apparently having been impressed with what they have seen ahead. There are guides now along the way, giving free information to those milling in. The caves themselves, we look up to see, are quite a sight. Not only do they look ancient, but as we walk in, we are spellbound by the myriad sizes and shapes the stalactites and stalagmites took on. A guide endeavoures to point out how one of the formation resembled a lotus, and another a bird, and so on. In the utter darkness, we see a sliver of sunlight flash down from between cracks. But, mostly, it is the mystique of the rocks coming alive in an indescribable form each time the guide lights up a match. The silence inside is only pierced by the flutter of bats and the hush of human voices.&nbsp; &nbsp;We walk back and do not give up on the opportunity to fill ourselves up with the only beverage, for that matter the only consumable item there, available there - tender coconut water. After doing justice to the tasty mish-mash of succulent coconut flesh, we head back to where the boat is docked. This time, we walk back over a hanging wooden bridge all the way to the dock. It takes us just another 20 minutes to reach Uttara Jetty, the entry point to the North and Middle Andamans. Diglipur, the northern most point of Andamans, is 203kms away. With another day or two, we could even have included that in the travel plan and visited Saddle Peak, the highest point in the Andamans.&nbsp;&nbsp; &nbsp;We find our bus waiting at Uttara Jetty, having hopped on to the large ferry, along with us. The next stop, a mud volcano, is about 15mts up front. We alight after this short ride and walk past a board on our left, towards the forest. A demarcated path, bordered on each side by wooden rails, leads us to a clearing in the woods to where the site appears to be.&nbsp;The last major eruption happened in March, 1983. Since then, a fissure had appeared here and begun simmering since February, 2003, with mud and gas constantly escaping from the ground. When we saw it, there is still an appearance of restrained unrest, with bubbles swelling and bursting in the grey of the mud. Somehow, the sight fails to enthuse onlookers whose crestfallen faces seem to indicate they were hoping to see an outburst of lava explode before them. Signboards stuck all around strive to educate visitors on the phenomenon but not many are seen reading them up.&nbsp;&nbsp;We take the bus back and stop just short of the jetty - it is lunchtime. Lunch is scheduled at what looks like a large tin shed more than a restaurant. But appearances, as they say, can be deceptive. The buffet meal that is on offer is probably one of the most memorable, not least for the quality of the food on offer. The catering turns out to be a family affair with all members, including the children, graciously serving us an array of Kerala dishes, including some freshly fried fish. The simple yet tasty main course is followed up by fresh bananas which are handed out by the bunch. &nbsp;The only thing that is disconcerting, now, is the thought of the long bus ride back. We cross over to Baratang Jetty to find that there is a change in the bus. The replacement is one row short, which means that we are relegated to the last one - which is more a bench than a seat. And one that is not even fixed...every hundred metres and the whole bench comes undone prompting all backbenchers to get up and shove it back! As for the ride, less said the better...there is no way we can get any rest, let alone sleep. The silver lining in our cloud is that we are about the only people in the nodding bus who see a couple more Jarawas enroute - including a wary mother and a child clinging on to her. She even takes a mock aim at our bus - possibly a result of someone from the bus in front having taunted her. So much for civilised folk and their cultured behaviour!&nbsp;The rest of the journey back to Port Blair is without event. We drive into town at about 8pm, passing the airport on the way, eventually alighting at the Gandhi statue near Aberdeen Bazaar. M/s Saleem and John are patiently waiting for us, munching desultorily on some roasted groundnuts. They ride on ahead on their bike to meet us at the hotel to discuss the next day's plans. We have a 6.30am ferry to Havelock and would be back only the day after, in the evening. So, what we pack into the last full day - Friday - is crucial to ensuring that we do not miss out on much. Our gracious hosts promise us that they would weave in most of the balance items into one long Friday - so we could forget all else, go out there and enjoy Havelock! There is a mad scramble to do some quick packing - after all we will be away till Thursday evening. &nbsp;Still some energy left in some of us, we set out for the Aberdeen Bazaar to catch up on the sights of the local market and stock up on a beach ball and a Frisbee. That done, and a shower later, we are back at Icy Spicy. Dinner over, we return back to sleep off a hard and bumpy day. The next day will be less hectic but just as exciting - the beautiful beaches of Havelock beckon us. We would need to leave the hotel by 5.30am, so could sleep late - at least by the last morning's standards!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211202000/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211202000/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211202000/tpod.html Mon, 13 Oct 2008 03:00:03 -0400 Much more than a few dots on the map! Away in the Andamans...

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Port Blair, India

Day 1 - Monday, 19th May, 2008 &nbsp;At four in the morning, the city of joy looks at its gloomiest. The showers of the evening before had drenched us to the core as we stepped out of the shelter of a streetside tea-shop and sprinted down Jessore Road. The only advantage in staying this side of town is that the airport is just a few minutes away. We had only just begun to enjoy the inexpensive ride in one of Kolkata's ubiquitous buses through the humdrum of Dum Dum when, without warning, the skies opened up. Our conductor, wrapped up in his own world, had forgotten all about my periodical reminders to get us down at Gate No.2. In the downpour, we got down a stop ahead - in front of what is Gate no.2 and a half! From there began a half-kilometre trudge in the rain, lugging our rucksacks and bags to the hotel. &nbsp;After half a night's disturbed sleep, we board the early morning flight from Dum Dum with more than a little trepidation. There are enough negative news reports about the weather in Port Blair in the middle of May, and there is every reason to be gloomy about our holiday prospects. Besides the fact that the Andaman trip is one that is always a dream more than reality, a visit to these beautiful islands in the Bay of Bengal is fraught with issues - proximity, budget, and not least, the weather. &nbsp;As we watch the criss-cross, natural waterways of the Sunderbans blend into the Bay of Bengal, we size up the odds we have just overcome. A newspaper report about the cancellation of a flight from Kolkata to Port Blair just a week ago had us panicking. After all, knee deep water at the Veer Savarkar airport told us more than we wanted to hear about the weather in the islands. What's more, the met department hastened to add that the monsoon this year might arrive early and could be expected by May 20th! Which is a day after we land there!!&nbsp;&nbsp; Islands from the sky are one of the most beautiful sights one could hope to see. And islands in the sun are ever more so! After over an hour of visual feasting on fluffy clouds, the rising sun and snatches of the emerald sea below, the first glimpse of a tiny island is indescribable. That, we guess, must be Sentinel Island - the first inhabited landmass that one gets to see after leaving the mainland; ironically, out of bounds to outsiders given the animosity of the native tribe here.&nbsp; After soaring over a clutch of islands, as a large, green, coconut fringed expanse finally seems to rise up from the sea, we know we are descending on Port Blair. A welcome respite from the descents on to struggling, sprawling metropolises, this is like trying to find an asphalt strip in a sea of greenery dotted with pretty cottages and contented single storey buildings. And, of course, a dry air strip!!!&nbsp;Veer Savarkar Airport - the very name reminding all who land here that the Andaman is not just another island with lovely beaches and lots of sun. Which is what really makes this place so much more captivating and worthy of a visit. The footprints of history are as clear here as at the most significant places in the life of our country. More on that later. For the while, we are just happy to be in Port Blair - happier still to see the sun shining on us.&nbsp;Outside the airport, we are met by our travel consultants, M/s John and Saleem. Both of Kerala origin, their parents were among the thousands from the mainland who had made the islands their home. And, like most others, they are fluent in Hindi, which is virtually the first language here. As you soon discover, the Andamans are sometimes min-Kerala, mini-Tamil Nadu, mini-Bengal, and so on. In short, a mini-India. &nbsp;Just the drive from the airport makes you fall in love with this unspoilt sea-side town. Neat, unpretentious, Port Blair is town only when you want it to be. Otherwise it's just the greenery, just enough buildings to make a town self-sufficient, and plenty of picture post card visuals. We stop short of Aberdeen Bazaar, turn right and pass a mosque to pull up outside the Andaman Nest. Basic and clean, the Nest may not give you any views of the Bay of Bengal. But then, who wants to watch the sea only from some balcony or a hotel window. &nbsp;Most tour options gently 'advise' you to rest the first half of your first day. But we aren't to be held back. Just the excitement of having landed up in peaceful Andamans, being thousands of miles away from the struggling mainland, is enough to send our large group into a vociferous frenzy. All that boorish yelling and the non-stop banter is asking for trouble. A pink-face-turned-red glares at us from outside our open door and adds for good measure, 'You must be the most uncultured lot in the whole hotel!' or words to that effect. Well, that is much less harsh a treatment received by Indians from the Brits on this island!&nbsp;Breakfast takes on a south Indian flavour, at the Annapoorna, a pure vegetarian hotel. While the food isn't too bad here, the service is - at best - passable. During the course of the next five days, we must have paid 2-3 more visits here. My memory of this much recommended joint range from some superb filter coffee to some pathetic service from none other than the manager!&nbsp;Our itinerary, as suggested by John and Saleem, is close to what we have in mind - but not entirely eye to eye. They have planned a day trip to Baratang to see the limestone caves, the mud volcano plus a bonus ride through the Jarawa reserve; a cruise to Wandoor; one to North Bay, Ross and Viper Islands; and a day's city tour. The first day's plan is just Corbyn Cove, the beach closest to the city and, possibly, the sound and light show at the Cellular Jail. &nbsp;As for us, we have our sights set on Havelock Island. With one of the finest beaches in Asia and good prospects of snorkelling, it features high on any itinerary. The downsides are that you need to keep aside a night and two days for the return trip from Port Blair. The cost apart, this means that you would probably need to sacrifice some other fixture from your tour programme if you are on a tight timeline. &nbsp;We decide to check this out on our own and try the Andaman Tourism office. The cheapest accommodation is in the Dolphin's Nest, the Tourism Department-run resort. As for the tickets for the cruise, we are told we would need to do the bookings at the counters at Phoenix Jetty. So, fine, we think - we would do this leg of the trip on our own. We book rooms at the resort for Wednesday night, pay 50% advance and head for the jetty. The general mood is upbeat as we are heading for Corbyn Cove just after that, so all that stands between us and a good time at the beach is a quick stop-over at the ticket counters. At least, that is what we think!&nbsp;Phoenix Jetty is about 15 minutes drive and on the northern end of Port Blair. All ferries to Havelock, North Bay, Cinque Island etc. leave and dock here. We pore over a tightly printed schedule of ferry timings to and from this jetty. There are fast boats that take just 2 hours and slower ones taking double the time. We find one that leaves on Tuesday 6.30am and a return at 2.30 - that means we would need to devote both Tuesday and Wednesday to Havelock. Which also mean that we would have to speak to Saleem and John and make some changes to the overall travel plan - maybe, drop Wandoor and North Bay. So far, so good.&nbsp;Some very slow and unhelpful clerks, utter inconsistency in counter rules and stark differences in the schedule of ferries that we have and their computers show, all add up to end us with a full two, harrowing hours spent of our precious morning at the wretched booking hall. And that teaches us lesson number one. Better to depend on package tours and resourceful agents if you are on a very tight programme. &nbsp;The clear waters by the jetty, the white gleaming cruiseliners of the Shipping Corporation of India docked there, and the thrill of booking tickets to Havelock had pumped us up on a high when we reached the booking office. But by the time we leave - at noon - we have had enough of the place and scamper off grumbling. &nbsp;But all it takes is one look at the ocean as we zip along the pretty, coastal road to Corbyn Cove for us to forget the nightmare we lived a little while ago. As it is, Port Blair is a lovely, laidback town with some well-laid, undulating roads weaving between tree-lined and cottage-dotted vistas on either side. But the real charm here is obviously the waters, stretching to a turquoise blue to as far as the eye could see - the vision marred, of course, by the odd verdant island or a passing cruiser. Which is what we had seen so far. Quite naturally, then, the sight of Corbyn Cove and its beautiful sandy beach told us that the Andaman experience would be all about promises kept, and exceeded.&nbsp;&nbsp; Just 7kms to the south of Port Blair, Corbyn Cove is a beautiful sandy curve that is fringed by lazily swinging palms all around. The sea is perfect for hours of playing among the waves, with a tantalising slope that invites you to go deep into the waters. A mini-island some way into the sea almost beckons you to try a swim towards it - but that could well be more of a dare than an invite!&nbsp;But the good time has to be rationed! We have to be at Aberdeen Jetty by 1.30 to catch the ferry to Viper Island. That just leaves us enough time to lunch and rush to the jetty. A hurried meal later, we are back in the car, struggling to get Corbyn Cove out of our thoughts. And then we see it - that imposing icon of the islands, no less featured than the pristine beaches. The Cellular Jail, in all its chilling reality, stands like a solemn remnant to a gory past. We pass it by, for now, and come to a halt just a little up front - at Aberdeen Jetty. On the right is a water park constructed in memory of the tsunami that ravaged the islands in Dec, 2004. A canon pointed towards Ross Island also stands on the waterfront. An hour by ferry, this is where we have our first brush with the amazing history surrounding the Andaman and Nicobar Islands. Just a minute's walk from the famous - or should it be infamous? - Cellular Jail, Aberdeen Jetty is the take-off point for Ross and Viper Islands. We pass Ross Island on our right as the boat does a u-turn around the Cellular Jail. It's a half-hour ride where we also pass the office of the Naval authorities and a couple of large ships that are anchored at Haddo Wharf. Soon, we can see the crescent shaped outline of Viper Island gaining clarity. Once a full-fledged prison harbouring local and mainland prisoners, its importance waned at the commissioning of the Cellular Jail. Still, the fact that this is where some of the bravest of India's freedom fighters were imprisoned and hanged continues to attract ferry-loads of tourists to the island.&nbsp; We soon realise that we have very limited time on the island. Let alone explore and see the old jail, with its separate quarters for men and women, we are asked to just walk up to the hillock, see the gallows and board the ferry in 30mts! &nbsp;One look at the map put up on the single storey building in the entrance and it is clear that this small, serene island has had its share of injustice and gore. There are conflicting stories about the name that the island took on. In 1768, a vessel called Viper that carried a senior British Officer, who intended to establish a penal settlement here, crashed near the island. Of course, the wreckage you get to see now is a semi-damaged Tsnunami remnant. The other oft-quoted reason for the name of the island is the presence of large numbers of vipers - today, not much evidence of this either.&nbsp;The jail and gallows were finally built in 1867 and soon got into business when ferryloads of Indian freedom fighters were sentenced to Kalapani. Men and women alike found their way here, imprisoned in a building that is well into the island. The strict ferry departure schedule meant that we would have to restrict ourselves to the gallows. Built on a hillock just above the entrance - for good effect, evidently - this is where many freedom fighters, including Sher Ali, the bold Pathan who killed Lord Mayo, were hanged to death.&nbsp;As we head back for Aberdeen Jetty, the sun is now a golden yellow and settling down into the Bay of Bengal. At the Jetty, we are met by Saleem who hand us the passes for the Sound &amp; Light show at the Cellular Jail. And standing in front of the imposing gates of the most infamous prison in the whole of India were hordes of people, each of them just dying to get in. Time sure does funny things to places, and to people!&nbsp;&nbsp;The first glimpse of the Cellular Jail is something that doesn't fail to take your breath away. And we are now about to hear the story of how the same - literally - happened to hundreds of inmates of this prison. Among the things that one immediately notices is a Swarn Jyoti on your left and a large concrete stage beyond that. Which is after you take in the neat, brick structure of the three storey jail building that is both aesthetic and abominable. In front of you are two wings of this shrewdly conceived building, with the one on your right grabbing your attention. This is the one that is open to the public and this is the backdrop to the Sound &amp; Light show. &nbsp;But just behind the rows of chairs laid out for the show, there is a peepal tree. You would be pardoned for missing it, taking it to be just another tree in the compound. But then, there aren't many trees left here now. And this one, this is more than just flora. This is history, a mute witness to all that happened ever since the jail is built. This also happens to be the narrator of the tragic saga captured so touchingly by the show. We choose to see the Hindi version, with Om Puri's emotion packed baritone rendering the drama, even as the lights strategically flit all about the compound - from the cells to the gallows to the torture area to the peepal tree itself. Lasting about 45mts, it's worth taking in the performance if at all to understand the jail, the times, and the sacrifices made by the freedom fighters. &nbsp;After all this - in fact, even without all this - we can't wait to see the jail itself. But that will have to be another day. For the while, we decide to check out the nearby Mahatma Gandhi Park. Not because it is a not-to-be-missed fixture. In the Andamans, which is a good two time-zones ahead of the mainland, it gets dark pretty soon. It is just 6.30pm and the lights are on - it's a different thing that the daybreak also is at an early 4.30! Apart from a Japanese Buddhist temple, there isn't much that really catches our fancy. Suffice it to say, that it is a tidy and well-maintained park in a tidy and well-maintained town.&nbsp;It is only the first day in town and we are already bored with Annapurna's fare. The driver promises us that he will show us another decent vegetarian restaurant, and drops us in front of Icy Spicy, in Junglighat. He sure knows his Port Blair, for this turns out to be a hit with all of us, and a regular stop during our stay in the capital. The food is superb and the service is sublime!&nbsp;It has been a packed day, the first one. But wait, we are told by John and Saleem, the next one is going to be a much longer, much heavier one. For starters, we have to catch the 4am bus to Baratang, for which the cab will be at the hotel by 3.30am. Of course, to accomplish that, we also have to be ready by 3.15am.Worse still, wake up by 2.45am. &nbsp;
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/ranthambhore06/1165746240/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/ranthambhore06/1165746240/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/ranthambhore06/1165746240/tpod.html Sat, 19 Jul 2008 08:15:13 -0400 You continue to hear the cicadas, a muffled thud of a paw and many other different sounds from the jungle long after you have returned to the city. So why do they now beckon you back, to Ranthambhore?

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Ranthambhore National Park, Rajasthan, India

<i>You continue to hear the cicadas, a stray howl of a hyena, the muffled thud of a paw on the grass, and a hundred other different sounds from the jungle long after you have returned to the city. Back there, in the wild, these had sounded alien in the first two nights. But now they all sound so familiar - as though they are from the world you belonged to. <i>&nbsp; <i>And call you back... <i>&nbsp; <i>...back to Ranthambhore. <i>&nbsp; <i>It's been nearly a week that we have been back from Ranthambhore, but it doesn't feel like we have walked anything more than a few yards out of the jungle! Unlike the regular vacation spots like a hill station or a beach resort or another city, there's something about a wildlife reserve that refuses to leave you long after you have left it. <i>&nbsp; <i>There are places that beckon you with just their names. When you fan out a map before you or twirl the globe around, it's possible that some names catch your eye - and, imagination. <i>&nbsp; <i>Ranthambhore does that...ever so tantalizingly. &nbsp; <i>We had read up on this jewel in <i>India<i>'s wildlife treasure trove and were longing to get there. We also knew it is much more than a forest. It is that rare combination of nature and history coming together, what with the flamboyant Rajasthani royalty leaving its impression in the form of an impressive fort bang in the middle of a dry, deciduous forest with a high density and variety of flora and fauna alike. It is also one of the few reserves where tiger sightings were still a possibility - as we were about to discover. Day 0 <i>&nbsp; <i>Our journey began on a December night at a crowded platform of <i>New Delhi<i> Railway Station. Amidst the clatter and wheezing of train compartments, the world and his wife and their countless children and luggage were in various stages of an endless journey to someplace. <i>&nbsp; <i>A little after the scheduled arrival time (it was coming from <i>Jammu<i> Tawi - up in the north of <i>India<i>), we had boarded and occupied our berths for a short night's sleep. Sawai Madhopur was out there, somewhere, in the thick of the night and we knew we had to sleep easy if we were to wake up, grab all our bags and get out in the cool of a Rajasthani dawn. So a few hours delay in departure gave us that much extra time to catch our sleep - though we kept dropping it, out of fear that we might end up waking up at <i>Kota<i> further down! <i>&nbsp; Day 1 <i>&nbsp; <i>Just after six, the Dehradun express pulled into Sawai Madhopur station, a modest but pretty affair in red bricks. And on the other side lay another world. The hills rose out of a thickly wooded horizon under which, we knew, lay wild and historical Ranthambhore. <i>&nbsp; <i>We shivered in the chill of the morning only to warm up as we spotted my name on the signboard of the hotel we were to check in. The gentleman who had come to pick us up - also the chief naturalist at the resort - had been waiting since <i>5am<i> in the cold. <i>&nbsp; <i>We drove to the resort and passed many other familiar names on the way, names that I had seen and researched on the web were now manifesting themselves in brick and mortar. <i>&nbsp; <i>Our stay was at a nice enough resort on the fringe of the jungle, just two kilometers away from the park's main gate. Madhopur owes its survival, primarily, to the big cat - so could do well to reciprocate by ensuring that of its benefactor. Every resort here is Tiger this or Tiger that and ours happened to be Tiger Moon. <i> <i>Situated at a comfortably secluded area near Sherpur village, the delightful complex comprises of pretty cottages. We checked into one of them and got ready for breakfast. <i>&nbsp; <i>The resort was up and about by then and we noticed that we were outnumbered with more foreign tourists around than Indians. We struck up a conversation with an elderly British couple who could not wait to sight, among other wildlife, the Royal <i>Bengal<i> Tiger. <i>&nbsp; <i>By the time we were through with breakfast, we saw a Canter <i>(a large van that seats about 25-30) <i>arrive with a group of foreign tourists draped in muted colours and brimming with excitement. That must have been the group that caught the morning safari and they shared with the others how they were surprised by a tiger crossing the road in front of them and disappearing into the woods. &nbsp; <i>We had two free safaris in our package and we struck a rare and welcome gold with our first outing. Ranthambhore, we were told, is highly regulated as against other reserves with regard to entry guidelines. The park is divided into five zones and each zone can take in only four Gypsys (a small, but very handy jeep, has to reserved well in advance and is much costlier) and four Canters. Safaris happen just twice in the day - early morning and afternoon. <i>We were slated for the afternoon one and, hence, had the morning to ourselves. The hill outside the resort looked quite inviting and we decided to take a nature walk, accompanied by a naturalist. <i>&nbsp; <i>We walked out of the resort towards the nearby hills. There was an ancient temple up on a hillock and we decided to take a small trek up. The view from up there was panoramic. On the other side lay the Ranthambhore range, encompassing the park. At 275 sq. km, this is the smallest tiger reserve and, hence, has a better record at sightings. Thanks to the tireless efforts of park officials and well-meaning locals, the reserve has a decent population of most animals. But the man who really has contributed the most to Ranthambhore in terms of tiger and jungle conservation has to be the legendary Fateh Singh Rathore, who has worked all his life in this forest - and continues his passion and efforts till today. <i>&nbsp; <i>We returned back to the resort for lunch, excited about our first safari in Ranthambhore, later that afternoon. <i>&nbsp; <i>A Maruti Gypsy ferried us to the park gates and we found a veritable mela there. There were Canters lined up brimming with people and some Gypsys also, mostly with foreigners. A four hour safari in a Canter costs approx. Rs.500 per person, whereas the Gypsy ride can set you back by Rs.1500/-. There was a flurry of activity with tourists, guides and forest officials all buzzing about. And the hawkers trying to hardsell their wares, t-shirts, caps, jackets, wildlife books etc. only heightened the sense of animation. <i>&nbsp; <i>Sharp at <i>3 pm<i>, the Canter began rolling, and we were in business. It didn't take long to get the feel of the wild. The hilly terrain; the dhok trees in an eternal state of tandav; the dry, sepia tint to the forest; and the sight of the old Fort, the park itself is breathtaking and sets the tone for the thrill of wildlife encounters. The prose of the jungle and the poetry hidden in the ruins come together to form a rare body of work that is nothing short of a bestseller titled Ranthambhore. &nbsp; <i>For the first one hour, it was more a ride through some uncomfortably dusty and bumpy jungle path till the guides in our Canter (they are actually naturalists, with their thorough understanding and knowledge of the jungle and its inhabitants) read the frantic calls of some chitals correctly. What followed was a virtual traffic jam, with vehicles and the passengers inside, each jostling with one another to get that better view. What followed for the next one hour was stone-dead silence - you could even hear the pounding of your heart between all those incessant clicks of all those cameras working overtime to capture the moment. The tiger in front of us was a two year old female which was working on a kill she managed the same morning. What was on the dining table was a nilgai, or whatever was left of it. After half an hour of eating its fill, it got down to some thorough cleaning and grooming, followed by some playing around and rolling in the dust. And all this while, it never appeared to be disturbed by the presence of eight vehicles and one hundred humans. The only time it showed its irritation was when a bumbling wild boar clumsily strayed in uninvited for lunch! <i>Needless to say, we were trigger happy all throughout. <i>&nbsp; <i>As I realized later, the only downside of carrying a camera to a wildlife reserve is that it takes up your complete time and attention. And I am not even talking about caring for the equipment - to avoid dropping or banging it, keeping out the dust, the moisture etc. etc. It's your preoccupation with getting the perfect, special shot that often gets in the way of your taking in the scene, the characters in it, and the overall drama. <i>After feasting our eyes for close to an hour on this ultimate wildlife spectacle, we didn't need anything more. Most were silent during the drive back. The <i>romance of sighting a tiger is many things - not least a realization of the incredible luck that can come your way. <i>Dinner was a happy event. Of course, the food was great, but what really whetted our appetite was all the attention and envy we got from fellow diners - they had, by now, got to know about our luck!&nbsp; <i>&nbsp; <i>&nbsp; &nbsp; Day 2 <i>&nbsp; <i>Having chosen to sleep early, we were up at around <i>4 am<i> for the morning safari. <i>&nbsp; <i>Before long, we were ready and waiting for the jeep that would drop us at the park gates. And, by <i>5 am<i>, we were seated in the Canter, looking the part with our muted colours blending in with the wild. But as were about to experience, t<i>he rest of our stay had little to do with tigers in flesh and blood (pun unintended). This safari, that took us to Zone 5, was generally pronounced a let down...if tiger spotting were to be the only yardstick of a successful safari. <i>&nbsp; <i>The park is, incidentally, divided into five zones. Once you have driven past the Fort and through the doorway near a 200 year old banyan tree, the forest sprawling in front of you is demarcated zone-wise, with the area on your right being zone 1, the one next to it (anti-clockwise) zone 2. The expanse in the middle (this has the lakes and thereby the maximum wildlife) is the popular and sought after zone 3, followed by zone 4 and, finally, zone 5. It's the Forest Department that does the scheduling of where your vehicle is headed - so it is purely a matter of luck. But, just as zone 3 need not guarantee sightings, you might even strike gold in the other zones - as we did on the first day. <i>&nbsp; <i>The full impact of the luck we had on the first safari only dawned on us after the second and a paid third failed to yield any sighting. But that is precisely the mistake that most make when they visit a tiger reserve. If you let the tiger be the centre of your wildlife universe and you make tiger spotting the sole objective of a visit to a reserve, the chances that you will get disappointed are much more than sighting the big cat! What really makes it worth the while is just taking in the jungle, its many varied animals, the birds, the trees, the topography...well, just the feel of the wild! <i>&nbsp; <i>Coming back to Zone 5, there was nothing wrong with the jungle per se. There were enough and more ungular sightings with copious numbers of langurs and birds on offer. But what remains etched in memory was the enthralling meeting that we had with some very friendly Indian treepies. <i>the friendly Indian treepies that flew down onto our palms to make a meal of some biscuit crumbs we held in them. <i>Just seeing them, resplendent with their colourful plumes and long tails, was enough for most to whip out their cameras and binoculars. But there were more surprises in store. All it took was a few biscuit crumbs and a palm to hold it, and, down they came flying for a meal. Between the ticklish pecks and the mild pain inflicted on our palms, the joy of having such a beauty of a bird get so close and personal was, in itself, a fulfilling wildlife experience. <i>&nbsp; <i>With two full days left and an unbelievable tiger sighting already under our belt, that afternoon we decided to walk the path less trodden on. Mansingh Sanctuary, about 30kms away from its more famous cousin, is a much less frequented spot. While on spots, the star resident here is the leopard. This rather shy cousin of the tiger is as elusive as they can get. <i>&nbsp; <i>Our guide told us that they often saw leopards on the hill outside our resort...and that one had even dropped in to the resort to the poolside to get a drink. Not much luck in Mansingh - actually, we seemed to be the only ones visiting this poor cousin of Ranthambhore. Great terrain, though, and the sunset there was particularly captivating. <i>We returned tired but content at not having given Mansingh the miss. The resort had organized a barbecue dinner complete with an evening of folk dance by local villagers. We took a happy back seat and watched the foreigners trying to match a little native dancer, step for clumsy step. Day 3 <i>&nbsp; <i>Besides the animals, Ranthambhore takes great pride in its many ruins scattered all over the area which, actually, comprises of the Ran and the Thambore ranges. The most prominent historical spot is the 1000 year old Ranthambhore Fort that belonged to the Chauhan dynasty till Allaudin Khilji took over. Overlooking the entire park which used to be the hunting ground of the rulers of those days, the fort holds its own before the stunning vistas of the forest. There is also a Trinetri Ganesh (a three-eyed form of the beloved Hindu God, Ganesha) temple inside the fort which is a big draw for devotees and tourists alike. The idol is said to be a swayambhu, a self-manifested formation, supposedly natural and not man-made. If nothing, the incredible number of langurs hanging on around makes the visit worth the effort. Our guide told us that former Indian Prime Ministers,&nbsp;Indira and Rajiv (Gandhi), had visited the reserve just months before their respective assassinations. Apparently, neither of them `thought it important to pay' a visit to the temple... Incidentally, while we were there, Priyanka (Rajiv's daughter) too did drop in at the park. Not sure if she thought it `prudent' to pay her obeisance to Lord Ganesh! <i>That afternoon we decided to go for a safari again. This time, we did manage Zone 3...and what a safari it turned out to be. In fact, one of the guides on the Canter must have got to know how desperate we were to do Zone 3. No sooner had we passed the big banyan tree than he looked towards me and raised three fingers, and beamed broadly. In about a second and a half, after the realization had sunk in, I returned his grin and raised up a thumb. We were headed for Zone 3. The others probably <i>weren't aware of this importance of numbers, so did not really give it much thought. <i>&nbsp; <i>The third safari, however, was more of promise, but also a reiteration of that important tenet of wildlife tourism - the tiger is the centre of our wildlife world, but it's not everything. Those 3-4 hours proved it in no uncertain terms. The<i> awesome landscape that was around us and an incredibly high variety of wildlife was a treat in itself. The closest, maybe, we got to spotting the big cat was a fleeting glimpse of a jungle cat in the bush on the fringes of the <i>Rajbagh<i> <i>Lake<i>. We all hung around the lake for as long as was possible. L<i>ots of other animals (spotted deer, sambhar, nilgai, langurs, antlers, crocodiles, wild boars, plenty of species of birds, peacocks and rabbits) and even a fleeting glimpse of 2 jungle cats (something halfway between a cat and a tiger) inside the grasslands on the edge of a water body. There are three lakes in Ranthambhore, all of them in this zone (which everyone seems to want to be in) and given the dry nature of the forest, all animals frequent the area which, in turn, draws in the predators too. Day 4 <i>&nbsp; <i>N<i>ext morning we went for a nature walk, all on our own. We walked up to the hillock, passing the pond, checking for any telltale reflections on the surface to see if there were any crocs beneath it. From the top of the hillock, the sight is tremendous. From the temple on the hill we had visited the first day, now behind us, to the park itself on our left and the resorts dotting the landscape ahead, the railway line before us coming in from the right, and finally, our resort just behind us, the 360 degree view was best captured in the mind and saved for posterity. Even with so much around us, and so much happening before us, there was a strange, peaceful silence that hung in the air. We stayed back to take it all in till we realized that we would have to be on one of the trains that will be coming down that track, from the west. <i>&nbsp; <i>We checked out before <i>noon<i>, just in time to catch the <i>Golden<i> <i>Temple<i> Mail that reaches Sawai Madhopur station at 1235hrs. It's just ideal as you arrive back at <i>Delhi<i> by 1900hrs. <i>&nbsp; <i>Epilogue <i>Back home, in the city, as I sit flopped before the television set, alternating nostalgically among the National Geographic, the Discovery and the Animal Planet channels, taking a virtual safari, I start suddenly and mute the volume. I thought I heard a noise outside. Was that a footfall on the grass or did I just imagine it?&nbsp; <i>&nbsp; <i>Maybe I had been returning to Ranthambhore many a time in my wildest dreams...how else can you explain these pugmarks on my soul? <i>Getting there : <i>&nbsp; <i>Road : Unless you are based out of Jaipur or Kota, driving down is not a great option - of course, if you love driving, it's a different matter! There are 2 routes from Jaipur - one via Tonk and the other through Dausa. The latter is about 10 kms longer but the road isn't that great. <i>&nbsp; <i>Rail : Clearly, the best option, especially given the fact that Sawai Madhopur is bang on the Delhi-Mumbai route. It's just an overnight (about 7 hrs) journey from <i>Delhi<i>. It's much cheaper and simpler than driving or flying to Jaipur or <i>Kota<i> and catching a cab. <i>&nbsp; <i>Notes : -&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>The best time to visit Ranthambhore is between November to February. March to May can get very hot. The park is closed during the monsoon months of July, August and September. -&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Do make sure that your resort has made bookings for you in the Canters, if not the more expensive Gypsies. With only 2 safaris a day and limited seats, you wouldn't want to miss going into the jungle after reaching Ranthambhore. -&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Tiger sightings are more common here, though not a given. But the abundance of other animals, and more importantly, the terrific landscape is something you should cherish. -&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Don't give Mansingh Sanctuary the miss. You may not see the elusive leopard population, but the forest and the sunset are a must see. -&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Give the fort and the surrounding area its due, even when you are trying to squeeze in safari after hopeful safari. You won't find many wildlife parks in the world with so much heritage and historical character built in. -&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>Try and get on to the Canter/Gypsy that is headed for Zone 3 - where the lakes and, hence, the possibility of sighting is higher. It's not really an individual choice and you are at the mercy of the Forest Department's scheduling, but maybe &nbsp;your resort can try and help you But, don't get too stuck up on this, or despair, if you fail to make it. Let me remind you that the one hour tiger sighting that I mentioned above happened in Zone 2; and we failed to sight one in Zone 5. -&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <i>If you are coming from <i>Delhi<i>, take the 9020 as we did. A late evening departure and an early morning arrival is ideal. For the&nbsp; &nbsp;return journey, you can check out just after breakfast and be driven to the Sawai Madhopur station in time to catch the 2903 <i>Mumbai-Amritsar<i> <i>Golden<i> <i>Temple<i> Mail (1235hrs) which reaches <i>Delhi<i> by a comfortable 1900hrs.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211565600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211565600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211565600/tpod.html Mon, 14 Jul 2008 01:11:03 -0400 Much more than a few dots on the map! Away in the Andamans...

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Port Blair, India

Day 5 - Friday, 23rd May, 2008 The history lessons continue, only the classroom changes. We escape from the Cellular Jail, pretty much prisoners of its harrowing past. Next up is another chapter from a forgotten past, an island that's not about beaches and corals - more a theatre of ghostly stories and settings. We are enroute to Ross Island. &nbsp;Well, the poetry is not just in the setting, but also the in justice that is eventually meted out. Coming a full circle, the island that the had British wrested changed hands when the Japanese came calling; today, it stands reclaimed by an even bigger force - that of nature. In a bizarre act of retribution, every one of the buildings stand ravaged by time, with roots and branches and vines choking any traces of heritage that the settlers had left behind. &nbsp;The moment we get off the ferry and pass the ticket counters, it's as if the curtain has gone up on a well-made set of a historical tragedy,. A museum does its best to prepare you for what is in store ahead. But the world that unravels is nothing like we have seen anywhere.&nbsp; A mini-township complete with cottages, barracks, clubhouse, tennis court, dispensary, bakery, general stores, library, and a magnificient Presbyterian church gives an insight to how the British would have lorded it over in their comfortable, little world. And, all along, a few oar-swipes away lay the dark and depressing corridors of the Cellular Jail. But today, the deathly calm that prevails in the cemetery is also what, ironically, hangs all over the island and its haunted ruins. After having developed and transformed Ross Island to a comfortable, self-sufficient township, the Britishers were shaken, literally, out of their adopted home by a devastating earthquake in 1941.&nbsp; Subsequently, during the second world war, the island took on a more military look when the Japanese took control in 1942. In their short stint of 3 years, the new landlords left behind stamps of their existence - military installations and underground bunkers, that you can still crouch through, if doubled up. &nbsp;Life as it is on island can be witnessed in another interesting little museum up ahead. From drawings and photographs to letters written by the inhabitants to their loved ones back in England, it's as good a walkthrough of those times as any. &nbsp;As our ferry leaves Ross Island, the Indian Navy's flag that flutters from a mast on the shore is what brings us back to the present day. The rest, as they say, is history.&nbsp;Lunch later, we realise we still have enough left of the afternoon. John suggests we look up the Anthropological museum before we set off for Chiriyatapu. After all, we only need reach there just before sunset - which is when the 'Bird Island' comes to life. The museum turns out to be an encyclopaedic walkthrough of the history and culture of the Andaman and Nicobar islands. Exhaustive in its depiction, through photographs and tableaus, of the evolution and life of the various tribes, it's worth spending time here to understand this otherwise little known region of your country better. The souvenir shop on the ground floor has some interesting books and handicrafts on sale - maybe the right place to pick up some miniature Jarawa tribals and give them pride of place on your mantelpiece. &nbsp;Our next destination, Chiryatapu, is a 26 kms drive out of Port Blair, through lush green countryside. As we pass a desolate stretch of sand on our left, John points to a cluster of buildings up ahead. That is home and from where he watched in horror at the massive wave of water that the tsunami threw up. Given the positioning in the Andamans, this region escaped the full fury - but the telltale signs of an unnatural phenomenon has still left a scar. &nbsp;We pass a village marketplace and, presently, drive up to a small hillock. With the sea on our right and a forest rest house on our left, we now stand at Chiriyatapu. From a peaceful fishing village to being a regular fixture on tourist itineraries, the name is apt. Thick, green mangroves dot the area and are home to about 46 endemic varieties of birds.&nbsp;The sun is steadily going down and the rocky waterbed below has a scattering of tourist leaning on to large boulders and uprooted trees to strike a pose for posterity. Up ahead to our south is Cinque Island, with its famed sandstrip that appears and disappears in the magic of the tides. To the east is the beautiful, sandy Munda Pahar and Sylvan Sands beaches, and to the west, the sky is a brilliant red-golden that bounces off the water and the rocks. The scene is truly spectacular - one you can't resist taking away, manually and digitally.&nbsp;&nbsp;It is dark by the time we approach Port Blair, but not late enough for John to squeeze in a final stopover - at Jogger's Park. Overlooking the town, the park is at a relatively high point to take in the sights around on late evenings that you don't want to spend inside your hotel room. It has been a long day but we have seen a lot, without having to rush up on any of the sights. Back at the hotel, John and Saleem drop in and we thank them profusely for their hospitality. Despite the last minute changes that we had proposed, they had woven in all our requests into the overall fabric of the tour and we are more than satisfied with the end product. Now all that remains is to pack up, dine and retire early. We have a 7.30 morning flight and the cab will pick us up at six. &nbsp;Packed and ready, and a shower later, we get into the cab again for dinner. We decide it would have to be Icy Spicy all over again to wind up a good time had at the islands. And this time, for good measure, there will also be dessert! &nbsp;As we ride back from Junglighat, past the Aberdeen Bazaar and the now-familiar Mosque Road, we can't help feeling that we have been extremely fortunate. We could cover as much as possible in five days; the rain gods have been very merciful; and none of us has had any health issues to speak of. In a minor act of celebration, we play a few rounds of cards before going to sleep. Hard to believe that we have been ____kms away from the mainland for the last five days - and in another few hours, Andamans will again be a few dots a few inches away on a map. Or is it just that? Maybe for the millions who are waiting to discover that the Bay of Bengal is not just a sprawling, watery stretch to the east of India. For us, it's much, much more.&nbsp;Day 6 - Saturday, 24th May, 2008 &nbsp;In a place as rich, beautiful and diverse, a week can never do justice to all the sights around. There are bound to be a fair share of misses, but then it's a crime to see everything the first time around. After all, there has to be a good enough reason to return. Of course, all that we saw could be seen many times over - but let's still leave behind something unseen to retain the mystique of this wonderland.&nbsp;&nbsp;As the last of the islands recede from view, the sea takes over to follow our path for the next hour and a half before handing us over to the snaking canals of the Sunderbans. The Bay of Bengal, in all its expanse and grandeur, look both fascinating and intimidating. Would we want to try the sea-route the next time we visit the Andamans? That's one for the gritty, intrepid traveller. We will have to wait some time to find the answers to that.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211536860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211536860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211536860/tpod.html Sat, 12 Jul 2008 05:21:58 -0400 Much more than a few dots on the map! Away in the Andamans...

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Port Blair, India

Day 5 - Friday, 23rd May, 2008 &nbsp; We wake up with mixed feelings. This is a big day, with a lot of important places to be covered. But it is also the last full day that we have in the Andamans. With an early morning flight (another early wake-up!) for both the Chennai and Kolkata bound folks, there is just enough time to lug our luggage and head for the airport tomorrow. So whatever has to be done, has to be done today. &nbsp; The plan for the day is to take in Mount Harriet first. We are picked up from the hotel at 6.30 and reach Chatham Wharf in time to catch the ferry to Bamboo Flats at 7am. The cab also needs to be ferried across, so we join a large crowd and other vehicles in a 20 minute ride to the Flats. The moment we dock here, we saw all too clearly that the tsunami had been more devastating here. The shop fronts facing the sea look completely destroyed and still bear a desolate look. Up ahead, a clearing filled with headless palm trees and amputated bamboo stumps paints an even more stark picture. &nbsp; A 20mt uphill drive from Bamboo Flats through thick forests gets us to a check-post to the Mt. Harriet National Park. It has been a lonely ride so far, the narrow reserve road flanked on either side by massive trees that crossed over to each other forming a thick canopy overhead. Just beyond the gates, further up, we come to a halt. On our right stands the ruins of the Chief Commissioner's bungalow, abandoned by the British in 1942. There is nothing much except for a two feet granite base of the structure and a few mounds in the middle. &nbsp; The Mt. Harriet reserve premises lie ahead and we drive on. At 365mts, modest by mountain standards, it is still the second highest point in the Andamans. Named after Harriet Tytler, who accompanied her husband Robert in 1862 during the latter's stint in the islands, Mt.Harriet is the second highest point (after Saddle Peak near Diglipur in the north) in the Andaman &amp; Nicobar group. Its proximity and the peaceful locale made it an obvious choice to be the summer residence of the Chief Commissioner during the Raj. While the ferry and the subsequent ride from Bamboo Flats is the easiest and fastest way to reach the summit, it can also be reached in a 55km drive from Port Blair. One of the more underused accommodation options by visitors to Port Blair is the Forest Guest House and the huts that take you far from the bustle of the capital town below - not to talk of the obvious advantage it provides you with in the event of a tsunami! &nbsp; Maintained diligently, the compound looks tidy with cottages, viewing towers and the forest departments offices. With no other tourists, the place feels even more peaceful and relaxed than it is. There is only the gentle whirr of the hilltop breeze that we hear in the otherwise still and quiet all around. A Nicobari hut, obviously a representation, cries out to be visited. We follow each other on the wooden stairs and take in the simplicity of the interiors of the round on top. A viewing gallery at the end of the ground, John said, is where we can get (on a clear day) good sightings of Port Blair and the other islands nearby. We walk past a well-manicured lawn with more resting eco-huts and watchtowers till we reach the elevated viewing gallery. &nbsp; It is neither too cloudy, nor too clear. While Port Blair is not exactly visible, we do get to see Havelock, Neil, North Bay and Ross Islands. Presently, John pulls out a Rs.20/- note from his wallet and holds it against the horizon. He points at the scene on the note - a view of the sea from between a forest, with a lighthouse prominently sticking out. Beyond his arm, we see the same vista, complete with the red and white lighthouse standing out against the sky, the sea and the trees. With a little more time on our hands and some better planning, we wish we could stay here for a day and do some nature walks - a trail to nearby Madhuban is a treat for anyone who loves to trek and is keen on birding. &nbsp; But there is a lot still left to cover and we head back to Bamboo Flats in time to catch the 9am ferry. It is rush hour and the ferry is jam-packed, island style, with humans, two and four wheelers taking up every inch of space aboard. Our cab can't be accommodated, but with time being at a premium, John arranges for an alternative vehicle at Chatham Wharf.&nbsp; &nbsp; Just adjacent to the wharf is another must-see, the Chatham saw mill - the oldest of its kind in Asia, built in 1836 by the British. Inside, both the museum and the walk-through within the functional mill are worth the experience. On display in the well-maintained museum is a history of the mill and a presentation of the rich flora and fauna of the island group. The informative walkabout also gives you insight of the official tree - the paduak, animal - the dugong, and bird - the Andaman teal; besides exhibits of the various wood processing techniques and equipment used in the mill.&nbsp; &nbsp; For those who are more keen on the action, the mill is the place to be. We sidestep consignments of massive logs and walk past the rail track meant to ferry material within the compound. Strategically built near the sea, transportation of load between the wharf and the mill must have been the reason for the choice of location. We are a little tentative as we enter the mill and walk into the midst of the workers and their action. The noise levels inside, coupled with the sight of the menacing saw blades are enough to make you squeamish. It is more like watching a trailer of the Texan chainsaw massacre. Seasoned mill workers are going about their jobs with deadpan faces even as we gingerly follow each other, struggling to stay out of reach of oversized logs being sliced by razor sharp, motor-driven blades. Some of the equipment, it appears, has been in use for decades. It is heartening to note that the focus on environment conservation and the indiscriminate felling of trees has reduced the output of the mill, with only enough work being done to keep the staff from being laid off. &nbsp; It is now past 10 and we pause for breakfast. A quick bite at Annapurna and we are back on the road. And it is not just the dosas and filter coffee that have us energised - the next fixture is virtually the most looked forward to...the Cellular Jail. The brief glimpse we had of the structure in the fading light and the sound and light show had only whetted our appetite for a closer look.&nbsp; There is something arresting (pun unintended!) about just the gates that lead you inside the jail. Maybe you have read up on and seen so many images of this iconic establishment that seeing it in brick and stone before you is an unsettling sight. We begin our visit with the small but well done up museums that serve well to be a foreword to a chilling story. &nbsp; The photo exhibition housed in the left wing of the entrance building jogs your forgotten history lessons and puts the role of the jail in perspective with India's freedom struggle. A display of paintings in the hall next door captures on canvas the angst of the period. On the right wing is a more telling exposition of the life and times of all who lived and all that happened within the prison compound. Tableaus, representations, actual items used and informative write-ups do the job to prepare the visitor emotionally to see the real thing inside. &nbsp; Despite having felt the goosebumps at seeing the structure the first time, we can't help feeling the same again. The neat compound with flowerbeds and tourists all around still doesn't take away the horror and shock the setting invokes. A shed near the garden, just in front of the wing is a grim reminder of the brutality meted out to the prisoners. An oil kolhu meant to be operated by the inmates stands before a comfortable chair - this is the seat used by the prison warden to watch over the spectacle before him.&nbsp; Between the cabin of the jailor and one corner of the cell's wing are the gallows. Stairs take you down to the bowels of a large pit-like room where the prisoners are walked to for the last time. Just how near the sea is to the jail can be gauged from one stark, startling fact that we are told by John as we peer into the dark depths of the gallows. Once a prisoner is declared dead and his body dropped down in a miserable heap, the wooden floor below is tilted till the lifeless fighter got his freedom from his chained life, and slid down a concrete chute into the swirling waters of the ocean. It is in that one moment that he literally is sent to Kalapani. &nbsp; But none of this can match the prime exhibit of the complex - the cells themselves. Just climbing the stairs sends a tingling sensation of walking up the bloodied paths of a sad page in history. The corridor says it all in a way words cannot. Stories of how David Barry and his men let loose their inhumanity and even shielded the goings on from the outside world are legendary. But if they were hard at heart, the resolve of the freedom fighters was harder. But it's the painful memories and the indignation suffered by the best lives the country produced that have proved to be the hardest. &nbsp; Seven wings built around a central tower had to be a result of a stroke of the cruellest genius. Guards had a clear view of all wings without the wings themselves having any contact with each other. Built to house 696 inmates, the cells are just 12ft by 7ft, with an iron grill door with heavy padlocks and bolts; and a trapdoor to shove in food. Calls of nature were answered in tiny pots that, often, overflowed till the inmate is let out for his daily load of toil. Punishments were as abominable as the imagination of the jailor could get. From slaving on the dreaded oil-grinding machine to being fettered to solitary confinement, there were innumerable variations of torture which had been perfected into a fine art by the jailers. But it is probably the mental trauma - more than the physical - that often broke many of the prisoners. Most of them didn't know if their families were alive, of if the families knew that they were alive. For that matter, they didn't even know if there fellow inmates were alive. It is said that two brothers were in the jail for years without either of them knowing this. &nbsp; Prominently marked on the staircase and labelled outside the cell itself, Veer Savarkar's cell - his abode of one full decade - is at the extreme end of the corridor. An additional grill door has to be crossed to reach the main one. Inside, his photograph and a write-up brings the historically challenged to speed on the great man. It's hard to imagine that he lived in that very cell - and gazed at those walls for hours on end, day after day, for a full ten years. Apparently, most cells bore writings and drawings in chalk or coal till the present day authorities decided to whiteish the walls! Which is probably just a little less inexplicable than opting to convert one full wing of the jail into a modern hospital!! I am sure this level of cleanliness and medical facilities would well have been appreciated if these were implemented a hundred years ago rather than today!!! &nbsp; Standing atop the terrace of the jail, a 360 degree view is probably the visual treat that those unfortunate prisoners who lived here for years never had. While on one side are the intact wings of the jail and the converted one housing the hospital, on the other stretches a canvas of sea, islands and ferries. There is an eerie silence and a balmy breeze blowing in from the sea that makes the scene almost surreal.&nbsp; &nbsp; Below, inside the tower, there is a tribute paid to the freedom struggle - the names of all who were imprisoned, images of newspaper reports and photographs line up the walls. Kalapani, in all its fearsome notoriety, has always been that gruesome chapter in history, the ultimate romanticisation of patriotism and British brutality. For most Indians, it is a long time ago and a long way away. That's understandable, to an extent. But, anyone who has seen this incredible monument would have just isted a week and his airfare if he did not get a lump in his throat and felt his hair on his neck stand on end. And what better way to sum up the message that this experience is likely to leave one with: &nbsp; 'When you go home Tell them of us, and say, "For your tomorrow We gave our today.'" The history lessons continue, only the classroom changes. We escape from the Cellular Jail, pretty much prisoners of its harrowing past. Next up is another chapter from a forgotten past, an island that's not about beaches and corals - more a theatre of ghostly stories and settings.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211472120/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211472120/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1211472120/tpod.html Sat, 12 Jul 2008 04:59:57 -0400 Much more than a few dots on the map! Away in the Andamans...

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Havelock, India

Day 4 - Thursday, 22nd May, 2008 &nbsp;The alarm goes off at 4.30 and those of us who want to catch the spectacle of the sunrise splash our sleepy faces awake and walk out into the fading darkness. &nbsp;The resort is not really up and about - just a couple of tourists sitting by the short wall that cut off the compound from the sea. A hue of pale golden streaks the raw blue of the sky from behind the clouds. But what is even more fascinating a sight is the sea itself. Yesterday, the waves were almost touching the compound wall of the resort - there was hardly any sand in sight. And now, in low tide, the water is at least fifty metres away, exposing a damp terrain with rocks strewn all around. As for the sea itself, she is a limper version with tame waves lazily flowing in. &nbsp;We sit on the wall, taking in the brilliant morning sky, a calm sea and the general peace and quiet around. Once the sun has succeeded in breaking free from behind the clouds and the morning light began to get clearer, we walk on the broad wall towards the northern end of the resort. This is where the Shyamnagar beach begins modestly and is more sandy. What catches our eye is a fallen tree trunk and resting on it is a dead needlefish, probably swept in overnight in high tide. It looks a sorry sight, having been reduced to fodder for hundreds of ants that have enveloped it, helping themselves to an early breakfast.&nbsp; Meanwhile, ours is a couple of hours away, and none of us want to go back to bed. We finish our packing and get ready - we have to leave the resort with our bags after checkout. By 8, we get into the Sumo and are heading for the jetty. The ferry back to Port Blair is at 4.30, so this leaves us with enough time to visit Elephant Beach for a snorkelling session, get back to the market for lunch and report by 4 for the journey back. &nbsp;We keep our bags at Nala's, Raja's restaurant near the jetty - this is where our lunch will also be waiting. The half-hour ride to Elephant beach is to be done in a small, motor-powered boat that seats about ten adults. Though fast, we soon realise that the boat is just as noisy and spewing fumes. Besides the boatman who is squatting precariously on the bow, there is a short and muscular man, presumably our snorkelling guide - he has lugged some equipment on board after we had all got in.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The boat speeds on, cutting through the steel blue waters, turning northwest past a small lighthouse. This is the closest we have got to the surface while in motion - but none of us really feels uncomfortable as we measure the waves with every lunge. The tide has picked up by now and the sea looks even more swollen from the squatting position of our tiny boat. &nbsp;We feel the speed dropping and the motor sputtering toning down - but peering ahead we hardly see a beach, let alone a jetty. All that is in sight is an inflated sign that says 'Caution - Divers below' bobbing in the clear waters. Is this our destination? The guide doesn't think it necessary to explain, but a couple of similar boats come into view at a small clearing by the shore. Soon, a few tourists can also be sighted splashing in the waters - a couple are also a little way into the sea, lying on their stomach with their snorkelling snouts sticking out. So this is Elephant beach. Without any pretensions of being even a poor cousin of the gorgeous Radhanagar, this is more of a snorkelling mecca, with a rich field of corals nearby. Apparently, this also used to be a good beach till the tsunami hit Havelock. Sure enough, a closer look at the waterfront and a short walk into the woods behind confirms this. Though much of the coral reefs got swept away, what remains is still a good draw for snorkelling, and the more costlier but rewarding scuba dives. We get off the boat and feel the water. Unlike Radhanagar, one can't venture in more than ten metres into the sea without losing footing. As for the shore (not so much a beach), there is just space enough for a changing shed and a few logs to sit on.&nbsp; There is not even a shack here to buy anything - all the trade and commerce is up to a sole vendor who has a few bunches of tender coconut and a bagful of biscuits. Because there is no habitation anywhere near by and it is a thick forest all around, he does not even bother to lock up his wares at the end of the day, just leaving it on shore and returning the next morning to continue business.&nbsp;&nbsp;There are just a few families - in all about twenty of us - at the site, so the place doesn't look too crowded. We while our time in the water, waiting our turn to snorkel. Each session is of ten minutes and once we have our lifeguard on, we are ready to get the rest of the gear in place. After strapping on the diving glasses and tucking in one end of the windpipe around the teeth, the guide leads you in to the sea, holding you by the hand. All we need to ensure is that we breath only through our mouth and take in the view. &nbsp;It is a different world that waits for you even in the relatively shallow depths here. It's almost as if someone has switched on the lights, illuminating the fantastic life below. The perfect blend of flora and fauna coming alive is what strikes you. The sea-bed appears laid with the most unimaginable colours and designs, the beauty of the corals resplendent in its variety. What completes the picture is the presence of aquatic life in an equally inconceivable array of colours, each type of fish more striking than the other. A passing water snake too makes a pretty sight even as a laidback baby turtle paddles by. A school of blazing violet fish flits about the surface, brushing against the corals. If the magic of the underwater world can come alive with just the humble snorkel, imagine what a full blown, one hour scuba diving session can conjure up. The costs may be prohibitive - it's a cost-benefit analysis that needs some serious thought to it.&nbsp;&nbsp;With each of us having had our share of the snorkelling experience, there is nothing else to do but to just sit back and take in the picture perfect vista of the locale. We walk in into the woods to explore the place - nothing much there, the ravages of the tsunami is all too evident. As the killer waves hit, in the early hours of the morning, there was no one on the spot where we stand. Otherwise, the vendor adds as he chops off the head of a coconut, everyone present would have been in mid-sea in seconds and snorkelling for the rest of their lives!&nbsp;We leave by about 1pm. The mid-day sun is now right above our heads and has been beating down on our bare backs and limbs, toasting the skin tender. We don't mind the cacophony of the motor and its spewing fumes as long as we can get under some shade, even if it is the makeshift roof of the small boat. &nbsp;In time for lunch, we walk into Nala's and huddle under a ceiling fan, mildly dehydrated and utterly exhausted. All along we had prayed for the rain gods to stay away and willed the sun to shine on. But, we all agree, much better to feel the heat than to have to put up with incessant downpours. &nbsp;Lunch is a tasty, homely affair - anyway, we are all hungry and keep the waiters busy. We have received word from Raja that he is waiting at the jetty with our return tickets. Check-in time is another 2 hours away, so we have time to walk around, maybe shop around for some souvenirs. We have become great fans of the small bananas that were in such abundance all over Andamans. And at Rs.10/- for a bunch, they are a real steal. What is even more memorable is the chance encounter we have with an aged vendor from whom we buy two bunches. After we pay him his due, he goes on to hand each of us one banana each. When we venture to recompense him for those, he just shakes his head in a firm manner. We persist, taking into account his meagre means and his benevolence, but he stands his ground. He just will not take money for those, and that is that! In an age where the bottom line gets atop ideals and the goal is invariably to make a fast buck than a fair one, here is a welcome, refreshing exception to modern day corporate rules. &nbsp;With time on our hands, we leisurely stroll past the small shops on the road to the jetty. Most are owned by Bengalis, who make up the majority population in Havelock. There is even a Durga temple just opposite the restaurant, and we hear scraps of Bangla from the modest houses behind the market. &nbsp;We meet Raja at the jetty and join other passengers inside a cramped waiting hall. Outside on the bulletin board, an interesting notice catches our eye. Shantaram, the bestseller which is slated to be &nbsp;filmed, had some beach scenes that Mira Nair wanted to shoot in Goa. When she heard about the Andamans and Havelock Island, she landed here with Johnny Depp and found the Radhanagar beach and the backdrop of the thick woods to create the perfect frames.&nbsp;The jetty is now bustling with tourists and there are two ships scheduled to leave in the space of half an hour. MV Strait Island is the first to pull up anchor even as we spot MV Wandoor, our ship, headed our way. We say goodbye to Havelock at 4.30 and are, soon, cruising along on the high seas. It is getting on sundown and we find ourselves back on the deck. There is a cool breeze blowing in and with the sun having set, a slight chill is hanging in the air. Now the swirling waters below look even more ominous and it isn't a pretty thought to imagine what one's chances might be if one were to tip over. At the pace at which we are cruising, it would be a long time before a search party could even locate you! But, mercifully, the worst in terms of a disaster that normally takes place are sea-sick passengers throwing up, and not throwing themselves off.&nbsp;&nbsp;The lights of Port Blair glimmer in the distance, steadily getting brighter in the dark of the night. For some time, all that we can see is a halo of light from the ship reflecting on the gloomy surface of the ocean. For as long as the eye can see, there is just the darkness and the ghost of a shoreline following us on our right. A solitary lighthouse diligently keeps up its flashing in a set and coded pattern. &nbsp;We drop speed as we enter Phoenix Bay. Outlines of other ships and the jetty is growing in clarity and, just after 6.30, we dock. Saleem and John play up their ubiquitous waiting game and escort us to the cab. With the Andaman day drawing, as usual, to an early close, there is little we can do that evening. Dinner at Icy Spicy later, we retire back to our hotel. There is plenty to do and cover on the morrow and we turn in for the day. Mt. Harriet, Ross Island, and of course, the Cellular Jail. If possible, John promises, we could pack in Chiriyatapu too. With the alarm set for a more comfortable 6am, we turn off the lights.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/corbett-2007/1185730620/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/corbett-2007/1185730620/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/corbett-2007/1185730620/tpod.html Wed, 09 Jul 2008 08:29:59 -0400 A visit to Corbett National Park, two weeks before the monsoons. While the big cat remained elusive, the rains could not rob us of the sublime experience of taking in the wild...

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Corbett National Park, Ramnagar, India

&nbsp;It was still raining when the train pulled into Ramnagar station. &nbsp;The night before, we had left a sweltering Delhi behind and were chugging along in the Ranikhet-Corbett Link Express through the humid June night when my slumber was punctuated by what I thought were intermittent dreams of a bountiful monsoon. It wasn't till I had tossed and turned a few times on the narrow train berth that I realised that it was more than&nbsp;a dream. It was a nightmare! God in heaven, it was raining!&nbsp;Our wildlife holiday was going to be a total wash-out!&nbsp;And pour it did - all the way from Moradabad till Ramnagar. At Moradabad, the train splits into two different entities, with one half heading for Ranikhet and the other for Ramnagar. As the train pulled out of the Moradabad station, we knew we had made the right decision to board the section headed for Corbett. But very soon, the decision itself to board a train to Corbett in the second week of June suddenly didn't appear to be such a wise one. We hadn't expected it to be raining just then - well, had to be one of Nature's naughty little plans to ruin ours.&nbsp;Ramnagar is not the busiest of stations, and at 5.30 in the morning, is clearly not at its chirpiest. And with the rain coming down by the bucketful, the platform looked desolate. Even after the train came to a halt, it took us a good half hour to find a short break in the downpour to leave the compartment and make a dash for the covered platform some distance away.&nbsp;As you can see, a bad start to this travelogue. After all, the holiday itself hadn't gotten off to any decent a start. But even an average trip can have its high points. I can think of at least two for ours.&nbsp;The monsoon in Corbett is expected, usually, after June 15th. But it's wiser not to travel after June 1st. It's still possible to have fun in Corbett, even if it rains.&nbsp;&nbsp; Even as it continued to thunder and pour, we waited in the dark for our pick up to happen. There weren't too many tourists on the train - and I had reckoned that half the crowd would consist of eager wildlifers. We sat perched on our suitcases (there wasn't a bench around that was dry!) and watched as the rest of the passengers melted away into the Kumaon [1] dawn in rickety old autorickshaws [2] and the ubiquitous Maruti Gypsies [3].&nbsp;When our cab finally arrived, we scrambled in and shivered in the wet clothes and the cold breeze flapping in. Outside, Ramnagar was only just beginning to wake up, and the rain wasn't really helping the town come to life. We passed deserted streets and were soon zipping past the emerald green of the Corbett countryside. But, all along, the rain continued its fury and we watched with growing dismay at the possibility of our holiday getting washed out over the next four days. It seemed ironical that, back in the heat of Delhi, we used to look up and scour the sky for the ghost of a cloud. Here, in Corbett, we didn't dare to look up. Our driver negotiated the swelling and muddy Dhela river, flush with rainwater and the excess from the hills, before turning left into the village. A few kilometres further on and we spotted the first silver lining of an otherwise cloudy morning - Jim's Jungle Retreat, the lovely resort and our home for the next three nights and four days. &nbsp;For those of us who live in concrete jungles and long to be in the natural ones, God made places like Corbett. Creating it just 250 kms from Delhi is both a testimony to His benevolence and His sense of humour. Sure, Man did need an easy break from file pushing, meeting targets and attending meetings; only, it should be near enough to long for a visit, but far enough not to be able to visit frequently. But no one is complaining. So long as we have someplace nearby as sublime as Corbett National Park, we can put up with the odd heartbreaks.Resting at the foothills of the majestic Himalayas, in beautiful Kumaon, lies the Corbett National Park, the famous home of Jim Corbett, the big game hunter turned conservationist, after whom was named India's first tiger sanctuary. Spread over 1318.54 sq. km., the core area of 520.82 sq. km forms the Corbett National Park; the other 797.72 sq. km. of buffer area contains reserve forests and the Sonanadi Wildlife Sanctuary. &nbsp;In 1936, the forest was called the Hailey National Park, the first in the subcontinent. A renaming (Ramganga National Park post India's independence) later, it was rechristened in 1957 as Corbett National Park in the memory of India's foremost wildlife ambassador, and was the pilot for the ambitious conservation program, Project Tiger, launched in 1973. Headquartered in Ramnagar under a Field Director and his team of dedicated wildlife professionals, Corbett Tiger Reserve is among the best known wildlife parks in India. And, while it boasts of the largest tiger population - about 141 in the last official count, the real charm of the area is the forest itself. Flanked by the Ramganga and the Kosi rivers, it's floral diversity at its best, including 110 species of trees, 51 species of shrubs, 27 species of climbers and 33 species of bamboo and grass. The enduring image of the forest is that of the Sal tree (<i>Shorea robusta), said to have a life of about 300 years, which accounts for nearly 75% of the area. The pipal (<i>Ficus religiosa), banyan (Ficus benghalensis), mango (<i>Mangifera indica), teak (<i>Tectona grandis), sheesham (<i>Dalbergia sissoo) and tendu (<i>Diospyros melanoxylon) are some of the other trees found here.&nbsp;To stay overnight in the reserve, one needs to stay at one of the 24 Forest Rest Houses in the reserve with the popular ones being Bijrani, Gairal, Sultan, Sarpduli, Khinnanauli, Dhikala, Lohachaur and Halduparao. For the quintessential wildlife experience, book yourself into one of these and be one with the jungle. While Dhikala is the largest and quite the epicentre of action, a night in any of these FRHs is just as thrilling an experience as any. Only a fixed number of vehicles are permitted for the day visits to each of the forests, unless of course you are camping at one of the FRHs which gives you the luxury of driving around in your own vehicle.&nbsp;Given the spontaneity of our decision to visit Corbett, we knew we wouldn't get accommodation in any of the FRHs at such short notice. So, the next best option was to find a resort that was as close to wildlife and nature as possible. We shortlisted Jim's Jungle Retreat on those lines and, as we were about to experience, were not disappointed at all.We checked into one of the twenty pretty cottages of the resort. Spacious and well-appointed, there was a natural feel built into it and it blended in beautifully with the lush greenery around. Developed on the fringes of the Jhirna forest, the whole resort almost looked as though it were part of the wild.&nbsp; &nbsp;Apparently, till the day before, Ramnagar and the region was also reeling under a heat wave and the local folks were all praying for some rain. The rain god sure was kind to his devotees. Maybe we just forgot to pray - that it did not rain!&nbsp;The friendliness of the staff served to lift our spirits - but that, of course, did nothing to stem the outpour. Just when we thought we would have to stay cooped up indoors and watch the rain ruin our holidays, it let up a little. Seizing this opportunity, we decided to go for a jungle walk along the Dhela river. We didn't expect to see any mammals but were looking forward to spot some bird species. &nbsp;That night, during dinner, our resort manager walked up to us sympathetically and suggested that we could try for a morning safari into Jhirna - provided the weather holds up. We went to bed with a prayer and woke up at 4am the next morning. Bleary eyed, I rushed out onto the verandah of our cottage. It was dark outside, but one didn't need light to make out the mood of the weather. There was an irritating, if half-hearted, drone of a drizzle which spelt uncertainty more than anything else. It wasn't bad enough to rule out the safari, but wasn't encouraging either.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;'You have to reach the Forest Office at Ramnagar and check if they are allowing safaris.' Mr. Bose, the manager, shrugged helplessly. 'But, you would have to reach early to get a permit, if they are.'&nbsp;We hoped for the best and hopped in after a quick morning tea. Zipping through the falling rain and the still of the morning, we reached the Forest Office and got the bad news. No safaris in the morning. Apparently, heavy downpours make a mess of the jungle roads and hamper navigation. Not a risk that the Forest Department readily takes. Moreover, the rains mean an assurance of easy water source all over the jungle. There wouldn't be any need for a wild animal to venture out to the watering holes or the riverbanks. In short, the chances of sighting any animal - let alone the superstars - are few and far between.&nbsp;With its wildlife portfolio that boasts of 582 species of birds, 26 species of reptiles, 7 species of amphibians and 50 species of mammals, it would be foolishness to visit Corbett with the sole intention of sighting the tiger. If that was what was needed, all one needed to do was head for the Delhi zoo! &nbsp;As we sat waiting interminably in the rain trying hard not to listen to the pitter-patter on the jeep's roof, Daboo, our driver-cum-guide tried to cheer us up. 'Not to worry, Sa'abji [4]. We will make up as much as we can.'&nbsp;Most were in no mood to settle for any consolation prizes, but he seemed to know his Corbett well enough. As for us, we were ready to see a lesser known face of this forest. And, before long, we were crossing the Kosi river and headed for the Sitavani forest. &nbsp;&nbsp;Sitavani is part of the Corbett buffer zone and, though there is a gated entrance, does not require any special permits to venture inside. Due to the rains, it looked particularly green and fresh, and the drive through the verdant woods was a great re-introduction to what an outstanding forest Corbett is. Wildlife sighting was rare, which was expected. But we did see langurs, chitals and a few birds. A half hour drive through a classic stretch of deciduous green forest and we reached the Sitavani temple, dedicated to Goddess Sita. &nbsp;We were back at the resort by 2 pm and were, post lunch, wondering where to head for in the afternoon. Much as the resort promised beauty and luxury, we were in no mood to be anywhere but the jungle. And, we were in for a pleasant surprise. Dabboo was to drive us into the adjoining forest, a part of the Jhirna zone which did not require any permits or entrance through the main Jhirna gate.&nbsp;We drove out of the retreat gates and into the woods. A few hundred metres inside and we began to get the jungle feel already. This was clearly a more inhabited - at least evidently so - and navigable region and, soon, we began sighting wildlife.&nbsp; Just a few minutes into the safari and we were in for a pleasant surprise. No, it was not a tiger or a leopard, but something just as rare. High up on one of the branches sat the Great Indian Hornbill, a sight both for sore eyes and shutters. There was more to come and we saw the serpent eagle, nightjar, oriental magpie, rufous woodpecker, kingfisher, Indian treepies, and even a baby red wattled lapwing being tended to by his fussing parents. &nbsp;Ahead, a group of invisible cicadas was holding a grand, mid-forest marathon concert. Suddenly, the jeep slowed down. Dabboo's keen eyes had spotted a monitor lizard up on the branch of a sal tree. Statue still, the reptile seemed to be staring at some far away spot in the skies, absolutely oblivious of its audience.&nbsp;In a clearing in the woods we found a small thatched hut where some men were busy working. It turned out to be a dairy where they made fresh and delicious khoya, a by product of milk, used as a substitute in sweets. Around them were tall sal trees populated by langur families, unmindful of the human presence. &nbsp;We drove through the woods spotting a sambhar here and a wild boar there. The rain had its plus points too - the jungle looked as though it had just been dipped in water and was at its freshest and greenest. There were large anthills all around, some even six feet tall, sitting still like sages deep in meditation for years together. &nbsp;It had been over three hours that we had been enjoying the wild and its many treasures. Now it was time to head back for the retreat. We spent the evening exploring the contents of the retreat's well stocked library and looking up its many wildlife titles and magazines. We decided to dine and retire early as we had to be ready by 5 am for the half-day safari the next morning. &nbsp;The Dhikala safari can be undertaken in the morning or the afternoon. We chose the morning one, leaving room for a second chance should the first one be washed away. There were overhanging clouds strewn about in the dark sky and we just kept our fingers crossed in hope. At the Forest Department office, besides many private vehicles, two Canters stood with anxious, nervous tourists ready to board it. Most had one eye on the sky and the other on their wristwatch. A little before 8 am, we got onto a Canter and waited till it filled up with a sundry assortment of a noisy bunch in the back and a silent family in the front. There was just a hint of a drizzle as we drove past the many private resorts on the Ranikhet Road till we reached the Dhangari gate, the entrance to Dhikala, the largest range in Corbett.&nbsp;Just before the Dhangari gate, the vehicle slowed down and a guide hopped on, introduced himself and gave a small dissertation on the need to be eco-friendly and what to expect and what not to. He reminded our excited backbenchers that they shouldn't be expecting to see a National Geographic or Animal Planet programme and that the real jungle excursion could both delight and frustrate. He also glared at a bunch of kids chattering away and munching on packets of chips and declared that the group would be better off being silent, not to scream if they spotted anything, and yes, no object was to be disposed off outside of the vehicle. We also had about 15 min to ourselves. We got down and checked out what was on sale at the souvenir shop. Just by the roadside, there was also a prominent bust of Gentleman Jim and a museum dedicated to the great man, which we decided to visit on our way back.&nbsp;The Canter [5], as compared to the Gypsy, is a much noisier vehicle and we realised we were creating quite a clamour as we tottered on. We climbed to a decent altitude and now could see the Ramganga flowing below. We peered through our binoculars hoping to sight muggers, alligators, otters, anything at all. But, tough luck, the sun wasn't out, and worse still, it was drizzling. All we knew was that the river should be flush with the famed mahaseer fish, which made the area an angler's delight.&nbsp;&nbsp; Soon it was a thick and proper jungle around us and the Canter thundered through, shattering the silence. We wondered how one could hope to encounter any animals in that racket. Our guide looked at both sides to try and spot a movement. We slowed down near a tree and he stuck his arm out to show us tiger claws on a tree - the closest we were to get to the big cat! As for animals in the flesh, we did see flocks of chital, sambhars, wild boars and two wild elephants lurking behind trees. Of course, we also spotted a dozen bird species as well, the most memorable being the sight of the exotic Asian Paradise Flycatcher in flight, complete with its extra long white tail fluttering in the breeze. We passed the Forest Rest Houses and our guide informed us that just a week ago, a tusker had rammed into a Canter.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Just as we reached Dhikala, we were in for some misfortune. While the chaur [6] with its savannah like tall grasses spread far and wide looked just ideal for wildlife sighting, the dark clouds looming in the horizon were certainly not reassuring. And, before long, what we feared happened. It began as a drizzle and then came down in buckets. It started spraying into the Canter and we knew that our safari was wrecked. We were nearing the Dhikala FRH and were, anyway, to take a break there. So, there we all sat, cooped up and munching morosely on biscuits and gulping down sweet ginger tea. There was no sign of a let-up and we had to leave Dhikala without spotting anything more. The journey back was quite wet and depressing and the rain ensured that we couldn't even stop at the Dhangari gate to check out the Corbett museum. At the Forest Department Office, we were picked up by Dabbo and driven back to camp. A hot lunch later, we caught up with the fine book stock at the in-house library. We had been rising early and had some sleep debt to clear - so with nothing much lined up for the evening, dozed off for about three hours. We woke up to be told that there was a wildlife slide show happening before dinner and that it was being conducted by Mr. Imran Khan.&nbsp;By the way, there's one other good reason to be at Jim's Jungle Retreat. The reason happens to be a life-long, die-hard wildlife professional, Mr. Imran Khan. Mr. Khan runs the retreat almost like a labour of love. An ex-Forest Department officer, he has been associated with wildlife for the last twenty odd years. A mine of wildlife information, a superb conversationalist, and above all, a very warm human being, he spent an evening regaling us academically and anecdotally.&nbsp;&nbsp;The fourth day we were slated for an elephant safari into the Bijrani forest. As one of the only two Forest Department elephants which ferry visitors on the official safari had recently died, getting a booking on the remaining one was not easy. Instead, our retreat arranged for a ride in the Bijrani forest through a private operator. So, we proceeded towards the Amdanda Gate which is the entrance to the Bijrani range. But ours was not a Forest Department organised safari and hence could not use the main entrance and visit the official Bijrani forest. After a half hour wait, she emerged out of the jungle and climbed on to the road and came trundling towards us. Our elephant had just done a two hour walk through and showed off the wild to a family of four who got off with mixed emotions - great experience but no tiger. Kalina came across as a calm and uncomplaining pachyderm and looked ready for another walk in the woods. &nbsp;We left the highway behind as Kalina wrought a gentle havoc in its path. In we went perched comfortably on our intrepid carrier who didn't think twice about making its own, new routes. Bushes, branches, even small trees were no match for her. Mounds we thought were insurmountable, inclines we didn't believe could be stepped into - Kalina kept striding on. The jungle now was getting thicker and, well, more populated. &nbsp;'We are headed for Phool Tal'. Our guide was Kalina's mahout and he was in charge of the safari. &nbsp;Phool means flowers and Tal is lake. Not bad - we sure were headed for a pretty spot. &nbsp;'This is a popular spot in the Bijrani forest. In the monsoon, the lake is full and overflowing. In any case, it's a great spot to see animals. Just last week we saw a tiger,' he waved towards a small hillock to our right, 'there'. &nbsp;We looked around, hoping to see a black and yellow head. But, for now, we would have to be content with just its tale! &nbsp;&nbsp;A herd of chitals (spotted deer) stood their ground, with only one nervous young member considering flight. &nbsp;The mahout (also our guide) turned back without taking his eyes off the animals. 'Sa'abji, if you were on a Gypsy or a Canter, you wouldn't get to see them this close.' He whispered triumphantly. 'With an elephant, they feel much more secure.'&nbsp;Next on was a couple of sambhars. They too just hung about, but watchful. Phool Tal was a large patch, and beautiful. Lush green, it was nature at its best. Come monsoon, it would soon be flooded, but for the while, it was perfectly navigable. &nbsp;A wild boar scurried into the bushes. Langurs swung from branch to branch. It was a perfect spot to do some serious birdwatching.&nbsp;Just then, a series of calls split the air. We looked about, and at the mahout, hopefully.&nbsp;'Chitals. Mating call. If it were a tiger around, the cry would be much more shrill'.&nbsp;Kalina kept up the pace for another hour before returning us to our starting point. Before we disembarked, she gracefully posed for a group photograph taken by her gracious mahout. It was almost as if we had visited a different world. Stepping back on to the highway was almost a return to reality.&nbsp;We hadn't seen a tiger, not even a leopard. But we were no less spellbound. The Corbett experience can be fulfilling all the same. &nbsp;As we had a night train and there wasn't time for any more safaris, we knew we still had time enough for a walk around the retreat, catching up on some birding. The purple sunbirds in the bush by the pool had been a favourite. So were the Indian Rollers, the Ashy Prinia and the Spotted Munia - in fact, the retreat itself was such a treasure trove of birds. We were done with our packing and also settled the bill and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the verandah taking in, once more, all the sounds coming in from the forest. To round it off, we lazed by the poolside yet again and watched the dusk melt in various hues into the water. We also had the cicadas doing an encore in the background.By 8 in the night, we had loaded our bags onto the Gypsy and bade goodbye to our hosts and to all the sights and sounds of the retreat. Then, Dabboo got behind the wheel and drove us to the station to catch the Ranikhet Express back to Delhi.&nbsp;So, that is the story of our Corbett holiday. More learnings than sightings, perhaps, but we were still a happy pair of wildlife lovers. So long as one knows that there are tigers and all those other wonderful animals and birds in Corbett, and if one can even share space with them, that's as successful a wildlife outing as any. After all, just being in a forest as beautiful as Corbett and being able to spend your days and nights there is a great wildlife adventure.&nbsp;So, enjoy it while the jungle and its flora and fauna are still there. And because it is still there, do your bit to ensure that it stays there - if you want your children and your grandchildren to be able to take that wildlife vacation several years down the line and enjoy it...just as much as you do today. &nbsp;When to visit: The Corbett Tiger Reserve, situated in the north Indian state of Uttaranchal, remains open from mid-November to mid-June. March to June can be very hot but the chances to make animal sightings best, given their tendency to visit watering holes. Where to stay: Plenty of accommodation options (of all budgets) available at Ramnagar with some very good wildlife resorts in the nearby areas. The Forest Dept. also has 24 rest houses inside the reserve which promise the authentic wildlife experience. Advance booking recommended for these. Getting there: Air: The nearest airport is at Phoolbagh, Pantnagar, 51 km away, but the better options would be to catch a train or drive/be driven.Rail: Ramnagar station is almost in the town itself, a convenient drive from most of the resorts. The Ranikhet Express leaves the Old Delhi Railway Station at night and reaches you in Ramnagar early the next morning and, similarly, leaves Ramnagar in the night and reaches Delhi early the next morning.Road: Driving down to Ramnagar is a good option and will take you about six hours (about 300 kms) from Delhi. The advantage with driving yourself is the possibility of visiting Nainital, Ranikhet, Almora or any of the many, lovely hill stations in the Kumaon region. A bus ride is comfortable, provided you are traveling Volvo class.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Glossary :[1] A region in the Himalayas famous for its beauty and wildlife. [2] A motorized three wheeler used to ferry upto 3 passengers.[3] A jeep, used mostly by the Indian Army and pressed for service in the forests and for offroading.[4] Hindi for 'Sir'[5] A large van which can seat between 20 to 25, modified for use in wildlife parks[6] savannah-like flat, open plain with thick undergrowth and tall grasses.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1215530100/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1215530100/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/5/1215530100/tpod.html Tue, 08 Jul 2008 13:55:16 -0400 Much more than a few dots on the map! Away in the Andamans...

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Port Blair, India

Day 3 - Wednesday, 21st May, 2008 &nbsp;The MV Strait Island heaves and sighs near-noiselessly as we watch Port Blair recede into the distance. Standing on the deck, with some other restless passengers, we take in the morning air and the sights of the open sea as it pans out before us. To our right, the island runs parallel to our course, with nothing but thick, wooded, beachless sea-front - the tide is still high and will not recede till late morning. Sea-gulls hang about lazily above and the parted waters now are leaving a frothy trail behind us. When we look down at the waves, at first we see just the menacing waters, but a closer look reveals a spectacle - the breaking surf is going into a spin and dissolving from a dark-blue to a lovely, light turquoise. With the wind in our hair and nothing but the sound of the ship's dull motors and the beating of the waves, we sip hot coffee and share the deck with a bunch of students playing antakshari.&nbsp; As we struggle to shake off the last vestiges of slumber, we realise that - for all the abundance of everything good in these islands - what is scarce in the Andaman is sleep! At 5.30am, we are ready and waiting at Phoenix Jetty, marvelling at the smart MV Strait Island lying docked alongside other steamers operated by the Shipping Corporation of India. Smart, liveried, officers in white can be seen going about their chores even as a mix of stunned and animated crowd well up on the pier, eager to get aboard. These fast ships are a world apart from the noisy, patchy ferry that had done us service to Viper Island. We have opted for the normal bunk class which turn out to be a really decent, comfortable affair. But the best travellers are the ones who get out there where the action is - and, thus, we snake our way through a narrow corridor and up the staircase and onto the deck. &nbsp;Of course, not many can sustain their interest in the unchanging surroundings and, with time, retire from the deck. We hang on - and are rewarded suitably with the sights of a pair of prancing dolphins that dive in and out of the waters; some flying fish that pop out of the sea to flop in back; and finally, the sea-side front of the Jarawa country. &nbsp;Close to 8.30am, after two hours of having left Port Blair and one hour of being on the open sea, we spot the ghostly outline of what we think is land. A deck-hand confirms our estimate - we are nearing Havelock Islands. 54kms north-east of Port Blair, this garden of Eden is 100 sq.kms. of pristine tropical forest. But it's what runs around it that makes people get up before dawn and endure a sleepy, two hour cruise to reach it - the lovely, sandy beaches! And it's these unspoilt, gorgeous beaches that adorn the albums and the memories of all those fortunate to land on these shores.&nbsp; We dock at 8.30 sharp and are met by Raja, the travel agent hooked up by John and Saleem. We hop on to a Sumo and are driven through a scenery of tropical green. The Dolphin's Nest is about 3kms from the jetty, on the eastern side of the island. Havelock is all about tourism and, hence, mostly devoid of any markets of note, other than the cluster around the jetty. The rest of it is sparsely inhabited (with the majority being Bengalis who first migrated in the 50s) and a riot of unspoilt jungle and sleepy villages. But every time Nature outdoes herself with a great painting, Man rushes in callously to mar the canvas. The Havelock that survived the tsunami is struggling against the ominous commercial tides that threaten to rip her off her natural wealth. Raja tells us, despondently, that real estate prices here are now skyrocketing with real estate developers purchasing land - mostly to build swanky, expensive resorts. An overload of tourist insensitivity and its attendant problems are bound to pose as serious challenges for both the administration and the locals. When a virgin, unspoilt paradise gets overwhelmed by plastic cultures and plastic discards, it's the environment and the ecology that ultimately suffers.&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dolphin's Nest is, strategically, in a perfect setting. Adjacent to the Shyamnagar beach, it sits prettily in a picture perfect sea-front. When we reach there, the tide is up and it is hard to imagine there can even be a beach there. The cottages are planted all across the compound, with two larger buildings, being the reception-cum-office and the restaurant. Once we have checked in, we ready ourselves for breakfast and the day ahead. We plan to hit the hotspot, Beach No.7, the Radhanagar beach. Interestingly, for a place that never fails to surpass your wildest expectation, the beaches themselves have been named rather effortlessly. At Havelock, they talk about Beach no.7 or Beach no.5 or Beach no.3 as if they were upgraded versions of some computer software. But, just to get the numbers correct, it's Beach no.7 that rules! Even a full day spent there leaves you wishing for more - as we are about to realise. Tomorrow, we plan to head for Elephant Beach, which is where the snorkelling and the scuba diving action is. &nbsp;We are a little unlucky in that we have missed out on breakfast at the resort's restaurant. Havelock, given its remoteness, is heavily dependent on Port Blair for its supplies. That means there is no real abundance of provisions and other items of daily use. What there is - and in excess - is great views, stretches of beautiful, sandy beaches on end, and dollops of peace and quiet. For the city-bred, who has an overdose of the FMCG kind and a famine of the Havelock possessions, a breakfast denied is nothing to fume about. We do, however, book our dinner and the next day's breakfast in advance.&nbsp;The ride to Radhanagar beach is through more green landscape with hardly any other four wheeled vehicle other than ours on the narrow, country roads. There are, though, enough and more motorbikes and cycles being ridden without any particular urgency by tourists, mostly foreigners. In the only shop that we spot outside our resort, we did see a notice advertising rentals of two wheelers. This, we realise, is one of the best ways to explore Havelock - but, of course, the size and mix of our group, and the fact that we can't wait to hit the beaches, forbade us from trying this out. &nbsp;A sudden sprouting of a half a dozen shacks on our left and a clutch of private cabs ahead tells us that we are tantalisingly close to the beach. We decide to catch a quick breakfast before changing in the public utilities-cum-changing room in front of the shacks. Dismissing our driver with the instruction to be back by 5pm, we head forward to the waters.&nbsp;We stand open-mouthed at what is, ostensibly, one of Asia's top 5 beaches. Havelock's Radhanagar Beach, popularly known as Beach no.7, has to be seen to be believed. To adjectivise it would have to be a doomed exercise.&nbsp; The golden sands shimmer in the soft sun and the waves fall upon it in splashes of frothy turquoise. The sky is a brilliant blue and, with the vista of a never ending stretch of thick, green coastline, the entire beach is a delight - both a surf-lover's and a photographer's. We run in and keep going in - the almost unfeeling slope and the velvety sand luring us in. The surf is up and the waves are the perfect blend of fun and safety. And then, turning around, we see the beauty of the shore, as seen from the waters. This, probably, is what separates a Havelock beach from the others - maybe, many Andaman beaches from the rest. &nbsp;Just where the sands end, the woods take over. Behind a resting hut is a clearing where cottages are being constructed - this is a proposed beach resort run by A&amp;N Tourism. Towards the north, a long stretch of huge trees fill every possible space on the shore. It looks like real, thick jungle and we are told that it is a haven for birdwatchers. Near the resort, there is an elephant tied to a large stump on the ground. The setting is perfect for a great day on the beach.&nbsp; &nbsp;We do good justice to the money spent on the Frisbee and the beach ball, build castles in the sand, and generally, have a terrific time in the water till about lunch. We visit the same shack where we had breakfast - we had also booked ourselves for lunch there. A homely meal later, we are back on the beach. By now, it is much hotter and, except for another two families, we have the whole place to ourselves. The walk down the beach to the northwest, by the thick jungle looks quite inviting. The fact that we are walking into the sunset is even more of an experience. We stroll over the criss-cross patterns made on the soft sand, watching crabs flit about the beach and diving into their holes upon seeing danger. If we continue on further, we would be skirting Havelock's western tip and heading eastwards to Elephant Beach. And that is where we are headed for tomorrow.&nbsp;At about six, we manage to tear ourselves from the lovely beachfront and walk back to our waiting cab. It is getting darker and there is nothing much that we can see now. We reach back at the resort and take a much needed bath and watch what bits of the golden sands wash away. Dinner is followed by a round of cards and a resolve to be up by 4.30 to watch the famed sunrise at Havelock. I half sleep, half see a boring IPL fixture before going off to sleep. It has been a day like no other. After all, how many days in the year do you get to holiday. And how many times out of those do you get to spend them on one of the most beautiful beaches in the world - living your childhood all over again, letting nature take its course...&nbsp;Tomorrow, we are checking out and saying goodbye to Havelock. But not before, we have checked out Elephant beach and done some serious snorkelling. Zzzzz...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/4/1176613200/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/4/1176613200/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/p.rajesh/4/1176613200/tpod.html Wed, 04 Jun 2008 04:04:29 -0400 The traveller as a pilgrim and a patriot - the account of a journey to Vaishno Devi, a shrine in Jammu; to Golden Temple, in Amritsar; and the Wagah, the India-Pakistan border.

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Amritsar, Punjab, India

Amritsar - One day amidst prayers, history and jingoism It was getting on sundown as we entered Punjab and passed through green countryside and small but bustling towns. We passed a mix of the state's rural and small-town landscape before we drove into Verka, a suburb of Amritsar that was home to one of the largest dairy factories in North India, supplying dairy products all over Punjab, Himachal Pradesh and Jammu &amp; Kashmir. At first glance, Amritsar is just another Punjabi town - busy and enterprising, yet charmingly native and, well...itself! Just that one found nothing to suggest that two of the best known landmarks of modern day India lay hidden somewhere nearby.&nbsp;15th April, 2007 - Sunday &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Our hotel was just adjoining the Golden Temple, which was great news. Especially because - and as the hotel staff also urged us to do so - we were keen on catching the early morning (and 4'o clock sure is early!) ritual at the Gurudwara. The famed transportation of the Palki (the palanquin) is indeed special. The Guru Granth Sahib, the holy book of the Sikhs is carried from the Akal Takht, its resting place for the night, to the Harmandir Sahib at 4 in the morning - the process gets reversed at day-end with similar fervour and fanfare. The surreal serenity of the Gurudwara's premises, with the dull gold reflecting in the still waters of the lake, combined with the soothing chants of the Prabhat Pheri (morning prayers) - all this makes for an experience you would never want to miss, and something that will find a place in your heart, irrespective of your communal leanings, or even the lack of any.&nbsp; Later that morning (once we had returned to the hotel from the early morning visit to the Gurudwara and caught up on some much needed sleep), we stepped out again. Frankly, we just hadn't had enough of the temple and the incredible experience that it offered. Whether it is exploring the magnificent architecture, exploiting the countless photo opportunities it throws up or just soaking in the peace and calm...you can't help getting drawn to it more than once. And, why not? Each phase of the day finds the Golden Temple in different shades - each better than the last. So here we were back at the Gurudwara after a sumptuous (read heavy) breakfast of parathas (what else? I mean, what else can one ask for!). After we had gorged on those luscious parathas with slab-loads of butter swimming on it (I could almost visualize the Golden Temple floating serenely in the holy lake), we entered the Golden Temple complex, with our heads covered, dipped our weary feet in the placid waters of the lake, walked around the complex passing countless peaceful faces and taking in the ambience and the images both in our minds and on camera.&nbsp; But nothing could beat the experience of being inside Harmandir Sahib. When deep faith and sheer melody come together, it comes alive in the form of Shabad Kirtan that is sung from the heart by some of the best musicians in the country. The priests sitting around the Guru Granth Sahib, the music wafting and resonating all around the complex (actually all over the country, thanks to the TV and radio channels that telecast it live each day!) and the thousands of worshippers who quietly pause and move on...all that has to make the Golden Temple the ultimate pilgrimage one could hope to go on. Outside, we saw people of all walks of life offering their services in whatever way they could...from doing kar seva at the langars to polishing the golden railings - nothing could give them greater joy. It doesn't matter here what walk of life you are from - everyone does everything in the hallowed atmosphere of these kitchens, from cooking to serving to washing plates. We rounded off the visit with the customary souvenir shopping. From mementos to music, you just have to carry a piece (or should it be peace?!) of the Golden Temple back home with you.We walked out of the Golden Temple complex straight into the past. In a modest street filled with countless little shops, it is hard to miss the entrance to one of India's best identified and saddest historical landmarks. If not for the signpost over the gate of the Jallianwala Bagh, you could all but walk past it. But one look at that narrow path that leads one to a wide expanse of greenery beyond, and you know this is what you have read about and imagined what hundreds of men, women and children wished was wider and not blocked by General Dyer and his armed battalion that fateful day in April, 1919.&nbsp; In the days of the freedom struggle, the Britishers had forbidden holding of any public gatherings - such was the fear sparked off after 1857 and the innumerable Mangal Pandeys that had avatar-ed in a fearless new India. So, when thousands of Indians gathered on the lawns of Jallianwala Bagh on Baisakhi Day, the 13th of April 1919, Gen. Dyer misread the festival celebration for an outright violation of the law. Suspecting possible trouble brewing, he garnered his troops and without as much as giving a half-chance, ordered the opening of fire on the multitude present in the park. While the countless victims struggled to find a way out, history struggled to document the exact number of those who perished. With the single, narrow entrance blocked by the General's men and the tall walls of the Park proving unassailable, those who escaped the firing chose to jump into a well at one corner of the park. What was left of Jallianwala Bagh that afternoon were bodies strewn around the ground and a well brimming with more.&nbsp; As we passed the narrow entrance and strode into the greenery of the park, we didn't have to try hard to visualize what took place on that unfortunate April day. The park today is well maintained, with clear documentation of the critical spots and a small but evocative museum that takes you back to those gory days. But you end up spending the maximum time at a) a small wall which bears several bullet marks, carefully labeled; and b) the well which is bound to send a few shivers down your spine when you crane your neck to see through the grills, hoping not to spot a head or a limb in those dark, unseen depths. There is obviously more to the city and we knew a day was just not enough. So, we were sorry that we had to give the miss to Ram Bagh (which was the summer palace of Maharaja Ranjit Singh, built around a garden resembling Lahore's Shalimar Bagh), checking out the fabulous cuisine of the city (Amritsari Naan and Amritsari Machhi are nothing short of gourmet folklore!), and visiting the many shopping areas (Gandhi Gate and Hall Bazaar are not too far off). After consoling ourselves with the purchase of a quaint looking kripan (we later discovered that it was made in - where else! - China!!!), we reached back at the hotel for lunch and checking out for the last leg of our trip, the Wagah Border. The taxi was to reach at 3.30 to pick us up and take us to as near Pakistan as we could hope to get - without having to approach either Governments! 28 kilometers from Amritsar, exactly half-way from Lahore as well, lies the Wagah Border, the only legal crossing between India and Pakistan. The village of Wagah itself is in Pakistan and you actually only reach the last Indian village, Atari. There is, obviously, strong army presence here, besides the customs department which has to be geared up to perform its duties, for there is a fair amount of traffic (both by road and rail) both ways. The drive to Atari gives you a perspective on the greenery and fertility of Punjab's famous farmlands. You also pass the magnificent Khalsa College on your right (you'd even mistake this to be a luxury resort hotel!), and further up, a signpost on your left that indicates the way to the last railway station in India. This is where the much-hyped Samjhauta express begins its short, trans-national ride transporting hundreds of Indians and Pakistanis across the border, and back to an era that evokes both pain and nostalgia. After a milestone that tells you that Lahore is just 23 km away, your cab turns right into a parking lot. The journey from here is on foot - not more than a few hundred metres. We walked up to the complex and stood amidst several countrymen waiting for the gates to open. Not knowing what to expect, we all sprinted in when the barricade was flung open - the milling crowd behind us. We waited for about half an hour outside a tall gate with the words "Swarn Jayanthi Dwar" inscribed on it. Around us were open fields that could have been India or Pakistan, and we noticed these electrified fences running amok (we were told that they were capable of discharging upto 66,000 volts of current!). Much better that the aspiring border-crosser makes a samjhauta and chooses to take the express! Or a bus... Presently, there was a commotion and we saw that a gate on the right had opened and our fellow tourists had begun to rush in, armed guards supervising the progress all along. We walked into what appeared to be a stadium...actually two, for we were directed to sit towards the right even as we saw some people sitting on the left. And sure enough, we saw a wall with a gate dividing us and them, and sure enough, we saw the words "Welcome to Pakistan" etched on it. While reaching the ceremony early does give one the advantage of a vantage viewpoint, the April sun seemed to be intolerant of the farce of such a ceremony and punished the gathering no end. And as the show only begins by sundown, the wait was traumatic. We passed time by listening half-heartedly to the patriotic Bollywood numbers being belted out by the Indian Army and the musical counter attack by the other side. The atmosphere seemed to be electric, more with a pseudo and make believe effect of forced patriotism. At least on that day, the Indian side of the crowd seemed more boisterous, if not unruly, than the neighbours, who not only were clearly outnumbered but also were maintaining a lower profile. There is no escaping from the realities of borders, partition and division even in those innocuous surroundings - how else could one explain the fact that men and women are made to sit in separate galleries, and I am not even talking about the Pakistan side, mind you. Anyway, after a mock demonstration of relay running with the Indian flag to the Pakistan side, conducted by an over-enthusiastic cheerleader and a few Indian youths, the professionals took over. (the crowd told not to demean/belittle the other side).&nbsp; Immaculately dressed and armed, the BSF jawans and their counterparts performed drills which were more comic than military. With the lights on, both flags fluttering gently in the breeze, and the swarming crowds cheering on their respective soldiers, the scene was a photographer's delight. Once the gate was thrown open, the liveried representatives of each country enacted a virtual dance-drama. Even as the BSF jawan elegantly marched up to the Pakistani rangers, the latter stomped their feet taking elaborate steps, both parties intimidating each other in mock and jovial fashion. And the crowd got delirious - as though they were witnessing Sachin facing a charging Akhtar!&nbsp;&nbsp; Incidentally, the body language of both sides has been toned down from a more belligerent display till some time ago - maybe, a sign of the concerted efforts by both nations to discover more peaceful times ahead...&nbsp;The show came to a close with the lowering, unfurling and carrying of the flags back - it could as well have been the army variant of the Palki that we witnessed in the morning! Before long, it was to be the 28 km drive back to Amritsar for the Indians and Lahore for the folks from across the border.&nbsp;One look at the barbed wire and the green fields that extended for miles in all directions, it was difficult to imagine how unimportant the area must have been some seventy years ago, before it had both glory and pain thrust upon it by events that led to a nation divided. This was exactly where thousands ran, walked, dragged themselves both ways during those painful days of the partition - when old homes and neighbours had to be abandoned, new lives and identities were an unknown struggle ahead. Several died, several were raped and several also survived. The drama is still alive in the history books, some beautifully written narratives and, most importantly, in the heart of all those who lived through those difficult times. As for us, we can only pause and try to remember the horror of those days.&nbsp; The drive back was spent in reflection on the events of the day. Just a day, and we had done so much - visited a beautiful Gurudwara, strolled through a day in history, and reached within embracing distance of our neighbours across the border. As the train pulled out of Amritsar station, we knew we had had a great three days. The bulava or the call, from all these magical places was well worth answering. We hoped we would, before long, get another. Even a missed call would do. We would gladly call back! Jai Mata di... Sat Sri Akal... Jai Hind... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- GLOSSARY (in alphabetical order) Term Literal meaning (contextual one in brackets) <i>Akhtar <i>as in Shoaib Akhtar, the feared Pakistani fast bowler Bollywood the Hindi film industry BSF acronym of India's Border Security Force Bulava <i>the call, especially a spiritual call to visit a religious destination (in this case, a call from the Goddess asking the pilgrim to undertake the journey to Vaishno Devi) Chalo bulava aaya hai <i>A popular Hindi religious song sung by most on the way to Vaishno Devi. Literally means, Come on, we have got the call (from Mata Vaishno Devi). Darshan sighting of the deity in the sanctum sanctorum of the temple Gulshan Kumar <i>the late music industry moghul and owner of T-Series, a regular at Vaishno Devi Temple, also published several titles of religious music; was shot dead in 1997. Gurgaon a suburb of New Delhi Gurudwara <i>Sikh temple Jai Hind <i>Hail India (the patriot's standard greeting, cry) Jai Mata Di <i>The standard slogan or cry every devotee of Mata Vaishno Devi utters. Means 'Hail the Mother'. Janpath <i>a street market in Connaught Place, central Delhi reputed for its variety of clothes and fashion accessories that can be brought at great prices. Jawan <i>soldier Kar Seva Any form of voluntary work performed at a place of worship Kripan dagger carried by Sikhs Langar A free kitchen in a Gurudwara where people of all walks of life are served free, vegetarian food Machhi fish Mata literally means Mother, the Goddess Vaishno Devi is popularly referred to as Mother Mohammed Rafi one of the greatest singers India has produced and a legend of the Hindi film music world. Naan a thick bread made out of wheat Narendra Chanchal A popular Indian singer of religious songs Palki a palanquin (here, used to call the carriage used to carry the holy book of the Sikhs) Paratha Staple part of Indian meals (mostly in the North) - flatbread, made usually of whole wheat, occasionally stuffed with vegetables Sachin as in Sachin Tendulkar, the Indian cricketing superstar batsman Samjhauta agreement, compromise (the train service initiated between New Delhi and Lahore was christened the Samjhauta Express) Sarojini Nagar a popular, bustling market in South Delhi with a fine variety of clothes etc. at great prices. Sat Sri Akal Punjabi Sikh greeting, hailing the glory of the Lord Shabad Kirtan A form of hymn singing that is integral to Sikh worship Swarn Jayanti Dwar Golden Jubilee Gate T-Series a music publishing company that grew rapidly and was responsible for introducing low priced cassettes. Tune mujhe bulaya One of Mohammed Rafi's popular songs on Vaishno Devi, translated reads 'You (Mata Vaishno Devi) have called me'. Yatra The journey (used widely to denote a pilgrimage)
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