Dramatic Reality - Benaras. UP

Legend has it that the Gods loved Benaras (Varanasi) so much that they made it their permanent abode. Crowded Benaras today is not so much about godliness, and yet there is a semblance of openness that connects you to water and sky, a wide expanse of nothingness where the Gods sit as witnesses to our lives. And while they watch from a vantage position, River Ganges has the best view of all. She sets the stage for us all to be in a constant state of performance.

A view of Ghats from the River

While each one treats the Ganges differently, it all becomes dependent on the relationship they share with her. It's only when one locks the kind of relationship we share we realise how we want to nurture it. There is something about Ganges though that the moment you see it, you feel your connection with her.

Lovers trotting on the Ghats of Benaras

Benaras Ghats are very popular for it's morning and evening artis, also popular it is for earning betting money from peculiar games, all that popularity though is no where close to the flames that rise at the Harishchanra or Manikarnika Ghats where people gather for final rites of their beloved or in some cases, strangers too.

Pyre at the Manikarni Ghat

Morning Arti

Getting Stoned - Hampi. KTK

Time to time, you will find yourself gently ushering in to a space that belongs to you, or in which you belong. For years sometimes, you may hunt, curse and/or map each detail minutely to figure out where exactly your abode is located. And just like that, it comes face to face, without an expectation, without a word, you just know – this is it.

Vithala Temple

The naturally formed and deliberately ruined rocks at Hampi, may have a story of themself to share but right then when a buzzer in your mind reads Match Found the stories are exchanged. Hampi gives you the feeling of encountering the known and unknown in the same moment.

Lotus Mahal

Men and women from various origins and beliefs flock to Hampi, fighting many internal and external battles. Many have arrived to experience dealing with their cerebral or emotional conflicts, some want to see what’s the fuss about the City of Ruins, the City where Time Stands Still and some come in search of company without prejudice.

Hazararama temple

Laxmi Narsimha Temple

Talking to the flow of Tungabhadra river, or whispering to the rising sun at the Anjanedri Hill at the still-functional Hanumana temple and settling down with the setting sun by the abandoned Rama Mandir at the Mathanga Hill overlooking the city that was, fills not only my day but life with contentment, Both hills (temples) opposite each other appearing like a pact between Lord Rama and his loyal disciple.

While Hampi offers a lot of points to see and experience for tourists as well as travelers, it almost doesn’t matter where you are or what you see. As I hopped from one stone hill to another, one God to another, one mural to another, I experienced peaceful transitions through voices, visuals and valor.

In almost no time I had shed my inhibition, within no time I walked past stone grids like I always belonged there, within no time I was soaking in sun, that for centuries had rested on the rocks, within no time it was time to leave but only after understanding that no matter how short or long a time you visit Hampi for, time tells stories about it self. The wheel of time, the circle of life is indeed stuck in Hampi and so is my mind. It may appear on the list of World Heritage Sites and it may have shed layers after layers over centuries, it may be popular amongst hippies and it may be a source of income for the local villages there, the City of Ruins is abode for the ruined themselves – A City for ruins.

The Lone Warrior - Srirangapatna. KTK

Srirangapatna (also spelled Shrirangapattana; anglicized to Seringapatam during the British Raj) is a town in Mandya district of the Indian state of Karnataka. Located near the city of Mysore, it is of great religious, cultural and historic importance.

Ranganathaswamy (Lying Vishnu) - The town derives its name from here

The town of Srirangapatna was too far for me even after I moved to Bangalore in 2005. There were chidhood stories I recall and then there was the ever dependent DD telecast who ran the series on Tipu Sultan. At that time I had never ever thought I would come to form such a strong connection with him. So much that we shared our birthdays didn't even occur to me.

Snaana Ghat

From 2005 - 2012 I might have visited Srirangapatna as many times as a schoolchild might visit his nearby museum. Each visit my heart would open but I couldn't hear much. This time though I wasn't sure if it were my camera lens or the quest to match the writer's story that opened my eyes as well. I was seeing Srirangapatna as if it were the era of 1800s. The era of Tipu Sultan. There were conversations that were pro and anti Tipu but in my mind there was no doubt that I could hear, see, smell and touch Tipu's presence from Ganjam to Sangam and Ghosai ghat to Jamia Masjid, from Ranganathaswamy to Thomas Inman's dungeon.

Col Bailey's Dungeon

Very usually the crowd would swift you away from one corner to another almost like a pack of birds. You would have the will but the chaos just wouldn't let you sense unless it means so much to you. And I am glad it did.

The Gol Gumbaz, Tipu, Hyder & Fakhr-un-isa's graves

Dariya Daulat Bagh captures various
battles and the court proceedings 

This story with National Geographic Traveler's has been the toughest so far because the story and the space meant so much to the writer, I had to almost get into those shoes. If I would actually sit at any of those bastions or the river banks or watch the Minarets of Masjid or look down the long alley that leads to Ranganathaswamy or merely enter the Watergate, I can feel the strength and courage of Tipu. How he single handedly stood between British and India. How he resembles today's Sid or a Rockstar or a Karan Shergill. How he despite all odds represented solidarity, hope and beauty all at the same time. How easily he left the mask of an artist and took over the mask of being a warrior - The Lone Warrior.

The Water Gate that was allowed to breached which led 

to Tipu's downfall

There is much to see and absorb in his territory, you will need to hear him, feel him and he'll guide you. Not only past his life but in yours as well.

My Mackenna's Gold - Gandikota. AP

Gandikota is a small village on the right bank of the river Pennar, 15 km from Jammalamadugu in Kadapa district founded in 1123 by Kapa Raja.

The fort of Gandikota acquired its name due to the 'gorge' (in Telugu it is called 'gandi'), formed between the Erramala range of hills, also known as Gandikota hills and the river Pennar that flows at its foot, reducing its width to a mere 300 ft (see the river image below). Situated amidst beautiful landscape and wild forests, it is endowed with vast natural resources.

The fort was made more impregnable by Pemmasani Thimma Nayudu. The fort was under the control of Pemmasani Nayaks for over 300 years.

It was late in the evening when I reached the APTDC Hotel, Haritha. I breathed a sigh of relief since the 10 km drive from Jammalamadugu to Gandikota was one of the scariest drives of my life. Pitch dark, an eerie chill, inconsistent zig-zag roads, no warning signs, no signs whatsoever, tiny turning points and a horizon that felt like abyss. I really thought I am going nowhere.

Belum Caves

The first light was not rising sooner than I wanted, unfortunately for me; the clouds were holding it back. I needed this light and sky to be clear for my shoot and it wasn’t looking good.

The Jamia Masjid

I wasn’t too far from my hypothesis about the horizon…far, till really far, far, away from my vintage point all I could see only a small patch of grey-green texture between the blank sky and very solidly and widely spread fort bastions. 

Remains of the Raghunathaswamy temple

The fort entrance literally stopped me. I just looked up to it and started and stared. I just couldn’t gather what was happening to me. I was listening to sounds of horse hooves and elephant trumpets. Clanging of steel and iron. Orders being shouted and echoed. Marching feet and hosted flags. The camps were clearly visible now. Soldiers standing, waiting, anticipating, praying. Those bastions still look occupied.

Entrance to the fort

The scene and smell of war is so intense and alive that the obvious life that exists even now n Gandikota village can go unnoticed. I watched people go out and return in their cycles, vehicles, herd from the mighty fort entrance which once entertained only serious business. The mood is lighter now as old women play kavadeaata (local dice game), children chase parrots, and white-haired men indulge in their daily conference while the younger men take a royal nap. The activity distracts me from conversing with the fort, and further opens it up for me. 

Pigeon Tower

A pigeon tower, a jail (right next to the pigeon tower), rayalacheruvu (royal water tank), Madhavrayaswamy and Raghunathaswamy temples dissected by a Qutubshahi mosque, a humungous granary, a local pond form such an integrate part of the fort/village that even their current static existence breathes life if you breather with it. They all lead me to the one place, which blows me away, literally. I sit amidst red sandstones, becoming a part of it, and peer down the300-feet drop in to the Pennar gorge.

Penna Gorge and the fort bastions

Till far, far, really far away, I see nothing but a clear sky and the river flowing, I ridicule myself that while I rest myself on these stones, contemplate and reflect my entire life and its meaning, in minutes, my earlier avatars would have sat here to look and identify what’s approaching them from far, far, really far away. And I do no different as I promise myself to return to this very stone and start my new year seeing the sunrise from this view.

River Penna and it's flow

Whistling woods. Winding roads. Fresh air - Bhagamandala. Kodagu.

Source of Cauvery - Talacauvery

Bhagamandala is a pilgrimage place in Kodagu district. It is situated on the river Kaveri in its upstream stretches. t is a common practice for pilgrims to take a dip in the triveni sangama and perform rituals to their ancestors before proceeding to Talakaveri, the birthplace of Kaveri.

Tucked away in some corner are things we are often so fond and protective of, and so deeply are they hidden that we ourselves forget where they are. Often is also the case with things that happen by the way.

And so it happened, that every time I visited Medikeri, Bhagamandala happened just by the way. I was even unaware of the history and myth associated with it and in that semi-unconsciousness I had made Bhagamandala a very sweet friend for life.

In between it’s winding roads, I slowed down my car speed to 30 to listen to the woods singing, stepped out to feel the raindrops which felt like they were produced right here and walked up to people who simply smiled and offered invitations to smile together. 

Vijay, the extra man

 Just like every story has a protagonist, mine turned to be Vijay who was the center of all awe around the village, and why not having appeared in over 100 South Indian movies, even if it’s just as an extra, is quite a mean feat. He didn’t smile, and decided to play the village celebrity a bit longer. Out came the lighter, and up went the cigarette, with a bit of Rajnikantesque effect, all eyes stuck to the cigarette flame and that first puff out of his lips, looking up at the mountains with his boots and jacket on, could vouch for any movie scene as an intro shot. 

Mesmerised somehow, quickly the main lane converted itself into a set scene with rain growing thicker, becoming aid to a director’s budget. Suddenly people started appearing out of nowhere; shopkeepers, tailor anna, school children with their neon umbrellas, and story tellers all gathered around warmly to form a family ring. 

Bhagamandala almost goes unnoticed, as visitors go up to Talakaveri, watch 2/3rd of the triveni sangam and pay their respects at Bhagamandala temple. Like it’s keeper, even Sujata canteen goes unnoticed that offers home meals that taste divinely healing. But like the notion that most trips are complete after reaching destinations, Bhagamandala is all about journey within the journey. At every turn and every corner nature has surprises and secrets for you. It’s up to me to pick my packet or wait for it to be gift-wrapped and posted to me.

Negotiating with real peace - Bylakuppe. Mysore. Karnataka

Bylakuppe is home to two of the many Tibetan settlements in India, established by Lugsum Samdupling (in 1961) and Dickyi Larsoe (in 1969). Today an estimated 20,000 Tibetans live in the settlements, which were established on land leased by the state government to accommodate some of the Tibetan expatriates who came to resettle in India after 1959.

This how our travel usually happens: 1. Google the destination. 2. Select a resort 3. Book your room 4. Zip drive through expressway. 5. Spend the weekend – swimming, drinking, sightseeing, indoor gaming, and exploring the facilities. 6. Swipe your card 7. Head back and log in to work next morning.

Not that it always turns out that way but it most often it ends up like that. And no offence to those leisurely luxurious visits or any of my precious votes to adventurous treks and camping.

I did not head out to Bylakuppe for a recreational visit neither was it my first, in fact fourth. And, my first official shoot for the Nat Geo Traveller magazine. I obliged the commoners by Googling up and driving out to my destination, but only in pursuit. 

The story brief was simple – documenting convergence of two cultures. It was interesting only till then. As I begun to explore the brief into bits and pieces, my curiosity killed the interesting angle. The thought of a ‘what-if’ so intense has perhaps become so common that it doesn’t stir us from within. Often hearing stories of basic definition of life the discussion takes an abrupt stop at survival.

Tibet has, from so long been fighting, not just for survival, for identity, for fairness and for acknowledgement. There are so many who have created Bylakuppe a home away from home, unsure if they would now survive in their real home after having lived here all their lives. It’s culture, climate, people, homes, nothing has been seen what the real deal is back home. Yet, a monk builds it’s home in the same way everywhere believing that there won’t be a some day I’ll go back home.

 Away from the pulsating cities and towns, Bylakuppe not only gives you your own space but it gives the time to open and deal with things that I am so often in a hurry to close and move on. There is so much silence that it almost screams back when there is noise, to respect it, experience it and recreate it. 

Namdroling Monastery

At Bylakuppe, my heart might have gone out to the young soldiers dreaming of seeing home if ever, but my mind reached calmness and equilibrium, a realisation of how much once converses in silence. It feels strange sometimes when I can't make sense of a language that a person speaks but so easily interpret everything that a pet communicates. It’s just a thought...only a thought. 

Tibetans don't think of they have adopted to Indian topography,
they are worried how will they adopt to a Tibetan lifestyle when they go back.
The important thing is WHEN and not IF.

Lonely at the top - Dharamsala. HP

Dharamsala is a city n Kangra district, Himachal Pradesh whuch was formerly known as Bhagsu. The Dalai Lama's residence and the headquarters of Central Tibetan Administration and the exiled Tibetan government are in McLeodGanj, a village within the Dharamsala municipality. When the first permanent settlement was created in the place now called Dharamshala, there was one such pilgrims' rest house on the site, and the settlement took its name from that Dharamsala.

There was silence, more tranquility, as we wound our way up to Dharamsala bus depot. A pahadi chai with sutta as we waited for our next lap of transportation seemed customary, like paying respect. 

I was in hills after a 5-year sabbatical from outdoors. I felt alive already and going further up to McLeodganj in a rickety public van had not even struck my adrenaline yet. Passing through the narrow lanes of McLeodganj was like rummaging through drawers of life tucked away safely, neatly, almost hidden. It’s like, since everything in life was kept so orderly I never realized that in an attempt to have that arrangement I had let it cut into my space so much, that all that was left to walk on was a narrow lane. And so I decided to walk pass and into those narrow lanes, scribbling may way through the trip – breakfast, meals, tea, waits and even the customary novel to the loo had been replaced. 

When Dilli attacked us with it’s desperate sun on way to McLedoganj, I promised a non-anticipatory trip to myself. In modern ways, we say Take it as it comes. With the help of or rather besides scribbling, the biggest change I aimed at was correcting connections especially with people. I was in a group to say so and after Theyyam, McLeodganj deserved a chance as well. But the connections needed to be revived and more so with strangers. The narrow lanes of McLeodganj didn’t seem so narrow after all. Around me I could see clusters of Phirangs, Punjabis, locals and rest of Indians. The transition from daylight to evening had brought about a transformation in the town to an extent that reds and yellows turned to neon and saffron. Life, which was present in murmurs and momos in the noon, had moved to hustle-bustle and continental interactions. 

The energy was high and even higher amongst the locals who average aged 65. It transferred the beauty of life even through peace and candles of Namgyal monastery, even as foreigners practiced Tibetan mantras and rituals. Relationships (any) have proven difficult for me to deal with – to acknowledge, articulate and imbibe was like appearing for board examinations – you either make, break or remain average through your life. The greens accompanied my climb to Triund and as I reached the top the whites of Dhauladhara range opened its arms, hugged me and I hugged it back like no other. The dead wires were feeling life in them, senses had started make sense, and the iris were beginning to show up, just about. I had scored above average.

Asked so many times to choose between mountains and sea, and as many times would let the sea be a close second. For me the mountains symbolised that no matter when I come back I’ll find them there just as they were. I could rely, I could be sure, I could feel secure. I needed to feel stable and I left with that vision of thanking the ranges promising to return, soon even if loneliness was the price to be on top.

At Triund