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

God within - Theyyam. Kannur. India

Theyyam (or Thira) is a popular ritual form of worship of North Malabar in Kerala, India, predominant in the Kolathunadu area as a living cult with several thousand-year-old traditions, rituals and customs. The performers of Theyyam belong to the lower class community, and have an important position in Theyyam. People of these districts consider Theyyam itself as a God and they seek blessings from this Theyyam. The invocation is generally performed in front of the village Shrine. It is also performed in the houses as ancestor-worship with elaborate rites and rituals.

Tears profusely gushed down my face as I battled to watch Goddess Annapoorneshwari‘s captivating invocation at a tucked away shrine in Azhikode. I had heard about Theyyam just a month back only to find myself amidst meticulously clad avatars of God.

Before this I had not even visited the green and thickly cultured side of Kerala and hence, Kannur was my first experience in many ways. I took my own time to absorb the atmosphere; I couldn’t get what all the huff-puff was about? What was it about the Theyyam stories and invoking God within oneself? Why was only a particular sect of the community allowed to don the role of a God? By the time I reached the Ram temple of Andaloor, where a gathering of possibly 3-4 village folks increased my curiosity and the list of questions? It slowly unfurled as the noon turned into evening and the temple turned into spectacle – in the eyes of worshippers, in their body language, in their hope and prayers, in their togetherness, in the eyes of the man who was going to turn in to God soon, in his body language, in his hope and prayers. It seemed like what was holding them together was what they had been through. Getting groped by a crowd full of hairy men, clad in their vests and mundus, wasn’t the kind of first-time experience I expected to add to my list. What I did add though was the sight and change in air with the entry of the man who donned the avatar of God Ram. 

I had never understood devotion; I thought like love, it is blind, blind faith, blind expectations and blind logics. My list got added as one after another, our Auto-man, Aari, informed us about possible Theyyams happening around the town. And then I finally reached the shrine at Azhikode. I think I still haven’t understood devotion but besides witness it in abundance something did stir in me, some voice did speak to me, some touch did awaken me and I looked around. All around I could only see God Annapoorneshwari’s invocation and her presence, in a man who transformed himself to the Goddess, the Goddess who transformed people’s lives even if it meant for a bit. And when she touched my forehead to tell me “I had got nothing to worry, it will all happen in good time” she transformed my list of first time experiences into list of blind faith, expectation, logic and devotion. 

In Theyyam I saw how a man took on the role of Goddesses to bear the pain a woman does and to share back the strength she provides to us and yet, for those moments when her man is has God within, she shrinks and awaits for him to return, just as I do to build my list. Again.

Just. Rust & Dust - Saurashtra. Gujarat.

Saurashtra or Kathiawar, the southwestern part of Gujarat includes the districts of Rajkot, Junagadh, Bhavnagar, Porbandar, Jamnagar, Amreli, Surendranagar, and some portions of Ahmedabad. This peninsula is shared with the Kachchh region. The territory of Saurashtra, including that of the former kingdom of Sorath or Junagadh, is now part of the state of Gujarat.

 “Where is vhau (daughter-in-law)?” ask 74 year old Prem Ba, mother of our neighbor-and-relative, Harishbhai. I smile and respond, “all is well Ba, how are you?” 

Every time I go to my village, Daltungi, I feel and realise the essence of small, minute things and rituals, which in modern world are referred as formalities. Time seems to flow smoothly as early morning slips into late, then into a peaceful afternoon, where it feels the entire village becomes a single home and everyone takes rest. The noon awakens with smell of boiling tea with condiments that add flavor to a typical Gujarati or dare I say, a Kachchi tea. 

The evening with its soft tone color shades transforms into a night where stars are visible, shining. My mother and I made it a ritual to walk 5 kms towards the closest railway station, Modhpur, passing fields of cotton on both sides and invariably bumping into habitants who offered us glass of fresh milk by milking the buffalo right there. Small things continue to impact me, this time through the measure of a glass – a saucer, which is a distinct unit of measure for teas and milks across the tea-milk stalls. We drove across the dry land into the land of Krishna - Dwarka, Beth Dwarka, then to the historic Somnath temple, the Gir Forest and eventually the Junagadh pilgrimage where climbing 9, 999 steps barefoot was more an adventure than to worship the Jain temples, Devis and God Dattatrey. Poor Narubhai and Haribhai were dragged in too, but they couldn’t thank me enough for the experience and especially for their memorabilia – picture with a foreign lady. The lions at Gir forest didn’t disappoint me considering that we had only half and hour with us to visit them. A marriage night aint a small thing for any family and witnessing celebrations on the night before marriage was even satisfying to watch how simple it is to celebrate. 

I visited my village only the previous year after a gap of 20 years and yet, my connect with its soil, memories and culture came rushing to me and hugged me tight and close. A hug, after all, is a small thing, a small start to any relationship.

Immersed in Faith - Mahakumbh. Illahabad.

Kumbh Mela is a mass Hindu pilgrimage of faith in which Hindus gather to bathe in a sacred river. The account goes that the Devas had lost their strength by the curse of Durväsä Muni. After praying to Lord Vishnu, he instructed them to churn the ocean of milk Ksheera Sagara (primordial ocean of milk) to receive amrita (the nectar of immortality). They made a temporary agreement with their archenemies, the Asuras, to work together with a promise of sharing the wealth equally. But, when the Kumbha (urn) containing the amrita appeared, a fight ensued. in the sky for the pot of amrita. It is believed that during the battle, Lord Vishnu (incarnated as Mohini-Mürti) flew away with the Kumbha of elixir spilling drops of amrita at four places: Allahabad (Prayag), Haridwar, Ujjain and Nashik.

​​Kumbh Mela is a mass Hindu pilgrimage of faith in which Hindus gather to bathe in a sacred river. That's all I knew courtesy Wikipedia until I reached after a 46-hour journey to the soil of heritage, in Prayag.

Still holding all my luggage to myself, I almost collapsed as I touched the soil of Kumbh. I still have no answer why I felt so overwhelmed then. The vastness through which the mela was spread across 31 kms and 14 sectors put wheels on my legs and I walked every inch in the span of 3 days, watching late night leelas, chatting up with Ajit Kumar from the RSF, wandering through day & night in a quest to experience something I never had. I even spotted the neatly organized Post Box office from where I put our IPS to test, my dear friend received my letter after 4 weeks and was overjoyed, even more than me. When people inevitably asked the question - how was it? I could only answer "very revealing" all the time. I witnessed spirituality in its true sense, which had nothing to do with God. There was an unmistakable air though, during my short tenure of 3 days – the air of belief – in the power that connected everyone, in fellow human beings who chose a different path than you, in the mythology that we have only heard time & again, different versions each time.

It was beyond me how from thousands to millions of people carried this same belief, not only in Kumbh but in the city of Illahabad. And to find that belief intact in one piece, was an experience that still gives me the shudders. It was also a good chance to see and experience what I had only heard so far of naga babas, and sadhus and aghoris, happily blowing away their chillams and making a buck or two offering it to you if they liked you. I didn’t need to drag myself out of the Mela to catch my late noon train to Bombay. The official caught hold of my collar since I was a nuisance clicking people’s emotional rituals on the banks of Ganges. 

As I was politely asked to leave, I couldn’t ask for a better exit to watch a procession head to the banks. I don’t know why even though a lot of it looked staged, some part of me had already joined the belief.