Travel – Page 4 – The Timber Trawler

Khajuraho: A Personal Odyssey

For more than 15 years, I harboured a longing to see Khajuraho, a dreamy place that I had read about in my school history textbooks, whose mention and descriptions conjured up images of a culturally rich and advanced town bustling with activity in the middle of dense forests.

In December 2016, as I awaited the admission results for the B-school I had applied for, and to keep myself preoccupied to counter anxiety on the exact date the results would be coming out, I scheduled a three-day solo trip to Khajuraho as below:
Day 0: Take overnight train from Delhi to Khajuraho
Day 1: See the temples of Khajuraho
Day 2: See Raneh Falls and Panna Sanctuary, and proceed to Jhansi later in the day
Day 3: See Orchha, and take the evening train from Jhansi and reach Delhi by midnight

But, as Robert Burns said, “The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” Consider the ensuing circumstances I describe below.

With intense anticipation as I reached the Nizamuddin Railway station for the train scheduled at 8 PM, I learned that the train would start with a 6 hour delay, starting eventually at 3 AM. Then, due to intense fog, the train got further delayed, and finally reached Khajuraho at 6 PM, 12 hours late!

With a complete day wiped off from my itinerary, I improvised. I would proceed with the original plan for Day 2, i.e. see the Raneh Falls and the Panna sanctuary, and cram the temple visit in the later half of the day. I would then leave for Jhansi and Orchha early the following morning. Accordingly, on Day 2, I got up earlier than my routine, had an early breakfast, promptly rented out a scooter, fueled it up, then put on the rented helmet, took a glance at the tourist map given to me by the hotel receptionist, and set off for Raneh Falls by 9 AM.

I never got to Raneh Falls though. About two kilometres after taking a right turn for Raneh, with still 13 km to go, and 7 km from Khajuraho, I encountered a patch of sand that had spilt over to the curving road, and I applied my brakes, immediately telling myself, “Uh-oh, you shouldn’t have done that!” The next thing I remembered was my helmet hitting with a thud on a surface, and me lying on the ground. I stood up, but there was no strength in my knee, causing me to fall back on the ground, even as locals gathered around me.

The locals surveyed the damage both I and my scooter had incurred, and reckoned that both were probably fine, but that I most certainly needed some medical attention. They asked an auto-rickshaw driver who had stopped by, to take me to a nearby public health clinic, whereas another local inquiring of me as to where I had put up, offered to deliver the scooter at the hotel.

Shortly, I was on my way to the clinic on the auto-rickshaw, with the pain kicking in as the adrenaline wore off, making me realize that I had a deep cut in my right palm, a wide bruise on my left elbow almost exposing the bone, and a feeling of limpness and burgeoning swelling around my left knee. The doctor strapped a knee cap on my left leg, cleaned up and bandaged my wounds, gave me a shot of painkiller, and prescribed a ton of medicines. Thankfully, there was no fracture, and it seemed to be a case of soft tissue injury, the extent and nature of which were not immediately clear.

By 12.30 PM, I was back in the hotel – and so was the scooter – and laid down, soothed by the effect of the painkiller. Nevertheless, I was not going to be bogged down by this setback, given that I had waited 15 years to visit this place, and so around 4 PM, I set out to see the Western Group of temples which was just a stone’s throw away.

Soon inside the premises of the temple complex and absorbed by a tourist guide into a larger group, I was hobbling across the sprawling lawns and staggering from temple to temple, lumbering up and down the high platforms, taking photographs of the exquisite sculptures and carvings on the temple walls, even as the pain kept stabbing through the shroud of the painkiller. Hanging around for the amazing Light-and-Sound show that is conducted every evening, I was finally back at the hotel, where I had to take another round of painkiller to counter the intense pain.

Now it was clear that the improvised plan for Day 3 was off the plate, and my only objective for the day would be to reach the Jhansi Railway station well in time to catch the train. So, on Day 3, after taking my medicines following breakfast, I was dropped at the bus-stand by a generous local, where I was told I should change buses at Chhatarpur. In the bus itself, the bus conductor, looking at my condition, gave me a place to sit even though the bus was filled to the brim.

At Chhatarpur, I limped from the bus I was in to another, where I got a decent seat by the window, and was soon headed to Jhansi. The road to Jhansi seemed unusually long, what with my injuries giving me rather gentle reminders about their existence, and the looming B-school admission result prompting me to frequently check my email inbox, but mainly because reconstruction on long stretches of the road hampered the bus’s progress.

With the bus permeated by clouds of dirt as we neared Jhansi, I saw an email from the B-school. With the pounding in my heart instantly notching to many gears higher, I opened the email to read that I had been accepted – talk about a silver lining!

In Jhansi, as I got down the bus, I realized for the first time that something was seriously off in my knee, when I felt a bit of wobbling between the femur and tibia – most likely, the result of a torn ligament. Later, aboard the Shatabdi Express which itself had arrived an hour late, with the pain setting back in again as the painkillers wore off, I realized I had forgotten my medicines at the hotel!

Getting down at Delhi, I hailed a cab, and picked up a new stock of the prescribed medicines on my way home, and slowly clambered up the three flights of stairs to my place on the third floor, one step at a time, virtually dragging along my near-lifeless but excruciatingly painful left leg. Back in my bed, I contemplated my next course of action, as I stared at a long path to recovery, amidst the workload at the office, medical consultations and the upcoming B-school admission.

Aravalli Archives: Alwar, Bhangarh and Sariska

For many years I had seen the name ‘Alwar’ – on other buses while I waited for the bus to Jaipur or on road signage on my many forays to Jaipur. I had even passed through Alwar on one occasion on a bus, and had memories of a city glaring under the sun against the backdrop of yellowish, intermittently green hills. Alwar, despite being three hours away from Delhi, gets overshadowed by the names of bigger places, but now in October 2016, since I had ticked the big names off my list, I turned my attention to Alwar. And am I glad that I did!

Part 1: Alwar Calling

My friend and I caught the bus at 8 AM from Dhaula Kuan, from where I had boarded the Rajasthan or Haryana Roadways buses headed to Jaipur on all of my previous Rajasthan solo trips. By noon, we were in Alwar, where we had lunch near the bus-stop, and gathered information about places and access modes in Alwar. The Bala Qila (Alwar fort), perched on the hill overlooking the city and clearly visible from where we stood, beckoned to us – it was a no-brainer as to where we should start our Alwar sight-seeing with.

Hiring an auto-rickshaw, we headed off to Bala Qila, for which we took the fort road that winded around the side of the hill, passing through jungle, accompanied by a sharp drop into the valley on one side. We were pleasantly surprised by the size and condition of the main palace which was largely intact – the palace may not be the size of the palaces in the forts of Jaipur or Jodhpur, but the fort in itself was self-contained and seemed to possess every characteristic typical of a Rajasthani fort.

The origins of the fort date back to 928 AD, when it was built by Parmar Rajputs, however, it was resconstructed in 1521 AD by the Khanzada rulers who had wrested the fort from the Nikumbh Rajputs in 1492 AD. We explored the many floors of the palace and were smitten by the verdant vistas of the Aravallis from the arched windows of the palace. Later we walked on the fort wall towards a watching platform that provided a clear view of the city below.

View of Bala Qila from the fort wall leading to a watching platform on the south side

Descending back to city at the foothills, we checked out the City Palace or Vinay Vilas Mahal, built in 1793 AD, with a part now converted to Museum and the other part housing government offices. The beautiful Moosi Maharani ki Chhatri, a cenotaph for Raja Bakhtawar Singh and his queen Moosi Rani, built in 1815 AD with marble roof and red sandstone pillars, stands adjacent to the City Palace, on the bank of water tank called Sagar Jalashay, which is fed by water flowing down the Aravallis at the foothills of which the tank lies.

Our next stop was the Siliserh lake, an artificial lake built in 1845 by Maharaja Vinay, nestled in the Aravallis, a little outside the city, providing a picturesque view of the rounded tops of the Arvallis kissing the sky. Enjoying the gentle breeze along with the views, we took a boat ride exploring the length and breadth of the lake. Thereon, we headed to the Jaisamand Lake, another artificial lake not very far from the Siliserh Lake but a little closer to the city, notable for a series of chhatris (cenotaphs).

Part 2: An Unplanned Extension

Our plan for the second day was to take a morning safari of the Sariska National Park that lies about 33 km from where we stayed. Waking up quite early in the morning, and starting around 5.30 AM, we walked about a kilometre to the main road leading to Sariska, hoping to get some sort of conveyance to Sariska. After about fifteen minutes of waiting, as the chances began to seem slim of us making it to Sariska in time for the safari, an autorickshaw driven by a Sardarji (a turbaned sikh man) drew alongside us . We negotiated a price for the half-day trip to Sariska and were soon headed to Sariska with renewed hope for the safari.

Passing through the road sliding up and down, curving ever so slightly to the right and the left, along the foothills the Aravallis, with the cool breeze hitting our faces, we soon encountered a narrow valley in the Aravallis which we crossed alongside a narrow river. In this stretch lies a place called Natni ka Bara, where a bridge stands connecting the main road to a white-coloured temple with a narrow tall spire on the other side of the river. In the early morning mist, the sight of the bridge and the temple standing in the middle of the valley was etched in my mind.

By 6.50 AM we were at the Safari Booking Office at entry gate of the Sariska National Park, where we were promptly denied entry because entry for the morning safari had already closed. We should have been there before 6.30 AM, they said, not relenting despite multiple requests, suggesting that we come back by or wait till 2.30 PM for the afternoon safari. As we were staring at a long wait, a safari guide who was hanging around suggested we do some more sightseeing instead of waiting, Bhangarh fort being his topmost recommendation.

Now, I had already been to Bhangarh fort – touted as a haunted place – and retained very fond memories of the same, but my friend had not, and I would not mind visiting Bhangarh again just to relive the aura of eeriness I had felt on my earlier visit. We calculated that we should be back to the park gate well in time for the afternoon safari, as we had five hours in hand. However, our autorickshaw driver did not seem keen at all, because it would be a 100 km round trip for him. Nevertheless, the safari guide, on account of being a local convinced him to take the ride, sweetening the deal with extra money, of course.

By 7.30 AM, we were on our way to Bhangarh, in an autorickshaw, of all things! From there on, we never lost sight of the Aravallis, which alternated between running alongside us and sliding away only to return. We hoped to reach by 9 AM, if not for the second half of the route where the road was under construction sending billows of dust in all directions including inside the auto-rickshaw as the vehicle plodded through. Soon we passed through Ajabgarh, where abandoned houses flank the road at one end of the village. Just outside the village, a compact fort sits atop a hillock against the backdrop of taller hills, while the road winds around a lake, called Jai Sagar, filled with a cover of lotus and lilies. At long last, by 9.45 AM, we were in Bhangarh.

Part 3: All is Well That…

At Bhangarh, we began by exploring the ruined marketplace and residential area near the main entrance. Then walking further flanked by a series of ruined shops on both sides, through the stretch called the Jauhari Bazaar, and crossing a stream, we entered the fort enclosure where sprawling lawns, numerous temples and the main palace welcomed us. Walking through main palace gate, we approached the first layer of buildings having two wings in the form of long pillared hallways on either side of the passage. Both wings had indications of occult practices being conducted, further bolstering the sense of haunting around the place.

After enjoying the views of the Alwar district countryside accentuated by the Aravallis standing like long flattop platforms from the top of the existing structure of Bhangarh, we walked back to the parking lot, where the auto-rickshaw driver was waiting. After another two hours of riding through the dust clouds over the under-repair road, we were back at the Sariska National Park gate by 1.15 PM, where we were faced by the next challenge – finding 4 more co-passengers for the jeep safari, else we would be paying the fees for 6 passengers for the jeep. Luckily, we ran into a family of 3, consisting of another (!) Sardarji and his wife and kid – who readily agreed to share the ride with us.

Walking through Jauhari Bazaar, Bhangarh

After a quick, light lunch at the canteen near the safari booking counter, we set out on the jeep safari on a trail that took us deep into the Sariska forest. We sighted sambhar, deer, peacocks and countless birds, complemented by thrilling sights of watering holes, and streams cutting through the jungle. Though we did not see a tiger, I would still count this as a very memorable safari in terms of the density of wildlife seen.

Sambhar laze around in a stream, Sariska National Park

By 5 PM, we were back on our way to Alwar, with a thick layer of dust having settled on our bodies. When the sardarji finally dropped us off at the place where he had picked-up, he wore a long face, as he grappled with the sight of the coating of dust shrouding his auto-rickshaw – surely, he regretted having picked us up in the morning, and more so, for having agreed to the impromptu extension of the ride to Bhangarh. As if on cue, I handed him a couple hundred more rupees, hopping to alleviate his dejection.

Now, as we wandered around looking for conveyance to the bus station, we were approached by a couple who looked like students on separate two-wheelers. Lo and behold, it was another Sardarji (!), who along with his apparent girlfriend, offered us both a ride on their motorcycle and scooter respectively. By 8 PM, as we boarded the bus headed back to Delhi, it struck us that we had encountered the grace of good Samaritan Sardarjis every time we faced a difficult situation the whole day!

Post-script: My first trip to Bhangarh, September 2014

My first trip to Bhangarh happened by virtue of a day-long trip with a travel group called ROOTS. We had started around 6 AM from Delhi, passed through Sohna and then Alwar, and reached Bhangarh by 1 PM – a journey of almost 7 hours, a testament to the condition of roads that prevailed two years ago.

In any case, I had been awestruck by the atmosphere and ambience of the place, with the setting of the lawns and the fort etched at some height in the hillside seeming like a leaf out of a fairytale. When the tour of fort had ended, I found myself yearning more.

Leaving Bhangarh, we had then stopped by Ajabgarh, where we were intrigued by the sight of the abandoned houses lining up both the sides of the road for quite a stretch as we entered Ajabgarh village. Later, we had hiked up the hill to explore the compact fort even as darkness was falling. The hilltop also afforded a view of the expansive lake, called Jai Sagar, abounding in lotus and lilies, below by the roadside.

One of the many abandoned houses at one end of the village

By then, it had already been 6.30 PM, with the twilight looming over the village, imparting it with an even eerier character. In the darkness, we had passed through the Aravallis with the moon smiling from behind the clouds, and the silhouettes of the hills accompanying us till we had crossed Sariska.

By 1 AM, we were back in Delhi, the journey turning out to be way longer than originally scheduled, but at the same time ending up being more memorable than I had ever expected.

Mandawa: Impressions from a First-time Visit

Eager to get away from the humdrum of our job, my colleague Amit and I, decided to make a weekend getaway to Jaipur.

This being my third visit to Jaipur and Amit’s first, I drew from my previous experience, and we booked a day-long package with an auto-rickshaw driver, who took us to Hawa Mahal, Jantar Mantar, Amer fort, Jaigarh fort, and finally, to Nahargarh fort. Later, in the evening, we got a taste of Rajasthani culture and cuisine at Chokhi Dhani.

Now, where do we go to the next day? I really wanted to go to Sambhar Lake, but not able to find any information on how to reach there, we considered other places, which is when I remembered Mandawa, from two movies released a couple of years ago, namely, P.K. and Bajarangi Bhaijaan. It turned out Mandawa could be reached by public transport, complemented by a bit of local transport.

So, the next day at 8 AM, we set off by public road transport to Mukundgarh. As we passed Sikar, and then, Nawalgarh, I was fascinated by the set-ups of the towns – lying as disjointed clusters in the midst of the semi-arid landscape, with not much construction found along the road connecting the towns. The road cutting through each town was flanked on both sides by houses with their facades aligned, albeit in a jagged manner, with other houses on their respective side of the road. The houses, mostly painted yellow or white, wore an old world charm, transporting you to at least a hundred or more years back.

Getting down at Mukundgarh, we got around to looking for conveyance to Mandawa, when a strange-looking vehicle drew up alongside us. It was an auto-rickshaw which was decked up with fancy colourful decorations, with even more decorations on the inside, and covered with a canopy that formed a closed compartment! We were so intrigued that we hopped into the fanciful auto-rickshaw without even haggling.

As we advanced on the road to Mandawa, we saw the landscape gradually becoming more and more arid, and as we got nearer to Mandawa, we could see on both sides endless expanses of undulating sandy flats with a few sprinklings of low trees and shrub, even as villages each comprising just a handful of huts greeted us from time to time. Soon, we saw a bigger cluster of houses, and were welcomed by an arched gate on a wall that seemingly enclosed a town inside – Mandawa was here.

As we entered the gate, we were ushered in by two arrays of verandahs of the buildings abutting either side of the narrow road. Some buildings hosted shops, some others were residences, and some were merely the entrance to a larger building standing behind the front row.

Before we could get a hang of the place, we entered a bylane that apparently led to the Mandawa castle, but failing to locate the gate, we kept walking, past many havelis, until we reached an open area somewhere adjacent to the castle. We saw a shanty serving Maggi instant noodles and tea, and decided to first fill our tummies, while scratching our heads as to how really to explore the place, in the absence of a guide or any prior knowledge.

This is when appeared a boy – someone we would later refer to as Chhutku – barely 8 years of age, with disheveled hair, dressed in crumpled, undersized clothes, who sensing we were the touristy types, offered to show us around, for a price, and kept insisting on it until we had finished our meal. Partly to humour him, and partly impressed with his enterprise at such an early age, we relented.

So, courtesy of Chhutku, we saw a handful of havelis, with their painted facades, part covering the balconies jutting out and peering over the street, and part forming the front wall proudly strutting their evocatively painted visages, all but weathered by time. One particular haveli, Jhunjhunwala Haveli, aptly nicknamed the Golden Haveli, houses a room with intricately painted golden-coloured decorations, along with artifacts from a time gone by – giving us a glimpse of the lives and times of the merchants that built and lived in the lavish residences.

Frescoes on the inside of a haveli in Mandawa

After the tour of the havelis, Chhutku bid us adieu at the Mandawa Castle, where we learnt the castle had long since been operating as a hotel, but was also open to tourists in lieu of a hefty fee. Nevertheless, we took the opportunity to see around the castle, get views of the town and the countryside from the rooftop, and take pictures around the sprawling swimming pool.

At long last, darkness fell, and it was time to confront the dilemma of whether to stay the night or return to Delhi – it was resolved when we learnt that there was a 10 PM public road transport bus running directly to Delhi. Following dinner at a Tripadvisor-recognized restaurant, we boarded the bus, still not having got a bearing of where exactly we were located with respect to Delhi.

By 5 o’clock in the morning though, when I opened my eyes as we entered Delhi, I was still hungover from the overwhelming and intriguing air of the quaint town that stood astride the trading routes of the past. Although located amidst the barrenness of the desert, the unique vantage point of the town in those times ensured that its mien and ambience remained anything but barren.

Aravalli Archives: A Birthday in Mount Abu

Having done one solo trip every year for the last four years now, and with almost half the year already passed, I decided to schedule this year’s solo trip on my birthday in early July, and booked a train ticket two weeks in advance to Abu Road by Rajdhani Express, to see Mount Abu, a place lying on my wish list for a long time. In the week leading to my birthday which was on the coming Saturday, my friend from college who lived near Rewari, called me up asking about my birthday plans, and I invited him to join me. So, booking a waitlisted ticket on the same train, he boarded the train at Gurgaon railway station, from where we shared a single berth till our destination.

Getting down at Abu Road around 5.30 AM, we caught a public transport bus for Mount Abu. As we ascended through the hill road, we were immediately swimming in a cover of green, with an abundance of date palm trees dotting the roadside. As we gained height, I saw, through my sleepy eyes, that we were submerged in the infinite clouds of mist or actual rain clouds, which was it I am not sure. As we approached Mount Abu town, trying very hard to keep awake, I was taken in by the sight of ponds surrounded by denser forest. The many times I forced myself out of my sleep to see the scenery outside, I was reminded of my the scenery on the way to Ooty and Kodaikanal on my college trips.

At Mount Abu town, after quickly checking in to a hotel room, we set out for a South Indian breakfast at the city centre. Then, renting a scooter, we set out on the tour, the planning for which my friend entirely left to me on account of it being my birthday. So, we started off with the famous Dilwara Jain temples, the temple that had been synonymous with Mount Abu for me since I was in school, where I had read about the temples in textbooks. The Dilwara Temple complex comprise five primary temples made purely from marble, with two dedicated to Adinatha, the first tirthankara, and the other 3 dedicated to Neminatha, Parshvanath and Mahavira, were built in between 1026 AD and 1582 AD, and serve as an important pilgrimage for Svetambara Jains.

Entrance to the Dilwara temple, photography inside the temple premises is not permitted

Next, ascending further up the hill road, negotiating mumerous hairpin bends, passing by ponds and patches of forests, we reached Achalgarh. At Achalgarh, climbing up a stony road by foot, we reached the marbe-built Shri Vishnu Jain temple, which also provided breathtaking views of the Aravallis. From there, we rode further up to Guru Shikhar, where we climbed the long flight of stairs to reach the highest point of the Aravallis at 1722 metres. Nearby is the Mount Abu Infrared Observatory (MIRO), which is visible from Guru Sikhar and nearabout, along with green cover on all the nearby peaks and troughs of the Aravallis.

Turning back towards Abu, we stopped whenever some view or location caught the eye, the first such stop being at Lover’s Point, from where we got a picturesque view of the Aravallis nestling the Javai Lake. Then descending a little below after manoeuvering a few curves, we reached Javai Lake itself. Rolling further down, we came upon a water-filled fissure on our right side, where getting down, I sat on the rock for a while experiencing an extraordinary state of calm. A little further, we took a short detour to reach the Mini Nakki Lake.

View of Javai Lake nestled in Aravallis, from Lover’s Point

The stop that we made next was at the remarkable Trevor’s Tank, an artificial waterhole, tucked away in the Mount Abu Wildlife Sanctuary, which we reached after taking a kilometre-long diversion. Carved on the side of a barren rocky hill to breed crocodiles by a British engineer after whom it is named, the tank is surrounded by native flora including an abundance of cacti and ferns. The location of the tank could serve both as a picnic spot with family as well as a retreat for some solo contemplation. A trek up the hillock also provides a wider view of the picturesque tank. While this place may not be on most sight-seeing itineraries of Mount Abu, I highly recommend a detour to Trevor’s Tank.

As we neared Abu town, I made a quick but steep and long climb up 360 steps to see the temple of Arbuda Devi, a form of Durga, after whom Abu town is named. It being 6.30 PM, by the time I descended from the temple, we rushed to the Nakki Lake, located at the heart of Abu town. Swami Vivekananda lived for a while in Champaa Caves on its bank, and Mahatma Gandhi’s ashes were also immersed in its waters. On the hillside, which gives excellent views of the town as well as of the Aravallis, there is also natural rock formation resembling a toad, aptly named Toad Point – interestingly, the same rock looks like a tortoise when viewed from another angle from afar. After watching the sunset from the banks of Nakki Lake, I retired to the hotel, where my friend who had skipped the trek up the Nakki Lake hillside, joined me.

With our whirlwind Abu tour coming to an end, we pondered about how we would get back to Delhi, as I had not booked a return ticket, and had reckoned I would be easily able to get a bus back to Delhi from Udaipur, which was the nearest city to Mount Abu. As it turned out, there were only a couple of buses plying from Mount Abu to Udaipur, the earliest being at 8.30 AM. Thus, the next morning we were headed to Udaipur, again passing through the mist, delighted by views of the hillside shrouded by clouds at eye-level. Sights of streams and ponds ensconced in thick vegetation or surrounded by palm trees, were the icing on the cake.

Floating through the clouds…on a bus, on the way down from Mount Abu

Reaching the base of the Abu hill range, the bus still passed through the lower ranges of the Aravallis, especially as we approached Gogunda, where the sight of the yellowish sides of the hill which had been cut through to make way for the roads, triggered some sort of a reaction in my brain. That is the exact moment I knew I would want to have more of the Aravallis – these sights combined with the images of the flora I had seen back on Mount Abu, and the previous year in Jodhpur, supplemented by memories of the hill passes at Haldighati, struck a chord somewhere in my heart. What was more, the Aravallis propped up the fantastic forts that I had taken a penchant for over my journeys to Rajasthan over the last four years.

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So, for the third year straight, I found myself in Udaipur. I drew up a quick itinerary for us as it was my friend’s first visit to Udaipur. Starting off with a tour of the City Palace, we headed to Sajjangarh Palace, a monsoon palace whose construction was started by Maharana Sajjan Singh in 1884, atop a hill overlooking the Pichola lake. The marble palace is an ideal getaway from the humdrum of the city below, and also affords panoramic views of the city and its lakes, along with picturesque views of the Aravalli hill range behind it. We wrapped up our half-day sojourn at Udaipur with a boat-ride on the Fateh Sagar Lake.

Following dinner, we took an overnight sleeper bus for Delhi, concluding a most memorable birthday weekend. I also found a new love – the Aravallis.

A Tryst with the Thar: Jodhpur and Jaisalmer

March 2014. Spring was here, again, bringing with it pangs of fernweh – a feeling of ‘far-sickness’, a longing for distant places – nagging away at my being. The train of heartbreak had barely left the station, all the more reason why I needed to get away in the opposite direction, all on my own, reinforcing at least to myself, the sense of liberation that came of detachment from all things that brew emotional dependence.

However, I could not detach myself from the yearning for the distant lands I had read about in school or seen on TV – the so-called sand dunes and camel rides in the Thar desert in and around Jaisalmer and Bikaner. And then there was Jodhpur, which a General Knowledge book addressed as the Blue City, something about the colour describing a city only piquing the curiosity to see the place in person. I had also taken a liking for forts, my favorite being Chittorgarh, and all these places in the Thar – Jaisalmer, Bikaner and Jodhpur – wore their forts on their sleeves.

After gaining ample confidence from my solo trips to Jaipur and Udaipur in the two preceding years, it was now time to up the ante or increase the dosage, if you will, given how the duration of my previous two Rajasthan trips had incremented by a day each, with the Jaipur sojourn being one day long and the Udaipur one being for two days. Also, the destination on the second trip, Udaipur, was farther from Delhi than was Jaipur, making it imperative that I strike out even further into Rajasthan this year. With these thoughts in mind, choosing the Holi long weekend, Holi falling on 17th March 2014, a Monday, I straightaway booked well in advance a train ticket for my return from Jaisalmer for the evening of Holi.

Finally, on the evening of 13th March, a Friday, I was standing again at Iffco Chowk after office waiting for the next state road transport bus headed to Jaipur. On the bus, it was a familiar feeling with familiar sights, passing through the outskirts of Gurgaon, then passing through the hill forest beyond Manesar, where I remember listening to the Mad Season album by Matchbox Twenty, and then crossing the barrage near Rewari. By 10 PM, I was in Jaipur, where after having a Rajasthani dinner, I hopped onto a state transport bus to Jodhpur, getting a seat beside a foreigner lady accompanied by his Indian guide. By 6 AM next morning, I was in Jodhpur, where like in my Udaipur trip, I simply walked some distance and checked-in to a budget hotel. And started feeling feverish!

Exploring the Blue City

Nevertheless, feeling feverish was a familiar feeling on my solo trips, which I countered this time, by taking a paracetamol tablet following a breakfast of poha. Then, like on my previous trips, I hired an auto-rickshaw with a whole-day tour package that I determined based on the recommendations given by the hotel receptionist, and reached Umaid Bhawan Palace, the current residence of the ruling dynasty of Jodhpur. Located on a hillock, the construction of the palace was started in 1929 by the Maharaja Umaid Singh, 37th Rathore ruler of Marwar state to provide employment to famine-strike farmers, and was completed in 1943, when the Maharaja started occupying it.

From there, I proceeded to Madore, a place that I only learnt about in Jodhpur, located about 8 km from the city, purported to be the native place of Mandodari, Ravana’s wife. Historically, Mandore, the seat of the Gurjara-Pratiharas in the 6th century AD, later became the capital of the Rathores before Rao Jodha shifted to the newly-founded city of Jodhpur. At Mandore, I was completely mesmerized by the scenes unfolding in front me – beautifully manicured lawns surrounding sandstone temples and cenotaphs, with a stone path trailing beside a canal abounding in lotus and lilies, that crossed a water tank and winded up the hill, with a the ruins of a fort lying on top of the hill. From the hilltop, spires of temples, the domes of the cenotaphs and the lushness of the lawns down in the garden below presented the most eye-pleasing views.

Leaving Mandore with reluctance, the autorickshaw driver drove me to Balsamand Lake, on the banks of which lies a summer palace, and from there, returned inside the city, stopping at Jaswant Thada. The Jaswant Thada, a cenotaph built of Makrana Marble for Maharaja Jaswant Singh II in 1899, itself is located on the top of a flat, barren red-coloured hill of igneous rock, only punctuated with water pools and barely any vegetation, and has the scenic backdrop of the Mehrangarh fort on one side. After admiring the striking landscape around the Jaswant Thada, I moved on to the Mehrangarh fort.

The construction of Mehrangarh fort was started in 1459 AD by Rao Jodha, who founded Jodhpur city after moving from Mandore the same year, with most of the current structures being constructed in the 17th century. The fort stands atop a 122 metre high rocky hill overlooking the city, with its distinct red sandstone profile with the red coloured hill base standing out and visible from long distances all around. I walked through the numerous tall arched gates, and then gawked at the imposing palaces and exquisitely done interiors, before ending the tour at the raised long platform lining the fort wall the end of the fort where the cannons stand.

Descending from Mehrangarh, we again headed to the outskirts, this time in the west passing on a road flanked by kumat plants with their golden coloured ears, to Kaylana lake, an artificial lake built by Pratap Singh in 1872, in the midst of igneous rock formations. After spending the sunset on the Kaylana Lake, I returned to the city, stopping at the clock tower, and retired to bed, after a day well spent, with my heart throbbing in anticipation of seeing the desert the next day.

Off to the Dunes

The next morning, I left the hotel and was inside a road transport bus headed to Jaisalmer by 8.30 AM. As we left the city, the landscape became progressively arid, with it becoming more distinctively barren and sandy as the bus approached Pokhran, where khejri trees stood scattered with large expanses of empty space between each other. I distinctly remember listening to the album The Bends by Radiohead as I marvelled at the white-yellowish sparsely vegetated soil shimmering under the sun. At 3 PM, as I stepped down at Jaisalmer, a streak of electrified excitement passed through my body. Soon, I was picked up by a local who I had called beforehand based on a colleague’s referral.

Landscape on the way to Jaisalmer somewhere between Jodhpur and Pokhran

The first sight that struck me as I rode pillion on the local’s motorcycle was that of the Jaisalmer fort radiating in all its golden glory with multiple golden coloured stony turrets stacked one after the other along the edge of a golden coloured rocky hillock. It was the physical manifestation of the images that I had created in my mind from reading in a book or hearing in the context of a movie (Sonar Kella by Satyajit Ray) or seeing in pictures or documentaries. But stepping physically inside that physical manifestation of my mental image had to wait, for there was yet another mental image born from childhood dreams that I had to physically soak in first – the sand dunes.

View of Jaisalmer fort (‘Sonar Kella’, or golden fort, as nicknamed by Satyajit Ray)

So checking into a budget hotel at the foot of the hill on which the fort is located, I rented a scooter from a nearby shop, and armed with a map and directions provided by the rent-a-bike shop scooted off towards Sam. As I left the periphery of the city, habitation and vegetation disappeared, while the road dipped and rose in curves streaking across the arid landscape shooting and disappearing into the horizon. Alongside the road, stood tall windmills in the midst of tall grass, with the skyline in the background lined by a long sandy ridge running from one end to another end of the purview.

As I rode up and down the wavy road, stopping at places to click photographs of the landscape, the thin clusters of huts and the camels either solitary or in groups whiling away time, I was welcomed by flat patches of sand with sparse vegetation on both sides. After almost an hour of riding, resorts in the form of desert camps started appearing, signalling the arrival of the Sam Sand Dunes. Right at the location where the Jaisalmer local’s contact person at Sam Sand Dunes had indicated earlier over the phone, there stood a camel with its minder waiting for me. And soon, the camel, with its minder and I seated on its back, heaved with a jerk from its kneeling position to stand upright, even as I saw the ground beneath sinking away, and lurched into the vast expanse of shimmering mounds of sand lying in front of me.

Glimpses of the landscape on the way to Sam Sand Dunes from Jaisalmer city

After staggering up and down the peaks and troughs of the dunes for about a kilometer, the camel stopped, and the minder beckoned me to get down, and soak in the atmosphere and the sands. As I sat on the sand, sifting through it, taking a fistful of it, and letting it stream down from my hands, I was overcome by the delight and glee of a child that has been left to play in a theme park. I sat marvelling at nature’s unique creation, observing the ribbed contours formed on the sand due to effects of wind, and the trails of footprints left behind by camels and humans and the tracks of the wheel carts swishing across the undulations. Beholding the sun setting behind the dunes, I turned around only to be awestruck by the near full moon hovering just over the horizon in the opposite direction.

In the twilight, I trod by foot over the sand dunes back to the point where I had parked my scooter, and headed across the road to the resort where the Jaisalmer local had arranged for my dinner. After witnessing a folk programme of Rajasthani music and dance, and gorging on the buffet of Rajasthani cuisine, I headed back on my scooter to the city. Riding all alone at 8.30 PM in the night, with the seas of moonlit sands glimmering all the way to the horizon on both sides of road, the near full moon hanging right over my head keeping me company and the cool breeze blowing against my face, I reckoned that I had transcended all bounds of the material world – I was floating in a meditative plane, wanting the ride to never end. It was pure bliss.

Folk programme inside a desert camp resort

Desert Frenzy

The next day was going to be jam-packed, what with my return scheduled on the 6 PM train that evening. So, I started around 9.30 AM after breakfast on the scooter, and headed back on the same road leading to Sam Sand Dunes. Midway though, I took a left turn and headed off on the narrow road piercing the desert, and reached Kuldhara, an abandoned village, also touted as a haunted site, right in the middle of the desert. At Kuldhara, there lay rows of abandoned stone houses with only their walls remaining, alongside a temple around which the town’s life seems to have centered around. Adjacent to the lies a garden dubbed Jurassic Cactus Park, with a fascinating assortment of cactus varieties.

Established in the 13th century by Paliwal Brahmins who had emigrated from Pali, and is said as per a local legend, to have been abandoned overnight and cursed by the villagers when the prime minister Salim Singh set eyes on the village chief’s daughter and threatened the villagers with dire consequences if they defied his wish. However, research seems to suggest that Kuldhara and other such villages nearby were abandoned gradually over time, mainly due to damage due to earthquakes and dwindling water supply, and the abandonment seems to have been precipitated by early 19th century due to the oppressive tax regime of Jaisalmer state propagated by Salim Singh.

Pushing further into the desert, all alone on the scooter, with nary a human in sight, I headed towards Khabha. About half an hour later, passing through sands with occasional patches of 3 feet tall grass beneath some of which, one or more camels would be resting, I beheld a ridge, resembling a plateau on which stood a compact golden-coloured fort. Ascending up the ridge, I was soon inside the Khabha fort, with tiny turrets lining its peripheral wall, where I was amazed to find a museum of natural history. The fort stood all alone in desolation, a lone sentinel on the edge of a low cliff in the middle of the desert, overlooking, in the escarpment below, the stony ruins of an abandoned village, a sight similar to that I had just seen in Kuldhara.

Somewhere in the desert on the way to Khabha

Leaving Khabha, I rode back towards the Sam road, and crossed it to move over to the other side, where the landscape was relatively greener, and then riding parallel to the Sam road but towards Jaisalmer, I reached Lodurva, which was the capital of the Bhattis before Rawal Jaisal founded Jaisalmer in 1156 CE. At Lodurva, I visited the Shree Parshvanath temple, dedicated to the 23rd Tirthankara, built in the 9th century in yellow limestone and sandstone, which was destroyed in 1152 by invaders, and later renovated and repaired in 1615 AD. Riding further, I was accosted by a couple of youth on a motorcycle who were intent on smearing rangoli, since it was Holi. I sped as fast as I could, with the duo in hot pursuit, finally managing to lose them, and only stopped, nearer to Jaisalmer, at the Amar Singh Jain temple.

It was now 1 PM, and I had on my wish list, still one more outstation site to see, but this site was located on the other side of the city. Calculating the time I had in hand, I crossed Jaisalmer city, and sped on the Barmer highway to reach Akal Wood Fossil Park, lying about 18 km south-east of Jaisalmer, where I was welcomed by a couple of emus and an assortment of wood fossils dating back to 200 million years. I rode through the desolate desolate brown rocky land, coming across more preserved fossilized wood dating and pairs of pillars for which there was no explanation. After wandering for a while inside the fascinating park, I headed back to the city, where I stopped at Gadisar Lake, an artificial lake created in 1156 to serve as the main water source for the then newly-founded city.

Welcomed by emus in Akal Wood Fossil Park

After surrendering the scooter at the rent-a-bike shop, at around 4 PM, I finally found myself inside Jaisalmer fort. Soon, I was walking through the streets of the bustling town lying inside the fort premises. After whizzing past the courtyards, corridors and halls in the palaces, I came upon the the alleys running along the ramparts of the fort, winding around the turrets, in maze-like form. Standing on the ramparts, I was treated to breathtaking views of the cityscape and the barren, desert landscape beyond it with its meeting point with the sky shrouded in a haze of sand, leaving me in a trance.

Panoramic view of the city and beyond from the ramparts of Jaisalmer fort

My reverie was broken when the local who had arranged my accommodation and camel ride at Sam Sand Dunes called, asking if I was prepared to be dropped at the railway station. Walking down the fort road, I was not able to escape an assault of rangoli launched by a passerby, rendering patches of colour on my shirt and hair, leaving me fuming. But then, I saw a group of white tourists who had completely immersed themselves enjoyment of the festival of colours, and I told myself, what’s the big deal?, and greeted them, followed by exchanges of polite colour smearing.

As I mounted the motorcycle to sit behind the Jaisalmer local, with my backpack lugging on my back, I took one parting look at the mesmerizing golden fort sitting proudly and timelessly on the rock. An hour later, I was inside the train, fondly scrolling through the gallery on my Nokia Lumia phone, with the photographs on my phone, the smudges of rangoli on my person, and the wistfulness in my heart, being the only remaining and undying vestiges of my tryst with the Thar.

Trip Map of Jodhpur

Trip Map of Jaisalmer

A Wandering in Mewar: Udaipur and Chittorgarh

March 2013. It was that time of the year again – the spring slowly receding to give way to the advancing heat of the Delhi summer. If I did not make my foray into Rajasthan now, then I would have to wait till the monsoons had gone. After testing the waters with a short venture to Jaipur the last year, I was now ready to take a bigger leap, and naturally, that leap would have to land me in Udaipur, the city of lakes, that I had heard so much about – Chittorgarh, that famed land of brave hearts, would be a nice addition.

On 29th March 2013, just like on my previous trip to Rajasthan, I boarded an ordinary road transport bus to Jaipur after office from Iffco Chowk in Gurgaon. Listening to one studio album after another, each from start to finish, of my favorite band Michael Learns to Rock, I reached Jaipur around 10 PM. After a quick dinner and some inquiring, I got on a private operator’s bus headed to Udaipur – in hindsight, I should have taken a state transport bus only, for the seat was uncomfortable, with pathetic headroom. I remember getting woken up more than a couple of times due to bumping my head into the hardwood baggage shelf above, leading me to some soreness on my scalp.

I remember the bus passing through Bhilwara in the middle of the night when I was yanked out of my sleep, and as the dawn descended, the bus cutting through mist that shrouded the less-than-usual vegetation and isolated huts and houses sprinkled across the landscape in an envelope of haze. The next time I opened by eyes, I was informed by the bus conductor that the railway station had come – that was my cue to get down. Soon, just walking a few steps on the road running parallel to the railway station, I checked in to a hotel. Not wasting too much time, upon advice of the receptionist, I booked a cab to take me around Udaipur for about 1400 rupees.

Seeing Udaipur and Nearabouts

We started by heading off to the outskirts of the city, to the Eklingji temple located at Nagda, the first capital of Mewar, 25 km away from Udaipur. The original temple dedicated to Eklingji, the ruling god of the Mewar princely state, was built by Bappa Rawal, the founder of the Guhila Rajput dynasty, who established the Mewar kingdom in the 8th century AD. The temple underwent cycles of destruction by Turkic forces and re-construction, most notably in 14th century by Rana Hammir, the progenitor of the Sisodia clan to which Maharana Pratap belonged, and in 15th century by Rana Kumbha. The last major re-building with installation of the current idol was done in late 15th century by Kumbha’s son, Rana Raimal, after the temple had been devastated by the Malwa Sultanate forces.

After offering my prayers in the temple, we drove through a valley in the hills, which I was told were the Aravallis, that seemed largely yellow but splattered with patches of green. After about another half-hour of driving through alternating patches of flat land, clusters of hamlets, flanked by the Aravallis, we reached the Chetak Samadhi, built at the location where as per legend, Maharana Pratap’s horse Chetak breathed its last after taking its master to safety in the Battle of Haldighati against Akbar’s forces on 18th June 1576. Just another kilometer further, the road cuts through a narrow pass in the hill whose sides are barren and coloured pitch yellow with an orange tinge – the is the legendary Haldighati Pass, located at around a distance of 44 km from Udaipur.

Retreating from the Haldighati Pass, near the Chetak Smarak, I checked out the Maharana Pratap Museum that depicts the life and times, the exploits and achievements of Maharana Pratap. Maharana Pratap, the eldest son of Udai Singh II who founded Udaipur, was crowned in Gogunda as the 54th ruler of Mewar in 1572, inheriting a kingdom that had been weakened by the 1567-1568 siege of Chittorgarh. His refusal to form an alliance with and become a vassal of the Mughals and conitnued conflicts with the latter led to the legendary Battle of Haldighati on 18th June 1576, which the Mughals won although they could not capture Maharana Pratp or his close family members.

Forced to flee to safety of the hills with a trusted coterie of warriors and loyalists, amidst annexation after annexation of most key areas of Mewar including Gogunda, Udaipur, Kumbhalgarh etc., Maharana Pratap led sustained attacks using guerilla tactics against the Mughal forces, and won back major chunks of Mewar, with an exception being Chittorgarh, leading to Mewar’s revival by 1588 AD. Celebrated as a folk hero in Rajasthan, Maharana Pratap’s legend later spread to Bengal where he became a symbol of resistance for anti-British revolutionaries, leading to him becoming a leading icon of heroism, alongside the likes of Rani Laxmi Bai, in India’s freedom struggle.

Again driving through the Aravallis, we re-entered Udaipur city, where I straightaway where we first stopped by the Fateh Sagar lake, and then proceeded to the City Palace where I dismissed the cab. The construction of City Palace on the bank of Pichola lake commenced in 1559 AD, when Rana Udai Singh II moved his capital from Chittorgarh to Udaipur on the advice of a hermit, much before the siege of Chittorgarh by Akbar in 1567-68. Successive rulers of Mewar, including Maharana Pratap and Maharana Amar Singh I, occupied palace adding more layers to it. The palace complex, built entirely in granite and marble, comprises components such as courtyards, palaces and balconies, with intricate mirror work, murals, marble work etc. are a fine representative of Rajput architecture.

Taking in the grandeur and aesthetics inside the City Palace, coupled with amazing views of the Pichola Lake with the Aravallis in the background and the city, I exited the City Palace to directly walk into the Jagdish temple. Built by Maharana Jagat Singh in 1651, where Lord Jagannathi in the form of an idol carved out of a single black stone is worshipped, the temple is a fine example of Māru-Gurjara architecture. Spending some more time by Pichola lake, and admiring the spots of illumination emanation out of the Lake Palace (Jag Niwas) and Jagmandir Palace lying in the middle of the lake, I walked through the streets and then the main roads back to my hotel near the railway station, following a day well spent.

Chittorgarh

The next day I pondered over two options – to go to Kumbhalgarh or to Chittorgarh. At that point in time, I knew only of Chittorgarh, being enamored by sketches of a tower called Vijaya Stambh that appeared in an issue of Tinkle magazine. Perhaps at the same time in the same magazine or later, I had read about the legend of Panna Dai, who replaced the prince with her own son when the prince’s uncle attacked. Later came the story of queen Padmini. With the image of the Vijaya Stambha and the name Chittor stuck in my head for so many years, and the prospect of seeing the Vijaya Stambha for real knocking at my doors, it was rather easy to choose which place to go to.

By 9 AM next morning, I was in a state transport bus headed to Chittorgarh, which I reached by 11 AM. There, I hired the services of a middle-aged autorickshaw driver who doubled up as my guide for tour of Chittorgarh fort – the package costing me 500 rupees. Right from where we started, I could see the fort wall streaming up and down over the rugged edge of the hill in the distance. As we drew closer and closer to the hill above which the fort lay, I saw the outline of several structures jutting out into the sky – a narrow vertical structure stood taller than the others, and I wondered aloud if that was the Vijaya Stambha, to which my guide replied, yes.

Soon, the autorickshaw was clattering up the winding road, passing through multiple stone arched gates, called pols, one after another. At long last, passing through a cluster of normal but old looking houses, looking very similar to a village, we came on to an open clearing on flat around where the ticket counter stood. Buying my ticket, we rode further on the road towards the south until we reached a crossroads with multiple structures occupying the space on all sides of the crossroads. A palace stood right beside me, which I learnt was Kumbha’s palace. A cluster of marble built Jain temples stood on my left side, while two stone-built Hindu temples stood diagonally opposite side.

I got down at the crossroads to first see Kumbha’s palace, and then proceeded a little to the south to see the aforementioned two temples, namely, Kumbhashyam temple and Meera temple, the latter being a Krishna temple where Meera Bai from Merta who had married into Chittor, immersed herself in devotion to Krishna. Back outside the temple complex, as I turned my gaze a little to the south-west, I saw that right in front of me at a distance stood a tower that looked eerily similar to the one I remembered from the sketch from the magazine – it was indeed the Vijaya Stambha. Without further ado, I beckoned my guide to head straight to the Vijaya Stambha.

Reaching the foot of the Vijaya Stambha, I beheld the physicality, the carvings and the design of the structure with glee and wonder that would only be elicited in a child that has finally seen something that it had seen in a dream or on TV. The Vijaya Stambha was built in 1488 by Rana Kumbha to commemorate his victory over the forces of Malwa in the Battle of Sarangpur. Dedicated to the god Vishnu, it is said to be visible from anywhere inside the fort, and also from the city. What is more – it was possible to climb up the tower using the staircase located inside the structure, which is what I did with sheer excitement. Reaching the topmost of the 9 storeys, I got a breathtaking view of the city underneath and other structures inside the fort on the hill.

Getting down from the tower, I proceeded from beside the Jauhar place to Samadhishwara temple, which houses a three-faced Shiva idol. Behind the temple is the iconic water tank appearing in most circulated posters of Chittorgarh. Descending the steps I went to a crevice in the hillside from where emanates a water spring from an stone opening built in the form of a cow’s (Gau) head (mukh) filling up the water tank, thereby giving it the name Gaumukh Kund. From there, I got back on the autorickshaw and moved further south past a water tank to reach the Kalika Mata temple. Then further to the south, I stopped by the Padmini Palace, where a legend, albeit with no historical backing, of Ala-ud-din Khalji getting a glimpse of queen Padmini through the reflection on a mirror, is rooted in.

The three-faced Shiva in Samadhiswara temple

Pushing further south, the road curved around a water tank with a deer park occupying the outer side, and turned 180 degrees towards the north, with thin jungle flanking on both sides. Now heading a couple of hundred metres, we came upon the main gate of the fort, which overlooked the sparsely inhabited valley below. A stony curving path led from the valley below to the gate, with a low flat hill stretching from one end to another in the background, while ramparts streamed along the edge of hill from both sides of the gate. Moving further to the north, we came upon a cluster of Jain temples, amidst which stood another tower, looking like a prototype of the Vijaya Stambha, called Kirti Stambha, which is dedicated to Adinatha and was built in the 12th century.

The restored main gate on the east side of the fort

Pushing further north for another kilometer or so, we reached the north end of the hill, where a full fledged village is located. Again turning a full 180 degrees, we were headed in the south direction again, first passing through the village and then, meeting the road by which we had first entered the village on our way up to the fort. As we rolled down the hill through the numerous gates on the winding road, I looked wistfully at the ramparts above me, a little dismayed that I had to say goodbye to the place that I had been fascinated with for so long. As we stumbled back into the city at the foothill, I took one last glance at the hillside that wore the the stone ramparts as a crown and supplemented it with structures as if bedecked with gems.

A parting shot of the fascinating Chittorgarh as seen from the foothill

It was 5 PM when I took a road transport bus back to Udaipur. After a quick dinner, I boarded a pre-booked 9.30 PM bus to Delhi, and fell asleep, only waking up when the bus arrived in Dhaula Kuan in Delhi the next morning.

Post-script

In the end, what struck me most after visiting Chittorgarh is how it is a self-contained city spread upon a vast flattop hill, like on a plateau. The palaces and structures are far-flung interspersed with water tanks and jungle. If you’ve read The Lost World, then imagine a place that is removed from the remaining world that lies beneath, and one that transports you to another era as a time machine. All said and done, Chittorgarh, a place I had loved since I was a child, since before I even set foot in Rajasthan, turned out to be place that lived up to and went beyond the hype and visuals I had created in my mind.

A Jaunt through Jaipur

March 2012. Spring was drawing to a close, and before the Delhi summer started knocking on the city’s doors, I decided, emboldened by first ever solo trip from the previous year, to set out on my next solo trip – my first ever trip to Rajasthan.

My fascination with Rajasthan had begun while growing up in Odisha through a myriad of stimuli – black-and-white pictures of the Hawa Mahal and Jantar Mantar in an English literature textbook, a travelogue of Bikaner and Jaisalmer in my Odia literature textbook, sketches of the Vijaya Stambh and the legend of Panna Dai of Chittaurgarh in Tinkle Magazine, images of Sambhar Lake and Dilwara Temples of Mount Abu in geography textbook, and so on. And now, close to three years after I had moved to Delhi, it was time to indulge the fascination and see in person what I had seen only in pictures. What better place than Jaipur, the city in Rajasthan nearest to Delhi, to begin the exploration with?

On the many occasions that I had passed through Dhaula Kuan, I had seen buses having Jaipur written on their boards waiting to pick passengers up, and had wondered as to when I would get a chance to board one of those. I had seen the same buses stopping at Iffco Chowk in Gurgaon very close to where I worked. And so on the evening of 23rd March 2o12, an evening that I remember very clearly, leaving the office at around 4.30 PM, I stood at Iffco Chowk, squinting through the fog of dust enveloping the area, for the next road transport bus headed to Jaipur. By 5.30 PM, I was on a bus, not seated by the window, but comfortable enough at the fourth row from the rear.

The bus kept moving through the suburbs of Gurgaon for a while, and then rose up a gentle slope through a jungle of shrub, and a while later passed through another wooded area that seamlessly melded into a barrage. These are the sights I remember from around the time of sunset and the twilight before darkness fell. The bus stopped at multiple places, interspersed with spells of zooming on the highway whenever possible, even as people alighted from, and new passengers boarded the bus. A air of Haryanvi and Rajasthani-flavoured Hindi hung inside the bus, while I sat in utter anticipation of my arrival in Jaipur.

Around 10, the city walls appeared and the bus passed an arched gate – Jaipur was here. Soon, I got down at the Sindhi Camp bus-stand, looking clueless, which was obviously picked up by an cycle-rickshaw puller, who accosted me proposing to take me to a hotel. Not knowing anything better, and given the time of day, I was soon on the rickshaw, when the rickshaw puller asked me if I would be interested in staying in a hotel that featured in a movie Chalo Dilli, released the previous year, to which I agreed. Thus, in half-an-hour I found myself inside a room with no window in Hotel Red Tomato Palace. Needless to say, thanks to the absence of ventilation, compounded by the excitement of seeing Jaipur the next day, I did not get a wink of sleep the whole night.

The whole night, questions swam in my mind – how would Jaipur city would look like? The GK book I read as a child addressed Jaipur as the Pink City – would Jaipur really look pink, and if it did, would be it because of the houses, or because of the soil or the skies? At long last, morning came, and I headed, with a foldable brochure on Jaipur sight-seeing in hand, to the bus-stand. As informed by the hotel receptionist, there is a system in place in Jaipur, whereby auto-rickshaw drivers offer fixed price package tours of Jaipur. Arriving at the bus-stand, I did not even have to try, as an autorickshaw driver promptly approached me with offers for many types of package tours – I chose a single day tour worth 700 rupees.

The tour started with the Jaipur Zoo, which I only agreed to keep in the package because I was curious to see what a zoo in a city with a desert in the vicinity, looked like. Sauntering through the zoo, I moved just across the road to Albert Hall Museum, the oldest museum in Rajasthan, where artifacts displayed also include those from Ancient India and Egypt, the highlight being an Egyptian Mummy. It was also at Albert Hall Museum where I learnt I could buy a single consolidated ticket that would allow entry to many of the monuments in Jaipur, including for Jantar Mantar, Amer Fort and Hawa Mahal. From there, as I moved towards Jantar Mantar, a site that had captured my imagination from when I was a kid, I first beheld the arrays of shops painted pink, explaining the epitaph of ‘the Pink City’.

Built in between 1728 and 1734 by the avid astronomer king Sawai Jai Singh, the Jantar Mantar comprises 19 astronomical instruments built from stone and marble, that allow observation of astronomical positions with the naked eye. This, along with similar observatories later built at 5 other locations, including in Delhi and Ujjain, helped in more accurate calculation of celestial positions for the astronomical tables that were continuously used in India for over a century. After going through alternating periods of use and disuse, interspersed with some spells of restoration, including some during the British colonial rule, and a final restoration by 2006, it was designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2010.

From Jantar Mantar, I moved through the street lined by pink-coloured shops through the Old City centre towards the hills that stood overlooking the city in the north. Soon, the autorickshaw passed by the expansive Man Sagar Lake, and climbed up the road that ran into the hill. A little up the hill, I stopped at Kanak Vrindavan, a beautiful garden with a temple, fountains, trees and chhatris, built by Sawai Jai Singh 275 years ago, where scenes of many movies, most notably, Lamhe, have been shot. Further, passing through a long stretch of the road cut through the hill and was lined with wood on both sides, the autorickshaw finally reached a wide section on the road, where countless vehicles were parked. Beside the section lay a lake with a spice garden in the middle, and above on the crest of the hill stood an imposing fort – Amer fort.

The Amer fort, built in 1592 AD by the Kachhwaha king Man Singh, became the mainstay of the ruling family of Amer or Dhundar state, which was ruled by the Kachhwahas since 1037 AD. Amer, the area ensconced in the Aravallis where the fort is located, was the capital of the Kachhwahas until 1727, when Sawai Jai Singh II built a fortified city called Jaipur at the foothills of the Aravallis. The fort itself was expanded by successive kings, and today consists of the six main sections, with the temple dedicated to Sila Devi, prominently standing in the first courtyard, a Diwan-i-aam or Public Audience Hall, many palaces including Sukh Mahal, Sheesh Mahal and that of Man Singh I. A tunnel, that runs partly subterranean, leads to Jai Garh fort, a military fortress situated at a nearby peak. Views of the landscape from the fort are breathtaking.

Now it already being 3.30 PM, I headed back towards the Old City centre, again stopping by the Man Sagar lake, and reaching the Hawa Mahal just in time before it closed for the day. Hawa Mahal, another structure that had fascinated me since my childhood, perhaps best typifies the character of the Old City, with its pink coloured facade. The palace, built in 1799 by Sawai Pratap Singh, the grandson of Jai Singh II, the founder of Jaipur, is unique because of the rows of latticed windows, small and big, with some decorated with coloured glasses, adorning the facade making the facade resemble a honeycomb. Walking through the multiple levels of the Hawa Mahal, I got excellent views of the city skyline as well as of the hills in the distance.

With the day drawing to a close, I bid adieu to the autorickshaw driver, and rested for a couple of hours in the hotel room. I pondered about what to do the next day, but soon started feeling a fever setting in – something that I had encountered on my first ever solo trip the previous year too. It may have been a combination of sleep deprivation and the day-long exposure to the sun, but I decided it was best to rest at my place in Delhi as opposed to in Jaipur. So, I checked out, had dinner, and caught an overnight bus to Delhi. Slipping in and out of consciousness, I was in Delhi the next morning, glad to get the whole Sunday to rest and recover from the fever.

Postcards from Dharamshala: The First Solo Trip

April 2011. I remember it like it was yesterday. My first ever solo trip. My friends who had planned a Dharamshala trip with me for the Good Friday weekend ditched me at the last moment. But I had already made up my mind, and so I set out all alone. I simply lugged my backpack, took the metro to the Kashmiri Gate ISBT, and was soon looking for the counter for the buses leaving for Himachal Pradesh.

It was around 9.30 PM. Every bus counter had long queues stretching for half a mile each. There were no more direct buses scheduled to Dharamshala that night. So I joined the one for Chandigarh, and when I finally reached the counter window around 10.30 PM, I was told I would be getting tickets only for the 1.30 AM bus. Left with no choice, and not intent on turning back home, I bought the ticket, and was inside the bus at 1.30 AM.

The bus was an ordinary road transport one, with thin cushioned seats, no AC, with windows that you had to keep open for ventilation. Fortunately, I got a window seat, that too, right near the main door. After the bus started at around 2, I was in and out of sleep, and before I knew it I was in Chandigarh, where I got to know I had to take a city bus to the Sector-43 ISBT to catch a bus to Dharamshala, which I did.

By 9AM, I was on my way to Dharamshala in a Himachal Road Transport bus, again in an ordinary bus type. I remember first passing through Nangal, where the Bhakra-Nangal dam, that I remembered from my school textbooks, is located. Soon, we were climbing the hills, and passed through Una, which I knew because it was the hometown of a senior colleague of mine. By 3 PM though, as the bus swerved through corners, I remember seeing the snowcapped mountains from above the tops of coniferous trees in the distance.

The bus kept pushing up the hills and taking one hair-pin bend after another, and yet the mountains kept their distance. But that was until 3.30PM, when suddenly, I could see the snow-capped mountain within touching distance. Within the next half hour, I was at the foothills of the Dhauladhar mountain range, the one that I had been seeing for around three hours. I was at Dharamshala.

The first thing I did was talk to a cab driver about a day tour package for the next day, which would include McLeodgunj and Kangra – it would set me back by 700 rupees. Then, I walked a couple hundred metres up the main road and booked a room, that I got for a really cheap price, not more than a 1000 rupees. Then, I settled down for the evening, watching the IPL on TV, then ordering dinner, and going to sleep after a really, really long day.

Next morning I was feeling a little feverish. So, reaching the busstop at 9 AM, I first booked a return ticket to Delhi, this time on an AC bus, for the same evening, and then caught up with the cab driver that I had talked to the previous evening. The cab driver first took me to Naddi View Point, from where I took in breathtaking views of the Dahuladhar mountain range. Next, I stopped at the Church of St. John in the Wilderness, an Anglican Church built in 1852 AD in the Neo-Gothic style. James Bruce, the 8th Earl of Elgin, and the Viceroy and Governer-General of India from 1862 to 1863 is buried in the churchyard.

Then pushing on towards McLeodgunj, I stopped next at the Bhagsu Nag temple. Legend has it that Bhagsu, sent by the ogre king of Rajasthan to fetch water for his drought-ridden kingdom, had to fight to death the Nags, or the snakes, on his return with a pail of water stolen from the perennial streams of the Dhauladhar mountains. Impressed with his dedication to the people of his kingdom, the lord of the snakes, Lord Shiva, bestowed immortality on Bhagsu in the form of the remembrance of both of their names in conjunction, hence, Bhagsu Nag.

After taking a walk to the waterfall behind the Bhagsu Nag temple, I proceeded to the Namgyal Monastery, which is the personal monastery of the Dalai Lama. Founded in the 1560s, the monastery was relocated to Dharamshala from Lhasa following the Tibet Uprising in 1959. Paying my respects at the temple, and conversing with a monk, I proceeded to Kangra, stopping by some tea gardens on the way.

Once at Kangra, I visited the Kangra fort built by the Katoch dynasty, with the earliest existing remains inside the fort dateable to the 9th-10th century. The fort yielded to the attacks, first of Mahmud of Ghazni in 1009 AD, then to Tughlaqs in the 14th century, and then Sher Shah Suri’s general in 1540 AD. In 1620, the Kangra kingdom was annexed by to the Mughal empire by Jahangir, but wrested back by Raja Sansar Chand in 1786 AD after decline of the Mughal empire. Following siege by Gurkhas, Sansar Chand took the help of Maharaja Ranjit Singh of the Sikh Empire to ward off the attack, and yielded the fort to the latter.

The fort was annexed by the British from the Sikhs in 1846 and occupied by British garrisons until 1905 when it was heavily damaged by an earthquake. Today, the fort, the largest of the Himalayan forts, lies in ruins, as a proud testament to the illustrious past of the Kangra Valley. Standing at the edge of a cliff, one can only marvel at the breathtaking views of the valley. The Kangra fort was the one where my love for forts was first ignited.

It was now 3 PM, and I headed back towards Dharamshala stopping at the picturesque Dharamshala Cricket Stadium which had just come into national limelight after hosting matches in the IPL. Then, stopping at the War Memorial, I was dropped by the cab driver at the bus station, where I boarded the bus back to Delhi around 7. The next morning I was back in Delhi, glad to have the Sunday to recover from a very tiring yet whirlwind first solo trip.