"Paanch Juhu"

I have not been a regular on the Fourth Seat. Not on the blog but on the actual seat. I have been taking the bus routinely since a few days. Bus Journeys are so much more different. Instead of bustling stations, you stop by every once in a while at a bus stop and at every traffic signal and every time some dude decides to create a jam, for fun. So it's not a smooth ride but in the end it gets you to places that the train can never manage to. Due to the general pace of the bus, the sights around keep changing slowly. It gives me enough time to read every signboard and hoardings - both legal and illegal. Legal selling soap, illegal one wishing a very happy birthday to the 'yuva' shakhapramukh, gatneta or the likes. And then there are the passengers. So much more different than their counterparts on the local. We'll talk about them some other time though.

For now, here's what happened on the bus. Route no 203 heading to Juhu Beach. Crowded it was. I had a seat though(window). Somewhere after Malad station, a family of 5 boarded the bus. A elderly couple, the son and daughter in law with a toddler and the grandmother. The conductor was his usual self, ushering everyone in and ringing the bell, swearing when he felt like. The old man sat down, and the ladies also found seats. He removed a crumpled 100 rupee note and waved at the conductor, said "Paanch Juhu" but whimsical, as he was, the conductor said "I'll come back to you" In the meanwhile, the son insisted that he'd buy the tickets but they never settled the matter as the conductor walked away. After a few stops had passed, the conductor returned to the old man while the son found a seat two rows to the back. The old man, as a rule abiding citizen that he seemed to be, retrieved the same note from his pocket and said "Paanch Juhu"

At this juncture, I would like to pause the narrative a little bit and focus on a mute spectator sitting right behind this old man - yours truly. I had been observing this family since the time they got onto the bus. The old man had wrapped a gamcha around his head, the ladies wore sarees with the pallu covering their faces, typical of women from UP. The son wore shirtpant. The old lady was frail and I wondered how she put up with every inconvenience on the bus with a sombre expression. Almost resigned to her fate she seemed. And then the conductor walked up to the old man and I again heard the old man's voice. At the moment, I almost prodded his shoulder to remind him of his Son's offer to buy tickets. There was a slight chance that the conductor had already issued five tickets to the son. I wanted to ask the conductor to stop and confirm but he had already pressed the button on the ugly new ticket dispenser. The paper roll unraveled itself and the conductor tore off the ticket and handed it to the man - 90 bucks + 3 for a toddler! And that's when the son hollered that he had already bought the tickets. I cursed myself for not having acted. But my experience on the BEST, tells me that the conductor sub species belonging to the species of Sarkari servants is unique, they remember obscure details and generally ask 'Kaun Paanch?" before issuing 5 tickets totalling to 90 bucks!

And here we were, stumped at what had just happened. BEST has just made a killing. Or at least that's how the conductor made it look like - because he simply threw his hands up and refused to return the money, smiling nonchalantly all the while. "Nahi nahi, aata kon ghenaar! Long distance ahe te, basa ata" *smirk* Gleefully he added as if imagining a pat from the treasury-head for getting extra 90 bucks for the company! I am sure, there is a clause in the BEST handbook that deals with the issue of double ticketing, but as it is with government provisions, it would probably entail too much paper work and so he simply refused to refund the tickets and went about ringing the bell. The old man didn't appear to be grumpy, not did he create a ruckus and nor did he mutter complaints to his co-passenger. He sat back, gazing out of the window, perhaps recalling all the other times when he has suffered from the folly of the system, and shouldered all the blame.. As for me, it was a lesson learnt. To act when convinced even fifty percent. I would've made a fool of myself, maybe even insulted for meddling but it might have saved an old man, his hard earned 100 bucks.

My stop was nearing so I collected my bag and made way to the front of the bus. Sincerely hoping that someone would walk in with four passengers and say "Paanch Juhu"

The God on the Rickshaw

The eleven-ten BO slow pulled into Platform No. 1 of the Kandivali Station by 2315. Not bad, I thought to myself while I made my way to the northernmost exit. Rolling down my sleeves, a feeble attempt to keep me warm, I climbed down the uneven stairs as I passed the blacked out stores which lined this exit on both sides. Some sold pirated computer games while others sold Chinese bhel and garrish red manchurian balls, which off late have become such a rage on the streets. And of course there's Sugarcane Juice, even Nira in plastic sachets and Bhajiyas all equipped for the thirsty and hunrgy. And there are two temples too. But all the shops were shut. The exit wore a lonely, deserted look. Autorickshaws stood in a long line, awaiting passengers in the cold evening. The ones towards the front, turned you down upfront. Since I stay only 1.4km(wonders of the e-meter) away from the station, I am not the best bakra for them. So I moved a little ahead and asked a fellow clad in full winter gear if he would be kind enough to take me to my humble abode. He bluntly refused.

In a full mood to start a fight, I was about to remind him of the existing laws that govern 'bhada refusal' and my rights and such, when a young fellow clad in a half shirt called out to me and said - "Chalo main chhod deta hu" Mildly surprised and momentarily placated, I loaded my heavy backpack on the seat and sat down myself. He tried the kick(the lever that kickstarts the engine), once, twice and thrice but the engine sputtered and died. I asked him to take it easy and give it full-zabardast-wala try and though sputtering at first, the engine roared to life! He smiled and we began our journey, he soon started talking. He called all of these refusal types - fools, ekdum bewakuf hain woh sab he said. They brought a bad name to the entire 'rickshaw-line', he had a point I said. But I am not like that he confessed. He said he saw God in every passenger, and treated them equally, "jaise aap bhi Bhagwan ho sakte hain". He knew that everyday he wouldn't get a bhada to Bandra so a few smaller rides were good enough too. Curious how he dealt with choleric passengers, always waiting to fight with everyone, I asked him and he replied that he didn't like to respond to them but instead he prayed to Narayan to grant them some  buddhi - wisdom and show them the way. His father had followed this school of thought and he had done well for himself. So without thinking twice, he had adapted to this doctrine.

I had already resolved to leave all the change with him at the end of the trip and though it wouldn't mean much to either of us. Although, I did mention to him that such thoughts and people were indeed rare and the city was in dire need of more such heroes. I remember a time when every journey used to be memorable, filled with tales from the farmlands of UP, Bihar and even Jharkhand. Some spoke of their district with pride and others hailing from places such as Varanasi, invited me over to their homes - "khao-piyo aaram karo mere gharpe, sahab", an auto driver had told me and gave me his contact numbers after I mentioned, that I had been wanting to visit the ghats since a long time. All that is a rarity now. The 1.4 km stretch was covered quickly and we drew to a halt. I paid him, conveyed my thanks and walked into the cold night, which didn't seem as chilly as before. As I walked into my warm home, I was happy to realise that the spirit of the city, continues to live on through such people.

The Bulbul's Song

The school building rose high amongst the smaller buildings in its vicinity. Enclosed in the security akin to a prison, it sometimes belied the atmosphere of a place where children gathered to play, make mischief and well, study. The bell rang and the kids reacted with joy, just like Pavlov’s Dogs they were conditioned to expect freedom which was as good as food, after a dreary day at school. Hordes of children began to stream out of all the gates of the building. There is something electric during these few minutes. Pent up energy is being released onto the hapless looking peons and guards. Children bounding with enthusiasm rush to the gate, in spite of their heavy bags, they make a dash. The innocence of childhood is magical, when information hasn’t been overloaded in our minds and every little thing matters. The dash more often ends in the arms of a parent, beaming with pride and relieved to see their child in onepiece as they say. And then after the last child has left, everything goes silent, the building goes off to sleep just like the men who guard it.

That evening, the scene wasn’t any different. Amongst the marathon runners (dream run, of course) was a little girl. Spectacles balanced on her nose, hair tied in two neat pony tails, her dark brown eyes were calm and she wasn’t running like the other kids. She walked slowly, not dragging her feet like a child on the way to school does, but similar to Buddha's walk. Small steps, observing every little squeal of delight and the mischievous push, she was mindful of the things around without knowing it, without being told. She didn’t even have to look up and spot her mother from far, because she knew that Suman would be standing at the same spot, as everyday. Indira’s mother Suman Dileep Shinde, 30 stood in the corner next to the bright red India Post box that only a few people used nowadays. But it still stood it’s ground, and next to it stood Suman, dressed in a faded blue saree which in spite of its repetitive usage, made her look elegant. Clutching her mobile phone wrapped in a white handkerchief(with a pink border), her eyes scanned the throng for her little one.

She was easy to spot. She looked up and their eyes met. Identical pair of eyes, same in colour and in emotion. The pain, longing and nostalgia, all were identical. It had been only a few months since Dileep Shinde, doting father and honest PSI of Mumbai Police went missing mysteriously. Only to be found dead in the mangroves of Malad, a few days later. The case was still under investigation but the outcome didn’t matter. He wasn’t around anymore. After his death Suman had resolved not to be not thrown off track for the sake of their 8 year old - Indira. With her spectacles, the calm demeanor and composed self, she was all that regular kids were not. She didn’t like to play with them but pored over books and watched Animal Planet at home. After Dileep’s untimely death, she seemed even more withdrawn. After school, she would stand by the window, gazing into the setting sun, watching the birds fly home. Identifying them in her head, just as Baba had taught her. “Pay attention to the beak and look, the red under it’s tail - what is it?” “RedVentedBulbul!” she would reply at once. And the Bulbul would sing her song, acknowledging the little one's admiration.

Precocious she was. But never boastful. Now as she walked to her mother, she had a wry smile on her face. She handed over her backpack, which Suman was glad to take from her. They didn’t discuss the day or what Ms. Shirley had taught. They had stopped doing that since this new phase of their lives had begun. In fact, the silence was mutual, it wasn’t awkward. Suman knew her daughter well. It was more than the eyes that Indira had inherited from her. At thirty, Suman looked younger. A healthy lifestyle had kept her in good shape, and her bare neck invited much unwanted attention since the last few months. Her mangalsutra was conspicuous by its absence and so was the red bindi on her forehead. Men and women were quick to notice these differences and would either be sympathetic or hostile to her, depending upon the situation. She was slowly getting used to it.

As they walked on road number 11, of Jawahar Nagar the call of Coppersmith Barbet reverberated through this small lane (which Indira had identified long ago) an Autorickshaw sputtering dark smoke from its exhaust halted right beside them. Unmindful of it, they continued to walk until the driver - a fellow in his 40s asked politely if he could drop them anywhere. Suman turned to say no when she caught the look in his eye, malevolence shown bright and the the wide grin on his face, exposing his paan stained teeth confirmed her doubt. Almost by instinct she grabbed Indira’s hand and started to walk fast. Home wasn’t far and if she kept to the sides, she could reach quickly. Raju alias Gandu as he was known to friends was not to be deterred, he kept up with them and shouted out to Suman “ Chal na! backseat main, beti ko bhi leke aa” He knew, there was no husband to beat him up and the bystanders would only look. He kept making obscene motions with his fist.

Suman continued to ignore him, but Indira was observing all the drama. She didn’t dare look at the auto wallah but she could hear what he was saying. From the tone; if not from the meaning, she knew this was a nasty man troubling Suman. The lane ended and at the junction, vehicles zipped past, and they had to wait to cross over onto the other side. Raju running out of patience by now, frustrated and angry crossed his limits. Without thinking for a moment, possessed by lust and the devil within, he reached out to grab Suman’s right breast. But before Suman could react and dodge him, Raju withdrew his hand, as if it were approaching fire. Because right then ran through his head ran a pain so intense, it almost threw him off his seat. His hand grabbed his head by the temples and his left hand felt warm dark blood oozing out and smothering his hand. He was shaking by now and a ringing pain was shooting to his brain. Caught completely off guard, there were tears of pain in his eyes. A small stone smeared in blood lay near the brakes of the rickshaw. And next to Suman, stood Indira holding another pebble, just in case the auto wallah reacted to her first attack.

A curious crowd had gathered by now and a fruit seller who happened to notice the incident, came running. Embolden by the crowd he announced to the mob what the auto wallah had tried to do. Upon hearing him speak, the crowd closed in on the auto menacingly while Suman yanked Indira's hand and slipped out. Her heart was beating fast but it also swelled with pride. Bravery, often has little to do with strength and Indira had proven it that evening. As soon as they turned into the gate of their house, two Bulbuls perched on the window sill began to sing their song, they sang for Indira.

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In the wake of the recent uprising against sexual violence towards women, I have realised that no amount of protests or police vigil can be an effective deterrent to the perpetrators of such crimes. It is only when the common public, the aam junta take matters into their own hands and ward off every small attempt that leads to a full blown sexual assault will the mentality change, fear will creep in and things might change.

Virupapur Gaddi - The Beach of Hampi (minus the sea)

Virupapur Gaddi welcomes you

Experience has taught me that early mornings are the best time to arrive into a new place. It was nice to witness the bustle at dawn near Virupaksha temple, which has been standing somberly near Hampi Bazaar since the 15th century. Devotees took a bath by the river before entering the temple for Darshan, but what was I doing by the river side early morning? Well, I was waiting for the boat. For, I had decided to stay on ‘the other side’ - Virupapur Gaddi(VG) popularly known as Hampi Island. Separated from Hampi Bazaar and the main temple complexes only by the Tungabhadra, it is one of the best places to base yourself during your stay here. Connected to the Bazaar only by a boat service(20 with luggage, 15 otherwise), there are several reasons why VG scores over pretty much everything else around but I chose it primarily for a distinct traveller vibe that is felt quite prominently on this side. Life here seems laidback and chilled out. It is just like being on a beach, except that the only thing missing here is the sea. Availability of budget accommodation options (as cheap as 100/night in a Bamboo Hut), good number eating joints and mopeds and bicycles on rent(150/50 day, fuel: 100) are other reasons to live here. Although chicken and other meats are banned in Hampi Bazar, it is served with delight on this side.

Sanapur lake 

Virupapur Gaddi also houses activities and places that usually don’t find a mention on the conventional tourist map of Hampi(Quite literally so, a local handbook I purchased has a detailed map of only the main area). Sanapur Lake, a serene reservoir located about 4km away from VG is a fantastic place to spend a few hours. A few signboards warn you about the presence of crocodiles but most of the locals rubbish this warning. As a result, a lot of travellers can be seen swimming around in the lake and some even try cliff jumping from above some of the tall rocks that line the shore. I was in no mood to swim but I had a good session of birdwatching by the lake. Pied Kingfisher and the Common Kingfisher put on a fantastic display of their hunting capabilities while a White Wagtail, roamed a few feet from me. There were countless number of bee eaters and a few Brahminy Kites circling the water body too. 

Chintamani Temple Complex, Anegondi 

Anegondi(also spelt Anegundi), the erstwhile capital of the Vijayanagar kingdom also lies just 7 km away from VG. The name literally means Elephant’s pit and is home to the nearest ATM(Axis Bank). I cycled down to Chintamani complex which houses the cave where Vali had held Sugreeva’s wife, it is also the spot where Rama and Lakshmana arrived at looking for Sita and also nearby lies the spot where the epic battle between Sugreeva and Vali took place. Where Rama slayed Vali and ensured, the kingdom of Kishkindha for Sugreeva. Other fascinating places which find a prominent mention in the Ramayana located at Anegondi are the Pampa Reservoir, Sabari’s cave and Anjana Parvath. Cave paintings depicting life in the earlier times can be found a km away from Anegundi towards VG.The Hanuman Temple atop this hill is one of the higher points of the region. 500 steps take you to the top and the Sunset from here is supposed to be beautiful, rewarding the climber with a panoramic view of the whole of Anegundi and the Hampi ruins on the other side of the Tungabhadra.

Jerry(Red shorts), taking a break from Climbing

Travelling to Hampi only for the boulders

Bouldering: I had read a great deal about the bouldering opportunities available in Hampi and was amazed at seeing such a growing interest in this small town amongst world’s top climbers! So when I heard about a basic introductory programme started by two enterprising young kids named Tom and Jerry (who also own a climbing gear shop by the same name), I signed up immediately. For 350 bucks, they provide you with climbing shoes, a crash pad and chalk powder - all the equipment you would need for getting started. One of them comes along with you as a guide/instructor. Jerry accompanied us and the session began with some pretty simple stretching exercises which advanced gradually, making me realise how drastically my fitness levels have fallen! Sooner, we were dusting chalk powder on our hands and trying to solve ‘problems’ - navigating small crimps(extensions and crevices on seemingly smooth rock) to ascend a boulder not more than 10 ft. Just as it is usually, when the expert demonstrated it seemed easy. However, when I tried it, I got worn out pretty easily. But after some effort, I had managed to climb a few times quite successfully. Just when I was starting to get a little excited, the sole of my already worn out climbing shoes came off. The only option was to climb bare feet or sit and clap. Well, you can figure what I chose to do. It was worth every drop of sweat. 

A lot of foreign travellers were present that evening. Not all of them amateurs though. Most of them were professional climbers. A climber from Israel, practicing closeby told me that he had arrived in Hampi only for the boulders. And that was the story of the most climbers present. In VG, climbing is practiced in the hill located opposite to Goan Corner(five minute walk from the jetty) One can rent a crash pad for 80 bucks a day from Goan Corner or other climbing stores including Tom and Jerry. Shoes are also available on rent. Mornings(6-10) and evenings (4-Sunset) are the best times to practice bouldering. An introductory course should be enough to get you familiarised but one can also just tag along with the horde of climbers that descend(or should I say ascend!, sorry) in this little corner of Virupapur Gaddi. I was quite disappointed to see almost no Indians trying their hand at Bouldering, a few instructors and I were the only Indians present. It is surprising how people from all over the world take so much interest in the natural beauty that our country is endowed so generously with and yet we continue to neglect it.

Mr. Lav, Chef, RJ, Playwright

Evenings in Virupapur were spent chilling with friends and travellers at the uber cool Oh La La cafe housed at Bobby's Guest house and run by the very affable Mr. Luv (Ramayana is everywhere in Hampi!) from Kathmandu. He also ran the German Bakery, pies and cakes of which bore the seal of approval of many western travellers! His stories about his working life in Hampi, Leh and Himachal kept us entertained. The Chef is not only a culinary expert but also a qualified RJ, a poet and a playwright. His philosophy of living is governed by the fact that we live only once and everything is worth trying out. So when he is not cooking, he is back in Kathmandu interviewing celebrities for the local radio channel, setting cultural programs and directing plays. He intends to settle down in his country with his children and family but until then he is happy whipping up fluffy cakes, hot teas and delicious food for us weary travellers to keep us going! 

Hanuman is Omnipresent

Tales of travellers are fun to hear but I generally prefer the stories that the locals have to share. In India, a lot many western travellers mistakenly categorize all Indians as same, from the North to South. Each local has a different take on India and the region that they call home, most of the times, overcoming the language barrier and communicating with them does lead to newer, exciting possibilities as I was to find out!

Kishkindha - Vijayanagara - Hampi

Kishkindha

Vijayanagara 

Hampi

The mention of Hampi is enough to evoke many images at once. Students of history would recall the great Vijayanagara empire, the illustrious King Krishnadevraya and South India’s answer to Birbal - the wise Tenali Rama. Fans and believers of the great Indian epic Ramayana will recount the Vanara Kingdom of Kishkindha where, Hanuman met Lord Rama and Lakshmana for the first time, where the great battle between the two Vanara kings Sugreeva and Bali was fought and several such stories that abound in this region. Hampi for me was a combination of the two versions. Having grown up on a healthy dose of Amar Chitra Katha, stories from the Ramayana continue to fascinate me even though I might not be a staunch believer. The medieval period in the history of India holds mixed emotions for me. The continuous invasions, the Hindu-Muslim rivalry and the bloody wars fought between several local and foreign rulers and the eventual end of this period with the discovery of the new trade route between Europe and India. This period also signifies the extent of wealth in the country, which attracted several invaders to plunder her riches.

One such centre of that speaks greatly of her glorious past is the kingdom of Vijayanagara. Hampi or Vijayanagara was it’s capital and was a famous trade centre with sprawling bazaars. Inscriptions and sculptures speak of the time when horse traders from Mongolia and China would visit and trade horses in exchange of jewels. The state budget was divided between maintaining the army and developmental work of the villages. The Kings were known to be kind and just to their subjects. The army was formidable and several conquests including one to Orissa were successful. This prosperous city lying on the banks of Tungabhadra witnessed major destruction after it’s last strong ruler Rama Raya was captured by the Sultan of Ahmednagar. Inevitable doom followed and the city was reduced to ashes. Buried and forgotten, it was only in 1984 when the ASI started excavating did they rediscover this magnificent city. With over 500 monuments and counting, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is one of the most beautiful ruins I have visited in a long time.

It was a chilly evening when I boarded the second last bus out of Gokarna to Ankola. The travel agent had told me that the bus to Hampi leaves from Goa (Paulo Travels, 600, non ac-semi sleeper, 8 hours) and would pick us up from Hotel Vardaraj, 4km away from Ankola Bus stand. Typically, any bus plying to Karwar or Hubli should stop there but due to a lack of an ‘official’ stop, most bus conductor will tell you that it doesn’t fall on the route. However, after convincing one Hubli bound bus to stop on its way, I was dropped off at Hotel Vardaraj. The bus is usually an hour late and arrives only at 2345. A non-AC semi sleeper worked well for me because it was cheap and the cold weather more than made up for the lack of air conditioning. The journey was uneventful but a few tourists from Belarus reeking of Old Monk kept us entertained for a bit. When I woke up, the bus had stopped at Hospet for a chai-coffee-toilet break. Hampi wasn’t too far now, just about 12 km away. And soon enough, slopes dotted with boulders started rolling in and the ruins appeared in sight. I had arrived in Kishkindha.

Kudle-Om-HalfMoon-Paradise - The Great Beach Trek

It was a windy morning and the sun light felt good after a cool night. After polishing off a heavy and a rather European breakfast of muesli with fruits, curd and honey I was ready to trek to the other three beaches with a friend. A water bottle, a cap and a small backpack was all I had with me. The route to Om Beach is straight forward from Kudle. You climb up the southern incline and arrive at a plateau which stretches out for about a kilometer or so. It leads to a concrete road, from here the sea is visible. Just walk down the slope, past the toll booth and take the first left that leads to the steps of Om Beach. The steps make it easier to visit this beach and hence a lot many tourists visit. However, a decent number of cafes and guesthouses make it possible to stay on the beach too. The sun was beating down now so we decided to continue our trail. A small sign leads you onto the trail to Half Moon beach. 

There are many trails that seem like the route but what we stuck to the one that lined the coast. The trail ascends considerably towards the beginning after Om and moves at almost the same altitude for a long time. The trail bends sharply to the left once the sea comes into view and then the descent begins. The trail finally ended at ramshackle guesthouse. About 20-25 mattresses were laid out in the sun, probably to get rid of bedbugs. We made our way to the small stretch of sand which curved to form the shape of a half moon. It was a baby beach as my fellow trekker put it. We decided to stop only at Paradise so after confirming the route, we continued walking. There were a few bamboo huts with basic facilities available for staying the night. The final trail disappeared right onto the rocks that lined the sea. A local fisherman confirmed that walking over those beautiful rocks was the only way to get to Paradise.

Well, I had to agree with him. The road to Paradise couldn't be easy for sure. A few langurs watched us with almost no interest as we tried to negotiate our way, trying to classify the various rocks to the extent our limited knowledge of geology would permit. This went on for quite sometime but the tide was receding so at least we had the luxury of time. After negotiating a wide patch we finally came to a point where the rocks ended abruptly. So, we walked towards the foliage and started following a pathway that led away from the beach but seemed like the right one. Trusting our instincts we walked slowly, crunching gravel and dodging thorny shrubs that kept scraping my calves. After walking for a long time and only going further away from the beach, we came across a fork in the trail. One end turned right and descended towards the sea while the other continued uphill. I decided to take the right turn and hoped that it would take us to the shimmering blue sea.

It went downhill and suddenly curved upwards. I was hoping that it wouldn’t take us back to Half moon beach but as we treaded along we discovered that the uphill climb was only momentary and soon enough we were rapidly descending the slope. Within a few minutes, a clearing could be spotted and we rushed towards it. A group of hippies sat cross legged under a make-shift shelter eating pulao. I asked one of them if this was the Paradise beach and he smiled like St. Paul and said “Welcome to Paradise!” I thanked him and moved ahead. Remains of several concrete structures with grafitti on them were strewn all about. A coconut seller informed me that the Forest department had razed all the illegal guesthouses down. The coconut water that he provided was refreshing and we proceeded to explore our own Paradise.

The beach was small but secluded. In a small patch of land, shaded by coconut grove I met a group of travellers who had been camping on the beach for about 10 days. They had built a shrine in the middle and worshipped it. The nearest village was 30 minutes by foot and supplies could be brought from there. A single pipe connected to a fresh water well was their source of fresh water. Seemed like an ideal hippy life in a slice of paradise. An old man selling expensive fruits and some cigarettes would supply the essentials in case they were lazy to trek. Another old man roaming with his goats and carrying a sickle told me that one of the razed cottages belonged to him and during the demolition drive he had injured a forest ranger. He had spent 3 months in jail and was out on bail, charged with half-murder. He was quite nonchalant about the whole affair and brandished his sharp sickle with utmost ease. He told me that he had complete faith in Shiva and hoped that the great Natraja will pull him out of all troubles.

The other travellers who were camping with their kitschy gear and utensils seemed quite content with the setting. They were not paying any rent nor had they sought permissions from the authorities. They were just living there as free men and women of this world. Quite an idyllic life it seemed, befitting only a paradise. Most of them had been in India for over two months and had travelled mostly around the north before climbing over the Vindhyas. Serious campers might want to carry a tent but a hammock is all that you would need. No permission from the authorities doesn’t imply their consent, so one must be prepared to leave the site in case of evacuation. As the season reaches its peak, Paradise will get crowded but only travellers will frequent it and not tourists.

For travellers with heavy backpacks and worn out trekkers, there is a boat service available throughout the day, rates are negotiable in case of a large group but we paid Rs. 500 for two to get back to Kudle beach. The boat ride was short but it also served as a good recap of the routes that we had taken. Also, I felt just like a Boss when the boat moored itself right in front of the Shangrila Guest house where I was staying. Paradise had been visited and the great trek completed. It was time for me to bid goodbye to this beautiful town. So after seeing the Sun set into the Arabian sea once again, I packed my bag and was on my way to Ankola to catch an overnight bus to Hampi - the erstwhile capital of the prosperous Vijayanagar kingdom and the fabled town of Kishkinda from the Ramayana.

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Views from the boat

The ear of the cow - Gokarna Town

To get to Gokarna, one has to reach Ankola where local buses run every half an hour to Gokarna bus stand. The first bus from Karwar to Ankola leaves at around 530 and almost all buses towards the south pass through Ankola. I boarded the first bus and reached Ankola within forty five minutes. The first bus to Gokarna leaves at 7am. I waited patiently and soon enough a rickety bus arrived. The ride to Gokarna is quite pleasant. Passing through the countryside, the quaint NH17 is always full of sights and surprises.

I saw Drongos flitting past, there were numerous Kingfishers and Bulbuls sang as we passed a mighty river. We then turned right, off the highway and the final stretch to the holy town of Gokarna had begun. The many faces of Gokarna is what makes this quite coastal town so interesting. It is home to Sanskrit schools and to beach shacks, it is where lies the Atma Lingam - Shiva's most potent weapon and a beach shaped like Om. On one side you have saffron clad priests walking briskly and on the other, fellows sporting dreadlocks and a Ganesha tee walking behind them. The smell of incense is persistent near the temple while acrid smell of weed is prominent near the beaches. Where cows and women in bikinis lounge together by the sea. It's a town full of contrasts, just like the country that we call home. 

 A total of 6 beaches can be found here. But in my opinion Kudle beach is the ideal base camp. One can reach Kudle beach by trekking uphill on a scenic route from the bus stand or from Om beach. On both sides motorable road ends about 20-30 metres above sea level and one then needs to navigate to an uneven terrain to get to the beach. The climb and descent are both worth it as Kudle remains home to serious travellers. Plenty of accommodation and food options are available to suit all budgets. On Day 1, I climbed up the slope to Om beach. It did resemble an Om but I thought Kudle beach was much better. Concrete steps lead down to the beach and a whole horde of tourists descend upon it. Primarily to watch the sunbathers. But that is understandable, although Om Beach is not a nudist beach as is the folklore amongst adolescent teens. An auto back into town from Kudle or Om will cost you Rs.150 flat for the 10km ride. 

If you like taking long walks on the beach, especially during Sunset, the main beach is perfect. Starfish are strewn about on the sand and the surf breaks lightly on the shore, the sun sets in the background and the sky is awash with colours even after the sun has disappeared from view. I walked this stretch on the first evening. By the time I had covered the entire stretch it was pitch dark and I was hungry. 

I made my way back to main town and enquired for a good place to have some fish. Everyone directed me to a place called Om Restaurant. It turned out to be a noisy bar with a few drunkards staggering about. I wasn’t in the mood for a chaotic dinner so I walked out and landed at a small place called Pai Tasty Home. Mr. Pai cooked only three Chicken dishes. Chicken Chilly, Sukka and Curry. I ordered a chicken sukka and within minutes, a freshly made bowl filled with tender pieces of chicken sauteed in masala, tomato and onions was presented to me. 4 chapatis were enough to fill me up and for Rs.56 it was a great meal. The next day was spent idling by the beach and swimming. The slope of the shore is gradual and it’s not very deep. One needs to swim over 30 yards to achieve some depth. 

The Sunset hour again was beautiful. Most of the travellers sat in silence, watching the sun set slowly over the Arabian sea casting a beautiful golden glow on all of us. Somewhere in the distance, someone played the Djembe, some practiced yoga and some like me, just sat and watched. 

The crescent shaped moon made a silent appearance and stayed the night. The evening was cool and after a light dinner I was off to bed for the great beach trek that was lined up for the morning. Two days in Gokarna had been memorable and I was looking forward to my last day in this holy town.

More photos: here