In a region where you wouldn’t find even a stray camel, naming a road after the ungulated dromedary should have been the work of some intrepid imagination. Or a distinct lack of it. During the British Raj both were in abundance. But whatever the Camel’s Back road lacks in nomenclature aptness, it makes up with sheer panorama. The four kilometres of clean air, good health or introspection winds serenely from Library Chowk to Kulri Bazaar in Mussoorie, the popular hill destination in the northern state of Uttarakhand. As I step
You see the palm fronds swaying an eager welcome even as you come in to land. Reach by rail or road and the greenery doesn’t wait for you to cross the border before gathering you in a lush embrace. Nature, it would seem, has been taking lessons in haste from the natives. For a long time nature and natives chartered their own distinct courses in Kerala: the former charming and laidback while the latter amiable but in a tearing hurry. Life was what happened in the confusing, vibrant and graceful
The vodka came as promised. That it was equal portion water helped me drink it straight from the bottle. “There seems to be no shortage of water,” I told Abdullah the handsome scrawny teenager with shifty green eyes who was at once the janitor, porter and concierge. And now, my lifesaver, my brother. “Yes brother,” he replied as his eyes flew from my wallet to the backpack that lay dripping wet on the houseboat carpet. It was just habit and no malice. “The Dal Lake provides everybody with pure and
As I entered through the bamboo gate, the pigeons fluttered up like a John Woo scene. I pointed this out to my cameraman who guffawed nervously. But we had to can some happy visuals for a CSR documentary and not action sequences with borrowed faces. All through the trip we were worried about filming in Dumka, an insurgent-infested outpost 300 km from Ranchi. Also it didn’t help much that just half an hour back we had passed by a bus burned bare by the Maoists – a grim warning to
The seven sister states are in deep slumber year round but this one nudges herself awake every December. Once she is awake she doesn’t waste any time yawning or stretching; she hits the track running. Come the Hornbill Festival – December 1 to 7 – and Nagaland, coyly tucked away in the north eastern tip of India bursts open in a riot of colours, shudders with dizzying shrieks of martial folk dances and gets giddy on the aromatic highs of herbed bison meat and free flowing rice beer. The state
A trip to the remote hilly town of Uttarkashi during the monsoon was an eye-opener for Thommen Jose – off season doesn’t mean nature has taken a break from looking beautiful. Nature is like a little girl who likes to dress up when no one is looking. The nearer I got to Uttarkashi in the north-western corner of Uttarakhand, the more it seemed true: not only were there hardly any tourists out here, the only people on the road were the sadhus whose sights were fixed on bigger things, anyway.
The Jaisalmer Fort stands out like a golden mirage – it is spellbinding by its sheer magnitude and imposing architecture. But once inside you feel like the subjects are running the country within its fortified ramparts and the royalty is in hiding ‘One of the few living forts in India,’ announced a brochure, the taxi driver, the hotel manager and finally the tourist guide at the entrance to the Jaisalmer Fort, in the exact order. All the while I could imagine the sandstone ramparts sucking in oxygen and breathing out
One of the many places that are under the army purview, Chakrata too has an immense, untapped potential. Thommen Jose suggests a serious re-look at the policies that have to be taken before the people leave – for better prospects at more tourist-friendly places. Just 30 km from Chakrata, I stopped by a dhaba for a chai and struck up a conversation with the dhaba-wala. He asked me where I was headed to. “Chakrata,” I told him. “Chakrata?” He asked through squinted eyes. “Where is that?” Chakrata is one of
Working to propagate his ‘mission hemp’ Thommen Jose undertook a journey to Pauna, a small mountain hamlet, 30 km by ‘foot or hoof’ from the last motorable point in Chamoli, Uttarakhand. It was an eye-opener in more ways than one. “Lord Shiva was missing and nobody could find him. His wife Parvati was immensely worried and set out to look for him. She descended from the heavens to search the Earth. Looking all over the Kailasa mountain range, she found him in a cave, meditating, with a serene smile.” After
“You happy?” asked Amar Khan, our camel driver. “Yes,” we chorused. “You happy,” Ekaterina, the Russian student who was with us, mimed along as Amar replied, “I double happy.” The ‘double’ had to sound like it contained more than one ‘happy’. But by now we had enough practice: Amar would ask after our gaiety-quotient every quarter hour. The heady feeling of being one with Lawrence of Arabia had worn off after the first day, today was the third. There was no more enthusiastic pointing out weird-shaped dunes or shrieking out
