Perhaps it was all that research about Leh and Ladakh and biking…

Ladakh has long been on my list… though in recent times, I feel less inclined to go there. Ladakh has become India’s Thailand, once extremely exotic and the thing to do but now everyone heads there.

“There was black tarmac roads built, new passes were opened, signboards, guesthouses; home stays along the road, made this a very doable ride.” reads one post by a biker who headed there a few years ago. Perhaps that defines the essence of the things.

We want to be the explorers, step into those uncivilized lands and rough it out and discover raw nature. Having done it once, I know that there are absolutely no words to describe that feeling or the nature. No picture does it justice. No words capture the essence. And that is the way it should be… sometimes being able to capture it in a photo or words undermines it.

But when a place becomes so much dependent on the tourist trade, it loses something of itself. The things that once drew people there become plastic. Orchestrated.

I know I really cannot comment about how Ladakh is yet.

But consider wildlife tourism. A few elephants, a few deer and maybe, if you are lucky, even a few monkeys and a mongoose. And rarely a tiger. But when I see those animals, so carelessly standing by the riverside, not frightened by the sight of this mammoth, noisy bus filled with noisier people, i feel really sad.

It moves on to resorts in the area, softer hunting trips and such. And thereby the ‘wild’ experience you are supposed to have is completely tamed. And the cost of the forests and animals around you.

While it is inevitable that tourism will spread to all the unexplored areas, how much of the genuine culture can be retained under attack. Because tourism will bring a new culture into the place. People who were happy dancing around a campfire now want to wear Levis and dance around the campfire. Soon they think that dancing is lame and they’d rather do it in a Bollywood movie.

The loss of culture is inevitable. Right now, it just makes me a little sad too.

We were on the way to an estate that was promised to be ‘in between the clouds’. I was not particularly thinking about that promise, more intent on following the tail lights of the car ahead.

It was close to midnight perhaps, though it had seemed that way for a while. Being on a vacation, I was not wearing a watch and my cellphone was safely tucked away somewhere after ensuring that there was no network.

We had made it to the little town of Chikmagalur in a little over 5 hours. The last leg of the journey saw some mild rain but that was to be expected, as I learnt over the next few days.

What I did not know at that point was how cold it could get.

The little estate is almost above the clouds. When we reached, there was a thick mist surrounding everything. I really mean thick. Thick enough to cut through with a knife. I could see multiple shadows of me and everyone else in the mist.

We were in the clouds, at the edge… right before the rocks fell away to form a gorgeous valley underneath. Of course, I wouldn’t see that till hours later. At that moment, I was cold, bone cold. I wished I had a little thicker skin so I could stand out and enjoy that chilling breeze like the others but after my teeth started chattering, the car was the only place I could be.

***

Chikmagalur is a place where you do not realise how quickly the time passes. You cannot even figure out what time it is by the sun.

Mornings looked beautiful… the gardens still had dew on them and a faint mist still hovered around tree tops. Lazy treks, wanderings through coffee plants and pepper creepers… and the morning vanished.

Mountain air makes you hungrier. And lazier. Where does all that food go?

For a Bangalorean used to the smoke-filled air, Chikmagalur was a sheer delight of pure oxygen.

The sun peeks out now and then, delighting you with the heat but never staying long enough that you get bored of it.

When you do seek heat, there are always campfires. And a bottle of whisky or rum, depending on your choice.

***
Creative juices simply flow here. It is easiest to imagine a horror movie in the nights and a beautiful romance in daylight. Or a naturist’s heaven. A photographer’s paradise. A lazy bum’s piece of heaven.

Am I going overboard describing the place? I cannot seem to be able to put into words how beautiful and peaceful the place was. I had forgotten the joy of just being… without running your life to a clock… lunches, dinner, waking up, appointments and all that. And yes, a day when your cellphone does not beep.

Life is simpler there. The biggest decisions being what time you want to wake up and what to have for lunch.

But once you leave, there are some really massive questions facing you. Like – how quickly can you get back there.

Traveling alone in India requires patience, a particular type of street smarts and most of all – tolerance. India, an incredibly social country, is yet to completely adapt to the idea of solo travelers.

In fact, India is surprised that people would choose to travel alone and spend all that money on themselves. It goes against two basic concepts in the country – frugality and family bonding.

When women are thrown into this concept, it becomes all the more complicated for people to comprehend and accept the fact that a women not only likes to travel alone but is allowed to do so.

My first brush with such an experience was in Pondicherry. I picked the town for a solo foray because I figured there would be some liberated people due to its French ancestry and would be more accepting of solo travelers. What I forgot was that the French left the state quite a few decades ago and the place is very much Indian, even if it has French-style architecture.

Pondicherry is also a ‘tourist’ city, as opposed to a place like Mumbai that has people visiting from all corners of the world for business or pleasure. Mumbai is open 24 hours and women traveling alone do not cause much consternation, even if it is not completely accepted.

There are pockets in Pondicherry where one can travel alone. Auroville, for instance, is a place meant for people seeking peace or just some alone time on a beach. It is frequented by Indians and foreigners alike. But Auroville, as beautiful as it is, does not particularly fall under mainstream tourism, where ‘solo travelers’ are a rarity. Or an oddity, depending on your point of view.

“Where are you from?” was the first question in encountered in Pondicherry. They wanted to know which country I was from, because despite my very-obvious Indian looks, they thought I was only ethnically Indian.

“No Indian girl goes backpacking alone in India” was the verdict.

Indian backpackers, particularly of the female variety, are rather rare.

There are more groups of women headed out by themselves, aided by organizations such as Women on Wanderlust (WoW) or Girls on the Go (GoG).

These organizations aren’t travel agencies but just help put together a trip for only women. The group is made up of only women, single or with friends. It is believed it would be easier to bond with other women, and also be easier for women from traditional households to actually go on a trip.

The organization takes care of everything from travel bookings to accommodations, and you have company to wander around, shop and eat.

The plan did sound great, except most of these organizations are fledglings and offer trips only to limited places. For an impromptu trip like mine, there was no choice but to fly single.

Additionally, I was not completely taken by the trips through organizations like WoW. I liked the comfort of an organized trip and traveling with women without worrying about safety, but I wondered if I would miss out on the chance of meeting other backpackers.

The journey was not a problem. Generally, a flight is the easiest option for a solo traveler. Trains are generally the second option as you can book an entire berth to yourself and sleep peacefully. Buses are at the bottom of my list. One never knows who you will be sharing a seat with, or the people who like to strike up conversations in spaces where there is no escape from.

Most buses in Karnataka, however, give you the option of choosing a seat beside another woman.

The first hurdle came when booking a hotel room.

In a city like Mumbai, nobody cares if you are traveling alone or not. The prices pretty much remain the same and there are also options for ‘single’ rooms. However, in a tourist town like Pondicherry, the concept of ‘solo travelers’ is just beginning to catch on and the options are limited.

Single rooms are few and tend to be claustrophobic, unless it is situated in Auroville. The room I was shown was tiny and consisted of a bed, wedged beside a table and underneath a television set that was poised to fall any minute.

But the good part about traveling alone is you are responsible only for yourself and can change rooms, hotels and more without any fuss.

The hotel manager was quite helpful in helping me find another place. He gave me a list of other options and even offered to store my luggage till I found suitable accommodations. So now all I needed was a strong dose of patience and shrewdness to find a good place and not be ripped off by the auto driver who was seeing a single woman = easily fleeced.

There are not enough single travelers in India for the hospitality industry to welcome them with open arms. Many are still adventurers, a niche crowd mostly streaming in from other countries. The costs remain high for the travelers, forcing them to choose packages and streamlined operations for their trips.

There is a lack of hostels and backpacker motels where people can hook up with other similar-minded people in a secure location. Sometimes, tours or packages for water sports and such refuse to accept single travelers.

But for those who do choose to step out there alone, with a little bit of patience, they can discover a world that often gets hidden when traveling with a group.

Even that short distance of 140 kms was such a big deal. Cars had to be checked by the mechanic. Food had to be packed for ‘something to munch on’ and water bottles filled. Extra clothes were packed for the kids and towels for the adults. Adults also secreted extra packs of smokes… just in case.

We would start early to beat the traffic and I would always wonder how there would be less traffic on the roads if everyone had the same idea. But apparently everyone did not have the same idea and roads were empty. Speeding was still not possible… cars were slightly slower and the roads were rougher.

We cruised peacefully to songs on the stereo… FM was still a myth and nobody in their right mind in a carful of people listened to the other radio anyway.

There were certain stops on the road that always created some excitement… the huge pepsi bottle that was perhaps a chimney, the water tank that was shaped like a car on top of a house, a lake full of lotuses, an oddly shaped hill… a car abandoned on the highway… they were pointed out with more glee by the adults than the kids…

The trip also came with ONE break. The restaurant on the highway was always full, being the only one. Bus loads of travelers, cars and a few random bikes were all parked haphazardly. The restaurant was always crowded. Waiters were dressed in shirts that were white about 10 years old and had an old towel over their shoulder to compliment it. They were always impatient and rude… customer service wasn’t a term that existed then.

But food was ordered and kids were made to go to the loo, whether they wanted to or not. “We won’t stop again till we reach there,” was the refrain.

Remember that?

It takes two hours to get to wherever now. Highways have CCD (Cafe Coffee Day) for stale coffee and McD (McDonalds) for greasy burgers. And another handful of options. They are open 24 hours and have more loos… though not any cleaner. Snazzy boards light up the highway… all in red and funky lettering. Cars glide by smoother and quieter.

The lakes are emptier and have no lotuses. I rarely see old men in white dhotis crossing the road and cows scared at the noise of a car.

I’m not quite sure if I miss those. They had a charm of their own… and we’ve grown accustomed to speed.

But I do wonder… why on earth isn’t there a 24-hour puncture shop anywhere on the entire highway yet?!

I shook my head, freeing space for other images.  I always like that moment when I can pick something out from the sky of the city and in this case it had been this one orange house.

Raipur, however, was a bit of a disappointment. Banal planes of brown… acres and acres of it without any green for diversity or mountains to break the view. I tried to remember where exactly on the map I was…

I did not know what exactly to expect from Raipur. This is a city that is growing in leaps and bounds. I do not know where the place was a decade ago (and to be honest, I did not know till recently either). But there is the smell of development in the city.

When a friend called me recently asking if I would be interested in doing a project in Raipur, I agreed. Then I immediately googled the city. Wikipedia told me that the city was in Chattisgarh, which is one of the newly formed states in the country. The state is a decade old and despite problems with the Naxalites and things like that, it has grown considerably.

The roads were wide and surprisingly clean, even if they were a little dusty. There were barren forests by the roadside and new, big houses enclosed in tall walls, indicating new money.

I was surprised by the extent of development, though I was not really sure what I had to expect from the city. These new developments in India is where the real progress is happening, the real development. It is not cities like Bangalore that are an accurate measure of development.

I’m not really sure how much of infrastructure Raipur has in terms of international development. But these are the cities that form the base for the development of other cities. Coal mines, sugar factories and other commodities provide quick money for development.

The city retained some of its rural attributes. The buildings were not completely sparkling new but still were cleanly maintained. They lacked the weariness of a city but did not have the freshness of a new development as well.

My opinion that the roads were wide and well developed was soon shattered. The main road was… but the rest still speaks of a little settlement converted into a city. Huge houses with multiple cars were housed in roads that were barely wide enough to fit those cars.

There were boards of hotels that wouldn’t be flashy in a city but against the sobriety of Raipur, stood out quite a bit. Stereotypes were shattered and errors were comic.

There was a ‘Veg Empire’ that made me laugh considering the ‘Empire’ hotel in Bangalore is famous for its grilled chicken.

I also saw a board stating ‘Madarasi’s Grill’ that struck me as hilarious. The Madarasi or the Tamilian has been the poster boy for South India for decades. And they are as vegetarian as you can get. And a Grill being associated with them… I was quite tempted to check that place out.

Here is a question that I should have asked – is Raipur vegetarian? It seemed so with the number of places advertising ‘pure veg food’. Of course, there was also an Oasis, Tequila and Lime something.

The people, however, remain the epitome of Indian hospitality. As much as I resent the intrusive questions, I always love how welcoming they are and make sure that you are comfortable.

A girl travelling alone is still a bit of an oddity. But they welcomed me and the questions were held off till they had fed me. And then the questions were quite normal… business dealings in India, particularly the family-run, place importance on your family background as well. Who are you, what your parents do, your religion, your caste and your marital status among other things.

There are stereotypes, of course, of south Indians. But maybe because it was a work thing, I did not particularly resent any of it.

It is a different trip, this one. Work-related and in a small town. I realised that I have rarely travelled to small towns. Small airports, yes. But rarely a small town. And a booming one at that. Makes me wonder what else is happening in the rest of India.

My definitions of ‘travel’ have changed a little bit in the past few years. From the resolution of at least 5 new places every year, I have come down to ‘visit at least 5 places every year’. Last year sucked, travel-wise. I did not even make it to Goa. Last year was all about Mumbai actually. And I did get to see interesting sides of the city. And then there were those one-day trips and weekend jaunts. Can’t really complain… but I do.

Because I really miss that big adventure.

When we graduated from college, a friend and me made an ambitious plan to backpack across India. Two girls, with vague plans in India, in peak summer, planned to cover most of west and south India, and some parts of the East. The plan got shelved because that was the kind of adventure that a lot of people were interested in. More people joined in and it got complicated. Expenses went up. “It is summer, we need AC trains!” one said, so the price of travel nearly doubled in one shot.

“We are girls. We need to book good hotels beforehand,” another said and thereby the adventure was gone, along with more expenses. Things went this way till I dropped out of frustration and the plan just fell apart.

But the idea still comes up to haunt me now and then. The fact also remains that the girl I had originally planned this with is one of the few people in the world who would be the perfect backpacking companion. I don’t know if this idea remains practical in India… but it does haunt me. I dream of times when I could just load up my bags into my car and set out.

The summer heat is slowly building and it is barely even March yet. I dread the long summer months and wishing something would come through so I could escape into winter down under.

The travel bug is creeping up again and this is probably the most horrible time to be infected. Lack of money, lack of plans and this little thing called “you should grow up” makes me tie iron shackles to my feet and look around here as to what I want.

I can travel… to near by places… there are a lot of beautiful places around here. I’ve not explored Coorg completely, nor Gokarna, or Goa, or Shimoga, or Kerala. There are a lot of places. But it isn’t the same as backpacking. Strapping on that bag and heading out into the horizon and that is what the heart craves right now. And surprisingly, places like Vietnam, Thailand and Bali are looking attractive right now.

Perhaps it is the budget… these are supposed to be mostly low budget places. Or maybe it is the lure of the exotic. I do not want those typical ‘tourist’ places. I have seen enough museums and temples to last me for a while. If you aren’t that deep into architecture (or even if you are) after a point, everything starts to seem… uniform.

Instead, I want to wander the deepest towns, the forests… do my own version of “The Beach”

Last year, my travel list included Budapest and Istanbul and I didn’t even get out beyond South India. Much of my traveling was multiple trips to Mumbai. This year, I do not even want to step into that city!

This year is all about the rest of Asia – Andaman Islands, Colombo, Nepal, Vietnam, Cambodia, Mongolia. Where I learn, I am reborn.

Once you find the hippie in yourself, it is said that you can never retire those beads. I discovered beads again today, literally, as a friend of mine found an old set of beads he had and wore it to work. I promptly took them away and spent the rest of the day pausing my typing to look down on those colourful beads and dreaming of the beach, or loose pants, sunshine, a novel and meeting fellow travelers with interesting stories.

I’m sure many of you will have the question – what do you find there that you won’t find here? And I could perhaps give you the banal answer of ‘peace’ but the truth is… it is more than that. Much more than that. It is the search for something elusive, something nameless that you find only for that moment when you are sitting in twilight, sharing a drink with a bunch of people you just met and will never meet again. You learn lessons, you discover new things about yourself and you return ‘home’ wiser.

A friend recently told me that you find peace within yourself. That is true. Very true. But I like it when I can feel the sunshine and breathe fresh air….

I’ve never enjoyed traveling into places without culture, with just steel buildings. At least not for long. You meet those who dare to be different, who dare to do something different when you travel. I don’t know why we don’t meet them when you live in a particular city – maybe we are too enslaved by routine to really notice those people.

But there is that yearning again for a rickety bus, for places where I don’t know the language and exploring.

“Italy can do strange things to your perspective. Memories of a place become more real than the place itself,” the author wrote. That is so true.

My memories of Venice are of cold, biting cold that nearly froze the tip of my toes off. And my fingers and any other part of my body that was exposed. I was in Venice a day after it had snowed – apparently a freak weather phenomenon.

I wasn’t there for too long. It was wet and cold the minute I got off the train and I was quite exhausted by the time I crossed the bridge to a hostel right across the station. Finding food was an adventure (why do the Venetians hate tourists – a topic for a Ph.D) and after some hot pizza from what I’d originally ignored as a very “American-looking joint” I crashed in my hotel. Venice taught me new things about Italy.

That they aren’t nice to you if you are a tourist. The ones who are nice aren’t really to be trusted. The food really sucks, unlike the rest of the country. And if you want good food, don’t go to the small places on the main street. The rule for the rest of the country is the smaller places have the best food. And that holds true in the Jewish ghetto in Venice too, just not on the main street.

The most memorable conversation I had in Venice was with a guy whose name I did not know and I barely remember his face. He stumbled into the hostel past midnight, and ran into every bed in the room, till I switched on a small light. An art history major studying in Florence, all the way from Washington, he was touring Italy to glimpse other beautiful things the place had to offer. We talked about literature and art and the purpose of it or the lack of a purpose, the directions, the evolution and other crazy such things. The Korean guy in the room snored way too loudly, after having knocked himself out on junk food and bad Italian TV. I could barely see the art guy’s face all the way across the room and that is still the best conversation I remember.

The rest of the trip was not as auspicious. The weather was still cold and now, a bare drizzle too. I had imbibed a strong dislike for American tourists by that point (oh most of them are a pain and expect the Hollywood Italy!!!) so I skirted groups of those people everywhere possible. It was a little after Thanksgiving and a lot before Christmas.

Maps are futile in Venice, so I didn’t even bother carrying one. Instead I made note of certain shops and churches and trust me, each one of them are unique. Tons and tons of little shops with beautiful glass carvings and etching and sculptures. And many on sale and affordable. I bought a little beetle on a leaf… the only thing I could fit into my backpack at that point.

Did I like Venice? I didn’t think so. Not at that moment, when I was trying hard to stay warm and water seeped into my boots and my gloves and the smell of fish permeated every single part of the city. It didn’t seem so bad when I sat in the restaurant, nursing a glass of wine and half a plate of pasta, watching all the crazy tourists. But when I finally sat in the train, going back to the city that owned my heart – Roma – I realized I would perhaps want to come back in the summer or early spring to see the pretty boats, the fishermen casting their nets, the glass factories, the beautifully coloured houses and the boatman singing his song as he delivered groceries.

This is not peaceful. This fury. The raw beauty that explodes from the rocks and from every pore.

I wonder what would happen if I open my arms and leap? To fly down. Would I feel the weightlessness, even if only for a moment? Would I merge into the deep waters and flow into lands unknown? Would I become the fury? Would I be like that bird and float down?

I am tempted, for an instant, if only to feel that moment of lightness and air.

Some would perhaps call this suicidal. But this is not death. It is so much more. It is life, like we have never known. A merging. A desire to mingle with that power. A marriage.

There would be frowns if I expressed that thought.

I can already feel my arms merging into the air, the lightness that fills me and my mind emptying as I float down. This is not death. This is so much more than life.

I see fish. Big, fat fish that jump to reach something and get caught in the net. They struggle. They whimper. I watch and wait for them to break free. To become a part of the fury again.

A delicate wing whispers by… whispering words of promise. It is a cradle of foam and water… into which I shall sink into gracefully. Right into the centre, wrapped and welcomed into the warm cocoon of the fury, weightless.

- Because the answers to some questions are in the most unlikeliest places

- Because we all need to see something different to appreciate what we have currently

- Because it is possible to love more than just one

- Because sometimes you find doppelgangers exist – in yourself

- Because you discover parts of you that you do not like

- Because you realise we don’t have all the answers

- Because you realise you will never have all the answers

- Because you realise you don’t need/want all the answers

- Because you realise there are things bigger and better than you

- Because you realise you matter

- Because you realise it is the mystery of it all that keeps us going