Colours of India - In Bison land

Good Morning

Death is but a form of sleep. You sleep in one life only to wake up in another. If every day could be termed a new life, Saturday morning was one of those. The evening's trauma already seemed like a distant past, as if it were a flashback from a previous life.

Afresh and awake, it was time to greet a new morning, and make new friends. Brief snatches of conversations with taciturn faces the night before now turned into "Let's try to know one another" dialogues. The agenda for the day began with a visit to a temple. Given a choice, i'd avoid a place of worship for extra time in the wilderness, but hey, it's good to do something different atleast once in a while.

Speaking of bonding with fellow travelers, you listen to people with an unbiased pair of ears once at the most. And that's the time when you form your opinions about them. Impartial attention to each snatch of words, that brief moment of absolute equality before walls of discrimination begin blocking them out. "This one's a vegetable! He's nothing better, talking nothing but trash all along. Isn't there someone who can add something intelligent? Perhaps there's something better here...?"

But then isn't this something we all do? Our friends are determined by our mutual tastes and distastes, the stronger the mutual connect; the better the friendship. However the intellect seldom develops by listening to the same batter in a different form. In order to understand the world and those who live in it better, it's important to understand each and every opinion before presenting a proposition or making a judgment.

It was an hour past noon when we reached Dajipur. Dajipur, from a broad perspective, was much the same as compared to other villages of the Deccan province. A few homes spread hither thither over a vast plateau. The plateau was barren or forested depending upon the region. We were in Kolhapur and this was a forest region so ...

When traveling in a group, one can enjoy only so much as the group can. There's something about traveling in large numbers; they promise not just safety but also mutual feelings. And the feeling right now was ... excitement!

Yay!

Colours of India - Kolhapur - Besan!

"Besan? Besan you said? Is that the name of a village? i've never heard of any such village like that!" Besan also means gram flour in Hindi. But it didn't seem to strike the sixty year old who insisted on
knowing more about "Besan".

Besan, ermm Bison!

Travel. Most travel for fun, a few for solace, and others for no good reason. Minus rhyme or reason, i set out on a what could be called "weekend soul searching". "Dajipur Wildlife Sanctuary" was a place i
might not have visited if not for this intrepid group heading out to the middle of nowhere. Bison apparently roamed aplenty in the wilderness. Sounds like fun, so ... yay!

"So why are you traveling?"

"What kind of question is that?"

(Short pause and pained look) "i meant to ask ... why are you traveling ... is it for sightseeing, is it for something else?"

"i'm going sightseeing"

"So where are you going sightseeing?"

"Dajipur"

"Dajipur?"

"Dajipur"

"Never heard of such a place. Where is it?"

"Kolhapur"

"i've been traveling to Belgaum from Kolhapur for over 30 years, and i never heard of a 'Dajipur'.

Yup that's Belgaum!

Where's this place?"

"Ever heard of Radhanagari?"

"Ahhh yes! That's the place. You should say so. Radhanagari's the place. Yes, yes, yes." (Short but not too short pause) "So why are you going there?"

Conversation, a polite exchange of words and pleasantries between two people. Basically, a wordly connect between two interested people. Trust the words above sounded less like a conversation and more like an interrogation? It wasn't that i'm usually stingy with words, and it wasn't everyday that he'd try his best to have a conversation, with an unwilling partner, but that's Fate for you...

Deep inside him somewhere was this urge to connect to a listener, never mind willing or unwilling. The voice had been denied an outlet for long, and hence now broke free into song at the sight of a fellow traveler. That makes me a terrible human doesn't it? The type who'd be mean enough to ignore a poor sixty year old's ramble (you can think so if it makes you happy!) But he wasn't one of those people who was talking about the good ol' days, or quiet insights of life. He was cynical and a bit bitter, not so great when you're on the higher side of 50.

"These bus drivers do it all the time, these ST bus drivers."

"Excuse me?"

"They drive slowly through the city waiting to collect ample passengers for their journey. They purposefully drive through the traffic snarled streets. Rascals!"

"Sir, may i point to you that the traffic snarl's on account of luxury buses cramming the roads?" We were at Chembur Diamond Garden then.

"No no, you don't understand. i travel to Belgaum all the time. The luxury bus runs just the same, on time for 10 or 100. All the same."

"Ermmm, the luxury bus guy earns a living off every seat he scores. The ST guy couldn't give a damn about how many he's ferrying so ..."

Just when i realized the conversation wasn't going to be all that eventful, is when my friend and the program leader, Jagadish Patil stepped in. "Sir, you've occupied a seat reserved by us. My friend'll be boarding at Nerul, so"

Before he could complete, "Yes yes, i'll go!" So my torture had a deadline. Thank Heaven for small mercies, and thank that blessed soul getting in at Nerul.

Being rather polite meant i had to nod and "Aha", "Yes yes" and make other polite sounds throughout the conversation. And that's when our friend exclaimed, "Besan? Besan you said? Is that the name of a village? i've never heard of any such village like that!"

Coming to the subject of gram flour or "besan", how on earth could such a topic spring up between two men who'd gladly avoid business in a kitchen? It all began here ...

"Where'd you say you were going? Radhanagari?"

"Yes"

"Why're you going there?"

"i'm going on a wildlife watching program, going there to see the Indian Bison." "Bison" turned to "Besan" whether or not water turned to wine, and the conundrum was presented. The man wouldn't stop until he knew, or understood, what on earth was "besan" and if it was a village.

It wasn't a lack of cleverness, most probably failing eardrums that were to blame. After a few attempts at making him understand, he claimed to understand. Still he did sport a puzzled look on his face.

Coming to the subject of studies and work, the usual ramble. "Did you do your Bachelors and then did your I.T.?" This one was excusable so no comments.

Enter Nerul, and my heart leapt with joy. Deliverance, Hallelujah, Glory be to the Lord! A petite girl did get into the bus. She was dressed like a trekker, must be the one who's going to oust our friend from his captured prize, back into the darkness whence he came from. But wait!!!!!

She found refuge in a seat way ahead of mine, and ... "Hahahahahaha!!! The 'chokri' found herself a seat, and i get to keep this! Hahahahaha!" There was a peal of evil laughter, and sullen facedly, i resigned to Fate...