In a dusty little highway town...

"Zindagi ka safar, hai yeh kaisa safar. Koi samjha nahin, koi jaanaa nahin..."

Moving on...

 An old Indian film pays homage to the eternal journey of life. Life is but a collection of experiences. All the colours we impart to it, good or bad, are our perceptions. In the end, life's what we make of it to be. Life, a sexually transmitted disease or life, the evolution from darkness to light...

"Please fasten your seatbelts and remain seated until the indicator goes off. The lifejacket is stored right below your seat. Please wear the lifejacket on instruction from the crew..."
The airhostess had been doing it for God alone knows how long. Her obvious distaste for the exercise was showing clearly. With much difficulty in holding a neutral expression, she explained in sign language the automatic message that was broadcast as the plane was taking off. Security protocol meant that the drill had to be done. Wonder how many people actually regarded the drill with attention...

A large metal tray wheeled across the aisle selling sandwiches, aerated juices and other little tidbits for those who deem fit to eat somewhere near Heaven. It was a time for those like me, to be snoozing. Wherever the eyes'd open, measured straight lines, little dots of colour speckled the otherwise uniformly brown landscape. Wonder how'd the landscape like the feel of these "decorations" on its surface; but hey, earthquakes are a way for the landscape to shake them off.

At 1000 AM, the sun was beating with a ferocity it'd show at noon in Bombay. There were the birds of prey going about their business basking in the sun, and those others who had business just escaping from the sun.

The dusty little town

A highway town is a class apart by itself. Its pride of uniqueness and subjectivity lies in the fact that across the length and breadth of India, every highway town bears resemblance to some other or almost all highway towns, unless of course the geography itself is completely different. Peel off the layers of language, culture, religion and everything else that renders a unique colour, and you'll find the common cement that these towns share among themselves.

Flies. They're everywhere. On the floor, on the doors, on the table, on the glass, and of course the dining plate. Make fuss and a face at them and you might as well starve yourself to death. They're not just flies. They're citizens of this place called a highway town and deserve to be accorded respect as much as you'd accord to a "civilized" bipedal. Gently whisk them away whilst you eat and they'll linger around patiently, waiting for you to be done, to gorge on what little remains of your meal. Hardship demands tough measures. A little highway town is the last place that's catering to your every whim and fancy. You either survive and learn to coexist or head back to the surreal reality you call your city...

The north-western flank of India harbours what is locally known as the Thar Desert. Rajasthan bears the brunt of it whilst Gujarat tries to share a slight little part of its weight. Our town earns its merit, its fine dust from the desert winds blowing southward. The dust is but desert sand...

Desert sand like river sand, has a unique way of getting into shoes. If you fervently pray for the dust to keep away, they'd come all the same. Just grin and bear with it and the feeling of it won't be that bad.

Shit happens:

"Shit happens when it has to happen, where it was supposed to happen, and when you were least expecting it..." -- Murphy's law

When it comes to traveling, i consider meself one of the better gifted ones when it comes to luggage. A backpack usually carries my load for a lifetime's existence be it in Neverland or Newfoundland, but official visits demand niceties. Perfume, pressed clothes, books, laptop, ties, things that pretty much had nothing to do with me nor would ever be found on my person (or my backpack for that matter) in other situations and circumstances, but...

Carrying niceties meant carrying adequate protection, sophisticated protection. A number protected Masterlock that locks forever after two unsuccessful attempts at opening. Hours before the journey began, i set the password that i'd remember to store in my mobile phone. Screwing the dials with sleepy eyes, i'd secured the suitcase firm. It'd take a lot to break open a Masterlock. The Masterlock was the equivalent of Winchester (the famous gun that won the Wild West) when it came to locking.

 After sundown and a tiring day at work, i tried (what would be a series) opening the suitcase to slip into something more comfy (formal clothes aren't really bedtime friendly). The password was 456, and that's what i entered. Presto, the clasp comes undone and my case's open for all Heaven and Hell to see, right? Wrong...

If you remember i was dopey eyed (if not sleepy) while setting the password for the lock, and there seemed to be, what can be classified as a f... up while setting the password. Somewhere someplace something had gone wrong. Heaven burst open with a clap of thunder and lightning and a hazy but brilliant form of light seemed to be saying something. It was only much later that i understood Murphy's famous laws were being rendered upon humanity, upon me, on the ordained day...

"Cut the fucking thing open, i don't care!"

"But sir, this seems like an expensive lock, why do you want to cut it? You won't be able to use it again. Why don't you ask the missus for the password?" A genuinely frank look would have been at that moment difficult to find anywhere else except there. The bell boy was a boy of reason and was taught and trained to be careful with money. Die if you may but don't be wasteful with money was a way of life he and his people followed. Money and i never did share a homely relationship. To make things worse, the boy thought me to be an arse to want to cut the Masterlock open, and wanted me to ask my "wife" for the password.

"My dear boy, i've set the password myself and i know the lock's shut up forever because i've fucked up one time too many. So just cut the lock and clear the place..."

Filing away with a metal cutter, 20 minutes later i was a free man and an unkind soul in the eyes of the bell boy for having wasted good money and not having listened to my "wife".

The local flavour

Highway towns have a little something of everyday niceties and necessities of the city (including premium tobaccos) and Himmatnagar was no exception. If it wasn't for Gujarat and its abhorrence toward spirits, Himmatnagar would have undoubtedly had some fine local liquor to satiete the truckers and highwaymen who lived briefly in Himmatnagar (in addition to the locals).

"Daal, rotli, baati, shaak" Handpainted signs and printed signboards proclaimed the message alike. In these parts, this was the staple diet and was undoubtedly something that'd taste best. When traveling with other people, curiousity toward savouring local flavours does not go down well when others in the group are keen to have more "modern" food. Whatever...

The moon was shining brightly and she was out there, waiting. There were others but everyone engrossed in the art of making the mouth move but shed no words, in other words masticating their dinner. The clothes were the giveaway and those who noticed looked at me for a while, including her. Wearing shorts revealing my legs in a traditional and perhaps conservative highway town was not looked upon very favourably. It's not often that men are whistled and cheered upon for exposing their not very delicate and hairy legs!

Just as beautiful...

It was business time for her and she looked at me longingly. This'd be a good start for the evening but i had other things in mind than a quickie with a streetside courtesan in rural India (must we forget we're traveling for business and such deeds will not be looked upon favourably in addition to exposing hairy legs...?)

The place where everyone "knows" everyone

Walking along the road in search of an ATM (yes the phenomenon is not as rare a sight these days as it once used to be), the hour was getting late and it was well beyond sundown. If nothing, it was dinnertime. In a corner of the town, an ATM was discovered and the deed accomplished (not as much as for me as for a friend). The walk back to the hotel would be well over 20 minutes. Heck! Why walk when rickshaws ply? And the quest for a rickshaw began in earnest. The security guard of the ATM, evidently a local was a man of no small means. At the sight of a green box on three wheels, a quick shout and some garbled words in rural Gujarati (being a linguist does not render one with the gift of understanding rural accents) and what was a rickshaw with passengers suddenly turned into an empty one ready to take us back to our hotel. As for the passengers, they simply alighted and didn't necessarily disappear into thin air, but nonetheless, the guard was a man of no small means...

As i'd earlier hinted upon, highway towns also have some of the city's niceties. This time it was indulgence time at a local thaali restaurant. For those not acquainted with a thaali, this is the Indian equivalent of a full course meal complete with hors d'oeuvres.

After much time spent without much noteworthy experience...

Flying back to Mumbai was a little bit more interesting than the journey to Himmatnagar. My neighbour sharing space with me adjacent to the window of the airplane wanted to break the radio silence with a joke. A pity the joke was on me and further attempts at conversation only ended in full stop sentences.

Immediately upon takeoff, the man began praying fervently. I knew the prayer he was chanting and if i'm not wrong was my co-religionist (doesn't go to say anything about my practicing it), and was also, a native speaker of Tamizh (Hooray for the Tams!). He seemed to be a wee bit spooked with the flying experience and kept chanting until we touched ground. I was more content with my fate (whether it meant landing safely or turning to toast in mid-air) and was having more grievance with the Amazon Kindle Ebook reader. Apparently, the reader would not show certain pages from pdf documents from spurious sources (perfectly useless when all your documents are classified and cannot be traced back to source).

That was about all the adventure and melodrama midair and by 1800 hours IST, the airplane landed on a Friday evening which saw a young man walking out into the sunset tuned in to music...

To my love, the moon...

Midway during the second week of January '12, i went out for a walk under a moonlit sky. Not very much to my surprise, there was a star that tried to shine just as much as the moon was. Despite its puny size and limited brightness, it seemed to be just as attractive as the moon herself. And somewhere in the back of the mind, this poem began to take form...

Immortal is your beauty, brilliant is your shine
It's you i worship, nothing less than divine
What am before you, nothing but a mere star
Blinking at the world below, from a distance afar


Lover's light and poet's delight,
Guide to the seeker in the night,
The Master couldn't have been more right
Blossoming hearts at the merest sight!


I swear upon your eternal light, know this to be true
Come what may ahead, i will not stop loving you
Content to forever remain, i'll be by your side
No force can ever, separate us or divide

Bear in mind who this 'star' was. It was none other than Jupiter, the king of among Gods, the largest planet in the galaxy. Hearing Juno croon so, the moon replied but hesitatingly.

King of kings, and king of many a moon
Your meek words are none less than a boon
I can for you, feel nothing but feel sad
I know your plight, i know it to be bad


Bound by love, i'm bound to my mother Earth
Her love for me, knows no dearth
As for my light, the Sun soaks me bright
He's my lover, he is my true delight!

I beg you your Highness, think not of me so...
Lest you earn my sorrow, and the Sun a dreadful foe

Upon hearing this, Juno was broken hearted. But being the divine King as he was of the galaxy, he accepted the Moon's decline for his love magnanimously.

I have no sorrow, i'll have no regret
Though no fruit did my love for you beget
Content i am to remain with you,
As a companion, i promise to be true...

On a clear moonlit night, you'll see Juno near the moon, appearing like a small speck compared to the moon. The distance 'tween them is great, yet on immediate sight, it seems as though they're together...

Along the coast...

The only sign of activity...

A late morning's start and i was headed toward the Tagore beach. Why? The low tide was early in the morning, and there's little to see once the tide closes in. Birds of the shore and sea gulls take to wing once the water comes inland.

No, i'm not oyster but i know just what you're talking about!

It wasn't all of a damper as i later found out. The sands are clean of pollution and so's the water. The shore was littered with sea shells of all shapes and sizes. In this pile, i chanced upon an oyster's shell. It looks so much like a piece of rock and ugly at the least so to say. The only other people around were fishermen netting and gutting the day's catch. What was the catch? Mackerel! A boat full of mackerel.

Oh so many fish!

Blue Tailed Bee Eaters and a lone White Bellied Sea Eagle kept me good company and offered some good photographs :)

Lunch this time was at a more traditional place, Svetha Lunch Home, apparently rated by NDTV too! The food here was awesome and the damage to the wallet was almost nothing! The Mackerel curry here was fabulously cooked in kokum and added a tinge of tang to the fish :)

Only when it was well after noon did the guy at the reception offer me a suggestion. "Saar, why didn't you go to Gokarna?"

White Bellied Sea Eagle

"Gokarna? How far is it from here?"

"1.5 - 2 hours drive saar. All buses headed to Ankola or Kumta will drop you there saar. You should have gone there saar. Nothing to see in Karwar, very small place this Karwar..."

"And why didn't this brilliant suggestion come to you in the morning my good friend? You're telling this now when i have just a few hours for my return journey...." i was getting angry!

I'd wasted an hour in the morning trying to get a bus headed toward Devbagh island. The other places around were Majali and Kodi Bagh. The bus conductors differed in opinion among themselves. One said the bus's due in a few minutes, the other quipped its gone and won't be expected for another hour, the third had no clue about it. All the while, Ankola and Kumta buses were milling around. (I have every right to procrastinate now!)

"Never mind saar, get a rickshaw and head to Kodi Bagh. You'll see something there!" the guy at the reception counter was trying to make up for my wasted time...

Kodi Bagh it is then! Forty rupees of damage and a twenty minute ride through rural Karwar found me staring at an island in the sea. Around me was a crane and a few not so good looking people who were looking at my camera kit.

Karwar's one of those places where old phased out products still live. One of the few such were Gold Spot, Dukes, Sosyo and a strange mango drink which i had. The mango drink turne d out to be synthetic orange with soda fizz. Nevertheless, the thirst was quenched and i headed out toward Sadashivgadh, a fort looming on a hill before me.

This place should not be confused with a village with the same name, and the locals did just that. They insisted there's nothing on the hill and Sadashivgadh was 2 kilometers down the road. Some walking on tarmac on a busy Goa-Karnataka highway was fun for a while and soon got boring. Climb the hill, better sport.

Standing on the side of the road, standing on one leg and shaking the other like every other eccentric someplace in India is bound to do, i was removing some stones which'd gone into my shoe. The locals are a friendly lot, and one fellow on a bike was so enthusiastic as to wildly guesture and question what was i doing??? Never mind...

The hill had a vantage point and some stone benches. A short while at the place yielded some birds of prey including yet another White Bellied Sea Eagle!

The Kali river met the sea here, and the divide was very clear between saline and freshwater. There's nothing cohesive about this collusion, and can be termed as being clubbed together forcibly more than anything else.

Kali meets the sea...

Evening cometh, and i bid adieu to Karwar. The bus conductor calls "station, station" and "Shirsur". Might be Karwar station for all you know. The ride wound its way through village first and then forest, and i was doubting Murphy yet again. Might end up at some forest station where only goods trains stopped occasionally :P

It turned out to be Karwar station! And after much trial and tribulationv minus great discomfitures and misadventures which could have beset me, a lone backpacker, my adventures were coming to an end. Friends, family and everyone else's wishes and favours yielded fruit and i headed back home safely, richer in experience and photographs of the Western ghat's wildlife.

A desire to break free from societal shackles and get in touch with the true self, that was the purpose of this adventure. In that measure, it has more than succeeded. There's more to life than try and create human relations that cannot be sustained.

Mortal fears, fear of strangers, getting robbed, mugged and killed, all of them left behind and the journey in search of the Truth began. Call it whatever you want but by the Grace of Truth itself, i came out unscathed.

Encounters with Truth leave behind subtle but permanent marks on the mind, and before long, i'll hit the road yet again, on yet another adventure!

Thanks for coming along with me on this journey, i've relived the experience all over again. Adieu, until we meet againm another place, another adventure...

Karwar

I'd started for Karwar from a place that's best described as wilderness, in a tin box winding way through elephant and bison country, only to encounter a small town of sorts that was Karwar!

Dressed as a tramp with two backpacks, wild haired, not to mention looking dull and dusted, i was the object of fear and wonder to the bystanders. Mothers were quick to protect daughters from this apparition, men wondering why's he wearing three quarts. Must've assumed me to be a backpacker who'd accidentally stumbled here 'stead o' Goa.

A backpacker stands tall!

The shock was more than i could digest. A Levis outlet shone brightly with display lights and denim (i was expecting a dusty li'l coastal town!), almost citylike lifestyle and God knows what more! Too much for me to handle! This was not a place where i could sleep on the streets in the night or find a temple where i could have residence as long as i wanted to.

Scene:

"Sorry sir, i just gave away the room you'd booked!" looking shamefacedly, almost puppyish in behaviour expecting a violent outcome.

"What on earth? Where am i to go now...?" tourist pretending to look irritated

"I'll arrange a place for you in our neighbouring annexe" the female's trying to pacify the 'irate' tourist.

Well, the wrangle went on until the tourist (no prizes for guessing who was it!) found a place to park luggage and hisself for the night!

Luxury according to the standards of the land doesn't include cleanliness, and the sight of two roaches greeted me as i checked in. WTF...??

In what can be called a flagrant violation of backpacker rules (yes i'm sorry for it!) i'd checked into one of the town's ritziest places, and this is what i got! My excuse? There weren't many places in this 'town' where i could get a good shack. It was bloody hot out there. At Dandeli, i needed a fleece lined jacket to survive the nights, and it was a pity there wasn't a nudist colony here (just to escape the accursed heat!) So, the offence can be pardoned in this case!

Very often (actually more often than not) we set out with plans, schemes and designs in mind as to how to live life and make the most of it. Making designs to cover only the least of exceptions, as if we were dealing with a dead and in-animate being. But Murphy being a living and real being can throw up a bouncer or two! Here it was the absolute difference between thought and reality.

After unpacking and cooling off, i set out for the next item in the agenda. The stomach was ringing a bell and a bit of tea and some snack would certainly be welcome. Ten minutes of walkabout and i walked into one "Sneha Tiffin and snacks" or something like that. My eyes were bloodshot due to the heat, but the people at the cafe thought otherwise.

There were none but a few college girls yapping over a glass of lassi. The only snack so far available out there were "mirchi bhajjis" which is chillies covered in chickpea batter andd fried in oil. Supposedly spicy but the waiter assured me otherwise. Tea and some of this stuff should shut up the tummy's demands for a while i guess...?

The bhajjis were cold and tea was the only consolation. I hate to be procrastinating, i don't like to appear something like Ibn Batuta or Thomas Macaulay but then this is something far too much to tolerate, specially in a town!!

The overall travel or maybe those snacks started up a headache which refused to end despite a shower. What now? I ended up watching cartoons at the ritzy hotel for lack of entertainment out there. This's what happens when you're stuck in the crossroads. The place's not completely rural, but neither is it sufficiently cosmopolitan. The place's stuck in a kind of a limbo which can be cured only by some enterprising generation of youth with their yearning to match the nation's progress. Going back to the roots unfortunately doesn't work anymore, there's no chance for that. But the limbo can be attributed to the "susegaad" nature of the Goans up north (just 8 kms to the border of Goa from Karwar!). The place and the people both are content with their present state and predicament and don't want to be bothered with anything such as progress/regress or movement in general...

The only other incident of note was the epic tussle between me and a fish. Splitting headache and drizzly weather meant i went to the nearest restaurant. In this case, the same hotel where i was staying had its restaurant in the opposite building. My travel guide and advisor (not to forget my friend!), Mr.Ashwin Bangera advised me to have Anjal aka Kingfish or Bangda aka Mackerel curried in gravy with rice. Asking for vegetarian food in a coastal town is absolute lunacy and freshness of the food can be generously discounted!

As luck would have it, the menu at the restaurant was something similar to what i would read back home in Bombay! WTF?? I asked the waiter for Anjal or Bangda. After recovering from his surprise, he said they're available but not with the traditional gravy and boiled rice. All said and done, the price was double the market price! Bigger WTF!!

While tucking into the bangda and rice mix, i suddenly encountered an apparition of sorts! The fish's head was intact and the eye was staring at me glassily from the plate, as if accusing me of its heinous murder! The chef had preserved the head carefully with the eye, perhaps for my viewing pleasure and remorse...

Gouge the eye that seeth evil...

This was too much for an ordinarily vegetable and grass eating me, and a quick jab of the fork dislodged the errant eye and all was pink and rosy again (headache however persists!) Too much tragedy and nonsense for one day and i called it an early evening... (zzzzzzz!!!!)

To the coast...

Dawn broke with the metallic calls of the Velvet Fronted Nuthatch and a few other birds. This was my third day in the forest, and also the last. Hereonwards, my journey was decided by Fate. The previous evening was spent discussing wildlife, the forest and everything about it over a warm campfire and some hot soup (don't forget our crawly friends who had a taste for my blood!)

Morning's crisp coolness combined with the heady fragrance of the woods was magic for the senses. All said and done, i didn't have much time for birding today. A final tour of the area yielded a few birds and the Malabar Giant Squirrel feasting happily on a few berries (read merrily posing for a photo shoot!)

This is a real close up!

The Kannadigas volunteered to travel with me to the nearest bus terminal from where i could get start off for Karwar. This place was Dandeli bus terminal. And starting off from the forest meant one thing more than anything else, wait...

This time we had some company at the bus stop. Three men and a little girl were actively engaged in banter in three different languages! The men they spoke in Tamizh (strange to come across Tamizhs in a rural Kannada village) and when mood seized them in Kannada as well. The girl was Malayalee and the only significant words from her were "Accha, Accha" which she kept repeating at periodic intervals. "Accha" means father in Malayalam, so i needn't explain further.

The choicest flavours of a language are in its swear words. I'd been enlightened to the world of Kannada swear words by an illustrious friend (dare not mention his name here!). The Tamizh men were yapping nonchalantly, when one of the members suddenly became a bit excited. He was describing a situation where he'd apparently been cheated of his wages for the day. Bile and anger combined can have a heady effect on conversations and the lingua takes on a new form of its own.

"Bolimagane..." the man went off and on. The mere mention of this word was enough to trigger off explosive laughter for me. The Kannadiga boys, wait, let me introduce them to you, Mayur and Rohit also laughed when they heard him swear! The meaning of the swear doesn't hold as much meaning and gravity as the mention of it. Don't treat a swear word by its literal meaning, it becomes crass! Its the easiest vent to emotions and feeling, and good fun all said and done! Yes, i'm not disclosing the meaning of the word, those who know it, know it...

After yet another eternal wait, the earth turned 'round its axis, the Indian parliament of ministers dilly dallied yet again, and someone somewhere was killed as part of a revolution, and all that jazz, and my bus arrived for Dandeli bus terminal.

The road was very much like this!

Rohit and Mayur then left for some sightseeing around, and i was instructed to get into a bus that headed for Kumta or Ankola. Both buses went via Karwar and would drop me there. How do i know which bus is mine? Ask the conductor, or read the signs in Kannada! There was some time at hand (the bus was at 2 PM, and it was just clocking one!) so i had to wait yet again. Uneasiness at the fact that i could be sitting at the wrong terminal for the bus, and the fear of getting into trouble were a constant bother, but then when you're in, you're in...

"Kumta chi bus aali aahey ka?" - First attempt in Marathi because North K'taka has affinity with the Marathis

"Kumta ki bus aayi hai kya? Kab aayegi?" - Second attempt in the national language

"When's the bus for Kumta expected?" - No response expected for this question, but nevertheless...

"Jabber jabber jabber, something something, more something something, hogbeku..." the conductor couldn't bother to answer me despite me giving him the wide option of 3 different languages. I'm quite sure he knew Marathi and Hindi for sure, but didn't want to respond. His response was more like him spitting paan than anything else. WTF...??

A helpful kid spoke Marathi (the kid sitting next to me) told the bus's still to come. In the meanwhile, i'd memorized the spellings for Kumta and Ankola in Kannada. Match and tell, and jump into the bus when it comes. Don't ask, just jump!

The way ahead...

 2:30 PM, Dandeli bus terminal :- The bus arrives and is excitedly chased by the passengers (not an exaggeration) and before it stops, there's a wild clamour to get in. A giant backpack and a li'l backpack my weapons, a prayer for safety, and i plunged into the fray, both hands swinging like cleavers at anything that came nearby. Empty seat spotted next to some women who looked like tribals. Who cares, the seat matters.

"What's this apparition carrying such huge bags? What's he doing?" wonder the people around, and before you could complete reading this thought, my rearside was resting comfortably on the seat at the back of the bus.

Traveling in a State Transport bus in rural India is always fun, and nothing short of an adventure. For a few moments, all Hell breaks loose and people clamber in from all possible vents (i'm writing this as straight-facedly as i'd be at a funeral) and fights are commonplace. It'd be terrific fun if a fight broke out between people who spoke very different lingos, but i wasn't privileged enough for such a fight!

Let your imagination run wild because i didn't dare record this battle on camera...

"Jibbery jib, jibbery jabber, jibbery jabbery jabber jabber!" - Old woman eating paan slightly short of spitting it on a young woman's face. The young woman's sitting on the next seat behind this old woman.

"Jabber jabber, jibber jabber jabber..." - Young woman now excited into the heat of the fray, just short of loosening her hair and turning into a banshee.

"Arre meri Amma, ab bas karo aur chup ho jaao!" - Moslem gentleman who's clearly irritated and understands just as much Kannada as i do! He's sitting right behind this scene of action and risks getting sprayed with paan and spittle.

"Koothko Amma, koothko koothko!" - Bus conductor's shouting from somewhere out there. Conductor risks being thrown out of the bus because of the unruly crowd jostling for space. Conductor tries his best to dispense tickets to the mob.

Miscellaneous swears emanate from my direction (no i was being civil and simply enjoying the fun in silence!). A college going kid was shouting, and thought this'd be good sport to excite the fighters even more!

As much as you'd like to picturize it as a Shakespearean drama unfolding in real life, just accelerate the time and throw in all the characters, live and talking at once, and you'll have some idea of what was happening.

Being enlightened in Kannada swear words meant i was tempted to use them, but the fear of being thrown out of the bus, whole or in pieces didn't seem appealing in any way, so my fun with the swear words was in the mind!

Why was this happening? The young woman had committed the unpardonable crime of misappropriating a seat duly territory marked by the oldie with a cloth bag. The young woman invoked Habeaus Corpus, "show me the body, show me the evidence of marking" as her counter-argument. The battle raged on as a stalemate, but thanks to the efforts of the Moslem gentleman and the conductor who'd miraculously fought his way back into the bus, armistice was declared.

The bus wound its way through elephant and tiger forest, along badly paved tarmac roads and finally through dirt tracks. My adivasi aka tribal female companions had some colour to offer as well. They'd brought a live rooster in the bus alongwith something else. This something else was a matter of grave concern for one of the ladies, more than her son sleeping peacefully in a corner, almost forgotten. Time and again she kept looking back for that something. The rooster was a marvelously discplined cock! Not a peck or crow whilst he was inside a plastic tote bag!

Battle having ended, i wound up with some music for fear of falling asleep and waking up at Kumta. The sight of earphones and my state of nirvana, was a joke for those wild women, and peals of laughter burst out on either side. Never mind the lingo, i understood they were laughing because i wasn't bothered about what raged on around me and was merry with my music.

I was warned in sombre, almost hushed tones about the roads being bad and selecting a rear end seat for my rear end. Hell, i wanted a rolling, rollicking ride anyways, so why not give it a shot? It was roller coasterish at places, but not too bad either! The only discomfiture being a fellow traveler who slept off assuming my shoulder's a good pillow (a local female headed to Karwar).

The road wound through dense forest all along the way (parts of wildlife reserves) and at every point it seemed an elephant or bison could be spotted calmly grazing alongside the road. Fantasies remained divorced from reality, and nothing as such happened. I slept fitfully at places and was once woken up to what sounded like a religious discourse in Kannada. A senior gentleman sang beautifully, and despite my stance on religion, i enjoyed the experience!

After what seemed like eternity, forest gave way to fields and "District Karwar" began to appear on signboards. A golden sun was setting over the Kali river as it met the Arabian sea colouring the water with its tangerine hue. The bus pulled over at a terminal and it seemed it was the place i wanted to go, but not quite what i'd thought it'd be. Nevertheless, a different adventure was to start from here onwards...

The payment in blood...

I wish this was the law!! :(

In today's world, its increasingly difficult to attain absolute solitude for an extended period of time. Like it or not, you're subjected to people you may or may not find appealing. Holds true even in the forest rest house where i was staying at Dandeli.

A family from Bombay (yes i fucking insist on calling it Bombay!) was present there as well, but they were more keen on safaris and general touring as opposed to wildlife photography. I was sipping my tea harmlessly as a mouse alone at my table when the first one among them started off, "Where are you from?" Thought or no thought, "Bombay" was my response! Cynical laughter from their side of the table. The right wing saffron brigade fascists were my company in the forest, just the thing that the doc insisted on right? Yea...

What followed was that traditional battle between the orthodox fascists and my liberal principles. Too much bile to be discussed about, so just forget it. But then there were two Kannadiga boys who'd come for a hike in the forest. They seemed like better company to keep. Well, it would've appeared really odd to be dining alone when there were people around me so...

All this bile distracted me from the focus of the day's topic, the payment to be made in blood. The forest is located near a river by the name Kali. True to her name, Kali demands blood from her devotees in payment for spending time in the forest. Something felt like chewing gum stuck to my foot and inspection revealed a reddish black creature devilishly latched to my foot. A strong shuffle dislodged it but it had apparently had its fill, of my blood...

A tiger leech!

More blood is wasted by excessive bleeding than ingestion by leeches. Their saliva prevents clotting and soon enough, the blood trails all over the place before clotting. Clotting'd happen if only a hundred more leeches hadn't smelt the rich blood...

Walking in blood isn't as scary (if not gory) as it sounds. It feels like chewing gum stuck to your feet. Combined with the red earth of Dandeli, it looked like i'd been shot in the foot with a shotgun!

The tribute in blood paid off. The birding was rich at the very least, and sighting after sighting, photo after photo followed suit. So, it didn't seem like a bad deal in the end :) All of this bloodletting was okay provided there was no pain in it. If only leech bites were to be painful, i'd be in Hell considering the number of bites i'd taken :)

In the evening, a plan was drawn up for a coracle ride along the length of the Kali river. This was offered complimentary for all guests staying at the resort for over 2 days. The coracle is quite a sight so to say. A round, saucer like raft made from strips of wood, ideal for moving quickly across rivers. It has no keel at the bottom and spins around whenever the currents push it.

Viewer discretion advised

"Beware of crocodiles in the river. Please do not swim here" a notice read grimly warning of a painful end for the errant with a caricature of the reptile. (Gulp!) A heavy and unwieldy camera lens posed two risks! One, the camera falls into the water, and i'm in deep trouble. Second, i fall into the water and the crocs close in. Not a very mild problem either. A Catch-22 of sorts you could term it, but no guts, no glory!

A Coracle looks like this!

Anand, our oarsman for the coracle, deftly navigated over the silent and deep waters of the Kali toward a clump of bamboo shoots. "There are more hornbills here than you could ever dream of sir!" his marketing pitch! Sure enough you could hear the raucous calls of the Malabar Pied Hornbills. Squawking and screaming, they were noisily feasting on fig berries. This tree was at a good distance, yet their calls could be heard clearly.

What followed could only be termed "spectacular" at the very least. The huge birds took to wing and three photographers tried to make the most of it with their respective weapons!

Malabar Pied Hornbills

Whenever we're confronted by a common situation (us includes non-humans as well), we often begin to bond and try to tackle it as a team. Well, the Kannadiga boys who so far had been mostly reticent became friendly! So far, the two spoke only in Kannada to one another, and rarely spoke with me. But after the Hornbill fest, all three had become pals :)

The forest in the meanwhile had effected me into its fold. Mind at peace and tranquil as the forest itself, i'd been cured of civilization's ills! The forest is a harsh mother, inflicting pain and hurt at times, but this pain serves only to toughen us for life's trials and tribulations. To think of material comforts and pleasures and assume this is true bliss, is but foolishness. I'd rather fancy sleeping atop a fig tree rather than a plush foam and feather contraption! B ut then, modern life has bound us in ways we cannot see or escape at will. But the effort is on...

An escape from present circumstances and situations must and will necessarily land us in another situation and circumstance (The law of conservation of energy at work!), and depending on probability and the weightage of Karma (good and bad deeds!), the situation will be either in our favour or against us!

But i'd like to think, parents prayers, friends goodwill and the general positive aura of the world around, had their significant part in influencing my situation in the forest. Thanks to them all, the sun set for the day and i returned back to camp grinning from ear to ear (we had a record bird sighting for the region!), and slightly soaked with blood in the shoes(yes, the leeches were still at work!)

The mighty Great Pied Hornbill, our record!

What next, let's talk about that tomorrow...? :)

The walk in the forest

The forest has a calming effect which nothing on this planet can possibly produce. The quietude of the environs, fragrance of the fresh earth and herbs, and the absence of human presence soon absorbs you into its fold, and even the most disturbed of minds soon settles into equilibrium...

Random thoughts, old songs and blah playing in the head ended within a few minutes of entering the forest. Writing this takes me back to the Paradise i had to leave unwillingly...

Jibbery jab, jabbery jib, jabber, jabber..

A cuppa tea refreshed back the senses, and it was time for business! Barrel stocked, magazine loaded and finger on the trigger, it was time for hunting! It was high noon when i set out for the first foray with my tracker (not to be confused with trekker) and guide, Joma, a native of the forest for some sport shooting. The forest was quiet due to the heat and the only sound to be heard was of the cicadas buzzing. I took great pride in spotting birds and animals, even the slightest of movement in the bush when scouting in the forest, but compared to Joma, i was but a fledgling!

"Chirrup, chirrup, chirrup" a slight call could be heard on the side of the road in the bush. I ignored it because spotting the bird in such a thicket was difficult. But Joma immediately played out the bird's call he'd recorded in his mobile phone. Before you know it, a flash of gold with a black cap and a throat tainted red was sitting on a branch hardly 3 feet away from me. "Shoot it sir, shoot it" Joma's voice was just as excited as my pulse!

Barrel raised, target locked and the trigger pulled off. The gun went off with a bang and the bird was bagged! The bag? A full frame picture of the Ruby Throated Bulbul staring grimly at me, looking every bit the bandit of the forest :)

Ruby Throat's what they call me!

Managing a telephoto lens which weighs over 2 kilograms with no more than the nimble use of fingers and yet maintaining stable hands lest the picture be shaken can take its toll on the forearms. By the end of the excursion and a few more pictures, the arms were screaming in pain, begging for mercy (Insert a picture of you with the camera lens in hand)

The forest guards and Joma were insistent that we head back for lunch 'fore the food goes cold, but the i'd not paid premium money for eating and sleeping when there were trophies to be bagged. Nevertheless, i had to give in! Darn!!

Nothing much to report except wide eyed delight as rare birds came out to pose and cavort before the camera and the triggerhappy finger was only too occupied through the evening...

Engrossed in the shooting but i couldn't help but notice a cloud buildup in the meanwhile. The air was smelt of rain, and i had nothing by way of rainwear or even a plastic bag for the camera and lens. Caught while walking through a stretch of timber forest, Joma and i had to run for a half a kilometer before we could find shelter from the pelting rain in a wooden shack.

It's gonna rain, its gonna rain!

You can judge the amount of rain that's being received by observing the water that's washing off the soil and ground litter. Twenty minutes were spent just watching a leaf getting gradually pushed then dragged finally washed away by the water flowing off the road. The downpour finally ended and the day had to be wrapped up 'cause nothing more could be seen after the rains.

Traveling in rural and wild places sounds all gung ho and exciting, but more often than not, its a long and endless wait to get the transport vehicle, either a State Transport bus or a local SUV which'll drive you around for a slightly higher fare. The Indian villager's patience has stood the test of time. We waited for a record 60 (or was it 45) minutes just waiting either for a bus or an SUV to take us to Dandeli Timber Depot (the timber forest). The pace of life is dead slow, and the only thing that moves faster than time are a few cows meandering on the road, halting at times to ruminate over current affairs (nothing more complex than a mouthful of cud!)

Be it a song, dance, fight or tantrum, i was silently playing it out all in waiting for my transport to arrive. A few minutes before an SUV pulled up, i was almost ready to sleep off on the side of the road. No worries about pollution, only dirt and clear grass and a clean tarmac. Perfectly fine to sleep off if need be! :)

What's next? Rein in those wild horses! More's to come shortly :)

Until we meet again!