Day 10 Sirpur to Chitrakote

The journey from Sirpur to Chitrakote and thee first impression of the sound of the Chitrakote falls reminds me of the line from Forrest Gump - " Life is like a box of chocolates... you never know what you will get inside." The 400 km journey from Sirpur to Chitrakote was covered in around 11 hours. This time, it was not due to the quality of roads, but the number of distractions along the way. First, the road itself. Changing from narrow, single lane highways, where each vehicle had to give way to the oncoming one by taking two wheels off the road, to miles of canopied, two lane tarmac that were a dream to drive on.

The real India lives in its towns and villages and were experiencing it firsthand. A breakfast of steaming samosas, straight from the pan, sitting at the crossroads of a small town. The entire family bustling around, switching roles at the drop of a hat. The father would fry the samosas, his daughter would serve them, while husband and wife went back to preparing the ingredients for other delicacies

From then on, it was a broad, treelined highway, all the way to Kondagaon, where Eagle Eye Nalini spotted a handicrafts centre. This by someone who can't spot a sign to save her life and keeps asking where we are and how many kilometres to the next turn off.

The next hour or so was spent exploring all sorts of local handicrafts, terracotta, bell metal, et al. Each town or village has a specialisation. This one excels in 'Dhokra' or the lost wax method of casting metal, to create sculptures of animals, deities and utility items. We picked up a few souvenirs and headed towards Chitrakote, until she spotted another one - a woodwork shop this time. The artisans were busy crafting exquisite woodwork items, from figurines to lintels and even an entire bed! It was a treat, to see them at work as they fashioned a piece of teak wood into a work of art.

The 27 km drive from Jagdalpur to Chitrakote was a nerve wracking experience. Dusk had set in an it was pitch dark, by the time we hit the hilly road that snaked its way to our destination. Cyclists and pedestrians trudged up the hill, unmindful of oncoming traffic. Every one in a while, I would spot a group of cyclists, pedalling uphill, without any lights or reflectors.

The first thing that hit me as soon as I drove into the resort was the sheer size of the place. It was sprawling. The next, was the sound of the waterfall, thundering in the background. I had no clue that we were so close to the waterfall, once could almost reach out and touch it.
We had a sumptuous dinner of freshly caught, fried fish, dal and rice before retreating to our private haven - a balcony overlooking the falls. The milky froth shimmered by the light of a candle, as a cup of soothing green tea served as the perfect nightcap. If life is like a box of chocolates, I think I got an almond praline this time!

Day 9 - Sirpur - An underground city comes to life

6.30 am, reveille. 7.00 am, tea and typing in the garden. That's the way the day began. Nalini decided to order breakfast via the intercom, and gave very precise instructions to the only person manning the reception - the security guard. No prizes for guessing the outcome. The Burji became an omelette, plain paratha transformed into aloo paratha and the poha for one seemed like a gargantuan portion. And so, the morning began with post-Divali fireworks, aimed at the hapless chef. Although he promised to set things right immediately, madam was on a roll. That was my exit cue, and I decided to complete my spell of writing and make reparations with the staff later.

After breakfast, we hit the Sirpur tourist trail. This tiny town has over 20 odd excavation sites, and there are more popping up like mushrooms. Buddhist viharas and temples dedicated to deities like Shiva, Lakshman, Ram, and many others in the Hindu Pantheon. The three most prominent ones are dedicated to Buddha, Shiva and Lakshman. Without going into details, suffice to say that each one of them is unique, be it from an architectural perspective, intricacy of carvings or sheer scale of construction.

TheBuddhist vihara had carvings of scenes from the Jataka tales on the door lintel. The Shiva temple had a 4.5 foot high stone statue of Shiva and the Lakshman temple, was the only completely restored temple in the town. This sightseeing can get to be quite exhausting, and hence the body craves for constant refuelling. One round of samosas, onion pattys and hot tea was all it took to get us back on the road again. Considering the snack was devoured by the roadside, I don't know if we even left the road at all.

Where there is piety, there will be commerce. The town has a 250 sq m excavated market place, complete with an underground granary, wells, Buddhist Vihara, underground sewage system and broad roads. The market also had interlocking stores, the precursor of the department store, way back in the 7th century. All this, set around a giant Banyan tree.

What astounded me was the sheer size of the market and its planning. Our town planners and administrators could learn a thing or two from their 7th Century cousins.

Lunch was at a 'way out' resort called 'Muba's Machan'. Located 15 km from town, on the very fringe of the Banawara Tiger Reserve, the resort has accommodation on stilt houses or 'machans'. Well equipped and furnished with mod -cons, these 'machans' are the perfect getaway for families and lovers alike. While the resort does not encourage 'drop in' customers, they made a special exception in our case. Lunch consisted simple vegetarian fare, cooked to perfection, with a view of the forest in the distance. After a relaxing lunch, we cruised back into town.

Our first halt was the Lakshman temple and the museum behind it. The museum
has some wonderful stone artefacts which cannot be identified, as the stainless steel labels are smudged beyond recognition. Then, there are sections with bulb holders, but no bulbs. The star attraction is undoubtedly a beautiful shivling with a four headed shiva, set in a perfectly shaped 'yonipith' set in the centre of the exhibition shed.

The museum manager had the misfortune of being on the premises,sipping tea along with some cronies, outside the museum shed. He received a polite tongue lashing for the labels and a sharp barb for the missing bulbs. Hopefully one will go 'ding' in his head and I shall see a vastly improved museum on my next visit, whenever that may be.

The last stop on the tourist trail was a temple 'Surang Tilla' , a fortified temple, dedicated to Lord Shiva. The strangest thing about the temple are the steps. The first few rows are angled towards the temple in the centre, but are at an angle to the ground on the sides. It's as though someone has pushed the two side walls of the steps, forcing them to be angled upwards at the extremes, for lack of space. This makes it difficult to climb up, but almost impossible to come down from, unless you are a mountain goat. The residing deity is Lord Shiva, accompanied by Ganesh and a few buxom enchantresses.

Tired of hotel food, we decided to eat at the Bhojanalay at the cross roads. The owner had made simple home-cooked meal for us, which we devoured in a matter of minutes. ...

Day 6 - Bhoramdeo to Achanakmar

It was 6 am and the sun was peeping from the horizon. As a golden hue graced the misty landscape before us, we alighted from our rooftop perch to savour some hard-earned tea.

Later in the day, we walked down to the Bhoramdeo temple. A narrow raised causeway, flanked by an unkempt, hyacinth infested pond provides access to the temple.

Famed as the 'Khajuraho of the East', this 11th Century edifice is best known for its erotic sculptures. Considering the size and scale of the Khajuraho temple complex, this would not even qualify of a poor man's version of the original. However, on its own, it exudes the kind of peace and tranquility that Khajuraho can never hope to attain. Moreover, while active worship ceased at Khajuraho eons ago, it still is very much in practice here.

After breakfast, we visited a 14th Century Shiv Temple, a kilometre down the road from our guest house. This quiet, almost forgotten temple felt like a source of pure energy. Half an hour spent in its proximity is enough to charge the most jaded soul.

I needed all the energy I could get for the drive that lay ahead of me, though I did not know it at the time. What was supposed to be a 100 km, 2.5 hour drive tuned out to be a six hour marathon that traversed 186 kilometres of hill, vale and rutted plain. Mile after mile of single lane highways, often poorly surfaced does not a joyous drive make. The only redeeming part of the drive was the last 50 odd kilometre stretch through enchanting forest land.


We arrived at Achanakmar at around 6 pm, though it felt more like 9. A sip of local brew, a sumptuous dinner of oily country-style chicken and a plan for an exciting safari drove the Chattisgarh blues away. Tiger, tiger burning bright...

Day 8- Achanakmar - Sirpur

We have been on the road for 8 days now, one day merging into the next. On the ninth day of our trip, I am sitting in the quiet courtyard garden in our resort at Sirpur, catching up on my writing. It is nearly 8 am and I have spent the better part of the last hour with my trusty Ipad, ensconced on a wrought iron bench with a finch and a thermos for company.

Yesterday, day 8 of our journey, we traveled 300 kilometres, beginning with a quick morning blast through the Achanakmar sanctuary, followed by a set of single lane highways graced with mustard fields, a high-speed section on a newly constructed dual carriage way, and finally, a muddy track leading to our resort. We covered the distance in a good seven hours, which is fair for this part of the country, give or take a diversion or three.

Sirpur is a one-horse town. There's a tiny market, no ATM, probably a bank and basic postal facilities. Thee town is best known for its excavations of ancient temples and a township that existed here aeons ago. Most sites are open from sunrise to sunset and hence an early start is a must. By around 4.30 pm, it's dusk and by 5.30, completely dark.

We had barely an hour of sunlight in hand. The lady at the tourist office casually mentioned that we could see the entire town in 2 hours. If you are a point-and-shoot, been there, Facebooked that kind of tourist, probably so. But for someone like me who can infuriate the most patient guide with his curiosity and desire to explore every nook and cranny, a few days is more like it.

There are temples by the now almost dry section of the Mahanadi river that may not necessarily have the same level of sophistication of the temples further inland, but the location makes up for it all. Set on the river bank, these temples are the embodiment of tranquility, and that is where our 'touristy' day ended.

The rest of the evening ranged from the sublime to the mundane. The much overdue activity of washing underwear and socks in a town that has no laundry facilities, followed by a set of calisthenics to find various perches on which they could be hung to dry. We spent an hour in the very same courtyard, with a picnic mat spread on the damp grass, a glass of Mahua and Nusrat for company. What more can one ask for?

Day 7 - Achanakmar & Amarkantak - From tiger trails to temple trysts

By now, it's becoming a bit of struggle to keep this blog going. A series of late nights and early mornings on a holiday are enough to make the most resolute writer balk at the thought of hitting the word processor. Thus do I soldier on bravely, night after night.

This morning, we awoke at 4.30, performed all necessary ablutions, savoured a cup of lemongrass tea and sett off for Acahankmar sanctuary gate, 56 kilometres away. Thanks to some nefarious activities in the precincts of the forest, the gates closest to our resorts were closed. So, we sped through the misty morning, or rather bumped our way through the forest for over an hour, savouring the crisp morning air, until we arrived at the forest gate. The 56 km stretch has 5 checkpoints, which ascertain the time at which you pass and whether you have been speeding within the forest.

The next four hours were absolutely magical. Accompanied by the manager of our resort and his colleague, we trundled through thickets and streams in a trusty Gypsy, clambered up a watch tower and enjoyed the sight of a majestic Bison at close quarters. But most of all, we savoured the sights and sounds of the forest around us.

Before we left the forest, we went to say hello to 'Raju', a big bull Elephant who had been captured and kept in captivity as a punishment for his misdemeanours. As the story goes, Raju had been attacked with an axe by a tribal trying to steal his tusk. Raju escaped. The tribal and his family paid for it with their lives. In a fit of rage, the wounded elephant followed his attacker and trampled his house to the ground, along with its occupants. Every time the house was rebuilt, Raju would return to the village and trample upon it. He did this on three occasions, without harming a single other person or piece of property in the village. Now, Raju is the one being rehabilitated, and being trained to help control other 'rogue' elephants. Strange are the ways of man.


Refreshed, recharged and rejuvenated, we returned to base for a sumptuous, if rather late, lunch. Later in the evening, we set off for the holy town of Amarjantak 15 kilometres away. The evening was spent in a blur of shrines, of various ages. Some are active shrines while others are archaeological sites, which bring back the glory of a byegone era. The entire town was shrouded in a veil of tranquility, and the temple that houses the source of the Narmada, was no exception. Over the last two days, I had been hearing Indian Ocean's rendition of 'Maa Rewa', the other name from the Narmada, and about how her source lies at Amarkantak. Today, I witnessed it in person

For some strange reason, the entire temple complex has been whitewashed, erasing its original beauty and replacing it with a patina of white. All, save one shrine. Why, I will never know, and did not bother to enquire. As I walked around the complex, soaking in the tranquility, I spied a statue, reclining near the door of one of the shrines. As I moved closer to take a photo, the saffron robed statue blinked. I know now whether it was a man or a woman, but the stillness of the person shook me. I retreated, camera in hand, without taking a photo, and found a quiet spot by the temple tank, opposite the idol of Narmada Devi.

As city dwellers, even a few minutes of stillness seem like an eternity and the urge to do 'something' overtakes us. So, I fiddled around with my camera and tried my best to capture a slice of tranquility in pixel form.

I also realized that Amarkantak and its environs have much to offer and one should spend few days, rather than a few hours here. Giant Shivlings, monolithic statues and a temple that has been under construction for over 15 years - for just a day every year, based on the alignment of the stars.

The rest of the evening was spent as the tribals must have done many moons ago, and some probably still do. Angari Roti, a smoked rice pancake covered in leaves and a chutney made from tomatoes and potatoes roasted in an open fire. Cooked and devoured al fresco, with copious quantities of local brew, Mahua, and folk music playing in the background. The best part of it all was that this was a treat set up by our manager, exclusively for us. Just one of teh many perks of having the resort to ourselves.

Day 5 - Pachmarhi to Bhoramdeo

6.30 am. Nalini and I were on our way to Bhoramdeo, the Khajuraho of Chattisgarh. The 420 kilometre drive, under normal circumstances, takes around 8 hours or so the guidebooks and google say. In our case, it took us almost 12 hours. The drive in most parts is extremely picturesque, with a short 80 kilometres of four laned highway. The rest of it is all single carriageways, where playing chicken is the norm.

The first leg from Pachmarhi is a narrow set of twisties, extending almost 30 kilometres as it snakes its way down to thee plains. Then it's sugarcane paradise. Mile upon mile of sugarcane fields dot the landscape, with the odd sugarcane juice vendor crushing fresh cane for the thirsty wayfarers. Sugarcane gives way to mustard. A sea of yellow blossoms swaying in the wind, reeking of potential prosperity.

The surface of the roads across this segment varies from pockmarked to glassy - depending on the contractor and commissions paid. Thankfully, the landscape is beyond the control of commerce. Tree-lined roads, thick forests and the odd shimmering lake make one forget the poor quality of tarmac. Distances and time are not directly related in this state. It took us 10 hours to cover 620 km in one state and twelve hours to cover 420 km in another.

We had a late lunch at a small restaurant along the way. It was recommended to us by a local. When we asked at the petrol pump for directions to the restaurant, he casually mentioned that we must have 'seen it on google'. This just goes to show how far 'Google' has gone to become synonymous with the Internet, even in the Hindi heartland.

As we approached the Chattisgarh border, it was already dusk. The surprising fact was that it was barely 5 in the evening. Already lengthening shadows were making their eerie presence felt. This is the reality of life in the East - early sunrises and equally early sunsets.

The last leg of our journey was covered in complete darkness. 6 o clock felt more like 8, as the headlights pierced the night ahead. It took some asking to find the road that led to our destination, Bhoramdeo, The last few kilometres were on a lonely, narrow, forested stretch of road, where one almost expected goblins and trolls to pop out and block our path.

We are the only guests at the Nagori Tourist Lodge. So, we made the most of it, with an impromptu drink on the terrace, with candle light, et al. The piece de resistance was freshly caught river fish, fried and curried to perfection, served along with dinner. I guess it must have been divine providence, given that we are here to pay our respects to Lord Shiva tomorrow morning.

Day 4 - Rambling around Pachmarhi

Our last day in Pachmarhi began like most others, lazily. We began with a languorous breakfast, with curious monkeys as onlookers. Thus sated, we set out to explore Pachmarhi and its environs. Our first halt was the 150 year old Protestant Church, set amidst mildly unkempt lawns. The only piece of historical trivia that I remember is that it was built by the friends and family of an army major of the East Bengal Lancers ( or something like that), in his honour, supposedly after he passed away in the line of duty.

The Church itself, with its stony facade and exterior, stood defiant against the march of time and the blaring of gypsy horns. For us, it was an island of peace, a retreat, a park bench in paradise... And then we stepped into its hallowed confines. Alone in the church, with the resident priest, we could feel the piety of legions that must have prayed here. Today, the Sunday Services in Hindi, with Bhajans instead of hymns and a congregation one can count on one's fingers, are a far cry from the lofty choral notes that must have echoed from the naves in years gone by. Both Nalini and I needed this shot of tranquility, to steel ourselves against the chattering hordes that infested Pachmarhi.

I don't know what it is about North Indians and Paneer. I literally can't stomach it, and they can't seem to get enough of it. So, after having grown tired of requesting every hotel that I frequented not to grace my food with a Paneer like some sort of ritual blessing, and being told 'we don't do that here', I finally slipped. The one day, I forgot to warn the waiter not to place Paneer on my food, my Butter Chicken came to the table like a blushing bride, covered in a veil of ... you guessed it.... Paneer shavings. Paneer on Butter Chicken? Whatever is the world coming to? So Nalini had to devour it all, whether she wanted to or not. Henceforth, I shall be on guard, always.

Back on the tourist trail, we headed through the bazaar to 'Jata Shankar' or the 'Locks of Shankar', which is a mass of boulders that are supposed to resemble Lord Shankar's matted locks, discarded as he escaped from a demon and sought refuge in a cave. The rock formations, though interesting, by no stretch of imagination resemble a set of discarded locks. A staircase leads down to a narrow cave where he sought refuge. Like any religious spot in India, you will find the pious, the curious and the vendors, catering to both. A short spell here, a guide's spiel overhead, and I was ready to head back to ground level.

The last stop on the tourist agenda was the set of 'Pandava caves'. However, how the 5 Pandavas are connected to these 5 Buddhist Viharas is a mystery that even the Archeological Survey of India (ASI) refuse to throw light on. In fact, they steadfastly refuse to divulge anything about these monuments, as if the fate of the country hinged on it. There are 5 boards in various locations informing us that this is a protected monument and warning of dire consequences if one should transgress any of the unwritten rules of conduct in the premises or deface the already caged in viharas or write epics of love on the walls..etc., etc.

The view from the top of the caves of an alluring garden in the shape of a fish in the foreground, and the hills of Pachmarhi in the distance made the climb more worthwhile than exploration of the caves themselves. We could not resist the temptation of laying out the old picnic mat and having a cuppa as the sun set on the Pandava empire....

Back in town, we made a last ditch effort at enjoying a bit of al fresco dining. The thermometer plummeted to sub-endurance levels ( read 14 degrees), the coldest Pachmarhi has witnessed in a gazillion years. So, dining under the stars would have been a recipe for frostbite or that's what the better half thought, anyway. Dinner at China Bowl, another MP Tourism establishment, consisted steaming soup and spicy Hakka Noodles - the revenge of the one who is denied paneer in my presence, out of sheer practicality, not cussedness. How an instruction like 'put less Soya sauce' translates into 'make it fiery hot with chilly powder' escaped me, but that is precisely what happened.


I retreated to Fort Evelyn, my private bastion, licking my wounded palate, as I reached for the nearest chocolate. Thus an eventful day was brought to a close with a round of green tea, served al fresco outside our room. That evening, we packed, loaded the car and were ready to turn in, when raucous laughter put any plans of peaceful slumber to rest. The offending party, our neighbours had decided to share their salacious conversation with the rest of the household, courtesy an 'open door' policy. One that I firmly shut, with a polite request in Gujarati, and a reminder that they were not the centre of the universe. Thankfully, they got the point and the conversation subsided to a murmur, allowing us to sleep in peace...

Day 3 - Pachmarhi - Our first day of real sightseeing

This was a no-alarm, no agenda day. Well after sunrise, close to 8 am, we extricated ourselves from beneath our cozy quilts and decided to take explore Pachmarhi at will. Over the next few hours, we lazed around outside our room, chatting with our host, Mr. Rao, as story after story of life in the army and school life with the who's who of industry poured out. Followed by anecdotes about guests at Evelyn's own and possible plans for the day.

It was almost noon by the time we left our homestay and headed for one of the 'points' at Pachmarhi. A kilometre or so down the road, we followed a retinue of vehicles down an unmarked mud road, till we reached the base of the small climb to 'Handi Kho' - a narrow gorge with a 2000 foot drop. The scene at the viewpoint reminded me of a few lines from a poem that I had written about the Elphinstone College library - " Abandon all hope, ye who enter here, for herein doth silence meet its doom'

The viewpoint area better resembled a fairground, with pony rides and vendors of all hues, hawking their wares. From catapults to coffee and roasted gram, and some games of skill like hitting suspended bottles with a catapult, every diversion was on offer, save the one that most people were really there for... a few minutes of tranquility, as one gazed on nature's wonders.


From this melee, we beat a hasty retreat and drove towards the relatively lesser frequented 'Forsyth Point' or 'Priyadarshini' point - the spot after which Pachmadhi or 'five ranges' is named. Even today, once can see the five ranges that Captain Forsyth did, over a century ago, when he founded this little hamlet.

Thankfully, there were no pony rides or other such distractions at this point. A couple of sour berry 'bor' and gram vendors did brisk business, as kids scampered about making their demands. Selfie sticks and wannabe models made for interesting viewing, along with the glorious vista ahead. We relaxed with a self-made cup of coffee and some 'theplas' under the shade of a tree... soaking in the peace and the view.

I don't know what it is about Indians as a whole and large groups of travellers in particular, who think nothing of desecrating even the quietest spots with commercial and vocal debris, leaving it behind in their wake. They come seeking beauty and peace and shatter it the moment they arrive. It was a good twenty minutes after which the hordes receded, leaving us to our reverie.

Thus sated, physically and metaphorically speaking, we drove on to the 'Mahadev' caves. These caves date back to the legend of the Lord Shankar, as he escaped pursuit from a demon. The caves and temple represent spots where he hid or fought with the demon. The 'Gupt Mahadev' cave is a narrow fissure in the rock which leads to a tiny cave, barely large enough for a few people to stand. Only 8 persons are allowed into this claustrophobic space at a time, sidling sideways as they reach the cave, pay their respects to the small deity within, and leave an offering with the priest sitting there.

Across the parking lot lay the temple of 'Bada Mahdev'. A cavernous structure, with water dripping through the rocks above onto the pilgrims below. One is expected to circumambulate a small reservoir in the middle of the cave, pausing at the shrine of Shankar, pay obeisance and carry on out of the cave. The structure is such that you are forced to bend inwards to avoid hitting your head on the rocks, both as a practical measure as well as a mark of respect to the presiding deity.

I had an incredible feeling of deja vu, as childhood memories of this spot came flooding back. I had seen this cave over forty years ago, and carried the image with me, but forgotten the location. Today, that mystery was solved.

As dusk fell, we drove back to town and spent a pleasant evening devouring steaming pakoras and tea on the lawns of the MP Tourism Resort, Glen View. We were the only souls on the lawns, a special privilege granted, as they set up the area for a party in the evening. An hour later, we were ensconced in the living room of our host, having a drink and sharing pleasant banter. Mr.and Mrs. Rao are a wonderful couple. He is a dapper 76 and hided his age well. She is timelessness incarnate - a trait I have seen in many army wives. Another round of piping hot pakoras, home made this time, helped the alcohol go down quicker. Not to mention the fact that our hosts had a dinner invitation and had to leave at 20;00 hrs - army time!

As city dwellers, we crave the open spaces and al fresco dining. So, any promise of that must be explored. Thus, we found ourselves at Rock End Manor, another wonderful MP Tourism property. Here too, despite a full house, and no al a carte, the management graciously allowed us to dine on the verandah, with a caveat that we could only choose dishes from the buffet. The ambience won over the choice of food, which was delicious to say the least. One waiter was assigned to us and it felt as though we had the hotel to ourselves...

The warmth of the chicken and hot rotis, coupled with a view of open fields and a nip in the air completed the spell. Then came the shock. Their credit card machine was out of operation. The next few minutes saw us rummaging among a plethora of folded bills and bill folds, extracting cash from each, until we had enough to pay for our dinner. The alternative would have been to leave Nalini as hostage, while I drove down to the nearest ATM to withdraw cash. Thankfully, it did not come to that.

The day ended with our de reigeur candlelight and green tea session outside our room. A wind down moment, before we hit the sack.

Bhopal - Pachmarhi - Our first real destination

Day 2 of our journey began at 7.00 am. after a spat with the management of our hotel over the fact that our geyser trickled ice cold water, instead of piping hot. The solution, use any bathroom in the hotel, as we were the only guests.

On the dot of 7, we trooped out of the hotel and headed out into the mist. Mile after mile, the highway unfolded before us through a diaphanous haze. An hour later, we stopped for breakfast at a small roadside eatery. Omelettes, parathas and steaming cups of tea fortified us for the journey ahead.


The 215 km from Bhopal to Panchmarhi is pleasant, but not memorable for any specific reason. The roads are good in most part and meander over rivers and through forests, as they snake their way steadily higher. There is a predominance of curious monkeys, both in the forests, as well as on the hilly road to Panchmarhi. Its obvious that tourists stop and feed them, despite notices requesting them not to. The moment we stopped anywhere near a monkey we were surrounded by simians, waiting for the proverbial treat.

The monkeys advanced slowly, and cautiously, with an air of expectation around them. Having experienced what a bunch of monkeys can do, if they decide to get vicious, I decided that discretion was the better part of valour, and left the monkeys to their devices.
The final leg of the journey is a winding, narrow, 22 km long single lane highway that ascends almost 800 metres, to a height of 1050 metres from the base. A driver's skill and nerves, as well as his intuition are put to the test. Cars hurtle around corners without so much as a 'peep'. We arrived in Pacmarhi around lunchtime, and ate at an MP Tourism resort - a 100 year estate now converted into a tourist home. Even today the old world charm is very much apparent.


Post lunch, we checked in to 'Evelyn's Own' - a charming homestay which will be our home for the next few days. Run by the dignified Mr. and Mrs. Rao, the homestay is straight out of a picture post-card. Warm, yet quaint, with marginally overgrown foliage, it's just the kind of place I like.

After a short nap and a cup of tea, we set out to explore the environs of the city. As the sun set over the horizon, we found ourselves by a lakeside, alone, listening to the sounds of the migratory birds settling in for the night, and in the distance...the city gearing up for an evening of commerce and consumption. Every once in a while, a jeep whizzed past, horns blaring, shattering the serenity. And then, for a few moments, it seemed as though we were in another world...

From the tranquility of our homestay to the hubbub of a bustling market, screeching horns, chattering Gujarati tourists and ambling, cows, they seemed lie two worlds apart. The Gujaratis make their presence felt through sight, sound and hard cash. They're everywhere, conversing loudly, haggling, asking the world to Ghatkoparise everything. A conversation with a tea vendor said it all. A middle aged man asked him to make strong 'Gujarati' chai, instead of the way he was used to making it - mild and sweet. The whole purpose of travel is to experience different cultures, cuisines and lifestyles - not merely to tick sights off a bucket list. Someday, I hope that they will eschew the 'been there, seen that culture' and really experience the places they visit.

Back at our little nest, we relaxed under a moonlit sky, with a cup of freshly brewed green tea and candlelight for company. It was almost ethereal. The perfect way to end a pleasant day.

Chattisgarh Calling - Day 1 - Nashik to Bhopal

5.30 am, saw me rising from the confines of my cozy bed at the Ibis, Nashik. In an hour's time, we were packed and ready to roll. 600 odd kilometres of tarmac lay between us and our destination for the night, Bhopal. Fortified with green tea, leftover sandwiches and few biscuits, we were on our way. A misty haze had settled over the environs of Nashik city. The highway opened up ahead of us as we left the city behind, dodging vehicular behemoths as we made our escape. The landscape varied from miles of vineyards to ambiguous scrub land, parched, waiting for rain. Three hours later, we stopped at a small roadside eatery for breakfast.

Traditional Maharashtrian snacks like poha and piping hot kachoris accompanied by sweet tea sufficed to fill our bellies, and prepare us for the rest of the journey. The roads on this sector are excellent, but the driving discipline of the users leaves much to be desired. Overloaded trucks trundle alongside at a snail's pace, suicidal motorcyclists with kamikaze tendencies dart out from the undergrowth as if to throw themselves at oncoming vehicles, in a last ditch effort to disable them.

Vehicles of every shape, size and lack of power hog the right lane, unmindful of other wheeled brethren who have also paid hefty toll charges to share a few feet of tarmac. Driving here is an exercise in patience and restraint. That being said, the drive to Bhopal was a pleasant one. Every once in a while, the road would be covered by a canopy of trees, giving way to flower lined dividers on dual carriageways and fields under cultivation.


Today is Diwali and most restaurants are preparing for an evening 'pooja' or prayer session. Hence, we had to hunt for one that was willing to serve us lunch, while carrying on with their own preparations! By 6.oo pm, we had arrived in Bhopal, and found ourselves at the home of a friend an colleague whose family lives here. This evening, we shall be having a Diwali repast with Jay and his family. Life's little surprises. Tomorrow, we are off to Panchmarhi, a hill station I last visited 40 years ago!