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 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.

Putting 'Christ' back into Christmas with cayons!

Let's bring 'Christ' back into Christmas, the preacher said. This was almost a month ago, just before I left for an end-of-the-year break to Gujarat. Almost a month later, isn't it a little too late to be thinking about Christmas?

Sometimes, all it takes is an envelope for one to travel back in time. In this case, it was an envelope packed with Christmas Cards, each lovingly made by hand and adorned with the choicest blessings. As always, the cards were made by two very sweet girls, Vera and Jennifer, whom I have the good fortune of being acquainted with. In truth, we sponsor the education of these girls, who are brimming on the edge of womanhood, and willl soon leave the cloistered environs of the Church to find their way in life. But, as usual, that's getting ahead of the story.

A few years ago, Nalini and I wanted to help educate a girl child who had no one in the world. When we were asked if we would educate two girls who had no father, we did not think twice. Over the last two or three years, Vera, Jenneifer and their mother have become a part of our ecosystem. I use the word liberally, as they are neither friends in the typical sense, and nor are they family. Neither have I ever introduced them to my friends or family - or frankly, even spoken about them to friends or family. Not because I am embarassed to do so, but I think that they would die of embarassement if I did not break them into my world, very, very gently.

So what is it that makes this shy, reticent trio, so special to us? In one word - Love. I guess that at some point, it does have to do with the material element of being supported by us. But on the other hand, this trio of Christmas cards, received well after New Year, has a message of its own. The message is simple - that which a crayon and love can create, no store in the world can match. You cannot put a price on the smile behind the creator of these cards. You cannot stick a bar code tag on the back of these cards, as they are priceless. And with every passing year, my collection of Vera and Jennifer's creations occupies an increasing amount of space on my soft board.

I have not brought these young ladies out of the closet. Their trio of cards has. It would be very cynical of me to simply call them up and say 'Thank You' , which I shall do anyway. I wanted to share the simple innocence of these young girls who need no money to say 'Merry Christmas' or 'Thank You'. All they need is a piece of paper, a box of crayons and lots of love.

As a writer, I am conditioned to spotting errors. Theirs, I ovelook with a smile, thinking to myself...
"Forgive them, for they know not how they write. But they do know WHAT they convey."

If there is a single cynic out there reading this, I would like you to meet Vera and Jennifer someday. One day, when they are ready to be exposed to our world. That day, their smiles and coyness will smash your cynicsm to smithereens. That will be the day you realise what Christmas is all about.

Thank You, Vera and Jennifer, for making every day seem like Christmas Day for Nalini and me.
Thank You for making it feel like 'Christ'mas, all year long.

Cyrus Dadachanji aka gypsycy

P.S. I may never post their pictures, but their love shines through these cards...

my first ever blog after a lifetime of writing!

It feels really weird and exciting at the same time. I've made a career out of writing everything from corporate communication to travel stories. This blog has been a long time coming. And since I have taken so long to get it kick started, the anticipation that it should prove worthwhile to those who read it, is immense.

Mygypsytales is my act of discipline towards chronicling my travels and sharing them with the world at large. Over the last few years, a combination of work pressures, lethargy and who knows what has ensured that I have not been as prolific as I once was. I do hope that this blog will put an end to that.

So, the next time I go rambling somewhere, I hope to share my thoughts and experiences on a day - to -day basis, fresh of the boat, as they say.

I have another admission. I have never been one of those snap - shoot - upload kind of people. But I hope that the sheer presence of this blog, and hopefully, a handful or more of people who will visit it, will propel me in that direction. So, you can hope to find a few juicy pics uploaded WHILE I travel... and not weeks later, as the case usually is.

This blog means that I now have no excuse not to write more frequently. And while most of the stories will be about travel, you can expect a few asides on life in general too.

Here's to many more tales from this gypsy. Hope that you enjoy them and send bouquets and sponge brickbats flying my way, as the need arises.

Cheers

Cyrus