Stories from the Landscape- Part 1

Last Sunday, I went walking along the Olentangy river trail. I walked for two hours, roughly for around 9 kms. I met a couple of rabbits along the way, and some geese who hissed at me. The river was dirty grey in colour. I saw some people fishing in the river, and I assumed they were doing it for recreation. Later on, I was informed that people use the fish in their river for their consumption. Unfortunately, the river is anything but clean. It looks diseased, and it seems to be totally uncared for. And this is the state of most of the rivers everywhere too.

The Olentagy Trail

Rivers have always interested me. The banks of the rivers are the foundations of cities, and are a major reason for the building and breaking of civilizations. The existence and functioning of cities depends on water. This is one reason why I chose to study practices of water management. Though I study water management in rural areas, I am increasingly drawn towards water management in urban areas. I decided to walk along the river was to understand the drainage pattern of the river, to view the neighbourhoods that have sprung up along the river, and find out the uses of the river. I'd previously read that flooding was a common phenomenon, and a flood wall built around 10 years back has now contained the wild waters.

I began my trail from here- King Avenue and Olentangy River Road

Along the way, I came across historical markers that I used to look at from the bus, and was always curious to find out what they said, and what they marked. This is what I found:

The first road way along the Olentangy River

A steel truss was constructed across the river in 1863, and was the first roadway across the Olentangy River. In 1912 arches were built across the river, which were later to become into a bridge. 1913 saw the most devastating floods in the Olentangy and the Sciota Rivers, which destroyed the false arches built across the river. (At this point, I hadn't any clue that floods were going to become a larger part of what I was studying!) In 1999, The King Avenue bridge was rebuilt, and was the first precast-post-tensioned, field spliced, segmented arch bridge with an integral post-tensioned, high performance concrete deck. Now, I don't know what all that means, but it sure sounds impressive. 

First Modern Streamflow Measurement in Ohio 1892-1893

This was another first that I came across just a few steps away from the King Avenue Bridge Marker. Engineering students from the Ohio State University, in 1892 and 1893, were the first to make streamflow measurements in Ohio.

Dirtty Water!

There is an organization called FLOW (Friends of the Lower Olentangy) who undertake river clean up programs to improve the quality of the water. Sadly, the water is still murky and grey.

Stand-up Canoe Paddling

I can't make out whether he is fishing or just contemplating about life

I discovered this hidden trail

And then suddenly, from being a grey and green murky stream, the river turned wide and bigger at the confluence. The Olentangy and the Sciota Rivers meet at Downtown, and turn into a big river. I saw a lot of people fishing here, despite the water being unclean. Initially, I thought that they were indulging in some simple recreation, but on second thoughts, I realized that they were actually fishing for food. A conversation with my advisor corroborated this fact. 

The Confluence of the Olentangy and the Sciota

The Santa Maria (the most authentic replica of Christopher Columbus' Ship) is also anchored here.

The Santa Maria

About the Santa Maria

This is where the story of reading landscapes begins. After this trail, I discovered a very interesting link to the floods and a neighbourhood called Franklinton, just across the river from Downtown. Stay tuned for more!

Whose Side are you on?

I just finished reading a piece on activist research, which got me thinking back to the fieldwork that I conducted last year. Activist research is where the lines between being critical and being involved get blurred. For example, is it possible to remain a detached, passive observer in a situation? Should the researcher attempt to advocate changes that they as an outsider feel are necessary? Can a researcher take sides in an issue, and yet write about it in neutral and objective terms? If a researcher does take a stand, the credibility of the researcher as a scientist is at stake.

Last year, I was studying the power dynamics in villages in North Karnataka. While in conversation with the high caste farmer (who also hosted me), I found it difficult to digest some of his views such as that people from a lower caste have less intelligence, they do not understand 'important' things, and it's better to leave them alone than include them in dialogues because they do not have anything important to contribute. I tried to just listen to this argument, but could not resist from pointing out that as the lower castes have never been given a chance, how could they even contribute to any dialogue in the village? However, this was me as an outsider aligning myself with the marginalized. This then reflected in all my dealings with the people in that village. I tried to distance myself from any biases that I may possess, but I could not but be astounded at the extent of subordination that people from the lower castes and the lower classes have to face.

As this farmer became aware about my views about the marginalized, he kept directing me to the rich and large farmers. He said there is no use talking to the lower castes, as they do not know the answers to the questions you are asking. The point was that I was not seeking answers. I needed to know whether the marginalized are aware, whether they know what was happening around them, did they seek a platform where they could talk freely without feeling constrained under the eyes of the powerful people of the village.

At one meeting with just the landless women of the village, the anger and the resentment of the women electrified the air. They spoke about exploitation at the hands of the large farmers who did not pay them the market rate for their labour, informal contracts of labour that saw them put in long working hours with meagre compensation in return. Whenever the ladies would speak about this, my host would scold them, and ask them not to trouble me by talking about irrelevant topics.

The meeting with the landless women

Without realizing it myself, I had subconsciously taken sides with the marginalized. Now too, the research for my dissertation will be taking a normative stand, advocating for greater involvement and participation of the marginalized in development programs. After reading the piece on activist research, and having taken classes last quarter on the role of science, I have realized that it is very difficult to separate one's biases from research. Everyone has a view, a bias, an opinion, which is very hard to shrug off. What makes a good researcher is that one should be aware of any opinions that they might have, which could influence their research. While researchers end up taking sides, it is also necessary to critically evaluate one's position and views so that the audience knows where you are coming from. 

Poof-Off Again!

I am going back to my field area again (Basavakalyan) :)

I am going all alone with no one to guide me this time :(

It has always been my dream to travel in the heart of rural India alone :)

The temperature in Basavakalyan is going to hit 40 :(

I am eager to meet the children at the orphanage and also Malgudi type uncle-Kishan Kaka :)

My trip got planned after a lot of anxious moments as I couldn't find a field assistant :(

I have now found 3 field assistants and I hope I get along with them :)

My bags are yet to be packed, I have to make photocopies of my questionnaires, I have to have one last discussion with my advisor and I don't know the pick up point of my bus :(

But I know that the journey is more that 13 hours and I don't have my berth on the wheel this time :)

Though I am leaving in a rush, I still feel that I am much better prepared than last time :)

Children in an Indian Village

Place- Sastapur Village,
Basavakalyan Taluka,
Bidar District,
Karnataka, India

I have been meaning to pen down my thoughts about my time spent in my study area since a very long time but somehow the words wouldn't flow out straight. I saw a lot of things and and it somehow confused me. I went down to field with no pre-conceived notions. My advisor had warned me innumerable number of times to get rid of any biases that I may possess.

Happy..Simple joys

The NGO that hosts me also runs an orphanage. This is not any 'ordinary' orphanage in the real sense of the term. The children who live here are either school dropouts, or children who work as labour on farms or children who are just too poor enough to afford going to school. And these children are around 25 boys ranging from 5 years to 14 years. The NGO trains them for a year and then helps them with admissions into primary schools. Girls still don't have the privilege to be a part of such an institution as it is difficult to convince the parents that girls also need to study. It is indeed a luxury to go to school when one can rather contribute by earning wages by working on the fields. 

The day begins for them at 5 am. They get up with a lot of clamour as all children do and start rushing off to start the day's work. They have to clean the compounds, bring in the vegetables, wash the rice (in a huge cauldron like vessel), wash their clothes and then take a bath at the community tap. Then at 8 they start their breakfast after a quick prayer to Annadatta. It's time for studies after this which continues till lunch time.

Bathing!

After lunch they have some respite from the rigor of their studies and they sit around trying to complete some sums or just 'read'. It sure was fun to watch them play kabaddi one evening. By 5 it's again back to studies till 10 in the night with a short break for dinner. The kids are a disciplined lot. They obey their master who doesn't refrain from using his cane liberally. They fear their elders and flinch when spoken to. 

Prayers before dinner

I looked at the kids hard for 2 days before I ventured out to speak and play with them. I could only think that city kids are such a privileged lot and I was so thankful that I was lucky enough to receive the 'benefits' of living in a city and well, not a life like these kids.

On my last night I was invited to teach the children some English so that it would inspire them to keep trying to learn it. The logic being that an outsider would have greater impact on the kids rather than someone close harping about its importance day in and day out. I hesitated at first thinking that I didn't in any way want to play a part in already burdening the children but after some insistence I gave in and went.

It was 10 pm. The kids looked dead sleepy to me. A bunch of 5 kids were made to sit upfront because they were 'better' in English that the rest of the class. I mulled over what to teach such a lot because I was sure that hardly anything would make sense to them when all they wanted to do was sleep. Having no choice I started by telling them about seasons. The response was overwhelming. I could see no trace of their sleepiness and they were just so eager to soak in any bit of knowledge that came their way. Maybe the night was playing games with me.

In the classroom

The kids were very willing to sing songs so we started with Jack and Jill and Hum honge kaamyaab. And they just loved it. They followed the tone of my voice and the actions of Jack and Jill sent them into thrills.

Song singing-still looking fearful

Before leaving one boy who was 'better' at English asked me, "Tumchya sarka English bolayla kay karava lagta?" That is the point when a lot of conflicting emotions hit me-I was so touched and glad they they have the hunger to learn and yet saddened by the fact that though the hunger exists, the opportunities were not going to be easy to come by.

I say this because they previous day in one of the villages I saw one kid in his uniform roaming in the village while the rest of the children were in school. I asked him why he wasn't in school. Pat came the reply, ''Today I had to go on the field to work with my parents''.

Though these kids will be sent to school in June, there is no guarantee that they will remain in school. For most it will be back to the fields. 

The Story of the Garbage and Open Sewers | iJanaagraha

The Story of the Garbage and Open Sewers | iJanaagraha

A piece that I wrote. Check the link.

The Forest People

My interest in knowing the lives of field assistants began in December when I met Karan in the Annamalai Wildlife Sanctuary a.k.a Indira Gandhi Wildlife Park. Karan is a forest guard and also doubles up as a guide and a field assistant according to demand. He is adept at guiding people and helping them spot wildlife. He knows the roosting spots of birds, the time a particular bird is expected to  give out it's call and thus is of tremendous help to visitors and scientists who come to study and learn about the forest. We started conversing when I had to play translator for our group leader who would speak in English and Karan who would speak in Tamil. He was very surprised by the fact that I was born in Maharashtra and yet could speak Tamil.

In conversation with Karan

Karan is as dark as the night as his teeth are yellow and betel stained. He has an air of pride about himself and a quiet confidence. Pride because his years spent in the forests has made him indispensable to the many scientists and students that come to the forest for research and wildlife trails. He could 'hear' sounds before any of us could even sense the presence of any movement. He could spot birds so well camouflaged with his old but sharp eyes. We got talking eventually and he told me that visitors are so impressed with his skills that they most of them have present him with bird books, binoculars and other paraphernalia when they leave. These people have respected him. He said that though he cannot read or write English he has picked up enough from the visitors and now he has even taught himself to read so that he could make use of the Bird books. Karan was born and brought up in the Annamalai Forest and he knows every inch of the forest like the back of his hand.

He has made sure that his 2 children are well educated. He takes great pride in the fact that his elder daughter has completed her B.Ed and his younger son studies 'properly' in school. He is also happy with his life. He doesn't ever want to leave the forest he says but he also doesn't want his son to end up like him. He wants a better job and future for his son and daughter.

Once he came with us into the interior of the Forest to the Elephant Camp and then back again to our camp site in the bus. Night had set in by then and the forest took on a scary and mysterious appearance. Shadows seemed longer, menacing and threatening. Annamalai was playing up to its reputation of being the dark forest that it was, abiding with hidden secrets. He then told me that now he has to again go back to the camp on foot. The distance was more than 10 kms and then night seemed deadly cold. He said that he will enjoy the walk back and all I could think was how brave he was!

Karan also made sure to train his juniors who accompanied with him. He would teach them to hear calls and would also scold them in a fatherly manner if they wouldn't walk lightly like him. It was evident that they were not from the forest like him. He would then crack jokes with them and they all would listen when he would speak. 

People like him are indispensable for researchers and people who come on nature trails. Scores of dissertations are completed because of them. Their income also depends on research projects which again are time-bound. I wondered how they supplement their meagre income when projects wind-up and finish. They deserve much more recognition than a fluctuating supply of cash and a passing reference in the acknowledgements section.

The day we left Karan wasn't around and so I couldn't tell him goodbye. I wanted to tell him that I was really grateful for the time he spent with us. He had given me a lot to think about and I realised that the forests speak to us through them..and thus we learn.

The Rajasthan Chronicles-Day 4 (Desert National Park)

Woke up very early in the chilling cold. We had to leave early for Desert National Park. Gulped down a quick breakfast and then we were off. We reached the Park and had to wait for an hour for permission to enter the Park. We spent time admiring one goofy camel who was very pleased to pose for us and who showed us it's horrible teeth from all directions. What a treat! It was one useless conceited camel. I guess our visit brightened it's miserable life :)

We got permission to enter just the periphery of the park. A couple of friends and me broke off from the main group. We decided to explore the park on our own. We had an excellent time spotting Variable Wheatears, Isabelline Wheatear, Green Beaeater,  Lesser Grey Shrike. Rufous Tailed Lark and one bird which we think is a Bustard! At one point while I was photographing a Wheatear, the Wheatear did something stunning. It looked at us over it's back, then flew straight at us, then stopped at around 4 feet in front of us, flapped it's wings in mid-air for around 15 seconds and then flew away towards our right. It was simply amazing to look at the bird from such close quarters. We both were so astonished that neither of us could remember to capture this sight. We just gazed with our mouths hung open stupidly. But now we think that's okay. Somethings are best left committed to the photographic mind than the camera; we somehow like to remember it better this way.

While leaving we were party to another fabulous sight. A chinkara bounded out of nowhere straight towards us. When it spotted us in hovered frightfully in the grass staring at us at a distancde of 100m. We too halted in our tracks. The chinkara moved it's head from side to side-it was evident that it was unsure about what to do next. It then leaped up and bounded away towards our right still maintaining a safe distance from us. After it reached the safety of some tall grass it again stopped and stared at us, we wondered if it's heart was beating as fast as ours...

Then we had nothing much to do but travel and travel. We were now on the route to Jaipur and we were supposed to cover Pushkar and Ajmer on the way. Akaal Fossil Park seemed to have been conveniently forgotten by the tour manger. It was a dull journey and everyone popped off to sleep. I was bored and went and sat in the front with the driver. The journey took on a whole new perspective now. The driver and his partner enthusiastically pointed out various sights to me, telling me stories about villages that we were passing by. They ordered me to stay put in the front for we were now to pass a stretch where chinkaras, deer, neelgais, sambars and peacocks adorn the road on either sides. This was a treat that I surely wasn't going to miss. We passed villages with delightful names- Dudhiya, Khara, Sujasar, Bithari were just a few. Amritsar was 690 km away and the road was beautiful. This was NH-15 and I was loving every moment of it. Later we paused for a break at Pokaran and after half hour resumed the journey again. I was now joined by a couple of my friends. The drivers swore now that the promised treat lay just a few metres ahead. We rounded a bend and then we lay eyes on a huge flock of birds that I don't know-but the sight was amazing just the same. They flew all over the bus wildly flapping their wings in desperation. Next we spotted numerous lapwings, doves and chinkaras strewn all over the landscape-not too often but not too seldom either. Night was falling rapidly now, the trees formed an arch over the road and lay standing next to each other as if they were holding hands and welcoming us. One lone cyclist on he road huddled rapidly to the side when he saw the bus approaching. The trees started turning thorny and straggly when without warning a Neelgai appeared on the side of the road. It was very dark now and the Neelgai stood strangely quiet looking at us while we looked at it. It didn't move a muscle and just stood waiting for a cue. Even when the cameras flashed it didn't move and finally the driver had to make the first move of revving up the bus. The Neelgai then just turned nonchalantly and walked back into the woods. I was enjoying myself thoroughly, the wind was blowing my hair across my face and I could feel a slight chill but I didn't care. It was an incredible feeling. I knew that I would have to pay for this joy later-I fell ill terribly after this foolhardy action of mine.

We then went back and started a song singing routine in full swing. Amitabh Bachchan's songs ruled that night and it felt that the night ought to go on for ever. Half the bus joined in and we truly had an enjoyable time. I screamed so much that finally I felt my throat give away. Now I had really fallen ill. We then stopped at one stinky dhaba, had a quick dinner and were then again on our way. Reached our destination again late in the night and immediately fell onto the bed.

The Rajasthan Chronicles-Day 3 (Jaisalmer continued...)

I approached the camels with some trepidation, a memory from the past had woken up and I remembered the feeling when the camel got up after we had sat on it. I actually couldn't wait to sit on a camel again. They were to take us to Sam Sand Dunes to view the sunset in the desert. I chose one camel and sat on it. One of my friends joined me and then we were off. We were thrown in the front and then the back while the camel got up and all at once numerous screams of fright and excitement filled the air as the other camels also got up. Our camel was named Sharukh Khan and the camel's handler was Khurim Khan. When the camels started walking we were still giving out screams and sometimes out of nowhere some camel would start trotting resulting in some more louder bawls from the ones on the camel while we laughed at them and then only to start hollering when our camel started doing the same.

One of our Michael Jackson crazy friend, by some providence was sitting on a camel named Michael Jackson and couldn't quit raving about it! The camel handlers were really young and seemed to be not bigger than 12-15 years age though most of them claimed to be 16-18 years. Their small size caught them out. I was soon at ease on Sharukh Khan. He was a calm fellow and maintained a steady pace and our discomfort was negligible. I was merrily clicking pictures when out of nowhere a screech drowned all the noise. A camel was trotting very fast, our Head of Department was calmly sitting in the front, talking on the phone while behind him sat a boy who was desperately waving his hands in all directions and wailing at the top of his voice. It seemed as if the boy and his voice was scattered all over the route. Withing a blink of the eye men and camel had disappeared leaving behind just a cloud of dust. It was singularly the most funniest sight that had met our eyes in the desert. I laughed till tears poured out of my eyes. Towards the last leg Sharukh Khan started a good run and our camel ride ended with satisfaction. Again while the camel knelt down, we were instructed by Khurim Khan to lean back to ease the getting down process.

After getting down we were badgered to provide bakshish by the camel handlers but we had been told previously that they had been provided with their share of cash beforehand and so not to fall prey to their money-extorting tactics. The sand dunes rose up magnificently and we started climbing one particularly steep one. All the sand entered our shoes, pulling us down but we trudged on and on reaching the summit we were rewarded with the sight of even more sand dunes in the distance. We started playing on the dunes with all of running down the steep one and then diving into the sand. Everyone was in high spirits and the gaiety was contagious. Posing for photographs, running in the sand, finding beetles, admiring their patterns in the sand, watching the ripples in the sand and the shifting sand ahh...It was the most relaxing evening. We had nothing to do but wait for the sun to set.

While we waited, a group of kids surrounded us, begging us to see them dance and sing. They would break into a impromtu song and dance routine and then demand money from us. They tried it on the people there and some were followed by their fathers carrying a tambourine and the jew's harp. The music washed over me It was sad to see the kids do this but the kids bounded about joyously from one unsuspecting tourist to another.

The sunset was one truly rewarding experience. Brilliant orange, red, yellow- my favourite colours all throwing up new hues and shades with every passing second. At one point the sun was divided into 2 parts. The upper part had shades of yellow and the lower part had shaded of orange. As the sunset a silence befell the desert as everybody stood transfixed looking at the sun. It was a rare moment and time stood still. I felt that I could sit there forever watching the sand under the stars and listen to the music that tugged the heart strings.  And then the sun set but it left behind a myriad of colours right from purple, pink, red and the promise of truly a brighter and beautiful tomorrow. A song came up to my mind but only this was a tequila sunset.

While walking back to our bus I spied a thin boy wearing a superman t-shirt sitting upon a camel. I muttered something about superman not needing a camel to transport himself. my voice carried over to that superman and he swiftly flexed his muscles grinning down at me :)

Our stay for the night had been arranged in the tents a little away from the dunes. The evening came alive with camp-fire, sufi music, tiras, rajasthani dances dressed in the most wonderful colour. I felt more so alive experiencing this huge treasure trove of culture unfolding in front of our eyes. The bhavai was stunning as usual and so was dama dam mast kalandar and kesariya balama. The men wielding the tiras won everybody's hearts with their dexterity and skill and the jugalbandi between them and the dhol was captivating. A dutch lady sat next to me and she kept up a steady dance sitting and she seemed totally entranced by the music. We got talking and I learned that she was professional dancer and she was in India to explore the folk dances. She was adept at belly dancing, tango, latin american, ballet and many more dances. She nearly emptied her wallet on the musicians and dancers giving away plenty of notes. When the ghoomar begun we were pulled up to join in. Faster the beats demanded and faster we swayed to keep us the rhythm. We danced and danced and couldn't stop our feet. The fast beats made us lose all our control. Finally it was time for dinner and a rustic meal had been prepared. The traditional thali with dal bhati churma. We were so tired that we just gulped it down. Meanwhile our class singer had taken over the mike and was now regaling the audience. When she sung tujhse naaraz nahi zindagi my heart broke. It was simply beautiful.

Next we attended a meeting with the tour manager who was still expressing his reluctance to take us to Desert National Park. He was firmly put down by the teachers and the HOD showed his disapproval. the tour manger kept saying that we don't have permission to visit the park while a student said that no one can deny permission to students who want to visit the park. The student had her contacts with certain people in the park who assured her that we were welcome to visit it. We decided to visit the park inspite of the tour manger's misgivings. The cold was now starting to creep into my skin and we were shivering once again.

After the meeting we got ready to sleep but we were still in the mood for some merrymaking. Our tent was stone cold and dully lit. So, we crept up to the room occupied by the other half of our group and exchanged bits of the usual juicy gossip. Their room was more cozy than ours and within 15 minutes I could feel sleep over-powering me. We slid back into our rooms and slept by 1 a.m. It was blissful and we slept contented.

The Rajasthan Chronicles-Day 3 (Jaisalmer)

Awoke within a few hours, got dressed really quickly while a couple of my friends were singing useless parodies of songs. For the first time since the trip begun our group was the first to be present for breakfast-we had fast become notorious for being the late-comers.

Breakfast was to be served up in the terrace and we sat there playing on the swing until I spotted a shop with a computer in it. I desperately needed to clear my memory card to accommodate newer pictures. I ran down to the shop with a pen drive and sent another friend to get his memory card reader. But alas! the friend had packed the memory card reader deep in his luggage which was now entrenched atop the bus. Hopes dashed I started leaving the shop when the shopkeeper produced his memory card reader and offered to transfer the pictures into the pen drive. Elated, my friends and me watched him start the transfer process only to then read a message saying that the pen drive was full. He tried repeatedly but luck wasn't on my side. I left the shop in a downcast mood and got myself some breakfast. The rest of our class had nearly finished their breakfastD. ( So much for being first to get ready :) )During breakfast inspiration struck and I realised I could transfer the pictures onto a DVD. I hurried to the shop and finally my work was done. I could once more wield my camera. Yipee!!

There seemed to be a certain amount of friction in the air that day amongst certain students. When we halted at Sonar Killa, some students refused to get down stating that they wished to visit Desert National Park. The tour manger was giving us a choice between Desert National Park and Akaal Fossil park. This was a new development of which my group was not aware of. His logic was that Sonar Killa would take all afternoon to visit so one of the 2 parks had to be scrapped while the students vehemently stated that they would prefer skipping Sonar Killa rather than missing the National Parks. It was wrong of the tour manger to give us a choice but since our group was curious about Sonar Killa we got down and made way.

Sonar Killa turned out to be a lovely experience, something that I had only read about in novels and then later had let my imagination to take me to such haunts.  It was built in yellow sandstone and 1/4th of the population still resides in this Killa. It is a walled city with numerous by lanes meandering through from all directions. How I ached to run down all the lanes and explore all the shops that sold such strange and antique items. It was a place in which it would have been a grand adventure to get lost in. Mazes upon mazes, cobbled alleys, small temples, a large tree in the courtyard where the oldies sat and spoke about the daily ventures and who gazed at us with unconcealed curiosity. We were allowed to explore just one part of the fort and that too was a labyrinth of complex passageways, with innumerable steps, turns and doors. So many feet must have traipsed that path, many a queen must have walked floating in her own fairy world. She must have gazed down at her city with so much pride and now from her seat we could look down at the entire city and we spied hills rising up in the distance, windmills and rows of houses. At one spot there was a replica of the fort placed on a stone table and stone seats around it. It was like an open-air war room. I was tremendously glad to have got the opportunity to visit this place, I kept scurrying about here and there looking for newer marvels to sigh at. It was certainly one of the highlights of the tour for me.

I did some shopping in there and ended up with puppets and a bag which i did not have the heart to leave behind so pretty was it. I finally left with gnawing sensation- I was craving to explore the place thoroughly while I was also glad to have visited a place of which I, previously, would only dream of.

We went back to the hotel for lunch and then checked out. Once again we were back on the road, this time making our way to desert country-Sam Sand Dunes. After lunch everyone was sleepy and everybody's meter went down slowly one by one. Eventually just me and friend were left awake. The time passed somehow and after a couple of hours we could mark out the change in the scenery. The soil was much more arid and sandy, the vegetation sparse and scattered and air was dryer. And then the suddenly we were on a road with sand on either sides and the camels made their way in the distant. The thrill at spotting the first camels was soon replaced when they became plenty and then later seeing a caravan held no new novelty for us. After a long time we drew up and the first thing that caught my eye was a row of 15 camels sitting (which looked like squatting) with their backs to us. The sight got out a chuckle from me- these camels were to be our ride into the desert!!!

(to be continued)

The Rajasthan Chronicles-Day 2 (Jodhpur)

We woke up refreshed from a good night sleep. But the biting cold had followed us to Jodhpur too. I awoke at 5 and couldn't stop my teeth from chattering like mice! After a sumptuous breakfast of parathas we set off. A day in the blue city.

Our first stop was Umaid Bhawan. It is sprawled over an area of 1 sq.km and built in Indo-Sarcenic architecture. It was built for the welfare of people during times of drought and famine. 3000 artisans toiled to make this marvelous piece of splendour in Chittar Sandstone. It houses 347 rooms and a part of it opened to the public. The rest has been converted into a hotel run by the Taj Group where the minimum entry fee is Rs 3000. The Maharaja's family still occupies a part of the palace. I was surrounded by clouds of delight when I first saw the palace. It was simply majestic and one could feel the grandeur that hung about the museum. The artifacts took me to another world where being royal and regal was the done thing. Exquisite pieces of glass bowls, vases, dinner sets in the most wondrous colours only got out squeals of excitement out of me. Dinner rooms and living rooms that had been recreated there were quite a sight. Out on the lawns 4 vintage cars had been put up on display-a Packard, Morris, Overland and a Buick. A pleasant visit to Jodhpur's royal heritage.

After lunch we checked out of our hotel and set off for Mehrangarh fort. Finally a breath-taking view of the blue city unfolded before our eyes. The houses here are painted blue to keep the temperature cool during the scorching summer heat.  Merangarh fort is among the largest forts and was built in 1459. One has to pass 7 gates to reach the fort and each gate marks various battles. The haunting sound from the Ravan Harta greeted us when we entered the fort. The melancholic melody pulled a veil over my eyes and I was back again wandering in another place, another time. It tugged the heart-strings and I was mesmerised, not a muscle moved. A shout from our teacher broke the spell and I scurried over to join the group. Here at one of the gates another sight greeted me. A faster rhythm was being played and one student lost control and started dancing which was promptly taken up by the rest and then finally the whole group. Definitely enjoyed this impromptu dancing session. The guide then begun his ranter but I was least interested. I was more keen on seeing the place and eventually I ended up seeing this fort only through my camera- a clicking frenzy overcame me and I couldn't stop clicking pictures. The architecture is so intricate and the lattice work so perfect it seemed unreal. The hands that worked, carved, chipped and moulded the stone must have possessed magic to create such stunning works of art.

The fort had marvelous palenquins made out of silver on display-some shaped like animals and some with intriguing designs. An old man sat outside one of the rooms displaying how to use the hookah caught my fancy. He was continuously asked by the tourists to pose with the hookah-he seemed pleased with all the attention that was being showered on him. The curio shop in the fort seemed a costly affair but had very pretty jewellery, kurtis and stoles. While leaving the fort the Ravan Harta again beckoned and this time we spent a quarter of an hour listening to the music. But this time the man played filmy songs and I didn't find it charming.

We halted next at Jaswant Thada but didn't visit as we were running short of time. Instead the bird-watching gang ran off to the banks of a stream and exclaimed in delight over birds whose names I cannot remember. They had their eyes glue to the binoculars and shouted over some coots and moorhens. Sir had to drag us away from the spot.

We then visited one stupid garden whose name I didn't bother jotting down because it was so stupid. The vervet monkeys came bounding down when they saw us and made rude faces at us. The garden was still under construction and I found nothing worthwhile in there.

We left the garden soon and made way to a tea stall where a dugdugi was parked. The rickshaws in Jodhpur are a very narrow affair, they have the air of being squashed from all sides. We made one of our friends become the dugdugi driver and then the real dugdugi driver made an entry and he was drunk to the boot. He gave us some more interesting ideas for posing with his dugdugi.

Tonight we had to travel all through the night to Jaisalmer. The night journey was fun and our seniors related engaging stories and then kept up the tempo by relating ghost stories. We halted at Pokaran for dinner and immediately all jokes were directed towards having radio-active waste in our food. Pokaran was even more colder than Jodhpur and as we neared the desert the cold increased. We had food at Shimla Dhaba and the hot food did manage to take away the nip for a while.

Reached Jaisalmer at 2.40 in the night and swiftly put ourselves to sleep. I was worried about my camera. My memory card was full due to my clicking frenzy at Merangarh fort. I decided to deal with the problem the next day.