Category: Places

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When I nearly lost my life

A student trekked to Torna and found her life flashing before her eyes between a rock and a rough place. But the rest of her trek was great.
by Bhagirathi N

Amazing, superb, challenging, tiring, fun – all of these adjectives together fail to express how the my recent trek to Rajgad was.

According to our itinerary, we started from Borivali on November 31 2012 at 7 am and reached Gunjawne village at 1 pm. From there, we started our actual trek. The instructions to us were brief and strict – there were no toilets, so you could defecate in the open if you wished, you couldn’t wear sandals, slippers, or any fancy footwear, you had to carry at least two litres of drinking water, mobiles, cameras and other expensive equipment was to be carried individually, no stinking socks, no talking while trekking.

We also carried caps, carry mats to sleep on, bedsheets or pullovers, warm clothes, torches, and haversacks. The plan was to stop at a temple near Rajgad fort and stay there overnight for the first day. There was also a rescue team accompanying us; these were regular trekkers carrying a lot of equipment. One of them, named Richard, is not only a regular trekker but an experienced climber, too. Mangesh Karandikar, one of our professors, had planned this entire trek for us. He was leading the team. While, the rescue team was supposed to ensure that none of us was left behind.

We reached the temple, crossing rough, rocky patches, and entered Rajgad through the Chor Darwaza around 4 or 5 pm. The temperature was below 20 degree Celsius. A little later, we chanced upon a dirty pond that held drinking water, and a dirtier pond next to it for washing purposes. There came a woman with a bottle of chhaas – which was the only drink we could afford at that point of time.

We lost half of our number who decided to climb down from Rajgad because they didn’t think they were fit enough to trek further to Torna. The rest of us went to bed at about 10 pm near a camp fire. Rising at 5 am the next day, we started our trek two hours later, after filling our water bottles. There are no water bodies on the route to Torna, and even the one-and-half litre bottle I was carrying was not enough.

That second day posed the greatest challenge to my endurance. We walked, walked, and walked. It was fun trekking through rocky terrain, slippery ridges, and small unprotected forests. We took small breaks after every hour. I was the slowest trekker on Day 2.

We crossed several mountains. The next was my favourite part of the trek – over 4,000 feet high, the temperate was 18 degrees  Celsius. We were completely exhausted, and then a steep ascent faced us. I climbed up, which was easy, but was taken aback to see two huge rocks with narrow lanes to walk along, joined by a single ridge which could hardly accommodate one of your feet at one time. Richard offered to help, and all I had to do was follow his footsteps and balance my body and my huge bag. Miss a step, and you could die.

I climbed down the first rock holding Richard’s hand; he was standing on the second rock welcoming me. As soon as I climbed up the second rock and let go of his hand, I realised I was losing my balance. My life flashed before me, and so did glimpses of silly ads for Mountain Dew and Thums Up. Frightened, I called out “Richardddd…” and tried my best to balance myself. And before Richard could reach me, I swiftly reached level land.

After an hour, around 3 pm, we reached Torna and desperately looked for water and found it soon. About 45 minutes later, we started the descent from Torna. This time, I was accompanied all the way by by Ninad, a fellow trekker.

I’ve brought home a snake skin which one of my friends had found during the trek. My only regret is that I wasn’t carrying a good camera on the trek.

Bhagirathi N is a first year student of Masters in Communication and Journalism.

(Pictures courtesy Bibin Alexander)

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A taste of rural Indian hospitality

Salil Jayakar took a day trip to Jwahar taluka and came away charmed by the tribals and their simple lives.

Drive outside of the city from the Western Express Highwayand you’ll find yourself in what is Jwahar taluka of Thane district, home to several adivasi or tribal villages. As you make your way past small tiled roof huts, children walking their way to school – often kilometres away – and women working in the fields, you’re taken in by the lush countryside.

It’s not hard to believe that just three or four hours away from the city, these tribal villages exist in a world of their own where basic amenities like clean drinking water, education and healthcare are hard to come by. Despite the hardship they face, these tribals will welcome you with smiles, shy no doubt, and give you a taste of what rural Indian hospitality is all about.

But enough of romanticising this India, so ably done by all those diaspora writers.

It is here in Jwahar taluka that the Hinduja Foundation in association withHindujaHospital runs its mobile health units (MHU). These MHUs provide some much-needed basic diagnostic healthcare facilities to the tribal villages in the area. The largest of the three is an air-conditioned bus that has been specially designed and fitted to provide basic healthcare. It has an examination bed, a blood testing and X-ray facility, etc. It is serviced by a doctor, a nurse and lab technicians. Given its size, the bus is parked on the outskirts of the largest village that is most easily accessible by road. Two smaller MHUs have recently been deployed to target villages that lie further inside. These MHUs also have the basic diagnostic facilities and are manned by a doctor, a nurse and lab technicians four days a week from Monday to Thursday for which staff fromHindujaHospital is rotated on a weekly basis.

During the couple of hours I spent at one such village, nearly 50-odd villagers lined up for their check-up. Girls in school uniforms smiled shyly for the camera I aimed at them. At the local village school, which has just 16 students (if I remember correctly), desks are a luxury. They sit on the floor. As I walked around, the women grinned. It’s altogether another thing that my accented Marathi drew quite a few amused looks as well. You can’t but notice the simplicity of their lives as they sit about their thatched huts or go about their daily chores. Interestingly, I saw more women than men. I’m guessing the men must be working in the city. I couldn’t see any signs of electricity, no overhead wires or TV antennae that jutted out on the skyline. But near the village school, much to my surprise, a telephone rang! Out walked a woman from the house nearby to answer it. Wonders never cease.

After spending a couple of hours at the village cluster, we drove further inside to the local ashram school as it is called. The school is a residential school for tribal children, is powered by solar energy and is situated on the banks of a river. Quite an idyllic setting, this. Needless to say, any visit here is met with much curiosity by the kids who – when they are not attending class – are running around in glee. Again, my accented Marathi meant a few crooked grins for the lens. As I walked around, I was taken in by the simplicity of the teaching methods and the discipline that the teachers try to instill. A board outside the principal’s office listed a daily time-table of activities starting with a 6 am wake-up and exercise call to the day’ lessons, homework and self-study time. How many of us have led such a disciplined life of academic rigour? Even more interesting was another board that listed the day’s meals – from breakfast and lunch to an evening nashta and dinner – an all-vegetarian affair. I didn’t see any signs of a TV for some much needed entertainment. Catch-catch by the river or a swim, perhaps?

I don’t mean this piece to be a sermon on what we need to do at the grassroots level. Let me also clarify that I work for the parent organisation (Hinduja Group) that runs both the Hospital and the Foundation, so this is not meant to be a publicity post either. It’s just a simple narration of my trip.

Aside: On our way back to the city, we took a detour near Naigaon off the Western Express Highwayto Bhajansons Dairy Farm, which is quite popular in the area for their lassi and sweets. And I couldn’t but smile when I read ‘Black buffalo is the black beauty but gives us white milk for nourishment’ on a board outside one of the tabelas. C’est la vie! No?

Salil Jayakar is a 30-something Bandra boy who loves Mumbai and London in equal measure. A journalist turned digital marketing consultant turned corporate communications professional, all by accident, he loves to cook and dreams of being on Masterchef – the Australian one – some day. 

(Pictures courtesy Salil Jayakar)

 

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Monkey see, monkey do

Going to a tourist spot in the off-season? You deserve everything – rough roads and monkeys – coming your way.
by Vrushali Lad | vrushali@themetrognome.in

There’s fairly little you can tell me about the road less travelled. Or rather, about roads that are less travelled in the off-season. Nobody in their right minds would go to a monsoon tourist attraction spot at the height of summer. They wouldn’t take less cash along and spend an evening undergoing enforced tourism, because your guide decided to take you on a scenic route to the nearest ATM 30 kilometres away.

Plus, you wouldn’t go trekking on a mountain that is over 4,000 feet high and with increasingly difficult terrain in shoes whose soles let you know the presence of the smallest pebble underfoot. The Princess with the pea couldn’t have had a worse time of it on this trek than I did.

Anyhoo, and most importantly for those wishing to incorporate safety in their travel itinerary, ye hardy traveller would not mind roughing it up with the locals in a short jeep ride to Kasara from Shendigaon, Bhandardara. Note that I use the words ‘short’ and ‘roughing it up’ airily. If you were ever looking to travel cattle class, with a smelly local under each armpit and two more on your lap in a jeep always listing on your side of the vehicle, with frequent stops to let a few of the aforementioned locals scamper off the roof with their bags of cement and gas cylinders (I kid you not), please buy a ticket for Rs 30 and let everybody and everything pass you by. (Hot tip: Wear nose and ear plugs.)

Also, there is a fair chance of being attacked by monkeys on your trek. I was, atop Ratangad, when I was coming down a rickety metal ladder literally hanging in air 4,000 feet above sea level. Conceive my emotion when the husband and the guide kept urgently urging me to get down quickly, and on stealing a look at the gathering army very close to where I was a mere minute ago, one of the blasted animals was descending the ladder with me. You could knock me down with a monkey, it was that close. I made the trip down the ladder in relative safety, however, all the while trying to distract myself from the headlines racing through my head (‘Band of monkeys trips up stunning trekker’, OR ‘Braveheart tourist valiantly crosses monkey-infested mountain’).

Some tips if you’re headed that way:

– If you’re going in the off-season, you can get some of the rates knocked off on sightseeing and accomodation.

– If you’re going from Mumbai and must take the train, I suggest the Bhagalpur Express that starts at 7.30 am from Kurla that will drop you off at Igatpuri in two hours. Outside Igatpuri, an ST bus will take you to Shendigaon, if you’re stopping by at the MTDC or one of the actual resorts there.

– A better idea, which we discovered on the journey back, is to take the local to Kasara from Dadar or CST. From Kasara, take a jeep ride (Rs 30 per seat or more if you book all the front seats next to the driver) to Shendigaon.

– Carry sturdy shoes, a walking stick, loads of sunscreen and bottled water on your trek.

– The local version of haggling includes adding Rs 500 to everything. The trek cost us Rs 600. It’s worth it, but don’t add more to this sum, since the guide will probably have lunch with you and share your water and toffees and chikki. There are not many interesting points to see. Two days of stay was more than my constitution could stand.

– A good idea is to go to the place in the monsoon, when you carry out your trek next to and through gushing rivers, or when the dam is full and your car actually drives through the dam waters. But if that’s not your scene, try for winter. It does get seriously cold, though, so carry your winter woollies.

– And lastly, be safe. The roads are nothing to write home or anywhere else about, and don’t go about walking without a guide. There is wildlife in the region, such as cheetahs and wild hogs, and some birds too.

Do you have a hilarious travel account to relate? Write to thetraveller@themetrognome.in with your experience and we would love to feature your story. 

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Out with the X-Men

A scenic Rajmachi trek became a screaming free-for-all as Prashant Shankarnarayan shared his trip with the loudest people on Earth.

So I went to Rajmachi recently. It’s a village situated on a hill that is part of the Sahyadri range. The itinerary was clear – Mumbai to Lonavla by bus, then an uphill trek from Lonavla, reach Rajmachi, roam around and stay overnight in a villager’s home, next morning trek downhill to Kondivade village where the bus would wait for us, head to Mumbai.

Everything would have gone as per plan had it not been for one aspect, a pretty important one – the company. When my friend told me to hop on with him, his wife and just a few friends – the reason why I even tagged my girlfriend along for the trip – I never realised that his definition of ‘a few friends’ meant a cluster of families who will henceforth be referred to as X. (Hint to decode X: the loudest families to frequent Mumbai’s restaurants and theatres).

Anyway, we set out from Mumbai to Lonavla in a private bus and no, I am not going to share the details of my bus journey, lest you mistake me for a 16-year-old girl armed with a dairy in one hand and her teddy in another. So what hits you first in a bus filled with X? The sheer noise, damn it! How could someone be so loud?

All the way, X maintained that we will ‘trake’ from Lonavla to Rajmachi. Soon enough we arrived at the spot in Lonavla where our trek  and their trake would begin…with a prayer! Let’s not even go there – I have stopped commenting on people’s religious beliefs, but I couldn’t help but stand at a distance from the prayer session. So we started walking uphill around 2 pm. It was the usual out-of-Mumbai-everything-is-green-and-we-should-do-this-often experience. But soon I realised that it wasn’t a trek. I tried correcting the Xs by explaining the difference between a hike and a trek, but eventually trake won hands down.

After an easy hike that lasted a few hours, we reached Udewadhi village in Rajmachi at around 6.15 pm. The lone toll-collecting guy (still don’t know why you need one there) said that it was better to trek to Shrivardhan Fort atop the hill the next morning. Although I wanted to go on, I opted to stay with X just to thwart unwanted attention.

Udewadhi village has accommodation arrangements, provided that sleeping on bare floors without sanitation facilities counts as arrangements at all. Being a regular trekker, I had no issues with this aspect of the matter, although the women in our group were soon mumbling about how they wouldn’t feel comfortable about defecating in the open. Thankfully, our room owner has constructed one toilet just for women. The villagers provide homemade Maharashtrian staple food and you can have pure vegetarian as well as Jain variants, provided you inform them as soon as you reach.

So after a tiring hike, just when my girlfriend and my friend’s wife thought it was time to doze off, the X-Men uncorked their bottles and started yelling. In some parts of the world, they call it singing. Then the X-Women joined in. Then the X-Kids. Not a single person could sing in tune, and there were around15 of them. Their unflinching loyalty to Kishore Kumar songs for almost two hours moved me…to the next room. By the way, did I tell you that a bunch of youngsters from another random group were sharing the house with us, and yet the Xs kept bawling without a thought for the poor strangers?

Post a decent dinner at the villager’s home, we crashed for the night. This is where you make a note – get your own sleeping bags, bed sheets and mattresses. Post dinner, the Xs continued howling Kishore Kumar hits, while the others tried to sleep in the  heat. The great Kishore Kumar’s soul could finally rest in peace as the X-Men went to sleep.

And then…it happened. In the dead of night, we awoke to strange noises. We were exclusive witness to an orchestra featuring natural wind percussion, or farts. The X-Men just went on with their fartestra without even considering that they were sleeping in a room filled with strangers (Hint #2 to decode X: the loudest in Mumbai’s local trains.)

Anyway, let’s cut the crap and talk about the one that everyone takes. Like the early bird that gets the worm, the early riser gets to take a crap in the loo reserved for women, instead of defecating in the open. So if you are staying overnight at Rajmachi, the trick to evade defecating in the open is waking up early. As X stayed put in the rooms, some of us trekked to Shrivardhan Fort, and needless to say, it’s a must-visit. It just takes around half an hour to reach the top of the Fort and the view is like that from any other fort, but it is still something the serious traveller must do.

After clicking few photographs we came down and headed for a dip in the nearby pond and it was serene, especially without a single X-Man, Woman or Kid in sight. It was soon time to head back.

The ‘real’ trek – the descent to Kondivade village, is not easy. Okay, it’s pretty tough, and really tough if you are a novice. The downward trek includes manoeuvring uneven rocks, random thorny plants as you pass by streams and waterfalls. Do carry enough water, unlike us – we set off with just one bottle between us. Every trekker worth his/her salt would love this part of the trip.

We were trekking silently, when an X-Kid repeatedly started shouting for her papa. We trekked faster just to avoid that kid, then we added pace to avoid the entire X cluster and soon enough we were way ahead. We trekked in peace for about four hours to Kondivade, where the bus was waiting to drop us back to Mumbai.

I used to cringe on hearing clichés about how its not about the destination, but the journey and blah blah blah. But this is the first time I understood it. I am someone who prefers to trek in silence, observing keenly whatever meets the eye and exchanging gyaan with other trekkers. But on this trek, I was put outside my comfort zone, and that changed the entire perspective of my trip. Maybe if I had been with a different group, this account would have turned out different. Maybe if someone from X had written this, they would have branded me a misfit because I was aloof and never mingled with them. I guess that is the idea behind any journey – knowing where you fit in.

Do you have a travel story to tell? Write to us at thetraveller@themetrognome.in and we’d love to feature your experience.

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So I can’t swim, okay?

If you’re not a swimmer, don’t snorkel. I tried it, and returned with ears full of water and mocking laughter.

by The Traveller/thetraveller@themetrognome.in

It was a bright morning, and though it was ridiculously hot, there was also the occasional cooling breeze. I was at Tarkarli, a lovely little village-town nestling with one of the most popular beaches in Sindhudurg, and our cottage owner had arranged for us to go snorkelling.

“But I don’t know how to swim,” I declared the moment the snorkelling guy came into view, but he brushed all objections aside. “Humare log hain na,” he said helpfully, and I thought, Okay, there are people to help, it’s not like I’ll drown. The guy took us on a long walk to a little beach where his boats were stationed and his people ready to roll with the morning’s first snorkelers. In the off-season (we went in February) the man charged us Rs 250 per head for an hour of snorkelling near the Sindhudurg Fort.

First, he guided us to his house, where a changing room had an assortment of swimming trunks and bathing suits in bags. Picking out our swimming regalia, (I’ve always felt legwala bathing costumes are foolish) we hopped on to the boat and went away with four other guys towards the snorkelling site, near the famed Fort. All the men handling these boats are fishermen, and they take up these jobs when they’re not out fishing.

Within minutes, we were there and instructed to insert the breathing tube in our mouths and clap the goggles over our heads. So far, so oh my God. My heart was thumping as I stepped off a little ladder into the blue water, my toes touching the freezing ocean. As my skin goose pimpled and my breath came out in short rasps, the guy helping me down the ladder dropped a bombshell.

“Put your head underwater and come out inside the orange ring,” he said helpfully, and silly me thought that was nothing. But here’s the thing – when I put my head underwater, a large amount of the ocean entered the breathing tube directly into my mouth.

Sputtering, I cleared out my breathing tube and tried again. This time, I felt like I was about to die – the water was so deep, I had no idea how to even keep myself afloat if the guy let to of my hand to scratch his nose, and anyway, all of this was in aid of what? To spot a few stupid fish?

Shaking my head, nose inches away from the water, I said, “No.”

“No?” he said, puzzled. “Are you afraid?”

“Yes,” I said without shame. The shame came moments later when a passing boatload of tourists, who had been interestedly watching my progress into the water, burst into hoots of laughter when I climbed back in the boat and sat there as if cast in stone. I didn’t look around at them, didn’t even scowl. I just reached for my camera and pretended like I had hired a boat on that glorious morning just to take photographs.

Do you have an interesting travel story? Write to thetraveller@themetrognome.in and describe your experience.

 

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Disused, neglected and forgotten

The Mandapeshwar Caves in Borivli have a rich historical past. But there’s a huge slum right outside it and nobody visits except on Mondays

by The Traveller/ the traveller@themetrognome.in

It’s not every day that you have a protected heritage monument in close proximity to your house. The Mandapeshwar Caves in Borivli are a short walk from my home, and as we are wont to do with valuable things that we have easy access to, I hadn’t given it much thought in all the time I was growing up in the area. In fact, a few of my friends had been to see the caves before me, and they live in south Mumbai.

So last week I decided that I would check what the Caves were like. My friends had said that the ruins were lovely, which didn’t make any sense to me. I have never found ruins lovely. I have never understood the poetry in broken rock. Call me a mundane, limited intellect. If I visit a place, I like to see it clean and whole.

The Caves were certainly clean, but obviously not whole. To give you a brief historical insight into them, they are said to have been built in about 550 AD by Buddhist monks. As per information on Wikipedia, ‘During the occupation of the Kanheri caves (at Sanjay Gandhi National Park), these monks found another location were they created a hall of paintings. The cave was created by the Buddhist monks and then they hired travelling Persians to paint. The Buddhist monks asked the Persians to paint the life of Lord Shiva. This makes this cave interesting as it brings many religions together. Buddhist cave, Persian painters and Hindu God. (sic)’

There are, of course, no paintings there today, but even the briefest of glances will reveal that the Caves bear the stamp of Shiva. There are stone carvings of Shiva in different forms, and not a single placard anywhere to explain the various poses of the statues. In fact, I was left to come up with my own theories about the statues and the placement of inner rooms, since there is no sign board anywhere to explain the Caves’ history.

A funny thing happened when I was there. Armed with a camera, I asked an authoritative-looking man seated on a plastic chair just outside the Shiv temple inside the cave, “Is it okay to take pictures?” He gave my camera a bored glance, then said, “Haan haan, le lo.”

So when I started clicking, I was surprised to see a harassed-looking man run up to me. “Madam, agar photo lena hai toh Sion se permission lena padega,” he said very politely.

“Aap kaun hain?” I said, slightly defiantly.

“Idhar ka chowkidar,” he said, equally defiantly.

The authoritative-looking man had, meanwhile, disappeared.

To sum up, despite a few spots inside the Caves, such as the Shiv Temple, which is cool and quite lovely, I was very disappointed. Not with the ruins the place is in, but because there is no worthwhile restoration and upkeep. “Monday ko hi bahut bheed hoti hai,” the caretaker (his name was Ghani, he said) told me. “Aur raat ko? Poori khuli jagah hai, log aake sote honge,” I remarked, casting an eye on one of the Caves’ two inner sanctums.

“Nahin nahin, raat mein security hoti hai,” Ghani said firmly. I couldn’t believe him, though – even on his watch at 12 noon, three men were fast asleep in an alcove off one side.

Outside, in another telling incident, a barber was shaving a customer seated on a high rock outside the cave. There is a sprawling slum opposite the Caves, one of the largest in this suburb. A little guide book that Ghani showed me failed to mention that the Dahisar river used to run by the Caves, or that the ruins of an old Portuguese Church stand above it. The book also failed to mention that these Caves were one of the four Buddhist caves in the city, the others being Jogeshwari, Elephanta and Mahakali Caves. “Aap Sion se (where the Archaeological Survey of India office is located) permission leke aaiye Madam, main aap ko saare photo lene doonga,” Ghani promised.

There’s no need for permissions. I’m not going back. I can do without being disturbed over gross neglect of history.

Know a good spot in Mumbai with an interesting history? Tell The Traveller about it at thetraveller@themetrognome.in.

 

 

 

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