Mesmerising sights and sounds urge one to relive princely grandeur as Jaisalmer gives a glimpse into India's golden past.

The outside temperature is 31 degrees Celsius, announced a disinterested voice inside the flight, and invited an instant cluck from me. I immediately formed an opinion about how insensitive people are, caring little or nothing at all about matters as delicate as the weather report.

I had spent days researching on the climatic conditions of Jaisalmer, yes not just Rajasthan, but this part of the country that's situated in the extreme west of the state and invites bitterly cold winds from across the borders. I was also careful enough to pack gloves and a beautiful, warm cap, solely based on childhood memories of Ray's classic Sonar Kella -  a film that fuelled my desire to visit the desert country from a very young age.

But this is Jodhpur, I reminded myself in the head - a good 300 kms from Jaisalmer. I pulled my gray blazer closer and waited my turn to step outside the aircraft, just to check the weather. I wasn't disappointed, an icy gust greeted me and ruffled as soon as I put my foot on Rajasthan.

Our drive from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer was long, pleasant and packed with beautiful surprises! Singhji, our driver took us through narrow, bumpy roads that soon merged with the National Highway. He pointed proudly at a canal system that brought water from Punjab, providing respite to inhabitants of this dry state and their parched dreams.

We were a few kilometres down, when he slowed down the car and pointed at a peacock. I almost stumbled out with my camera, determined to click the elusive bird. The peacock did not disappoint but posed gracefully for numerous clicks before strutting away to join its friends

I was soon mobbed by peacocks - in various colours, ranging from dirty brown to blue green. I soon realised that I had not achieved any rare feat as peacocks were as regular a feature in the desert state, as pigeons in Mumbai!

During a good part of the drive, our car screeched every now and then, in the middle of dusty and deserted stretches, to make way for peacocks - an endearing sight that I grew quite accustomed to. As our journey was nearing an end, I started getting used to the biting cold. Jaisalmer was reached a good 5 hours and some minutes later. It was 9 at night when we reached the golden fortress and the very first sight set my heart racing making me completely forget about the cold. The imposing fort looked magnificent in its golden light, perched comfortably atop a hillock, exuding an age-old charm while basking in its 1000-year old glory.

While walking up the cobbled pathways leading to the fort, I think of how the Bhattis -who were the original Rajput clan of Jaisalmer - were considered less in martial reputation than the Rathores, Chauhans or Sesodias (of Mewar).  Yet one glance at the yellow sandstone façade, that imposingly stands guard amidst the glistening golden sand, and my mind starts doubting the claim. This fort too, has had its share of bloody warfare and triumphs. The Bhatti Rajputs have been constantly fighting the other Rajput clans, as well as foreign invaders like the Baluchs, Langhas etc.

This ancient splendour is not devoid of any tales - and comes with an interesting tinge of mythology as well. The Bhatti tribe is considered a branch of the Yadu or Jadoo race, of which belongs the mighty Lord Krishna. He had eight wives of whom Rukmani was the senior-most queen. She bore him two sons and it is from the second son Bujra, that the Bhattis claim descent.

Maharaja Jaisal, the creator of the golden fortress, once met a Bramhin hermit who introduced him to the story of the triple-peaked hill where, in the Treta Age (of the Hindu calendar), an ascetic named Kak resided. Lord Krishna and Arjun had paid a visit to this spot, where the Lord himself had predicted that in some distant age, a descendant of his would erect a castle. The castle was prophesied to be built on the edge of a rivulet, whose water was bad. Thus the Lord
hit the rock with his Sudarshan Chakra, and out came bubbling a sweet spring. The Bhattis thus laid the foundations of this majestic castle, way back in 1156 AD.

A good look at the entire fort took us close to two and a half hours. The inhabitants of the fort - which is the world's oldest living fort - stay on with a sombre pride, having long recovered from the dusty and sepia-tinted pages of history that keep beckoning them from time to time. Now, all that remains of the majesticity are paths littered with cow dung, shops sprouting from every nook and cranny selling bedsheets, bedcovers, shoes, accessories etc. and camera-friendly people beaming at tourists, suspended in mid-air from ornate verandahs.

Our next stop was Patwon ki Haveli - a much contemporary take on the Rajput way of life, built around 1805. The haveli is not a single structure, but a cluster of 5 small havelis; looks pretty and has one main gate, (being closed from all sides) steep stairs and a central courtyard with narrow verandahs spiralling the entire structure. With very little scope for ventilation, it is quite intriguing to note how inhabitants managed the daily rigmarole here once, in full royal splendour.

The inner chambers or bedrooms of the merchants or patwas, (who were the residents) the kitchen, and the office room are dark and dank, invaded by occasional cobwebs that peek through unlit corners. The haveli was commissioned and built by a rich merchant, keeping in mind the needs of his five sons. He thus created not one but five separate clusters - to house his entire family.

Dining out is not a great option in Jaisalmer, as most eateries are small and serve only vegetarian fare. I paced up and down many narrow alleys in the hope of devouring Lal Maas, but was turned down by most as they were pure vegetarian joints.

After savouring buttered rotis and red mutton curry, we ventured down the desert trails for the ultimate Bengali travel fantasy - a camel ride. I could not contain my excitement as we drove towards the Sam sand dunes. To my delight, stretches of rough bushes slowly made way to smooth & powdery desert sand. The Indo-Pak border a mere 45 kms away, it is quite heartening to see how moody camels bat their long eyelashes to greet eager tourists. Clinging on to my seat after an excitingly gut-wrenching camel ride, I could understand what Lalmohan Babu (from the film Sonar Kella) must have gone through, 40 years back!

Reeling from the ride, we decided to take a break and just wander around. Our driver-cum-guide Singhji suggested we visit Kuldhara. "Yahan ka sabse purana gaon tha yeh, ab banjar hai. Lekin jo kahani hai yahan ki, woh anokhi hai!" (This was the oldest village of this region once, but now it has been reduced to ruins. However, it's tale is really unique!)

Hence, we trusted his words and headed diagonally opposite to the Sam sand dunes! Kuldhara looked very non-descript and dusty from outside. An old man dressed in traditional Rajasthani attire welcomed us with his sombre glance at the entrance, egging us to go through the gates to embrace the unknown, with his silence.

Ruined yellow blocks of stone, piled atop one another, vie for attention. This is all that is there of the past, though our driver excitedly pointed at the temples and makaans (houses) that lay scattered across. His voice dropped down a few decibels when he describes how this place was home to a clan who suddenly disappeared under mysterious circumstances one night, never to be found again!


A quick Google search of the place threw up stories about how it is haunted and gives decent competition to Bhangarh (Rajasthan's much coveted ghost town). That's when I got interested and started taking a close look around. On constant prodding Singhji relented with a tale that's sure to have kept the Ramsay brothers asking for more!


Legend has it that this village was home to a beautiful damsel, whose father was the diwan. One evil minister in Jaisalmer eyed the beauty and wanted to make her his own. The diwan, who was a Bramhin, looked down upon the minister's proposal since the latter was a Rajput and considered inferior in societal hierarchy. The minister's inflated pride soon turned into a mad obsession as he vowed to shed blood to make the diwan's daughter his own. The diwan on learning this disappeared with his people - not just one or two - but of several clusters of villages - one night, never to be seen again. Some say, he killed everyone, while others believe that while abandoning the village he cast a dark spell on it so that no other inhabitant could ever survive there in future.


Satiated with the stories, I took a good and close look around, but could decipher nothing more than a stony silence! Some enthusiastic tourists were busy posing atop the ruins, blissfully oblivious to the deep & dark tales that have spanned centuries, and successfully provided fodder to people's overactive imagination.

Settle for nothing short of royalty as you walk into a time warp @ Fort Khejarlah

A long drive along cold and parched valleys, leads us to Khejarlah - a long forgotten village, tucked away from prying touristy eyes, at a distance of 80 kms from Jodhpur. It is a small village with an imposing fort that has been beautifully transformed into a hotel. Fort Khejarlah was a pleasure right from the time I stepped through the huge gates, into the world of Rajputana grandeur.

A long, winding and steep climb to the Maharaja suite was well worth the effort, as I found myself instantly sucked into a time machine that took me back several hundred years - to the maharaja's intimate world. The fort was home to the minister of one of the several Rajput rulers, and has retained its impeccable old-world charm to this day. As I sip hot tea and look out of the bedroom window, I feel no less than a princess, soaking in the beauty of my small kingdom. The hospitality and love by the courteous staff keep us warm in the biting cold. My heart skipped a beat every time I was addressed as 'Hukum' for even the slightest request made.

Delicious food, lively music and breath-taking silence serenaded us for two days and made flip-flopping between the past and the present, a pleasurable experience worth remembering. A quick drive down the village takes you to vast stretches of sand on both sides of the road. It is here that you can spot the elusive black buck - stunningly beautiful in its white and black coat.

Leaving the mini grandeur aside, we straddle our way to the majestic Mehrangarh Fort. Replete with tales of a bloody past, Mehrangarh gives Jodhpur its characteristic panache and pride and remains aloft as a testimony to Rajput valour and grace. The steep climb is interspersed with grim surprises like the different darwazas where enemies were fought, to the handprints of Satis who were burnt alive on their husband's funeral pyre inside the very fort. An audio guide keeps you glued through the various spiralling ups and downs inside the fort, narrating the vivid details of the lives of the kings, ministers, their queens and their peculiar habits. Tourists can go right up to their bed chambers, offices and zenanas, to get under the skin of this historical treasure trove! Mehrangarh Fort is and will always be one of the loftiest examples of the effervescent Rajput glory.

Ecstatic after my trial with the Marwar pomp, splendour and hospitality -  I am more than happy chalking out the next travel itinerary of Rajasthan in my mind - unperturbed at the slight delay in my flight's departure, paying scant attention to noisy travellers around. Deep inside, I am beaming under the glow of an ebullient charm which the Rajputana legacy has rubbed on me.







































 

You know you are in Kerala when coconut palms welcome eager eyes along the roads and graciously guard the unpretentious backwaters.

Bengalis are a study in contrast. If I were to write the 'Curious Case of the Middle-class Bhadralok,' I'm afraid that a tome would not suffice. We are good when it comes to packing two things - suitcases and memories. Trains are the best and most comfortable way to travel, felt Bengalis from the time the steam engine billowed smoke in the country for the first time. Soon, the Himalayas (stuff that postcards and intermittent dreams were made of) were theirs, so much so that "no one knows the mountains better than us", claimed many an uncle and para dadas, on countless occasions. Hence, travelling 'down South' is not much of a prospect, with Kodaikanal being the only exception.

So, when my husband and I decided to visit Kerala, our plans were met with responses varying from wonder, to disbelief to even taunts. Some assumed I had sought something from the Lord on my last trip to the place some three years back and was on my way to pay homage as a token of my wish being granted! There were others who minced no words in saying that Bengalis with their limited knowledge of travel were obsessed with word-of-mouth and hence the new-found craze for Kerala.
Brushing aside unsolicited remarks from opinionated uncles, aunts and at least 8 out of 10 people in my family, we were back in Kerala.

Maybe 100 at a first glance...But a closer look assured me that the coconut fronds that sway rhythmically in the balmy breeze are perhaps, countless. So were memories that flooded me the very moment I landed once again for a sojourn in God's Own Country. As our flight glided across the runway at Cochin Airport, the familiar sight of the coconut trees, the verdant greens of the surroundings and the unmistakable freshness of the air welcomed me as I meandered along the Western Ghats. From my last trip, I remembered how every bend in the backwaters throws up an interesting peek into the daily lives of the fisherfolk, who carefully scurry upstream with their fresh catch, sometimes homeward bound, at other times to offer tourists on their way. The green foliage is pleasant when cruising on a sprawling houseboat along the vast stretch of the Vembanad Lake. It is an experience not to be missed. Canoes in backwaters are equivalent to a family car. Only the occasional honk of the houseboat ensures your connect to reality.

Ambling along the bylanes of Fort Kochi, I could visualize myself getting sucked into a time warp, travelling across several centuries to encounter the travails of Vasco da Gama. Looking at tiny specks dotting the ocean, the ships were, to my mind, likened to the mere remnants of the bloody and colourful past of this town when the Portuguese had invaded it through the sea. The winding, cobbled streets in Jew Town exude a charm of a bygone era. A walk past the somber Dutch cemetery and the solitary St. Francis Church, however, did reaffirm my belief that the place had more than meets the eye. I spent a restless night in my beautiful and cozy hotel room, a tad disconcerted by the strange sounds, occasional whistling of the wind and the distant rumbling of thunder. The church and the cemetery were just round the corner and provided enough fodder for my overworked imagination.

The next morning, driving through Ernakulam - once the capital of the Kochi rajas but now a throbbing centre of commerce, all memories of midnight escaped my mind. Once a tiny fishing village, Cochin is now touted as the pulse of Kerala and manages an excellent balancing act by juggling the old and the new with elan. In 1341, due to the flooding of the Periyar River, Cochin was formed, as it had opened up the estuary. Several settlements followed and in 1405, 'Kochi City' became the regional kingdom of Kochi.

My next stop was the majestic Athirapally Falls. Stretches of rubber plantations kept us glued to our seats through the three-hour journey from Cochin. Merging beautifully through thickets, in no time we progressed towards the 80-foot mighty falls, ensconced comfortably in the lap of the neighbouring hills in Thrissur district.

Travelling across from the coast, up the Western Ghats, our date with Munnar turned out to be an affair to remember. Here, in the predominant abode of the lush green tea bushes, time stands still as you merely gape at nature's bounty. The idyllic, sleepy town, which literally means three rivers in Malayalam, is not just any hill station. Locals move at an unhurried pace never asking you to rush into your meals or knocking you out of your stupor as you get busy watching a rare plant or bird species, perching atop one of the tall pine trees. Clouds share an easy camaraderie with the tea plantations. Walking down misty trails, moisture-laden gusts wrap you in their embrace, every now and then. The refreshing scent of tea leaves, the volumes spoken by silence, the continuous chirping of noisy crickets, occasional tolls of distant church bells are enough to keep you company in the dream station. Rain is as regular as breathing here. Downpours come and go but each time manage to drench the surroundings in an unmistakable hue.

Kerala is also a place where dollops of mythology are served fresh. Legend has it that when evil overwhelms good,  Lord Vishnu awakens from his celestial sleep. He takes on an incarnation on earth, vowing to set things right. Parasurama was one such avatar. A Brahmin, it is believed that his mission was to rid the earth of the arrogant Kshatriyas. By the time Parasurama was done with his work, some 21 generations of Kshatriyas had been annihilated and the soil soaked in blood. The land had been smeared with years of gore which finally led Parasurama to fling his axe into the ocean in a bid to atone for his sins. As soon as the hatchet touched the sea, the waters receded and gave rise to a pure, unblemished land. This was Parasurama Kshetra -  a land comprising Tulunadu and Keralam. These were gifted to Brahmins and were asked to make them into their new homes.

Even before we could call God's Own Country our own, the long and enduring path of fables continued to hold sway. When I asked my driver to take us to Papanasam Beach, whose waters are believed to wash away one's sins, he nonchalantly replied: "Yeh dekha na? (referring to the beach at Kovalam) Yahan sab beach same hai." (You have seen this beach right? Well, all the beaches are alike here). Thus, with a heavy heart, I had to silently let go off the chance to wash away my accumulated sins!

While many tourists throng Kovalam, few actually know of Varkala. Our reluctant driver, however, blatantly refused to take us there and also charged a ridiculously high fare for a 70 km-odd ride from Kovalam. So, I had to make do with tales which I had heard from a few acquaintances at the hotel. The Kappil beach is a magnificent spot here where the backwaters meet the ocean. An uninhabited islet floating in the backwaters, this is the spot where Travancore queens are said to have hidden their jewellery!

My journey ended just two days before Onam - the biggest festival of Kerala. I wasn't, however, deprived of the chance to catch a glimpse of the lavish preparations at Thiruvananthapuram. Women made a beeline for temples in the run-up to the festival. Draped in white sarees with golden borders, they prepare earthen mounds on this day and decorate floral carpets to give a befitting welcome to Mahabali - the mighty king of the demons.

Thiruvananthapuram, the abode of Lord Vishnu, is now in safe hands of the Travancore kings. The Padmanabha dasas (as they are also referred to as) guide and look after the temples. The fact that Kerala dons many a hat of being the only state in India with the highest literacy rate is already well known. This is also the state that has the highest male-female ratio. Christians and Muslims account for nearly a quarter of the population. Colourful mosques stand guard at important landmarks. Majestic churches along highways and various street corners look completely at ease, sometimes modestly showcasing intricate architecture dating back to ancient times. One thing that is striking here is the peaceful and harmonious co-mingling of all castes. Our Muslim driver categorically told us that while entering the Shree Padmanabhaswamy temple, men have to wear dhotis while women were allowed only in sarees. Our spirits were dampened on reaching the place, where serpentine queues greeted us at the spot where dhotis and sarees to be worn inside, were being distributed. Our driver was absolutely shocked to know that we had given up so easily, he insisted that we did darshan.

Once home, inquisitive friends and family prodded me for photographs. Now, one must know that we are a very sentimental race when it comes to photographs. Whether yellowed or tawny, we never fail to pay pictorial tributes to one and all. Appreciative sighs and a smattering of questions later, my folks were happy to know that eight percent of the country's tea was produced in the estates of Kerala and about a quarter of India's coffee is grown there as well.

Some say, Romans arrived there as early as 52 AD and teak from Nilambur made its way to Solomon's boat! I could not help being amused when many exchanged looks of wonder and started asking for an itinerary to visit a wonder down south - Kerala!


Things that help:

1. Though friendly, most people like to keep to themselves. This must not be misconstrued as a sign of arrogance. If you have questions, ask, they are happy to help.

2. Food is interesting, a Tandoori Surmai and Fried Karimeen are highly recommended. Also try the Non-veg Biriyani at local eateries dotting the main marketplace in Munnar. Those who love spicy food will simply devour it. Don't go overboard while ordering fish, especially those who are not okay with coconut oil as a cooking medium. It's better to ask before ordering Fish Moily, so as to check on the medium. The home-made chocolates in Munnar are a must-try.

3. Not all massage parlours are good...especially the ones near the Lighthouse Beach at Kovalam. Try the Mayura Spa at Munnar - it's clean, reasonable and good.

4. Shopping is easy, affordable and fun in Kerala. Don't forget to bargain. The silver shops lining the Lighthouse Beach at Kovalam are quite a steal and offer eclectic stuff.

5. Overnight stay on a houseboat is not recommended, as the boat stops plying post dusk and starts again in the morning. Spending a humid and mosquito-infested night along a paddy field may not be the best option around! It's better if you spend an entire day on a houseboat and retire to your hotel room in the evening.