tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-91498922309731641712024-03-14T00:25:45.407+05:30khanabadoshTravel junkie | Shutter bug | Story teller
khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-14006931853330849612020-12-18T23:24:00.004+05:302020-12-18T23:24:47.067+05:30The Year That Never Was<p style="text-align: left;"><i>A few verses on the year that we all spent locked at our homes. Here's to 2020:</i><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><div style="text-align: center;">Oh what a year it was, or was there one?<br />Feels like a marathon, yet no miles were covered.<br />I Remember last December like it was yesterday,<br />Celebrating New year's near a camp fire</div><div style="text-align: center;">Vaguely aware of a new virus<br />spreading in some region in some country.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />At a blink of an eye it became all too real<br />An invisible microbe was the new global terror.<br />Like the five stages, It started with denial:<br />Oh Bangalore has no roads, how will it get here?<br />But it sure did, and sure as hell we weren't ready<br />and overnight we were in a post-apocalyptic Sci-fi.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Then came the rest of the stages all at once<br />Mostly for and because of the ban on liquor,<br />But acceptance has been longest of processes<br />Each one of us dealing with it in our own ways.<br />But it had to start by drastic convergence<br />Of our entire worlds to our living rooms.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Office on WebEx, classes on Skype,<br />Meetups on zoom and catchup on WhatsApp<br />The carpets were the new the gyms,<br />And balconies the only outdoors.<br />Everyone with a camera on the Rear Window<br />Looking for gossip and mysteries to solve.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Stepping out was only for groceries and essentials,<br />Walking disoriented on empty cratered roads.<br />Covered in a hazmat and breathing recycled air<br />Bathing in Purell and drinking some for measure.<br />Such unworldly experiences and strange odysseys<br />Now we know what a moon base would be like.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />But life goes on and we learn to play the game,<br />Although we’re inmates, we have the gift of time.<br />Here was a chance to rendezvous with old loves<br />And perhaps to flirt with something's new,<br />To reflect on life thus far, to plan future routes<br />A moment to breath a bit better, in spite of a mask.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-41883301261225261442020-03-24T03:13:00.000+05:302020-03-24T14:28:48.963+05:30Taktsang: The Tiger's Nest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Somewhere in Bangalore, June of 2016 . . .</i><br />
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Lee: See this photograph, it's called the Tiger's Nest. It's in my bucket-list of places to visit and I<br />
really want to go there this year.<br />
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Me: The place looks unreal. Is September ok with you?<br />
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Lee: Yeah should be ok.<br />
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<i>Fast forward to September that year . . . </i><br />
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Lee: It looks so far away . . . my fever is worse than ever. I don't know if I will be able to do this.<br />
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Me: We will reach there no matter what and as long as it takes. I see people taking ponies here, do you think you want one?<br />
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Lee: No. I will do this on my own.<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">The evening we decided on the Bhutan trip we had only been dating for a few weeks. So, obviously doing a ten day trip to a different country was a significant step in terms of relationships. But, we tried to not look at it that way. Bhutan is a beautiful country, which is easily accessible for us Indians and is cosily nestled in the Himalayan foothills, and I have been wanted to visit the place for some time. And for Lee, visiting the magical site of the Tiger's Nest was one of her life's goals. Thus, a plan was conceived. We were all set to spend ten days in Bhutan, a place which by all accounts is a real world Shangri-la</span><span style="text-align: left;">.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">But a few days before we were about to leave, Lee caught a bad bout of flu.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The Tiger's Nest, or Taktsang, is located near Paro, which is the second biggest city in Bhutan after the capital Timphu. This makes the city the first stop in Bhutan for most tourists. In fact the sole airport of the country is in Paro. The monastery is after all the chief-most attraction of the country by far. But, the site is so much more than just an 'attraction', it represents the very soul of Bhutan.</span></div>
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There are many legends around this holiest of sites. But they all feature a demon fighting Guru and a flying tigress. The most consistent version tells about Padmasambhava and his consort Yeshe Tsogyal. The couple is regarded as the father and mother of Himalayan Bhuddism.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwYMyr3GkHF6Jq1_KYfyR5iOEmMFvCYyJEcbJnbofgrezsKwTFCfuCCOS2ohIF_Ag4fQgagD76vyuTmcn302plMFkThCrBB2UmS1J40313EWfSJ2mRKxea-gd9r3scMrZRVwmd04F8o8/s1600/Capture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1570" data-original-width="1017" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMwYMyr3GkHF6Jq1_KYfyR5iOEmMFvCYyJEcbJnbofgrezsKwTFCfuCCOS2ohIF_Ag4fQgagD76vyuTmcn302plMFkThCrBB2UmS1J40313EWfSJ2mRKxea-gd9r3scMrZRVwmd04F8o8/s1600/Capture.JPG" width="414" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;">The fiery Dorje Drolo and the Tigress. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small; text-align: justify;">Source: himalayanart.org</span></td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">As the story goes, Yeshe transformed herself into a flying tigress and carried the guru to this site. The guru then assumed the form of the fiery manifestation of Dorje Drolo and meditated in a cave there for four months. Thereafter, the two, still in their wrathful avatars, fought and subdued the evil spirits of the land. This legendary cave was where Bhutanese Buddhism was founded and later on it became the site of the Taksang Monastery. Taksang literally means "The Tiger's Lair". </span></div>
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Although the legend of the Padmasambhava and his flying tigress goes back to the eight century, the first temple was built at the site of the cave around nine centuries later around 1508, and a century and a half after in 1645 the site officially the part of the new nation state of Bhutan.</div>
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By the time we departed for Bhutan Lee's flu had turned into a fever. Our doctor here had prescribed her a heavy dose of antibiotics which made it far worse than before. Paro was our first stop and our plan was to do the trek to Taktsang as soon as we could but we kept pushing it further due to her health. </div>
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Bhutan does not have private clinics or doctors, but only state hospitals. When we asked around for a doctor, we were advised to go to a pharmacists as they are considered as consultants here. The guy we met, however, seems like an absent-minded professor, and after some speculation he advised us to buy a ton of paracetamol.</div>
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To be honest, the paracetamol did what it is supposed to, i.e. to subdue the symptoms of flu and fever and that gave Lee enough energy to move around and enjoy Paro a little. But, of course it was no cure and the fever itself was not subsiding at all. By the second day even I was starting to get sick.</div>
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Our night before last in Paro, Lee's condition was so bad that we had to rush to the state hospital for a real check-up. There they prescribed another batch of antibiotics, but this was a much lighter dose. It was also state sponsored and unbranded. Our chief concern in all of this was whether Lee would be fit enough for the trek to Takhsang the following day. The doctor said that it might be a bit too much . . . and advised against it.</div>
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Not being the kind who really follow doctors' advise, we found ourself at the base of the trek the following day. Our driver, Nygma, who knew our predicament wished us all the luck in the world. He advised us to get walking sticks and hire ponies for the climb. We obliged with the former and considered the latter. But as mentioned earlier, Lee insisted on doing this on foot, such is the nature of pilgrimages.</div>
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We can see the monastery from the base of the trek. But the sight is more daunting than reassuring. It barely visible as a small cottage jutting high up in the cliffs. The climb starts at 7000 feet above sea level and ends at 10000 feet. That's almost a kilometer high climb, not at all ideal for for two people who were down with temperatures of 104 and 101 degrees Celsius the previous night. But there we were, moving forth, one step at a time.</div>
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Although Takhsang is pretty well known in the global tourist circuit, we did not see many forigners there. This is understandable for western tourists, as Butan controls the number of international tourists quite zealously and visiting the country is prohibitively expensive for many given the visa charges. What was surprising was the relative rarity of Indians even though the country's tourism policy is completely lax for us.</div>
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In any case the trek was virtually vacant during the climb barring a some tourists, guides, piligrims and ponies. Our ascension was in a revered calm immersed in the ambient sounds of nature in the Himalayan foothills with breathtaking views in the shadow of the cliffs of the Tiger's Nest, and we were in no hurry.</div>
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We tackled the climb at an easy pace. We took several breaks, shot a lot of pictures and thoroughly engaged in the experience. Taksang was almost always in our field of view, moving in and out of the foliage and slowly increasing in its dimensions and majesty.</div>
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Though the climb was taking its toll, but our destination was invariably in front of us, and a few moments of sitting down and gaze at it was enough vitalize us again.</div>
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The trek was full of Buddhist flags, dotting the entire aura with colors and good wishes. We saw several monks in orange Kasayas and Bhutanese locals in their Ghos and Kiras on their spiritual saunters, chanting mantaras and keeping the prayer wheels moving.</div>
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There were piles of stones on the sides, some of them conglomerating into miniature castles. Each pebble that is added by different individuals marking their journey here, assimilates in a collective monument of experiences over eons. </div>
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We also met a variety of stragglers on the route. There was an Indian couple, the guy was on foot and the girl on a pony with wearing a heavy makeup and a Zara catalogue with a hat to match. There was a group of middle aged NRIs with an american accent, and they too were on ponies. We also met a particularly boisterous group of four, a young Indian man from Uttrakhand and three rather beautiful Bhutanese girls, while talking to them he mentioned that he has been living in that area for a few months. Lucky guy, I thought. </div>
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But, the meeting that affected us the most on that trek was an eighty year old British gentleman with crutches and a nurse as an escort. He was on his way down after the climb, and on seeing our tired faces he said "Come on lads, it's not too far, you are half way there". Our fatigue seemed to vanish after those words came from him.</div>
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We did reach the midway soon after. There were a bunch of gift shops and food shacks there where we lounged with a glorious view of Taksang.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">We saw several ponies gathering at this point, and being offloaded and taken care off.</span><br />
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This midway was where the beasts dropped their cargo, both men and materiel. The route ahead was not traversable on hoofs. Instead now there were only steep rocks followed by slippery stone steps leading all the way to the destination. </div>
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We resumed our climb having to be a little more cautious than earlier, one clumsy move and we would have taken a quick slide down to the coffee shops. But, the monastery was becoming bigger much faster now. Only now we realized how big the the complex actually was.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The last part of the journey was a hike though valleys and waterfalls and Buddhist settlements all the way to the end, and it's beauty was surreal.</span></div>
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It was a fitting end to a fine spiritual experience that the trek was. What started as our obsession a few months earlier, and became a highly ambitious and perhaps a hopeless pursuit a few hours ago, manifested into a form of a bit of enlightenment at the end of this long journey. We had reached the Tiger's Nest.</div>
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By the time we reached, however, the monastery was closed for lunch, and we had to wait around in the courtyard for half an hour to go inside.<br />
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Photography is not allowed inside the monastery so I had to store my camera with the guards there before entering. The interiors the were imbibed with incense and there were several prayer chambers for the Gurus and the all their manifestations. The walls of the monastery were completely adorned with murals and intricate statuettes, narrating the folklores and legends of Himalayan Buddhism. We tried to slyly stick around with groups with hired guides to listen in on some of these stories.</div>
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The architecture inside was obviously alpine and multilevel, and could get congested and labyrinthine in some places, I recall that we lost got several times while trying to find certain places. The last place we visited there was the actual cave from which the place derives it's name, the actual Tiger's Nest. The cave was dark, dingy and pristine. The floor looked dangerously steep leading the the side of the cliff, and it had nothing but narrow, lose, and rickety planks to walk on. One misstep could result in a cliff dive and a very fast way down. As we did not have any flying tigers with us we chickened out and turned around.</div>
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We spent some more time reflecting in the various prayer chambers and eventually made our way out of the monastery. We probably spent a total of two hours at the complex and pledged to come back again soon because it felt far too less. </div>
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When we started our descend, it was on the same route which we had ascended, but now it felt different and lighter and <i>we</i> felt different and lighter.</div>
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It was almost dusk when we stopped for coffee at the mid-way restaurants, and the golden hour light was performing it's own symphony of colors. Right about then, the clouds floated in and enhanced the ambiance with a fine drizzle. The surrounding ranges seemed to be tucking in for the night and snugged into rugs of vapor.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The rest of our descend was essentially on a solitary path. The tourists, the pilgrims and the ponies were long gone by now. However, we always had the company of the friendly mongrels who were always around and took on the responsibility of escorting us down the path.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><i>(<a href="https://k-khanabadosh.blogspot.com/2020/01/story-of-book-from-bhutan.html" target="_blank">Click here to check my post about the dogs of Bhutan</a>)</i></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The only other humans on the path at this time were a very few people carrying supplies upstairs. At one point, one such group waved at us. They turned out to be the guards we met at the monastery, they told us that one of their job is to do supply runs for the monks residing at the top, and they took it on as an honorable task. These guards were in fact state employees and part of the police force. </span></div>
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Eventually, we reached the base, bidding Taktsang adieu. It's at this point that I saw Lee hugging a tree. Now, I knew her to be a tree-hugger, but this was a bit too literal. She told me that earlier in the day before we had started our climb, she had whispered to this particular tree asking for courage and strength for the day ahead, and a wish to see it again in happier circumstances. The hug was a form of gratitude owing to a successful day.</div>
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A circuit which is usually known to take four hours, took us seven, and it was completely vacant at the base. All the tourists and vendors and ponies were long gone. Everyone except Nygma. It was apparent that he was worried about us. He had attempted to call us several times but the network was bad. But the joy on his face when he finally saw us was priceless. While driving back to the hotel he continuously spoke of how much he admired Lee's courage and spirit, and wishing all of his customers were like that.<br />
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com2Taktsang trail BT, Taktsang trail, Bhutan27.4919585 89.36338311.9699239999999989 48.054789099999994 53.013993 130.6719771tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-29138071568680335472020-01-13T16:12:00.001+05:302020-04-02T01:17:12.585+05:30Story of a Book from Bhutan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Dawa looks like just another scruffy Thimphu street dog, but don't be fooled: he understand Dzongkaha, he has an urge to see the world and his bigger-than-normal brain is matched only by his compassionate heart. His is an extraordinary life</blockquote>
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-- Dawa: The Story of a Stray Dog in Bhutan, Kunzang Choden</div>
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Bhutan is a small hermit kingdom in the Himalayan foothills, placed snugly between India and China and quite aloof to the rest of the world. However, they do have an reasonably active tourism industry and is in fact one of the most beautiful places you will ever visit.</div>
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Bhutan government's guiding principal is '<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gross_National_Happiness" target="_blank">Gross National Happiness</a>', which manifests in their public policies of free healthcare and education, promotion of their culture, and the incredible efforts in ecological conservation which makes it the only <a href="https://www.scienceabc.com/social-science/carbon-negative-country.html" target="_blank">carbon negative country</a> in the world.</div>
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The National Happiness is also evident in how happy the subjects of the kingdom are. The country consumes a lot of alcohol and the favorite pass-time is playing snooker at pubs . . . and they do pass a lot of time. The average Bhutanese is a relaxed soul not really looking to rush things and this applies not just to humans but their fauna as well. Especially the dogs. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A smiley from Phuentsholing</td></tr>
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When we entered the country, it was pretty apparent that Bhutan has large stray dog population. In fact there is there is one stray for every third person in the country. This was partly the result of rapid urbanization of the country in the last few decades. Their huge numbers became bit of a national problem and an international effort was undertaken to neuter and spay the dogs. Regardless, the Bhutanese and Buddhist principles of harmony and ecological balance most certainly apply to their dogs as well and they are well taken care of.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The dash board of our hired car that we took around Bhutan</td></tr>
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During our first day in Paro, at the Kyichu Lhakhang Buddhist Temple, we saw a truly magnificent sight: sleeping dogs. . .<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uko06R-p0n1by6NKVg2XI7ZzG4A6zHFWkNGmfBOtJYNKjkvLDmSF8RTVKnYnGjVlU5O3ql5wLjGJFo8IrYA8ZXMI6RDl-4t8KZPM5Xtw3kM1r-KjmSg49s2WoOR2fE1NFM1dXowLsL0/s1600/DSC_0289-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-uko06R-p0n1by6NKVg2XI7ZzG4A6zHFWkNGmfBOtJYNKjkvLDmSF8RTVKnYnGjVlU5O3ql5wLjGJFo8IrYA8ZXMI6RDl-4t8KZPM5Xtw3kM1r-KjmSg49s2WoOR2fE1NFM1dXowLsL0/s1600/DSC_0289-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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. . . several sleeping dogs . . .<br />
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. . . all around the temple.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">To me, the sight of dozens of dog slumbering in a Buddhist temple in the quite Bhutanese country side was the epitome of tranquility, and perhaps a unique form of decadence.</span><br />
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There were dogs posing for me throughout our time in the Paro and Ha regions </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paro country side</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rinpung Dzongkhag, Paro</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indo-Bhutan Cantonment, Ha</td></tr>
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One of the dogs took up the job of showing us around in Ha Valley Cantonment.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Indo-Bhutan Cantonment, Ha</td></tr>
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And then there were a few more comfortable settled <a href="https://k-khanabadosh.blogspot.com/2020/03/taktsang-tigers-nest.html" target="_blank">in the Tiger's Nest itself</a>.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiger's Nest, Paro</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiger's Nest, Paro</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tiger's Nest, Paro</td></tr>
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Throughout our ten days in Bhutan, these pooches were quite a feature everywhere we went.</div>
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While in Thimpu, we found a big book store which had several Bhutanese titles. There were books about local politics, history, culture and of course Buddhism. While picking up a few for home, one of the titles caught my attention: <i><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6714660-dawa" target="_blank">Dawa: The Story of a Stray Dog in Bhutan</a>. </i>Convinced that dogs are an essential part of the Bhutan experience I decided to pick up that book too, although as a gift for a dog-lover friend back home. We took the liberty to read the small book during our travel however, and it proved to be delightfully profound.</div>
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<a href="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0026/6587/3519/products/dawa_478x653.png?v=1571710492" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="653" data-original-width="478" height="640" src="https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/0026/6587/3519/products/dawa_478x653.png?v=1571710492" width="468" /></a></div>
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Dawa, the protagonist, is a highly intelligent stray from Paro, who decided to travel through Bhutan and live a life less ordinary. The book gives a unique perspective of life and culture in the country through a heart-warming story of a brave and an inspiring soul. The Dawa's life and choices and the description of his adventures through the tragedies and elations while following his heart and seeking a certain kind of spirituality touched us profoundly. Moreover, we found parallels with Dawa's journey to our own trials in this mystical land. </div>
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The gift was well received and I hope it motivates my friend to visit Bhutan, but the book had become our chief memento of trip and it was pretty hard to give it away. I have been looking for another copy everywhere since; from all local book stores in Bangalore to all the domains of Amazon. I found even myself searching though bookstores of Gantok during a recent trip to Sikkim, a kindred state neighboring Bhutan, but, no luck anywhere. </div>
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/DAWA-STORY-STRAY-DOG-BHUTAN-ebook/dp/B07CJYY861" target="_blank">Amazon.com</a> (US) does sell the book, but somehow the price quoted there is $180 for paperback, fifty time more than what we paid in Bhutan. The kindle version is also there for $8 for those who are interested, but I am on old-school sucker for paper books when I want to actually keep them. </div>
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Even after two years, I had the itch of somehow acquiring that book. I was hoping for impromptu visit to Bhutan, just to pick up that book from the first bookstore I find. But life has been busy and Bhutan may soon imposed <a href="https://www.thehindu.com/news/national/no-more-waiver-bhutan-to-levy-charges-on-indian-tourists/article30009702.ece" target="_blank">restriction on Indian tourists</a>, so it may be a long time before I get to see the country again. </div>
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One evening recently I was overcome by the compulsion of getting that book. <i>There has to be a way</i>. I went though the usual sources of Amazon, Flipkart, and even Aliexpress with the same results as before. I kept on looking for more source, some where online where I could find a paper back. I finally landed on this Bhutanese online store: <a href="https://druksell.bt/products/dawa-the-story-of-a-stray-dog-in-bhutan?fbclid=IwAR1Oie0R6-rbwhhnbVHMCEQA34P4he1Jppjqb3o3NwhoS8wrMLh1rB3yUVo" target="_blank">durksell.bt</a>. They had the book, <i>this has to work</i>! On the checkout page however we saw that they only ship within Bhutan, damn. <i>But, there has to be a way</i>. There <i>was</i> a way to chat with the customer care on the page, and although it was one o'clock in the morning I pinged them, and almost immediately, they responded.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTqPVfHAKtHRorVZJder8XdEGflpEsWrWSdfsucaMaXaPW3pjAnwMMQWpw_58cYG2-x_ODeYi12mKoeRWKPy5eUCEehrdyrsd-qsilORm6sfpz0hgExzMe3jhWJqiso4XS3xeiO_GRw8/s1600/Capture.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="883" data-original-width="716" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivTqPVfHAKtHRorVZJder8XdEGflpEsWrWSdfsucaMaXaPW3pjAnwMMQWpw_58cYG2-x_ODeYi12mKoeRWKPy5eUCEehrdyrsd-qsilORm6sfpz0hgExzMe3jhWJqiso4XS3xeiO_GRw8/s1600/Capture.JPG" width="518" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The universe doing it's trick</td></tr>
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There is always a way, and sometimes the universe conspires in helping you get something you want badly. The prompt customer rep provided a link to the online store which ships internationally.</div>
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Now Dawa is travelling from Thimphu to Bangalore. </div>
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He is on his way home.</div>
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PS: More examples of the happy residents of Bhutan:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9M97psxLoIEpnA9OhnzUyhGRanSc-VfDNbjaWRsWxDrB7AjI83Q4tN9l_XhwL0-SdQp7KAKkPGiAjGv9Jx6V918_0XInHIfFEUJouzOsXpzNJ2MPz83DPALP8wOMW60Djjo_4wJ9G74/s1600/DSC_0263.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1207" data-original-width="1600" height="482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9M97psxLoIEpnA9OhnzUyhGRanSc-VfDNbjaWRsWxDrB7AjI83Q4tN9l_XhwL0-SdQp7KAKkPGiAjGv9Jx6V918_0XInHIfFEUJouzOsXpzNJ2MPz83DPALP8wOMW60Djjo_4wJ9G74/s1600/DSC_0263.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Punakha Dzong</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-tW6z9zxEXbJOCF_ZgGAn7bVJINCPd3xFhboGtQvT_GSwLpKovj9s9Eh4YXd_LSPitf0oDVWBWDZSGob0cSRmKbmUGI3loiuD3A67R8Tf6Bk8-l1AkyFiRRJulvd9pr_YypIZbir8m0/s1600/DSC_0450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1364" data-original-width="1600" height="544" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ-tW6z9zxEXbJOCF_ZgGAn7bVJINCPd3xFhboGtQvT_GSwLpKovj9s9Eh4YXd_LSPitf0oDVWBWDZSGob0cSRmKbmUGI3loiuD3A67R8Tf6Bk8-l1AkyFiRRJulvd9pr_YypIZbir8m0/s1600/DSC_0450.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paro Market</td></tr>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-89105037306271731172020-01-05T19:31:00.000+05:302020-04-02T01:23:15.874+05:30Bull's Eye<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoeKarTwAJNaJ56zBylGtC5Vr4XoaMyzH4yr4c45yIqVHvDrDT8JEjrBkAP0kUXDJlafmYgCadOuB20vEkVU0gvdlpCZ86n5Df3KhvpTrgAVeVGLNBEb2wCHz7t9RoBe2pVulaYaos0g/s1600/KS5_4755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1133" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBoeKarTwAJNaJ56zBylGtC5Vr4XoaMyzH4yr4c45yIqVHvDrDT8JEjrBkAP0kUXDJlafmYgCadOuB20vEkVU0gvdlpCZ86n5Df3KhvpTrgAVeVGLNBEb2wCHz7t9RoBe2pVulaYaos0g/s1600/KS5_4755.jpg" /></a></div>
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Shadows move in the dense green maze</div>
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With the sounds of the wild creating a haze.</div>
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But watch your step and stay on guard</div>
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Don't be deluded or let the senses be marred,</div>
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For, hidden in the forest, just behind the view</div>
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A tank of flesh, keeps an eye on you.</div>
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-- khanabadosh</div>
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Photograph from a safari at <a href="https://www.junglelodges.com/kyathadevara-gudi-wilderness-camp/" target="_blank">Kyathadevara Gudi</a> (K.Gudi) Park</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0BR Hills Road, State Highway 80, Chamarajanagar, Karnataka 571127, India11.902454 77.12235899999996-13.6195805 35.813764999999961 37.4244885 118.43095299999996tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-27276486669945483912019-04-16T01:39:00.000+05:302019-04-17T19:11:11.688+05:30Tiger Tiger: Motorcycles, Nilgiris and Mudumalai<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>Tyger Tyger burning bright, </i></div>
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<i>In the forests of the night: </i></div>
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<i>What immortal hand or eye, </i></div>
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<i>Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?</i></div>
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(William Blake, The Tyger, 21-24) </div>
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They are subjects of legends and fables. They inspire awe and reverence, and represent immense power and towering prestige. They are romanticized for their iconic form, stunning beauty, poetic movements, and of course, those famed searing eyes. This is a post about these two majestic beasts . . .</div>
The Cat<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk21xbEBkxbJ0GDfiaPm39oU-5oVr3vWTBMc9uUCf6BzrBBG2KRsZe-RfHiDRs5wnQNtB0-xflW0pbc-KCfE5ROt5F4NUcxEFle8NUhQuIqMkr29flhXD692AyXjMS0SkaUsrOWOlfNNY/s1600/shutterstock_85971793.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="1000" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk21xbEBkxbJ0GDfiaPm39oU-5oVr3vWTBMc9uUCf6BzrBBG2KRsZe-RfHiDRs5wnQNtB0-xflW0pbc-KCfE5ROt5F4NUcxEFle8NUhQuIqMkr29flhXD692AyXjMS0SkaUsrOWOlfNNY/s1600/shutterstock_85971793.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy: worldwildlife.org </td></tr>
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and the Motorcycle<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykEbWNocgmhYsbCm9sa8PrmhMoPFAi8vZqr5Ba0fNWUo9D5LeanAOAfHo1Onmn4zsc7VFPgdEwbo4dRm-cjRtEzPQG1G3DQsaQe0HJslORV8cLufaWB0h9RFNzz1VB-dGOZ3_u5Z4jpo/s1600/2015-Triumph-Tiger-XRx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiykEbWNocgmhYsbCm9sa8PrmhMoPFAi8vZqr5Ba0fNWUo9D5LeanAOAfHo1Onmn4zsc7VFPgdEwbo4dRm-cjRtEzPQG1G3DQsaQe0HJslORV8cLufaWB0h9RFNzz1VB-dGOZ3_u5Z4jpo/s1600/2015-Triumph-Tiger-XRx.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy: motorbeam.com</td></tr>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">The Choice</span></h3>
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I am a fan of engines, especially those on two wheels. It has been my dream for years to experience the sheer torque and delicate movements that these machines have, and ride on the endless roads on these beauties. I have owned and ridden several kinds of motorcycles, but the most powerful among them had been the <a href="https://k-khanabadosh.blogspot.com/2017/09/the-royal-locomotive-bangalore-to-goa.html" target="_blank">RE Bullet 500</a> and the <a href="https://www.bikewale.com/ktm-bikes/duke-200/" target="_blank">KTM Duke 200</a>. The elite ones so far, had remained elusive.</div>
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Now finally being in a position to buy one of the high-end motorcycles, comes the question of choosing which one, and this speculation also has been in the pipes for years. Triumph is definitely going to be my first brand. I have been a fan boy of theirs ever since I saw Steve McQueen hustling a <a href="https://www.motorcyclenews.com/news/2018/june/steve-mcqueen-triumph/" target="_blank">TR6R</a> in the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Great_Escape_(film)" target="_blank">Great Escape</a>.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbSWoEBBW1WQukByfEWnFna5goJ9MLMx-y2t_gD5AcfY8iaOOF7J7tD-_CX3DqFVciV_H8DNn3UtU-yP_Z_HJC4VvD4z7Cj3f8cKAw03gRWFqinABqmfiP9mKF67T7QMrXnmPltI-2ZTk/s1600/Triumph-TR6R.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="1200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbSWoEBBW1WQukByfEWnFna5goJ9MLMx-y2t_gD5AcfY8iaOOF7J7tD-_CX3DqFVciV_H8DNn3UtU-yP_Z_HJC4VvD4z7Cj3f8cKAw03gRWFqinABqmfiP9mKF67T7QMrXnmPltI-2ZTk/s1600/Triumph-TR6R.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">source: motorcyclenews.com</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfHzWOOsDT6U8gR3pc31GmMGEf_vUbTyeXtexwBCZvDPpG7pSMFpmwrWZwMBbIpyfia80hyphenhyphenlTKOzEGDL57Zxhyphenhyphen3aKfw21EUV-LYBuyxb7N79oobtuGpTLhSjMHs3Yqen9k_jbchpb3ASU/s1600/triumph.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="850" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfHzWOOsDT6U8gR3pc31GmMGEf_vUbTyeXtexwBCZvDPpG7pSMFpmwrWZwMBbIpyfia80hyphenhyphenlTKOzEGDL57Zxhyphenhyphen3aKfw21EUV-LYBuyxb7N79oobtuGpTLhSjMHs3Yqen9k_jbchpb3ASU/s400/triumph.JPG" width="278" /></a>Now Triumph makes bikes for all moods; from <a href="https://www.triumphmotorcycles.com/motorcycles/classic" target="_blank">classic-retros</a> to <a href="https://www.triumphmotorcycles.in/motorcycles/roadsters-and-supersports/daytona/2018/daytona-675-abs" target="_blank">super-sports</a>, from <a href="https://www.triumphmotorcycles.com/motorcycles/cruisers/rocket/2018/rocket-iii-roadster-abs" target="_blank">cruisers</a> to <a href="https://www.triumphmotorcycles.com/motorcycles/roadsters" target="_blank">roadsters</a>, and all the models are highly respected and coveted. So, which type and model to pick from this spectacular catalog.</div>
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For the longest time I have wanted the <a href="https://www.triumphmotorcycles.com/motorcycles/classic/bonneville-t120" target="_blank">Triumph Bonneville</a> for obvious reasons. It's a retro-style street-bike with an enormous legacy and reputation, and absolutely gorgeous looks. But, having ridden a Bullet, which is probably just a scaled down version of the Bonnville, for the past five years I wanted something different. Cruisers are cumbersome and out of the question while sports-bikes in my opinion are meant for the track. The bike I relate to would have be for the open roads and long rides, for gliding the mountainous curves and grinding rock and dirt. <a href="https://www.triumphmotorcycles.com/motorcycles/adventure/tiger-800" target="_blank">The Tiger</a>, their adventure-tourer, seemed the obvious choice.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">The Plan</span></h3>
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Courtship is necessary before any serious commitment, even if it's love at first sight. I wanted to experience the Tiger in its element for a sufficient enough duration before tying the knot. Luckily, Wicked Rides in Bangalore give them out for rent. So, we decided to make make a trip out of the test ride.</div>
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My friend Robo also had been looking to buy a new motorcycle. He chose the Kawasaki Versys as his muse for this trip to rent out. Reba, another friend, and a highly ambitious/adventurous motorcycle novice also signed on. She would be riding the KTM Duke 200, the best "budget" bike in the market then. She was still a motorcycle-trip virgin as a rider, having only recently learnt operating her Duke, and so this trip was going to be a coming off age event her, having to ride a powerful geared-bike out in the country for hundreds of kilometers solo for the first time. However, Robo and I would be with pillions, Kanika (Robo's wife) and Lee (my girlfriend) respectively.</div>
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The best roads to tour on should have empty straights, should go through forests reserves and nature, and, of course, should also go through mountains with crazy hairpins and bends. Too fussy right? Well, the road from Mysore to Coonoor checks all these boxes. Mysore bypass is a huge stretch of wide and empty road, after which comes the South Karnataka country all the way till Bandipur and Mudumalai National Parks. After this start the Nilgiris Ghat Roads with thirty-six sharp hair-pin bends and a steep climb going deep inside the blue hills and finally reaching the colonial towns of Ooty and Coonoor, which also happens to be where Lee grew up.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="600" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m46!1m12!1m3!1d998464.3390663693!2d76.52769313694613!3d12.163285231844567!2m3!1f0!2f0!3f0!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!4m31!3e0!4m5!1s0x3bae1670c9b44e6d%3A0xf8dfc3e8517e4fe0!2sbangalore!3m2!1d12.9715987!2d77.5945627!4m5!1s0x3baf70e621b92aab%3A0x5ccf3cb62acf8c17!2sKesare%2C+Karnataka!3m2!1d12.3432478!2d76.667633!4m5!1s0x3ba8baaca284ce8b%3A0x2ceed85ec3bb0562!2sMasinagudi%2C+Tamil+Nadu+643223!3m2!1d11.5721768!2d76.6427152!4m5!1s0x3ba8bd84b5f3d78d%3A0x179bdb14c93e3f42!2sOoty%2C+Tamil+Nadu!3m2!1d11.4064138!2d76.69324379999999!4m5!1s0x3ba894efa2fd0d5b%3A0x192d8d872b04dbbb!2sCoonoor%2C+Tamil+Nadu!3m2!1d11.353002199999999!2d76.7959095!5e0!3m2!1sen!2sin!4v1554625024945!5m2!1sen!2sin" style="border: 0;" width="800"></iframe>
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With the route decided we needed to decide on a place to stay. This is where Lee's local contacts came through. Her best friend's husband's friend happened to own a forest lodge called <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.in/Hotel_Review-g1379362-d2461867-Reviews-Wild_Haven-Masinagudi_The_Nilgiris_District_Tamil_Nadu.html" target="_blank">Wild Haven</a> in a small town called Masinagudi between to the <a href="https://www.mudumalaitigerreserve.com/" target="_blank">Mudumalai Reserve</a> and Nilgiri foot hills. Now, with the stay also decided the plan was set. With Masinagudi as our base, not only will we have access to the hill roads, but also to the National Parks/Tiger Reserves, and we definitely would be taking out time for a tiger safari.</div>
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I have had a love-hate relationship with National Park safaris. Like gambling, there is always an anticipation of seeing nature in its full glory. But all of my five previous excursions have been disappointments. In my safaris so far, I have probably seen all the deers in India, with some jackals and wild boars to spare. By far, the most atypical thing I have seen was two cobras mating in the monsoons, which I still have mixed feelings about. Of course, the sight that everyone wishes to witness is that of the King of the Jungle in his element, and given my abysmal track record, I was highly pessimistic about the seeing anything remotely as interesting in Mudumalai. However, I was still looking forward to it with great anticipation.</div>
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Like all the 90s kids in India, I grew-up watching the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jungle_Book_Sh%C5%8Dnen_Mowgli" target="_blank">Jungle Book</a> on DD, India's state channel. It's a stretched out and serialized anime version of Kipling's classic novel. We all watched it for years, week over week without an end to the story in sight. But, the moments for which we held our breath in awe were when Sher Khan entered the scene. I still remember the build up after all these years, the forest going silent, birds fleeing and that theme music.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Then there were the <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0845943/" target="_blank">David Attenborough documentaries</a> about tiger families which I saw dozens of times and could never get enough of. Even today I get wide-eyed and hold my breath when tigers show up on nature documentaries.</span></div>
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There was this time before the age of Wikipedia where I did some extensive research on Tigers of Asia for a school summer project and learnt any and everything about them in the process. We had to hand write our findings and my report was the biggest in the class. Back then I wondered about a career in wildlife conservation and a part of me still does.</div>
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Given this background, I have always looked forward to visiting National Parks in spite of the abysmal results. Seeing the phantom predator in the jungle's shadows, even for once, would be an event of a life time for me.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">The Initiation</span></h3>
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We picked the bikes from Wicked Rides the night before the trip. I approached the machine with caution, she looked formidable. With height and wheelbase of 1.5 meters and a 19 liter fuel tank she was a leviathan. Additionally, the unseen numbers were making me dizzy. With an engine firing up 94 bhp and 79 Nm tourque, this would be the the biggest, most powerful bike I would have ever revved, let alone ride. </div>
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My mind started flashing all my previous crashes, screw-ups and accidents, and it was with that anxious frame of mind that I now mounted the tiger started her engine and revved. The sound of the inline-triple engine was like alien spaceship. I launched the bike onto the road and it felt stunningly nimble and even with it's massive power and pickup the transmission and control was like butter. I had finally broken into the world of super bikes and it felt amazing.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Bangalore to Masinagudi</span></h3>
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Lee and I packed up the bike rack with some luggage using bungee cables, in effect making the back seat into a couch, and started off early in the morning. We met up with the others nearby and headed South-West towards Mysore.</div>
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Even at 7 am in the morning there was a decent amount of traffic in spite of it being a Sunday. However I found the bike pretty comfortable to maneuver, although I was eagerly waiting for the wide-open roads to experience the bike's real potential.</div>
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About half an hour into the drive, while still in heavy traffic, I saw the bikes thermometer shoot up to critical. I tried to correct my driving style, use lower RPM, speeding a bit etc. to get the temperature down but nothing worked. We decided to stop at a fuel-station to sort out this issue. We called up Wicked-Rides but they did not pickup, which was expected this early on a Sunday. We checked the oil and it was fine. Then we figured how to read the coolant level and found out to our dismay that it was empty! We bought some coolant and distilled water at the station, made a concoction and filled in the tank and hoped that would fix the problem. In the mean time I got myself a Red Bull and made a mental note to give the rental guys a mouthful about this episode. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlJKmum0UrTzHjRnSB7B6p1rCVDMey9MX7P_5CR1BRifxeUt9JBZtf6Rqa2IZSQ7r3x28JZqA1NaQEL5rSp7Q470RHWJXsB28vXB4vb_HSFIfZMkm8eDb3Q0ZJAoIYBbJ4wSSAekKQAz0/s1600/IMG_20170416_104842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1438" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlJKmum0UrTzHjRnSB7B6p1rCVDMey9MX7P_5CR1BRifxeUt9JBZtf6Rqa2IZSQ7r3x28JZqA1NaQEL5rSp7Q470RHWJXsB28vXB4vb_HSFIfZMkm8eDb3Q0ZJAoIYBbJ4wSSAekKQAz0/s1600/IMG_20170416_104842.jpg" /></a></div>
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We moved ahead. The temperature was still close to critical and my thighs were burning, but it seemed to be in control. As we got out of the city onto the Bangalore-Mysore highway the temperature eased down further.<br />
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Bangalore-Mysore highway, or NH 275, is always an extremely busy road. There are strings of towns and villages connecting the two cities, and there is no open stretch any where till the Mysore bypass. It was at this bypass where we finally got out of the cluster fuck and finally experienced space. A long, wide and empty stretch of road. I gave the tiger just a bit of race, and she picked up like a ballerina on boosters. Glancing down at the speedometer showed that I was already touching 140 kph! It was unreal. I was very tempted to unleash the beast, let her roar at full volume and sear through that road, but due to the rental policies I had to be careful not to go beyond 120 too much, sigh.<br />
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The road from Mysore till Bandipur (NH 766) was also pretty empty, but it was a narrow dusty two-lane highway. At one point two other tigers passed by and the riders gave us a thumbs-up which gave me a sense of belonging in the cult.</div>
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It was the month of April and this whole route was mostly dry, sandy and hot, my feet were getting baked from the heat from the tarmac.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAzu-UGG_oHKFH4BRurxegGuG8tWaQZtaBu0aDgheEJHwvey577LSmzBVq78INL6r6El5LYeFru-PnMpbjW_mDVeoL4qzKeH8T4Z1-RwzxBGAZDduvYRL4sTBopPkD6maPyb48a45ZJo/s1600/IMG_20170416_134730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTAzu-UGG_oHKFH4BRurxegGuG8tWaQZtaBu0aDgheEJHwvey577LSmzBVq78INL6r6El5LYeFru-PnMpbjW_mDVeoL4qzKeH8T4Z1-RwzxBGAZDduvYRL4sTBopPkD6maPyb48a45ZJo/s1600/IMG_20170416_134730.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hydration brake</td></tr>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Next up was the drive through the Bandipur and Mudumalai National Parks.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkizW1_BZYgl0NbD3qdU6qmkao_qO3rDkjAlECmQ8y_MMlqkTUkL07BwhFEIg3Rt_nb35MDbrkt22oJUsccdDqxa1ddd2PNbeBmrZN2SbUxSbb4JqmECgNq0u5YUOQYlkFZ335XNLNTk/s1600/IMG_20170416_143824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkizW1_BZYgl0NbD3qdU6qmkao_qO3rDkjAlECmQ8y_MMlqkTUkL07BwhFEIg3Rt_nb35MDbrkt22oJUsccdDqxa1ddd2PNbeBmrZN2SbUxSbb4JqmECgNq0u5YUOQYlkFZ335XNLNTk/s1600/IMG_20170416_143824.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gateway to Bandipur National Park </td></tr>
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The roads were narrow but were smooth and seemed to be freshly laid. The route was hilly and curvy but not a lot. It was also densely forested and seemed very dry in parts. But, I have always loved riding through the wilderness and this occasion was no different.<br />
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You are always given an advisory about elephant herds when crossing nature reserves here. They are extremely territorial and they will give you hell if they are startled. There are several news stories and videos and first hand accounts of elephant aggression in this area, many of them resulting in casualties. Luckily, we did not encounter any at this time.</div>
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Around three o'clock, soon after we pass the National Parks we reached our stay in Masinagudi, the forest resort Wild Haven.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">Wild Haven</span></h3>
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We cut from the main road and drove down a long track to reach the resort deep inside the forest.</div>
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As we parked our bikes next to the main lodge we were assaulted by three most adorable boxers.<br />
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They were called Manshi, Cleo and Bison. Manshi happened to be the mother of the other two.<br />
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We got acquainted with Roshan and his friend and partner Neel. After freshening up we had a good lunch and sat down to have a long chat with the owners and staff while the afternoon turned into a golden evening. </div>
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Wild Haven has a large compound surrounded by wilderness. There are fences and wires and the dogs to keep animals out, but there herds of cheetal deer grazing right in front of us.</div>
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Roshan also told us that ever so often they get more formidable visitors like boars, wild elephants and leopards. Even tigers show up sometimes to have a drink from a small lake in the compound. So it was advisable to not go for nature walks at night.</div>
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We were escorted to out cottages where we unwinded for a while. They looked like vintage constructions, and were pretty spacious and comfortable.</div>
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After dark we headed to the bon-fire that the staff sets up every evening.</div>
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On the menu were potatoes baked in the fire's embers and a very interesting beer called British Empire. As the liquor scene in Tamil Nadu is weird, I was not complaining. In fact, it tasted fresher than Kingfisher and after a day of riding it was as good as any drink.</div>
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Some of Roshan's friends too had dropped in that evening and we all gathered around the fire and got to know each other. We had many conversations and shared a few stories. The evening had some some songs too and at one point Reba and I broke into Indian Ocean's Kandisa.</div>
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Another highlight of the evening was this pyromaniac kid who was interested in finding out how fire reacted with anything he could get his hands on.</div>
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Around nine o'clock, we were invited to the mess hall and were served some a very satisfying dinner especially cooked for us. After this we called it a night and tucked in to the sounds of the jungle.</div>
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<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">Nilgiris, Ooty and Coonoor</span></h3>
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Lee and I got up extra early next morning due to issues with my medication. I woke up breathless before dawn and was afraid to go back to sleep. We wanted to go out for some air and water and to get my heart pumping, but the stories tigers prowling kept us inside the room. After waiting around seemingly forever, with the first light of dawn, we summoned enough courage to take a fast stroll to the kitchen and found the three dogs there to welcome us.</div>
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We spent the morning with the boxers, taking in the misty ambiance with some local coffee that the staff brewed for us, which was a pretty god way to start your day in the end I guess.</div>
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We got all ready by ten for the treat of the trip, the curves of the road up the blue mountains, i.e. the Nilgiris. Neel also accompanied us for the ride on his Duke 390. The climb started soon after we left Masinagudi with the steepest and sharpest 'S' curve I have ever taken. These were the first of the thirty-six hairpins that were to follow.</div>
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The tiger took them in a stride, with a feather like pickup and perfect balance. The road was good with not a lot of traffic. This ride was going to be amazing.</div>
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The climb up also was steep, and pretty soon were deep inside the blue haze of the mountains. The vegetation changed from scrub-land to alpine and the temperatures dropped and the view of the hills was breathtaking.</div>
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As we approached Ooty the the surroundings became more urban and the roads became congested. At one point we got stuck in a traffic jam which took us half-an-hour to get out of. I was worried that my bike will start heating up again but the alpine temperatures prevented that from happening. Neel however had to bailed out at this point because his Duke started boiling. Ooty was way too crowded and congested for our liking. People, vehicles and garbage had taken over all the space and there were big buildings everywhere. It did not seem that have the charm it once had when I visited the place as a kid. Lee too concurred.</div>
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After crossing Ooty everything was peaceful. The stretch of road going to Coonoor was a boulevard. It was a virtually empty stretch with tall trees and tea plantations and was relatively straight and even.</div>
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We planned to make a stop in an army cantonment area called Wellington as both Lee and Robo had spent a part of their childhood there. Chief on their agenda there, apart from reminiscing, was getting some coffee and cookies at <> bakery. We also paid a visit to Lee's aunt and uncle who have been living in Wellington for years.</div>
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Soon after leaving the cantonment we reached Coonoor and the town won me over in no time. It seemed to be a place comfortably settled in the colonial times. There were charming cottages and vintage mansions and retro streets. The town had a serene flow and tranquil clime.</div>
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The town is actually know for its Anglo-Indian schools. There clientele includes India's elites, NRIs and even Europeans. Lee also happened to attend one of these school and was excited to see the campus again.<br />
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We stopped for lunch at <a href="https://www.lonelyplanet.com/india/coonoor/restaurants/la-belle-vie/a/poi-eat/1352025/356502" target="_blank">La Belle Vie</a>, colonial villa recast as a cosy hill resort.</div>
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The building maintains its vintage feel and classic interiors.</div>
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. . . and some of the decorations belong to a different age.</div>
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They have a big courtyard with a delightful garden . . .</div>
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. . . and it has a great view of Coonoor and the surrounding areas.</div>
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Lee mentioned that this place was an abandoned lot when she used to live here and acted like a playground for her and her school-mates.</div>
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After a very classy and luxurious lunch, we headed for a visit to Lee's sister, who lives in a small village close to Coonoor. We climbed a bit to reach there, riding through narrow rustic roads, refreshing vistas and even more tea plantations. Their house was literally perched on a hilltop and had spectacular view of pristine nature all around. We spoke for sometime and had some tea brewed from the local plantations, after which we started our journey back to Masinagudi.</div>
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We had had a splendid day so far, wandering around aimlessly in the hills, breathing in the pure mountain air and soaking in the bluish-greenery at our leisure, and now, we were running late. Having already experienced the torturous turns while climbing up this morning, we wanted to avoid going down-hill on that route in the dark. Going down is tricky, in any context. What delayed us further was Modi's demonetization drive. We had made a fuel stop at this gas station in Ooty, and we were out of cash and they neither accepted our cards nor Paytm etc. Reba and Lee went out to search for cash in all the nearby ATMs, which were dried out of any cash and they returned after half-an-hour from a desperate and futile search. During this time the station owner and his employees had started acting like jerks <what reason>. Finally we made the via a direct bank transfer in the midst of abysmal network coverage.</div>
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By the time we got back to the plains, it was in fact quite dark. But the ride was reasonably smooth and the twilight and the nightlights actually made for an enchanting ride.</div>
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We reached Wild Haven with another bon-fire waiting for us. After chilling of a bit we had a quick dinner and called it a day.</div>
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Next morning we decided to do another ride up Ooty to relive the experience, it being the last day of our trip. Also on the agenda was buying chocolates to carry back home and scoring some good liquor for our final night in the wilderness. Lee had decided to stay back and chill at the lodge with a book, some coffee and with the dogs of course. In stead, Reba was to be my pillion this time and she was excited to be on a "super bike" for the first time.</div>
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The ride up as sweet as it was the previous day, and also much faster as we were used to roads and our machines. </div>
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For chocolates we stopped at this famous outlet and bakery called <a href="https://www.tripadvisor.in/Restaurant_Review-g297679-d8019576-Reviews-Cocoapods-Ooty_Udhagamandalam_The_Nilgiris_District_Tamil_Nadu.html" target="_blank">Cocopods</a>. They had a gazillion variety of chocolates, with all the shapes and shades. Their preparations are probably the best home made chocolates I have had and would highly recommend them. Their coffee and desserts are not too bad either.</div>
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In Tamil Nadu, good alcohol is notoriously hard to get by. We had to looked up a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/TASMAC" target="_blank">TASMAC shop</a> and found it somewhere near Ooty town-center on the first floor of an obscure and a very shady looking building. But, when we entered it was like hitting the jackpot. The shop had a bedazzling selection of premium liquor, and that too at a discounted price. We came back with a bottle Taliskar and some local wine.</div>
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We came back down to Wild Haven at around two in the after noon. The last item in our list was the tiger safari scheduled for that evening. We headed for Mudumalai.</div>
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<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">A Grim History</span></h3>
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When Rudyard Kipling wrote his famous book at the end of the nineteenth century, there were between fifty to hundred thousand tigers in the forests of India. Even back then people from all around the world used to come here in droves for tiger safaris, with intention of taking home big game trophies however. </div>
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Hunting down tigers was considered a favorite hobby of the rich and the elite. The kings and the local authorities used to organize massive "shikars" for their guests. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsC1wO_Rlh5XiNeqDdtlLI6mJlvAzY0XSHoTnlqGQPufr-p4jGKCoUjk2O-S-idxtF7gkP0cfGTQR0veZgQnZSzhTPpE9amvK5vMGNAh__XVDUXHjFqfvVDQrG2a8aFZcA_ZNqyKYxMA/s1600/1aA_massive_tiger_hunt_organized_by_Maharajah_of_Alwar_in_1926_for_his_British_guests_a_dozen_elephants_and_aproximately_300_people_involved.6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="540" height="521" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwsC1wO_Rlh5XiNeqDdtlLI6mJlvAzY0XSHoTnlqGQPufr-p4jGKCoUjk2O-S-idxtF7gkP0cfGTQR0veZgQnZSzhTPpE9amvK5vMGNAh__XVDUXHjFqfvVDQrG2a8aFZcA_ZNqyKYxMA/s640/1aA_massive_tiger_hunt_organized_by_Maharajah_of_Alwar_in_1926_for_his_British_guests_a_dozen_elephants_and_aproximately_300_people_involved.6.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Tiger trophies were sought with such fervor that more than eighty thousand of them were brought down between 1875-1925. After 1947, the trophy hunting trend reached maniacal levels, where anyone with a gun set to the jungles out to bring back an easy premiere reward.</div>
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By 1950's tiger skin products were a big rave in the Western markets, and the killing continued, until hunting tigers was banned, finally, in 1971. By then only 1800 tigers were left in the wild in India. It was in this grim scenario that Indira Gandhi took the reins on the country and the wildlife conservation effort. In the words of some environmentalists she became "India's Greatest Wildlife Savior".</div>
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Project Tiger was launched in 1973 by Indira Gandhi, which still stands out one of the most successful models for wildlife conservation, and was a spectacular success in the 1970s. In ten years tiger population increased to around 4000.</div>
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During the late 80's however the tiger population started dropping. The poaching for traditional Chinese medicine trade had hit the Indian Subcontinent, sparking the "second tiger crisis". </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vbIpyUZh6flZqKCHX0qmeetVzHqmY3NcvI2_-dK0FksdI_3MftOin-jCWsnfpZQUZ-A9VJUW-Dhfx2MZk6zBUQf2r5xBZOCBhTXC44kMJ0lse7wRotK-whLxyxDOvWXrRW2ZzJ_8TN4/s1600/20080311-kids_tigercons4_2+wwf.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="235" data-original-width="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8vbIpyUZh6flZqKCHX0qmeetVzHqmY3NcvI2_-dK0FksdI_3MftOin-jCWsnfpZQUZ-A9VJUW-Dhfx2MZk6zBUQf2r5xBZOCBhTXC44kMJ0lse7wRotK-whLxyxDOvWXrRW2ZzJ_8TN4/s1600/20080311-kids_tigercons4_2+wwf.gif" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOO5anEHwJr19rwMiR4eW597Bdp9hGx842Zy-4vrvUMn6RkWRHFQ0EnTqeFKCLrPEIIuJtw42pHHBxzSttU_Rj9fwRdnpYzRuuO_-8kikFakEQSh3PdwS-bNpYtadlIP_Bfh789fzF04/s1600/web_42890_415018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="188" data-original-width="304" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYOO5anEHwJr19rwMiR4eW597Bdp9hGx842Zy-4vrvUMn6RkWRHFQ0EnTqeFKCLrPEIIuJtw42pHHBxzSttU_Rj9fwRdnpYzRuuO_-8kikFakEQSh3PdwS-bNpYtadlIP_Bfh789fzF04/s400/web_42890_415018.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Meanwhile, Project Tiger fell into a disarray, riddled with corruption and neglect. Their funds were embezzled by local politicians, guard posts were not refilled for years, and whatever guards did remain carried sticks to fight off poachers carrying AK47s.</div>
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All this while, the authorities stayed in denial about free falling tiger populations. That was until 2006. The nation was galvanized when it confirmed that not a single tiger had survived in the <a href="https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/india/1487485/Poachers-empty-Indian-wildlife-park-of-tigers.html" target="_blank">Sariska Tiger Reserve</a>. The second, even bigger shock came soon after in 2008, a tiger census with a new, more accurate method, showed that only 1400 tigers were left. A $400 million investment and 34 years of Project Tiger was all undone.</div>
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However, these grim revelations brought about some massive changes and amendments in the wildlife conservation effort. The National Tiger Conservation Authority, established in 2005, was hugely empowered with a bigger budget and purview. New stricter law were established and diligently enforced. Conservation methods were made more advanced and more involved. Special Tiger Proctection Force was setup in several states which were most heavily affected by poaching.</div>
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The number of Tiger reserves too were increased from the original nine to more than fifty. Mudumalai was one of the parks which was reinstated as a Tiger Reserve and brought under the authority of NTCA and Project Tiger in 2007.</div>
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<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">Company of Giants</span></h3>
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We took an open air jeep to Mudumalai Park Office provided by the lodge. While heading there we so several herds of deer grazing in the thorn bushes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM66a1Lemzw4ZQwoj1yg1cPj4gID0RvKTfLEc-wvz_2l14C4f8lUx5A4FUxcB9ImrZouIiaslyDtensKAyvO4NjZwWgQzFIHW87dTSp9NIKhXy0dZ3ITOqS-v6LnmQVJ3AFOFn8GoYm_E/s1600/KS1_3035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1130" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM66a1Lemzw4ZQwoj1yg1cPj4gID0RvKTfLEc-wvz_2l14C4f8lUx5A4FUxcB9ImrZouIiaslyDtensKAyvO4NjZwWgQzFIHW87dTSp9NIKhXy0dZ3ITOqS-v6LnmQVJ3AFOFn8GoYm_E/s1600/KS1_3035.jpg" /></a></div>
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We could feel the predicament of the the animals as it was hot and dry and the landscape was looked tired from the long hard summer. We also saw a family of wild elephants obscured in the vegetation. This reminded us of the stories about rampaging elephants and so we followed the necessary etiquettes by shutting up.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfzliuvTsUqrTDGnlxg3fZrYYTSnpMIii1WLspFxkZOdwc88hjpahE6ykvoBiFzUsHxG7ClCCIvojdhIq8wh95uVCwswO6E_UEWwsoQUPxWxZNAkJIiAyT7nX0eCW18Cw9glSa0lhexo/s1600/KS1_3018-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1253" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVfzliuvTsUqrTDGnlxg3fZrYYTSnpMIii1WLspFxkZOdwc88hjpahE6ykvoBiFzUsHxG7ClCCIvojdhIq8wh95uVCwswO6E_UEWwsoQUPxWxZNAkJIiAyT7nX0eCW18Cw9glSa0lhexo/s1600/KS1_3018-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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On reaching the ticket counter in the park office, we found that our ride was going to start two hours later, it would start around four and end at dusk, which would be perfect. That's when all the animals come out from their siestas and the golden-hour light would great for shooting too. However, now we had a lot of time to kill.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXzyDeGGmMrFAGmFDE0tjHh1yMDYJPisj99oIUY03VQVt1aEqqTSykJoBiyN_bOZMgFx2g7R2s_FB6hKYvmDtrvhKvcbKCDbGOnnSEXoPx8UdHWaMhmHVoWRJS3TM6je02BSNUGKERCGg/s1600/KS1_3179.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXzyDeGGmMrFAGmFDE0tjHh1yMDYJPisj99oIUY03VQVt1aEqqTSykJoBiyN_bOZMgFx2g7R2s_FB6hKYvmDtrvhKvcbKCDbGOnnSEXoPx8UdHWaMhmHVoWRJS3TM6je02BSNUGKERCGg/s1600/KS1_3179.jpg" /></a></div>
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Next to the office there is was an information center/museum about the park, which we surveyed for a bit. Then we roamed around the office compound were we saw a bunch of frenzied monkeys and tranquil deer flocks, the usual wildlife.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5FuxTHRHFFEFhorcuXsAYc6nbFvaFMTKOlqyJboSKwpuokRVMa-1sam3wu6NV1wdbZVMmOAoDJkwvxpmr8_ui8YvCNyhkMXQQ48M8Xm7__0rrscmNkxYhMzJMDh19fwwLEsfseJxPnM/s1600/KS1_3049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1052" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn5FuxTHRHFFEFhorcuXsAYc6nbFvaFMTKOlqyJboSKwpuokRVMa-1sam3wu6NV1wdbZVMmOAoDJkwvxpmr8_ui8YvCNyhkMXQQ48M8Xm7__0rrscmNkxYhMzJMDh19fwwLEsfseJxPnM/s1600/KS1_3049.jpg" /></a></div>
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All of a sudden we heard trumpeting in close proximity. We turned around to see an elephant and her very young calf right across the road. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHHoFNpQxbR0JjzR9rWpr0EcmE-f7smypzlhIAPre6mTfSbKFVj9TsWlv0SCy5YN3zAcAHT9UELxL1ivjlz9AfEeazIw0dWN9zyJ5mb56Rsl64FalbaAJks0vXYJCC6JOwq7dx09ODg6A/s1600/KS1_3083.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1092" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHHoFNpQxbR0JjzR9rWpr0EcmE-f7smypzlhIAPre6mTfSbKFVj9TsWlv0SCy5YN3zAcAHT9UELxL1ivjlz9AfEeazIw0dWN9zyJ5mb56Rsl64FalbaAJks0vXYJCC6JOwq7dx09ODg6A/s1600/KS1_3083.jpg" /></a></div>
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The sight was a both beautiful and scary. We were thoroughly aware how dangerous wild elephants are, but that's nothing compared to when they feel the need to protect their young. So naturally, we moved closer to take a better look.</div>
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Something seemed off however on a closer observation. There were chains tied around the mother's legs. These couldn't have been wild elephants. Where were they from? Where are the care takers? We moved in even closer.</div>
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And there was the answer. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RUlOdeGWXxeBggumYOtq2KngqSNuIFaVaT8P_SFRE9IwYqCmvKkl7lmvb-XLoHpjbuj0sLw8IkMEr9XEZL1gMtRrtC2HTzHLQBg-M3hBiYU4unfEPs0Nmh9K8AaN8m_ZlNlPGYCYq-I/s1600/KS1_3100.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1252" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1RUlOdeGWXxeBggumYOtq2KngqSNuIFaVaT8P_SFRE9IwYqCmvKkl7lmvb-XLoHpjbuj0sLw8IkMEr9XEZL1gMtRrtC2HTzHLQBg-M3hBiYU4unfEPs0Nmh9K8AaN8m_ZlNlPGYCYq-I/s1600/KS1_3100.jpg" /></a></div>
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We walked in to an entire stable of domesticated elephants and the care takers were right there affectionately feeding and washing the herd. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKFDOfXFB0Fa-3JubUWizcqX9W6T9vM6Wtu71A8VO__vofeZ2ojaWBC8FaXmAD0-VBrn4NjfcCpLuIdvQFcHzNuLLuJIW9MGgU_gaQKFumYdvo7J-tLbVCULCZh_BDyK5Z8o2aV8JP7E/s1600/KS1_3109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1074" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiKFDOfXFB0Fa-3JubUWizcqX9W6T9vM6Wtu71A8VO__vofeZ2ojaWBC8FaXmAD0-VBrn4NjfcCpLuIdvQFcHzNuLLuJIW9MGgU_gaQKFumYdvo7J-tLbVCULCZh_BDyK5Z8o2aV8JP7E/s1600/KS1_3109.jpg" /></a></div>
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We gazed at the magnificent sight for a while, until the care takers beckoned to us and invited us to actually visit the stables, which turned into a most memorable, heart-warming experience.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1u92iIjIdmpSHOXeMRvpMkN928ehuufEtmni84p1QstqUZ0U-lz4jXb8xY-rua13i81JoSQ4FuaNfnkm5G4frF_Xk-WXNoj5sXybyMVmy4QtQ_7APFVtss0806fBLX6Am3i27vFi_IY/s1600/KS1_3154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1147" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx1u92iIjIdmpSHOXeMRvpMkN928ehuufEtmni84p1QstqUZ0U-lz4jXb8xY-rua13i81JoSQ4FuaNfnkm5G4frF_Xk-WXNoj5sXybyMVmy4QtQ_7APFVtss0806fBLX6Am3i27vFi_IY/s1600/KS1_3154.jpg" /></a></div>
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I had never been so close to the graceful giants and this encounter was breath-taking. We got to feed them, feel their muscular and surprisingly dexterous trunks, and gaze into their eyes, which were as deep as the ocean. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP6GqNIm5l_Q_OA01y-Ihu-eRNX0hfPsPeEuakKopEY7jUxKKA8YrGrDhvhMEV1moiwwsY_m_KpYj_67FGAsqSUeFK4rRxrpJqJyMVWH_T011UIu60TxqoA3pBjZQGQlm-a7y30sUq4FQ/s1600/KS1_3110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1429" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP6GqNIm5l_Q_OA01y-Ihu-eRNX0hfPsPeEuakKopEY7jUxKKA8YrGrDhvhMEV1moiwwsY_m_KpYj_67FGAsqSUeFK4rRxrpJqJyMVWH_T011UIu60TxqoA3pBjZQGQlm-a7y30sUq4FQ/s1600/KS1_3110.jpg" /></a></div>
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I was highly aware of their sheer size and the power they radiated. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6J9_Ax83xFDWC9Zc7GaoV9k6EWgnz6kZ-7Gko0ax6OuBS8Xc8K3LkB5sDajNBsH7B5P30IKvrikWBxkVeE05rIJJk5HtqHqQdaigHfh8lkKUT8-m6aAYQAh1WaLgOeD4HHpaBj0YbMY/s1600/KS1_3144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1212" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc6J9_Ax83xFDWC9Zc7GaoV9k6EWgnz6kZ-7Gko0ax6OuBS8Xc8K3LkB5sDajNBsH7B5P30IKvrikWBxkVeE05rIJJk5HtqHqQdaigHfh8lkKUT8-m6aAYQAh1WaLgOeD4HHpaBj0YbMY/s1600/KS1_3144.jpg" /></a></div>
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When a big bull elephant walk towards the shed, I instinctively took a few steps back, even though a thick wall separated us.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNstzcSXOaQQ0qQ0BU5LXp5eilSiG8fLXSOG63jErvI8t-e_QO4AlZ8bohilN53Fzw6PpglE0QzpYvFVAekXU8dtIb-S_Aow0K5iNo59w9qu7x9kejc2IXowJb33pp0Bo9tl8dU1TvY-0/s1600/KS1_3139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1327" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNstzcSXOaQQ0qQ0BU5LXp5eilSiG8fLXSOG63jErvI8t-e_QO4AlZ8bohilN53Fzw6PpglE0QzpYvFVAekXU8dtIb-S_Aow0K5iNo59w9qu7x9kejc2IXowJb33pp0Bo9tl8dU1TvY-0/s640/KS1_3139.jpg" width="530" /></a></div>
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But the star of this encounter by far was the very young calf. Only a few months old, it was no bigger than a mastiff, and was as playful as a pup. All he wanted to do was say hello to everyone and it wrap it's tiny trunk around our arms and legs. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAJUgqJBybi2OJm6O9hWXZedR2bxrXS6BuobMfm8Hg_hZC7yyntqpGyBdGfqtOPHx5syZL5Uulizql-NsjrqAhe6unfUbZcTxVg85DHzGu7TzhIBn20QKJvHvuX-SMkmTOBszGRUl6bk/s1600/KS1_3166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAJUgqJBybi2OJm6O9hWXZedR2bxrXS6BuobMfm8Hg_hZC7yyntqpGyBdGfqtOPHx5syZL5Uulizql-NsjrqAhe6unfUbZcTxVg85DHzGu7TzhIBn20QKJvHvuX-SMkmTOBszGRUl6bk/s1600/KS1_3166.jpg" /></a></div>
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And yeah, he loved watermelon. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWdzg8V5frgY_cbz8R-S0yE9S5g20aZerzFYwO2mxWrWWju2Wlwm1lj_FLnWPn6G_sN7Az1_EHmZtnsa3fnPhSPbmR9yYFgPIM7VtRxKepg3f_-YgNl9-B-wFXm6WzRXNO7NkBIrjX_8/s1600/KS1_3176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1094" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWdzg8V5frgY_cbz8R-S0yE9S5g20aZerzFYwO2mxWrWWju2Wlwm1lj_FLnWPn6G_sN7Az1_EHmZtnsa3fnPhSPbmR9yYFgPIM7VtRxKepg3f_-YgNl9-B-wFXm6WzRXNO7NkBIrjX_8/s1600/KS1_3176.jpg" /></a></div>
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There was a huge scar on his hind legs and was limping. The care-taker told us that he had been attacked by a leopard when he was younger and was badly mutilated, but the feisty fellow had made significant recovery and would be alright eventually.</div>
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We spent some more time there in the company of giants, and returned to the park office in time for our safari.</div>
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There were a number of groups getting ready for the last excursion of the day. One group in particular was getting a lot of attention there. It was a bunch of photographers (probably) doing a kind of a ritualistic display and photo-session of their cameras and lenses. Their camera models were at the time the holy trinity of Nikon: D500, D750 and D810. They were attached to humongous telephoto lenses which I could not really place. Obviously, I was very intrigued by their premium gear and approached them to inquire about it. But I got a pretty cold and snobbish response from them, so I left the scene. I would be seeing them again soon, and on that occasion I would be the smug one.</div>
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Soon after we boarded the open air safari truck and it finally begun.</div>
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<h3>
<span style="font-weight: normal;">The Safari</span></h3>
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We drove the forest trails for quite a while before we saw anything other than deer, rabbits and monkeys. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymTmJBxcNt194cziZjQcukdNu3rzyuVOH_SRo0SWWhCml-1vIKMItnaE_2RvM-ksE1EBkd1dp4aChzdOnxD59C6_BpuRyQFvuWiFDZ44JcvBEkFJLn6vVOkcRH0dHExVaAXeg4bRXrto/s1600/KS1_3250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymTmJBxcNt194cziZjQcukdNu3rzyuVOH_SRo0SWWhCml-1vIKMItnaE_2RvM-ksE1EBkd1dp4aChzdOnxD59C6_BpuRyQFvuWiFDZ44JcvBEkFJLn6vVOkcRH0dHExVaAXeg4bRXrto/s1600/KS1_3250.jpg" /></a></div>
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The vegetation was very dry and the air was hot and the ground was radiating heat after a long searing day, the forest seemed very parched and thirsty. And it was as if in response to these thoughts that nature gave us a sign in the form of dancing peacocks. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpQwQ6WcG-U0E0f2RMceAkCwpAZFP7n7jL-CiMFoAYk5fbn6xf0MKddiPI25fOvVjqWYBSU5OGM1jveXKi6I7h20wWUHyD38HCzvLBou2ibuAtdBWjlnr0rASc-shZHF-iykkCFGs0uw/s1600/KS1_3206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1134" data-original-width="1600" height="453" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtpQwQ6WcG-U0E0f2RMceAkCwpAZFP7n7jL-CiMFoAYk5fbn6xf0MKddiPI25fOvVjqWYBSU5OGM1jveXKi6I7h20wWUHyD38HCzvLBou2ibuAtdBWjlnr0rASc-shZHF-iykkCFGs0uw/s640/KS1_3206.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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The legend of the <a href="https://www.scienceabc.com/nature/animals/why-do-peacocks-dance-in-rain.html" target="_blank">peacock rain dance</a> is an old belief that right before sudden showers peacocks put on a flamboyant dance, profesizing relief in a way. The fact however is that the dance is for the purpose of attracting females and getting laid, and any correlation between the dance and the rains is vague and coincidental at best and superstitious at worst. But in that moment, I really wanted to believe in the prophesy. </div>
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After driving ahead for a some more time, we stopped next to some shaking foliage. There were a couple of elephants hiding there. After waiting for a while one of them came out in the open. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlL5TB59KniZ6BNzJ2ewNPMfshrVkdqHrbQ6nuwfh3ikd7sNRA9NphlI8iR-mZq6H2feBOzw3j8RyoYFh5BW13KS27cvO75-b8y3Bsm6S5QzUtvgQNLedSWNiwvwIPfizDckvOnOJkzA/s1600/KS1_3267.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1129" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGlL5TB59KniZ6BNzJ2ewNPMfshrVkdqHrbQ6nuwfh3ikd7sNRA9NphlI8iR-mZq6H2feBOzw3j8RyoYFh5BW13KS27cvO75-b8y3Bsm6S5QzUtvgQNLedSWNiwvwIPfizDckvOnOJkzA/s1600/KS1_3267.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSd8VwbZASOvZrsQGPpYp5JTL2VatxozODVsmusFgb9ksBcgO_YNX1t1jNbOOcSjJqnuMgrFLik8FeVRD0AH0OOR3jM-DP_kOsuCtZJJcLI77QCADWJRTvBTl1sD7uerGrxFLBmJsMLyY/s1600/KS1_3271.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1178" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSd8VwbZASOvZrsQGPpYp5JTL2VatxozODVsmusFgb9ksBcgO_YNX1t1jNbOOcSjJqnuMgrFLik8FeVRD0AH0OOR3jM-DP_kOsuCtZJJcLI77QCADWJRTvBTl1sD7uerGrxFLBmJsMLyY/s1600/KS1_3271.jpg" /></a></div>
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This was more significant than anything I had seen in any previous safari, a wild elephant out in the open. Even if I saw nothing more in this outing I would be coming back with some sense of satisfaction. But soon the second came out in the open too and it was of a significantly lighter complexion, it was an albino, also called the white elephant.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrVXc_zBZtdV_3v8GFtgV5_kk_dwmdMundeCDatXw9GjNy7256zofk-r3fggzTBEz4ejd1_ugJMcJLJf_45NtCnp0yCFVOZkCpV6983rPfLnd0B-1Nd4gRwfKe3srkZopWcwqGgB2_cGM/s1600/KS1_3274.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1122" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrVXc_zBZtdV_3v8GFtgV5_kk_dwmdMundeCDatXw9GjNy7256zofk-r3fggzTBEz4ejd1_ugJMcJLJf_45NtCnp0yCFVOZkCpV6983rPfLnd0B-1Nd4gRwfKe3srkZopWcwqGgB2_cGM/s1600/KS1_3274.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjVQ-qlapkBBWWEtmovCQYkxBO84WiaYTr8j51I6sorMF_yWTg2mxmfJ3JxBYz1DXjIQctewe3natNE66kZpl1OwBvjpwo0mqzVwBp9btA5KVrFECAbHUwM82k46xTNRtbUZqQYAuQdxg/s1600/KS1_3287.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1093" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjVQ-qlapkBBWWEtmovCQYkxBO84WiaYTr8j51I6sorMF_yWTg2mxmfJ3JxBYz1DXjIQctewe3natNE66kZpl1OwBvjpwo0mqzVwBp9btA5KVrFECAbHUwM82k46xTNRtbUZqQYAuQdxg/s1600/KS1_3287.jpg" /></a></div>
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White elephants have a very interesting cultural significance in this part of the world. They are rare and considered sacred and precious. In Thailand and Burma, white elephants have been traditionally presented to the king, and the number of such elephants that the king has is the sign of power and prosperity of the kingdom, and benevolence and opulence of the king. Because the animal is sacred, the laws of those lands prohibit it from being put to any work or being given away. Keeping such a big animal incurs big costs without any economic benefits, so ironically, a gift of a white elephant was simultaneously considered a blessing and a curse. In fact, kings used to gift white elephants to their enemies or ill favored nobles in an attempt to bankrupt them. Because of this background the term '<a href="https://www.phrases.org.uk/meanings/white-elephant.html" target="_blank">white elephant</a>' has found itself in the english language which means a possession or an endevour which is extremely costly and difficult to maintain, and has no real practical purpose and eventually leads to ruin, like a Harley Davidson. A usage example: The white elephant statues erected all across U.P. by the Maya government, which were built and maintained with thousands of millions of tax payers money, are . . . white elephants.</div>
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It is probably worth mentioning that Indira, the Hindu god of rain and thunder, is said to ride a white elephant, the mighty <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Airavata" target="_blank">Airavat</a>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_RWeP6vpZU3GENjn1PSHBDRt6bUmMPnBX85RQwzGJ0v9W5EIhNLDqokEp-J0uoHBSAH-pZZfy7lyyV0IpD08xKadac0ogPddH26dSUSAN-dEhQRdx_Lbi11iv4ayBPrkfWHFEdDcgKU/s1600/main-qimg-071770500b5a75d886a663e8dea88613-c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0_RWeP6vpZU3GENjn1PSHBDRt6bUmMPnBX85RQwzGJ0v9W5EIhNLDqokEp-J0uoHBSAH-pZZfy7lyyV0IpD08xKadac0ogPddH26dSUSAN-dEhQRdx_Lbi11iv4ayBPrkfWHFEdDcgKU/s1600/main-qimg-071770500b5a75d886a663e8dea88613-c.jpg" /></a></div>
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All things considered, the safari was going exceptionally well so far and I also took the white elephant sighting as a good omen for things to come with crossed fingers.</div>
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Around this time we came across another tour group, and after a brief discussion between the guides our driver took a huge turn and we bee-lined towards a point where a tiger had been sighted. We sat quietly with anticipation. I was hyper aware of my surroundings and was ready with my camera like a loaded trap. We surveyed the area for several minutes but there was no sign of the big cat. In fact there were flocks of deer roaming the area, which I inferred as absence of any predator nearby.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDm40RGPWuV1iVmLjwmlBJb1ofQgstI50mi119TApZcTulB-7PAJPnwnkOIAUCBZo0MQfgfaqPiSAleUEXSXPgg2vtvO54gyVK1OW7l9lQFXTWN4x9HOJWYBDE_FaHojfOa3fgTl-Mag/s1600/KS1_3312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPDm40RGPWuV1iVmLjwmlBJb1ofQgstI50mi119TApZcTulB-7PAJPnwnkOIAUCBZo0MQfgfaqPiSAleUEXSXPgg2vtvO54gyVK1OW7l9lQFXTWN4x9HOJWYBDE_FaHojfOa3fgTl-Mag/s1600/KS1_3312.jpg" /></a></div>
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Moving on with the tour, we came across yet another giant of the forests, the Indian Bison, or more commonly known as Gaur. From a distant it looked like a boulder which rolled across the road. When we came up close it size was almost terrifying. It was like a tonne of pure muscle which could easily topple our truck without even meaning to. Gaurs are the biggest bovine species in the world, and command immense respect for their size, power and speed. After the elephant and the rhino, gaurs are the biggest terrestrial animal in Asia and only a full grown tiger is known occasionally hunt an adult gaur.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjknLt6V2GFcTGgCKjjHyfVhXWtZ_O1uAPMgiktMTdIy4zHI2QbjIgr5G_Mem3HkIcpEbyYctWbLUs5tj34IS1hmDAoF_6xWx6X-cCMxvJp9jqdUhPXwtP1dSkuQlx9d6CnR1ejqB4gu8/s1600/KS1_3295.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1069" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjknLt6V2GFcTGgCKjjHyfVhXWtZ_O1uAPMgiktMTdIy4zHI2QbjIgr5G_Mem3HkIcpEbyYctWbLUs5tj34IS1hmDAoF_6xWx6X-cCMxvJp9jqdUhPXwtP1dSkuQlx9d6CnR1ejqB4gu8/s1600/KS1_3295.jpg" /></a></div>
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What struck me after I got used to the size of the animal were its eyes. They were large and pink with strange alien looking corneas. There was also a divine gentleness to them, which added to the animal's calm demeanor. The bison did not move a muscle, and neither did we, as our truck crossed it.</div>
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The coloring on gaurs' legs makes it look like they wear white stockings. That's when I understood why one of the boxer pups back in Wild Haven was named Bison.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uTzTUI9LGBfgQvWEf9FAUzkdGq9-ijlTDyJnVt04q-e4xZW7lXagrz70yI66xc-FAWnTAOyje6MDm5WzIInT7dFPCZsBM0_7fgP20xfynLK1PsT-b_axBFPXDmvO3hciFmIVLJZJkk8/s1600/KS1_3305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1242" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-uTzTUI9LGBfgQvWEf9FAUzkdGq9-ijlTDyJnVt04q-e4xZW7lXagrz70yI66xc-FAWnTAOyje6MDm5WzIInT7dFPCZsBM0_7fgP20xfynLK1PsT-b_axBFPXDmvO3hciFmIVLJZJkk8/s640/KS1_3305.jpg" width="496" /></a></div>
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We moved around for a some more time, following a few more leads and rumors about tiger spotting but there was nothing significant to see. Now as the twilight set upon us and the day light started to diminish we started our way back to the park office.</div>
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Midway back, however, we were provided with one last lead, and our guide decided to pursue it. We came across an elevated curve where another safari truck was parked and everyone inside was dead silent, and gazing intently towards the long grass. We stopped next to them and scanned view in that direction. And there she was, beautifully camouflaged in the dry grass in the golden twilight, an adult tigress.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXXRBaz61qfRaH-fmMhwlSfz30LP2DEgTXvgynQwDoOo2hXnyGAO4Go5jI0mPR6YgPYKemU_PdQBEOXANoniAZVQJrhThvAFdCSXlwn6jdgJEPl4bMXI9DLbmGb-MueBU-sm3vi7Ld1I/s1600/KS1_3330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXXRBaz61qfRaH-fmMhwlSfz30LP2DEgTXvgynQwDoOo2hXnyGAO4Go5jI0mPR6YgPYKemU_PdQBEOXANoniAZVQJrhThvAFdCSXlwn6jdgJEPl4bMXI9DLbmGb-MueBU-sm3vi7Ld1I/s1600/KS1_3330.jpg" /></a></div>
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I had goose bumps. My mind blanked out everything, except for the sight of the tigress though the grass. I fumbled with my camera, adjusting it for low light and shot in her direction on continuously, with my pretty loud D750, getting dirty looks from everyone around.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6F6hl3Qn5YU2FcWvNnewfyz9ao8SfJzSD1XeYF8Lm7VKdl77hna3d_WYwkgx8wSQ5QtDQ4FMf0aaUc3jMTTF3abFk2B_YQ43cetAVuUR0mRTyejJt3mx5t_ywv-5F-DxjGOZrYbgDKlE/s1600/KS1_3346.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6F6hl3Qn5YU2FcWvNnewfyz9ao8SfJzSD1XeYF8Lm7VKdl77hna3d_WYwkgx8wSQ5QtDQ4FMf0aaUc3jMTTF3abFk2B_YQ43cetAVuUR0mRTyejJt3mx5t_ywv-5F-DxjGOZrYbgDKlE/s1600/KS1_3346.jpg" /></a></div>
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There was some movement behind the tigress. and suddenly another tiger came into the view. What we were witnessing was a family of adolescent tigers with their mother. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ16E2L8N7bUKbF8w3xYwePC_k2HLgL7xkxZshZ-rubKtRbnHT4XWUBUon7uU-MQMXHrjl6PQooqDFIdb73OEfMzjUPLdXRGgNobpG1ZrZfldzpqFQ86omgQDQHbgD5EDz1k1lPxfZ4aQ/s1600/KS1_3337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1312" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ16E2L8N7bUKbF8w3xYwePC_k2HLgL7xkxZshZ-rubKtRbnHT4XWUBUon7uU-MQMXHrjl6PQooqDFIdb73OEfMzjUPLdXRGgNobpG1ZrZfldzpqFQ86omgQDQHbgD5EDz1k1lPxfZ4aQ/s1600/KS1_3337.jpg" /></a></div>
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We had hit a gold mine. The legendary hunter and the continent's top predator presiding on her throne with her heirs around her.</div>
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We sat there in her presence for some more time. The tigress sat there majestically in the golden twilight in a perfect frame of grass, staring right into my camera lens as if a queen for posing for a painter.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBsDvU_Yvb5m4WnjKHZQnTVcVjTnzB1Az14xG8iv5k25sdFeFLcxTAxg3qSaUzg0ZGyaGKeHm-pEBn3o04Kf68skSr3vaR4RkG5sTrq0VssX1matOaaNsO7bR0wffk5w12nTZK_uuzrpM/s1600/KS1_3344-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1290" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBsDvU_Yvb5m4WnjKHZQnTVcVjTnzB1Az14xG8iv5k25sdFeFLcxTAxg3qSaUzg0ZGyaGKeHm-pEBn3o04Kf68skSr3vaR4RkG5sTrq0VssX1matOaaNsO7bR0wffk5w12nTZK_uuzrpM/s1600/KS1_3344-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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We started to move after she decided to leave the court. I was starstruck for a long time and my mind was etched with the visuals. Right after we left the location, the group flaunting their camera gear at the park office arrived at the scene. Of course, they were a bit too late and they knew it. Sorry guys, but I got the better pictures that evening.</div>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;">A Toast</span></h3>
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<i>When the stars threw down their spears </i></div>
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<i>And water'd heaven with their tears: </i></div>
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<i>Did he smile his work to see? </i></div>
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<i>Did he who made the Lamb make thee? </i></div>
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(William Blake, The Tyger, 17-20)</div>
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We were back at wild haven and it was the last evening of the trip. A perfect trip which deserved a perfect celebration. The Taliskar we bought earlier would do nicely. </div>
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There was no bon fire and baked potatoes that evening, so we sat in the gallery of the lodge with the Scotch, British Empire beer a tonne of snacks and conversation topics from all around the world, of course the tigers were on the top of that list.</div>
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As the evening went by I could feel a distinct chill in the air and a smell of moisture. Then there were rumblings of thunder which gradually grew louder. A bright fork flashed through the dark sky, a loud crack and echo and sudden downpour. Apparently, the oracle peacocks did usher in the rain god's.</div>
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It felt like the land gave out a big sigh of relief. The fragrance of wet soil permeated the atmosphere. The sound of the rain with rhythmic thunder was like music.</div>
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The downpour was long and heavily, resulting in the power being cut out, and we sat there in the dark conversing with Nature herself, toasting with her to her own miracles, and better times.</div>
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Tigers have been living on the razor edge of existence for more than half a century, just a slight push away from extinction. The tiger is a creature which symbolises beauty, power and majesty. It has found a place in the titles given to great rulers and conquerors. It is the consort of the Goddess of Power. Thus it is confounding to me that such creature could be so mercilessly culled down to the point of eradication for its fur for decoration, bones for superstitious medicine, and for the satisfaction of some shallow egos. </div>
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But the tiger can also be perceived as the symbol of resilience and survival. Thanks to the revamped conservation efforts, and the extraordinary work out in by Project Tiger and co. this decade, tiger population has seen a steady increase, which has been globally hailed as an exemplar achievement. The government aims to double the tiger population in coming years. </div>
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But there are sure to be new and bigger challenges. Booming human population, shrinking forests and adamant poachers are known problems. Global Climate Change and shallow gene pool makes the conversation efforts insanely difficult.</div>
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But failure here is not an option. Removing the top predator causes a disastrous domino effect for the rest of the ecology. Extinction of the tiger would forever be listed in the most horrific and shameful things the human race has caused. And more than anything, such a beautiful creation nature can not be allowed to suffer such brutal annihilation, a world without the tiger is in conceivable.</div>
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Next day we headed back to Bangalore. The forests seemed to be reborn after the downpour the previous night and there was a scent of new life which made our ride through Mudumalai and Bandipur was very refreshing. After a good and uneventful ride, we were back in the city by the evening and I said farewell to my bike, the Tiger, which had blown my mind so far and I have missed what she felt like ever since.</div>
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I had pretty much made up my mind about purchasing a Tiger XRX, but due to an a constant deluge of events I kept postponing it for years.</div>
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At the time of writing this post however I had booked one, a Triumph Tiger XRX, 2017 model in matt black and eagerly waiting for it to be in my garage and eventually taking her back to Mudumalai and Ooty for her first ride.<br />
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I will update the post when she finally arrives. But as a place holder, here is the bike I selected at the showroom.<br />
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-73215399694002659812019-01-11T02:19:00.001+05:302019-01-11T02:24:52.962+05:30Legos XL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/gB5GRfgxOzq-9ZoHY3R2eRGpx4G-8Ab4Wysr316X-KzJ1na-HQ6s8wCrIjW8h7fABrbxyI2EFfJo3yT0eVFHBOgaeossUYcpxOjvyCQiSS12P7GX0LMbFw08P1mSt3wBC_vxQyfa36ugXr_hK_KtPQU7ATSZ7MVz1DuqCXg4Ly5rhuVuK-FhARVtJ-5zg1eNC5EBVMgPy49DKrFdFDhpkCy0a-0-7g_1-MDS26xFMJFxIlbB3GzsdYUS5p_LmecoB0QzCoV_78tCS8n9V8BrrJw9KL5d1A-9Xw9jGPGcj9BxKL7BtFsqh52i9xj1Nl6iv7yY8uOg4pFF5-BpZJ9bR4GfkfcEYmna5waBIFhA4hgOKAYi9V_AZmnsP_q7N7yQgYu797hoQ0lQsnmi04ZwB6ebA41GG5WtegGDsVbLZ1NtZjrkSCqhjl_7mL_AvzgdjAZQhSgMQFbuoqdgHcB3ua4Y84DPL0ymhFRdrkOkdogjghoyO09Wr2_J_ATJ8idaVjdLzApiY4xbPQMqikzG1FP4p7dT4TLDefH7QtRYi8tKjQC4mTglPuc4CdhzwCQCxu66C0CvO95WbOCx0BFFvH3OX6WSQkk5iJB0EoxZIrcreeEkTlpeKS2Yw88chiAQ2zhXtRtJVMABFXKT-fJdOIwiIw=w1798-h1768-no" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1768" data-original-width="1796" height="630" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/gB5GRfgxOzq-9ZoHY3R2eRGpx4G-8Ab4Wysr316X-KzJ1na-HQ6s8wCrIjW8h7fABrbxyI2EFfJo3yT0eVFHBOgaeossUYcpxOjvyCQiSS12P7GX0LMbFw08P1mSt3wBC_vxQyfa36ugXr_hK_KtPQU7ATSZ7MVz1DuqCXg4Ly5rhuVuK-FhARVtJ-5zg1eNC5EBVMgPy49DKrFdFDhpkCy0a-0-7g_1-MDS26xFMJFxIlbB3GzsdYUS5p_LmecoB0QzCoV_78tCS8n9V8BrrJw9KL5d1A-9Xw9jGPGcj9BxKL7BtFsqh52i9xj1Nl6iv7yY8uOg4pFF5-BpZJ9bR4GfkfcEYmna5waBIFhA4hgOKAYi9V_AZmnsP_q7N7yQgYu797hoQ0lQsnmi04ZwB6ebA41GG5WtegGDsVbLZ1NtZjrkSCqhjl_7mL_AvzgdjAZQhSgMQFbuoqdgHcB3ua4Y84DPL0ymhFRdrkOkdogjghoyO09Wr2_J_ATJ8idaVjdLzApiY4xbPQMqikzG1FP4p7dT4TLDefH7QtRYi8tKjQC4mTglPuc4CdhzwCQCxu66C0CvO95WbOCx0BFFvH3OX6WSQkk5iJB0EoxZIrcreeEkTlpeKS2Yw88chiAQ2zhXtRtJVMABFXKT-fJdOIwiIw=w1798-h1768-no" width="640" /></a></div>
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Are they XL Legos which Gods play with?</div>
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Or, are they spontaneously materialized cubist artwork?</div>
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Or, Are they giant crystals discovered in the mountains?</div>
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[Shot in Gantok, Sikkim] </div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com1Gangtok, Sikkim, India27.3389356 88.60650350000003127.2260961 88.445142000000033 27.4517751 88.767865000000029tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-10362909001400116662018-12-31T18:47:00.000+05:302019-01-11T01:47:55.789+05:30An Apparition: Kangchenjunga<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/bk16zDR3hJovaGCyyJv3XaNPH46HzEiIL_q-GHsaxbs4heM5qLyk_-LivNPohUf5SgzhIXbgGtUOOdrqb1PFo9bUDoncN3UCRDfyI3FpKWWA7x76qOJ0Jpnv-YWyxVLQfyE9XPjZeSjmZopV_d89O5RbT9XglNFX3W8MXNZpOE-tE8SnCIAPotHWF6Re2wJfZBlru0bymQmNdwvIYEYouR8GXGRWeHiBa7ECM1xckBjEEY6RX5iJvtJ8x7bHgT9uGzVEd8tPkMnpkAaONLLWEFJMSB-s6mQQxgu1qakIGS9kastrXi11dFN_o_Y9inx7gH9lpfEy-MT9ayNdYfT1l1sKb12HwOUT6LC_FW51j6TYThztUotZTccyrCG3wD1lPvJ-nmhtGzCKq62GLhDLFfO5uvyB_bAGUMJX0Vo_uSG9PHEo_UNIQWKCfRMVW86RsR0yX4B1BGk50B60XxbvFgi2oNM6SFLzMeKxsppvyoPpCLxSDiTHCTiJo2l_hVHCatlzNAaYLwe0CVGHmZWZ5uaAXAlI8klHje9cKghQivCH2A1zyeakH8py4k-KrAgRevccxMyVEkTGrg7ciQy0T4v0k3TAVcyNWOql_FuGkmL14y14_2yuKZspuDR8LRIKqn4fXBhtadgjHl5r8_Y48dyBZ0WH8UtYmft5JSK2Ljan51AeuSLMauf1TnC62Kwm4J_Tb1a9rKudraCFHq8=w2315-h1808-no" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1808" data-original-width="2315" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/bk16zDR3hJovaGCyyJv3XaNPH46HzEiIL_q-GHsaxbs4heM5qLyk_-LivNPohUf5SgzhIXbgGtUOOdrqb1PFo9bUDoncN3UCRDfyI3FpKWWA7x76qOJ0Jpnv-YWyxVLQfyE9XPjZeSjmZopV_d89O5RbT9XglNFX3W8MXNZpOE-tE8SnCIAPotHWF6Re2wJfZBlru0bymQmNdwvIYEYouR8GXGRWeHiBa7ECM1xckBjEEY6RX5iJvtJ8x7bHgT9uGzVEd8tPkMnpkAaONLLWEFJMSB-s6mQQxgu1qakIGS9kastrXi11dFN_o_Y9inx7gH9lpfEy-MT9ayNdYfT1l1sKb12HwOUT6LC_FW51j6TYThztUotZTccyrCG3wD1lPvJ-nmhtGzCKq62GLhDLFfO5uvyB_bAGUMJX0Vo_uSG9PHEo_UNIQWKCfRMVW86RsR0yX4B1BGk50B60XxbvFgi2oNM6SFLzMeKxsppvyoPpCLxSDiTHCTiJo2l_hVHCatlzNAaYLwe0CVGHmZWZ5uaAXAlI8klHje9cKghQivCH2A1zyeakH8py4k-KrAgRevccxMyVEkTGrg7ciQy0T4v0k3TAVcyNWOql_FuGkmL14y14_2yuKZspuDR8LRIKqn4fXBhtadgjHl5r8_Y48dyBZ0WH8UtYmft5JSK2Ljan51AeuSLMauf1TnC62Kwm4J_Tb1a9rKudraCFHq8=w2315-h1808-no" /></a></div>
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The weather during our three day stay in Gantok was largely hazy and overcast. The cottage that we were staying in claimed to have a view of the Kangchenjunga Range but we did not have any hopes of seeing that.</div>
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On day three early morning as we were getting ready for an excursion, a bright light started shining from the horizon due North-West. Only by zooming in, was it discernible as a mountain peak reflecting the rays of the rising sun.</div>
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It was in fact the Kangchenjunga, the third highest peak in the World, gracing us with an apparition through the vale of the clouds. It lasted only fifteen minutes and was not to be seen again during our stay in Sikkim.</div>
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The immensity of that fleeting moment still strikes an awe in me.</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-55641869206121097232018-12-30T04:28:00.002+05:302019-01-02T01:27:41.631+05:30Living on a Prayer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Deserted, rusted and eroded might be the way</div>
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its hopes are held when a thousand flags pray</div>
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<i>-- Khanabadosh</i><br />
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[Shot in North Sikkim]</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-52050456015174930132018-09-10T17:38:00.000+05:302018-09-17T18:04:39.976+05:30Eurotrip 2018 Map<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A Map of the places we hit during the month long trip of a life time in Europe.</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-24468694778945447642017-09-20T16:25:00.002+05:302017-09-21T18:53:18.496+05:30The Royal Locomotive: Bangalore to Goa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Meet Dhanno, a Royal Enfield Bullet Standard 500cc, an old school Black Beauty, and on this road trip she will be rolling through the Western Ghats carrying a mountain. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJMT2XOi-c1DmlcHcqe1Fq0W6acYEIrYQQ5Up_ouBaaDyDiOaDr_0XDAq2xy_noOnky9EChPj0C92SUOERjcTZiWQilM7ccuam6cnKQ2V8o619cF7dGiM1fLm1yZCwSyJYA0uduyWOJw/s1600/856770_429748953776883_1454068138_o.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1038" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwJMT2XOi-c1DmlcHcqe1Fq0W6acYEIrYQQ5Up_ouBaaDyDiOaDr_0XDAq2xy_noOnky9EChPj0C92SUOERjcTZiWQilM7ccuam6cnKQ2V8o619cF7dGiM1fLm1yZCwSyJYA0uduyWOJw/s1600/856770_429748953776883_1454068138_o.jpg" /></a></div>
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Diwali of 2013 was approaching, a time for performing rituals and honoring tradition. For me, that means an annual pilgrimage to Goa. As for the means of reaching there, I wanted it to be a bike this time, as this Bangalore to Goa ride would be my first and it had been long overdue. The problem was that T-Bone, my 350cc, was demanding a vacation at the mechanic's. So, I and my travel mate, Robo (his real name), decided to ride down to Goa on his bike, Dhanno.</div>
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Robo's purpose for the Goa trip was not religious. He had a top-secret and a super-sensitive mission: rendezvous with his then girlfriend there, who was flying in from Delhi. Now, Robo is a Delhi-Punjabi army-kid with a demeanor of a British bourgeois and the thoroughness of a German, and needless to say, he loves his bike and loves riding. All these traits can be summarized by the following graphic.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASKXQe8QvQp0ZHJ7lTlaQ4BtRd6r5PrbexVcw_9mZ8YE8S0c5NzHwh7rhpRYwHjj1bVrTWPT8hkBkwFZXgNYW6KePa3nmaCzRScuQDqFojxVjUTCmmFii2-0m8GQgW_K_uRDAMxXzByg/s1600/IMG_20160123_151510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhASKXQe8QvQp0ZHJ7lTlaQ4BtRd6r5PrbexVcw_9mZ8YE8S0c5NzHwh7rhpRYwHjj1bVrTWPT8hkBkwFZXgNYW6KePa3nmaCzRScuQDqFojxVjUTCmmFii2-0m8GQgW_K_uRDAMxXzByg/s1600/IMG_20160123_151510.jpg" /></a></div>
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This bachelor-pad of a setup, however, is from a different trip and, personally, I would have loved to be a pillion on that piece of opulence.</div>
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Coming back to the this road-trip, we planned the following route: start off from Indiranagar in the evening by 1800 hours, take the Tumkuru road and follow the NH 48 (formerly NH 4) to reach Chitradurga by 2300 hours, where we would crash for the night. Then early next morning we would start the drive upto Hubli, take the Ghat roads to Ponda, and merrily reach Baga by afternoon.</div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">Of course, such plans tend to unfold a bit differently.</span><br />
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We started off early enough at 7pm, and drove right into Bangalore's legendary evening rush-hour traffic. As it was a Friday heading into a long weekend, that day the traffic-mire was especially fantastic. That's one of the features of living in Bangalore: to take a break from the city on special occasions means thoroughly earning it by crawling through endless jams, pot holes and smoke till the city limit. It took us over two hours to reach Yashwantpur, even though we tried to bypass the city center via Outer Ring Road. We finally tasted freedom after the Tumkur Flyover at 2130 hrs.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI3cfSsreHlouK4Zo776ciY0W2ahxyj_Cn7J4523nErcqp-1Dd1abzqv5K8r9HisSGeT5Hv9thS6OiR-swlg5mBbJ8atEBZ3H3pV_HP6SjStbss5ZuyNrWtfEQ0G82MfwCYcYO98wH3hc/s1600/DSC_0013+%25282%2529-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI3cfSsreHlouK4Zo776ciY0W2ahxyj_Cn7J4523nErcqp-1Dd1abzqv5K8r9HisSGeT5Hv9thS6OiR-swlg5mBbJ8atEBZ3H3pV_HP6SjStbss5ZuyNrWtfEQ0G82MfwCYcYO98wH3hc/s1600/DSC_0013+%25282%2529-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJreM7HpQonGTMBZHphzZXPz9rgEmBxnEdSpSAK0CPqb9crEJVJIz9SLJUoiEgUMOVHDa6BDZtH7fmyhu-MO4_bARaG8e27xdrIn-wjmB1J3dL6TyxXQ8x9vYysLKjTDr8ORs-hcz9M6I/s1600/DSC_0018+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJreM7HpQonGTMBZHphzZXPz9rgEmBxnEdSpSAK0CPqb9crEJVJIz9SLJUoiEgUMOVHDa6BDZtH7fmyhu-MO4_bARaG8e27xdrIn-wjmB1J3dL6TyxXQ8x9vYysLKjTDr8ORs-hcz9M6I/s1600/DSC_0018+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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We reached the town of Chitradurga at 0100 hrs, and had a late dinner and tried to get some sleep. Note that 'tried' is the key word here, I don't remember sleeping at all. The hotel was called Amoga, a clean and comfortable place with a helpful staff, which managed to get us food in the dead of the night.</div>
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Next day we actually did manage to wake-up early morning at 0700 hours. Gracing the view from the window was the famous <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chitradurga_Fort" target="_blank">Chitradurga Fort</a>, looking over the town through the morning mist.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-SZuscMqqryWemSKzro1Sw9KZIRIW1mvDHZYoiqUfetGtab6x_OB86xT8K-kMzpk0LRwE4Ek1DrpQw0LNFXseH9vjS3YasUIwMPZmam7iwZcjJ6EGHlKHi7KPZsBacKJQwOSYHW6ZFU/s1600/DSC_0031+%25282%2529-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1417" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM-SZuscMqqryWemSKzro1Sw9KZIRIW1mvDHZYoiqUfetGtab6x_OB86xT8K-kMzpk0LRwE4Ek1DrpQw0LNFXseH9vjS3YasUIwMPZmam7iwZcjJ6EGHlKHi7KPZsBacKJQwOSYHW6ZFU/s1600/DSC_0031+%25282%2529-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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I did not know this at that time, but this fort is supposed to be of great historical and architectural significance, with several folklores and legends built around it. One such legend is that of <a href="http://www.rejectedprincesses.com/princesses/onake-obavva" target="_blank">Onake Obava</a>, a common soldiers wife who defended the fort single-handedly, during which she killed scores of enemy soldiers, one-by-one, with a wooden club. She has since been considered a champion of the kannadigas, both locally and state-wide.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.rejectedprincesses.com/princesses/onake-obavva" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="560" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzm6WB2Z0UJaQvb42UGVHphUUVmzIP3k38b8W8OdFqOr55WNeVmV6qzIdVaxIMi0F4Av_JndOQTTfNNCUOklQVvMbHuO5t70b1z2ioRbHCfm_E0M8A9o-tE0nzL4a-Oi3qiADB-o_EjQI/s1600/onakeobavva-560x792.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: http://www.rejectedprincesses.com</td></tr>
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Incidentally, those soldiers belonged to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyder_Ali" target="_blank">Hyder Ali</a> (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tipu_Sultan" target="_blank">Tipu Sultan's</a> father), who attacked the fort three times over a span of twenty years, and third time was the charm. More on this landmark soon in a future post.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tile artwork inside Hotel Amoga</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-drJqNQTZLALJNp3vekERDc5S_iH1_30TE1Pc6psbQlmteepEYRzgdNfRLvyl0uiy0mS93p1R4wyPKbmcpdJ2b0FbGOnb_a1GT6BzejBzuBjDgh-HjiWarnKklQpcOBHqQywZKXpfpdU/s1600/DSC_0040+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1529" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-drJqNQTZLALJNp3vekERDc5S_iH1_30TE1Pc6psbQlmteepEYRzgdNfRLvyl0uiy0mS93p1R4wyPKbmcpdJ2b0FbGOnb_a1GT6BzejBzuBjDgh-HjiWarnKklQpcOBHqQywZKXpfpdU/s1600/DSC_0040+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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By 0740 hrs we were back on the road and decided to have a quick breakfast at a small food shack next to a toll-stop. We ordered chaklis, chilli bhajji (pakodas) and something called rice bhath.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The paradoxical bhaath bhaath </td></tr>
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The dish in itself was straight forward, boiled rice with a few vegetables, and quite literally, all the spices in the world. But it is the name that bothered me the most. Bhaath translates to rice locally, so what we were having was "rice rice". What the fuck is that supposed to mean? It's question that still keeps me awake some nights.</div>
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We set off again. Now heavy with rice and wondering about rice<sup>2</sup>, and also very much deprived of sleep, I managed to doze off while riding pillion. That's the first and only time I have done that. It helped greatly that I was wedged comfortably between the rider and the luggage, and the road was smooth and straight throughout the National Highway. The gush of the wind was like music and Dhanno's constant low RPM thump provided the rhythm.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisCQbIL0jJEHRzfagHTWrZ8G6bnkp47S2FSZ6f8Ln9DZsXS_79xXj0kIzDrX6C58YQybw2eXp0RSnAzFlXohhd4BGlX4FOnf2B4M0UtfLe3s6luQ1c9H_2IfquBdbqL4f8KP2PGcL9-t8/s1600/DSC_0054+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1137" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisCQbIL0jJEHRzfagHTWrZ8G6bnkp47S2FSZ6f8Ln9DZsXS_79xXj0kIzDrX6C58YQybw2eXp0RSnAzFlXohhd4BGlX4FOnf2B4M0UtfLe3s6luQ1c9H_2IfquBdbqL4f8KP2PGcL9-t8/s1600/DSC_0054+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meanwhile there were demonstrations of the festive season throughout</td></tr>
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We must have been a sight for the on lookers. Two huge guys carrying heaps of luggage on a Bullet. All included, it added up to almost half a tonne of metal and mass. We were a mountain rolling down the road. And carrying it all on two wheels was this old-school iron work-horse. I feel that's an apt way to describe the bike. Unlike all the juvenile Bullets out there (and now everywhere), flashing around their shiny new <a href="http://www.indiancarsbikes.in/motorcycles/royal-enfield-unit-constructionuce-engine-royal-enfield-cast-iron-ci-engine-34402/" target="_blank">UCE engines</a> and roaring and zipping around like there is no tomorrow, this bike has a cast iron, 499cc engine, belonging to the era of the <a href="http://www.investopedia.com/terms/t/the_greatest_generation.asp" target="_blank">Greatest Generation</a>. Its a design which has been around since 1950s and lasted all the way till 2007, a testament to the spectacular endurance and sustainability of the design, specially for the Indian environment.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQMTHMXlSSUZkLOnrA_Vv4rg7f3ljPb78dHt3sfyvQqO4wUay9zev4et0Y_dzznbiWcOF9M3WxfKRQp488NZZuDrij804tCq3xcTdNjTiu91q9YVPqzGQlTmcPE-AGcFy5JdpojnWUTY/s1600/DSC_0056+%25282%2529-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1218" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTQMTHMXlSSUZkLOnrA_Vv4rg7f3ljPb78dHt3sfyvQqO4wUay9zev4et0Y_dzznbiWcOF9M3WxfKRQp488NZZuDrij804tCq3xcTdNjTiu91q9YVPqzGQlTmcPE-AGcFy5JdpojnWUTY/s1600/DSC_0056+%25282%2529-3.jpg" /></a></div>
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Till this day, even in a plethora of highly advance, even state-of-the-art, machines readily available in the Indian market, the old Bullet still commands a large cult following. If you ask a die-hard 'why?', perhaps the only answer you will get is: 'feel'. Feel of the transmission, the engine, and especially, the feel of the iconic thump. And there is much more to the feel than just the tangible.</div>
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The love-affair between the bike and the rider has no parallel when it comes to the old Bullet. She becomes an indulgence and an obsession, where the owner keeps tweaking, tinkering and modifying the features and looks of the bike, forever pushing towards an ideal. On the flip side of this relationship, the rider has to frequently get down and dirty with the bike. Even <a href="http://royal-enfield.10950.n7.nabble.com/Hard-start-1998-350-Bullet-td2702.html" target="_blank">kick-starting</a> the bike involves a long foreplay with the compressor. It is said that any bulleteer worth his salt must be a proficient mechanic, and should be thorough with the workings of the machine. Bullet breakdowns and malfunctions are legendary. However, due to the simplicity of the classic design and the completely mechanical nature of the machine, most problems are easy to fix and it's rare that the bike actually fails you. The bullet is a tough mistress (and many love her for that), but at the end of the day, she makes you feel like a king.</div>
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Talking about random glitches . . .<br />
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We made a fuel stop outside Haveri where Robo showed me the tricky kick-start protocol of the bike, and the bike starting making pigeon sounds, literally! It was as if we had picked up some avian stowaways in the carburetor. This needed to be investigated, and lucky Robo knew the location of the only Enfield mechanic in a 100 km radius and he was right there in Haveri: Raju (+918095121770).</div>
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Now Enfield mechanics are a special breed. They specialize in Royal Enfield machines almost exclusively, and tackle problems that none other dare take up. Clearly, they are a precious resource. In a previous trip to Goa, Dhannno had succumbed to a jammed engine right around Haveri, and it was then that Robo discovered Raju. As jammed engines take weeks to fix the bike was at that garage for a long time, and Raju got to know Dhanno well. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWICybEFIsknIgU6i-9BFhiHO-vhy8pOIJmwFVo5z630OC31-UGse4y3oGcJSMwz1IYOXG6Od6DRe0qG8iislJfufvJA2RC8mxVERG7Qma0Cg9Hx-W9MENCKONP8FPRSC8feqNwQluuyw/s1600/DSC_0064+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWICybEFIsknIgU6i-9BFhiHO-vhy8pOIJmwFVo5z630OC31-UGse4y3oGcJSMwz1IYOXG6Od6DRe0qG8iislJfufvJA2RC8mxVERG7Qma0Cg9Hx-W9MENCKONP8FPRSC8feqNwQluuyw/s1600/DSC_0064+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">The stuck-pigeon-syndrome turned out to be a leaky gasket, nothing serious, but we had to wait around at Raju's garage while he source a replacement seal. We had a quick lunch there and heard stories from Raju's life. He told us about a stray dog that lives in the garage and is taken care of by him and him crew. The dog is free to roam around the streets and frequently got into vicious fights with the other strays. He looked pretty roughed up that day too, with several wounds and big patches of fur missing. Raju was used to fixing him up after such events. In his turn, the dog, fiercely guarded the garage at nights. Raju recounted how a few months back some thieves had broken in and were thwarted by this brave and scrawny canine. He even warned us to not to interact with him, as the hound was loyal only to the garage crew. But, the way those two were wrestling, it was hard to imagine the him to be dangerous at all. </span></div>
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We set off again at 1300 hours. The gasket's broken rubber had delayed us by at least two hours.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgKDmkspC2fRnOOkxriAAumOi__evPh-RYz-LupJit-JQ2eNhTiK0z5diYWWUxGB6P_Cmv3y5UBLCvp806oLtV7TPjOHeJrG9fmoh_Svv0vrN-rwYqpPY4bzSOp188Dw6bj9HsFfhRNs/s1600/DSC_0068+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhgKDmkspC2fRnOOkxriAAumOi__evPh-RYz-LupJit-JQ2eNhTiK0z5diYWWUxGB6P_Cmv3y5UBLCvp806oLtV7TPjOHeJrG9fmoh_Svv0vrN-rwYqpPY4bzSOp188Dw6bj9HsFfhRNs/s1600/DSC_0068+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div>
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We followed the National Highway till the outskirts of Dharwad, and took the bypass road to take the State Highway 34 connecting to Ponda. This is where the roads got interesting. Karnataka state highways were a far cry from the National Highways. They were two-lane and two way road, with large sections of them under construction at that point, and thus, were mostly rubble. They also went through mostly rural areas, crossing through villages and farmland. The road was also going uphill wit mellow curves, leading into the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_Ghats" target="_blank">Western Ghats</a>. </div>
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It's on this road that I got to ride the vintage Bullet for the first time, and it was a challenge to say the least. Unlike all the bikes I had ridden so far, this one had the breaks and gear paddle in the right and left side respectively. My biggest battle was that with my muscle memory, where I was hitting the gear shift instead of the break. The second challenge was to get used to the bike four speed system, instead of the five speeds I had become used to for such heavy bikes. This proved especially tricky because there did not seem to be an overlap between the third and the fourth gears. The bike seemed to be in no-mans-land at the speed of 50. Moreover the clutch handle of the bike was way tougher than any I was used to. My hand started aching within 10 minutes of riding. And, lastly and significantly, this was the heaviest two wheeler setup I had ever handled, and that too through the curving Ghat roads. I was riding a mountain over the hills. </div>
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I made a few false starts and several hiccups. The bike sputter and jerked along for the next half an hour, but I did get a hang of the machine. </div>
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At around 1630 hours we stopped for tea at a road side shack, where I had an interesting photography session. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUX_ntSttAYKIDaMdZ9ZmzKiYdojoXQkVkpoF-QV04eKC_qrz4zaPLcKzkiidCPqyAuJsK-v9kdN4cVeH9uFZ7cGUhCGFYq0fLC85F3t9FyOxaX-g2wQip6mNB1VTJb_MRfMVSK8NzUfY/s1600/DSC_0118+%25282%2529-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1016" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUX_ntSttAYKIDaMdZ9ZmzKiYdojoXQkVkpoF-QV04eKC_qrz4zaPLcKzkiidCPqyAuJsK-v9kdN4cVeH9uFZ7cGUhCGFYq0fLC85F3t9FyOxaX-g2wQip6mNB1VTJb_MRfMVSK8NzUfY/s1600/DSC_0118+%25282%2529-2.jpg" /></a></div>
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and yeah, a couple of curious kids joined in the fun. They belonged to the shack owner I assume.<br />
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After a half hour break, we started off again. Robo offered to ride as the roads were more difficult further uphill. This is a heavily forested region in the Ghats surrounded with wildlife sanctuaries. This was simultaneously, the worst and the best section of the entire trip. It was bad because of the condition of the roads. There were huge ditches which could swallow an SUV, there was loose gravel everywhere, which made curves pretty dangerous. Also, there is usually some amount traffic in this section, which is relatively heavy for two-lane road full of potholes.</div>
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Of course, all that did not matter; all roadies are nuts for riding on hilly curves. Moreover, we were surrounded by lush forests and it was close to sunset, the glorious <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_hour_(photography)" target="_blank">Golden Hour</a>. I sat pillion with my camera while Dhanno rumbled on. </div>
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We saw several Bullet gangs on these roads as well. It was good to ride a while with comrades.</div>
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As we started our decent down the ghats, the quality of the roads changed, dramatically. They were smooth with stable ledge fences and free of pot holes. We had entered Goa. This coincided right along with the sunset and it was magnificent.</div>
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I took the handle of bike again after the Ghats. Somehow, I was more confident this time around, but still made some mistakes. How do I override my own muscle memory? The trick to quickly learn any new machine or activity is, again, in the 'feel' of it. The more one tries to consciously micro-control their actions and that of the machine, the more difficult the whole learning process gets. The idea is to add layers and encapsulate different sequences of actions step-by-step, and eventually treat at the whole experience wholistically.</div>
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Take the case of this bike for an example. The first step is to be able to balance the huge monster. Second, is shifting gears at the right time, hitting the right side paddle. Third, to slow down with the break paddle on the left. After making my self thorough with the minutia, and while I was struggling with the reversed controls, I told myself: don't do think about the details, treat it as a single action, and most importantly, become a part of the machine, a part of the system.Then my instincts changed and somehow I automatically knew controls, and did not have constantly keep reminding myself. Eventually, I and the bike were riding as a single entity, rather than me trying to control her. The movement was guided singularly with my mind rather than individual parts, just like walking. This is how I like to visualize driving or riding or any new physical activity. It provides me with extra brain cells to deal with other problems, like the ubiquitous Goan traffic in this case. <br />
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It's always a pleasure traveling through Goa. Good clean roads, green hills, back waters and beaches, a mix of Konkani and Portugese culture and carefree locals following their moto of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Susegad" target="_blank">susegad</a>. The most over-whelming thing about driving through Goa are the fantastic colors the buildings flaunt, something only the Goans can pull off. </div>
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Another noticeable feature about Goa is the sheer amount of development the state has undergone. The state is densely populated, but it still seems well organized. There are buildings and construction projects everywhere, and it is rare to see long open stretches of empty land. In fact the most of North Goa can be construed as one big urban area. </div>
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We reached <a href="https://www.google.co.in/search?q=panjim&rlz=1C1GGRV_enIN751IN751&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjPhI-56LPWAhUJSY8KHa23DWIQ_AUICygC&biw=1455&bih=655" target="_blank">Panjim</a> after dark. We crossed the spectacular <a href="https://www.google.co.in/search?q=mandovi+bridge&rlz=1C1GGRV_enIN751IN751&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwihkpvW6LPWAhXCPY8KHWzGAPUQ_AUIDCgD&biw=1455&bih=655" target="_blank">Mandovi bridge</a> and soaked in the breathtaking lights of the <a href="https://in.pinterest.com/pin/305048574740193797/" target="_blank">Panjim harbour</a>, where the river meets the Arabian Sea (no pictures of this, unfortunately). This city is one of the most beautiful in the country and shall be covered in a future post.</div>
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An hour later the ride was concluded at our hotel in Baga. I must say, I was pretty proud of myself for being able to handle Dhanno, and was on a high as well. We had reached the Holy Land, and celebrated with the vintage ritual of downing a carton Kings Beer, and all the while, reliving the joy of the ride and the 'feel' of the machine which brought us here. </div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-54159084809173807212017-06-26T00:26:00.002+05:302017-06-27T15:31:59.224+05:30Where Goats Dare: Mekedatu <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The <a href="http://k-khanabadosh.blogspot.in/2013/02/kaveri-stretch-bheemeshwari.html" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Kaveri river</a> has many attractions
lined up, all within half a day's ride from Bangalore. Mekedatu is one such
curiosity, all but a 100 km one way. Like <a href="http://k-khanabadosh.blogspot.in/2013/02/kaveri-stretch-bheemeshwari.html" style="text-align: justify;" target="_blank">Bheemeshwari</a>, Shivasamudram and other
Kaveri hotspots, Mekedatu is connected via the Kanakpura road, which from my
experience is quite enjoyable (given the traffic is moderately sane and there
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So with another Sunday to kill,
two of us head out for a ride through South Karnataka country side to pay
another visit to Ma Kaveri, and to check out what this deal with the goats is
all about.<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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The rides this time were two Royal Enfield Bullets: T-Bone (my Classic 350) and Dhanno (Standard 500).</div>
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Dhanno is an 2005 model Bullet, with an iron cast engine and four gears with the shift on the right side. Basically, she is a Bullet from the old school and one of the last of her kind. More about her in the next post. </div>
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We started in at around 12 noon on the usual route with the usual conditions: Mysore road, which was completely jammed; NICE road, which liberated us from the city and; Kanakpura road which was, as usual, completely crazy but thankfully not gridlocked.</div>
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What I like about the Kanakpura highway is the winding roads through the villages and the country, with lush green canopies on both sides. There are scattered hills and lakes which add to the scenery. The road itself is a National Highway (no. 209) which is pretty well built, and at least till the time of writing this piece was free of ditches and pot holes. However, as its just a two-lane road full of curves and fast traffic, commuters need to be vigilant. </div>
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After reaching the town of Kanakpura we take the rural road which leads to Sangam. This section of the road is narrow and isolated and runs through dry fields. There is a certain charm here which makes this my favorite section of the route to ride on. It's like a crossover between the Wild-West and the Savannah. </div>
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Finally we make it to Sangama, which literally is the confluence of the rivers Arkavati and Kaveri.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="450" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m30!1m12!1m3!1d15594.43072788145!2d77.43125722780412!3d12.274806911050089!2m3!1f0!2f0!3f0!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!4m15!3e0!4m5!1s0x3baeee56dbbdcadf%3A0x70e16a30e75a7324!2sSangama+Mekedatu+River+Crossing%2C+Kanakapura-Sangam+Road%2C+Mugguru+Forest%2C+Karnataka!3m2!1d12.287937699999999!2d77.4321614!4m3!3m2!1d12.287853499999999!2d77.43421239999999!4m3!3m2!1d12.258010599999999!2d77.4482369!5e0!3m2!1sen!2sin!4v1498318065686" style="border: 0;" width="600"></iframe>
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This is a public location, developed by the government of Karnataka, with facilities and a resort. Also there are a lot of food vendors around, the specialty here being fresh water fish fried in burning red spices. </div>
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The sheer number of tourist scattered here was shocking given the remoteness of the location. And of course, the garbage around was proportional to the number of people. </div>
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There were ominous signs everywhere for the adventurous kind. This one for some reason reminded me of Sharknado:</div>
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The confluence itself is a shallow and rather broad stretch of water, which it turned out, you have to cross, and travel another 4 kilometers, via bus or foot, to reach the super goat territory that is the Mekedatu gorge. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdms-c148TsbIKIlT94jU9uZKzq6q6tfYSyy9AxViQHFNo0lCgc4JU8u4SRMlKGJRboGDxxaDAKUSSiAK2LrB1Jn5ka7K0PDvPpULMUmydtmVTlqemqpCfjP0K9sAA-QkONZAa6pOHhow/s1600/DSC_0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="975" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdms-c148TsbIKIlT94jU9uZKzq6q6tfYSyy9AxViQHFNo0lCgc4JU8u4SRMlKGJRboGDxxaDAKUSSiAK2LrB1Jn5ka7K0PDvPpULMUmydtmVTlqemqpCfjP0K9sAA-QkONZAa6pOHhow/s1600/DSC_0048.jpg" /></a></div>
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Mekedatu literally means 'goat's leap' in Kannada. Legend has it that long ago some herdsmen saw a goat leap across the the gorge to escape a tiger. Hence, the place was dubbed as such. My take on the whole thing is that those locals must have been smoking something holy, because another version of the myth says that the goat was Shiva himself. Still, why would the mighty Lord Shiva have to escape a tiger? Unless the predator was his wife, and he was caught doing something she disapproved of.</div>
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Funnily, I don't actually remember seeing any semblance of goats there, not counting this one trying to cosplay.</div>
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As it was the end of the dry season, the gorge and the river did not have much water. In any case all visitors are strongly advised extreme caution, as the edges are slippery and the falling into the rapids below would be lethal, and there are no divine goats around to rescue you.</div>
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Mekedatu is located deep inside a wild-life sanctuary, and we had a nice evening stroll on a forest trail parallel to the river. . .</div>
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. . . while keeping an eye out for trouble.<br />
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After some time we took the last bus back to Sangam, just in time for the sunset. The place looked much more serene now that most of the tourist had gone home and the residents were wrapping up their day. </div>
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It was time now for us to head back home to Bangalore, bidding adieu Kaveri and her legends. We reached Kanakpura after dark which meant heavy traffic going back home, but nothing we weren't prepared for.<br />
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All in a day's work. </div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-37572624938149503982017-06-21T01:25:00.003+05:302020-01-22T02:39:50.245+05:30The Enlightened One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNrTnYirNLdN5RooZtli2dD6fDaMB2ZXjc8ZRXSmk3LFdzeOQWRgfjVskYICkVOHBOdvuKVnIHgm_wxpDdO1YJSa4DzgH2DQFV7uLa1H0dfXCFL_VEIB_4QMC_Uxwo7vrhnVXZHzcyGVw/s1600/12309558_959650784120028_8800234684744240398_o-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNrTnYirNLdN5RooZtli2dD6fDaMB2ZXjc8ZRXSmk3LFdzeOQWRgfjVskYICkVOHBOdvuKVnIHgm_wxpDdO1YJSa4DzgH2DQFV7uLa1H0dfXCFL_VEIB_4QMC_Uxwo7vrhnVXZHzcyGVw/s1600/12309558_959650784120028_8800234684744240398_o-2.jpg" width="550" /></a></div>
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The one who is free from the mire</div>
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The one who has forsaken desire</div>
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The one who is apart from the mass</div>
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and does not need a league or a class</div>
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The one who has risen from the dark side of life</div>
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and shines on a hill built of wisdom and strife </div>
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A beacon for the hurt, weak and the frightened</div>
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that is the one who is Enlightened<br />
---</div>
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<i>-- khanabadosh</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
[Shot in Namdroling Monastery, Bylakuppe]</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-5166180685999798392017-06-14T18:56:00.000+05:302018-12-30T20:04:00.856+05:30Smokestack Lightnin'<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Ah oh, smokestack lightnin'</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Shinin' just like gold</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">Why don't ya hear me cryin'?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;">A whoo hoo, whoo hoo, whoo</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">--- The Howlin Wolf</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;">[Shot from my apartment in Bangalore]</span></div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-47972926212889824322017-05-23T19:57:00.000+05:302018-12-30T20:05:15.105+05:30Eventide<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4T4jO3ljWsgchDDipaBJWUD3Y__5mZrHtgvqYspxah_frmncUa_YG08KR3m_1cA2cJct7ThJwjeBh5HgRXIwD9NUTbeUlYpm4wiu9onkpZLTN7olUvZI2Vmb6iS4eMO4AGtd1s4dChSU/s1600/DSC_0787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4T4jO3ljWsgchDDipaBJWUD3Y__5mZrHtgvqYspxah_frmncUa_YG08KR3m_1cA2cJct7ThJwjeBh5HgRXIwD9NUTbeUlYpm4wiu9onkpZLTN7olUvZI2Vmb6iS4eMO4AGtd1s4dChSU/s1600/DSC_0787.JPG" /></a></div>
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"That's all folks!", said the day,</div>
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"now, please let your shadows lead the way."<br />
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-- Khanabadosh</div>
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[Shot at Mysore, during Dussera]</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-88582792574917704582016-11-24T00:45:00.001+05:302018-12-30T20:06:09.182+05:30Blue Haven<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The magnitude, the mystery or the myths and fables,<br />
or is it just the longing to seek our cradles?<br />
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-- Khanabadosh</div>
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[Shot in Palolem, Goa]</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-70396194975191410042016-11-23T00:04:00.003+05:302018-12-30T20:07:13.799+05:30The Terminus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Silent they stand, waiting to depart,</div>
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For most the night is ending, for some its just the start.<br />
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-- Khanabadosh</div>
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[Shot while driving around Delhi at night]</div>
- - -<br />
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-49663264767272357862013-03-06T15:59:00.001+05:302017-05-23T16:56:56.222+05:30Entropy: Life of Mojo<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i><br /></i>
<i>It started as a facebook status and turned in to a rap battle. Several sources gave in awesome impromptu inputs and we had a poem with a theme et .al.. </i><br />
<i>Presenting the Poets of the Wall: Kartik, Mojo, DG, Tinku and Rohu.</i><br />
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<a name='more'></a><br />
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<b><i>kartik</i></b><br />
A rage and a wrath with a searing light<br />
The mind turns dark and the heart burns white<br />
The soul frets intensely for sense and reason<br />
But were it wiser, it would break for freedom<br />
<br />
<b><i>mojo</i></b><br />
Having said that Kartik said ' let me break free <br />
Like the yellowed leaf falls off deciduous tree<br />
Of the great Mojo, guidance I must seek<br />
Where is he ? <br />
Can he be found ?<br />
I cannot think, my mind infinitely weak<br />
If you ever find him, tell me where to go<br />
before I am chained again and bound to the worldly flow<br />
say nothing against him, that would be treason<br />
he is to show me the way to divine sense and reason<br />
<br />
<b><i>kartik</i></b><br />
And I finally found him, he was holding an axe<br />
Greasy hair, yellow teeth and his eyes were like sacks<br />
He passes me a joint, said "smoke up on this,"<br />
"sit down, chill, I will show you the way to bliss"<b><i> </i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>dg</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He will tell you about the doorway to heaven<br />
And will explain you to be cautious while you travel<br />
As you may find the dangerous creature on the way<br />
To whom he,the great Mojo, himself has fallen prey<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>FYI: Mojo was actually bitten by a dog once.</i></div>
<br />
<b><i>mojo</i></b> </div>
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Okay I have serious doubts about that<br />
how could I have fallen prey,<br />
if I am here writing what I am writing <br />
on Kartik's facebook wall today?<br />
<br />
<b><i>kartik</i></b><br />
Agreed, the creature came down as Mojo's bane,<br />
But alas, it caused the beast the greater pain.<br />
Our guru here thought he was still happy and merry,<br />
Perhaps he has not yet realized, that he has gone crazy.<br />
<br />
<b><i>mojo</i></b><br />
Contradiction is thy bane <br />
Kartik....am I the one who is insane?<br />
With me having inflicted the greater pain<br />
the beast still gets to be the bane!!!! <br />
I am happy and merry too<br />
more so with a bottle of beer or two<br />
but crazy? no no! <br />
I'm far from that, the master of sanity<br />
I'm very humble too, not saying out of vanity<br />
<br />
<b><i>kartik</i></b><br />
Its amazing how these battles unfold,<br />
There are only victims, no one takes the gold.<br />
the beast left toothless and mojo left insane,<br />
its a moot point to argue who was who's bane.<br />
It seems he what he lost there was more than his mind,<br />
he also lost his identity, and left his memory behind.<br />
he claims he came face to face with Hades,<br />
And as proof, he shows the shots he got for rabies...<b><i> </i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>tinku</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
two chilled bottles and toke a flight<br />
Mojo seems so happy he gives a fright<br />
Tears behind the happy merry mask <br />
often escape the sight<br />
Those who weep in insanity <br />
often are the Masters of humble sanity <br />
so knows the quixotic knight<b><i> </i></b><br />
<br />
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<i>At this point, Rohu, a seasoned poet, was invited to join . . .</i></div>
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<br /></div>
<b><i>rohu</i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After the ides of March shalt pass my friend.. <br />
this warrior will not spare ant battle.. <br />
<br />
<b><i>kartik</i></b><br />
Oh, the dilemma when a hero joins the fray, <br />
do you fort the bastions or do you prepare the way...<br />
<br />
<b><i>mojo</i></b><br />
It seems that when I was away for a little while, <br />
they wrote and wrote in order to defile, <br />
the truth that must not be veiled with any falsity, <br />
that Mojo is indeed the epitome of sanity<br />
I retain my memory, identity, and mind<br />
Kartik your apalling distortions you must rescind,</div>
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Tinku's words are deep, so deep are they<br />
his thoughts took his mind quite astray<br />
His mind wanders, answers still not found<br />
I wonder if his mind would ever be homeward bound<br />
Kartik, let me answer the question you have chosen to ask<br />
it is no dilemma but an easy task<br />
but I think it is best to leave your quandary with you<br />
do solve it without creating much hullabaloo<br />
<br />
<b><i>kartik</i></b><br />
There you go again Mojo my friend,<br />
Standing your ground till the very end.<br />
But your tall claim is a paradox you see,<br />
"archetypically normal" what is that supposed to be?<br />
<br />
And even if you say you are sane and sound,<br />
your actions are contrary, words don't hold any ground<br />
<br />
You are in denial, don't fight this and don't sob,<br />
actually being normal and sensible just makes you a slob,<br />
Be glad we don't think of you as a mundane swab,<br />
Accept it, you are one of us, join our psycho mob!!<br />
<br />
<b><i>tinku</i></b><br />
Hullabaloo Hulabaloo tch tch YaY Yay<br />
undercurrent of negativity all the way<br />
Beep Beep Deep Sleep Hick Hick<br />
Is calling this a mob a petty trick<br />
Clap slap ching ming curd turd<br />
crowd of black sheep is still a herd!<br />
<br />
<b><i>kartik</i></b><br />
I can't match your profound expertise... <br />
can you repeat that in English please? </div>
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<i>-- potw</i><b> </b></div>
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<b>. . .</b></div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-3717274902546548922013-03-06T14:02:00.000+05:302017-05-25T17:29:53.084+05:30Keep Walking: The Climb<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Leaving far behind the placid plain,<br />
and standing there at the base of the range,<br />
Fully geared and ready on my feet,<br />
staring wide, straight at the peak.<br />
<br />
Home was warm and had everything I need.<br />
It was my playground, my school, my world indeed,<br />
and so it always will be, but this is my time,<br />
I stand here today 'cause I have a mountain to climb.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><b>. . .</b><br />
<br />
I start of my journey with an incredible high,<br />
My strides have vigor as I aim for the sky.<br />
The path carves out magically at my behest.<br />
and the nature too is at its colorful best.<br />
<br />
The pines of this boulevard reach a dizzying height. <br />
Through the clear blue heavens, the sun shines bright.<br />
The afar clouds and the snow caps are looking sublime,<br />
and that's where I'm heading, I have a mountain to climb.<br />
<br />
<b>. . .</b><br />
<br />
The breeze turns to blizzard, the paths are blind curves.<br />
Grit drives me onward as I dig for my reserves<br />
Been forging the assent for what feels like ages,<br />
and I've reached a place which belongs to the sages.<br />
<br />
There's singularity of thought, mind devoid of its clatters,<br />
Determining the next step, that's all that matters.<br />
The summit's not visible, neither the trail I left behind,<br />
All I can see is that I have a mountain to climb.<b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>. . .</b><br />
<br />
The eternity ends after many a night.</div>
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Now the dawn breaks and my apex is in sight.</div>
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Once Mt. Colossus, now remains just a hill.</div>
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All I feel are the cross-hairs as I shoot for the kill. </div>
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This last stretch is a sprint, and then finally, I stop.</div>
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Rapture. Then reflection, and it's a marvelous view from the top.</div>
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I look around and there's clarity, even in my soul.</div>
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My trail to my roots, here I see my world as a whole.</div>
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What next from here? Go back or go on further?</div>
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Now that I have scaled one, I will always want another.</div>
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To forge through the clouds and to bask in the shine.</div>
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I keep walking, I have mountains to climb.</div>
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<i>-- khanabadosh</i><br />
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<i><b> </b></i></div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-67075165471531235452013-02-07T05:23:00.002+05:302017-01-24T01:53:16.789+05:30Kaveri Stretch: Bheemeshwari<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It is the smallest of the major rivers in India, but waters of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaveri" target="_blank">Kaveri</a> (a.k.a Cauvery) have historically been the life blood for regions of the far South. The river, which is fabled to be an offspring of Brahma, has entire Hindu legends and mythologies based around it, and is venerated as a goddess. Some religious texts even deem it to be more sacred than the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ganges" target="_blank">Ganga</a>, and perhaps with a good reason. Kaveri, with its tributaries, has forever been the chief source of water in these parts. It has nurtured the Southern kingdoms since the Iron Age, seen their rise and fall and been an integral part of the culture and heritage here. Even today, Kaveri river system is the prime source of fresh water for two of the country's biggest states, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Karnataka" target="_blank">Karnataka</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tamil_Nadu" target="_blank">Tamil Nadu</a>, and has been the cause of a major geopolitical <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaveri_River_Water_Dispute" target="_blank">conflict</a> between the two states for over a century.</div>
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<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bangalore" target="_blank">Bangalore</a>, Karnataka's capital and the city where I currently reside, heavily depends on Kaveri for water and power. Living in Bangalore, one becomes fairly acquainted with the river and any issue or development related to it. But, the river itself passes a 100 kms away from the city, and I happened to first touch its banks on a road trip to Bheemeshwari.</div>
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<br />
<a name='more'></a>. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</div>
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It was <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Independence_Day_%28India%29" target="_blank">15th of August</a> and a day-off for most of us, and we decided to make the best use of it with a bike trip. Destination: <a href="http://www.mustseeindia.com/Bheemeshwari" target="_blank">Bheemeshwari</a>, a small settlement at the banks of Kaveri, famous as a tourist spot for boat rides, rafting, trekking and especially fishing. In fact, there is a government sponsored <a href="https://www.junglelodges.com/index.php/resorts/bheemeshwari-.html" target="_blank">fishing camp</a> at Bheemeshwari where <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mahseer" target="_blank">Mahseer</a> sport is the USP. We chose this camp as our actual destination point. </div>
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A group of five people rode out on four bikes: a <a href="https://www.bajajauto.com/avenger_key_features_style.asp" target="_blank">Bajaj Avenger</a>, a <a href="https://www.bajajauto.com/pulsar135ls_features_technology.asp" target="_blank">Bajaj Pulsar -135</a> and two <a href="https://www.yamaha-motor-india.com/product/fzs/index.html" target="_blank">Yamaha FZs</a> (one of which I was riding). We had breakfast in Koramangala, and started off. </div>
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The entire ride was brilliant. The first stretch was the 10 km ride on the <a href="https://www.blrelevated.co.in/" target="_blank">Bangalore Elevated Tollway</a> (BETL) to Electronics
City. The second stretch was a 14 km arc on <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bangalore%E2%80%93Mysore_Infrastructure_Corridor" target="_blank">NICE Road</a>, which again is a
wide segregated expressway, making a semi-circle around Bangalore.
Needless to say, we covered both these stretches in very good time. We got off at the Kanakapura road (NH 209) exit from NICE Road on
a 60 km long stretch. </div>
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The Kanakapura road was narrower and had heavy traffic. But the road was well built and fun to ride on
as we made fast cuts and curves through it. In the mean time, I was
really starting to like my FZ. Although lacking power
and speed, it more than made-up for that in balance and stability. Negotiating with
the heavy traffic on it was a breeze. And apparently, its just impossible to make a mistake on it, unless you
attempt something like a somersault that is. </div>
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The other bikes
weren't having such a great time though. The Avenger's engine stopped as
soon as we landed on the NH. After a brain storming session we
decided that looking for a mechanic would be the best way to go. We did
actually find one a kilometer down the road who helped us stow the bike
till his shop, where it got duly repaired (the problem was salt
sedimentation in the circuitry).<br />
<br />
By the way, Independence day celebrations were in full swing in the country side and were manifest in spirited colors.<br />
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We continued on the
highway up till Sathanur, where we were supposed to take a left on a
rural road. Here, I got separated from the rest of the pack due to a
communication gap (others had decided to stop there for a break) and the
total lack of phone signals. I simply continued on that rural road, through a
hilly ride, all the way up till the banks of the river Kaveri.</div>
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. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/97/Indiarivers.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/97/Indiarivers.png" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chief rivers of India. Source: wikipedia.com</td></tr>
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Kaveri is quite humble when compared to the greats in the North. It is 770 km long and its basin is 81,000 sq. km in area. In contrast, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Krishna_River" target="_blank">Krishan's</a> (it closest neighbor) respective numbers are 1,400 km and 250,000 sq. km, and those of the great Ganga are 2,500 km and 1 M sq. km. Moreover, it is a monsoon fed river, that means it doesn't have a constant source of replenishment like the Himalayan rivers. But, given its geographical isolation, this humble river has been shouldering and fulfilling the responsibility of feeding this entire region. Now when a resource is limited and the takers are many, it becomes precious and sacred, and sometimes even a cause of controversy and conflict. Which is the case with Kaveri.</div>
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The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaveri_River_Water_Dispute" target="_blank">Kaveri river water dispute</a> is one of the oldest and most famous conflicts in the country. If you are a Bangalore resident, it becomes all too real when you see political workers waving the state flag and enforcing a close-down of the city, all to voice their disagreement with whatever the courts have to say. The root of the conflict lies in the agreements which the British drafted long before India became independent.<br />
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At that time Karnataka used to be the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mysore_State" target="_blank">Princely State of Mysore</a> and Tamil Nadu used to be <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madras_Presidency" target="_blank">Madras Presidency</a>. According the original agreements, Mysore would have to seek Madras' consent for any major Kaveri related projects that it undertook, and also make sure that the latter's interests are not injured. Mysore was never content with this agreement. From their perspective, Madras belonged to the British Raj, and that they were heavily favored in this deal. On the other hand, Madras being <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Water_right" target="_blank">lower riparian</a> state was concerned about its water supply and was always vociferous in its demands. So, whenever Mysore started a new project, Madras would strongly oppose it and Delhi would be called in to arbitrate, new plans would be drawn and new rules would be applied. But the two states never would and never have come to an actual agreement on this issue and above sequence became a historic cycle.<br />
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Today, a hundred years later; Mysore has become Karnataka, Madras has become Tamil Nadu and India is an independent country, but the dispute is yet to be resolved. Even after several Chief Ministers and Prime Ministers, committees and court hearings, demonstrations and riots, and even new players getting involved (Kerala and Pondicherry also claim a right on a portion of Kaveri waters), the two states are still running around in circles. Tamil Nadu cries 'thief' and Karnataka cries 'foul' and Delhi is called in to make peace.<br />
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The simple and peaceful river bank at Bheemeshwari seemed far away from all this controversy. Several families had gathered to have a picnic and just chill-out on their day off. I kept riding upstream along the bank in search for my long lost group. It was a 10 km river road with hills on one side and a torrential river on the other.<br />
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After waiting and riding around for some time, I finally rediscovered my people at the gates of the fishing camp (IMPORTANT: You have to pre-book if you want to enter). We finally settled at an isolated spot down the road. It was right next to the river and had a welcome sign.<br />
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After a short break we started making our return journey via a slightly longer route. We stopped for lunch at Halaguru, where we had probably our best Kanadiga food experience ever. The restaurant was tiny, unassuming, almost invisible from the road and completely stuffed with people. But the service was prompt and friendly and the food was nothing like what you get in Bangalore. </div>
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After that, we continued our leisurely journey back home via the same road. We stopped a couple of times for tea later got drenched in the evening showers right after entering Bangalore. We reached Madiwala at dusk and concluded our day with an early dinner at an Arabic restaurant called Sea Shells. Before we all departed, plans for the next trip were already formulated, decided and committed. That weekend, we ended up at Kammenagundi near Chikmangalur . . . more on that in another post.</div>
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I have visited Kaveri a few times since then and also researched about it for the purposes of this blog. What I realized is, the more I learned about it, the more curious I became and the deeper I dug in. But, there was always more and more to discover. The river has a story, a history and a mythology. It has gods and legends associated with it and, of course, deep sentiments of the people attached to it. And all this, somehow, is profoundly imbibed in the stories of India herself. It gives a fresh perspective, both holistic and atomic, about this great country of mine.</div>
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More on Kaveri in later posts . . . </div>
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<b>. . .</b><br />
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-87431103863903236112013-01-30T04:55:00.002+05:302017-01-24T02:09:51.551+05:30Camping 101: Yelagiri Hills<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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So, how many techies does it take to setup a camp?<br />
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Five, apparently. Although it was dark and the terrain was rocky and the tents malfunctioned, but with sufficient intellect, motivational skills and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e2JDd9H-56o" target="_blank">YouTube</a>, it was a job well done in the end. Of course, food, water and firewood were provided by the resort we were put up at, and thank goodness, there was no wildlife, especially mosquitoes.<br />
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Me and a group of <a href="https://www.bollymeaning.com/2012/08/vella-velle-vela-vele-meaning.html" target="_blank"><i>vella</i> </a>friends had decided to go on a camping trip to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yelagiri" target="_blank">Yelagiri</a>, a small hill station in Tamil Nadu, around 200 km from Bangalore. The occasion was the birthday of a fellow aspiring camper. It was decided that we will do our experiments at the Aura Valley Resort (which allegedly is <a href="https://www.auravalley.com/aboutus.htm" target="_blank">a great place to come as you are</a>). Tents and sleeping bags were to be rented from a shop in Banashankari, Bangalore, everything else was to be taken care of by the resort folks.<br />
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<a name='more'></a>On the eve of the trip I found out that this was supposed to be a <i>bike</i> trip, and mine needed some desperate servicing if it was to make it through. Oil had not been changed for the last 5000 km, the rear break was non-functional, the battery was dead cold and all kinds of sounds were coming from all kinds of places. So, a couple of hours before we were to start off, I got everything (except the battery) reasonably fixed for the trip.<br />
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We took-off off from Koramangala at around 3 PM, five stragglers on three bikes; my Bullet, an Avenger and a Karizma. Our initial party consisted of eight people and four bikes, but three of them backed out due to unreasonable apprehensions and reasonable phobias.<br />
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<iframe frameborder="0" height="480" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=embed&saddr=Koramangala,+Bangalore,+Karnataka,+India&daddr=ORR+to:12.8497971,77.576377+to:Yelagiri,+Tamil+Nadu,+India&hl=en&geocode=FUhSxQAdqG2gBCkt_JjYThSuOzFWrgCMjvOBFg%3BFftNxQAdHTifBA%3BFYUSxAAdubifBCmr5r7dmWquOzHzrkY6rM8L1g%3BFf3yvwAdAvOvBCmPqu9juqqtOzE8ejNUXWpdVg&aq=0&oq=yel&sll=12.855318,77.636604&sspn=0.214219,0.363579&mra=dpe&mrsp=2&sz=12&via=2&ie=UTF8&t=p&ll=12.750195,78.104553&spn=1.285825,1.757812&z=9&output=embed" width="640"></iframe><br />
<small><a href="https://maps.google.com/maps?f=d&source=embed&saddr=Koramangala,+Bangalore,+Karnataka,+India&daddr=ORR+to:12.8497971,77.576377+to:Yelagiri,+Tamil+Nadu,+India&hl=en&geocode=FUhSxQAdqG2gBCkt_JjYThSuOzFWrgCMjvOBFg%3BFftNxQAdHTifBA%3BFYUSxAAdubifBCmr5r7dmWquOzHzrkY6rM8L1g%3BFf3yvwAdAvOvBCmPqu9juqqtOzE8ejNUXWpdVg&aq=0&oq=yel&sll=12.855318,77.636604&sspn=0.214219,0.363579&mra=dpe&mrsp=2&sz=12&via=2&ie=UTF8&t=p&ll=12.750195,78.104553&spn=1.285825,1.757812&z=9" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">View Larger Map</a></small></div>
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<small> </small>We started off in the opposite direction, to Banashankari, to pickup our tents and sleeping bags (and also some Indian wine and Scotch). Then we got on NICE Road, and circled around Bangalore to reach Electronics City, and finally crossed the state border to reach Hosur in Tamil Nadu at 6 PM.<br />
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One feature of this trip (and for that matter every other bike trip) was that the party members kept getting separated, no matter how much you tried to keep them together. We had all decided to stop in Hosur for tea, but only two bikes actually stopped. Lucky, we had earlier decided to stop and wait at the next major town, Krishnagiri, in case of such an event, and phones were working well in any case.<br />
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We actually did find each other again at Krishnagiri. After taking a quick break there, we continued. The state highway we were traveling on was generally comfortable, despite the fact that it was largely under construction. <br />
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We got separated and regrouped again after Nemili. It took us a while after that, before we figured out the rural road to Jolarpet (which itself happened to be blocked by a couple of huge sugarcane trucks). After crossing Hosur, not knowing Tamil becomes a big problem. We mainly
relied on sign language and instinct to understand directions the locals
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After crossing Jolarpet, we reached the foot of the hill. Our climb up to Yelagiri was an awesome ride through winding roads and it had a fantastic view night of the plains below. My bike, in spite of its dead battery, managed brighten up the road for the rest of the group. We reached the resort, which was in the middle of Yelagiri, at around 9 PM. <br />
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Yelagiri seemed like a typical remote colonial hill station, the kinds that you find in Himachal Pradesh. It has scattered with tourist resorts and local settlements, but it is largely a hilly woodland. Basically, a perfect peaceful weekend get-away. </div>
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The resort was something like a jungle lodge; put up in the middle of the forest, surrounded by huge trees and lakes and, apparently, some wildlife. Its rooms were like row houses and it had a small mess and an attached kitchen. It was generally nondescript except for some large empty plots of land, one of which we used as our camping site. </div>
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We were carrying two tents: <a href="https://www.decathlon.in/TENTS-T3-PLUS-TENT" target="_blank">Quechua tente T3 plus</a> and a <a href="https://www.decathlon.in/TENTS-T2-TENT-BLUE" target="_blank">T2</a> (and also <a href="https://www.decathlon.in/SLEEPING-BAGS-S15-ULTRALIGHT-LEFT" target="_blank">Quechua sleeping bags</a>). Setting up one of those is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2l_bQzAIwPk" target="_blank">not at all complicated</a>, but doing it for the first time can be tricky. It took us two attempts to get the tents up due to the rods getting switched and one of the chords getting snapped. I have had previous experiences of setting up tents, but those were a while back and this was like a refresher course for me. </div>
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Eventually, the tents were set, the resort staff brought in the firewood and we took out the wine. Food was prepared in the house and transported to our site (and it was actually pretty good). The camp site was now ready.<br />
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We proceeded to celebrate the achievement, and of course the birthday. There also happened to be a cake, which was ceremoniously lit up with candles (inside the nylon tent), cut, smeared and consumed. <br />
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It was a cool night; moonlit and starry. The sky was quite clear and streaks of cirrus clouds gave it a feathery texture. We stargazed for a while (with <a href="https://www.google.com/mobile/skymap/" target="_blank">Google Sky Map</a> for ready reference) and bragged about our knowledge on astronomy and other things.<br />
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We called it a night when the camp fire burned out.<br />
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Next morning we woke up around 9 AM and started to wind up the camp. Packing up a tent is not nearly as exciting as setting it up. Trying to fit that thing in its minute bag is a pain, that goes for the sleeping bags too. We collected all the containers and the garbage, and cleaned up the place. However, the food left over from the previous night had vanished (by what we hoped were dogs, and not something bigger). <br />
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We had freshened up and had breakfast at the the mess. We got to interact with the caretaker of the place and his family. They were a cheerful lot and were from Assam and they also owned a couple of Labrador pups. Power cuts were a major problem there through out our stay, and we weren't able to charge our cell phones.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkBIMJRhgKij41-LwOh86mYiwH4NRzyJYaCyF-wcewrcyc3FQtb2Sl8AO3j0KJbm8Oex9wbfv8eaEHzJHQ8Z1iKCoP-wk1KIBLR2jdj-J2kv8QKNwaavecoUD9WSBzz7X9yg4VNgI2E8/s1600/DSCN8608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkBIMJRhgKij41-LwOh86mYiwH4NRzyJYaCyF-wcewrcyc3FQtb2Sl8AO3j0KJbm8Oex9wbfv8eaEHzJHQ8Z1iKCoP-wk1KIBLR2jdj-J2kv8QKNwaavecoUD9WSBzz7X9yg4VNgI2E8/s1600/DSCN8608.JPG" /></a></div>
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We left for Bangalore at 11 AM. the highway, as it turned out, is quite scenic during the day time, but I was not able to fully appreciate it. We had already traveled 200 km the previous day and would have completed 400 km on reaching Bangalore, all within 24 hours, and we were starting to get uncomfortable on the bikes. On top of all this, I had a plane to catch that evening.<br />
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And then it happened again, 100 km into the ride we <i>all</i> got separated again. This time we did not even plan a meeting point and it seemed that everyone's phone was discharged by now. So, I did what seemed logical in the situation, I stopped at tea shops at every major town which came in the way. But no one showed up anywhere. So, I decided to go straight to the point where everyone would have to eventually show up; the rental shop in Banashankari, from where we had picked up the tents. <br />
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I reached Banashankari at around 3.30 PM after loosing my way a couple of times and traveling at least 20 km more in that process. I sat in a Dominoes opposite the rental shop, charged my phone and called up one of the friends to declare my position. Apparently, they had already reached the place, and to my surprise all the three bikes showed up at the place within a window of 20 minutes. We concluded this trip with a late lunch that same Dominoes.<br />
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After the lunch, I was launched into another, much grander journey; a pan North-India wedding-saga. And, it started with a race to the airport. I used all the my riding skills to negotiate with the ever-choked-up Bangalore traffic to reach home by 5:45 PM. Packed my luggage and boarded a taxi by 6:15. The driver then used all of his <i>certified-taxi-driver-skills</i> to get me to the airport by 7.15 PM, my flight was at 8.20. After all that had happened that day, I had actually reached on time. I sat in the plane and immediately dozed off and woke up just before I landed in Delhi.<br />
All this running around was but only a preface for what was to come in the next two week. That story continues in another post . . . </div>
<a href="https://goo.gl/maps/Q6CbK"> </a><br />
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<i><b>. . .</b></i></div>
<ul>
<li><i><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kartik_sh/sets/72157632645923342/" target="_blank">Flickr Set</a></i></li>
<li><i><a href="https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.387866411298471.91621.317456621672784&type=1" target="_blank">Facebook Album</a></i></li>
</ul>
</div>
</div>
khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-76561363150575375382013-01-17T23:14:00.000+05:302017-09-22T16:36:21.535+05:30The NH7 Road Trip: Bangalore to Hyderabad<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is how it started . . .<br />
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<i>Me: I need to go to Hyderabad.</i></div>
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<i>Friend: Go on your bike.</i></div>
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<i>Me: Yes, actually.</i></div>
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<i>Friend: Great, I will come too.</i></div>
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. . . and just like that, two weeks later we were on <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Highway_7_%28India%29" target="_blank">NH7</a>, riding a Bullet loaded with huge backpacks, cruising on a 600 km journey from <a href="http://goo.gl/maps/jy99i" target="_blank">Bangalore to Hyderabad</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8iYzrWRdT09k73GuW_i6YkpuCFxpY4y5MJk5QhqNhkXshf07uRolv_MDR18eP7nNl_TsKHP3Vfp_V4XklrdYLrVyRPHjRp7pInp7fy_9dm3rxqpGGzHOG9yXNdULoOfIC9ZhMnZIazQ/s1600/DSC_0584-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP8iYzrWRdT09k73GuW_i6YkpuCFxpY4y5MJk5QhqNhkXshf07uRolv_MDR18eP7nNl_TsKHP3Vfp_V4XklrdYLrVyRPHjRp7pInp7fy_9dm3rxqpGGzHOG9yXNdULoOfIC9ZhMnZIazQ/s1600/DSC_0584-001.JPG" /></a></div>
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<a name='more'></a>Here's the buildup. A friend of mine from my Master's, a Hyderabadi, was getting married on December 27, in Hyderabad. So I needed to be there, in Hyderabad. Another friend (my co-pilot for the trip), a Hyderabadi, wanted a break from Bangalore and go celebrate New Year's at home, in Hyderabad. As for me, I have practically been living with Hyderabadis for the past five years, and simply speaking, Hyderabadis never run out of things to say about their home town, Hyderabad. So, I have had quite an overdose on everything related to the city, but I never had actually been there. Here was a really good occasion for me to go visit . . . Hyderabad. </div>
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Talking about the bike, I had recently purchased a <a href="http://royalenfield.com/motorcycles/classic-350/" target="_blank">Royal Enfield Bullet Classic 350</a>. And that locomotive of a two-wheeler was demanding to be taken out where it belonged to, the wide open highway. The brilliantly laid out NH7 provided the perfect opportunity.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGcMmz_gkutb9lEJTeTl_PNfeeo5q4gL6IUskzkhyphenhyphen9_yStleCM6nxwpMP7C4K1w_WbggyVWSrBJ2jXotvIe42TpXgpxcQJOnBYuiU0r38nqd3PDXpCNniRoVBrRiVKd69csXD80GfYsI/s1600/DSC_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGcMmz_gkutb9lEJTeTl_PNfeeo5q4gL6IUskzkhyphenhyphen9_yStleCM6nxwpMP7C4K1w_WbggyVWSrBJ2jXotvIe42TpXgpxcQJOnBYuiU0r38nqd3PDXpCNniRoVBrRiVKd69csXD80GfYsI/s1600/DSC_0017.JPG" /></a></div>
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Now coming back to the journey . . .<br />
Here is the checklist:<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>One bike (duly serviced the previous day)</li>
<li>Two riders (one of them well fed and well rested, the other one hungover and sleep deprived)</li>
<li>Two helmets (one of them with a loose padding and without a visor) </li>
<li>Two backpacks (a week's worth of clothing for two in the first, and all kinds of electronics in the other)</li>
<li>Two jackets (a must if want to call yourself a biker)</li>
<li>Shades and night goggles (same as above) </li>
<li>A Bob Marley scarf and a muffler from Connaught Place (a great style statement)</li>
<li>Money (borrowed from another friend the night before) </li>
<li>Riding gloves (conveniently forgotten at home) </li>
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And here is the planned route:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="450" src="https://www.google.com/maps/embed?pb=!1m36!1m8!1m3!1d3943053.8996720864!2d78.035889!3d15.178180999999999!3m2!1i1024!2i768!4f13.1!4m25!3e0!4m5!1s0x3bae1670c9b44e6d%3A0xf8dfc3e8517e4fe0!2sBangalore%2C+Karnataka%2C+India!3m2!1d12.9715987!2d77.5945627!4m5!1s0x3bb14ac2e6404f37%3A0xb810d064e2ce70e8!2sAnantapur%2C+Andhra+Pradesh%2C+India!3m2!1d14.681887699999999!2d77.6005911!4m5!1s0x3bb5ddf506b7c6c9%3A0x19a7ac74f858d6f2!2sKurnool%2C+Andhra+Pradesh%2C+India!3m2!1d15.8281257!2d78.0372792!4m5!1s0x3bcb99daeaebd2c7%3A0xae93b78392bafbc2!2sHyderabad%2C+Andhra+Pradesh%2C+India!3m2!1d17.385044!2d78.486671!5e0!3m2!1sen!2s!4v1506077596437" style="border: 0;" width="600"></iframe>
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We left home off at 5 AM. These days Bangalore is covered in fog in early mornings during winters and that day wasn't an exception. We crossed the airport at 6 AM (we treat it as the city limit), and stopped at a <a href="http://goo.gl/maps/Blkch" target="_blank">Coffee Day</a> soon after for much needed espresso shots. Then we set out again, the trip now had officially started.</div>
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We decided to stop and take turns only after every 100 odd kilometers. Our first stop was at a Punjabi <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhaba" target="_blank"><i>dhaba</i></a> with a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sikh" target="_blank"><i>sardar</i></a> owner.<br />
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I can say this with good authority that every word of the last sentence makes for a pleasant shock if you are in Karnataka: a<i> dhaba</i>, a Punjabi<i> dhaba</i>, a <i>sardar</i> owner, they are rare, rarer and the rarest things respectively on the highways in these parts.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZN8mAaITTLGrjLDMZHee5YnA98AoCo7n64yMZBzh7sF97gpUEoXvTqZXEaW2ldzTcwDjmzimWnh3d1CjkMm2Q20dhb3FQiTj3Z53k6MtrL2inKmnmOSdo7iLCx13_k1kmQtaTQIYDS4E/s1600/DSC_0574.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZN8mAaITTLGrjLDMZHee5YnA98AoCo7n64yMZBzh7sF97gpUEoXvTqZXEaW2ldzTcwDjmzimWnh3d1CjkMm2Q20dhb3FQiTj3Z53k6MtrL2inKmnmOSdo7iLCx13_k1kmQtaTQIYDS4E/s1600/DSC_0574.JPG" width="199" /> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZJmhnjlDbIHTcH3Bj8mWoccqm6YaBrFu9bZ6pSQXWJpFEPm7Zwt-1O-xkZcECPD9deYx9F23BICrCVjGUSp6WoOhh6Wf2VWcQTlX_iK8XSZ2EfupkTO-7iuYnMN1tdcgmWAfZjtN9LQ/s1600/DSC_0564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZJmhnjlDbIHTcH3Bj8mWoccqm6YaBrFu9bZ6pSQXWJpFEPm7Zwt-1O-xkZcECPD9deYx9F23BICrCVjGUSp6WoOhh6Wf2VWcQTlX_iK8XSZ2EfupkTO-7iuYnMN1tdcgmWAfZjtN9LQ/s1600/DSC_0564.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anyways, we had some tea there, and also decided to tie the bigger backpack to the bike itself (a marvelous feat of engineering, I must add).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMYfsLs_WnJQ00OFmOmH_USQ6mF8MrOlU8JygB208S4VZg8nJeb4e8OP9FKA5qmubG3Da6A4VX3tIQWnQlbgbWcSN8VsUhtHjqvuuWrLzi-xX_FXrF_sxi_C2RPGcXw7ijZwFB9N6YLI/s1600/DSC_0588.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMMYfsLs_WnJQ00OFmOmH_USQ6mF8MrOlU8JygB208S4VZg8nJeb4e8OP9FKA5qmubG3Da6A4VX3tIQWnQlbgbWcSN8VsUhtHjqvuuWrLzi-xX_FXrF_sxi_C2RPGcXw7ijZwFB9N6YLI/s1600/DSC_0588.JPG" /></a></div>
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Continuing on the journey, we were greeted by a pleasant country side landscape; fields full of freshly cut crop and flocks of buffaloes grazing on what was left (some of them breaking off for freedom). Then there were rocky hills of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deccan_Plateau" target="_blank">Deccan</a> as we entered <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andhra_Pradesh" target="_blank">Andhra Pradesh</a> and scattered along these hills were very ancient looking ruins of forts and bulwarks. By the time we reached <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anantapur,_Andhra_Pradesh" target="_blank">Anantapur</a>, the sun had already crossed over our head. It marked the completion of <a href="http://goo.gl/maps/khYjM" target="_blank">a third</a> of the total journey.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigatJzGAnHRAtB5PpOQjCI-RLsux4MMp-01RrtB4W3W0KhSd7FHOf-o_UgfbviLSWmecnHu6eZmuiTmKoCcIqB1Njhy6noxI4junD-fS9JcpI8l2sNz3kLcp4o2Lexkk3V5Ypt5xKMJ5w/s1600/DSC_0600-002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigatJzGAnHRAtB5PpOQjCI-RLsux4MMp-01RrtB4W3W0KhSd7FHOf-o_UgfbviLSWmecnHu6eZmuiTmKoCcIqB1Njhy6noxI4junD-fS9JcpI8l2sNz3kLcp4o2Lexkk3V5Ypt5xKMJ5w/s1600/DSC_0600-002.JPG" /></a></div>
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Anantapur is notorious for its organized crime syndicates, (nationally made famous by the <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1664809/">Rakta Charitra</a> films). Adding to this flavor of the place, we did come across many <a href="http://www.telugudictionary.org/telugu_english.php?id=914"><i>annas</i></a> on bikes there who looked shady to say the least.</div>
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After we crossed Anantapur, we stopped for a lunch break. Again, it was a Punjabi <i>dhaba</i>, but the owner was Marathi this time. The food was good and the owner was friendly, plus, he also had a pet <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rottweiler" target="_blank">rottweiler</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhhCc2bYa5uchl6KTSbzX4rcPwLt3cPwmf36fH0tMoZzDuAO1WQcCP8EDQIdeae02cJvSkeA5VuQZis0RFQ85qd8MY9pctMsO7OWZsrVXblfCL4KzKhzVrUTbnkjadrMONytfdKeRaIM/s1600/DSC_0605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDhhCc2bYa5uchl6KTSbzX4rcPwLt3cPwmf36fH0tMoZzDuAO1WQcCP8EDQIdeae02cJvSkeA5VuQZis0RFQ85qd8MY9pctMsO7OWZsrVXblfCL4KzKhzVrUTbnkjadrMONytfdKeRaIM/s1600/DSC_0605.JPG" /></a></div>
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The second leg of our journey was uneventful. The road was smooth, the traffic was at its minimum and it was pleasantly warm and sunny. Everything was good except that riding for so long was taking a toll on our rear ends, and they were slowly but surely becoming a casualty of the trip. It was especially tough for whoever the pillion was, courtesy, the nominal rear seat that the Enfield guys have provided for Bullets as an afterthought. Regardless, we kept moving at a healthy cruising speed of 75 km/h on an average.We crossed <a href="http://goo.gl/maps/BWjkb" target="_blank">Kurnool</a> (marking the second thirds of the trip) at around 3.30 PM and made the final stop before the last stretch at 5 PM at a tea stall 100 km from Hyderabad.</div>
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By this time, we were really tired, our minds were blank and our butts were numb, but now the adrenaline was kicking in; we were on the final stretch of the trip, the last lap of the race, the finishing sprint of the marathon, and we could almost smell the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyderabadi_biriyani" target="_blank">biriyani</a> from there. The traffic increased considerably as we came closer and closer to <a href="http://goo.gl/maps/nfyxS" target="_blank">Shamshabad</a> (Hyderabad Airport area), but it was all a blur, it did not matter. And then we saw it: the magnificent Nehru Outer Ring Road (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Outer_Ring_Road,_Hyderabad" target="_blank">NORR</a>). Mission accomplished. We were now inside Hyderabad.</div>
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At the first sight, the Outer Ring Road looked like a feat of civil engineering, perhaps equaling the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yamuna_Expressway">Yamuna Expresswa</a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=9149892230973164171" target="_blank">y</a>. It was an elevated eight-lane highway complete with lighting, and ditches and barricades on the sides. It had huge elaborate branching junctions and the vehicles were going at at-least 100 km/h. It was beautiful. The sad part was, that two-wheelers were banned from riding on it. So, we had to take the by-lanes on the side to reach <a href="http://goo.gl/maps/LWeIg" target="_blank">Hitech City</a>.</div>
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When we finally reached Hyderabad City, me and the co-pilot, referring to the conversation at the top, are like: <i>mazaak mazaak me pahuch gaye yaar </i>(something on the lines of: <i>wasn't that supposed to be a joke dude</i>).</div>
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By the way, the bike, the Royal Enfield Bullet, the king of Indian roadsters, did not crib for a moment during the entire journey, and it was still sounding as if it had just done a stroll in the park. My respect for it had now increased exponentially.<br />
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The very first thing I did in Hyderabad was to go to <a href="http://paradisefoodcourt.com/" target="_blank">Paradise</a> and stuff myself with biriyani and chicken-65. I stayed in the city for a week, and whatever happened there belongs to another post. I do, however, want to mention here that the city won me over in that duration. Colorful people, awesome food, well developed infrastructure and a deep rooted heritage, it had everything that I look for in a city. </div>
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The return journey was a very different experience. The stay in Hyderabad had been very hectic and we were not in the mood to come back at all, let alone make that same journey on the bike again. But after considering other options we finally settled for a bike trip. And things started going wrong from the very start.</div>
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We woke up very late, 9 AM. Leisurely, we set out at 11 and reached the outskirts at 1 AM. From the past experience we thought a cushion for the pillion would be a good idea, but we were too lazy to look for one. We had run out of cash and we kept on forgetting to look for ATMs. The straps of the backpack we were carrying were starting to disintegrate and there was absolutely no cobbler or tailor to be found. Also, the cap of my camera got blown off to oblivion. The bike, however, had an oil change and was rumbling on, as good as ever.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrwEm0mmpL74MhfTFfL_HSyGy8lmmKfYs3FePxQRehDv3OPLoEj6_BfwGLLueYItxvEpawhRPTk_rzx-PeewOPJav7r-BvcXtzVIGV8CZOfHLit5wXch0yMcbg-oU2dGOhScroFbdXdGY/s1600/DSC_0371.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrwEm0mmpL74MhfTFfL_HSyGy8lmmKfYs3FePxQRehDv3OPLoEj6_BfwGLLueYItxvEpawhRPTk_rzx-PeewOPJav7r-BvcXtzVIGV8CZOfHLit5wXch0yMcbg-oU2dGOhScroFbdXdGY/s1600/DSC_0371.JPG" /></a></div>
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We made our first stop at a <a href="http://goo.gl/maps/gzEeh" target="_blank">drive-in</a> somewhere outside Shamshabad, we had a brunch there and continued. Our next stop was outside Kurnool at 5 PM, making that particular stretch the longest continuous ride that we did. At that time we thought we would be making an entry into Bangalore at around 11 PM, which later turned out to be a huge miscalculation. </div>
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A long night-ride was ahead of us, but we still were in that leisurely Hyderabadi mood. We actually stopped for a photo session with the bike at dusk. </div>
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We crossed Anantapaur at 8.30 PM. For us, this marked the end of civilization, all the way up till Bangalore. We tried looking for a place to have dinner, but could not find one that wasn't significantly shady. We forgot to refuel and to take out cash, again. </div>
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Here is our situation an hour after leaving Anantpur. We were in the middle of nowhere, we were hungry, we were almost out of cash, the bike was running in reserve, our seats were on fire and except for the occasional overtaking car/truck/bus, it was pitch dark.</div>
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But, the air was clean and the sky was clear and moonless, and the view of the night sky was just fabulous. For that reason, the whole ride was worth it. At around 10.30 PM, we saw a fiery red moon rising from the horizon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_FQtdGdriYnNzhPMYgirl6hzfwVvyartglMZdIw88zDCedyaGHUvC5KoIVuXL27Rc4F6EhBNGTTh0XnJF-YpTc7SpCbTfqHzkxb_rK5seE7fP68kcIISAWVj7XIPnwSOg6-ItrR_tl8/s1600/DSC_0598+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim_FQtdGdriYnNzhPMYgirl6hzfwVvyartglMZdIw88zDCedyaGHUvC5KoIVuXL27Rc4F6EhBNGTTh0XnJF-YpTc7SpCbTfqHzkxb_rK5seE7fP68kcIISAWVj7XIPnwSOg6-ItrR_tl8/s1600/DSC_0598+%25282%2529.JPG" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoGcMmz_gkutb9lEJTeTl_PNfeeo5q4gL6IUskzkhyphenhyphen9_yStleCM6nxwpMP7C4K1w_WbggyVWSrBJ2jXotvIe42TpXgpxcQJOnBYuiU0r38nqd3PDXpCNniRoVBrRiVKd69csXD80GfYsI/s1600/DSC_0017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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With the help of some scattered change and a God-sent fuel station, we now had enough petrol to carry us to Bangalore. But the endurance test was a long way from being over. Adding to everything else, the temperatures suddenly dropped 100 km form the city, and it was misty yet again. When we finally hit a huge speed breaker on the highway, we knew Bangalore was very close now. </div>
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Reaching the airport took us what seemed like an eternity. It was now 2 AM. We stopped there for much needed food and rest and warmth. We had a strong urge to leave the bike there and take a taxi home, but there was this journey to finish . . . we crash landed at home at 5 AM.</div>
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This trip is one of those events that can easily be a highlight on your life's resume, one of those cherished times which give you a great sense of achievement, and can spawn off stories in the days to come. It also is a certificate of how crazy or random or stubborn you are. We had traveled 1200 km on the highway, seen all kinds of weather, times of the day and terrains. We went from excitement to boredom to euphoria to exhaustion to frustration to bliss, all during those 36 hours on the highway.<br />
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There and back again, through the complete spectrum, and it was all meant to be a joke!<br />
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. . . </div>
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<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li><i><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kartik_sh/sets/72157632542956761/" target="_blank"><i>Flickr Set</i></a> </i></li>
<li><a href="http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.403711909713921.94568.317456621672784&type=1" target="_blank"><i>Facebook Album</i></a></li>
</ul>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com56tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-7861540552991964992012-10-30T22:30:00.000+05:302017-05-23T17:02:57.149+05:30The Search<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Searching for beliefs that are truly mine.</div>
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Searching for instincts coming from the divine.</div>
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Searching for a road devoid of any sign.</div>
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Searching for that familiar but lost old wine.</div>
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Searching for rainbows in a rainy night.</div>
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Searching for a star in broad day light.</div>
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Searching for the wrong and searching for the right.</div>
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Searching for grey and hue in black and white.</div>
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Searching for moments which last forever.</div>
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Searching for occasions to say, 'now or never'.</div>
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Searching for a gig where I need to be clever.</div>
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Searching for the mountain that's worth the endeavor. </div>
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Searching for a planet that decides my fate.</div>
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Searching for a beast with whom I can relate.</div>
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Searching for the Devil, who is always at the gate.</div>
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Searching for the Savior, who would later dictate.</div>
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Searching for a pride searching for its king.</div>
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Searching for a David, ready, with just a sling.</div>
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Searching for the storks waiting for the Spring.</div>
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Searching for a lover pining for his everything.</div>
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Searching for the light leading out of the tunnel.</div>
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Searching, also, for the flames of the infernal.</div>
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Searching for a shell with a mystery kernel.</div>
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Searching for a home which is static and eternal.</div>
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Searching for the wise and searching for the blind.</div>
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Searching for opinions of each and every kind.</div>
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Searching for solitude in a crowded mind.</div>
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Searching for a friend in anyone I find.</div>
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Searching for the notions, to find whats true.</div>
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Searching for the reflections of someone I knew.</div>
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Searching for a connection which is long overdue.</div>
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Searching for a world, where I find you.</div>
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Searching for life and not for its key.</div>
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Searching for choices that are unclear but free. </div>
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Searching for a soul, and it's searching for me.</div>
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If the search unending, so shall it be . . .</div>
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<i>-- Khanababosh</i></div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-52624970523672061012012-04-29T23:49:00.001+05:302017-05-23T17:08:35.329+05:30The RX and the City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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She roars across the city raising the dust in its tracks. It clears all the traffic in its way no matter how thick it is. She feels like a monster and guzzles fuel by the gallon. It is a long standing symbol of power, aggression and arrogance. And no, I am not talking about the <a href="http://www.amgeneral.com/vehicles/hmmwv/">Humvee</a> or the <a href="http://irrationalayush.wordpress.com/2012/04/02/life-lessons-from-haryana-roadways/">Haryana Roadways bus</a>. She is my Yamaha RX-135, set loose in the city of Bangalore. </div>
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Lets start with the numbers first. I own a 2001 model, bought second hand for Rs. 25,000. It had been ridden 20,000 km then (and now after a year it is 30,000 km). For the unfamiliar, she has a single cylinder, two stroke engine, with a displacement of 132.00 ccm which gives a 12 bhp burst at 6500 rpm, and a torque of 12 nm at 5500 rpm. In other words, a 0-60 kmph in 5 sec. She has a 4-speed gear box and a top speed of 120 kmph. She is small in size and weighs less than 100 kg (its power-to-weight ratio is more than that of a <a href="http://www.miniusa.com/#/MINIUSA.COM-m">mini cooper</a>) which gives it an outstanding maneuverability, making it a perfect city bike: and me and her have been through a lot on the streets of this city.<br />
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When I first came to Bangalore, it was my dream to own a Bullet. But due to the lack of availability, slow disillusionment and the congested roads, I went for an RX. I finally landed a good deal after looking for two weeks. </div>
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I was now an owner of an RX, and I couldn't fully appreciate this then, but I could see of what this bike meant for the previous owner. He was teary eyed when he had to part with her. He took some snaps and nostalgically told me stories like how he used to beat every other bike when he was riding this one. Now, after a year, I understand what this bike meant to him and I am sure I am not ever letting go of her.</div>
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Irrespective of what people say, owning a bike like an RX is like owning a pet tigress or having a girlfriend. If you understand her well, treat her with respect, take care of her and trust her, she can go a long way, through thick and thin. Otherwise, she will make your life hell. This is something I got to learn on the very first day. I was having starting problem with the bike and had to drag her for three kilometers, mean while, getting wet in the famous Bangalore rains. It turned out that I had not put enough lubricant in the fuel, was giving the wrong amount of race while starting and the bike needed to be re-tuned. Today, I know her a lot better and I actually look forward to the rains. </div>
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She herself too has gone through a lot of changes: both tires (they were extremely worn off), the battery (it was almost dead), the handle, fork and the wiring (a truck had literally run over her). But her heart (the engine) is still as mighty as ever. </div>
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Bangalore is famous for its weather, its pubs, its IT industry and most of all, its ridiculous traffic. There are frequent jams on all the major roads and a ten minute commute can take as long as an hour. A fifteen kilometer commute is like an endurance test. Even more ridiculous than the traffic here is the traffic sense, which borders on natural or induced lunacy. The <a href="http://bbmp.gov.in/">BBMP</a> to seems too have a conspiracy against the commuters. They dig up the roads with the promise of flyovers and metros and no one ever seems to be working on these sites.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcIVveVG7A80tgVxDOYRDKWW69xgLbSg7zAu6gTM8NgxXzvP00_kBxSj-ZOIUeWhnezdd10BoD7sSYOgp0rHjI9q158VyjrphNHHOdEPULv1f4OD7JAOVFiA6uYsmTqJn4y8f-LdlvPU/s1600/DSC_1078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcIVveVG7A80tgVxDOYRDKWW69xgLbSg7zAu6gTM8NgxXzvP00_kBxSj-ZOIUeWhnezdd10BoD7sSYOgp0rHjI9q158VyjrphNHHOdEPULv1f4OD7JAOVFiA6uYsmTqJn4y8f-LdlvPU/s1600/DSC_1078.JPG" width="300" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbV-EKLLpK2JVEt8RqSUAZqHu_F4fxTE0luaFzitdKEx9YP31g0UlQZM48OMTcy0tR7ie0VFGH7n3khsUmRprIacHn_bXx_wGvrfUVEQQITE_8EA9c7Lkbf9RQ2a_DcIVRrahTR_VoaXo/s1600/DSC_1081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbV-EKLLpK2JVEt8RqSUAZqHu_F4fxTE0luaFzitdKEx9YP31g0UlQZM48OMTcy0tR7ie0VFGH7n3khsUmRprIacHn_bXx_wGvrfUVEQQITE_8EA9c7Lkbf9RQ2a_DcIVRrahTR_VoaXo/s1600/DSC_1081.JPG" width="300" /></a><br />
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The RX is perfect for such a setting. Being small, fast and highly responsive, it can cut through running or stagnant traffic like a hot knife. It can also glide through the dirt tracks and obstacle courses that BBMP has put up everywhere. And yes, it still beats every other vehicle around. With the RX, Bangalore's dubious town planning seems like a playground.</div>
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After 10 pm, Bangalore becomes a different city. All the offices and shops close down, the roads become practically empty and the weather becomes much cooler: basically a bikers paradise. And it is at night when the RX, releasing her full potential, actually becomes lightning and thunder. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChvQSzaxRcaOp1AFswZXg3TRrw02_1hUFLF3VzyV9HZo90jCre32xP_Hzp6TSQWtdGDqf1J0krzavDaLM3k-wAw99BVFe_xXeucqwMQZ_kuiLKwZe6P4uZOmQPchAVDYaaMtvAUWxyrc/s1600/DSC_1100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhChvQSzaxRcaOp1AFswZXg3TRrw02_1hUFLF3VzyV9HZo90jCre32xP_Hzp6TSQWtdGDqf1J0krzavDaLM3k-wAw99BVFe_xXeucqwMQZ_kuiLKwZe6P4uZOmQPchAVDYaaMtvAUWxyrc/s1600/DSC_1100.JPG" /></a></div>
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Every biker is in love with his bike, and my case is no exception. And like any other love affair, it is something you can't really explain in words, you have to feel it. The piston's revs in your guts, the sudden torque, the engine's heat, the sound of the exhaust. Then there are special moments: an accidental wheelie, skidding through a dirt track, swerving a collision by a hairline or getting into a fight after one. And finally, there are the good and the bad times that you have been through together, on the road or otherwise. The bike becomes a part of the biker's identity . . . </div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-67629236776733119752012-03-19T19:21:00.002+05:302017-01-24T01:34:12.078+05:30Your Friendly Neighborhood Hill: Antargange<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzhQIpxfMhPEZsQmBOy4gP9xKNz2PqGdtyeSENCzNbWzgJxpH5aU-1AUxoraNJzxQYdKJljkU8-zLwnX3vX8FgD4NVv2rgZrTdrjplGMKPH6F8AHMxCsevQdTk34x_mq8Ms2sk5ftkxA/s1600/DSC_0459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzhQIpxfMhPEZsQmBOy4gP9xKNz2PqGdtyeSENCzNbWzgJxpH5aU-1AUxoraNJzxQYdKJljkU8-zLwnX3vX8FgD4NVv2rgZrTdrjplGMKPH6F8AHMxCsevQdTk34x_mq8Ms2sk5ftkxA/s1600/DSC_0459.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
Looking for yet another getaway and a bike ride, me and three other guys decided on this place in an adhoc, just-in-time manner. It was also a good chance for me to experiment with my new lens<a href="http://www.dpreview.com/lensreviews/nikon_35_1p8g_n15/"><span id="goog_1776509154"></span> (Nikon AF-S Nikkor 35mm 1:1.8G DX)<span id="goog_1776509155"></span></a>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.mustseeindia.com/Anthargange">Anthargange</a> is yet another one-day trekking location around Bangalore. Three kilometers from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kolar">Kolar</a> and seventy kilometers from Bangalore, the place is scattered with volcanic rock formations, caves and natural springs.<br />
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We set out from Bangalore at around 5am in the morning. After going thirty kilometers due East, the ride became extremely scenic with the rugged volcanic terrain and the scarlet sunrise. Waking up at 4am for the first time in eons was completely worth it. I was riding pillion and tried to do the best I could with the camera. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26C_kHeUlt4Va0LX0H7QRk2F9R7gemXqjmIuNdgvaijggA8wfu4qOP4wFNbGk9akmQsB7hvkoAOgKbW1-aAk1TBCHbDQ0BrZTop5VSOfpYa0mdaakZjt1GPztxp0UPmlt0ugNIEu1oj4/s1600/DSC_0433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh26C_kHeUlt4Va0LX0H7QRk2F9R7gemXqjmIuNdgvaijggA8wfu4qOP4wFNbGk9akmQsB7hvkoAOgKbW1-aAk1TBCHbDQ0BrZTop5VSOfpYa0mdaakZjt1GPztxp0UPmlt0ugNIEu1oj4/s1600/DSC_0433.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fGjRcDPLbTkPxXSI3_ME7iQq4dipZH36Kx-gMPJmdESTM63n2nijDw5BO96ZZxJjZdPn2lpQlwXRv1ySU6KrkE1-k76Mp21gplQyI3E8yc75qug7jyhKM1-A4NmmXyA3rPVYFzO74-c/s1600/DSC_0436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5fGjRcDPLbTkPxXSI3_ME7iQq4dipZH36Kx-gMPJmdESTM63n2nijDw5BO96ZZxJjZdPn2lpQlwXRv1ySU6KrkE1-k76Mp21gplQyI3E8yc75qug7jyhKM1-A4NmmXyA3rPVYFzO74-c/s1600/DSC_0436.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We arrived at around 8AM. The first stop was a temple.<br />
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We moved on after that on a path that seemed most appropriate, hoping to find the stuff the place is famous for; caves, springs, probably even gold given that India's one and only gold mine is near Kolar.<br />
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However, all we were able to discover after an easy trail was a camping site, which is not as useless as it sounds, it was a pleasant place to hang around, with a great panorama. . .<br />
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(...and of course this one is for the new lens!!)</div>
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We headed back home after some time, having this place bookmarked for the next night out.</div>
khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9149892230973164171.post-49209492748678876002012-03-18T22:03:00.000+05:302017-01-24T01:44:29.172+05:30Nandi on the Hill: Savandurga<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bangalore is surrounded with weekend getaways for one and all. This comes as a relief for computer-staring, white-collar, IT folks who have migrated here from around the country and make a bunch of the city's populace. One such site is that of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Savandurga">Savandurga</a>, located 60 kms from Bangalore and makes for a hell of a trekking experience (was the toughest for me till date).<br />
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Me and a couple of friends set out from Bangalore on bikes late morning (couple of Avengers).<br />
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<a name='more'></a>We had a really smooth and scenic ride on the Bangalore-Mysore road. Later on we struggled to find the State Highway 3 and had to constantly consult the GPS.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnwjM23LGmDLpBGuzvqcCm3rSnXfLQ2TAQGRtqFzegYOT86vYi7Ye02K5I15jKXzvQtPTKnPy-jyh7QiDTaTJXHgl43D8tzNDLPfZGckhSMH2T2VYBIzmwj0rfrXxBQTEAJkzOvT2JLc/s1600/DSC_0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXnwjM23LGmDLpBGuzvqcCm3rSnXfLQ2TAQGRtqFzegYOT86vYi7Ye02K5I15jKXzvQtPTKnPy-jyh7QiDTaTJXHgl43D8tzNDLPfZGckhSMH2T2VYBIzmwj0rfrXxBQTEAJkzOvT2JLc/s1600/DSC_0028.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
We never were able to actually find the road however.<br />
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Riding from village to village we did finally reach the site. Savandurga turned out to be a huge rock and actually looked quite intimidating from the bottom. And it actually was. . .<br />
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. . . smooth and highly inclined, it made us crawl on all four many times. . . and it seemed like the hill top did not actually exist. Every flat succeeded by a another slope made the climb seem like an eternity. We also learned that bare feet have better grip than canvas shoes in such situations. <br />
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Two hours of lots of team work and a couple of pit stops later, we reached the top to find a small Nandi Temple. <br />
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Our return journey was a breeze, quite literally as our knees were trembling and we choose to run downhill rather than walk. </div>
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The trip back home was similar to the one in the morning, fraught with GPS issues, rural excursions and near collisions. Overall, it was an extremely satisfying day.</div>
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It turns out that Savandurga is quite popular for adventure seekers in the area. This place is must visit for the causal trekker.</div>
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khanabadoshhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08748143933758201653noreply@blogger.com6