Tanjore

Secret Destinations

Travel Tales, , , , , , , ,

Secret destinations are not so secret if you are not solely focused on the destination you came after. Martin Buber stitched travel to my heart with this immortal line.

“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware”.

Martin Buber

We all go on our journeys. There is a said destination that a contented traveller gets to. But a real traveller goes far beyond. Because the destination is not the end point. Several story(ies) start after you arrive!

There are elements like what else you discover in a journey. Like the lay of the land and markers in its evolution. Like this glorious temple of a 1000 years. It’s historical undulations. Some scripted in stone and other new tales that are spun to suit today’s skies. The internet tells you about this land’s past glory, the minerals beneath it and the flow of the water across the hills and much else. You can drink all of it in like a voyeur with no skin in the game or like a lover who is immersed in her love.

The rich air tells you a few stories, only if you are ready to stop and take in a breath without necessarily being coveted by the dull lure of THE destination you came after. Sometimes, I infer my lessons by looking at the people and their ways. Their quick stride, the simple ways, easy smiles, the quite common afternoon snooze under the neem tree and the collective bath by the lakeside.

At night when I peruse my random notes to realise, secret destinations are not so secret if the focus is on curiosity and possibility beyond what is apparent.

Today, I make my notes sitting in the shade that the Sun and a 1000 year old wall come together to offer.

There are two others men there. Animated in conversation.

One tells another a story from history about the king and his valour. He speaks as though he has seen it first hand. Passionate. Lyrical. And filled with energy. I am hooked. The story meanders.

And suddenly, he looks into his watch and remembers that they have to be somewhere else by this time. The other agrees. Their destination interferes with a story that was building up well. Both of them get up, dust themselves up and move.

Leaving me with their incomplete story. I let the king stay within me whilst shuffling my feet and wondering what new secret destination awaits the king. And me.

Mistakes or Right-takes !

Word Cache, , , , , , ,
A mistake may not be a mistake. Even though it may seem to a mistake. A mistaken mistake is more the mistake of the mis-taker than the mistake itself.

Phew. Thats about the distance that can be travelled on this blog to sound profound !

Coming back to the mistake domain, survey this signboard, seen somewhere in Tanjore.


How profound. Wouldn’t you think so ?

Speed breaks heads ! Reckless speed breaks many heads! The Superintendent of Police of Tanjore has better things to do than comming after you with his pet lathi and pocket revolver to split your head, when you exceed speed limits. This is pretty much a do-it-yourself excercise !

Or take this signboard from Lonavala.


Rickshaws these days with run the streets with colourful seats, hanging beads, and broken silencer pipes, that can roar down the Ferrari in all departments.

Throw in a fretting driver, who will haggle over the authenticity of the meter reading with a ferocity best otherwise seen of a screaming TV channel going after an insipid cricketer ! Add a dash of driving ( acrobatic ) skills that would have Schumacher and his tribe cowering in the bushes.

What would you have ? RickShow indeed ! 🙂

Or for that matter, sample this, found on every other wall in a fancy apartment complex where fancy heavy duty friends live. Every attempt has been made to let this blogger know that these are two different instructions on one piece of paper.


Well..

The complex is fully loaded. With four wheel drives, high profile designations and pockets that run deeper than the Pacific ocean ! And sometimes people with more jewellery on them than clothes. (The last part was an exaggeration, but you get the drift. Don’t you?)

Of course, there is not much of room for humour with the dour security chaps out here. With their stern looks, dry instruction and menacing walk, you must be out of your mind to spit and drive slow !

If you must spit, drive fast ! OK ?

Mistakes huh ?

Big Deal !

Travel Tales, , , , ,
There are some parched seasons. And some floods. And there are inbetweens. That’s the case with everything. Money. Happiness. People. People, this seems to be the season for travel. No. No complaints at all.

Travel took us to Tanjore. Down in the deep south. A kind friend and unfettered kindness meant we got to see some fabulous heritage monuments ! As usual, they left an indelible mark.

What the kings managed and accomplished in the past is no mean joke. They built tall buildings out of single rocks. Multiple rocks. Different buildings. Layers of architecture. Architecture with waves, folds, dramatic cuts and sincere corners. Without safety helmets, cement, mortar, B.E degrees or capitation fees.

Like this temple : The Brihadeeshwara temple.



This tower for instance, all of 216 feet tall. Made of granite. A 1300 odd years ago ! No cranes. No nothing. Some splendid architecture, that deserves a separate blog. Leave alone a post.

But, but….‘One more post on architecture and history….’, the missus had remarked the other day. It has been my experience, that whenever she let silence to do sentence completion, the effects have been, well rather loud !

So, lets talk about something else. Like the chart that the amiable chap who showed us around at the Big temple. He insisted on speaking English, had such charts to show. Infact many such charts to show.


On that note, please do well to notice, Raja Raja Chola, the chap that built this temple, had 14 wives ! ’14 members’ he says ! Now, that sounds like a committee! Fourteen! FOURTEEN ! Imagine.

But then, suddenly the Brihadeeswara temple suddenly seems to be no big deal. The one woman in my life pushes me enough to get up from bed, go to work, get back and powers my completion of a sundry assortment of errands that makes my chest swell with pride often ! ( Notice people. I say ‘My’ chest )

But with Fourteen times that push…. well the big temple, is a sure possibility !

In other news, the big mouthed me, let that thought loose in the vicinity of the sharp ears of the missus. She has let silence do the talking since then.

hmm !