Bylakuppe

These were the most disciplined group of feathery creatures I've even seen. The ducks at the Windflower resort walked neatly in line and lowered themselves into a pond.

Mysore

The entrance to Bylakuppe

On the way to Bylakuppe. I took this picture standing out the sunroof of my car.

Pretty sheep grazing along the highway.

The Sunday market.

Fields in Karnataka.

Curiousity got the better of me and I suggested a roadtrip to Bylakuppe. The family agreed and we set out on a Sunday.

Bylakuppe is a large Tibetan settlement in southern India, close to Coorg. The weather was great and India looked beautiful. Radiant in the sunshine, enveloped in a blue sky and green for miles, I couldn't help letting a tiny sigh escape my lips.

We drove for what seemed an eternity. Passing by IIJNM on Mysore Road, we entered and exited Ramnagaram, Chanapatna, Mandya and Srirangapatnam, enroute to our destination. At Ramnagaram, we saw the famous hill where the legendary Indian blockbuster, Sholay, was shot. In Chanapatna, we saw brightly painted toys and childrens' rocking horses lined up outside the stores. Somewhere along the way, we also saw a Sunday market in progress. Temporary stalls of tarpaulin attempted to blockout the sun as owners traded in fruit and vegetables.

Just before Mysore city, we turned on to another highway to head to Bylakuppe. The ascent became more noticeable, the weather got cooler. After nearly two hours of passing by green fields under fluffy white clouds, we reached Bylakuppe.

It's a well-planned settlement, spread across acres of green space. The Golden Temple crowns the area. Tiny shops lined closely next to each other form the industrial part of the habitat and houses are tucked toward the rear of the property. Quite possible to miss the turning to Bylakuppe bcasuse the sign is nestled among a million others. Unless you're specifically looking for it, you could drive right past.

We were at Bylakuppe for barely an hour before we needed to head back. Evening traffic on the highway is not the best.

We made a quick pitstop at the Windflower resort in Mysore where we ate dinner and sipped on mysore coffee. Nice place, new and well-landscaped. Would have helped to have some plumbing in the restrooms.

It was almost midnight by the time we got home - tired and perfectly happy.

Gettin' (Bus)y with it

Ami and I decided to investigate the bus routes a few days ago. Since the new international airport has opened, several shiny new red Volvo buses have been deployed to help weary passengers commute the almost 30-kilometer distance from downtown. Joining the new fleet are pretty grey and pink "Suvarna" buses, green and yellow "Big 10" buses and and attractive Orange and Blue line buses that aesthetically cruise down a fixed city route. Why live in the city and not take advatange of greater connectivity that the government is trying to provide in addition to the upcoming Metro?

Our adventure began when we stood at the bus stop just outside our house, located in the suburbs, 20 minutes away by car from the city center. Although we had intended to begin our bus trip at 7 a.m. that morning, we were officially at the bus stop only at 11:40 a.m., give or take a little. Blame it on the roadtrip we had taken the day before that forced us to oversleep.

Semi-crowded bus after bus momentarily halted in front of us, seemingly mocking our discomfort in the heat, seemingly dangling a mode of transport before us that it knew we couldn't take as much as we wanted to. Perhaps that's a stretch of my imagination. But whoever said that wasn't allowed?

All of three route options continually passed by us: Marathalli, Silk Board and Hebbal. Finally exhausted, Ami and I took the most logical of the three options: Hebbal. Ten minutes later, we reached our destination, crossed over railway tracks and waited for Bus No. 2.

More six-wheeled monsters passed by, some Volvos and an ocassional Blue and Orange line one. Again, only three routes: Jakkur, Kempegowda Bus Stand and another one that escapes my memory at the moment. None seemed befitting, so we took one to the Kempegowda Bus Stand.

At this point you should know that our original destination at 11:40 a.m. had been the Shivajinagar bus station. From there, we had intended to use our combined navigational prowess to take a connecting bus to Richmond Circle. The circumstances were that the sibling had recently enrolled in a college at Richmond Circle and we were attempting to create a more mobile Ami.

At this point, those not familar with the terms should aslo know that Shivajinagar and Kemepegowda bus stands are the two main bus terminuses in Bangalore. Get to either one and there's a good, though not guaranteed, chance you will find a bus to any part of the city.

When Ami and I got off at KBS, we were tired beyond belief, dried like prunes under the Bangalore summer sun and aching for lunch. We headed to KFC. Thank God for small poultry mercies.

Between zinger burgers and sips of iced tea and Aquafina, we regained focus in our vision. And thought too. Out in the sun again, this time we took the underground walkway and returned unscathed by traffic to the terminus. Earlier, we had swung our legs over slimy road railings to get to the other side. Apparently, there was no other more "civilized" way to cross the road.

Before entering the walkway, we saw a sign outside that read something to the effect of "Speshul Chickan Biryanee." In the words of my wise sister, "You know there is something seriously wrong with the fare served at a restaurant where every word of the dish is mispelled."

The walkway itself was a whole different story - burgundy betel leaf juice unflatteringly sprayed on the walls when some moron lacking civic sense thought it would be a good idea to immortalize his saliva. Dirty floors, more than one hundred bodies in the underground space at a time. And a vendor trying to sell three handkerchiefs for ten rupees to a passing crowd. His marketing strategy...thrust the product into the face of the closest passerby. When forced to examine the cloth from such proximity, there's a chance they'll consider it. At least he would have got them to look at it. He didn't seem to be having much success with the tactic.

Back at KBS, Ami decided the sanest thing to do after our little sojourn would be to park herself on the platform that hosted the most comfortable buses - air conditioned, one seat per person, no "standers" - and go to whichever part of the city these dream machines traveled to.

"M.G. Road!" screamed a bus conductor in a white uniform. My eyes lit up and soon filled with tears of joy. Music to my ears - the name of familiar territory. Ami shared my sentiment. We boarded the red beauty. To confirm our fortune, we asked the bus conductor again if the bus went to M.G Road. "Yes maam," he said, blankly typing away at the ticketing device that hung around his neck. "Garuda Mall, Lifestyle...," he continued in the monotone. Ami and I tried to suppress a giggle and ignore the insult to our intelligence. Evidently, there was no escaping our blondedness.

We reached M.G. Road as promised and eventually made it to Shivajinagar Bus Stand. An autorickshaw from there took us to Jaymahal, to our grandmother's house, where clean water and warm food greeted us. Aah, to be home after a day on public transport.

Did I mention that we didn't make it to Richmond Circle? But the day was filled with giggles and good food. Memories that we'll look back on and giggle some more while we share more good food. Paul Dunn did say," Happiness is a journey, not a destination."

Take me by the hand

A late night conversation with mom and dad turned into an aha moment for Ami and I. They began explaing the background of a long-standing family property dispute during which cropped up names and details of decesed family members. Our great-great grandfather and who he was. Our great grandfather and his eventful life before he succumbed to an early typhoid-induced death at 32. He was survived by my 26-year old widowed great-grandmother and six young chidlren. One of them would grow up to be my Baba.

Turns out, my family has had a long realtionship with the Indian railways and their roots are traced back to a tiny village, if all it can be called that, named Tayalur in Karnataka.

Ami and I were already too curious. This past Sunday, the four of us took a roadtrip to Tayalur and nearby, Bangarpet. It was wonderful, to put it mildly. While the dust and surroundings were reminiscent of my taluk trip at IIJNM, the bigger reason behind the journey made it extra special. We walked through the railway station, which by the way has been really well-maintained, both the old and new part, that was inagurated only in June 2008.

Although we only left home at around 10 a.m., all of us were promptly hungry at 2 p.m., so we stopped for a sumptious lunch at a roadside resaturant. The vegetable thali with puris* and aloo** was perfect.

Next stop was Tayalur, the tiniest vilage I have set eyes on, tucked away on a road that offshoots from the Mulbagal road sign on National Highway 4. It has just one tiny 'main street' with cubby-sized stores that sell beedis*** and peanut candy. The rest of the village extends behind this road, into a series of maze-like houses and sructures, packed in close proximity. Chickens and dogs roam the muddy tracts, freely.

Ami and I now know where we come from. Tiny villages in Karnataka, a few kilometers from Bangalore. Our ancestors have worked hard over the years to provide future generations with a standard of living greater than one they lived through. We're proud of our lineage and more at ease in our own skin.

Next stop, the inner boroughs of Chennai, that trace the lineage on our father's side.

*Puris -Fluffy fried Indian bread

**Aloo-The Indian name for potatoes

***Beedis-Indian cigarettes

Below are some pictures of the trip.

A dog takes a nap in the waiting room of the Bangarpet Railway Station. Also seen in the picture is a wheelchair(?!). Before the days of chairs on wheels, the elderly and passengers who needed assistance moving around were carried in chairs with long poles extending from the frame that people would use to carry the seat.


The winding railroad tracks.

Huge boulders on the Old Madras Road. It's amazing how insignifcant one of these rocks can make you feel. When surrounded by them, you realize that you're just another person, passing these huge stones, your tiny car just a metal toy that it could crush instantly.

View from the top of the station.

Custard Topsy Turvy

Ami dropped custard powder in the kitchen today. It was so hilarious, dad and I could barely stand straight as we doubled over with laughter. Like a scene out of a comic movie, the carton exploded in a cloud of powdery dust and settled all over the counter top. The windows. The bottles and jars. And that was just the beginning.

Mother was not pleased. Amu was embarassed but only momentarily, as she should be.

Out came the sponges and mops, the custardy mess cleaned by eight pairs of hands in 20 minutes. Aah, to spend the evening at home after dinner. Entertainment guaranteed.

The antics Amu employed to open that fateful carton will forever remain a secret.

Seven Pounds

The trailers on tv were enough to hook me. A Will Smith movie titled Seven Pounds. I finally watched it and it was totally worth it. The moviemakers didn't want the audience to know exactly what Ben Thomas was up to. They succeeded in creating that mystery. But perhaps one step too far. There were loose ends that bothered a viewer. Will Smith is pure magic, no surprise there. Rosario Dawson is pretty great too.

I won't be a killjoy and give the story away. Let's just say that the climax is colossal. The kind that hits home so hard it knocks the wind out of you. And when you understand it, many people may be flooded with their righteous, moral viewpoints. The protagonist's behaviour would guarantee a place in hell according to most religious doctrines. The plotline of Seven Pounds makes you wonder otherwise.

I'm waiting with bated breath for Angels and Demons, based on the book by Dan Brown, starring Tom Hanks, that releases today in the United States.

Update: Watched Angels and Demons and thought it was great. Does justice to the book, fast-paced and TomHanks is well, Tom Hanks. Flawless performance, no doubt about it. The movie did leave out some parts of the text but that was probably necessary to deliver a powerful story. Watch it to see the Vatican in a whole new light, no pun intended. Everyone's guessing where the movie was shot, the theories oscillating between sets and the actual church. Since access is not likely to be granted at the basilica for a movie like this, the sets are mindbogglingly-convincing. That is some seriosuly talennted art direction.

Airborne entertainment

On the plane ride to Paris, I watched Marley and Me. Although I'm not a dog-lover, this movie is wonderful! (I love dogs more than I used to. Vidu, Vineeta and Kumudaa, look at what you've done, I hope you're happy! :P) The movie, based on a book, is a fantastic story of a man and his dog and the canine's connection with the man's family. Utterly candid and well-told.

Then I watched Vicki Christina Barcelona and the only way I can decribe it as is "weird." But good weird. Can such a thing happen? Coming to the bigger of question of, does such a thing happen? I don't know the answers but Penelope Cruz was entertaining. Can't say the same about Sacrlett Johannsen.

One word (sound?) for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button - ugh! I got bored midway and flipped the channel.

Other movies on the trip were "Nights in Rodanthe." This one was no big deal. Unfair as it is, I was comparing the chemistry between Gere and Lane to the kind in "Unfaithful," where it was virtually flawless. And then I watched "Bride Wars." The less said the better.

Landing at the Charles de Gaulle Airport at the crack of dawn was interesting, watching the planes land on the runway in succession. It was like a synchronized dance of fireflies, the planes' lights bright in the night sky.

The music is playing

The first of our classes ended for the Spring semester. So Prof. Mills took the class to O'Leary's. M and I sipped on a coke and dove into a basket of french fries with ketchup. Nabeela was a little late coming in, but caught up on the conversation. I stayed till the end and chatted.

I can't believe this phase of the B.U. experience is already coming to an end. A couple of months ago, all of this felt so new and unfamiliar. Now...I can imagine little else.

Shruti and I went for a super early dinner to Bertucci's. I hade Fettucine Alfredo chicken with asparagus. Good stuff.

It's late. And I'm sleepy. And happy. And hopeful.

Saturday

I'm not the biggest fan of gushing. Okay, who am I kidding, yes I am!

Today was perfect in so many ways. I woke up on a Saturday morning to go down to the Charles River for a cleanup organized by the graduate society of my school. We spent two hours scrounging the banks of the blue Charles for litter. My most interesting finds? A single windshield wiper and two used alcohol shot testubes. Two hours later I was hungry and walking toward Copley.

An impromptu call to M turned into a lunch invitation. So I pushed thoughts of impending hunger as I browsed the shelves of nearby Marshall's. Headed to campus and then headed to M's place.

M had made kadhai chicken! Homecooked kadhai chicken all by herself! We love you M! And by we I mean Puneet and I. It was the most scrumptious lunch, don't take my word for it, here's a picture.

Did I mention that M even baked a cake for us?

Then we gabbed in M's room for the next three hours. It was 73 degrees outside. In Indian terms, that means Bangalore weather. For the first time in months we were able to go out without jackets. The sun on our face and being out in a T-shirt...the joy is known only to someone from a tropical country who has lived in frigid New England for two semesters. No offence Boston, we love you.

Wunderbar!

After class, M and I went for lunch to Shalimar of India in Central Square and then shopping to H&M on Newbury Street. Mm, mm, good! :)

Into the future...with you

Read about why these couples chose to keep their love alive for 50 years and beyond.

http://www.wickedlocal.com/brookline/archive/x1931053704/Brookline-Senior-Center-celebration-honors-marriages-that-last-50-years-or-more