The Urban Streets of Bangalore

  To feel the temperature of a city, I walk around aimlessly, at first, just to let the sights, the scents, the sounds of the place impress me. Bangalore, “the town of the boiled beans” says the legend, was so called by a king who had lost his way and was helped by an old woman who served him boiled beans. Funny, how places are named sometimes. I leave the hotel just after the rain, the roads are washed and…

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In Anticipation of Petrichor

pet•ri•chor /’pe , trikor’/ n. 1. the smell of dust after rain 2. a pleasant smell that frequently accompanies the first rain after a long period of warm, dry weather Rain is happiness, rain is melancholy, rain is nostalgia. For Indians, it’s more than just these; it is a part of life, it is a part of the larger cultural fabric of India, insomuch that fine art, classical music and folk dance zealously celebrate it with imaginative,…

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Svatma: The Soul of Thanjavur

“The only surviving Classical Civilization in world!” Michael Wood, the famous English historian and broadcaster, said of the Tamils and the glorious city of Thanjavur has been at the heart of their culture for over a thousand years. As pompous as that may sound, every word of it rings true even today because antiquity still lives on amidst evolving modernity.As I drove through the city, my imagination was already well on its way to creating its own…

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Narendrajee, guardian of the keys

The first encounter with the driver may be intimidating. When I come out of the plane, out of the airport, at first I feel the early symptoms of a jet lag: disorientation, lassitude, even annoyance. My eyes wonder, eagerly seeking familiarity, until I see a small white board with bold black letters, a waving hand, and knowing looks. We finally recognise each other and I smile, as if meeting an old friend. Joining hands before his chest,…

Almost touching the sky – Ladakh

Upon arrival in Leh, every traveller experiences a moment of euphoria. The glorious light dazzles us into wearing sunglasses. It is cold, for an early September: just three degrees centigrade. Stepping out of the aircraft, I relish the tang in the air wafting towards me almost like a caress. It feels good to be once again in this tiny airport somewhere in the Himalayas, in the company of a handful of travellers with Tibetan features. Dorje was there…

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