There’s a certain weirdness in having knowledge of everything that goes on around you.
The good. The bad and the ugly. Especially, the ugly.
One particular friend of mine starts off the ‘once-in-a-quarter phone call with Aur kuch gossip bata?
I don’t usually have any. But she sure does.
We all crave for the, ‘So, what’s going on with that person?’
However, on the rare days when I forget my earphones at home, there’s a lot that goes in my ear, other than Ed Sheeran’s Shape of you. And what’s with the song ?!
Of the many things, I realise people talk a LOT at workplace! I mean, way too much! Of late, I’m even fed with the knowledge of their breakfast menu, their spouses, in-laws, and sooooo many variations of ‘laughter’.
Every ringtone in a far off cubicle is like an RFID tags that is way too loud for making their presence felt. Even in the washroom. I mean who attends this call along with the nature’s?
In the midst of it all, I miss a few of my colleagues. The discussions. The breaks. The fun.
Now, forgetting my earphones is akin to attending class without getting an attendance!
People talking-out-loud is just too much information. The one I don’t need.
A light drizzle, fluttering winds and my resolve of finding silence in the midst of all the honking from traffic jams few meters away.
All this, when the lights are off. You see, electricity and rains don’t like to meet.
While talking to Ammi, she mentions the same. Although it’s a relief to have rains when Summer is almost on the door.
Did someone whispered, “Spring” ? A little loud, please ?
English Medium!!!
Intrestingly, if you ask people, they’ll have their ‘favorite’ season. Rains, Winter or even Summer. The answer is ready!
But frankly, no one likes any one of them. They all like bits of it.
(Look at me with my ‘they’. As if!!)
No one enjoys the excess of any of the three seasons. Like Summer is fine as long as we’re under the fan. Or preferably an AC! Ice creams. Vacations. And yes, Mangoes.
And when it rains ? The obsessing over the smell of the soil, bhutta, bhajji, chai.
Winters make sure that we like the Sun. Becoming lazier than we are. And a mission to help us save the previous water.
I have to think a little harder to compile a list of what I don’t like. And you know why is that ?
(Rhetorical. Do you think I wait for your Yes?!)
We forget the things we don’t like about these seasons quite easily. Like we crave for rains as soon as the heat goes up and then complain, Why does it rain so much?!
Holistic. We are not. When we think.
But then, where’s the fun, when we don’t have anything to whine about ?
Growing up, we’ve always felt proud of something. A possession. An inheritance. A talent.
We’ve all been the Kareena Kapoor from Kabhi Khusi Kabhi Gum in our own subtle way. Or in an outrageously similar way.
The pride, fuelled by the society’s idea of what constitutes good-to-have, has grown with us.
More than the happiness that buying or possessing something, it is the pride associated with having it before someone else.
It’s normal. Part of human nature. Even the animals. Perhaps.
Our cravings are a result of immitating the same pride on display in others. It is the feeling of replicating that feat that pushes our cravings. In a way, we are after the ‘defined acheivements’ that can introduce us to that feeling.
Over time, we end up managing to acheive a few of these. Even naturally we are blessed with a few of them. We don’t differentiate in feeling proud either way. It doesn’t matter how they come, as long as they are coming our way. Right?
But the problem is- Nothing’s permanent. It all changes. It all fades away. They all get shattered. To pieces-big and small.
What’s worse is, being proud of those very things becomes the reason for this. At least in our head. And in others, too.
You look back on what you had then. And what you don’t have now and a dozen ‘Why’s’ fly around your head.
An uphill walk of close to 2 km in the hot-humid climate after a tiring bus journey with cramped-up leg space, we reached Zostel. And this view, right here, made it all worth it.
As I write this Gokarna Travelogue, I’m taken back to the town that I’m definitely going to visit again. Apart from the beaches, what excited me was- Zostel. When places live up to their hype, which happens rarely, there’s nothing that beats that in making you feel good.
Where is Gokarna?
Gokarna is a temple town on the borders of Karnataka and Goa. Located at about 500kms away from Bangalore.
How to reach Gokarna?
A bus journey of about 12 hours which costs you 600-700 INR or a longer 16-hour journey via train which can be cheaper can be taken to reach Gokarna.
Here’s an illustrative map of Gokarna comprising of beaches and temples.
The beaches in Gokarna include the main Gokarna beach, Kudle, Om, Half-moon and Paradise beach. There’s another rocky beach between half-moon and Paradise – aptly referred to as the Hell’s beach. We covered this as part of our 5-beach trek on the second day of our trip.
Hungry and tired, we decided to find solace in the food served at the Zostel restaurant along with the amazing view for company. Decent pizza and a little extra-fried chicken with a side salad along with orange juice, while we settled down adjusting to the heat.
After a somewhat heavy-lunch, we curled up in our dormitory, instead of sweating it out in the humid sun.
Headed out in the early evening for a walk around the market leading to the Gokarna beach. The temple town was active and yet even in the hustle-bustle was calm.
The beach is quite clean and less crowded. I decided to let Nehru’s pre-independence words flow into my mind through the ‘discovery of India’.
Watching people observe puja and Surya namaskar, as the sun went down for the day is quite something.
We treated ourselves to a simple vegetarian lunch of Paneer+Rotis, along with a minty drink called, ‘Lemon Mint Nana’ which was quite good. We repeated the same the next day as well.
We had decided to head out early for the 5-beach trek and pack up our stuff and keep it safely in Zostel’s Common room.
The 5-beach trek included Kudle-Om-Halfmoon-Hell’s beach before reaching the Paradise beach. We had our breakfast at Om beach in one of the joints which
We had our breakfast at Om beach in one of the joints which was open in the early hours of the morning, overlooking the sea. Bread omelet and black coffee to start the day. What more can one ask for?
The post-Om beach trek towards HalfMoon was the best of all. Walking over the hill in the tiny pathways in-between trees was an entirely different experience. At one point, we had this majestic view of the entire sea and standing atop that section of the hill, making us feel so small.
Since we were walking along the sea, over the hills, we came across boards which read like, ‘No way! Many people DIED here’ and we might have felt a little scared had it not been for the funny font and dripping paint.
As we crossed the half-moon beach and came across these amazing smallish gorges, we hid from the sun as the heat increased.
[Tip: Start your trek before 6 AM so as to avoid the harsh sun]
As we reached Paradise beach, which is a small section in the beach stretch, I just took out my book to read, while my friend took a dip in the sea. Of course, I couldn’t resist the water much longer and stripped down to dive-in.
Instead of the trek, there is the option to take the boat which makes stops at all the beaches for you to do a quick photo-session if that’s what you want. While returning we actually took a boat to Om Beach instead of heading back on foot.
The view is great from the boat and you can also spot a few Dolphins. But this still doesn’t beat the trek and I’d highly recommend you to to do the trek.
We were hungry and a cheesy La Polo Chicken Pizza along with King Fish became our lunch. Fish wasn’t great but the cheese made up for it.
In the last few hours in Gokarna, we went back to Zostel and took rest in their common room. I loved this part about Zostel, even after you’ve checked out, you can still keep your stuff, chill in their common room (which is amazing) and freshen up in the common bathroom as well.
We had to board our bus for Bangalore by 7 PM and a quick stroll around the beach, shopping and some home-made ice-cream and peanut-butter to bring back home, and a goodbye to Gokarna.
There are few places that you visit and then decide there itself that you’re gonna head back here soon. Gokarna is that place. I liked it better than Goa and this sits right at the top of beaches in India that I’ve visited, along with Varkala and Malpe.
Today is the 92nd day of the year and as per my resolve of writing-every-day of the year, ideally this current post should be the 92nd post.
But then, Ideally, right?
This happens to be the 86th post as I’ve eaten up 6 posts already!
The last two days have been especially difficult to take time out to write. Not that I did not have any content to write on, but there were just too many things to write on, and in the struggle to decide which way to go and battle with my lazy weekend self, I just cold not write.
I planned to write the whole day and even woke myself up in the morning, but just couldn’t get the keyboard moving to type down words for me.
But finally I got myself to come out of my room, cycled my way to this nice place called Starbucks, ordered their fairly expensive coffee and while sitting near the window overlooking the Kormangala road, finally completed the Gokarna Travelogue in one sitting.
YES!
I’m yet to add the lovely pictures to the post and hence will upload the same on the other side of the Prime Meridian.
In the hurry to get out of the room and get started on the writing part, I’ve forgotten to bring my charger along, and the battery signals me that it needs food. Like me. But hey, at least I got some work done. Right?
I wrote 2 years back on ‘Why I’m not sorry that I eat beef’ Looking back at it now, it seems to be a post filled with anger and something that I used as a medium to vent out the frustration.
And yet, we are again back in the beef-talk!
Of course, it just doesn’t stop there. Meerut’s mayor says, singing ‘Vande Mataram’ is compulsory to stay in India.
There’s an actual ’Anti- Romeo-squad’ working in Uttar Pradesh, ensuring ‘safety’ of women.
If you thought 2014 was ‘shocking’ then perhaps there was more to come. Someone who is okay with ‘Muslim women should be taken out from graves and raped’, believes inter-religious marriages are ‘love jihad’ and has a series of hate speeches to his credit, is now the Chief Minister of the most populated state of our country. But then were the standards any high?
At least, Yogi Ji has a degree that he can actually show to people.
Believe me, with the kind of PR already being done, from breakfast menu to hair-cut, a hashtag campaign with #AdityanathFor2024 isn’t far away. I mean the mere thought of Muslims taking over the population of 65% population of Hindus while the Christian Missionaries support them in converting, is enough for people to Vote!
Of course, this isn’t Vote Bank Politics. Nor is it Majority-appeasement.
Some of you must be thinking, all of this to be minor incidents blown out of proportion and all of this is just my paranoia. You know what, I’d be really happy if this is so. I would actually be happy to be proven wrong.
But the fact is, even if things go wrong, it’ll become ‘normal’. Just as Vajpayee became ‘less communal’ because of ‘Advani’ and then ‘Advani’ became secular because of ‘Modi’, over time, Adityanath with his ‘development’ and ‘progress’ in UP will become the new Normal.
For good reasons, I hope that all my fears are proven wrong. But then!
We’ve all been part of those comversations which have “Chal Goa chalte hain” innumerable times. School, college or any group of friends always have this plan for Goa.
We all know what happens to those plans.
My first visit to Goa, two years ago, happened to be a solo trip. Apart from my crazy impromptu planning, this ‘Goa plan’ was the reason behind it. Ki ab chal hi jaata hoon, akele hi sahi.
There’s something about the place that people from every corner of the country plans to go there. Maybe even Goa wale folks also end up saying, Chal Goa chalte hain.
The latest planning session is with my school friends. This ‘Goa plan’ seems to have finally found some direction after weeks of being postponed. But hey, unless we reach Goa, there’s no surety of it either.
The frequency with which people get excited when planning for the trip comes to a standstill as soon as one of them goes, ‘Yaar.. nai hopaega’.
Its not like I’ve not done this ever. I’ve also done the same with my version of the classic Indian head nod.
But then what are plans for, when they cannot be changed ?
When watching a subtitled film, one hardly tends to miss out on a dialogue. Perhaps that’s why most of them, thanks to our unconditional attention, leave us with a varied set of emotions.
Although it’s true that I’ve mostly watched ‘recommended’ ones and most of them seem to have turned out well.
Today, I happened to watch ‘The Salesman’ by Asghar Farhadi. The Iranian film which got nominated for Oscars.
The film has floored me with its approach to storytelling and I’m trying my best to compare it with a style but not able to. The story is a suspense drama which keeps you intrigued. The twists are so beautifully moulded in the narrative that there’s no change of tone required for the story to unfold like the usual suspense-dramas with ‘the’ climax. And maybe that’s the beauty of it. One needs to absorb the expressions, palpable anger, contained trauma which makes you anxiously worried.
The backdrop did remind me of how Khaled Hosseini writes and blends the timeline of Afghanistan’s history into his characters. In Salesman, Asghar Farhadi, does that but very subtly and you can even miss it, if you don’t have the slightest notion of what it entails. This pseudo-similarity can be termed absurd on the account that most stories of the region will share similar sensibilities. And anyway, I’m not claiming to be an expert after watching just one film.
There’s a definite contrast when you watch a subtitled foreign film and the regional Indian ones. The concept of a ‘hero’ in a story is so essential.
But let me not jump to conclusions here and make it a ‘review’ when it’s not. I’m still not able to write a review for ‘subtitled’ movies even when I regularly watch a few Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam and Kannada ones. Without the dialogues, I still feel there might be something lost in the translations.
Or maybe I’m wrong here. And hopefully someday will add a few of those to the Blog.
As soon as the bus entered the hustle of Bengaluru. I was like, Finally! It was close to 2 hour late and the journey was not very comfortable, to put it sensibly.
That feeling of taking a proper shower in your own bathroom is unmatched. Familiarity is a sucker!
As the day went by, and I ended up in office before my scheduled ‘arrival’to a few, ‘Woah! You’re before time, today’ greets and with an evident tan,work and meetings piled up.
Excitedly describing the trip to my colleague. Singular. Because, number of people I hang out at office. Duh!
As I motioned back home, peddaling back home, I missed the beach. The noise. The Water and even the damn sun. Okay, not that sun. A little, perhaps.
I’m certain, I’ll head back to Gokarna on a whim. Like I’d do with Varkala or Fort Kochi. The vibe.
The beach. The rocks. The trek. And even Zostel.
I wanted to write the Travelogue right away, before I add another one to the “drafts”, but I Gokarna tells me, be a little Laidback. Chill kar, thoda.
As I sat down, after an hour-long stroll at the beach, with a book to read and the sound of waves and the fading heat of the sun gave me company. Solitude is best at the farewell hours of the sun. At a beach. Sunsets are beautiful!
The Gokarna beach isn’t the most crowded. Or perhaps our timing couldn’t have been better to plan a trip to the coastal slash temple town at the borders of Karnataka and a little before Goa.
The beach had families offering puja at one of the corners and just around the time of sunset, something very interesting happened.
This old man, aged around 80, stripped down to his langot to offer the Surya Namaskar. The devotion he had in offering it was amazing. After a few dips and when the sun was almost about to exit from the frame, he went back to put on his briefs and brought with him two empty bottles. At first it looked as if he was draining out something from the bottles but he was actually filling them out to carry it back. I was more intrigued by the process that this old man as. At one point in time when a priest standing nearby tried to help him, his reaction of ‘let me do it my way’ was enough for him to stop. Old people don’t like interference. They know their ‘process’.
When he was finally done, he cleaned himself up, dressed up and walked back towards the road with two bags on his shoulder.
I don’t know whether that was part of a religious custom or not, but the dedication of the feeble old man was amazing. The look on his face was speaking something. As if he’s finishing a duty. For a second, I thought I’ll ask him or even help him pick his bag, but it didn’t felt right. He wanted to do it himself.
As I sit with my laptop after a tiring day of trekking (sort of) and travelling in the humidity, I’m reminded of the old man. Maybe, it gives me a window of ‘what-ifs’ of my own old age or just remembering the old ones who really mattered. And still, do.
