Sarchu to Leh

With another 270 km to cover, I get up early in the morning at around 5am, feeling a bit better from the Altitude Sickness that had hit me the previous evening. To my surprise, my host was up even earlier and greeted me with a hot cup of chai. He advised me to leave early in order to reach Leh by late evening. Packed myself once again and soon realised that my boot was still wet; with no other option geared up to leave Sarch at about 7 am. While leaving I was subjected to the surprise of my life. Any guesses on how much I was charged for the stay, hot water and genuine hospitality? FIFTY RUPEES!! I handed over 200 bucks to my friend and bid goodbye.

From the moment I started my bike, the excitement was building; couldnt believe that I was going to reach Leh. I get goosebumps even now when I think about the moment.

In less than an hour I encountered the first high altitude pass- Nakila which was at a height of 15600ft. I had move inch by inch due to the nature and terrain of the path. Frankly speaking I even wanted to give up at times due to the physical and mental starin. Each time I kept reminding myself of how I managed to ride all the way from South India all by myself until this point. Wouldnt I kill myself if I gave up now, just 200 odd kilometers away? Ti keep myself motivated, I remembered seeing the bicyclists in Keylong, who endured much harsher physical strain.

Just as I crossed one, there was the second high altitude pass LaChung La which was at a mind blowing 16500 ft above sea level. This was the highest road I had ever rode on in my life until then. But again along with the height came the hardships. It was pretty much uneventful until I stopped at Pang for some chai and fuel.

To my surprise I found a lot of vehicles in there, most of them returning from Leh to Manali. There was a group of 4 German bikers who were returning to Manali from Leh and shared their table with me as soon as I reach Pang. Although I was half their size with a less loaded bike, we were all on the same page when it came to riding. One of them was short on engine oil, was therefore a bit worried. Since I had emptied my spare oil in Keylong I couldnt help him. My fall sometime back which had robbed me of some fuel made me buy extra petrol here, sold in plastic cans for Rs.100/litre. I had no choice but to go for it. Wishing each other goodbye, we went in the opposite direction with me headed towards Leh.

Each momemt I thought I couldnt be surprised further, I would run into a bigger shock. Within no time I ran into Morey Plains- the notorious 40 km flat land amidst the cold desert. Not a single soul in my sight I was suddenly engulfed by monstrous mountain ranges all around. I was now riding on a flat desert with no pathway and the sun playing hide and seek. I had absolutely no clue where I was heading and even used the horn for the first time, knowing that no one was around to even respond to the noise. I kept shouting out loud, standing up, sitting downn, stretching my legs, all while riding. Even if I had ran naked around, there wasnt even a bird or dog to laugh at me. Another half an hour of riding gave me a sudden sighting of dust flying ahead. Although it looked pretty near, it took me another 10 mins to spot the tracks. yes a truck was going ahead and I gladly followed the trail left on the sand, but managed to reach the truck only a little later. With common sense prevailing I decided just to follow it, rather than overtaking it.

Soon I was out of Morey Plains and crossed a little hamlet Debring, preparing to encounter the hardest test so far- Tanglang La. The climb to this high altitude pass was back breaking. I could feel ever single piece of my body taking the beating. BUt then the moment I reached Tanglang La, everything was forgotten in a jiffy. Its the second highest motorable road in the world (debatable), standing at an altitude of 17,582 ft. Heartily clicked a few pictures on celebrating the milestone and rode downhill quickly, since it isnt advisable to spend a lot of time at high altitudes.

Here is when I had my first fall. Until then I was riding at a maximum speed of 8-10km/hr in first gear. Suddenly there was a fine stretch of new tarmac for a couple of kms, which got me excited. As I revved my bike to 60km/hr, I was unfortunate to encounter loose rocks in a turn. If I braked, I would have fallen some thousands of feet below on the left. I therefore flew to the right, with the bags just flying above my head, while my bike skid towards the left. Another couple of meters towards the left, I would have lost it. Knowing it was lying safe, I just lay there on the road for sometime, trying to get some oxygen and rest. After about 10 minutes an Army truck came by to my aid, lifting me and my bike up. Since I was geared properly, I escaped injuries, while causing abrasion to my rain gear and boots. My bull as usual withstood all tantrums, while only leaking a few litres of petrol. Fortunately I had topped up my tank earlier in the day in Pang.

This fall prepared me for the worse and after another stretch of horrendous roads (read as no roads, only boulders), I finally got a glimpse of Leh in Upshi. In between there were a few exciting river crossings from the mighty Indus and a couple of small villages. Before the day light faded, precisely at 5:40 pm I reached the city of Leh. I was grinning to myself and wanted  to call close friends to share the joy which was sky high by now.

As usual I hadnt booked any hotel, so spent half an hour searching for good place to stay. Having encountered the journey of my life, I wanted to treat myself to a good hot shower (hadnt showered since I left Manali) and a little luxury. Checked into Oriental Guesthouse, which sat at the foot of Shanti Stupa, a couple of kilometres away from the market. It was pure bliss to get rid of my riding gear and dirty clothes to just meditate under the hot shower for an hour. I had done it!

Capture the Colour

This post relates to my entry for the Capture the Colour Competition (link given below)

http://www.travelsupermarket.com/c/holidays/capture-the-colour/


BLUE

This picture was taken in Pangong Lake, situated in the region of Ladakh. The uniqueness of this lake is that it changes colour during different times of the day based on the sunlight. It was pure magic!

RED

A strange friend paid me a visit in this natural paradise called Meghamalai in South India. This is a close up shot of the leech which sneaked between my feet and my flipflops. It was literally going after my red juice!

WHITE

What else to say! Wah Taj! The white marble beauty acknowledged as one the of modern wonders of the world. I was fortunate enough to be there on the day of Eid, celebrated by the followers of Islam after 30 days of observing fast.

GREEN

The colour of nature. Meghamalai offered breathtaking views of vast tea estates and natural lakes. I happened to go there during the cyclone season, which enhanced the beauty of the region.

YELLOW

The colour of Energy. During my trip to the princely state of Rajasthan, women were clothed in very bright bold colours. One such lady selling bananas under the tree is potrayed below.

I would like to nominate 5 fellow bloggers for the competition:

R.Niranjan Das
C.Sankara
Rajesh
Sandhya Sankaraman
Sandhya Iyer

Keylong to Sarchu

After a goodnight's sleep, I went down to fix my bike. Once again Martin's (by now he was officially my bike guru) wise words aided me in getting my bike to the mechanic. What would have happened had I not got the spare clutch plates at the nth minute??? Yes, I was told by the mechanic in Keylong that I could get them only in Leh. What an escape! After an hours job, I got my bike running fine again and headed straight to the petrol station to tankup since I wouldnt be able to find another one for the next 350kms.

After a snack and chai we left Keylong by noon. Martin was still undecided on where he was heading next, hence decided to ride along until Darcha, another high altitude pass. Two hours of non-stop riding led us to the nearest base camp for some carbohydrates.

On the restart, it started drizzling. Without wasting a minute we stopped to put on our rain gear over the riding jacket and pants. At high altitude riding wet would be absolutely a nightmare, with the chilly winds piercing the body. Thats when Martin decided to return. I thanked him for all the help and timely advice and parted ways not knowing when we would meet up next. I havent heard from him since then, but would cherish his friendship for a lifetime. From Darcha as I started to move along without a single vehicle in sight for more than a couple of hours, the rain was getting heavier. Water had already got into my boots while crossing a big stream (thanks to the damage caused to my boots in Rohtang)and it started taking its toll on me now. Although I stopped for a couple of minutes, rain and chilly conditions prevented photography of this wonderful paradise. Neither words nor pictures can do justice to the natural beauty.

As I started descending to my destination for the night, Sarchu, the rain stopped and I was fortunate enough to click a couple of pictures of his breathtaking land.

At around 6 pm I reached Sarchu base camp and unsurprisingly there wasnt a single other tourist there. An old man welcomed me with open arms and without asking a word just brought some hot water in a glass and bowl. I had no clue on the formalities. Without uttering a word I just gulped the hot water in a second before I was offered chai. Thats when he asked me to take off my shoes to soak my feet in warm water. He was a seasoned host, I reckoned. Wet feet could kill you in such extreme conditions. Although I couldnt see another soul in sight, I was happy to know that I was in safe hands that evening.

Did I mention that Sarchu is at 13,500 ft? Yes, I just had my first bout of Altitude Sickness. After warming up my feet, I was shown the tent where I could sleep. Although it could accommodate about 8 people, it was all for me now. Electricity was a problem though. My torch doubled up as a candle in there and I sank under 3 layers of quilt. Soon i realised that I could neither sleep, nor sit nor rest inspite of being tired. Went out for a walk hoping to feel better, but it was freezing, made worse by the desert winds.

Seeing me suffer, my host handed over a bottle of Old Monk for which he asked not a penny more than the MRP. I gladly shared it with him over dinner of hot rice and gobi
masala. I came to know that his family lived in a village in Spiti, while his son was sent to a school in Srinagar. They did not have any electricity or any basic infrastructure in their village, because of which his son visited them only in the summer. Was disgusting to think how dare our shameless politicians brag about 'India Shining'! Zipped up my sleeping bag and dozed off around 8.30, hoping to catch some sleep under those heavy quilts.

Manali to Keylong

This post has been looooong overdue. Got busy with few other things in life, that has left this blog unattended for sometime now. Let me complete the story before I forget the details. Actually my friend just reminded me that I completed the first anniversary of my road trip a week ago :-). And guess what he too just quit his job recently and is leaving to Leh tomorrow (bad influence????;-)).

For those who have just entered my blog, I request you to flip through my previous posts on my roadtrip to freedom, with the Manali post being the latest (http://royalenfielddiaries.blogspot.in/2012/01/misty-manali.html).

Having spent a couple of nights in Manali, I decided to leave to Ladhak the next morning. Martin surprised me by offering to ride upto Darcha, which was a huge boost for someone riding up the Manali Ladakh route for the first time that too during the wettest time of the year. We left the guesthouse at around 8 in the morning and just as we started our motorbikes Martin asked me if I had extra clutch plates. Since I did not have them, I rode up to the workshop and purchased a set of 4 speed clutch plates and pressure plates for my Electra and caught up with Martin at the Petrol station. We rode for about half an hour before stopping for breakfast at a base camp which was about 50 kms from Rohtang. Having filled ourselves with the usual quota of Maggi noodles and tea we rode straight ahead to Rohtang.

About 8kms before Rohtang I encountered a road block, first of its kind actually. A stretch of about 150 meters of slush, two feet high. Martin had already crossed it and a JCB had just followed him out of the pit. This made things worse for me, since the entire strtch was now churned up by this monster vehicle. I could see Martin waiting on the other side, whicle a bunch of vehicles waited helplessly along with me on this side. Most of them turned back to Manali, since there was no hope of that getting cleared without a days sunshine atleast. I could now either go ahead or return to Manali, which would have been very depressing. So I decided to take the risk and went ahead into the puddle. In less than 10 meters I realized that slush reached my knee and my chain sprockets disappeared too. Managing to gain another 20 meteres, my engine gave up. The clutch was almost dysfunctional now; I could see people and vehicles on either side of the stretch now, while I stood alone in the middle of the puddle like an idiot. With some effort I cleared some dirt around my bike with my hands and even managed to start my bike, but unfortunately the clutch was nearly dead- I could smell the burnt plates now. I waved to Martin to go ahead and pushed my fully loaded bike out of the puddle in about half an hour- the longest 30 mins of my life. By the time I came out of it, my bike refused to move because the constant revving jammed the clutch plates. To compound my vows, the JCB went back and cleared about 2 meters of road after an hour, which cleared the way for the remaing vehicles on either side.

I lie exhausted along the roadside along with my bike for sometime hoping for a miracle to happen. On my left was a deep valley which enjoyed the company of a few horses grazing on very steep slopes. After 3 hours of helplessness and waiting, one empty truck which was to bring back vegetables from Keylong came to my aid. After some negotiation, they agreed to transport my bike and me to Keylong for thousand bucks. The three of us loaded the bike into the truck and anchored it with some ropes, while I was crammed in between the driver and his assistant in the front. The driver who was all of 23 years old (by now I realized that it is very difficult to predict the age of these people, who had been battered by years of hard work and exposure to extreme weather conditions) was from some village in Himachal and married with a couple of kids. This truck was gifted to him by his wife’s family, with which he could work for 5 months a year, transporting vegetables between Manali and Keylong to be stored for the winter. Since it was extremely risky to drive in this terrain, he did not have much of competition. His assistant an 18 year old boy from Kashmir, was very enterprising. They couldn’t understand why I wasn’t married yet and had no clue where Chennai or Cochin was. They infact thought something was wrong with me when I told them that I was riding alone.

After an hour or so, we stopped at the only eatery until Keylong. To my surprise Martin was waiting for me there; he had reached there some four hours back and knew I would stop here for food. In this age of mobile phones, when we keep calling our friends every five minutes asking ‘Where are you?’ before meeting up, this was very refreshing. Basic trust and understanding alone can bring people together. With another bowl of maggi and chai, we decided to catch up at Keylong.

While he went ahead in his bike I trudged along behind in the truck reaching Keylong by nighfall. It took me more than eight hours to cover 100 km, that’s how bad the road was. Martin had reached a hour earlier and booked a guesthouse for about Rs.250/night. Thanking the truckwallahs, I unloaded my bike, which had leaked all the petrol in the truck carrier and decided to attend t the next morning.

Democratic Madness

NE Exodus: India to take up the issue with Pak- CNN IBN


Always said foreign hand in North East scare: Gogoi, Trains bring thousands back to Assam- NDTV


Back home, what about their future?- The Hindu


India is a democratic country and I am happy to be here. But is it the same for everyone in this country of 1.2 billion? NEVER..How much more can we abuse democracy?
On the hindsight I believe we would've been better off under the Brits.

In the name of social cultural values, this country has turned into a bunch of hypocrites.

You complain of racist attacks in Australia, you crib for being mistreated in a pub in England, you cry out loud when you are searched by a security agent in an airport in the USA. Our great visual media amplifies your voice exponentially.

Havent we Indians been racists always? We mock the colour of Afrikan Americans as soon as we land in the dollar land. We laugh at the features of our Oriental neighbours. If that wasnt enough, we brand our own people as foreigners.

We just love the word 'Chinki' isnt it. After all they are from the North East and do not look like 'US', who cares!

Ofcourse we need them to beautify our masks in all the Beauty Saloons across the nation, but then they are just chinkis!
Ofcourse we can't do without them in the hospitality industry, but then they are just chinkis!
Ofcourse they are the only ones to guide us during our vacation treks in the high mountains, but then they are just chinkis!
Ofcourse we very badly need an Olympic medallist, but then they are just chinkis!

How much more dumber can we get by killing more people in the name of religion. What gives you the bloody right to tell someone what is right and what is wrong. How different is this compared to what the Mughals, Brits, Portuguese, Dutch or the French did to us?

Coming to the headlines adorning the television channels and newspapers today, are we stupid enough to be manipulated by a small neighbour. Can't people realise that religion is the only cause for all this senseless madness? Instigating violence through the classic anti-muslim sentiment during the holy month of ramadan doesnt have to be an idea from an Einstein. But mindlessly falling prey to such an idiotic idea shows the level of insecurities among the citizens of this country. And what did the hapless peace loving people from the most beautiful part of the country do to deserve all this? Cant any amount of justification equate their loss and humiliation?

We love to voice our concerns for the Tamils of Sri Lanka or for the Palestinians in Gaza. Who gives you the bloody right to stoop your nose into others business, when your own linen back home is soiled?

I sincerely wish two things happen now-

Firstly, people with common sense should show solidarity with our fellow countrymen from the North east and voice our protest across the nation. Any ideas to enforce such a movement is most welcome!

Secondly, after things mellow down, we need to create sustainable work opportunities for them in the North East. This will result in two things- they will have the upper hand and the rest of the nation will feel the irreparable loss of their service.

Misty Manali

Topped up my tank and left around 10 in the morning, bidding goodbye to Chandigarh. As I entered Punjab, there was a road diversion and I soon lost the way riding through deserted villages. Finally managed to hit the Ghats leading to Manali, but it started raining. I stopped for come chai and biscuits since I did not have breakfast and it was already quarter past 12. The roads were great mostly, twisting and turning around the hills. Soon I realised that Himachal Pradesh is a state that will leave you spell bound in her beauty. I spotted another bike on the way probably headed to Manali too, but since I wanted maintain the momentum I didn’t stop. I thought it would be easy to spot him when I took a break anyways, but never got to see him again. There was hardly any traffic on the road and the excitement inside was building- it was going to be my first visit to Manali.

As soon as I hit Kulu, I called up a friend to share my excitement. In another hour’s time I’d be in Manali. On the way my bike rode through a 3km tunnel, where unfortunately I was stuck behind a bus suffering from tuberculosis. On paying the ‘Green Road Tax’ of Rs.100 I entered New Manali, crossed over the bridge and reached my guesthouse in Old Manali. Here too I paid Rs.300/night. The room was spacious, with cheap wooden flooring, a big queen size bed clothed with thick velvety blankets and attached bathroom with hot water. Although there was a television, I didn’t bother to switch it On. It was a two storeyed building and my room was in the first floor, giving me ample view of the snow-capped peaks in the background. I could hear the water gushing below all day.

My neighbour was a guy from the UK by the name Martin. He had just returned from Leh that morning and told me how bad the road was due to incessant rains and landslides. I decided to spend a couple of days in Manali and the next morning rode up to Vashisht which was famous for a temple. It was a very steep ride and two Spaniards rode pillion too, which made my bull go out of breadth. My friend in Gokarna had mentioned about the Moonlight café in Old Manali, so I went there for lunch. It seemed to be a popular place among foreigners; food was decent and not too pricey. Travellers came here in groups over a game of cards and food. I liked it!

New Manali was the place where Indian tourists flocked to. Typically it was filled with shops and restaurants of all kinds. Winter wear including skull caps and gloves seem to be a thriving business and I picked a cap for one hundred bucks. To my surprise I could hardly find any firang in this place just like I couldn’t find Indian tourists in Old Manali- there was a clear demarcation.

During the evenings Martin and I bonded over a couple of beers and later coffee in the morning. He gave me some valuable tips on riding up to Leh in winter since it was my first time. Usually people ride during the months of May, June and July; during September the weather is harsher and the roads are either damaged or washed away by landslides. This am talking about Manali-Leh, while the Srinagar route is very good. Since Ive always wanted to do the Manali route, it was worth the risk and I wasn’t going to back out now. Martin mentioned to me that he and his friends had to return to Manali some 7 times just after reaching Rohtang, which is about 54 km away, due to inaccessible roads. Monsoons had made the Rohtang pass absolutely inaccessible and they had to close this stretch quite often this year….

Chandigarh

In order to beat the morning traffic I left the hostel by around 7 am. In between I got lost a bit in the city and when I approached a cop, he asked if I was going to ride all the way to chandigarh. When I told him about my journey thus far, he got excited and rode along with me until the outskirts in his patrol vehicle and wished me good luck. On reaching the highway, I stopped at a Dhaba for breakfast. The guy served me two aloo parathas with a chunk of butter melted on top of it accompanied by thick curd (plain yoghurt) and pickles. In addition to that I had two cups of chai. For all of the above he charged me Rs.48 only. Since Chandigarh wasn’t too far away, I thought I’ll ride slowly in an effort to boost the mileage (km/ltr) of my motorcycle. The roads were great right throughout and I stopped at McDonalds somewhere in the outskirts of Chandigarh. The place was filled with rich Punjabi kids and even a politician who came in with police escorts. It was about 3 pm and I tried reaching Jojo, another of Eashwar’s biking friend. As per his suggestion I managed to find a place for Rs.300/night and its called Gulati Bhavan. The room was 15’ X 20’, furnished with a huge queen size bed and an attached bathroom. Couldn’t ask for a better deal. Jojo worked in night shifts, so I we decided to meet up for dinner.

My only rendezvous with this great city is during my third year of Under Graduation wherein we learnt about the city in Contemporary Architecture. It was designed by Le Corbusier, who is also the mastermind behind most of the public buildings in this small city. There was a main arterial road which was intercepted by various cross roads, dividing the city into sectors. The city was very neat with wide roads and I even saw a lot of young women burning the tarmac in their motorbikes. Remembering a little from college, I visited the Assembly building and the Court complex and managed to click a few pictures too. Few security personnel did not take it in kind and I managed to convince them that I was a student (had my ASU Student ID card in my wallet). A torch and a small rucksack was missing in my utility kit, which took me to the shopping complex (I think Sec #17). Very efficiently planned, the entire shopping complex is centralised in a square with ample parking.

Finally met Jojo for dinner, which led us to a restaurant called Sher-e-Punjab. It was more than 10 days since I had any non-veg or alchohol and I was craving for some good food. After a quick pint of KF, we went down to the basement for food, where we were joined by another friend of Jojo’s. He did the ordering and I did all the eating. Wow, excellent afghani chicken kebab followed heavily buttered naan, butter chicken and rajma. I couldn’t breathe after the feast and found it very difficult to sleep! The next morning Jojo was kind enough to come by and send me off as I headed to the enchanting Manali.

New Delhi

Thanking Raja and his family for having me over for three days, I left to Delhi by afternoon. Just after crossing the Toll gate, I heard some noise and to my horror, the Silencer bend pipe had come off the engine. Luckily for me, I had not yet taken the flyover leading to Chanakya Puri, my destination for the night. The mechanic who had seen my bike the previous day was close by and I rode straight into his garage. There I got my silencer replaced and fine-tuned my bike once more before heading to the Youth Hotel, riding past all the foreign embassies and state offices. Since it was located in the diplomatic enclave, there was pin drop silence on the road and very meagre traffic on the well laid tarmac. On showing my membership card I was given a dormitory for Rs.275/night. The place was neatly maintained and I was honestly surprised how organised things were. There was a German couple at the counter, who were told that a guy and a girl cannot stay together in a room. I still remember the shock on their faces, and felt sorry for them. At my dorm there were some 10 bunk beds in a two tier fashion. There were a few others staying there and to my surprise I was the only traveller there and to top it, none of the others held a Youth Hostel International membership card even. In fact they seemed to be surprised asking what a traveller was doing there. Two of them were lawyers, one an artisan and two others had come for a presentation. One of the lawyer guy sported an orange tikka on his forehead and started asking about my religion just after the introduction formalities. It made me very uncomfortable. When I told him that I do not practice any religion, he did not understand but clearly seemed offended. I get this kick when I flummox people, for not being what they expect me to be. The other lawyer guy seemed to be a nice person boasting of many high level connections. He told me that he was on the main counsel team defending A Raja, the ex-telecom Minister languishing in the prison for the 2G scam. Was wondering why then was he staying in a dormitory for 300 bucks a night? The artisan guy was from Madhya Pradesh and he had a bachelor’s degree in Architecture. He informed me that he had come to perform in front of a panel which issued grants for certain native arts forms which were fading with time. I remember him telling me that it was similar to Poi Kaal Kuthirai which was prevalent in Tamil Nadu. Apart from these interesting characters, there were two other guys who had come to attend a seminar as part of the ‘Landmark’ course, which was a self-development program. One of them was a veteran while his friend a novice who had joined the program only a few months earlier. The latter was very enthusiastic and kept telling me about how it can improve your life and ‘take communication to the next level’. Although Ive heard about this ‘Landmark’ thingy from my friends earlier, I pretended as if I didn’t know anything and kept asking him questions. There are a lot of good things one can learn from these programs, but to see people blinded by the thought that your life will change overnight, is very disheartening. The next day I decided to hit Karol Bagh to shop for some spares and thermals. I have seen GP road in Chennai and JC Street in Bangalore, but this was something else. Since there would be limited access to fuel stations in Ladakh, I replaced my stock petrol tank with a larger one (20 litres). Raingear and thermals were found in a different area in Karol Bagh and as I proceeded to leave the place, I got totally lost and it had just started raining too. After going round and round, I managed to reach the hostel by around 10 pm. Lesson learnt- never go to Karol Bagh in your own vehicle, parking is next to impossible! The next day I had to leave early to reach Chandigarh.

At my friends place in Gurgaon

Having recovered from a violent bout of flu, I bid goodbye to Agra and headed towards the capital city. My good friend Raja lives in Gurgaon with his pretty wife Sushmita and my visit coincided with the arrival of his parents the day before. Although we studied together in high school, we got to know each other better during his days in IIM-Bangalore (by any chance did you assume that I passed out of the same institution? I pretty well know that those who have known me for years now will never commit such an error and my joy filled thanks to the others who did think for a moment that there too. Ive been too much of a rebel and vagabond to excel in academics, so clearly am no IIM material.), while I was employed there. I remember spending quite a few weekends in his hostel room among the brighter brains. Our friend had over the years transformed from being a pazham/nerd/padipps to indulging in a few human vices, although he hasn’t yet managed to get rid of the good boy image and am sure it’ll stick on to him forever! Three hours of riding took me to Gurgaon, while it was a tough task to locate Raja’s flat among the maze of some 50 high storied apartment blocks. I have never managed to understand the manner in which houses are numbered; very hard to see a sequence. Since both of them were at work, I was received by his parents who would’ve clearly wondered what an idiot I must be to ride all the way from south. It must have been a shocker to any orthodox Brahmin family. After ten minutes of chit chat, aunty offered me to cook some quick lunch. For a south Indian having been on road for a month now, mostly feeding on roti and dal, it was hard to refuse home cooked iyer food. A plate full of steaming white rice, dollops of ghee melted on top of it, mixed with yellow dal (lentils) served with our very old potato fry!! His parents watched in awe at this malnourished thing wiping off the plate in no time. I had to finally say enough before they started regretting why they let me in in the first place. Having re-energized myself, it was time to fulfil my objective. Before reaching Gurgaon, I had already informed Raja, my main motive of stopping at to his place enroute to Leh- get my clothes washed! Luckily for me, he had informed this to uncle and aunty too. Shameless that I was, went ahead with the job immediately after the gluttony that I had committed. The speedometer cable in my motorcycle had been cut somewhere in Rajasthan and I wanted to get it fixed at the earliest. Since it was a few hours until Raja came home, I went out to explore the neighbourhood and hoped to get the cable fixed too. Gurgaon is a concrete jungle; huge skyscrapers lined along the roads which were heavily battered by overloaded traffic and the recent monsoons. There were malls everywhere- what on earth will people buy every day? By late evening Raja reached home and I met Sushmita for the first time (she looked like a college going kid actually). We had a late dinner and a nice chat while I shared pictures from the travel so far. The next day I managed to locate the Royal Enfield service center with the Raja’s help and managed to get my speedo fixed along with the oil change. My friend decided to take his family to an exhibition in the capital city- Delhi Ghat. I parked my bike at the metro station and took the metro train. It was impressive! Wish every metro city in the country had this facility. A pretty girl who seemed to be in her early twenties was sitting across me, while I preferred to stand. She was about five foot tall with an athletic build, a bit flat nose and white skin. Was she from South America? May be yes, or maybe not. How did I know she was a traveller? Typical characteristics like a map in hand, Aladdin pants, flip flops and a rucksack! The poor girl was being squashed by the locals on either side; unsurprisingly not by young boys, but middle aged men. This pervert was about 45 years old and he kept falling on her every now and then, while shouting on the top of his voice in his mobile phone. She finally couldn’t tolerate it anymore and just got up from her seat. No wonder ive heard New Delhi is very unsafe for woman travellers! The exhibition had food counters and handicrafts from most of the states across the country and I filled my stomach with momos and mishit doi. My friend had some shopping to do and we reached home by around 10 pm. The next day I had planned to leave to Delhi and stay there for a couple of days.

Wah Taj!!!

My first visit to Jaipur was a tad disappointing I must say. For the first time in a month, I experienced very hot and dusty conditions. Due to budget constrains I could only pick a non air conditioned room, which later proved to be a wrong decision. Since the Taj was on my must see list, i skipped Jaipur sight seeing and headed straight to Agra the next morning, where Eashwar's biker friends Tanveer and Co helped me find a guest house. I was told that the best time to visit the Taj was early in the morning. The heat was already taking the toll on me and i started feeling very uncomfortable.  Anyways planned to visit the monument next morning and then head straight to Gurgaon after that.

The next morning was up at 6:00 hrs and couldnt restrain my excitement. Finally for the first time in my life I was  looking at the most celebrated symbol of love from the banks of river Yamuna. Since Eid was celebrated that day, the entry was free, and thousands of ppl flocked in their pristine white clothes to attend the Namaaz and greet each other.It took a few minutes to sink in the thought that I was actually in Taj Mahal. The symmetrically designed gardens on either side of the water channel overlooked by massive white marble structures was a great sight to watch. The huge pool of water, where ppl washed their faces, hands and legs before entering the dargah, was engulfed by a sea of white kurtas. The lawns and tress was immaculately maintained and just like me the tourists from other countries were clicking away pictures in awe.

Banks of river Yamuna

Ive heard people saying that you get overwhelmed by the feeling of Love and Romance, on seeing Taj Mahal. Personally, I think its an overstatement  for I must confess that I could never for even a moment relate the beautiful campus to 'love'. Movies have romanticised this architectural wonder over a period of time.

On reaching my guesthouse i felt very tired and decided to sleep for a couple of hours so that I could ride to Gurgaon in better shape. By noon I realised that for the first time in this journey I fell sick, the temperature rose steeply, I was perspiring, sneezing, breathing with difficulty and stone dead tired.I slept for the next 50 hours and left to Gurgaon only after I recovered fully.

Kumbalgarh Fort, Rajasthan

It has been nearly three months since my last post. I think its high time I updated my travelogue before my memory starts failing me. What I'll do with the format is, instead of mentioning days, i'll stick to the places alone. There are quite a few pics which will describe the journey more colourfully.

Vikram and Eva had planned to return to Ahmedabad by Sunday night, but decided to halt since it didnt make sense to miss the Sound and Light show at the fort, which was at 7 pm.

Vikram at his posing best! (couldnt resist posting it.:)

Outside our tents

 We therefore checked out by noon and found another guest house which cost us less than 500 bucks. A group of 26 bikers from Udaipur invited us for lunch after learning that we rode all the way from Ahmedabad.

After a decent lunch, we had a good afternoon siesta and then rode to the fort.

Kids playing along the roadside pool

An intimidating entrance gateway led to steep range of steps. Before Vikram and I could plot our strategy to start our climb, Eva was well over the top, posing for pictures with the locals, who thought she was from the Oriental East.

The best thing about the locals was that whenever they saw some outsider with a camera, immediately they start posing for pictures. At first I didnt understand, but then was more than happy to click away pictures capturing wonderful smiles and colourful clothing.

Once you reach the top, you realise that the fort actually runs along a huge mass of land housing a number of temple complexes and it is inevitable to avoid comparisons to the Great Wall of China. We were told that the total running distance of the fort was 38km, which was very impressive considering the height at which it was built. It was built by Rana Kumbha in the 15th century.

Fort during the Sound and Light Show

The next day they headed back to Ahmedabad, while I rode towards the Pink city-Jaipur.