Getting in and out of Kumbhalgarh Fort, Rajasthan

A trip to Southern Rajasthan is not complete without a visit to the magnificent Adinatha Jain Temple at Ranakpur and the unconquered (except very briefly) fort of Kumbalgarh. But driving in this area can be confusing for many reasons. This has compelled me to put these tested directions, suitable for car driving, here.

Firstly, this is a protected forest area and probably the reason it's not well surveyed by Google Maps (As of August 2012). So, even the names of villages mentioned here will not come up on the Google Maps.

A quick look up on directions from Ranakpur to Kumbhalgarh gives you a 9.5 km route. Do not believe this route; it will lead you nowhere on your car. Some blogs have pointed out that it is a trekking route. Hotels will give you each a different route depending on whom and where you ask.

Commonly suggested route:

If you are staying in Sadri or Ghanerao, come down to Sadri main junction (12 KM West of Ghanerao) and proceed on SH49/32 to Ranakpur (East of Sadri). Ranakpur temple comes up at 9 KM and cannot be missed. From Ranakpur, proceed to Saeraa/Sairaa and then proceed to Kumbhalgarh. The distance to the fort from the Jain Temple is 45 km on this route. This is the most commonly suggested route but the same can be done in half as much.

Tested route from Ranakpur: 

Driving from Ranakpur to Sairaa (general direction East/ North East), about 5-6 km down, you will see a road to the left (roughly north) pointing to Kambha. Take this turn and follow this road for about 17 KM. Look for milestones to Kelwara and if needed confirm that the road is leading to the Qila. This route takes you to Kumbhalgarh fort in about 22 KM (from Ranakpur).

Caution about the Kambha route: the road has an initial 4 KM stretch that is seriously steep. So, if you are not comfortable pushing your car to this limit, not comfortable driving steep gradients or if you are have
passengers who get sick on steep/winding roads, avoid it. But this is a beautiful stretch and gets you there in half the time.

Best route from Kumbhalgarh to Udaipur:

Many will suggest the route via Gogundha. However, the route suggested below offers a broad two-lane road in superb condition.

From the fort, come down to Kelwara and follow the same road for about 45 KM towards Iswal/ Iswaal Chouraha. Iswaal is right on NH8 toll-free expressway. From here, you can reach Udaipur in less than 20 minutes.

Ranakpur and Kumbhalgarh are not to be missed. Make sure you spend more time there, than driving to and fro.

Road rage, unprovoked, is clear & present in Mumbai

NOTE: For the protection of identity of my friend, all factors of identification have been obfuscated, but the incident is real and an FIR is lodged with one of the police stations in Mumbai.

Right on the heels of Gurgaon’s Seema Kataria case (Read Here), comes a case in in Aamchi Mumbai.  Shocking, more so because this has happened to someone I know well.

A friend of mine, a lady, let’s called her Jane, was driving alone in what could be considered an safe, quiet and innocuous neighborhood in Mumbai.

The particular stretch of road is narrow and just about allows two vehicles to carefully pass each other. A BEST bus halts at a designated stop and Jane stops her car waiting for the bus to pass. A biker, a man with another one on the pillion, in a hurry tries to overtake the bus but is faced with a stopped car of Jane. But unless the bus moves, neither Jane's car nor the bike can get beyond the point. That’s all there to the start of this scene. What happens next is unbelievable but has really transpired…

The biker starts abusing her for ‘blocking his way’. Jane double checks that her windows are rolled up and doors locked, and patiently waits for the bus to move hoping the enraged biker goes his way. The biker's barrage of verbal abuse goes on for about half a minute. But ruffled by Jane’s patient wait, this guy loses it all and pulls out his helmet (so far suspended to the bike's handlebar) and starts pounding it into the windshield of Jane’s car. Within a few seconds the windshield is cracked all over, but thankfully does not collapse down on her. The act of blatant unprovoked vandalism happens in the presence of at least 30 onlookers, several shopkeepers around and other drivers on bikes, cars and the BEST bus nearby. Jane keeps her cool, despite being paralyzed by fear, and thinks about the options she has. She decides that doing anything would enrage the biker, he having already done so much damage unprovoked and audaciously in the presence of the public. The BEST bus moves, biker finds his way out and rips away. Jane manages to note down the registration number of the bike.

Jane drives down to the the police station a few hundred meters away expecting that the information about the enraged biker would be followed up immediately. But, she is informed that they cannot do anything without an FIR and that FIR can be filed only in the main police station a few kilometers away. There is no further explanation provided to her. Soon after, Jane drives down to the Main Police Station and files her FIR, knowing very well that this would be only useful for insurance claim and nothing much else by way of justice.

But, the bigger question looming over this is whether the public can feel protected from audacious goons. Do such unaddressed cases of unprovoked vandalism only encourage such unscrupulous behavior? What’s happened here can happen to anyone anywhere and is a daily phenomenon. When it happens to us, we realise we have been living in our little cocoons made of cotton candy and we wake up to the reality of the grim state of affairs. Fearing uncontrolled dire consequences we remain silent about these issues.

After all not every case can be highlighted in the media and not everyone has access to the top level of police machinery, to ensure justice is meted out in time and in every case.

Review of 'The Bastard of Istanbul'

The Bastard of Istanbul is a gripping tale of love, lovelessness and family secrets painted on a canvass of Turkey’s vivid cultural melange. The characters depict a lot of passion both in their rebelliousness and conformity, portraying in them the conflicts of daily life living the modern life with the burden of the past.

I picked up this book as a predecessor to the much acclaimed The 40 Rules of Love, a book I loved for its intense mystic undertones. The exceptionally creative narrative made me an instant Elif Shafak fan. The narrative is quite different as compared to 40 Rules. But interleaving time-spans to narrate intricate tale seems to be a favourite common factor. Intense characterisation with highly sensitive handling of characters’ emotions stays with you. For example the balloon seller sailing away on the boat over Bosphorus remains vivid in its detail days after closing the book.

The Bastard beautifully brings out the nuances of the cultural and political modern history of Turkey. If you are interested in the vicissitudes of Turkish and Armenian lives through the modern history of Turkey, this is as good a book that provides an up close and personal view. Be prepared for an insider’s perspective on the culture based political conflicts as well as generational differences in interpretations. It raises interesting questions like What’s better –to remember your history or the forget it or not know it all? How much are you accountable for the actions of your societal ascendants? The book is an interesting journey in the gastronomic essence of Turkish culture. Are the chapter titles the ingredients of Ashure? If yes, that’s another neat dimension to the narration. And when the ingredient list is done, you know that Ashure is ready. But, still, I did not see that end coming.

Elif Shafak is my favourite contemporary literary fiction writer in just two books in a little over as many months; three more arrived a few days back.  Bastard of Istanbul is a must read if you like to explore the exotic.

-Gowrish

Introducing QuillTip : A Poetic Romance

Encouraged by good feedback, words of encouragement and useful critique, I have decided to record all my poems in a separate blog called ' Quill Tip'. Here is the link: http://quilltip.blogspot.com

I hope you will enjoy it and keep coming back. Your feedback will be useful to me.

Woman, thy beauty surpass : A Poem

This Women's Day, I dedicate this poem to all the women who have touched my life or continue to.

Woman, thy beauty surpass

Woman, thy beauty surpass the beauty,
Of nature, whose you are the creation best
Nurture is your nature, eve,

From since when I was a seed at first.

You've borne me within and sustained me
Peace I found as a child in your warm breast,
Holding me as I slept and I learned to dream
You instructed me on respect, values and trust.

A welcome gift of life, from the same womb,
You played with me, fought, and you competed,
Taking both of us higher, as you inspired at times
Growing up, my upbringing you completed

Grappling with rules of life as I learned and schooled, you,
Encouraged me, as you taught; and got taught beside
I discovered weaknesses, built strengths as we
Chatted, frolicked, studied and raced side-by-side.

As I labour to earn my bread, you make it fun,
You lead, help, manage, collaborate, critique
With your thoughts, ideas, efforts and lending hand,
You help achieve the common objectives we seek

Destiny brought us together to nurture

Each other, help us grow and nourish our souls
You teach me ways to love and take care of me
As life partner, you share my hopes, plans and life's goals

As friend, you are always there, beside me
To help me get through travails with unconditional support
You are my partner, my advisor, my companion,

My muse, and at times source of soulful rapport.

Woman, thy beauty surpass the beauty,
Of nature, whose you are the creation best

They say you borrowed man's rib to get your form

But you give back so much more; we attest.

-Gowrish

My Mumbai Marathon experience : Part 2

(Read Part 1 here: My experience: Part 1 )

My feet were throbbing with tiredness as well as the blisters. We went past the Hanging Gardens and turned turned right towards Babulnath Temple. Another 200 mts and I would be on Marine Drive; but the blisters on both feet were pinching me inside the shoes.

You realise the vastness of the drive and it's circularity. When you enter this road, suddenly, you are in the sun, thus far protected by tall buildings. By the time you cross Churney Road station, the sun is directly hitting you in the eye and then you are in the shade again. A little before the New Yorker and Ideal Cafe junction, a mist-tent was set up. This is a pretty neat thing, wherein, even as you run you can go through a tunnel of slow spray of a mist, bringing you instant relief albeit temporary.

3 more km to go! These are the longest miles of the half marathon. At this time, you are mustering every ounce of will to move on. The hamstrings are beginning to talk, the feet are crying for respite, the random sweat bead getting into the eye burns like acid and your head is throbbing. But the crowds takeover. Several cheering squads on all sides representing Radio Stations, The Navy, some charities etc, I pass by even as I look to my right ino the sky to spot a low flying helicopter, probably, carrying media crew.

Beyond the Inter-Continental Marine hotel, the density of spectators build up. And by the time you turn at Pizza By The Bay (erstwhile Jazz By The Bay) crowds takeover. By this time the Dream Runners are flooding the other side of the road, followed by charities and sponsors' volunteers. We hear the loud siren like that of a police van, but really a media bus leading some of the full marathoners. The winners must be already past the finish line, I calculate.

By this time, the milestone markers are cleverly designed to say the distance that is remaining to be covered, rather than the insofar markers which displayed the distance covered. This does play big on the mind, favourably so. You are trying to muster up the last few bars of energy left in you and give it the final push. I hear someone complain there are no water stations in the last two KMs. Fair enough, my mind was elsewhere but the point is valid.

Entering the last turn, the last 600 meters toward Azad Maidan, you eyes are set on the distant clock over the finish line. OK, I can see a digital dance happening on the display. It's definitely broken. I break into a sprint, just so that I can feel I ran with gusto across the finish line. I can feel myself making a big effort, but the output was not as big as expected. Clearly, the energy is waning.

I slow down as I cross the finish line and feel a slight tug in my left hamstring. About time I started slow stretches, I think. My second Half Marathon has just come to an end.

My Mumbai Marathon experience : Part 1

At Five in the morning of the Sunday, the air in Mumbai was chill. I expected it to feel less colder. I had taken a cold water, maybe 10 C, shower just a short while back.

I stepped into the cab dressed in a cotton crew neck, running tights, loose shorts and running shoes with the Blackberry tucked away in my armband.At that time of the day, it took me about 15 minutes to cover the distance it takes 90 minutes in peak hour traffic.

This would be my second time at the Mumbai Marathon, doing the half marathon. The second time, what helps you is remembering that you have done the 21.09 km before.

As I stepped into the runners' waiting area, the excitement was palpable. There is something about running groups giving tempo shouts, stretching, spot jogging that gets your adrenalin pumped up and puts your mind into the running mode. You want to start running right away, forgetting the pace you have planned. I bumped into Pramod Singh of PGPX (With a target time of 2 hours), who was here with his classmates and then also happened to meet a former colleague. The buzz of the crowd grew into a loud cackle by the time we closed in on 6, the first flag off. I was in the 615 flag off.

As we passed the starting point, I made sure I stepped on the RFID sensor mat. Among the dozens of beeps from the runners stepping over, my starting time too must have got registered. Once the starting point is behind you, the road ahead is pitch dark, as you go in the direction of the Sea Link. Onto the Sea Link, I paced into a brisk walk and looked over my left shoulder. An orange streak of light was pushing its way through hues of grey, black and deep blue sky behind the silhouette of the Mahim/Worli skyline. Sunrise was not far away.

"Mama, should I run for the president" lines by Pink Floyd were flowing into my ears as I crossed the mid point of the Sea Link. Downhill, I resisted the temptation to break into a sprint. At 4 km, it was not the part of the plan.

As we turned onto the INS Strata circle, I realised that the route had been slightly changed this year. They took us deeper into Mahim/Worli and brought us back to Sea Face.  By this time, I had started to alternate between a jog and brisk walk. I noticed that many who were doing the half marathon for probably the first time were doing the same mistakes I had committed last year. They had started running at the starting-gun and now they were starting to slow down, getting tired.

By the time we double backed onto Worli exit of the Sea Link, we had covered 9 KM.I felt a pinch in the arch of my my right foot. I realised what it was but could not understand why a blister should form with all controlled factors - shoes, socks etc. Anyway, it was to be only ignored. 12 more km to finish line.As if on cue, 'Shine on you crazy diamond' was beating into my ears egging me on.

As we approached Annie Besant Road, the Kenyan-Ethiopian contingent was seen running towards us on the other side of the road. Such a delight it is to watch them! Like a gust of wind, the 9 athlete group runs together in unison at an average 20 kmph. All of us cheered at the equine squadron, as the media van and bike escort that were following them zoomed past us. Louder cheers followed for the Indian male and female runners.

Crossing the Atria Mall on Annie Besant road, I realised I was falling behind the 4-5 people who had seemed to be sharing my pace. I started jogging a little faster. I was soon discouraged by another pinch under the ball of my left foot and a stronger pinch around my left pinkie toe. We were past the 14 km mark by now.

Two-thirds done, another 7 km to go. Just as we cross the Haji Ali signal, you are reminded of the treacherous climb up Peddar Road, past the Mahalaxmi Temple. I also looked at my hands. They were swollen. When you walk or run at a stretch fluid accumulates in the feet and hands. My feet were feeling tighter in my shoes.

The last 4 miles are the slowest. The Peddar Road incline is the first speed breaker at the 15th km. I decided, I would adjust pace and climb with long strides to miminise the frequency of contact on the ground. I soon realised this would not work for too long. Time for some water. A little girl was offering glasses of water in two hands. I grabbed both of them. I also noticed that as against Worli Sea Face neighborhood volunteers, the Peddar road crowd had placed dustbins to drop used glasses and other trash.The cheers were louder on this stretch as well.

By this time, I guess the crowd realises, the runner has the first thoughts of whether she will be able to complete the half marathon start creeping into your mind. The words and claps of the spectators go a long way in reminding 'you have done well, keep going'. An old Parsi lady who stood on the road divider, looked at me and said something like 'Darling, you look like you ...' Between Akon and the general cheering her words were lost on me. But the man in orange T Shirt, ahead of me and a couple of others heard and I could see they smiled. The Orange T Shirt turned around and looked at my forehead. The lady had probably commented on the salt grains that had formed on my head and cheeks.

As I looked up at the most expensive and the most ugly private residential building in Mumbai. I was thinking "Maybe there is that point where people have so much money that they run out of ideas how to use it well. Or maybe it is just that they have so much more of it, it just doesn't matter to them."

(Continued in Part 2, here: My experience: Part 2)

How do you explain this whacky coincidence?

"It's just unbelievable; carefully listen to what I will tell you now ", I told my friend as I took my seat behind the wheel. My car had just been hit from behind, but the statistical odds of what had happened had given me a bigger jolt. While the rear bumper was spotless, I was mentally wrung.

I had stopped my car at a traffic light. Then I had felt a push, more than a nudge, less than a crash, from behind. Mentally cursing the driver behind me for the potential paperwork arising out of potential damage caused from this dash, I got out of the car and proceeded to inspect the damage. Turned out it was nothing. But I still had to give a piece of my mind to the guy who had eased his car into mine. He had already been apologizing as I had been checking for damage. Then out of habit my eyes ran over the registration number plate of the car.

What the? As I read the number the second time, I could not believe it. Wasn't this the same number for which I had placed a gate pass request this morning? I had had a couple of official visitors and my workplace needs prior requests for all incoming vehicles. Then the description of the car given to me by Ms. P played back to me mentally; White Ford sedan. We use the descriptions to help the pass-carriers to quickly spot the cars at the gate. This was a White Ford. Out of requirement, I also needed to place the pass request for the driver. So, I knew his name. But what is happening here. This guy and I are in a completely different part of town, late in the evening, and he has to accidentally dash my car! I know this driver and the car simply because I remembered the details from the morning. Ok, I just proved to myself that I have good short term memory and was able to instantly make the connections. But, what are the odds that a person somehow connected to me, but unknown to me, dashes my car out of the blue later that day in a remote part of town? Doesn't Mumbai nest 20 million people or am I missing something?

Stumped as I was by the flood of recognition that was hitting me combined with the realisation that this was among the whackiest coincidences I have faced in my life, I thought I should share the surprise with the other driver too. I was smiling mentally, but frowning on the outside when I said to the driver in colloquial Hindi "Aren't you Ashraf? And haven't you been driving Mr.B all day? Were you following me? Couldn't you have found another car to hit?" He instantly apologised once again (totally unnecessary, I should tell you), but suddenly became silent. I could see the realisation of what I had told him drawing on his face.The look on the face of Ashraf was a sight to watch; not something money can buy.

Letting Ashraf deal with the absurdity of the coincidence, I walked back to my car and proceeded to tell the unbelievable story to my friend.

Can someone explain this to me? While I see no larger scheme behind what happened, I am unable to comprehend the odds of this happening.

PS: Ashraf is not the real name of the driver; for protecting identity I have changed the name
PS: I am a little kicked about the first PS; I have always wanted to write one like it.