Sun, sand and solace

A chance detour leads Soma Basu to a memorial and a balmy day at the
beach at Kundakal
Rameswaram is a pucca holy town swamped bypilgrims round the year.
There are numerous temples that dot the coastline that make it even
more popular. I leave Madurai with warningsthat the beaches in
Rameswaram are dirty, with no activities or adventure tourism to speak
of. I hope the waves, the wind and the sand will make it worth my
while. After all it is flanked by the Indian Ocean and the Bay of
Bengal. It has to be an inspiring experience.
It turns out to be just that, and I almost miss it.
Next to the town's check-post, beside a huge flexboard, is a small —
and almost invisible — board which says 'Vivekananda Memorial'. I
decide to investigate. After aboutthree kilometres down a narrow
winding path, I spot a brightly painted building in redand orange
standing tall, right on the goldenbeach. The liquid blue ocean is in
the background and all I hear is the lap of waves. It instantly feels
good. This is the villageof Kundakal.
An old man sits alone on a wooden bench and waves me inside the
memorial, after selling me a five rupee ticket. Inside the high
ceiling hall is a tall bronze statue of SwamiVivekananda and on the
walls are stories from his life. The village and this memorial are
significant as it is here that Vivekananda entered India after
addressing the World Religious Parliament at Chicago. The tour of the
memorial does not take more than 15 minutes, even if you are
meticulous and go about it in a thorough way. It is a good feeling to
pay homage to Vivekananda. Outside, a feast awaits the senses.
The sea creates a spontaneous sense of peace. The memorial and the
pervading agarbatti fragrance around this unexploredand unrecognised
stretch of sea line creates an almost spiritual ambience. Thebeach is
clean and the water a lovely blue. It isnot difficult to spend the
entire day here in solitude, watching the endless dance of the waves
against the shore. A huddle of fishing boats bob silently nearby. Two
tiny islands in the distance complete the scenic backdrop. The sand
feels soft as powdered sugar underfoot.
The old man from the memorial reappears and explains how the sea is
always calm here and home to a variety of coral reefs, marine algae,
sea cucumbers, starfish, sponges and crabs. May be that is why a small
marine museum has been constructed next to the memorial. It is
scheduled for inauguration next month.
As the sun comes down,seagulls swoop down. The colour of the
waterdarkens and there is a spectacular sunset. I have no regrets
about not making it all the way to Rameswaram. The unplanned detour to
Kundakal was perfect. I return home humming Led Zeppelin's 'Down by
the Seaside…'
Getting there
Rameswaram is well connected by road, air and train. The nearest
airport is Madurai, 174 km.
Where to stay
There are several low budget hotels in Rameswaram town

Sun, sand and solace

A chance detour leads Soma Basu to a memorial and a balmy day at the
beach at Kundakal
Rameswaram is a pucca holy town swamped bypilgrims round the year.
There are numerous temples that dot the coastline that make it even
more popular. I leave Madurai with warningsthat the beaches in
Rameswaram are dirty, with no activities or adventure tourism to speak
of. I hope the waves, the wind and the sand will make it worth my
while. After all it is flanked by the Indian Ocean and the Bay of
Bengal. It has to be an inspiring experience.
It turns out to be just that, and I almost miss it.
Next to the town's check-post, beside a huge flexboard, is a small —
and almost invisible — board which says 'Vivekananda Memorial'. I
decide to investigate. After aboutthree kilometres down a narrow
winding path, I spot a brightly painted building in redand orange
standing tall, right on the goldenbeach. The liquid blue ocean is in
the background and all I hear is the lap of waves. It instantly feels
good. This is the villageof Kundakal.
An old man sits alone on a wooden bench and waves me inside the
memorial, after selling me a five rupee ticket. Inside the high
ceiling hall is a tall bronze statue of SwamiVivekananda and on the
walls are stories from his life. The village and this memorial are
significant as it is here that Vivekananda entered India after
addressing the World Religious Parliament at Chicago. The tour of the
memorial does not take more than 15 minutes, even if you are
meticulous and go about it in a thorough way. It is a good feeling to
pay homage to Vivekananda. Outside, a feast awaits the senses.
The sea creates a spontaneous sense of peace. The memorial and the
pervading agarbatti fragrance around this unexploredand unrecognised
stretch of sea line creates an almost spiritual ambience. Thebeach is
clean and the water a lovely blue. It isnot difficult to spend the
entire day here in solitude, watching the endless dance of the waves
against the shore. A huddle of fishing boats bob silently nearby. Two
tiny islands in the distance complete the scenic backdrop. The sand
feels soft as powdered sugar underfoot.
The old man from the memorial reappears and explains how the sea is
always calm here and home to a variety of coral reefs, marine algae,
sea cucumbers, starfish, sponges and crabs. May be that is why a small
marine museum has been constructed next to the memorial. It is
scheduled for inauguration next month.
As the sun comes down,seagulls swoop down. The colour of the
waterdarkens and there is a spectacular sunset. I have no regrets
about not making it all the way to Rameswaram. The unplanned detour to
Kundakal was perfect. I return home humming Led Zeppelin's 'Down by
the Seaside…'
Getting there
Rameswaram is well connected by road, air and train. The nearest
airport is Madurai, 174 km.
Where to stay
There are several low budget hotels in Rameswaram town

The lady of the lake

At Belur we discover that Bishtama Kere is a sanctuary for humans and
birds as well
It was one of those lethargic days when you are in no mood to explore
and the mind isaching to kill time. I was in my favourite Malenadu
region in Karnataka and was walking beside a lake near Belur town. A
small mandapam was almost buried in the water, but my attention was
drawn toa flock of cormorants perched on a rock in the lake.
According to the locals, lakes in this region were considered sacred
as they hid several treasures in their depths. In the past, when the
Hoysalas were attackedby different invaders, itis believed that
important sculptures and idols from the temples and even jewellery was
thrown inside the lake to save the treasures from invaders.
I wondered if this lake around me too had its little secret. Chinna, a
local whom I had befriended, told me its name, Bishtama Kere, and
narrated a tragic tale around it. The lake,he said, was named after
Bishtama, a woman who sacrificed herself by drowning in the waters
when she was pregnant. The landhad been barren for many years and
locals believe that her sacrifice brought the rains and fertility back
to the village.
Chinna insisted that herspirit still remained in the waters and spoke
to the people. He got all excited as he added that people used to
throw jewellery into the lake before a wedding so that they were
blessed by Bishtama and in the morning, the jewellery would still be
intact, floating on the waters. I looked at him rather incredulously
and asked when this had happened last in the village. Chinna shrugged
and safely answered that he did not remember.
There's always an element of surprise in every trip. Many a time,I
realised that a traveller's tale had taken me to the most nondescript
place that Ihad often taken for granted. Temples and forts may have
spun yarns of history, but a simple, humble lake had its own story to
tellas well.
A loud, ashy prinia broke my reverie. Chinna had already moved on,
talking to some other villagers. I was suddenly distracted by a flock
of night herons that were breeding and a family of bronze-winged
jacanas. I later learnt that it was the father jacana that brought up
the chicks up, as the mother was nowhere in the picture.
The father was foraging for food with his chicks. Suddenly, the chicks
walked awaywithout heeding the parent's advice and for the next
several minutes, I could hear the father pleading and calling out to
his adventurous chicks. I could not see the chicksfor a while, but
suddenly they reappeared. I was fascinated to watch an animated
conversation between them. Bobbing their heads back and forth in a
rhythmic fashion, they seemed to be nodding and shaking their heads,
probably havinga little argument or narrating their experiences.
Suddenly one of the chicks decided to end the discussion by thrusting
its head under the father's wing. It got under the parent's belly and
shoved him with its beak, asking tobe picked up. As the family spent
the evening at the lake, I could not help but think of how a lake that
could take a life could also nurture it.

--

- - - - -

And Allah Knows the Best!

- - - - -

Published by :->
M NajimudeeN Bsc- INDIA

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤

Part 3 - Moons Peak [FINISHED]- Welcome Home (chapter 3)

I MARCHED UP THE WOODEN STEPS leaving that obnoxious boy far behind me.
Seriously, who was that guy anyway? Probably some hired help my dad
had gotten in order to retire at an early age. He sure looked like
labored help, with all the dirt he carried.
I shook my thoughts aside and studied the farmhouse. The porch ran
around the whole house, with a swinging seat that was perched out in
the front, and if you stared out toward the eastside of Denvers Drove.
You could spot Point Lakefrom there.
The tarnished wood underneath my high heels protested as I crossed
over the threshold and into the foyer.
It was just how I remembered: Small, musty, and cheap. I wrinkled my nose.
The family room sat on my right, while the kitchen was to my left.
Further down the hall a staircase wound up to the bedrooms, along with
the bathroom and toilet.
It was a four-bedroom cottage, still very small, considering my
grandparent's mansion in Manhattan housed fifteen rooms with four
bathrooms and two en-suites—one in mine—and the other in my
grandparents room.
Plus, their hotel apartment they kept for when I turned eighteen.
Isighed. I was definitely visiting.
"Willow...? Is that you?"
I was startled out of my thoughts when I heard a familiar voice address me.
I turned to the husky female voice coming from the family area. It was
Mrs. Heins, or as I used to call her 'Aunt Retha'. My eyes settled
onher tiny frame, and I tried my hardest to hide the shock on my face,
after noticing she was bound to a wheelchair.
She looked like she had lost a lot of weight—almost to the point to
where her bones were jarring out of her clothes.Though she was always
thin—looking at her now—she'd looked almost anorexic. Her curlyblack
hair cropped at herjaw line, as her piercing light green eyes stared
atme attentively.
Her olive skin was what made her look young, but whatever had taken
her to this road, made her seem fragile. Most of where Satchel got his
looks from was his mother.
She'd always been a beautiful role model to me.
"Aunt—I mean, Mrs. Heins?" I caught my tongue because I wasn't sure if
it was appropriateto call her Aunt anymore.
She nodded with a big smile and wheeled herself a little closer.
Dipping to give her a peck on her cheek, she pulled me into a tight bear hug.
Had she been anyone else? I would've squirmed and pushed myway out of
it, and protested about having to crinkle up my Valentino, but this
was Satchel's mom.
In fact, I'd remembered when I was little, I used to dream up that she
wasmy real mom, and Satcheland I would claim we were brother and
sister.
She'd always been a woman I looked up to, soI'd adopted her as my own
Aunt. I'd wondered how she ended up in a wheelchair. Her eyes looked
me over as if she were struggling to see the Willow she once
remembered. Quite frankly, that Willow had sailed her ship along time
ago.
"Wow, you've grown up so much! I hardly recognize you with that blonde
in your hair," she said in that husky voice of hers, marveling at my
appearance.
I smiled, flattening my three hundred dollar dye job down and flicking
it back over my shoulders. Iswept my bangs to the side.
Biting my lips, I nodded."Yeah, I guess I grew out of that brunette
phase a long time ago," I admitted, remembering back to when Aretha
had last seen me.
I used to have mousy brunette hair that was sothin; it was impossible
to stay in a French braid. I guess I still had that mousy kind of
hair, just blonde. Her smile never wavered, rubbing my arms
endearingly.
"Well, it's good to see you. I'd show you to yourroom, but you don't
needhelp with that do you?"
I shook my head. "I'm sure I can find it." I smiled as she wheeled
away, squeezing my hand before she left.
Sighing, I cast my eyes upto the winding staircase. Just visiting, I
chanted in my head. I mounted the stairs, cringing at the creaking
sounds as I did, and turned into the first room that sat to the left
from the top of the stairs.
The door squeaked as I opened it, and I was met with a familiarity I
thought I'd left behind. My old room was just the way I had left it.
A single bed to the right, a window seat and a dresser drawer that
looked like it had lived through centuries of storms. The room had
that musty smell again, and the colors of my comforters were a white
yellow: Plain, and boring.
It looked like vomit. I grimaced. Just think of it as a field trip.
You'll be out of here before you know it, and then home sweet home.
I whipped my head around to the sound of a big thump. I glared whenI
saw that boy again. He'd just dumped my bags at the doorway like they
were some cheap garbage! I couldn't stand for that...
My lips curled back, and my eyes burned holes into his cowboy hat.
"What the hell! You just threw Louis Vuitton on the floor?!" I
exclaimed, biting back a string of curses.
His stupid cowboy hat still hid his face, so I had nothing to stare at
besides his chest. It wasn't a bad sight either;with his broad
shoulders and his olive tanned skin.
He shrugged. "Who and whatever Louis is, I'm sure he doesn't mind the
floor," he said in a bored tone.
He was leaning on the doorframe with a smirk on his face. Ugh! He was
impossible. I marched over to him and retrievedmy luggage, in an
attempt to save them from him mistreating them any further.
"Louis is not something you just chuck on the ground! Ugh! What would
you know? You live on a farm!" I said in disgust, swiping away any
visible dirt that it may have conjured from the trip it took from the
carriage to my room.
He tilted his head, amusement littering his lips. "I don't know
what'smore entertaining: You naming your bag, or the fact that you
have blondehair." He scoffed.
I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he laughing at me?
"Are you mocking me?" I demanded of him, fistingmy hand up in a tight
balland scowled.
He shook his head. "Just that my mom is right. Youreally have changed."
I glared, unzipping one of my travel bags for some refreshing spray to
kill the musty smell. "And how would you know that? You don't know
anything about me!" I said bitterly.
"Nope. Not anymore…it seems," he muttered in a voice that was barely
audible. I noticed the wistful note in his voice.
He tipped his hat with hisright hand and a smile tugged as his lips
and then turned on his heels.
"Welcome home, Willy." He bid his farewell and I froze.
Only one person called me that, and that was Satchel. I watched his
retreating figure disappear down the stairs and stood there fora
moment lost in thought.
That was Satchel? I struggled to see any resemblance. Sure he hadthe
same color skin, and the chocolate brown colored hair, but he'd grown
it out.
I'd remembered him being so little, that I was practically taller than
himand I was five. He was seven back then. He was almost six foot now,
and a body fit for a man.
Wow, he'd really grown out of the boy I once knew. I guess I wasn't
theonly one who changed.

--

- - - - -

And Allah Knows the Best!

- - - - -

Published by :->
M NajimudeeN Bsc- INDIA

¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤ ¤