I didn't switch on the car radio. The intermittent muted thud of the windshield wipers as they wiped the shapeless splashes of rain drops induced a gloom that I was enjoying. Stuck in the internationally acclaimed traffic jam near the world famous Silk Board circle of Bangalore, I was looking at the 'TATA' board on the rear of the truck poised in front of my car. Any moment, the traffic light that I could not see would turn to green, and the lazy drivers would be forced to shift the gears to the first, and traffic would move, I thought.
I was enjoying watching the reckless biker, who had rudely cut past me in the previous signal, wait helplessly ahead, getting drenched in the light drizzle. I was secretly hoping for the rain to come harder, so that the water would creep into the dude's pants too.
Just then, there was a slight hint of the movement of the vehicles, and the truck in front of me moved ahead slowly.
As I passed the SilkBoard signal, and swerved right into Hosur road, I was happy with the speed with which the vehicles were moving. I guessed that the traffic jam was only on the previous road.
Or!!! I was wrong.
I hit the brakes violently. The traffic abruptly came to a halt by the side of the Silk Board flyover.
I was clueless about this strange phenomenon. This was not a hot spot for traffic jams, as Hosur road had been relatively free after the expansion in the last six months. I waited patiently, as curious Hari and Geetha stared at me from the rear windows of a Toyota Qualis. I did not know them personally. Actually, I had not seen them in my life ever before. The two people were staring out of a rear window that proclaimed 'Hari' and 'Geetha' as though the initial credits of a Kannada movie, on the glass.
Suddenly, it rained harder. I turned the knob of my windshield wipers to move faster. I was secretly happy, imagining the plight of the biker, whom I could not see now. This was fun.
Just then, I saw muddy water build up on the road. I was wondering about where it all would go. I saw an opening beside the road shoulder, where all the water was flushing down. I waited for the traffic to move, not very much aware of the cause of the jam. I imagined that it could be some confused traffic manager, hired by the Traffic Police, who had no clue about what he was doing. Undernourished, and untrained, these chaps seem to be hired in a hurry by the Bangalore Traffic Police. Similar to the hordes of freshers being herded into the IT industry, some of whom have never touched the ';' button on the key board in their past, and the management suddenly disappearing from the sight, leaving the hapless clients staring at these chaps in the hope that the person who wrote "Outsourcing in the latest 'in' thing" is right, the hired 'Traffic Policemen' always try their best to come up with some strategy to convince the junta that they are right for the job. They think creatively, coming with some mini 'STOP' boards, orange jackets, and sometimes whistles too, but are not able to stop the James Bond inspired crazy men behind the wheels of the Tempo Travelers of the IT companies, who are licensed to kill.
As I waited in the lashing rain, watching Hari and Geetha, exchanging some comments about me, I could hear the light lapping sounds. The last time I had heard, was a climax scene in an English movie where a boat is drowning.
Where the hell was this coming from????
Now, I could see that the water had built up enough, so much so that it was lapping in light waves against the bottom of my car.
I was shocked.
Dammit!! I was not on a boat. I was in a car. And cars have holes. Through which water can come in.
Suddenly, I looked at the opening through which water was being routed out. The water level had risen beyond the hole. I could not see the hole now.
My heart sank.
(to be continued.... along with a video)
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Brief moment of almost fame
"Guess who called up today?" my mother asked me one evening, a few weeks back. Just returning from a long day at office, I did not care if it was from the Prime Minister himself.
"You guess," I told her back.
She smiled at the fatigued joke, and mentioned, "Sumitha aththe (aunt)".
Oh! Sumitha aththe was the wife of my father's uncle who was a famous politician, and moved around in powerful circles.
"What's up?" I asked her.
"She wanted to talk to me about a proposal for you," my mother mentioned with a naughty sparkle in her eyes.
Aha!!! This had been going on for the last six months now. The first step of the process of an arranged marriage. My mother was getting unnecessarily excited about almost every proposal, some of them very good looking, some of them very smart, and some of them were both. A look at the mention of the height on the 'Biodata' of the able ladies, and my mother would sink in her chair in disappointment. Having a son whose height two men could share was certainly not working out for her. Most of the girls would look like kindergarten kids in front of me.
"Hmm," I said.
"The girl is very tall, it seems," she said.
"How much?" I threw the question, untying my shoe laces.
"Pretty tall. I think you might have seen her," the smile was still on her face.
"Eh?! I have seen her? Where?" I was surprised. A train of memories of all the marriage functions that I had attended in the past few months flew past me. Naah!!! None were 'tall'.
"Deepika Padukone," she uttered.
I was stunned.
A moment of silence followed.
"She is a Super Model. She is a celebrity," I uttered, voice barely coming out.
"I know her. She has also acted a movie I think," my mother said.
Why on Earth would Deepika want to marry me???
Oh! Lemme rephrase the question. 'Why on Earth would Mr Padukone want to propose her to me???', because I am sure that Deepika would not want to marry me if I am the last man on this planet.
Or, may be she would..... if I am the last man on this planet.... and only in that case...... or.... would she..... hmmm....
"But, Sumitha aththe says that her family is traditional. They are looking out for boys from traditional families," my mother added.
How do I qualify for being ‘Traditional’? The only times I wear Kurta/dhoti are during the times of Ethnic Days in my office.
May be I could wear Kurtas more often, I thought.
"Because she is into movies and modelling, and you were into movies and modelling before, she thought that we might consider the proposal," mother continued.
A chill traveled down my spine. Was this really happening??!!!
"Are you crazy???" I asked her, excited enough that I could not make out whether I was feeling happy, or confused.
"I know. I told her that she may not fit you in anyway other than the height," now my mother was smiling, almost on the verge of laughing.
Whew!!! That was something. Sumitha aththe had some real wild imaginations. Mother did think logically.
"You and she will not make a good pair. She is a little dusky I am told," laughed out my mother aloud.
Err.... anyway, she was never my favorite.
"You guess," I told her back.
She smiled at the fatigued joke, and mentioned, "Sumitha aththe (aunt)".
Oh! Sumitha aththe was the wife of my father's uncle who was a famous politician, and moved around in powerful circles.
"What's up?" I asked her.
"She wanted to talk to me about a proposal for you," my mother mentioned with a naughty sparkle in her eyes.
Aha!!! This had been going on for the last six months now. The first step of the process of an arranged marriage. My mother was getting unnecessarily excited about almost every proposal, some of them very good looking, some of them very smart, and some of them were both. A look at the mention of the height on the 'Biodata' of the able ladies, and my mother would sink in her chair in disappointment. Having a son whose height two men could share was certainly not working out for her. Most of the girls would look like kindergarten kids in front of me.
"Hmm," I said.
"The girl is very tall, it seems," she said.
"How much?" I threw the question, untying my shoe laces.
"Pretty tall. I think you might have seen her," the smile was still on her face.
"Eh?! I have seen her? Where?" I was surprised. A train of memories of all the marriage functions that I had attended in the past few months flew past me. Naah!!! None were 'tall'.
"Deepika Padukone," she uttered.
I was stunned.
A moment of silence followed.
"She is a Super Model. She is a celebrity," I uttered, voice barely coming out.
"I know her. She has also acted a movie I think," my mother said.
Why on Earth would Deepika want to marry me???
Oh! Lemme rephrase the question. 'Why on Earth would Mr Padukone want to propose her to me???', because I am sure that Deepika would not want to marry me if I am the last man on this planet.
Or, may be she would..... if I am the last man on this planet.... and only in that case...... or.... would she..... hmmm....
"But, Sumitha aththe says that her family is traditional. They are looking out for boys from traditional families," my mother added.
How do I qualify for being ‘Traditional’? The only times I wear Kurta/dhoti are during the times of Ethnic Days in my office.
May be I could wear Kurtas more often, I thought.
"Because she is into movies and modelling, and you were into movies and modelling before, she thought that we might consider the proposal," mother continued.
A chill traveled down my spine. Was this really happening??!!!
"Are you crazy???" I asked her, excited enough that I could not make out whether I was feeling happy, or confused.
"I know. I told her that she may not fit you in anyway other than the height," now my mother was smiling, almost on the verge of laughing.
Whew!!! That was something. Sumitha aththe had some real wild imaginations. Mother did think logically.
"You and she will not make a good pair. She is a little dusky I am told," laughed out my mother aloud.
Err.... anyway, she was never my favorite.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
One monsoon visit to Jog Falls
Holding the slippery boulder tight, I peeped down. It was an exhilarating experience to watch the vigorous muddy water of the Jog Falls, trying to squeeze into the crevices between the rocks, and lurch out into air, before descending down the ravine, appearing as a heap of crystals. The bottom of the waterfalls could not be seen, as the water was falling into a mist that was erupting from down below.
I just stared at the magnificent falls, as the excitement simmered down, and I began losing myself in the aura of the nature's magical creation, the Jog Falls.
Jog Falls, counted as one of the famous waterfalls worldwide, was just another place for me. This place was one of the most common places that I visited every summer since my childhood days, as it was a half hour drive from my grandpa's place in Talaguppa. We had to drive past Jog for visiting any of my other relatives nearby. Once, I had seen it in summer, sporting less water than the water pipe to my grandpa's garden. I always wondered 'what’s all the hype about?’
And suddenly it happened. Due to the heavy rains in the catchment areas in the Western Ghats this year, all the waterfalls in the Ghats were in the best of their spirits. But the celebrity amongst them was none other than the famous Jog Falls. The Linganamakki Dam that is built against Sharavathi River had been filled up to the brim; the gates of the dam were opened to the maximum. The gushing river had flowed down to the Jog Falls, forming a feast for the eyes. Immediately, news had flashed all over the television channels, and newspapers that Jog Falls is at its powerful best, a scene that had been witnessed twelve years back.
Four of us friends planned a one-day trip to the place. A night bus from Bangalore took us to Sagar (Shimoga District) on August 11th, and from there we were able to get my uncle’s car to Jog Falls. As we drove through the intermittent drizzle, I noticed the carpet of fresh green grass that was splashed out from the road shoulders, to the farms, trees, and even walls of the village houses. I was almost tempted to stop the car, get out into the drizzle, and roll on the green spread.
We had been advised to visit the Linganamakki Dam, the China Gate, and the Jog Falls in that order.
On the National Highway 206, also called at the B H Road, we took a deviation to the left at Churikatte, 18 kms from Sagar. This route passes through a small village Idwani. We stopped there and got down to ask at the roadside cycle shop about the way to go to Linganamakki Dam. "Jog straight, Jog straight," the man at the cycle shop screamed, misjudging us to be foreigners, with our weird clothes, hats and expensive cameras. He appeared surprised when I asked him the way to Linganamakki Dam, in my native language Kannada. He showed us another deviation, a nondescript road to the left that took us to the viewpoint from where we could get a good sight of the charming dam.
As it was already nearing the afternoon, we drove straight to Jog Falls, from Linganamakki Dam. As we parked our car in the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, and came out to watch the falls, I could feel my heartbeats racing. Finally, I was going to watch the Jog Falls in full splendor. This was the waterfall that I had watched as a kid, and as an adolescent. Though it had attracted tourists from world over, it had never fascinated me as I had always seen it in the summer, and the winter, when the gates were hardly open.
Now, it was like the first time I went to college. I was nervous, and curious.
Slowly, I pulled out my umbrella, my camera, and walked towards the viewpoint, where hundreds had already assembled to watch the 'performance'. The roar of the waterfalls drowned all the excited screams of the crowd that had gathered. As I made my way to the viewpoint, I was shocked.
I could see nothing.
It was just plain white all over.
The mist had taken over.
The disappointment was huge. Finally, after all these years of bearing the waterfalls in its gawky form, we had traveled all the way from Bangalore, specifically for this occasion. This was a cruel joke of Nature on us. I felt let down, and frustrated.
But, all was not lost. The crowd assured me that in a few hours, there would be rough winds that might clear the mist. We waited for an hour, during which, there was occasional glimpses of the Jog Falls, in its knightly form. Though the mist never cleared completely, to get a full view of the falls, it did give us some special moments to click some good pictures.
We decided to move to the other viewpoint, the British Bunglow, constructed by the British during their rule. This viewpoint is very close to the waterfalls, and promised to give us a better view of the falls. The British Bunglow viewpoint is a ten-minute drive from the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, built by Mysore King during British rule. As we parked our car, and came up to the viewpoint, the view made it all worth. Magnanimously, the Sharavathi River showed off all its muscles, as it created the powerful, and the angelic waterfalls, diving into the abyss below. As my eyes swept the landscape, the exquisite waterfalls pouring out all over, bordered by the green trees in the background, and light blue sky visible between white clouds, I stood marveling at the heart catching spectacle.
The Jog Falls consists of four main waterfalls. The Raja, known for its majesty, the Rani, known for its elegant form, the Roarer, known for the loudness, and the Rocket, known for its shape. Due to the flood of water from everywhere, the four waterfalls were in full flow, unlike any pictures that is often used on the calendars.
We decided to move closer to the waterfalls. As we made our way through a muddy path, in the light drizzle, we came across an official board on which somebody had painted carelessly 'Danger'. We proceeded, as there was a continuous flow of the crowd to the rocks at the edge of the waterfalls.
It was on the rocks on the edge of the waterfalls that I had an experience of my lifetime, when I peeped down into the waterfalls from up above.
On the way back, we stopped at the China Gate, between the Linganamakki Dam and Jog Falls. The water flowed smoothly over the concrete structures, creating a beautiful setting.
An hour drive back to Sagar, on the silky and wet highway amidst the greenery, and we were set to board the bus back to Bangalore.
Jog Falls holds mystery of the Sathoddi falls, the grace of the Abbi falls, and power of the Hebbe falls. It has not only helps build a local economy by its tourism, but contributes Lion's share of the electricity needs of Karnataka. It is on the itinerary of all the ministers, and other government officials who are on official visits in the neighboring districts. But, beyond the hullabaloo, it has been a friendly neighbor to me that always smiled at me, on my occasional visits to my grandfather's house. It has been the kid next door to me that makes me feel that I have grown up with it.
Here are some of the pictures of the trip.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/66091089@N00/sets/72157601627219813/
Here’s a video of the Jog Falls from the top, in Mungaru Male stye ;-)
Hope you like them.
Thejas
I just stared at the magnificent falls, as the excitement simmered down, and I began losing myself in the aura of the nature's magical creation, the Jog Falls.
Jog Falls, counted as one of the famous waterfalls worldwide, was just another place for me. This place was one of the most common places that I visited every summer since my childhood days, as it was a half hour drive from my grandpa's place in Talaguppa. We had to drive past Jog for visiting any of my other relatives nearby. Once, I had seen it in summer, sporting less water than the water pipe to my grandpa's garden. I always wondered 'what’s all the hype about?’
And suddenly it happened. Due to the heavy rains in the catchment areas in the Western Ghats this year, all the waterfalls in the Ghats were in the best of their spirits. But the celebrity amongst them was none other than the famous Jog Falls. The Linganamakki Dam that is built against Sharavathi River had been filled up to the brim; the gates of the dam were opened to the maximum. The gushing river had flowed down to the Jog Falls, forming a feast for the eyes. Immediately, news had flashed all over the television channels, and newspapers that Jog Falls is at its powerful best, a scene that had been witnessed twelve years back.
Four of us friends planned a one-day trip to the place. A night bus from Bangalore took us to Sagar (Shimoga District) on August 11th, and from there we were able to get my uncle’s car to Jog Falls. As we drove through the intermittent drizzle, I noticed the carpet of fresh green grass that was splashed out from the road shoulders, to the farms, trees, and even walls of the village houses. I was almost tempted to stop the car, get out into the drizzle, and roll on the green spread.
We had been advised to visit the Linganamakki Dam, the China Gate, and the Jog Falls in that order.
On the National Highway 206, also called at the B H Road, we took a deviation to the left at Churikatte, 18 kms from Sagar. This route passes through a small village Idwani. We stopped there and got down to ask at the roadside cycle shop about the way to go to Linganamakki Dam. "Jog straight, Jog straight," the man at the cycle shop screamed, misjudging us to be foreigners, with our weird clothes, hats and expensive cameras. He appeared surprised when I asked him the way to Linganamakki Dam, in my native language Kannada. He showed us another deviation, a nondescript road to the left that took us to the viewpoint from where we could get a good sight of the charming dam.
As it was already nearing the afternoon, we drove straight to Jog Falls, from Linganamakki Dam. As we parked our car in the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, and came out to watch the falls, I could feel my heartbeats racing. Finally, I was going to watch the Jog Falls in full splendor. This was the waterfall that I had watched as a kid, and as an adolescent. Though it had attracted tourists from world over, it had never fascinated me as I had always seen it in the summer, and the winter, when the gates were hardly open.
Now, it was like the first time I went to college. I was nervous, and curious.
Slowly, I pulled out my umbrella, my camera, and walked towards the viewpoint, where hundreds had already assembled to watch the 'performance'. The roar of the waterfalls drowned all the excited screams of the crowd that had gathered. As I made my way to the viewpoint, I was shocked.
I could see nothing.
It was just plain white all over.
The mist had taken over.
The disappointment was huge. Finally, after all these years of bearing the waterfalls in its gawky form, we had traveled all the way from Bangalore, specifically for this occasion. This was a cruel joke of Nature on us. I felt let down, and frustrated.
But, all was not lost. The crowd assured me that in a few hours, there would be rough winds that might clear the mist. We waited for an hour, during which, there was occasional glimpses of the Jog Falls, in its knightly form. Though the mist never cleared completely, to get a full view of the falls, it did give us some special moments to click some good pictures.
We decided to move to the other viewpoint, the British Bunglow, constructed by the British during their rule. This viewpoint is very close to the waterfalls, and promised to give us a better view of the falls. The British Bunglow viewpoint is a ten-minute drive from the Mysore Bunglow viewpoint, built by Mysore King during British rule. As we parked our car, and came up to the viewpoint, the view made it all worth. Magnanimously, the Sharavathi River showed off all its muscles, as it created the powerful, and the angelic waterfalls, diving into the abyss below. As my eyes swept the landscape, the exquisite waterfalls pouring out all over, bordered by the green trees in the background, and light blue sky visible between white clouds, I stood marveling at the heart catching spectacle.
The Jog Falls consists of four main waterfalls. The Raja, known for its majesty, the Rani, known for its elegant form, the Roarer, known for the loudness, and the Rocket, known for its shape. Due to the flood of water from everywhere, the four waterfalls were in full flow, unlike any pictures that is often used on the calendars.
We decided to move closer to the waterfalls. As we made our way through a muddy path, in the light drizzle, we came across an official board on which somebody had painted carelessly 'Danger'. We proceeded, as there was a continuous flow of the crowd to the rocks at the edge of the waterfalls.
It was on the rocks on the edge of the waterfalls that I had an experience of my lifetime, when I peeped down into the waterfalls from up above.
On the way back, we stopped at the China Gate, between the Linganamakki Dam and Jog Falls. The water flowed smoothly over the concrete structures, creating a beautiful setting.
An hour drive back to Sagar, on the silky and wet highway amidst the greenery, and we were set to board the bus back to Bangalore.
Jog Falls holds mystery of the Sathoddi falls, the grace of the Abbi falls, and power of the Hebbe falls. It has not only helps build a local economy by its tourism, but contributes Lion's share of the electricity needs of Karnataka. It is on the itinerary of all the ministers, and other government officials who are on official visits in the neighboring districts. But, beyond the hullabaloo, it has been a friendly neighbor to me that always smiled at me, on my occasional visits to my grandfather's house. It has been the kid next door to me that makes me feel that I have grown up with it.
Here are some of the pictures of the trip.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/66091089@N00/sets/72157601627219813/
Here’s a video of the Jog Falls from the top, in Mungaru Male stye ;-)
Hope you like them.
Thejas
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