I was gallivanting on the internet reading some travel writing when I stumbled upon a few award winning write-ups. Interestingly, the awards had a ‘Bad Trip Category’ on the journeys that have gone bad. It was something new to me and caught my eye, and I ended up reading a couple of those stories. Indeed, these were well written pieces that were on travels that were eventually not-so-enjoyable. The story on Eiffel Tower is worth a read, and there are a few more.
In fact the Eiffel Tower story is a rather sad one, but sometimes bad experiences can make into hilarious reading, especially when they are harmless incidences like having to live up to a rat walking on your body in the middle of the night in your hotel or having to live with frequent visits to restroom for a day or two. And when it comes to such writings, it is Mark Moxon whom I remember. Read his stories on falling sick in Rajasthan or trying to find a seat on the train from Siliguri to Varanasi and you can’t help but see yourself laughing out. Moxon’s site is full of writings that is often funny and also insightful. Do take a look.
Author: Paul Brunton
Publishers: Rider Books
Pages: 312
Brunton’s book is a narration of his journeys across India with an important quest. He started from London to Bombay in spiritual quest, looking for a Guru. And he did this much before the Beetles came to Rishikesh or the flower children travelled to the east in big numbers looking for something they did not know what; the book is set in the pre-independence period.
‘A Search in Secret India’ takes the reader through the time he arrives in Bombay, travels south to plains of Deccan and again up north towards Benaras. On his way he meets many holy men, some genuine and some obviously fake. He also sees people who can perform actions that can’t be explained by physics, like turning a seed into a plant in a minute and people who are not affected by poison. Of the former he discovers to be a mere magical trick while the later remains unexplained, attributed to Yogic power. He goes on to explain much more about the wise men whom he meets who are no mere showmen but are uplifted souls at a higher spiritual plane, and sometimes he ponders on accepting them for his Guru. His long journeys lead him through many fascinating experiences but he finally finds his destination in a place where he began his search – in the abode of Ramana Maharshi in Thiruvannamalai.
Brunton’s descriptions are as fascinating as the people he meets and his narration holds the reader to go on. The book is mixed with his awe for the spiritual gurus but also portrays his English arrogance of the colonial period. It is a completely different travel book showing its reader of an India that is hardly known or written about.
Hampi >> Badmi >> Aihole >> Pattadakal
+Previous: Mahakoota
+Next: Aihole
+Go to the beginning of the series or index page
I was walking along the only road in Aihole and exploring the endless number of temples dotting the village. There were temples everywhere – to my left, right and ahead, and there were temples that I had left behind. At some point I came to a fork and was wondering where next. As I looked around, I heard voices of children near the bend. One of them ran into me and asked me, with a beaming face –
“What is your name?”
I answered. A few more kids shouted the same question to me from behind a fence. They were playing cricket. The typical Indi-street cricket – with a rubber ball, a stick for the bat and a few bricks for wicket. I think they found me friendly enough, I was invited to join them for a game. I could have done with some break from all the temple trotting and readily jumped in. Nice guys they were, they let me bat.
Cricket is not my favourite game and it has been a few years since I have played. I fumbled and stumbled but picked up a bit after a few minutes. And let me admit, the kids were good and some of the deliveries zipped off taking me by surprise. But I had my time with the bat too. After sometime, I started feeling guilty about monopolizing the bat, and opted out and fielded a bit. I also had turn with the ball and shared a few overs with another kid.
I must have played for a good half hour before I decided it is time to leave. I patted some of them for their brilliance and walked out of the tiny ground. As I moved into the road, a man walking nearby greeted me, and started with the usual question of ‘where am I coming from?’ I started answering him and heard the kids shout from behind – “Watch out for him, he will ask you for money”. In that last thirty minutes, we were friends already.
Next: Aihole