Charming, Romantic, Musical...they don't make it anymore like the Golden City of Salzburg!

"Mozart, the great Mozart, the Sound of Music, the Alps, the....," I was cut-off mid sentence when a flippant reply thanked me for my time and asked me in a polite yet firm way to leave. "If only this passport officer knew how there's so much more to the land of my dreams...my very first childhood love Salzburg," I smirked to myself while checking into a neat hotel on the banks of the Salzach river. After all these years of unflinching devotion (wanted to visit this place right after watching Sound of Music for the first time as a child), I was finally in Salzburg and the city was more beautiful than I had imagined it to be.

Picturesque, pristine and poignant were my first thoughts about Salzburg. In between adjusting the sweater and inhaling an icy gust of wind which was circling my thoughts - I tried making sense of the place outside of its celluloid existence. It is quite difficult to find a city like Salzburg anywhere else - where ancient cobbled streets discreetly merge with tar roads as a silent truce with the contemporary, where horse carriages happily keep pace with their modern avatar - buses, an old town that coyly looks on as tourists opt for luxurious designer stores.

The city has many layers to it. At first it looks beautiful and simple. Yet there seemed many ways in which Salzburg expressed itself - not all at once but slowly and carefully - almost like an onion where one has to peel a layer at a time.

My three-day trip had many highlights of which discovering the Altstadt (old town) by accident, was the most delectable of all. Walking straight from our hotel and prancing across the cutesy love lock bridge, we asked our way to old town. One look at the right and I suddenly discovered a board to the famous Mozart Cafe which I had already read about. So, instead of going straight up, we decided to turn right and there I was - into a time warp - a bustling town in the centre of what had so far seemed like a solemn and picturesque old world charm. I felt very much like a curious kid from the Harry Potter movies, suddenly getting sucked into Diagon Alley. Yes, that's how I felt, like walking around Diagon Alley where the old town gushed to greet me all at once, with its cobbled narrow paths lined by designer stores, beautiful Baroque buildings and sculptures, intricately designed gates, ancient hotels, proud chocolaterias, immaculate cafeterias and happy banter. This is where Mozart was born, his house is one of the many attractions in this beautiful old world of Salzburg - it's best kept treasure according to me.

Even if you don't do anything, you end up spending a good chunk of your time just looking around. Whether you want to walk into a famous fashion label selling perfumes and clothes or simply decide to stroll down the cobbled paths, you will find action everywhere. Nothing is quiet here, yet they don't scream from rooftops either. A non-descript, quiet shop with an informative display window tells us in a decadently dignified way how there have been many imitations of the famed Mozart Kugel but its owner, Paul Furst, had created this mini gem for the first time way back in 1890.
I believe the Kugels are one of the finest chocolates I have ever had. It is unique, round and packed with a beautiful surprise you'll know once you are almost done with it.

Then there is Cafe Tomaselli, a cute little cafe tucked neatly into a corner of old town. The cafe is famous for its pastries, coffee and history. Yes, it dates back to over 300 years and was a favourite of the blue-eyed boy of Salzburg - Mr. Mozart. Sitting here and digging into the absolutely divine Apple Strudl and cream, I felt quite good about myself, imagining how the rich and elegant used to meet and greet here once upon a time over stimulating cups of coffee, cream, compositions and conversations.

You don't even have to feel sad about not meeting Mozart in person - his floating counterpart right
next to Cafe Tomaselli will try to make up for it. With one hand resting against a piano, the silver-coated Mozart greets tourists while levitating mid-air with a relaxed smile and sometimes even has conversations with them. How does he do it? Well, we didn't get an answer for that one.

After having enough (not quite) of this charming world, we walked to the other side of Salzburg, the side known for Sound of Music. The Mirabell Palace Gardens still looks the same as it used to in the movies, just quieter and less colourful I guess, for it has been a good 50 years since Maria and the children danced around the horse fountain. The Sound of Music tour is nothing short of pure nostalgia but endless photo ops near the 'I am sixteen going on seventeen' gazebo at Schloss Hellbrunn or the lake by the Leopoldskron Palace would do little to whet your appetite as you are not allowed to walk through the actual locations for security reasons, but only catch a glimpse.

Yet, there were many hidden treasures that we discovered on this tour. To start with, there was Salzerkammergut, or the lake district of Salzburg. Now almost every Sound of Music fan remembers the opening sequence of the film, before the credit rolls, of the Alps and then a breathtaking aerial view of tiny cottages dotting green valleys? That's the region I am talking about. It is absolutely brilliant, beautiful and a must-visit. Those who are fond of nature, lakes and mountains must take a day trip to Hallstadt - another beautiful getaway in the Salzerkammergut region. Next up was the enchanting medieval town of Mondsee, with a beautiful church where Maria's wedding sequence was shot. The town is so picturesque that it reminded me of being in Switzerland. Again cobbled streets, cute cafes, colourful buildings, wooden chalets, pumpkin and dwarf soldiers guarding every doorway (a Celtic ritual for Halloween), this town of Mondsee will surely take your breath away.

It is also a Unesco heritage site and studies have thrown light on some of its ancient structures, houses built on stilts along lakes, dating back to the Neolithic age! So there is surely more than meets the eye here and Mondsee is much older than I thought it to be.

Those who have never watched Sound of Music can also most definitely visit Salzburg for so many reasons; whether it is for the love of music - yes, music wafts in the air almost all the time here, from narrow bylanes to lovelock bridges to embellished gardens, love of chocolates - in all forms, shapes, sizes, colours etc., for the love of anything that's old world - be it palaces, gardens, hotels, cobbled streets or centuries-old cafes and horse carriages. These all are part of the cake but the icing if you ask? Well, the icy gust with its wet whispers that will surely warm your heart the moment you step into this magical city!

 A journey into the heart of painful similarities with one question - What the Fuss is it really about Thailand?


Sipping chilled beer and getting half-baked in the scorching sun, I looked around for answers. With a considerable dip in my confidence level, pat came the flippant reply that I had tried hard to stifle so far. I was on my first trip abroad and it had not given me the adrenaline rush!

The journey had so far not begun on a momentous note. Yet I tried my best to relax, take a deep breath and feel excited. However, much to my dismay, I discovered in the course of travel that I am terribly bad at 'feigning emotions'. I wondered what it was that was amiss. My traveller's appetite so far had not been whetted. My trip to Pattaya had been interspersed with a bug of familiarity, perhaps too many times to my liking.

After boarding the Air Asia flight from Kolkata on a chilly winter morning, I carefully scanned the different places marked with an array of colours on a tourist map. I even figured out the locations, latitudes and longitudes, with a sense of reassurance as to how convenient travelling had now become. My efforts to stay awake, however, did not last too long as I soon dozed off.

Now, that's not what happens to a traveller who is on her first trip abroad, if you come to think of it. Everything from the cumulonimbus clouds, to the air hostesses' occasional smiles, to the well-informed in-flight magazine add to the joys and tiny adventures of a 'foreign journey' as many in my family would like to call it. My husband's constant prodding could not keep me up to notice anything but an announcement in broken English, somehow did the trick, and brought me back to my senses. Having landed in Suvarnabhoomi Airport in Bangkok, I let out a disappointed sigh, but only to myself. Why does a name on a foreign land sound so Indian? Nah....I tried gulping down this thought with a mouthful of water, as it disconcerted me. That's not how I wanted it, I reasoned! Conversations in my head had been a constant companion since childhood. I mean, I thought to myself, it should have ideally taken a good many hours to travel abroad. I would have reached Bombay in the same time!

Stepping out, breathing in the balmy air, I didn't for once feel that this place was any different from where I have come from. The pangs of familiarity, like a sullen mistress, did not cease to pop up every now and then. Breezing through the wide streets and highways that zigzagged through the course of Bangkok, I chanced upon houses with arch-shaped balconies, floral-patterned grills and bright-coloured walls. Things could not, perhaps, get more familiar than this and dampen the already meagre traces of my enthusiasm.

The view from the hotel window was also reminiscent of the vagaries of nature back home. The white flower with large petals that swayed gently to the sonorous tunes of the sea seemed anything but different from what my mother had so lovingly nurtured in her garden, back home. The beach that was close to our hotel, was littered with leftovers, used cans and bird droppings, reminiscent of the Juhu Beach in Mumbai.

Tucking into the unfamiliar platter of authentic Thai cuisine, however, gave me my much-needed first whiff of excitement since I realised that the spicy-scented flavours were incompatible with my taste buds. Disappointment, you asked? Well no, not quite, since I was so determined to lap up just any experience that I had not already chanced upon before! I let my inner realm agree to an alien spread - at long last - all for having been unfamiliar!

A trip to the Coral Islands off Pattaya was again bittersweet. My mind had so far been fed with the tales of white sand, pristine beaches and clear blue water where 'you could see your reflection only if you looked,' as put by friends, aunts of friends and friends of their acquaintances. However, what they had not prepared me for, was the moment when I had to jostle for space inside a boat, that was a make-shift yacht. I reflected thus, India with its teeming population, overdose of opinions, miscalculated judgements and a host of diseases, was not the only place on earth where one had to face a  space crunch. Good! We complain because we have been fed on fables and myths - right from the tales of Christopher Columbus to the celebrated visual of 'message in a bottle' advertisements.

A good deal of travelling would surely burst the bubble that has so warped our senses. Even bideshis (read foreigners in Bengali) use their bandanas, beer cans, tooth picks and other things to reserve space - yes, not on local trains but aboard a boat in mid-sea!

The sparse use of English also reconfirmed my belief that I was, indeed, in a foreign country. That's because in India we talk English, walk English as well as eat, sleep and pretty much do everything in this language.

My journey concluded with a day in Bangkok. Here, there was less familiarity that I could trace with my homeland. Swanky sky buses (tubes), sleek cafeterias, and a daring display of dazzling shopping malls made me happy. The myriad skyscrapers all lined up in a sombre parade of sorts. The city was brimming with food and people, but was clean and there was a method to the madness somehow.

In the end, while looking at my passport with the stamp of the Kingdom of Thailand on it, I wondered what the fuss about 'exotic Thailand' was all about. To this, I was bombarded by accusations from good-intentioned relatives, who blamed me for having chosen the wrong places. They insisted I should have visited the Krabi Island, Phuket or Koh Samui. "After all these comprise the true honeymooner's paradise." I wished they had known that like most happily married couples, my honeymoon period was over and it was time to venture out to unseen places that have nothing to do with India - both in spirit and character!



Some thoughts to make it a smooth-sail in Thailand:

1. If you are in Pattaya, you got to be a party animal! If not, then stay away from the place.

2. Walking Street is a universe of colours and commotion. However, be careful not to fall prey to tricksters.

3. The tuktuks are an easy way of commute but they often cheat tourists. Please study the map thoroughly and bargain well with these drivers.

4. Bangkok is a friendly place and a shopper's paradise. Do visit the Patkong night market for cheap deals. However, if travelling with elders and small children, keep away from this place. Other good shopping places for bags and accessories - Pratunam Market and the streets lining Pratunam.

5. Visit the swanky Siam Paragon if you want to spend some extra cash or splurge.

6. Try street food at your risk. I am not fond of cockroaches, frogs and other creepy stuff, so stayed away from the taste of Bangkok. However, there are many eateries where they serve world cuisine - so food will not be a problem here. For the adventurous, do try the floating markets. If not for anything, but just for the experience. Remember the golden rule - BARGAIN!





























 

Mesmerising sights and sounds urge one to relive princely grandeur as Jaisalmer gives a glimpse into India's golden past.

The outside temperature is 31 degrees Celsius, announced a disinterested voice inside the flight, and invited an instant cluck from me. I immediately formed an opinion about how insensitive people are, caring little or nothing at all about matters as delicate as the weather report.

I had spent days researching on the climatic conditions of Jaisalmer, yes not just Rajasthan, but this part of the country that's situated in the extreme west of the state and invites bitterly cold winds from across the borders. I was also careful enough to pack gloves and a beautiful, warm cap, solely based on childhood memories of Ray's classic Sonar Kella -  a film that fuelled my desire to visit the desert country from a very young age.

But this is Jodhpur, I reminded myself in the head - a good 300 kms from Jaisalmer. I pulled my gray blazer closer and waited my turn to step outside the aircraft, just to check the weather. I wasn't disappointed, an icy gust greeted me and ruffled as soon as I put my foot on Rajasthan.

Our drive from Jodhpur to Jaisalmer was long, pleasant and packed with beautiful surprises! Singhji, our driver took us through narrow, bumpy roads that soon merged with the National Highway. He pointed proudly at a canal system that brought water from Punjab, providing respite to inhabitants of this dry state and their parched dreams.

We were a few kilometres down, when he slowed down the car and pointed at a peacock. I almost stumbled out with my camera, determined to click the elusive bird. The peacock did not disappoint but posed gracefully for numerous clicks before strutting away to join its friends

I was soon mobbed by peacocks - in various colours, ranging from dirty brown to blue green. I soon realised that I had not achieved any rare feat as peacocks were as regular a feature in the desert state, as pigeons in Mumbai!

During a good part of the drive, our car screeched every now and then, in the middle of dusty and deserted stretches, to make way for peacocks - an endearing sight that I grew quite accustomed to. As our journey was nearing an end, I started getting used to the biting cold. Jaisalmer was reached a good 5 hours and some minutes later. It was 9 at night when we reached the golden fortress and the very first sight set my heart racing making me completely forget about the cold. The imposing fort looked magnificent in its golden light, perched comfortably atop a hillock, exuding an age-old charm while basking in its 1000-year old glory.

While walking up the cobbled pathways leading to the fort, I think of how the Bhattis -who were the original Rajput clan of Jaisalmer - were considered less in martial reputation than the Rathores, Chauhans or Sesodias (of Mewar).  Yet one glance at the yellow sandstone façade, that imposingly stands guard amidst the glistening golden sand, and my mind starts doubting the claim. This fort too, has had its share of bloody warfare and triumphs. The Bhatti Rajputs have been constantly fighting the other Rajput clans, as well as foreign invaders like the Baluchs, Langhas etc.

This ancient splendour is not devoid of any tales - and comes with an interesting tinge of mythology as well. The Bhatti tribe is considered a branch of the Yadu or Jadoo race, of which belongs the mighty Lord Krishna. He had eight wives of whom Rukmani was the senior-most queen. She bore him two sons and it is from the second son Bujra, that the Bhattis claim descent.

Maharaja Jaisal, the creator of the golden fortress, once met a Bramhin hermit who introduced him to the story of the triple-peaked hill where, in the Treta Age (of the Hindu calendar), an ascetic named Kak resided. Lord Krishna and Arjun had paid a visit to this spot, where the Lord himself had predicted that in some distant age, a descendant of his would erect a castle. The castle was prophesied to be built on the edge of a rivulet, whose water was bad. Thus the Lord
hit the rock with his Sudarshan Chakra, and out came bubbling a sweet spring. The Bhattis thus laid the foundations of this majestic castle, way back in 1156 AD.

A good look at the entire fort took us close to two and a half hours. The inhabitants of the fort - which is the world's oldest living fort - stay on with a sombre pride, having long recovered from the dusty and sepia-tinted pages of history that keep beckoning them from time to time. Now, all that remains of the majesticity are paths littered with cow dung, shops sprouting from every nook and cranny selling bedsheets, bedcovers, shoes, accessories etc. and camera-friendly people beaming at tourists, suspended in mid-air from ornate verandahs.

Our next stop was Patwon ki Haveli - a much contemporary take on the Rajput way of life, built around 1805. The haveli is not a single structure, but a cluster of 5 small havelis; looks pretty and has one main gate, (being closed from all sides) steep stairs and a central courtyard with narrow verandahs spiralling the entire structure. With very little scope for ventilation, it is quite intriguing to note how inhabitants managed the daily rigmarole here once, in full royal splendour.

The inner chambers or bedrooms of the merchants or patwas, (who were the residents) the kitchen, and the office room are dark and dank, invaded by occasional cobwebs that peek through unlit corners. The haveli was commissioned and built by a rich merchant, keeping in mind the needs of his five sons. He thus created not one but five separate clusters - to house his entire family.

Dining out is not a great option in Jaisalmer, as most eateries are small and serve only vegetarian fare. I paced up and down many narrow alleys in the hope of devouring Lal Maas, but was turned down by most as they were pure vegetarian joints.

After savouring buttered rotis and red mutton curry, we ventured down the desert trails for the ultimate Bengali travel fantasy - a camel ride. I could not contain my excitement as we drove towards the Sam sand dunes. To my delight, stretches of rough bushes slowly made way to smooth & powdery desert sand. The Indo-Pak border a mere 45 kms away, it is quite heartening to see how moody camels bat their long eyelashes to greet eager tourists. Clinging on to my seat after an excitingly gut-wrenching camel ride, I could understand what Lalmohan Babu (from the film Sonar Kella) must have gone through, 40 years back!

Reeling from the ride, we decided to take a break and just wander around. Our driver-cum-guide Singhji suggested we visit Kuldhara. "Yahan ka sabse purana gaon tha yeh, ab banjar hai. Lekin jo kahani hai yahan ki, woh anokhi hai!" (This was the oldest village of this region once, but now it has been reduced to ruins. However, it's tale is really unique!)

Hence, we trusted his words and headed diagonally opposite to the Sam sand dunes! Kuldhara looked very non-descript and dusty from outside. An old man dressed in traditional Rajasthani attire welcomed us with his sombre glance at the entrance, egging us to go through the gates to embrace the unknown, with his silence.

Ruined yellow blocks of stone, piled atop one another, vie for attention. This is all that is there of the past, though our driver excitedly pointed at the temples and makaans (houses) that lay scattered across. His voice dropped down a few decibels when he describes how this place was home to a clan who suddenly disappeared under mysterious circumstances one night, never to be found again!


A quick Google search of the place threw up stories about how it is haunted and gives decent competition to Bhangarh (Rajasthan's much coveted ghost town). That's when I got interested and started taking a close look around. On constant prodding Singhji relented with a tale that's sure to have kept the Ramsay brothers asking for more!


Legend has it that this village was home to a beautiful damsel, whose father was the diwan. One evil minister in Jaisalmer eyed the beauty and wanted to make her his own. The diwan, who was a Bramhin, looked down upon the minister's proposal since the latter was a Rajput and considered inferior in societal hierarchy. The minister's inflated pride soon turned into a mad obsession as he vowed to shed blood to make the diwan's daughter his own. The diwan on learning this disappeared with his people - not just one or two - but of several clusters of villages - one night, never to be seen again. Some say, he killed everyone, while others believe that while abandoning the village he cast a dark spell on it so that no other inhabitant could ever survive there in future.


Satiated with the stories, I took a good and close look around, but could decipher nothing more than a stony silence! Some enthusiastic tourists were busy posing atop the ruins, blissfully oblivious to the deep & dark tales that have spanned centuries, and successfully provided fodder to people's overactive imagination.

Settle for nothing short of royalty as you walk into a time warp @ Fort Khejarlah

A long drive along cold and parched valleys, leads us to Khejarlah - a long forgotten village, tucked away from prying touristy eyes, at a distance of 80 kms from Jodhpur. It is a small village with an imposing fort that has been beautifully transformed into a hotel. Fort Khejarlah was a pleasure right from the time I stepped through the huge gates, into the world of Rajputana grandeur.

A long, winding and steep climb to the Maharaja suite was well worth the effort, as I found myself instantly sucked into a time machine that took me back several hundred years - to the maharaja's intimate world. The fort was home to the minister of one of the several Rajput rulers, and has retained its impeccable old-world charm to this day. As I sip hot tea and look out of the bedroom window, I feel no less than a princess, soaking in the beauty of my small kingdom. The hospitality and love by the courteous staff keep us warm in the biting cold. My heart skipped a beat every time I was addressed as 'Hukum' for even the slightest request made.

Delicious food, lively music and breath-taking silence serenaded us for two days and made flip-flopping between the past and the present, a pleasurable experience worth remembering. A quick drive down the village takes you to vast stretches of sand on both sides of the road. It is here that you can spot the elusive black buck - stunningly beautiful in its white and black coat.

Leaving the mini grandeur aside, we straddle our way to the majestic Mehrangarh Fort. Replete with tales of a bloody past, Mehrangarh gives Jodhpur its characteristic panache and pride and remains aloft as a testimony to Rajput valour and grace. The steep climb is interspersed with grim surprises like the different darwazas where enemies were fought, to the handprints of Satis who were burnt alive on their husband's funeral pyre inside the very fort. An audio guide keeps you glued through the various spiralling ups and downs inside the fort, narrating the vivid details of the lives of the kings, ministers, their queens and their peculiar habits. Tourists can go right up to their bed chambers, offices and zenanas, to get under the skin of this historical treasure trove! Mehrangarh Fort is and will always be one of the loftiest examples of the effervescent Rajput glory.

Ecstatic after my trial with the Marwar pomp, splendour and hospitality -  I am more than happy chalking out the next travel itinerary of Rajasthan in my mind - unperturbed at the slight delay in my flight's departure, paying scant attention to noisy travellers around. Deep inside, I am beaming under the glow of an ebullient charm which the Rajputana legacy has rubbed on me.







































 

You know you are in Kerala when coconut palms welcome eager eyes along the roads and graciously guard the unpretentious backwaters.

Bengalis are a study in contrast. If I were to write the 'Curious Case of the Middle-class Bhadralok,' I'm afraid that a tome would not suffice. We are good when it comes to packing two things - suitcases and memories. Trains are the best and most comfortable way to travel, felt Bengalis from the time the steam engine billowed smoke in the country for the first time. Soon, the Himalayas (stuff that postcards and intermittent dreams were made of) were theirs, so much so that "no one knows the mountains better than us", claimed many an uncle and para dadas, on countless occasions. Hence, travelling 'down South' is not much of a prospect, with Kodaikanal being the only exception.

So, when my husband and I decided to visit Kerala, our plans were met with responses varying from wonder, to disbelief to even taunts. Some assumed I had sought something from the Lord on my last trip to the place some three years back and was on my way to pay homage as a token of my wish being granted! There were others who minced no words in saying that Bengalis with their limited knowledge of travel were obsessed with word-of-mouth and hence the new-found craze for Kerala.
Brushing aside unsolicited remarks from opinionated uncles, aunts and at least 8 out of 10 people in my family, we were back in Kerala.

Maybe 100 at a first glance...But a closer look assured me that the coconut fronds that sway rhythmically in the balmy breeze are perhaps, countless. So were memories that flooded me the very moment I landed once again for a sojourn in God's Own Country. As our flight glided across the runway at Cochin Airport, the familiar sight of the coconut trees, the verdant greens of the surroundings and the unmistakable freshness of the air welcomed me as I meandered along the Western Ghats. From my last trip, I remembered how every bend in the backwaters throws up an interesting peek into the daily lives of the fisherfolk, who carefully scurry upstream with their fresh catch, sometimes homeward bound, at other times to offer tourists on their way. The green foliage is pleasant when cruising on a sprawling houseboat along the vast stretch of the Vembanad Lake. It is an experience not to be missed. Canoes in backwaters are equivalent to a family car. Only the occasional honk of the houseboat ensures your connect to reality.

Ambling along the bylanes of Fort Kochi, I could visualize myself getting sucked into a time warp, travelling across several centuries to encounter the travails of Vasco da Gama. Looking at tiny specks dotting the ocean, the ships were, to my mind, likened to the mere remnants of the bloody and colourful past of this town when the Portuguese had invaded it through the sea. The winding, cobbled streets in Jew Town exude a charm of a bygone era. A walk past the somber Dutch cemetery and the solitary St. Francis Church, however, did reaffirm my belief that the place had more than meets the eye. I spent a restless night in my beautiful and cozy hotel room, a tad disconcerted by the strange sounds, occasional whistling of the wind and the distant rumbling of thunder. The church and the cemetery were just round the corner and provided enough fodder for my overworked imagination.

The next morning, driving through Ernakulam - once the capital of the Kochi rajas but now a throbbing centre of commerce, all memories of midnight escaped my mind. Once a tiny fishing village, Cochin is now touted as the pulse of Kerala and manages an excellent balancing act by juggling the old and the new with elan. In 1341, due to the flooding of the Periyar River, Cochin was formed, as it had opened up the estuary. Several settlements followed and in 1405, 'Kochi City' became the regional kingdom of Kochi.

My next stop was the majestic Athirapally Falls. Stretches of rubber plantations kept us glued to our seats through the three-hour journey from Cochin. Merging beautifully through thickets, in no time we progressed towards the 80-foot mighty falls, ensconced comfortably in the lap of the neighbouring hills in Thrissur district.

Travelling across from the coast, up the Western Ghats, our date with Munnar turned out to be an affair to remember. Here, in the predominant abode of the lush green tea bushes, time stands still as you merely gape at nature's bounty. The idyllic, sleepy town, which literally means three rivers in Malayalam, is not just any hill station. Locals move at an unhurried pace never asking you to rush into your meals or knocking you out of your stupor as you get busy watching a rare plant or bird species, perching atop one of the tall pine trees. Clouds share an easy camaraderie with the tea plantations. Walking down misty trails, moisture-laden gusts wrap you in their embrace, every now and then. The refreshing scent of tea leaves, the volumes spoken by silence, the continuous chirping of noisy crickets, occasional tolls of distant church bells are enough to keep you company in the dream station. Rain is as regular as breathing here. Downpours come and go but each time manage to drench the surroundings in an unmistakable hue.

Kerala is also a place where dollops of mythology are served fresh. Legend has it that when evil overwhelms good,  Lord Vishnu awakens from his celestial sleep. He takes on an incarnation on earth, vowing to set things right. Parasurama was one such avatar. A Brahmin, it is believed that his mission was to rid the earth of the arrogant Kshatriyas. By the time Parasurama was done with his work, some 21 generations of Kshatriyas had been annihilated and the soil soaked in blood. The land had been smeared with years of gore which finally led Parasurama to fling his axe into the ocean in a bid to atone for his sins. As soon as the hatchet touched the sea, the waters receded and gave rise to a pure, unblemished land. This was Parasurama Kshetra -  a land comprising Tulunadu and Keralam. These were gifted to Brahmins and were asked to make them into their new homes.

Even before we could call God's Own Country our own, the long and enduring path of fables continued to hold sway. When I asked my driver to take us to Papanasam Beach, whose waters are believed to wash away one's sins, he nonchalantly replied: "Yeh dekha na? (referring to the beach at Kovalam) Yahan sab beach same hai." (You have seen this beach right? Well, all the beaches are alike here). Thus, with a heavy heart, I had to silently let go off the chance to wash away my accumulated sins!

While many tourists throng Kovalam, few actually know of Varkala. Our reluctant driver, however, blatantly refused to take us there and also charged a ridiculously high fare for a 70 km-odd ride from Kovalam. So, I had to make do with tales which I had heard from a few acquaintances at the hotel. The Kappil beach is a magnificent spot here where the backwaters meet the ocean. An uninhabited islet floating in the backwaters, this is the spot where Travancore queens are said to have hidden their jewellery!

My journey ended just two days before Onam - the biggest festival of Kerala. I wasn't, however, deprived of the chance to catch a glimpse of the lavish preparations at Thiruvananthapuram. Women made a beeline for temples in the run-up to the festival. Draped in white sarees with golden borders, they prepare earthen mounds on this day and decorate floral carpets to give a befitting welcome to Mahabali - the mighty king of the demons.

Thiruvananthapuram, the abode of Lord Vishnu, is now in safe hands of the Travancore kings. The Padmanabha dasas (as they are also referred to as) guide and look after the temples. The fact that Kerala dons many a hat of being the only state in India with the highest literacy rate is already well known. This is also the state that has the highest male-female ratio. Christians and Muslims account for nearly a quarter of the population. Colourful mosques stand guard at important landmarks. Majestic churches along highways and various street corners look completely at ease, sometimes modestly showcasing intricate architecture dating back to ancient times. One thing that is striking here is the peaceful and harmonious co-mingling of all castes. Our Muslim driver categorically told us that while entering the Shree Padmanabhaswamy temple, men have to wear dhotis while women were allowed only in sarees. Our spirits were dampened on reaching the place, where serpentine queues greeted us at the spot where dhotis and sarees to be worn inside, were being distributed. Our driver was absolutely shocked to know that we had given up so easily, he insisted that we did darshan.

Once home, inquisitive friends and family prodded me for photographs. Now, one must know that we are a very sentimental race when it comes to photographs. Whether yellowed or tawny, we never fail to pay pictorial tributes to one and all. Appreciative sighs and a smattering of questions later, my folks were happy to know that eight percent of the country's tea was produced in the estates of Kerala and about a quarter of India's coffee is grown there as well.

Some say, Romans arrived there as early as 52 AD and teak from Nilambur made its way to Solomon's boat! I could not help being amused when many exchanged looks of wonder and started asking for an itinerary to visit a wonder down south - Kerala!


Things that help:

1. Though friendly, most people like to keep to themselves. This must not be misconstrued as a sign of arrogance. If you have questions, ask, they are happy to help.

2. Food is interesting, a Tandoori Surmai and Fried Karimeen are highly recommended. Also try the Non-veg Biriyani at local eateries dotting the main marketplace in Munnar. Those who love spicy food will simply devour it. Don't go overboard while ordering fish, especially those who are not okay with coconut oil as a cooking medium. It's better to ask before ordering Fish Moily, so as to check on the medium. The home-made chocolates in Munnar are a must-try.

3. Not all massage parlours are good...especially the ones near the Lighthouse Beach at Kovalam. Try the Mayura Spa at Munnar - it's clean, reasonable and good.

4. Shopping is easy, affordable and fun in Kerala. Don't forget to bargain. The silver shops lining the Lighthouse Beach at Kovalam are quite a steal and offer eclectic stuff.

5. Overnight stay on a houseboat is not recommended, as the boat stops plying post dusk and starts again in the morning. Spending a humid and mosquito-infested night along a paddy field may not be the best option around! It's better if you spend an entire day on a houseboat and retire to your hotel room in the evening.