The travel bug has bitten me again and I have managed to visit some stunning places of late. I knew India had reserves of magic in its many folds, so I picked up a backpack and came back with some incredible memories and impressions.
The destinations were mainly spread across Southern parts of the country. My first stop-over was Pondicherry. Though, I caught it at the wrong time of the year, with papa-sun shining on us with its full might, Pondicherry struck me as a little lost Hamlet holding on to its French connections beautifully. No wonder it is called the The French Riviera of the East (La Côte d’Azur de l’Est). Interestingly, the then ruling French Establishment presented the people of Pondicherry with an option to either remain French or become Indians at the time of Pondicherry’s transfer to India in 1954. French still remains its official language, along with Tamil.
The next place that I gladly obliged with a visit was Hampi. A very surprisingly small place, which we covered almost entirely on foot in less than four hours, Hampi again welcomed us with scorching heat, but I saw immense touristy potential in this any architect’s delight. There are too many historical anecdotes associated with everything you see around and Hampi never ceases to surprise.
I visited Coorg for the nth time. It is one place I could never get bored of. The serene coffee plantations amidst sleepy green hills, magically entice me every time I set my eyes on them. You can just keep walking battling the moist shrubs and fresh vegetations endlessly, preferably during mornings and evenings, and keep falling in love all the time. A home-stay, once touted as exclusive and sought-after, is highly commercial now and booking for it means lavish room-service and housekeeping. Not for those looking for authentic Coorgi experiences, but definitely for those looking at being pampered and yet enjoying the lazy little heaven.
I was in Orissa on a more pilgrimage-oriented visit, but managed to squeeze in some things which stay with me despite several months having passed. Riding on a cycle-rickshaw with water levels reaching up to our knees and the driver continuously suggesting ways to battle it out in case we topple over and get submerged, bring a smile to my face. Stories of priests tearing off pieces of the God’s cloth and handing them over to the immensely God-fearing surprised me quite a lot. We saw a lot of money-mindedness wherever we went in the temple.
