Ride&Rebel

The Konkan rain trail is as familiar to me as a visit to my favourite restaurant. I know which compartments have the charging points for my cell phone, which tunnels not to stick my head out of the train in, and which river indicates my nearing Ratnagiri. Its easy to get so familiar when I make regular trips back and forth between Goa and Mumbai to visit family. So one can understand that after spending most of my years travelling this side of the Sahayadris, my bus journey to Bangalore was a real shocker. I don't understand how someone who aced geography in school could have forgotten that India has such a diverse terrain. So much so that after we had left behind the winding ghats and moved into the Plateau region with it's erratic spread of giant boulders dotting the highway, I was sure I had taken the wrong bus and was on my way to some hovel of the south. "Sir, are we going to Bangalore..er... Bengaluru?" I asked the bus helper who answered back ...

Electric poles stand the hill side, like Autobots, rusted from the Deccan humidity. My train paces along, moving to and fro the excess number of women in my compartment. Traveling alone to Pune, for the first time, I am overwhelmed by pretty much everything. The train, the passing landscapes and the jostling women, who regularly take this three hour journey from Mumbai to spend their weekends home in another city. They have taken up the luggage rack above us, like in all other boogies, and are now arguing over booked seats. I sit amused and a bit afraid of being challenged for the half smirk that is pulling on my lips. The aggressive woman upstairs has splayed herself on the rack, shooting arrows of warning to those attempting to climb up for a seat. While the others put away their guns and bring down their flags, another contingent of colonists approach unaffected by her glares or her size. The haggling ensues. I can see that the new leader is winning. Her comebacks are quick a...