Backpacker diaries 4: Udupi and 4Ms (Mangalore, Maravanthe, St. Mary’s Island, Manipal)

“There are a few journeys we take as lovers, as friends, as family, as unknowns and as nobodies. This trip embodied all of the above in some shape, form, and experience.“

It all started with our Eco-friend Ritwik working a lot in Bengaluru than Mumbai. On his return we spoke about the south and within a few minutes and a lay invite after, this trip was formed. As usual, I was the one gunning for it with dates and timelines and bookings. With the boys, well, being boys. I decided knowing these two, planning had to be kept borderline and not detailed. Besides I was traipsing into unchartered territory so it simply meant keep it simple.

We took a few days off, lamented and grazed our way finally to that fateful weekend. Abeer had faced a particularly tumultuous week at work and he was happy to down a few before we took off. I raised my eyebrows at the though but downed more than a pint myself. He was right – we both needed it but in the bargain we nearly missed our train from CST. I had carried yummy biryani from the day before I was in Hyderabad and he ate it like a hungry wolf onboard. Post that we both passed out aboard the Mangalore Express – Upper berth please :D

Shetty's Lunch Home indulgence -
Pic courtesy Abeer instagram.com/tipsies

The next day was treacherous heat and pretty bad delays that had my temper soaring. You see, our expectation was dreamy cold wintery weather, romantic and perfect. What we saw on the weather forecast and faced was Mumbai-like coastal heat with some level of humidity and a promise of coolness as the sun descended. We reached Mangalore at 3pm and trudged to the 1^st recommended eatery – Shetty’s Lunch Home. I assured Abeer that my friends were trustworthy sources and so they turned out to be. We were filthy from the train journey but we just plunged into our perfectly divine meal of ghee-roasted chicken (priority recommend), sukka masala squid (Mangalorean style), neer dosa, Kerala parathas and chicken curry suggested by the attendant. The thatch roof and earthen interiors were perfect and calm with no crowd and we dove in and ate more than our stressed tummies could handle. We left and wondered where to stay the night when lo and behold there was a guesthouse just behind us. It was INR 500/- and the friendly fella at the ‘reception’ asked us to 1^st checkout the room and then decide. We took a cue from his tone and went to check it. It was perfect, cool with a balcony and a bathroom the size of a playground - it was a shady place and only backpackers and real travelers would take this. This was PERFECT hahahha. We grabbed it, refreshed ourselves and took off to a nearby mall. Some coffee and a few mins later, Ritwik arrived. He was stuck in Bangalore for some work and was gracious enough to fly down that day itself to Mangalore city to see us. We all giggled and laughed at our ‘guest house’ when we met and settled in.



The South Coastal Scene from Mangalore Express-
Pic courtesy Abeer instagram.com/tipsies

There on we decided to check the very ‘happening’ Mangalorean nightlife. It being Friday evening, we expected some crowd and our plan was to drink ourselves silly and giggle at everyone and everything. Here is what transpired. We traipsed through The London Street Lounge and Hi Bar. Ritwik constantly insisted on visiting Mangala, which he compared to Mumbai’s Janta Bar in Bandra (P.S. I do not believe there is another Janta Bar in India). We were the only patrons in most places we entered or exited or maybe grabbed a courtesy beer. We stayed the longest at Hi Bar and that too it was barely till 11pm and still no crowd. The day catching up to us, we dined at Shetty's and decided to call it in. Next morning we managed to wake up early and catch a hearty breakfast in a local hole like place where drivers and conductors usually catch their grub, we left for Udupi by bus. The route was scenic and the journey very comfortable. Every few seconds there were scenic water bodies, many breaking into estuaries leading to backwaters, fishing boats and water harvesting devices, long paddy fields and local shrimp catching methods strewn across the coastline. What struck my seasoned Mumbaikar sensibilities – absolute cleanliness. Every journey I take makes me feel more and more like people from around the country come to Mumbai to treat her like the national dustbin; almost testing her to see how much dump can she take in. Whilst these regions were beyond spick and span. Plastic was nearly invisible and the only ‘rubble’ involved dried husks, coconut palm leaves and coconut shells – all conveniently biodegradable.

We reached Udupi at midday and made it to Ritwik’s ‘humble abode’ (read palatial grounds) in Ambalpadi – a residential suburb which ends with the Janardana and Mahakali mandir. The property lies on a large acre of land split between numerous relatives over a period. Each one lived in row housing or bungalow plots and were christened – most names depicted holier than thou names. Ritwik’s grandfather, Vyasaraya Ballal, was a legend (a Sahitya Academi Awardee) and as he later told us in conversation, “Their’s was the last generation that produced real men.” He was a humble man who became a literary genius and produced a family riddled in fame for arts and culture. His most noted work was ‘Vatsalya Patha’ which was the name of Ritwik’s bungalow that was restored by his father a few years ago. Abeer and I were completely drawn in. The place was homely and tastefully decorated with artisan portraits and pictures. The artwork was predominantly dated Indian culture, some with a message hidden within, many showcasing women in shapes and forms. His father had even carved a niche for himself literally in this property – an art room to work in and draw inspiration. As if to make us feel any more mediocre, there was a copy of the Mahabharatha on the bed when we entered one of the rooms. Ritwik’s home in Mumbai is a miniature version of this ancestral home. However, one can easily tell from the volume of space, the silence, the clean air; which was Mumbai and which was Udupi. This home was perfectly planned and thought out to the last detail – switchboards, water storage, spacing and openings inside and outside. The richness of its restoration was more inside than outside.

St. Mary's Island

 After gaping at everything with ‘O’ shaped mouths, we quickly changed and made it to Malpe Beach Harbour, Udupi’s main beach stretch. Pristine white sands and continuing for miles on end with Kadike on the north and Matu Beach after miles on the south. We took a boat to St. Mary’s Island, a place I insisted on visiting. We spent a good hour or 2 there anmong sandy stretches followed by rocky edges. I had seen some astoundingly beautiful pictures on social networking sites and blogs and reality seemed like a humbler version of those pictures. I still loved it. Since the crowd was very local and we stood out like outsiders (I was wearing some seriously micro shorts), we broke away to an isolated spot and swam there. All the silliness didn’t take minutes to surface. One cannot risk venturing deep and when I said swim I meant at most waist deep water for me. It was mildly salty and the surrounding rocks were teaming with virgin coral, tons and tons of black crabs, snails and slugs and some surface marine creatures. There were hard rocks and porous rocks and the shells were absolutely beautiful – a collectors haven. It was seriously hot and even though we wished to explore more, we were time bound and to a large extent couldn’t tolerate the heat. After chomping on some local version of ‘bhel’ and cucumber slices, we ferried our way back to the mainland (INR 150/head for two-way ferry). Lunched at Malpe – nothing very special and headed home to slumber a little.

Then we hit Manipal town. The much sought after tiny cosmopolitan hub hidden away in Udupi district well known for its educational institutes, foreign gambit (a lure for the boys) and the watering holes. Yes Manipal DOES have a nightlife. Everything was super dark and poorly lit except a few spots. We went to the University for the lantern festival and were instantly told it was a pay and enter event. We decided against it and sought some local drinking spot advice. The student at the gate stated (verbatim), “There are many places like blah blah but if you ok with not being able to see each other’s faces DeeTees it is.” At the time it was translated to maybe dingy or too crowded and happening to see each other. We went to the old DeeTees and I swear we could literally not see each other. We were lucky enough to grab the last available table in a corner and the lighting was designed to make you feel like you are in a place with routine load shedding. Menus were read and orders were placed by torchlight. It was a scene straight out a movie of the dark underbelly of cosmopolitan metros where one is sucked into a life of drug rackets and prostitution rings. Here it was simply the ambience of choice. We giggled and downed a few beers. Ate something that looked like food and we shone the light on it we could eat it no more. Smog of smoke and the leer of beer were the order of the evening. We decided to move out and check other places. We topped our 1^st dark experience with a semi-dark Big Boss where I happily spilled beer and the boys checked ladies out and followed that up with some seriously sad “ghaati” dancing at a very ‘happening’ nightclub called Remix. It was thorough amusement this Remix. First of all we did the cardinal sin of paying and entering (menial damage). Then we noticed the crowd and realized we were so out of place here and by that I mean obviously feeling way too superior. Our attention and source of amusement for the end of this day was a rather large young gal who had 2 fellas scampering for her attention and both hugged her side to side and met her backside midway – I swear I am not being mean. This is the best way to describe it and since we were tad buzzing from our drinks and possible sundried exhaustion, we found anything convenient amusing. Kudos to that girl though.  

Woodlands Lunch Thaali

Fishing village huts

Marvanthe Beach -
Pic courtesy Abeer instagram.com/tipsies

We wound up after Ritwik and I danced and Abeer looked on in sheer regret that he made us share his Urza energy drink. Found a rickshaw back into the city and crashed to rest. By Mumbai standards we were really good children this whole weekend. Our choice of food was at Woodlands during our stay in Udupi. Fantastic Udupian cuisine and I could just take the train for more of that. We sampled everything on the menu to the point of stuffing ourselves. Uttappams, idlis, vadas, dosas, upmas, sambhar, rassam, chutney, kaapi, everything. I realized Ritwik was more eager to stack up on his hometown than we tourists were. Before that we started the day with a brief walk through of the Janardana and Mahakali Temple. We indulged and took off to Maravanthe Beach. Another famous must visit town come fishing village come miles of the most gorgeous beach ever. Here is where we finally had our 1^st naariyal of the trip – shocked and disgruntled as I was. We had a bit of a faux pas about the beach and just followed Ritwik wherever he took us. Unfortunately, due to miscommunication we landed up walking almost an hour under the hot sun across the main NH and the beach at bank midday. Abeer and I felt old and worn out but we comforted ourselves that this was a workout. A few hydrating options after, we passed a lovely raw fishing village, crossed through a muddy path that divided young paddy fields, met the cutest calf that Abeer exclaimed, needed time to fatten up for a juicy steak (drawing questionable looks from Ritwik and me and a loud moo from the calf’s momma), and reached the main highway. 2 buses later we were back in Udupi and at Diana lunch home – Ritwik claimed that back in the day this was THE place for lunching. Sadly it was commercialized and we were sad to not get our order. We left and ran to Woodlands just in time to devour large thaalis. Before that we contemplated our routes back; acknowledging sadly that this was the near end of a glorious and very organic trip.

Ritwik took an overnight bus back that evening after we ate at an obnoxiously OUT THERE outlet called Kediyoor. He was gracious enough to let us stay the night over in his place as our train was a 5:45am tatkal booking from Udupi station – the Maru Sagar Express. We stayed the night wherein I had the weirdest and scariest dreams and kept waking up. A sinister surrounding and the deafening quiet doesn’t help a bustling city gal. Abeer assured me that there was a temple around and nothing would happen. We woke up to get dressed and at stark 4:30am all lights went out. I was freaked out to say the least. Lights, camera and an available torch was our weapon of choice and I was too scared to even check if all switches were off but we moved in pairs and we ensured all was shut. Lights came back on and as if it was toying with my fear, went out again in a minute. We packed up and left at 5am. The street was well lit and we walked looking for a rickshaw. 15 steps ahead and lights went out AGAIN. This was plunging darkness and I just wanted to leave. Abeer indulged my fear and caringly took me to the main motor stand. Phew. At the station our already delicate tummies played havoc but my traveler’s soul was sad. Back to noisy, polluted and reality Mumbai. Yes home but away from dreamy places like this. Thanks to Ritwik and his hospitality and his presence and language guidance, we ever planned and made this trip.

Hoping to make many more such backpacker diaries J

A brief on Ritwik’s grandfather’s story in The Hindu newspaper: http://www.thehindu.com/todays-paper/tp-national/tp-karnataka/vyasaraya-ballal-passes-away/article1190262.ece

The Dark Nights

“Elsa has a fever and needs me” I muttered under a controlled but angry breath to my impatient father.

Dad had not had a good day. I didn’t understand why. He had slept all evening and all night. Selfishly, I was the 1 who needed the respite. A foolish question earlier in the day was how come I didn’t enjoy my hospital visit. Who would imagine that 5 days in the hospital, post-surgery, lying in a 1-dimensional position, staring at 4 very close walls (2 being curtains) and yo-yoing between earth shattering silence and absolute mayhem was “pleasant”. I let it go. Just like I was letting go of a deep breath, which had borne too much in the last 2 weeks. Dad had completely lost it in the lobby of the hospital, thus leaving the cash and insurance counters begging me to control him and hearing them out. I was wheelchair bound, drained and expected to solve everyone’s problems. Problems of people who had gotten my bill wrong the 4^th time and had tested the last ounce of my old dad’s patience. I did the needful. Quietly. Sorted the mess and left.

I was an emotional and psychological wreck. Actually, I controlled myself and made it somehow so ‘wreck’ doesn’t count. I did manage some composure with the help of very vocal and strong friends who didn’t give up. And even though I had the parents (all 3) it seemed like a burden to them or a liability. I was polite to the point of asking them to leave me some nights alone. Nurses would wonder why I didn’t have a relative when others had overbearing 1s around them. My parents weren’t bad. They just didn’t cope well with my injury and silence. I thrived in the chaos of the present.

Yes, I had injured myself. This wasn’t deliberate. Or like Abeer had threatened to leave if I limped. Today anything is possible so I will just keep his words at bay. I was angry with him as well. I injured myself doing something I loved. In pleasing the system and the people in my life, I had what the docs described as – burned myself out. I had it all. Capoeira. The boyfriend. The friend. The freedom blah blah. But sometimes to those who have it all, it’s a burnout to manage it all. With the job and classes and keeping pace with Abeer, I had forgotten that my supposedly tiny frame couldn’t support all the madness. I waited for the break from work to lower my pressures so I can give quality time to few things and people that mattered. Before that transition – along came the big full-stop.

At 1^st I felt comforted and sorted, thinking I have the handholding I need. I have the right people and the right support to get me through smiling like nothing really happened. It wasn’t long before the hand had left mine and I crashed into a wall. After the crash it was the “you can do it” – an effective way to say “clean up the mess you thought wasn’t coming your way.” I didn’t want to do it alone. That wasn’t my plan and not even my contingency. A fight with the boyfriend started the mayhem rollercoaster through hell. Unresolved. Unspoken. Unheard. Unsupported. The office added to my woes as if I didn’t have enough – you see as per ‘tradition’ they punish and effectively nightmarize those who resign. “Terminate her and let the insurance go to hell”. Thanks but what now…

The comfort of picking up the phone and dialling a number seemed like a tedious task with a question mark. Am I calling the love or a former some1? Is the mother gonna descend on me or comfort me? Will the father give answers or let me know for the 10000^th time how I disappointed him? In that state (now in retrospect) even I couldn’t believe how beaten I felt. Tears came naturally while a morsel of food lodged itself in the mouth and refused to go down. With this in tow n refusing to stop, I got admitted, surgery-ed and in what was supposedly recovery. The doc lived up to his promise. Pain management was a breeze what with 2 beeping machine pumps attached to me. It was the mental status that didn’t cooperate with the meds. Terminally ill patients with a plethora of diseases and mentally affected relatives thronged me. I wanted desperately to heal and get out – but their sounds and stories and anguish didn’t let me be. Needed Abeer desperately here. As inappropriate as it was, he balanced me when it came to finding humor in the madness.

But he was far. Disconnected. By choice. His instagram kept me posted of the colors that adorned him but evaded me. I wished to be there with him rather than have him here. It didn’t help soothe my anger. I had nearly given up. Until I got a Are-U-Dead-Or-Alive like message. Like a lost friend who occasionally connects with u. I didn’t know what to make of it. I needed more solutions – not more questions, doubts and fears that I had not tackled before. It had been 3yrs since my last relationship. This was different and I was glad. But not in times like these. Every bone in my body said ask him to come back and be there cuz u want him. Not need him. But want him. I managed to evade that as well. Y ask when u know it aint gonna happen.

In the interim my grief was interrupted by a fedup parent, few well-meaning friends, doctor visits, constantly interrupting aunties and nurses abruptly waking or shaking u up for meds, IV, sponge etc. I kept everything at bay by depending on my dear phone – ONLY window to the outside world. Waiting for a beep, vibrate or a flash. The food I just had to send back untouched unless the parent did the courtesy of finishing it for me. I thought lying quietly and surviving on tea for 4 days will get me through. But the resultant punishment was an extra day+night due to my vitals dipping – stupid girl. I managed to bring them up with liquid diet and begged to be discharged. The excruciating pain whilst taking my 1^st steps and doing all the exercises will be an ever-reminder of how I managed to let them know I can do this effortlessly so let me go. And go they did. The panel was young and understood my plight as well.

I packed up and washed my face and brushed – 1^st time in 4 days. The headless horseman from SleepyHollow wore a far more charming look than me. 2 wks had robbed me of any charm, glow or life. Changing into MY clothes felt a bit weird. The nurses who refused to let me go thought otherwise. They made me smile and the whole staff came up and asked a whole bunch of questions. Thought I was pretty but v quiet. Marriage, boyfriend, work, martial arts, age, etc. A pic of Abeer brought about a gang of giggles. Hugs and funny requests followed my wheelchair ride down to sunlight.

The whole ride home was a quite 1. I felt like I had lost a decade in coma. I waited to see Elsa. He saw me. Ran away and then stuck to dad. It was natural. His nurturer demanded his full attn. But then he came around and snuck up to me. Purred like there was nothing wrong. Until he sneezed and felt warm. Thereafter what I assumed would be a restful welcome home, turned into a calling frenzy, ambulance chasing and vet visiting evening. I had forgotten my pain meds and the leg reminded me of that well. I just wanted Elsa to be ok. Dad went berserk again – why the cat and my leg. Just why? I had brought the cat. I loved him. He was my responsibility. When you love someone you don’t just hold a few select fingers – you hold their hand and never let go. So leg, injury, surgery or whatever the hell… Elsa needed me. I couldn’t ignore that. It cost me deep pockets but I was ready to move anything including forgetting my crutches to have him ok. The vet saw him and gave the meds. I was relieved. I had made it through another slap from Karma. Broken leg in tow.



Now I NEEDED the healing and some love. I needed the care and holding. Right now he purrs in my lap. Occasionally suckling on my fingers and also sneezing on my napkin. Scratches and holds on to me. His way of showing me love I guess. Big eyes and an occasionally paw to me. I accept. Now I just wait with bated breath for the 1 I love and wish to show love in my way. In that corner in his shoulders where I found love 1^st. 

Long walk home...

“Beta sab theek hai. Khana khayega” That’s the signature statement my dad always seems to clarify or make irrespective of whether I was within city limits, out of the country or possibly another galaxy. I heard this statement again and pondered through my long and lonely walk from the domestic airport to the rick stand as I had just flown in from Bangalore to Mumbai on a warm humid night.

A harsh reality hit me. In the recent past, none of the times was I dropped or picked up from the train station or the airport. It’s another thing that I expressed chivalry and wanted to be the ‘I-can-do-it-myself gal’. But it would be a welcome change to see a surprise pick-up or drop once in a while. To be fair I couldn’t expect friends or family members to chauffeur me especially when I was notorious for taking all odd hour journey options. It just had to be late evening or midnight – anything before complete sunrise.

And yet I time traveled back to the ye ol’ days when the whole family would pile up in cabs and ricks to see us off. Tear-jerkers and handkerchief exchanges were a common sight – I even dreaded it sometimes especially when dad would leave us to go to Nigeria or later, and most commonly, when mum would send me back to boarding school at the start of the school year. Most of the times they were midnight flights. Somehow late evening and night journeys add that extra bit of moroseness to the whole farewell scene. One goes home to cry into their blankets or aircraft pillows.

I wished for someone to pick me up. I wished to be swept away in arms and hugs and covered in appropriate kisses followed by an inappropriate number. Be it the brother, the friend or the boyfriend. I craved to know that someone somewhere waited so long to see me and couldn't wait no more and made the journey to see me arrive. Instead I walked bags on both shoulders, waving off eager rickwalas and cabwalas with the ease of a billionaire heiress waving of paparazzi. Walked as far as my jetlagged feet could take me and nearly threatened a rick guy to take me home ON METER only. I didn't even realize that the poor fellow intended to just charge me meter (assumed that they were all automatically out to fleece me).

I looked forward to getting home and getting dad’s home cooked meal. Even if his intent was just to feed me and probably pick another fight (his version of an ongoing conversation), I still looked forward to it. He called and stressed and waited for the return of Tom and Jerry. Just like the ever quarreling duo who would kill each other and yet reach a slump if 1 was absent. The alternate and more eagerly awaited plan was to meet the boyfriend. However, he unleashed a volley of his own anger on me when (and get this) I had just been airborne during take-off. Maybe it was an ‘off’ evening for me. The farewell was bittersweet from my beloveds, the arrival a tad bit too hot and humid from the cold and rain-washed Bangalore and the walk home a long, lonely and miserable 1.

I do often look outside the glass panes just before exiting the airport or train station to see if someone indeed did show up… just like the old days!