One Day Trek - Madhugiri

Scenes along the way:

Say Cheese [Suze, Sagar, Yshant, Me [KK with the cam]]

Suze in a doorway

A scene, partially, from LOTR

Graffiti on the walls

At the very top - 1

At the very top - 2

No Comments [In a supposed granary]Things that made the day:

Madhugiri – a place in Tumkur district, the town with several one-room-pig-meat hotels, alternating with hair saloons with an arbitrary sanghas interspersed in between, the only decent hotel – Hotel Woodlands, the best in the area, was comparable to Krishna’s (of NITK fame). The breakfast, though, was delicious because we were starving. The hill is supposed to be the second largest monolith in Asia, second only to Savandurga.

Along the trek – initial view from the bottom of the seven or more layers of fortifications, the ever widening view of the city as we walked higher up the hill, the semicircular water tanks on the way, crazy theories about other easier methods of replacing the stone fortifications with other defense mechanisms, wading through a picnic group consisting of hundreds of small school children and few harassed-looking teachers, the slightly tough part along the trek, which could be covered only by bending the upper torso by more than 50 degrees from the vertical, sometimes using more than three limbs for support, acrophobia while trying to shoot / pose for crazy photos, arbit discussions with other stray people climbing up the hill, the real cool breezes in the shade of overhanging rocks or the occasional doorway, a wide range of conversation from belting the harry potter seventh book, random comments from bash.org, discussing recent and not so recent events, theories on the coloring of the rock on which we were trekking, hilarious discussions on movies, serials, Tool, life, philosophy, and the other arbitrary stuff in the whole wide universe.

At the zenith - the broken down ruins of which was once a Gopalakrishna temple, the supposed stables to the side of the temple, and filmi-gansta-style hideout rooms at the very top, the view of the entire town from the top of the mountain, pulav and bananas, the telugu music that can be heard from miles away, when we were all lying under the shade of a huge cloud - and suze first imagining that some guy had left a radio behind, more dome shaped water tanks, the sun, and simple pure bliss for just being there in that moment.

21^st June 2008.

One great day. One great trek.

PS: This post is dedicated to all the fellow trekkers; the bakery at the bottom of the hill, the bang-on-time buses both to and fro, and the chance group conversation in gtalk which was the primary way the team and the trip became a reality.

The Sculptor

Tap Tip…. Tap Tip…. Tap Tip…

The sheriff closed his eyes. The sound was rhythmic. Soothing. But he only felt sadness. The place was not the same as it once had been.

It used to be a lively one. The place where he now sat, was the workshop of the old, blind sculptor. The blind man was the best stone sculptor for miles. His workshop held a lot of space, and on most evenings, men from all over the village, after a hard days work came to relax. It was a jovial place. The old man was wise and sometimes small disputes would be amicably settled. It was also a go-to place for the local news.

The sculptor’s son lived with him in a two storey house, a mile off the workshop. He was a bright, illustrious young man who helped out in the workshop as an apprentice. There was a guest room, next to the son’s room on the top of the house, which would sometimes be occupied by paying tenants, travelers etc.

About two years ago, on the day the top floor raged with fire, there was a new young tenant, a traveler from a far off place staying in the guest room. The blind sculptor, who slept in the ground floor, having roused by the smoke, gathered help as fast as he could. But in spite of all their best efforts, the fire ravaged the entire floor. A body charred beyond recognition was found in the guest bed room. Based on the pieces of cloth adhering to the skin, it was determined as that of the paying guest. It was found out that the fire had been started intentionally. Also, the box containing almost all pieces of the masterpiece that the sculptor was working on had been stolen. It was concluded that the son had run away with the sculptures after setting fire to the house.

The old man and his workshop were never the same after that.

Tap Tip…. Tap Tip…. Tap Tip…

The sheriff opened his eyes and looked around. The sculptor sat a few feet away, tapping a hard stone with his heavy hammer and nail. These days he never sculpted any intricate designs that he was famous for. Most of the times, he just tapped into stones, shaping their edges, as he did now. The only other occupant in the room was a kid sitting idly in the corner of the room. The desultory scene weighed upon him. He sighed, wished the sculptor a good night and left the place.

Not long after that, another man entered the workshop. He looked like he had been on the road for a while. His clothes were dusty. He had a full beard and long matted hair. He walked up to the place recently vacated by the sheriff. He sat there.

The nail slipped from the old man’s hand then. It rolled over to the place where the stranger sat. The man bent down, picked it up, rose and started walking towards the sculptor to return it.

Suddenly, the sculptor rose from his place, and with the agility of a much younger man, covered the small distance between them, raised the iron hammer well above his head, and smashed it down on the head of the stranger in one vicious blow.

The man was dead even before he hit the floor.

The sculptor dropped the heavy iron on the floor, breathed deeply, turned around to the kid and spoke for the first time.

“You the baker’s kid, right?”

“Yes, sir” came the nervous reply.

“Go tell the sheriff that this man killed my son, burnt my house and stole my work. I always knew that he would come back for the last piece, which I was still working on two years ago. The whole set would then be priceless.”

He paused once and continued, as though remembering something from a long time ago.

“I was there half-asleep in my bed that night. The man that left the burning house was not my son.”

He paused again slightly.

“Ya see, I never forget foot falls, kid. As for the rhythm of this man's foot steps”, he said, pointing to the prone figure on the floor, “I have been tapping it into stone, every day, from the last two years. I would recognize his walk in my sleep”.

Ever heard of.... Giraffes?

Well… just when you thought the blog couldn’t get any weirder… here’s another random post for you..

This one is all about giraffes…

“Knock, Knock”
“Who’s there?”
“Giraffe”
“Giraffe who?”
“No, that’s my dad. This is Giraffe Hu Jr.”

• Ever heard of the giraffe that couldn’t undergo a normal delivery for her first-born?
• Her baby had acrophobia – the fear of heights.

• Ever heard of the giraffe doctor who was tired of treating Cervicalgia?
• It was literally a huge pain in the neck.

• Ever heard of the giraffe who went in for surgery just because his stomach was upset?
• He got tired of waiting for the bile to rise up his damn neck, so he could throw up in peace.

• Ever heard of the giraffe that knew that both humans and giraffes had the same number of bones in the neck?
• It is widely rumored that he didn’t give a damn

• Ever heard of the giraffe that had one extra neck vertebrae that ticked him to no end?
• He called it his funny bone.

• How do you know that there is a giraffe under your bed?

1. Your nose is touching the ceiling
   
2. The bed see-saws fearfully if you ever-so-slightly toss and turn

• And how do you know that this one is stronger than the last one?

1. Your nose is touching the ceiling
2. The motion of the bed is more gentle and rocking
3. You can’t hear any bones creaking ominously this time

• Ever heard of the giraffe that wore real tight pants and could sing in three different languages?
• No? Me neither.

• Ever heard of commander general giraffe that was a movie buff?
• His troops went to war with the battle cry “There Will Be Blood”.
• And then there were none.

PS: Hold on.... there is no way in which you could have ever heard these before...
I made them up last night because I couldn't sleep...

• PS2: I hate these bullets

Say What?

As it goes:
“Who’s the judge?”
“The judge is God”
“And why is he God?”
“Because he decides who wins or loses and not my opponent”
“And who is your opponent?”
“He doesn’t exist”
“And why does he not exist?”
“Because he is a mere dissenting voice of the truth I speak”

So, turn to the heavens, and holler:
“Hey God, is any of that true?”
God: “I am an atheist”