Big Foot and Big Burp

My Big Foot and Big Step episode went just as I had expected it to. I broke the news of my solo trip to my parents. Mum searched my face for possible guilt of lying; she seemed to find none, so she was okay. Dad arched his eyebrows so high, I thought they might join the top of his almost-bald head. Mildly heated arguments and some grunting from my father later, I retired to my bedroom. Flushed with my success, I had a vindictive spark in my eyes and a Grinch-like smile on my lips. 

The day of my departure finally arrived, and I looked like a dreary zombie boarding the bus at 7AM. A long bus ride, as all of us know, makes most people throw-up left, right, and centre. But no, not me. I have a heart of gold, a tummy of steel, and a mind of brass. All my life, neither bus, nor car, nor even ghat-sections could make me retch, no matter how curvy or bumpy or fast a ride got. I’m the queen of travels. Or so I thought until this one solo trip I took to Madikeri, by bus…

For the first half an hour, I tossed and turned in my seat, unable to sleep and unable to stay awake. I was stuck in a dreary limbo of sorts. In the next half an hour, I wondered if the weird feeling in my chest was the reason for my state of limbo. And just as that thought hit me, my eyes snapped wide open, my back straightened up, my hands flew to my mouth as my tongue forced itself out. My teary eyes searched for the conductor, to motion to him for the “black cover” he was supposed to distribute, but my buttocks seemed glued to the chair!

The lady beside me asked gently, “Do you need a cover?” and I simply nodded. She got up and went to the front of the bus to ask the conductor for covers, and came back and handed one to me. I put my mouth inside it, but I didn’t retch. I burped. Burped loud enough for the whole silent bus to hear. Luckily, the two men on the other side seemed fast asleep, and the rest of the bus couldn’t see my face, but for this sweet, helpful lady. But embarrassment seemed to have abandoned me, and I almost smiled with relief, happy that I didn’t have to keep a cover full of puke in front of me.

And rather with too much bravado for someone who had almost thrown up, and just burped loudly, I extended my hand and introduced myself to the lady next to me. The cordial, and really sweet person that she was, Shalini didn’t so much as recoil from my hand of friendship. There are some things that just can’t help but foster friendships. And in my case, burping loudly, apparently, was one such thing.

Big Foot and Big Step

I’ve said this before, and I will say it again: Indian parents are an epitome of sexism and intense drama. In their eyes, a daughter is supposed to stay put at home.  If she so much as goes out with her girlfriends, they have only one fear – What if she has a boyfriend and what if she’s going out with him instead? 

Alright, maybe not ALL Indian parents. But mine are an epitome of the sexist and dramatic type, in epic proportions! Everytime I say I am going out, my mother’s hair stands up in a frizzy shock, and my father’s fat moustache gets ready to crackle with electricity. And then they slaughter me with innumerable number of questions (Where are you going? Who’re you going with? What time will you reach there? Will all three of your friends be there? What time will you be back? How are you going – auto or bus or two-wheeler?). No kidding. Some 
severe headache and dry mouth later (from 
answering all the questions separately to my 
father, mother, and granny twice or thrice each), 
I bolt from the house…

Today, I told my mother I am going for a lunch tomorrow with my girlfriends. The look on her face… You would think I kissed some ‘roadside-Romeo’ right in front her! Anyway, the last time I went on a trip with my girlies to Chikmagalur, my parents decided they should get me ‘married away’ after I came back (nice try, parents!). Well, as to what they might have assumed I was doing there, I will leave that to your imagination…

Now think of my torment if I’ve got to tell them that I’m going off on a solo trip to Coorg next weekend! Don’t you worry, I am gonna put my Big Foot down, and stand my ground, like I always have. You see, my choices, decisions, and actions in life ("big steps") have never been short of The Big Foot Battle. As for the encounter ahead... Well, let’s just say George Martin’s Westeros seems like a fairytale land to me right now.

The Big Foot Solitude

My Big Foot Dreams are aplenty. My eyes know no bounds when it comes to that genre of life. Maybe it’s got to do with being a writer… Maybe it’s got to do with being a cancerian… Maybe it’s got to do with being both (yeah, I take pride in being both)… I’ve always loved solitude. And for what seems like ages, I’ve always wanted to travel as a writer. Oh and not just travel as a writer, but travel alone as a writer.

Soaking in every moment…

Indulging in every movement…

The thoughts in my head pamper me the moment I’m all theirs and theirs alone. Then, my big feet notwithstanding, small and slow steps pave way for 
a symphonic rhythm of hazy ideas. And then that 
rhythm just eludes me until such time that it sees fit 
to return, when I’m solitary again. 

When your passion is god, and work worship, it possesses you. If your passion is writing, you are a writer at every moment, at every instance. A travel then is the Muse that possesses you, not wanting to let go until you love, adore, and worship Her in all Her grandeur. 

What matters then is only that chair in the corner claiming your presence. What matters then is only the travel reining your ink. What matters then are only the words blinding your worldly eyes. You don’t claim your writing; it claims you!

And in the buzz of all these grandiose feelings inside of you, those around you turn into mere blurry visions.
And you know you’ve just got to let your feet, big or small, take you alone. 

And you know you’ve just got to travel alone, and soon. 

And you know you’ve just got to write to please the Muse…       

  

Big Foot and Bicylce 'Bum'ps

The banks of the Kabini river is a gorgeous landscape to behold. You would think Oh, what a lovely feeling it must be to cycle along the riverside... Hold your horses! If you've been out of touch with your active side, you better tread that peddle with caution!

I saw that landscape cycling was on my itinerary and I headed out donning my sports shoe to show the cycle who's boss. I made my way to the bicycle rack, and requested the keeper to lend me one. And soon I was off happily peddling down the concrete slope, past the gates, and onto the mud track. I did my best to keep my feet on the peddles as the bicycle 
bumped my bottoms hard against the hard seat. 

Calling it a bumpy ride would be an understatement; the stone-ridden path to the river bank was nothing short of a spank-sport! But if I thought that was the difficult part of it, I was only being a pea-brain... A mere ten minutes along the banks and I was huffing and puffing as if I had delivered an obese baby! And to think I'm young... Never mind... 

I stopped at the edge of the river to enjoy the view of gazillion birds happily chirping and preening one another on the rocks amid the river. Some more huffing and puffing later, I decided the bicycle was the better boss after all, and made my way back. Uphill! Alright, "uphill" might be an exaggeration. But atleast it was up'land'. 

So what seemed like rivers of sweat and a near-wheezing syndrome later, I approached another part of the river banks where I set off the Big Foot versus Angry Birds battle yet again. Their indignant cawing and "did-you-do-its" didn't really help my love handles speed the cycle up. And that meant I would carry my heart in my mouth until I passed their territory safely. 

It took all the cholesterol in my body to keep myself peddling; sadly I didn't feel any lighter afterwards though. Some uneven tanning, near-breathlessness, and severe junk-craving later, I returned the bicycle to the keeper (who looked 
amused at my state), looking dead on my feet. 
I simply dragged my feet to the room and submerged 
in my private pool like a hippo.

Big Foot and Big Trunk

The ripples of the Kabini river made it look like a muddy red skirt playing to the gentle breeze blowing about. As I walked the path to the river, I could hear indignant cawing and "Did you do it"s. Oh dear... Not again... Seemed like the Big Foot Versus Angry Birds battle was still on... I faked a calmness I didn't feel and simply walked on.

A little further down the banks, and I could see Meenakshi – The Majestic. She lay in the shallow part of the river, with her mahout beside her, both patiently waiting for me to sit on her back. I entered the water, strutting. Queen like. Atleast until the water became too cold and deep for comfortable strutting.

Hesitantly, this scaredy queen approached Meenakshi closer. I slowly stretched a hand to pet her back and my, was she warm even in the coool breeze! Her face looked calm and gentle. Her mouth seemed to be curved in a smile, her trunk resting in the water. The light spots on her ears and trunk were a sign of her age and wisdom, and she was completely at ease with the river, the breeze, the mahout, the many people and animals watching her. Now who's the queen!

The mahout asked me to sit on Meenakshi's back for "a bath" and I hastily replied, "No, that's fine. I'm alright just petting her, see?" patting her hairy and warm back to prove it. The mahout insisted, lifting me bodily off the riverbed, and placing me on Meenakshi. For half a heart beat I thought I would hear her trumpet indignantly. Instead she simply flapped her ears more graciously. She is a lady, indeed.

"Madam, ready?" the mahout asked. But before I could so much as nod or open my mouth in answer, I heard him utter something very tongue twisty at Meenakshi. Some tiny part of my brain guessed it was perhaps Malayalam. Lady Meenu hailed from Kerala, apparently. At his request, she sucked in a trunkful of the muddy red Kabini water, threw her trunk backward at me and splashed a huge amount of it, enough to soak me wet in an instant. I squealed in delight, all my lady-like dignity forgotten. Meenakshi too seemed to be enjoying it, for she flapped her ears vigourously in acknowledgement and splashed another trunkful at me. So she went on for another three trunkfuls until her mahout requested her to stop. With some difficulty, I jumped off her back and pet her forehead. It was ever so satisfying to see her close her eyes at my touch.

It was her time to get a real pampering bath now, and her mahout obliged. I pet her one last time and then it was time for me to warm up quickly. The queen-like strutting lady smiled to herself as she walked back to her room. She happily smiled to herself at the spa-like treatment she had received in all its natural goodness. But that was only until she passed by the Did-You-Do-It birds again...

Big Foot versus Angry Birds

If you thought that sighting carnivores is the ultimate thrill you can get amid nature, think again. If you thought bird-watching is all about gluing binoculars to your eyes and speaking in hushed voices as you watch a bird nipping at a worm peacefully with its beak, you’ve only been bird-watching on television!

After a good night’s rest in nature’s lap, I signed up for a bird watching tour the next morning, and it turned out to be an adventure of sorts. As I and my co-travellers, guided by our OCK Naturalist, walked along the banks of the Kabini River, he pointed out to a certain bird at a distance and educated us that it was a red-wattled lapwing, commonly known as the “Did-you-do-it” bird. Now, there is no need to think too much, dirty mind! It is a mere reference to what their calls actually sound like. 

As we moved forward to get a closer look, we heard its “did-you-do-its” getting louder, and lo and behold, there were atleast four more of its kind chirping hysterically. What I saw next made my eyes pop, jaws drop, and heart almost stop: the birds were closing in above us at about 10 feet distance, in a closed circle formation. This, our Naturalist informed us, was what these birds did when someone was nearby their eggs.

Their paranoid “did-you-do-its” have a strange way of inducing guilt-like fear in your heart, trust me. I had half a mind to take cover and screech back “I didn’t do anything” at them! 

Just then, our naturalist mentioned that these birds were even known to peck humans if we strayed too close to their eggs. That did it. I walked my ugly big feet away from there, lest I be pecked by half a dozen real-life Angry Birds and turn a comic character in the eyes of Mother Nature!

After that action packed “bird-watching” session, we headed back to our “hut”, to luxuriate in our private pools before we went to have lunch. Little did we know we weren’t by ourselves; we had a visitor... A crow sat on a reclined chair overlooking our pool, happily nibbling a packet of roasted cashewnuts straight from the cover!

We had forgotten to shut the doors at our porch and living room, and nature had got the better of us! The crow had flown in, whether from the porch or from near the pool we do not know, and carried away one of the two complimentary packets of roasted cashews that was placed on the table in the living room.

Even as I decided to just let it be (in honour of my Big Foot Muse), the crow tilted its head, looked me in the eye and croaked. I do not know if or not it was thanking me for my so-called sharing, but I took that look to mean “snatch this packet and I’ll peck you!”

Delicious cashews they might be, but I had had enough experience with birds for one morning! I didn’t bother with shooing. I just let the crow nibble our cashews peacefully, as (s)he enjoyed the pool view, sitting on our reclined chair.