A day drive from Kanyakumari to Thiruvananthapuram

The previous day, on the afternoon of October 13, 2022, We had started our journey from Chennai Egmore Station by Kanyakumari Express (12633). After having dinner that night, I had a good sleep. From early morning, there seemed to be a lot of hustle and bustle all around. Tea vendors were calling out loudly, offering hot tea. When I opened my eyes, I saw that many passengers in the compartment had already gotten off the train. Some were packing their bags. The train was now standing at Nagercoil Junction Railway Station. In just another 20 minutes, we would reach Kanyakumari (CAPE), the southernmost railway station of India. Three days earlier, I had e-mailed the hotel, but hadn’t received any reply. The sky looked cloudy all around, yet sunlight was breaking through. As soon as the train arrived, everyone began heading toward their respective destinations. We got down slowly and took a few photographs of the surroundings. The hotel check-in time was 12 noon. There was still plenty of time in hand, and I couldn’t decide what to do. While thinking about it, I went towards the cloakroom. I deposited my trolley bag there, collected a token, and stepped out of the station. It was about 6:30 in the morning. If we went toward the sea, we would find people, food, and everything else there. An elderly auto driver approached us. His name was Justice. He looked trustworthy. I told him to take us near the sea. During our conversation, he asked which hotel we were staying at. Then he suggested that we should go to our pre-booked hotel and talk to the manager. Following his advice, we headed towards Sangam Hotel.

Vanakkam, You are lucky, your Room is Ready:

Actually, since most trains arrive in Kanyakumari Station in the morning, hotel owners usually keep the rooms ready for the tourists. After bidding farewell to Uncle Justice and completing some formalities at the hotel, we set out towards the seashore. The sea was quite close to our Sangam Hotel, so we decided to go on foot. Early in the morning, local drivers were bargaining with tourists for sightseeing trips. Since most of the visitors in Kanyakumari are Bengalis, many of the locals here can speak broken Bengali. By talking to them, we got a rough idea about the rates of the local tours.

Swami Vivekananda Rock Memorial:

There was a strict instruction from home — no boat rides at all. After all, I don’t know how to swim, and the trip involved crossing the sea, that too the Indian Ocean! So, the plan was to take a few pictures of the Vivekananda Rock Memorial from a distance and return. Standing at the jetty, the two of us watched men and women, the elderly, and even people carrying babies — all boarding the boats wearing life jackets. We thought, “What wrong would it be if we went too?” So, after buying the tickets and waiting for a long time, we finally boarded the steamer. In a short while, we reached the Vivekananda Rock Memorial. From the speakers, a soft Tamil bhajan was playing in the background. A little ahead, we collected a token and kept our shoes in the designated place. By around 8 a.m., the sun was already high in the sky, yet the sea breeze made the heat quite bearable. Above us stretched the clear autumn-blue sky, and below lay the vast blue expanse of the ocean. In front of us stood the massive statue of the poet Thiruvalluvar, the Triveni Sangam, and in the distance, the town of Kanyakumari and the lighthouse were clearly visible. Behind us rose the temple built in memory of Swami Vivekananda — simply magnificent. It takes about an hour to explore the entire place. According to legend, about a thousand years before Vivekananda, Goddess Kanyakumari is said to have stood here on one leg, meditating in the hope of marrying Lord Shiva. Whether the marriage ever took place is unknown, but her footprints are believed to remain on this rock. Around these footprints, a small temple has been built. However, it is separate from the main Kanyakumari Devi Temple located on the mainland. By around 10:30 a.m., we returned to the station, collected our trolley bags, and went back to the hotel. When we informed the elderly man sitting at the reception about our plan, he said, “All right, the driver will be here within half an hour.” We quickly got ready and went down to the restaurant on the ground floor. After having a large dosa, along with puri-sabzi, and tea, we set out in the car to continue our journey.

Lunch at Hotel Chitra:

A clean and well-maintained hotel environment. The meal was served on banana leaves. Four kinds of pickles were already placed on the dining table. First came warm water for washing hands. Then, one after another, came rice, dal, four types of vegetables, sambar, papad, chutney, raita, and so on. After finishing the delicious meal to our heart’s content, we started for the famous Poovar backwaters. Then, Deepu led us along a gentle hilly path through a coconut plantation to the bank of a river.

Poovar Back-water:

We went with Deepu to a boating kiosk. During a bit of casual conversation, when I looked at the kiosk manager, only one thought kept circling in my head — “Why have you killed Amarendra Baahubali?” And that very manager was trying to assure me, saying, “Don’t worry, Sir. I won’t overcharge you.” Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop laughing. Later, when Deepu heard and explained what had happened. Then the manager burst into laughter. As a bonus, we even got an additional discount of ₹500. We told Deepu, “Why stay alone? Come with us.” He agreed. So the four of us — Deepu, the two of us, and the boatman — started our journey through the canals inside the mangrove forest. A little ahead, we came across a coconut seller ferrying tender coconuts on a boat. All four of us drank coconuts and resumed our journey. One after another, we passed Club Mahindra Resort and then reached a floating restaurant known for its variety of fish dishes. Since we were heading to a temple next, we decided not to eat anything. Soon, we arrived at the river mouth where it met the sea. The backwater had been calm until now, but at the estuary, large sea waves were visible. Although we were wearing life jackets, a sense of fear crept into our hearts. When I mentioned it to the boatman, he reassured us that there was a natural sandbar in the middle, so the waves wouldn’t harm our boat. I had read about such sandbars before, but today I finally understood what a parallel coastal sand bar actually looks like. Anyway, passing by a rock where a statue of the Virgin Mary holding the reclining infant Jesus stood, we moved toward the Golden Sand Beach. On the way, we saw a half-submerged rock — at first glance, it looked like an elephant standing in the water. The inner side of Golden Beach was calm, but on the seaward side, large waves were crashing against the shore. The roaring sound made it clear that no one would dare to swim there. After a brief photo session, we returned from the spot.

Kovalam Beach:

When we reached Kovalam Beach, it was low tide. Because of the muddy shore, we couldn’t step into the water. Overhead stretched the clear blue sky; all around, a coastline lined with rows of coconut trees; beneath our feet, a carpet of green grass; and in front of us, the vast Arabian Sea stretching to the horizon — its beauty is beyond words. Adding to the scene were a few tall edged wooden boats belonging to the local fishermen, looking just like figures painted on an artist’s canvas. There is also a beautiful resort here owned by actor Mithun Chakraborty. After capturing a few memories with our camera, we set out for our next destination.

Sri Padmanav Swami Temple:

We reached the northern main gate, or gopuram, of the temple around 4 p.m. Deepu parked the car. I put on a dhoti and wrapped an uttariya around my shoulders. My wife was already wearing a saree, so there was no issue. Among the ancient temples of India, the Padmanabhaswamy Temple is one of the most famous — and hence the rules are quite strict. Watches, mobile phones, wallets, shoes, belts, and intoxicating items like betel, bidi, or gutkha are all strictly prohibited. There’s also a dress code for women. In the morning, I had seen a lady taking selfies at Vivekananda Rock wearing a top and jeans; now I saw her draped in a white saree over those jeans, heading toward the temple for darshan. Such strict regulations are indeed necessary; otherwise, one day these temples will turn into amusement parks. Anyway, after passing through multiple layers of tight security, we entered the temple premises. It was an enormous temple complex — it felt like an entire city inside. The temple had its own bank, post office, police station, court, treasury, staff quarters — everything! After quite a bit of searching, we found the way to proceed. There were three types of darshan arrangements. A woman sat at a computer counter, issuing tickets in exchange for money. Beside her, two plates were neatly arranged with lotus flowers and tulsi garlands. I said to my wife, “The flowers look so fresh and beautiful.” Meanwhile, she was talking to that lady, while I, instead of listening, was taking in the surroundings with my eyes. Massive corridors stretched around us, lined on both sides with tall pillars. The lion faces carved at the top of those pillars resembled the ones seen in the temples of Puri’s Jagannath and Rameswaram. But this place felt much more open and airy. The inner courtyard looked almost like a fairground. Here and there stood a few small tiled houses. A concrete path ran across the sandy ground toward the sanctum, covered with a tiled roof. Wooden railings bordered both sides of the path. After walking some distance, we turned right toward the main temple.

But a question arises — how is it that the richest God in the world resides beneath a simple clay-tiled roof? Perhaps He Himself is the true source of all inspiration. As I pondered that thought, a quiet smile played on my lips. Then we came upon a stone wall. Entering the dark garbhagriha (sanctum sanctorum) through a small doorway, we found a crowd of people pressing together, each hoping to catch a fleeting glimpse of the deity. The dim light from oil lamps on the walls, the smoky air, and the slippery stone floor together created a somewhat perilous atmosphere. Out of fear and awe, we stood almost frozen. A policeman on duty said something to us, but we couldn’t quite understand. Someone above waved a hand, signaling — though we weren’t sure if the gesture was meant for us. The policeman then spoke in half Hindi, half English: “Go forward, keep to the right wall. The priest is calling you.” We couldn’t imagine why we were being called. As we moved ahead, one by one, the guards and priests on duty kept gesturing to us to go further forward. Finally, climbing a wooden staircase, both of us almost reached the sanctum’s inner platform. The chief priest took the two lotus flowers and tulsi leaves from our offering plate and touched them to the feet of the deity. Only then did we realize what had happened — the lotus flowers we carried in our plate were actually symbols of a VIP Entry Pass, which had earned us such special access amid that enormous crowd.

Lord Sri Vishnu Idol Darshan:

Here, Lord Vishnu resides in His reclining posture (Anantashayana). At the priest’s instruction, I wrapped my upper cloth around my waist. In front of us stood three dimly lit chambers. In the first, we saw the ever-smiling face of Lord Vishnu, with the hood of the serpent Ananta raised above Him. In the second chamber, from His navel rose a lotus on which Lord Brahma was seated, and below His hand rested a Shiva Lingam. In the final chamber were the feet of Vishnu. As the priest illuminated the deity with the lamp in his hand, the gems and jewels adorning the idol sparkled brilliantly. We stood there, palms folded, awestruck — especially by the eyes of Ananta, the serpent. It felt as if those eyes might swallow us at any moment. I recalled what I had once read in college: “Out of fear, the idea of God was born.” Today, I witnessed that truth with my own eyes. The black granite idol (kasthipathar) measured about 15 to 20 feet in length and at least 7 feet in height. Three or four priests stood above the sanctum. Seeing their gentle smiles, I loosened my pocket a little. In return, they touched a silver crown to our heads and blessed us both. While descending the wooden staircase on the opposite side, I noticed many people standing below — the Free Entry line had already turned away much earlier. There was also a Paid Line, but from there, it was quite difficult to get a proper view of the deity. Before leaving, we collected large-sized laddus and sealed cans of prasadam to take home.

Return to Kanyakumari:

Around 6 p.m., we started from Thiruvananthapuram toward Kanyakumari. On the way back, our car passed in front of the Sabarimala Temple, but since we were short on time, we decided to skip visiting it on this trip. After crossing the Kerala–Tamil Nadu border, we stopped for tea and later for dinner. By the time we returned to the hotel, it was almost 9:30 at night. During our journey, the hotel manager called twice to check on us. We always prefer renting a car directly through the hotel rather than taking one from the local stand — it ensures there’s a local custodian responsible for our safety and comfort throughout the trip.

Kanyakumari Mata Temple:

The next morning, the two of us went for a walk to visit the temple of Goddess Kanyakumari. It is believed that since her marriage to Lord Shiva never took place, the Goddess remains angry. Therefore, men are required to remove their shirts before entering the temple. Oh Lord Shiva — we bow our heads in shame for your sake! Inside, the worship ceremony was in progress. The moment we stepped in, it was clear from the stone pillars that the sanctum was truly ancient, though the outer walls had been renovated with bricks. In exchange for a modest offering, the priest blessed us wholeheartedly. On our way back, we bought shankha (conch bangles) and sindoor (vermilion) for the well-being of all our family members.

Tsunami Memorial Park:

We walked a short distance to the Triveni Ghat, where the Bay of Bengal, the Indian Ocean, and the Arabian Sea meet. After that, we reached Tsunami Park, which is built right alongside the outer wall of the Kanyakumari Mata Temple. The park was neat and well-maintained, but exhausted by the heat and sunlight, we returned to the hotel around 9:30 a.m. Today, after breakfast, we had to go straight to our room to pack our bags. Since our return train was scheduled for the evening, there was no time to waste.

Wax Museum:

As I had informed earlier, Uncle Justice arrived around eleven o’clock. Today, our plan was to visit the Vottakottai Fort, the Bharat Mata Temple, and the Wax Museum. After buying tickets for ₹200 each, we entered the museum and saw oddly shaped wax figures — puffed up, almost like broiler chickens. There were also some 3D wallpapers, similar to the graffiti you can see along the streets in many Indian cities. Anyway, next we headed to see the Vattakottai Fort.

Vattakottai Fort (Circular Fort):

Vattakottai Fort is located about 6 km from Kanyakumari town. We advanced along a narrow, broken road, passing through small Tamil villages. Unlike the massive forts of Rajasthan or Madhya Pradesh, this fort is not very large. Although the word “Vattakottai” means circular, the fort’s shape is rectangular, with circular bastions at the corners. In 1741, the Dutch forces were defeated by the Travancore king Marthanda Varma at the Battle of Colachel. Later, the Dutch naval officer Eustachius De Lannoy joined the Travancore army and assisted in the construction of this fort. From here, both the Bay of Bengal and the Arabian Sea are visible. Yesterday, we visited the Padmanabhapuram Palace in Nagercoil, from where this fort was once administered. At that time, the fort played an important role in defending the coastline along the Bay of Bengal. Uncle Justice gave us a guided tour of the fort, showing us around and telling us which movies had been shot here. While drinking coconut water, we also learned why he was called “Justice.” After spending about an hour exploring, we set off to visit the Bharat Mata Temple.

Bharat Mata Temple:

Behind a beautifully landscaped garden stands a fairly large temple. Separate parking facilities are available. After purchasing the entry tickets, we went inside. In front of us was a full-bodied statue of the five-faced Hanuman, approximately 25 feet tall even if its height seemed slightly reduced. Incidentally, this is not a religious temple but rather a museum related to Hindu nationalism. Each room is adorned with large oil paintings depicting scenes from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, along with English explanations. In addition, there are portraits of various Indian thinkers, accompanied by insights into their philosophies and sayings. Finally, we reached the main hall on the second floor. In front of us stood a massive statue of Bharat Mata, with a map of undivided India behind her and the Indian flag in her hand. Such a grand photo frame was installed in the Anadi Bhavan of the Sarada Shishu Tirtha, Cooch Behar. Standing before it, the then head teacher, Chanchal Dadamani, would tell the students, “Janani janmabhoomishcha swargadapi gariyasi” — Mother and motherland are greater than heaven itself.

Return to Madurai:

Finally, it was time to say goodbye. After settling our dues at Sangam Hotel, we returned to our room. After a short while, we freshened up and went to eat. The meal was a traditional Tamil thali: rice, two roti, an idli, a small portion of upma, along with three to four kinds of vegetables, sambar, papad, coconut chutney, pickles, and raita — in short, absolutely delightful. After the meal and some rest, we reached the station. We were to board train number 12634, the Kanyakumari Express, which would take us to Madurai by 10 p.m. Tonight we will stay in Madurai, after visiting the Meenakshi Amman Temple the next day, and then head to Chennai by the afternoon.

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Visiting Arulmigu Ramanathswamy Temple at Rameswaram

Around 8:30 this morning, we arrived at Rameswaram station (RMM). From Sangeet Palace Hotel, we were provided with a car, and from morning till noon we visited the Ekantheeswar Shiva Temple, Pamban Rail Bridge, Banganga or Villundi Tirtham, Dr. Kalam’s house and memorial, Vibhishana Tirtham, Dhanushkodi Ghost Town, Arichnamalai, and finally the Gandhamadana Hill. Our driver for the day was Arjun Pandya. Anyway, after completing our sightseeing and having lunch, we returned to our hotel The Sangeeth Palace around 3 p.m. The main road in front of our hotel goes straight toward the temple. The manager told me it’s just about a four-minute walk, so we could easily go on foot. In the evening, the two of us walked to Rameswaram’s largest and holiest temple — the Sri Arulmigu Ramanathaswamy Temple, also known as the Rameswaram Shiva Temple. According to legend, Lord Rama, an incarnation of Vishnu, killed Ravana — a great devotee of Lord Shiva — in order to rescue Sita from Lanka. As the scriptures say, since Ravana was a Brahmin, Rama built this temple to atone for the sin of killing a Brahmin (Brahmahatya). The present structure of the temple was gradually developed and expanded over several centuries. The earliest shrine is believed to have been built by the Pandya dynasty in the 12th century CE. Later, rulers of the Jaffna Kingdom (Sri Lanka), the Nayaks of Madurai, and the Sethupathi rulers of Ramanathapuram contributed extensively to its architecture and wealth. The temple is dedicated to Lord Shiva and is one of the twelve Jyotirlinga temples, which are considered the most holy abodes of Shiva. 

We decided that today we would only walk around the outer premises of the temple. Under the full moon’s light, the gopurams (temple towers) looked beautiful. From inside the temple, we could hear the soft sound of devotional songs being sung over the loudspeaker. We were standing near the western gate of the temple. When we asked a local person for directions, he pointed toward the road leading to the seaside ghat. We walked past the northern gate and reached the front of the eastern gate. From there, we took a narrow lane on the left. Passing a few old tiled houses, we finally reached the seashore. In the darkness ahead, we could hear the roaring of the sea. A little further on, we saw three large commemorative gates standing in a row. This place is known as Agni Theertham. According to tradition, devotees take a holy bath at this ghat and, wearing their wet clothes, enter the temple to offer prayers. It is believed that it was here that Mata Sita performed the last rites of her father-in-law, King Dasharatha. Another belief says that if someone performs the shraddha ceremony (ritual for ancestors) here, the souls of their forefathers are liberated from the cycle of birth and death and attain moksha. Since it was low tide, the sea had receded quite far. We sat on a cement bench, enjoying the beauty of the sea under the moonlight. But unfortunately, our peace didn’t last long — the strong stench coming from all around made us feel sick. Reluctantly, we got up and left the place. After walking a while, we came back to the main road, this time heading toward the left. A short distance ahead stood another gopuram — this was the southern tower or the southern entrance of the temple. This area had many mid-range hotels, so it was quite crowded with pilgrims. Walking further along the outer road that runs beside the temple’s massive walls, we saw a few food stalls. The vendors were shouting loudly to attract customers. Even at that hour, many people were still visiting the shrine. Finally, around 8:30 p.m., we returned to our hotel.

NEXT DAY MORNING, 11 OCT '2022.

After taking our bath the next morning, around 10 a.m., we set out for the Ramanathaswamy Temple to offer our prayers. But since the sun was blazing fiercely during the day, we decided not to walk — instead, we hired an auto-rickshaw to get there. At our previous hotel, we had met a group of foreign tourists from Germany; they too were on their way to the temple, dressed traditionally in dhoti and uttariya (Pattuli), walking barefoot for the darshan. When our eyes met, they greeted us with “Hare!”, and we waved back with “Radhe, Radhe.” The temple is practically located in the middle of the bustling market. Buses, trucks, autos, and taxis all pass in front of the western entrance gate. We stopped at a shop on the left side of the road, which offered locker facilities for keeping mobile phones and cameras. From there, we bought two puja baskets (puja dalis). The shop was managed by an elderly woman and her son. Like most Tamil women, she too had a garland of jasmine flowers tucked into her hair. By this time, the group of foreign tourists had reached near the temple gate. Watching them, I suddenly felt that it would be nice to go inside the temple wearing a dhoti myself. No sooner thought than done — I asked, “Amma, what is the price of a dhoti?” After a bit of bargaining, I bought a dhoti for ₹200 and an uttariya (Pattuli) for ₹50. After purchasing the offerings and the clothes, the woman’s son helped me wear the dhoti and uttariya properly — and I was all set. We left our shoes and wallet in the locker, carefully crossed the road, and entered the temple premises. Having previously visited several ancient temples of South India, I acted as my wife’s guide for this trip — deciding in advance what we would see and what we could skip. Temples in South India, I always feel, are a bit like those childhood maze toys, where you had to roll a small ball through winding paths to reach the central chamber. Indeed, without knowing the right path, one can easily get lost in this labyrinthine structure. The corridors (Prakarams) of this temple are said to be the longest in the world, built with perfect geometric precision — a true architectural marvel. The corridors have over 1,200 intricately carved pillars, each about 30 feet high. The gopurams (towers) are beautifully ornamented and typical of Dravidian architecture. The temple also houses 22 holy wells (theerthams) inside its premises, each believed to have distinct healing and spiritual properties. Devotees traditionally bathe in all 22 before worship.

Asking a few pilgrims for directions, we gradually passed through several corridors and finally reached the main gate. Crossing the huge wooden door, we entered inside. The door was enormous — at least 20 to 25 feet high and about 12 to 14 feet wide — almost like the main gate of a fortress. Large iron spikes were studded into the wood. Just after entering, on the left side, stood an elephant with its mahout. For a small offering, the elephant raised its trunk and blessed the devotees. A little further ahead, our eyes fell upon a massive statue of Nandi, the sacred bull of Lord Shiva. We walked around from behind Nandi and came to stand in front of it. The statue of Nandi was about 10 to 12 feet high, 14 to 15 feet long, and 8 to 10 feet wide. In the past 15 to 20 years, I have visited many temples across India, but I have never seen such a large, gleaming white Nandi before. Nandi’s gaze was fixed straight ahead — that, I knew, must be the direction where Lord Shiva resides. Touching Nandi’s feet reverently, we began walking along the path in front of his head. Gradually, we started to see a growing crowd of people. Crossing yet another large wooden door that looked like the gate of a fortress, we turned right and noticed the queue for darshan. On a counter nearby, a signboard read “VIP Darshan.” Leaving my wife in line, I went to buy the tickets. The board also listed the prices of different rituals and offerings. One person asked me whether I wanted to perform a Jalabhishek (water offering) to the deity, but after hearing the price, we decided to drop it. Then we stood in line, waiting for our turn for the sacred darshan. As we moved a little further and glanced to our left, our eyes widened in astonishment. What was this wondrous sight before us! The faint fragrance of incense filled the air, and a misty atmosphere hung around, created by the curling smoke. Through the high walls and their lattice-like openings, shafts of sunlight streamed in at an angle, illuminating a breathtakingly beautiful inner shrine adorned with exquisite carvings. The temple, made of dark brownish stone, was a marvel of craftsmanship — from the sculpted pillars to the intricately designed beams — I couldn’t decide what to admire first. From the cornices of the shrine hung stone chains, and small oil lamps flickered gently upon them. The scene before me reminded me of the sacred city of Alamut as shown in the movie Prince of Persia. A few days earlier, when I had looked at the Ramanathswamy Temple through Google Maps in satellite view, it had seemed to me that the main shrine was shaped like a large rectangular block — somewhat like a cold storage building. Now I finally understood why. The central sanctum, before which we were standing, is enclosed within massive fort-like walls and surrounded by labyrinthine corridors, with even a roof constructed overhead to shield it completely. It is said that this design was intended to protect the temple from foreign invasions and Muslim attacks in ancient times. 

Out of curiosity, I asked a police officer on duty whether this was the VIP line. He took us out of the queue and led us farther ahead. The more we advanced, the more we were overwhelmed by the intricate artistry all around us. Thanks to the officer’s help, we had bypassed a large crowd and moved considerably forward. The VIP line wasn’t very crowded. The base of the inner shrine stood about waist-high from the floor. A wooden ramp provided access to it, and steel barricades and thick ropes were set up to guide the devotees. Because of the surrounding walls and the massive roof overhead, the inner sanctum has remained remarkably intact through the ages. Peeking inside, I noticed a small opening in the ceiling through which the spire of the sanctum slightly protruded outward. We stood there, mesmerized, gazing at the temple’s divine beauty and wondering what more mysteries lay within. On the other side of the shrine, behind iron barricades, countless devotees waited patiently for a single glimpse of the deity. In front of us stood a magnificent silver door decorated with fine patterns, and behind it resided the Ramanathaswamy Shiva Lingam — ever radiant and eternal. The black granite Lingam, adorned with sandalwood paste and flowers, shimmered in the light of the oil lamps. The golden Tripundra (three horizontal lines) on its surface gleamed brilliantly, reflecting the glow of the sacred flame. From about ten to twelve feet away, we offered our prayers with folded hands. A stout, bald-headed priest came forward holding a lamp and brought it before us. We cupped our palms to take the warmth of the sacred flame and touched it to our foreheads in reverence. The priest then took the flowers from our puja thali and offered them to the deity. In return, he handed us some blessed flowers (prasad) from the altar. After offering a small donation, the priest gave us some holy ash (vibhuti) from the plate. We immediately applied the ash to our foreheads. At that moment, the on-duty police officer standing beside us tapped his own forehead and said half-jokingly, “Ise ghar le jaana tha, kya kar diya!” (You should have taken that home—what have you done!). His words barely registered in our ears, and we paid little attention. With our foreheads smeared in sacred ash, we stepped out of the main sanctum. On our way back, we saw that same group of foreign tourists—four of them—playfully competing with one another as they bathed in the holy well. It is believed that bathing here washes away the sins of countless lifetimes. The temple attendants (sevayats) draw water from the well for devotees, performing this ritual of purification for a fixed fee. After that, we took one last slow walk through the corridors, taking in their beauty once more, and finally stepped outside the temple.

After returning to the hotel from the temple and taking some rest, we had lunch and then went to visit a temple called Lakshmana Theertham, which was within walking distance. After that, we went to Rama Theertham. We captured those memorable moments in our camera. Now it was time for us to return to Chennai. Bidding farewell to everyone at the hotel, we headed to the station, carrying with us a heart full of memories and affection. Under the full moon’s light, our train slowly crossed the century-old Pamban Rail Bridge, while thousands of fishing boats glittered across the sea, their lamps shimmering like stars upon the water. The entire coastline glowed in that magical radiance. Truly, we felt blessed to have been born in this holy Indian subcontinent.

Priyankar Roy @ Protected Content ©

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My Experience with South India specially in Chennai '2013

My idea of Chennai or Tamil Nadu has always been shaped by those Hindi-dubbed South Indian movies—extremely loud. I remember once, while traveling from Puri to Bhubaneswar by bus, there was a video coach showing a movie called Indra the Tiger. It was extreme hot weather, the non-stop shouting and swagger of the characters of the movie made the journey almost unbearable. The villain seemed more terrifying than Bin Laden himself, and the hero? When he danced, rain fell from the clouds; when he got angry, men fell never to rise again! I barely survived that ride after gulping down two glasses of Disprin once we got off the bus. 

One of my elder sisters once told me, “When you see the sea on your left, still and foul-smelling, you’ll know you’re near Chennai!” Sitting inside the train, I couldn’t smell anything, but soon I learned we were at Basin Bridge Junction. After that—Chennai! I wondered if the “basin” of history had found its confluence right there! Our train reached Chennai Central around five in the evening. The moment I stepped out of the compartment, I understood what people meant by Chennai’s heat. By the time we got out of the station, I was drenched in sweat. Outside, long queues of people waited for buses. With all our luggage, getting on a crowded bus seemed impossible. Earlier, Kamal had always taken taxis, but this time it looked like we’d get our first lesson in bus travel! Bus number 54B went toward Porur, just before Poonamallee. After a while, an almost empty bus arrived with “Poonamallee” written on it—but no crowd! Kamal ran and asked the conductor, who replied, “illaa, illaa…” (meaning no), but a Oldman sitting by the window called out, “Yes, come… Come!” Oh God—two opposite answers! In that confusion, with the crowd growing and time slipping away, we quickly got on the bus anyway. At least it wasn’t crowded! We sat wherever we pleased. Then that  Oldman explained that the bus had come from Poonamallee and was now heading toward Broadway Bus Stand, just 5 minutes from here. From there, it would start again for Poonamallee, and then we could get off at Porur. So, we passed our first test successfully! It was around eight at night when we finally reached Porur. Dinner and straight to bed. Next morning, Kamal went off to work, and I tagged along. After lunch around two o’clock, we decided to go see Marina Beach. Now it was my turn to find the way. I asked a coconut vendor nearby. He waved his hands and nodded his head vigorously, saying a lot of things I couldn’t understand. All I could catch were words like “illa, illa,” “seri, seri,” and “appoori yaaya!” After about a minute of chewing over what he said—much like chewing jackfruit leaves—I realized I had asked the wrong person. Then I approached a more respectable-looking gentleman. He said I should take bus number 11H to Broadway, and from there, catch bus number A2 to Marina Beach. One thing about Chennai—if you address any educated, elderly man or woman as Sir or Amma and ask something politely, you’re done for! They’ll pat your head, thump your back, and treat you like their own child—you won’t escape easily!

It was our mistake — in a hurry, we got on bus number 11E instead of 11H. The conductor told us that this one also went toward Broadway, but we’d have to change buses at Vadapalani. Well, so be it! At least we’d get to see more of the place. Every street corner and tall building in the city seemed plastered with political posters, banners, and giant cut-outs. In North India, most of our political posters show leaders with folded hands, politely asking for votes. But in Chennai, things were quite different. Almost at every turn, I saw huge cut-outs of a political leaders — with fiery, red eyes like burning embers, wearing rudraksha beads around their necks, thick rectangular moustaches, white half-shirts, and white lungis. Looking at him, one could easily imagine a hidden dagger tucked into that lungi — and could just as easily believe that the man had moments ago chopped off someone’s head with it! And there hr was, pointing fingers at people, asking for votes with that cruel expression! Such were the posters here! In some places, the same man’s face appeared in multiple roles — in one poster he was Netaji, in another Bhagat Singh, in yet another Mangal Pandey… My God! It was exhausting — one body, in many forms! Later, I understood why everything here seemed so loud. Even politics in Chennai is performed in a cinematic and dramatic way. Jayalalithaa, Karunanidhi — all were once famous film actors or actresses. And, well, the rest just followed the same script! 

At the Vadapalani bus stand there was a cinema hall. I couldn’t read either the name of the movie or the theatre—it was all in Tamil. But I had seen that same movie poster multiple times on the streets of Chennai over the past few days. The poster showed a boy with dishevelled hair running through a mustard field, a Rampuri knife in his hand. The intention needed no explanation! At last, from the Broadway bus stand, we took bus number A2 and finally reached Marina Beach. The fare was only five rupees. The bus dropped us in front of Madras University. A signboard said: “Use the subway—Marina Beach is right ahead.” Marina Beach is one of the best places in Chennai to spend your time. In the evening, it turns into a small fairground. Food, clothes, shoes, toys, balloons—you name it, it’s there! Horses and camels too—you can take a ride if you wish, or click some photos with it. A little farther away, in the middle of the beach, a tent stood with loudspeakers blaring. Inside were lights, fans, even a generator. From where we stood, it looked like a crowd of boys and girls had gathered around it. When we went closer, it looked like a mini carnival! And who wasn’t there? Amitabh, Salman, Shahrukh, Kajol, Rani, Preety—even Jayalalithaa and Karunanidhi—all were present… in cut-outs, of course! Yes, Marina Beach offers you the unique opportunity to take photos with your favourite film stars, political leaders, or cricketers—all at once! Around fifty or sixty life-sized cut-outs were propped up against bamboo poles. You just pick your favourite, stand beside it, put your arm around their shoulder or waist—and there you go! Your photo is ready in ten minutes. The fee: ₹50. I still wonder how many people actually take those photos home and mount them proudly on their walls! Truly, Incredible India!

After that, we went to Anna Square. Just right beside Marina Beach stands the grand memorial built in honour of Tamil Nadu’s beloved former Chief Minister, C.N. Annadurai (whom locals affectionately call Anna). The tomb structure looks a lot like Gandhiji’s memorial at Rajghat, Delhi—an eternal flame burns there as well. It is said that if you press your ear to the marble platform, you can still hear the word “Anna” being whispered! I tried it two or three times… but that was enough—any more and I’d have started feeling like a fool myself! The entire area is surrounded by trees, and in this scorching heat, it felt wonderful to sit in the shade for a while. Not far from there stood the Chepauk Stadium. We went there next, but since the IPL wasn’t on, the huge gate was locked tight. Now we started our return journey, walking along Annie Besant Road.

In these few days, I’ve practically memorised the city—Beach Road, Mount Road or Anna Salai, Prayer Corner, Thousand Lights, Guindy, and KK Nagar—all are now familiar names to me. Today, I planned to visit CMBT—the Chennai Mofussil Bus Terminus at Koyambedu. I needed to find out the bus timings for Pondicherry and Tirupati, and a few other routes as well. It was afternoon, and the roads were almost empty. In front of an office stood a gentleman, wearing a white shirt and black sunglasses, smoking leisurely. I decided to ask him for directions. But the moment he realised I was heading toward him, he suddenly transformed—took on a hero-like stance! Planted one foot dramatically on a big stone, spun his hands around Rajinikanth-style, and then asked me in a deep voice, “Any problem?” Haribba! Startled, I stammered, “No, thanks!” He flashed a dazzling, toothpaste-commercial smile—like a Colgate ad—and walked back into his office. From there, the bus fare to CMBT was ₹14. After gathering all the information—about buses to Pondicherry, Tirupati, and elsewhere—it was quite late by the time I returned.

A Short Trip to Pondicherry & Auroville

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After returning from Pondicherry, we stayed in Chennai at a place called Hotel Ram Lakshmi. It was within walking distance of Chennai Central Railway Station. Right across from the station stood the Ripon Buildings, the Chennai Metropolitan Corporation. From the hotel balcony, we could see local trains leaving Park Station, just ahead. However, the park in front of the Ripon Buildings no longer exists—it has been cleared to make way for the Metro Rail Station construction. Just a two-minute walk down the road from our hotel stood the Nehru Stadium. We went there one evening—it felt quite pleasant. During office hours in Chennai, thousands of men and women race toward their destinations on bikes and scooters. What’s surprising, though, was that hardly anyone wears a helmet! Many even ride barefoot! There’s traffic police at almost every corner, but their attention seems focused only on buses and trucks. In my opinion, the best time to explore Chennai city is in the afternoon. Around that time, the city buses are usually quite empty. Even when they’re crowded, there’s no fear of pickpockets. The conductor won’t come near you unless absolutely necessary—so you’ll have to get up and buy your own ticket! In just a few days, I’ve really grown fond of Chennai. The people here are remarkably honest. There’s much to learn from them. Following the local habit, I too have started offering my seat to elderly men or women on crowded buses—and it actually feels good! The boy who served us at the hotel turned out to be from Agartala. He understood Bengali. From him, I learned that “illa” (which sounds like “yes”) means “no”, and “seri” (which sounds like “sorry”) means “okay.” We North Indians nod our heads up and down to mean “yes,” and side to side to mean “never” or “no.” But in Tamil, it’s just the opposite! We visited Pondicherry on our own without knowing anything about bus schedules. On returning to Chennai, we had some trouble finding a hotel. So, we decided to book the remaining two tours through a travel agency.

A day Tour to Mahabalipuram and Kanchipuram

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We had already visited Mahabalipuram and Kanchipuram. Then came a rest day in between. What to do now? Finally, after making some inquiries, we learned that there were still plenty of things to see right within the city. We took an idea and route chart from the hotel and set off—bus to bus. Our first stop was the Chennai Government Museum. But cameras weren’t allowed inside. Oh God! And there were no lockers either! So we had no choice but to take turns going in. I went through the exhibits rather quickly—just a quick round. Outside, I took as many photos as I could. Still, to be honest, it didn’t quite satisfy me, boss.

The boy at the hotel had told us that the best place for shopping in Chennai was T. Nagar. So we went there. It was full of huge shopping malls, each almost ten stories high. Under a single roof, you could find everything—from gold jewellery to curry leaves! I noticed something interesting—everyone was removing their shoes before entering the shops! Kamal bought a shirt, and I bought a pair of pants. The eateries around this area were quite similar to those in North India, serving good, satisfying food. We had a hearty meal there. Tomorrow, we’ll be going for Lord Tirupati’s darshan. We’ll have to wake up early, so after dinner—we called it a night.

Visiting the shrine of Lord Tirupati, also known Balaji

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We returned to the hotel from Tirupati around 1 a.m. last night. Luckily, we didn’t have to sleep on the streets—the watchman opened the gate for us. Honestly, the commitment and sense of responsibility of the Tamil people is admirable. The previous night, I had told the owner’s brother that we’d be leaving for Tirupati at five in the morning, and he had made sure everything was arranged exactly as promised. Today was another full rest day. In the evening, we planned to go out for some shopping—to buy a few things to take home. While relaxing in the room, I watched a dubbed Tamil movie called Magadheera. Surprisingly, it didn’t feel that bad this time. Maybe by now, I’ve become accustomed to the mix of good and bad—sort of adapted to it!

In about six to seven days, we explored many villages and towns of Tamil Nadu. The villages often reminded me of Mani Ratnam’s movie, Roja, particularly the song “Rukmini… Rukmini…”—a bunch of elderly women surrounding one or two beautiful young women. There’s nothing you can do! "Sometimes ordinary-looking girls are used to encircle the heroine to highlight her unique beauty." I don’t know if that’s why it’s done on screen, but that’s basically how the rural landscape of South India looks. Most of the people are middle-aged, or elderly. Almost everyone I saw had graying hair, with the smell of oil coming off it. In their hair, they wore garlands of morning flowers, half-dried and stiff as wood. Some elderly women had strange little hobbies, sitting around with yellow turmeric paste smeared on their faces. The village boys show great respect for their mothers and grandmothers. They may not have the formal manners of the city, but what they do have is the upbringing of their mothers and grandmothers, the determination to survive under adverse conditions, and an incredible sense of pride in their caste. At most street corners in the villages, you’ll find two statues of gods, sitting side by side. Maybe they’re brothers, or maybe friends—perhaps not unlike us! But even here, the style is the same: fiery, glaring eyes like embers, moustaches like Bhagat Singh’s. Devotion is less, fear is more. At night, if someone suddenly appears, you might even have to spit on your own chest to ward off danger! The games the village boys play are equally strange. They’ll grab a bull by its tail to subdue it, almost like what a matador does in the Roman Colosseum—but here, hundreds of boys do it bare-handed, in the middle of a crowd. What sheer demonic audacity! I read in the newspaper that in a place called Jalikatti, nearly 90 people were injured in a single game. I don’t know about highly educated families, but in middle and lower-class villages, it’s clear from the locals’ behaviour that women are expected to remain under the feet of men.

Now, let’s talk about the people of the city. On the train, near the Andhra Pradesh border, a group of people wearing black shirts, black pants, and black shawls boarded. I honestly thought, Oh no, we’re being robbed! Later, one of them explained that they were devout Tamils, observing a vow: for one month, they would remain barefoot, wear only black clothes, and not cut their beards. In Chennai, despite so many shoe stores from Bata to Woodland, most Tamils either walk barefoot or wear very simple sandals. I also heard that on special days or festivals, they even go barefoot to offices, schools, and colleges—this is considered a status symbol. The men and women wear very simple clothes; nothing flashy or extravagant. The women, too, walk around in plain-coloured saris. On buses, people are either on their mobile phones or reading books quietly. Truly, this seems to reflect the principle of “simple living and high thinking.” Brahmins wear light ochre-coloured dhotis, fair-skinned or slightly brown. Sometimes they even carry gold or religious ornaments, but still, they walk barefoot. The wealth of Chennai’s business class is visible in the shopping malls and showrooms—expensive Mercedes, Audi, and BMW cars are parked right outside their homes on the streets.

What struck me most while traveling through Tamil Nadu was the stark social and economic contrast between the villages and the cities. Thanks to science, agriculture has developed tremendously, yet in comparison to the urban-centric economy, it still seems negligible. Educated boys and girls are leaving the villages for the cities, turning their dreams into reality. As a result, the villages are often deserted. On the other hand, less-educated farmers or low-income people living in city slums can never truly match themselves with the flashy, high-flying professionals of the city—the IT workers, industrialists, and business elites. After backbreaking labour, they are left with only two ways to cope: either to seek refuge in a humble or imaginative life, or to fulfil their inner desires by standing next to a colourful cut-out on the seashore and taking a photo!

Time was running out, so we checked out of the hotel and headed straight off. We had to return home via Kolkata! So, bye bye, green city of Chennai.

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Visiting Lord Balaji Temple at Tirupati, Andhra Pradesh from Chennai

It was December 2013. Since I had to stay in Chennai for a few days, I thought to myself — why not visit Vishnukshetra Tirupati and have darshan of Lord Balaji? The moment I told my friend Kamal, he readily agreed. Since it was an unfamiliar place and we also had language difficulties, we decided to go through a travel agency for the Tirupati visit. No sooner said than done — we set out from our hotel, Ramlakshmi Lodge, and walked to the row of travel agency offices opposite Chennai Central Station. We looked carefully to see which one had the biggest crowd — we had to be cautious, after all, to avoid getting cheated! Finally, we entered one and said, “Excuse me, we want to go to Tirupati… Is there any bus from here?”

The man behind the counter replied in his own style,

“Aiyo Rama Tirupati… Onda (onnu) simple ₹900… AC ₹1300.”

On the train, I had heard hawkers shouting, “Dada alur bara! Anna aloo bonda!”

But “onnu”? Sorry — what did that mean? He smiled and clarified,

“Each seat on a normal bus — fare is ₹900. On the AC bus — ₹1300.”

Anyway, we bought tickets for the non-AC (ordinary) bus. The bus would pick us up from our hotel at 5 a.m. — definitely not a Bengali timing! It was pure Tamil Standard Time — five means exactly five! Since we had to wake up early, we went to bed quickly. The night passed in a mix of excitement and anxiety. By 4 a.m., I got up and went for a bath. Kamal was still lying in bed. “Hey, brother,” he mumbled sleepily, “five o’clock means exactly five o’clock?” I didn’t reply. And, as expected, the inevitable happened — the bus arrived right on time. We had to rush — shirts half-buttoned, belts in hand — and somehow climbed aboard. Thankfully, we had packed our backpacks the previous evening, so even in that hurry, we didn’t face much trouble. Traffic in Chennai is very strict, so even at that early hour, our bus kept circling like the hands of a clock, picking up passengers from one hotel after another — passing by our own hotel two or three more times — before finally stopping in front of the travel agency. Then we heard the news — this bus wouldn’t go! An official announced that since there were too few passengers for the ordinary bus, those who had bought non-AC tickets would now travel in the air-conditioned bus, but they’d have to pay an extra ₹100 per head. Kamal grinned and said, “Well, friend, looks like we’re in profit from early morning!”

During these few days in Chennai, speaking half-Hindi, half-Tamil, broken English had almost stiffened our jaws. Even now, the two of us were sticking to our Bengali. But guess what? Out of about thirty passengers, nearly twenty were Bengali! Everyone had come for medical purposes — some from Assam, some from Agartala, some from Kolkata, and even a few from Bangladesh. I don’t know if being Bengali automatically makes one a patient, but I realized this much: no matter how different we are in our own places — north or south — abroad we are all the same. Bengalis are indeed crazy! Crazy about travel! Otherwise, why would the two of us come to a hot place during summer vacation just to enjoy the heat? The others had come to see the Rath Yatra… Since most medical tests take two to three days for results, why sit idle? “Let’s go out and explore!” — in that sense, what harm is there in combining pilgrimage with sightseeing?

About 100 km northeast of Chennai, near the border of Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh, lies the Tirumala hills, home to the Lord Venkateswara / Tirupati / Balaji Temple. At the foot of the hills is Tirupati town, from where one must ascend to the temple atop the hills. The settlement on the slopes is called Tirumala. Our bus left Chennai, moving along a dry, rugged red-earth path. Even through the black-tinted windows, one could sense the brightness outside. Inside, the air-conditioning was set to just 16°C. Oh dear! Must we prove our existence and endurance here as well? One by one, shawls, sweaters, and mufflers came out of the passengers' bags. Eventually, there was only one demand: “Mr. Driver, can’t you turn off the AC?” God be with us… Our guide, understanding broken Hindi, was cooperative, so we didn’t have to beg much. But it seemed that circumstances were not on our side — the enclosed capsule of the bus gradually transformed into a gas chamber of sorts. Inevitably, the plea arose again: “AC on… stop the bus… we’re going to throw up!” Once, twice, thrice… sigh, repeatedly! With a group like this, you could tour 8–10 cities by air travel in the same way! Anyway, we stopped at a dhaba for idli, pongal, coffee, and water, and by around 11 a.m., we reached Tirupati town. From here, we had to take an Andhra Pradesh government bus to climb the Tirumala hills. Since our package included meals, vehicle, and transport, it was best to stay with the guide. If the group got separated, darshan would be impossible, and even returning to Chennai would be stressful. So there was no point in getting agitated. The guide arranged all our tickets and secured a separate bus for us. With our stomachs full, we invoked “Jai Govinda” and boarded the bus. The journey so far had passed through low hills and mounds, looking almost like a canvas from a Sholay movie… Were these hills really mountains? But as the bus turned the next bend, I finally understood why this was the Tirumala hill range!

First came the checkpost. Till now, I had only seen people’s bags being scanned at airports, but here, entire buses along with passengers were scanned — like a small X-ray for the bus stand. Initially, the road was four lanes, then two lanes, and finally a one-way road. I have never seen such well-maintained roads in any of India’s hill towns. Black asphalt roads, white-tiled sidewalks, red-and-white speed and direction markers, green wildlife warning signs, and on top of that, vibrant flowers and creepers along the way — in one word, spectacular! I wondered how high the road would go. But as waterfalls and drifting clouds began to appear along the way, all fatigue from the journey vanished. Our path passed through one of India’s rich forested regions, known as the Tirumala National Sanctuary. Along the way, signboards showed corridors or passageways for elephants, leopards, deer, bears, and sambars. For those coming from Tirupati to Tirumala, bikes are available for hire. One could come again and again just to ride a bike along this route. However, there is also a footpath from Tirupati to Tirumala. This walking path sometimes runs under the bus road, sometimes over it. There must be around fifteen hundred steps! Many pilgrims have walked this path, performing penances (dandi) to fulfil their spiritual goals. Incredibly, over just 25 km from Tirupati to Tirumala, we travelled from the harsh, real-world terrain to a heavenly, picturesque environment. By the time we arrived, the clock struck nearly 12 noon.

At the supermarket in front, the guide instructed us to deposit our mobile phones, cameras, shoes, leather belts, and bags at a designated stall. After taking our tokens, we started walking toward the temple. Here too, a small town has been built by cutting through the hills, known as Tirumala. Crossing a two-lane road, we reached a huge open courtyard, followed by an iron gate. From inside that gate began a maze of iron-barred lanes. Each passage was about two and a half to three feet wide and six to seven feet high, covered with tin sheets on top — fitted with lights, fans, and loudspeakers. There were two, three, sometimes even four parallel lanes running side by side. It looked exactly like a giant board of the Snakes and Ladders game we played in childhood — each path twisting and turning, sometimes crossing over another lane, sometimes underneath it. Every 200 meters, there were separate toilets for men and women, and every 50 meters, drinking-water taps and wash basins were available. Everything was thoughtfully arranged. But there was one rule — once you entered, there was no stopping or turning back midway.

At first, the path was almost empty, so everyone started walking briskly. But what’s this — how far do we have to go? After walking nearly a kilometer, we finally stopped in front of another huge gate. Once again, scanning, checking, and ticketing. The darshan fee was ₹300 per person, with two Laddu prasads included for free. Leaving behind the iron barricades, we now entered a building. Inside, there was an unbelievable crowd — as if the whole world’s Bengalis had gathered there! The three-storied, semi-circular building looked somewhat like Lord’s Cricket Stadium. Inside were several small blocks or enclosures, each arranged like a stadium gallery with tiered seating, TVs, fans, and even toilets and bathrooms — everything was there! From the seats, one could even catch a glimpse of the golden spire of the Tirupati Temple. Our block number was 21. Once the previous block emptied, we would move into it. And so began another round of waiting. The only comfort was that there was a place to sit. A few hawkers were selling bottled water, Frooti, Mazza, and khichuri, but after all, we were inside a cage — no way to escape. After about forty minutes, the iron gate next to us opened. The temperature was now close to 37°C. Our clothes were soaked in sweat, stomachs empty, the heat unbearable — and once again began the struggle for survival. So — run, run, run! By the time we reached Block 11 from Block 21, it was almost evening. All that remained in my stomach was the faint memory of that ₹20 Frooti. Children crying, old men and women pleading, boys shouting, women wailing — none of it registered anymore. Mentally shattered, we dragged ourselves forward, block by block, toward the next enclosure.

There was no other option but to go with the flow of the pushing and jostling crowd. Amid all the shouting, yelling, and chaos, people — Tamil, Telugu, Malayalam, Hindi speakers alike — began to bare their teeth and nails, ready to fight for space. And we were no less! Arguments, quarrels, and heated exchanges broke out over who had pushed whom. Amid this confusion, we somehow reached Block No. 1, where the cool blast of the air conditioner instantly revived us. Does God somehow know when His devotees need a little comfort to calm their minds? Then came another flight of stairs! Oh yes — there were two more floors above us. Could it be that the people from those floors would join us too? Bracing myself with a mix of tension and curiosity, I got ready once again. Now the devotees from the third and first floors had gathered together, moving through a bridge-like passage, much like a jetty leading up to a ship, toward the main courtyard of the temple. As we stepped forward, life seemed to return to our bodies. The closer we got to the sanctum, the weariness began to fade away, replaced by a strange sense of renewed energy and devotion.

We walked along the wall of the ancient stone temple, moving slowly ahead. Now, instead of iron, there were brass barricades — a touch of tradition amidst modern security. Once again, there was a round of checking and scanning. Then, passing through a large stone gateway, we entered the main courtyard. At the Kashi Vishwanath Temple, I had seen golden domes and silver roofs; at Amritsar’s Golden Temple, I had seen golden domes and walls — though all beyond reach. At Kanchipuram, there was a flight of steps made entirely of gold. But here — here stood a whole golden temple! And then began utter chaos and commotion — pushing and shoving everywhere. Where were my friends, my companions? Lost amid dust and darkness! To save oneself became a struggle for survival… Somehow, I managed to enter the main hall, and turning to the left, I found myself standing before the sanctum sanctorum — where Lord Venkateswara himself stood in all his glory. A black granite idol, with a golden plate on the forehead covering the eyes — perhaps because sinful mortals lack the courage to meet the divine gaze directly. Now, no pushing or shouting seemed to matter anymore. Gathering every last ounce of strength, I tried to look more closely, more deeply — to behold him one final time. Then came the darshan, the pranam, the offerings, and the exit. We moved in an orderly line. Holy water flowed continuously from several taps; priests touched the devotees’ heads with silver crowns, offering blessings — in exchange for generous offerings. A little ahead, I received a bowl of curd rice as prasad. After crossing the stone gate again and wandering for a while, I finally found my friend Kamal and the rest of our fellow travellers.

Now it was time to show the coupon and collect the Laddu prasad. The prasad hall was a little distance away — and again, there was a long queue. Kamal stood in line for the prasad, while I joined another line to buy paper or carry bags — ₹5 each. After that, we walked toward the supermarket, as directed by our guide. He had already bought some extra laddus for us. Nearby were several shops — eateries, paan-bidi stalls, barbers — everything one might need. Since not everyone had returned yet, Kamal went to get a shave, and I went shopping for some gifts to take home. Hot lachha parathas and jalebis tasted heavenly — neither of us felt tired anymore. Then came the call to board the bus. But alas! a few people were still missing. I started pacing in front of the bus, while Kamal went off with the lady from Kolkata to look for her husband. The husband, in turn, returned from shopping and went looking for his wife again! A light drizzle had begun, and the air was getting chilly. We had no choice but to wait — our backpacks were still in the air-conditioned bus parked at the Tirupati bus stand, about 25 km away. Even at that late hour, buses full of pilgrims kept arriving one after another. These devotees would stand in queue through the night for darshan of the deity and reach Chennai by the following afternoon. Truly, the Tirumala–Tirupati bus service runs all day and all night — the city never sleeps! Around 8 p.m., our bus finally left. The return route was different. But what’s this! The ride was like a roller coaster — enough to outdo even Kolkata’s Nico Park! With about ten U-turns and seven or eight hairpin bends, we descended the hill and reached Tirupati town in just half an hour.

We stopped at a nice hotel there near Tirupati Bus Stand. After washing our hands and faces, we sat down to eat. It was a South Indian thali — first came chapati, then rice, with ten kinds of vegetables, dal, papad, curd, and sweets — in one word, divine! It was already nine at night. Who knew if we’d get such food again later, so we enjoyed it thoroughly. After a short walk, everyone boarded the bus again. Our bags were lying just as we had left them on our seats. This is South India — there’s hardly any fear of losing things; but if you yourself happen to misplace something, getting it back might be quite a struggle! On the return journey, we were supposed to visit a few more temples, but everyone was too tired, so hardly anyone got down. After a hearty meal, dozing off in the air-conditioned bus was sheer bliss. Around 11:30 p.m., the bus stopped again in front of the same roadside dhaba where we had halted in the morning. We got down for some tea or coffee, of course! The guide informed us that by the time we reached Chennai, it would be around 1 or 2 a.m. Our hotel was near the station, so the two of us made a plan: if the hotel gate was closed, we’d spend the night in the waiting room at the station. Around 1 a.m., we reached Chennai. The bus stopped in front of our hotel around 1:30 a.m. After a little knocking, the guard finally opened the gate. “Jai Govinda! Jai Balaji!”

Travel Guidelines / Important Advice

1. Avoid traveling alone – It’s better to travel with a guide or join a conducted tour for safety and convenience.

2. Keep the guide’s phone number and the bus number noted down – This will help you in case of emergencies or if you get separated.

3. Stay close to your guide – During the trip, the guide is your temporary guardian. Follow their instructions carefully.

4. Carry water, biscuits, and ORS packets with you – Avoid drinking water from outside sources; use your own bottle.

5. Avoid taking small children or elderly people – Such trips may be uncomfortable or difficult for them.

6. Be respectful of local culture – Your culture may differ from theirs. Avoid doing anything that might cause misunderstanding or trouble.

7. Inform the hotel before you leave – Let the hotel staff know where you are going and when you plan to return; they will remain alert for your safety.

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