Tourist Route Map of Darjeeling and Kalimpong District

Introduction :

During my days staying at VK Hostel in North Bengal University, I used to gaze at the twinkling lights of the Kurseong hills in the evenings and wonder when I would get to visit there. In 2004, I finally went on a trip to Madhuban and Rohini with friends, hiring an autorickshaw for the journey. The mountains have stayed etched in my heart for the last twenty years. Whenever I visit Siliguri for work, I always set aside some time for the hills. There have even been times when, after finishing work at the Higher Secondary Board Office, I went ghost-hunting at Dow Hill, or after dropping a student off for the NET exam, I went for tea at the hills of Tindharia. Driving along the winding roads, I find myself singing to my beloved sitting beside me, “Are Kanchi Timi… ghumau nu Darjeeling sahara.”

Exploring Darjeeling:

It really saddens me when I see hundreds of tourists arriving every day at NJP Railway Station or Bagdogra Airport only to visit Darjeeling town. For them, Darjeeling means nothing more than Tiger Hill, Batasia Loop, Padmaja Naidu Park, Rock Garden, an evening stroll hand in hand along Mall Road, and a ride on the toy train—or at least a selfie with it. Then what about all those waterfalls, rushing rivers, pine forests, the rolling tea gardens along the hillsides, the century-old mansions, monasteries, and the rhododendron forests—are they all to fade into insignificance? It’s no exaggeration to say that if, after 10 p.m., hundreds of water tankers did not bring water from Rohini to fill the reservoirs of the hotels in Darjeeling town, tourists would not even be able to answer the call of nature in the morning. Despite its many problems, Darjeeling has a unique and proud history. The Nepali, Lepcha, Bhutia, Limbu, and Sherpa communities each have their own festivals, customs, food habits, and languages. In contrast, foreign tourists are far more thoughtful. They usually read detailed guidebooks about a place before coming. Then, once here, they compare, observe, and experience everything personally—without the need for guides or assistance. They wander around with books in hand, trying to understand Darjeeling from within. But tourists from our own country do their “study” through Facebook and Instagram—deciding in advance from which angle to take photos that will get the most views on social media. So I am not at all surprised when I overhear a man explaining to his companion,“You see, that white stuff (Sada Maal) hidden behind the clouds—that’s Mt. Kanchenjunga!”

Old Military Road/ Pankhabari Road (Siliguri - Khaprail - Garidhura - Pankhabari - Makaibari - Kurseong Route):

Many historians believe that during the British period, this was the only route from the Bengal Presidency to Darjeeling. Around 1842, Robert Cornelius Napier completed this road under his supervision. At that time, British troops had to travel from Siliguri to Darjeeling either on horseback or on foot via this hilly track. That is why this road was also known as the Old Military Road. The local Sherpas would carry goods on the backs of horses, mules, and other pack animals to Darjeeling. After crossing Garidhura, the road from Pankhabari went straight through Mokaibari to Kurseong, which, in those days, was truly a grueling journey. Later, by 1869, an alternative road was constructed—Hill Cart Road. Today, this route is known as Pankhabari Road. Just below Kurseong, on both sides of the road, several old British-era houses can still be seen, now used as government offices or residences. Jeep taxis returning from Darjeeling to Siliguri travel this road early in the morning, saving some fuel in the process. In 2018, my family and I were returning home via this road. We descended almost 100 feet at each hairpin bend, and the ringing in our ear-drums was constant. The road winds through dense forests of tall pine, sal, and bamboo trees in Bamunpokhri. At each bend, the interplay of sunlight and mist made it feel as if Yamaraj himself was standing nearby, holding his staff, watching us. On the right side of the road, the Balason River valley descends steeply, with the Longview Tea Garden below—a sight simply breathtaking. Occasionally, Pawan Daju, the driver would tell quick, humorous stories in a mix of Hindi and Nepali. Meanwhile, we sat frozen like patches of grass, wide-eyed, fearing imminent danger. Nothing could bring a smile to our faces. After all this time, only one phrase echoed in our ears: “To bolo, hai ki nai!” For returning tourists, this can be considered a last thrill provided by the local drivers. However, if one skips breakfast or overeats at the hotel, headaches and nausea are inevitable on this road. Finally, after the jeep reached the line-hotel, we all felt life return to our bodies. Ever-smiling Pawan Daju once again said: “Kya bola, main ne, bolo hai ki nai?”

Lebong Cart Road / Darjeeling - Jorthang Rd. ( Jorthang - Raammam Bridge - Singla TG - Takvar TG - Chaukbazar - Darjeeling) :

Tourists who wish to visit Sikkim after touring Darjeeling usually take this route. In the past, this road was called Lebong Cart Road. On Google Maps today, it is known as the Darjeeling–Jorethang Road. After visiting Namchi and Char Dham in Sikkim in 2022, we returned to Darjeeling via this road. Our driver, always reliable, was Dipankar. After crossing Jorethang in Sikkim, the road becomes mostly level. However, from the Rammam Bridge, near the Sikkim–West Bengal border, the road is both rough and narrow. After crossing a hanging bridge, the road splits into two directions. When we asked the on-duty police officer, he said that if we take the right path for a while, we would reach Jumani Bridge, and from there we could go to Pulbazar and Bijanbari to reach Darjeeling. But we chose to follow the left path, the Lebong Cart Road. Along this route, there is no guard wall beside the cliffs—only some white lime painted stones mark the edge. My elder brother sat in the front seat, while my mother, my wife, and I were seated behind. Our car was fully packed with people and bedding. At one point, I whispered to Dipankar in a trembling voice, “Drive carefully, Dipankar; otherwise, there will be no one left in my family!” After climbing a little, the valley where Jorethang town of Sikkim lies comes into view, and it looks beautiful. It is worth noting that in Tibetan, Jore means “two” and Thang means “valley.” On this route, the prominent hill villages we passed include Singla, Takver, and finally Chaukbazar, before reaching Darjeeling, the district town. The road is extraordinarily scenic—simply breathtaking. On our right, the Rangit River valley slopes downward. In the tea gardens below, nepali women wearing colorful dresses are busy plucking tea leaves with baskets on their backs. Behind them, the high mountains of Sikkim seem to play with the sunlight and clouds. On our left, the valley’s tea gardens, with their fresh green leaves glittering in the sunlight, caught the eye. Passing by the Singla, Badamtam, and Lebong tea gardens one after another, we finally reached Mitma Homestay in the late afternoon. From here, Darjeeling was only a few minutes away.

Rishi Road / Mirik Rd. (Siliguri - Khaprail - Dudhia - Mirik - Pashupati - Lepcha Jagat - Ghoom - Darjeeling Route) :

Finally, after spending two days in Darjeeling town, we set out for Siliguri in the early morning, having had a heavy breakfast at the hotel. Although during my student life at North Bengal University I had taken many short trips along this route to Mirik, Gopaldera, Golpahari, and up to Pashupati Gate, I had never traveled the stretch from Ghum to Sukhiapokhri before. Our always-reliable driver, Dipankar, had also not been on this route previously. Anyway, after leaving Ghoom, we took the right-hand road. Since we were descending from the hills to the plains, there wasn’t likely to be much difficulty. The road was flanked by dense pine forests, and after we stopped at one place. Many cars were lined up along the narrow road. Tourists were busy keeping themselves in selfie mode. This place is called Lepcha Jagat. Due to the thick pine forest, it felt quite cold even at noon. A little further, we reached the Simana View Point. From here we drived at the India–Nepal international border along the roadside. From the Simana, a path leads towards Manebhanjan, Chitre, Lamadhura, and further up to Singalila National Park. Mountain climbers and trekkers, both domestic and foreign, usually collect supplies from Manebhanjan, which is nearby from Simana, before heading toward peaks such as Tonglu, Sandakphu, Sabargaram, and Falut. After having some tea and momos to beat the cold, we resumed our journey. We passed India - Nepal Pashupati Gate, Gufapatal Picnic Spot (Nepal), Gopaldera Tea Garden, Golpahari, one by one, and reached Mirik. After having lunch and visiting Mirik Lake and Park, we set out again. Following Tingling View Point and the tea gardens, the road became easier, so I took the driver’s seat. It is surprising that the iron bridge at Dudhiya, which I had driven over, was completely abandoned during the floods of October 5, 2025.

Hill Cart Road (Siliguri - Darjeeling More - Sukna - Rongtong - Gayabari - Paglajhora - Kurseong - Ghoom - Darjeeling) :

The old route to Darjeeling is the Hill Cart Road. Since the British era, all the essential supplies for the Darjeeling hills were transported along this path. After India’s independence, the road was renamed National Highway 55. I still remember — around 2005, when I was studying at the University of North Bengal, we had traveled by bus to Kurseong along this road. The special feature of this route is that the world-famous Darjeeling Himalayan Railway (the Toy Train) runs along it — twisting and turning, sometimes on the right and sometimes on the left side of the road. Starting from Darjeeling More, the road passes through the Sukna forest, cutting right through the Mahananda Wildlife Sanctuary toward Rongtong. From there, it winds up through the hills, passing several settlements — the most notable being Sipaidhura, Gayabari, Mahanadi, Tindharia, Giddapahar, and Kurseong. At Tindharia, there is a workshop of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railway. I once heard from a professor that low-grade coal from the Tertiary period is found in this region — these coal used to power the steam engines of the toy train. If luck favours you, you might even spot the famous steam locomotive “Baby Sevoke” chugging along this route. The sight of the toy train gliding beside the road and the rhythmic “koo-jhik-jhik” sound it makes remain etched in the memory forever. As the bus moved on, we gazed around in amazement. Soon we reached a stretch of broken, landslide-prone road. A little further ahead, through the left window, we saw a magnificent waterfall — Pagla Jhora. Though breathtaking in winter, during the monsoon it brings down mud, rocks, and debris, often blocking the road. Before long, our bus arrived at its destination — a seminar venue located right opposite Giddapahar, at the Netaji Museum and Centre for Languages, Society and Culture. The sunset that evening, seen from Giddapahar toward Rohini, is still unforgettable. Nearly twenty years later, in 2023, I drove along this same road myself, with my brother Dipankar beside me. The road is now officially called National Highway 110. It is quite narrow in places — when one vehicle passes, the other must stop to make way. The roadside signboards are well-marked, so recalling places from memory wasn’t difficult. The ascent on this route isn’t too steep, making it ideal for new drivers heading to Darjeeling. From Sipaidhura, a side road branches off to the right, climbs upward, and crosses the Shivkhola River before reaching Sittong, the land of oranges. After twenty years, I noticed that in many stretches the toy train tracks have nearly sunk into the ground. The Siliguri Junction–Darjeeling toy train service has been suspended for quite some time. Now, the toy train only runs between Darjeeling and Ghum, and then returns. Alas! Due to lack of maintenance, the heritage Darjeeling Himalayan Railway stations, once honoured by UNESCO, are now overgrown with wild grass and weeds. Still, after capturing photographs of the surroundings, we finally reached our destination.

Subhash Ghising Marg/ Rohini Rd. (Siliguri - Darjeeling More - Sukna - Simulbari - Rohini - Kurseong - Ghoom - Darjeeling) :

Just before Durga Puja in 2024, all of us set out once again on our way to Darjeeling — this time with my brother Dipankar. Today would be the real test of how perfect my driving skills had become over the years! The problem with the Rohini–Kurseong road is the heavy traffic. The road is not only steep but also full of sharp hairpin bends. Cars move in a line like a chain — one small mistake, an engine stall, or a sudden brake, and the vehicles behind come to an abrupt halt. If a car so much as bumps into another, it quickly turns into shouting and sometimes even physical scuffles. From Shimulbari, as we drove through the tea gardens, the road was fairly good — straight and wide. But once we crossed the Rohini toll gate, I realized how steep the ascent really was. At every hairpin bend, I had to honk, switch to first gear, and almost swerve into the opposite lane to climb the hill. Adding to the chaos were the Siliguri–Darjeeling route’s shared jeep taxis, which overtook from whichever side had the slightest gap. After several winding turns, I caught sight of a waterfall on the right — no time to check its name. Ahead was an Indian Oil tanker; behind us buzzed bikes, scooters, and cars like flies. By then, my knees and ankles were aching from pressing the clutch and brake continuously, and to make things worse, it started to drizzle. Near the “I Love Kurseong” point, thick fog joined the party. Meanwhile, the passengers in the back kept offering endless advice, sarcastic remarks, and desperate pleas for safety — as if I might abandon the journey midway and calm everyone’s nerves! Somehow, gritting my teeth and holding my ground, I managed to pass that day’s test successfully.

That time we first went to Beltar. While descending from Kurseong through the Maharani and Margarita tea estates, we could see the Beltar Resort from a distance. From there, we came through the Bagora Forest to Chimney. Good strawberries are available here. After enjoying hot tea and momos, we returned to Kurseong via Dow Hill.

Peshok Road (Teesta Bazar - Peshok - Lamahatta - takdah - 3rd Mile - Jorbunglow Route) :

After crossing the Rabijhora Bridge on the Sikkim-bound National Highway 10 from Sevoke, the Peshok Road begins on the right-hand side. It was January 2021 — I came along this road with my new car, accompanied by my wife and my brother Dipankar. Listening to FM Radio Misty 94.3, Dipankar drove towards Darjeeling. After passing Teesta Bazaar, we came across the famous Spiral Loop on this route. The car has to climb uphill making a turn of more than 360 degrees — truly thrilling and a bit terrifying. A little further along the winding road, we stopped at Lovers’ View Point. Looking down from there, one can clearly see the confluence of the Rungit and Teesta rivers. The spot below is known as the Triveni Picnic Spot. If you look closely, you can see people and rafting boats on the white sandy banks. After the 2023 floods, however, the Triveni campsite was closed. Our car continued climbing higher through dense forests of sal and teak. After a while, I caught a faint burning smell. When I asked about it, Dipankar said, “It’s nothing serious—just a bit of smell from the clutch plate while driving uphill.” After some time, the valley of the Rungit River on the right slowly disappeared from view. On the left began the rolling slopes of the Peshok Tea Garden. From the tea estate, a few roads descend leftward towards the villages of Tinchuley, Bara Mangwa, and Chhota Mangwa. Compared to NH 10, there are far fewer vehicles on this route. Along the roadside, local villagers sat with stalls displaying large radishes, koas (turnips), and various vegetables grown on their farms. A little higher up, tall pine forests appeared on both sides — this was Takdah Forest. Soon, a signboard caught our eye: “Welcome to Lamahatta Eco Hut.” There was no parking charge. We bought entry tickets for ₹20 each and entered the park. Once, this place used to be a Lama village. Walking up to the top of the park, we found a serene pond, regarded as sacred by local Buddhists. After capturing a few photos, we enjoyed tea and momos for tiffin before moving ahead. A little further along, a narrow road on the right led down to a village named Dabaipani. As we drove through the Takdah Forest, the calls of many different birds could be heard. It is said that black panthers roam here at dusk. Far away on the right, we could see the Lepchu Tea Garden — the smoke rising from its factory signaled the day’s busy work. Finally, we arrived at a small settlement called 3rd Mile, consisting of only a few houses. It can be called a junction on this route. Two roads branch off to the left — one goes toward Chatakpur, Bagora Forest, and Mahal Diram, while the other leads through Mongpu to Rambi Bazaar. We continued along Peshok Road. Evening was setting in. Our car moved forward with headlights on, through the cool, dense forest. This was the Senchal Forest — one of Darjeeling’s famous bird sanctuaries. Several birdwatchers from abroad had come here; after seeing some of their photographs, I felt my own knowledge had been enriched a little. After a few more turns along the hilly road, we finally headed toward Jorebungalow.

Mungpoo Road ( Rambi Bazar - Mungpoo - 3rd Mile - Jorebunglow Route) :

In 2008, a few friends and I went on a trip to the hills. Due to landslides, both the Sikkim-bound NH 10 and Peshok Road were closed, so our driver took us toward Mongpu. Around that time, I had just bought a small Nikon Coolpix digital camera. I captured some photos at the Bhalukhop viewpoint. After that, we reached Mongpu. There, we visited a museum associated with Rabindranath Tagore’s memory. We also saw the cultivation of cinchona trees. However, the road conditions were terrible. The continuous jolts caused pain in my neck, back, and limbs. From Mongpu, one can go to Darjeeling via 3rdMile. On the other side, crossing the Yogighat Bridge from Mongpu leads to Sitong—the orange paradise—and Mahal Diram. Anyway, that time we traveled through Ahaldara and Latpanchar, then descended via Kalijhora.

Priyankar Roy @ Protected Content ©

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Picnic Spots of Dooars of North Bengal

 Picnic Spots Map of Dooars region of North Bengal. 

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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.

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Tourist Map of Tsangu Lake - Nathula - Baba Mandir - Lord Shiva Idol - Babaji ka bunker - Ganjulama War Memorial

 

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Tourist Map of Gangtok Town (local 10 points sight Seeing)

 

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TOURIST MAP OF NORTH BENGAL

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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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