Where Are the Horses?

Published in Aug 2023 in Volume 1 of 'sub:version', an academic journal of RV College of Architecture, Bangalore. Theme – ‘Bangalore as a palimpsest’, featuring various aspects of the city through multidisciplinary lenses.

“Yella OK. Cool drink yaake?” (That’s all okay, but why a cool drink?), exhorted maverick actor Upendra, plastered over every other billboard in Bangalore in the early 2000s; United Breweries had launched its home-grown beer, popular today as Kingfisher. I diligently noted the tagline down – it was now the third sentence in my Kannada arsenal, after “Kannada gothillaa” (I don’t know Kannada) and “nimma hesaru yenu?” (What is your name?). I, a new migrant to Bangalore from Bombay, was part of the great migration of software engineers’ spouses, a Bangalore phenomenon that had accelerated since the late 1990s.

This was the first time I didn’t know the local language, but being interested in languages anyway, I set about integrating with the city’s fabric. The sentences I knew would only allow me to ask somebody for their name and then replace the cold drink in their hand with beer; if I wanted more meaningful conversation, I needed to quickly expand my vocabulary. But where could I find a Kannada teacher?

A view of Bangalore from the rock formation at Lalbagh Botanical Garden.

In the part of South Bangalore where I lived (considered the city’s outskirts in the early 2000s) and still live in, the crowd was (and remains) cosmopolitan. My apartment complex – one of the very few in Bangalore then – was filled with the sounds of Hindi, Tamil, Bengali, Marathi and English. My search for a Kannadiga neighbour proved futile. Determined, I began self-learning - from the radio, auto drivers, and our domestic help. I soon gained fluency in ‘household chores Kannada’, but sweeping, mopping, and lamenting over the grease removal inefficiency of a dishwashing soap were hardly popular topics in social situations. I needed more.

Radio to the rescue! “Onde ondu saari kanmunde baare” (please appear before my eyes at least once) crooned a love-struck Ganesh in ‘Mungaru Male’, a blockbuster movie at that time. I took notes: “the same saree keeps coming before my eyes”, marvelling at the hero’s capacity to remember a saree, a quality not usually ascribed to men. Mind you, my context for interpreting Kannada was through my proficiency in Tamil and Hindi, two languages which did eventually give me the advantage to learn Kannada much quicker than those who knew only one or neither of those languages. And Bangalore’s youth largely got by using ‘Kanglish’, a convenient mix of Kannada and English. But all this also meant that I was constantly attributing hilariously wrong meanings – many months later, I was dejected to learn that Ganesh didn’t really remember the heroine’s saree, and that ‘saari’ actually meant time in Kannada. Learning from songs eventually also proved to be restrictive because there was a limit to how many people I could profess my love to, or invite for a midnight rendezvous by the lake.

‘Auto Kannada’, picked up during my chats with auto drivers (while clinging to the side-bar of the speeding auto for dear life, even as Bangalore’s cold breeze decimated my humidity and heat-acclimatised bones), turned out to be my most impressive progress in the language. Auto drivers were always happy to talk – about the weather, route shortcuts, their professional woes, and how inflation in Bangalore had made things unaffordable for them (an unfortunately true repercussion of the software boom). They were the ones who taught me the correct Kannada pronunciations of tricky English spellings of localities like Arekere, Chikpete, Bidadi and Kathriguppe. Or mouthfuls like Bommanahalli, Sampangiramanagara and Agrahara Dasarahalli, all of which had far too many letters and syllables than I was accustomed to. Through these lessons, I learnt that ‘halli’ meant village, ‘kere’ meant lake, and ‘pete’ meant market: it was also a glimpse into the development of the city’s form and what its focal points were.

One of the many lakes (keres) at Bangalore.

A gathering space in a Bangalore 'halli' (literal - village, but also suburb), now almost never seen.

Talking to auto drivers and eavesdropping on their conversations with fellow-drivers at auto stands or the very few traffic lights that the city had, I also picked up slang words and tonalities. The word ‘goobe’ (owl) was extremely multifunctional, and I used the mild expletive liberally with traffic violators, and as a term of endearment with friends and close colleagues. I couldn’t quite understand the nuances of the popularly used ‘chatri’ (cunning) though, wondering when and why I would need to call a person an umbrella, which is what it meant in Hindi. Of course, I didn’t give such careful consideration to the usage of words like ‘yeno’ (the belligerent version of ‘what’), ‘baro’ (an impatient ‘come’) and ‘hogo’ (cranky ‘go’), confidently putting a pile of drawings on my boss’s desk with a casual ‘nodo’ (snappy and attitude-filled ‘take a look’) thrown at him – he turned red and told me how I probably didn’t realise that ‘nodo’ lacked respect, and was only to be used with friends or youngsters in the family.

As my vocabulary grew, so did my confidence. I was picking up Kannada’s tongue-twisting tenses and plurals, and one fine day, having learnt that ‘-galu’ is a suffix for plurals, I eagerly tried it out on my auto ride home from work. By then, Bangalore’s pot-holed roads were imprinted in my memory, and I had created a pot-hole map in my head. Wanting to warn the auto driver about an upcoming, back-breaking ‘three-potholes-of-various-depths’ stretch, I put my knowledge of ‘-galu’ to use. The slow head-turn I received from the auto driver, with a shocked expression, after I had unleashed “mundhe hallagalu barthaidhaare” on him, is one for my history books. Of course, since he was looking at me and not the road, he missed the potholes, and my spine suffered the consequences, leading me to admonish him gently: “naanu helidhini, alvaa?” (I told you, didn’t I?). He ignored the admonishment, and equally gently asked me “yaavu ooru, maa?” (Which city are you from, madam?), an indicator that he had guessed that I wasn’t a local. How? I thought I had nailed it! I was told by a chortling friend the next day that ‘barthaidhaare’ isn’t the way to pluralise inanimate objects; it is in fact a sign of respect or pluralisation only for people.

Undeterred, I forayed into ‘construction Kannada’, a prerequisite for my professional work as an architect. While working on the design of an international school, my boss would often drop by my desk to discuss it. For a few days in a row, he pointed vaguely to a corner of my drawing and asked “gode yelli?” (Where are the walls?). I nodded and ignored him for a couple of days, but could sense that he was slowly getting frustrated, asking “gode yelli?” multiple times a day. Making a presentation drawing with plants, people and other templates was supposed to be the last stage of the drawing, but irritated by his badgering, I completed a few things, took a printout, and plopped it on his desk with a “here are the godes!” One look at the drawing and he thundered. Just as I started fearing for my job, he burst out laughing - ‘gode’ is Kannada for wall, and not horses (ghode in Hindi), as I had presumed. I felt foolish when I saw the equestrian track in the school design, which I had peppered liberally with drawings of horses.

This also solved a huge mystery – during site visits, when fellow-architects would ask the mason or contractor “gode yavatthu kaththaithiraa?”, it was an enquiry about when the walls were going to be built, and not my perplexing (and now obviously nonsensical) translation of “When are you going to tie your horses?”

All these linguistic mishaps did not dissuade me from further attempts at speaking Kannada. I am happy to report that over the years, my Kannada grew from strength to strength. The day I was extremely proud of my progress was when a bus conductor asked me if I knew the bus stop I had to alight at. I nodded and told him in Kanglish, Bangalore’s lingua-franca, “next stop nalli illithaaythini” (I will alight at the next stop) – a pronunciation that I would have fumbled with earlier.

I had finally arrived - at my stop, and in Bangalore.

One of the four watch-towers built by Bangalore's founder, Kempegowda I, in the 16th century. This is at Lalbagh Botanical Garden.

Enjoying Nothingness at Nagarahole

Published in the 15 Sep 2023 edition of www.jlrexplore.com, a nature and wildlife magazine.

Nagarahole National Park had decided to take an unannounced, unseasonal vacation. And I had turned up exactly during that time, in eager anticipation of a forest thriving with activity. After all, March is a great month – it’s just before the blistering heat sets in, the forest is still somewhat lush, and there’s a chance to see the very last of the winter migrants. But to everybody’s surprise, Karnataka’s ‘mango showers’ arrived two weeks too early, exactly when those of us who were trying to escape Holi revelries in the city fled to the forest; we got drenched anyway – the joke was on us.

Peafowl on a foggy, rainy morning.

So what does that leave me with, to tell you a story about my three days at Nagarahole? Not much other than single digits on the sightings list – 1 Barking Deer, 1 Jungle Fowl, 1 Crested Serpent-eagle, 1 White-bellied Woodpecker, 2 Sambar, 2 langur, 2 egrets (where were the flocks?), a few peafowl, and 2 Gaur. I kid you not. Not even herds of Spotted Deer, usually so ubiquitous that nobody gives them a second glance. Yes, there were also a couple of elephants, and a fleeting dramatic incident, but Nagarahole National Park was as thinly populated as an office between Christmas and New Year.

Sambar

Elephants at dusk.

From two of the bleakest opening paragraphs possibly ever written, you might have sensed my despondency. So does it sound believable when I say that I still had a marvellous time? Let me tell you how.

The campus of King’s Sanctuary, Nagarahole, where I stayed, is almost 40 acres. The sprawling property has spacious accommodation spread out amidst trees and plants, most of them native flora. I was piqued by all the sounds I could hear around me, while in my room or walking to and from the dining area for meals.

Having had two ‘no-sightings’ safaris since arriving, I decided to skip an evening safari and go on a nature walk instead. Shekhar was excited to show me around the campus, which incidentally has been his home for over twenty years. My leisurely stroll began after a cup of tea, on a promising note - the light was unusually golden for 4:30 pm. This should have portended the rain that was to come, but blissfully unaware, I chose to enjoy the perks of peering at treetops without any glare. And we did see a fair bit of activity – Golden Orioles, an Asian Koel pair, and a male Paradise Flycatcher – to the soundtrack of a Common Hawk-cuckoo, which was proving to us why its nickname is ‘brain fever bird’. The grass all around us fluttered with tiny brown birds too skittish to identify.

Asian Koel, female

Shekhar was thrilled to know that I wanted to see the flora as well, and birds were soon forgotten, talking about inflorescences, leaf shapes and how the locals use different trees and plants. Almost as if on cue, a low, sprawling fig tree appeared. I had to pause to take it in – straight out of an otherworldly setting, or for fellow Potter-heads, like the whomping willow. We disappeared into the tree to enjoy the etherealness. When the tree’s leaves began producing a racket, we stepped out to investigate and realised that it was raining quite heavily. The thick canopy sheltered us well from the downpour, but sensing that the rain would only intensify, we darted to a nearby cluster of rooms. We thought that we were done for the day, but the birds had other ideas. Tickell’s Blue Flycatchers chased each other around the central courtyard. The sky rapidly darkened, but not before it threw up silhouettes of Malabar Grey Hornbills and a Shikra.

Over dinner that night, I was talking to the manager and one of the naturalists about their experience of staying in the buffer zone and being in close proximity to wildlife. I was invited to go on a night walk around the campus. Anyone who knows me knows that I am scared of the dark. Also, the possibility of whether I would encounter elephants had me worried; I respect the strength of these wonderful beings and like to keep my distance from them. Meeting an elephant on foot is my worst nightmare, but I agreed in desperation only because my upcoming article about Nagarahole was potentially turning into a bigger nightmare due to scarce sightings. Armed with dull torches, we set out along the campus’s perimeter. The worry about coming across elephants turned out to be unfounded, as the property is fenced all around.

Walking at night activates all the senses, and especially amplifies sound. The slithering we heard turned out to be a Green Keelback. The chorus of crickets was a constant companion. Footsteps other than ours made us jump many times, revealing equally skittish Spotted Deer. My city vision was sorely lacking, and had it not been for the naturalist, I would have walked past the Sri Lankan Painted Frog and straight into the web of a garden spider. There was so much to grab our attention that we stopped every few steps - to see Wolf Spider-lings, a Cicada nymph, and even a Whip Spider trying to pass off for a twig. The highlight was seeing radiant bioluminescent fungi on the barks of a few mango trees.

The well-camouflaged Sri Lankan Painted Frog.

Bioluminescent fungi

That fleeting dramatic incident I had mentioned at the beginning? When our starved-for-sightings jeep saw a peacock, we spent many minutes looking at it intently. It then flew gracefully and landed next to our jeep, but screeched in shock, and we also heard a yelp and furious running. The peacock had almost landed on an alarmed, skulking leopard, and all we saw was its tail disappear into bushes. The third yelp was let out collectively by our jeep, because we hadn’t realised that there had been a leopard in the nullah right next to our jeep. Three species within a few square feet of each other, and quite unusually, we all managed to shock each other! My memento from this moment is a photograph of “can you see the leopard that we almost didn’t see?”

A few other jeeps did have better sightings – a few more birds than I did, and even a whole leopard. But my experience at Nagarahole reiterates that not every safari in a forest is “productive”. And certainly, not everybody sights predators all the time. But just because we don’t see life does not mean that the forest is “bare”.

What I’ve also learnt over the years is that I don’t have to go on a safari to enjoy what nature has to offer - all I need is to look around me, or for that matter, even within my city. I know that my story is probably not the best way to convince anybody to visit Nagarahole. But I do hope that we continue to appreciate the ecosystem, irrespective of whether or not the forest reveals itself to us.

Circle of Kindness

One of the impacts of travelling is that it widens the circle of people dear to us. It could be argued that most of them were nice to me only because I was their source of livelihood; be that as it may, I know that it doesn't take away from the laughter we shared or their acts of kindness.

In times of crises anywhere in the world, and certainly during the current global coronavirus pandemic, I've been visiting all those people in my mind.

That train driver who stopped an entire train for me when he saw that I had alighted on an inconvenient platform with my huge suitcase, so that I could use the train to cross over to the other platform with an elevator.

The family we shared everything with - bathrooms, chores, meals, bonfires, laughter, and a spectacular view of the Himalaya.

That lady who gave us soup on the house during a thunderstorm and made calls to a petrol company in a foreign language, when we worried that our card had been billed multiple times.

Those guides to whom we entrusted our lives as we traversed treacherous, high-altitude Himalayan terrain for days, accompanied by much talking and laughter.

That farmer, homestay host, and chef, all of whom gave us free produce to take home because we had enjoyed it so much.

That air bnb owner who left us wine and cookies in our room, should we have midnight hunger pangs.

That random stranger I nodded at, who stopped and said "gosh, you are beautiful!", making me blush.

The villager who invited us into her house and plied us with freshly squeezed sugarcane juice because it was the best her farm had produced that season.

The sales assistant who sent me to her competitor who stocked more designs in large sizes, because she wanted me to buy a jacket I loved and not just because it fit me.

All those who didn't speak a word of English, but patiently heard out my inelegant mix of pidgin Mandarin and sign language as I ordered lunch, never hurrying me even though there was a long queue.

To all these and many, many, many more - know that I am thinking about you.

2019 Travel Calendar

2019 turned out to be one of the most bountiful travel years of my life, allowing me to be itinerant for two months. It was also the year that brought me the opportunity to explore three new countries – a rare phenomenon given that I’ve been able to travel abroad only once in a few years. There were some short trips within India too; I’ve really begun to appreciate what just a couple of days can do to boost my happiness and energy. Lastly, this year, more than any other year, I’ve walked my way around cities like there’s no tomorrow, and climbed my way up countless steps: reiterating to myself that exploring on foot is what I enjoy the most.

The more I travel, the more all places feel like home, and the more affected I get by the negative happenings worldwide. I find myself increasingly struggling with travel-induced gloom, but it’s a harsh reality that cannot be avoided. I hope that the overwhelmingly positive memories and experiences I’ve had will give me the courage to step up and act, whenever and wherever it is needed. Here’s hoping for 2020 to be all about positivity, inclusiveness, and cheer, focusing on what unites us instead of what differentiates us.

                                                                                                     

Jaipur

I almost turned down an invitation to a wedding at Samode Palace near Jaipur, because I had another trip being planned for the same date. Some quick juggling and an awkward itinerary made it work, but it entailed stressful trips from and to Bangalore airport within a span of hours (those who know Bangalore will sympathise). Two days spent in the company of much love and laughter, though, allowed me to tide through the crazy travel. Of course, Jaipur’s ethereal architecture surrounded by rugged landscapes proved to be the perfect backdrop for it all. The happiness deposited me in Germany with a smile on my face, ready to begin my next trip.

Samode Palace

Germany

Thirty five years after my father’s trip to Hamburg, I expectantly planned my trip, wondering whether the city still remained the same. Being peak winter—and post festivities—in Germany, there were hardly any tourists, and I had most monuments and museums to myself or in thin company. Reduced daylight hours meant that I didn’t add too much more to my itinerary, savouring just Hamburg, Berlin, and a whirlwind stop at Dresden in two weeks: each city so different and so vibrant, that they easily filled all the time I had. Germans’ sorcery with potatoes, beer, bread and baked desserts had me craving for more. A surprising realisation of the trip was that my thoughts about rules and straight talk align more with the Germans, than with any other country I’ve been to so far.

A view of Hamburg's harbour-side.

Shanghai

Unplanned to the hilt and utterly enjoyable is how I can encapsulate my trip to Shanghai. Casual bantering with a friend who had moved there just a couple of months ago led me to book tickets on a whim. Though I had two weeks to spare, I decided to visit only Shanghai: a fantastic decision in hindsight. The megapolis surprised me with its unique blend of the Orient and the Occident, and I could have easily spent a couple of more weeks there. My takeaways from Shanghai included diverse topics like communism, local culture, city planning and architecture.

But, for the first time in life, English, which allows me to sail through worldwide, proved utterly useless. I jumped at the opportunity to pick up Mandarin phrases, communicating with the incredibly patient locals using a mix of my inadequate language, sign language, and hilarious Google translations. And, barring a couple of meals, I stuck to my—what I was told was pig-headed—resolve to find and enjoy vegetarian Chinese food.

Jade Buddha Temple

Texas, USA

If Shanghai was unforeseen, the trip to Texas was even more so, and so last minute that it felt like a local trip. Though the travel was for some family work, I was able to make the most of my five days there, thanks to my cousins’ enthusiasm - they managed to show me slices of local life, took me for countless Tex-Mex meals, braved hikes in a state park in the oppressive summer heat, walked enveloped by the sticky, salty air at a heritage seaside town, and ferried me long-distance to NASA. Texas also showed me a side of the USA I hadn’t seen in my 2014 trip: a region in a time-warp compared to the other areas I had been to. Until I have the opportunity to explore Texas more deeply, I will remember its 1980s vibe, mom-and-pop stores, expansive farmlands, pick-up trucks, fast driving, Tex-Mex food, and hearty pies.  

Hiking at Bazos Bend State Park.

Pondicherry

Tired from back-to-back travel, I almost didn’t want to travel again when friends planned a getaway to Pondicherry, intending to celebrate two of their birthdays there. Lured by the promise of a relaxed long weekend, and not wanting to miss their birthdays, hubby and I drove down to Auroville, where they had rented a small villa. It proved to be the perfect “do-nothing” holiday, involving talking, laughing, reading, eating and sleeping. Just one evening, we dragged ourselves to Pondicherry’s promenade for an evening stroll, sunset views, and gelato. I would easily do this again.  

Italy

A birthday celebration intended to be in Kashmir moved to Italy, leaving me tinged with sadness. Though Italy was always extremely high on our wish-list, circumstances meant that it was a fairly last-minute change of plans, with just enough time for the visa. As if rising to the challenge, Italy gave me a birthday to remember! Being an architect and a lover of its cuisine, Italy was saddled with high expectations, which it met with aplomb, every bit as wonderful as I had imagined the country to be.

A little over two weeks took me to Rome, Naples, Florence and Pienza (Tuscany). Italy frequently overwhelmed me with its art and architecture, and I realised that I will need multiple trips to enjoy everything that I want. The food, fiercely regional, still has me salivating at the memory, and was a strong highlight of the trip. A big credit towards making the trip enjoyable goes to all the locals we interacted with – giving suggestions and tips, smiling, always up for a chat, cracking jokes, and going out of their way to make things for us.

A classic Tuscan landscape, with rolling hills and Cypress trees.

Mumbai

It was yet another visit home in December, to catch up with family and friends - visits that I also use to explore some of the (what feels like) million things in the city. This time, I took hubby to Bandra in the Christmas-New Year season, when its bye-lanes are alive with twinkling lights and an old-world charm. We also walked along Bandra’s seaside promenades, gawked at the homes of Bollywood stars, snacked on street food all over the city, hunted down some winter delicacies, and bargained hard at Mumbai’s street fashion Mecca. Ferrying us all around were the ever-reliable local trains, the winter making the usually stifling-hot bogies and edgy commuters more pleasant and even-tempered, resulting in less punching and shoving to get in and out.          

Christmas lights at Ranwar Village.

2018 Travel Calendar

2018 was the year of mini breaks: trips lasting one to three days. Low on budget and time, I found myself having to choose between no trips and micro trips. For somebody who finds 2-week trips short, I surprisingly enjoyed these bite-sized escapades. Throw in the fact that all these trips were very last minute, and improvised on the go, and it rings true that travel does teach you a lot about yourself; I never imagined travelling in a “chaotic” manner, and yet I did.

2019 is luring me with a lot of promises. I’m ready to move on from my brief romance with brief trips, but nonetheless, happy at having learnt about new ways to keep my travel spark burning.                                                                                                                                                                            

Kabini

This old favourite never disappoints, easily leaving me refreshed in just a few hours. I didn’t even have to wait until I reached Kabini for the excitement to set in…just packing my jungle clothes for the trip melted those blues like nothing else. Add in some safaris with knowledgeable naturalists, the tranquillity of the forest, and a quick digital detox, and I returned ready to dive back into routine.

Tranquebar

On my wish-list for over a decade. Finally, plans fall into place. A cyclone threat looms large. My car breaks down. I almost return home. Decide to go ahead without my car. The cyclone passes, but not before giving Tranquebar a good wash. I traipse around town with my umbrella, in the rain. Enough said.

It’s hard to believe that I had a great time in spite of all this, but that’s the charm of Tranquebar.

Mumbai

Visiting home in December—the season that’s as cold as Mumbai can ever get—I capitalised on the good weather to go on rambles and guided walks in South Bombay, or “town”, as we call it. Of course, taking the hubby to discover more Irani Cafes was on the menu, as was the hunt for the best Undhiyu, a Gujarati winter speciality that’s my favourite. We ended up deviating for some butter chicken along the way, but the fragrance of Undhiyu finally led us to culinary heaven.

Chennai

A reluctant visit to attend a family function turned into the perfect way to sign off 2018. I am slowly discovering fun and exciting facets of Chennai, and a guided walk around traditional Mylapore kick-started my first staycation. Shocking relatives by checking into a hotel instead of staying with them was just the beginning of an exciting weekend. After a room upgrade in a heritage hotel, some truly fabulous food, attentive and personalised service, and lots of ‘nothing time’, I understood why staycations have been gaining popularity.

Workshop: An Introduction to Travel Writing

Collaborations are always exciting! Which is why, an offer to create and conduct a travel writing workshop for WEVID, whose workshops aim at addressing the evolving demands of the design industry, was too tempting to pass up.

The widespread popularity of travel has created an enormous platform for swapping stories. Images and words are powerful tools to share your travel experiences with family and friends. The sheer number of travel blogs has also meant that stories get easily lost in the crowd. This workshop offers an introduction to travel writing to those who want their storytelling to stand out, and will help participants write well-crafted and engaging stories that go beyond being just another trip report or blog post. In the age of Instagram and hashtags, long-form writing that sustains interest is challenging. This program aims to fill that gap.

Date      : 06 May, 2018 [Sunday]

Timing   : 9 am to 5 pm

Venue    : Innov8 Coworking, Koramangala, Bengaluru

Open to : Any individual interested in travel writing (18 years and above)

Workshop curator & facilitator: 

Raji Sunderkrishnan (architect, writer, editor & photographer)

For registrations, please follow this link: https://goo.gl/forms/RhVJnRc6u4M7D2243 

More details at: www.wevid.in/nb

2017 Travel Calendar

2017 brought me my leanest travel year since I began active travelling ten years ago! Work and family commitments took centre-stage, leaving me rooted to home. I did miss the sense of excitement and discovery that travel brings, and I often found myself browsing through old trips’ photos for some armchair travel and nostalgia.

The road-trip to northern Karnataka in Jan 2017 was special, because I have finally seen all the distinct regions of Karnataka, where I have been living for almost 14 years now. Karnataka’s diversity in landscapes, wildlife, culture, art, architecture, and food have given me many fond memories and enriching experiences over the years.

Though I have no travel planned for 2018, I am optimistically looking forward to the year!

                                                                                                           

North Karnataka road-trip

This region had been on my wish-list for a long time, as it promised to be different from Karnataka’s other zones. North Karnataka’s close proximity to Maharashtra and erstwhile Andhra Pradesh has led to its unique culture, food, language and clothing. The region is also filled to the brim with a rich architectural heritage of diverse styles. The 10 days we spent in Bidar-Bijapur-Badami-Pattadakal-Aihole left me craving for more; so did the mouthwatering local food at khanavalis, traditional eateries in the region.

An artist paints the Bhuthanatha Temple at Badami

Hyderabad

A serendipitous addition to our itinerary, Hyderabad fell into place because we decided to access Bidar - the starting point of our North Karnataka road trip - via Hyderabad, as that seemed to be the best route. Although a short break, we were able to enjoy a fair slice of the city’s culinary treasures. I have visited Hyderabad before, and am vaguely familiar with its tourist attractions, which we decided to skip this time. With my cousin (who lives in the city) in tow, we spent a couple of days feasting on Hyderabad’s well-known as well as little-known culinary delights ranging from the very fiery to extremely sweet. And of course, copious cups of Suleimani chai and an assortment of breads and biscuits.

Irani chai & an assortment of biscuits at Nimrah Cafe, by the Charminar.