Burst of inactivity

Did the title make any sense? Or did I just use an oxymoron(I personally love these things)?

Well, been a while since I stepped my virtual foot here. Reasons were galore, ranging from something as lame as laziness, forgetfulness(sometimes I forget I need to update this) to my weekend being taken up by traveling yet again to (ahem) me being busy creating complications in my own life(I don't need any enemies, my foolishness takes up all my time and strength).

So let me think, what updates(ech..I am sounding more and more techie-ish, inspite of barely "working"!)? Ok, I got it. Let me limit this one to tales and recollections of my trip to my native town. I have a love for long narrations(as if you didn't know this already), so I shall stick to points or "data points", as my manager would say(ugh! I need to control myself!).

a.) I love the journey part. Hard as it may seem to believe, I love traveling(you would have never guessed, eh?). Sarcasm aside, the best part(ok, one of the best parts) about it is the ride around western ghats. Till recently, we used to travel by bus, at night, which limited the opportunities to spot beautiful scenery. But thanks to the man who badly needs nose,ear hair trimmers, our current railways minister, now there's a train to it. The train, being new, was spic and span(believe it!) and the route must have been decided by a nature lover(let's not get to the point that the tracks would have been laid out by cutting trees).

Screw the points/bullets idea, I want to blabber. The funny part about this train journey was the nature of our companions in the compartment. Picturise this - four of us from my family, who speak a mixture of Tulu, Kannada, English and Hindi(not necessarily in the same order), switching between them as and when we please. Two purohits, who made sure their caste and line of work was obvious from their attire and who, for some strange reason, were spoken to only in English by the obviously confused Ticket Checker. Many number of nuns, traveling together, who, of course, were attired in their religious garb. For a moment I almost felt like I was in some cheesy scene from a Karan Johar/Subhash Ghai movie. The lack of any irritating background music lay down my fears.

Now comes the tragic bit. I did not have my trusted aide, my digital camera, by my side. The hills outside, with their lush green foliage(it had rained well recently) seemed to mock me at my failure to capture them. All I had was a 2MP cellphone camera(*sigh*). In all of three days, I took just 80 or more pics!

For those of you who haven't lived in/been to coastal areas during summer time, let me tell you this, baby it's hot! By hot I don't just mean sunny, but hot and humid. You sweat so much that you wonder whether there are secret minute taps fitted on the whole of your body. You want to bathe so many times that a buffalo gets inferiority complex. More than a single layer of clothing seems like a punishment/medieval torture(I seriously sympathise with the women who wear saree). I think you get my point.

There were several high points(not referring to getting drunk or climbing up western ghats..duhh) and low points of this trip. High points - everything was so unplanned and all three days, except that one day when we attended the pooja we came for, were spent on beaches. The fact that people refuse to believe I have been working for the past (almost) two years now and still inquire which course I am studying(saves me the cost of anti wrinkle creams and/or plastic surgery). The miracle called growing up, which my cousins are undergoing. Those half ticket beings are much more tolerable now and less whack worthy.

Low points..hmm..let me think. Oh yes, the close call with burns. Point to remember- however uncomfortable or inappropriate a pair of footwear may seem , do not leave them behind thinking you will collect them later. Being the curious, impatient climber that I am, I circled almost half of St Mary's Island barefoot, hopping, jumping while climbing the rocks, sometimes immediately plunging them into the water, to safeguard my tender feet. At the end of it my feet turned a shade of pink matched only by the colour of Paris Hilton's lipstick. I was just hoping desperately that I don't end up with blisters.

I seem to have exceeded my self imposed length of the post. Let me bring this to an end by stating that no matter how much I love that temple town and its culture, one thing I have hated and will continue to do so is the disgusting, retch worthy smell of fish, fresh or dried out in the sun. Yuck!