MADTROTTER

There are many reasons why you should not visit Udvada (Udwada) and a few handful ones why you should. It is only when the positives outnumber the negatives should you plan to make that trip to the mecca (or the Vatican, if you please) of the Parsis. Udvada is a small seaboard town tucked away in a corner of Gujarat, a mere fifteen kilometres from Daman. Renowned for its Zoroastrian heritage, Udvada houses the Atash Behram temple where the holy Iran Shah fire has been burning bright for the past thousand years or so. Legend has it that during the Muslim conquest of the Greater Iran, a group of Zoroastrians fled into the Indian sub-continent to preserve their quickly diminishing culture and populace. Initially finding refuge in Sanjan the minority tribe made the final transit into Udvada where the fire temple was consecrated in the 17th century. Today thousands of Parsi pilgrims visit every year for a glimpse of the ancient residence of the holy fire. Unfortunately, I am not a Parsi a

When I put Udaipur under my roster of sights and sounds through Rajasthan, it wasn’t with the intention to explore a romantic city, per se. To be truthful, I was quite sceptical about delegating my quickly depleting funds for a city that was clearly high on the list of tourist vacations, especially the honeymooners. The idea of being surrounded by coochy-cooing newly-marrieds was enough to put me off. But its strategic location between the historically rich Chittorgarh and Kumbhalgarh made Udaipur the most ideal city to base my day-trips from. Never did it cross my mind that I too would have my very own private love affair with Udaipur. The city finds its significance in history as the strategic capital of the Mewar dynasty. Surrounded by the Aravallies and dotted with man-made water bodies, the capital proved to be a tough battleground for infiltrators. Today, war is a distant thought. Instead its mystical lakes, royal palaces (one for every season) and a salubrious climate come toge

You might have already figured this out from my last name, that I’m a Bengali. While I no longer live in Calcutta (yes, I come from a time when it still used to be Calcutta or Cal, not Kolkata), I can’t seem to stay away from it either. It has a strange inexplicable way of pulling me back.

I did my undergraduate studies from Manipal. It’s a different story how I landed up in advertising after studying engineering. But in those four years that I spent tucked away in a corner of Karnataka surrounded by beautiful unending Arabian coastlines, we did our fair share of day trips. And the closest and the most popular amongst my group of friends was a quick ride down to the Hoode beach.

Even as I started this blog, I knew I’d have to approach this subject sooner than later. The question becomes why now? Because now more than ever at the wake of of what happened to Nirbhaya in Delhi this year, the narrative behind what it means to be a woman in India is a sore discussion point for the country. While everyone is quick to point the dangers surrounding a lone woman these days - few lend any hope or help to assuage the fears. If we were to believe the people and what media says about these times - we are doomed to live in a perpetual victimhood. Scores of traveller-bloggers have tried to present a fresh perspective for women travelling solo in India; I have yet to meet a fellow Indian woman on the road. Maybe there are too few, too far apart to make each other’s acquaintance. Implying that the subject is still at its nascent stages of discussion. Having said that, I have indeed met countless foreigners (women) travelling alone. Getting used to the idea I was t

I’m not much of a wildlife enthusiast. That’s not to say I don’t love animals. It’s just that I have very limited knowledge. For example, I cannot differentiate a cheetal from a sambar (haw!). If someone pointed out and said “Oh! Look! There goes a sambar” or “Look at that cheetal by the water hole”, I know they mean a type of deer, but the specifics end there. My literature on wildlife goes as far as The Animal Farm. But none of this kept me from travelling to the Ranthambore National Park (New year, 2014).

A private paradise An amateur at best, my tryst with the DSLR started two years ago when my mom gifted me a Nikon D3100 for my twenty-fourth birthday. And Gung-ho! I was reading up into all sorts of camera logic and clicking away madly at anything and everything. Naturally, my knowledge of photography has been purely based out of trial-and-error.

Every year the Indian Konkan Coast swells with tourists and travellers looking for fun in the sun and sand. In laidback Tarkarli and Deobag, however, it’s as much about what to do as it’s about who’s next door. Chances are that you’ll be by yourself, despite the peak seasons (fingers crossed).