Hyderabad Weekend Destinations: Araku & Konaseema

My idea of traveling has always involved forgetting and frontiers. That makes sense - to forget one must escape, as far as possible, to the farthest, remotest corners of one's world, of one's imagination, in both space and time. That's where one forgets; that's where one gets healed; that's where one finds solace.

However, in reality, traveling is something more, or something else, than mere romantic meandering. To me, as I have realized lately, traveling means negotiating with something that goes wrong in the way. What goes wrong? Something, or something else, which can't be per-determined. I believe that traveling involves responding to a surprise, and enjoying the response as it unfolds. Later, what matter is only the response; and years down the line, when rest is forgotten, it forms the theme of the trip. What remains in memory is not where you traveled but how you traveled.

Stay home if you seek comfort, or can't live without your air-conditioned bubble. For as soon as you step out of your home, your comfort is more or less compromised. What do you get in return then? Nothing, if you don't enjoy the experience of stepping out.

At the same time, quite ironically, we travel only to feel homesick. It took me years of restaurant tourism to realize that the hackneyed saying - that home-made food is best - might be hackneyed but not hypocritical. There is something in our banal existence that we decide to settle for it despite its banality. Traveling is as much about coming back home as about leaving home.  

Having said that, we do try random cuisines on weekends, indulge in harmless flirting once in a while, and take occasional flights off our perches. 

We took one such flight last weekend, to the place hailed to be the most fertile, the greenest, in Andhra, an otherwise barren land for travelers, excluding pilgrims. Konaseema is like a dash of Kerala in Andhra, minus the sea and the backwaters, of course. Still, you can enjoy staying in a houseboat, which is not as ornate as its richer backwater sisters, but houseboat nevertheless, technically speaking, and far less annoying.

Dindi, Konaseema

As I write this post, the moment that has frozen in my memory finds me entranced, sprawling on the roof of our humble houseboat, which swam in the vast waters of Godavari, brimming with seasonal voluptuousness. The banks were flanked by a vegetation that reminded me of the opening scene of Coppola's "Apocalypse Now". Soon after, I had to try not to think about "The End" sequence.

There was hardly a man in sight. The weather was charming, drizzling now and then, and the wind was blowing kisses in air. No wonder flowers were flying around, having colorful, designer wings fluttering with delight. I tried to think something poetic to honor the occasion. But all I could think of was this - that oxygen must be actually 21% there in that atmosphere. Too much for poetry! I gave up with a resigned smile and closed my eyes to see how much of the sight I can see with my eyes closed.

Later in the night, well past sunset, when I sat by the side of the boat, while staring into the river aglow with mysterious light coming from luminous horizon, and waves slapping against the sides, I remember to have seen something that I can only call reverse mirage in want of a better expression. After looking long enough, I saw our boat being stuck in a desert, and the waves of sand shifting in direction of wind. The black magic of night had transformed the dirty water into sand dunes. As promised in zmm*, the more I looked, the more I saw. Many years back, by the side of Mine, I had felt similarly.  

I must have been high on something. How else I would have thought this - that the sound of water is not only soothing but also therapeutic, to the extent that if two felon-enemies are to cross a river in a boat, and they happen to listen to the music in silence, as I was listening, they will end up forgetting their enmity by the time the boat crosses the river. If water cleans the body, the sound of water cleanses the soul. If only we could sit by a river everyday, I am positive there will be no sin in the world.

The next day was spent on road, which ran beneath canopy of trees, casting running shadows on the glasses of our cab. Looking out, it would seem that the whole world was made of banana and coconut trees.

At this point I would like to contrast Konaseema with Araku, another popular weekend option from Hyderabad. I had visited Araku a couple of years back, and I don't feel like writing about it in length. Unlike the former, latter is hilly and good for trekking. For bikers, both are paradise; both are green, Araku a shade more, but Konaseema is Kerala-esque, and more gorgeous therefore. Ultimately, it will be a draw since Araku has Borra Caves, something that I have seen nowhere else.       

*Zen and The Art of Motorcycle Maintenance (Robert Pirsig)