Dwanjabi: Authentic Adventures in Madhya Pradesh

As much as Goa’s beaches & lively atmosphere helped me get my chill-out going on, after over a month I couldn’t have felt more ready to venture into REAL India.
You know…Indian people, saris, blaring Bollywood music, the non-stop staring and delicious and cheap authentic Indian food.

Feeling some haste to make my exodus, I was able to consider taking a flight thanks to several new private domestic airlines that have introduced incredibly reasonable rates.
It couldn’t have been more perfect to arrive in Mumbai on India Republic Day. Orange and green and waving flags were found throughout the city and I accepted this as my welcome in arriving to this new phase of my journey.

When chatting with a Mumbai physician during an office visit (for an unmentionable and minor affliction) the doctor was perplexed when I told her of my onward travel plans.
“WHY are you going to Madhya Pradesh??”
With her one question I was filled with slight nervousness and confirmation that I had chosen a destination not widely heard of in the common tourist trappings. It’s true, you don’t often hear of Madhya Pradesh in the standard tourist lineup of Goa, Hampi, Rajasthan, Agra and Kerala. Those are all wonderful places for sure but this herd-like movement of tourism is exactly what I am trying to avoid.

Navigating my way through the blend of chaotic energy and gorgeous architecture of Victoria Terminus Railway Station, I boarded my first of several trains to ride within days.
My first stop in Madhya Pradesh was in Sanchi, home to some of the oldest and most magnificent Buddhist stupas in India.

With the city of Bhopal as my home base, I was unable to move onward before catching a curious peek of the location of the notorious Union Carbide plant, a US owned company. One of the deadliest toxic leaks in history happened here in 1984 with a death toll of over 20,000 people. The affect to the local people continues even today as affirmed by an Italian friend who volunteers as a teacher in nearby villages. She told me the low weight and slow growth rate is evidence in many of her students.
Quickly moving onward from this gray, dirty and very depressing city I boarded the first of two rickety local busses towards the holy city of Omkareshwar.

A remote destination that is an island village straddled by the holy Narmada and lesser-known Kaveri rivers. My intention in visiting Omkareshwar was to tap into some of that Holy Hindu ju-ju that brings forth thousands of pilgrims each year to the river’s ghats.

But what ended up happening for me was a dhaba hopping pig out!

You see, up until this point since my arrival to India I have had a serious loss of appetite…to the point that I had become concerned. But when I arrived to this village the problem had vanished.

Now, I’m not sure if this is due to the antibiotics prescribed to me by the Madhya Pradesh-skeptical-doctor having run their course. Maybe the pill popping for the past 5 days killed some bug that had kept me from wanting to eat.

Or perhaps it’s because western food prepared in India is simply not even close to as good as at home. Pizza, veg burgers and pasta just don’t have the same appeal here.

I had finally entered an authentic region offering a wide selection of freshly made Indian dishes. My attention diverted from the colorful puja displays in the Narmada to the steaming hot thalis and chais from various dhabas around the market square. Thalis, mutter paneer, navratan korma, poha and samosas, just to name a few.
yummmmmy

Feeling full like on Thanksgiving Day, it was time for me to swap the Omkareshwar table for a nearby village hosting ancient Afghan architecture.

The trip from Omkareshwar to Mandu is only ~84 kilometers but in a state like Madhya Pradesh this distance requires a series of 3 slow moving local busses. Throw in a lunch stop (and some bad judgment by 2 traveling mates and myself) and it became 4 bus rides and a total travel time of 8 hours for our tiny journey.

Mandu is an even smaller and more rural village and due to no other options at the time we arrived, I settled in at the Ram temple dharamsala (rest house for Hindu pilgrims). I was able to soak up the authenticity of the village experience by staying there…and even had an opportunity to join in a village-wide thali feast to celebrate the wedding that would take place that coming night in the Ram temple.

My fondness for this authentic rest house shifted quickly at nightfall when I realized how noisy staying in a Hindu temple can be. I’m not that light of a sleeper but the M-80’s exploding in celebration of a new marriage through the night followed by trumpeting blasts of busses beginning at 6am sent me and my backpack running toward the traveler guesthouse across the village.
Hotel Maharaja butts up to the rural areas of Mandu and features a lovely brown calf that will eat our books if we don’t keep an eye on him.

Like in Omkareshwar, in Mandu my focus shifted mid-stay. Initially I was transfixed while exploring in solitude the expanse of huge palaces and mosques. But later the sweet disposition of the villagers lured me to delve further into the rural areas beyond the gorgeous ruins of a bygone era.

Mohan, my guesthouse’s owner…and incidentally the former mayor of Mandu, took 4 French and myself on a lengthy tour through the fields, cliffs and huts of rural Mandu. Prompted not by a fee but by his passionate knowledge and love of his town, Mohan introduced us to the farmers, local wine distillers and even the wild panther lairs of the areas of Mandu completely untouched by tourism.

It’s magical experiences like these that you won’t find in any guidebooks.
And one of the many reminders of why I love to visit India.