Days like today are the worst. They start out on a great note but eventually things fall apart in my head and the clock seems to count down the hours to a crushing void within me. I’ve had countless days like this in my life, some better, and more that were far worse than today. That doesn’t seem to change a thing however and every single time it feels like a stitched wound being slowly pried open. I know there’s nothing I can really do when this happens but it never stops me from trying. Today, I went to Necklace Road and stood there staring at the Hussain Sagar for a very long time. It didn’t really help me much but it brought a lot of old memories to the surface. I remembered the 6 days I spent at the Bryn-Mawr in-patient psychiatric unit.
I left for the USA immediately after the 12th grade to study in the West Chester University of Pennsylvania. I had a great first semester despite my trouble adjusting to a new culture and an utter lack of social skills. I started feeling the weight of all of it towards the end of my first semester but somehow I managed to see it through and register myself for the spring semester. I started losing energy and focus as the days progressed and depression was taking hold of me. Suicidal ideation had firmly entrenched itself within my head and every aspect of my life was in shambles. Utterly bewildered by the entire thing, I confessed to my Aunt and I was taken to the emergency room at Paoli Hospital and that’s where the little adventure began.
I was ushered into a room by an understanding looking rotund woman who spoke to me gently and asked me pointed questions about how I was ‘feeling’. I told her and she left me to go speak to my Aunt and after a few minutes of conferring, both of them came to me and the nurse informed me that I would be put in an in-patient psychiatric unit for a few days until I felt better. I was dumbstruck by this suggestion and for a few minutes all I could do was to gape at them pitifully, pleading with my eyes not to do this to me. In my head, psychiatric units were places where people with serious mental disorders were confined and I felt like I didn’t belong in such a place. Having come to the realization that they were utterly serious, I weakly protested and told them that there was no way I’d go to a psychiatric unit. The gentle lady adopted a very forceful and determined expression and bluntly told me that at this point of time I had no say in the situation and I’d be taken there, with or without my consent. I turned to my Aunt and I saw no solace there. I bowed my head and surrendered and waited for my imminent ‘transfer’ to the facility.
I was left in the emergency room while my Aunt hastily went back home, packed a bag for me, and got back. The entire hospital scene was a blur in eyes and I had shut myself off completely from all external stimuli. I just sat there blankly staring at a set of medical instruments and then my Aunt got back and the nurse escorted the both of us out to the car and told me that everything would be just fine; I wanted to throttle her. The ride to Bryn Mawr was a silent one and I spent it looking out the window at the cars passing by on the highway. A part of me refused to believe that all of this was happening and I couldn’t bear to bring myself back to reality and really experience what was going on or consider the implications of it all. And then we reached Bryn Mawr.
I don’t really remember the walk to the facility. All I remember is being in the car one moment and the next moment staring up at two huge yellow doors with reinforced looking glass and a metal grill over them. This did nothing to help my perception of the place and my heart was racing standing there at the entrance waiting to enter the fortress of gloom. We were buzzed in and a young African American nurse walked out to greet us. She had my Aunt fill some forms and then ushered her out telling her that I’d be just fine and that there was no need to worry. My Aunt turned to give me one last forlorn look and then she was gone. I felt forsaken.
My bag and I were shown to the tiny room. There was a small bed opposite to the door and a small cupboard. I noticed that sharp objects were conspicuously absent and I fell asleep; my first night at the psychiatric unit. I woke up the next day and I was taken to the psychiatrist for an evaluation. After a lengthy session the psychiatrist finally diagnosed me with Bipolar Disorder Type 2 and explained to me the medication that I would be put on and then outlined to me what my next few days in the hospital would entail. He asked me if I had any questions and all I could think of was, “When can I get out?” “When it’s time for you to”, was the only reply that was forthcoming. I was officially a checked in patient of the facility.
The next couple of days were spent getting adjusted to the ways of the facility. In many respects the unit was nothing short of a prison. There was a fixed schedule with hours that one needed to strictly adhere to. There were also bars on the windows and sometimes, our rooms were searched randomly. There were activities that we were forced to participate in, therapy sessions that we needed to attend, and pathetic attempts at inspiring socializing between locked up patients. We also got good points for falling in line and doing all of these things and these good points could be redeemed later on in exchange for freedoms that the ordinary person wouldn’t spare a thought about. Initially I was stubborn and aloof but I realized that the sooner I fell in line and acted like it was all working, the sooner I’d get out so I started playing along.
I grew up with an alcoholic father and apparently this is a fairly common variable when it comes to patients of major depressive disorders so I was put in a dual diagnosis therapy group where all of us had alcoholic fathers and we sat down and talked about our feelings. I spoke about my childhood in a monotone and had everyone commiserating with me. It made no difference to me to speak about my childhood or my depression but I saw how important it was for many others to speak and more importantly, to be heard. I felt guilty a lot of times back then because of my lack of sincerity during those therapy sessions. I had art therapy, did Rorschach tests and also took the TAT (Thematic Apperception Test) among other things. I was also put on a mood stabilizer (Lithium) and an anti-depressant (SSRI) and had a blood test every day to check for the level of lithium in my blood. I played the part of a good patient and attended all the therapy sessions and took all my meds at the right time. My reward was that I could go on a supervised walk for 15 minutes around the hospital and breathe in the fresh air and feel the sunshine. Freedom was really put into perspective for me there.
A very significant aspect of my stay there was the interaction I had with my fellow patients. I had the opportunity, for the space of a few days, to get to know them through their reasons to be at the facility. There was Zoe, a waitress who was fired from her job, Frank, a middle aged truck driver abandoned by his family, Robert, a businessman suffering from neurosis, Ashley, a teenager and a cutter, Debbie, a housewife and many other people. All of us came from different walks of life and some of the experiences that I had with them have changed me for life. I’ll try to recollect some experience to shed some light on some of the minor epiphanies that I experienced there.
I first met Zoe at my dual diagnosis therapy session. She was a tall, stocky, redhead who always seemed to be smiling. At first glance she seemed utterly out of place and it was only in the sessions that I came to realize how much she was at home here. Zoe was an orphan who was shifted around a lot in foster homes and had a very fragmented childhood and adolescence. Apparently she had incidences of alcoholism occur very early in her life and she grew up to a hard life. She had always struggled with depression and she had been trying to get her life together with the job as a waitress but when she got fired, it pushed over the edge. She swallowed a lot of pills but her roommate called 911 and she eventually ended up at Bryn Mawr. She was there before me and she played a major role in helping me adjust there. She had a very dark outlook about life but she managed to find humour in it, she left a couple of days before I did and I missed her very much then. I haven’t heard of her since.
The recreation room in the unit was right opposite the dining room and it had a piano, a ping pong table, and a few chairs and tables with board games haphazardly strewn about. I first saw Frank sitting at the piano one of the evenings we were doing our activities. He was a thin middle aged man with glasses and at first glance he looked more like a professor than anything else. He was very mild mannered and soft spoken. When I got to talking to him I found out that he was a truck driver who got laid off because of his depression and he came to Bryn Mawr almost the same way I did. He told me over many conversations about his life and how his wife and children had abandoned him after they found him too tedious to put up with. He told me that he lived alone and that he looked forward to dying. The calmness with which he uttered these words will always haunt me. It was the first time I was witness to such an abject lack of hope. During one of our conversations he strolled up and walked over to the piano and started playing Beethoven’s Fur Elise. Speaking all the while, he played a little of Mozart, a little of Paganini and some Beatles to boot. My jaw hit the floor and I came to understand that he was a classically trained pianist blessed with perfect pitch. Often, after dinner I would see him at the piano playing silent notes, always lost in thoughts, a weary expression on his face. He was still there the day I left and he was very happy for me. I asked him to take care and all he said was that life would take care of him eventually. I never heard from him again.
Debbie came in a couple of days after I did. She was a thin attractive female in her late 20’s. She was very nervous initially but she warmed to me eventually after discovering that I played the guitar. She was a housewife and her husband was an investment banker and they had a son together. She told me that she had struggled with depression for a few years now and that it was affecting her domestic life. There had been huge fights within the household and she was forced into coming to Bryn Mawr. She could play the guitar as well and we did Beatles songs together in the recreation room and those moments are some of the happiest in my life. She was deemed stable and left two days before I did; the same as Zoe. Before leaving she gave me her number and after I got out of the unit I gave her a call. Her husband picked up the phone and asked me who I was, in a very rude tone. When I told him, there was silence for a few moments, and then he told me that he didn’t need Debbie to be talking to the likes of me and told me never to call again. My mind was a blank as I cut the call and in that moment I felt the full depth of the stigma that mental disorders have in society. I never called back again.
There are many more memories of the people I came in contact with there. I remember playing Ping Pong with Robert for hours on end. I remember trying to cheer up Ashley and watch her tears run down onto her scarred hands. I remember the paranoid schizophrenic lady who never bathed and stole my chocolate pudding twice. I remember the guy with delusions of grandeur; I remember another with severe OCD, and many more with debilitating depression. We played board games together, we bowled in the hallways, we enjoyed the 15 minute walks together, and each one of us suffered the pain of a farewell when we watched someone leave that day. My stay in Bryn Mawr had far reaching consequences in my life but all I can think about, even to this day, are the people I knew there. I wonder if Zoe has a job now, if Frank’s still alive even, and if Debbie is that perfect mother that she was expected to be. I hated the therapy sessions, the closed doors, the medicines, the rigid schedules, and the general atmosphere of the hospital but what I hated the most was the fact that I formed bonds with people in those 6 days and I’ll never have closure as far as they are concerned. And on days like today, the memories float up to the surface and form the black eyesore on a lake of chaos. I hate days like these...
Friday, July 15, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Ride Report: Bangalore to Shivagange
Ride Report: Bangalore to Shivagange (02/07/11)
Having partaken the previous day it took some effort for me to clear the mists in my head and wake up at 4:30 A.M this day. This ride was a long time in the coming for me and it was a pretty special event. This was the first time I would be riding with B.K; a great friend and an avid tourer himself. It would also be a first for the both of us in that we’d be taking female pillion riders along. We had initially planned on going to Chikballapur and covering Jaramadagu waterfalls in the same trip but we found out that the waterfalls were best in the monsoon and decided to miss it this time. I didn’t want to repeat my Kuntala Waterfalls folly and end up looking at a thin stream of water falling off of a giant rock. Our rendezvous point was Christ University where we were to pick up the girls and start off at 6. I quickly got ready and went downstairs to find that it had rained heavily in the early hours of the morning. There was still a light drizzle falling and I rode to Christ and got there to find everyone geared up and ready to go. The girls in their helmets looked especially good. We eventually started off at 6:30 A.M and began enlisting the help of auto drivers to find Yeshwantpur from where we’d take the NH4 Tumkur road to Shivagange. The rain started to get pretty heavy by the time we reached the first toll gate and we braced ourselves and rode on. We were utterly drenched by the time we reached a Karnataka State Tourism Board signboard that indicated Shivagange was 18 km away. We were elated and experiencing a fresh burst of energy we finally got off the highway and headed left towards Shivagange. The road was absolutely beautiful and the lush green rain drenched landscapes dotted with hills were gorgeous to behold. We were fortunate enough to tackle two twisties before we finally arrived at the ‘villege’ limit of Shivagange.
A dense fog enveloped the top of the hill and the trails punctuated with temples and statues viewed from afar added to a sense of mystery about the hill. We parked our bikes outside the temple and deposited our helmets at a shop right next to the entrance and set off up the steps. We reached the door of the first temple and discovered that it would open at 9:30 A.M so we decided to take the trail leading upwards. We went up the steps and saw beautiful carvings on them.
I tried to step around them but ended up stepping on most of them and we continued up the trail. After the solid steps we came to our first surprise. The steps from here on were carved out of the rock-face and had two railings on either side to help support the climbers. The steps were thin and demanded utmost care from all of us to cross. The fact that they were wet didn’t help matters one bit. We made our way slowly with B.K and I leading the climb and the girls following in our wake. The walk turned into a full blown trek later on with no steps, and mud and wet rocks to contend with. Huffing and puffing we inched our way upwards on the trail taking frequent stops at little shelters that exist to provide the climbers with a well needed break. We came across many a Nandi Statue and stopped frequently to take a breather.
The girls lagged behind for most of the climb until B.K and I stopped at a place to let them catch up. We finally made it to a place where the statues of Shiva and Parvathi were visible and these egged us on to reach a landmark and inspire a sense of fulfilment within us. None of us were really fit but a kind of stubbornness descended upon us and we made it to the temple, gasping and sweating despite the cold weather.
We thought that this would be the end of it but I noticed a trail leading still higher up the hill and I pointed it out to them. The reaction was something to the effect of, “You’ve got to be kidding me” and all of us looked at each other uncertainly. I immediately expressed my desire to reach the summit and B.K voiced the same opinion. The girls were a little uncertain but decided to tag along eventually and all of us started off yet again. The real challenge was to begin now. We had reached high enough to see the fog begin to envelop us. We crossed the temple and headed to the next part of the trail and our jaws dropped. The steps were extremely narrow and slippery and the climb looked almost vertical. Completely consumed by our desire to reach the summit, B.K and I didn’t say a word and started climbing. To reduce the chance of any mishap we used the three-point hold at all times and edged up carefully with the girls lagging far behind us. Along the way, I wondered if it was such a good idea to let the girls climb and toyed with the idea of asking them to remain behind. I didn’t voice this concern however, because I didn’t want them to feel offense, so I focused on the climb and led the way. After many slippery narrow steps, vertical rock climbs, and heart-in-the-mouth moments we finally reached level ground with a shrine.
We were above the clouds now and the visibility was poor with the fog completely enveloping us. Here, we got a call from the girls informing us that they had turned back and that they would wait for us at the Shiva and Parvathi statues for us to return. This was good news for us and now we could go on with the climb, one worry removed. We made the final run to the top without stopping and reached a ladder leading up to a Nandi Statue which is also called the Shantala Point.
Legend has it that Shantala, queen of Hoysala King Vishnuvardhana, committed suicide from this point. The steps were merely slippery footholds leading up to the statue and I decided to climb up first to test the feasibility. Climbing up was not that difficult, albeit scary. Once I reached the statue I noticed that there was a trail leading up to the temples atop the hill and I decided to climb back down to proceed to the temples. I realized, however, that I couldn’t come back down the way I climbed up because the angle was very awkward and the steps were extremely slippery; one wrong step and I’d be tumbling down the hill. I realized that I needed to step around the statue to the other side where the steps were a little more distinct. I reached the back of the statue and saw that the only way to the other side of the statue was to walk on a piece of railing that was suspended off of solid rock and hanging in the air. I prayed fervently for the railing to hold against my weight and gingerly stepped on it and in a rush of terrified frenzy ran to the other side of the statue. In hindsight, the railing was pretty strong, but the fog and the slippery conditions made me fearful of falling off the hill. It was a pretty harrowing experience, but I made it down the statue and B.K and I continued onwards to the temples.
The visibility was very low at this height and the temples set against the background of dense grey fog made it seem like we were in a ghostly dream. We experienced a tremendous sense of accomplishment and spent some time just gazing around into nothingness. It was at this point of time that we heard voices coming from a distance and realized that there were other people around. We squinted and saw that there was another part of the hill a little distance away and we could barely make it out in the fog. We figured out the way to get there and a few minutes later we were finally at the summit of the hill. The summit of the hill had two pillars and a railing running around the edges.
The fog was at its thickest and we couldn’t see anything beyond a few meters at this point. We came upon a group of college kids who had climbed up before us and waited for them to leave before we finally stood and took in the beauty and the magnificence of the atmosphere. To be standing in that dense fog, in wet clothes, and shivering in the cold imparted a feeling to us that cannot be described. It was a consummate sense of satisfaction and fulfilment that we felt there and we basked in the glory of our subjectively grand achievement.
We eventually turned our attention to the pillars and saw that they were adorned with bangles. We deduced that this was some sort of a religious tradition and took some pictures. I told B.K that it was only right to leave some mark of our coming behind and he agreed wholeheartedly. We frantically searched our belongings to see what we could leave behind and all we could find was the visiting card of one of our previous professors at the university. We secured the card to a thin rope around the pillar with the help of safety pins and had a good chuckle at the thought of someone coming across a visiting card in this spot.
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We gazed at our handiwork for a little bit before deciding to head back. The climb back down was done with the same care and we steadily covered good ground. It was easier climbing back down than it was climbing up. As we descended lower we found the steps and the trail to be drying out and we slowly made our way down. There were a few scares when I slipped slightly a couple of times but all in all, the climb down was good.
We got back to the girls a good amount of time later and found them lazing about on a rock enjoying a mango. We spared no expense in telling them about the wonderful experience they had missed out on and then took some typical touristy pictures before starting the climb down. As we climbed down lower we started noticing crowds of people making their way up the hill. We also came across monkey-infested areas.
The sun was up by now and we were able to go into the temple to try and touch the Olakala Teertha. Legend has it that only the honest and good can touch it; by that logic, all people taller than 5’8” are honest and good. The girls couldn’t reach it and we managed to, and they had to contend with us accusing them of being sinners for the rest of the trip. We also looked at the Patala Gange and then it was time to trudge down the hill and ride back home. There were large groups of people walking up the hill and there were two files; one going up and one going down. Climbing back down was remarkably easy and we enjoyed watching the beautiful landscapes as we descended. We climbed back down all the way, collected our helmets from the shopkeeper (Rs. 5/helmet), and then rode off in the direction of Bangalore. We were starving at this point of time and decided to stop at the first decent dhaba we could find. We stopped at a place called Prakash Dreams Family Garden and had an excellent lunch at a very reasonable price. Our hunger satiated we left for Bangalore and reached a little while later. The total mileage of the trip was about 129 km. Although a short ride, I would count this to be one of the best rides I’ve ever been on. We were pretty unhappy with the rain but in hindsight it was fortuitous in that we got to witness Shivagange in a different light altogether. Although we missed out on clear views from Shantala point and higher, climbing in the rain and through the fog was an experience beautiful in its own way. I had excellent people for company and this is a trip that I’ll make again in the future sometime. I only hope that it rains that day too...
Having partaken the previous day it took some effort for me to clear the mists in my head and wake up at 4:30 A.M this day. This ride was a long time in the coming for me and it was a pretty special event. This was the first time I would be riding with B.K; a great friend and an avid tourer himself. It would also be a first for the both of us in that we’d be taking female pillion riders along. We had initially planned on going to Chikballapur and covering Jaramadagu waterfalls in the same trip but we found out that the waterfalls were best in the monsoon and decided to miss it this time. I didn’t want to repeat my Kuntala Waterfalls folly and end up looking at a thin stream of water falling off of a giant rock. Our rendezvous point was Christ University where we were to pick up the girls and start off at 6. I quickly got ready and went downstairs to find that it had rained heavily in the early hours of the morning. There was still a light drizzle falling and I rode to Christ and got there to find everyone geared up and ready to go. The girls in their helmets looked especially good. We eventually started off at 6:30 A.M and began enlisting the help of auto drivers to find Yeshwantpur from where we’d take the NH4 Tumkur road to Shivagange. The rain started to get pretty heavy by the time we reached the first toll gate and we braced ourselves and rode on. We were utterly drenched by the time we reached a Karnataka State Tourism Board signboard that indicated Shivagange was 18 km away. We were elated and experiencing a fresh burst of energy we finally got off the highway and headed left towards Shivagange. The road was absolutely beautiful and the lush green rain drenched landscapes dotted with hills were gorgeous to behold. We were fortunate enough to tackle two twisties before we finally arrived at the ‘villege’ limit of Shivagange.
A dense fog enveloped the top of the hill and the trails punctuated with temples and statues viewed from afar added to a sense of mystery about the hill. We parked our bikes outside the temple and deposited our helmets at a shop right next to the entrance and set off up the steps. We reached the door of the first temple and discovered that it would open at 9:30 A.M so we decided to take the trail leading upwards. We went up the steps and saw beautiful carvings on them.
I tried to step around them but ended up stepping on most of them and we continued up the trail. After the solid steps we came to our first surprise. The steps from here on were carved out of the rock-face and had two railings on either side to help support the climbers. The steps were thin and demanded utmost care from all of us to cross. The fact that they were wet didn’t help matters one bit. We made our way slowly with B.K and I leading the climb and the girls following in our wake. The walk turned into a full blown trek later on with no steps, and mud and wet rocks to contend with. Huffing and puffing we inched our way upwards on the trail taking frequent stops at little shelters that exist to provide the climbers with a well needed break. We came across many a Nandi Statue and stopped frequently to take a breather.
The girls lagged behind for most of the climb until B.K and I stopped at a place to let them catch up. We finally made it to a place where the statues of Shiva and Parvathi were visible and these egged us on to reach a landmark and inspire a sense of fulfilment within us. None of us were really fit but a kind of stubbornness descended upon us and we made it to the temple, gasping and sweating despite the cold weather.
We thought that this would be the end of it but I noticed a trail leading still higher up the hill and I pointed it out to them. The reaction was something to the effect of, “You’ve got to be kidding me” and all of us looked at each other uncertainly. I immediately expressed my desire to reach the summit and B.K voiced the same opinion. The girls were a little uncertain but decided to tag along eventually and all of us started off yet again. The real challenge was to begin now. We had reached high enough to see the fog begin to envelop us. We crossed the temple and headed to the next part of the trail and our jaws dropped. The steps were extremely narrow and slippery and the climb looked almost vertical. Completely consumed by our desire to reach the summit, B.K and I didn’t say a word and started climbing. To reduce the chance of any mishap we used the three-point hold at all times and edged up carefully with the girls lagging far behind us. Along the way, I wondered if it was such a good idea to let the girls climb and toyed with the idea of asking them to remain behind. I didn’t voice this concern however, because I didn’t want them to feel offense, so I focused on the climb and led the way. After many slippery narrow steps, vertical rock climbs, and heart-in-the-mouth moments we finally reached level ground with a shrine.
We were above the clouds now and the visibility was poor with the fog completely enveloping us. Here, we got a call from the girls informing us that they had turned back and that they would wait for us at the Shiva and Parvathi statues for us to return. This was good news for us and now we could go on with the climb, one worry removed. We made the final run to the top without stopping and reached a ladder leading up to a Nandi Statue which is also called the Shantala Point.
Legend has it that Shantala, queen of Hoysala King Vishnuvardhana, committed suicide from this point. The steps were merely slippery footholds leading up to the statue and I decided to climb up first to test the feasibility. Climbing up was not that difficult, albeit scary. Once I reached the statue I noticed that there was a trail leading up to the temples atop the hill and I decided to climb back down to proceed to the temples. I realized, however, that I couldn’t come back down the way I climbed up because the angle was very awkward and the steps were extremely slippery; one wrong step and I’d be tumbling down the hill. I realized that I needed to step around the statue to the other side where the steps were a little more distinct. I reached the back of the statue and saw that the only way to the other side of the statue was to walk on a piece of railing that was suspended off of solid rock and hanging in the air. I prayed fervently for the railing to hold against my weight and gingerly stepped on it and in a rush of terrified frenzy ran to the other side of the statue. In hindsight, the railing was pretty strong, but the fog and the slippery conditions made me fearful of falling off the hill. It was a pretty harrowing experience, but I made it down the statue and B.K and I continued onwards to the temples.
The visibility was very low at this height and the temples set against the background of dense grey fog made it seem like we were in a ghostly dream. We experienced a tremendous sense of accomplishment and spent some time just gazing around into nothingness. It was at this point of time that we heard voices coming from a distance and realized that there were other people around. We squinted and saw that there was another part of the hill a little distance away and we could barely make it out in the fog. We figured out the way to get there and a few minutes later we were finally at the summit of the hill. The summit of the hill had two pillars and a railing running around the edges.
The fog was at its thickest and we couldn’t see anything beyond a few meters at this point. We came upon a group of college kids who had climbed up before us and waited for them to leave before we finally stood and took in the beauty and the magnificence of the atmosphere. To be standing in that dense fog, in wet clothes, and shivering in the cold imparted a feeling to us that cannot be described. It was a consummate sense of satisfaction and fulfilment that we felt there and we basked in the glory of our subjectively grand achievement.
We eventually turned our attention to the pillars and saw that they were adorned with bangles. We deduced that this was some sort of a religious tradition and took some pictures. I told B.K that it was only right to leave some mark of our coming behind and he agreed wholeheartedly. We frantically searched our belongings to see what we could leave behind and all we could find was the visiting card of one of our previous professors at the university. We secured the card to a thin rope around the pillar with the help of safety pins and had a good chuckle at the thought of someone coming across a visiting card in this spot.
alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626824524881578194" />
We gazed at our handiwork for a little bit before deciding to head back. The climb back down was done with the same care and we steadily covered good ground. It was easier climbing back down than it was climbing up. As we descended lower we found the steps and the trail to be drying out and we slowly made our way down. There were a few scares when I slipped slightly a couple of times but all in all, the climb down was good.
We got back to the girls a good amount of time later and found them lazing about on a rock enjoying a mango. We spared no expense in telling them about the wonderful experience they had missed out on and then took some typical touristy pictures before starting the climb down. As we climbed down lower we started noticing crowds of people making their way up the hill. We also came across monkey-infested areas.
The sun was up by now and we were able to go into the temple to try and touch the Olakala Teertha. Legend has it that only the honest and good can touch it; by that logic, all people taller than 5’8” are honest and good. The girls couldn’t reach it and we managed to, and they had to contend with us accusing them of being sinners for the rest of the trip. We also looked at the Patala Gange and then it was time to trudge down the hill and ride back home. There were large groups of people walking up the hill and there were two files; one going up and one going down. Climbing back down was remarkably easy and we enjoyed watching the beautiful landscapes as we descended. We climbed back down all the way, collected our helmets from the shopkeeper (Rs. 5/helmet), and then rode off in the direction of Bangalore. We were starving at this point of time and decided to stop at the first decent dhaba we could find. We stopped at a place called Prakash Dreams Family Garden and had an excellent lunch at a very reasonable price. Our hunger satiated we left for Bangalore and reached a little while later. The total mileage of the trip was about 129 km. Although a short ride, I would count this to be one of the best rides I’ve ever been on. We were pretty unhappy with the rain but in hindsight it was fortuitous in that we got to witness Shivagange in a different light altogether. Although we missed out on clear views from Shantala point and higher, climbing in the rain and through the fog was an experience beautiful in its own way. I had excellent people for company and this is a trip that I’ll make again in the future sometime. I only hope that it rains that day too...
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