… bangalore by bus
After the comedown from Mani’s amazing wedding, and the incredible sights and people met I spend a few hours in Mangalore quite isolated. Kadri is taken up with family business, loose ends and ritual. Many attendees are heading straight back home after the wedding, and the Kadri floor is thinning out very quickly.
I have a very wierd moment with one of the hotel’s house boys. He pretty much walk straight into the room (Damn! swhould have bolted it). Sees my toys … laptop, saxophone, mobile phone … and decides that I’m some wierd rich guy (it’s strange, I kind of am and yet not really … so many things translate badly across cultural and economic borders). Anyway, he decides that he does want to leave the room unless I give him some kind of tip. I feel wierd about this. He claims friendship, and then really wants me to cash him up for nothing more than getting out of my hair. This feels like it sets a bad precedent, and anyway it (along with that trace of isolation) kicks in a lot of uncertain feelings and a touch of distrust. After a walk to clear my head, he spots me back in the hotel, and sets to attaching himself like a limptet. I’m feeling strangled, insecure, not sure whether the room locks have master keys, and I’ve had a good offer in Bangalore.
I resolve to take Naraimhalu up on his offer of lessons in his Hindustani clarinet style. Pretty much straight away. It’s an overnight bus jaunt from Mangalore to Bangalore. I resolve to chack out and take a bus that will leave me in Bangalore close to 8 am.
The bus terminal is a 3km auto journey from the center of Mangalore, and the first thing I here when I get there is the chant ‘Bangalore Banglore Banglore’. This is a slightly earlier bus than I’d planned on, but it sweeps me up in its journey. I manage to occupy two seats near the back with my backpack and laptop bag. The conductor may be a bit peeved about the breach in protocol and my jumping the allocated seat, but he sees the baggage and bows to the inevitable.
This is a hell journey, and I get bugger all sleep, plus I work up a sore ass and an aching back. The windows of the bus fall open randomly the night is chilly, the road is very bad, there is a lot of traffic … mainly big lorries. I fall awake at one moment, and it seems we are well over the wrong side of a divided road. I’m exhausted, but forcing myself to relax. And I fall awake fairly often, jostled 6 inches into the air by the bad state of the road.
Eight hours of this, and the train journey of two nights prior is looking like it was hell better value at 10 times the price.
Eventually pull into Bangalore just on dawn. Far too early to check in. I walk down the main road of Majestic, Bangalore’s near interstate bus/city bus/train station accomodation zone. A few hours of walking round, several near brawls between touts fighting over my commision. It is very difficult to avoid them in majestic, I am tired and not in a mood to be aggressive enough to push them off. And as well, many of the reccomended hotels in Bangalore are full or are at least claiming to be full. There is a feeling that many of the lodges in majestic won’t give rooms to westerners … only to Indian tourists, and many of the places that would take me are expensive. Too expensive to stay long enough to learn a few pieces from Narasimhalu. I let myself be dragged around by touts just to help with navigation. And it is still way too early to check in.
Finally it gets to late morning, and I’ve managed to avoid the inner city vultures that latch onto anything white and with a backpack. I find the hotel Surya. 275 Rs which seemed like a lot in the morning now seems quite cheap. They want a 1000 advance, but I’m buggered, and relent. The room is ok, clean, no hot water (this would be fixed on the afternoon of the day I move on). But the bed is large. This turns out to be a good lodge and cheap by Bangalore standards. The manager has spiritual aspirations, does poojas in the lobby, and there is an interesting Hindu priest staying over…. and in Banglore, most places around or under 200Rs are reminicent of those Japanese beehive hotels, and are quite grotty. I relax for a moment. I’m exhauted and feel a slight cold coming on.
A few hours, and I call Narasimhalu. He is ready to start an intensive session of clarinet classes almost straight away.
