Kiran Jonnalagadda’s Blog

I spent most of July offline, travelling, for the most part in Ladakh. It’s hard to miss the internet in a place like this:

The experience was so relieving that I’m considering spending a few more months doing this – travelling and staying offline.

The Tonlé Sap occupies a great depression formed when the Indian subcontinent collided with Asia. For most of the year it is a shallow river, barely a metre deep, but come monsoon and the lake is now five times in area and the river flowing in reverse, bringing in water from the Mekong downstream. Flooded fields become excellent fisheries, supporting over three million people. When the monsoon abates and water flows out, a rich agricultural sediment is left behind. Entire villages are built on stilts in these fields around the lake’s periphery.

I spent two glorious days exploring the ruins of Angkor in December 2005. When done with the temples the second day, I set out to explore the floating village bordering Siem Reap on the Tonlé Sap. My boatman did not speak any English, but his twelve-year old son Chit did. Chit attended floating school, 3rd standard, 7:30 AM to 3:30 PM and served as tour guide after. He proudly pointed at his school as we went past it.

When I left Cambodia the next morning, I promised my hosts I would visit again. Two days is way too short for such a beautiful country.

In December 2005, I spent two weeks wandering around the streets of Bangkok. I was being decidedly unadventurous, restricting myself to visiting street markets, shopping malls, foreign embassies and some historical sights, all in the name of experiencing local culture.

Then Klaikong decided to give me a taste of local hospitality too, and suggested attending a concert. I expected the Bangkok equivalent of Bangalore’s Palace Grounds, a large open field with temporary stage and sound arrangements. Instead we landed at this place called Saxophone Pub at Victory Monument, where popular reggae band T-Bone was playing that evening.

Not only were they very good, I was also impressed by the ambience at the pub. The typical live music-in-restaurant arrangement I’ve seen anywhere in India keeps a clear separation between performers and patrons. At Saxophone, as you can see in this picture, this is not the case. We were seated on the upper floor from where we had a great view of the scene.

Priests relax after a long ceremony at the Sree Math in Hariharapura.

The math (alt. spelling “mutt”) is ancient, dating back to the 15^th century. The place at that time was called Kapalam and later renamed Hariharapura, after Harihara, one of the legendary founding brothers of the Vijayanagar empire.

Hariharapura is about 20km along NH13 from Sringeri, site of a far more prominent math. Both maths are located along the river Tunga. The Tunga eventually merges with the Bhadra to become Tungabhadra, which in turn flows into the Krishna, eventually reaching the Bay of Bengal.

I discovered 43 Places earlier this evening and have been having a wild time listing all the places I’ve been and want to go. Check out my profile with the nifty map. If you have an account too, link up to me.

Years ago, I had a vague idea for a service that could track and help coordinate travel. I started with recording my own and planned to expand it to track journal posts and pictures. That idea never turned into anything more material, and now 43 Places accomplishes the same and so much more.

Last night I stumbled upon the site of Mr Pumpy, wherein Felix Hude writes about his experiences bicycling around the world. I was immediately reminded of Pete in Cambodia, who cycled from London to Istanbul, and Paul Keller, who was in Bangalore two weeks last November and rode a cycle everywhere.

Heck, it sounds like a good way to get in shape while getting around. If only…

I’ve owned three bicycles in the past decade. I don’t have one now. I’d like to, but am not sure where it’ll fit in my day—each of the previous three exited when my routine changed and they fell into disuse.

Does anyone have a cycle I can borrow for a few weeks?

Kishore’s friends were doing the Sakleshpur-Yedakumeri-Subramanya railway trek. Having long wanted to do it too, I tagged along. There were 34 people in the group (of them 15 girls) so we pretty much had the bus to ourselves. We started at Donigal, a few kilometres from Sakleshpur, where the road conveniently passes within a couple hundred metres of the tracks.



This section of track has been abandoned for several years, apparently for conversion from metre to broad gauge. It is now a popular trekking route with both bus drivers and railway workers accustomed to the sight of backpack wielding youth.

The bus dropped us off at 5 AM. We spent an hour or so under the nearest street lamp, distributing rented sleeping mats and food packets. Someone had mistaken the trek for a picnic and gone shopping for flavoured milk in glass bottles, potato chips and other salted (thirst inducing) snacks, entire cartons of apple and orange juice, loaves of bread, with butter, and other such items that were low on energy while high on packaging weight. We got rid of most of them before boarding the bus; the rest we had to carry.

Read on...

Read on...

As the plane lifts off from the runway, you’re reminded of how tiny Singapore is: the entire country fits in your aircraft window. No wonder it’s so well managed.

In the picture here are Sentosa, Singapore’s official recreational getaway island; the harbour; and part of downtown Singapore, literally “down”, for the central business district is at the southern end of the island. The strip of land you see at top left is Indonesia.

Changi airport was the first I’ve been where they do not x-ray baggage prior to check-in. Must be done after. The airport’s pretty nice, but I much prefer Bangalore’s: it’s just a little building with an aeroplane on one side and a taxi on the other. No endless miles of dragging your luggage past duty free shops that you don’t want to give your money to; no gate after gate leading to planes not waiting for you; no queuing up at position #8 on the runway, sitting there hot and sweaty, waiting for takeoff, when the air conditioning will finally kick in and overpower your neighbour’s armpits.

Bangalore’s is a no frills airport that specialises in the business of getting people in and out of the city. There’s only one gate and miraculously it’s always the one where your flight is waiting. Okay, there are two, but they barely count as distinct gates.

I like small airports for the sheer quickness of passing through them. I will miss Bangalore’s when the forces of metropolisation finally take it down.

First impression on arriving in Bangalore: “My god, what have they done to the roads?” Then I realised they had done nothing at all, the roads were just like when I had left. What’s changed are my expectations of them.

A few days ago, I mentioned a gender activism video from Kuala Lumpur. jhybeturtle kindly consented to my hosting it, so here it is now. Watch the video (37.3 MB) »

Some of the participants you see here got arrested for their efforts. For more information, see the katagender blog or send them email.

Note: For unknown reasons, the katagender blog displays an unrelated page on “Amazing Bible Studies” to some browsers and the original site to others. It doesn’t appear to be ISP-level filtering since I get both versions. We suspect the site may have been hijacked and programmed to appear right to web spiders and certain audiences, while showing the hijacker’s site to others. Please leave me a comment indicating what you see: it’ll help figure out what’s going on.

Commuting on Singapore’s MRT can easily take over twenty minutes for common destinations, so I’ve taken up listening to podcasts. I’m currently catching up with the archives of Venture Voice, “a podcast that explores how entrepreneurs build their businesses and live their lives.”

I especially enjoyed the interview with Fabrice Grinda of Zingy, who made his latest fortune selling ringtones. Fabrice is unusually open about all the mistakes he’s made and how’s learnt from them. When describing successes, he also states the figures. I found it very informative.

Singapore is one big gated community.

Colin and I were at Titiwangsa in KL, looking for the Centre for Independent Journalism. We were lost and, after some circumambulating the block where we expected CIJ to be, we gave up and asked someone for directions.

The fellow responded in Hindi, which Colin didn’t understand. He saw the blank look on Colin’s face and asked if he spoke Hindi; once again in Hindi. At this point I was too amused to butt in, but Colin gleaned that one critical word and turned around to me, and I reluctantly carried forward the conversation.

Colin’s Malaysian, but could easily pass for an Indian. The fellow we spoke to looked Indian and must have taken us to be recent immigrants. To visit a foreign country and be spoken to in your own language, unasked for, is surreal. This was hardly an isolated event. Waiters at restaurants have attempted to chat me up in Tamil, to which I’ve mournfully responded “Tamil teriyaadu. Kannada, Telugu.”

Of all the places on this trip, KL’s easily the place I felt most at home in.

Wikipedia’s entry on Bangkok says it is the largest city in Thailand, with an estimated population of 8,538,610 (measured in 1990). The second largest city is Chiang Mai, with a population of 250,000 (source unknown).

#1 Bangkok has 34 times the population of #2 Chiang Mai. Not twice or thrice as many, but thirty four times. What does this tell you?

Another of jhybeturtle’s friends, whose name I can’t recall, said he had spent three months earlier this year backpacking around the region. Laos was the highlight. “It’s beautiful, man.” He spent several weeks there, exploring the far corners of the country.

That’s three people who’ve gushed about how incredible Laos is. Now I really want to go see the place.

What is it with toilets in tropical countries using tissue paper instead of water? Tissue paper is disgusting. It scrapes bottom and doesn’t clean thoroughly. It makes sense in a cold country where water at room temperature will freeze your arse and warm water may be unavailable or uneconomical.

But in a tropical country? It seems the swankier the place I’m in, the more likely the place abhors water in favour of tissue. A case of culture creep? Why not design toilets to handle both?

My bottom’s hurting from the abuse.

In KL, Zee put me in touch with her acquaintance Julie Tan, who works with the NGO Action for Life. Julie took me out to lunch, where I learnt that “Chinese” and “vegetarian” put together do not make a paradox. That ended my run of Indian meals.

Julie noticed I was sniffling and asked about my health. I said I had picked up a cold in Cambodia that refused to let up, and had two mouth ulcers that made eating and talking painful. She said it must be heat. Not heat as in temperature, but body heat caused by poor diet and exertion from my travels. She said it was a concept from Chinese medicine. I told her it was the same in India. (People not familiar with this may find it hard to understand.)

Julie insisted on feeding me fruit and said I should get some medicine to relieve the heat. We went to the neighbourhood Chinese medical store where she explained it to the store manager. The item she wanted wasn’t on the shelves. The manager asked if I had a fever. I said it was only a cold. He disappeared into the back room and returned shortly with three warm bottles of coloured liquid that he explained as being made of herbs that would flush out my heat. One bottle for the afternoon, one for the night, and one for the next morning. I had to take them with warm water. Nine ringgit per bottle of 100 mL each.

I didn’t know what to make of this. The bottles were unlabelled. Their contents had been concocted in the back room. Anything could be in there. And twenty seven ringgit (Rs 325) isn’t exactly spare change. I looked at Julie apprehensively. She said it was Chinese medicine, very reliable. There was a doctor in the back room who could tell what my ailments were by looking at my hands and face. He didn’t charge for consultation, but I’d have to pay for whatever he prescribed. The manager handed me a card for a Goh Boon Cheow (Ivan), Acupuncturist & Physician. Apparently he’s Vice President of Acupuncture Society of Malaysia. Would I want to meet him?

I declined and asked about the concoction again. What did it taste like? Sweet? The manager shook his head vigourously and handed me some Chinese plums. They were wrapped like toffees. The print said they had been packaged in China. So it was going to be bitter.

There I was, about to pay a good deal of money for a bitter concoction of unknown composition that would supposedly cure me of ambiguous ailments. Did I really want to do this? What the heck, it was a new experience. I could write about it!

It was only mildly bitter. Whether it was the medicine or the genial atmosphere of Kuala Lumpur, I cannot tell, but by the time I left I was feeling much better. The nose block’s nearly abated. The ulcers are still there, but they don’t burn anymore. I feel good.

Popagandhi has nifty pictures from the streets of Kuala Lumpur. Check them out, yo.

Whatever creaky infrastructure Reliance uses to bring text messaging to a non-GSM network isn’t well oiled. Messages I’ve sent Reliance users from Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore have all failed to deliver. Potential Reliance users with global aspirations, please note.

And then again, Zee complains messages she’s sending me on the Singapore number don’t deliver, but messages to Airtel roaming on the same provider (Starhub) get through.

New number in Singapore is +65-8203-0690. Card cost four times as much as in Malaysia and messaging costs twice. They also wanted identification and put me in a queue half hour. In KL I could buy it like any other commodity at a convenience store.

From grand experience of one day, Malaysian telecom is better than Singapore’s.

I fired up my news reader for the first time in three months and it promptly fetched me 582 headlines off 82 feeds. I hadn’t missed a single one all this while. Some serious pruning is in order.

We watched television last night. The dialogues were so dramatic, I couldn’t bear to keep looking. Real people never speak like that.

And then again, in KL Friday, I hung out with jhybeturtle and her friends, who speak to each other in English. Their accents were curious, so for a while I stopped listening to the conversation, listening to the sound of their voices instead.

You know what? It sounded exactly like a Hong Kong movie dubbed into English. Maybe not exactly the same for someone intimate with the accents, but my ear isn’t that tuned yet. Real people speak like that after all, it seems.

Jhybe and friends were making their (bi-?)weekly trip to the police station, having all been arrested for various acts of activism and subsequently released on bail. Including one person from the ASEAN summit protest I got pictures of. The station near Masjid Jamek looked remarkably like an Indian government office. One young officer gestured me aside and asked something in Malay. I didn’t understand. He tried again. “What is wrong with your friends?” I said I didn’t know. Jhybe turned around and asked what was up, at which he mumbled “nothing” and hurried away.

I have a video of their gender inequalities demonstration that I can host if they don’t mind it circulated. It’s a little under 40 MB; about 4 minutes. Jhybe?

Later in the evening, Dennis, who is trying to make a career out of activism, asked if I was an activist too. I said I would have been, but I don’t have a cause. There are things that bother me, like the state of mass media (including blogs pining mass reach) and their role in (mis)education, but I’m far too lost making sense of the landscape to be any sort of activist. The best I can do is hang out with them and understand their concerns.

You’ve got to take the day train from Kuala Lumpur to Singapura.^† The Malaysian countryside is gorgeous.

Singapore immigration was the first place they insisted on scanning bags. Sniffer dogs inspected the train. Among the list of items needing declaration are books and magazines. Certain categories of publications are not welcome here, you see.

† As far as the Malaysian railways are concerned, the place is called Singapura. What fun if they decide to rename the country to lose its colonial hangover.

Today I took to wandering the streets of Kuala Lumpur. This place could easily pass for some forgotten corner of Madras.

I wandered into a random restaurant near KLCC and asked if they had vegetarian food. The woman gestures at the items in front of her and says “all these items are vegetarian” in a clear Tamil accent. “Except that is fish over there. And that there is rasam.” While I’m standing there wondering what to do next, she thrusts a plate of rice at me and points at the rasam again. I help myself.

Happiest meal yet.

Sham’s wife has been making rasam daily, but it’s an entirely different experience getting to eat it at a restaurant. If this continues, it won’t be long before I fully recover from the poor diet in Bangkok.

The nice people at the Singapore embassy gave me a multiple entry visa. That’s another first for this trip. Now I want to make full use of it, but there’s nowhere to go around Singapore.

Sorry, folks, but I can’t afford another trip to Cambodia. I’m broke. I will do Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos together another time when I'm better stocked up in the bank and there are fewer tourists around.

This morning Iqbal and I were at KLCC when we saw a commotion.

Photographers falling over themselves; video cameras hoisted above heads. It wasn’t clear who was in the middle. The ASEAN Summit was in progress and this was the last day. Did it just end? Were the press attempting to get final statements from some important speaker?

I looked for where all the cameras were pointing at. Two or three girls, maybe in early twenties, surrounded by cops, surrounded by the mob. The crowd had gathered for them? It didn’t make sense. Then I noticed the cops were far too close to the girls for dignity. They weren’t protecting them from the mob, they were escorting them somewhere, and not being very friendly.

The mob passed and another presented itself. The one in the picture. There was less ambiguity here. The cops were clearly manhandling someone, dragging him away. He didn’t seem to resist. Iqbal said he looked familiar; maybe he was an opposition leader.

I wanted to get into the mob, get a better picture, see what was happening in there. Some streak of rationality demanded I not. I had just arrived in a country with unfamiliar civil liberties and no longer had my passport on me. No point risking a fling with authority pandering to fantasies of photo journalism.

When we returned home, I got online to look for news of what had just happened. A report said some people had been arrested for protesting at the ASEAN summit about something related to Burma. The site wanted me to pay up to read the rest. That was all I could find.

jhybeturtle now has a fuller report on what happened. Six people were arrested for a peaceful gathering to highlight unresolved and long standing issues such as human rights abuses in Burma and elsewhere in Southeast Asia, among other issues. They were arrested even before they began their protest, for just being on the scene. The man Iqbal identified is Tian Chua, Information Chief of the opposition party, Parti Keadilan Rakyat.