Red-eyed but thrilled, the unpleasant events of the previous night forgotten, we landed in Hubli at sunrise. Before the trip, I vowed to survive with just my pidgin Kannada through these four days. So I unleashed a stream of disconnected Kannada phrases on a friendly-looking, unsuspecting auto driver. The idea was to figure out how, when and where we could get a bus to Badami from Hubli. This must have been very disorienting for him at 5.30 in the morning; however, he was gracious enough to take us all the way to the new bus stand at Hubli where a squat old time-keeper with glasses delicately balanced at the tip of his nose told us that we’d have to wait till 9.00 AM. A little more prodding, pidgin Kannada firmly in place with L’s Hindi to help, and we figured that we had to catch a bus to Bijapur and get a connecting bus to Badami from Kozhdigeri cross. L and I idly practiced the name a little, swirling and twirling our tongues around the ‘dzhi’ in Kozhdigeri as we waited for the 6.45 to Bijapur. The bus swirled into the station as a violet horizon gave way to mundane blue. 
Accompanied by one more old man in a Nehru cap, the driver and the conductor, we made our way to the old bus stand closer to the railway station where the crowds slowly poured in. Soon we were chugging our way to Kozhdigeri cross. The cool morning air gave way to a hot summer sun, mercifully, the breeze stayed cool and comforting. We made our way through a number of similar-looking little village bus stands. The NWKRTC is good fun if you believe that the journey matters more than the destination. Or if money matters to you. Bus tickets are relatively cheap; the land passes by your window at a dignifying pace that masks the poverty and want, allowing you to take a comforting and romanticized view of what many of us would classify as the ‘old’ way of life.
It was tremendous fun to be figuring out our way as we went along, more so since none of my trips had ever been so unplanned. We reached K cross in 2.5 hours and were immediately confronted by a small maxi-cab like vehicle – a tam-tam – that was on its way to Badami, almost fully loaded. Momentary hesitation, but in the spirit of doing something different we clambered in. We chose to sit at the back and the supremely thrilled ‘conductor’ cleared out the place for us. We stuck out like sore thumbs and enjoyed being the cynosure of all eyes for a short while. The local women of these parts seem to be pretty feisty – oh wait, there I go committing the folly that all travel-bloggers do – generalizing from just one isolated experience! At least the woman who shared the back compartment with us was very feisty. She demanded to know what two young women like us were doing all alone, and responded with an ‘aiyyya’ when we told her we were headed to Badami, alone. Bad people there, she told us in Marathi. Find someone good and stick to them, she said. We nodded and smiled our thanks. She grew a little shy as we clicked a picture of her but was positively thrilled with the results when I showed her the digicam preview.
We were in north-west Karnataka, pretty close to the border of Maharashtra. And as you move along the borders of the Indian states, it’s fascinating to see languages get mixed up, evolve and transition to something else with a life of its own. I had encountered a lilting dialect of Kannada-Tamil-Malayalam at Masinagudi, a little town situated at the border of Kerala, Tamilnadu and Karnataka. Now, in the sunflower farmlands near Badami, a neat cocktail of Marathi, Konkani, Kannada…and was that a hint of Tulu? It makes me wonder again whether its sheer ignorance of our differences that keeps this country together.
Accompanied by one more old man in a Nehru cap, the driver and the conductor, we made our way to the old bus stand closer to the railway station where the crowds slowly poured in. Soon we were chugging our way to Kozhdigeri cross. The cool morning air gave way to a hot summer sun, mercifully, the breeze stayed cool and comforting. We made our way through a number of similar-looking little village bus stands. The NWKRTC is good fun if you believe that the journey matters more than the destination. Or if money matters to you. Bus tickets are relatively cheap; the land passes by your window at a dignifying pace that masks the poverty and want, allowing you to take a comforting and romanticized view of what many of us would classify as the ‘old’ way of life.It was tremendous fun to be figuring out our way as we went along, more so since none of my trips had ever been so unplanned. We reached K cross in 2.5 hours and were immediately confronted by a small maxi-cab like vehicle – a tam-tam – that was on its way to Badami, almost fully loaded. Momentary hesitation, but in the spirit of doing something different we clambered in. We chose to sit at the back and the supremely thrilled ‘conductor’ cleared out the place for us. We stuck out like sore thumbs and enjoyed being the cynosure of all eyes for a short while. The local women of these parts seem to be pretty feisty – oh wait, there I go committing the folly that all travel-bloggers do – generalizing from just one isolated experience! At least the woman who shared the back compartment with us was very feisty. She demanded to know what two young women like us were doing all alone, and responded with an ‘aiyyya’ when we told her we were headed to Badami, alone. Bad people there, she told us in Marathi. Find someone good and stick to them, she said. We nodded and smiled our thanks. She grew a little shy as we clicked a picture of her but was positively thrilled with the results when I showed her the digicam preview.
We were in north-west Karnataka, pretty close to the border of Maharashtra. And as you move along the borders of the Indian states, it’s fascinating to see languages get mixed up, evolve and transition to something else with a life of its own. I had encountered a lilting dialect of Kannada-Tamil-Malayalam at Masinagudi, a little town situated at the border of Kerala, Tamilnadu and Karnataka. Now, in the sunflower farmlands near Badami, a neat cocktail of Marathi, Konkani, Kannada…and was that a hint of Tulu? It makes me wonder again whether its sheer ignorance of our differences that keeps this country together.
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