A business trip provided me an opportunity to go for a one-day sightseeing tour of Madras. We booked the tickets well in advance, lest we were stranded ticketless. The bus was scheduled to leave at 6.00am from Madras railway station. I along with a colleague of mine, reached there at 5.45am. Despite the early morning, the place was abuzz with commuters for both bus and train. 

A man in a shop was drinking tea in a small plastic cup. The tea over, the cup was hurriedly thrown on the footpath. A man walking along merrily- came and kicked it. The cup found a new home, albeit a temporary one, waiting for a new hero to kick it again. Nearby, a man was gargling. His well-formed spit barely missed my friend. The man was not amused, but my friend started treading carefully. From a pan shop close by, I asked the shopkeeper for a mineral water bottle. He immediately pulled a polybag along with the bottle. I requested him not to give any polythene bags. With a gazed look, he conveyed his surprise. His looks said more than his words. I left with the plastic mineral water bottle sans the polybag. 

After buying mineral water, we returned to the bus stop, where some more people had joined us. Among them were a group of three, one man, and two women. By the way of things, I guessed the man was accompanied by his wife and sister-in-law. Much as we found the girls to our liking, the bearded machismo looks of the man was quite daunting, forcing us to look for alternate pastures. To our surprise, we found two girls, all alone and almost of our age. One of the girls, presumably well-endowed, wore a red t-shirt and black jeans. The other girl was slightly leaner, and wore a blue denim jeans with a matching denim top. 

The girls found, my friend wanted that each of us selected one of them. Luckily, there was no tie, as I chose the first one, the one with the red t-shirt, and he chose the second. From then on, my friend sought every opportunity to get closer to the blue-one, and I to the red-one. Apart from these madrasi beauties, there was another girl, short and plump, who sat along with an old man. The man was too old to be her husband, and probably too young to be her father. We concluded that he was more likely to be her father. 

After waiting for nearly an hour, the bus finally left the place at around 6.45am. Loaded with a camera, tons of enthusiasm, and a bus full of divine beauties, we marched ahead in the anticipation of an exciting day ahead. 

The first stop was a temple in kanchipuram. Kanchipuram was a city known for its temples and sarees. And here we were in one of its most beautiful temples. However, due to more reasons than one, temples had ceased to occupy any importance in our lives. Thus, we strolled in the temple’s campus. 

The place provided us with lots of surprises. The first surprise was a pack of women with their head neatly shaven. Now, according to me, hair was not only essential for a women, it also defined her persona. Thus, imagining a woman without hairs was possibly unimaginable. But here we were in a temple full of bald women who were walking merrily alongside their equally bald husband and children. The sight was avoidable to say the least. 

Ambling at our pace, we proceeded towards the main temple. The entry in the temple was free. But within a temple, the idol was cordoned off, and only a small gate allowed keen worshippers an entry. The gate bore the sign, “Special Darshan, entry fee Rs 5/=”. We wondered what was so special about that darshan. The idea was similar to the popular joke, where entry to a certain event was free, but the exit carried an exorbitant charge. Commercialization at its best. We did not bother to have the special darshan, and instead chose to watch the remaining lot take a special peek after paying rupees five. 

One of the worshippers then remembered what the tour guide had said when the bus started: “all entry fees are included in the tour charge.” The man, realizing foul play, started haggling with the guide. The guide, unperturbed, said the “special darshan” was not the part of entry fees. One could choose not to have it, and still relish the architectural beauty. Others did not found it meet to quarrel for the petty amount. The man finding himself isolated did not argue further. 

After spending nearly an hour there, the touring party started leaving the temple. Some thirty meters ahead of me I found a man sitting besides a stone. From that distance, the stone gave a strange appearance, as though it was a turtle. Coming a bit closer, I found myself in quandary, because the rock did not seem to be a rock. It was a convoluted piece of matter, god knew what. When I was barely few meters away, I realized that it was the man’s leg. The leg was almost a foot thick, and a meter long. I looked at the man’s leg, and then into his eyes. The man looked into mine, but I pulled mine away. But in that split second for which our eyes met, he said so much. “Now that you have seen this, give me something.” I wondered why he did not amputate his leg. But his eyes again gave the answer. It was the sympathy evoked by the leg that provided him his bread and butter. Some people earned through their knowledge, some through their skills. And this man through his special appendage. At an abstract level, there was no difference. I ran away from that place. 

Meters ahead were the two sisters who had somehow managed to break away from their brother. I took out my camera and shot a photograph. As soon as it was done, they turned back, probably sensing danger. I continued walking as though nothing had happened. 

We returned to the bus, and moved over to the next temple. The next temple too carried the same architectural splendor, had similar disfigured and convoluted remnants of human forms, and similar ambience. 

At the gate of the temple, we saw a man along with his elephant. The elephant was trained to perfection. For every new visitor, he raised his trunk innocently, seeking alms. The people were generally obliging him by giving him one rupee coins. He accepted the coins and held them tightly, releasing only when his master prodded him by a thin stick. He also obliged the visitors by blessing them with his trunk. It appeared as though he was the living incarnation of Lord Ganesh. His master behaved in an equally majestic fashion, sitting smugly, and chewing sugarcane. The elephant too, took a bite or two, relishing his job as well as his breakfast. At times when the master was too busy to collect coins from him, he chewed the sugarcane while holding on to the coins with amazing dexterity. 

Fascinated by the proceedings, my friend asked for some change and I handed his a rupee. He gave it to the elephant, and I took his photograph. By then, our heartthrobs had also arrived on the scene. On the pretext of taking shots of my friend, I took their photographs too. My friends half-cut face was all I could manage. But then, between the aging face of my friend, and the beauties personified, the choice was obvious.

Spending some time there, and enjoying the happenings, we returned to our bus. There, I was accosted by a salesman selling handmade leather slippers. The slippers looked good and I started bargaining with him. From 150, he came down to 80, and I thought I had done a good job. After I had given him the money, a person standing nearby asked if he could adjust the slippers a bit. I thought they both were together and did as requested. To my surprise, the man punched 10 pins in the slippers and demanded 2.5/= per pin. Imagine, buying new slippers and then paying almost 30% of the amount to get it mended. In a fit of anger, I said I would not accept the slippers. But he was unfazed. Realizing I had no options, I agreed to pay him twenty rupees. Nonetheless, I learnt how one could be looted in broad daylight, and that one had to be extra careful in dealing with strangers. To further my miseries, I later learnt that the same slippers were being sold at 40 rupees at another place, that too without any bargaining. 

After seeing the two temples, the bus took us to a showroom that sold silk sarees. Since my marriage was on the cards, I took that visit as an opportunity to buy a silk saree for my mom. I thought of buying a saree for my would-be, presenting it to my mom thereby flattering her, and then later, presenting the same to my would-be. After lot of searching, I finally managed one. In fact, two. A silk saree worth two thousands for my would-be, and another cheaper one, costing around four hundred rupees for my mom. 

After the purchase, I saw the plump girl sitting all by herself. With nothing more interesting to do, I quietly sat besides her. Talking to her, I came to know that she was no less than an entrepreneur. No jazzy engineering degree, no US trips. Sheer entrepreneurial skill. She was the proprietor of a software firm that provided specialized IT-enabled services. And she was here for some business proposition. Suddenly, I found myself pale in comparison to her. 

After spending nearly two hours at the shop, we returned to the bus. The guide had shown no urgency to get us back. Probably, for every sale, he had a percentage involved. 
erity. 

It was nearly 12.30pm, and people were hungry. From the shop, the bus went for a long drive and ended at Mahabalipuram. The city was known for its rock-cut architectural splendours, shore temples, and rathas. But presently, the food was more important. 

The lunch was served at a government hotel. It was as good or bad as it could be. There was rice, watery dal, few chappatis, a couple of vegetable preparations, curd and sweet dish. My friend and I were having lunch together. Adjacent to us sat the software entrepreneur. She had that indifferent expression on her face. An expression which conveyed nothing, virtually nothing. My friend asked whether I wanted solitude. I declined. It was not warranted. 

The lunch over, we proceeded towards the shore temple. It was not as beautiful as the history projected it to be. In fact, it was not a temple, just an architectural artifact without any religious history or value. There again, I saw the same indifferent expression on the plumb software girl. I caught up with her and initiated a talk. Much to my liking she turned out to be a girl of my caste. I felt overjoyed, but she felt nothing. After a couple of minutes, I returned to the bus, leaving her to enjoy her isolated lifestyle. 

Near the bus, a man was trying to sell his ware to a Japanese traveler. The Japanese was in a helpless position, as he could not speak English - leave alone speaking Hindi. From his facial expressions and the look of things, one could surmise that he was finding it extremely difficult to get rid of the man. I thought of intervening, so as to settle a price that was acceptable to both the parties concerned. Despite the best of my intentions, my efforts backfired when the Japanese, seeing an opportunity, ran away. The salesman thought I was responsible for the whole episode. He was seething in anger and his eyes spat venom. His mouth joined as he started verbal accusations. Couple of people standing nearby joined the show “Accha saath diya upne desh waaaale ka“ (This is how you help a fellow Indian by shooing away potential customers). I kept mum. Meanwhile, the guy had picked up a stone and wanted to break my head. Any comment from me and he would have hurled the stone. I avoided instigating him and he kept abusing me in madrasi. Neither of us was at fault. But his wasted effort, coupled with the fact that he had probably sick parents, or hungry children at home, that made him behave in that bizarre fashion. The bus started and he kept accusing me, waiting for me to instigate him. That did not happen, and I left that place, safe and sound. 

From there we went to a boating resort. The software girl got down in the middle of the journey, and I was left with our original beauties to enjoy the journey. I thought she should have had the courtesy of bidding me good bye and informing me while getting down. Then I remembered her expressionless face at the hotel. My friend raised his eyebrows, and the bus moved ahead.

At the resort, around 16 people chose to ride the boat. The remaining people either chatted in the bus or strolled around. In the boat, I chose a strategic location so that I could easily photograph my model. She sat diagonally opposite to me. As the boat started, I took out my camera and started shooting the natural locales. Slowly, my camera drifted towards her. Shooting a stranger, that too a girl, was very risky. I was trying to be very careful. By chance if she had raised a tantrum, I would have had to surrender the reel as well as the camera. Leave alone the possibility of a public beating. But when I was convinced that no one cared, least of all her, I shot her at my heart’s delight in all the sensual poses she was offering me. I also shot a couple of photo for my friend who was more interested in the slim damsel sitting next to her. 

From the resort, we proceeded towards the final stop, VGP Golden beach. It was a touring spot cum beach. Expecting some damsels, preferably scantily clad, we rushed towards the beach, ignoring everything that came in the way. But there, there were no girls in bikini wading in the water. Most of the girls were middle-aged women, along with their children. The whole place was a big disappointment. Left with nothing to do, we again took shots of our beauties, more daringly this time. 
 

From there, we returned back. But all in all, it was a very exciting trip.

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