I had been nagging S for weeks (maybe months) to go somewhere out of Delhi for a weekend. He finally responded to complaint #176 and with unexpected decisiveness declared “Let’s go to Khajuraho!”
Before he could start vacillating on the matter, we quickly booked train tickets and a hotel.
And so, on a cloudy Saturday morning in July, we found ourselves being bullied into a three-wheeler at the Khajuraho railway station by a proactive autowallah. Ranjeet quickly took ownership of our 2-day stay and commanded us to summon him for wherever we wanted to go. He thrust at us his phone number, ignoring our feeble protests that we wanted to walk around since our hotel was just about 1 km away from the main attraction that the place had to offer.
The Radisson Jass was a charming hotel and we took a couple of hours to rest and freshen up after the overnight train journey. Thus recharged, we stepped out of the hotel armed with a DSLR, a monopod and every intention of walking to the Western Complex District.
But it was not to be. As soon as we stepped forth from the hotel gate, we were accosted by our self-appointed chauffeur who warded off the other vultures hovering around the hotel with his own unique rendition of “I got dibs!”. Ranjeet ferried us to the western temple complex and left us to our own devices, with the promise of returning after a few hours to pick us up.
By this time, the midday sun was beating down on us and we decided to take shelter at the charming Raja Cafe – nestled among tall and leafy green trees – located right across from the temple complex. Refreshments were ordered and plans discussed. We decided to take a guided tour of the temples.
We procured a tour guide by the simple means of looking decidedly unsure of ourselves as we hovered around the entrance of the complex. Soon we were being shown around while marvelling at the architectural and sculptural expertise shown by craftsmen of the 10th century. Our guide quite matter-of-factly and unblushingly pointed out the erotic sculptures illustrating various positions from the Kama Sutra that covered the roofs and walls of the temples. It struck me that 10th century Indians seemed to be a much more free-thinking lot than we are today.
S was in his element – clicking pictures left, right and centre and occasionally dropping some fancy architectural jargon that I didn’t bother to try and follow. I had discovered the delights of the monopod by now and was busy taking selfies that did not look like selfies. We managed to get some satisfactory shots before the light faded.
The sound and lights show in the evening was a bit of a disappointment, though we did enjoy Amitabh Bachchan’s narration. The rest of the voice cast were being a bit too British to be credible as the kings of the Chandela dynasty. We headed back to our hotel and retired for the night, but not before discovering the joy of Malibu rum and pineapple juice.
The next morning, we awoke to weather that was, as my husband would say, sublime. It was a perfect day for a bike ride and so we decided to hire a scooter and visit Raneh Falls – which we had been told was around 25 km away from Khajuraho. I envisioned a small-ish stream and with some charming little waterfalls. “Can we go under the waterfall?” we innocently asked the hotel staff. “No, no!” they responded in tones of alarm tinged with amusement.
Khajuraho’s community of residents was small and tightly-knit. Everyone seemed to know everyone else. This was brought home to us by the fact that even though we had lost the faithful Ranjeet many times during the previous day (the cellular network having consistently failed us), we simply had to ask a passer-by whether they’d seen a guy in a horribly bright pink shirt commandeering an auto and several people said “Ahh, you mean Ranjeet!” and offered up his last-known location. Through word of mouth, we even got the message across that we were waiting for him. During the course of events, we met up with a young chap called Ahmed who had offered to rent us a scooter. We told him we’d let him know the next day and exchanged numbers.
As we set out of the hotel on the morning to Day 2, attempting to fulfill our wish to walk to the temple complex, we were conjecturing on how to trace young Ahmed. Of course the number he had given us was not reachable. Suddenly, an auto-rickshaw rode up and for once, it wasn’t Ranjeet. The elderly driver asked us if we were looking for Ahmed. Slightly taken aback, we confirmed his suspicions. He explained that he was Ahmed’s uncle who had been witness to our exchange the previous day. He quickly explained his elusive nephew’s whereabouts and then of course insisted on taking us there to ensure that we fulfilled our agreement of patronising the business of his own flesh-and-blood. “Dibs” was indeed the popular sales & marketing medium in Khajuraho. We assured him that we had every intention of approaching only his nephew for our vehicular needs but asserted our desire to walk. He reluctantly agreed and proceeded to follow us in his auto-rickshaw the whole way.
Anyway, having located Ahmed and rented a nice Honda Activa, we set off with low expectations having never heard of Raneh Falls till that very day. The ride itself was great fun, although S seemed a bit tense having not ridden a two-wheeler since his youth, aeons ago. A delightfully cool breeze accompanied us all the way as we travelled the narrow roads of the countryside with trees and green fields on both sides and some hills in the distance. As we rode up to our destination, we were greeted by the roar of water and the complete absence of human activity.
It was a spectacular canyon – grand even. Formed by the Ken river, the canyon walls were of sparkling granite in shades of red and pink and even grey and black in some areas. At intervals, the walls gave way to a series of waterfalls of varying size and volume. Struck by the sheer force of the water forging its way through gaps in the rock, we laughed at our naive question on splashing about under the falls – which may have been possible but would have been a one-way trip.
For me, this was a real hidden gem of MP, primarily because it was devoid of the usual throng of people and litter that marks most tourist spots in India. We had the place to ourselves for quite a while, leaving us free to explore the different viewing platforms built along one side of the canyon.
Here, we stumbled upon the use of the monopod for shooting self AVs. To S’s delight, I agreed to co-host a mini travel video of our visit to the falls and we spent a pleasurable hour crafting the narrative of our Raneh Falls story and exploring the different camera angles and shooting modes that are possible with just a monopod and an iPhone.
On the way back to Khajuraho, we reflected that Madhya Pradesh offered many ideal weekend getaway destinations from Delhi with some undiscovered delights tucked away. We were there for less than 2 days but we managed to optimize our time without packing in too much activity thus also allowing us to lounge around in and by the Radisson pool from time to time and enjoy a drink or two.
By Sunday evening, it was time to go home and so we reluctantly called it a day and headed for the Khajuraho station chauffeured of course by the ever-proactive Ranjeet. It was to be a comfortable overnight journey back to Delhi.
As the train pulled out of the station, we settled into our berth. S ruffled my hair affectionately as I leant against his shoulder. We watched the Khajuraho sign get smaller and smaller till it faded out of sight completely. It was time to head back to our regular lives.
“So,” said my husband, “Where are we going next?”
“To the hills of course,” I replied.
Red and the City 