A Load of B-S

Rewind: Telangana to Andhra Pradesh - Monoliths, Offbeat Encounters and a Sublime Temple

30th January - 6th February 2024

Travelling from arid Hyderabad to coastal Visakhapatnam is hardly a well-trodden tourist route, but there is plenty to see.

I awoke with a start, limbs jolting with panic as I feared missing the train. Not quite, but it was going to be tight. A hurried goodbye to Lewi, who would return that day to London, and the auto dropped me off at a heaving Secunderabad Junction, queues snaking out of the terminus as the entirety of Hyderabad appeared to be in spontaneous mass escape early on a random Tuesday morning. Twice I was dismissed from the top of the queue, for whatever reason, the Indian Railways official not best placed to deal with a simple ticket request. In the end, I had to resort to forcing a helpless victim to cough up and pay via his phone at a cashless machine, stuffing more than the requisite notes into his hand in return and boarding a packed train, unaware of where to plonk myself but finding a free space amid stares.

First stop-off was Bhongir Station, a mere half-hour ride out of the city, where I planned to climb a unique-looking hillfort, one of several in the state of Telangana, one recommended by the Lonely Planet, the gospel in these situations when I go solo, behest to nobody but the book. The fort itself could be viewed from the track, set atop a vast Uluru-esque ovaltine rock to the town’s south-east. Arriving a few minutes before the office at its foot was open, I hung around until the manager, who also ran the shop across the road arrived, trying to warn me off the trek up, saying there was nobody up there. Perhaps something had happened to some hapless foreigners before. Having been ordered to wait, at least until somebody else came to climb it, I resorted to staring him down as he busied himself behind the shop counter, until fifteen minutes later, the eye-contact had all become too much and he decided I could.

The morning haze (or was it the smog of Hyderabad?), wafting over the Deccan plateau, caused a mirage-like effect as the view below opened up around me. As I trudged up the steps, past the first couple of gates, it became clear that the geology of the area was unlike anything I’d seen before, flat in its entirety except for these epic egg-shaped ructions of stone, all the more eye-catching for the arid, unremarkable flats from which they rose. It was well worth the climb, more for the landscape and the thrill of the steep, treacherous curves falling to verticals, the edge of which the stairs carefully marked their path. The 11th-century fort itself was of no great shakes, impregnable as it once might have been when the sultanate forces marched against the Kakatiyas or the Mughals against Qutb Shahis, however often it had changed hands since.

The dusty, inhospitable scenes were soon softened by brushstrokes of green. The hardy palm groves joined by jungly copses and well-watered field which gained dominance through the window as my connecting train trailed eastwards towards Warangal, the cultural heartland of Telangana, a far older city than its capital Hyderabad. I had earmarked this area, despite the relatively short three-day interval between Tests and had even been secretly disappointed when England’s eventual victory had gone into the fourth day. As is my wont, I had overplanned, providing myself with potential days of sights and locations where there were to be none. The monuments of Karimnagar and the bends of the Godavari River would have to wait until another trip down south.

Warangal, a city of a mere 700,000 in populace compared to Hyderabad’s 7,000,000, did seem tangibly more relaxed, my cheap £14 a night hotel a refuge from the mosquitoes and barking dogs of the previous accommodation. A late afternoon spot of sightseeing included Warangal’s own fort, a work in progress as the state scrounged around for cash to put the archaeological remains into some sort of comprehensible state. The imposing gateposts and intricate granite carvings of what must have been an enormously impressive temple complex at its height suddenly transferred into a slightly weird visit to what seemed to be a small 90s amusement park in disrepair, upon which another section of fort reputedly sat. Amid bungee trampolines, zorbing and pedalos, another lump of stone emerged out of the pleasure pond, from which a further sixteen monolithic features could be spotted on the horizon. Such a foreign landscape, nostalgia for the familiar welling up and the first night of solitude made it a strange one, not unpleasant, but just the gasping sensation of travelling solo. It is a feeling I can’t decide whether I enjoy, one I don’t dislike either, having done it enough over the last ten years. There is no doubt it keeps you alive to your surrounds, on your toes. The silence of my own thoughts that I had craved for the last however many months, provides the opportunity to know yourself better, even if it seems painful at times.

The next morning, however, I had found a travel mate. Having been misinformed excitedly that an Englishman had left the previous morning, I was rather surprised to find the very one stood before me in the reception to return his keys. The vast majority of English fans were taking the short hour’s flight between Hyderabad and Vizag, but the well-travelled Craig (of Doncaster) was clearly another of the few overland hardcores. We quickly realised we both had hesitant plans to visit Ramappa Temple, one of the most revered Hindu sites in Telangana, a recently-appointed UNESCO World Heritage-awarded temple that lay an hour-and-a-half northeast of the city and soon had booked an Uber driver for the return journey. It was a pleasant journey, the pair of us discussing trip plans again weaving past several vast, but now wooded, mountains that seemed to have no business invading the flat terrain they surrounded. Tucked behind one, Ramappa can only be described as Kipling-esque, the stalking tiger, Shere Khan, bound to leap out from under its exquisite pale ‘spire’ that could be glimpsed as we approached. It was the pinnacle of Kakatiya architecture, a medieval dynasty who had ruled the central-eastern and established Telugu as the region’s primary language. The site, which Marco Polo reputedly called "the brightest star in the galaxy of temples" on his visit, was built in the early 13th century and named after its sculptor-architect. There were finely-detailed depictions of woman writhing with snakes in endless ranks carved into jet-black basalt, martial elephants who stood on patrol on the exterior and languid figures of deities set among hundreds of pillars to support the roof piece. It was craftsmanship of the highest order, well worth the journey, and, amid friendly, photo-centric exchanges with several groups of schoolchildren and their teachers, the highlight of the mid-series excursion.

After a thali supper consumed properly with hands, one where the waiter would come periodically to refill each dish, it was time to part ways, each of us catching a different overnight train to Vizag, the next Test beginning the day after tomorrow. Mine was a long wait on the platform, nervously awaiting my sleeper, as the hours lagged and the train in question became ever more delayed. My tense expression seemed to attract the notice of several passengers, Shiva, Kiran, Aravind and "yeah-yeah" guy (who did not allow his lack of English to get in the way of his involvement in the conversation, mimicking me as I responded in the affirmative to the others to such an extent that I began to ham it up). The group had crowded around in an effort to reassure me as I stared impatiently at the departures board and its lack of platform, notifying me when the announcement for my train was heard. An hour after its scheduled arrival, I was thankful for their conversation and the packet of biscuits Aravind generously stuffed into my hand as he pointed me onto the right carriage. At nearly one o’clock, I was in need of sleep. Once head met pillow, the rest took care of itself, just over eight hours away from Vizag, the train rocking gently eastwards.

A year on from travelling in India, I find myself (nearly!) ‘qualified’ as a journalist with the next step(s) still unclear. The intention behind starting on Substack is to get me publishing pieces regularly and explore my interests through writing.

So please come along for the ride and give me a subscribe as I document my job-seeking with a seasoning of sport and features.