I was a tired man getting off the Hyderabad Superfast
Express at 4:00 am. There was a large digital clock at the middle of the platform
as the train halted. The time tallied with my wrist watch, so 4:00 on the dot. Nalgonda station
seems to have been spruced up recently; even the earlier Miryalguda
station looked similar - must be template stations that South Central Railway
(SCR) coughed up along this route.
I sat on a black steel chair; these are triplets with a
stiff back. I downed my duffel bag in one of them and after parking my butt and
stretched my legs. Except for a lone Railway Policeman the station was desolate and
thank god, well-lit. Again SCR does not cringe on electricity bills! I informed
the cop for courtesy,” I’ll rest here till the break of dawn.”
Waiting in an empty station for an hour got the mind to
smoothen its ruffled creases. Couple of trains halted – Nalgonda is a two-minute
stop station – and I made a count of the carriages; a childhood fancy not fully
rid. I watched my breath for a while for a meditation exercise, went down the
platform to a tap to brush the teeth and rinse the face. In between I stretched
a few limbs. When the clock showed 5:15, I walked out to an auto stand. He offered
a ride to the city bus terminus, Rs.50 for a two kilometer distance. Used to
Chennai usury of autos, I jumped in. It was still dark outside, the roads were
empty save a few stray dogs. At the Nalgonda bus terminus the sun was breaking
through and life slowly waking up. Sweepers were having their first cup of
coffee from a lone shop, I saw many a lady bus conductors. I sat on the black
steel chair triplet; these are common and maybe the same supplier to the
railways!
I felt a wave of sentiment building in the mind. It’s been
decades since I was in Telugu land. My mind soaked in the people around;
attire, language of the street, movie posters, hawkers, other passengers
awaiting their bus. I feel for this fine people, they enriched my growing years. I saw quite a few buses being loaded with cargo – gunny
bags in which couriers are sent to the hinterland. Even to a cursory observer
it becomes apparent the world of drivers, conductors, and cleaners is a muscular and vocal tribe. After a browse of the day’s newspaper, steaming
tea, hurried smoke and they take the wheel and bus engines begin to purr. Another
day on the dusty roads and cracked tarmac of the Nalgonda terminus.
A man at the enquiry counter informed me that for Nagarjuna
Sagar I need to board a bus heading to Macherla. I have a rudimentary knowledge
of Telugu alphabets, signboards in English and Telugu version side-by-side make
for a quick revision. There are so many things the mind takes in when there's a
respect for the land and its people.
Nagarjuna Sagar is 70 kms and a two hour ride from
Nalgonda. The weather was thick with monsoon in the air, cloudy skies and a lot
nippy winds immediately contrasting from humid Chennai seashore driven weather.
These are state highway roads and the ride had its share of rumbles. My mind
was a lot turbulent and angst ridden. My mind lingers on these twin worries:
money and loneliness. My travails are man-made; my obvious intellect is smothered
by a blind callous society. Being out of my cocoon in Besant nagar I take in
the cattle and cows of the rural countryside; greens, and watch others in their
daily run.
I ask the conductor,” Can you please tell me where to get
off? Any idea where Dhamma Nagarjuna Sagar centre is?” in halting Telugu but clear in pronunciation.
He is friendly and a ready smile,” I have seen the place but I am not sure
except it comes before Siddharth hotel stop. That's before Hill colony.” He confers
with a daily commuter. That man looked a government official decked in ties and
shoes. He turns back and chuckles,” What are you going
there for?” and starting a conversation. There is something about living in a
rural; smiling friendly faces greeted you.
The scenery which was barren lands with a few greens from a
speeding bus window now changes to boulders; we are now on an incline of a mountain.
The air outside is still cloudy for a 8:00 am time. The conductor wants to know
about Vipassana from me. He asks with diffidence,” Will they allow people like us
too?” I explained he was welcome; they would roll out the red carpet for him
considering they even put up with wastrels like me. Since the start of the train
journey my spoken Telugu was getting better with each interaction. My accent
sets me apart; a Tamil accent and I am not embarrassed at all. I had no
difficulty asking locals for directions or address any query to meet a
situation. Everyone appreciates the effort – they know I am a stranger and by
talking even haltingly in their language, their respect shoots up.
I reported at Dhamma Nagarjuna at 8:30. The breakfast was ready
and I loved the picturesque place. This centre is an absolute beauty for a nature lover – looked
like 30 acres and one end you see the Krishna River flowing into the Nagarjuna
Sagar reservoir. The land is a moor and lot of flora and fauna. There are a lot
of humming birds, and I could identify many plants and trees there. Such
vastness and you realize how boxed in our city life has reduced us to. Here you can stretch your arms, the air at
once feels pure, and chirping birds aloft trees, greens of the trees and
such tranquility works on the mind.
After the upma for a tiffin I felt a
lot more cured and appreciative of the Dhamma centre. The rooms were
extraordinary – dome shaped ceiling to a depth of 6 feet as a fan hangs from a
long steel pole. The toilets were neat and looked a star hotel
comfort. Every meditator was given this separate cottage. One look at it and you'll realize the planning and efforts into it. My cottage was number
8. Everything about the centre had this aesthetic feel, their commitment and passion shines through in any building and structure; on the pathway, Dhamma Halls, segregated men's and womens' quarters, the dining, registering office etc. The Dhamma hall looks a picture from Thailand or Indonesia. Let me elaborate about my quarter: there are 12 such dome-shaped cottages
facing each other across a cement pathway. Imagine this transplanted in the
middle of a jungle of trees, plants, shrubs, those forever noisy birds and in
the middle of no-where. Space does something to me; even my insecure mind feels a respite from its pettiness. 30 acres for 30 people's habitation wrings its
own wonders. Others came to register and I got talking in my new found Telugu
and doing a world of good to my confidence.
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