"My father is full of old sayings, he told me", the Hawaiian
said, "My son, wherever you go, that is where you are."

***

It was summer of my childhood. I was a wee lad of eleven years old,
growing up on a steady diet of romance and detective novels. Those
days, I used to spend summer holidays with relatives and friends. I
would like to think that it was for broadening my horizons, but it was
as likely for giving my parents a break. That summer took me to a
small village four miles away from Amaravati.

People who are familiar with Amaravati kathalu know the area well:
Amaravati, dharani kota, motadaka, narukulla paadu, vaikunTa
puram. The village I went to is so close to vaikunTa puram that you
could see the temple from there. Amaravati, a mere four miles
away, was the closest urban center.

Amaravati, I recall, was a dusty little town, with a good temple, and
a great museum. I was too young to appreciate the museum, yet it was
magical, with artifacts belonging to the great Nagarjuna
himself. There was a reconstructed stupam, and stories told in the
sculptures. Years later when I went there with other friends (Kishore
Papineni and Ramana Juvavdi), we asked a guide explain the sculptures,
and then only I could fully appreciate the museum.

The town it self is has one major road that leads to the temple. You
could stand on one end of the road and almost look into the temple
walls. This is the temple that is featured prominently in some
viswanath's movie called "saptapadi". [Years later, I would be
reminded of this road, quite incongruously, when I was walking down
from Place de la Concorde to Arc de' Triomphe on Champs-Elysees.]

We exhausted the possibilities in the town: the movie hall, the
museum, the temple, and the market. We were restless, me, my cousin,
and his friend. We could only go to the temple so many times and watch
the river. There were small islands in the river, that would could go
over to, but even that stopped being fun after a while.

We wanted to get out of town. We were not particular where we would
go. We just wanted to take a trip. Fortunately, we could manufacture an
errand in a near by village, mOtadaka, which is probably around ten
miles from Amaravati. We had relatives in town there and we had to
carry something to them. We were the volunteer couriers.

Our total fortune on that day stood around 1 rupee 20 paise. We had
promises of riches upon reaching motadaka of course. We had to travel
frugally, which meant to travel by bicycle, even if it meant I needed
to be carted along.

In that part of Andhra, the roads had tamarind trees on either side. I
am not sure why they has tamarind trees; I would have preferred mango
trees, or at least some other fruit trees. I suppose, in retrospect,
the very fact that these trees stood so long meant it was a good
decision to go with less utilitarian trees like tamarind trees.

Being from Sowpadu, the roads seemed absolutely great to me. we could
go for miles without having to get down from the bicycle! Also, we
could stop anywhere and be assured of shade on either side of the
road.

I remember only the impressions from my journey, not the actual
details. I recall the breeze, despite the hot and humid weather. I
also recall the temptations on either side of the road, in the form of
road side hotels welcoming us with various viands. I remember that we
blew away a substantial portion our money on frozen Popsicles, the
kind they sell you under the name of "ice".

We crossed narukulla paadu, a town referenced in Amaravati
kathalu. Apparently, here several beheadings took place during the
dharani kota kings' reign. There was even a saying that goes like
"aTununchi narukkuraa" associated with the story.

Crossing that town, we came to a junction, with descriptive name like
"padhanalugo mailu (14th mile)" junction. This was not a town, it grew
out at a traffic junction. It is a spot in the main road, where two
other roads come and meet. The trees, the numerous tea stalls, and the
make-shift movie hall provide enough place to hang around for the
tired lorry drivers. The place had a permanent temporary-ness to it.

Eventually we reached reached motadaka. The old lady of the
house, a grand old woman of 70 years old, with a mane like that of
Late Indira Gandhi, was delighted to see us. She sent us to wash
ourselves and told us to get clothes from the attic. We dug around and
found suitable clothes in the large wooden box.

On the way to motadaka, we saw that "raja makutam" was playing in 14th
mile junction. We wanted to see that movie, badly. Since our finances
did not allow it, we had to ask the lady of the house. After what
seemed like endless pleading, we got enough money to get us into the
movie hall.

Cycling back in the middle of the night, on a quiet road, with trees
on either side casting shadows in the moonlight, was a fitting end to
the trip.

***

It was the winter of my youth. I was nourishing my soul with steady
diet of Keirkegaard, Hegel, and Wittgenstein those days. My
fascination with the continent landed me in a youth hostel in
Heidelberg, all alone, on student budget, for the new year's day. I
had a room to myself, and a borrowed bicycle. There was a barrel full
of apples in the dorm, free for taking. And, I had "Of human bondage"
by Maughm keeping me company. If you recall, the hero in that book
spends sometime in Heidelberg studying and listening to "ich leibe
dich!".

I was stuck in Heidelberg for a couple of days by that time. I was
growing restless. The original plan called for getting a ride to
Munich (mit fahr zentrale?), but they backed off in the last minute. I
did not know anybody in Heidelberg, my friend having left for Munich
earlier.

My knowledge of German was meager. For some reason, I associated German
with Tamil and at times, I found myself talking in my pidgin Tamil to
German people. Eventually, I hooked up with an American, Marc, a
student of philosophy ("Studying Heidegger"), Michele ("without
ze french accent"), Magritte ("I am the only one that does not
speak German here"), blind Klaus and others.

Thanks to my new friends, I was no longer alone. First we prepared a
fabulous meal, planned and orchestrated by Blind Klaus. (For some
reason, people introduced him as Blind Klaus.) We all set the table,
lit the candles, washed the dishes and sat at the table. There were
fifteen people for dinner, and most were curious to see a strange
face at the table. I was asked several questions about "Indie".

After dinner, we all went to the Schloss to see the fireworks and ended
up at club 1925(?) till the early morning hours. What I thought would
be a miserable night, ended up being a most entertaining night. For
some reason, everybody kept on insisting on teaching me to dance.

After my friend returned, she felt remorseful for having left me there
all by myself. As a pay-back, she arranged for a small bicycle tour
along the necker valley. We packed our lunch and took our bicycle and
went up the Valley down to small villages of the neighborhood.

Quite possibly this is one of the most beautiful university town in
Germany. The picture-postcard-perfect spring was something I never saw
there because I went there in the winter. But thankfully, it was one
of the mildest winters in Germany. Despite the lack of vegetation and
flowers during that season, I could see why people flock to this town.

The river near Heidelberg divides the city into two. On one side it is
mostly student dorms and residences. The other side is touristy, with
the castle, and the town squares. No town there is complete without
Hauptbohnhof("pedda bazaaru"). Heidelberg too has one on the right
side.

We decided to go up the necker river. The road leads to small villages
in the valley, famous for its agricultural products. Germany is
justifiably famous for its villages. They seem to have been
materialized out of Grimm's fables, with town centers, crowed houses,
and waterways.

Cycling up from Heidelberg, we cross the printing presses of
Heidelberg (Home of Springer-Verlag) and the railway crossing. We
parked by bicycles near the train station and went up to the student
dormitory and ate the subsidized breakfast there.

From there, we went up to the philosopher's walk. The legend is not too
clear but it appears that the Heidelberg school was famous for its
philosophers. Now it is famous for its printing machines and tourist
attractions. The Schloss is the most famous attraction here.

We cycled up to a small village in the valley, and reached the town
center. We quickly found the park near the river and parked our bikes
there. One thing that impressed me most during my trip was the
cleanliness. The places we visited were obsessively clean.

Those days, I was experimenting in bread-making. While I never
perfected that art, it gave me finer appreciation for German breads.
Unlike French bread, which is hard outside, with a soft, white center,
German bread is a heavier. I particularly prefer the whole-kernel
bread (available even in US), which can be bought in bakeries.

We looked for a bakery and bought the breads we liked. One thing my
German host taught me was to carry my own water bottle. It is almost
unheard of to drink water from tap. "tap wasser???" was the expression
on a pretty fraulien's face in Bonn, when I started filling in the
glass with water, on the day I landed. Since then, I always carried
the water bottle in backpack.

After checking out one more village, we started back to Heidelberg.
That evening, we all went to town center for a high school reunion.
Being to a high school reunion of a an all girl school in a small
German town is story worthy of its own. So, this narrative shall end
here.

***

Ramarao Kanneganti
[rama@...]
Jan 18, 2000