In Mysore for Dussera

Sometimes locational proximity to a place of importance acts as a deterrent to undertake a visit. “It is close by, we can go any time,” tells our mind, but we never make it.

Taj Mahal is just three-hour drive from Delhi.  But it took me my silver jubilee year of marriage to take Aunty there. That too not to celebrate it per se, but a Mumbai party visiting us wanted to go there and Aunty joined.

Also, we have been in Bangalore for fifteen years and we never made it to Mysore, specifically to witness the Dussera festivity. Of course we had gone there, but more often it coincided not with Dusserra but with 25-30% discount on Mysore Silk sarees at their factory outlet.

One fine morning fortified with coffee I said, “Come, we will go to Mysore for Dussera this year.” “But SFV is so vibrant with ladies groups visiting each other’s house. The hostess-list, as also the dress code for all the ten evenings, is already out. Also, I have all my Kanjeevaram, Mysore, Banaras silk sarees already dry-cleaned. Let’s postpone the visit to it another year,” Aunty said.  “But this situation will repeat itself every year, dear. So let’s make it,” I said. She agreed. We contacted N&S, our junior elder couple friends in Hebbal, our abode before SFV.

“Oh, for Mysore, any day, any time,” they said, their infectious smile resurfacing. “I will respect your wishes  - no same old restaurants en route. Also the emphasis will be to explore temples not visited hitherto,” he reassured.

I rang up the driver agency with clear instructions not to repeat the likes of Schumacher for Kerala, at 140/160 km per hour, but one whom we would allow a max of 100 km - while overtaking, that is.

N, with his Mysore upbringing, narrated the significance of each place. “That shop over there,” he pointed out, is the birth-place of Mysore Pak”. The great- or great-great grandfather of Srikanthadutta Wadiyar, faced with an unexpected guest at night for dinner, sent word to this shop owner to prepare some sweets urgently when he was all set to close shop. He didn’t have much raw material at hand. So he prepared something with the available items. It turned out to be an instant hit. And the Maharaja asked him, ”What is this sweet? The shopkeeper did not know what to answer. He had made with Pak (syrup) and so named it impromptu Mysore Pak. The story could be true, I felt, given the taste of the small quantity we bought.  

After a long wait hoping the palace gate would open we walked back disappointed. Just when we had reached the tail end of the crowd, the gate opened. We didn’t give up, joined the stampede, and just managed to get in, luckily in one piece. We took an extensive round of the permitted areas.

The Pageant was slated for the next evening. All that we could see on arrival was a sea of human heads in front, some with lustrous hair, some receding hairline, and others’ shining in the sun. A wise few held their tiny tots on their shoulder to let them at least have a better view. As for us, we could see the top layer anything of the pageant that was six feet above the ground. Luckily, we could get a full view of the star attraction, the idol of Goddess Chamundi being taken around kept inside a small puja temple, made of 750 kg of gold. mounted on a elephant.

As though to compensate for the lacklustre view of the pageant, we decided to take a horse-ride of the palace. We spotted a reasonably clean jutka with a well-bred white horse. The keeper was inviting customers. We enquired. “Rs 3000.” He quoted. “Not for GoAir or Indigo, just a Jutka ride,” we said. He never bothered, and went about soliciting willing customers.

Despite good planning, we could not cover two places. I felt sorry I couldn’t make it to RK Narayan’s museum. I could have checked what pen or typewriter he used. As for Aunty, she missed the Karnataka Silk Industries Corporation – the Mysore Silk shop.