Pune lies on a plateau a little way east of Bombay and on the road between the two you climb into some spectacular mist-covered mountains. These are full of old forts, hill stations, lakes, caves and temples and so to take advantage of this, and after being unable to make it away for the whole weekend, we made up our minds to go and see some sights nearer home. Off we went then, taking a local train to Lonavala and then an auto, we aimed for the caves near Karla village.
As we pulled onto the road leading to the village it began to rain, then pour and the traffic stretched up the road as far as we could see. Our driver pointed to the cliff face above and explained that we could walk from here. Having already badly negotiated a pretty high price and without the meter running the driver didn’t mind and we were happy too – Pune is still dry a month after the what is meant to be the start of the monsoon and we could do with getting soaked.
Getting out we could see that traffic was backed up behind a truck a couple of hundred meters ahead. The source, it turns out, of a bass thump and the beat of drums that’s steadily been getting louder as we drive into the village. As we approach, walking through the traffic and stalls lining a road which is now a stream, we can see the truck is full of people, followed by twenty or thirty young-ish, drunk and dancing guys and when we reach them a cry goes up and in we’re dragged for an intense few minutes of throwing shapes and bad imitation Bollywood dancing. And so it continued, up and up in the rain past stalls grilling corn and selling temple offerings, pulled in again at each new sound system to dance and with frequent stopping and starting to be questioned and shake hands.
Soaked through and muddy we reached the caves after an hour or two. Cut into a sheer cliff down which streams poured and overlooking the plain below it was pretty spectacular with echoing drums and more people dancing, this time under the small waterfalls, in the streams running down the rock and in the windows of some of the higher caves all alongside families on day trips. After the second or third group of guys had approached us to shake hands, ask questions and pose for pictures we set out to explore heading to what looked like the main entrance. Shoes off we joined what seemed like the queue.
As queues go this was a good one. We entered a kind of queuing cage welded from metal bars to shoulder height forcing the queue to single file and, once the first 15 minutes or so were done, this became completely enclosed by an outer cage. Not long after we started we were joined by a cricket team chanting Marathi nationalist slogans, drunk as hell and carrying a friend who had passed out. Not friendly drunks this time though. The guy between us and the group explained that the team and some (though a minority) of the rest of the queue who were joining the chants didn’t really like outsiders. The nationalists had arrived apparently. Though they were only a little annoying at first at first it was getting nastier by the time the queue was done and it was clear they were trying to provoke us – pushing forward, shouting and telling us we should speak Marathi and only Marathi. Despite this though, something about the situation made sure it was never too far from being a little comical, not least when they briefly stole Martino’s sunglasses, when someone (though we were never sure who...) kept pulling Rishi’s hair and when the drums started just beyond the cage and it looked like they were trying to start a dance off. It seems that some combination of genuine curiosity and the language barrier meant most attempts to get a rise out of us never lasted long as everyone just ended up rather confused... At one point we asked our new friend what the occasion was for the crowds, the dancing, drinking and the queue and he replied “it’s like this every day”. It seems we’re pretty hardcore in Maharashtra...
Finally, and after well over an hour, we reached the last tunnel and the object of all this fervour and drunken passion was before us - an 8 foot by 8 foot room with a small shrine and two overweight temple guards. The caves, it turned out, were through a small gateway we’d passed just before entering the cage. Perhaps it’s not always fair to rely on Rishi when he’s around just because he speaks Hindi... Leaving our belligerent friends to be slapped into submission by the red robed guards we emerged into the light, picked up our (now soaked) shoes and walked round to the spectacular, empty, main cave.
After seeing the sights, climbing into the cliff to look out over the plain below, and taking childish pictures of each other we set off for Lonavala, dinner as the sun set and then home to Pune but just as we left we noticed the team again, shouting; and squaring up to another similar group as the rain poured down.
Anyway! Time for a beer and a little sit out on the balcony - they’re having some kind of rave in the slum below... It’s been a moderately hectic week, but hopefully some regularity (if not too much frequency) with the blog now, promise.
