Hampi was more than an experience. it was something that you feel when you know you haven't had enough - and yearn for more. on the journey back to Bangalore, i felt almost lonely. as if a part of me stayed behind.

the craggy landscape, with all its boulders and hills, with the Tungabhadra river flowing in gay pollution, was an unlikely paradox. but why? this is India - it should exactly be so. anything else would have been a shock.

the villagers of Hampi are enterprising. every small house seemed to be converted into a guesthouse. and they serve Italian (macharoni, pasta, peezza), Israeli (humus, gyros, Israeli salad), Chinese, Tibetan, Continental (bread toast, jam, porrije, butter, pies, cornflakes), Tex-mex (that was the winner!) and of course sambhar, rice, north Indian. absolutely no idlis or dosas. and there was this German bakery selling strudels and marble cake.

almost everyone spoke a smattering of English. Some, especially the village children, even spoke Hebrew, Italian, French, German and Spanish.

and everyone wanted to know where I came from (which country? what do you mean, which country? can't you see she is Indian? Indian? of course she is not Indian! look at her - sunglasses, T-shirt, she is even reading a guide book. except that she is tanned. that's why she sits in the shade and writes. of course she is NOT Indian!).

that got me thinking seriously. which country?

so I in turn shocked them all by speaking in fluent Kannada. and watched in glee as the surprise turned into joy on seeing a fellow Indian visiting like a foreign tourist; yearning to understand the essence, the vibrancy, the spirit of Hampi 600 years ago and the Hampi of today.