My first trip to Vaishnodevi was unimpressive. Climbing was hard, and it only served to highlight how badly out of shape I was, while my in-laws managed to cope so much better. Further, I hadn’t quite realized that the cave experience wouldn’t be the same as I had imagined, since the original cave was only opened at certain times a year, and that we only entered a newly created tunnel, one far easier to access, and hence more manageable with the crowds that thronged the mountain shrine. The resulting experience at the shrine, for barely a fraction of a second, hardly compared to what I had expected / imagined / heard about. So, for me, Vaishnodevi was like any other temple, nothing to write home about, something that was reflected (though not explicitly mentioned) in the blog post I wrote then.
A question I was regularly asked at one time was:”So, you are a Tamilian. You must have learnt classical music and Bharatanatyam, right?” It was a question which always succeeded in irritating me, for I had nothing to do with either music or dance, despite being a Tamilian. Yes, my mom had, true to tradition, tried to get me interested in music. I had endured the classes for a year, and soon after, telling my mom that the classes intruded into my reading time, had refused to go anymore. She would have loved to send me to Bharatanatyam classes, but that was something I had no interest in even trying! Having two left feet, I stayed away from dance of all kinds, and she soon gave up, leaving me to my literary pursuits. Living in a place where there were hardly any cultural events, and even fewer related to our South Indian background, I grew up blissfully ignorant of Carnatic music and Bharatanatyam. Then, I got married and shifted to a predominantly South Indian neighbourhood – one w