Medak, Telangana – go, don’t go, whatever.

Like clockwise, my sleep broke at little past 2 AM.  This has been happening a lot frequently; and I have spent a fair share of time analyzing this pattern, because broken sleep is not my thing.  I have always been a sound sleeper; insomniac sometimes, but when I eventually sleep, it is thick and sound.  Broken sleep is definitely not my thing.  And yet, every other day, I wake up at 2 AM something and cannot go back to sleep.  My hypothesis of this pattern has ranged from logical to downright coocoo.

Maybe I’m not drinking enough water, so I wake up feeling thirsty.  
Maybe because I am skipping meals and my Vata is imbalanced.  
Maybe my mattress is a little too firm.
Maybe it’s because I am sleeping with lights on.
Maybe my head is to the South.  
Maybe because of the anxiety I have been feeling lately.
Maybe hormonal.
Maybe emotional.
Maybe my sleep has been cursed because it got a lot of envy from fellas around.  
Or maybe there is a ghost in my apartment who’s trying to communicate something. 

But amidst all the sleep breaking and hypothesizing,  I realize that I have more awake hours in the day now, so I am trying to take this in my stride instead of complaining about it.  For instance, this one Saturday when the ghost woke me up at 2 AM, I didn’t even try to go back to sleep.  I knew it would be futile and frustrating.  Instead I got out of the bed, made myself a large coffee and sat in my balcony, relishing the brisk air and hot coffee, listening to the sound of trains that passed every few minutes, thinking of writing something poetic about the trains.  But seriously, what poetic can be written about trains?  If you look at it logically, they are just a piece of machinery that transports people from here to there.  What is so poetic about that?  It’s not like it is transporting people across universal dimensions.  Then why is it that the rumble of trains sound rhythmic to my ears?  Maybe it’s because distant sounds are more pleasing?  That’s a pondering for another day.

By 5 AM, I was on my second coffee and fiddling with my new minicam, a canon sx730, when the sound of Fazr aazaan filled the air.  Aazaan sound is my other favorite, but ONLY when it is distant.  I’m fussy like that.  The dawn was breaking now, caffeine was kicking in and I could hear my own thoughts more clearly.  Then, as if in one swing, I packed my camera bag and was out the door, on the road to Medak.

I say “on the road to Medak” and realize that it has an exciting ring to it (as in hey, I’m off to Budapest), but frankly it doesn’t.  To be honest, I have been scraping the bottom of the barrel with travel in Telangana since I moved to Hyderabad few months ago.  The topography of Telangana is more arid than lush, that’s one reason.  And even though the signature rock formations of Deccan Plateau is a decent sight, the travel vibe is definitely missing in the air.  It is less than encouraging, but I have been on a strange battle with myself to travel more; and so even if it gets only as good as exploring the unexciting countryside of Hyderabad, I am on for it.  Medak happened for the same reason.

The drive to Medak from Hyderabad is not bad.  There’s a stretch of state highway with forest on either side which, added to the twilight of dawn can feel a little invigorating.  In nearly 2 hours, you reach Medak Town, which happens to be the largest diocese in Asia and second in the world after Vatican City.  Who would’ve guessed that?  The highlight of Medak Town is the Cathedral which attracts a lot of tourists and locals.  The church is Gothic and pretty, but then I find all churches pretty, so don’t take my word.  Since it was a Saturday, the compound was rather empty and thus looked huge and striking.  Bright sun shining on the taupe walls of an empty goth building, you do the math.  As I was walking around, I could hear the song “Noorie” play in the background, and then realized it was my own humming.

The trip was not disappointing until I reached Medak Fort.  The bright sun which shone lovingly on the church, shone uninterestingly on the Fort.  It’s not even a Fort so much as it is the vanishing ruin of a nondescript command post.  There is a resort in the Fort to which they have prefixed the word ‘Heritage’ for some reason; given the sorry state of the “heritage” restaurant and the huge ant colony inhabiting it, I would be very wary to stay there.  The restaurant has a nice view of the Medak town though, and above average chai.

By 2 PM I was back home and by 5 PM, asleep.

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