kolkata maidans
Calcutta, rechristened Kolkata, was founded by Job Charnok and celebrated its tercentenary a few years back. Having been a red bastion for nearly quarter of a century, it is gradually wakening up to the reality that the city needs a lot of more attention to compete with other Indian cities like Bangalore, Mumbai, Delhi or Chennai or foreign cities like Singapore and Hong Kong. The Metro rail infused some blood into its dying arteries as did the circular rail, the second Hoogly bridge and a number of flyovers. But the fact remains that people who matter shy away from investing in the city.

Bengalis are basically intellectuals - a thinking not necessarily shared by others. Bengalis are fond of white collar jobs and abhor any activity where intelligence is not required. Most Bengalis consider themselves to be poets and novelists par excellence. They adore good foods which very seldom match with their constitution. Proof is in the number of medicines available in the market to cater to various types of illness associated with such disorders. Bengalis also love fairs and exhibitions - book fair, textile fair, and leather exhibition. You think of a subject and lo-and-behold, a fair or an exhibition is there to satisfy your needs.
But, this is not about the likes and dislikes of Calcuttans (Kolkattans sounds ridiculous don't you agree?)

If you have visited Calcutta, you could not have missed the Maidan - a really large expanse of open land housing any number of sports clubs. It used to house any number of sports clubs and was considered to be the breeding ground of footballers and cricketers. The Chuni Goswamis and Pankaj Roys surrendered to the Baichung Bhutias and Sourav Gangulis - who, in turn, followed the dictates of the likes of the Dalmias. Way back in the fifties and the sixties, a tram ride through the pollution free environments of the Maidan was a really satisfying experience. Greenery and open space on one side and the landscape of a bustling city on the other side!

Then, one fine day, the Ochterlony monument - a landmark of Calcutta - lost its color! So did the Maidan - the maiden of Calcutta. It was abused no end. Invaders ravaged its innocence and choked its breath. Unauthorized stalls cropped up everywhere overnight which subsequently attracted enough official patronage to become authorized. The silence of its surroundings was broken by the din and clamour of rickety State Transport buses. Burnt diesel created mayhem to its natural beauty. Trees and bushes that were once planted by the city fathers to maintain the equilibrium of Nature just rotted away. Then, further calamity struck - of course, for a noble cause. The construction of the underground railway system fondly known as the Metro rail began. In the bargain, the Maidan became smaller and smaller. To compensate this loss, parks were set up on the banks of the Ganga.

Calcuttans have lost the Victoria Memorial and the horse drawn carriages that used to be in attendance there until quite recently have vanished. The Victoria Memorial used to be a place where young and old alike could jog along and inhale fresh air in the mornings. Alas, nowadays, one has to pay an entrance fee to enter its grounds.

In spite of innumerable adversities, the Maidan even today retains its uniqueness and is proud of an identity of its own.

Plans are now afoot to gift to the Calcuttans an alternate transportation system akin to that in vogue in Venice. It will require a tremendous amount of cleaning up. Not just the basins of the near extinct canals like the Keshtopur khal or the Tolly's nullah but also the culture of those who will be involved.

bangalore
The first time I came to Bangalore was way back in 1975.

I had gone on TD to a nearby Air force base where I received the message about an interview in our Head Office in Bangalore. Immediately, I returned home, repacked my bags and, due to shortage of time, decided to travel by road. Accordingly, I came to the CBS (Central Bus Station) and boarded a bus for Pune. The bus dropped me in Shivajinagar from where I took an auto rickshaw to Swar Gate. Long distance buses normally leave from here. By the time I could gulp down some food to keep my machine in running condition, I spotted a bus about to leave for Hubli. Hubli was en-route Bangalore so I got up, boarded the bus and was pleasantly surprised to find only a handful of passengers. It was an uneventful journey and, early next morning, I took a bus from Hubli for my final destination - Bangalore. This last lap of the journey was miserable for me because the bus was jam packed, I did not get to sit and the crowd understood only the local dialect!

It must be remembered that the period was in 1975 when, even in Bangalore city proper, those who could not interact in the local dialect were viewed with suspicion. However, all said and done, I landed in Bangalore bus terminus towards evening and rushed to the first available hotel in sight in Chikpet. A room with attached bath and toilet was mine for a daily rental of Rs 8.00.

The sprawling bus terminus that one sees today was not even on the drawing board of the city bigwigs! Neither was Majestic and its hustle and bustle. The space in front of the railway station was a huge water hole surrounded by corrugated tin sheets!!

Over the last thirty years, the city has transformed dramatically.

Affectionately called as the Silicon Valley of India, ,it has attracted foreign investments unparalleled in recent times. Another Southern city, one of Bangalore's close competitors, apparently lost out due to lack of adequate infrastructure.

During this 30 year period, I have had quite a number of opportunities to visit this wonderful city. My family and I have fallen in love with it. Making Bangalore as the base, we have traveled to various Southern destinations like Mysore, Ooty and Sravanbelagola. And - of course - we have never missed the conducted tours of the city proper. Shopping in the Cauvery Emporium for genuine sandalwood products, bargaining in Chikpet for Mysore silk saris, strolling aimlessly on Brigade Road or getting an overview of Ulsoor Lake - your time flies. A highly conservative city where non vegetarianism was taboo today offers innumerable varieties of fish, chicken, mutton and egg dishes. Hindi and English are the link languages. The city of idli-dosa has embraced chana--bhatura with equal ease. This itself speaks volumes for Bangaloreans.

I came here last in December 2002. A flower show was on in the glass house in Lalbagh. It was an unforgettable experience. The sheer variety of flowers and plants on display was mind blogging.

The city really deserves its name - the Garden city.

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balaji's tirupathi
Lord Balaji's abode on top of the Thirumala Mountains is a place of sheer beauty to behold and a magnificent spot to visit. He is considered to be one of the richest of Gods and, how such a fantastic layout was created is something worth wondering about. As the TTD (Thirumala Tirupathi Devasthanam) buses, piloted by expert drivers, wind their way up the road, one can see steep mountains on the right and deep gorges to the left. The upward journey takes around 45 minutes and, on the way, we can also see private vehicles stranded, panting for breath as it were, apart from pilgrims trudging their way up a path built specially for such devotees who prefer to foot it to the top rather than use mechanized transport. The downward journey is even more exciting as the bus has to negotiate more than 75 hair pin bends. One has to, literally, hold on to the seat as well as his breath.

My first visit to this place was when I had gone to attend a training program in our Organization's Staff College in Bangalore.

It was a three week affair and, with a couple of Sundays coming in between, I decided to utilize one of these for this visit. A colleague of mine agreed to accompany me. Therefore, the two of us took one of those conducted package tours that are so popular in South India. If I remember correctly, the total package was of 24 hours duration and the charge was Rs 35.00 in a Luxury Video coach. This cost included up and down travel, rest for an hour or so in a hotel in Tirupathi for freshening up, breakfast, darshan of the Lord and lunch.

I was quite impressed by my first visit. So, the next year, I decided to go it alone.

On this second visit, I met a retired gentleman who resides in the USA with his son and returns to India every year to visit the Lord.
That set me thinking.

If someone can come all the way from USA to perform this annual pilgrimage, why can't I, living in India? And, I did it including the tonsuring.

The ritual of tonsuring has its own special significance. Before going for His darshan, it is customary for the individual to shave off his hair. It is not mandatory but is normally done - by both men and women! The logic behind this is - the hair is supposed to add to ones beauty. By sacrificing it at the feet of the Lord, one sacrifices his ego and faces the Lord in all humility. In the sanctum sanctorum, He is supreme. The long winding journey through a maze of barricades to have His darshan is an experience by itself and the actual darshan, a fulfillment of ones long cherished desire!

I have had the pleasure of undertaking this pilgrimage for twelve consecutive years and, by His blessings, I have not missed a single year. I have seen Bangalore flourish, I have seen Tirupathi's improvements, the package deal today costs nearly ten times more - but, the seven hills of Thirumala remain like Lord Balaji - as sound and as solid as ever. The hills beckon me even today!

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the turn of bareilly
There are two Bareillys in UP - one is Rae Bareilly, the constituency of one of our late Prime Ministers, the other is plain and simple Bareilly minus ray of any sort. The Bareilly sans ray was immortalized in the foot tapping dance number Bareilly kay bazaar mein jhumka girah re of the sixties.

Whilst the former boasts of a unit of the Indian Telephone Industries, the other is proud of its Air Force base. I had occasion to visit Bareilly on official duty in December 1982. I had been first to New Delhi and from there took a night bus from the Inter State Bus Terminus. The bus left ISBT at around 10 pm along with armed guards as escorts. The reason was the fear of dacoits since the route from New Delhi to Bareilly passed through dacoit infested territory and caution was the watchword. As our bus proceeded to its destination, I could make out mounted Police and Police jeeps at regular intervals on the road. My friend, who was accompanying me and who was a resident of Bareilly assured me that nothing untoward would happen and, nothing did happen. After an uneventful journey, we reached Bareilly some time early in the morning.

I remained in Bareilly for three days. My work was confined to the Air Force base, it was December and the roads emptied very fast.

On the third morning having finished my work, I received instructions to proceed to Tejpur, another IAF base via Calcutta. Air passage was authorized from Calcutta to Tejpur and back. Therefore, taking leave of my companion, I took a cycle rickshaw and landed in the railway station at around 3 pm. I could feel another wintry evening fast descending. Straightway I made a beeline for the reservation counter. The gentleman sitting on the other side of the counter was deeply engrossed in one of those `whodunits'. Even though I was the only person at the counter, he did not bother to look up until he had finished reading whatever interesting portions of the book had attracted his attention.

I asked for a sleeper ticket to Howrah by the Doon Express leaving that night.

He was chewing paan and, with his jaws moving slowly, he surveyed me, trying to size me up as to my worth. Then he reached up to a rack behind his chair and brought down a huge ledger. It contained details of reservations made in various trains passing through Bareilly. He flipped the pages until he came to the date we wanted. He glanced through the page and looked at me.

`Naam bataiye,' he said.

I gave him my name.

Without any hesitation, he struck off an entry and added my name, prepared a journey-cum-reservation ticket and handed it over. I checked the ticket - it was in order. The fare was seventy odd rupees. I tendered a 100 rupee note - he did not bother to return the change. Putting the note in the drawer, he went back to his paperback. I also did not wait for the change. I wanted the reservation and he wanted a few extra rupees. We were both satisfied individuals. I sauntered on to the platform and headed for the restaurant. The train would arrive at 3 am and I had nearly 12 hours to kill.

I took a meal of chapatti and mutton curry and washed it down with a cup of real hot tea. Then I purchased a James Hadley Chase novel from the railway bookstall. I made some mental calculations - it would take around three hours to finish the novel. By then it would be time for dinner. Some more cups of tea, a few cigarettes and roaming on the platform should ensure that the time up to 3 am would be easy to kill. How wrong I was!! I had not reckoned with the bitter cold of a December night in the city called Bareilly. I was 22 years younger, I was wearing woolen clothes, I had a muffler tied around my ears and nose, my hands were in gloves but, as the night progressed, I became more and more miserable. A thoughtful railway porter kept a small fire burning in the waiting room to generate some form of warmth but, every time someone opened the door, a fresh blast of cold wind would enter the confines of the room and literally sent shivers down my body. My teeth were chattering, my knees were knocking and it was the most terrible night I had ever spent in my life.

At last, the train was announced and it arrived on the dot.

With much difficulty, I staggered into the railway compartment and collapsed in a heap on my reserved berth. With my arms nearly frozen, I somehow managed to remove the blanket from my suitcase, wrap it tightly around me and go to sleep.

I awoke next morning when the train was leaving the other Bareilly - Rae Bareilly!

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on to lucknow
Lucknow, the city of nawabs, renowned for its `pehle aap' syndrome, boasts of several historical monuments. Its railway station, Charbagh, is a magnificent building and, through its platforms run any number of trains. My first visit to Lucknow was in 1995-96. Subsequently, I have been to the city quite a number of times and have traveled by the conventional Kushinagar Express and the super fast Pushpak. Of course, the Pushpak was convenient only for the return journeys - provided one was willing to take a few risks!! Being a super fast express train, it had limited halts. In my route, after leaving Bhusaval its scheduled halt was at Igatpuri - nearly four hours away. It did not have any scheduled halt at Manmad or at Nasik Road - the two stations I would have loved it to halt. Still, I traveled by Pushpak and was lucky in three instances. Once, it slowed down at Manmad and I managed to alight from the moving train much to the annoyance of the TTE. The next time it actually stopped for a few seconds at Manmad giving me enough time to disembark. Similar incident happened only once at Nasik Road. However, the fourth time I was not so lucky and was carried up to Igatpuri and had to travel back to Nasik. Of course, times change and, with the passage of time, improvements take place. Today the Pushpak has a regular halt at Nasik Road.

All said and done, my memories of Lucknow and associated rail travel will not be complete without narrating the harrowing experiences of having to spend a pucca 24 hours in the premises of a railway station!! That too, all alone.

I had confirmed reservations; the departure time of Kushinagar Express was half an hour past midnight. Therefore, as I had done on umpteen occasions in the past, I left my company's guest house after a hurried dinner, booked my suitcase in the cloak room by 9.30 pm and wandered around the platform waiting for the arrival of my train to be announced. Suddenly, a totally different announcement got me floored. Due to a flash strike by the motormen in Bombay, movement of trains was affected and, my particular train, the Kushinagar was running indefinitely late!! The PA system also informed that, in case one wanted to return his ticket, he could do so and claim full refund.

That was the longest day of literally 24 hours that I had ever spent.

Patrons of the Indian Railways (IR) are used to delays. Whilst the Japanese pride themselves on their tradition of punctuality, our IR boasts of delays. When one is in the company of relatives and friends a certain of delay is tolerable, in fact pleasant. But, when it involves an individual, the resultant situation can play havoc with ones senses, may even culminate in insanity!! Can you imagine that, just to spend the time, I would take a plate of pakoras on Platform No. 1. Then move over to Platform No. 5 for a cup of tea, return to Platform No. 1 to buy the newspaper and then, locate a vacant bench on which to sit down and read through the paper. At the end of it all, I had been able to spend around twenty minutes or so. Of course, looking at the brighter side of things, I was able to observe from close quarters how a large railway station gradually wakes up from its slumber to greet a new day, how utensils are cleaned, how people huddle together and take their bath, how the puribhajiwala prepares the highly specialised concoctions that go garam-a-garam to fill hungry mouths, how the urchins beg for morsels of food to whet their appetites, how the elders among these urchins, especially, the girls combine together to form groups and work out strategies of making people part with a few coins. They have perfected the art of appealing to your basic instincts by revealing just enough to evoke your sympathies.

Then, as the day progressed, the movement of trains picked up. Situations started to become normal except that there was no news of my Kushinagar. Breakfast time rolled on to lunch time and then on to tea time. I had seen practically all there was to see in the nook and corners of each and every platform. I had chanced upon some beggars under one of the staircases, they were high on drugs. A group of foursome was gambling with a pack of cards. A couple of young girls were trying to solicit customers in broad daylight. In between, I tried to steal forty winks in the retiring room and stretch my legs. By the time darkness started descending, I was fit to crawl up a wall, any wall.

At last, by 10 pm, the arrival of my beloved Kushinagar express was announced.

Immediately, I rang up my wife and relayed the good news.

Then, I went over to the restaurant and had a really heavy dinner.

about kanpur
Children of any generation and of any country are fascinated by the trains. Like Apu and Durga in Pather Panchali, I also was thrilled when I boarded a train for the first time. I was fifteen and had just finished the last examinations of school. My aunt who was a Nurse in the Railway Hospital took me along with her for my first ever train journey - from Howrah to Palta, the next station. The year was 1959.

It is not that I had not seen locomotives earlier to 1959. There used to be a railway track running parallel to the Jessore road for quite some distance. When going by bus from Shambazar to Barasat, we could see the steam engines filling up water at the Belgachia yard. I wonder if anyone can recall those scenes!

As is known, those who live in Calcutta proper are experts at boarding and alighting from moving buses and trams. I was no exception. Just by managing a toehold, I like others of my time, used to move from one corner of the city to the other. Hence, it should come as no surprise that I boarded a train for the first time at the ripe old age of fifteen!!

Since that memorable day, I have traveled all over the country - mostly on company expenses (TDs) - by rail, by road and by air. With every travel, I have been rediscovering India. The experiences that I have gained over the past fifty odd years are enormous and varied and it is only appropriate that I share them with you, my fellow bloggers.

Let me start with my Kanpur experiences.

I was in Kanpur for a couple of years from 1963 to 1965. In those days, a general III class unreserved bogey used to be attached to the Toofan Mail from Kanpur. Most Bengalees traveled by that train when moving on short notice. The journey from Kanpur to Howrah used to take around 24 hours. But, I preferred the Kalka mail. It was super fast, had limited halts and completed the journey in 16 hours - leaving Kanpur at 4 in the evening, it would enter Howrah by 8 next morning. The reasons for my preference lay in the fact that when the train rolled into Kanpur, it was evening tea time and the dining car was the obvious choice for any young man. By the time one finished a leisurely high tea, it was dinner time. After dinner, a couple of rupees ensured that the waiters looked the other way and not disturb me till morning. Dining cars of the sixties were a place where reasonable secrecy was guaranteed where one could cherish each and every course. Not like today when meals are compressed into tiny aluminum casseroles and thrown at you.

During Puja vacations, my friend and I used to take pride in doing some social service like obtaining reservations for our seniors. Once the message is received that so-and-so dada has decided to go to Cal for the Pujas, our hearts would start fluttering. On such occasions, we would finish our dinner early and leave our mess in Chakeri on bicycles. Powered two wheelers like scooters and motor cycles were few and far between. One of my friends managed a motor cycle on his marriage! He was from Bihar where early marriages was and still is quite common.

On arrival at the railway station, our team would set up camp in front of the booking counter so that, when the counter opens in the morning, we would be the first in queue. We used to carry an adequate supply of playing cards, cigarettes and, of course, rum bottles. Our mission, in some cases, were to get two tickets for a newly married airman or four tickets for a family of an MWO - two of the family were two young and attractive girls!!!

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more about nashik
Focus : Nasik of the late sixties....

When I came for interview, I stayed in a tiny hotel just outside the railway station. What prompted me to select that particular hotel were two large portraits of Sri Ramakrishna Paramhansa Deb and Goddess Kali on either side of the Manager's table. The room rent was Rs 8.00 and the accommodation comprised a single cot, one side table and a chair. The location of the hotel is where the auto rickshaws are now parked. Hotel Raj had not seen the light of day till then. Pavan was a still later addition, after Muktidham came into existence.

After my selection, when I joined service, I used to stay in Deolali with my friends. Most of us were into our first appointments and were bachelors. We stayed in a huge three-storey bungalow just adjacent to Sansari naka - it was affectionately known in the neighborhood as the bhoot-bungalow! The rent for the complete accommodation was Rs 420.00 and was shared by the occupants. For dinner we patronized Vijaya Lunch Home situated just opposite the Municipal School on the main road. We paid Rs 35.00 per month for full non-vegetarian dinner. Rice was 85 to 90 paise and wheat 60 to 65 paise per Kg.! A basketful of onions could be had for only 10 paise - the basket would contain 1 to 1 ? Kgs. Ten grams of Gold were available for as little as Rs 160.00. The ST bus fares were in denominations of 15 and 20 paise - you were not permitted to travel standing. Also, boarding a running bus or alighting from one was not tolerated by the bus conductor who was and, still is, the Supreme Commander of each ST bus. In fact, I was once reprimanded by the conductor for boarding the bus before it had stopped. The most popular two wheelers of the sixties were bicycles. There were only two varieties of Scooters - the Lambrettas and the Vespas - which were driven by a chosen few. Motor cycles were of the Harley-Davidson types of the Military Police. To commute short distances, the common man relied on the ST bus or on his own pair of feet. I have lived through such days!

Deolali of the late sixties was one of the most attractive summer getaways for Mumbaites. With the onset of summer vacations, all the Sanatoriums would be occupied with the young, the not so young and the old. They would bring with them the latest fashions from Mumbai. In the evenings, they would stroll lazily down the streets in groups, stopping to exchange pleasantries with acquaintances. Some of them would settle in the Bharat Cold Drinks House where a bottle of the original Coca-Cola could be had for only 20 paise - the same price as that of a glass of fresh limejuice! BCDH was also famous for its mouth-watering faloodas! Its patrons never seemed to be in any hurry. Other vacationers would walk down to Cathay or Adelphi - the two cinema halls, which ran English films. Or spend the evening atop the Temple Hill, an experience not easily forgotten - this landmark of Deolali was in a world of its own where time literally stood still. No fumes of auto-rickshaws. No dust hovering in the air. No obnoxious gases to destroy the freshness of the colorful bougainvilleas. There was lovely greenery all around and concretisation had not set in. The silence would be broken by the occasional clip-clop of the tongas or the sudden passing through of the State Transport bus en-route to South Deolali or one of the bicycles clanging along with its load of milk pots. Milk in pouches was something nobody could have visualized! However, the memories of Deolali that I had cherished for so long were shattered a couple of years back when I visited the place after a very long absence. It was a Deolali that I could not recognize. The smell of fresh green grass and horses at the bus stand had given way to the acrid stink of burnt petrol - auto rickshaws had taken over from the tongas. And the roads were filthily crowded with hawkers at every step.

Talking about cinema halls, the other popular ones were the Regimental and Bytco Talkies in Nasik Road and the Circle in Nasik City. And a favorite haunt of the younger generation was Bhagwant Rao's right on the Main Road. The Regimental and the Bytco Talkies are no more. Modernization in the shape of the first ever flyover of Nasik has taken its toll!!

Of course, city dwellers had another option. That of sitting on the banks of a pollution free Godavari and dreaming their hearts out because the sixties were that period in ones life when one could expect ones dreams to be fulfilled -unlike today, where ones dreams are likely to remain dreams only.

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nashik darshan
Originating in the mountains of the Brahmagiri in Trimbakeswar, the Godavari wends its way through the Deccan plateau and flows into the Indian Ocean, bisecting the country into two halves. Starting as a trickle, it grows from strength to strength till its confluence in the Bay of Bengal and, the first important city on the banks of this mighty river is Nasik (also called as Nashik). Till thirty-six years ago, Nasik was known to the outside world more as a pilgrimage center where kumbhmela was held once every twelve years.

I arrived in Nasik in 1967 - just one year before the kumbhmela of 1968. I was employed in Hindustan Aeronautics Limited and, whilst I stayed in Deolali, my work place was in Ojhar - a distance of nearly 30 Kms.. I used to travel by our company bus and, the only memory I have of the 1968 mela was that I had to get myself inoculated since the bus would travel touching Nasik. The inoculation was a precaution against spread of epidemics. The next kumbhmela that I witnessed was in 1980. I am not much of a believer in the fact that just by immersing oneself in the waters of the Godavari, one can wash off all of ones sins! Moreover, I was still a young man and my idea of cleansing oneself of sins was not commensurate with the thinking of others. Therefore, I did not involve myself much. However, in the next kumbhmela in 1992 I decided that enough was enough. Staying in Nasik and not witnessing the kumbhmela was an unpardonable offence like visiting Paris and not taking in the Eiffel Tower. My relatives saw the makings of Satan in me. A non believer in the Holy Scriptures deserved to be isolated in Society. Hence, throwing caution to the winds, I prepared to take the plunge. And, what a plunge it was!!

People from all over the country come here to participate in kumbhmela. But, today, there is the added incentive of participation in a very different kind of mela - the mela of Industries, the mela of IT revolution. Thirty-six years ago, one had enough leisure time to relax on the banks of the Godavari, atop the Hill Temple or amidst the Pandu caves. The only worthwhile industrial activity in those days was confined to the village of Ojhar, situated approximately 30 Kms. from the Railway station, where an aircraft factory was being set up to manufacture the sophisticated MiG class of fighters. And, of course, the India Security Press which printed currency notes and the Government of India Press which printed Stationary. The villages of Ambad and Satpur were not even in the map of the Nasik of the sixties.

Times have changed. Several million cusecs of water have flown down the Godavari since then.

Nasik today is a tremendously busy industrial center, which does not have time to even sleep. Fairly well connected by road and rail, industries are localized in the two villages of Ambad and Satpur in Nasik and Sinnar on the Pune highway. Sanction has also been granted for the setting up of STPs (Software Technology Parks) under the aegis of MIDC. The wide range of Industries, which have found permanent footholds and have become the pride of Nasik, range from Plastics to Transmission Towers. Some products have become household names like VIP suitcases and MICO spark plugs. And, to cater to the needs of people who have migrated to this part of the world, any number of eateries, shops and such subsidiary establishments have mushroomed all over the city. Not to mention a full fledged Engineering College and a Medical College. To meet the continuously rising demands of local transportation, bus routes are being extended and new ones are being introduced. Even then, during peak hours, one will have to, more often than not, travel standing. A situation which the old timers could never have imagined!

This tiny hamlet town of Nasik, situated less than 200 Kms. from Mumbai, the financial capital of the country, is poised for even further growth. Its wonderful environment used to, once upon a time, attract vacationers. Today, it attracts entrepreneurs.

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