No Charm-in-air

One of the worst decisions I took at ISB was the one to spend an evening in Charminar. What was supposed to be a fine evening turned into a nauseating experience.

Firstly, the approach to Charminar is something worth mentioning. All roads leading to Charminar carry four times the normal traffic any road of the same size can do. Secondly, there is absolutely no parking space outside this “tourist spot” (AP tourism promotes it as one of the seven wonders of the city). I asked a gentleman where to park my vehicle and he looked at me as if I asked him for the address of the Holy Grail . “Parking” seems to be an esoteric concept there. May be, you just leave your vehicle for a quick wander to return to it after some time. Thirdly, the area around the monument is so crowded that even if you magically squeeze your vehicle between some steel and flesh, crossing the road to get to the monument is a nightmare. “Horny” drivers test your noise-tolerance levels and one is reminded of a good old video game where you make a cat cross the road with some obnoxious number of lanes just to earn a few points.

Now to the monument itself. The description of it in Wikipedia is factual. However, it misses several important points. The monument, just as any other of historical importance in India, bears the names of almost all the visitors and their uncles who graced it (with a writing/carving device) ever since it was opened to public. There is an entry fee of 5/- which, I am sure, goes towards the cost of printing the ticket and paying the guard who checks it. The result is anybody’s guess. You grope through those labyrinthine staircases cursing at fused bulbs and missing railings. The person behind you sets his foot on yours every time you pause to check if you are in the position of David Balfour of Shaw fetching something for his uncle over the top of a tower. Once you endire all these and see the light at the end of the tunnel/stairway you experience a fleeting moment of glee. The glee is ephemeral since you will find it quickly replaced by an irresistible urge to puke. Several reasons account for this sudden change. The “nearest” reason is the state of the parapet and all things that lie between you and it. The moment you lift your gaze to look at the thoroughfares, you recognise that you must be inhaling the amount of CO and SO2 you probably are allowed to inhale for a lifetime. Thirdly, you’ll find that the person standing next to you, instead of feeling empathetic towards your plight, is clicking away with his camera what caused your current state of nausea. You think it’s high time you leave and grope your way back through one of the minarets to fetch your bike and start your ride back – dodging through absolute chaos.

A forgettable experience.