My third journey to Mysore and I return to these charming, soulful streets. It is an ancient royal city that seems to encapsulate the romance of India. Yet on this visit, I forego the pleasure of the beloved Maharajah’s palace and storied battle fields. Instead I just soak it up, wandering and indulging my love of serendipity.

For two days we engage Shiva, a trusty auto rickshaw driver. First, we bless our ‘carriage’ with a string of marigolds – a vendor unwinds a meter from his impossibly long floral coil. We then allow ourselves to yield to Shiva’s insightful and skillful guiding; to the undiscovered through narrow streets and tucked-away neighbourhoods. It is my dear friend’s first visit to India and she is delightfully overwhelmed – the noise and the seemingly choreographed chaos, the riots of colour, the abundance of holy cows. The warmth of the people and smiles, hands pressed together in greeting, ‘namaste.’

We halt Shiva excitedly, time and again.”Let’s stop here,”– for bustling bazaars and their friendly vendors, many perplexed as to why we are so curious. But of course it is the panoply of fruits and vegetables, colour coded and geometric, lush and bountiful, artful and creative. 

We engage with sellers of all sorts: fruit and sugar cane juice, garlands and greens, spices and sandalwood-scented fans. And purveyors of enormous aluminum pots, pans of all sizes, thali dishes and tiny tiffins.

We chance upon a street of busy tinkering repairmen, and some not so busy. Then shopkeepers who pause to chitchat outside their over-brimming, narrow shops. Perhap a customer’s arrival cuts into the neighbourhood gossip, newspaper perusing and an animated discourse of the day’s happenings. The rhythm of the lively back lanes and streets is their daily soundtrack, and heartbeat – a small town feel, despite a large city.

Once-glorious buildings hint to the days of the British, and to the skilled craftsmanship of refined Indian architecture. They make a striking backdrop. “The door there, you must see,” we’re told. We appreciate its ornate solidity and we conjecture what secrets it holds beyond its beautifully carved facade. 

Mysore is also dotted with stately government buildings and once lovely gems – some restored, others barely holding-on in their precarious, faded glory. We come upon sprawling gardens, now tangled and overgrown. We creep into courtyards once brimming with life, now the cows munch idly in the afternoon sun. 

 

But we’re pleased to also meet some dear, friendly women. Under a canopy of rosy-pink bougainvillea, a group awaits at the local temple. “Open at four,” they tell us, nodding towards its massive, carved door.

 Striking up a conversation, one of the ladies takes my hands as she speaks. She is diminutive in her later years and her warm eyes are suddenly faraway when she hears I live in Bangalore. “I was there many years, shifted here now,” she says wistfully. “Still busy there?” she wonders. “Oh yes, very hectic,” I assure her and then add, “I like it here in Mysore.” She nods knowingly and I sense she is torn between two cities, even two lives. Our conversation is short, but nonetheless, still heartwarming and tender.  

The afternoon is fading to ‘happy hour’, but when in Mysore one really must treat oneself to a fine pashmina scarf – perhaps even two. We alight from Shiva’s rickshaw one last time to peruse an array of delicate, colourful scarves. It can take time to choose, but Kristin and I have thrown away the clock – all the better to treasure these hours together.

Ensconced back in the homely elegance of the Metropole, we luxuriate in the shade of long verandahs. We reminisce countries by the numbers and tally that India is the seventh we’ve had the pleasure of sharing. We cheer with our wine glasses and ponder… where next? 

 

If you go, allow me to mention my preferred:

Always stay at the Metropole Hotel.

Visit Ajaaz at The Heritage for scarves, collectibles and perhaps a carpet.

Royal Mysore Walks offers brilliant tours.

My tuk-tuk driver on the ground is Shiva. He’s usually parked close to the Metropole or call at: 988 682 2409

The Shatabdi Express leaves Bangalore at 11:00 am. and arrives just a few hours later. Stop for lunch at the A 2 B for a delicious southern thali as you walk the two blocks to the Metropole. A perfect weekend getaway, enjoy!