Never ask an Indian for directions (or distance)

The first morning in Hyderabad came with the realization that I had forgotten a lot about India and there was a lot of relearning that would happen over the next few weeks. I woke up, still jet lagged, around 6 in the morning. Buoyed by the fact that I had managed to get 4 hours of sleep, I decided to get some exercise. After 10 minutes of trying to plug-in the stationary bike at the guest house gym, I ended the futility by deciding to go for a run.

It was a beautiful, warm morning, and not a spot of cloud in the sky. I was out in a T-shirt and shorts towards the end of January; why in the world had I wanted to run indoors. As I headed out the iron gates of the guest house, I asked our security guard, a teddy bear of a man called Sri, if there was a park around. His answer was the traditional South Indian head bob followed the words "Yes sir, 500 meters, straight sir"

About the only essential I had decided to carry with me rather than get it shipped from the US, my white running shoes, started pounding the paved road with the confidence. Clearly this pair knew what it was doing; they somehow knew these roads, this must be their hometown. The only thing that cast a doubt over this shoes from Hyderabad theory was the fact the blue Nike symbol matched perfectly with my blue "Ithaca is Gorges" T-shirt, which RJ had picked up for me on his last recruiting trip to Ithaca. But honestly how many people here know that and who was paying that much attention anyway.

(The discerning and knowing reader may have noticed that some people's name have been changed. After all this is public domain and using alternate names will not only help protected their identity but also provide me with the luxury of shamelessly crossing the boundaries between fact and fiction. I'll be using alternate names for most people, but you know who you are. I just hope I keep it all straight.)

But I digress; back to the story. Having run for what must have been about a kilometer, I realized there was still no sign of the park. The road was getting wider and busier, and it merged into an even bigger roadway. This should have been a warning sign but my brain, still reeling from the effects of the jet lag, was determined to find the damn park. The legs were starting to mumble something under their breath but the captain disregarded all concerns and decided to plow on through.

A little farther in the run, I passed by a place with a huge Tex-Mex sign. Day one and I was already craving Mexican food. The place looked pretty run down though. Whether this was an attempt at authenticity or an added flavor of the old West, I don't know, but I wasn't going to find out on day one; a couple of weeks later maybe, after my stomach is a bit more acclimatised.

With still no sign of the park, the captain too was starting to get worried. After all there is only so much the crew will take before land must be sighted. A stop was made to ask for directions and distance. Another head bob and another 500 meters came the prompt reply. Two more inquiries later the captain was beginning to lose control, rebellion seemed imminent. This time however, I decided to ask a more reliable source. A man, sweating, presumably from running, was a much better source than the idiots I had asked for directions so far. He increased the distance to the park to 1 kilometer, which I was more inclined to believe, if for no other reason than the fact that it was not 500 meters.

A parking lot, a gate, and then a red clay pathway soon made an appearance. I was finally on the right track and off the main road. People, of mostly the rotund variety, were out for their morning walk. Well, walk is a bit of an exaggeration, it was more of a gentle amble. Why exert yourself seemed to be the motto here. There were aunties in white sneakers and ornate saris which was a clear indication that they were on their way to a wedding ceremony -- the park just happened to be on the way; a few youngsters in branded jogging suits who clearly knew what they were doing; and surprisingly no dogs. Note to self: Need to find out why there were no dogs - this is South India not South Korea.

I decided to follow the most interesting character of the lot - the man in the monkey cap. I was soon rewarded for my decision with a sign that read "KBR Park, Main Entrance, 800 meters". 800 meters later and almost out of gas, I arrived at the grand entrance of the park, which I discovered, to my great surprise, is also a National Park. It said so on the board - Kasu B-something Reddy National Park. Just as my excitement had reached it's peak, a blue sign dashed my dream in an instant. There was a membership fee to get into this park. 600 Rupees for 6 months and 200 for a monthly pass. I didn't have my wallet on me, coz honestly, how often are you asked to pay toll on a run. This running expedition was over.

I ambled back to the guest house as fast as my tired and unmotivated legs would carry me, gave the guard a dirty look on arrival, and went upstairs to get ready for work, armed with a valuable lesson - never ask a man on the street for how far some place is. The answer will invariably be a work of fiction or a wildly inaccurate approximation.