To write about a time I was not even born in is difficult. I have only heard stories about Kolkata of the seventies. Surprisingly, the horror of naxalite movement had passed us by at a time when, as history books would tell you, Kolkata was in great turmoil.
Papa used to work for a railway track material manufacturing company. A young, non-descript engineer, fresh out of Allahabad University, trying to find his feet in the metropolis, he lived with his two brothers, their wives, their children, an elder sister, her children and his parents in a small one bedroom house in Kankurgachi.
My grandfather was an honest lawyer in Sikar and had not accumulated any wealth worth its name. After my uncles showed no signs of academic brilliance, they had been sent to Kolkata. It was now upon them find their way in life.
Like many other young Marwari men, my uncles started trading in steel. The Marwaris had built a fiefdom around the steel trading business – sourcing materials from rolling mills that dotted the Howrah region and selling them to BHEL and other such giants across the country. While some businessmen had fled the city due to naxalite violence, most had preferred to stay back.
Those were the days of struggle and a hand-to-mouth existence. Every effort had to be made towards cutting costs. But those were days of joys too, when the smallest victory was celebrated. So, new clothes were always bought for Diwali, even if they were mostly bought from the footpath, and then brought home and refurbished with some embroidery or patchwork to make them look presentable. The vegetables were bought from Machhua bazaar – quite some distance from Kankurgachi, but it was the cheap wholesale market. Ma (my grandma) and Bhuaji (Papa’s elder sister) would go in crowded buses and trams once a week to buy the weekly ration.
It was one of those days when Ma and Bhuaji went for their weekly vegetable shopping to Machhua; sometime early in an April of the seventies when I was only a few years away from seeing my first light of the day. I expect that they left sometime late in the afternoon, around three perhaps, after Bhuaji had her mandatory afternoon siesta and Ma her cup of tea.
They took a bus from Kankurgachi to Maniktala and then a tram to somewhere close to Machhua. After that, they would have to walk their way. Those days, the bus and tram fares were very low (they still are in Kolkata, where you would expect to get 25 paise back as change even at a time when 25 paise coins can no longer be found anywhere else in the country). The credit must go to no less a person than Kolkata’s very own Jyoti Basu. As a young student leader, he lead dharnas against the government on every 5 paise increase in fare. And, his dharnas used to be full of light and, I daresay, fire. So every time the government raised the bus fare, the only way to make them retract, would be to burn a few buses.
Anyway, fare had not been raised in the past few days, and there was no such possibility in the coming days either, so it was an ideal day to travel. The afternoon sun was shining at its brightest, so Ma and Bhuaji suspected no trouble with weather either.
Many things change with time; yet, somethings never do. Like the Mango Showers. When the scorching heat of summers begins to grip most of the country, West Bengal gets a brief respite in March and April when the north-westerly winds bring with them grey skies, dusty roads and thunderous showers. These showers, which normally arrive late in the evenings, are also called Kalboishakhi – black showers in the month of Boishakh. And, what is special about these showers is that even as they wreck havoc when they come, some water seeps into the parched lands where mango trees grow, and brings to life the juicy mango fruits that begin to arrive a month later.
For some reason, Ma and Bhuaji, did not factor in the Mango Showers that day. After hectic bargaining, with loaded baskets when they boarded a tram near Machhua, the skies became grey. It was the rush hour when offices got over with people jostling for space in the crowded little tram.
All this while, I have been telling you about Ma and Bhuaji together almost as if they were inseparable. But, alas, they were not.
At the very stop before which Ma and Bhuaji were to get off together, they got separated. Ma, along with her basket full of vegetables, got pushed out by the rushing passengers whose destination had arrived. Bhauji struggled, got off at the next stop and started walking back.
The winds had started to blow by now. Dust was swirling all around, and the trees waving hastily. For once, Bhuaji felt that she would get blown away in the madness of the elements. But that did not happen, and drenched in the now pouring rain, Bhuaji reached the tram stop where Ma was waiting for her. Together again, they sighed a sigh of relief, and boarded the next bus to Kankurgachi.
It was a minibus; unlike the other tin plated buses, this looked a lot more modern with its red and yellow coloured exteriors. Even for only a few paise more, travel in minibus was a luxury for our family. If it weren’t for the rains, Ma and Bhuaji wouldn’t have boarded one.
As luck would have it, they had to get off it soon too. The moment a conductor came to sell the ticket, Ma and Bhuaji together realized that the handkerchief in which all the money was tied and which was kept in the vegetable basket that Ma was carrying, was no longer there. And, so, all the money for the entire month was gone in one shot. All the money – with which all household expenses for the month were to be met – vegetables, fruits, milk, rations, school fees for the kids, travel expenses, house rent to be paid to Mrs. Basu, electricity bill – everything was gone.
For a while they stood stupefied by what had happened. Then, not knowing what else to do, they started walking towards home. The rain was getting only worse, and water ran past their cheeks, and rest of the body, mingling inseparably with tears. They wept and they walked and kept walking, even as Bhuaji’s only slippers came off and floated away with a current of water that was beginning to flow like a stream in rage. In the process, Ma fell down and hurt her head.
A guilty and upset Ma and Bhuaji reached home. Night had descended on the city by then, and the rains had subsided. Those were the days of severe power shortage in the city, and the situation only worsened when it rained. Everyone in the city knew this was to be a dark night. Quietly, Ma and Bhuaji, slipped into the kitchen where my aunts were already cooking meals.
Later that night, when Bade Tauji, my eldest uncle, came home, they let their little secret out to everyone and Bhuaji started crying again.
My uncle just smiled.
“Tum aam laayi ya nahin?” (Did you get the mangoes or not?), he asked.
“Aam abhi kahaan, unke aane mein to abhi kam se kam ek mahina hai” (Mangoes will take at least one more month to arrive), retorted Ma.
And then consoling Bhuaji, Bade Tauji said, “Jiji, yeah din bhi nikal jayenge. Kyun chinta karti ho.” (Sister, we shall see these days off as well, why do you worry so much).
That night no one slept well at home. But time passed by, and somehow the expenses were met that month.
A month later, my uncles got their largest contract till then. They earned a lakh from it. And, Ma and Bhuaji, given to their habit, got vegetables from Machhua bazaar. With them, they brought home some juicy ripe mangoes.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Saturday, October 02, 2004
Some memories from my school
Some memories of my childhood never leave me - I still remember the picture of me walking down from the park, my bat in my hand, dust blowing all around on a grey cloudy evening. The Kalboishakhi, also called the Mango Showers, had arrived, threatening to blow away the rather strangely placed tin sheet on a part of the roof of our otherwise palatial house.
Opposite that park, used to be my School – Salt Lake (Eng. Med.) School. The Eng. Med. part of the name was important. It meant this wasn't like one of the many other Bengali Medium schools in the neighbourhood, and that you had to wear clean shoes, and cut your nails. And that boys with long hair could find teachers tying up their hair with rubber bands.
This was in Salt Lake - land created by filling up a marshy salty lake; a suburb of Calcutta; known for its matrixed roads and green parks. One such park, the biggest of them all, was the BA-CA Park. The one in which I played cricket.
Ah, I should mention this here - as I tell you about all this, you would observe that all the objects appear in past tense - the school was, the park was. It is not that the school or the park or other things don’t exist anymore. Just that they are not my school or my park any more.
So, this BA-CA Park used to be my park at that time. It was divided into two halves, one for the BA Block and one for the CA Block. And, each half was almost the size of a football field. At one end of this park was a small tent-like structure. It used to be called some football association, but besides the football classes in the evenings, it used to also hold Karate classes in the mornings. Briefly, Bhupati sir, our PT teacher, also used to conduct physical training here.
I was always very bad in most sports. I used to play cricket and sometimes opened the batting too. But that was because of three reasons. One, I used to own the bat. Two, the lunch after the match was always at my place. And three, my captain always knew that I would not survive beyond an over so the batsmen to follow would never have to wait for too long.
There was a fourth reason too, perhaps. My friends used to like me.
Now I am confused. I don’t know for sure what I want to tell you about. There are so many small things that happened in the school that I could tell you about. Or, I could tell you about my summer holidays when I played table-tennis all day. Ok. Let’s settle for this. I will tell you about all of those, but for now let me just show you around my school and let me tell you about some things that changed my life forever.
Ok, now you know that my school stood in front of the BA-CA Park. This was a two storied building, white in color. When freshly whitewashed with chuna, the outside of my school building used to dazzle shamelessly on summer afternoons. The classrooms weren't whitewashed so often though, and had strange patterns built by dampness every monsoon. In most rooms, there were blackboards. Some had boards that were green, and those looked so much better. My class was one with a green board. It was a largish room that was divided into two parts by a wooden partition. One side was my class, Class IX B, and the other was Class IX A. And, there were these desks and chairs, of the same color as the wooden partition. The polish on the wood was particularly bad, and was made to look worse by all the scribbling with compasses that we had done. These scribbling were never as obscene or direct as they used to be in the boy’s toilets; most often they were either declarations of love or simply some grouse against a teacher. I never had the guts to scribble my secret yearnings though.
What were the other objects in the room? Chalks. Duster. A wardrobe in which absolutely nothing was kept. Fans. And the tube-lights of course. White radiations of which I always hated and the lizards always loved.
Talking about tube-lights reminds me that they always need a starter to get started and often we (I say we because I was part of the class, never part of the gang that did this though. Ah me, the timid little stranger in class!) used to take out the starters and hide them to delay classes. This was especially effective on those unlucky rainy days on which we didn’t get our rainy day holidays.
I want to tell you a lot more about rains really. They have been linked with my life in many ways. Lot of good things happened to me on days when skies were grey and the roads in Calcutta were water logged. To begin with, I was born on one such day. Then, on my fifth birthday (or was it sixth?), when whole of Kankurgachi was submerged in water, I had forced Mummy to get my birthday gift, wading through those waters. Years later, it had rained copiously on the day I finally got admitted to my college - Presidency College. Intriguingly, that was my 19th birthday too. And then of course, CAT 1997 – it rained in December. IIMC interview – 25th March 1998 – it rained. IIMC results day – it rained. And first day in IIMC again – it rained.
Two things here – one, it doesn’t rain round the year in Calcutta. And two, I think other things would have happened too on rainy days that I either don’t remember or have not mentioned here.
Ok, so back to the classroom and the tube-light and lizards. I hate lizards. Perhaps they look slimy, so I hate them. But I hate them. And, they make a strange kind of rhythmic sound that is so easy for humans to replicate. I had learnt how to make that sound way back in class II, and then made that sound in the school assembly when we literally had a pin-drop silence. And, when I was asked who made the sound, I had promptly pointed the finger at the girl next to me. I had taught her how to make that sound, and she had made it too with me. She got a slap for it. Eventually I got two when the whole story was out.
I hate lizards, that’s it.
Ok, so I told you that I will show you around my school. I have shown you the classroom, and you would have realized that there wasn’t much to see there. There used to be something to smell every now and then even till class VI when one of my classmates would lose control of his bowel movement. We will skip that though.
So, get out of the classroom on a typical day. Let us say it is Thursday afternoon, the period after lunch. It is the Drawing class. Drawing sir, PDG, with his long gray hair and much whiter mustache has asked, as usual, who all had not got the paints. Dipti is one of them. She is asked to leave the class with twelve others. I have got the paints, but tell sir that I don't have them either. Standing outside the class, atleast I get to see Dipti. It is a different matter though that I have never spoken to her.
Anyway, ignore us and just walk down the corridor. We have our morning and afternoon assemblies in this corridor that surrounds the central quadrangle. As part of our Socially Useful and Productive Work, we had planted some Dahlias and Chrysanthemums in middle of the quadrangle. You can see the flowers blooming now.
Where one wall of the corridor meets the other, there are the toilets. So, ignore them too and take a right. And, you hit the Physics laboratory on your left. Peep inside. If you see a spectacled middle aged lady sitting on a desk, it must be Sushmita miss, my Physics teacher. If you see a young athletic mustached guy with a smirk that can never be wiped off, well, that is Rajat da. I cannot tell you much about the other stuff you will see inside the Physics laboratory. For one, it was way too long back when I had seen all that. Secondly, even then I hardly knew what all that stuff was. If you are a keen observer, you would have noticed by now the windows of the Physics laboratory open into our small playground.
Talking about playgrounds, actually we had three playgrounds inside the school. One at the back side, the one at the front, and the third was the quadrangle. We were not supposed to run around on the grass in the quadrangle, but invariably that was the place where we enjoyed playing the most. That was also the place for the major punishments – like Nandita miss used to give us – “Go and stand in the quadrangle with your tongues out!”
The playground outside the school was of course the large BA-CA ground. That’s where we practiced for our Sports Day and that’s where our Sports day used to be held.
Ok, now move forward from the Physics Laboratory. This again ends at another corner that has the toilets, so take a right turn again, and you have three classrooms on your left. If you had come here with me, or with Manas perhaps, in 1996, you would have seen an Aquaguard water filter on this wall. This filter was installed that year but didn’t survive long. Manas’ friend, Golgi as he was known, wanted to figure out how the system works and ensured that it never worked again.
But you keep walking. Further down is another corner. On this corner is the staircase. The wall adjacent to that has the staff room. We shall not go inside the staff room for now, as that would be another long story. Let us go down instead to the ground floor. Right underneath the staff room is Madam’s room. Next to that is the school office where Rajesh sir sits. Behind other walls are classrooms or toilets in the same way as they you saw them on the first floor.
Now you must be wondering how the school could accommodate its 1200 students. Well, we had two batches – the morning batch and the day batch. Morning batch timings were from 7 am to 10 am. Manas had the misfortune of being in morning batch for several years. I was always in the day batch. For my batch, the school assembly used to be at 10:30. That was also usually the time I used to leave my home at. I had to run diagonally through the park, and as a result I knew long before we were taught in Geometry that the sum of two sides of a triangle is always greater than the third. Anyways, I used to be invariably late and I would hope that Sapna miss, our strict Vice-Principal would ask me to go back home for coming in late. But that never happened. I had to write in my diary twenty times – “I will never be late again” – and I would be allowed in.
Ok, so by now you would have figured out what a loser I was. Yes, always late to school, standing out even in Drawing class, opening the batting and getting out for naught, having a crush on a girl that I had not spoken to all my life… the list could be endless. In fact, from class III to class IX, I had always been “Promoted on trial”. Probably it took some doing to flunk in Salt Lake (Eng. Med.) School.
But then some things just happened.
We had to choose our sixth subject in Class IX. Or, I should say our sixth subject had to choose between us. The options were – Physical Education, Computers Science or Economics.
My 20 seconds for running fifty meters and the inability to complete three pushups had disqualified me from Physical Education. Now, it was a toss between Computers Science and Economics.
Those were the heady days of computers. Our school had four of them. All kept in the only air-conditioned room in the whole school where no one was allowed to walk in with their shoes on. And, even among them, the most coveted was the one with a color monitor. One in which text appeared in green.
So, there was a high demand for the Computer Science course. The initial plan was to take in students based on their marks in the final examination of class VIII. But somehow this plan got changed. So there was to be a test for the Computer Science course – an aptitude test.
20 students out of our class of 60 were to be selected. I was obviously a rank outsider.
Now, I don’t remember whether it rained that day or not, but an aptitude test was held. It had none of the math questions that I surely wouldn’t have been able to answer. Just some silly sequences and pictorial patterns. Ah, nothing from the syllabus at all.
As it would be, when the results came a lot of people were surprised. I had reconciled myself by then with taking up Economics. But I got the second highest marks in that test. A test in which there were negative marks, I had got 19 out of 25. Highest was 21 out of 25. And, most of the class was below -6.
Something triggered there.
Then came in Sushmita miss. Yes, the same spectacled middle aged lady you just saw in the Physics Laboratory. She joined the school when I was in class IX.
And, she came to take our Computer Science class. Or, was it the Physics class? Well, I cannot remember.
Anyway, she asked a question in the class, and I was the first to respond with the correct answer. Now, I don’t know what it was, was it that one correct answer that I gave or something else, Sushmita miss started believing that I was the best student in her class.
Ask me, was I the best student? No way. No way, at all!
But Sushmita miss believed it nevertheless.
I had already started believing that I was underselling myself to my own self, and started believing in my abilities. And now, there was this expectation of a teacher to be met.
So, what followed was a virtuous cycle. Old habits didn’t change. I would still not do my homework as it needed to be done. I would still have to burn the midnight lamp to pass my exams. But my performance improved. And improved quite a bit.
In my board exams in class X I did rather well. And then, in class XII, I was made the first Head Boy of my school.
Years later, during my MBA, I read about the “Pygmalion Effect”. In a nut shell – if you expect, not just want, someone to do well and convey that in unambiguous terms, then that person is likely to reward you for your belief in them.
For too many years, I had not believed in myself. And, none of my teachers had believed in me. And, when that changed, my life changed.
I feel lucky that this happened to me. I have seen many people whose would have done so well with one such trigger in their life. This, of course, is not to say that I have succeeded in keeping all my self-doubts aside. But then, I do believe that all of us have the inherent ability to achieve whatever we dream of.
Opposite that park, used to be my School – Salt Lake (Eng. Med.) School. The Eng. Med. part of the name was important. It meant this wasn't like one of the many other Bengali Medium schools in the neighbourhood, and that you had to wear clean shoes, and cut your nails. And that boys with long hair could find teachers tying up their hair with rubber bands.
This was in Salt Lake - land created by filling up a marshy salty lake; a suburb of Calcutta; known for its matrixed roads and green parks. One such park, the biggest of them all, was the BA-CA Park. The one in which I played cricket.
Ah, I should mention this here - as I tell you about all this, you would observe that all the objects appear in past tense - the school was, the park was. It is not that the school or the park or other things don’t exist anymore. Just that they are not my school or my park any more.
So, this BA-CA Park used to be my park at that time. It was divided into two halves, one for the BA Block and one for the CA Block. And, each half was almost the size of a football field. At one end of this park was a small tent-like structure. It used to be called some football association, but besides the football classes in the evenings, it used to also hold Karate classes in the mornings. Briefly, Bhupati sir, our PT teacher, also used to conduct physical training here.
I was always very bad in most sports. I used to play cricket and sometimes opened the batting too. But that was because of three reasons. One, I used to own the bat. Two, the lunch after the match was always at my place. And three, my captain always knew that I would not survive beyond an over so the batsmen to follow would never have to wait for too long.
There was a fourth reason too, perhaps. My friends used to like me.
Now I am confused. I don’t know for sure what I want to tell you about. There are so many small things that happened in the school that I could tell you about. Or, I could tell you about my summer holidays when I played table-tennis all day. Ok. Let’s settle for this. I will tell you about all of those, but for now let me just show you around my school and let me tell you about some things that changed my life forever.
Ok, now you know that my school stood in front of the BA-CA Park. This was a two storied building, white in color. When freshly whitewashed with chuna, the outside of my school building used to dazzle shamelessly on summer afternoons. The classrooms weren't whitewashed so often though, and had strange patterns built by dampness every monsoon. In most rooms, there were blackboards. Some had boards that were green, and those looked so much better. My class was one with a green board. It was a largish room that was divided into two parts by a wooden partition. One side was my class, Class IX B, and the other was Class IX A. And, there were these desks and chairs, of the same color as the wooden partition. The polish on the wood was particularly bad, and was made to look worse by all the scribbling with compasses that we had done. These scribbling were never as obscene or direct as they used to be in the boy’s toilets; most often they were either declarations of love or simply some grouse against a teacher. I never had the guts to scribble my secret yearnings though.
What were the other objects in the room? Chalks. Duster. A wardrobe in which absolutely nothing was kept. Fans. And the tube-lights of course. White radiations of which I always hated and the lizards always loved.
Talking about tube-lights reminds me that they always need a starter to get started and often we (I say we because I was part of the class, never part of the gang that did this though. Ah me, the timid little stranger in class!) used to take out the starters and hide them to delay classes. This was especially effective on those unlucky rainy days on which we didn’t get our rainy day holidays.
I want to tell you a lot more about rains really. They have been linked with my life in many ways. Lot of good things happened to me on days when skies were grey and the roads in Calcutta were water logged. To begin with, I was born on one such day. Then, on my fifth birthday (or was it sixth?), when whole of Kankurgachi was submerged in water, I had forced Mummy to get my birthday gift, wading through those waters. Years later, it had rained copiously on the day I finally got admitted to my college - Presidency College. Intriguingly, that was my 19th birthday too. And then of course, CAT 1997 – it rained in December. IIMC interview – 25th March 1998 – it rained. IIMC results day – it rained. And first day in IIMC again – it rained.
Two things here – one, it doesn’t rain round the year in Calcutta. And two, I think other things would have happened too on rainy days that I either don’t remember or have not mentioned here.
Ok, so back to the classroom and the tube-light and lizards. I hate lizards. Perhaps they look slimy, so I hate them. But I hate them. And, they make a strange kind of rhythmic sound that is so easy for humans to replicate. I had learnt how to make that sound way back in class II, and then made that sound in the school assembly when we literally had a pin-drop silence. And, when I was asked who made the sound, I had promptly pointed the finger at the girl next to me. I had taught her how to make that sound, and she had made it too with me. She got a slap for it. Eventually I got two when the whole story was out.
I hate lizards, that’s it.
Ok, so I told you that I will show you around my school. I have shown you the classroom, and you would have realized that there wasn’t much to see there. There used to be something to smell every now and then even till class VI when one of my classmates would lose control of his bowel movement. We will skip that though.
So, get out of the classroom on a typical day. Let us say it is Thursday afternoon, the period after lunch. It is the Drawing class. Drawing sir, PDG, with his long gray hair and much whiter mustache has asked, as usual, who all had not got the paints. Dipti is one of them. She is asked to leave the class with twelve others. I have got the paints, but tell sir that I don't have them either. Standing outside the class, atleast I get to see Dipti. It is a different matter though that I have never spoken to her.
Anyway, ignore us and just walk down the corridor. We have our morning and afternoon assemblies in this corridor that surrounds the central quadrangle. As part of our Socially Useful and Productive Work, we had planted some Dahlias and Chrysanthemums in middle of the quadrangle. You can see the flowers blooming now.
Where one wall of the corridor meets the other, there are the toilets. So, ignore them too and take a right. And, you hit the Physics laboratory on your left. Peep inside. If you see a spectacled middle aged lady sitting on a desk, it must be Sushmita miss, my Physics teacher. If you see a young athletic mustached guy with a smirk that can never be wiped off, well, that is Rajat da. I cannot tell you much about the other stuff you will see inside the Physics laboratory. For one, it was way too long back when I had seen all that. Secondly, even then I hardly knew what all that stuff was. If you are a keen observer, you would have noticed by now the windows of the Physics laboratory open into our small playground.
Talking about playgrounds, actually we had three playgrounds inside the school. One at the back side, the one at the front, and the third was the quadrangle. We were not supposed to run around on the grass in the quadrangle, but invariably that was the place where we enjoyed playing the most. That was also the place for the major punishments – like Nandita miss used to give us – “Go and stand in the quadrangle with your tongues out!”
The playground outside the school was of course the large BA-CA ground. That’s where we practiced for our Sports Day and that’s where our Sports day used to be held.
Ok, now move forward from the Physics Laboratory. This again ends at another corner that has the toilets, so take a right turn again, and you have three classrooms on your left. If you had come here with me, or with Manas perhaps, in 1996, you would have seen an Aquaguard water filter on this wall. This filter was installed that year but didn’t survive long. Manas’ friend, Golgi as he was known, wanted to figure out how the system works and ensured that it never worked again.
But you keep walking. Further down is another corner. On this corner is the staircase. The wall adjacent to that has the staff room. We shall not go inside the staff room for now, as that would be another long story. Let us go down instead to the ground floor. Right underneath the staff room is Madam’s room. Next to that is the school office where Rajesh sir sits. Behind other walls are classrooms or toilets in the same way as they you saw them on the first floor.
Now you must be wondering how the school could accommodate its 1200 students. Well, we had two batches – the morning batch and the day batch. Morning batch timings were from 7 am to 10 am. Manas had the misfortune of being in morning batch for several years. I was always in the day batch. For my batch, the school assembly used to be at 10:30. That was also usually the time I used to leave my home at. I had to run diagonally through the park, and as a result I knew long before we were taught in Geometry that the sum of two sides of a triangle is always greater than the third. Anyways, I used to be invariably late and I would hope that Sapna miss, our strict Vice-Principal would ask me to go back home for coming in late. But that never happened. I had to write in my diary twenty times – “I will never be late again” – and I would be allowed in.
Ok, so by now you would have figured out what a loser I was. Yes, always late to school, standing out even in Drawing class, opening the batting and getting out for naught, having a crush on a girl that I had not spoken to all my life… the list could be endless. In fact, from class III to class IX, I had always been “Promoted on trial”. Probably it took some doing to flunk in Salt Lake (Eng. Med.) School.
But then some things just happened.
We had to choose our sixth subject in Class IX. Or, I should say our sixth subject had to choose between us. The options were – Physical Education, Computers Science or Economics.
My 20 seconds for running fifty meters and the inability to complete three pushups had disqualified me from Physical Education. Now, it was a toss between Computers Science and Economics.
Those were the heady days of computers. Our school had four of them. All kept in the only air-conditioned room in the whole school where no one was allowed to walk in with their shoes on. And, even among them, the most coveted was the one with a color monitor. One in which text appeared in green.
So, there was a high demand for the Computer Science course. The initial plan was to take in students based on their marks in the final examination of class VIII. But somehow this plan got changed. So there was to be a test for the Computer Science course – an aptitude test.
20 students out of our class of 60 were to be selected. I was obviously a rank outsider.
Now, I don’t remember whether it rained that day or not, but an aptitude test was held. It had none of the math questions that I surely wouldn’t have been able to answer. Just some silly sequences and pictorial patterns. Ah, nothing from the syllabus at all.
As it would be, when the results came a lot of people were surprised. I had reconciled myself by then with taking up Economics. But I got the second highest marks in that test. A test in which there were negative marks, I had got 19 out of 25. Highest was 21 out of 25. And, most of the class was below -6.
Something triggered there.
Then came in Sushmita miss. Yes, the same spectacled middle aged lady you just saw in the Physics Laboratory. She joined the school when I was in class IX.
And, she came to take our Computer Science class. Or, was it the Physics class? Well, I cannot remember.
Anyway, she asked a question in the class, and I was the first to respond with the correct answer. Now, I don’t know what it was, was it that one correct answer that I gave or something else, Sushmita miss started believing that I was the best student in her class.
Ask me, was I the best student? No way. No way, at all!
But Sushmita miss believed it nevertheless.
I had already started believing that I was underselling myself to my own self, and started believing in my abilities. And now, there was this expectation of a teacher to be met.
So, what followed was a virtuous cycle. Old habits didn’t change. I would still not do my homework as it needed to be done. I would still have to burn the midnight lamp to pass my exams. But my performance improved. And improved quite a bit.
In my board exams in class X I did rather well. And then, in class XII, I was made the first Head Boy of my school.
Years later, during my MBA, I read about the “Pygmalion Effect”. In a nut shell – if you expect, not just want, someone to do well and convey that in unambiguous terms, then that person is likely to reward you for your belief in them.
For too many years, I had not believed in myself. And, none of my teachers had believed in me. And, when that changed, my life changed.
I feel lucky that this happened to me. I have seen many people whose would have done so well with one such trigger in their life. This, of course, is not to say that I have succeeded in keeping all my self-doubts aside. But then, I do believe that all of us have the inherent ability to achieve whatever we dream of.
Thursday, September 30, 2004
Panchhi's flight
It was a misty morning, dew drops were glistening on the tip of leaves. A mild morning breeze blew through the forest. The quiet murmur of leaves was interspersed by the chirping of the black tailed monkeys that jumped playfully from one branch to another, from one tree to another.
Panchhi had woken up early, way before light had begun to fill the sky. Today was the day he had been waiting for. Today he would fly far and high. The wings had been tested in the low flights around the trees. Now they were ready for the higher skies.
So many emotions filled Panchhi’s heart today. He was excited that he would take the leap, yet he was apprehensive of leaving his nest, his parents, and his friends behind. And, though he had seen the sky from his nest so often, and had loves it so much, he did never gone deep into it. He did not know what to expect.
So, Panchhi looked at his nest for one last time and spread his wings to plunge into the sky.
Initially he saw the world he knew - the clutter of leaves, the black tailed monkeys, and the lake in the middle of the trees. But as it began to fly higher up, he saw a much larger forest – so many trees and lakes that he had never seen or imagined. It was green all around.
As Panchhi kept going higher air was getting colder, but there was a freshness about it; much like the blue of the sky. And down below, the color of the land was longer green. Blue of the ocean was beginning to mix in too. Panchhi was amazed. He had never known that there existed such a big lake.
Gradually Panchhi flew into the clouds. The air was getting rarer, yet his wings were striving to reach even higher.
And then, all of a sudden, when the view was most beautiful in a riot of colors, when his wings had to make no more effort to stay afloat, Panchhi felt an urge to fly no more. Suddenly the urge to go back home, to return to his nest.
So, he descended back to a forest.
This was a different forest. Not the same where he had grown up. Yet, this forest was so similar. The leaves were a little smaller, but they were green nevertheless.
Sitting at a perched branch on the top of a tree, Panchhi now wondered what was happening. All his life he had wanted to fly in the sky and today when he was floating above the clouds, he only wanted to come back home. As a child he had been sure that flying high was his destiny. And now, he was sitting on a branch, not knowing what to do.
Sun had begun to dip in the horizon. Night was beginning to fall. Stars glistened in a distant sky. Panchhi was feeling depressed.
In that darkness of the night, Panchhi tried to imagine all the colors he had seen while he flew. And he began to realize that the colors of the skies were the same as the colors of the forest, that the brush that painted the skies painted the forest too.
Suddenly his heart filled with joy. He knew that he would build a nest next morning, and that he would fly again to the highest skies if ever he felt like. That this tree he was on was the same as any tree he had ever been on. That flying in the highest skies was the same as sitting on this perched branch.
Panchhi had woken up early, way before light had begun to fill the sky. Today was the day he had been waiting for. Today he would fly far and high. The wings had been tested in the low flights around the trees. Now they were ready for the higher skies.
So many emotions filled Panchhi’s heart today. He was excited that he would take the leap, yet he was apprehensive of leaving his nest, his parents, and his friends behind. And, though he had seen the sky from his nest so often, and had loves it so much, he did never gone deep into it. He did not know what to expect.
So, Panchhi looked at his nest for one last time and spread his wings to plunge into the sky.
Initially he saw the world he knew - the clutter of leaves, the black tailed monkeys, and the lake in the middle of the trees. But as it began to fly higher up, he saw a much larger forest – so many trees and lakes that he had never seen or imagined. It was green all around.
As Panchhi kept going higher air was getting colder, but there was a freshness about it; much like the blue of the sky. And down below, the color of the land was longer green. Blue of the ocean was beginning to mix in too. Panchhi was amazed. He had never known that there existed such a big lake.
Gradually Panchhi flew into the clouds. The air was getting rarer, yet his wings were striving to reach even higher.
And then, all of a sudden, when the view was most beautiful in a riot of colors, when his wings had to make no more effort to stay afloat, Panchhi felt an urge to fly no more. Suddenly the urge to go back home, to return to his nest.
So, he descended back to a forest.
This was a different forest. Not the same where he had grown up. Yet, this forest was so similar. The leaves were a little smaller, but they were green nevertheless.
Sitting at a perched branch on the top of a tree, Panchhi now wondered what was happening. All his life he had wanted to fly in the sky and today when he was floating above the clouds, he only wanted to come back home. As a child he had been sure that flying high was his destiny. And now, he was sitting on a branch, not knowing what to do.
Sun had begun to dip in the horizon. Night was beginning to fall. Stars glistened in a distant sky. Panchhi was feeling depressed.
In that darkness of the night, Panchhi tried to imagine all the colors he had seen while he flew. And he began to realize that the colors of the skies were the same as the colors of the forest, that the brush that painted the skies painted the forest too.
Suddenly his heart filled with joy. He knew that he would build a nest next morning, and that he would fly again to the highest skies if ever he felt like. That this tree he was on was the same as any tree he had ever been on. That flying in the highest skies was the same as sitting on this perched branch.
Letter from Malaya Bhaiya
Malaya Bhaiya wrote to me this, at a time when he himself was going through some struggle
5th October 1997
My dear Nishith,
Let me take this opportunity to wish you a very Happy Birthday in phase with the rising sun. Even though my writing (or ‘sermon’!) may have the stink (or ‘aroma’) of my own experiences, yet (or ‘therefore’, - as the case may be), the sole aim is to generate a meaningful proposition.
Each ‘Birthday’, therefore, could be meaningfully act as a milestone / landmark to determine the length and quality of the path covered and envisage the coordinates of the next milestone. It is the time to review, define and redefine parameters for yourself, in as global a perspective, as possible. ‘Success’, for instance, is often loosely (and ineptly) looked upon as how others view the events in your life. You, in turn, start looking at it from the point of view of others. It often infringes with your definitions. The outcome is chaotic and loss of peace results.
No external reward is rewarding enough. Seek the sanctum-sanctorum for true, unadulterated rewards. Let your thoughts traverse their own orbits / course, unaffected by the myriads around. Pure joy will descend upon you. And, a source of joy will radiate joy… will create more sources… more joy… and this train of joy will carry mankind to its destination, some day.
Act with alacrity, to the call from within. Though ‘noiseless’, these calls are ‘sound’ because they emerge from totality and generate a symphony. They carry the rationale they need.
The ‘literate’ knows how to read the lines. An ‘educated’, in addition, knows how to read between them. Be the educated man. The world rough and the implications are far-fetched (sometimes). Ensconce your educational base to deal with the mundane.
Knit your thoughts together. The pattern will be beautiful and serene. Let each breath of fresh air dance to this tune.
May God bless you,
Sincerely,
Malaya
5th October 1997
My dear Nishith,
Let me take this opportunity to wish you a very Happy Birthday in phase with the rising sun. Even though my writing (or ‘sermon’!) may have the stink (or ‘aroma’) of my own experiences, yet (or ‘therefore’, - as the case may be), the sole aim is to generate a meaningful proposition.
Each ‘Birthday’, therefore, could be meaningfully act as a milestone / landmark to determine the length and quality of the path covered and envisage the coordinates of the next milestone. It is the time to review, define and redefine parameters for yourself, in as global a perspective, as possible. ‘Success’, for instance, is often loosely (and ineptly) looked upon as how others view the events in your life. You, in turn, start looking at it from the point of view of others. It often infringes with your definitions. The outcome is chaotic and loss of peace results.
No external reward is rewarding enough. Seek the sanctum-sanctorum for true, unadulterated rewards. Let your thoughts traverse their own orbits / course, unaffected by the myriads around. Pure joy will descend upon you. And, a source of joy will radiate joy… will create more sources… more joy… and this train of joy will carry mankind to its destination, some day.
Act with alacrity, to the call from within. Though ‘noiseless’, these calls are ‘sound’ because they emerge from totality and generate a symphony. They carry the rationale they need.
The ‘literate’ knows how to read the lines. An ‘educated’, in addition, knows how to read between them. Be the educated man. The world rough and the implications are far-fetched (sometimes). Ensconce your educational base to deal with the mundane.
Knit your thoughts together. The pattern will be beautiful and serene. Let each breath of fresh air dance to this tune.
May God bless you,
Sincerely,
Malaya
Wednesday, September 29, 2004
She will see them too
From my dairy... had written in December 1996... Deepika insists that I let you know that this is pure fiction...
My love for clouds began this September. Before that, I never used to like the clouds. Gray clouds on the horizon always meant that kites wouldn’t fly. So a clear sky was what I liked.
This September, I was somewhat lonely and I used to go down to the park. She used to be there too. And she used to love the clouds.
She would show me the clouds in all their different shapes. Clouds that floated like bloated cotton in the air; sometimes so white and sometimes in all the different shades that a drowning sun painted the sky in.
She would tell me that the clouds were playful like a child, carelessly bouncing into each other, merrily dancing to the tunes of air. And yet, she would say, clouds hide a well of wisdom in them. Roaring they come down, but quietly they are up there again.
I started loving the clouds too, but they always belonged to her.
Then one day, she did not come. And then, she never came.
Now, winters have set in and the clouds are gone. But I know deep in my heart that the clouds will be back. And when I see them, she will see them too.
My love for clouds began this September. Before that, I never used to like the clouds. Gray clouds on the horizon always meant that kites wouldn’t fly. So a clear sky was what I liked.
This September, I was somewhat lonely and I used to go down to the park. She used to be there too. And she used to love the clouds.
She would show me the clouds in all their different shapes. Clouds that floated like bloated cotton in the air; sometimes so white and sometimes in all the different shades that a drowning sun painted the sky in.
She would tell me that the clouds were playful like a child, carelessly bouncing into each other, merrily dancing to the tunes of air. And yet, she would say, clouds hide a well of wisdom in them. Roaring they come down, but quietly they are up there again.
I started loving the clouds too, but they always belonged to her.
Then one day, she did not come. And then, she never came.
Now, winters have set in and the clouds are gone. But I know deep in my heart that the clouds will be back. And when I see them, she will see them too.
Meri Abhilaashaa
Had written this long back. Probably in 1993... This isnt me for sure though.
Abhilaashaa ke mridu panghat par
Ghadaa mujhe bhi ek bharnaa hai,
Jeevan ke is nirmal path par
Mujhko bhi aagey badhnaa hai.
Suraj chaand aur tare paanaa
Chaahta to hai har insaan,
Kya mein bhi maang loon inko nabh se
Aur kar doon sari jagati sunsaan?
Ya ban jaaoon mein woh prakhar jyoti
Jiske aadhaar par jeevan aashrit,
Jiski aabhaa se prerit ho kar
Andhakaar khud hua samarpit?
Chaahta hoon mein banoon boond
Aur gir jaaoon pyasi dharti par,
Maati mehke, panchhi chehken,
Behek uthen saare naari nar,
Khushiyon ki barsaat ho aviral
Nav jeevan kaa ullaas mile,
Khoye hue mad mast aalam mein
Mera pataa mile naa mile.
Abhilaashaa ke mridu panghat par
Ghadaa mujhe bhi ek bharnaa hai,
Jeevan ke is nirmal path par
Mujhko bhi aagey badhnaa hai.
Suraj chaand aur tare paanaa
Chaahta to hai har insaan,
Kya mein bhi maang loon inko nabh se
Aur kar doon sari jagati sunsaan?
Ya ban jaaoon mein woh prakhar jyoti
Jiske aadhaar par jeevan aashrit,
Jiski aabhaa se prerit ho kar
Andhakaar khud hua samarpit?
Chaahta hoon mein banoon boond
Aur gir jaaoon pyasi dharti par,
Maati mehke, panchhi chehken,
Behek uthen saare naari nar,
Khushiyon ki barsaat ho aviral
Nav jeevan kaa ullaas mile,
Khoye hue mad mast aalam mein
Mera pataa mile naa mile.
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Finally our drawing room looks good...
Deepika and I got my birthday gifts today.
Two bean bags – brownish grey and red. Two floor cushions – blue and green, and yellow and green. One rug in different shades of blue. A black flower vase. One basket filled with potpourri smelling of cinnamon. A violet bed sheet.
So, where I sit tonight, there is a cane lampshade behind me. My laptop is playing music from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. The yellow and green curtains hang infront of me. Deepika is lying on the mattress right behind me.
Deepika insists that I must tell you about the wind chime that hangs right opposite her. She loves the way air caresses the wind chime to create that tingle.
Lying scattered on the rugs are paintings we just made. Just a splashing of poster colors on pieces of paper. Colors that paint our lives today. Colors that make me want to live so much more.
Two bean bags – brownish grey and red. Two floor cushions – blue and green, and yellow and green. One rug in different shades of blue. A black flower vase. One basket filled with potpourri smelling of cinnamon. A violet bed sheet.
So, where I sit tonight, there is a cane lampshade behind me. My laptop is playing music from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam. The yellow and green curtains hang infront of me. Deepika is lying on the mattress right behind me.
Deepika insists that I must tell you about the wind chime that hangs right opposite her. She loves the way air caresses the wind chime to create that tingle.
Lying scattered on the rugs are paintings we just made. Just a splashing of poster colors on pieces of paper. Colors that paint our lives today. Colors that make me want to live so much more.
Monday, September 20, 2004
Musing in the night
Today Vishal got the Sarod from Calcutta. It’s been a long time since I learned or played Sarod seriously. There used to be a time when I would spend hours playing the Sarod – I used to call it – playing with the Sarod. And today my heart stirred again when my java hit the strings and my nails pressed the strings to the shiny metal plate. There is a magic in Sarod. And, a magic in my playing with it. Somehow, I just seem to melt away in the music that surrounds me. I know that I have not advanced beyond a level in playing the Sarod, and that there is so much more to learn. Yet, whenever I hear the sound of my Sarod, that exact note in all its melody, I forget the world around. Ah, how much I wish I start learning Sarod again.
Of course, Sarod isn’t the best news for everyone. For one, Deepika is already feeling a little annoyed. What with all my writing and reading and TV, she could have done without another distraction for me. So, here she is, sitting by my side, surely wanting to draw my attention. It’s a different matter, of course, that her eyes draw me more than anything else in the world.
Coming back to Sarod. There is something regal about it. The polished wood, the shiny metal plate, the white skin drum. And, the sound of course. The strength with which it emanates sound, and yet in that there is a melody that is ever so sweet. It is so easy with Sarod to express absolute rage with one stroke and touching love with another. Just like Raag Darbari – strong, sweet and majestic. Like fire that rises in the midst of the night, raging as it soars towards the sky, chirping away as it burns the twigs – and like the dying embers that remind one of the cold night that surrounds once again.
Now, it’s 11:07 in the night, and Deepika’s read what I have written in the second paragraph. Might as well let her know that I really meant the last line in it.
Of course, Sarod isn’t the best news for everyone. For one, Deepika is already feeling a little annoyed. What with all my writing and reading and TV, she could have done without another distraction for me. So, here she is, sitting by my side, surely wanting to draw my attention. It’s a different matter, of course, that her eyes draw me more than anything else in the world.
Coming back to Sarod. There is something regal about it. The polished wood, the shiny metal plate, the white skin drum. And, the sound of course. The strength with which it emanates sound, and yet in that there is a melody that is ever so sweet. It is so easy with Sarod to express absolute rage with one stroke and touching love with another. Just like Raag Darbari – strong, sweet and majestic. Like fire that rises in the midst of the night, raging as it soars towards the sky, chirping away as it burns the twigs – and like the dying embers that remind one of the cold night that surrounds once again.
Now, it’s 11:07 in the night, and Deepika’s read what I have written in the second paragraph. Might as well let her know that I really meant the last line in it.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Vision of Paradise
November 2002
Palakkad Junction, deep inside South India, is situated at the border of Tamil Nadu and Kerala. Just twelve hours away from a metropolitan Bangalore, Palakkad has a rustic charm. A virgin land, untouched by modernity.
It was early in the morning when my train reached the station. I was scared that I might over sleep and miss the station, and had kept awake all night. There was nothing to look at from my window seat. The open fields filled with dancing greens and grazing cows in the day were all black now, and merged seamlessly with the sky. The compartment was full of people. All berths were taken, and there were more at the end near the toilets, where the caged yellow bulbs burned dimly, lying on their bundles of cloth. It was a cold night, and not all windows had glasses.
As the train slowed down and moved into the platform, I could hear the sounds of vendors selling morning snacks dissolve into the chaos of songs that devotees, travelling further south to Sabarimala, sang in the general compartment. At four in the morning, the sky was still dark. Those who had woken up early, rushed to water taps on the platform to wash their faces and brush their teeth. This was where I had to get off. Lazily I dragged myself out of the compartment. My shoes untied, hair crumpled. My eyes half asleep.
On the platform, I stood by till the engine whistled into gradual start; the station master waving the green flag. All the hectic morning activity of the platform came to a grinding halt, as everyone seemed to drift back into slumber. The next train would arrive only five hours later.
It was colder than I had expected. Wind blew from the scarlet skies behind the mountains covered with descending mist. The orange halogen lamps on the platform made me feel dizzy.
This was my first destination in Kerala.
I spent the day meandering through the lanes; walking by the markets. The town erupted into most of the activity by ten. Cycles and cycle rickshaws drove by in the narrow brick streets. Crowds gathered in markets that had slippery floors and the smell of freshly caught fishes. By the time sun shone in all its brightness most people went back indoors, in comfort of the shade of their slanted-roofed-houses. It was only in the evening that town came alive again.
This was a strange place, Palakkad. Its extremes of activity and inactivity seemed to be matched only by its extremes of temperatures. Without a hint, the afternoon heat quickly transformed into an evening chill.
When the sky was dark again, lights in the shops lit up. Suddenly there were people all around again.I meandered through some more lanes in the night and came back to the hotel late.
Early next morning I was on my way to Allapuzha or Aleppey. They call this place the Venice of the East. A six hour journey; and since my early morning wasn’t early enough, I reached Aleppey only at about 2 in the afternoon.
Back waters of Kerala are what tourists come here to see. There are two ways of doing that – staying in a resort by the side of the back waters and taking a boat to see the interiors. Alternately, just taking a house boat, and spending the night in the back waters. I chose the latter.After a bit of hard bargain – this doesn’t come cheap, it cost me two and a half thousand rupees – I was off to a nearby bank from where I would board my boat. Surprised faces greeted me, for it wasn’t often that somebody came here alone to stay on a houseboat.
The journey began well. It was already about four in the afternoon, and I had missed my lunch. So, I was only glad that food was served soon enough.As we moved on, I started to think if I had made the right choice – choosing the houseboat over a resort. The houseboat held its appeal in its wooden deck and the cane structure that covered the room. But, it wasn’t exactly luxurious. No lights for one. At least not the ones powered by electricity; there were some kerosene lanterns though. Then, the houseboat was not motorised – to be rowed all along. Perhaps it was a result of the hard bargain I had made – but the other way of looking at it was that this was to be a completely natural experience.
Yet, the murkiness of the water and all the weeds floating around disturbed me. I was reminded of my trip to Sunderbans a few years back. Vivid pictures of its green-blue waters and untouched beauty flashed in front of my eyes. And I felt that I was missing something. First few hours were spent in comparing the two, looking for that something exceptional. Something special. But as it happens with all things special in life, it could not be found until I stopped looking.
The sky was a little clouded. The air blew mildly. The palm groves across the waters looked black in the shadows of a setting sun. It was like a water-colour painting. Colours melting into each other ever so gently. Mist giving it the halo of a dream. I could hear the sound of oars splashing the waves, and the birds flying on their way home. And, when we passed by an island, there were children playing cricket, and girls all dressed up and going somewhere with the ladies. And, there was nothing around. The water and the boat and the islands, the trees on them, and the sky.
On the boat, I had with me three others – Babu and Shivdas, boatmen both. And Manoj, the chef.
Shivdas was about 50 years old. Grey hair betraying his age. He wore a light pink shirt, a green lungi and a white turban. And every bit of his cloth looked striking on his chocolate brown skin. Babu looked very similar too. Only, he had a more angelic smile, as his eyes shrank when his teeth showed.Both Babu and Shivdas were from nearby villages, and spoke only Malayalam. Manoj was the one who knew a little of both Hindi and English. He had worked in Bombay for a couple of years as an AC mechanic. He would get three thousand rupees a month there, but that wasn’t enough to meet his expenses. So, here he was, doing a job that gave him thirty rupees a day and tips from the tourists. Tips, I was made to believe, that were generous.
And, this did seem plausible. In this state of Kerala, God’s Own Country, there was little development beyond tourism. Most locals worked on farms, cultivating paddy and bananas and coconut, or they worked for tour operators. So, the wages were low. This, despite, or perhaps because of, a communist regime after every alternate election. But tourism did flourish here and tourists came from far and wide.
The sun was almost below the horizon when we reached in the middle of somewhere that was surrounded by water all around. It wasn’t a dark night even though clouds covered a half moon. Stars were missing. On the distant banks shone the lights in resorts, reflecting in the mirror of water underneath. There was silence all around. Only stray sounds of a motor boat passing by filtered through once in a while. November usually heralds winters, but air did not betray any signs of it. Mild breeze brought some comfort from humidity. And, the ripples it created swayed the boat in a rhythm. I lay on the deck, watching the clouds pass over the moon to allow an occasional glimpse. I loved the quiet and I loved the dim light of the lanterns that were lit now, but I hated my loneliness. And, I hated my mind for racing through so many thoughts.
I wondered about man. And I wondered about animals. And I wondered about life. And I wondered if animals are more blessed than men. Wondered if we are unhappy because we think so much; unable to just savour the moment the way life serves it. Wondered if there was a way that I could just stop thinking so much some day. And these thoughts kept me occupied till dinner was served on the deck. Keralite food turned out to be more delicious than I had expected. In fact, it was wonderful.
I lay on the deck till late in the night. Manoj saw the walkman I had and wanted to hear some songs. He sat by my side while Babu and Shivdas chatted away at the other end of the boat. Late in the night, I went into the boat-room, and tried to sleep there. Manoj had warned me about fishermen from nearby villages who came in the night to just see if they could pickup something. So, only one window of the boat could be kept open, and the night was spent battling the humidity and the mosquitoes. I hardly got any sleep. Each time I was in the middle of some dream, a mosquito would buzz in the ear.
But, mosquitoes did ensure that I was awake before dawn. I woke up a little tired and walked out on the deck. It was a lot chiller now. The clouds still covered the sky. I could not see the sun go up in the east. But the view around was beautiful. Serene. The freshness of the air, the rippling of the waves. It was all the same as it had been the evening before. And yet, it was different. My senses seemed to melt away into the beauty that surrounded me. Something inside told me that I was part of this creation, this beauty all around, and that what I saw was part of me too. Like the mosquitoes, all my disturbing thoughts had suddenly vanished.
For a while, I lay on the deck with eyes wide awake. And then, I didn’t even realise when sleep took over. Then, Manoj woke me for breakfast after a most refreshing nap I had had in a long time. It was about 8 in the morning and time to move on. Time to explore in greater depths the backwaters of Kerala.
As we moved further on, I saw some birds and saw some flowers. Flowers that I saw were mostly red. Crimson red. Some were hibiscus. And, there were greens all around. There were palm groves, and banana trees and paddy fields. And there were stray islands, small ones, dense with trees growing into each other, climbers hanging out into waters. There were small huts and villages nearby. There were fishermen in their boats with nets under the water, working for their daily catch. And, there were these small boats, Vallum. Thin and small, very similar to canoes. So thin that after one person sat in them, there was no space for anything else to fit in.
We moved on to the place where they repaired the boats. Somewhere deep inside those water alleys; it was actually like a cross-section of two water lanes. Just a shed of tin by the side of a smallish house. It was here that I finally found someone willing to lend their Vallum. As smiling faces greeted us, Manoj and I drifted into a Vallum. It was scary to start with. A slight shift in weight on either side, and we would both be in water. But, soon we just settled into the boat so well that we were one with the lake. We rowed in the water with the light wooden oars, as we waded through to the other end to buy a packet of match sticks. And, where I sat in the boat, it was below the water level. Just extend the hand a little and the hand was full of water. We waded through the water lilies and I plucked one there. This was the clearest water I had seen in the entire place yet; clear enough to be able to spot the small black fishes.
Half an hour of rowing left us tired, and yet it left me wanting for more. The lake seemed to allure me with its beauty. It screamed to me to tell me that I wanted more of it. That it wanted more of me. It urged me to take a plunge, to feel its water on my skin, to unravel its beauty, deep inside. The lake had a strange charm, mysterious and sublime; charm that I just could not resist it.
In those waters I swam like fish. I saw the pebbles at the bottom and the greens that grew on them. I saw the small black fishes float by me. And when I swam facing the sky, I saw the towering palms bowing to me; paying obeisance to the lake. I saw the clouds filter the light enough so that it would not hurt my eyes. And every splash that I made broke the silence, and yet it was the rhythm in which my soul danced.
This lake was what life was about. About getting deep inside, about taking what came on way, about absorbing the richness of the moment in its completeness. Like swimming, like flying, like dancing, like meditation. I had to dip myself in it. Surrender to it. Completely. And then, there were no boundaries, no limits.
When the body couldn’t take anymore, I was back on deck. Exhausted to the hilt. Lying on the polished wood, warmed with a now blazing sun. Eyelids battled exhaustion for a while, not willing to miss any glimpse of the beauty around, but sleep gently took over yet again.
A quiet nap later, we were travelling back towards the point where we had boarded from.
Soon, Manoj and Babu and Shivdas and the sky and the palm trees, the water lilies, the paddy fields, the dimly lit lanterns in the quiet of the night and the rippling, charming waters would all be part of memory; etched in a corner of my heart. And, I would be on a bus to Cochin; my skin a little more chocolate brown.
Palakkad Junction, deep inside South India, is situated at the border of Tamil Nadu and Kerala. Just twelve hours away from a metropolitan Bangalore, Palakkad has a rustic charm. A virgin land, untouched by modernity.
It was early in the morning when my train reached the station. I was scared that I might over sleep and miss the station, and had kept awake all night. There was nothing to look at from my window seat. The open fields filled with dancing greens and grazing cows in the day were all black now, and merged seamlessly with the sky. The compartment was full of people. All berths were taken, and there were more at the end near the toilets, where the caged yellow bulbs burned dimly, lying on their bundles of cloth. It was a cold night, and not all windows had glasses.
As the train slowed down and moved into the platform, I could hear the sounds of vendors selling morning snacks dissolve into the chaos of songs that devotees, travelling further south to Sabarimala, sang in the general compartment. At four in the morning, the sky was still dark. Those who had woken up early, rushed to water taps on the platform to wash their faces and brush their teeth. This was where I had to get off. Lazily I dragged myself out of the compartment. My shoes untied, hair crumpled. My eyes half asleep.
On the platform, I stood by till the engine whistled into gradual start; the station master waving the green flag. All the hectic morning activity of the platform came to a grinding halt, as everyone seemed to drift back into slumber. The next train would arrive only five hours later.
It was colder than I had expected. Wind blew from the scarlet skies behind the mountains covered with descending mist. The orange halogen lamps on the platform made me feel dizzy.
This was my first destination in Kerala.
I spent the day meandering through the lanes; walking by the markets. The town erupted into most of the activity by ten. Cycles and cycle rickshaws drove by in the narrow brick streets. Crowds gathered in markets that had slippery floors and the smell of freshly caught fishes. By the time sun shone in all its brightness most people went back indoors, in comfort of the shade of their slanted-roofed-houses. It was only in the evening that town came alive again.
This was a strange place, Palakkad. Its extremes of activity and inactivity seemed to be matched only by its extremes of temperatures. Without a hint, the afternoon heat quickly transformed into an evening chill.
When the sky was dark again, lights in the shops lit up. Suddenly there were people all around again.I meandered through some more lanes in the night and came back to the hotel late.
Early next morning I was on my way to Allapuzha or Aleppey. They call this place the Venice of the East. A six hour journey; and since my early morning wasn’t early enough, I reached Aleppey only at about 2 in the afternoon.
Back waters of Kerala are what tourists come here to see. There are two ways of doing that – staying in a resort by the side of the back waters and taking a boat to see the interiors. Alternately, just taking a house boat, and spending the night in the back waters. I chose the latter.After a bit of hard bargain – this doesn’t come cheap, it cost me two and a half thousand rupees – I was off to a nearby bank from where I would board my boat. Surprised faces greeted me, for it wasn’t often that somebody came here alone to stay on a houseboat.
The journey began well. It was already about four in the afternoon, and I had missed my lunch. So, I was only glad that food was served soon enough.As we moved on, I started to think if I had made the right choice – choosing the houseboat over a resort. The houseboat held its appeal in its wooden deck and the cane structure that covered the room. But, it wasn’t exactly luxurious. No lights for one. At least not the ones powered by electricity; there were some kerosene lanterns though. Then, the houseboat was not motorised – to be rowed all along. Perhaps it was a result of the hard bargain I had made – but the other way of looking at it was that this was to be a completely natural experience.
Yet, the murkiness of the water and all the weeds floating around disturbed me. I was reminded of my trip to Sunderbans a few years back. Vivid pictures of its green-blue waters and untouched beauty flashed in front of my eyes. And I felt that I was missing something. First few hours were spent in comparing the two, looking for that something exceptional. Something special. But as it happens with all things special in life, it could not be found until I stopped looking.
The sky was a little clouded. The air blew mildly. The palm groves across the waters looked black in the shadows of a setting sun. It was like a water-colour painting. Colours melting into each other ever so gently. Mist giving it the halo of a dream. I could hear the sound of oars splashing the waves, and the birds flying on their way home. And, when we passed by an island, there were children playing cricket, and girls all dressed up and going somewhere with the ladies. And, there was nothing around. The water and the boat and the islands, the trees on them, and the sky.
On the boat, I had with me three others – Babu and Shivdas, boatmen both. And Manoj, the chef.
Shivdas was about 50 years old. Grey hair betraying his age. He wore a light pink shirt, a green lungi and a white turban. And every bit of his cloth looked striking on his chocolate brown skin. Babu looked very similar too. Only, he had a more angelic smile, as his eyes shrank when his teeth showed.Both Babu and Shivdas were from nearby villages, and spoke only Malayalam. Manoj was the one who knew a little of both Hindi and English. He had worked in Bombay for a couple of years as an AC mechanic. He would get three thousand rupees a month there, but that wasn’t enough to meet his expenses. So, here he was, doing a job that gave him thirty rupees a day and tips from the tourists. Tips, I was made to believe, that were generous.
And, this did seem plausible. In this state of Kerala, God’s Own Country, there was little development beyond tourism. Most locals worked on farms, cultivating paddy and bananas and coconut, or they worked for tour operators. So, the wages were low. This, despite, or perhaps because of, a communist regime after every alternate election. But tourism did flourish here and tourists came from far and wide.
The sun was almost below the horizon when we reached in the middle of somewhere that was surrounded by water all around. It wasn’t a dark night even though clouds covered a half moon. Stars were missing. On the distant banks shone the lights in resorts, reflecting in the mirror of water underneath. There was silence all around. Only stray sounds of a motor boat passing by filtered through once in a while. November usually heralds winters, but air did not betray any signs of it. Mild breeze brought some comfort from humidity. And, the ripples it created swayed the boat in a rhythm. I lay on the deck, watching the clouds pass over the moon to allow an occasional glimpse. I loved the quiet and I loved the dim light of the lanterns that were lit now, but I hated my loneliness. And, I hated my mind for racing through so many thoughts.
I wondered about man. And I wondered about animals. And I wondered about life. And I wondered if animals are more blessed than men. Wondered if we are unhappy because we think so much; unable to just savour the moment the way life serves it. Wondered if there was a way that I could just stop thinking so much some day. And these thoughts kept me occupied till dinner was served on the deck. Keralite food turned out to be more delicious than I had expected. In fact, it was wonderful.
I lay on the deck till late in the night. Manoj saw the walkman I had and wanted to hear some songs. He sat by my side while Babu and Shivdas chatted away at the other end of the boat. Late in the night, I went into the boat-room, and tried to sleep there. Manoj had warned me about fishermen from nearby villages who came in the night to just see if they could pickup something. So, only one window of the boat could be kept open, and the night was spent battling the humidity and the mosquitoes. I hardly got any sleep. Each time I was in the middle of some dream, a mosquito would buzz in the ear.
But, mosquitoes did ensure that I was awake before dawn. I woke up a little tired and walked out on the deck. It was a lot chiller now. The clouds still covered the sky. I could not see the sun go up in the east. But the view around was beautiful. Serene. The freshness of the air, the rippling of the waves. It was all the same as it had been the evening before. And yet, it was different. My senses seemed to melt away into the beauty that surrounded me. Something inside told me that I was part of this creation, this beauty all around, and that what I saw was part of me too. Like the mosquitoes, all my disturbing thoughts had suddenly vanished.
For a while, I lay on the deck with eyes wide awake. And then, I didn’t even realise when sleep took over. Then, Manoj woke me for breakfast after a most refreshing nap I had had in a long time. It was about 8 in the morning and time to move on. Time to explore in greater depths the backwaters of Kerala.
As we moved further on, I saw some birds and saw some flowers. Flowers that I saw were mostly red. Crimson red. Some were hibiscus. And, there were greens all around. There were palm groves, and banana trees and paddy fields. And there were stray islands, small ones, dense with trees growing into each other, climbers hanging out into waters. There were small huts and villages nearby. There were fishermen in their boats with nets under the water, working for their daily catch. And, there were these small boats, Vallum. Thin and small, very similar to canoes. So thin that after one person sat in them, there was no space for anything else to fit in.
We moved on to the place where they repaired the boats. Somewhere deep inside those water alleys; it was actually like a cross-section of two water lanes. Just a shed of tin by the side of a smallish house. It was here that I finally found someone willing to lend their Vallum. As smiling faces greeted us, Manoj and I drifted into a Vallum. It was scary to start with. A slight shift in weight on either side, and we would both be in water. But, soon we just settled into the boat so well that we were one with the lake. We rowed in the water with the light wooden oars, as we waded through to the other end to buy a packet of match sticks. And, where I sat in the boat, it was below the water level. Just extend the hand a little and the hand was full of water. We waded through the water lilies and I plucked one there. This was the clearest water I had seen in the entire place yet; clear enough to be able to spot the small black fishes.
Half an hour of rowing left us tired, and yet it left me wanting for more. The lake seemed to allure me with its beauty. It screamed to me to tell me that I wanted more of it. That it wanted more of me. It urged me to take a plunge, to feel its water on my skin, to unravel its beauty, deep inside. The lake had a strange charm, mysterious and sublime; charm that I just could not resist it.
In those waters I swam like fish. I saw the pebbles at the bottom and the greens that grew on them. I saw the small black fishes float by me. And when I swam facing the sky, I saw the towering palms bowing to me; paying obeisance to the lake. I saw the clouds filter the light enough so that it would not hurt my eyes. And every splash that I made broke the silence, and yet it was the rhythm in which my soul danced.
This lake was what life was about. About getting deep inside, about taking what came on way, about absorbing the richness of the moment in its completeness. Like swimming, like flying, like dancing, like meditation. I had to dip myself in it. Surrender to it. Completely. And then, there were no boundaries, no limits.
When the body couldn’t take anymore, I was back on deck. Exhausted to the hilt. Lying on the polished wood, warmed with a now blazing sun. Eyelids battled exhaustion for a while, not willing to miss any glimpse of the beauty around, but sleep gently took over yet again.
A quiet nap later, we were travelling back towards the point where we had boarded from.
Soon, Manoj and Babu and Shivdas and the sky and the palm trees, the water lilies, the paddy fields, the dimly lit lanterns in the quiet of the night and the rippling, charming waters would all be part of memory; etched in a corner of my heart. And, I would be on a bus to Cochin; my skin a little more chocolate brown.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
Rushing for a piece of peace
Tuesday, Aug 31, 2004
Time: 12:00 pm
Location: Marriage Registrar's Office, Koramangala, Bangalore
Deepika and I register our marriage. We are officially married now.
Now that we are married, shouldn't we be going for a honeymoon!
Tuesday through Friday
Been thinking about going somewhere over the weekend. Papa says I must take Deepika to Guruvayur on Krishna Janmashthami. Deepika is very keen on it too.
Options:
1. Kovalam Beach, Trivandrum - Ah, I love that place. Wouldn't it be lovely to take Deepika to Kovalam... those grey sands and green waters... just laze around like hippies...
2. Kodaikanal - Been there before. Had wished then that I hadn't gone there alone. Now I know who I wanted to go there with.
3. Munnar - Been told it's a lovely place too. Richa jiji can get the booking done in Sterling Resort.
4. Thekkady / Kumarakom
5. Wayanad - also know as the rain country. Told by Aparna (yes...Aparna Basu Mukherjee) that the resorts there are amazing... its all forest and streams and waterfalls...
Thursday is a dampener. Told Deepika today that we are not going to USA. Both of us are a little upset.
Friday morning, and yet to decide. Deepika asks me if we are going anywhere. "I don't know" is my reply. A little irritated with myself.
Friday, Sept 3Time: 4:00 pm
Location: My desk, Office
Boss hasn't come to the office. Have sent off a mail to him saying that I am inclined at being part of the project in USA. Maybe, we will discuss this on Tuesday.
What the heck! what am I doing over the weekend?
No answers yet!!
Time: 4:05pm
Location My desk, Office
Browsing through the internet to get the names of resorts in Wayanad. Shooting off mails to many of them enquiring about rates and availability on 4th and 5th Sept.
Time: 4:30pm
Location: Telephone booth, Office
Calling up resorts in Wayanad. Accommodation not available. What's available is too expensive. Wayanad seems ruled out.
Time: 4:45pm
Location: Travel desk, Office
Checking out if we can catch a bus to Kerala. Preferably to Kovalam. All buses are fully booked. Trains are fully booked too. Even, buses for Coimbatore not available.
Time: 5:00pm
Location: My desk, Office
Call up Deepika - Pack the bags. We are going somewhere. Keep it light.
Time: 6:00pm
Location: My desk, Office
Waiting for Boss to come in. Need to take him through a presentation. Also, need to tell him that I can't take the conference call at 10pm tonight.
Time: 6:15pm
Location: My desk, Office
Still waiting for Boss. It's getting late. Decide to just send in the presentation over email and leave.
Time: 7:00pm
Location: Travel agent, BTM Layout, about 30 minutes away from home
Battle through rush hour traffic. Reach an influential travel agent. Tell him I desperately want to reach Kerala...Trivandrum / Trissur / Palakkad / Cochin / Kollam... anyplace in Kerala would do!
Javed makes several calls. Finally...there is a bus from Madiwala at 8:00pm. Would have to sit in the driver's cabin, but can go.
Ah, but its 7:15 already. Cannot make it to Madiwala on time.
Time: 7:20pm
Location: Citibank ATM
Withdraw 4K.
Time: 8:00pm
Location: Home
Deepika is ready with the bag packed. We take out some unnecessary clothes to make the bag lighter still.
She has prepared Cup-o-Noodles. Ate half of it. Rest is for me.
Quickly eat and leave the house.
Time: 8:10pm
Location: HSBC Auto stand
Instructions to the auto-driver:
1. Take us to Kalasipalayam - the main bus stand - need to check if we can get any bus to Kerala.
2. If we don't get a bus there, rush to Majestic Railway station. There is a train to Trivandrum at 9:45pm.
Time: 8:45pm
Location: Kalasipalayam
Ask various travel agents for any bus to Kerala / Coimbatore.
No place at all.
Time: 8:55pm
Location: En route Majestic
Auto-driver suggests that Kerala State Transport Corporation may have some buses. Might try that instead, as even general bogie of the train would be full.
Ok.
Speeding off to the Majestic bus station now.
Time: 9:15pm
Location: KSRTC counter
Standing in the queue.
Auto driver stands by. Wants to make sure we get a bus. Would drop us to the railway station if we don't get a bus.
Yes, there is a bus for Trissur at 10:30pm. Super Deluxe Air bus (means it's quite decent). And yes, two tickets are available.
Hurray!!! We are going to Kerala.
Pay Rs. 600 for the tickets. Rs.100 to the auto-driver.
Thank the auto-driver and tip him. He was really helpful.
Time: 9:30pm
Location: Sanmar restaurant
Order two South Indian meals, a Coke, a Seven-Up.
Time: 10:00pm
Location: Platform 14B, KSRTC bus stand
This is a dingy place. No light. And, it is raining copiously. The shed above is dripping. Somehow managing to keep ourselves dry.
Time: 10:15pm
Location: Platform 14B, KSRTC bus stand
The bus has arrived. Looks ok.
Time: 10:40pm
Location: Inside the bus
Our journey has begun. Suddenly it dawns upon me that 4k (now only 3.3k) would not be enough for our Kerala trip. And, I don't know if Citibank has any ATMs in Kerala. If not, we will have no access to funds.
Ah...I know how to screw up things!!!!
Time: 11:00pm
Location: Somewhere in Bangalore
The driver has driven off the normal route. Not able to figure his way out now. I look out for signs.
This is Bannerghatta Road. That's the one on which I live.
I go to the driver and guide him to Hosur Road.
The driver and conductor are grateful. On way to Hosur Road is BTM Layout, and the same ATM from which I drew money earlier. Request the driver to stop there. He obliges.
Time: 11:15pm
Location: In the bus, Hosur Road
Speeding away to Kerala. 6k more in pocket.
Now we are well and truly on out way to Kerala.Thank God that the driver strayed, because I wasn't aware of any Citibank ATMs on the normal route.
__________________________________________________________________
What followed, of course, was even better than I had hoped.
Till we reached Trissur at 8 in the morning on Saturday, we weren't sure where we were going in next.
Checked out at the bus station, and came to know that Trivandrum (and thus Kovalam) was at least another 8 hours away. So, Kovalam was out.
The other option nearby was Alleppey.So, we hired a room for an hour, bathed and freshened up. Ate Masala Dosa and Onion Uttapam with a rather placid Sambar. And, we were on board again. This time a khatara KSRTC bus. One in which the windows either don't open or they don't close, but always creek. Trissur to Alleppey via Ernakulam.
At 3:00 pm, we were at Alleppey.
Now, as you come out of the Alleppey bus stand, you see a number of these Tourist Information Offices. Don't get fooled. They are nothing more than touts, trying to sell you packages for House-boats and lake resorts.
We were told that House-boats are available for Rs. 5000+ and rooms in Coir-Village Lake Resort for Rs. 2500+.
So, after much haggling, with the help of a boatman, we finally got a deal. Rs.2250 for the night in houseboat.
It was 4:00pm now. And the boat would start at 5pm.
Deepika and I walked through the Alleppey town a bit. Ate South Indian Kerala meals at Annapoorna Veg. Restaurant - essentially thick brown rice, sambar, vegetables, and hot brown water. I do not know what they mix in water, but like most things about Kerala, I love its food and water too.
Now, some of you are aware that I had been to Alleppey once before. Even then I had spent the night on a Houseboat. I will post that writing on my blog later. But, things haven't changed much.
There is something magical about Alleppey. Life moves in slow motion here. The tranquility of the lake, the gentle murmur of coconut leaves, the gurgling of ripples as a thin vallum (canoe) cuts through the water, the silent flight of migratory birds, the white and red and pink flowers, the butterflies floating in air...
So, Deepika and I spent the night in the house-boat, parked by a paddy field. And, we rowed through the silent lakes in a small vallum. And, we walked through the paddy fields, holding each other's hands. A silver sky overlooked us. It was almost like one of those Monet paintings.
And, as we rowed through the waters, we went to some of the lakeside resorts. One of them was Punnamada Resort. It had cottages built in traditional Keralite style - sloping roofs, and chocolate brown wood walls. The bathroom was an open bathroom, open from the top. But the rates here were too high for us (Rs. 3000, though I must insist that it's not too high for the luxury it accords).
We rowed through the lakes in the morning also, and found Malayalam Resort.
Malayalam Resort is right in front of the Nehru Trophy starting point and is owned by Thomas and his family. It has four rooms, including a hatched cottage right on the lake. In front of the cottage is a bathing ghat, and on both sides of the ghat are two protrusions on the lake. These protrusions, made of wood and painted yellow and red, have climbers growing on pillars, and a base on which lies a mat and pillow. And, just 10 meters from the bathing ghat is a skeletal bamboo structure, covered all around with green climbers with white flowers. This structure has a hammock tied to two pillars on either end that lilts with the mild breeze.
Thomas' family comprises his mother, his wife, Rosary, his younger son, Jeswin, and his elder son. Jeswin studies in 8th standard and the elder son is studying Nursing in Bangalore. Rosary is the chief-chef and cooks delicious Keralite food. Appams for Monday morning breakfast were absolutely delicious.
On Sunday evening, we went to Alleppey beach. It was quite a forgettable experience. We ended up walking over a kilometer to find an auto back to the hotel. And, then again, from the auto stand to the resort, we walked by the lake in pitch darkness.
_________________________________________________________________
On Monday morning, began our great journey back home. More adventurous than our journey while coming to Kerala.
Time: 9:30am
Location: Malayalam Lake Resort, Backwaters, Alleppey
Eating Appams for breakfast.
Hoping to catch a boat to the bus-stand jetty. No such luck.
Take an auto instead.
Time: 10:00am
Location: Phone booth, Alleppey Bus Stand
Calling up home finally to let the folks know that we exist.
Time: 10:15am
Location: KSRTC Bus to Cochin
No seat available. Will have to stand for next two hours.
Time: 12:30pm
Location: Cochin Bus stand
Will get a bus from Jetty Bus stand for Guruvayur. Decide to have lunch in the meanwhile at Woodlands Veg. Restaurant.
Kerala meals again.
Time: 1:30pm
Location: Another khatara bus to Guruvayur
Will be a three hour journey. At least we get place to sit.
Time: 4:30pm
Location: Guruvayur bus stand
Temple Darshan are open. Guy at the phone booth tells us that we need to be dressed in a Dhoti and Sari respectively. Hire a Dhoti from the guy at phone booth. Change into Dhoti and Sari respectively in a facility by Sulabh.
Time: 4:45pm
Location: Guruvayur temple
Temple is not as crowded as we thought it would be. Five elephants decorated for the occasion marching back and forth to the beats of traditional drums. Lots of diyas are kept all around. Would be lit in the night.
Stand in a queue for Prasad coupons, stand in a queue for Darshan for half an hour, do the Darshan, and walk into a Sari shop.
Deepika buys Kerala style double Sari and I buy a Kerala style Dhoti. They are all off-white in color and have a golden border.
Time: 6:00pm
Location: Guruvayur bus stand
Buy the only chips we get - Banana chips. Buy the latest copy of Outlook. Change into informals and return the Dhoti. Pay 10 bucks as rent.
No buses for Bangalore. Next bus for Trissur at 6:30pm.
Time: 7:00pm
Location: Bus to Trissur
Reading Outlook from cover to cover. Deepika is whispering a song to me. She wants me to play Antakshari, but the latest articles on Manmohan becoming more assertive and BJP believing some predictions about their coming back to power seems more interesting right now.
Time: 7:15pm
Location: Bus to Trissur
Can see "Ab mein gussa ho jaoongi" expression on Deepika's face. Quickly sing a song with "M", start the Antakshari and sink back into Outlook. Khushwant Singh is up with another silly book. Haven't read any of his books, but he seems too sensational for my taste.
Time: 7:55pm
Location: Trissur bus stand
Been told there is a KSRTC bus for Bangalore at 8pm. Debating whether to take the KSRTC bus or a private Volvo AC bus... The bus arrives and guess what... its full. Should have expected that.
Check out with private operators - all buses in the direction of Bangalore are full.
Eat our last Kerala meals at a joint next to bus stand.
Time: 8:15pm
Location: Trissur bus stand
Throw the Outlook magazine and the mineral water through the window in the bus to reserve seats.
Have made friends with Prakash and Saji - students both in Coimbatore. Prakash gets into the bus before us. Since has a huge built, if he can pass through, so would Deepika and I, even with the bag in out hand.
Would take about two hours.
Time: 9:55pm
Location: Palakkad bus stand
Been told that there is a bus every minute from Palakkad to Coimbatore.
Only one bus standing for Coimbatore, and its fully packed. No place even to stand.
Time: 11pm
Location: Palakkad bus stand
Still no signs of a bus to Coimbatore.
Many more like us waiting for the bus. All buses have names of destinations written only in Malayalam, but can guess that the bus is not going to Coimbatore as it hardly generates any excitement in the crowd.
Nah, even if a bus comes now, it won't accommodate so many of us. No way!
Time: 11:10pm
Location: Palakkad bus stand
We and five others hire a taxi to Coimbatore. Would cost Rs. 75 per head.
Time: 12:30am
Location: Coimbatore bus stand
No seats in buses for Bangalore available.
Option:
Take a bus to Salem - 3 hours
Take a bus from Salem to Bangalore - 5 hours
Wondering is staying the night in Coimbatore may be a better option.
Suddenly a middle aged man comes by and asks us to wait for a Bangalore bus. Might get a seat in one. The man is drunk, the smell is unmistakably of alcohol.
Also with is a student from Bangalore. He chats up this middle aged man.
Tells us: He is a vigilance officer, chat him up a little, he will help you.
Chat a little with the middle-aged man. He is truly drunk and in a mood to brag. Tells us that he is the nephew of TN Seshan.
The Bangalore student is taking tips from him on how to smuggle liquor bottles in.
Time: 12:45am
Location: Coimbatore bus stand
A private bus for Bangalore comes by. It is full. Won't take us.
Time: 12:55am
Location: Coimbatore bus stand
Another Bangalore bus arrives. KSRTC bus. This one is full too. Conductor refuses to take us.
The nice and nicely drunk vigilance officer steps into action. Tells the conductor about his credentials. Tells him that Deepika is his sister and she must go to Bangalore anyhow.
Conductor relents. Allows us to sit in driver's cabin.
The Bangalore student is gracious, allows us to go. He would take another bus.
Tuesday
Time: 8am
Location: Silk Board junction, Bangalore
Ah, Bangalore at last. Both of us haven't slept much. Back and neck are bruised.
Haggle again with auto-drivers. Won't give one-and-half the meter rate for going home. Walk 200 meters. Find an auto willing to take us home.
Time: 10am
Location: My desk, Office
Back in the office. Need to talk to my boss about the US project.
________________________________________________________________
Tried convincing my boss about sending me on the US project. All in vain. The organization needs me here for some other work.
Ah, that hurts.
But what the heck. May be Deepika and I would go to Kovalam beach on the next long weekend!
Time: 12:00 pm
Location: Marriage Registrar's Office, Koramangala, Bangalore
Deepika and I register our marriage. We are officially married now.
Now that we are married, shouldn't we be going for a honeymoon!
Tuesday through Friday
Been thinking about going somewhere over the weekend. Papa says I must take Deepika to Guruvayur on Krishna Janmashthami. Deepika is very keen on it too.
Options:
1. Kovalam Beach, Trivandrum - Ah, I love that place. Wouldn't it be lovely to take Deepika to Kovalam... those grey sands and green waters... just laze around like hippies...
2. Kodaikanal - Been there before. Had wished then that I hadn't gone there alone. Now I know who I wanted to go there with.
3. Munnar - Been told it's a lovely place too. Richa jiji can get the booking done in Sterling Resort.
4. Thekkady / Kumarakom
5. Wayanad - also know as the rain country. Told by Aparna (yes...Aparna Basu Mukherjee) that the resorts there are amazing... its all forest and streams and waterfalls...
Thursday is a dampener. Told Deepika today that we are not going to USA. Both of us are a little upset.
Friday morning, and yet to decide. Deepika asks me if we are going anywhere. "I don't know" is my reply. A little irritated with myself.
Friday, Sept 3Time: 4:00 pm
Location: My desk, Office
Boss hasn't come to the office. Have sent off a mail to him saying that I am inclined at being part of the project in USA. Maybe, we will discuss this on Tuesday.
What the heck! what am I doing over the weekend?
No answers yet!!
Time: 4:05pm
Location My desk, Office
Browsing through the internet to get the names of resorts in Wayanad. Shooting off mails to many of them enquiring about rates and availability on 4th and 5th Sept.
Time: 4:30pm
Location: Telephone booth, Office
Calling up resorts in Wayanad. Accommodation not available. What's available is too expensive. Wayanad seems ruled out.
Time: 4:45pm
Location: Travel desk, Office
Checking out if we can catch a bus to Kerala. Preferably to Kovalam. All buses are fully booked. Trains are fully booked too. Even, buses for Coimbatore not available.
Time: 5:00pm
Location: My desk, Office
Call up Deepika - Pack the bags. We are going somewhere. Keep it light.
Time: 6:00pm
Location: My desk, Office
Waiting for Boss to come in. Need to take him through a presentation. Also, need to tell him that I can't take the conference call at 10pm tonight.
Time: 6:15pm
Location: My desk, Office
Still waiting for Boss. It's getting late. Decide to just send in the presentation over email and leave.
Time: 7:00pm
Location: Travel agent, BTM Layout, about 30 minutes away from home
Battle through rush hour traffic. Reach an influential travel agent. Tell him I desperately want to reach Kerala...Trivandrum / Trissur / Palakkad / Cochin / Kollam... anyplace in Kerala would do!
Javed makes several calls. Finally...there is a bus from Madiwala at 8:00pm. Would have to sit in the driver's cabin, but can go.
Ah, but its 7:15 already. Cannot make it to Madiwala on time.
Time: 7:20pm
Location: Citibank ATM
Withdraw 4K.
Time: 8:00pm
Location: Home
Deepika is ready with the bag packed. We take out some unnecessary clothes to make the bag lighter still.
She has prepared Cup-o-Noodles. Ate half of it. Rest is for me.
Quickly eat and leave the house.
Time: 8:10pm
Location: HSBC Auto stand
Instructions to the auto-driver:
1. Take us to Kalasipalayam - the main bus stand - need to check if we can get any bus to Kerala.
2. If we don't get a bus there, rush to Majestic Railway station. There is a train to Trivandrum at 9:45pm.
Time: 8:45pm
Location: Kalasipalayam
Ask various travel agents for any bus to Kerala / Coimbatore.
No place at all.
Time: 8:55pm
Location: En route Majestic
Auto-driver suggests that Kerala State Transport Corporation may have some buses. Might try that instead, as even general bogie of the train would be full.
Ok.
Speeding off to the Majestic bus station now.
Time: 9:15pm
Location: KSRTC counter
Standing in the queue.
Auto driver stands by. Wants to make sure we get a bus. Would drop us to the railway station if we don't get a bus.
Yes, there is a bus for Trissur at 10:30pm. Super Deluxe Air bus (means it's quite decent). And yes, two tickets are available.
Hurray!!! We are going to Kerala.
Pay Rs. 600 for the tickets. Rs.100 to the auto-driver.
Thank the auto-driver and tip him. He was really helpful.
Time: 9:30pm
Location: Sanmar restaurant
Order two South Indian meals, a Coke, a Seven-Up.
Time: 10:00pm
Location: Platform 14B, KSRTC bus stand
This is a dingy place. No light. And, it is raining copiously. The shed above is dripping. Somehow managing to keep ourselves dry.
Time: 10:15pm
Location: Platform 14B, KSRTC bus stand
The bus has arrived. Looks ok.
Time: 10:40pm
Location: Inside the bus
Our journey has begun. Suddenly it dawns upon me that 4k (now only 3.3k) would not be enough for our Kerala trip. And, I don't know if Citibank has any ATMs in Kerala. If not, we will have no access to funds.
Ah...I know how to screw up things!!!!
Time: 11:00pm
Location: Somewhere in Bangalore
The driver has driven off the normal route. Not able to figure his way out now. I look out for signs.
This is Bannerghatta Road. That's the one on which I live.
I go to the driver and guide him to Hosur Road.
The driver and conductor are grateful. On way to Hosur Road is BTM Layout, and the same ATM from which I drew money earlier. Request the driver to stop there. He obliges.
Time: 11:15pm
Location: In the bus, Hosur Road
Speeding away to Kerala. 6k more in pocket.
Now we are well and truly on out way to Kerala.Thank God that the driver strayed, because I wasn't aware of any Citibank ATMs on the normal route.
__________________________________________________________________
What followed, of course, was even better than I had hoped.
Till we reached Trissur at 8 in the morning on Saturday, we weren't sure where we were going in next.
Checked out at the bus station, and came to know that Trivandrum (and thus Kovalam) was at least another 8 hours away. So, Kovalam was out.
The other option nearby was Alleppey.So, we hired a room for an hour, bathed and freshened up. Ate Masala Dosa and Onion Uttapam with a rather placid Sambar. And, we were on board again. This time a khatara KSRTC bus. One in which the windows either don't open or they don't close, but always creek. Trissur to Alleppey via Ernakulam.
At 3:00 pm, we were at Alleppey.
Now, as you come out of the Alleppey bus stand, you see a number of these Tourist Information Offices. Don't get fooled. They are nothing more than touts, trying to sell you packages for House-boats and lake resorts.
We were told that House-boats are available for Rs. 5000+ and rooms in Coir-Village Lake Resort for Rs. 2500+.
So, after much haggling, with the help of a boatman, we finally got a deal. Rs.2250 for the night in houseboat.
It was 4:00pm now. And the boat would start at 5pm.
Deepika and I walked through the Alleppey town a bit. Ate South Indian Kerala meals at Annapoorna Veg. Restaurant - essentially thick brown rice, sambar, vegetables, and hot brown water. I do not know what they mix in water, but like most things about Kerala, I love its food and water too.
Now, some of you are aware that I had been to Alleppey once before. Even then I had spent the night on a Houseboat. I will post that writing on my blog later. But, things haven't changed much.
There is something magical about Alleppey. Life moves in slow motion here. The tranquility of the lake, the gentle murmur of coconut leaves, the gurgling of ripples as a thin vallum (canoe) cuts through the water, the silent flight of migratory birds, the white and red and pink flowers, the butterflies floating in air...
So, Deepika and I spent the night in the house-boat, parked by a paddy field. And, we rowed through the silent lakes in a small vallum. And, we walked through the paddy fields, holding each other's hands. A silver sky overlooked us. It was almost like one of those Monet paintings.
And, as we rowed through the waters, we went to some of the lakeside resorts. One of them was Punnamada Resort. It had cottages built in traditional Keralite style - sloping roofs, and chocolate brown wood walls. The bathroom was an open bathroom, open from the top. But the rates here were too high for us (Rs. 3000, though I must insist that it's not too high for the luxury it accords).
We rowed through the lakes in the morning also, and found Malayalam Resort.
Malayalam Resort is right in front of the Nehru Trophy starting point and is owned by Thomas and his family. It has four rooms, including a hatched cottage right on the lake. In front of the cottage is a bathing ghat, and on both sides of the ghat are two protrusions on the lake. These protrusions, made of wood and painted yellow and red, have climbers growing on pillars, and a base on which lies a mat and pillow. And, just 10 meters from the bathing ghat is a skeletal bamboo structure, covered all around with green climbers with white flowers. This structure has a hammock tied to two pillars on either end that lilts with the mild breeze.
Thomas' family comprises his mother, his wife, Rosary, his younger son, Jeswin, and his elder son. Jeswin studies in 8th standard and the elder son is studying Nursing in Bangalore. Rosary is the chief-chef and cooks delicious Keralite food. Appams for Monday morning breakfast were absolutely delicious.
On Sunday evening, we went to Alleppey beach. It was quite a forgettable experience. We ended up walking over a kilometer to find an auto back to the hotel. And, then again, from the auto stand to the resort, we walked by the lake in pitch darkness.
_________________________________________________________________
On Monday morning, began our great journey back home. More adventurous than our journey while coming to Kerala.
Time: 9:30am
Location: Malayalam Lake Resort, Backwaters, Alleppey
Eating Appams for breakfast.
Hoping to catch a boat to the bus-stand jetty. No such luck.
Take an auto instead.
Time: 10:00am
Location: Phone booth, Alleppey Bus Stand
Calling up home finally to let the folks know that we exist.
Time: 10:15am
Location: KSRTC Bus to Cochin
No seat available. Will have to stand for next two hours.
Time: 12:30pm
Location: Cochin Bus stand
Will get a bus from Jetty Bus stand for Guruvayur. Decide to have lunch in the meanwhile at Woodlands Veg. Restaurant.
Kerala meals again.
Time: 1:30pm
Location: Another khatara bus to Guruvayur
Will be a three hour journey. At least we get place to sit.
Time: 4:30pm
Location: Guruvayur bus stand
Temple Darshan are open. Guy at the phone booth tells us that we need to be dressed in a Dhoti and Sari respectively. Hire a Dhoti from the guy at phone booth. Change into Dhoti and Sari respectively in a facility by Sulabh.
Time: 4:45pm
Location: Guruvayur temple
Temple is not as crowded as we thought it would be. Five elephants decorated for the occasion marching back and forth to the beats of traditional drums. Lots of diyas are kept all around. Would be lit in the night.
Stand in a queue for Prasad coupons, stand in a queue for Darshan for half an hour, do the Darshan, and walk into a Sari shop.
Deepika buys Kerala style double Sari and I buy a Kerala style Dhoti. They are all off-white in color and have a golden border.
Time: 6:00pm
Location: Guruvayur bus stand
Buy the only chips we get - Banana chips. Buy the latest copy of Outlook. Change into informals and return the Dhoti. Pay 10 bucks as rent.
No buses for Bangalore. Next bus for Trissur at 6:30pm.
Time: 7:00pm
Location: Bus to Trissur
Reading Outlook from cover to cover. Deepika is whispering a song to me. She wants me to play Antakshari, but the latest articles on Manmohan becoming more assertive and BJP believing some predictions about their coming back to power seems more interesting right now.
Time: 7:15pm
Location: Bus to Trissur
Can see "Ab mein gussa ho jaoongi" expression on Deepika's face. Quickly sing a song with "M", start the Antakshari and sink back into Outlook. Khushwant Singh is up with another silly book. Haven't read any of his books, but he seems too sensational for my taste.
Time: 7:55pm
Location: Trissur bus stand
Been told there is a KSRTC bus for Bangalore at 8pm. Debating whether to take the KSRTC bus or a private Volvo AC bus... The bus arrives and guess what... its full. Should have expected that.
Check out with private operators - all buses in the direction of Bangalore are full.
Eat our last Kerala meals at a joint next to bus stand.
Time: 8:15pm
Location: Trissur bus stand
Throw the Outlook magazine and the mineral water through the window in the bus to reserve seats.
Have made friends with Prakash and Saji - students both in Coimbatore. Prakash gets into the bus before us. Since has a huge built, if he can pass through, so would Deepika and I, even with the bag in out hand.
Would take about two hours.
Time: 9:55pm
Location: Palakkad bus stand
Been told that there is a bus every minute from Palakkad to Coimbatore.
Only one bus standing for Coimbatore, and its fully packed. No place even to stand.
Time: 11pm
Location: Palakkad bus stand
Still no signs of a bus to Coimbatore.
Many more like us waiting for the bus. All buses have names of destinations written only in Malayalam, but can guess that the bus is not going to Coimbatore as it hardly generates any excitement in the crowd.
Nah, even if a bus comes now, it won't accommodate so many of us. No way!
Time: 11:10pm
Location: Palakkad bus stand
We and five others hire a taxi to Coimbatore. Would cost Rs. 75 per head.
Time: 12:30am
Location: Coimbatore bus stand
No seats in buses for Bangalore available.
Option:
Take a bus to Salem - 3 hours
Take a bus from Salem to Bangalore - 5 hours
Wondering is staying the night in Coimbatore may be a better option.
Suddenly a middle aged man comes by and asks us to wait for a Bangalore bus. Might get a seat in one. The man is drunk, the smell is unmistakably of alcohol.
Also with is a student from Bangalore. He chats up this middle aged man.
Tells us: He is a vigilance officer, chat him up a little, he will help you.
Chat a little with the middle-aged man. He is truly drunk and in a mood to brag. Tells us that he is the nephew of TN Seshan.
The Bangalore student is taking tips from him on how to smuggle liquor bottles in.
Time: 12:45am
Location: Coimbatore bus stand
A private bus for Bangalore comes by. It is full. Won't take us.
Time: 12:55am
Location: Coimbatore bus stand
Another Bangalore bus arrives. KSRTC bus. This one is full too. Conductor refuses to take us.
The nice and nicely drunk vigilance officer steps into action. Tells the conductor about his credentials. Tells him that Deepika is his sister and she must go to Bangalore anyhow.
Conductor relents. Allows us to sit in driver's cabin.
The Bangalore student is gracious, allows us to go. He would take another bus.
Tuesday
Time: 8am
Location: Silk Board junction, Bangalore
Ah, Bangalore at last. Both of us haven't slept much. Back and neck are bruised.
Haggle again with auto-drivers. Won't give one-and-half the meter rate for going home. Walk 200 meters. Find an auto willing to take us home.
Time: 10am
Location: My desk, Office
Back in the office. Need to talk to my boss about the US project.
________________________________________________________________
Tried convincing my boss about sending me on the US project. All in vain. The organization needs me here for some other work.
Ah, that hurts.
But what the heck. May be Deepika and I would go to Kovalam beach on the next long weekend!
Thursday, July 22, 2004
Beautiful red rose?
Manas says - Its not a beautiful red rose. It is only just a red rose.
He says we write because we seek appreciation from ourselves and from others.
Pankaj says we write for so many different reasons - its a kind of catharsis... its fun... it makes us feel "creative"... to seek appreciation from others / ourselves... to leave a mark behind... to share a thought...
I dont know for sure why I write. It does make me feel more complete. I like to read something that I have written well. I like people that I like to read and tell me that they like what I have written. Is it about sharing my thoughts? Maybe, maybe not. In some ways I write only for myself. It helps me create a world of my own. May be writing is a form of escapism too. Whatever it be, it makes my life just a little more beautiful.
He says we write because we seek appreciation from ourselves and from others.
Pankaj says we write for so many different reasons - its a kind of catharsis... its fun... it makes us feel "creative"... to seek appreciation from others / ourselves... to leave a mark behind... to share a thought...
I dont know for sure why I write. It does make me feel more complete. I like to read something that I have written well. I like people that I like to read and tell me that they like what I have written. Is it about sharing my thoughts? Maybe, maybe not. In some ways I write only for myself. It helps me create a world of my own. May be writing is a form of escapism too. Whatever it be, it makes my life just a little more beautiful.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Fragrance of the Eucalyptus trees
20th July 2004
Sometimes I wonder how the definition of hectic can change so quickly. Till a few months back, travelling from Kanjur Marg to Parel in a Local Train in Mumbai seemed hectic and tiring - and now, driving down 800 kms seemed so facile.
Last Monday, I had fondly remembered the fragrance of tall Eucalyptus trees and wondered what it would be like to go to Kodaikanal with Deepika. This Saturday, at 9 in the morning, we - Mummy, Deepika and I - were driving down to Mysore - about 120 kms from Bangalore. From Mysore we would go to Ooty - another 160 odd kms.
Now, before I move any further, let me tell you a few things about my little dynamo. I know an Opel Corsa Sail looks a lot like a Zen, and with a 1400 cc engine, it isn't exactly the most powerful thing on road. But then, if a car drives at 140 kmph on Indian roads (even with the improved highways and golden quadrilateral et al) it does deserve a mention. Of course, the exploits of the driver concerned come into the picture too, but that's another story. And, while we are talking about the picture here - the colour of my car looks a lot like Silver and is called Artic Breeze. I did get a feeling that the trees standing by the road would have likened it a lot to a silver streak rather than a mild breeze.
Brazenly as we drove out of Bangalore, vast fields covered the landscape. On some of these fields grew wheat plants, swaying in a mild breeze. On yet others were sunflower beds. Sun shone in all its glory. On either side of a grey road were drooping trees that created patterns of light and shadow on the road. Parts of the road were red with freshly laid brick dust - construction of roads seems to be a perennial activity everywhere in India. On the horizon was a sky blue sky. White clouds just stayed afloat - separated by a fixed distance - none of them spoiling the geometry.
Somewhere on the way, the road was blocked as some dignitaries were visiting a place nearby. While waiting on the road, we spotted an Anjaneya (Hanuman) temple. We were just in time to catch the Aarti on a late Saturday morning. Saturday is the day for Lord Hanuman, Mummy told me, to explain the crowd that had gathered in a relatively obscure place. Besides the multitude of monkeys around the temple, automated bells and drums caught my eye. A technology company from Bangalore had designed this system that made humans redundant in this method of invoking the Gods.
Well, as the dignitaries cleared the road, our journey resumed. Sometime around noon, we camped outside Tipu Sultan's fort in Srirangapatnam. Ate lunch there, and for paucity of time, we decided to move on without venturing inside.
The drive was similar till we reached Mysore. Drove around Mysore Palace before realizing that we were an hour too early to be allowed inside. And, if we were to see the Palace, we would be a few hours too late to head for Ooty. So, we decided to ditch this one too, and went on to see a temple on Chamundi Hills, about 18 kms from Mysore.
Before I move on to tell you about our journey to Ooty and about Ooty itself, its only proper that I let you know that I have been inside Mysore Palace a couple of years back. I am told it hasn't changed much over time - for many years now. Long back, till about 1897, a wooden palace stood in its place. But it got burnt in a fire that must have been huge, and the new palace was constructed. You will be told that the Palace is "built in Indo-Saracenic style with domes, turrets, arches and colonnades" and "is a treasure house of exquisite carvings and works of art from all over the world". But it's the colours really that make Mysore Palace stand out. Maroon and dark green, almost bottle green, and golden - colours of the domes. And, what captivated me was the huge ground and seating for the King's assembly - almost like a stadium. And standing by them, the leopards carved in stones. The guide had told me, leopards signified the ferociousness of the Wodiyars, the rulers of Mysore. Inside the Palace museum I had seen paintings of many a Wodiyar king, and they all looked so puny on the elephants they rode. Tell you what, I felt awed by the Palace. By the fact that it was a few individuals whose dreams had built the Palace and the empire. By the fact that a single individual can do so much.
I have been toying with a thought of late. Is there a reality that exists? Is there a truth, an absolute truth, or is every truth a relative truth? I am not sure if I would be able to articulate my thoughts here, but let me try.
This thought came to me from reading some bit on personality theories on the net (note: this is not an original thought, but only something that has been expressed by many people before, including several scholars of personality types) - The contention was that reality is really relative, and that we create our own truths and modify them based on our learning - social, cultural, experiential. In fact, there is this story about blind men touching different parts of an elephant and describing it differently - that's how perhaps we perceive life.
But what intrigues me is something beyond just this process of perception. Is there a reality that we create as well? In many ways we do - we decide to not attend economics classes and end up not understanding economics, or we decide to work hard and go to Yale or Princeton or wherever. But, if you look at some ancient cultures and civilisation, there is more to it than just this.
My mother believes in God, Hindu Gods primarily. So, in her reality they exist. I have heard stories, of and from people that I would trust, describing their experiences with various things supernatural. For instance, Baba (my parents' guru), who used to come to our place, was once told by someone that offering Prasad ((food offered to God) to Lord Jagannath is just a ritual, and it just so happened that when Baba offered Prasad, there was a certain quantity of the Prasad that was missing after the offering. Similarly, I have read some stories about near-death experiences - people who had medically died but were alive again. And, what happened to them during their period of "death"? Almost all of them describe that period the way their religion would describe it - Christians mention about their meeting Jesus, and Hindus about being taken by Yamraj (the God of death who takes the soul when a person dies). Yet again, we perform various kinds of rituals to invoke what we call Gods, and howsoever different they may be across cultures and religions, they seem to work for the practitioners.
I know there are various scientific explanations to explain away all these things - for one, its all in the mind. We create our illusions and live by them. But then, where is the line drawn between illusions and reality?
There is an experiment being conducted at Princeton, where in they are trying to measure the effect of collective consciousness (http://noosphere.princeton.edu/). They have put instruments across the world to generate random numbers, and based on events that trigger human beings to unite in their thoughts (like it happened on 9/11), they have observed that these instruments set to generate "random" numbers actually generate patterns. So, there does seem to be a collective consciousness that affects the pattern of events (the way the "random" number generator behaves). It seems to me that individual consciousness can also be harnessed to create reality.
Anyways, I have digressed a lot, and we should move back to the road to Ooty. ____________________
At around four in the evening, we were racing towards Ooty - The Queen of Hills. The road from Mysore to Ooty is very picturesque. It holds in it the Bandipur National Park (in Karnataka) and the Mudumalai National Park (in Tamil Nadu). By the time we entered the Bandipur National Park, sun was beginning to dip itself in the horizon. Through the canopy of trees, only filtered light passed through, and the weather was beginning to get chilly. Strangely enough, we met almost no vehicles in our entire passage through the Bandipur National Park. We did meet a few elephants, some deer and one hare though. The ascent on Nilgiris had begun as we started to encounter sharp curves. I drove on excitedly as memories of my earlier visits to hill stations began to flood my mind.
Mudumalai National Park was similar too, except that the state was different, the roads a little worse, and instead of the elephant boards, we began to see some lion boards (only the boards).
The trees were very similar too. But then, are trees ever similar? Maybe similar – yes. But alike - never. During my stay in Ivory Coast a few years back, I had travelled extensively through the country side - on contoured roads that lay above valleys in which villages lived. By the side of these roads grew the largest and the most beautiful trees I had ever seen. Some absolutely green, flourishing with leaves growing copiously out of every conceivable spot. Some bare and black, almost as if they had been burnt down and were somehow standing on their own ashes. Perhaps these trees looked even more beautiful because of the grey skies that followed me everywhere that I went. But in these trees, I did notice a sense of pride in being what they were. In being green or in being bald, in growing out of every place and in being so perfectly imperfect. And yet, as humans, we strive to be so much like each other, trying to ape what we conveniently call culture. Always trying to be what we are not, and never being what we are.
Ah... I digress again.
Anyways, while I mention of the trees, how can I forget the ferns that grow on foothills too. And rocks that are grey and black, and are covered with slippery green moss.
This was the ghat section we were driving through now. At places, there were these small streams of water flowing down the rocks, on to the road, and then again sliding down the ghats. The sky was almost blue. I say almost because there were traces of a purplish grey glow, almost illuminating the horizon, but only just. The only sound to be heard was that of my roaring engine - that too was only a purr. The speed was now limited to 40 kmph, as every now and then there was a board indicating a hair-pin curve. A look down such curves in usually quite scary, but this area was densely wooded and trees blunted the steepness of the mountains.
Gradually night descended. It was a no-moon night. Completely dark in a mountainous jungle. The sky above was clean and black. In the absence of the moon, stars sparkled with great vigour. The headlight of the car created a straight line of illumination. At every curve, there was a new vision to be discovered. Every time light fell on the road, the rocks, the shrubs, the trees, it was like seeing a new image, a new painting. Much like the tiny insects that seemed to burn like fire flies when car light lit them. From darkness they emerged and into darkness they vanished. Just as quickly as these paintings got created, they got destroyed, only to get etched somewhere deep inside me. It was like every moment of life that we live, every moment so different, so transient - and yet like every other moment that seems to fill an inexhaustible well of memories.
A stop at a tea stall on the way and several hours later, we were in Ooticamund. Among other things that I noticed was a BP petrol pump that stocked the high-octane fuel that my car drinks. There were auto rickshaws standing at what looked like a major crossing in the town. Hotel Lake View had put up advertising boards everywhere. Going by my experience of such hotels in Darjeeling, I could say almost with certainty that Hotel Lake View would be as far away from the Ooty Lake as it could be.
Taking directions and passing by other fancily named hotels - Hotel Royal Park, Regency Villa, Fern hill Palace - we finally reached our destination - Sterling Fernhill. It was half past nine now. In the car, with the windows closed, we did not feel cold. On stepping out, chill air of the Nilgiris gave the final stamp of our arrival at the hill top.
Tired as we were, we had dinner in the restaurant at Sterling and retired into the small single room cottage that we had booked. The food and the service, both left a lot to be desired. But the room was cosy and comfortable.
At five in the morning, Mummy woke up and went for a walk. Lazy as I am, I woke up only at 7:30. Even then, the sun hadn't risen high enough and it was cold. From the long glass windows of our cottage, I could see the green mountains right across. In such exquisite weather, nothing refreshes me more than a hot shower. So, a hot shower later, now wide awake, I was wandering about in the hill resort.
Sterling Fernhill resort has been built quite tastefully. It is cut in steps, much like the mountains that surround it. And, in those steps are these cottages, each cottage has about three - four rooms, and the rooms that I saw had a view of the mountains. Between the cottages are gardens, in which flowers grow in wilderness. And connecting them are rocks, again, pretty much like the mountain rocks. As you walk up from the cottages, you reach the central building that houses the reception and the restaurant. Slide down the road in front of this main building, take a few left turns and a few right turns, and you hit the main bus stop of Ooty. I will tell you about the bus stop and the red and yellow, and green and black buses billowing dark black smoke later. For now, let us now return to the stepped hills.
So, here I was, standing outside the cottage, on one of those rocks, overlooking the valley. From down below came sounds of boys playing cricket. Across stood the mountains. Cut in steps. Cut to patches. Some green, full and luscious. Others brown, like they had just been shaved. The houses were small with slanting roofs. Almost all of them coloured white or pink and had chimneys from which smoke gently rose. Trees seemed to have clustered together. Almost every hundred yards, there was a congregation of trees standing tall. Some of them were actually very tall, almost like single pieces of very long sticks stuck into ground; just a small cover of leaves provided. These especially long trees just shot up into the sky, bringing a tinge of the green mountains into an otherwise blue sky. The sky looked special too. Overall it was lighter than sky blue, but at some places it had a dash of darkness that made it look different. Again I must digress. While I was in Ivory Coast, I used to miss India - its people, its culture, its places - and whenever that happened, I used to look at the sky - for sky was constant. But I had begun to discover then that sky changed a lot too - and this was an Ooty sky I was seeing now. I also remember a marbled sky on way from Chennai to Trivandrum that I have often seen in the evening - I call it the Kerala sky.
I will tell you about Kerala, its skies and its waters some other time, for now let me take you down that road in front Sterling, to the main bus stop in Ooty. On the way you would encounter a few cows, blocking a rather steep road, and small shanties built along the roadside, albeit elevated. You would encounter faces that look Tamil - dark and round.
The bus stop in Ooty is just like any bus stop in south India - it could have been Salem or Kothagudem (ah that bus journey when I went to drop Deepika from Khammam to Kothagudem!) or anywhere else. The same dirty buses, the same diesel smoke, the same tea stalls. Only the surrounding mountains give it away. Thankfully, we did not have to stop at the bus stop for long.
Now, I am usually quite obsessed with lakes; specially the mountain lakes - Nainital, Dal Lake, that clear blue lake on the top of a mountain - yes, just that. But let me confess something here. On our entire trip to Ooticamund, we did not see the Ooty Lake. (By the way, Ooty Lake is not a natural lake, so I guess its ok).
This is how it went. After our rather unpleasant experience with dinner in Sterling, we decided to have our breakfast somewhere else. So, we ate at a restaurant in the main market of Ooty. This again was very Tamil - not at all mountainish; not like the quaint joints of Kodaikanal. People speak Tamil and they serve idlis and the like.
Post breakfast, we decided to hire a tourist guide - Jayakumar. Jayakumar was among the few people in Ooty who had a hint of features we normally see in people from hilly regions. He didn't have a flattish nose, but his face had a reddish look, like a tinge of red in very dark brown. And, he wore a green shirt and a red hat. It wasn't cold, so a monkey cap or a jacket was not needed.
Jayakumar took us first to the Suicide Point. It was about eight kilometres from the centre of the town, and the drive was pleasant. I do not know if people have committed suicide from this point or not, but with the almost vertical wall on which you stand, suicide can be tempting from here. On second thoughts though, why would one want to commit after coming here. Not only can one feel the mountain breeze (nah, I am not talking about the Artic Breeze of my car), but one can again sense the creator in action.
Right across on the peaks, mist floats nonchalantly. For once covering the entire valley in dark grey clouds, and then, all the while appearing to be in no hurry, clearing the sky and exposing the hues of green in yellow sunlight. The painter in action again, painting a new landscape every now and then.
We had not taken a camera along (partly the reason why I need to write all this down now), so we hired a cameraman (James if I remember it right) to take ten pictures for seventy rupees. One of them has Deepika and me on two horses.
From Suicide Point we went to the Botanical Garden. Deepika and Mummy discussed about various flowers and plants and their biological names and origins. Huh! We got several more photographs clicked. One in front of a huge tree, supposed to have been used for various films. However, the one that I particularly liked was a similarly huge Deodhar tree. Its branches spreading out like slanting roofs with a strong brown majestic trunk rising like the mountains behind.
Afternoon was spent in the cottage as Deepika wasn't feeling well. Around three we went out again – preferring to go to Cunoor instead of the Ooty Lake. Now, if you have been to Ooty, and not been to Cunoor, you have surely missed something.
The drive to Cunoor, about 18 kms from Ooty, was along a thinnish road by the side of mountain. It was a lot like rest of the hills, thickly wooded. But also on either side were the tea plantations. And, along our side were the clouds. As we drove through the clouds, passing by small streams of water and very small water falls, we reached the Dolphin's Nose Peak. And then we went to Sim's lake - it was a small man made lake, but boating in that, with mountains surrounding us was nice.
By the time we came back from Cunoor, the valley had lit up. Small lanterns in houses were glowing, making the valley look a lot like the sky above.
It was our last evening in Ooty, and we decided to dine at Taj Savoy. Taj Savoy is a heritage hotel. Finally it was cold, and we had to get the jackets and shawls out. Sitting by the fire place in the dining room of Taj, listening to melodies being played on a piano kept on the wooden floor, we savoured some Chinese dishes. Mummy was telling me about so many different things, but I can't remember it all. What with the maroon shawl and Deepika's face glowing by the fireplace; everything else seemed to melt away. I couldn't help being a little distracted.
Next morning it was a long drive back home. We started early, so we could relish a view of the mountains yet again early in the morning. And then, I drove for some eight hours. I wasn't sleepy but was dreamy nevertheless.
I was thinking of the Eucalyptus trees and their fragrance. They don't change their fragrance from Kodaikanal to Ooty. They smell the same - like the mountain rains, cold, silken, and yet brash. Like the drums that beat to a rhythm far away, rhythm that ruptures a melody within. Like the mountain rocks that look so solid and yet always slip away when I try to hold them. Like a life that baffles me, and yet the deeper I sink in it, the deeper I want to sink in it.
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