A day in Winter Vacation

Taking a cue from Anne de plume's blog, "Iris", I am reminded of vacations we had during our days spent schooling in Sunabeda. Since this theme would not be out of place in the context of my blog, "Meadows-Reminiscences and Travelogues", I thought it relevant to put up a post on this caption.

During the seventies, our academic years coincided with the calendar year and hence schools used to close for "Winter" Vacations after the annual exams in Novembers. Winter vacations, when compared to its summer counterpart, were certainly more enjoyable and being looked forward to by students, teachers and parents alike. As kids, it afforded us the luxury of cozying up in bed at least until 9 am.(The township water supply system took its daily break half an hour thence!). It was also fun to roam in the much needed warmth of the overhead sun shining brightly down on us. One is hardly motivated to step out of home during summers today. Winter is also one of the best seasons to undertake long travels without undergoing its incumbent travails. As kids, we deemed home as one of the worst places on earth and always preferred to loiter out in the open spaces, be it the playground, the wide roads in the township, the picnic spots, the nursery, the hills, highways, the swimming pool or the bazaars.

If I happened to rise early by any chance, my first stop would be that unmistakable HMV, the valve radio that religiously performed its duty from 6 every morning till late evening, with intermittent breaks to cool off. The inimitable announcement from Radio Ceylon still keeps ringing in my ears to this day, “Yeh Shri lanka broadcasting corporation ka videsh vibhaag hai, pachees aur iktalees meter band par….aap sun rahen hai purane filmon ke sangeet…” Numbers from the vocal chords of yesteryear crooners, (Begum Akhtar, Shamshad Begum, Uma Devi, Pankaj Mullick, Talat, Mukesh….and the one and only Saigal), filled the room and one’s ears. It would be a relief to realize that Saigal’s “Gum Diye Mustakil…” or “Do Naina Matware tihare…” at 7.55 am need not any longer signal the commencement of my trot to the nearby school, at least for a month to come.

Demanding a cup of coffee over “The Hindu” of the previous day, (that’s the time the newspaper took to travel from Chennai to Orissa those days!), I would head straight to the penultimate page to read Rajan Bala’s reports on the latest match between India and West Indies. Around nine, a couple of heads would pop up across the window facing the road, whispering entreaties to tiptoe out for large scale “Scheming”. Barging into the bathroom for a crow’s bath and quickly gobbling up a few idlis or half a chapathi, I would be out into the open, hardly caring to lend ears to my harassed mom all through the process.

With the cool morning breeze wafting through the warm rays of the winter morning’s sun, it used to be a perfect time to loose oneself around the township and beyond it. Humming, “aaj mausam bada …beimaan hai bada”, we jumped and frolicked around to reach Bhanja Mandap, our first stop to check out the day’s celluloid entertainment for the evening. A Dharam-Hema starrer would on most ocassions, for sure, be the one to be exhibited. After ensuring with Punjappa, the theatre manager, if Hema was glamorous enough in the film to deserve our attention, we would ask him to “lock” a few tickets for the evening show. (There were no morning or matinee shows during week days…..wonder how it is now!). And we needed to do this, failing which we had to resort to mara-mari jhagda with the local high school bullies before the 95p counter. Even if one managed to get one ticket, it wasn’t before losing a few buttons from one’s shirt.  Crossing over across the path inside the theatre verandah to reach Ramu’s canteen, we would peek into his shop to see if any stuff  (Singada/lobongo latika….) carried over from the previous evening would by any chance be available for a deep discount!

Tramping down thence to the large playground (now housing the stadium) to notice that some known faces have ganged up for a game of cricket against the high school bullies, we also jump into the fray to ‘graciously’ help complete the elusive eleven. If we had the option to bat first, we would wait until our turns came, swished the bat to our heart’s content and then forthwith decamped citing some inexplicable reason (mom has sent word/the all familiar stomach ache…etc) with the poor captain cursing us swearing never to take vagabonds into the team thenceforth!

From here, scampering down in a group to the Central market with a keen eye on the pavement vendors’ stuff for tit bits, small eats and cheap novelty items, we were actually spoilt for choice. These included huge Rose coloured cotton candies that melts in your mouth in no time (then an inexplicable gap between perception and reality), the mixturewallah’s stuff with all known spices going into the  concoction with the mustard oil to lend that unique taste, small plastic whistles (our long distance ‘unicode’ walkie talkie),  mid-sized plastic balls (for our simple version of volleyball, though the ball would last only for a few hours to be finally decimated to grotesque shapes and then relegated to the status of a football), readymade katties (katapult- though intended to target cashew fruits and nuts in the bhalu pahad, we only ended up stoning each other before exhibiting swelled temples as souvenirs to remind us of the enemy act pending to be squared up!).

Stuffing all the buys into our shirt and trouser pockets, our next sojourn before lunch would be the unmistakable picnic spot near the main school premises and opposite to the “P” zone. Laying out all our newly acquired materials on the cement benches lined up amidst the shade of eucalyptus trees, it was time for redistribution/barter/trade off with each other before finally drawing up each of our personal balance sheets (receivable from, payable to, stock of assets , returnable ones etc…).. The siren at 11.50 am would throw a red alert as most of us had interim (home) login deadlines to be met and would run home from the picnic spot before our dads arrived from the HAL factory for lunch.

Heading straight to the bathroom to wash up the sun burnt muddy feet and hands, I would sit up innocently at the dining table not before switching on the HMV at exactly 12 noon. The SLBC’s announcer, the one and only Manohar Mahajan’s inimitable announcement would flow forth announcing the programme, “Aap hi ke geet”, with the signature bin (snake dance) music from the film “Dastaan”. On most occasions, one always heard this number from “Prem Parbat” , “Yeh dil aur unki nigahon ke saaye” and also “Pankh hoti to ud ati re” from Sehra. Listening to the Prem Parbat number, I would start planning the post-lunch “ghoom” schedule as pictures of the hills with the pleasant feel of the afternoon breeze and the small rivulets would conjure up in the mind. All this while hurriedly swallowing food and giving half-hearted answers to dad’s questions over the table.

The sound of siren at 1 pm would be music to my ears and herald the onset of yet another session of freedom. Its logout time again! Ignoring entreaties from mom to stay put and rest at home, I would soon be out on the streets and find my way to my buddy’s next block. Calling out from the road  (was never used to ringing the bell and request elders to let my buddy out for some “work”), I would often be greeted with a terse reprimand from his mom, “Dhoop me kya bada kaam rakha hai, chal niklo yahaan se….pata nahin kahaan se aa jaate hai yeh bekaar ladken….). Khallas! This guy is not going to come….lemme try the other buddy down the lane.

Then managing to get along a couple of juniors a few blocks away, we would set out for that hillock called Bhalu Pahaad. Coming to think of it, I always used to wonder why it was named thus. I could hardly sight any Bruin during a decade of my stay in the township and at least not on this hill where we used to spend time on many a sunny afternoon. It was said that bears used to come down from the hills on winter nights and wander around the township! The tailor at the Russian market swore he was a witness to one such incident. Seeing the bruin’s silhouette near his shop at around 12 at night, he panicked, pulled down the shutters and locked himself up in the 8”x 8” shop and didn’t dare open the shutter until 8 the next morning and not before human voices were heard outside who were tapping the shutter to investigate if he was alive yet!

Those were days when small paths into the hill were carved out by people walking up the hills from various points from the foothills. These paths used to merge and diverge in various directions so as to form a good network around the entire hill region which was infested with thorny bushes, mainly the lantana with a good number of cashew trees lining the hills to form a large plantation around the landscape. During a recent visit to the place, to my utter dismay, I found the Bhalu Pahad totally inaccessible with dense scrub jungle grown to forbidden heights all around with hardly any sight of the fruit trees.

Climbing up the hill, picking up a few unique leaves (we used them as bookmarks!), plucking some rare wild flowers (to gift them to girls in the neighbourhood!), we would finally reach mid-hill where the cashew plantations come into sight. It was fun climbing up the cashew trees to pluck the golden-red fruits along with the nuts and throw them down into the waiting hands of my buddies (they used to catch them with precision like professional cricket fielders borne out of sheer experience.). Climbing further up the hill, chewing the fruits all the way up, we would finally reach the water tank on a plateau on the top of the hill. This central water tank used to cater to the needs of the entire township in Sunabeda. With parched throats and sticky tongues (no wonder I don’t see cashew fruits sold anywhere in today’s departmental stores and malls), we would suck out a good quantity of water from the tap below the tank. Time for stock audit (!), we would religiously climb up the pipe ladder to reach a position of vantage to oversee the height of water in the tank, nod to each other as if things are all in order and then climb down and relax for some time.

Ambling downhill in the direction of the HAL guest house (taking the path less trodden!), one of us would soon be sighted by the lease contractors (the temporary owners of the plantation) who would swear on us with the choicest odiya epithets and chase us downhill to recover our pickings. More often than not, we would give them the slip and ultimately reach the highway (NH43), cross over and get into the guest house premises to check if we could dip into the swimming pool after the tired adventure. Dropping names at the security, we would ultimately get in and reach the swimming pool. Finding a couple of known faces popping out of the surface of the pool, we would authoritatively jump into the shallow reaches of the pool to immerse ourselves like buffaloes in a pond.  Very few of us knew swimming then!

Soaking in the pool for a couple of hours, we would then decide to leave, water dripping from our clothes all the way to the GH gate notwithstanding! The security would look askance at us as we scampered out of the protected premises.

Trotting barefoot all the way back (with slippers lost whilst being chased downhill) with our booty of fruits and nuts, we would head straight for the picnic spot. Lighting up a small fire with dried leaves and branches, all the cashew nuts would be offered as ‘oblation’ to the obliging fire. The task in the meanwhile, was to exhaust all the fruits….by ‘donating’ liberally to all the chotus who would come around watching. Lazily lying down on the cement benches, we would indulge in small gossip on “iskool’ and township politics, (the unusual chemistry between the physics master and the new English teacher!), the endangered species in our class who have left for their native homes and those who have stayed back, the romance between the Bong management trainee and the young lass in our alma mater…et al. Time for breaking open the nuts, we used sharp stones like the early Neanderthals (we later graduated to nutcrackers) to break them open and eat them, most being half roasted, but tasty all the same.

We then decide to temporarily show up at our homes (where else can you get a cup of coffee free?). This would also mark the onset of the 4.30 pm siren when the bread-winners would drive back/cycle back home. A meeting with this specie was best avoided for multiple reasons. While moms were darlings, dads seemed to have nothing better to do than keeping a tab on us poor young and simple folks! Gulping down a cup of hot coffee, I used to run down to the nearest field where a game of cricket was in progress.

At 5.45, when dusk fell, we were reminded about the tickets “locked” at Bhanja Mandapa for the Dharam-Hema starrer, “Dil ka Heera”. Hurrying back home, tiptoeing in through the rear garden door, I get into the kitchen and plead whisperingly with mom for a rupee and after a few minutes of haggling, she finally concedes. Therefrom, running down to the theatre, I catch a glimpse of Punjappa and yell out from the crowd before the 95p counter until he manages to notice me. In another 15 minutes, I find myself comfortably seated in the wooden bucket seat about 3 rows away from the screen. That, by itself, was an achievement!

Hema Malini was the “dreamgirl” to most of us. I remember having watched this film at least 4 times in the same theatre. The change-over of any Hema film in the theatre cast a gloomy spell on us as if we were personally parting with the heart-throb for good!

Coming back home at 9 in the evening to be pleasantly surprised to hear that dad’s gone out to the bazaar, was nothing short of a great relief likened to unfettering of chains around one’s legs. Quietly slipping into bed after a short grub, the day’s events were recounted and the thought process for the POA for the next day stoked my mind………………..

Wanderlust-South Western ghats

Continuing on my "Wanderlust" trips from where I had last left, here is the post on the trip to the South Western Ghats down south of Tamil Nadu. I had been planning a trip to this region for quite sometime because  a) of its relatively less known and less unexplored nature as compared to other popular forest covered hill areas in the state. b) of my penchant to take the road less traveled-to have a dip in a waterfall in the midst of thick jungle that only a few have been able to access c) I was also wanting to have darshan of a Vishnu temple, abode one of the hills.

I hit the road on my Swift late one morning in March and soon found myself on the lovely NH45, connecting Chennai with Dindigul near Madurai. I would rate Swift as one of the best all purpose hatchback that is not only maneuverable on city roads but would also lend itself to a 120 plus overtake cruise down the highways when you seem to be fully in control as the vehicle refuses to quiver. While the driver and the vehicle would rock together, the backseat drivers typically refuse to join the party, probably envying the "dangerous" romance of the driver with the driven!

After a couple of stopovers enroute, we reached Trichy in 5 hours flat at 4 pm. A break to taste the local brew of tea (Having a weakness for a strongly brewed tea, I always believe one should "taste" it rather than "gulp" it down the throat) was good enough to put us back to the road to Chettinad, the first destination, to unload all "baggage". Having accomplished this task before sunset, I decided to call it a day. The lure of stretching back on the antique furniture on a cool evening below the blanket of numerous stars presided by the luminous queen was too enticing to sacrifice for the night's travel. So I gave in to  my "Sasural's Khatirdhari"

Up at four the next morning, I brewed my own tea and filled up my travel flask with a good quantity to last a few hours. (When it comes to making a good tea, all “Thambis” are alike. They make an awfully concocted brew that will neither taste milk nor leave any glimpse of tea to the taster....I think I will dwell more of this on a separate note). On the roads again at 5 am, this time alone, I reached Madurai in 90 minutes, restored fuel for both the romantics.  Down NH 45B past Sivakasi (Remember our "budget-diwalis" for crackers!) at 9, I found myself on the foothills of the hill ranges in Kalakkad.

I made inquiries with the local forest department, took some permissions, and looked up to the hills to decide the way forward. From the plains, the hills were just stunning with mountains towering into the clouds with imposing majesty. I decided to drive up the motorable road to its logical end and then decide to initiate the trek. Driving up the ghats, I found contrasting shades of fertile groves interspersed with dry and arid hillsides abounding in red soil amidst rocky terrain running across the ranges. Some of the hills presented a picture of huge mounds of red soil sans any noticeable vegetation on the peaks though surrounded by coconut and palm-fruit trees on all sides. The palm fruit, also sometimes called ice-apple (tala/tal/tadfali/munjalu) is a great fruit to eat all day during summers. The transparent and fleshy sweet inside jelly with its contrastingly tasting thick skin eaten together quenches every thirst and also keeps hunger at bay. Picking up a dozen on the way to facilitate my proposed trek, I drove on until I reached a point where the road seemed to merge with a path strewn with embedded large stones which seemed to be a poor substitute for a motorable tract.

With no other option, I parked the car under the shade of a large tamarind tree which seemed to be a home to at least a dozen monkeys. Finding two other vehicles parked here, I had no hesitation in leaving mine to the mercy of the primates who were eagerly waiting for my departure from the scene to try and ravage the car for anything that can be eaten.

From hereon, I was told that only jeeps can take one further uphill up to a point half-way to the last  human settlement on the hill route. This place known as Sengamalai, is a hill station that was patronized by the British during summers. This stone-embedded path was in use since the early thirties when the British drove up their vintage jeeps up to a point wherefrom the mules took over to carry goods and people further up a distance of about 6 km.

I waited until a jeep pulled over. I hopped in after bargaining 400 bucks to take me up the "mule-point", a good 12 km stretch up the hill. The route was a tricky, rugged and a treacherous one at that. The Jeep was doing a pathetic 10 km/hour. I was reminded of the slow cycle races that we used to have in Sunabeda, wherein the likes of Paiyyan and Madhu would literally balance themselves unmoved on the cycle in order to succeed in a motive competition! I was shuddering at the thought of the chance action of the driver letting go the accelerator for a moment. The thought was nerve wrecking, the gradient below was almost at 40 degrees and winding in a serpent-like fashion. But the driver, unfazed by the track and used to the hard grind, accelerated up the vehicle without any sign of discomfort on his countenance.

The terrain around the path up was covered with low shrub vegetation and an occasional tree jutting out of the green cover. A stream flowed down on a bed of continuously strewn around rocks, the source of which, I was told, came from a waterfall by name, "Olakkaiaruvi" distant away into the ranges. This was one of my targets on the trek. Within an hour, the driver pulled up on a flat and tidy ground and declared the arrival of the last vehicular post. Alighting, I found only about three people around, including the other lone passenger in the jeep that brought us up. I could view the "mule-trail" up the hill vanishing into the thicket further up.

One of the persons around was a local aborigine. I fixed up with him to guide me up to the waterfall, which is at least 10 kms from the one time British summer sojourn, Sengamalai. Here commenced my trek, with a bag flung around my shoulder following the guide. It was mid-day with the sun shone brightly overhead on a clearly identifiable kutcha path winding up the hill range. I was desperately trying to keep pace with my bare-legged guide trotting up the track and looking back every now and then to monitor my progress. After walking three kms, I stopped to help myself with some palm fruits and some water. My guide declined my offerings disapprovingly sending me an implicit message that this is not what one calls Endurance.

Back on the track we resumed our trek through more denser and thicker forest area. There was no sign of the mud-path which merged with the forest shrubs, some of them thorny. The foliage around was replete with a modest variety of birds. Thrushes in the low undergrowth chirped away to glory while a pair of parakeets (similar to the popular noisy Australian budgerigars) from a "Kodukapuli" (mehndi) treetop announced the entry of human species into their territory. Bluish Schoolboys (also found in the Malabar region and Mahabaleshwar near Pune) whistled away from their perches in low branches of neem trees. We soon reached a large clearing of land from where I could see a bird's eye view of what was once a British summer resort, Sengamalai.  A small hamlet in a valley with lush green surroundings encompassed by hilly borders came into view…….1

At least a dozen cottages forming part of the Government rest houses hidden behind neem and peepul trees that formed a mixed grove came into sight. As I walked down the valley and reached closer to the resort, I found to my dismay that quite a few of these cottages were in a dilapidated condition begging for a reconstruction. The official forest bungalow was however maintained well and is an ideal place for a prolonged stay in the hill resort. My guide briefed me about the history of the once glorious resort. I forgot to tell you his name Kottapli (pronounced Ko as in Koraput, tt as in atta, pli as in plea, this word “Kottapli” in Tamil means “a dull head who never sleeps”. The word also means a hammer and is used to describe persons with a short stature. This Kottapli did not appear much different from the character, “Guran” that we came across in Indrajal comics on Phantom. After the British left, the place was hardly patronized by anyone excepting the local zamindars who carted up and down the tracks once in a while to engage themselves in romantic rendezvous out of sight and out of bounds of their esteemed households. After the sixties, the place became literally deserted for almost a decade until the local administration and the forest department thankfully decided to revive its lost glory. Some of the cottages were since repaired and maintained by the department, while the others were left to ruins due to paucity of funds. Even today the ruins can be seen while the inhabitable spaces are largely used by the Sarkari babus and the Range Officers. In course of time, people from the district started buying land to construct a summer homes.  A few furlongs away I could notice a group of neatly built cottages, some of them made of wood that is typical of a hill region. Since the access to the place is pretty difficult, only the adventurous seek it out. This region encompassed under the broader KMTR belt (Kalakkad Mudanthurai Tiger Reserve) is deep seated and more or less a virgin hill area that has not been subjected to the ravages of commercial tourism.

It was about 2 pm then when I decided to sit down under a huge margosa behind a cottage on the slopes of one of the hills. I partook some bread and palm fruits with Kottapli here. I noticed quite a few giant squirrels, almost four times the size of a normal one, scurrying along the trees. These are comparable in size to the squirrels I found in New Jersey in the US. After my modest “lunch”, I decided to resume my trek to the waterfall and asked Kottapli to lead. Kottapli advised me to rest for the day in one of the cottages and resume the next day, lest it would be too late to come back for the day, but I was adamant in continuing the trek. The unspoken intent was to spend the night in the jungle to feel the pulse of the denizens during their prime time, although I had no idea then whether and how I would make myself comfortable in the process.

So up the valley we recommenced our trek. Now there was no visible path and not even a semblance of any fireline that normally separate dense vegetation in large jungles. But Kottapli went about his job undauntedly as though the path was visible only to his eyes as I kept struggling to match his pace. With an “aruval” (axe) in one hand a staff on the other he mechanically strode up and down the landscape, cutting down a hindering branch here and making way by moving away a climber there on the tracks. I soon lost count of time and distance as I meekly followed Kottapli, stopping occasionally to look around and behind frequently to shoot the amazing landscapes only to be reprimanded by scornful looks from the guide attempting to discipline a tramp.

The dense forest cover mostly consisted of the cursed lantana bushes that grew tall enough to a height of more than five feet seemingly to stop the human species from traversing the jungle with ease. These are similar to the ones found in Sunabeda with sweet black berries and a typically strong odour with thorny branches but with multi-coloured small flowers that easily come off the sepals. The only difference being the shorter nature of plants in Sunabeda. These short widely spread plants abound on the hillsides around the township and also on roadside bushes. The leaves have medicinal value in that it can be used to stop bleeding since it aids quick coagulation when crushed and applied on the injured skin.

Kottapli went about cutting down the lantana stems mercilessly in quick motion to pave the way forward. Clumps of bamboo also appeared at frequent intervals indicating that Jumbos could exist in this part of the forest. Kottapli confirmed this. On one of the clumps I noticed a cute fur-coated miniature version of a monkey with its pair of eyes sticking out and the creature could almost be held on one’s palm. I stopped on my tracks and realized that it was the Slender Loris. It scampered away on seeing me stop. My guide asked me if I would like to carry it back. I declined, but asked him why one would do such a thing. Kottapli then revealed that poachers carry the tender creature to…horrifying…dig out its eyes to make a medicine that serves as a very potent aphrodisiac! It is then let loose with no sight only to wander about for food and ultimately famish to death. I later found that this creature belongs to the classified endangered species and concerted efforts are being taken for its protection.

Other than a few spotted cats (the small ones of course) and some wild pigs, I noticed no other fauna. The forest also abounds in the lion tailed macaque, one of which I later on sighted on the low branches of a peepul tree. On the stems of tall trees I could notice the grey hornbill identifiable with its typically curved and long beaks letting out a squealing call similar to that of a kite. Woodpeckers were a frequent sight on the stalks. Indian Budgerigars with their bizarre calling and the whistles of the schoolboy could be heard continuously though one could not spot them all the time. The jungle was, of course, not bereft of the signature cooing of the hill mynahs providing the background music that is typical of any Indian forest.

After a while, Kottapli stopped on his tracks and pointed to a small temple tower on the top of a hill and announced that the Vaishnav Temple called “Malai Nambi” (Vishnu on the peak) was within reaching distance. This was one of my destinations on the trek. It is one of the 108 Divya Deshas spread across the length and breadth of the country that are dedicated to Lord Vishnu. These 108 places find mention in the original religious document of the Vaishnavites, written more than ten centuries back.

A slow climb up the hill took us to the precincts of the temple in about thirty minutes. It was 4.30 pm by then. The temple was atop a peak within a compound measuring not more than 40 cents (less than half an acre). The view of the forest hills from the temple was breathtaking. It was a most serene atmosphere where the denizens of the hills seemed to communicating with each other in silence, with the temple hill majestically presiding over all of them. Beautiful flora lined the temple garden (nandavanam). Kottapli pointed towards far south of the temple and brought to my notice the elusive waterfall resembling a mammoth pestle of the kitchen variety. From a distance of about 2 kms as the crow flies, I could hazard a guess that the water fell steeply from a height of at least 250 feet from a steep incline to the ground below

After paying obeisance to the deity, I urged Kottapli to carry on. He looked back at me in utter dismay and asked me, “Have you bid adieu to your folks for good?” and that for him it was too early for it!  Besides the forest department forbids any further travel into the jungle from here unless a special permission is obtained. Such nods are given only to people for ecological research in teams of not less than 5 accompanied by a forest guard/ranger. It was then I told him of my idea of a forest sojourn for the night. After a lot of persuasion, he thought over for a moment and asked me if I was ok to be holed up in a small rocky cavern for the night. The thought of trying to snatch a few winks in a nocturnal cavernous site was certainly not one would look forward to. All the same, I asked him how one can keep the reptiles and denizens at bay. He assured me that a small fire can be lit and that would suffice for the purpose. Now Kottapli’s opportune moment came to hike his fee for the added service of a night’s vigil and a compensation for violating the law. An all inclusive fee of Rs 750 settled the matter. Taking a matchbox from the temple priest, we set out again descending down the temple hill.

I detest travel companions who keep looking now and then at their watches or mobile to fall in line with the time especially when on a pleasure trip into natural surroundings. Dandi, I found, would fit the bill at times. Failing to get even one such eccentric over a period of time, I decided to go it alone on such trips. If you have to savour the natural beauty of Indian jungles, you need to cast away all devices that show the time and at best look upon the shining luminaries 24/7 to guide you on the treks. One can digest the essence of Solitude in our forests especially during nights. Breaking away and being to oneself  during such times once in a while does a lot of good to one’s confidence, spiritual pursuits, if any and for a re-energizing  physical and mental health.

Down the tracks, Kottapli lead me to a small rivulet and instructed me to keep to its left and go up the source of the water behind him. The path was strewn with rocks, boulders and stones of various shapes and sizes and one had to perforce walk on them to get long the way up. Gradually the width of the small stream increased as we walked uphill. The trek was getting pretty slow from here as my guide asked me to hasten up so as to reach the falls before sunset. The sun was now set to sink on the western horizon beyond the hilly skylines. Tired, exhausted and rendered physically rather weak, I clumsily ambled across the rocky path for more than an hour until we came close to the falls. The sun had already sunk by then and a few residual rays of light beaming into the sky from the hills provided some light for us to sight the fall and ultimately get to it. I flung my bag on one of the flat rocks and jumped in into a pool formed at the base of the falls as I was sure that I would not be able to take a step more and on the verge of collapse if I did not get into the water then.

The water fell from about 200 feet from the top of a rocky hill and meandered down all the way though the hills to Sengamalai and therefrom down to a temple town called Kurangudi, another abode of Lord Vishnu.

The cool clear pristine mountain water is no wonder an elixir of life. I would say this dip restored life into me as I laid flat on one of the shallow reaches of the large pool. I looked up and found Kottapli right in midst of the falls enjoying a cool shower. There was not a soul around nor was there any sign of people having been around the place for a while.
I quickly made my way to the falls and thrust myself in. The water fell on my head in large blocks and I felt as though boulders are hurled down on my head. Another 15 minutes later I felt all my pain in the legs and body disappearing in a jiffy, climbed on to one of the flatter rocks near the falls and sat down to rest. The uninhibited indulgence in the falls made me blind to the surroundings and I failed to notice that darkness had set in and that we were at the mercy of the forest denizens for the ensuing night.

Kottapli called me from a point much above and to the left of the falls. With a battery torch in hand, I quickly scrambled up and followed his advice to reach the point. This was almost half way up the falls to its left. On reaching there, I found that we were on a small flat patch of cleared ground measuring hardly a cent. There was a small rocky shelter to this ground. Kottapli advised me to make myself comfortable here, while he set about to collect twigs and some wood to make the fire that was badly needed to keep the felines and the terrestrial reptiles at bay. (Kottapli assured me that I will get to watch quite a few animals coming to the water if I stayed awake for most of the night.)………2     

Now I had no choice but to stay huddled to a corner of the small enclosure, which I identified with my torch to be the safest place to anchor, being rocky on all sides with no opening or crevices that may hide venomous slithering creatures. Having been obstinate enough to plunge into this bizarre nocturnal pastime, it was not only too late to retract course, but also futile to resort to precautionary measures out of fear. Napoleon must have remarked in similar circumstances, “The torment of precautions often exceeds the danger to be avoided. It is sometimes better to abandon one’s self to destiny”. It is now that the import of the statement “dusked” on me.

As expected, mosquitoes slowly began to swarm around me to sample the taste of the red fluid belonging to a new animal. Before it could get worse, I hurriedly pulled out the insect repellant that I had religiously packed among a bunch of other things in my bag and applied it all over my face and, arms and feet. This wonder white fluid from Dabur was so effective in keeping the swarms at bay that I thought that a shoot here would be a most effective ad for the product.

The sounds emanating from the jungle at this hour was in sharp contrast to the day-long and evening sing-song of the birdies. The diurnal orchestra bidding farewell to the dying day, gave way to a preamble of some kind of poltergeist phenomena let loose in the world of savage beasts. While the distant howling of the various cousins of the hyenas and jackals formed the background music, the incessant barking of the wild dogs, probably chasing some poor quarry, competed with the eerie acoustics of the former. Nearer to me, the low and monotonous rickety sounds of the nightjars responded in equal measure by the chirping wood crickets made me wonder if the whole of my neighborhood was infested with these puny creatures, not one being visible.

Far down to my left, on the other side of the waterfall, I suddenly noticed a tiny light flickering near the poolside. Soon I saw three or four of them… no a good number of these moving lights dancing up and down on the bank of the pool. A sudden indescribable fright overtook me and I started glancing the other way to look for the damned Kottapli. Where the hell has this idiot gone for such a long time leaving me to fend for myself?  I dared not shout to call this guy, lest I betray my presence to beasts/spirits behind these strange dancing lights. At first I thought it could forest guards combing the area with their torch lights, but then certainly there could not be so many of them and the lights were too tiny for the distance from where I was holed up. Then came the anti-climax when I noticed to my horror, a couple of those lights right next to me. I heaved a sigh of relief on finding that these were just fireflies!

I had to pass through a few more anxious moments at my perch when I heard some rustling sounds to my far right that was intermittent. Nothing could be seen even with my torch. I decided to keep the torch lighted continuously at least until Kottapli returns. Eventually he came up with a bundle stacked in his head, bound together with some creeper weeds. I was wonder struck at his ability and guts to go around in pitch darkness and collect all kinds of material that would pass as firewood. When I expressed my amazement, he cynically replied, “We possess the eyes of a tiger so that we survive in their midst, but you urbanites possess superior brains that is’nt gonna help here anyway!” Not in a mood to argue, I asked him to get going lighting up. In ten minutes, Kottapli got the fire up with noisy crackling sounds, despite a strong breeze blowing towards us.

Now this was a comfortable ambience to sit up and watch the watering hole way down below. Kottapli told me that large animals will move only after about 9 pm. That was at least an hour away. Such a campfire provides an ideal place to perceptibly “see” in the darkness, matching them with the sounds heard and imagine possible outcomes. The upsurge of the flames above the red embers, the occasional spurts of sparks as a piece of combustible is fed into the blaze, the pungent smell of smoke that encircles up in a spiral towards the sky, all these gives one a feeling that one has merged with nature so that nothing else matters then.

The last one anxious hour at the perch drove all my hunger away. My stock of eatables had also been exhausted. I only kept sipping water in small quantities to have a felling of fullness. Kottapli pleaded with me to ‘get the bottle out’. Now was my time to admonish him. In any case, the usherer at the gate would not approve of it when frisked and checked for sure.

The orchestrated sounds far off from the jungle, after reaching a crescendo, were gradually ebbing away. But the terrestrial ‘music’ played unabated to the dancing lights as though both had thoroughly rehearsed before performing. To keep ourselves engaged, I asked Kottapli about his daily life, family, interest et al. To every question, his replies with standard preamble ran thus, “Why do you ask master, I have no hesitation in telling you that….”   Talking about his family, Kottapli narrates, “My first wife died of snake bite, after saddling me with a daughter. I married again and this “punyavati” gave me a son to light my pyre.” I ran out of my wits when he told me that he “insured” his marital status by marrying yet again, lest he is rendered a bachelor, if something similar befalls either of his surviving wives!

It was about 9 now, when I notice two round gleaming diamonds near the pool and then another pair. A pair of spotted deer was seen coming down to the watering hole. I shot one of them with the 3 mpxl camera embedded in my mobile. As the ungulates came nearer, both suddenly bounded off on seeing the fire somewhere up near the gushing water.

Being the beginning of the summer months, the climate was just cool enough to expose oneself comfortably to the open sky. I noticed the surroundings gradually showing up to a distant light as the luminary queen began to uncover itself from the hitherto dark firmament. Being the ninth night after the new moon, right above me, I could see the half moon showing off in resplendence to the water in the pool just as a bride would look up to the mirror in vanity. I was reminded of Hemant Kumar’s vintage number, “Chandaniya Nadiya Beech Nahay, O sheetal jal mein aag lagay, ke chanda dekh dekh muskaay ho rama ho rama ho”. With most of the eerie noise dying down, the setting was perfect for a romantic night in the jungle. The only diff being there was no Vaijayanthimala around!

In a serene atmosphere with cools wafts of breeze blowing on to the falls, effectively dispersing the falling water into tiny droplets to my perch, try as much as I could resist, I was dozing off in spite of Kottapli’s continued unsolicited ramblings. Asking him to let me know of any fresh sighting down below, I stretched comfortably, using my bag for a pillow. The expedition during the day lulled me to slumber almost immediately and I thought I must have slept at least 2 hours before I suddenly woke up to Kottapli’s continuous nudging. All terrestrial sounds almost ceased, save a lone frog croaking close to the fall above us. As I got up, he signalled me to maintain silence as he drew my attention to the far end of the pool below. In the moonlight, I could clearly see two sprightly eyes embedded in a relatively small head when compared to the long and blurred, yellowish body. The sit up had finally yielded some dividend and the moment had arrived to try and get a souvenir to carry back home. As I drew up my mobile device to shoot, Kottapli dissuaded me from doing so, lest the flash may provoke the leopard. He also indicated to sit still and unmoved. The beast had already sighted us near the smoldering fire as it kept staring disdainfully in our direction. Being a more competent person in the ways of the jungle, I meekly obeyed Kottapli’s instructions and looked on. A lot more moments passed as we kept staring at the animal which also kept staring back that seemingly conveyed a hatred of the human species. I was trembling in nervous excitement, though my guide appeared cool and composed. Unable to exactly reminisce how long this lasted, a time came when the beast lost interest and bent down to lap up some water, looked around and slowly walked away into the darkness to our right. Now I had the courage to speak and asked Kottapli if the cat could approach us from behind as it has walked to our right. He assured me that with the fire around, the beast will not get any more proximate. He said as-a-matter-of-factly that leopards are cowards by nature when it comes to human species unlike the large cats that do not fear men but are generally indifferent to our specie. Besides, this cat had shown no signs of embarking on an attack after sighting us. In the worst scenario, he assured me, hurling a burning ember at the beast will make it turn tail.

Another hour passed uneventfully as the “terrestrial music” resumed. I went back to renew my slumber, literally beset with Wild Dreams. I got up on hearing the cry of a jungle fowl and noticed from my mobile that it was 3.30 am then. Kottapli, who was busy sharpening a few pieces of slender wood, advised me to go back to sleep. He told me that he does not expect any more sightings other than deer and smaller creatures. As they say in jungle lore, the cock had announced the false dawn. I told Kottapli that I have had enough sleep and I can keep vigil for the remaining night if he wanted to catch a few winks. Kottapli welcomed my proposal and cast aside his implements and sunk on the rocky bed not before confirming his “vigil fee” sans any discount! He advised me to keep the fire alive and burning up to at least 5 in the morning.

With nothing much to do my mind set thinking about why I am here at this hour of the night while most of my friends, associates and relatives would never think of getting holed up like me in a dense forest. I was thinking and attributing such queer and eccentric tendencies to probably the way we spent early life in Sunabeda trekking around the small hillocks around the township and walking long distances on the peripheries of the place more out of curiosity. Walking all the way beyond the guest house to Kakigaon, long walks on the feeder railway line upto the Kolab enroute to Sukku, traversing the hillocks beyond L Zone to reach the Semiliguda Nursery (between Semiliguda and Nandapur) and cycling to places like Dhumriput et al has made a wanderluster of me. It could also be attributed to my general habit of being a loner when it comes to leisure.

It was around five when the forest came alive with the orchestra of the birds. Unmistakably the earliest to send the notes piercing through the jungle were the cuckoos (koel) on the high perches of the slender trees. Then came the pre-dawn announcement in the form of long punctuated clarion call from a jungle cock that is typical of an Indian jungle. A pheasant joined the party by echoing its call that is similar to the punctuated gibberish sounds you can make from your lower larynx by closing your mouth with your tongue unmoved. Sounds of window panes moving around its hinges, dancing to the blowing wind emanating from an unidentified bird added to the music miscellany.

Soon the sun was up. I awoke Kottapli and bade him to start moving out. We went down to the fall, had one of the best natural showers I could afford to date and was preparing to trek back. Going back all the way was not going to be an easy task. So I asked my guide the shortest route to civilization. He then suggested that we can trek further down southwards for about 5 km and take to the east downwards from a small hillock that he knows to reach a village on the foothills of the ranges. I bid him to take this route. This route was on the fireline that cut through the forest and so it was not a difficult path to walk briskly, though the terrain was undulating. In less than an hour, we reached the hillock where a kutcha road was seen winding downwards to the plains. Walking down hill on a rather steep incline was more difficult than the last 5 km stretch. Kottapli was literally trot-a-trot down the hills. With my age and weight catching up with me I could hardly afford to follow suit. I grabbed the staff from Kottapli and used this as my walking stick to balance myself, sauntering down the track. Another hour passed before we touched a tar road that lead to a village named Perunthalaicaud.

We barged straight into a tea shop on the road. After giving instruction to the tea-master how to brew my tea, I gave him a piece of ginger from my bag and ordered 4 cups to the astonishment of the former. The brew turned out to be tasty as I sipped my way through the 3 units poured into one large mini jar. My guide relished the tea and complimented me for the brew.

I bid farewell to my guide after paying his fee as I took a local bus to Kurungudi and another bus therefrom to Kalakkad. An auto took me to the tamarind tree where I found my car intact. Downhill, a forest guard intercepted me and demanded an explanation for the overnight parking. After convincing him that I had a flat tyre late in the night and gratifying him with a fifty note, I resumed my return journey to Chettinad to reach there around 5 pm right in time to attend a wedding, the excuse that brought me to the hills…………………3

Glimpses of Joy

Metros in India are distinctly varied from one another, not just linguistically, but also culturally and the way of life one gets to see in them. Since my professional pursuits in the last two decades saw me not only visiting our vintage metros but also afforded a brief sojourn lasting quite a few months each,   I did have opportunities to live and savor the life and culture peculiar to each city. My travel diary of yester years also has reminiscences of my visits to Bengaluru, Pune and certain other T2s like Rajahmundry, Jammu and Guwahati. If I were asked to choose amongst these metros or T2s for, say, a mandatory relocation from Chennai, my choice undoubtedly, would be the City of Joy.

They say, you cry twice when you are here. Entry into the city and a drive through the length and breadth of its sprawling but contrasting shades of prosperity and poverty, with the latter meeting the eye more frequently than the former, makes you wonder why on earth you have descended here, had it not been for the unavoidable tasks at hand. Your mind quickly estimates the time required to make the earliest exit…tickets, availability et al… Flights full…doesn’t matter…try one of those longish red ones chugging out of one of the busiest platforms in the world…. (Are they really red any longer…that’s another matter, will deal separately on the eternally fascinating IR)

Forced to stay put for a few days until you are at least done with onsite work and meetings, glimpses of the large metropolis slowly unfold…the casual eateries in the midst of those gourmet offerings….and you saunter up…hey, that’s not bad after all…a few more days around...you experiment the vintage public transport systems…your pockets hardly ever dwindle…you are pleasantly overwhelmed with the friendly vibes of the common man on the streets…..simple ways of life, yet rooted in deep and contrasting cultures. All work done , time to return and you look out longingly from the black-yellow taxi at the streets, eateries, landmarks, antique modes of life et al passing by and a sudden feeling of remorse envelopes you as you feel you haven’t yet had your fill of the City of Joy!  That’s Kolkata for you.

Early 2005, when the wintry nights were dying out, I found myself in the city, trying to locate an ideal nest after temporarily anchoring at Middleton. The contractual site of the assignment was Salt Lake, so there I went in search of a shelter to operate from. Finding one near the Citi Center, I fixed it up. I had almost settled here conveniently in a few months.  Karunamoyee, Citi Center, Bowlers Den near Nicco Park, Nalban, 89 Cinemas, Hyatt, Stadel, Ambrosia (at Ayyash) et al became a way of life.

A Colleague of mine had just then bought a spacious bungalow with a fairly neat garden in the suburbs at a place called Madhyamgram and was looking out for a suitable tenant for a measly rent .  The incorrigible eccentric that I am, my mind began to toy with the idea of relocating to the rural countryside. The name seemed promising in that pictures of a rural Bengal conjured up in my mind. Relocating to the village would tantamount to near sacrifice of city life and the conveniences associated with it.  Daily assignments at Salt Lake were no great shakes thanks to the easy ways of the laid back bongs out here! In Rome do as Romans do!  A daily commute all the way from the rural countryside to the satellite town would throw up numerous places to see, besides affording exploration of various modes of transport to the city. My outlandish ways were at it once again, when I offered to take up residence there, about 40 km from Salt Lake.

So to Madhyamgram, I shifted at the peak of summer. I decided to give the Company car, a black Indica, and its eccentric driver, a much needed break from each other’s company. Parking it at the Ganguly’s, my ex- landlord, I decided to try out the likes of share autos, mini buses, suburban trains as a daily dose of life.

I must admit, life wasn’t easy though. Getting up at about 6, fetching water from the hand pump in the garden, leaving instructions to the errand boy (this industrious lad, Tiklu, commuted all the way from some Bongaon…almost nearing the land of “Rehmans and Haseenas”, to Madhyamgram to run errands for me and then look for masonry for a living) and then hurrying past the streets to catch the 8.15er through Dum Dum to Ultadanga road. You had an entire cross section of the Kolkata society in the compartments right from office and delivery boys to officers of companies jostling with each other for space. Alighting at Ultadanga road, a perch on the share auto for 10 bucks took one to the Infinity Building near Nalban in quick time. I rate the friendly and efficient Kolkata share autos much better than its Chennai counterparts.  (You seem to be half-perched dangerously on one end of the branch of a tree that is wildly swinging to the blowing winds that also bring UFOs threatening to knock you off coming from the opposite direction. That’s Chennai’s ‘Scare’ auto for you. One dangerous ride on it put me off for ever from these lethal missiles on the road.)

Commuting back home late evening was more challenging at a busy junction like Ultadanga. It was nothing short of getting into packs of sardines like one would do at Kurla to reach Ambarnath during peak hours on a Mumbai evening local. But soon commuting life in the city became routine. The sighting of familiar faces, nodding acknowledgement, chatting off to glory over a conical pack of a mixture of Muris (puffed rice) made the commute rather enjoyable.

On a lazy morning, one could afford to board the mini bus at gram bazaar to take a tour through rural Kolkata to reach the SDF junction in less than 2 hours! I used to indulge in this mode occasionally provided I got to sit on boarding. If you commute standing in Kolkata mini buses, you would soon become an expert in trapeze acts. Either you need to balance yourself by holding on to the slender beading above you with all your fingers or crouch low to hold on to the seat railings. But this also helps save time, since the need to spend an extra morning hour at home to exercise is rendered redundant.

Driving down NH 34 on the Jessore road all the way to Salt Lake, picking up some known faces at Birati, Dum Dum and Rajarhat was also an option I exercised once in a while, especially when preceded by late night booze parties on Park Street. This option, when alone, afforded one a stop near pristine water bodies on the Rajarhat road and blink thro the environs until one was reminded of deadlines looming large in office.

Having the puris for breakfast from the show case of the VLR at Madhyamgram station, or settling for a few rotis near Ultadanga road or as a last resort gobbling up a few hot snacks from Monginis near the work place became the order of the day. The work place afforded the luxury of mid-day meals with the standard constituents, dal , boiled rice and fish!  An egg roll or two at any street corner concluded the day’s intake.

Talking of egg rolls, I deem this to be the symbol of Kolkata! You find these tasty ones rolled up and available at any street corner in the city or the suburb. Only the size and the tastes slightly vary from place to place. The rolls at Kusums in Park Street were quite tasty especially the double egg and chicken rolls. Flury’s egg rolls were also a gourmand’s delight, though expensive. But I would rate the ones rolled out by the lone vendor near the Asiatic Society as the most delicious ones in the city.

The other street corner attractions were the matka chai and the golgappas, the anytime favourites.

For the high end gourmet cuisines of the delectable variety, there was the problem of plenty. While Tangra housed the choicest Chinese foods and wine that befitted a connoisseur,” Oh Calcutta” at Forum on Elgin road dished out genuine regional flavours especially fish. I remember, some years back, a classmate of mine, hosted me a good lunch here. Ever since, my visits here increased. The “Ileash Mach” at the Pearless Inn was a real treat, again, courtesy my bong classmate from Barrackpore.  The Lake area occasionally reminded me of my genesis, though it proved to be a poor substitute to the Park Street extravaganzas. The Stadel in Salt Lake had a decent ambience and good food. Dadu once hosted me a dinner here. Occasional high profile dinner meetings at the trincas and Moulin Rouge (pronounced Moola Roooz) were enjoyable….(the French “ishtyle” entertainment was missing though J) 

I had time to travel on the city’s beautiful Metro on Sundays when I would board the city’s tube at Dum Dum and alight at Jatindas Park to visit a distant relative on Sarat Bose Road. Chandanpur towards the North-west was another place I frequently visited to meet another acquaintance.

I would also rate Kolkata as the best or the most widely railway-networked in India. A stranger to the city would wonder where the madding crowds from a hub like Seladah would disappear in moments, going back home. East up to Midnapore, South up to Kakdwip and Canning, East to the international border and North up to Katwa, the penetration is amazingly wide, reaching out to the districts.  As if these were not enough, suburban lines along the diagonal routes branch out to the North-west, North-east and the South-east of the city. If you divide the city into 4 equal quadrants with Seladah at the centre, all the 3 Qs other than the watery South-west are widely networked.

It was precisely a few weeks before my contractual assignment came to an end that I happened to see “Parineeta”, Sarat Chandra’s novel in cinema. This film is all about “Vintage Calcutta”, most of which still exists to this day. But alas, it was too late to rediscover all the happening places in Parineeta though I had been to a good number of them by that time. I refresh my nostalgic memories of the city by viewing Parineeta occasionally. My romance with the City of Joy continues to this day, with at least half a dozen of my erstwhile Bong colleagues refusing to fade out of my regular communication system. And with a couple of my school classmates entrenched in Kolkata, my bonding with the city is even more strongly cemented.

Of Gugguni & Lobongo Lotika

Thinking of some of our pet pastimes during our moorings in pristine Sunabeda, I am reminded of the little modest tit-bits, foods and delicacies that we used to go in search of around the township, especially in the sweet seventies. With just about three community markets and a few shops outside their realm that could cater to our palate, looking back, option for eating out was certainly limited. Despite the choice of limited options, which was hardly ever felt, we did make most of the available fare and only kept craving for more of the same stuff.

In a way, we were not exactly spoilt for choice, for it was the small change in our pockets that really determined where we could go and what to prepare our palates for.

In the early seventies, I recollect, if I could manage to get the hexagonal 3p from mom (after a lot of haggling), I would end up standing in front of the static bunker right above the then Ganja’s G Zone home (or across the road from H Zone-Shobha’s flat) for a large round white locally made suji biscuit with a bubbled circumference.  

The then OCC market had a mixturwallah who would hand out a conical packet of tasty mixture for 5p. The squared coin with rounded edges could also buy a pair of those tasty Nutrine chocolates wrapped in transparent green cover.

Growing up good enough to bargain for a rupee to go to Bhanja Mandap, one not only got to see a phillum in the 95p Gandhi class, but could also afford the 5p “channa” packet from the good old Bangladeshi from DP camp. With another 5p you were better off with the roasted mumphalis. To make the 5p channa last for the entire second half, one had to keep peeling off its dry skin and then popping it in. If you had more patience, you would split the gram along the semispherical edges and then pop it in. The affordable could send “splitting” sounds across the hall breaking the shells of the peanuts along the part that resembled the forehead of a lilliput penguin. (Utkal Cinema came into existence during the late seventies)

If you had a residual 20p after getting into the cinema, you could demand a Singhada from Ramu’s shop. Fresh, hot, tasty ones the like of which I never had anywhere else. The reddish brown sweet “Lobongo lotika” was a luxury at 25p. If you could’nt afford it, you could at least keep ogling with desire at the neatly laid out pattern of lobongs and Jilebees in his stall.

The pooris at Milan were always an aromatic fare. Passing through the township market, one could not miss this aroma especially in the mornings. The chicklets and Parle white and rose coloured peppermints from the bakery near the township market book shop were popular among most of us.

If we had nothing to do after the noon grub, the Bhalu Pahad with the innumerable cashew fruits had to be the first option to look forward to. Trekking up the hill and eating to one’s fill, unwittingly making a plethora of geometric designs on our shirts, we often ended up being chased downhill by the lease contractors, bruised all over, yet proclaiming our valiance having reached a safe spot to count our booty of fruits and nuts.

In between long evening walks in the township, one could take a respite at the lone bunker of a teashop on the squarish official township bus station outside the market. The 15p “adrak ki chai” from the shop was big hit with most of us. I continue to patronize ginger-tea to this day.

The short stocky Mallu at the Malabar Hotel in Central Market was a godsend. He was only too willing to solicit customers for credit. Family bereavements, miles away from the township brought all the freedom one required to experiment almost anything in town. During such times the menu at the mandated Malabar seemed grossly inadequate to satisfy one’s taste buds. All the same, it was a welcome change from the routine diet.

On most evenings, the hotel at the penultimate end of the “Hotel lane” in the Central Market (the name…..my memory fails me) dished out delicious “Guggunis” in small aluminium plates. The numerous small soaked grams in a tasty soup with liberal masala and onion smeared over it beat any modern day chaat for its, “gimme more” taste. One could also have the sweet large white rasagollas with a red core to one’s stomach fill from the same hotel.

One was spoilt for choice at the bakery next to Appa Rao’s Saloon. Biscuits, Rusk and cakes in all shapes and sizes adorned the large jars lined up in the shop. The smell of freshly baked bread and cakes used to be too enticing to ignore the shop.

The mixture from the vendor storing all its constituents in a large glass box was a must on any visit to the Central Market. It would keep one engaged at least half way home.

The advent of Konark Bakery on the outskirts of the township enroute Semiliguda lured one to the shop, despite the long haul. The buns had a typically distinct and likeable odour and taste as compared to the other bakeries in the township. The puffs were also worth the marathon walk to the bakery. Cakes, when offered free, were a bonus to the insatiable palate.

In contrast to these two market places, the Russian Market near the M and N Zone was a drab with hardly anything ever for the taste buds. Are the M & N girls listening?

During the “tan tan gopal” times, the mangoes from the grove opposite the M zone or the one near the school post office area provided the much needed succor. If one was lazy to travel that far, the large tree with the mangoes hanging out of the fence in Rumni’s (bang opposite the Bhalu Pahad) backyard were easy targets!

Wander-lusting on the net

If politics can be the last resort of the scoundrels, well nostalgia could be the
last resort of the jobless. Come recession and I find all the time for indulgence.
Ok I hear a few talking about “Green Shoots”. But from the green shoot, if there 
is one, to a full grown tree is going to be a long haul. At least, my recession
promises me a guiltless indulgence for at least another 24 moons. The silver
lining is that one can afford (any choice?) to sit back, relax and walk down
memory lane. I recommend a myopic vision that confines your sights only
to the silver linings and imagine that the clouds are non-existent. Pamper
your whims. Now what if Einstein’s time travel seems out of bounds, or
Well’s time machine is yet a mirage on the fourth dimension, www is a
great substitute to take you back to “Our World of Malgudi”

Last December, thanks to “Dandi and Friends” (and of course, Anitha’s dedicated efforts),

I saw myself physically in the midst of our emotional moorings. This afforded me a glimpse
of today’s township and its peripherals and also transported me back to the
sweet seventies. I was planning to visit all new landmarks and lesser known
pristine spots around Sunabeda. “Man plans, God laughs.” Thanks to Dandi’s
fluky schedules, I had to head back the very next day. One just needs to hop
into Dandi’s Vehicle to accomplish the challenging goals of Vagrancy. But I bet
you will not regret the expedition if you are game for a serious test of
endurance. Getting through it, pat each other’s back for emerging out of the
challenges!

Back home to TN's Detroit, I began to explore the virtual environs of Sunabeda and the district.

I found quite a few interesting places that we probably missed and some developments post the
flight of all us Mohicans from the hill region. I am listing some of them here
for info, just in case some of us are interested.

Somewhere on the North Western fringes of the Aero Engine Factory (AEF), has emerged

the Naval Armament Depot (NAD for short). Probably Captain Saab can elaborate about its strategic location. Whats interesting is that a mini township has been established around NAD
with a KV that has acquired quite a reputation like our own VSV. The NAD
township is ensconsed in scenic getaways in the hills south of the Kolab river
and adjoining the Kirandul-Vizag railroad that is also branching out to the
AEF. One can reach this place by taking the first left exit after the AEF
enroute to Koraput on NH43. The township is less than 5 km from the Sec III Circle.
Check out this link for more details-

          http://wikimapia.org/#lat=18.7362486&lon=82.818718&z=15&amp...

On exploring areas around NH43 from Semiliguda to Pottangi, I stumbled upon “Deomali”, which is a mini hill station and also the highest peak in Orissa and the Eastern

Ghats with a height of 1672 m (5486 feet ASL). This place is approachable by motorable road from Kunduli hatt junction. (Dandi’s rebuke - recommended venue for a get-to-gather). Kundili is about 20 kms from Semiliguda. As the crow flies, the hill top is about 12 kms from the Kundili junction on NH43. By the road the distance is about 17 kms. The view from the foothills and along the peak promises to be an ethereal one with nature’s pristine beauty intact and undisturbed by the modern world. Check this link.

http://wikimapia.org/#lat=18.6374618&lon=82.9502106&z=13&am...

I wonder if any of us knew this place existed on earth when we were in Sunabeda.

Folks, if you find this thread interesting, I shall post some more of such spots. A good number of them line the KK rail-route upline to Visakha and also the KR upline to Rayagada through Damanjodi.

Bye for now. I am just setting out on a wanderlust drive to the South Western Ghats and also to witness a couple determined to enter into an irredeemable jungle called wedlock!! . I will be back in a

couple of days.

(That was initially posted for a closely knit forum of Sunabedians a couple of years back, posted here now)