Holiday down south

I hadn’t gone travelling anywhere (except a single day trip to Shantiniketan in boiling hot weather) for nearly six months, and I was raring to go. Abhishek called me over, saying he could manage a few days’ leave in late August, so I got the tickets and flew over to Bangalore. I arrived in the evening of Saturday the 22nd, and Shreya gave me a warm welcome at the airport. An hour’s chat in an open air café (I am becoming ‘cool’ in my old age!), then the interminable cab ride through the ghastly traffic to Abhishek’s cosy flat, where his parents took me in like an old friend. A not too long chat on the balcony in balmy weather with intermittent light drizzles, then off to sleep, because we had a long day ahead.

We woke up at 4 on Sunday morning (I still can, though I prefer to stay in bed until much later) and were out by 5:15, to get out of the maddening city as quickly as possible. An eight hour drive to Bhagavathi Nature Camp in Kudremukh (‘horse head’ in Kannada) National Park. The last couple of hours were a bumpy ride through narrow and rutted hill roads amidst mild rain, but the lovely forested hill scenery, with clouds descending right onto us, compensated grandly for any discomfort. By the time we arrived at the picturesque resort, with a few cottages dotted around the lush leafy campus, it had started raining heavily, and post lunch I fell into a deep and restful sleep. In the evening it turned into a torrential downpour with only occasional respites, and it continued all through the night, convincing me that Kudremukh really deserved the moniker of ‘Cherrapunji of the South’. In the little auditorium we were treated to some very interesting videos showing the variety of flora and fauna in the region, and the multidimensional efforts of the Forest Department to ensure their conservation. Not yet on the busy tourist map, Kudremukh is mercifully lacking in noisy boorish crowds of holidaymakers. The story of how much of the area had been despoiled by an iron mining project back in the eighties, during my journalistic days, came back to me. Since then, a successful environmental protection agitation has stopped the mining, and the whole region has been well re-greened.

In the early hours, curled up inside a blanket, I was awakened by the thunderous drumming of rain on the tin roof, and much as I was worried whether we would be stranded the next day, the feeling was too delicious not to be enjoyed, so I shoved the worry aside in my mind and fell asleep again. The temperature had by then fallen to 20 degrees.

In the morning, I went to see the Bhadra river that flows right behind the camp. It was in full spate, and it was hard to believe that Abhishek had walked across it in summer, when it was a thin and shallow rivulet. The same Bhadra joins the Tunga downstream to form the fabled Tungabhadra. The rain had abated somewhat, so it wasn’t scary to set off on the road back. Abhishek – who simply wouldn’t let me drive this time – took us along a different route, partly because the road was better, and partly because he wanted us to see the beautiful Charmadi Ghat along the way. The heavy rains had created umpteen little waterfalls by the roadside, a true feast for the eyes. We had had a heavy breakfast, so we made do with a light lunch on the way – in south India you rarely get much variety, but it was tasty fare – and drove leisurely to the little town of Hassan, where we halted at a nice hotel for the night. The hours were filled with a lot of happy chatting and good natured mutual chafing, as if we were one family.

On Tuesday, we set off late in the morning and went off to Halebidu (also called Dorasamudra), where there is the famed Hoysalesvara Temple, and then to nearby Belur, to see the Chemmakesava, another architectural cum sculptural marvel. The ASI has done a good job of preservation and maintenance, along with very nice landscaping and well curated museums (with little unnecessary irritations, like having only the option of paying online for tickets for which you had to fill in a lot of personal details). The gentle breezy weather helped to make the strolls pleasant: I was told that in the full summer the blazing paving stones could scald the soles of your bare feet. On the long drive back to Bangalore, we made a short detour to visit Shravana Belgola, where stands the colossal statue of the second Jain tirthankara Bahubali or Gomatesvara, but when we learnt that we’d have to climb 1300 stairs up and down the hill, we gave it a miss, satisfying ourselves with a pranam aimed at the head of the giant which was visible from a certain point on the road. None of us could muster enough stamina or bhakti to handle the ordeal, and in any case it would have taken too long.

We arrived at the city limits a little after 8, but Google told us that it would take us two hours and a half of traffic crawling to reach home, so Abhishek chose to drive instead along the near empty STRR (Satellite Town Ring Road). Having dinner enroute at a very posh dhaba of the sort that is very common along the Delhi-Haryana highway, we arrived at home at about 10:45, and went off to sleep without much ado. We had travelled more than 900 km.

The last day, Wednesday, had been deliberately kept aside solely for lazing and adda. We woke up late, and went out for lunch of biryani at one of the Empire outlets nearby. Shreya came over, so the hours passed in a flash. We packed her off at 8, and chatted animatedly about a thousand odd things that make for really enjoyable Bengali adda, till 11, when it was time to turn in again.  Early waking on Thursday morning, feeling hot and ill in the cab all the way to the airport, very quick check-in thanks to Digi Yatra and absence of check-in luggage, then a smooth and timely flight back to Durgapur, miffed only by the fact that Indigo has made a ridiculous rule that they won’t serve you any beverages unless you first order some food. ‘Rats!’, as an old fashioned Englishman might have said.

Thank you all, Dada, Boudi, Abhishek and Shreya, for helping me enjoy such a lovely little vacation. Humans can be maddeningly aggravating at times, but congenial human companionship is essential to make life worth living, and though some people have denied it to me despite my best urging, many others have gone out of their way to balance things out: I must count my blessings, despite all ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’.

This was my first real tour of the Western Ghats, and I did it during the peak monsoon, the best season. One thing that I shall carry in my memory is the characteristic honking of buses in south India: they all make the same noise, which sounds exactly like a ship’s foghorn. The other wonder is that you can hardly spot a Sikh in such a vastly crowded city! Thirdly, a landscape entirely of glass, steel and chrome towers can begin to grate on your nerves as quickly as a constant diet of dosa/idli/vada/uthapam and lemon rice. And finally, once you are outside the metropolis, Karnataka is a very sparsely populated state, if you compare with the likes of Kerala, Bengal or Bihar.

For photos, wait a bit.