Ooty and Mudumalai

Shubho Bijoya to all. This one is for those readers who have said again and again that they enjoy my little travelogues. 

Young Abhishek, of the St. Xavier's ICSE 2003 batch, is one of those old boys who have been asking me to visit for years. Having found just the right time which suited both of us, and eager as in every year to avoid Durga pujo, I flew down to Bangalore on Wednesday the 9th. Happily, we now have daily flights from the local airport. Touching down at 4 p.m., I arrived at his house (not far from Marathahalli) a little after 7 - Bangalore's biggest recent claim to fame being its endless traffic jams! His is located in a nice 'society', though, and being at the rear end of the building at some elevation, fairly insulated from the din. Very nice and comfy. My only sense of guilt arose from the fact that he had recently moved in, and had spent three very hectic days sprucing up for me.

Abhishek dragged me off - not unwillingly - to the HAL open air aeroplane museum late the next morning, where we feasted our eyes on a large number of air fairies from yesteryears, training craft, helicopters, fighters, bombers and all. Then we pushed off to the Bangalore Palace, which is a museum-cum-residence for the royal family. The place was beautifully preserved, along with a very large, manicured garden in full bloom, and the audio tour of the many exhibits was a treat, at least for the likes of me. So now I have seen both the famous palaces associated with the Wodeyars. There was a leisurely lunch break in between, so by the time we returned home dusk was settling in. 

The next day could have been harrowing, but Providence was apparently looking out for me, so it turned out to be very enjoyable on the whole. We set off from the city before daybreak to avoid the crowds, and the drive all the way to the edge of Udhagamandalam (everyone still calls it Ooty) was smooth and swift, with much of the way beyond Mysooru (Mysore) being foggy, rain-soaked and cool. The steep climb from Masinagudi, round numerous sharp bends, was thrilling, even for an old Himalaya hand. Ooty itself was picturesque, but the traffic was quite absolutely horrible, so poor Abhishek, who insisted on driving all the way, had a hard time of it (he is self-confessedly a bike man) - ten thousand tourists crowded into a place which can comfortably accommodate a thousand - and a man on foot could actually travel far faster anywhere in the town. Our little hotel was mercifully located outside the town, perched on a hill overlooking Ketti Valley, right alongside a tea garden, and it was all that I could ask for. After a short walk past the tea garden in the drizzle and a quick lunch, we went out sightseeing. We could have done without it. Just driving up to Dodabetta Peak (the highest in the Nilgiris, a little over 8,000 feet) took hours, and so did coming down; the viewpoints themselves were swarming with noisy, jostling merrymakers. We stopped at a tea factory cum museum on the way down, and it was lateish evening by the time we returned to our room. Thanks to the pleasant weather, we were less tired than bored. We took in the peace and quiet for hours on the balcony, chatting away merrily of everything under the sun (or moon!), turning in well past midnight. Not bad for 61, I told myself, up and about from 4 in the morning till 12:30 at night.

On Saturday morning, after a  leisurely breakfast of idli, vada and pongal (one can get very tired of this fare very quickly) we set off for Mudumalai forest along the 'other road'. Abhishek wanted to escape from Ooty well before the 'truly infernal' crowds from Bangalore started pouring in. The drive, despite the occasional jams caused by tourists who line up their cars along the roadside to ogle even at sunflower plots and little strips of pine forest, was a dream. After a lunch of biryani in pouring rain, we arrived at the Mudumalai Wildlife Park Reception Centre, which was a maelstrom of vehicles and people on foot - far more like a typical Indian mela than a forest sanctuary. People had queued up for safari tickets, in buses, for God's sake, not elephant back or even in jeeps! The screeching, squawking, yelling, cackling, quarrelling mob would have been far more suited to a lunatic asylum where all the inmates have suddenly been set free. I was so horrified that if we had not pre-booked rooms, I would have fled back to the city. What on earth are the forest authorities doing? Is this how a sanctuary should be run? Anyway, we were quickly registered and then drove off to the tiny Forest Rest House five kilometres away. There, bliss returned, in the form of absolute silence, deep greenery, a huge white cloud bank hugging a distant hill, herds of chital (swamp deer) and the occasional peacock strolling around the two little buildings, and a perch on a little watch tower right in front of our room. 'Enjoy yourself while there's light, but don't step out after dark', warned the elderly caretaker (who drives his own Maruti Swift!). 'elephants and bears come foraging after dark!' We watched a glorious sunset with fascination before retiring. Mudumalai, which straddles the Moyar River made famous by the hunter Kenneth Anderson, is the Tamil Nadu section of the same forest which passes into Karnataka under the name of Bandipur Tiger Reserve. The evening wore into night, and, chatting and snacking all the while,  we kept peering into the gloom again and again to catch a glimpse of any wild life that might have condescended to visit, knowing that there were tigers prowling in the vicinity, but no show. Nevertheless, it was a night to remember. We turned in early, slept like babes, and left after another late and very filling breakfast on Sunday morning.

The drive back to Bangalore was uneventful and as enjoyable as the outward journey. We skipped lunch, and I drove the entire length of the Mysore-Bangalore highway. Occasional spells of rain alternated with bright, even hot sunshine. We arrived at home shortly after four in the afternoon, an hour sooner than anticipated, because it was an early Sunday afternoon, Abhishek said, and we had opted to take the Ring Road. The rest of the evening was spent in happy and animated conversation with Abhishek's parents, who had made me feel so at home that it was hard to imagine I was visiting them for the very first time. I cannot thank them enough.

Monday, alas, ended on a rather discordant note. I set off at six in the morning to avoid the rush of traffic, and entered my house in Durgapur at six in the evening, thanks to a nine hour long delay at Bangalore airport - an unpleasant first in my flying life. But that glitch could not wipe away the pleasurable memories I had brought back with me. A teacher has to be very lucky to have old boys like Abhishek Das. May he have a long and fulfilling life, and may we be able to go travelling together again. And Shreya, many thanks to you too :)

I have been writing this post in little bits in the midst of classes and another birthday bash last night (this year has passed in the blink of an eye). I shall upload it now for those who have been waiting. For photos, click here.

P.S.: There are stupid, uncouth tourists who litter, stop, honk, and get out of their cars to take photos of elephants. If the foresters don't deal with them as they deserve to be, I hope the elephants will do their job for them. A few monkeys without tails trampled - the overcrowded world will not miss them.