Thursday, November 12, 2009

Far From The Madding Goa

Goa.

It was almost too late to catch the 9.30pm bus when I finally decided that the twelve hour bus-ride would be worth enduring for three days in sunny Goa. That sentence eventually ended up being truthful in just one aspect - that the bus-ride would be worth it, though even that was a close thing.

For starters, the bus left only at 10.30pm. And, the cyclone Phyan in the Arabian sea clouded up the sun for all but a few minutes of my stay. And, twelve hours... well, the Seabird Travels bus broke down at Ranebennur which is about halfway to Panaji. The conductor then tells me that they would arrange for another bus, but that would take four hours, maybe. The passengers were encouraged to make their own way, and so I did - from Ranebennur to Hubli and then on to Panaji, enduring a massive traffic jam close to Ponda. And so I made it to Panaji at 4.30pm instead of the scheduled 9.45am effectively making my stay two days only. The journey has one magnificent memory for me though - the first rays of the sun, lighting up the cotton clouds from below, hitting the faces of huge fields of blooming yellow sunflower. This sight, somewhere between Ranebennur and Hubli, lit up my entire journey.

Saturday was almost gone by the time I bathed the dust of the road off me so all Abhi and I could fit in was a walk on Miramar beach in the dark. There were hundreds of jellyfish beached on the sand and another unusual anemone-like creature attached to the outside of a discarded shell. We must have looked quite suspicious searching the sand meticulously in the dark with the dim light from my cellphone torch. But then it was time for a dinner of excellent pork balchao at Mum's Kitchen. This mum of mine sure does charge a lot for her cooking!

We woke Jyothika early on Sunday to take us to the Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary on the island of Chorao showing her her first Goan sunrise in the process. The mangrove forest had Abhi and I mesmerised. The habitat is so different from the forests of the western ghats which we'd explored together. There were fiddler crabs duelling in the mud with their single large pincers, mudskippers hopping around with their fins and Little Herons skulking around in the shadows. We saw Greenshanks and Redshanks and Common Sandpipers aplenty. Oh, and the ferry ride to the island is free if you're not taking your car!

Back in Panjim, we explored Fontainhas, the old Latin quarter with brightly coloured bungalows and white churches. Goan sausages and prawn curry for lunch at Panjim Inn. And then we caught the ferry (another free ride!) from near the Basilica of Bom Jesus in Old Goa to Divar Island, taking our rental bikes this time. The ride up the wooded hill on the island passed many beautiful homes that I would love to live in. There's a beautiful church, the Church of Our Lady of Compassion, on top of the hill and plenty of birds in the trees. Small Minivets darted through the sky above us as we explored the church grounds. Back on the mainland, we passed the Viceroy's Arch, which, in my head, is the Portuguese equivalent of the Gateway of India and visited the Church of St. Cajetan. I was quite captivated by the inside of this church. The paintings mounted on its walls are magnificent! And, apparently, the dome of this church is modelled on the one in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome.

Abhi and I spent Monday morning wandering first around Fort Aguada where I saw the Grey Headed Bulbul for the first time, and then around Baga Hill and Baga Creek. There was absolutely no one on Baga Hill apart from some frustratingly evasive birds and a patrolling plainclothes cop who warned us to be careful as there had been many "incidents" there. It's really peaceful up there in the dancing gold grass. Back down the hill and across Baga Creek is the Xavier Retreat House, and once we had walked beyond that, there was one last shack and then just the Arabian Sea washing up against the shore. We sat on a rocky promontory and watched it drizzle on the waves.

Thankfully the ride back to Bangalore wasn't as eventful as the ride to Goa.

More photos...

Monday, November 02, 2009

Without A Care

Manchinbele Dam.

The setting sun reflected off the water in pink and purple. I leaned back in the gently bobbing kayak and watched the dark specks in the water grow slowly larger, listening to the calming sound of the water lapping against the boat. I was almost afraid to breathe in case my breath disturbed this peaceful world that I had wandered into.

The figures of my friends were still visible as I reluctantly dug my oar into the ripples and headed back to shore. Behind me, a full moon had risen into the sky turning the pink into silver. The grey heron stood motionless in the reeds as I floated on by.

We grilled bacon and sausages, ate feta and tomatoes, laughed and danced. The moon was high in the sky by the time we ran out of stories. The fire was doused, the garbage was collected, and we left, promising to be back another day.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Loosing My Mind

Another year's flashed on by and still the elevators tell me that I might loose my hand. I guess long ago I was all right, but now it's ok to be alright. I'm so loost that I'm not sure whether I'm seperating or separating. Another ten-fifteen years, and I'll definately be in an asylum.

Perhaps English is moving on and I'm getting left behind. Or is it that the world's moving on and I've gotten off?

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Bittersweet Galle Kandy

Colombo, Kandy and Galle.

After much arithmetic gymnastics, I managed to convince myself that I could afford the four days off that I needed to make the Sri Lankan holiday. Once that was sorted, the realization dawned that four days to explore a country was not even remotely possible and the dropping of things off the agenda began. No Sigiriya, no Yala National Park.

The Hornbill Homestay was a pleasant surprise, providing excellent air-conditioned digs for US $27. Arriving in Colombo at two in the morning had us producing our passports every few kilometres at the police checkposts that reminded us that Sri Lanka was just about done warring. The other reminders of recent disaster were the signboards near the homestay showing us the evacuation routes in case of a tsunami.

I'm not the most enthusiastic shopper, but feedback from many corners had me imagining a nice Lowepro bag for my camera at half the Indian price and other such magnificent bargains, but after Odel and House of Fashion though, I was ready to move on to more familiar forms of entertainment. A lucky visit to the promenade opposite the Galle Face Hotel at sunset and we were witness to the Sri Lankan flag being ceremonially taken down for the day. And then it was time for some devilled (they devil almost anything) calamari and parotas from one of the roadside stalls across from the oldest hotel east of the Suez Canal.

Instead of staying a day at Kandy, we opted to go on a day tour that would take us to some of the places worth seeing in the hills. The first stop, after breakfast at a beautiful colonial bungalow, was the elephant orphanage at Pinnawale where the store sold elephant dung paper and all seventy eight elephants paraded across the small town to the river for a bath watched by hundreds of tourist voyeurs. At the spice garden I finally saw the plants and trees from which the spices which I've eaten for most of my life come from. The two enthusiastic Bangalore boys, Kenny and Preetham who'd joined us on the tour, volunteered for face massages and a little hair-removal (just Kenny for that one). There was also a back rub with a spice oil to encourage me to splurge on some of the ayurvedic concoctions on sale there. I resisted. For me, the star of the magnificent botanical garden with its palm avenues, orchid garden and japanese garden was the huge weeping fig (Ficus Benjamina) in the middle of a large grass field. The Temple of the Tooth Relic, on the bank of the Kandy Lake, is where the Lord Buddha's left canine is housed after being taken from his funeral pyre and smuggled into Sri Lanka in Princess Hemamali's hair when her father's kingdom was under attack. The walk around the lake has some beautiful trees and bungalows. And then, just before the drive back to Colombo, I witnessed the tail-end of the famous Kandyan cultural show with the performers eating and walking through fire.

The road down to Galle goes along the coast and at some points is just metres away from the water. What I found amusing was that each town along this road, even though you can see the water from your seat in the bus, has a signboard declaring its height above MSL (mean sea level). This, by the way, is, on an average, 3.5m!

Unawatuna is just a few kilometres further down the road and immediately reminded me of Goa with small roads and lots of beaches and seafood shacks. We put up in a guest house a two minute walk from the beach where a friend of a friend, was staying with her Sri Lankan surfer-fisherman-boyfriend. With rented bikes, we rode down the coast to a fishing village Mirissa, stopping along the way at Kogalla for a boat-ride to an island in the clear-glass backwaters. From Mirissa, we watched the sun go down over a cup of tea. We were entertained with fishing stories over a dinner of "curry and rice" and how he learnt to climb coconut trees because he had to get out of the way of the tsunami (noting that he had the perfect view of the incoming waters from his precarious perch!)

I was still sorely tempted to visit Yala, which is another 3 hours down the same coast but 6 hours on the last day was a little too much to do for a couple of hours at the park. So we opted to visit the Sinharaja rainforest instead which was supposed to be half the distance. As it turned out, we
spent 6 hours in the car anyway. But it was well worth the ride and the couple of leech bites just to see the large Green Pit Viper resting on the fronds of some fern-like plant. We also encountered hump-nosed lizards, kangaroo lizards and green garden lizards on the way to the Kekuna Falls. But the lack of time didn't allow me to 'stop and stare' at the giant trees and climbers or search the canopy for birds. On the way back, we stopped at the Galle Fort to watch the sun set. The fort is a fascinating city inside a city with Dutch cafes alongside mosques and old mediterranean-looking guesthouses.

Back at the Nirmala guest house, Sri Lanka had one last surprise for me. As I sat on the parapet with a cup of tea thinking about the journey back home, a toddy cat leapt from the roof just above my head onto the coconut palm behind me, pausing just for one disdainful glance before disappearing into the darkness.

My visit to Sri Lanka was too short. And even then, there is so much more to tell. Like how the food is similar to Tamil food - string hoppers, kotthu parotas, dodol. And that there is a dessert called Watalappam which is a dark brown eggy-coconutty custard with raisins on top. And that the ladies wear a form of the saree known as the Kandyan saree which I shamelessly enquired of the receptionist at the place we had lunch one day. And that the Sinhalese word for river is 'ganga' and for water in 'watura'. And that water monitors are quite a common sight. And that people tend to say that things are closer than they are.

Sigh. There is still much to see and do in this beautiful and hospitable country.

More photos...

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

At The Edge

Onake Abbe, Agumbe.

I sat on a rock with my feet dangling dizzyingly high above the dive pool. Beside me, the water rippled around my fingers and dove unhesitating over the edge. The wind gently blew the cool spray back into my face as I looked over the rain-forest far below. Behind me, the path wound through the dense, dark forest of pit vipers and leeches that I hope will deter many a monsoon trekker.

I sat on the rock and dreamed. I dreamed I was an eagle, soaring unbounded over giant trees and crystal streams. And I despaired in my heart for I knew that my being there was a sign that man was at the doorstep.

I'd rather be a forest than a street. Yes, I would. If I could, I surely would.
- Simon & Garfunkel (El Condor Pasa)

Tuesday, May 26, 2009

Tequila Uchila

Uchila.

Uchila is a fishing village somewhere between Mangalore and Udipi on India's western coast. And Akuna Matata (no, I haven't mis-spelt it), is the resort in Uchila where I spent an idyllic weekend.

The bus from Bangalore reached earlier that we anticipated. As soon as my morning ablutions had been completed, I headed off along the beach to where the fishing boats were coming in with the morning's catch of shark, mackerel, crab and an assortment of fish that I had never seen before. I watched as the fishermen carried the boats in from the water. And I watched as the women of the village bid for baskets of the catch, covering them with tyre-tube rubber weighed down with bags of sand to keep them safe from the brahminy kite and crow bandits.

After breakfast, the Arabian Sea, clad in its green-blue best, tempted us into its folds. The waves looked mild but perhaps the nearing monsoon winds were already lending them power. We enjoyed being tossed around for a while before a strong current out to sea convinced us to get our feet back on solid ground.

Back at the bungalow everyone was settling down for a snooze, so I decided to explore the village. The villagers watched bemused as I walked along the path in the midday heat with camera in hand. They must have wondered what it was that I saw in the bugs that inhabited the bushes on either side of the road. Anyway, I learnt very quickly that the coastal humidity can turn a fresh dry t-shirt into a soaking rag in a matter of minutes. Garden lizards scampered out of my way as I headed back to read in the relative comfort of the indoors until the day cooled a little.

The evening low-tide exposed rocks that were home to hundreds of skittish
crabs that scuttled away as we clambered up. We poked around in the cracks and pools disturbing the fish and the anemones until the returning tide sneaked up on us and had us scrambling to get back to dry land. The sun sank gently and beautifully into the sea.

Sunday morning, after the fish auction, it drizzled lightly. I walked along the beach, narrowed by the high tide, playing with the sea's ebb and flow, stopping to examine an eel here and a starfish there. It's a wonderful feeling to know that the marks you leave behind are being wiped clean by the sea and that the people who come after will have a flawless beach to walk on. I'm sure there's a beautiful moral in there somewhere!

Football on the beach is as exhilarating as it is exhausting and after fifteen minutes we gratefully stopped for a lunch of deep-fried prawns and prawn curry and rice (at least, that's what I ate). Lunch was followed by the arrival of the monsoon which we watched bear down on us from the west. It's a magnificent sight; the dark rain clouds charging in from the sea and the water being whipped up by the monsoon winds.

Another weekend went by in a flash. And what a weekend it was - Sneha's birthday, Paul popping the question, Lisa accepting, tequila cheers and Taboo!

Tuesday, May 19, 2009

The High Life

Yercaud.

The bird song that woke me on Sunday was a little too loud. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the pre-dawn light and tried to remember where I was. "Ah, yes... the weekend in a tree house!" The bird sang again and I crawled across the creaking floor to the doorway and peered out at the leaves silhouetted against the grey of the morning. Covering myself with a blanket, I sat and listened as the chorus of birds greeted the rising sun.

It was still too dark to distinguish between the birds and the leaves, so I shook off the cobwebs in my head and tiptoed back into the room, washed my face in the alga-green water, grabbed my binoculars and headed down the ladder and out. I'm sure the others were awake but didn't share my feathery obsession.

As I walked through the coffee shrubs to the road, a little Jungle Owlet silently glided out of the leaves and alighted on a twig in front of me. A glance over his shoulder and he was off again. Just past the gate of the estate, an Asian Fairy Bluebird was hunting from his post on the tree by the road. The deep red eyes, in sharp contrast to his blue and black coat, ignored me as I watched him shuttle to and fro across the road.

Up the road I went, towards Pagoda Point (or Pakoda Point, depending on which sign you choose to believe) smiling happily at all I met on the road, stray dogs and humans alike. Anjali had mentioned that she'd seen some woodpeckers near the check dam that we'd walked to the day before, that's where my footsteps turned. A crowd of Jungle Babblers babbled noisily in the clump of trees caught in the turn of the road. Among them, a Brown-fronted Pygmy Woodpecker made his way up the trunk of a silver oak. A pair of Gold-fronted Leafbirds flew from tree to tree near the check dam.

By this time, my stomach was crying out for breakfast, so reluctantly I turned back. A Crested Serpent Eagle sat watching me watching him, and then regally spread his wings a flew over the valley and into the distance. The White-cheeked Barbets sang a loud chorus and the Plum-headed Parakeets screamed along. As I walked through the gate to the estate, I spotted three Greater Flameback Woodpeckers getting breakfast and I was reminded to go get my own.

'Twas quite a morning with Magpie Robins, Scarlet Minivets, Ashy Woodswallows, Coppersmith Barbets and Rufous Treepies added to my list.

After breakfast and a guided hike to the edge of the Shevaroy Hills, we drove down to Yercaud town, found some bicycles and rode some way around the lake. After lunch, we left Glenrock Estates and Yercaud behind and drove back to Bangalore. The tree house stay was too short; high in a banyan tree, it was surprisingly large, easily holding all five of us, though the bamboo partition for the bathroom is not for the shy. Perhaps I'll visit again some day and listen to the Racket-tailed drongos scream outside the window once more. And perhaps I'll pay more attention to the many butterflies that flitted through the trees.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Ten Sunny Days

It was like a scene out of an old sepia tinted movie. Just outside an abandoned railway station, a dust covered traveller steps out of a bus with just a bag on his back. The bus leaves in a cloud of dust, and every face turns around to watch the new arrival. But that's where the movie switches back to colour.

To the people of Kallidaikurichi, a chinese face is a rarity. Rare? I don't think they'd seen one in the flesh until I stepped off the bus. They have, however, seen Jackie Chan in Tamil dubbed movies sitting on mounds of sand in their open air theatres. And so, for ten days, I was Jackie, and expected to teach little kids kung-fu.

But that wasn't why I was in this sun-scorched village in south India. Abhi was looking for someone to help with her survey of waterbirds in the tanks on the border of Kalakkad Mundanthurai Tiger Reserve, and I wasn't about to let such an opportunity pass me by. And so we visited the tanks and counted birds by the hundreds - egrets, herons, storks, moorhens, jacanas and kingfishers. The birds that were the highlight of my stay though were the Cinnamon Bitterns and a Red Collared Dove. And the Ashy Woodswallows chattering animatedly in the Palmyra trees silhouetted by the sunset.

There were Bark Geckos and the Fan-throated Lizards aplenty, and a walk by the canal showed us a few baby Checkered keelbacks.

The heat prevented us from venturing out most of the day, and so I spent a lot of time in the nursery helping Ruthamma with the saplings. It's a joy communicating with someone without words. We spoke sans words about butterflies and trees and slugs and mosquitoes.

It was fascinating to hear the story of the tilted lingam of the 1200 year old Thirupudaimaruthur Temple from one of the priests. The temple is named because the lingam was found in the hollow of an Ashoka tree by the king who built the temple. Legend has it that a sage was coming from a long way for a darshan, and found the river near the temple in spate. Unable to get to the temple, he prayed and the water subsided. When he got there, he found the lingam tilted to one side and he asked god why, and the god replied that he had tilted his head to hear his call. And that's the story of the idol in the temple.

Atree, the organization that was playing host to me, has various programmes to get the local people involved in conservation. One of them is the flying fox census that the kids of the village participate in. And so, one evening we set off to this temple compound with huge trees where the bats roost and waited for them to take off to their feeding grounds and then counted them as they flew by. The kids have been doing this once a month for the last two years for this particular population of 2000-3000 bats.

Ten days went by in a flash washed in sunshine and lemon juice. Ten days of eating breakfast, lunch and dinner off banana leaves with my hands. Ten days of trying not to spoil Jackie Chan's name. Ten days of birds. Ten days of stalking the insects and frogs in the garden with the 105mm. Ten days of stories that would fill volumes!

And then it was time to say goodbye and time to get Ruthamma to smile for the camera.



More photos...

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Stand Up For Your Back

After exercising my franchise for the first time, I decided to take the public transport home. Six years of fearing the Bangalore crowds had just been overcome by watching my retired parents tame the Kannada boards on the buses.

The first bus I jumped on was headed in the wrong direction, so off I hopped extremely proud that I didn't stumble when I leapt off the accelerating bus. Then, guided by a grey-haired gentleman, I boarded the appropriate bus and found myself a comfy seat away from the burning sun. It took just a little more time than driving to get home.

Ah, but you must be wondering what the title's got to do with anything. Well, on the way, while the bus was toodling along at a pace not very friendly to the bikes on the road, suddenly, all the passengers towards the rear of the bus stood up without making a move towards the exit. Hmm, I thought, that's odd. And then it struck me... the realisation, as well as the jolt up my spine! Bloody speedbreakers!

Friday, March 13, 2009

Holi Colours

From beneath the flowering Persian Lilac (Melia Azedarach) tree, I looked up and saw a sky of the truest blue through the fresh green leaves of spring. White clouds sailed across the blue, silhouetting a pair of crows in shiny black.

The sun went down painting the clouds pink and purple, leaving behind a soft golden glow. Behind the hibiscus, the full moon rose fading from yellow to white, till finally, the world was just different shades of grey.

Friday, March 06, 2009

Happiness Rains

Paper boats racing down the storm drain with four kids cheering them on sheltered from the lightning and the pouring rain by a tin roof.

Returning home soaking wet after winning a football match we should have lost since we were playing with most of the regulars banned for poor academic performance.

Continuing the Founder's display as the lights blew, one by one, in the summer storm.

Riding an auto through the gates of a green Pune University through the drizzle of the monsoon.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere in a downpour with darkness upon us, singing.

Sprinting up to Cheena Peak in a drizzle stopping only to pull leeches off our ankles.

Spending an hour in a village home not understanding a word of the conversation, invited in from the pouring rain.

Wandering through the Himachal hills, splashing each other by jumping in the puddles, not wanting to get home.

Discarding umbrellas and walking barefoot through paddy fields looking for frogs and mushrooms.

Scrambling for higher ground in the middle of the night as the swollen Alaknanda washed the sand away from under our tents.

Is it any wonder that I love the rain so?

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Adios, Amigo

You made your way quietly into my world, accompanying me on walks, sitting with me by the pond, sharing my meals. You welcomed me into yours, with all its quirky inhabitants. You made me laugh with your dances in the water, with your games of tag and the wrinkles on your forehead.

And now you're gone, my guardian from snakes in the grass and elephants in the night. Tears come unbidden.

And I will miss you.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Ha Achi

Sangram, Arunachal Pradesh.

"Ha achi", she said, her head bent so I couldn't see her face. Without knowing what it meant, I felt the phrase pull at me.

"What does that mean?", I asked.

"Ask Sister", and she turned and quickly stepped out of the kitchen.

"It means, my heart is aching", Sister said.

And now, gno ha achi.

Friday, January 16, 2009

Blue Skies

Solur, near Masinagudi.

The best laid schemes o' mice and men, gang aft agley. Robert Burns must have been talking about my plans for the year-end closure at work. Every plan seemed to be falling apart as the holidays got closer. For want of anything better to do, I even volunteered to work through some of the holiday. So when a plan to camp somewhere in the Nilgiris came up, I jumped at it.

The guide met us at Masinagudi and guided us through lunch, tea breaks and gardens to Solur. From there, after a rather long discussion with the owners of the tea garden about whether or not it was permitted to camp in the hills, we hiked to a large grass field where the tents were pitched. Notice that I do not say that we pitched the tent. Anjali, Manik and I shirked our duties and headed up to the top of the hill to catch the setting of the sun. Suffice it to say that the sun has a lot more practice getting over hills than us city-slickers. As we stumbled our way down, we watched the campfire flicker to life and the stars follow Venus' lead in punctuating the deep indigo sky.

Sneha joyfully took charge of the supplies (Chinese camping and supplies joke's making me smile) that Ashwin and Roshan had lugged up and handed out tuna, luncheon meat and cheese sandwiches to go with the rum and coke. I can't remember what the conversation was about, but it was warm, in sharp contrast with the air which was beginning to bite. The cold chewed through the tent, through my sleeping bag and chomped on my toes, making the night rather restive.

We woke to see the sun rise and then decided to go up the hill again, and with Manik around, there's always a higher hill to climb. There were stone walls built at various levels on the way up, and near the top, there were some large flat pieces of granite placed so that people could sit and admire the view. I wonder what the walls are for - not supporting anything and too low to keep anything in or out. And I wonder who made those seats.

And then it was breakfast and the hike back to Solur. For the crazies in the bunch, it was walking all the way down to Masinagudi. And then surviving a hair-raising drive back to Bangalore so that I could make the airport in time.