Road trip - Paramakudi - Day 1

We took a short road trip to Rameswaram and a few other places. The invaluable help I got from others who posted their experiences, especially on TeamBHP, made me feel obligated to record my own thoughts. Day One – 650 kms – Hyderabad to Krishnagiri

We left Hyderabad on a Saturday morning in July 2018, with the objective of visiting a farm east of Paramakudi in Ramnad district of Tamil Nadu. Beyond that we didn't have much of a plan.

We left Hyderabad (Gachibowli) to get on to the outer ring road around 9 am. We had breakfast just before Jadcherla at around 9:30 am. Though we are city warriors in driving, highways was not something we had a lot of experience in. We were two of us and neither of us had driven more than 400 kms away from Hyderabad in India. Though we had driven a lot in the US and the UK, we had not really ventured on a 1000 km trip in India. We soon were doing 120-140kmph on the beautiful stretches of Kurnool and Anantapur. One thing we noticed was that not all the sign boards were accurate. At one point it said 75 kms to Kurnool and yet we did it in 30 mins. We were definitely not doing anything over 120 kmph at that time.
Lesson 1 - The first lesson we learnt was the frequent stops for toll. Wished we had thought of Fastag before we left on our trip. Actually well ahead of our trip.
It cost us over Rs 700 to reach Bangalore. I am not sure if that is too much but it would have definitely helped, if there were better signs, fewer toll booths and fewer pedestrians and animals and all kinds of beings crossing the highway! But then again 700 is not too much to pay for a good road of over 500 kms.
We had not yet hit the Bangalore airport when the second life lesson hit us. Suddenly the traffic seemed to increase with vehicles taking U turns and we slowed down considerably to maneuver ourselves out of the traffic and as we accelerated after the lights, a police team stopped us. We pulled over and the constable said we had been speeding. He said we were doing 101 while the limit was 80 kmph! I really didn't believe I could have gone that fast in the fast developing Bangalore city traffic chaos but it gave us an opportunity to chat with him about the traffic, stretch our legs and understand the ways out of Bangalore. The policeman told us that they were the Bangalore city police and they had been stationed there since 2009, to stop people from speeding, when the airport started.
Lesson 2 - Know where police are stationed! With the Rs 300 challan out of the way, we hit the road again and found the car automatically accelerated to 100 without effort. We had to consciously slow down and decided to stop for tea. It was nearing 4 pm. We started again at 4:30 and Google Maps decided to take us via Bangalore city to Hosur instead of the outer Ring Road. So we were left fuming trying to navigate the horrifying Bangalore traffic. At a traffic light, where I had to take a right around the round about, a taxi to my left cut in front of me to take the right before the round about. So I followed him, accelerating hard, when a constable pulled me over. He wanted to see all my papers including licence, registration and insurance. I had done nothing wrong but he was collecting money from all non Karnataka registered vehicles. :-) Beware of Bangalore cops!!!
We then hit the electronic city highway which though crowded was moving ahead at a good pace. I remembered the Bangalore of the 80s when it was all about Ulsoor, Indira Nagar, JP Nagar, Vidhana Soudha, Brigade Road and MG Road. Simpler times. Tougher times, Different times, in their own ways.
Lesson 3 - Do pray to the weather gods. They were especially kind to us on the first day and for the entire trip.
Weather – Cloudy with spots of rain. Tolls – Rs 700+

We stopped for the night at Krishnagiri after covering around 650kms. 

Leaving Hyderabad on a road trip across Tamil Nadu

Bangalore in our sights

Continued! Go to Day 2 & 3

Road trip - Paramakudi - Day 2 & 3

Day Two & Three –
Sunday – 450 kms – Krishnagiri to Namakkal to Madurai airport to Paramakudi
Monday – 75 kms – In and around Paramakudi
Breakfast was a treat. Nothing special for most, but it was simple and refreshing.
We left with the morning truck traffic towards Namakkal, where a friend was waiting for us. Our objective for the day, was to reach Madurai airport by 2:30 to pick up a friend who was landing there at that time. Along the way, there were plenty of places to eat, lots of truck traffic carrying heavy goods, showing robust construction/engineering activity somewhere down the line which was very encouraging and greenery and beautiful mountains all around. We visited the very old Anjaneyaswamy temple there at Namakkal. The southern states revel in their respect for age old traditions and upkeep of these small historic temples that are yet so vibrant. We left Namakkal just before 12 for Madurai airport and had lunch at a small restaurant there before heading off to the airport. We lost our way, a little bit, as we took a wrong exit and had to get back on to the highway and take a U turn to get back on the right track. The flight had landed early and my friend was already waiting there. That day we paid around Rs 350 in tolls, the drive was more pleasant, the roads seemed to be safer, with plenty of places to eat. It felt a lot more relaxed compared to the previous day.
Lesson 4 – Trust Google to get you there but be prepared for some "off the beaten tracks" roads. A sturdy car really helps. Choose wisely. We left the airport for Paramakudi and midway, decided to go directly to the farm. The road from Madurai to Rameswaram is still under construction with only portions complete. Google kindly took us through narrow village roads that we didn't know existed, though we had been coming there regularly for 10 years! At the farm, the trees had grown tall and the peacocks were just heading off at the end of their day! After a couple of hours at the farm, we headed back into town and had dinner and crashed for the night in a small room we call home, in Paramakudi. We had covered over 1100 kms by now. The next morning, we were back at the farm checking and then to the near by temples. The first temple had a large dry pond, where peacocks danced hoping for rain. The priest invited us back on Aug 3rd where he said 1500 people from the village would renew their wedding vows! This was the 18th day of Aadi, from what I understood with my limited Tamil. We headed to Nainar Kovil where we had breakfast after visiting the temple. We then headed back to the farm and spent the morning planning the day's work including a visit to the bank, getting a JCB to plow some land, getting through some electricity board connections and then spending the afternoon fertilising the trees with Urea, Phosphate and other fertilisers. We headed back to town and spent a good hour with the bank manager freeing up funds, closing loan accounts and ensuring our work progressed unhindered. By then it was clear the electricity board and the JCB would not happen that day. So we bought our fertilisers and headed back to the farm. We had lunch at the farm cooked there by the local farm hand. We then got down to mixing and fertilising the plants. After 20 trees my back was done. It was back breaking work walking in ankle deep muddy water, and trying to get the fertiliser buried in the soil next to the tree, but not touching it! We had bought 200 kgs of fertiliser and after we had done around 50 kgs, we were done. Another guy was cutting off the lower branches of the trees with a sharp sickle to ensure the trees grow tall and strong. We considered that work to be easier but soon his hands were blistered! We then got back into the tractor and took a few pictures to at least pretend we had contributed as farmers. After dinner, which was the left overs of the morning lunch, we headed back to our room in Paramakudi.
There is a small village close to Paramakudi, on the way to Nainar Kovil, that weaves hand made silk saris. A good place to visit, if you want to see what villages in India can offer.
Weather – Cloudy, humid and hot. Tolls – Rs 350

A stop at Namakkal to meet a friend

Arrived at the farm

A peacock hiding between the trees

The tractors roof provides no cover against the evening sun scorching through the trees

Continued! Go to Day 4

Road trip - Paramakudi - Day 4

Day Four – Tuesday – 300 kms – Paramakudi to Dhanushkodi to Madurai

The next morning, we headed out to Dhanushkodi via Rameswaram. Breakfast at Shri Ram Hotel in Ramnad on the highway is a treat! We discovered Palm Sugar (thati bellam) there and since we knew the owner of the hotel, he came over and gave us a sample too. After a quick visit to the temple at Rameswaram, we went to Dhanushkodi via the Pamban bridge. The views were simply breathtaking. The sea was bright, beautiful and blue on both sides. The walk at Dhanushkodi with the sea lapping at our feet was refreshing. The beach dips precariously into the sea and you need to be an expert swimmer to venture more than 10 feet into the water depending on the time of day. As we headed back, we stopped at the late President APJ Abdul Kalam's memorial. It is indeed a fitting tribute to a great man. We headed back to Ramnad where after another short meeting we went back to the farm for lunch. Lesson 5 – Stay hydrated. The humidity gets to you. We left the farm and after a few cups of fresh lime juice at Nainar Kovil, we headed off to Paramakudi and then to Madurai. At Madurai, I started hunting for Kumbagonam Degree Coffee. Kumbagonam Degree Coffee was recomendded by my niece’s husband, who said it is a coffee to die for! I had no luck and we crashed for the night. We had spent hours on discussing where to head off next and ultimately decided we would go to Palani and Chennai and then Tirupati or Kalahasti. The advantages of an unplanned trip was, every decision could change at the last minute.

Weather – Cloudy yet humid and hot. Tolls – None

View of Rameswaram - On the way to Dhanushkodi

A view of Rama Setu - On the way to Dhanushkodi

At Dhanushkodi

Continued! Go to Day 5

Road trip - Paramakudi - Day 5

Day Five – Wednesday – 600 kms – Madurai to Palani to Chennai

The next morning, we went to the famous Madurai temple and then headed out to Palani. We were keen to experience the ropeway there. But Madurai traffic was such a dampener that our frustration levels increased with every bottleneck. After an hour we were able to get on to a highway and had breakfast on the way before reaching Palani just after 10:30 am. The guy taking the toll at the temple, spoke nicely and told us that the parking was free and gave us directions to the parking lot. It was only later that I realised he took Rs 60 but gave us a Rs 50 receipt! The directions too were not the best and we had to find our way out of a couple of deadends before finding a place to park. The ropeway was closed and the winch train had a huge queue. We were told the fastest way was to take the steps. The steps were on the other side of the hill from where we parked. I remembered reading on some site that it was 150 meters. That should not be too hard, even for us who were on the right side of 50. But the steps were steep and we were exhausted after the first 100 meters. We ploughed on and soon passed the 200 meter mark with no sight of the temple yet. We lost count but I think it is around 300 meters with 40 steps for every 15 meters in height. At the top, we were told the temple was closed at 11:40. We were wondering what to do, when we noticed a counter selling tickets for a special darshan for Rs 100. He said we would make it, if we rushed. We got three tickets and rushed there and it was only 11:50 but he said it was closed. But there was something else available for Rs 150. So we took that and after a long prayer and puja, we came out after an hour. We walked down the stairs again and had coconut water, and fresh lime soda to hydrate ourselves before the marathon drive to Chennai. Lesson 6 – Know the temple timings. In Tamil Nadu, some temples close late mornings and early afternoons. It was already past 1:30 and we had around 400+ kms to cover to Chennai. The roads to Dindigul were not the best but were not bad either. But after that it, was a proper highway. The only thing we expected was the same number of hotels along the way, as we saw between Hosur and Madurai. But as lunch time crept past us, there were no good places to eat. We found a place to eat after 3:30 and still had 300 kms to go. We started after 4 and despite doing 140kmph stretches, we could only average 90 kmph. From Tindivanam we started seeing boards for Kumbakonam Degree Coffee. Around 100 km from Chennai traffic became increasingly heavy and slow. Chengleput and Guduvanchery were blocked and we were wondering if the outer ring road would serve us better to get to Porur. But we knew the Poonamalee High Road would be no better. So we took the bypass and got off at Porur. We did the 450+ kms, with the last 100 kms in heavy crawling traffic in around 7 and a half hours.

We spent the night at an OYO room which was surprisingly inexpensive and very comfortable and spacious. Then we decided to cancel both Tirupati and Kalahasti and head to a relatively lesser known place called Gandi, with an Anjenyaswamy temple next to a dried up river bed.

Weather – Cloudy and humid and hot. Yet weather Gods were still kind. Tolls – Rs 515

Madurai temple in the early morning sun

The steep steps to the Palani temple

A way to catch our breath - Pretend to take photos of views from the steps of the Palani temple

Continued! Go to Day 6 & 7

Road trip - Paramakudi - Day 6 & 7

Day Six & Seven
Thursday – 300 kms – Chennai to Gandi
Friday – 500 kms – Gandi to Gandikota to Hyderabad
The next morning, we visited a small mango farm, though there were no mangoes, near Chengulpet. After that we headed off to Gandi via Tirupati. The drive to Tirupati was slow with traffic and not the best of roads till we saw signs for Kumbakonam filter coffee. We stopped and tasted the best coffee we had had in our life. As we left Tirupati and headed into the hills, the view became more beautiful. Google Maps again took us through narrow streets of small villages into the hills and reserved forests of Tirupati. The cool air and the mountains around us, helped refresh us during the long drive. We reached Gandi in the evening and stayed at the Harita resort. We had completed over 2400 kms since we left Hyderabad. BSNL mobile had spotty to zero coverage in that area while Airtel had a fairly good signal. The temple was beautiful as always, serene and peaceful. After an early dinner at 8 pm we called it a day. The next day was Friday and was going to be the last day of the trip.
Lesson 7 – Carry a couple of phones with different providers, to stay in touch
Lesson 8 – Save routes offline, so that you stay on route, even if you lose coverage for an extended period of time
Friday morning, we had a long darshan at the Gandi temple and left the temple at around 7:30 am. We stopped at a small village called Muddanur for breakfast at around 8:30 and as we searched for a place to eat on foot, after parking our car, we got an earful from a lady who said we shouldn't look any further and enter her hotel. We promptly walked in to the small hall where we had kharam dosa, Cuddapah style. She berated us for not stopping the car immediately in front of her hotel and parking at a slight distance and walking back past her hotel without giving her a second look!!! :-) The food was as spicy as Rayalaseema is reputed and known for. We headed out to Gandikota chastened and with a smile! The spectacular cliffs and the river below, has earned it the name of the Indian Grand Canyon. Gandikota has a charm of its own with its fort from the 13th century. We stopped off at the Harita resort to understand what else the place offered and if we could come back for a longer stay. We then headed back to Hyderabad. The roads again were through villages as Google chose a way through Nandyal. The road from Nandyal to Kurnool is not complete and was painstaking at places. We stopped outside Kurnool at the Oravakal rock gardens, with rocks that date back to the paleolithic era and paintings that go back 7000 years. We had lunch and then headed back to Hyderabad. We entered the outer ring road at 5:00 pm where we crossed 3000 kms and promptly got stuck in Hyderabad traffic at Gachibowli!

We were driving a 2012 Toyota Etios VD with 67000 kms on it. Crossed 70000 kms by the end of the trip. A shade over 3000 kms for the 7 days at over 17 kms to a liter. Spent Rs 2155 on tolls and over 12500 on diesel.

At the mango farm

Kumbagonam Degree Kaapi at last

Kumbagonam Degree Kaapi on a serene highway

The right coffee, served the right way!

Highway cuts through the ghats behind Tirumala

Gandi temple in the evening lights

Leaving Gandi temple in the early morning

Gandikota - Pennar river with the Mylavaram dam in the background

 

Gandikota - The cliffs, the river - With the gushing wind

 

3000 kms as we enter Hyderabad on the ORR

Unto death

Till death do us part…

It was another one of those boring days, with nothing to do. Just playing with friends in the gardens of our homes and the road outside. Anything to keep us out of the house and away from the dreary books of learning. There really wasn’t anything much or specific to do, other than complain of a boring day and play outside with friends. We had grown up together in this neighbourhood and the bunch of us would always spend our evenings and holidays together in this familiar neighbourhood. Yet the despair of having nothing really to do, only fueled the zest to grow up faster, and make something of this world. Not of this life but of this world. This life was too small to conquer, after all as someone said, it goes on. But the world was waiting for us, to break away from the shackles of adolescence and be a man unto ourselves.

Now looking back, we could only think how beautiful those days were without a moment of boredom. What a life it was, spent among friends. I slowly turned back from the large windows of the hospital hallway to look at the doctor striding towards me, with his team of nurses and attendants. They were not smiling. I sat down quietly as they explained that my friend, Ram, had a heart attack and was being treated in the ICU and would be operated upon within the next hour. The doctor said it was still life threatening but they were doing all they can. I stood up and turned back to the rain drenched windows, as the interminable wait started. It was almost three days till I could speak to him again, as he slowly recovered in the hospital room. That evening as I trudged home after another day at the hospital, I looked back on life once more and the story that Ram just told me.

We three grew up together. It was a small neighbourhood in a growing city in south India called Hyderabad. Often neglected and yet always aspiring, with a burden of a glorious and rich history. That was the best way to describe the city of those days. Of course we didn’t know of all this then. We knew our world and our small neighbourhood and had a restlessness about us, and of wanting to grow up. In some ways, our story is that of Hyderabad. Neglected and yet aspiring. And our history - we were told of our grandfathers who were rich and famous in the villages they came from. As we grew up we went our different ways to make our own lives. Ram was the steady one in our group. He always accepted what came to him in his life and worked hard to meet every challenge. Bittu was the adventurous one. He always challenged the obvious and was always frustrating to others. But for us, he was fun to be with. I was the watcher. I just watched as life flowed by. We always bugged Ram to aspire higher, while trying to calm down Bittu to choose a more steady path. I have no idea what they told me to do, because like the others, we all had a mind of our own and did what we thought! We had bailed out Bittu on several occasions, with his parents, his teachers, his friends and colleagues. Ram never needed bailing out. After all he was the steady one.

The world had changed since those simpler days of boredom and happiness. It was all about catching up now and yet being thoroughly unhappy. Bittu and Ram had gone to America to pursue their careers. I had stayed back and we only got together occasionally. Now after 35 years, they were all set to return home. Ram landed first and as we caught up, all we could talk of was when Bittu would join us.

The next week Bittu landed and soon enough we were laughing away at home in our own secluded room on the terrace of our old home in the old neighbourhood. I had managed to rent it for an year from the new owners. The house was unused anyway and as is the case these days, they just seemed to buy it as an investment to park surplus cash. The night was still young but we were old. Jet lag, age and every other known reason was creeping up on us as we steadily denied them the pleasure of putting us down. Bittu had not lost the fire of his youth and Ram seem only more mellower than we first knew him, if that was ever possible. Bittu told us stories of his run ins with the police in the US, of his joining several organisations to protest what seemed to us to be every known lost cause to the world. And some unknown and unheard of causes too. He was still a rebel without a cause and yet a champion of the down trodden and a firebrand spirit to the core. They say people change with the times but Bittu wasn’t one of them.

Ram was as mellow as he always was. He spoke as if he was a part of the furniture in the office. And yet we knew he was a pillar of strength to his family and I am sure a wall of support in the office. He spoke of being surprised by number of messages he got when he left his work place. And yet he penned it down to the courtesies of the US culture. He still didn’t realise his own worth and the strength he brought into a room by his own presence. The room couldn’t have had more contrasting personalities. Bittu thought the world revolved around him and his presence gave others a reason to live. His opinion was the only one that mattered and he was the judge, the jury and the executioner.

As the night slowly edged into an early dawn, we called our taxis to head off in three separate directions. Bittu to his hotel. Ram to his in-laws place. And I was heading back to my own house. It had been a tiring night propelled by memories and fueled by laughter. But the body had become a slave of age as I slumped in backseat of the taxi and soon dozed off. I was awoken by the driver in front of my home. I was happy at last for inexplicable reasons and gave the driver a big tip. I quickly shuffled in and went to bed. I was awoken by the incessant ringing of the bell at home and found the driver again. It was 3 hours earlier that he had dropped me. He handed my my phone and said I had forgotten it in his car. He said it had been ringing incessantly for the past hour.

I was still drowsy and bewildered. I checked the phone to see many missed calls from Ram. I quickly called Ram and that is when he told me how his morning unfolded. He had left a few minutes after Bittu. His taxi driver was fast and a little rash and in a few minutes on the third traffic signal from the old neighbourhood, he had pulled along side the taxi of Bittu. As the light turned green Ram’s taxi accidentally scraped Bittu’s taxi and the drivers started quarreling right there in the middle of the road on that early morning. As expected Bittu got in the middle of it and started explaining to them the basics of driving. They ignored him and continued fighting which only infuriated Bittu even more. Ram couldn’t take it anymore and stepped out of the car to help sort it out or at the very least pull Bittu out of it. Ram was insisting that they book another cab to leave but Bittu would have none of it. He was intent on sorting this out with the drivers. He pulled them both back violently and said he would have to call the police, if they didn’t stop. By then a small morning crowd had gathered. Some were curious onlookers, while some had an opinion of their own, while others just wanted the cars moved, so the traffic could be cleared. But nearly all wanted to see some action to spice up their morning routines. Ram was getting tired and his legs didn’t seem to want to hold up. He sat down on the pavement to just take a deep breath but the crowd around him was overwhelming. The crowd seem to growing by the second and it was getting noisier. He quietly slipped back into the cab to rest a little. He had tried to drag Bittu back but Bittu would have none of it. He saw the police arriving and some time later the ambulance and that is all he remembered. He woke up in the hospital next.

In the hospital that day, I had badgered Ram what had happened and all he could say was “I wish I’d been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was murdered.”

That day as I walked home, I realised that Ram was the steady one and again blaming himself. I could have made a difference. And as my taxi drove past the lights where Bittu was murdered, I thought to myself, “I wish I’d been there earlier. It might have made all the difference. So all I can tell you is why he was murdered.”

Time to move on

Time to move on

It was the summer of 2016 and to get away from the heat of the deccan plateau, he decided to head to the hills up north. The final drive from the sweltering heat of Delhi up to the cooler hills of Mussoorie was tiresome to say the least. The roads had improved since he was last here, around 40 years ago. Instead of a rickety old bus, he was in a good car and yet the journey was rough. The barren hills reminded him how things had changed and how old he had become. As he got off at the old house with the little square windows, he was thankful for the little things. He didn’t have to push the car up the steep hill, like he had to do with the old Ambassador taxi when he was younger. He unpacked his small back pack in the empty house and the cool moisture in the air refreshed him, despite the staleness of the lingering air in the old house. The doors were creaking and the wood seemed to be rotting. The greying blue paint had to be at least a half a century old. And yet there was something of a welcome embrace, as he entered into the house. The house still felt like home.

He walked down to the tea shop in Barlowganj to enjoy the evening breeze of the hills as he stared up at the snow capped mountains in the setting sun. The people there stared at him. He was obviously out of place and yet it didn’t bother him. He knew he was different. Back home these hills were fabled as vendi kondalu (silver capped mountains). A drizzle had started and a mist seemed to be rolling in, as he had chai and samosas. He trudged back up the hill to the lonesome house and realised that it took him a good hour to climb up the steep track. It used to take him 15 mins earlier.

The next morning he was up early, and the first thing he realised was how cold he was. The windows though shut couldn’t begin to offer the kind of double glazed protection that he was hoping for. He tossed and turned till it was just past 6am, as he saw a young man running up to his cottage with a couple of packets of milk. The young man was going to be his local help, guide and cook. His name was Ramu and his father used to take care of this old cottage till a few years ago. Ramu was around 16 years old or probably older and looked into the cottage whenever time permitted as he had several other jobs to keep him busy.

They knew their agenda and quickly set out on a hike before 7am. Climbing the hills around Mussoorie, he realised how soon he was out of breath. As they rested at yet another chai shop sipping hot tea and walking around admiring the snow capped mountains, he accidentally stepped in cow manure. Cursing his luck he knew some things just don’t change. They continued up the path and slowly the small temple came into view between the heavily wooded forest. He remembered the temple quite well but not such a thick forest cover around it. It stood out among these barren hills and yet the greenery seemed to be welcoming him home.

And that was the reason for his trip to Mussoorie. It was here 40 years ago that he slipped and fell breaking his leg. He had to be carried down to a doctor and from there to a big hospital and eventually a surgery where his left leg had to be amputated. Now he was back after surviving on an artificial leg and mastering not just walking but running on it. As he slowly made his way up the last few grassy curves to the top of the hill where the temple lay, memories of that fateful day came rushing back to him. And yet there was no feeling of remorse or regret. There was no feeling of “I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.”

The temple had been built a few generations ago by his family and the surrounding land was bequeathed to the temple. Though the land and the small temple was held by a trust, theirs was the first family of the temple. And it had been 40 years since anyone from his family had visited.

The old priest in the temple seemed familiar. As they got talking, the priest slowly recollected the events of that day. The priest showed the stump of a tree and told him the story of how he fell. The tree was stunted and weak and the young boy had climbed up on its branches. One of the branches broke, leading to the boy’s fall. The tree had immediately been cut despite protests from the priest. And in recompense the priest had been planting one tree with each passing year. He also encouraged others who came to this small temple to do the same. That explained the wooded area around the temple.

For all the times he cursed the tree, the temple and the trip when he was younger and had to learn to survive on one leg, he suddenly felt happy that so much good came out of these extraordinary events. And the story didn’t end there. These woods were well planned with several trees that were indigenous to the Himalayas. They were all of significant value to practitioners of Ayurveda. Everything from the creepers to the tall trees had their own value.

He remembered that moment vividly, as the branches gave way under him and he fell from a height. It seemed surreal and yet he always wished he could turn back time and not climb that last branch. Yet he had come so far. Though he missed his leg, his life had gone on. At that point he realised that time couldn’t have stood still. And now he was happy that he gave his leg for a small oasis of woods on these barren hills, where the valleys were cut down by granite quarries and the slopes were shaved for their wood. And yet it was his fall that had created this small retreat for birds. He drifted slowly into this small thicket and found exotic fruit trees and beautiful flowering plants. The summer was truly good to these plants. He heard the mooing of a cow and as he unconsciously walked towards it he saw that there was a beautiful goshala with 10 calves and several cows.

This was truly paradise.

The sun was almost setting and he told the priest that he would return the next day and started walking back down. It was a slow long trudge back to the cottage that seemed further away going away from the temple.

As the priest went back to his work, he wondered, why this man had come now. After so many years. Was he here to take back the temple. Or probably destroy it. The priest was getting lost in anxiety as he finished his evening temple chores and walked back to his small cottage near the goshala.

The priest’s discomfort was apparent enough for his wife to ask him what the matter was. He told her about the boy who broke his leg and how he had returned. And how his family had chopped off the tree for no fault of his. His anxiousness at the unknown was palpable and the wife too was getting fidgety, as they both tried to hide their anxiety and continue their work. The wife couldn’t hold it any longer and said, after so many years of hard work and dedicated service, this cannot be happening to us. They could only wish God would hold back time and let them live in peace, after all their service to God. They slowly drifted away to sleep lost in anxious thoughts.

The next morning, the first thought, the priest had was of the impending visit his first prayer to God was to stop the clock. “I wish I could turn back the clock and bring the wheels of time to a stop.” It’s strange how in terms of anxiety, stress and fear of the unknown, we blame time.

Soon the priest was in the temple when the man came calling again. He asked the priest to go on with his work, while his only wish to wander around the woods and discover the hills once again. The priest was sure now that he was surveying the area to destroy the small paradise he had built for himself.

Not long after, the man stumbled upon the house of the priest and gently knocked on the door. He introduced himself to the priest’s wife and as they got talking, he learnt more and more of how they lived. He slowly said he had one more request of her. She could not stop herself from asking him, if he was here to close the temple and destroy this small place they had for themselves. She told him this was a small place for others but this is all they had. And though he lived in a paradise of a big city, with cars and big houses, this was what little they could make from the generosity of his family, generations ago. He was stunned. He didn’t know what to say. He looked up and slowly in measured words said this was paradise. To them, to him and to anyone who discovered this place. He would never in his wildest thoughts think of destroying it or removing it. The temple would be here for generations to come and that is why he had to go to a big city to earn enough money for its upkeep. So they had nothing to fear.

He got up to take leave of her and as she him walking away she realised that she had forgotten something. She called out to him and he came back. She apologised that in her relief she had forgotten to ask him what it is that he wanted, the request that he had of her. He said he was not sure if he could ask. But she insisted. So he asked if he could build a small room next to their home and also be a part of their paradise. He said though I do not want to turn back time, I wish bring the wheels of time to a stop and continue this paradise forever.

Freedom from Life

Freedom from Life

It was a time of joy. Looking back it seemed like an eternity to get here. Finally he was relieved. It was all over and he could start living life on his own terms. The endless rigmarole of studying for the next exam without knowing what was happening immediately around him was gone. College was going to end in a few months and he had just landed a job. He knew now there was no stopping him. He felt unburdened and carefree. He could show the world who was the boss now.

Life had started for Ramesh.

15 years later after that time of celebration, joy and happiness, life had set in. This was a lot worse than he thought. Growing up was no picnic. He got all that he wanted and yet he was lost. No exam had ever prepared him for this daily mindless droning work that he was now a part of. He didn’t know why he was working and what he was achieving. At least with exams, he knew what he wanted to achieve and there was a sense of accomplishment. Here there was no accomplishment. No exam had prepared him for this. Someone had told him, “Life is an exam where the syllabus is unknown and question papers are not set”. But that just could not be true. He was positively despondent. This was no exam. This was just a worthless waste of time. All the marks in the world that he had scored growing up, couldn’t be worth this unending drone.

He was at the end of his patience. Nothing was working out and he really didn’t know what he wanted to work out. Words had lost meaning. All the philosophy he had read turned out to be empty words. All the religion he had adhered to, were empty rituals, to take his mind off of life. There was no higher purpose. This was it. He had nowhere to turn to. On his way back, he stopped off at the local temple to sit and reflect at where his life had taken him.

As he sat, his anger mounted, at himself, at God at everyone and everything. All that he believed in seemed hollow. He wished he had pursued more materialistic pleasures rather than try to do the right thing as society dictated. Just then his friend too walked in to the temple. He was smiling as he walked into the temple. His friend suddenly noticed him and walked over all cheery. He sat beside him and asked him if he was there remembering the good old days, when they sat here watching beautiful girls in colourful dresses traipse in! Those days were wicked. He realised he hadn’t shunned all material pleasures during his younger days. He remembered other incidents that he was too ashamed to recall that fed his curiosity. Yet the gloomy cloud he was immersed in didn’t seem to disappear. The temple was almost empty now. The priest was an old gentleman with a long flowing white beard and ever smiling face. The priest was sitting outside the temple now and staring at him. As their eyes met, the priest beckoned him to come over. Slowly and reluctantly he walked over. The priest smilingly asked, what the matter was. Nothing could be so grave that one would sit at a temple for over 2 hours without moving an inch.

Ramesh had nothing to say. It was nothing really. Just that he didn’t know where he was going and all his preparation seemed meaningless. The priest smiled and said, it is at times like these that we go back to our roots, to our beginning and discover what we are. Ramesh was puzzled. The priest said go back to your roots and come back to me in a week.

Ramesh went home and then tried to understand what it is the priest meant. He took a couple of days off and went to his village. He spent time with his parents and extended family and yet nothing could shake off the feeling that doom was near. That he had to go back to work and the routine of everyday life.

He went back to the priest and recounted what he had done. The priest simply said, that to discover the source of your unhappiness you must go back to your roots. The old phrase kept coming back to him – Life is an exam where the syllabus is unknown and question papers are not set. He asked the priest if the phrase was true. The priest smiled even more and said, it is true in the literal sense but not in reality. Go forth and discover, he said, without breaking his smile. Ramesh was getting exhausted. Life was heavy and the priest was not helping. And yet there was something about the old priest that seemed to keep him attached to him.

This routine continued for a few weeks and slowly Ramesh realised that the priest had become an anchor. Life was not as dull as it was. He had added another dimension to his routine and life was going on. But he knew at the back of his mind, he had not solved the problem. All he had done was circumvent it. He had vented a little but not really done anything more than that. Inside he was still troubled. He confessed to the priest what he thought. That though life was not as burdensome, it wasn’t that he had discovered anything new or that he had made any change to his life.

The priest smiled and said that was the first step to discovery, though Ramesh didn’t think so at all. The priest urged him to go back to his roots and discover his happiness there. Ramesh said he had tried and nothing had helped. The frustration was rising within Ramesh again. The priest asked him to calm down and sit down. Ramesh sat down in front of the priest. The priest smiled and asked Ramesh to smile. Ramesh forced a smile out. The priest said going back to your roots, does not mean going back to your village. It does not mean going back to where you were born. It means wearing the same shoes, metaphorically, that you wore when you thought you were happier. And then discovering the key to your happiness. Ramesh told the priest he was happy when he was younger and he struggled hard those days to keep up with school. The priest said, do not tell me, talk to yourself and discover it for yourself. Self realisation is most important. Suddenly it dawned on Ramesh and without listening to the priest he said hard work is the key. I used to work hard and was happy. The priest asked, don’t you work equally or probably more now? Ramesh’s smile disappeared. He thought he had the answer but fell flat on his face. The priest smiled and said go and discover for yourself. But Ramesh was insistent. The priest said this is not an exam, where you search for the right answer and got up to go back into the temple.

The words that life wasn’t an exam stuck with him. But life was an exam with no prescribed syllabus. He had begun to believe that. But still the words that life wasn’t an exam seemed to strike a chord and resonate with him. As he went to bed that night, he kept thinking about what the priest said. He didn’t realise when he went to sleep but when he got up the next morning, things seemed to be a lot clearer. Life is not an exam.

He was excited to go back to the priest and tell him what he thought. That evening he told the priest his new discovery. He told him that life wasn’t an exam. The priest smiled and said so? If it wasn’t an exam now, it wasn’t an exam in your childhood. So why were you happier then? Dejected Ramesh went back home.

Another week later Ramesh came back to the priest, he seemed to have hit a brick wall. The priest asked him again why he was happier then. Ramesh said because he worked hard towards a goal and crossed every milestone and every challenge thrown at him. And the priest said exactly! Ramesh knew the priest was goading him on. The priest’s concentrated look meant he was asking Ramesh to go on. The smile seemed to disappear in the wrinkled creases of the priest’s face and yet Ramesh was as lost as he was 14 weeks ago. And yet Ramesh didn’t want to let go. He seemed on the verge of a breakthrough and could not disappoint the priest. He looked up at the priest only to see him smiling. It was almost as if the priest was mocking him! The priest asked him to think some more. Ramesh wasn’t willing to get up, as realisation seemed to dawn on him. He was sitting under the huge banyan tree in the courtyard of the temple, when it hit him. Life isn’t an exam or a hurdle to cross. Life is a journey to be travelled. Ramesh was happier passing milestones and seeking external validation. But he had never done anything for himself. He didn’t know what he valued and what would give him happiness. All the exams in the world didn’t prepare him for this revelation. All he knew was life wasn’t an exam. Life is meant to be lived.

If anyone tells you otherwise, ask him to talk to Ramesh, or better yet, the priest.

Beyond the Shola

The other side of the shola

It was the holiday of a lifetime. Flying home to India and spending a full week in the Nilgiris, the blue hills surrounding Ooty. It was at a summer cottage of an old friend and not a fancy hotel. He had warned me that it had not been used for a while. He told me stories of black panthers in trees and monkeys snatching away children, of mauled bodies and wild bears. Of crossing sholas and finding pristine water in the middle of it. Of beautiful peaks that oversee the hills. And finding bliss on the other side of the sholas. One particular story stayed with me.

They were kids then and had lit a small campfire outside their summer home. After an evening of songs and jokes, they went to sleep on the veranda of the home a few meters from the dying embers of the campfire. A few hours later, those who were still drifting off to sleep in their sleeping bags heard the rustling of leaves and saw a wild bear stomping out the remnants of the fire. This was still the 1980s without the benefit of the internet and it was an experience in education. The next morning as they excitedly packed up their belongings to go back to the city in their old badaga van, they could not stop talking of the bear and the fire. Their excitement was silenced on seeing the mutilated body of a human on the way back out of the forest.

As I wondered what lay ahead, we made our way from the airport in Coimbatore up the hills into the Nilgiris. The small van was silent in anticipation. It was just the four of us. All friends from college and I had suggested this trip to the wild. The roads were not too bad. Or at least not as bad as my friend had described them to me. He had described kachcha roads but these were blacktopped. As we took the last turn the small house came into view and the last 100 meters was just a cobbled road of mud and stones. The house was dilapidated and an old uninterested man greeted us. There was hardly a roof and he had a small kerosene stove that he said he would lend us for the two nights. This was more than the roughing it, than we had bargained for. But it was meant to be like this.

We gathered hay, as there was still light and somewhere in the tall wooded eucalyptus trees, we could hear the distant rumble of water. As we explored further gathering grass and leaves we saw a small stream with crystal clear water. We filled our bottles and a large bucket of water and made our way back to the home. We were all pretty proud and excited at the prospect of spending the night in the wild and a trek the next day. We were all armed with cell phones, GPS and battery packs. We only had to take care of our food and water and we would have experienced something on our own, for the first time in our lives. We lit a fire and made put a kettle on to make tea. Simultaneously, we cut vegetables to make khichdi, which was our plan for dinner. As the four of us drank our tea and watched the simmering pot of hot water, rice and vegetables, we realised how much life has changed. It is hard to describe, though easy to imagine. Hard to live the life, though easy to envision.

After a dinner of khichdi, where we all doubted if the rice was fully cooked but no one dared question it, we made plans for the next morning. We would trek to a peak, with our backpacks. The challenge was to cross a dense “shola”, which can best be described as a thick wooded forest that is a narrow strip down a hill. It is dense mainly because there would typically be a stream in the middle. The challenge was because even in the late morning sun, the shola would be covered in darkness and moisture with all kinds of wildlife from birds, to monkeys, snakes and a possibility of a black panther or two. My friend had described finding bliss, peace, tranquility and a sense of achievement on the other side of the shola.

After a restless night of sleeping under the stars, waiting for a bear to show up to stomp out the fire and sleeping out in the open, we must have drifted off to sleep sometime after midnight. The next morning, we started on our trek after a hot cup of tea. Armed with biscuits and sandwiches that we had brought along with us and some more morning tea in flasks, we started out. Our old bodies seemed to creak after a night of sleeping in the open, in sleeping bags. After the first two kilometers, the creaks disappeared but the hills seemed to become steeper. We reached a point from where we could see the peak we were heading to and the shola we had to cross. We quickly made our way to a point just before the shola and took a break for some tea and breakfast. It must have been just before 10 and though our legs were hurting, we didn’t really feel exhausted. The fresh smell of pine and eucalyptus seemed to invigorate us.

After a half hour breakfast break, we continued as we approached the shola. As we entered the shola, our pace slowed, our senses peaked and we felt that not everything was right. To anyone used to India traffic, with all kinds of traffic approaching from all directions, this was not supposed to be this hard. We were less than 10 meters into the shola and the darkness was all pervading. We didn’t know which direction to look nor which direction to head to. The chirping of birds seemed to become sharper. The sense of an unknown danger heightened.

Suddenly out of nowhere a beam of light shot through. Someone had the presence of mind to turn on the flashlight on the phone. The rest of us reacted instinctively and pulled out our phones. We all turned on our flashlights and we realised that the four of us had already drifted apart slightly. We were supposed to be together through this. We tried to regroup but the constant need to turn the flashlight in different directions to see what was behind us, to the left of us, to the right of us and ahead of us, leaving us confused and slightly dazed.

Among the dizzying flashlights I lost my sense of direction and found myself at the edge of the shola with my heart racing. I had made it successfully to the other side, and turned back to see where the others were and realised I had lost them. Astonishingly I also realised I was at the same place where we started and I had not reached the other side. I took a few steps into the sun, calming my racing thoughts. I sat down to wait for my friends. I tried to call them but my phone couldn’t get a cell phone signal. After an hour of waiting, I walked back to the house where we spent the night. A slight summer drizzle had begun.

It was getting late enough to be worried. I once again stepped into the balcony and looked down. Except for a drenched street dog that was lying down miserably near the gate, there was not a soul to be seen anywhere. Rain water had puddled under the lamp post. A breeze ruffled the mango tree in the courtyard and a few twigs fell down and broke. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Did I hear a soft knock at the door? I turned back....

Now I knew I was surely hallucinating. There was no one and I was hearing things. I crept into the van to be surrounded by things I was familiar with. I still had no phone signal and I was wondering if it was time to drive into town to seek help. I don’t know when I fell asleep. My clothes were damp and I was shivering, when I saw faces peering against the window. I opened my eyes and saw my friends laughing in the setting sun almost mocking me. I opened the door and realised the drizzle had stopped. I asked them what happened and they told me their story of how they got lost in the shola. And when they came out, they realised it had taken over two hours to get out of the shola. I asked them how they got back and they told me they never made it to the other side. They too had come out where they entered and lay there waiting for me. They had made tea, had biscuits, enjoyed the rain and walked back to find me sleeping in the van.

We do not know about what the other side of the shola brought but we found our vulnerabilities on this side. The fear of the unknown and an understanding of ourselves. Probably that is what lay on the other side too.