Fr.Dr.Paul Poovathingal talks to SAJEESH KUTTANELLUR about the objectives and  dimensions of Vocology , a branch of Science absolutely new to Indians who ironically spin around musical reality shows which demands Voice toss and turn.

After a three-minute’s massage when spoke out in a masculine voice, Sonu couldn’t believe it at first, and his mother too. It was for the first time she hears her son speaking in a male voice. They must have thought of a divine heal or a celestial touch to the mute vocal chords which brought him only mops and mows until then. Yes, it was a divine touch.  Dr.Fr.Paul Poovathingal, a seer in the pathway of the Lord, known to the State as ‘paadum pathiri’ (Singing Priest), was behind it.

[Call it irony, Tony Walsh, another ‘singing priest’ whilst encounter with criminal offenses in Ireland , the singing priest of India, Fr.Poovathingal was roping into the shoes of a redeemer for those who lost their voice to express their feels.]

“Sonu was a victim of what we clinically term as ‘Puberphonia’, a state while the nerves to the vocal chords do not open at puberty when they need to be enlarged.”, says Fr.Poovathingal. “When I was undergoing a short-term course in Vocology at Denvor, I could attend a video demonstration of this laryngeal massage and I was just trying it on Sonu. Anyways, the Great Healer was working through my hands.”

Pioneer

Fr. Dr. Paul Poovathingal is the pioneer of Vocologists in India where the term ’vocology’ itself was something bizarre for the ear. In his endless search through the musical highways, it was not an air of mystery for Fr.Poovathingal to land up in the Science of voice culture. Through his Guru Karaikkudi Subramanian who was a disciple of T.Viswanathan who was fortunate enough to have ample exposure to the Western culture that helped him in the nick of time.

“Though our ancient maestros in Carnatic music had advocated the significance of the right kind of production and preservation of voice, we never tried to follow up it but concentrated more on the science of music. See, Thyagaraja himself has sung of the ‘nabhee hrid kanda rasana nassa dulo..’ of producing sounds using the abdominal muscles to create base voice.”, rues Fr.Poovathingal.  “Unfortunately our heritage lacks an objective and analytical approach. For us spirituality is always something mysterious and we hold a subjective philosophy over it. But in the West, they analytically follow the cause behind the voice and their approach to it is very objective in nature. However, Hindusthani music deals with it partially but we cannot own it as it has its roots in Middle East.”, comments Fr.Poovathingal , a Ph.D. holder in Carnatic music.

“In the West, the teaching methodology of music itself is different. There will be a Voice Coach for a singer or an actor to train him how to retain the voice and how to strike the different chords when situation demands. But here, if there is a problem with the voice of the student the music teacher can’t help but send him off with tears. It can be cured by the clinical approach of the voice coach.”, says Fr.Poovathingal  an extensive traveler who roams around the world ‘singing unto Him among the nations’.

Vocology

“Vocology is well developed in Japan and Europe. It focuses on the functional unity of vocal chords. If to define, it is the science which deals with habilitation and rehabilitation of voice i.e. to equip oneself with the aid of knowledge about vocal hygiene and vocal maintenance.”, explained Father. “It is a multi-disciplinary subject inclusive of psychology, music, physics and anatomy.” .

When came to know about such a ‘science’ from his guru, Fr.Poovathingal got interested in it and one of his U.S. friend David Claman and his wife a choir singer who introduced him to the Columbia university, New York where the he got training in Vocology under Dr. Jeannie Goffi.

“It is in fact to discipline my own voice that I went there. But after learning voice culture in deep, I thought of introducing this system in India to help those who face voice problems.”, explained Father about his Voice Clinic at Chetana  Sangeetha Natya Academy in Trichur.

“As born dubious, Keralites were lethargic when I started this venture here. My target was musicians and singers. But the majority come here are teachers and stage artists. Like Sonu another young man, an engineer came here with paralyzed vocal chords after an accident. He had to undergo clinical exercises for 4 weeks and he has got his sound back. Now he is employed in Mumbai. But still he goes on with the exercises I prescribed.”, says a jubilant Father.

Besides his touring profession as visiting faculty in various foreign universities and his directorial venture at Chetana Trichur, Fr.Poovathingal is the General Secretary of the Kerala Institute of Medical Sciences (KIMS) Voice Foundation, Thiruvananthapuram.

When Father Paul Poovathingal, a priest who travels through many weird paths amazing us more than once, discussed about his introducing a voice clinic at Kerala with some of the laryngologists he says, everyone was aghast at this very concept. But now every Wednesday his Chetana Sangeeth Natya Academy gets jam-packed of the patients. Many of the sagas are caught by the news channels and Father says, “I’m fed up” of the phone calls.

Voice problems

Asked why teachers outnumber his patients, he replied, “Teachers use their voice probably more than 5 hours incessantly. But they lack any exercises. See, if we go for a race, we start with a warming-up, and then try for a 500 mtrs, then 800 mtrs and so on. For vocal activity also we need to warm up the muscles to trigger our vocal stamina.”, elucidated Fr.Poovathingal, a previous school athlete.

Most of the people who come to his Voice Clinic at Chetana are of the Voice protection Problem. “..because, they don’t know how to produce a particular sound and how to alter it as situation demands. So they use wrong (deceptive) muscles and later these muscles are being conditioned as such.”, says Father.

If once happened something wrong to the voice, the person gets upset and then falls into depression. So counseling is the first therapy done in this voice clinic. As a graduate in Psychology and Literature, Fr. Paul Poovathingal never gets fussed at such sessions. Then he leads the patient to breathing exercises through Yoga and Pranayama.

“Those who are affected with any kind of voice problem will have their lung area weak. Here we have the software to check lung pressure. To enhance it Pranayama is the sole remedy and it has to be practiced regularly.”, observes Father.

As the next step, a 15-minutes video show revealing anatomical convolutions and dimensions of therapy is being screened for them. Then Father himself demonstrates the ‘do’s and ‘don’ts’ excerpting previous know-how. Right mode of breathing and sitting posture are the emphasized area in this session.  He also urges all the music aspirants to undergo training in voice culture so as to deal with their voice problems which may happen at one time or other.

Yoga and Pranayama

Those who come to his voice clinic return home with a new voice without any crack or cramp. They also take the streak of Yoga and Pranayama along with. As a musician in search of the Ultimate Fr.Poovathingal is a right choice for the people to line up with.

“Indian music is deeply spiritual. I see it as a vehicle to take me in my search for God”, says the Singing priest.

A person inspired by the devoted life of Thyagaraja Swamy, enriched by the discipleship of Indian music legend Dr.K.J.Yesudas, made head-lines by singing ‘Vaatapi Ganapati’ inside Christian Churches and Rashtrapathi Bhavan , Father Paul Poovathingal  reserves all rights to impart the

On the way...

radiance of the higher notes of Yoga beyond a simple physical exercise to a genre ignorant of its own rich heritage.

Though turned to music only after the entry into the priestly paths, Fr.Poovathingal later realized it as his realm to achieve that ‘settled consciousness’ unto the Supreme.  Deeply spiritual, this priest can hence leave religiosity on the sidelines accepting Vedas as the books of Supreme knowledge and identify Jesus, a Yogi. That is why he composes mass prayers in ‘sindhu bhairavi’ and ‘madhymaavathi’ ragas and perceives its awesome impact upon the devotees who track their ancestral roots right in this soil.

A musician who believes lyrics limit music, when makes us turn inward to dig out our veiled energy, we hear him saying, ‘God created man in his own image and likeness. If you believe so, find out where is that power which equalizes man with God..’.

A  Poem  by  Praveen  Parasar

We fear

That one day we’ll get caught

Nude, our scars

Exposed

We will stand an exhibit

Before all..

We, as culprits, perpetrators

In the middle of the town

Among the crowd

Looking nowhere but

At the ground,

Under our own feet,

Waiting for the verdict

To be burned at the stake

Alive, smouldering inch by inch

In and out.

To be stoned

From the four sides

Through the hoots and howls

Bled we fall

Unto the shamelessness.

But what if we escape..?

And never get caught..?

Can we be  free..?

Live happily thereafter..?

No….it sounds strange

By the one who dwells inside..

Who counts our deed,

Good or Bad.

Who warns us and warms us

Whenever we trail off.

From whom there is no escape

Either to bleed or to stone

Or to confess, for it

We fear..

For Sajeesh Kuttanellur a trip to Kudajadri is a mystic mission to be with the Nature plus a belief accepted from the soul. Narrations of the interesting episodes of his first Kudajadri trek……..

“Belief consists in accepting the affirmations of the soul; Unbelief, in denying them.”

So, accepting the affirmations of my soul, I planned a trip to Kollur Mookaambika Temple. I have been hearing of Devi Mookambika considered to be the crystallization of creative power which motivates poets, speakers and indeed, all those who use the spoken word.  The Divine Mother is also considered as bestowing her blessings on all forms of visual and creative art. In a moment of gleam, I too longed for Her blessings as a person who used to toss the words up and up on the stages..

But I couldn’t. Likewise, whenever I planned for a trip to Kollur, something or someone would be there to pull me back. But I was consoled by my friends saying, one cannot simply go and see Her, what you want is Her personal invitation. So, accepting again my soul’s affirmations I waited till She called me.

At Mookambika Temple

But it was in the month of June that I got that Divine call. While floating as one among the crowd around that unpretentious and small temple I threw my mind free to perambulate along the energy waves which breeze over there. I could see the Mother who blessed many with her ‘abhaya’ and ‘abheeshta mudras’. Even after returning, the energy I experienced from there adhered to me with another crack thought of an ‘incomplete feel’.

Thence forth, I was being habituated with a seasonal recharging from there in every year. But only in my fourth visit that I had that good fortune to visit Kudajadri the original abode of Goddess Mookambika. That is too with a man of ample experience having ascended the Kudajadri Hills more than 80 times. Unni, a police officer from Kerala, who came over there resigning his job to be with Amma, was thus became my guide-cum-companion.

Malayalam vibes

It is somewhat an amazing thing in Kollur, a remote village in Karnataka where we see people speaking Malayalam, shops having their name boards written in Malayalam, the sages and most of the inmates of the lodgings are born Keralites… But if we move hardly 5 Kilometres from there the things get changed, no one can understand if we speak in Malayalam. They will revert in Kannada which at any cost can be assimilated with a Malayali lingo!!!

This phenomenon is seen only around the Mookambika Temple, where the kundalini energy of the earth is considered to be centered upon. It starts from the epics of Sankaracharya, the great sage from Kerala, who installed the idol of the Mookambika at Kollur. You can see the mammoth gatherings inside the temple chat and chant in Malayalam, and the temple authorities including the priests understand it with hardly any ambiguity. Myths say that when the festival season begins, when the Goddess starts her royal procession in the Golden Chariot, it needs a Malayali to pull the chariot, otherwise it won’t move! I proudly watched the idol of the dynamics Shakti aspect of creative energy sits, facing to my Kerala.

Trekking the Kudajadri

Yes, along with Unni, thus in my fourth trip to Kollur, I started to Kudajadri hills, the real abode of Goddess. It was heavy downpour at Kollur when we reached on the banks of Souparnika which is a confluence of the main streams Kaasi Theertham and Agni Theertham originated in the Kudajadri Hills and perambulating the temple with its jingling chants. Leaving our limbs to purify in the divine medicinal water of Souparnika, we started our journey in a bus up to Nagodi. Unni told me that we had to walk about more than 8 Kilometres through the dense forest if not opted a jeep, the only other choice. Rain was still drenching us to shiver but we walked over the dried up leaves carpeted on the narrow muddy way up.

“Walk fast, otherwise you will have to fight with leeches..”, Unni reminded me. When I looked down to my feet I saw two or three black rubber-bands like things glued to my ankles. I started pulling them one by one; by that time leeches would creep from other sides on to the legs. Unni gave me a bottle of ‘Amritanjan’ balm and asked me to apply it on the legs, so did we continued climbing the hills.

After walking for about 3 kilometers we reached a terrain where we could see a small tea-shop, belonged to one Thankappan, yes, a Malayali. Like thousands of tenants in Kollur, Thankappan has been here for the last 30 years, witnessing the change of monsoon and mind-scapes.

“Earlier, it was pure devotion that led people to trek on this beaten track to the top. But now they come as if in an excursion mood. But some are still hold the unabated devotion towards the Devi.  But it lessens…”., observed Thankappan whose tea-shop serves an inn for the tired trekkers to the cloud-capped heights.

Applying ‘Amrutanjan’ balm again on the feet, we set out to the heavenly route. As we move on, we could see the way narrows to hardly one feet breadth, twined around like the arteries of the hillock. Rain becomes stronger that nudges a mini-land slide blocking our way forward. We trekked with much effort through the twiners and creepers, balancing upon the rain-slicked rocks. At one point we saw a tall tree fallen uprooted. I walked on that fallen trunk with nostalgic memories of my childhood when I used to cross the small streams upon the bridging coconut trunks put across.

Being with Nature

As we walk on, we hardly had a chat, rather loved to listen to the background score of the natural forest – the sizzling sounds of the crickets and chafers, micro phonic sounds of some ‘unheard’ creatures, singing in different modulations of various kinds of birds, the rustling sounds of the leaves, whistling of the wind passing through the dense trees, the murmuring of rain drops when it rub the tree leaves….I thought of being taken to the other side of this very world! It was totally a different feel to indulge in this ambience as a get-away from the horns and booms of the motor vehicles by which I have been habituated with.

Leaving an 8 Kilometre wild way behind, we reached Kudajadri – the hillock where one can see the abundance of the medicinal plant ‘kudacha’ among the cluster of various other types of therapeutic flora. Myths tell that when Sree Hanuman was passing by, with the hillock containing the ‘mritasanjeevani’ leaves, one portion had been fallen here from atop. In the ‘Skandapurana’ also we see such a mythical mentioning of Kudajadri.

It is from here, the four streams (Theertha) Agni, Agasthya, Kaashi etc originates to form the Divine Souparnika that perambulates the temple in all seasons. For the devotees, a bath in theses streams is bliss, for the trekkers, it is rejuvenating, for the sages it is ritual, for the peace-searchers, it is serene.

When walked forwards we saw two small shrines in distant and Unni told me that one is for Brahmins and the other is for non-Brahmins. He also said, in one of the shrines the Goddess is being worshipped in her fierce form and in the other in her serene form. Vedic rituals are being performed here to sustain the energy that wields over there.

While moving with folded hands close to heart, wandering eye balls sent to the abundance of Nature amalgamating with the infiniteness, I saw a trident plugged into one rock. It is said that Goddess has killed the Mookasura with this trident.  We cannot identify the material with which this sharp  weapon is made of, it has been standing erect there for centuries receiving all the seasons of rain and heat—receiving the amazing and dubious minds alike.

In the Divine Heights

After having lunch from a lonely hut on the hillock, we proceeded to the ‘Sarvajnapeedam’. It was visible from far away. This is the highest place in Kudajadri. It was here that Adi Sankara has been encountered with the goddess after a long penance. Sankara is still considered to be one of the greatest scholars in the whole world. To attain such a highest knowledge, the enlightenment, is not possible for the common man of mundane life. So we consider it as a high esteem and when sitting on the monolithic floor of the ‘Sarvajnapeedom’ I felt downcast and proud at the same time. I told myself, “I too achieved that position, sarvajna (means with wholesome knowledge) and I am sitting on this ‘peedhom’(seat)” and relieved myself. I bowed to the idol of that intellect installed inside and whispered “ I am coming from your locale..Bless me with your wisdom”.

Unni told me “See, now we are standing at a height of 4500 feet from the sea level”. I didn’t listen to it. I was far above that level, then.

Pilgrim’s Progress

Rain began to lash out with more vigor. The lush green canopy challenged the cloud-capped blue, leaving some human beings to the mercy of Nature. We started to descend towards Ganapati cave. Mist wrapped the whole ambit there. But an experienced Unni led me through the slippery slopes of the rocks that open to a cave where I saw an ancient but graceful stone idol of lord Ganapati. I had some plantains with me in a plastic bag. I took it out and gave it to Him, as He is known to be a gourmand, though I like to believe that his pot-belly is a home of wisdom.

The Ganapati cave top slopes down to a small crevice at the far end which has a mysterious tunnel. It is said that it ends at the premises of the Mookambika Temple. We sat down there for a while immersed and drenched in the vastness of infinity.

Rain has almost stopped its nuts. But drizzling was there. Then we began to the walk towards the end of Kudajadri voyage – Chitramoola. After a one kilometer walk I saw a deep chasm between the gigantic rocks. With utmost care in each step, we descended into it. When looked up, saw a cave at a height of 10 kilometers from there. There was a small iron ladder to get in to the cave. The cave is a big rift of a giant rock pushed towards the sky from the hillock.

It is the place where Goddess incarnated before the Sage Kola and Adi Sankara. I overviewed the place and breathed deep to get any nuance of the energy with which the sages were enlightened. There was a sivalinga installed in the middle of the Cave. On the left side of the cave two little rivulets flowing down without making any sound as if not to disturb the meditating sages there. Unni told me that it won’t dry up even in the hottest season. People believe that these are created by the Goddess herself for Sankaracharya to perform his daily rituals when he was meditating there. I looked around and found hardly any symptom of a water source there. On the walls of the cave I saw somebody had drawn beautiful pictures of Babaji and Ganapati with color chalks.

I walked towards those rivulets that flow down and stood under it for a while. Doused in the chilled stream all my fatigues got vanished. I could see the Ambavanam the garden of Mookambika far away. No one else was there as it was off-season. So we left ourselves roam around those ‘lovely dark and deep woods’.

Yogi – the ascetic

It is a belief that one must visit Kudajadri in order to complete the ‘darshan’ of Mookambika. So, with a contended heart I descended with Unni but amazed to see Chanthukkutti Swamy, who has been at the feet of Mookambika for the last 61 years. Swamy is now 105, but still healthy and self reliant at the Ramananda Ashram.

Earlier it was Swamy who was the sole guide to the Kudajadri trekkers.

“ there was hardly any way to the hillock then. I used to comb the shrubs and small plants with a long stick to pave way for the pilgrims…I don’t know for how many persons I served as a guide, by holding their hands tight inside mine..”, Swamy remembered.

“How many times you must have trekked to Kudajadri then”. I couldn’t help asking.

“Can you say how many Asuras were killed by Lord Rama..?”, he retorted. A lot of great personalities climbed Kudajadri for the first time, holding Swamy’s hands. He then stayed atop the Kudajadri for a long 12 years.

By birth Swamy is a Keralite. He came to Kollur in 1949 and later embraced Sannyasa and transformed to Swamy Ramananda Saraswathy. “Sometimes Devi is like that. If impressed with, She won’t allow a few to return and compel them to stay with Her”, Swamy explained of his life at the hermitage near the Agni Theertham. He is proud to say that he is the eldest living son of Mookambika.

When asked about the great men whom he had led to Kudajadri, he recalled a few names of some famous poets and artists. It was Mohan Lal, the Malayalam actor who has impressed Swamy the most among them. “Mohan Lal is not an ordinary person as you people think. He possesses some ascetic signs of a Yogi. One day, not so late, he will turn to be a known Sanyasi…”., Swamy uttered as a sigh.

Jeeps were growling along in the first gear to trek to the top where Yogis are being formed and created to be with Nature and the Energy (Purusha & Prakriti). Clouds set ready to give them a bath, the affirmations from the soul, yet to be received…

(The author is a known stage performer across Kerala)

Kallen Pokkudan, the eponymous character of mangrove preservation in Kerala talks with Aneesh Pookad about his love for mangroves and its need for the swamp ecosystem, his early and present political life and the recent you tube controversy that meant to paralyse a true comrade who loves the Nature and the naturals….

Even when the High Court stay order against the Union Ministy’s directives came out, Kallen Pokkudan was in his marshy fields, pricking the slushy muddy pools, to make little caverns for the mangrove seedlings. He was deaf to the howls and hoots of opening and closing of the Mangrove Theme Park that echoed up to New Delhi. He planted the seedlings over the marshy lands and river banks..along the wide spread sea shores where the lonely coconut trees stand chips down leaning towards a close fall.

Even before the terms like Eco- tourism, Eco-socialism intrude into the socialistic mind set up of Kerala, Kallen Pokkudan picked up the Mangrove seeds, planted it, made them the guardian angels for those who live depends on that lush habitat. For his community (regarded as the most down trodden and untouchable in the socio-cultural arena of Kerala) it had been the source of food, fodder, fuel and medicine. Within the frame of his ecosystem, people, fish and birds depended upon mangroves for their down-to-earth living.

When the Mangrove Park in Kannur grabs national attention, at least the people around that small Malabar region, turn the pages to the chapter in which their small villages found a niche in the map of environmentalists and to the humble man who happened to be the cause of it. He is Kallen Pokkudan rather known as Kandal Pokkudan (Kandal is the Malayalam synonym of mangrove) who lives among the fading mangroves of an ecologically fragile area in Kannur.

Pokkudan and Communism

Perhaps, Kannur is one of  the dense areas in Kerala where the term Communism still exists with its strong arm tactics. Pokkudan also was a part of the Communism in Kannur even when he was a teenager. Pokkudan stood by the Communists who fight for the oppressed then. He also joined hands with the revolutionary ism that sprouted from the pain and neglect of the downtrodden. He participated with hi fervor in every activity the party called for, because as a school drop out, his only communication with the world was the pep talks with instigating verbosity shot up by the comrades. He took part in the early peasant revolts in the Malabar region and has got jailed a number of times for the party. What Pokkudan realized was that it was all a fight for the right.

Along with the illiterate Pokkudan, umpteen poor Dalit agricultural laborers joined the party, and its growth fixing feet in the marshy soil of Kannur was amazing. But once the party attained the goals, the rights, the power, it became a visionary experience to unchain the ladders by which it attained the heights. then Communism became  an apparent institution where individual value is a mere naught. Every decision taken inside that institution was that of solidarity and it never concerned with individuals. So, as an individual, Pokkudan’s role became hazy and he was sacked one fine morning charging ‘ideological conflict’ with the party.

However, Communism was attaining awesome heights in and around Kannur. Penury and oppression that gave birth to the party now  possess hardly any space here as it is busy growing up with the new generation whose most equations are left as floorers to the conservatives.

Pokkudan – Today

“Those who are not with me are against me’– the basic concept of cold wars, is the present ideology that reigns in Communism now. That is why Kallen Pokkudan is left to the mercy of the local besiegers now, for his living a dusky grey life in Ezhom Panchayath hardly 4 Kilometers from the controversial Mangrove Theme Park.

Pokkudan, a name synonymous with mangrove conservation in Kerala is now more familiar to the e-generation of today through a chain of you tubes that flashes across the globe. It becomes the most subtle example of distortion by media or through the media. Through that popular you tube we see the anchor reading news about an ‘unfortunate incident’ in which Kallen Pokkudan has physically abused a Dalit woman along with his son. That Dalit woman has been admitted in a hospital and police has registered a case against Pokkudan and his son. Along with the visuals of a woman lying in hospital bed (with no voice over), we see the smiling Pokkudan’s passport size photo in the left corner.

You ask an auto driver to take you to Pokkudan’ home – he won’t come. At last you will ask him to take you to Padamdakki Thamburatti temple and then he will be ready and you can walk from there to Pokkudan’s leaking thatch. You will find a hapless old couple there isolated and alienated, living with what the Nature provides in raw.  You also will have to yield to that subtle and untainted hospitality to have raw fish, even if you are a vegetarian.

Ask me about mangroves

 “I don’t know anything about Mangrove theme park or its controversies. Ask me about mangroves..” says Pokkuden in his rustic voice taking us to the near by wet land now turned out to a garbage bowl.

 “I have been collecting, planting and preserving mangrove seeds for the last two decades means after my quit from the party.” Pokkudan began to unzip the horde of flash backs. After coming out of the party he had no idea of what to do except watching monsoon lashing over his marshy land along with the stormy waves. At a time when Coastal Regulation Zone Act had not come to force, even before the researchers lined up in serpentine queues at the wet land pockets of Kannur, Pokkudan thought of the traditional indigenous methods of protection from natural disasters. He knew mangroves are the best buffers against the wind and waves. He began to think of the seed of mangroves his family used to cook at the time of famine, he began to think of the special types of fishes who come out of the salty water to lay eggs inside the thick bushes of mangroves. It was the initiation of the grass root movement of the mangrove preservation in Kerala by this one man crusader.

 “They (mangroves) are like security guards against floods in coastal regions.” Remarks Pokkudan. “So, as the prime step, I planted 300 seedlings in Pazhayangadi. It was in 1989. At that time I was least bothered of the know-how s of its rearing or bringing up. When the media took over the matter, a lot of people from various part of the State came with support. Shower of awards and recognitions..VIP visits including poets, activists,but I was happy when school children came to learn more about the mangroves from me, a school drop out. I felt proud then. I explained everything that I know from my community living about our natural resources like rare species of fishes, birds and our natural assets and mutually dependent ecosystem. It made me publish my first book ‘Chuttachi’ with the help of my son. I felt, I have done something worthy after that..”

 “Mangroves are by themselves an ecosystem. It is not stable like that of the rain forests. High tides and ebbs, wind from the land and sea, the mix of salty and fresh water..it is a rare chemistry of disparities and as such very fragile also. So a simple tilt of this system would be a cause of its total destruction. If you want to destroy a mangrove bush you need not cut them down. Just put some waste or soil upon its roots that grow upwards. They are their respiratory organs and they will die of suffocation then.”

 “Transformation of a lot of living beings is taking place inside the mangroves. Some kind of fishes come out of the sea water to the land to lay eggs in fresh water. The incubated larvae need a medium before entering into the salty water and the mangroves apparently serve this purpose. Like wise, shrimps and prawns also spend their infancy inside this specific ecosystem. It also houses various types of water birds”, explains Pokkudan based on his expertise.

 The mangroves in Kannur are significant with its particular type of ecosystem encircling variety of fauna. Scientists say that various types of mangroves can be seen growing in Kannur-Valapatanam region including the original species Rhizophora mucronata, commonly known as ‘Mad mangroves’. These shrubs house several species of birds that are at the brim of extinction across the world. Asian Giant Soft Shielded Tortoises another variety of turtles under the threat of extinction are seen among this boggy mangrove area in Kannur. More over, they block the harmful and adverse effects of twisters and tsunami in coastal region.

 Politics

 Pokkudan, a person sans school education has completed his autobiography titled ‘Ente Raashtreeya Jeevitam’ (My Politcal Life). It is a written commentary of a real comrade who still leads a life based on true Communism. While going through that book we see the history of the Communism in Kerala, its tragic division and the way by which it has deep-rooted in this soil branching out through the network of labourers and marginalized. Pokkudan’s son Sreejith Paithalan , a freelance journalist has penned the book on behalf of his father.

 “After the division of the Communist party in 1964, I was in a dilemma to which side I should go. So I asked Com. Madhavetan and he told me that majority of our Ezhom Panchayath is with CPM, so you also can join with it. ..” Pokkudan talks through his biography.

 “While working with all the vigour of youth for the party along with other labourers I too was fighting against the landlords to get hold of our rights, our freedom, and our lives. Pursuing a world of freedom that is promised by the leaders, we all worked hard for the party, but the same party now makes my life desolated by forceful besiege and concocted allegations..scared of the threats our children do not live with us. In this old age we are left to the mercy of Nature..” wails Pokkudan.

 Development?

 “Everyone talks about development. But it should not be through the destruction of natural resources. A lot of individuals live here with acres of land at hand. This is a great fault within the Land Reformation Bill piloted by K.R.Gowri Amma..See, these acres of mangroves that dot this coastal area are the fruits of labour which lasted several decades. CPM is now trying to cash in on our noble intentions and hard labour in the name of development”

 Freedom?

 “Who got freedom? When we were cleaning the way to our home, a neighbour woman came abusing us and later it became a banner head in the news paper inanother version. Local channels celebrated it as a sponsored programe distorting the fact as Pokkudan and his son abused a Dalit woman. This is the freedom we are enjoying here.”

 “Prior to this incident World Bank has selected 125 people as Environmental Activists and I too was one among them. By charging a criminal case against me they were hampering that World Bank aid. As I am living with financial crisis in the absence of my children they know that I won’t sit quietly.” Pokkudan explained the plot.

 “But as a noted name in the Eco field, they need me to be with the party as a human shield for all their illegal practices upon our fragile ecosystem. But unfortunately I’m not with them. So this is the way to kick a man upstairs.”

Didn’t you complain about this fake media hype?

 “Why not?..Only the Chief Minister has consented to receive my complaint. When enquired in the Police station, I got a nudge that there is ‘some pressure from above’ that pulls them back to do something”.

“I don’t want any icing. I like to be known as an environmental activist, a Kandal Pokkudan.”

 Pokkudan walks away with the candid fervor of a comrade, a real labourer, .plunging into the mushy mud, he plants more and more mangrove seedlings to provide habitat for the struggling fauna of the coastal zone. He doesn’t give ear to the closing and opening crashes of Mangrove Theme Park where a mangrove nursery is under consideration.

Kodaikanal feasts those who love to be close to Mother Nature, than any other hill stations in South India. Maya Krishnan says that its minimal population and lacks of modernization that keeps the natural forests virgin to offer the visitors a haven from the fury and fumes of the fast paced life.

When my friend returned to India after 3 years, she told me, “we must go somewhere else; I can’t withstand this simmering heat.” Though I too was thinking of such an ‘escape’ from the rumbling schedules of deadlines living inside the riffling concrete forests, we had to wait for my daughter’s school vacation.

When all the Keralaites celebrate Onam all around the globe, we two families set out for the serenity which can never be available in the Kerala market, even inside the instant Onam kits. The lush memories of our Ooty trip in May were still live inside and hence we opted the nearest hill station, Kodaikanal for this term’s recharging.

Why missing Onam?

When we were all set ready for the trip the question we  faced was all about wasting an Onam. For the Keralites, Onam is the exclusively regional festivity which brings together all the loves once again at the corridors of a getting back. It is nostalgic for those who had a great Onam memoir inside. But for me Onam reminds of the dreadful terminal examinations. As a child I too wished to make a pookkalam (floral art) in my courtyard, but my strict parents never allowed me and I was always forced to sit in my study peeping out other children reveling. I never made a pookalam, no guests ever came to my home with sweets and love.

So I don’t want my daughter to have a barren Onam like that of mine. Onam ultimately connotes a pleasurable get-together. My Onam kick started the day when my friend landed here with her family.

From the concrete forests to the Princess of Forests

If Ooty is the ‘Queen of hills’, Kodaikanal is the ‘Princess of forests’. Yes, Kodaikanal keeps the vigor of a virgin unadulterated unlike Ooty that went away with the so called modernization.  From the sweltering heat and inundated cities we began to wind up the hills – from heights to heights – from mountains to mountains. Our journey from Kerala to the hill station was full of surprises. We could see the hard working Tamilians bringing water from distant places and planting and cultivating vegetables and fruits. While Kerala, the land blessed with 44 rivers and wide ranges of green fields and mountain chains is being transformed into concrete jungles, Tamil Nadu once a bleak land of dry winds and zero rain is getting lush with resolution and perspiration. Either side of the State High way, bloomed mango trees greeted the passers by. Even before reaching the Lower Palani hills, we put the glass windows down to have the fresh air. Thenceforth, our air conditioner was under rest for four days.

From the Lower Palani Hills, our kids started to agape at everything that comes on the way. At night the view of Palani Hill was enthralling. The chemistry between the natural mist and artificial illumination was so stunning that it creates no dissonance inside a spectator.

Our car began to whirl round the chain of hills as though hopping from one to another. As it was already dark we could not enjoy the wonders of the valley. But on the way some sign boards that tell ‘Elephant crossing zone ‘made our kids scared. Being kids, scaring with or without reason is the happiest thing when they are together, I know it.

On reaching the hotel, where we had a stay 8 years before, we found that it  has changed a bit by constructing two new cottages in its beautiful premises thus marred the panoramic view of the valley from the room. Anyways, it was nice cold outside and under the woolen blanket we got sound sleep barring the deadline tensions far away.

Kodai — The English way

Our hotel was near to the Kurinji Andavar temple and Chettiar Park, the only two native destinations spots that holds Tamil background. As far as the Kodaikanal hill station is concerned, it still carries the Colonial hangover in its every cell. Each and every tourist spot is named after the British bureaucrats and the American missionaries who ferreted out this hidden paradise which bears the miraculous capability of recuperation.

Even while caning over the Indian public, the British were always searching for a place where they could escape physical and mental eeriness born out of workloads and mental pricks. Moreover, the plains down the valleys feasted their skin of less melanin pigments with loads of diseases. The American missionaries while on their ‘missions’, were also joined hands with the British to settle down the valleys which radiate rejuvenating energy with zero artificial elements. When the lazy Indians who were not ready to shoulder the responsibilities of a nation’s governance but were playing with the cast cards, hardly turned to the harems of these forests where aborigines had their own domain. But the intelligent Whites discovered the virgin valleys and recreated certain structures that suit to their needs. Indians still keep them alive with the carved names of its ‘white creators’.

Coaker’s Walk, Chandler’s Falls, Berinjam lake, Boyer’s Dormitory in the Kodai International School, Bryant Park…and so on and so forth. Enjoy the English!!!

We got the information about the life in Kodai forests prior to the invasion of the English from the Anglade Institute of National History in Shenbaganur.  The aborigines lived inside the forests had a life full of struggles against the odds of the dense forest and the beasts stroll over there. They were tribal people who  neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns. When in 1867, Sir Vere, District Collector of Madurai found out the scintillating Kodai forests, he actively nurtured the surroundings where  he settled in Kodai. He then introduced new varieties of fruits, vegetables and flowers and improved and built roads and ways spending his own money. His major achievement is the landmark of Kodaikanal – the star shaped Kodai lake with 5 boat clubs around its 5 Km perimeter.

Nature’ s Gift

We went to the Kurinji Aandavar temple to apologize the presiding deity Murugan for not greeting him at his original abode at Palani. On the way sides to the temple stand the remnants  of the bloomed kurinji flowers. The blue bunches of Kurinji flowers are the significant attraction of Kodaikanal as a tourist destination.

Here in Kodaikanal, Nature keeps amazing miracles of beauty and chasms in every element to make one humble to that Great Creator. The 12 yearly-flowering Kurinji flowers (Strobilanthus) which cover the hillsides with purple bloom is His another marvelous prank . It was in 2004 that it bloomed last. At that time all the news papers  carry banner heads with its report and charming photographs. Tourists from all parts of the world will  flow to Kodaikanal and Munnar (in Kerala,) the only places where this purple bloom happens.

In Kurinji Aandavar Kovil Murugan is known by that name because of the kurinji flowers that pave the way to the temple. But certain other version say that, Valli, the wife of Murugan was the adopted child of Kurinji tribe who were the early inhabitants of the Kodai forests.

After breakfast, Sikkender Badsha joined us as a guide. He took us to the distant places where we would not have gone otherwise. He guided us to the deep valleys through the pine forests. We really enjoyed the voyage through the calm pine forest for we were not allowed into the pine forests in Ooty.  Visuals of a number of Priyadarshan films flashed through our minds. Apparently, the pineforests are never wild, but calmer than a hermitage.

We were deliberately avoiding the peak season of Kodaikanal which feasts you even more with its pleasant climate and scenic beauties.   We were the seekers of serenity out of the fury and fumes of the mechanical life down the plains. Sikkender was frequently asking us to come again in the peak season, for he was totally unaware of our ‘crowd-hating’ nature.

The unique rows of silky pine trees sloping down to crystal clear streams was a spectacular vision even from outside the forest. But suddenly you can see the visions get blurred gradually and vanishes suddenly. You may be embarrassed. It is the mist…that makes the visions apparitions that makes the minds romantic, that makes the nerves jerked.

In one spot, The Upper Lake View, we could see the mighty Palani hill as a tiny off-shoot of the Western Ghats. High-rock outcrops and acres of emerald velvet criss-crossed by the sparkling streams, bare promontories protruding into the infinite sky…deep valleys and steep mountains. In the wide shot, we can see the Shola trees standing upright on the slopes folding their leaves in a praying position. We too would fold our hands with reverence, to that Great Craftsman!!!

All around a Lake

We were proud of our native Trichur for its wonderful architectural beauty that even got accolades from the eminent architect Prof.Guddis for its wonderful construction artistically around the mighty Vadakkunnathan temple. But on knowing Kodaikanal we could figure out what is natural from what is man-made. This hill station is centered around the Kodai Lake, which  is the only artificial thing here. Less modernized with a scanty population of merely One lakh, Kodai stands unabated even in the strife of global warming. Kodai, I think, is still a virgin.

Kodai covers an area of 22 sq.Km, amidst the sylvan beauty on the southern crest of Upper Palani hills, in Dindugal district. Sikkender again took us to the interiors where we could perceive the untouched wild  forests. In the valleys there were dense patches of broad-leaved evergreen rain forests – shoalas. Unlike the rain forests of the plains the trees here do  not reach  majestic heights because of the high altitude and constant wind. We really felt envy for those who live there. These forests are the prime watersheds for the whole region. They absorb water during the monsoon and release it judiciously all year around.

We thought of our on natives – where Athirappilly Sholayar forests which are still under threat. When we cut forests we are breaking down our water tanks, bringing in floods during monsoon and draught during other seasons. When we revert our meadows and paddy fields we do not  know these are the biological treasure houses. No..no. we should not be such conservationalists at the time of modernisation. Be practical. These are mere waste lands which can put to some use. Some English men might have thought like this then. That is why the Eucalyptus, wattle and pine trees are here.

Next Sikkender took us to the Mahalakshmy temple upon a small hillock there. Unwearing the shoes we all climbed up to the temple. Lakshmi and Vinayagar are the main deities there. But the newly constructed temple is on the high ways of progress. New constructions for Durga is going on there. Hearing us talking Malayalam, the priest of the temple, a slender chap ran after us. He said he belongs to Kerala and the temple is also under Keralite Management. He also told us that he had the order from above not to  pose for any photographs especially for Keralites. He is getting a handsome salary. So we left there quickly.

From that hillock we saw mist and clouds playing hide and seek. Because it was off-season tourists were scanty. Hither and thither we could see newly wedded couples romancing inside the pine forests and upon the green meadows. Being recently joined, it never broke the calmness that twines around the ambience.

Driving along the vast meadows and shoals forests, we drifted with least awareness of time. we were startled to see the watch that shows 3.30 pm that too only when my friend’s daughter complained of stomach ache. On the wayside we stopped our car near a tea shop from where we had our simple but delicious lunch. Then our kids came to understand that hunger is nothing but stomach ache!!

Togetherness

During the walks Sikkender was making us hurry saying we have not even covered a single part of the sight-seeing. But we lagged as far as we can. Because what we need is quietness, peace, serenity, fresh air and above all togetherness. .We were enjoying it at the maximum. Most of the places were ‘unreachable’ for the mobile calls. That added a feather touch to the calmness.

Next he took us to the Dolphin’s Nose. It is gigantic rock projecting over a breath-taking chasm challenging the photographer inside you to the risky and deadly poses. The panoramic view might have stunning from upon, but we trailed off as we are mothers more than any other guises in life. However,  Sikkender tried to lead us to the top of the Pillar Rocks. We could see the pillar rocks from far away itself as 3 vertical lofty monolithic rocks standing upright shoulder to shoulder. There also mist played its game by changing the vision into apparition. When standing agape at the greatness my daughter stooped down to catch the mist flying. Heard somebody singing : “aaj mein ooper aazman neeche..”. It was true to the chore.

Our kids were pressing from the start to go to ‘Guna Caves’ (What an impact a Kamal movie has!). It was Devil’s Kitchen before the featuring of that film.The dark and deep bat-infested chamber between the gigantic granite wonders are worth to see. To reach it one has to climb a hill with tree roots and fallen branches as in the ‘Jungle Book’ of Rudyard Kipling. But we were depressed to see that the caves and the entrance to the edge of the hillock is closed with iron grills. Sikkender told us that youngsters who come in groups frequently fall into it from where the chance of escape is nil. That is why this precaution. Any way I had a foul slip upon the grills which is also worth remembering.

At night we really felt tired of trekking and soon fast asleep under the woolen blanket. Next morning with more fervor we started our sight seeing without Sikkender. We found thrills walking through the unknown paths. Anyways, we deliberately left Berinjam Lake as it is inside the forest and it needs admit card from the DFO to get into.

Everything was executed reverse thenceforth. Coaker’s Walk feasts you only after the sun down. But we preferred to take it first before noon. So we left the sizzling visions of necklaces by illuminations. We missed the Broken Spectre, the miraculous vision of our own shadow in the cloud. But there came a group of college students, a flock of lovely girls giggling in Tamil—it was also a feast for the eye!!!

Coaker’s Walk offers a light walk with safety. Unlike in other places, we can forget ourselves dissolving into the infinite beauty of the nature below our feet. We walked freely through the fog and luke-warm sun, along the vendors who make and sell beautiful ear drops of embroidery threads, mango slices dipped in salt and chilly powder, ice creams and dried flowers….An over view of the whole Kodai.

After that we drove down to the Green Valley View, which my friend said is a facsimilie of the landscape of Switzerland. The flock of lambs browsing below far away made her remember of the famous cattle farms of Switzerland. My daughter then came to contentment with her living in South India.

Winding down

Finally we reached the Kodai Lake, the cynosure of Kodaikanal. We chose the raw-boat bearing in mind the knee-pain of the pedaled ones at Ooty. The boatman was very friendly and he turned the boat towards  the blue water lilies that called out our kids. He plucked three and made a garland with it and gifted to our kids. He said it is from this lake that the drinking water is being distributed in Palani.

Along the 5 km perimeter of the Lake, we again became the children of years back. With my daughter both of us, rounded the lake with two bicycles rented for 20 rupees. It was of no break and a soundless bell tethered to  two rims.  To catch my daughter, we had to pant a lot. Both kids were happy with horse riding and at last when we entered into the Bryant Park it was time to close. We missed that lovely scenes and children’s’ play. From far away we saw the Suicide point meshed up to prevent further suicides. Like before there was no vulture seen roaming around that fathomless valley.

It was on unwinding the mountains that we could perceive the real pageantry that Mother Nature has prepared for us. It was drizzling when we return. We  never felt we leave the hill station, but still walking through the forests inhaling the smell of eucalyptus and putting our palms inside the pockets. The entry gate to Kodaikanal, the Silver Cascade asked us to halt there.

By that time Onam celebrations have came to an end in Kerala. All the upcoming vehicles were of Kerala registration. At every hair pin bend, we could see Malayali youngsters sitting around a liquor bottle and sipping the foaming glasses. The second stage of the Onam celebration was at the kick start there…

Ooty, the hill station in the Nilgiris  serves a get away from the steamy summers for most of the sight seers inside and outside India. Maya Krishnan illustrates the vignette of the changed face of Ooty after a family tour which she thinks a must for all to recharge the batteries to cope with the nerve-wrecking schedules of dates, dead lines and deliveries.

While  our  car  whirls  around  the hair-pins   again and again, when it becomes still difficult to climb up even in the second gear, my daughter was sitting at the back seat, her eyes wide, looking down to the leaving fathoms as if watching a Hollywood movie. She didn’t care for the strain of the vehicle or of the escalating petrol charges. She was just watching agape over the great wonders of the valleys, elephantine folds of the Nilgiri Hills, stunning at the greatness of Nature. Sometimes, she called out, “ Amma..What’s this flower’s name? What kind of the tree is this? Appa..give me the camera, stop for a while, let me take a snap of this..”

We were off to Ooty, ‘the queen of hills’, taking a leave from the scorching mid-Kerala ambience after my daughter’s school closing. Summer vacation is somewhat a capital punishment for my daughter (like most of the kids today) as she has to overcome the trauma of nothingness inside the home. In the middle of the city, inside the concrete walls, I used to note her childhood being forced to glue to the digital world of whims, helplessly.

Remembering the British

Before starting in the early morning itself, Amy had a vague idea of Ooty from certain film shots.. We too have told her a lot about Nilgiri hills, the Nilgiri Express, the tea plantations, the lush green forests and like. From the 38 degree hot through the 40 degree Palghat blaze, we reached Coonoor in a single stretch. When it began to ramble around the mountains she began to shower doubts and questions.

“Amma, who would have made these roads, by chopping these mountains like this,?”

“The British”

“So what about this Nilgiri Express that runs through the mountain tunnels..?” (She is quite irritated for not taking her by the train so that she can have all the sights which she had perceived through movies).

“The British”

“For everything you say “the British’. You yourself had once said, they were harassing Indians and that is why we have chucked them out.”

I kept mum. When she pressed more I just told her that after reaching Ooty I would explain everything. So on getting at the hill station Ooty, we never tried to go for sight seeing as every one do. We went straight to the Government Arts College there. It got went into my veins the pangs of John Sullivan who made the Stone House for him to stay at Ooty not to enjoy the climate but to know the pulse of the Tribals the oldest inhabitants of the Nilgiri forests. Percolating my thoughts into my daughter’s, Sullivan has reborn in the empty campus, where his dream home Stone House was built up. Sullivan treated the local tribes the Todas, Badagas, Kotas and Kattu naikans with commendable respect. He introduced the illiterate tribals to European crops, flowers, cultivation methods and has conceived and conveyed the notion of elevated climate being good for health. The Ooty Lake, one of the significant tourist destinations in Ooty is his contribution to this land and people. Sullivan was the Collector of Coimbatore at the time of British Raj. But he stood beside the tribals and argued and fought for them with the imperialists by insisting that Indians ought to be educated, given equal status and respect etc.   Sullivan later worked to ensure land rights and cultural recognition for these tribes and was financially and socially punished for this by the British Government. Looking around the vacuum of the campus a sigh came out of Amy  as if contented.

Filmi Tamasha

Returning to the hotel, we began our scheduled sight-seeing journey by a cab arranged by the hotel. Film shooting locations was the first target. While moving along the narrow roads in the morning time, when my daughter asked me to pull the glass shutter down, I wondered. It is Ooty, a hill station, why does she scare the sun right here? But it was like that.. Ooty has changed a lot. The breath taking landscape sights down the valleys are seen gradually fading as the commercialization hits the area at high.

Year by year the number of visitors coming to escape from the heats of life and globe (rather than to enjoy the climate) is enhancing. According to the requirements of the tourists like, hill view or lake view stay, Ooty has to prostrate to give aside the natural asset to transform into concrete structures debasing its natural beauty. Thus the valley has been congested with villas, cottages and hotels besides the huts.(the original name of Ooty is Udhagamandalam meaning ‘the village of huts’)

Before 10 years there were no hotels in Bangalore with a ceiling or a table fan. But see; now there are hotels with even air conditioners. What would have changed the Garden City of India to a smoldering sand dune after being developed into the IT Capital of India? The same thing has changed the queen of hills also. Fortunately, there is no need of a fan unto date here.

While we were talking, the guide-cum-driver stopped the cab under a shade and began to recite in Hindi as if mugged up a lot. Pointing out to a vast yellow-ochre shaded ground where the pine and Cyprus trees boarder green, he said, “ you might have seen the film Raja Hindustani. Amir Khan is riding a bicycle with Manisha  Koirala.. That song sequence has been canned here. ‘.raja ko raani se pyar ho gaya.’. Unka pyar yahi ho gaya” People sitting inside pushed out their heads and tried to enjoy the song once again. But nobody could co-ordinate the emerald back ground of the song scene to the present dry ground once more.

Along the roadside, lush green forests of eucalyptus spread out the salubrious aroma all along. My daughter tried to catch the top of the tree by eyes but could not and thus amazed and wondered from time to time. Else where the driver again stopped the vehicle and started: “you might have seen the film Roja in which the hero has been released from the terrorist and he joins with his wife staggering over a long narrow bridge in between the India-Pak boarder. That very place is this..” Yes, there was a long bridge emerging out of the thickets but found no green surroundings like that we enjoyed while watching the Hindi or Tamil Roja. “yeah hai that Indian boarder..” he pointed to the left side and turning his head behind said “yeah hai that Pak boarder..” Again a silence of agape was created inside the cab. We could not co-relate it once more. We were embarrassed.

As popular hill stations at Himalayas are sniffed out by violence and political upheavals Ooty -Nilgiri hills became the de-facto film locations now. Ooty landscapes and Ooty pine forests are an unavoidable part of song sequences in Indian cinema irrespective of the language.

A warming Ooty

After a while the cab has halted under a shade. The driver turned left from his seat and permitted us to board there to ‘enjoy the ‘kuch kuch hota hai’ location’. Yawning and stretching arms we got down and looked around. On the right side there was a vast pine forest and two white horses and two brown horses were waiting there to take us for a trekking. Mounting upon a white horse, my daughter roamed around the forest. When asked the name of the horse, the horseman perplexed a bit and after a while replied, “Surya”. Surya was so tired for even carrying a 33kg girl upon it. It is less-fed, less-cared. One can identify its pathetic physical condition even at the first sight.  Patting on its nape hairs my daughter whispered in its ear: “Surya, how’s Jo? In the same state..?”. She then asked the horse man to get her down. Meanwhile we saw the other 3 horses stumble carrying a whole family mounting on their back.

While showing us the distant vast view of landscape, the horseman said, “See, these are the favorite locations of the film industry both of South and North. But now nobody is coming here, as there is no greenery left to create a romantic ambit.” We could perceive the yellow-ochre shade all around. Inside the forest the dry leaves and dried up grass lay waiting for a spark to gulp the whole forest. There was a warning board at the entrance of the forest, “No Smoking Please”. “It’s hardly raining now a day. We need to go far below the valley to get some drinking water. Tourists also are less. We solely depend upon tourists.” The horseman sighed patting on Surya’s forehead.

After inhaling the salubrious air from the pine forest, we turned to the left side of the road. It was a huge hill. People, mainly tourists from North India were seen climbing up the hill and running down jovially under the mid day sun. I never experienced such a hot sun in Ooty before. But my daughter, she was comfortable with it as she was coming from the 38 degree hot sun of Kerala. On top of the hill on the sandy soil with my husband I sat down. Pointing out a completely burnt (but still standing straight) tree, my husband asked me,” Do you remember this place in the film “Notebook’?”. Yes, Of course. Our driver said “That Malayalam director when came here to shoot a particular scene, he liked these tree very much. But it was in a dying condition then. Spending a lot of money he replanted this tree here”. I thanked Roshan Andrews in my mind and told the driver-cum-guide to remember his name always while narrating this story from here after.

Eco-friendly

We traveled through the mid ways of lofty mountains, aromatic eucalyptus forests, and pine and Cyprus trees perceiving the rampant commercialization among various ecological and infrastructural throes. It was time for lunch. After lunch we walked through the dry pocket ways to Pykara waterfalls. It was a 20 minutes walk. We could hear the hoots and whoops of the falls from far beyond. It made us walk fast. Along the way side, on either side of the road there could see a lot of dust bins. We could never see any plastic bottle or plastic bag thrown out anywhere. There were roadside vendors of peanuts and chilly bajji. But there were dust bins also close to their seating. The Nilgiri people were also very supportive to Tamil Nadu Tourism Department. I just thought of Kerala tourist places. Even though the Government is ready to ‘go green’ the public is least bothered about keeping the do’s and don’ts.

Reaching the waterfalls, my daughter exclaimed ‘ is this a water fall?’ The sashaying of water from the placid lake is not so strong enough to make an impression in the minds of a Keralite who comes from the wild beauty of Athirappilly waterfalls. When Tamil people try to create electricity out of wind and human labor, Keralites are on a run to mount concrete structures to hinder the natural flows and in a hectic flight to reach the first position as the State with largest number of hydro-electric projects. That thought brought some positives in.

Go Green –Ooty model

Long before the words like ‘climate change’ and ‘global warming’ hit the common glossary, a ‘Save Western Ghat Campaign’ has begun here in 1987. It has become a mass movement with large scale participation by the common people. Recently, a one-week long International Climate change field Camp has been conducted here to discuss about the ecological threats in this hill station when the mercury level leaps up everywhere around. Beyond party politics they united to protest the climate change by increasing the forest cover from the present 20% to 33%. The meeting never dispersed over a cup of tea, but segregated strategically campaigning and combating with natural powers.

Landslides are a common phenomenon here whenever there is a rain. Massive tree falling is a by-product of this blight. While twining around the hills one can see the remnants of disastrous landslides and dried up waterfalls. But at the same time we can see the works of boundary walls in progress at each fragile point prone to a landslide. Plastic has been completely banned in this area. Warning boards and dust bins are set up side by side to egg the tourists to follow the norms. We could not see any beggars or child labourers anywhere. (When I amazed at this fact, Amy replied that all the Tamil beggars and Tamil child laborers were amassed there in Kerala). At this dry season forests are susceptible to bush fire but warning boards and security persons are not frozen here with buying-off and they are always in a vigil under the Forest Conservator of Coimbatore.

On the peak of serenity

We were never exhausted even after climbing up and walking along such a long way thanks to the aromatic space around. That made us the vigor to move to the second highest peak of South India, the Dodda Betta. While standing atop the huge cliff protruding towards the infiniteness, we folded hands involuntarily as if in a prayer. Telescope and other observatory facilities are available at every highest point in Ooty hills. But I did ever opt for it but preferred to perceive it in its vastness and majesty. Looking around we can observe the lush green forests, the divine tryst of Western and Eastern Ghats, with scars of a once bubbly streams. It makes one remember of a woman after 50 – Always in a prayer as to whimper over the by-gone glorious culture along with appeals to protect her Prodigal sons. All the trees around Cyprus, Pine, Eucalyptus and a lot of other varieties are also seemed to be indulged in a constant prayer, looking upward. When it becomes dark, the mist has begun its whimsical tenors upon our body. Thus after 5 p.m. we started pulling out our sweaters from the bag. When returned at the hotel at 8’o clock, we were shivering. Then Amy asked “Appa, this is the chillness of Ooty you told me?”

Off-season sights

Next morning the driver-cum-guide took us to the tea estates of Kodanadu. On-the-spot-photographers were in a queue pleading and begging. We told them a thousand times that we had a digital camera with us but they never turned away. They egged us on and at last one young man beseeched with tears, “Sir, we are in such penury that not even a single rupee is with us now. Because of this hot climate no one comes here. We are in an invariable prayer for a rain..”. Thus Amy posed for a photo shoot wearing the traditional dress of the tribal girl pruning the tea leaves. On seeing the Polaroid photograph with the professional perfection, all the other people rushed towards him and he thanked my husband with filled eyes.

Meanwhile, the tea estate manager took the seat of the cab driver and then it was his turn to spit Hindi explaining how first, second and third quality tea powder is being manufactured and marketed. He wound up his speech by sending us to their depot where he assured us ‘cent percent guarantee of first rate quality tea powder’. At the depot the sales men lured us by the feast of sample tea and sample eucalyptus oil with its intrinsic enchanting aroma.. Any way, we couldn’t help buying it.

Experiencing the caprices offered by the exotic flora and fauna pertained to Ooty hills, we drifted along the tea estates and wondered over the intermittently planted tall Silver Hawk trees and their marvelous role of clasping the earth from erosion through the fragile slopes. Passing through the litter-free road sides we tried to convince ourselves that with public participation we can have eco-friendly biosphere like this any where in the world beyond paper propaganda or verbal exercises. Still the natives told us that more than 80% of the original environment has been destroyed by encroachment and ignorance of its value. Those who had visited Ooty before can find it true that more than 60% of the grassland (which were the green tanks that take water from the mist and rain and release slowly through the Shola trees), has been disappeared.

Then we reached Lamb’s Rock walking through a dense forest. Mischievous macaques swinging from the twigs attacked some of us who carry any edibles with them. Everyone seemed to be enjoyed at this act which cannot be otherwise experienced in the urban life. It radiated the same waves which we enjoyed at the Dodda Betta.  The hollow slopes wrapped with Shola trees, flowering sub-elphine shrubs and thick coarse grass and like greeneries gave away a meditative feeling. Youngsters were seen posing for the photo standing adventurously at the tip of the protruding rock. Our guide told us “This is another suicide point like that of Kodai Kanal.”, means those who want to try it out can have it right now.

As per the schedule, our last trip was to Ooty Lake and Botanical Garden. When compared to the less known Pykara Lake, boating in Ooty Lake was somewhat boring. Unlike Pykara Lake, the Ooty Lake became much commercialized and it has lost its serenity. A mini children’s’ park close to the Lake seemed to be a dissonance with its natural getup. Botanical Garden was a feast of desperation and depression.. It was under the hammer out for the flower show to be conducted in May. Amy amazed at the sight of the million year old fossil tree and the Italian garden there. She rolled on the green lawn slopes a thousand times to make me envious of my by-gone childhood days devoid of such buoyancies and I thanked God and of course to my husband for providing her a chance to enjoy life otherwise a hot piece of strife.

From the Blue hills to the blue truths

Next morning we started our return journey. Amy was very depressed all the way for leaving back the rejuvenating hill station and coming down to the scorching native. While whirling round once again down the greatness of Nature, she was turning back to the parting Lavender flowers, blooming waysides, immeasurable fathoms and incredible valleys. Amazement was the only expression on her face then. She rebuked at those who build concrete huts along the valleys. Her father corrected her saying those are all part of development and most of the buildings are schools with high educational standards and the children of elite segment of the society are the students there. She watched the buildings and year old Christian Churches and the misty valleys with wet eyes.

I heard her father consoling her “Amy, don’t think Ooty is a destination point. It is the lovely and long walk, these beautiful sights that it offers is the real joy. You enjoy it till we reach the downhill.”

Even though renowned as the land of reformers such as Chanakya , Buddha and like, Bihar is undoubtedly the most under developed State in India. Be it by the rampant political anarchy or by the curse of incessant floods, Bihar raises eye brows at those who seek a tad of development there. Dr.Santhosh Rajagopal depicts the vignette of one of Bihar’s remote village where he had a mission as a delegate from W.H.O.

The Baghmathi was flowing surreptitiously quiet, as she had never been in spate, as if the fog that enveloped her early in the morning was perhaps the only thing dangerous about her. The vast fertile banks of her, enveloping villages of Chandauli, Ganeshpur and numerous other hamlets teeming with people were separated from her fury by just a sand bund. It was about 8 in the morning and fog was omnipresent. The temperature was near freezing and no amount of warm clothes would prevent even the bravest from shivering. A convoy of vehicles appeared out of the fog. They have traveled atop the bund taking dangerous risks and sent out the occupants on a macabre roller coaster ride. I was riding by the first vehicle whose driver seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in rocketing through the most improbable of roads.

On a mission

We were in Bihar to help out in the Polio Eradication Drive, then hopefully in its last legs. The officer sitting behind me had been there barely two months, but seemed to have taken in even the local dialect. The driver informed us that when the river was in spate, kilometers of water would be the only sight there. The bund then became a Noah’s ark, keeping the villagers alive till the river spent out her fury completely.

The vehicles drew up at the depot where the vaccines were then ready for distribution. One by one, the vaccinator teams took delivery of their quota of the Oral Polio Vaccine and set off on their rounds deep into the riverine wilderness.

A touch and go

Some hours passed and it was time to monitor the activity of the teams. We were eight doctors and an equal number of Volunteers. My area was a bit interior, informed my guide. I hitched a ride on a bike of one of the volunteers. As it meandered its way up the slope of the bund, one bike preceding us got caught in the quick sand, luckily no injury. We traveled on the bund roughly twenty feet wide. In places people were living on it, which made it even narrower. Their animals mowed and bleated as we trapeze between them along the waiting river.

We asked around for directions, occasionally consulting the map and the gospel of the eradication Drive – the Micro plan. The bike jumped down hedges, and raced through slush, I hold on for precious life. Most of the time after descending the bund, we were traveling through backyards and fields. Roads, on which the toughest of off -roaders would have a fit, were made every year, my Volunteer informed me. Every year around June, the river makes mincemeat of them. The numerous islands of treacherous river sand testified to the correctness of his statement. After about 8 kms of that ride we came to a small school. We parked the bike and began hunting the vaccinator teams.

We passed a few houses covered by them already and checked their work. There were no electric poles, no telephone lines, the only link with civilization as we know it were the three bands on my cell phone which told me the nation’s oldest telecom operator was around.(Thank God for that).

We met Arvind, a supervisor. He was about 50 and lightly built, that morning he had set out on a cycle with a vaccine carrier in search of his teams and bumped into the babus. (us).He wanted to learn from how we work, he informed us cheerfully. We wanted to see his teams, which were working about 4 km away. The path had water bodies and slushy areas, so walking was the only option. After a bumpy bone rattling ride, I was only too eager to accept that .We waded through the fields and walked atop bridges made solely of decaying vegetation. All rounds were the hinterland of that great country and I was benumbed by the primitiveness of it all. I took out my cell and called home. I cheerfully informed my wife that I was calling from the middle of nowhere.

Heart of India

We met a team made up of an elderly gentleman and a kid barely out of his teens. The lad was holding geru, to mark the visited houses; the senior was going about giving drops to children. Children were everywhere, dressed in nothing more than rags, eating out of full but flea infested plates, crowding into single room huts set one within the other.

I remembered a remark of one of my colleagues about a place “swarming with kids”. The team is vaccinating the kids, marking their fingers and houses as well as managing formats, which had increased in, number this time around. I watched as the old gentleman, obviously semi-literate, fumbled with the papers. We went around colonies of what the supervisor calls the lowest caste in Bihar. There should be no castes, I meekly suggested, he agreed readily but went on about why they were the underdogs.

As walked along he cautioned me on dangers of walking in the fields, and I politely informed him that I too came from a village and was no stranger to walking on fields and narrow bridges made of felled coconut tree trunks back home. He insisted no village can be as backward as that, and I reluctantly agreed. It was 4 PM and I suggested we could have a tea. Arvind promptly disappeared into a rather better looking house and reappeared with ginger tea of the best quality. He was the local Compounder, he informed me and the respect showered on him as we passed made it clear that he was more close to being a doctor in the locality. I had no illusions about any one  of my professional brethren setting foot there, in what the Mahatma would have called the heart of India. Somehow during my entire stay I kept remembering Mahatma, might be because Champaran, where he began his “career” of Satyagrahas was close by.

Back through the dark

It was about 5 PM and time to wind up. Tired from the long walk, Arvind offered us seats in another courtyard. As we settled down he waxed eloquent on how things could never change there. I strongly disagreed, and said it can be changed, provided we aspired to. Which suddenly made me think, what were all those kids aspiring to? They seemed to be contented with riding buffaloes into the fields, hang around with gur made from sugarcane, and tore up and played with posters of the just concluded elections. No entrance exams for them, no scholarships, no pencils or sharpeners, no schoolbags either. – Just the predictable grind of a rural farmer life, with the most primitive of implements.

We were offered Dahi, and I accepted. I refused the big cup, settling for half as much, only to regret later. I remembered we had skipped lunch, which explained the nectar like taste of home made dahi.

As the sun was quickly disappearing into the enveloping fog, we made haste and I dreaded the prospect of return through the route. Luckily we could find an alternate, slightly less dangerous path. As we came in, the rest of the team was getting a bit worried about us. As I approached, my local colleague asked me how the activity was. The dahi was elixir like, I told him as we bundled on to the waiting 4 wheel drives on our way back.

As we rode into the darkness, I remembered an argument I had with my brother-in-law working for software major in Bangalore; on how much time India would take to become a developed nation. Ten, he had said. Fifty, I had wagered, fresh from a similar trip to rural UP. I called him up on my cell. “I have changed my mind on that”, I informed him. It would be hundred years…..” .The connection broke off, as if to reinforce the statement.

In what way, the north-east state Arunachal Pradesh is connected with the Kerala state in the southern tip in Indian peninsula? It is the bespoke Indian way of sin and redemption. The legendary hero Parsuram is said to have washed away his sins of matricide in the Lohit river of Arunachal and came back to the south only to retrieve a land, Kerala, to donate to the Brahmins as a custom of atonement.

However, B.Asok Kumar progresses through a reverse path, from Kerala to Arunachal, not to have a pilgrim’s holy dip, but to subdue to the professional system and to give us a vignette of the distant neighbour.

When I received the transfer order to Itanagar (the capital of Arunachal Pradesh), I just recalled the Gowhati-Trivendrum Express, which is said to be running one week late, often. Anyways, I had to set out as usual as in any sentimental movie, along with the slow motions of the train. Fortunately, I got a good family to Naharlagan, a place very near to Itanagar to share my cabin. I remember the name of the pater familias as, Mr.Ram, who was very co-operative and understanding.. I never felt alone but it seemed to me that Chennai is very near to my hometown Trichur.

Across the diversities

We were passing through the spread out terrains of India, smelling its pluralities, feeling the pulse of each pesky land. While Crossing Andhra Pradesh, some guys came near. Though in appearance they do not feel so, they were actually begging for money. Mr.Ram told me that they are hijdas( neither male nor female). He briefed me the two ways to manage the Hijdas – either give them ten rupees or pretend to read something curiously. I gave them a ten rupee note. Kamala Das’ “Dance of the Eunuchs” came animated before my eyes.

All through the journey Mr.Ram was talking about Itanagar. What all things he told out of his own experiences of 40 years were, absolutely different from what I heard from Kerala. That was truly relieving. When reached Bhubaneshwar, we had our coffee. Bargaining with the Oriyan vendors was really something interesting.

Through the historical Kolkotha , we passed along the raving beauty of Shiliguri’s narrow entrance. If you go through the map of India, you will see that north eastern states look as if it is a cape or isthmus, but devoid of water. Our train stopped at the mofussils of New Bongaigaon, a station in Assam. Vendors of Chinese made electronic goods, gate crashed in. Everybody was seen engaged in bargaining. At about 3 p.m. we reached Gowhati station. It is a sojourn. From here you can go to any part of the north eastern states.

Itanager, my ultimate target, is 400km away from Gowhati. Ordinary bus services, Luxury bus services and helicopter services were there from Gowhatti to Itanagar. Buses were available either in the morning or in the evening. After 4 hours waiting, I got a bus at 7 p.m. but I was sad to miss the scenic beauty since it was getting dark. I sat staring at the darkness recalling the hearsays from Kerala, about the lootings and sackings, which might happen at any time from the native aborigines.

Some loud talks woke me up. I peeped out. It was Bander Deva, one of the entry points to Arunachal Pradesh. Here we need an inner line pass, as we are not from the Arunachal tribe. This pass is a license to enter Arunachal Pradesh. This is to be obtained from Resident Commissioner’s office of the Government of Arunachal Pradesh, at Gowhatti, Tezpur, Dibrugarh, North Lakhipur etc in Assam. It is also available at the office of Arunachal Pradesh Government at New Delhi and Schilong. For Government servants on transfer, they have to show the transfer order at Bander deva and after joining they have to get the pass from the concerned authorities in AP. If decided to bring family, you have to bring family pass also.

It was dawn. After the checking, our bus started climbing, as Itanagar is 530 meter above the sea level. The salubrious ambiance rejuvenated my spirits. I just hated the involuntary blinking of my eyelids. Felt, as if I was in heaven.

With Neharlagun in mind, I just imagined Itanagar with an area of 83,743 sq.km. It stretches from the snow capped Himalayas in the north to the plain of Brahmaputra terrain. Sixty five percentage of its land area is dense forest, which makes this state something different. Mutually dependant ecosystem once this earth enjoyed is found susceptible only here now, I thought. The other thirty five percentage of this state is layered mountains with rivers flowing through its cleavages. Subsequently, the mountains divide the state into five river valleys, – the Kameng, the Subansiri, the Lohit, and the Tirap. The Siang river finally merges into Brahmaputra. Lohit river carries the legendry hoards with it. It is said that Sage Parsuram ,has washed away his sins of matricide, here. This particular area of Lohit is also known by the name Parasuram Kund , as such. In the month of January a lot of devotees come here to have a holy dip.

Arunachal Pradesh is hemmed on the west by Bhuttan and by China in north. Total population of this wide state is only 11 lakhs!

Crossing the picturesque Bander deva, we reached a plateau with a lot of buildings – Naharlagun. It is the head quarters of State assembly and the Rajiv Gandhi University.

“Next stop is Bank Thinali. We have to get down there.” Mr.Ram said.

“Then where is Itanagar?” I was a child then.

“This area as a whole is known by that name..Itanagar” Mr.Ram smiled.

I hardly believed his words. That was not even a small city. No good buildings in the vicinity. I made a call to my colleague. He asked me to take an auto and come directly to AIR, Itanagar, nearly 1 km up-hill. Waving To Mr.Ram, I caught an auto( for that I had to pay Rs.30). Anyways, my colleague took me to my quarters, where I realized the fact that, if I want to survive , I need to know cooking, as there was hardly any hotel nearby.

Awaiting Surprises

I am talking about the Itangar of 2005. For your information I mention the rates of some items in the markets there at that time. For one kilo of cauliflower, you have to give Rs.80/-. No vegetable is available for less than twenty rupees per kilo. Quite often, I would have a glance at the heaped tomatoes and prepare a curry assuming tomato is added in it. Leafy vegetables and variety of fishes are plenty there. Besides, you will get a typical kind of worms in the market at the rate of Rs.100 per kilo. Like dried fish, dried worms, dried rats, dried frogs and like anything which will not bite back is available in the market. Vendors are mostly outsiders. Bu we get things in comparatively cheaper rate, if bought from the locals.

Here rain is unpredictable. Two hot days will definitely bring a heavy rain. So keeping an umbrella always with is a good practice.

While it is hot and humid at the lower altitudes and in the valleys, it will be chilly in the higher stations. Average temperature ranges from 15 to 21 degree Celsius in winter and 22 to 30 degree Celsius during monsoon. In June and July there will be maximum rain. Landslides are usual happenings then.

The information I collected prior to my Itanagar journey was not quite good. The people here are known to be some sort of a rustic nature to the outside world. In fact they are humble, polite and good looking. Probably the past bitter experiences of the exploitations of the innocence would be the cause behind their rude behavior to the outsiders. It may be the reason behind this fake impression. The rule to be followed here is, do not interfere with their personal interests and do your work sincerely. They are very much considerate. I myself got assimilated without any constraint and hence no problem from the tribes. The way they speak, the way they modulate their voice … I bet, you will definitely fall in love with them. So beware, don’t go there as a bachelor!

People from Bihar, Kerala, West Bengal et al have settled here. Some were even tied nuptial knots with them! But don’t go there with a real estate business in your mind. Here, no one can purchase a land or a building in his own name, if he is not a tribal of AP! If you want to invest money, you can do it, but in the name of a native tribal. Subsequently, binami business is aplomb here.

The people

There are at least 26 major and many more minor tribes each having their own tradition, custom and languages. Language of one tribe is not understood by another tribe. Official language is English. Tribal communities can be divided into 3 cultural groups on the basis of socio-religious background.

1. Those who follow Mahayana Buddhism 2. Those who worship Donyi-Polo(Sun-Moon). 3. Those who have a structured villager society.

All about a mithun

Both nuclear family and joint family are common. Each tribe has some exogenous clans. In respect of marriage, general rule is the tribe endogamy and clan exogamy. Both monogamous and polygamous marriages are frequent. Still, most of them provide separate room for each wife, generously. There is no dowry in Arunachal Pradesh. The bridegroom has to give Mithun (a bull like animal) to the bride’s family. The number of mithuns given to the bride’s family determines status. System seems to be good. But there is a trap in it. If a woman wants to withdraw from marriage, she has to give back the equal number of mithuns, her family received, before returning to her house. If husband dies, widow has to serve as the wife of husband’s brother. Earlier, they would not oppose their husband’s polygamy and at times even encouraged their husband to marry more so as to increase the work force in the farm fields.

Unlike a Keralite

One will be amazed by their expertise in Art and Craft. You can not but believe the way they weave sweater while walking, at times even with a baby tied totheir back. As a Keralite, I always get amazed, often adored their love and dedication to their works. They never sit idle or wait for a miracle to happen on their way.. They walk in a group talking but their hands move in grace to create exquisite patterns of handicrafts with vivid colors. Beautiful carpets, Shawl, dhoti etc are also woven. I really liked the unparalleled beauty of these woven materials and the intricate necklaces of colorful beads despite their high price. These people are really hard working and devoted to their work. They truly enjoy every whit of work they do.

‘Life is a tale….

In my two years tenure there, I had to face four instances of earthquakes. This is a quake-prone area, and hence they build their houses on raised platforms using bamboo and wood. People are used to such calamities that always swinging ahead and that may be the reason why they are this much simple and humble.

They make pickles out of bamboo. The main ingredient of their masala is bamboo. They avoid chilly. A special kind of kichadi they make with rice and dal is really yummy! (Still we make it in our home in Kerala). Apong is their traditional intoxicating liquor. Here morning and evening starts and end with apong. They serve this in the stump of bamboo and enjoy their lives – just like they enjoy their works, in every nuance of time.

Like any religious community in India, festivals are the essential part of their socio cultural life. Most of them are harvest related. When they dance, they will invite you to join; they will pull your hand and you will drift along the rhythm they impart.

Jandi Munda is a game related with Diwali festival. On that day, they do gambling with the permission from government! An array of small huts is built for the staging of the gambling sequels, which extends to 24 hours, uninterrupted. Apong adds pomp and splendor to the merriment. Lakhs of money is exchanged within minutes. Dexterity of the hand of the player is pivotal.

Enroute receptions

Arunachal Pradesh has a rich, rare and exclusive collection of orchids. Asia’s largest orchidarium is here at Tipi in West Kameng district. There are exclusive monuments, archaeological sites and places of worship. The Buddhist pilgrimage site, the legendry 17th century Tawang monastery is, worthy watching. 28 feet high Golden Buddha adorns the monastery. Malinithan is the place where Lord Krishna and Rukmini rested during their journey to Dwaraka. Bhismaknagar is a hill fort made of bricks in 12^th century AD. This place is mentioned in Mahabharatha. Gangalake at the foothills of the Himalayas is a unique beauty. If you are an ardent believer of Lord Shiva,Menga cave is a place to be visited. Along, Dong, Itafort, Likabali, Passighat, Walong and Ziro are some of the places worthy to make out.

A different picture of this place is something to be kept in mind. While passing through the road, if your vehicle hits with a local man’s vehicle, you will have to pay an amount almost equal to the actual prize of a new one of the same genre. Negotiation is possible. But in any case half the rate of the vehicle has to be paid. No excuse please. What I heard from Kerala cannot be ruled out completely as on-dits, Right? So, take care not to hit a hen which would have at least 3 generations each with an average of 300 eggs annually.

Anyways, you are not going there in your own vehicles. Get the best luxury coaches or modish helicopters to have the feel of this orchid garden, the Land of Dawnlit Mountains. And if needs more, end up your pursuit with a holy dip!

(The writer is an Assistant Engineer with All India Radio)