Jallikattu: Bull Taming in Thammampatti

The juggernaut
A sea of humans swells and ebbs in Thammampatti, a small town near Salem in Tamil Nadu. There are people everywhere easily tens of thousands; they flood the roads filling the narrow alleys, their eager faces gaze down from rooftops, they are perched precariously on bamboo scaffoldings to get a better look. And then comes the juggernaut, the bull.

Festooned with gulal, ribbons and garlands and moving its head agitatedly showing off the razor-sharp horns it tears past the mass of humans. A hush engulfs the crowd and the excitement is palpable. The not-so-brave scamper to shelter themselves from the onslaught; the barricades are no match to the brute force of the beast. The alley, which looked jam-packed just one moment back, miraculously gives way.


Horns, Hump and tail: Different folks, Different Strokes

The brave and the not-so-brave
A few brave men venture forward; almost all of them are in high spirits, literally and figuratively speaking. The most audacious among them make an attempt for the bull’s hump, the not-so-daring make for its tail and the puniest among them are content to just touch the bull and beat it once.
The scene gets repeated many times with myriad variations.

A muscular man who looks smug holding on to the bull’s tail, is shaken off the next moment and falls violently on the ground; an anxious murmur rises from the crowd but the very next moment he is back on his feet looking smug again.


Don’t mess with me!

The bull corners a man and they stare at each other, eyes unblinking. The scene looks straight out of a typical Bollywood movie, the crowd holds on to its breath, another man lunges for the bull from behind and the fellow in front runs for his life.


Two hot to handle!

A bull is goring a group of men; it is black in color with its skin gleaming in the hot Sun. Till now it has shaken off everyone who has tried to get on it. And suddenly without any warning another burly black bull crashes into the crowd.

A rather lanky fellow in shiny blue jersey and shorts holds on to the hump of the bull with a triumphant look on his face and the crowd goes giddy with joy.

Bull taming, Indian Style
This is Jallikattu for you, an ancient bull taming sport played in Tamil Nadu, India as a part of the celebrations of harvest festival, Pongal. The ritual dates back to 2000 years, in fact there are several rock paintings, at remote Karikkiyur village in the Nilgiris district in Tamil Nadu that show men chasing bulls.

A particularly ferocious species of bull, the Kangeyam bull is let on rampage and taming it without any weapon whatsoever is taken as a mark of masculinity. The man who holds on to the bull from the entrance of the bull pen to the marker can boast about it all round the year, and of course he is entitled to the prizes like cash, watches, lungis, cookers etc. Legend has it that in earlier days women used the game to choose their husbands.

But what am I doing here? Certainly not looking for potential husbands.


All for glory?

The electric atmosphere
I am standing delicately on a rooftop; I feel as if I don’t even have enough room to wink my eyelids. I have my weapon in my hand, my new camera Canon Rebel XT on which dust has already started settling. My fellow shutterbugs are somewhere around, lost in the throng, busy capturing the event through their lenses.


The throng

The sun is beating down on us relentlessly; the odor of sweat mingling with dry air is omnipresent. An ice candy man has found room in the street down amidst the commotion and he is selling orange candies. I lust these sweetmeats, but make do with water for now, I don’t want to lose this spot, which presents a good view of the alley down.

The commetator’s voice punctuates the already tense air; I don’t understand a thing, my knowledge of Tamil being limited to a few unmentionable expletives and movie songs. But my friends tell me later that the commentator announces the prize money attached to a particular bull thus goading and enticing men to run for it.

And do the already charged men need any goading? They fall on the bull without any prompting.


A kid in the safe hands of his granny

You need a funny bone
There are light moments too, in the otherwise violent and charged atmosphere.

A man looking abashed is being pulled back home forcefully by his wife, who certainly doesn’t looked amused by the idea of her husband taming the bull and in turn being gored by it.

A silence falls over the crowd in expectance of the bull, but a collective laughter rises from the crowd as the object of curiosity turns out to be a dog.

A local enthusiastically tells me that this happens only in Tamil Nadu, I want to tell him about the Spanish bullfights, but by now I’ve realized that Jallikattu is quite different. Unlike the Spanish bullfights Jallikattu does not end with the death of the bull. And moreover I don’t want to puncture his enthusiasm so I nod at him smiling.

Earlier in the day we had visited a bullpen. The bulls specially bred for Jallikattu are brought from districts near and far, some on foot and some hauled on small tempos. Even when tied to a leash it takes at least two to three men to control a bull.

The balance in this sport is tilted in the bull’s favor if you consider the raw power of a bull against that of a single man. But when its one bull against the crowd the balance gets skewed and in Thammampatti I saw this happening quite often.


One Against Many: A Skewed Balance

Surviving Jallikattu, unscraped
But even when the throng is against the bull there are cases of injuries, it is not a place for the timid hearted, and blood shed is commonplace here. The Supreme Court of India had banned Jallikattu, but it revoked the ban under the condition that necessary precautions would be taken to prevent cruelty to animals and injuries to humans.

And precautions are taken in Thammampatti, an ambulance is doing rounds of the alleys, bulls are subjected to a round of screening before the event, police personnels are posted all along the street though they are having a hard time controlling the staggering crowd.

The throng carries on enthusiastically till the last bull is brought out. The sun is all set to dip. The crowd, tired after a hard day, disperses. The street vendors selling idli, vada and other South Indian delicacies are doing a brisk business. We indulge in some yummy street food before we start back for Bangalore.

The next day as I read the newspapers I come to know that around 70 persons were injured in the Jallikattu in Thammampatti, much less than the count last year. Given that there have been two hundred casualties in Jallikattu in the last one decade, the Supreme Court ban though revoked seems to have made this sport a little safe at least. I send a silent prayer to my Gods for having survived my friends and me unscraped through Jallikattu, though a bizarre one at that, Jallikattu was an experience worth having.

*gulal - Colored powder
*lungi - A garment worn round the waist.
*idli - A savory cake made of batter of fermented rice, black lentils and fenugreek, a popular snack throughout South India.
*vada - A dough nut shaped South Indian delicacy made from lentil.

Shravanabelagola: Lord Bahubali’s Abode

“I don’t want to spend the first day of the year at home.” Shilpa a friend of mine wanted to go out on the New Year and who best to tag along but a person with “itchy feet” like me. After much brainstorming Shravanabelagola was decided as the destination to be, a unusual choice for the New Year’s day I must say, considering the fact that people prefer partying on the 1st. So, the New Year’s Eve was spent in booking bus tickets, and the first time in the history of my conscious existence I slept even as the clock struck twelve, only to get up early in the morning to start for Shravabelagola. To our surprise the KSRTC bus started before its scheduled time, and this was enough to impress me and as if to bolster my notion the bus covered the 160 Kms stretch from Bangalore to Shravabelagola in a quick three hours.


The majestic statue of Lord Bahubali at Vindhyagiri, Shravanabelagola.

A sleepy town, seeped in history
Shravanabelagola, a major Jain pilgrim centre, is a sleepy town settled around the two hills Chandragiri and Vindhyagiri with the tank Kalyani nestled between them. The 57’ tall statue of Bhagwan (Lord) Bahubali Gomateshwara, the largest monolith in the world(or is it), at the top of the Vindhyagri, is the city’s claim to fame. As we started our ascent an elderly couple from Bangalore joined us, and we were together for the whole day, to any bystander we would’ve appeared as a family out on a trip, Shilpa and me being of the same stature could be easily thought of as sisters. This is what amazes me the most about traveling; strangers don’t remain strangers for long.


Tyaaga khamba, commemorating Chavundaraya who commissioned the statue of Lord Bahubali, on the way to Lord Bahubali’s statue, Vindhyagiri, Shravanabelagola.

There was a quite crowd climbing the hill; school children, families, foreigners alike on their quest for Lord Bahubali on that particularly sunny day, but the sun couldn’t beat down their enthusiasm. There were carriers available for the elderly, and one lady looked particularly smug sitting on one but the gutsy ones preferred the tougher option, the steps. The climb was not very steep and was made comfortable by the gradual steps and the soothing view of the Kalyani.

The Basadis and the well-preserved inscriptions on the Vindhyagiri date back to a period starting from 600 to 1830 CE, with the inscriptions providing insights into the life of ascetics of that era, the Bahubali statue itself dates back to 10th Century. Whenever I visit a place seeped in history these days, I always wonder what would be the ruins of our civilization, would they all be digital?


A priest at Lord Bahubali’s feet, Vindhyagiri, Shravanabelagola.

His Majesty, Lord Bahubali
As we reached the top after climbing the 500 odd steps we caught a glimpse of Lord Bahubali from the entrance of the enclosure where it is situated. My first reaction was one of awe, a priest was meditating close to the feet of Bahubali and he didn’t even amount to as much as one foot of the statue.

The statue is minimalistic advocating the philosophy of Jainism. I marveled at the colossal effort that would have gone into sculpting a statue of such immense proportions, it is imposing and beautiful at the same time. The face of Lord Bahubali with curled locks exudes nothing but tranquility; creepers entwine his whole body to depict the time he must’ve spent meditating in the erect posture before attaining bliss. People were meditating all around the statue, and we too sat down soaking in the vibrations of the place.

After spending some time on the top we started our descent, the sun was beating down on us with full force now. We headed for lunch at a Jain Aahar (an eating place) where we were served some simple but delicious food. On the way back from the Jain Aahar we stopped at a temple, which had some beautiful stone carvings and an idol of Bahubali carved out of marble. As is typical of pilgrim centres in India, Shravanabelagola too teems with shops selling knick-knacks and mementoes, and girls that we are, we indulged in some impromptu shopping buying bangles and stuff. Time was running out so we couldn’t explore the 2nd hill, Chandragiri and headed for the bus stop.


Sculptures at a temple in Shravanabelagola.

Mahamastakabhisheka, when all roads lead to Shravanabelagola
The town appears dull now, but during the Mahamastakabhisheka it undergoes a complete transformation, people from all around the world flock to watch and perform the ceremony. I remember seeing the ceremony live on television as a kid, the event is a riot of colors with Lord Bahubali being bathed with holy water, vermillion, turmeric, and sandalwood… God-willing I would be there for it sometime in person, and capture the whole event through my camera.

The promise being made, we start back for Bangalore, Chandragiri has been left unexplored until the next time. A new year has begun and I’ve spent the first day doing what I like doing the best, traveling, exploring, introspecting and photographing. If the first day were any indicator, hopefully the year 2008 would also be spent in a similar fashion.

The Last Laugh

I am dead, almost. But why, what had happened? Memory fails me. With an immense effort I lift my eyelids, the harsh light of the room blinding my eyes I search for the picture; Pari being kissed by Suresh and me on each of her cheek. It was the picture I opened my eyes to every morning, Pari’s kohl lined light-brown eyes shone through the picture even now. Dressed in a baby pink frock with puffed sleeves, her scarce but curly hair (unruly even then) scrupulously tied into two fountain ponies, and a toothless grin that could captivate anyone, she was the cutest baby ever, as every baby on the face of this earth is.

The picture was taken two years back, when Pari was barely 4-5 months old, it was her first picture in the studio, her eyes had danced from one flashlight to the other and then to the camera, hardly resting in one place. But how had she posed and given the best of her smiles when the photographer was ready to take the picture, as if she understood fully well what was happening. “She is a born actress, so comfortable in front of the camera.” The photographer had remarked, jokingly. How would ‘her’ first picture be? I thought. And my hands instinctively reached for my stomach to feel her, but I immediately sensed that something had gone horribly wrong, and my world crashed down in an instant. It was coming back to me in patches now and I so wished that I had died without remembering, without going through it all over again.

Is it a girl or a boy? Nine months of suspense, expectance and nervousness. But not in this age of advanced technology and Suresh wouldn’t wait. I had reluctantly agreed for the sonography, forbidding him from disclosing the result to me. But the result couldn’t have been more obvious; I had never seen him so preoccupied. Suresh wanted a boy and it was plain from his disappointment that it was a girl.

A girl! Pari will have a little sister! Will she be like Pari? Will she also be as tiny and delicate just after birth, will her eyes be as big and unblinking, will her hair be as unruly, will she also sleep, curled up like a cat, forehead tense in concentration but lips curved in a serene smile? Will her favorite game also be entangling things into my hair and then extricating them with great skill? Will her antics also make my otherwise boring day, exciting? Will she also hold the same power over me; will her tears make me anxious and her laughter make my moods soar? Questions, left unanswered forever.

It was yesterday (or was it?) when Suresh took me to the hospital for what was supposed to be a routine checkup, only if I had known of what lay in store! Suresh was quiet all through the drive, he had made up his mind, I being used to his mood swings didn’t give it much of a thought. But I started having misgivings the moment I was brought into this room, it somehow didn’t feel right, but the Doctor assured me. Events after that are a blur, but there would’ve been complications, which are bound to happen in an abortion so late. I remember having a dream though (or was it a dream?), I was in a pitch-dark room running away from a masked man, soon he had me cornered, his knife glinting, as if it had sensed its prey. I cried and begged, but was he even listening, I still remember his eyes they were, so unmoved, so business-like, so inhuman.

But can words ever describe what I am feeling for Suresh now? Is a human being capable of such an intense hatred? Why did he do this to me? Is the desire to have a son, so strong, so maddening? Is it a boy or a girl? Does the answer to the question matter so much? Why is ‘girl’ a totally unacceptable answer to some? Questions left unanswered again, but can any answer be convincing enough to justify a deed so wicked?

People are shouting outside, I hear Suresh too. “It was a boy, you killed my son, you killed him!” he is shouting. Some one is trying to pacify him “The technology is not fullproof, Sir,there is always a margin for error.” But this enrages Suresh even more, and the placatory voice is drowned in agonizing screams and sobs.

I no longer hear the voices, it’s as if calm has descended over my whole being. A strange sensation is flooding my body, and of all the feelings, strangely I am feeling elated. And so, in spite of the tears streaming down my eyes, in spite of the powerful pain searing my heart, in spite of knowing that I am going to die, inspite of knowing that I’ll never hold Pari in my arms again, in spite of having just lost a part of my soul, I laugh and laugh and laugh.
--A mother

Sex-selective feticide is so rampant in India; it sends shivers down my spine whenever I read about it. And ironically it is more common among the so-called educated class .In many cases women are forced into it, but many a times women are complicit, even willing participants, in both the cases it is a gross violation of human rights. Laws are there but only on paper. Detecting the sex of foetus, without citing proper reasons, is illegal, but clinics have spawned up everywhere and they are doing brisk business. Mobile clinics frequent rural areas which otherwise are untouched by technology. It is easy to see that these clinics are catering to the demand of the society, but that does not make them less unethical. Amidst talks of women’s rights and women’s liberalization, every single minute a girl goes ‘missing’ in India and the clock is ticking fast.

Cross-posted on Writer's Blend under the theme for December, Human Rights.

Happy New Year!

I smile without a reason.
I laugh at myself for smiling without a reason.
I smile again because I catch myself laughing without a reason.
I laugh again; this time it is a guffaw and this too without a reason…

Reason is a beautiful word but some things are best done without any.

This year, wishing you reasons to smile and smiles without reason.

P.S.- The photo was taken at a restaurant in Bangalore.

Hyderabad Moves On

The street is choc-a-bloc; shops shimmering with lac bangles of all sizes and shades flank it on both sides, pedestrians and vehicles mingle unassumingly moving at the same snail’s pace, an auto is parked right in the middle of the road but no one bothers nothing out of routine here, suddenly two camels appear from nowhere moving gracefully but extraordinarily fast and the traffic scatters to make legroom for them and they are assimilated too, in this organized chaos. Welcome to Chudi Bazaar, Charminar area, old city, Hyderabad. In broad daylight you might miss noticing the Charminar, though it is an imposing structure, the commotion is even more arresting. But there is no way you can miss it in the night, beautifully lit in shades of green and blue with the jet black sky in the background, it transports the whole milieu to that of an era bygone, we could as well have been begums out on a saunter. This is what I like the best about Hyderabad, the way the past and present coexist here.



Hyderabad is a city, which has slowly grown over me after multiple visits; the first time I was there I hated the traffic and the harsh weather. But the moment I visited Chudi bazaar I fell in love with the place, and so I am here again after one year, and with renewed excitement, I have my camera with me this time. Two of my friends who are visiting Hyderabad for the first time go berserk at the sight of the vibrant Chudi shops. The friend who we all were visiting has just returned from USA, she is thrilled to see so many people a sight so uncommon in the States that she is busily taking videos of the crowd, and I as usual am clicking away to glory. A full moon is in bloom, and along with the lit Charminar it looks ethereal, although I try, I quite fail to get the same feel in the pictures I take.



Compared to Chudi bazaar Husainsagar is quite a contrast; the monolithic Buddha statue at an island in the middle of the lake exudes nothing but serenity. The sight of the necklace road flanking a stretch of the lake and the beautiful multi-colored patterns the lights cast on the lake water is one to behold. On a hillock close by the Birla Mandir (aka Sri Venkateshwara temple) washed in light green light is visible. The Lumbini Park on the banks of the lake is packed with the weekend crowd; the ubiquitous street vendors selling bhel, panipuri, bhutta, nimbupani, bhajji and what not, are doing a brisk business. We take a ferry to the rock of Gibraltar, and I should say the experience of being so close to the magnificent Buddha statue is a humbling one.



The next day we visit Gokul Chaat, which is the Grand daddy of all chaat shops. It is jam-packed all hours its open, I am told, and the evidence is there for me to see. There is hardly any place to set foot inside the shop, which is just a small room with half the space being used as the kitchen, forget eating there. But once we get inside and somehow manage to order, we soak in the tangy aroma of the place. Here again the scene is one of organized chaos, amidst so much of commotion I doubt that our order is even placed, but miraculously we are served in just minutes, with the manager paying special attention to us, and needless to say everything is yummylicous. The street food in Hyderabad is scrumptious; I am especially fond of the dry bhel there. At the risk of sounding blasphemous I would say that I didn’t quite like the veg. biryani at a reputed restaurant, but then veg. biryani wouldn’t even come close to the famed mutton biryani of Hyderabad. I am yet to try the irani chai, which is another must-have on a visit to Hyderabad, maybe next time.

As I reflect on my way back to Bangalore from Hyderabad, I realize that I was on a sort of trail in Hyderabad and a bloody one at that. I visited all the areas that were rocked, by bomb blasts in the last one year, Mecca Masjid bombing in the Charminar area in May 2007, and the twin blasts at Gokul Chaat and Lumbini Park in August 2007. But apart from subtle reminders like metal detectors at Gokul Chaat, and the beefed up security at the Lumbini Park, the areas were as vivacious and upbeat as they were the last time I had visited them, a year back. I have heard a lot about the resilient nature of the Mumbaikars, but on this visit I got to see the fighting spirit of the Hyderabadis. Can a bomb blast wipe off the liveliness of the human spirit? For a city like Hyderabad, which just infects you with its soul, the answer is a resounding no.

Cross-posted on Desicritics

Diwali dreams

The fataka bazaar was decked up like a bride; resplendent with the bright and colorful shops for Diwali, the festival of lights. The shops were a world in themselves, crackers of all sorts found takers here, there were the evergreens like fuljhari, anaar, chakri, rockets, atom bombs…which were always in demand, but what sold like hot cakes this year was the fireworks that formed colorful patterns in the sky. They were a little expensive but it was a joy to watch them, unlike a rocket that just leaves a trail of fire, the firework emits a thousand dazzling stars, which twinkle for sometime before fading away in the night.

Shubhu dreamed of bursting a firework one day, where he would find the money to buy one he didn’t know, but he thanked God that at least he could dream for free. He worked for ‘Pushpa fireworks’ a small shop in fataka bazaar, the owner of the shop Wasim bhai was an eccentric fellow he owned a restaurant also named after Pushpa (Pushpa was the name of Wasim bhai’s first love.) in Gandhi bazaar, the busiest market of the city. He was well known in the city’s restaurant circle as an extremely miserly fellow, he had the reputation of recycling food, infinitely; the recycling industry could learn a lesson or two from him. He mixed and matched the dishes so well that the end result was lip-smacking concoctions; days of recycling lent the food a distinct flavor, which somehow fresh food lacked, and as a result ‘Pushpa Restaurant’ did a brisk business all through the year.

Out of the many eccentricities of Wasim bhai, was his fascination for crackers, his father always set up a shop in the fataka bazaar for Diwali, and this is where Wasim bhai’s love for crackers blossomed. Diwali was Wasim Bhai’s favorite festival, though he was a Muslim he celebrated Diwali with much more gusto than Id. As a kid he used to spend the days before Diwali lost in the cramped streets of fataka bazaar, there wasn’t a single cracker that escaped Wasim bhai's greedy eyes. Chemistry became his favorite subject in school because he used to research the chemicals that went into making of a cracker, Copper gave the cracker a distinct blue color, iron made it emit gold sparks and so on. And the day of Diwali, what fun it used to be! He would ensure that he had all the varieties of crackers available in the fataka bazaar for the D–day; he fired crackers starting early evening deep into the night. Starting the day with fuljhari, anaar and chakarrs and ending it with a ladd of 10,000 bombs, the sound of which resonated in the night for fifteen minutes to the least and which Wasim bhai likened to the firing at a country’s border.

When Wasim bhai’s father died early this year, it was but natural for him that he set up the shop in fataka bazaar himself this Diwali. And so he left the restaurant at the hands of his assistants (warning them strictly not to serve fresh food) a month before Diwali and set up ‘Pushpa fireworks’, he loved being in fataka bazaar, the place resounded of his childhood memories and in Shubhu he saw his own self, the kid shared his fascination for crackers, his face had lit up on seeing the numerous crackers neatly stacked in the shop’s shelves when Wasim bhai had allowed him inside the shop for the first time. Shubhu was very good with numbers he used to always top his class in maths and he assisted Wasim bhai with the shop’s accounts.

Shubhu came from a poor family his father was a mechanic in a garage and his mother was a domestic help, but being the only kid of his parents he was well-loved, apple of his parents’ eyes. They would have never allowed him to work, but Shubhu was adamant, he wanted to work during the Diwali holidays and earn some money. Every year his parents brought him new clothes and sweets during Diwali never buying anything for themselves, he wanted it to change this year. Wasim bhai had promised him Rs. 500 for his help with the accounts, how he wished he could buy some crackers with them, but crackers are a waste of money he reasoned with himself, he would buy a sari for his mother and a brand new shirt for his father, it’s been so long since they bought new clothes for themselves. But his heart still ached for crackers, when people bought crackers worth thousands of rupees from the shop he envied them, he was a kid after all and no amount of logic would convince his innocent heart.

Diwali morning was sleepy but with an expectance of the celebrations that lay ahead, Shubhu had already selected a lavender colored Sari with a rich border for his mother, his mother would look lovely in it, he thought, as for the shirt he hadn’t selected one till now, but do so as soon as he got the money. Wasim Bhai was in a particularly good mood today, he hadn’t shouted on anyone since morning and when Shubhu went to him he handed him a crisp 500 hundred-rupee note with a pat on his back. “Buy some crackers for yourself and have fun bursting them tonight!” he said, but Shubhu told him sheepishly that he had already thought of spending the money on his parents’ clothes. He had said this with such longing in his eyes that Wasim bhai was saddened to his core, in a rare gesture of generosity he handed Shubhu a box of assorted crackers. And with a wink he warned him “Don’t tell this to anyone, it won’t do good to my reputation”, Shubhu was left speechless for a moment but when he regained his senses he thanked Wasim bhai from the bottom of his heart.

Diwali for Shubhu this year was nothing like the years before, his parents had tears in their eyes when he presented them with the gifts, both hugged him lovingly. And in the night he burst his first firework ever, as the cracker took flight so did Shubhu’s countless dreams, and as the firework burst emitting thousands of little green stars, they lent a twinkle to Shubhu’s eyes, a twinkle that comes from seeing dreams come true.

Trekking the Nilgiris: The Sholur Trail

The Sholur trail through the Nilgiris or the Blue Mountains is a breathtakingly scenic trail and more so during this season just after the monsoons. So when the opportunity to set out for the trek with Bangalore Mountaineering club(BMC) presents itself I lap it up with glee.

We, a bunch of 18 trekkers, start from Bangalore on a particularly rainy Friday night towards Masinagudi were our guides, Mohan and Swami join us, after stopping briefly for breakfast, we head towards the starting point of our trek. What is most noticeable as we reach the base is that the area is hemmed in by electric barbed wires to confine the Elephants to the forests. Vijay, who ventures to touch the wires thinking that they are active only during the night, is in for a rude shock. Our guides later tell us that the barbed wires are on, 24*7. After having distributed the tents, sleeping bags and foodstuff we start towards the peak, which according to our guides is 10 Kms from the base.

The initial stretch of the trek is pretty easy, the trees look fresh from the recent showers, small streams meander along the way and the biggest relief is that there are no leeches, you can walk at your own pace, drinking in the surroundings. As I start talking to my fellow trekker, Atish, I am in for a surprise, he turns out to be one of my best friend’s cousin, the world is small place, indeed.


A waterfall, albeit a man made one.

As we reach the first milestone after covering around 2 Kms from the base, our guide tells us that we have 18 more Kms to go; I sense that there is something seriuosly wrong with his calculation but then, I was never great at Maths, so don’t give it much of a thought. Having rested a while we again start walking, doing a variety of things on the way, plucking gooseberries and having them with water, marveling at the fact that the water tastes sweet after eating gooseberries, taking pictures of whatever subjects present themselves on the way, stopping to look at a strange insect or flower…

We take a short detour just before lunch to view a View, the place is a rock perched on the top of the hill; we climb the rock and see a picture perfect panorama, misty mountains in whichever direction you look. As we sit there for sometime it starts to drizzle we hurry towards our make shift dining place ‘The Bridge’, which is dilapidated, fully covered in algae, and trembles as the burlier among us walk on it. But it survives the human onslaught all right and we savor delicacies like rajma, dal fry, paneer butter masala, and obattu sitting on it.


"The Bridge": Our make-shift dining place.

The climb after the bridge is continuously steep and hence tiring, we keep stopping frequently after this, to our guide’s exasperation, who keeps prodding us to move every once in a while. JD, Rajesh and I stop at a rock to wait for others and a woodpecker comes and perches itself on the tree in front, the place is teeming with birds as we can hear a constant twittering from the forest. We move along as the others come and join us no longer asking the guide about the distance left, because we’ve understood that we’ll know that only after we reach the peak.


View from the trail as it snakes through the tea estates.

We reach a particular beautiful stretch now that reminds me of Ooty , tea estates everywhere as the trail snakes through them. We have reached Sholur and are now walking on pucca roads, after hitching a ride to a teashop to have some snacks, our guide tells us that the camping site is another 2 Km away. Its already getting dark Anjali, Ashwin, KP, Kiran and I don’t want to walk with our backpacks so we hire a jeep. Everyone dumps their luggage in the jeep and our guide lugs along with us; we plan to meet the others at a school in the village.


A villager at the tea-shop.

The jeep sways and swings as the road towards the school is in a pathetic condition. We finally see the light of the school, but the jeep refuses to go forward at a particularly narrow stretch of road. A haughty discussion ensues on what is to be done next, KP, who is the only one among us who can converse in Tamil , explains to the driver and our guide that we want to get as close to the school as possible so that we can meet the others. It takes some time for the message to sink in but finally we are on our way back to a place we had crossed earlier. We wait at the place for sometime before we see torchlights in the distance, we shout for JD and he replies, to everyone’s relief.

After relieving the driver we walk down towards the school, our campsite. Tents are pitched, a bonfire is lit and we again have a round of Ready To Eat(RTE) delicacies as dinner. It’s chilling cold as we snuggle inside our sleeping bags for a round of blinking sleep before we get up in the morning to a stunning view outside. Sunlight playing on the contours of the tea estates, the brilliant play of shadow and light makes the already beautiful hill scape breathtaking.


Beautiful view in the morning.

We start for a wildlife trail in the morning; we have fresh luscious carrots on the way for breakfast. We cross the fields and estates to reach a hill scape which is yet uncivilized, grasslands with patches of forest in between. We see a lone Gaur grazing in the distance, we manage to click a few pictures before it becomes aware of our presence and runs into the forest. We walk towards the peak, which looks very similar to the suicide point shown in Bollywood flicks, we see a circular rainbow formation in the valley below, before the valley and even we get covered in clouds.

We walk back to Sholur after spending sometime at the peak, where the hospitable villagers treat us to tea. On our way back to the base an Aunty from the village joins us. She is easily above fifty and is wearing sandals, but she sprints down the way to my surprise, I try to keep up with her for sometime, but then give up. We take a slightly different route on the way back to the base so that we get to soak in the waterfall. A small stream falling down a height of ten feet or so forms the waterfall, the water is chilling and liberating, after the bath we walk towards our vehicle with renewed life in our step. On our way back to Bangalore we spot Elephants, gaurs and a herd of deer eyes in Madumalai wildlife sanctuary.

The timeless game of Antakshari follows a heavy dinner at a roadside restaurant, I finally succumb to sleep, the body ache hasn’t made its presence felt yet and I am already dreaming about the next trip, next excursion, next adventure.