Category: Travel Diaries

Walk in the Park

It was just another Saturday evening. I lay on the floor of my sweltering room, looking up at the fan swirling without a touch of breeze. I was bored. I had nothing to do. I was tired of sitting indoors all day watching TV series from the 70s. I had done nothing else the whole of that day and I wanted the next day to not be the same.

I messaged my friend and set up a plan to visit the nearest zoological park. And to think I hated zoos and crowds of people! But that’s how desperate I was. The urge to do… something, led me to nod to plan that’d been in discussion for a long time.

I woke up early, and washed my hair.

At about 2.30 pm, we left braving the vegaries of the unusual monsoon heat, with cotton shawls over our heads and swelling anticipation in our hearts.

zoo 1

As we stepped into the first few inches of the spanning 1,490 acres, a chill ran through my spine. It is a large forest; people come here for day trips and picnics. And we had come for just a walk. We started out with a massive crowd hogging its way into the park, but it thinned out as people moved away exploring on their own.

That was the best part of the visit. It wasn’t anything like the school excursions we used to go on. We didn’t have to hold hands with our partners and walk in lines. We didn’t have to split our attention between the trees, animals, and to the teachers lest they made announcements. And we didn’t have to time ourselves so as to leave early.

We could take all the time we needed.

I never liked gawking at animals in a cage. Or pointing a camera, teasing them to turn around and stand still so I could take a picture for my friends to “ooh” and “aah” at later. So we stuck to the pathway not going up to the enclosures. And lucky for us, most people clung to the enclosures, giving us enough space to strut the path.

We walked around with lusciousness looking down at us from every corner. Tiny nectar plants attracted butterflies of all colours. There even was one with a chocolate-coloured coat.

Trees of all kinds and sizes stood by our way, letting through the setting sun, leaves swaying to the breeze, and looming shadows starting to show. Some other trees had begun to stoop realising night coming.

The way was paved well, easy to walk on even for hours along. We roamed about looking around, gaping at heights, pointing out squirrels in bird cages, and catching a glimpse of the white marvel peacock with her sad eyes and drooping head.

zoo 2

Looking up at decade-old tree barks, peeling off skin and sprouting new ones, I realised the value of nature. There was a time when trees, plants, and shrubs just grew every where, unbound. But we now have confined these forests behind stone walls, enclosing animals along with it, naming it a zoo, making a fortune in maintenance fees, and calling it preservation.

Sure, it was a well-kept park. Neat and tidy, with snack parlours and ice cream stores. It was a perfect place for human entertainment. But if we had left them be, unpruned and un-sheared, there would’ve been more.

There’s a Lake in Kodaikkanal

When I sat waiting for my tea in a restaurant by the Kodaikanal lake, I didn’t know the lake staring at me was artificial.

I later learnt that most tourists assumed the lake was a natural phenomenon, when in fact, it was created during the British reign by the Collector of Kodaikkanal, Sir Vere Henry Levinge.

kodaikkanal lake

I’ve seen a lot of lakes since, larger and more natural lakes than that one, but the thought of it still amazes me. It was like Coleridge said,

“Water, water, everywhere and not a drop to drink.”

And just then, it started to rain. It was the monsoon season, and rain would come and go as she pleased. It was cold enough already, and the rain made me turn towards the kitchen to see if my tea was ready yet.

My tea and samosa arrived, and I welcomed the puff of steamy air that blurred my glasses. I sipped my tea and bit into the samosa. And some of the spiciest and heartening mashed potato masala landed in my mouth. I took a second sip of my tea and warmed up me from the inside as it trickled down my throat.

I looked at the lake, watching drops of water scattering ripples through the surface. It wasn’t a heavy rain, and I could see a few boats rippling through the lake.

Kodaikanal is a famous honeymoon spot, and sure enough, there were couples paddling away, while thousands of tiny fish surfaced for seaweed and breadcrumbs.

A few others – the restaurant folks, by the look of them — threw nets into the lake, trying to catch fish. The kitchens seemed to have run out of fish pretty fast.

I finished my snack and we retraced our way to the hotel. We had to drive around the lake for at least half hour. It was a centre hub, around which countless locals went about their chores while tourists shopped for fancy bead chains and souvenirs.

The lake spans 60 acres. As we drove on, we reached a part of the lake that seemed dented in one place. Somehow, the people who created the lake didn’t like flawless ovals.

The entire lake seemed like a giant’s idea of a puddle, and as if someone had made an awful lot of mess in one corner.

By the time I reached the hotel, I had been among such serenity that I felt satiated; eyes, soul, stomach, and all.

Boating in Cochin

I once visited Cochin during school. It was a hazy three-day trip of which I only recall hot days and cold nights.

Oh, and the boat ride.

Like most tourists in Kerala, we took a boat ride too. And the best part of it is that we had to walk through numerous boats to get to the one we’d ride in. We stepped onto the first boat in the lake, and from there onto another, and another, and then another. After walking through about 6 or 7 boats, our teacher called out saying we had found our boat at last.

It was the largest mass of wood I had seen that floated on water. And on it was a hood-like structure that kept the rain and sun away. As soon as we embarked the boat, it began to rain. We filed into the “hood,” and saw our jaws drop. There were about 50 chairs placed around the interior of the boat, with glass windows to make us feel like an island.

A little adventurous, I stepped out of the hood and onto the dock. There were some wooden poles to hold on to, and the cold monsoon breeze kissed my face. I peered down from the boat, to see clear water in some places, and muddy patches in some other places. Little islands of seaweed flowed here and there, breaking the vast, rippling water.

And as our boat thrust forward, concentrated salt water gushed from the boat’s edges like swimmers racing in opposite directions.

I leaned in with my camera to get a better shot at the flowing water when another, much smaller boat made its way toward us. Two men stood on that boat, one of them handling the sail while the other blew his shrill whistle signalling to our guide.

They seemed to me like challengers daring us to race them. And I was all game before I saw the print on the boat: Coast Guard.

Huh?

We heard it later: According to government rules, every passenger on the boat should have a life jacket, and none of us adhered. We were just a bunch of over-excited school kids being kids. Besides, what’s the point of taking “security measures” when you’re at the mercy of nature?

A Closer Look

details

I had read fiction where the hero would lie on soft green moss after a long tired day of battle. I had even seen a lot of moss, sure. But I never thought them beautiful. How could something that grew in dark and damp clusters look nice?

But then I went to Thekkady, Kerala. I was roaming around in the Periyar Tiger Reserve when I saw the true beauty in moss. It was the first time I had seen a sheen of green I couldn’t look away from. I had to get a closer look. And a photo. Because I do that now.

A Hunting I Will Go

It’s wrong, I know.

I shouldn’t be so addicted to one food in particular.

I mean momos.

I’ve been a fan ever since a friend shared her homemade momos with me. She’s from Tibet, the home of the momo. And she mentioned once that that was her favourite dish.

What’s so great about that, I had asked. My friend must’ve noticed my dismissive tone, for a few days later, she came back with fresh, crunchy-on-the-outside-soft-on-the-inside momos. In three varieties: beef, chicken, and vegetable.

After that day, everywhere I went, I began to hunt for momos. We went on a trip to Sikkim, where I found steamed momos. And unlike the fried ones my friend gave me, these had patterns in them. Frail and smooth curves hemmed the dumpling, sealing it to keep the stuffing stuffed.

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They looked and squished like a familiar South Indian sweet, but inside the mouth, if felt nothing like that. It was soft, springy, and doughy. Something Joey would love.

I bit into a momo, and steam smacked my lips as sautéed onions and vegetables filled into my mouth.

I was hooked.

Even after I returned, I longed to hold another momo between my fingers. Lucky for me, I live near a big university, home to plenty of north Indian students. And it was easy to find hundreds of little authentic food shops in the area. I’ve made it a mission to find the best momo shop I could find.

One shop I went to with my team had a different pattern in their momos. These flaunted a less curvy sealing, but the taste lived up to my expectation. And when I bit into one of these momos, fresh chicken and cabbage surprised me.

chicken momos

As for the vegetarian momos, they had a different shape altogether. These were like little fish, with a more fold-like hemming than curves; they were smaller than the non-veg ones too.

A street vendor once gave me “twisted” momos. It seemed like he had shaped the dough around a stick to form its circular shape. But the onions and vegetables were the same, and as good as ever.

vegetable momos 2

After looking at so many varieties, I’m confused as to what’s the right way to shape a momo. Or if there’s even one right way to do it.

I guess the only way to find out is to eat them all. One thing I know for sure, though, is that no matter the size or the shape, nothing beats momos.

And no, that’s not addiction. Momos are too beautiful to resist. Call it appreciation, instead.

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I’m sharing this post on Our Growing Edge, a blogging event that connects food bloggers and inspires us to try new things. This month’s host is Sophie from Cooking Trips. Thanks for the invite, Genie.