Tag: looking back

The Walk

What’s it like to walk on a pathway flanked by trees of varying stages of growth? It’s like walking down the aisle, just not as binding in the end.

periyar forest.jpg

That’s how it was when we walked down the Periyar Tiger Reserve. It’s a part of Thekkady’s 1388 sq.ft of forest cover which has about 900 sq.ft of wildlife.

But the reserve has only about 40 surviving tigers. Pity, huh?

There’s also the Periyar lake inside the forest. It’s one of the largest tourist attractions in Thekkady with full boating schedules at all times.

We took the untrodden path; we skipped the boats and drove through the forest. We weren’t allowed to stop for sightseeing or photographing anywhere on the way. And beyond a certain point, vehicles aren’t allowed, and we walked the rest of the way to the lake.

It was about 300 metres to the lake, and it was the best walk I had ever had. It had rained the previous day, and most plants retained moisture. So the air wasn’t too dry, but it wasn’t too wet either. A chilly breeze rustled through the trees, and the sun made a valiant attempt to peek through dense cover. It was the perfect scene for a perfect walk.

Not to mention the large jackfruits hanging from looming heights, and much smaller fruits strewn on the path, some fresh and some decaying. I could see the real meaning of beauty beyond ugliness.

We walked on, and I stopped here and there to peer at moss or leer at odd-shaped branches weighing ten times more than I.

periyar forest.jpg

Looking at it all, I understood how wrong it is to restrain trees to a single colour. Every stage of a tree is a different green, and when all of those shades hurl at you, all at once, you know quiz books got it wrong saying humans comprehend limited colours.

I felt puny, staring at the bigness of everything around me. I was immaterial in a world of beauty and natural calm. And the best part of this walk: There were no other tourists in the vicinity.

We reached the lake. I hadn’t even dreamt of such a sight anywhere in India. I hadn’t known that Kerala hid so much beauty. I have gawked at scenes like that in Hollywood movies. Even local film directors fly all the way to Europe and Greenland and Iceland for scenes like this. If they’d only walk into our very own backwaters, instead.

periyar lake

There was an information centre near the lake, and we went inside for a vantage lake view. We stood there for a while, looking at boats hitting docks, trees grazing the skies while blue waters lapped their roots.

I closed my eyes to capture the image in my head. And out of nowhere, something as hard as rocks fell on the asbestos roof. Along with fresh air came a whiff of ripe jackfruit. The next moment, monkeys came running about us, racing for the scattered fruits.

And I realised monkeys are better companions than people.

Alive in Shola Forest

In India, it’s odd for a man over 40 to not complain about his weak knee. But our guide was an exception. He didn’t climb uphill, he galloped. And he had been a tour guide for the last 25 years.

With that wowing thought in the back of my mind, I stepped up my pace as we climbed the Shola peak in Thekkady. It wasn’t much of a climb since the jeep had covered most of the distance and the height. We only had to walk over some muddy rocks that blocked our way to the top.

I stood at the top point of the peak and looked around to a panoramic view of the Shola forest. Spanning well beyond my range of view, I saw not a single yellowing grass, not even a tiny patch of parched land.

Trees grew taller than I had ever imagined they grow. The distant mist clouded our view, but from what our guide told us, the trees sway to pull in the clouds so they remain within the forest. That’s why the land gets continuous rainfall and never loses freshness.

shola forestI looked on, and on, and on, but couldn’t get enough. There’s something mesmerising about green. Coupled with a gentle breeze that gushes its way through dense trees, rustling the leaves, it injects oxygen into the onlooker.

The hills felt alive, infecting everything around it as well. From the top, I climbed downhill on the opposite side. The further I went, the chillier it became. And the chillier it became, the more I could take in. I looked behind and the very mountain I had climbed down from now began to loom over me.

I trotted on towards the thin-falling waterfall in the distance. On my right were a herd of deer, and on my left was a well-paved tyre track. A couple of experienced local boys walked ahead of me, feeding my jealousy.

I was a tiny speck in a universe that grew greener each day. And staring at it, nothing mattered. Nothing except the streaming life that engulfed me. And at that moment, I was the most alive I had ever been and became one with wildlife.

Contrast in One

I always felt uncomfortable to look at similar colors in close proximity. Like pink and red, orange and gold, yellow and gold–you get the idea.

But then, during my visit to Nepal, I saw this in an antique shop. It looked to me like a bunch of wall-hangings, and the colors jumped out at me. Under normal circumstances,  the entwined warm colors would have thrown me away. But perhaps it’s the subtlety of the material, it looked beautiful.

contrast

Through Tea Estates

One thing I love more than coffee is tea. In part because I grew up waking to tea, but more so because I spent my childhood vacations in a Nilgiri tea estate.

I still remember the chill that ran through my spine every morning while I reached my index finger into the bucket of water. Every day I’d dream of bathing in cold water and not falling sick. It felt like an achievement to bear the cold air and the cold water dripping from my temple. I never managed to, though. It was always better to douse myself in lukewarm water and come out for warm tea and breakfast.

All of those memories came rushing back to me as I swayed in the jeep, riding through Thekkady’s tea estates.

through tea estatesI had always taken for granted the beauty of tea plantations. But I hadn’t been in one for about four years. We did visit an estate during my team trip to Darjeeling, but that was no proper estate. It was young and grew on plains!

In my opinion, a proper tea estate lies on a hill, about a hundred years old, still bearing the ghosts of British colonialism. Oh, and I’d trip on my feet every time I tried to climb an area of plantation. That’s how tea estates should be. That’s how Thekkady was.

I’d gawk at tea pluckers who cruise through tea leaves without the least care about the slope. They had become so accustomed to incline walking; it’s like regular walking for them. I still remember their straw baskets resting on their bright red headbands, sometimes matching their green saris or clashing with their pink dhotis.

And I knew I wasn’t the only one reminiscing. My mother sat next to me in the jeep, and she clung to the handle, almost reaching out to the tea that grazed her side. She was born and raised in a tea estate. Her memories were as strong as the tea her family cultivated. There was nothing our guide could show us that she hadn’t seen already. Nevertheless, her eyes sparkled with long lost moments.

But the Thekkady tea estates were much higher and much rougher than the Nilgiri estates I’m used to. When riding in the Nilgiri mountains, we at least remained in our seats, whereas Thekkady made us jump harder than we had expected.

through tea estates 2But none of that mattered once we reached the top. That wasn’t our destination, but we had ridden through so much of lusciousness, we had to take a break. What’s more, we could smell the tea drifting through the leaves.

I felt elite, to look at leaves that give us a heart-warming beverage, at being able to inhale it before anyone else.

Why I Didn’t Read the Millennium Series

millenium

I started reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, but I couldn’t even get past half of the book.

But the funny thing is that I hadn’t accepted it, until now. I tried giving it another try, again, and again. And again, and again I failed.

I just couldn’t get through it.

Perhaps it’s just me, I thought. But now, I’ve learnt to forgive myself; it’s the book. I just don’t like books like The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

I only tried it because of two reasons: One, my book-freak cousin recommended it. Every time she spoke about the book, her eyes would sparkle with dream-like awe. She had warned be about the dull start, but she also told me how awesome it would get after that.

I never got to the interesting part. I couldn’t tolerate it that long.

Second reason: The title. I do this a lot. I judge a book by the cover, but more so by the title. And ever so often, I’ve been wrong. But I still stick to my instincts.

It was an attractive title. A story about a girl with a dragon tattoo. I like dragons, tattoos, and girls who get tattoos. I drooled at the title.

For all the drooling I did, the book disappointed me. With my cousin’s word, I had expected too much of the book. Perhaps it was my fault to set unrealistic expectations. Still, the fact is, I don’t like topics that the book addresses.

Of course, I enjoyed Lisbeth Salander’s attitude and arrogance. Sure, I could relate to Blomkvist’s thirst for recognition, but I did not enjoy the plot moving all over the place.

I’m uncomfortable with simultaneous subplots and empty scenes. A lot of slow-moving incidents threw me off the main plot, and I couldn’t find my way back with the same enthusiasm as before.

And so, I stopped reading The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I wanted to like the book. Just like so many others. People kept saying how great the book was, tying it with the author’s sinister death.

I couldn’t see it, though. I couldn’t understand why it’s such a big deal. I tried, and I failed. And disappointed. I didn’t want to hate the book.

But shit happens.