History on a "sole"ful Sunday morning!

A Sunday morning rendezvous with Bangalore Walkers is a date with Serendipity-You discover that amidst the chaos of concrete and rubble,lies a plethora of stories waiting to be discovered...


On a frosty Sunday morning, I find myself on the steps of a church, in the company of two mongrels and a flight of pigeons.The church is bathed in a hue of pink and ahead I can see an almost deserted road stretch far into the horizon.In my mind's eye, I could be anywhere...On the sets of some European film or in some quaint city in a far corner of the world.But here I am...right in the heart of Bengalooru-M.G Road and making my first discovery that yes, there is a time in the day where M.G road exists sans people,sans four plus two wheelers,sans all!- Out of nowhere materialises a Khadi clad gentleman who as I soon discover would be our sutradhaar (storyteller) navigating us on a "Victorian walk" through the annals of M.G road.Come on, surprise me, the cynic in me seems to say.We are soon joined by a diverse group of both home grown natives and visitors who have made it on time, adhering to a plea of punctuality(after all this is a Victorian walk!!) made by Bangalore Walkers.

From the moment, Arun begins with the introductions, we know that we are going to be under the expert care of a thorough professional.Starting with an exercise that sets the tone for the rest of the three hours,the walk begins by an exploration of history behind,inside and on top of the church.The group is slowly warming up and we are soon like a bunch of excited schoolchildren on a trip.From here, the walk is so well mapped out , that it takes you down M.G road and shows you landmarks and signposts which you would have probably whizzed by a hundred times.After this walk, I am sure to look at these with a new sign of respect, seeing the story behind the scenes.Arun dons various avatars-quizmaster, Hercule poirot doling out clues,teacher,guide and at each point we are all taken in by how history is brought alive.Often, it is only when crossing the road or sidestepping rubble and touts that you realise the present.Arun manages to even make the horrendous violations of the metro construction disappear...weaving his tales and peppering it with dollops of wit and anecdotes.Besides, learning facts about old monuments, the delight is in discovering history that is very much alive behind pop-colored glitzy hoardings.It is also a chance to see many hallmarks that will soon give way to newer structures.The walk also throws up questions about development and makes you wonder if development can weave itself around the stories of the past.Many times, you felt a lingering sense of nostalgia and sadness among the group at how much we are losing in the race for accelerated growth

I would not like to play spoilsport and reveal where the walks take you and what you will discover.But, it is something that would be a wonderful experience for bangaloreans and visitors alike.And yes, the "High" light of the trip is incentive enough for a three hour trek- A breakfast at a surprise location.And as you exchange notes with new found friends and give recopies for idli and sambhar,you realise that with all the technology around, life and history will always be about the human interaction.

Someone once said, "History is Bunk!"-Maybe, but at least on this Sunday morning, I walked away with a sense that history will stubbornly persist and that the past will always be there to discover.

Bangalore walks conducts many other interesting weekend walks.For more information ,log onto their website: www.bangalorewalks.com

The tyranny of choice

It is a common, mainly urban ,well rehearsed scenario. The anxious parent and the child swamped by the prospect of choice...

“Do you want noodles, with sauce\without sauce\with bamboo shoots\without shoots
Do you want cola,juice,juice with ice,juice without ice
“Do you want chocolate ,strawberry,blueberry,raspberry..
“Do you want..
“Do you

The child goes through the motions. A few well rehearsed tantrums, a refusal to have what is on offer and finally, much to the relief of the parent , an agreement is reached.Meanwhile the queue behind them is getting longer and stronger in voice.

Today’s generation is born into a world where choice has become a habit. The cash registers are ringing and crass consumerism is the order of the day. The relentless pursuit of “wants” is mostly confined to the material-gizmos, gadget and garments. The shelf life of the bought items gets shorter and shorter, the list of new wants longer. As parents, we feel that we don’t want to short change our children and in our desire to provide everything, we are unknowingly creating personalities built on the foundation of insatiability-resulting in children who have lost their sense of wonder, innocence and contentment.

There are parents who are trying to maintain a sense of balance and who are making a success of negotiating this difficult terrain. One family has used mealtimes to illustrate the point. At home, children are brought up to eat whatever is on the family table at mealtimes. There is no separate cooking done to cater to individual tastes. Once a week while dining out, the children have a choice. The bonus of this system being that their grocery bill has come down!-A trip to the shopping mall becomes a seldom affair for some and is replaced by the family doing something creative together. Some parents insist that birthday parties are celebrated with those who are less fortunate. Just knowing and interacting with those who have less is a lesson that no textbook can emulate

The tragedy, is the translation of this disease of “want” ,to the way lives are lead. As an educator, I see the slow erosion of contentment. Levels of dissatisfaction are high and there is a constant search for a new high. Engaging with material that requires attention, focus and thought becomes increasingly difficult. While there are children who have inherent difficulties with attention, studies have shown that children generally show shorter attention spans in the classroom due to a combination of toxic lifestyle choices. Keeping late nights, being bombarded with visual and auditory noise(in the form of video games and television),high levels of junk food becoming main meals and so on. What used to be seeing as recreation has now become an everyday norm.

One of the best ways to work around this is to introduce children to the intangible gifts of three worlds-the world of sport, the world of performing arts and the world of nature. Each of these worlds teaches the child the value of teamwork, healthy competition and instills in them a curiosity to explore worlds which may be alien to them. It is a gift that will last them a lifetime and empowers them to face the world and its challenges in a more holistic fashion.

In the last decade, we have created an unhealthy obsession of focusing on our children too much. They are not allowed to experience life in all its shades-and driven by a media that generates paranoia, we reflect global anxieties on our children. Everything is seen as an issue or problem waiting to be solved, without the realization that sometimes life is a process of learning, failing and succeeding.

The paradox is that perhaps we need to “give” our children less and let them start living more.

midweek musings-sipping the world through stainless steel glasses

Sipping the world through stainless steel glasses




I remember I was almost seven and she was eight. We had just finished playing five rounds of seven stones-(it almost seems prehistoric now but seven stones was a neighborhood classic).It was the peak of summer with its blessings of mangoes, orange colored pop-icicles and the never ending trips to the clay madaka in our kitchen.
I remember running with her into the kitchen. Two purple mugs complete with a grinning Mickey and Minnie mouse, a gift from an aunt abroad stood on the dining table. I handed her one…

“Ayo..athu nimithilla….” ,Rakhamma’s hand snatched the purple glass from her daughter’s hand “Alli steel glass thokko….”.Rakhamma was the maid and through her I learnt my first lesson in how glass divisions work. Purple mugs for some, steel for others.

Almost in every household in India, ubiquitously tucked away in the kitchen, is a steel tumbler and plate. Through an unwritten code passed down through generations, these utensils become the “servant’s glass and plate”. It becomes so much a part of the domestic rhythm , one rarely questions it in the light of a larger socio-political context. And so, like my childhood friend, we learn early in life , that some things are exclusively out of one’s domain. And as we grew up, we learn that the list of things forbidden include- sitting on sofas , eating on tables and so on....Ironically, over cups of tea, sitting on our tables we continuously debate and toss around issues such as inequality, human rights. We see only what we want to see.

Education plays a very small part in shattering our own personal prejudices.Something as “small” as a servant glass exists and bears testimony to the fact it takes a whole paradigm shift to alter the way we think. It is uncomfortable for us to even cross that barrier. A hundred arguments shield us from acknowledging our own nature of bias-“but we don’t know what infections they will bring, they will stop respecting us, they are used to it…”these thoughts shield us from our own fears. The fear of probably relinquishing our own perceived sense of superiority. Somewhere, like the many who we deal with it on a daily basis, they become invisible. It makes it easier.

Nothing brought this home to me like this incident that happened a few months ago.I was visiting a friend of mine with my one year old son and Allamelluamma, who helped look after our son. My friend, during the course of conversation, excused herself and brought out orange juice in tall crystal glasses. She offered it to Allmellu who for a moment was completely caught offguard. She looked at me before hesitantly taking the glass. I was embarrassed by my own sense of discomfort stemming from so many voices running through my head-My friend remained totally oblivious to the entire hidden exchange. There was something definitely different about allamellu on the drive home. A certain sense of lightness of being. “They are very good people….”, was her way of paying tribute. For that one afternoon, she felt like a person, that she too was worthy of a glass.

Our country is an amalgam of contradictions,paradoxes,conventions and histories constantly colliding with each other. And sometimes, it takes a deep sense of personal courage to face these. Perhaps , it is too much of a rose tinted view to expect prejudices to disappear overnight. But perhaps, all it takes is an idea. A tiny train of thought that can steam engine a revolution.

Maybe it can start with a change of glass..

katha corner-Garuda

The highlighted section was given and the challenge was to complete the story...read on!


I looked at my watch again. She had said 9.45. She was late. I looked around me. The mall wore a strange forlorn look. A cleaning woman mopped the floor. Her mouth drooped and her eyes stared at the floor as her hands moved pushing the mop this way and that.
What did she think of that entire she saw here? I wondered. The abundance. The greed. Hungry mouths. Grasping hands… I shuddered. Malls frightened me.
"Are you out of your mind?" I had said when she suggested we meet at Garuda Mall.
"At that hour, you don't have to worry about the crowds," she had said with a laugh. "Think of it as a social experiment. A mall at an unmall-like hour.What happens there? Bring your notebook..You can make notes..(anita nair)


(my insertion)
When you are thirteen going on seventeen and the most prominent feature on the landscape is an oversized bobbing apple a la adams, you do not think about blinking twice- you just accept your fate, roll on that underarm deodorant, splash on some aftershave you have carefully hidden among the Amarchitra katha edition of the “Vishnu’s Vahanas “and head for the door before the brat (otherwise known sister) and Chief (otherwise known as amma) begin their third degree interrogation.
After all, it is not every day that a slightly breathless voice (and female to add) calls you at midnight with an invitation to meet (with notebook in hand) at the Garuda mall. The mall at an unmall hour / social experiment angle gave the whole meeting a mysteriously intellectual dimension which suited my current state of sensibilities. Lately, my current sense of sensibilities to say the least has completely alienated me from my class mates, my family and even my pet tortoise-I find myself worrying about where the planet is headed to on the highway of disaster it cruises on-pollution, poverty , crass consumerism -and suddenly school, exams and algebra class just does not make sense. Externally, this manifests as a potent combination of indifference, glazed eyes and monosyllabic utterances. The chief thinks it is growing pains , the brat sniggers that it is a girl, or rather the lack of it.

I dread the nightmares-when I close my eyes, I see humming malls , headless torsos, neon lights and soda machines shriek.. Set us free ,, set us free…
The mall at 9:45 am is deathly quiet. The calm before the crowds storm. It is almost spiritual. The eerie glow of neon, the mannequins conversing in muted gestures and the swish of the cleaning lady’s mop.
It is 10:00a.m. A cruel joke. I close my eyes ,surprised to feel the first sting of saltiness..

“Yenn beku?” , a breathlessly raspy voice interrupts. I find myself staring into the eyes of the cleaning woman.
“Yennilla…” I tried to piece together my thoughts in chaste kanada.

It begins with a tinkle and then gurgles into the most delicious laughter I have ever heard. The mop falls to the floor shattering into a million crystal pieces. Tiny white pearls of wisdom. Dark brown tresses sweep the floor. Skin the colour of bittersweet chocolate clothed in layers of cloth of many colours. I cannot bring myself to look at her. Beauty can be frightening.
Relax…I normally don’t do the cleaning lady routine. Just a little fun..friends..?..Her fingers touch mine lightly
What am ..Who are …?..The thoughts speed ahead of my guttural utterances..
She smiles. Did you bring the notebook.? Good, record everything. You are going to make history. you are the chosen one.
And then she disappears.

I feel my palms perspire and my Adam’s apple bobs overtime. This must be the mother of all my nightmares. You meet a cleaning woman who turns into a diva in a mall in the heart of a city and names you,” chosen one”. Not you’re average Sunday morning.
And then the humming begins. Slowly it builds into a crescendo. one by one, the lights come on. Each store vying with each other .The escalators growl, the soda machines gurgle ,and trapped mannequins shatter glass. Transfixed, I watch as the headless torsos circle me, swaying their hands wildly-a primitive dance spelling liberation. And then the chanting begins…
Set us free…set us free…no more humans buying…no more. take us away…
I feel powerless. Why me? - And then I see her.
You care. You feel. You are real. That is your power. Use it, damn it. Her eyes radiate liquid fire
I close my eyes. I feel their pain.
I grow lighter .. The ground slips beneath my feet. Then I see the wings.
I am the protector.
You are Garuda, she says

I head towards the ground again. In one sweep of my talons, I carry a trail of swinging torsos, soda machines, neon lights but something is missing.
She looks tiny. I am coming back for you, I say.
“No. You and I have work to do. There are so many malls out there…”
Across the distance our eyes meet .And as I fly higher and higher , my wings breaking the multicolored glass ceiling, I look down again .I learn my lesson of a lifetime .
Two people can kiss without touching.

And I fly , past city scapes,hills ,mountains, until we reach the blue green ocean. As each mannequin dives into the water, my load becomes ligtehter.I feel their joy . and sing…

Monday morning and I am thirteen again. Headlines scream of an empty mall and sightings of an unusual bird. I turn to my notebook. It is blank. I feel small again. May be it was just a dream. A school boy fantasy. And then, I see it. A feather on my table. I hear the laughter of fallen mannequins. I close my eyes. I feel it. The kiss.
Like any other Monday, I head for school. Still the same but so different. I look at the mass of humanity and smile.

I am your protector, I whisper. I am Garuda.

travel tales-Our Native Village

Going native…village style!


An hour away from Bangalore takes you to a little hideaway where a motley mix of happy animals make you feel completely at home. Our Native village, an eco-resort, offers a perfect weekend away from the hustle and bustle of city life…complete with farm life and organic experiences, it can also lay claim to guarding a breath-taking little secret…




Our Native village is approximately 23 km from Mekhri circle. The detailed directions to the resort leaves no room for travelers who wish to get lost. As one who is severely challenged when it comes to reading maps, this was a blessing. (Though due to a road block, we took a diversion, adding to a little excitement!).The city’s character changes slowly, and concrete buildings and relentless ongoing of vehicles gives away to open fields and the occasional tutut..ing of a moped. The Government Film Institute is the final landmark before the turnoff into a dirt road. .And what meets our eyes is one of the best kept secrets, right out of the sets of an old western film..


Hidden treasure
There is something hypnotic about land, open land. which stretches as far as the eye can see. The horizon stretches beyond our imagination and one could almost visualize a scene from “little house on the prairie”, where caravans of explorers from yesteryear make their way through the landscape. A grove of the most unusual specimen of trees is the only addition to this landscape. The grove looks like it has been transplanted from some remote part of Europe and adding to the surrealism of the whole scene is a pink and green kite waving in the wind under the hands of a cheerful ten year old. It is spectacular-and we are told that is the last surviving open grassland, commonly used by migratory birds as wintering ground. What is most welcome is the total absence of the plastic trail commonly left by weekend picnickers. Later at the resort the staff tell us of how they do a clean up operation every time they see a picnic in progress. They even make the effort of stopping by and collecting garbage.” It’s not our job officially but we feel it is our responsibility”. Apparently, film crews use the place and leave behind a trail of debris(like tires and shards of glass).


Welcome Natives!
A little mud track takes you right into the resort. The staff at the reception greet us with marigold garlands and an herbal drink. Our four year old has found his weekend playmates. a mother cat and two kittens who don’t seem to mind the intrusion. We are shown into our rooms, which exude a sense of calm. The stone walls, the low mattressed bed with walls adorned with a painting in the local style adds to the charm.





The perfect way to enjoy the resort is barefoot!-It seems to go with the philosophy of the resort-which believes in asking the guests to reconnect with the environment. The ethos of the resort is outlined in a set of “rules” which the guests are asked to follow. Not listening to ear-drum shattering music and respecting the four legged creatures on the farm doesn’t seem too restrictive. And the staff seem committed and well versed with this creed. They take us for a quick tour around the resort and explains the various methods by which the resort runs through recyclable energy. Hot water in the resort is from Solar panels and Gujarat boilers, a system where waste wood is used to generate steam which is used for heating purposes. There is a 7.5 acre organic farm that grows fruit and vegetables and a bio gas plant to recycle food waste. They also assure us that all their soaps,shampoos and cleaners used at the resort are 100 percent organic. The silence in the resort is soothing and is only interrupted by birdcalls, the resident rooster and the occasional moo from the cows at the diary.

Village activities
Lunch followed by a short siesta and we are in time to see :cow milking”-It definitely altered my son’s perception that milk comes from packets!!-A wonderful way to explore the grasslands is to hire bicycles from the resort. The mud trail is fun and its zig zag trails leave us slightly breathless. There is nothing like retiring to one’s childhood, and it reminds us how the years have slipped as we try to race with each other. We stop by the groves and decide to park our bikes and explore it by foot.Watching a sunset seems to be the perfect finish to our day.

We decide to spend the next day participating in the Village activities.The bullock cart ride is the urban version of a mini rollercoaster and we bumble our way through kite flying and gilli danda much to the amusement of the staff. The perfect way to cool off is the natural swimming pool. It took me back to my childhood vacations in our kerala home. The pool is chemical and chlorine free and is maintained by natural filtration devices such as aquatic plants, carbon filters and oyygenators.This is one pool where you swim with the resident frogs and literally feel green!!

Special Friends
What makes a place even more special is the friends one makes.Sugunna,Muthanna and Patch ,the four legged residents are friendly and add to the feeling of a home away from home. And the management style is relaxed and unpretentous and they seem more than willing to share their experiences and their passion for holistic healing practices such as Past life regression. Our Native Village offers a series of programs called “Soul Spa” which range from Yoga retreats to rebirthing workshops.

A perfect weekend getaway hold promise of adventure, space to rewind and rejuvenate and packaged life alternating experiences, which can be dutifully captured on digital camera!-we managed a little bit of each.

It won’t be long before we find ourselves heading back to the village...

For details , visit their website
www.ournativevillage.com









L

katha corner- "ordinary hero"

Note:This story was written for a competition-It did not make the mark and hence is now part of my virtual collection...enjoy!-The highlighted passage was given to us and the challenge was to complete the story.


The Ordinary Hero

He sat on the bench and looked around. It was only 9.00 am but there were still a few people walking.
He opened his school bag and felt the inside pocket. Through the lining the rustling sound of the crisp notes made him want to take it out and count it one more time.
Just then a dog ran towards him wagging its tail. He wondered if he should feed it a biscuit from his snack box. But he had a long wait ahead. So he merely patted its head.
Mummy said he always came to Cubbon Park for a walk. It was a routine of many years. A walk and then a morning coffee at Koshy's.

He raised his water bottle to his mouth and drank deeply. What if this one day he decided to stay at home? He wondered.

There were two things that he looked for when his mind wandered like this. A sugar coated jam biscuit and his green notepad. Both made him feel secure. He knew that the notebook would hold his secrets safe while the biscuit was always sweet .He flipped through the pages and found what he was looking for .A sketch titled “Tea party # 45”. And in the faces that he had drawn, he saw him.
His superhero. His caped crusader. The Ordinary man

Every Sunday, mummy invited people home. He hated Sunday mornings at home. The day would begin with mummy barging into his room and drawing the curtains open.
“It is 9:00 ...so much work to do….No sense of responsibility…”-Hurry up, take Momo for a walk, clean your …

He often wondered why adults loved to do things they obviously hated. Everyone who came to the party wished they were somewhere else. His mother had an eternal smile fixed on her face. The people who came looked uncomfortable. They tried hard to say something funny or wise. Fortunately, he was required to be there only for the first three minutes. Different people, same questions. Sometimes they would squeal, “so cu-uute..”. Then mummy would give her signal, “ chweetheart, why don’t you go upstairs…..”

Ever since he could remember he loved the caped superheroes .There was something so exciting about nerdy guys transforming into saviours. Like superman saving a child from a burning bus or Spiderman trapping the neighbourhood bully in his net. Superheroes were always there. Only humans disappeared from your life forever. Especially on a rainy day. Like his father did, three years ago,

Last Sunday‘s tea party changed his eleven year old life forever.He had gone down stairs to face the crowd. The instant he saw him, it was like a light bulb moment in his favorite comic strip. He was the most ordinary looking man to have ever come to a tea party. He wore a long sleeved white shirt, coudry trousers, socks which did not match and a pair of dirty brown sneakers. During the three minute interrogation, he felt the man’s eyes on him. They radiated a quiet understanding that seemed to envelop him in a big hug.

“Bhasu, my son loves to doodle. Look at his sketches... gives him a few tips...”Mummy’s voice cut through the chatter.

He felt his face flush and turn cherry tomato red. Before he could stammer a reply, the ordinary man looked at him and smiled.

“I’ll come up”.

For the next ten minutes, the ordinary man and he sat next to each other on his bed and they flipped through his drawings. There were sketches that he had never shown anyone. His father getting into a taxi. A rainy night and a boy hugging his teddy bear.
Mummy sobbing. into her pillow. Momo on a leash. The three bullies in school.


“You have tremendous power..…”


That was the only conversation they had before the ordinary man left the room. No one had ever come into his room, sat on his bed and told him that he had power.
When he asked mummy about the ordinary man she laughed. “great artist but strange…My reporters tell me he walks everyday at cubbon park and then heads for koshy’s”

So, here he was at Cubbon park. The plan was crystal clear H e was going to run away and live with the Ordinary man. He would draw all day and then there would be no mummy, tea parties, momo, cleaning up, bullies in school and the ache he felt when he thought of daddy. He would be the Ordinary man’s assistant. .After all, even batman had Robin. Someday, he would even visit his mother and tell her he was sorry that he skipped school and return the two hundred rupees he had borrowed from her purse.

The park was becoming quiet. The walkers had gone. three squirrels played hide and seek. A few crows huddled by the footpath. He smelt burnt corn on charcoal

Still no sign of the hero. It was getting hot and his eyes began to water. For some reason he felt betrayed, tired and thirsty. He suddenly missed mummy’s smell and voice and even her tea parties .And who would take momo for a walk? What if mummy started crying again?

A little boy ran up to him and said “That uncle asked me to give
you this...”

It was the most beautiful sketch he had ever seen. The entire scene was there. The bench, the bag, the dog, and an eleven year old boy, all packed and ready to go. The eyes shaded with just the right amount of scary-ness. Scrawled at the bottom were the words “true superheroes lives ordinary lives”

It was so quiet you could hear the bamboos whistle.

He looked at the sketch again

With sudden determination, he packed his schoolbag and gave the dog his last biscuit. He knew what he had to do.

If he ran, he could still make it by recess and mummy would never have to know.
His first step towards becoming an ordinary superhero.

March 20008

Journey to Destiny

The journey to a Destination named destiny

It is not the journey that matters; it is the destination. Some clichés are meant to be rewritten-the journey to Destiny was in itself a road paved with adventure and experience. Bumpy, sometimes muddy, often times nonexistent, the road trip from Bangalore to Ooty was a sensorial adventure-the final stretch to Destiny promising more delights in store.

Bangalore escapades

Loading our packed bags, emergency ration of sandwiches , biscuits and other “things we might need in case of..” from our well thought out hypothetical scenarios already gave us a sense of being on a holiday. The challenge was to leave Bangalore city before the onslaught of traffic-we were in for a surprise. Sunday morning brought with it an army of trucks, lorries and holiday makers who all obviously had the same agenda in mind. Moving away from the Whitefield-Sarjapur area, we all found ourselves breathing easy. There is something about the concrete jungle that fills one with a certain sense of anxiety. At Banashankari, we lost our way and stopped to ask for directions. Like Alice in wonderland asking the white rabbit-the first person confidently pointed us in the wrong direction and fate intervened in the form of a wizened auto driver, who in eloquent kanada set us on the right path. It turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as we discovered a shortcut that took us out of the city and onto the Bangalore-Mysore highway.

Highway tales- Sighting of golden arches!

Indian highways are a novel in themselves. Often you will find a bovine nonchalantly ambling across the four lanes with cars zipping across, mirroring a country where the old jostles with the new. And this cross road provides a delightful visual adventure-A bus stops, passengers in tow and is meticulously being decorated with flowers and marigold garlands. No one seemed to be in a particular hurry. And then there are the lorries -massive vehicles, sometimes potential death traps ,often purveyors of “social messages” and philosophies- “Life is drama , man is actor , “speed thrills but kills”, “we two ours one” all hurtling in break neck speed down the roads.

It is never monotonous stretches of tar road. It is broken by color and nothing was more surreal than seeing a golden M-yes, that neon synthetic golden arches, the king of hamburgers, announcing a drive thru restaurant. And this in what seems like the middle of nowhere. That the Coffee Days have already made inroads into the highways we learnt on our last trip. And then the dhabas-dusty charpoys where you can sip hot milky tea and samosas for fraction of the cost. We wave to a group of school children in checked uniform and as we roll down the windows, the wind almost whistling in delight.

The roads from Mysore to Bangalore are excellent-we make our way through Ramnagaram, Channapatna (the sight of a line of colored rocking horses never fails to delight), Maddur, Mandya and Srirangapatana. Each of these townships are a history buffs delight-and legends and folktales are plenty.

Mysored

( A royal stroll...Mysore style!)

Three and a half hours later we reached Mysore. Bangalore’s skyline seems like a distant dream-we have the chamundi hills before us. We decide to drive through town-And suddenly everything seems to be in slow motion. People take their time to cross roads and though it has become busier, it still retains a certain charm. Another little discovery is a wonderful eatery that is located en route to Nanjangud.Kamat Bhavan unlike its crowded namesake on the highway, is a favourite pit stop but is not as crowded. This is the kind of trip where we were not in any particular hurry which meant we went through our Mysore masala dosai , vadai and coffee with meticulous care!

The journey from Myore to the Bandipur, via Nanjangud is where the landscape changes. Open fields of green, a sudden water pool with migratory birds, women washing colored cloth of pink, green-and in the car, is Aruna Sairam with her rendition of a racy tilana.Does nirvana get any better!-The stretch between Gundulpet and Bandhipur takes its toll on the car but we push on excited at the prospect of entering forest territory.

By the time we reached Bandhipur Forest, clouds had formed and the slightly overcast weather is perfect to drive through the sanctuary. Even with signs which clearly warn people not to stop and picnic in this Wild life reserve-we see a wedding party stop for a perfect wedding opportunity in the middle of the jungles-the beaming bride and groom posing under a canopy!!-We drive in complete silence-the change in the tree scape is stunning- suddenly from a medley of bush and tree the road takes us through a bamboo grove. Their golden branches jostling and nestling with each other-it commands respect and as our drive takes us further into the sanctuary, we strain ourselves to spot any creature-But today, the trees seem to command all the attention.

Mudhumalai

The guards at the border dutifully take our registration numbers and twenty rupees!-we bid adieu to Karnataka and step into Tamilnadu-Mudhumalai forests. The forest guards are friendly and advise us to take the Masnanguddi –kalatti route. Thirty six hairpin bends but saves you 50 km they say- we decide to take up the challenge. The drive through the Mudhumalai range is again an oasis of green and brown. We try to spot any chance of a tiger or elephant. But the forest greets us with silence. We decide to stop at kallati for tea, a smoker’s break and a stretch. The cold, clean air is like a rush of adrenaline.We take big deep breaths, our body trying to get acclimatized to the pollution free zone!-Chatting with the young girl at the tea shop, we find that she is from calicut.Good tea and it is one the road again.

The hair pin bends really test one’s driving skills. They snake through and at each turn offer you breathtaking views. You have the thrill of an amusement park coupled with some great photo opportunities-Now who is complaining!!-At each bend we read our hairpin bend score-9\36, 10\36 and for the next forty minutes, we are playing the numbers game .It is an instant counting lesson for our four year old.

Plastic Trail

Ooty or ootacumund at last!-Though we had been told that Ooty had started to resemble most crowded towns in India, the natural landscape it is blessed with takes your breath away. Coniferous trees, open meadows, pastures, horses ..It is like we have stumbled upon some little piece of Switzerland-and therefore what really offends is the jarring trail of plastic that the travelers bring with them-the ubiquitous potato chip orange and blue packets, kinley water bottles, paper plates remnants of a picnic are strewn carelessly despite the signs proclaiming that the Nilgiris is a plastic free zone. Regimentation,Singapore style , highly recommended!

Car park...where art thou?

We decide to skip lunch and head straight for Destiny. The next part of our adventure really begins from this point. The farm stay has sent us a comprehensive set of directions and a map-the roads wind and as we move further away from ooty, the views leave us begging for more. Carpets of green, a stone cottage called Mayfair, the Good Shepherd international school, sign to Love dale all reminiscent of a colonial past. These markers still remain jostling with road and shop signs only in Tamil-Emerald marketplace is the last sign of commercialization(the market place itself being small thatched shanties selling vegetables, fruits and a neon pink barber’s shop).Following the map closely, we take the turn from emerald town centre and are back on hairpin bends.19 small ones and we arrive at the forests.

These are places which you wish to keep secret yet feel the urge to shout .A narrow bridge lends a most astonishing view-the first view of emerald lake made us stop our vehicle. A water body glistening green like liquid jade, surrounded by trees with no human encroachment in sight. To us this was paradise itself...

Reluctantly we drive on- conscious of the first drops of rain. However , we need to lose our way to find the Promised Land!-Missing the turnoff towards the destiny car park(there are no signs) we zoom ahead waiting to reach the farm when luckily we spot a forest guard talking on his mobile. we are told we have missed the turnoff by 50 metres and it takes incredible driving skill to maneuver the Honda machine through the ups and downs of the rocky road and make a u turn!-U turn we did and at last we reach the car park.

In the middle of no where stands an open ground enclosed with a fence. A few cars are parked(surreal in it) and an army jeep awaits with the driver from the resort .By this time, we are tired and shift our bags into the jeep and give our car a well deserved rest.

Destiny..at last!

The final lag of the journey from the car park to the resort is not recommended for anyone suffering from back problems!-there is no road and as we bump and grind our way under the guidance of the driver we are greeted with a heavenly shower. Out of nowhere, emerges a huge lorry and really there is space for only one so our tiny David of an army truck moves aside to let the Goliath go-it makes you wonder of how intrepid our explorers and road makers of yesteryear must have been. And then in the distance we see the gates…

One of the drawbacks of technology is that it can take the “aha” moments away from you. Fortunately we had not seen too many photographs giving away the view of the resort so our first reaction was just a silence screaming wow. Built in a ranch style, the rooms are housed in wooden buildings with green roofs…ensuring that it does not take away from the view -open grasslands of various textures and layers ,dipping into a valley like extension where your eye meets the lake and mist covered mountains.

We are greeted by Molly and Bhaskar with genuine warmth and they set the tone for the next two days. Unpretentious, cozy and exuding a sprit of friendliness, you begin to feel your urban artificiality strip away. We are shown into our rooms and the large double bed, high ceilings and fireplace add to the romance – we are brought down to earth by my four year olds reaction as he trampolines on the large bed!!-A short nap later , we feel refreshed and head for tea at the restraunt.Hot samosas and piping tea , we feel nourished and Bhaskar explains the activities and things to do. Though, I felt like I would be happy just doing nothing!!

(Destiny rooms)

We spent the rest of the evening exploring the resort. Walking through the trails, we stop by the stables. Brave Heart, Destiny’s child and Gypsy look at us bored by all the attention. Their work for the day is done-taking the guests for a short horse rides and now look ready to settle in for the night. W e decide to head back and just sit outside our rooms, watching the view. The resort is full but you don’t feel the crowd-though there was one particular group from the city .The kind of group that you try to steer clear of-they were loud ,bossy ,constantly complaining and had their gizmos running on high volume. Luckily they were on a day package, so dinner was spent with the rest of the guests-who were a lovely mix of couples and families , relaxing and soaking in the atmosphere.

The bonfire is a nice way to meet the other guests.And over sumptuous kebabs and spirits, we met some nice folks from coimbaotore, Calicut and bengalooru~

Sleep came early, comforted by the warmth of a duvet. The nice thing about Destiny is that there are enough things you can engage in – an early morning trek is a good way to whet the appetite. A brisk one hour walk with Bhaskar takes you through trails, a little bit of a climb and a survey of the lake.As our walk came to a close, It is quite a breathless bunch that made their way to breakfast buffet warmed by the offerrings of Poorimasala,omlettes,oats,cereals and juices.!

While a short siesta was what looked promising, the adventurous spirit beckoned to join in some fishing and more walking. Then there are horse rides you can go on in the morning and evening. Destiny also offers trips to the avalanche dam, tractor rides and a horse ride outside the property.Lunch and dinner are served buffet style and while tasty does not offer anything unique-The usual Panner masalas, dhal chicken and noodles.More regional fare would be a welcome addition.

Good bye...

Sure there are snags and delays in service. Even heaven has no room for perfection- your bed coffee might not come on time and the plumbing had a few issues but these minor trespasses are easily forgotten and forgiven.

At the end of the stay, you feel a little tug at your heartstrings-that you must go but you really don’t want to. And that is Destiny’s charm-it offers you mountains, lakes, fresh air and helps you recharge to face the roads ahead. You tell yourself you will come back…

And like Dorothy , you know you must make your way home but somewhere like all good journeys do, Destiny leaves you with an inedible iimpression, renewing your faith in the beauty and mysteries of the universe.

Details: (Stairway to Destiny)

Destiny farmstay is run by the Little Earth group

Their website is: www.littlearth.in