Life in words

Serai Kabini Experience

2012-02-09T06:23:00.000-08:00

At Serai Kabini, “Going back to the Jungle” , takes on a whole new dimension
Urban spaces tend to resemble high intensity pressure cookers. The daily grind of living to the rhythm of alarm clocks takes its toll and any incentive to get away from the concrete blocks of insanity is always welcome. This time, the avatar of an excuse came in the form of our son’s birthday and we decided to flee from the barrage of planning party paraphernalia-so it was adieu to the themed cake, invitations and return gifts.

We started on a high note, leaving early morning to avoid Bengaluru’s infamous vehicles. The city at break of dawn is peaceful, a calm before the storm of morning madness begins to reign. There are plenty of snapshot picture card moments .On the highway, a bullock cart ambles in complete irreverence to the gleaming machines that zip past. A woman in a cotton candy pink sari driving an open jeep ,mobile phone in hand. School children in starched white and purple uniforms wave oblivious to the burden of education that they carry on their backs. A bus hurtles in breakneck speed almost crashing into a lorry whose message” speed kills not thrills” no one reads. The signposts of globalisation, the cherry red and yellow MC Donald’s looks jaded next to the eateries promising good "Panjabi" food and hot "thatte" idlis. We stop at a small quaint heritage- like eatery, “ Kadamba” advertising its Iyengar leanings very proudly. True to its name the breakfast of Pongal, Masala Dosai and Filter Coffee in steel tumblers is perfect comfort food.
Back on the road, we move on through Ramnagaram (Gabbar Singh just left the building!),Chanapatna , Mandya , Srirangapattan and decide to avoid the Mysore city. Serai Kabini is about two hours away from Mysore and the roads wind into picturesque tableau of green paddy fields, watering holes and open sky. There are clearly marked signboards along the way with various resorts jostling for one’s attention. As we move towards the last twelve km to our resort the road gets treacherously bumpy. And every bone in our body feels the brunt of the bump. It is the view outside that helps soothe the potholed encounters –vast stretches of fields, dotted by white washed houses and people carrying on with their daily routine. A Primary Health Care Centre, a Government school and we have crossed into another world . A few km later the reassuring sign of Serai which is like that proverbial Coffee pot at the end of the rainbow !
Serai-First glimpses
Sera Kabini has an understated elegance. The staff is waiting at the reception with a traditional lamp and string of jasmine flowers. It takes a while for us to orient ourselves to where we are. Fresh tender coconut water, formalities and briefing done, we are ready to begin our journey. The wide open spaces delight the child in us (my son is already somersaulting his way out) and we head to our rooms. Sera Kabini has a choice of three types of accommodation - villa,terrace and residence villa (which comes with your own swimming pool) and seems to be a honeymooners special. All the rooms face the river and our terrace has a secluded garden space with a hammock. While the manager had briefed us earlier about the itenaryand activities, nothing seemed as exciting as the hammock and a nap in the sun. My son was thrilled when we told him that the snacks at the mini bar were all his (the first day being complimentary!) . Lunch is served in a charming open spaced restraunt and the walk from our room to lunch makes us even hungrier. Meals at kabini alternate between buffet and a set ala carte menu and the choice of cuisine offers both Local dishes , Chinese and Continental fare. Resort like food can jade the palette but here the food is deliciously simple and it takes a lot of will power to reduce the frequency of trips from table to buffet!

“Elephant Memory”

Safari lessons-Seven year olds behave better than Software professionals!
Serai offers two kinds of safaris-boat and jeep. In a recent development, to regulate the proliferation of resorts and jeeps, the Forest and Wildlife department has tightened its guidelines. All safaris are routed to the Jungle Lodges , which is a Karnataka State Tourism Initiative. The naturalists at the resort welcomed the move saying that this helps stop the jungle from being overrun by hordes of vehicles which has also lead to lots of animal sightings. We book for an afternoon safari in a valiant attempt to forego an afternoon siesta. A vehicle takes us to jungle lodges and we make our way to the Jetty. The naturalists have already briefed us about maintaining silence during the ride and while the four families with kids take it seriously , a group of four young software professionals flaunting their newly acquired high powered cameras seem to feel that rules are meant to be broken. Throughout the trip they had to be reminded to be quiet and they speak in the tone of the new, young, rich, urban , shining India. If money could buy them cameras ,they feel that it was their moral birthright for forests to produce animals on demand.They should take some etiquette lessons from the seven and eight year old kids on the boat!

Down the kabini river

To be in the middle of a vast expanse of water is a humbling experience. The waters are surrounded by three National Parks and the afternoon promises animal sightings as it is a hot day and the river plays a watering hole for many bird and animal species We see Siberian Cranes and Coronets making their nests on clumps of tree that emerge mysteriously like apparitions from the river. A dash of bright blue makes its way across –it is a kingfisher. A few black ripples dance through the waters...tadpoles, the bemused naturalist informs us. Meanwhile the group of Software professionals loudly display their googled knowledge of the various species. The rest of the group do their best to ignore them. There are sambar deer and then we spot the rather shy Otter, known as theIndian Water Dog, taking its dip in the river. At a small grass land water body we spot a Marsh Crocodile,mouth wide open. As the boat draws closer and stops for more shutterbug opportunities, we watch the crocodile slip gracefully into the water. "But what about the Elephants", the group demands. In the distance, we spot an Elephant near the bamboo groves. They are so beautiful in the wild, camouflaged brilliantly, covered in jungle dust,a far cry from the chained elephants one sees at temple rituals and circuses which makes a mockery of these gentle giants. By now, the sun starts to set and the whole landscape has taken on another hue.This time, as we head back, the boat is silent, each of us caught in our moment of reflection. Something about the river brings out the stillness and silence in children and all of us.The group thankfully have gone to sleep.

Marsh Crocodile in river "Peaceful predator"

Silver stars and bonfire
Night falls early in the resort and the sky is dotted with silver sequined of stars. A bonfire set up near the bar provides warmth a and comfort and we close our eyes in sheer fatgue.The next morning is the jeep safari. To be up at five o clock is seems so daunting, There is a temptation to snuggle into the soft bed but we ready ourselves and head to or vehicle which is ready to take us to the jungle.
Leopard Spotting
By six o clock we are in the Rajiv Gandhi Park.The morning air is so cold and the naturalist provides us with some shawls. The jungle is slowly waking up and as we drive further into the jungle one wonders who is watching home. A heard of spotted deer freeze in picture perfect stance as we drive past. A Peacock gobbles a bright red piece of Watermelon. fruit The birdcalls change as the hour progresses.To be in the heart of a jungle is amazing. We are looking to spot the Cat-The Tiger or Leopard. Trees take on misty hue and we spot a few Lemurs sitting high on treetops, the security officers of the forest. In a forest there is no sense of time and we feel a sense of disorientation. As we make our way back , we are told by one of the jeeps passing us that they have spotted a leopard. Suddenly the whole energy in the group changes. Everyone is on red high alert. We make our way to the route and find another jeep with cameras. The silence and excitement is palatable. The jungle is ominously silent and all I can see are tree and shrubs,"Alli....", shouts the driver in the group. And there he is , the leopard sitting between the branches of a curved black tree. Amazing..how well he has camouflaged himself and through the binoculars we spot him. He looks content and at peace with his belly full. With all the hype surrounding the Big Cat, there is nothing like seeing the animal in its habitat. It stuns you into silence and we reluctantly head back with a renewed respect for the forest and the Cat.

Leopard spotting again
The next morning my son and husband decide to take the early morning safari his birthday and an early start seems to be on their minds. I am positive that they will come back with stories of deer and peacocks but they return armed with an extraordinary sighting. Just as they had entered the jungle, through the shrubs, a Cat was spotted.Apparently,he walked around, climbed on top of a log and made his way throughthe wooden trail. For twenty minutes there was absolute silence .The photographs tell the story and they are amazing.

Leopard in hiding

Resort Activities
While the safaris are the main attraction, we managed to squeeze in some time to take bicycles and go for a ride outside the resort. There are trails leading from resort to river and back and it is great fun to explore the terrain as a family. For some indulgent pampering there is a spa offering a range of treatemts.But these pale into comparison as you just sit and watch the river flow, the sunlight creating little sparkling diamonds. When your friendly waiter, serves you hot pakodas and coffee, you tell yourself that there is nothing like a little luxury while enjoying the getting back to the basics

Homeward Bound
And there was something special about celebrating my son’s birthday with a simple homemade cake from the resort and having newly found friends join the party who very sweetly came back to the already surprised birthday boy with presents. It is hard to say goodbye-to the friendly staff, to the waiter who by his own initiative taught the kids to shape napkins into candles and of course to the river.

As we head home, we are already making plans to return.

Serpant Eagle- Bidding Farewell"

Photograps: Shyam Prasad Rajan

2011-07-21T01:50:00.000-07:00

The much maligned Indian education system-Silver lining in dark cloud discussions

As someone who has been part of the education system, observing, interacting and teaching students, the engagement with the system has often lead to a questioning of practices and discussions with students ,teachers and parents have more often than not reflected a sense of frustration,despair,anger and in some cases a cultivated indifference. Stories of unrealistic academic pressure, draconian methodologies, long working hour’s coupled with low salaries…these normally form the framework of the system we engage with on a daily basis. In such a scenario, sometimes you come across a story with a silver lining and komala’s story gives us an insight into the inherent strengths in our system.

When I first met Komala , she was a bright eyed shy young girl. She had just moved to Bangalore from her village in Andhra Pradesh. Having studied in a Telegu medium government school, she was now being admitted to a corporation school in Bangalore and had been given admission into the eighth standard. To say that the journey ahead of her was herculean would be an understatement-she had to learn two new languages, adjust to a new cultural environment and had been told by her father that if she did not “pass” she would have to go back to the village. Susheela ,her mother worked as a maid in our apartment and I would often enquire about her daughter’s progress. “I really don’t know what she was doing but she is studying all the time”. Once in a while Komala would come home and I was amazed at how quickly she grasped concepts and progressed. By the end of the year, she could write paragraphs in both kanada and English and was reading at level. A few months ago ,she appeared for her tenth standard public exams. When the results came she was devastated. She had failed in kananda and science by a few marks. With some help from her teachers, she sat for the re-examinations and passed.

The whole process had given her tremendous confidence. Realising her potential , Komala was sent to meet a principal of a private college. During the interview, he was so impressed with her ability to communicate and her determination to further her education, he offered her a place in his institution to study Commerce. Encouraged by the faith shown in her, she has decided to stay in the college hostel so that she can attend extra classes in the evening and the principal has insisted that she attend either a sport/dance/theatre as part of their extracurricular program. The day she came to say goodbye, I saw a young lady in front of me-excited, nervous and with stars in her eyes. The shay young girl was a distant memory.
What interested me about Komala’s journey was besides witnessing the metamorphosis of potential was the inherent strengths in our education system that allowed such a transformation.
1.Komala’s potential could not have been realised without the support and guidance of her teachers at the government school. She speaks about teachers who stayed back afterhours to help her in her initial period of transition, which motivated her when things were down and who always told her to continue despite failure.
2.The rote learning helped a student like koala who could use her skill of retention to initiate her into the system. Especially as the medium of instruction was now in an alien tongue. What I realised was that the rote system did not exclude her from grasping the concepts and further questioning the content. Most teachers she said answered her “extra” questions and others directed her to Google!-Also many of the teachers had taught the subject in a manner that had helped her grasp the essence and her inability to articulate clearly was more a language barrier rather than a lack of understanding.

3.Failing a public exam was not the end of the journey. The system gave someone like Komala a chance to try again.
4.For someone like Komala, the chance to experience a holistic education would have been a remote possibility. That there are institutions who give students from lower economic groups the opportunity to work on their other intelligences is reassuring.

Komala’s story is not unique-She is a representative of a growing percentage of our country’s population who are breaking down barriers within the framework of our current system. For these young people, the main drive is an economic one and the elitist aims of education as a tool for personal exploration does not exist.
No system is utopian in its implementation. There is much that needs to be reworked in our current scenario. However, there are also strengths and possibilities-perhaps viewing our system in a more positive light will help students, teachers, policymakers and parents build upon the strengths that we sometimes ignore. That should be fodder for discussion.

2010-06-07T06:01:00.000-07:00

Johnny gone down…
The latest offering by Karan Bajaj leaves you a tad breathless…well almost!

If you love a sense of madness grounded in some moments of lucidity, with just enough life lessons thrown in (no not another self help book, we the masses scream) then this one’s for you. Within a span of three hundred pages, Karan Bajaj takes us on a trip on the wild side- We travel continents, meet monks and drug lords, indulge in spiritual orgies and through it all cannot help but think how it would be to life in bite size chewable tablets of utter delightful madness. This lasts long enough till we realize we need to pay the bills on Monday morning…

Johnny Gone down traces the story of life of Nikhil who through a series of adventures, or rather misadventures, dons various avatars of life. From the hallowed halls of academia, Nikhil ends up as a genocide survivor in Cambodia and is witness to the depravity and senseless violence that humanity is capable of. Through a series of twists and turns the narrative then moves on to our protagonist experiencing monkshood followed by the most bizarre series of life events, none of which one would wish to delve into. That would take away the sheer joy of just watching our hero navigate through life and all its eccentricities.

Johnny gone down is reminiscent of part motorcycle diaries, part Indiana Jones, part Bollywood like coincidences (Think Kites!) and part love story. It screams, whispers, shouts and in a rather sneaky way asks us to look at our own lives…nicely!-Highbrow literature it is not…what Karan Bajaj has given us is an honest, unpretentious and a rollicking adventure – a perfect antidote for a sunny Sunday afternoon.

And at the end of it all, you just want to whistle, clap and cheer for our hero. Its not every day, that you read a book that makes you want to do that-and you just want to shout, hey Johnny don’t be good!

Living in a fish bowl

2010-04-28T17:43:00.000-07:00

“Living in a fishbowl…”, Random thoughts.

It is a picture that went beyond a thousand words. A house drawn from the mind of a child. There was nothing to distinguish it from any other picture of a seven year old’s vision of a house except that, in this particular drawing the house was covered with eyes. Eyes of different shapes and sizes, in different colours sketched all over in a random manner. .Afterwards, while talking about the picture with him, I asked him about this house and his reply still resonates within me “My house is always watching me….”
In the course of the next few sessions with both the parent and child, it came to light that the parents literally monitored every move of this young child; they had hidden cameras in the rooms.

While scenario is extreme, as a parent bringing up a child in these times, I often wonder the pressure we place on our children by constantly watching them. With my own son, I find myself many times having to hold back from over directing and over correcting him. To allow him that space and time to explore, make mistakes and find his own solutions. It is ironical; the more “informed” we are the more, we live in an atmosphere of fear and suspicion. The onslaught of information telling us how many things can go wrong puts such a pressure on the parent to do things “right” Slowly we lose the confidence to listen to our own inner voice, because our own inner voice is swamped and hidden under a barrage of theories and concepts. And our children bear the brunt of our anxieties and insecurities. Constantly being directed and told what they should do and rarely valued for their individuality must be a strain. Recently, a class teacher asked for the child’s parents to be brought in-the reason- he threw a paper rocket at her in class. The whole issue snowballed from something which is an age old tradition for all students to do, to sending the child to a counselor. Everything needs to be talked about, discussed until it is thread bare and in the process ,we don’t allow ourselves the freedom to reflect and realize that all problems need not have a soluition.That sometimes we need to leave it to time and the mysteries of the universe to unravel…

On trips outside the frenzy of the city, it is a pleasure to observe the dynamics between parents and children. The first thing that one observes is that the faces radiate a certain sense of calm and openness. Children are not given too much attention…they seem more confident as they are brought up a part of a whole community. There were more open to sharing and there was an absence of that urban whine and demand. Our poor children are swamped by so much choice and attention that the stress shows in this symptomatic behavior- To always be in the spotlight, most often in a negative light, must be very disturbing. In my own experience, I find that my son is happiest when he is playing a game of hide and seek or tossing the ball with other kids. Recently, a whole group of them went “dragon” hunting in the building, their imagination trying to capture the dragon in the most interesting way- it was a pleasure to watch them, living in the moment and exuding a sense of joy in their play. The fancy gadgets and toys remained untouched in the toy cupboard.

Allowing children to interact with nature is a natural way for children to learn so much. Observing and following a trail of ants, watching crows and squirrels battle for that piece of bread and observing the lifecycles in nature keeps they connected. It engages them for hours and often will lead to a barrage of questions which will really confound you. (Help-google!!)Most importantly, it will lead to an understanding that we are part of the web of life.

How do we give our children the freedom to explore, in these times when open spaces to play are vanishing and communities are breaking down, resulting in an atmosphere of distrust and fear? When every morning the newspapers tell a hundred stories that compound our fears? How do we give them the experiences in life, without constantly watching them?

There are no easy answers. Perhaps, we can, in the little fishbowls they live in give them just an illusory sense of freedom…

History on a "sole"ful Sunday morning!

2009-12-21T05:35:00.000-08:00

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

2009-11-12T00:31:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-28T05:04:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-13T00:41:00.000-07:00

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

2009-10-13T00:14:00.000-07:00

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"

2009-09-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-14T23:01:00.000-07:00

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