The Scotland of India.

To us mates, to us.         

 

           For Pete’s sake why don’t they have a direct train to Coorg, I carped as the train chugged away into the night. To say that the day had been hectic is an understatement. It was like we were, at least I was packing for a fortnight stay at the tundra. The evening at Rags place was spent wholly in the covert operation of transferring the pint of Vodka into two smaller 7up bottles in an attempt to bamboozle anyone who’d want to check our baggage for alcohol. After a round of freshening up and quick goodbyes, we left for the railway station on foot.  It had taken me the effort of squeezing blood out of an apricot in convincing the two of them for a trip which could well have been our last one together once the October of 2007 passed. 

          Coorg is called the Scotland of India for its pulchritude can be compared only to the Highlands of Britain. TM, who always had a passion for anything British readily agreed, so did Rags. And the die was cast when we reserved the tickets. TM and Rags are the most precious of my findings from school; my best friends; and we somehow managed to remain in touch through college. The thought of going about our own ways though was stinging, had to be accepted and hence the need for a trip together was more than a necessity. TM is in a nutshell, conspicuously sarcastic to the point of non-euphemistic (at least with me and Rags) but sagacious and thoughtful. Rags, a “true cancerian” as he calls himself, has a masters in “failed relationships” and is the romantic fool among us; but a gem of a person. I’m caught somewhere in between these two.

          Night was OK but for a cocktail of mosquito and bug-bites mixed with a tad of “Eu De Toilette” fragrance. We managed to wake up to a refreshing sight of paddy fields and soothing greenery of the outskirts of Mangalore with the cool breeze adding gaiety to the already elevated moods. It is difficult not to be rhetoric; the imagery outside could bring out the Keats in a man.

          We arrived at the Mangalore station at about 7 am where I had already reserved us a “waiting room” to freshen up. We stood for a moment in solemn silence near the pile of rubble which I had reserved for us. Then the bickering began and we passed the blame unselfishly. The waiting rooms had been demolished to make way for new ones. We trekked out of the station and soon found ourselves a rather, what can i say, “inexpensive” dormitory where we freshened up. Within an hour we were good to go. Rather cautiously, we approached an Auto Rickshaw; a vehicle no Indian can do without, but a bulls eye for an arsenal thanks to their ostentatiously priced travel fares. But we were in for a trouvaille. The distance to the bus stand was large compared to the fare. We had breakfast at an “uduppi” restaurant (a South Indian restaurant, with roots in Karnataka specializing in pure vegetarian cuisines). Shortly after a more than gratifying meal, we boarded a bus that goes directly to Madikkeri (Coorg). The journey was pure jollity; with the landscape taken right out of a postcard. We chit-chatted for a while before sleeping through the rest of the rainy jaunt.

          Madikkeri, the main spot in Coorg has a wide range of hotels, inns and lodges making the stay part easy as a pie for a tourist. We arrived shortly before 3 pm and were immediately welcomed by a titillating weather. Then we had a choice to make; whether to first find a place to stay or to pacify our incensed stomachs. The vote went 2 to 1 in favour of the latter. After our late lunch at another Uduppi cafe’, which were as numerous as thorns on a cactus, we went lodge hunting. Finding one wasn’t that difficult because the limited funds that we possessed made it easy for us to rule out the posh ones. We hit pay dirt when we checked in at Mercara Inn. At the cost Rs 700 for a 24 hour stay it suited out wallets just fine. The room wasn’t what we expected, it was better. It was spacious and much to Rags delight housed a TV. The bathroom was good and the double bed cot was a treat. After grabbing a quick nap, we left the inn at about 6 pm. We first walked around the near vicinity and had tea at a Malayali tea shop. Malayalis or Keralaites are known to open tea shops almost anywhere. There is a joke which goes goes like this; “When Edmund Hilary and Tenzing Norgay reached the summit of the Mt Everest, they were greeted by a Malayali running a tea shop”. The lemon tea was just fantastic; so we were compelled to have yet another one. We then trekked up the road to refuel our famished wallets from a wayside ATM. Then we set out to the nearest snack bar to buy chips and stuff for the party that night. A saunter around the place and much to our delight, exquisitely dressed coorgi girls, walked by while we managed to ogle at most of them. A tradition we found most intriguing but interesting was that the Coorgi girls mostly the spinsters wore the “sindoor” or the red mark on their foreheads, which is in contrast to the rest of most Indian traditions where only married women wear them. Their nose piercings and colourful sarees added to their beauty. No wonder men love Coorg.  We then decided to have our dinner. The hotel whose name escapes me turned out to be quite grand. With ambrosial aromas wafting, we wasted little time in ordering Rotis(Indian pancake), Gobi Manchurian ( A cauliflower dish) and Chicken curry. Dinner, turned out to be most satisfying.

          “Voda” in Russian means water and Vodka means “Dilution with water”. We (TM and I) certainly didn’t feel like we had drunk diluted water after 3 pegs of Vodka and Rags helped himself to the fried stuff at a more than normal pace. The night was cold and we fell like a ton of bricks on the bed.

          We woke up to a beautiful morning at about 7 am. We had coffee at the inn’s cafe’ and by 9 am we were ready to go places. Our first destination of the day was a place called KushalNagar. It is supposed to be the second largest Tibetan settlement in South East Asia. The bus trip was rather long and the music that played on the bus stereo were Kannada songs conviniently lifted from Tamil film songs. We reached KushalNagar by noon and took an Auto rickshaw to the monastery. The ride lasted for about 10 minutes. The very glimpse of the monastery had us stupefied. It was enormous and beautiful. Inside the compound was a scene of contrasts. There were hundreds of monks, young and old, tall and short, all clad in the typical maroon-yellow robes. Some were chanting with rosaries while some were playing soccer or riding bikes. Then began the photo session with the elephantine structures as backdrops. Then we left our footwear outside fore safe-keeping and entered into one of the “viharas” (place where monks live, dine and pray). We were greeted by behemoth Idols of lord Buddha. The wall carvings were just out of the world. The artists had paid attention even to the minutest of intricacies; and the tranquility was such that you could sit right there and meditate. A strange aura of peace encompassed us. After another quick photo session around the monastery, we broke for lunch. TM already knew what he wanted; “I simply must have Momos”, he kept reminding us more than once. Momosisa type of Tibetan or Nepali dumpling made of simple flour or water dough mixed with yeast and baking soda. We soon found ourselves in a fast-food joint placing orders for Momos and other obviously exotic dishes whose glorified names escape me. While TM went for chicken Momos, I ordered a plain veg one. The veg Momos and the dish Rags ordered soon arrived. Starved as we were, Rags and I soon got down to business. I had to agree; Momos were good. The chicken Momos seemed to take its time and we asked TM if he wanted to taste the veg ones, which he not-so-politely declined and added “I’ll have nothing but chicken Momos”. “So be it”, I said. Not a moment sooner than we finished, the waiter arrived and with a smug face declared, “Momosare over, both veg and non veg”. TM’sface was worth a painting by Van Gogh himself. After a brief session of expletives and  ”I told you so”, lunch was over and so was TM’s Momos dream.

          We then hunted for souvenirs in the shops close by. We bought Buddhist talismans, jute handbags, mobile phone holders and decorated jewel boxes.

          Our next destination was Nisargadhama, a man made island on the banks of river cauvery. A forest resort just 2kms from Kushalnagar and 30 kms from Madikeri, it is a mini wild life sanctuary. We arrived there by auto rickshaw by 2 pm. Entry tickets were easy on the pocketbook. We were greeted by a hanging bridge at the entry with the   beneath it. It was a sight worth thenumerous photos we clicked. On the other side were bamboo trees, millions of them, reaching towards the skies and thus creating an atmosphere both eerie and peaceful simultaneously. Many bamboo clusters had Machans (tree top shelters) built on them. On the whole, it was every bit the lovers’ garden we were told about. The mini wildlife sanctuary housed deer, wild cattle, primates etcetera. With the  hrough the rocky bed in frothy streams, we traipsed through the island. It was truly replete withnature. It drizzled a bit and we took shelter under on of the many wall-less shelters on the island. With the light fading fast, we decided to make a move and call it a day. It took us a jolly good time to find an auto rickshaw and soon we were on our way to the bus stand. We got into a direct bus to Madikkeri and before we realized were on our way.

          We arrived at Madikkeri at around 7 pm and walked back to the inn. After freshening up we had dinner at the inn’s diner. Soon we were back in our room and hung loose; with Rags at the television watching a Premier league match and TM and I with our Vodka, which I must say, does a power of good after a wearying day. After a brief parley about next day’s plans, we slept. 

          Though none of us wanted to wake up, we had places to go. I woke up first, at 7 am. After having a cup of coffee at the cafe’, I had a hot water bath. Then came the daunting task of waking up the two lazy geese who still slept like there was no tomorrow. After a round gentle persuasion and another of rough rattling, the mission was accomplished.

          We had three places to visit that day; Abby falls, Madikkeri fort and Raja’s seat. Abby falls being the farthest was the first one on our agenda.

          Abby Falls or the Abby Water Falls is situated just 7 kilometers from Madikkeritown. After detailed enquiries at the inn, travelling by an auto rickshaw seemed to be the most sensible, though we could slightly sense a financial crunch creeping up. Reaching Abby falls was a treat by itself; with the narrow road twisting and turning, rising and falling, green valleys spicing up the the scenery. In short, it was mother nature at her best. Though Abby falls is situated on a private property, it is open to the public. The entry tickets again were inexpensive. The walk down to the falls was close to adventurous. The steep, slippery terrain, dense foliage on either side and the undergrowthsloweddown our pace to a crawl. We were a part of nature, in our true elements. Then we saw it, rather heard it first. Abby falls in all its glory roared a few yards away. Man can at times get hypnotised by nature. This was one of those times. Milky white water fell from atop the craggy outcrop and  with a rumble crashed into the scabrous rockbed below. We stood on the bridge and gazed at it wide mouthed as if it were a monster about to swallow us. The water sprayed around us creating a brume of a million droplets. We were in heaven. After the usual round of photos, it was time to leave. We trekked our way back to the road and soon found an auto rickshaw bound for Madikkeri.

          We were in Madikkeri by 12 noon. Since there was some time left for lunch, we decided to visit the Madikkeri fort which is quite near Madikkeri town and thus of walkable distance. The fort, situated atop a small hill was first built as a mud fort by Mudduraja in the last quarter of the 17th century. Made of mud and mortar, the fort has witnessed its share of battles and was later resuscitated by Lingarajendra Wodeyar II in the 1800s. The entrance leads to a small museum where the relics (canon balls, daggers, royal attire and the whole shebang) of the palace are showcased. Then we climbed on to the top of the fort. The view of the surrounding area was quite impeccable. The first pangs of hunger were felt at around 1:30 pm. Then we hunted around for a restaurant. We found one about a kilometer away. It was a bar cum restaurant; in short, it was all we wanted at the moment. Hyderabadi biryanies (a famous meat/veg rice dish of Hyderabad, India) and chilled beer were promptly ordered. The biryani was fantastic and the beer was heavenly. Our happiness was short-lived. The bill amount was nightmarish. It had us thinking about surviving on roots and berries for the rest of the stay. Leaving a Re 1 tip to the waiter was the only response we could think of.

           Raja’sSeat, our next destination was quite close; so we decided to walk. When we reached there, we found it was a park, quite a large one. In the centre of the park was a small room like structure with arch type entrance on all four sides; it was the Raja’s Seat (quite a large one at that, made me wonder how big the Raja’s rear might have been). We soon made ourselves at home on the grass. Then we took a trek up a small path that lead to another side of the park. The view from atop there was truly breathtaking. Thing that struck me most was the greenery; pristine and virgin. We clicked more photos. Then we decide to call it a day and left for the room. Once in the room, we freshened up and hun up our boots for a while. By about 5:30 pm, we stepped out for tea. The Malayali tea shop was open. we had lemon tea. It was then that TM decided that we needed to have an even bigger celebration as we were leaving the next day and the remaining Vodka was hardly enough for him. Though I felt inclined to disagree, I finally gave in. We bought another quarter of it from a nearby shop. Rags was only too happy to buy the eats. We had dinner at the inn and went to our room for the final bash. By about 9 pm we were ready to go. Rags chose to be our bartender and poured us the drink. We chatted merrily, about us, especially about Rags’ “misfiring” relationships. when we reached the 5th peg, we realized that we could’vedone without the quarter we bought that day. I gave TM a knowing look and before I could open my mouth he said “don’t say it”. By the 6th peg, I was feeling almost as heavy as the Raja’s “Seat”. I waited for TM to go to the bathroom and threw the remaining glassfuls into a potted plant outside our room. When we finished, I could hardly lift my hand while brushing my teeth while TM lay on the bed as motionless as a mummy in its casket. Sleep came fast.

          Morning came even faster. Suddenly it was time to leave. We vacated the room by around 9 am. At the bus stand we found a direct bus to Mangalore. The journey was good but uneventful. We arrived at Mangalore by around 1 pm. The train back to Ernakulam was at around 8 pm and thus we decided to see Mangalore. After having our lunch, we went to Bharath Mall. It was the biggest mall in Mangaloreand also housed multiplexes. We quickly transformed ourselves into mall rats; going in out of all shops, with peanuts in our wallets and buying nothing. At about 6 pm, we thought we’d have dinner. But then we also wanted to visit the “Ideal” Ice ceram parlour, which is known throught Mangalore for a variety of Ice creams which are marginally priced. Then we decided to have ice cream for dinner. We took an auto rickshaw to the nearest Ideal ice cream parlour. The parlour was a two storied building and was air conditioned. In no time we settled ourselves and ordered special ice creams. We first ordered a Gadbad, as recommended by TM. It was a rather tall ice cream with fruits and nuts and was immensely tasty. We ordered ice creams till we were too full to eat another morsel of ice cream. I never knew this day could come. We left for the railway station on foot, occassionally asking for directions. The train was on time and boarded it without hassles. Before we knew, we were asleep.

          Ernakulam Junction arrived at about 7 am. Wierdly, we did’ntfeel heavyhearted over the fact that the holiday had come to an end and it was unlikely that we’d meet in the near future. We were so sick of looking at our faces over and over, over the last few days that it felt good to think that we were going home. But, there was a sense of unfathomable satisfaction, especially in me; we were going out with a bang, not a whimper.

Satyam- A promise.

       To the indomitable spirit of  the Satyamite.

 

          “Good morning, my golden retrievers. What kind of havoc shall the Carver Media Group create in the world today?” “News? There is no news, like bad news”, exclaims Elliot Carver quite candidly. Any movie buff would know this eccentric but ingenius Bond villain from “Tomorrow never dies”.  The media is indeed a powerful weapon; a double edged sword to be precise, which when used for the betterment of humanity can cut through steel as effortlessly as when used against it.

         Any Associate of Satyam Computer Services Ltd, India’s 4th largest IT provider would by now entirely agree with Carver too. With the INR 7000 Crore scandal ripping through the company’s innards, the media circling the skies like carrions waiting for the giant to perish from the self inflicted wounds, and the rivals, like scavengers waiting in silence to feed on what’s left of it, the first month of the new year almost looked like the company’s last.  A pall of gloom engulfed the workplace, its silence so loud that the associates looked at each other helplessly, never had their morale been so low. 

          But even then, the media was doing what it does the best, kick someone when they’re down. “Satyam- The 6500 Cr lie” screamed the Times of India; “Satyam or Asatyam” read CNN IBN. The news readers could’nt hide their glee as they undid each bolt that held the company, no, the family together. The Ex CEO of an Indian IT major gave interviews till late night, giving reasons to why his company would never touch a ”tainted” company such as Satyam. God, forgive him for he has absolutely no idea as to what he is saying.

            But little do they know that the might of Satyam is a Satyamite. A week after the media onslaught, the official mailboxes were flooded with support mails, all Satyamites pledging their support, all willing to put in their maximum effort and commitment to put the company back on course. Come down to any Satyam office and you will hear them say “ We may be down, but we are certainly not out”.

          This is not merely a blog, but a promise, a promise called Satyam.

The Indian and the Dragon.

To all our yellow livered leaders.

“India is a sovereign state”, “Arunachal is an integral part of India”, “We will not surrender to terrorism” , “Blah Blah Blah…..”. But, an year after the daring terrorist attack on  Mumbai, all India has managed to do to avenge it is to capture the lone surviving terrorist, put him in a gilded cage and shower him with some first class Indian hospitality inclusive of  good food, health care and top of the class security, all with the good old Indian tax payer’s hard earned dough, while he makes a mockery of the Indian judicial system. We might as well put up hoardings welcoming terrorists, the meaner the better.  A fitting tribute to all those martyrs of 26/11. What an irony. Now, Mr. kasab will have the privilege of being our esteemed guest for many more years to come, and finally when someone hijacks a plane for his release, he will think twice, maybe thrice about returning to Pakistan as I’m fairly sure even VVIPs aren’t treated this well there.

While India keeps making noises about terrorism, our neighbour, the Red Dragon is creeping into our territory; its excuse, “We don’t accept the McMahon line as legitimate”, “Arunachal Pradesh belongs to China”. Oh yes,  and the pope wears panties.  Now if there is any country in the world that would accept this trumped up excuse for invasion, there are no points for guessing; its good old India. Instead of mouthing some choice diplomatic expletives, the best this gentle giant can do is shyly mumble a “No”. And to top it all, a few days ago when the Indian PM paid a visit to Arunachal Pradesh, where the assembly elections are in progress, Beijing says its “Disappointed in the PMs visit to Arunachal Pradesh” and “urged” India not to create any trouble there. What a nerve. And all Delhi could say was “We’re disappointed by Beijing’s comments”. I frankly don’t know what that message that statement is supposed to convey. But I’m pretty sure it isn’t fear or a firm stance. But thankfully our opposition party had the guts to say what should’ve been said by our Government. It said, “Our PM doesn’t need Chinese Visa to go to Arunachal Pradesh”. Well said.

But at the end of the day, all India has are words, while the Dragon still creeps further into our “sovereign” territory. I guess the Indian leaders should learn from what the camel did to the Arab; before its too late. All I can do is hope, they’re at least in time to close the stable door.