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 beauty 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 couldn’t 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.

Lion City

Changi airport looked more like a tremendous waste of money- it was so damn huge, you could park airplanes right inside the lounge. Being an Indian, I’m not used to such vast expanses of space, for we simply can’t live without being jostled around, even when taking a frigging leak; which made me wonder how the world’s largest airport came to be located in one of the world’s smallest countries.

One week to go….

Singapore? Though I was supposed to be genuinely excited, I couldn’t rustle up even a decent wow. Lazy as I’m, I can give a three-toed sloth a run for its money and thus I genuinely resent being pushed around for chores of any kind – especially like being made to hurry to a studio at late night in the pouring rain to get my photo clicked for the visa. And living in a part of Chennai that hasn’t exactly left the Bronze Age, a studio is as rare as nuts in a peacock. So when I found one, even though it was as small as a pay and use toilet and as shady as a Greek smuggler’s den, I was  happy. So I got a few photos that loosely conformed to the visa specification. Almost certainly expecting a rejection, I sent the photos and the passport to the travel agent who, to my surprise got me my visa.

I decided to start a couple of days after my family left as I didn’t want to take leave from office for more than 3 days. My flight was scheduled for Wednesday night such that I would reach by Thursday morning. Thus I’d be spending 4 days and 3 nights in Singapore.

Day zero….

After packing the bare essentials like clothes and a toothbrush (coz of the recent wave of paranoia that has swept the airline companies, which forbids its passengers from using stuff that make them smell good), I set off for the Chennai international airport. Once there, I watched my 4000 Rupees shrink to a measly 88 Singapore dollars at the Money changers. I felt poor. I kept myself from openly staring at a pretty security chick at the baggage checkpoint fearing a cavity search. Once through, I indiscriminately stared at the “figures” as a Chennaite would say. The flight was on schedule and once aboard, I wasted no time in ordering a Singapore sling, and some stout beer a while later. The food tasted like yesterday’s newspaper but the air-hostess babes’ enthusiasm in serving the booze, more than made up for that.

Day one….

The flight arrived at Changi at 5 am Singapore time. After the immigration formalities and some wide-eyed admiration of the airport, I reached the lounge only to find that no one had come to receive me. So I had to play the smart ass and call my dad to ask him if someone would come to pick me up, when some patience would’ve paid. I did talk to him, but 30 seconds on the damn phone cost me a 100 bucks. Exactly 5 minutes later a guy, came to receive me. He was a nice Indian guy who’d never been to India and thought the Indian movie stars waltzed around with the common people. The drive to the hotel was great. I was amazed by the roads, the surroundings the planning and the discipline of the traffic. I instantly liked the place. Orchard hotel, an hour’s drive from the airport was another treat altogether. It was a five-star hotel with a great lobby. Soon after I rode up the express elevator to the 8^th floor and met up with my parents, bro and uncle’s family and checked into my brother’s room. Since it was past breakfast time I just had an apple and a banana. I spent some quality time in the bathroom which it looked like it was made in heaven (the only unsatisfactory thing being the incomplete feeling after using the toilet paper).

Soon we were all ready for the sightseeing. I had missed the Jurong Bird park and the Night Safari (which it seems was a rip off) as I joined the gang only after 2 days. The tour van arrived at about 10 am and the first place on our travel itinerary was The Singapore Gems and Metal Co., a place where gem stones are polished and jewellery and stuff are made that calls for a wallet the size of a brick. So I was careful to keep myself 3 feet away from all the exquisite junk. After half dragging the women from the place, we set of for a Buddhist temple. The ambience was calm and soothing. The visitors were few and we had a quick photo session. Then we set off to the place (the name escapes me) where a mer-lion spouts water from its mouth. The whole place was so damn clean, you could walk barefoot. It was quite uneventful but for a few minutes when I almost shat my pants as my dad wrapped a full-grown python around his neck; the old show off. The next in line was the Singapore flyer, a leviathan wheel with glass cabins that goes a 1000 feet. The view was simply out of the world.  One rotation and 30 minutes later, we touched ground. Then it was time for the duck tour, which is nothing but a boring one hour ride on the streets and then a boating session on the river on an amphibious vehicle, shaped like a boat with wheels with a buxom babe babbling away at the helm. I slept for most part of the ride.

I liked Clarke Quay almost instantly. There were great food joints, a belly dancer and most importantly beer. It was almost 7 in the evening and we were famished. We quickly set out to order some excellent pizza and veg rolls. While the others had juice, I decided to trade my “impeccable image” for some Tiger. It was very satisfying. I wonder what TM (read previous blogs) would’ve said. After ogling at a lithe belly dancer for a while and some great family snaps later, we took a taxi back to the hotel.

At about 10 PM, after making sure our parents were asleep, my bro and I slunk to the lobby where my bro promised me he’d seen some good bars. We picked one called The Longhorn, which was nice and cozy and had a very pretty bartender called Jess. I ordered a Guinness (TM was dark green at first, then just dark with envy when I told him), while my bro ordered some bourbon on the rocks (he thinks it’s cool, what a sop). We immediately struck a rapport with Jess (who turned out to be cool) and some guys there. A couple of beers and some Singapore dollars later, we called it a day. We walked back to our room with a feeling of immense satisfaction.

Day two…

The breakfast which was a buffet couldn’t have been real. In my entire life I haven’t seen such variety. The veg section alone left me with a bellyful of indecision. I would’ve thrown out etiquette right out of the window but for the guests. After the supremely satisfying meal, we left for Universal studios. The cab took about 45 minutes to reach Universal studios. After a couple of snaps around the symbolic Universal studios globe, we entered the complex. The first show slated for us was the special effects studio, hosted by Steven Spielberg (Just his video, so there). All the suspense build up was in fact worth it. It was one helluva show with lights, sound, fire water and smoke. The studio had one part that was like an American town from the 70s. We went on a couple of less scary rides, much to my relief. I must say, I’m not a great fan of any sort of ride, especially those scary roller-coaster rides; in fact I’m terrified of them. And having cousin sisters who’re a couple of roller-coaster maniacs, didn’t help much either. My slow lazy morning was soon about to reach mach 2. The place had movie themed rides. The first ride was a theme from The Mummy Returns. I decided to tag along after my manliness was called into question. The route that led to the ride was a dark tunnel with obstacles that were real obstacles, meant to be like the inside of a pyramid and I managed to bang my head and stumble effortlessly. The ride itself was supposed to be through a dark tunnel and even before we sat on the rollercoaster like thingy, my tummy was doing the rumba. We were buckled in with stuff that looked like it had the NASA emblem. The ride started slow with unscary mummies jumping around and my tummy was settling down. Then the ride suddenly tilted left and raced down and before I could let out a scream, I farted. Then it took a couple of right turns at such unimaginable acceleration that I didn’t even listen to my own screams. Then it came to a standstill. Before I could heave a sigh of relief, it tilted and accelerated backwards in pitch dark at such speed, I swear I felt my asshole touch my bellybutton. After a couple of those stunts, numerous screams and calls to various gods later I clambered out of the nastiest ride of my life. I managed to put on a brave face which soon disappeared as soon as my cousins saw my horror-stricken face on the snaps taken during the ride; courtesy the studio. After looking around for a while, we had lunch at one of the theme restaurants. Lunch was pretty good and modestly overpriced. Then we went on to another theme show called Shrek 4D. The building was designed just like the palace in Far Far Away; and 4D it was with chair movement and water sprays, which sprays again as soon as you wipe your face while showing Shrek forever. We then went souvenir shopping, posed with a Lamborghini and roamed around till it was time to go. Reached the hotel by about 7 PM and immediately ordered pizza for everyone. Late that night, we slunk again to The Longhorn and had a bash.

Day three…

The day started at 9 with the usual yummy breakfast. By 10 AM, we were ready to leave for the Sentosa Underwater world. The ride to the pickup point took nearly an hour and while we waited for the bus to come, we bored each other to death. The bus was late and the guide, the customary, fat, know-it-all chatterbox, was quick with some trumped-up excuse for the delay.  We were given some stickers that identify us with the specific group. The bus to the island was crowded and the ride was long and a real turn off. Then we stood in a long queue waiting to go up a contraption that went up with people inside so that they can have an aerial view of the island. It was OK, without the “ooohs and aaahs”. We reached the underwater world and were just in time to miss most of the dolphin show. We missed the rest as well as all the tourists in Singapore decided to visit Sentosa that particular day and virtually covered every inch of space around the dolphin pool. Royally pissed I decided to have a burger at a poolside shop and my pocket caught fire. Then we went to the underwater aquarium, saw some big fat fish floating around us. Then we went to a nearby beach and played in the water. But the highlight of the day was a sound and visual effect show, called Song of the sea. It was one helluva musical show with lasers and fire on fountain screens. The second highlight of the day was the couple in the row ahead, smooching like there was no tomorrow. We then called it a day and returned to the hotel, had dinner and crept into the longhorn for the last time. Bro openly monopolized Jess’ time, got drinks and shared his email address while she promised to keep in touch. She never gave a rat’s ass and he’s never heard the end of it.

Day Four…

After breakfast, we checked out and left for the botanical garden. We decided to walk as time was aplenty and after half an hour, we were there. Many boring plants and flowers later, I almost ran out of the place. We returned to the hotel, took our luggage and went straight to the airport. My flight back to Chennai was at 6 in the evening. After checking in and buying some booze, I boarded the flight. As soon as we were in the air, I wasted no time in abusing the flight’s bar service and in a while was feeling very happy. Woke up when we were about to land, at like 11 PM IST and a very memorable trip came to an end.

Poor man’s Ooty.

Thoist begone mites…

We stared at the bottle, I felt as if it stared back; now I know why.

Roughly 2 months back…

“Why in the world would Rags want to go to Yercaud”, I asked TM. “Because, it is easier for him…and me to get there; anyway what does it matter?”. I smiled inwardly. That, in fact was the sole reason for our trip; at least for TM and me. Rags, who with his tantrums could put most four-year olds to shame and baffle some top psychologists with fears that include almost all god’s creations (dogs, pussies/cats, monkeys…..rocks, water….) always remains an integral part of our travels for the simple reason that his wallet can sometimes be mistaken for a brick. In fact, we wouldn’t have had a problem travelling to Timbuctu, if it had been within our budget, but more importantly with the ‘right’ company.  “You’re right at that mite, but I hope for our sakes they have shops in there that help quench thoist”.   “Yeah, me too. But how about we not risk it and carry it with us?”, TM suggested. “What the hell mite” I said, “As the saying goes, once not bitten, so twice not shy, so let’s do it”. I was given the task of acquiring the stuff (I still wonder how TM conned me).  Once that was settled, Rags and TM began the hunt for budget resorts. But as usual, due the fact that Rags doesn’t quite know what “budget” means, we ended up booking a ridiculously overpriced, ball vaporizing cottage in a resort called The Grange. Since Rags was conveniently out of reach in Coimbatore, he escaped strangulation.  This trip was different for there was a new addition to our travel group, a very close pal from school. Let’s call him Idija. The thing I remember the most about Idija is his mush, so thick and luxuriant that back at school he could easily pass for a kid’s old man. Pity he doesn’t have it anymore.

Two weeks to go…

A number of undercover visits to the booze shop and an equal number of phone calls with TM later, I managed to get Shark Tooth vodka (mainly because the bottle looked cool). The trip was arranged for a weekend, so that none of us had to take leave. Soon after, we booked our tickets to Salem. Idija and me from Kochi, Rags from Coimbatore and TM from Chennai. From Salem, it is quite easy to get to Yercaud as there are plenty of buses.

The Friday before the weekend…

Ignorance is bliss they say. I packed my bag like I was visiting the Tundra. I packed in more warm clothes than my underwear. Nestled between the clothes was something, according to TM, I was supposed to guard with my life. That guy, at times can be too dramatic for his own good. At least the lucky bugger didn’t have to carry an extra 1 Kg in his bag.

In the evening at about 4, I reached the railway station. I was supposed to meet Idija there. After a while I found him, minus his mush. He looked like a recently sheared sheep. After some small talk (mostly bitching and cussing) we boarded the train and soon fell asleep. Rags was to board the same train from Coimbatore at about midnight and after we made some very harsh threats, he agreed not to wake us up.

Saturday

We reached Salem at 5 in the morning. We had a cup of coffee while we waited for TM. A couple of trains later we spotted TM. As he came closer, I noticed he had a ghastly growth of hair on his face that he liked to call a French beard. It looked like something else to me, that I don’t care to mention.

We soon got out of the station to look for buses. Suddenly Rags had this burning desire to take a taxi which cooled down almost as fast when he inquired about the cost. Thankfully, we got a direct bus to Yercaud once we got to the bus stand.

“Yeri” in Tamil means lake and “kadu” means forest. And Yercaud, I suppose means forest around/beside a lake. As the bus wheezed and wailed like an old woman as it started the climb, we couldn’t help but notice the exquisiteness of the sylvan surroundings. It was green everywhere and the combined effect of mist and cool breeze was a perfect experience. Well, almost perfect, with Rags throwing around barf threats at almost all the hairpin bends, which were aplenty.

After about 2 hours, we got down at a bus stop in Yercaud. We took an auto to The Grange situated on the Cockburn street (the English have a great sense of humour).  We reached The Grange in about 10 minutes (a 3 to 4 Km ride) and checked in at the reception at about 10 AM and were led to our executive cottage. We were pleasantly surprised as it was great. It was very spacious with a comfortable double bed, wardrobe, couch, dressing table and air conditioning. Even the toilet was in excellent condition. The Grange is inside a coffee plantation, which itself adds to its beauty. We ordered coffee and freshened up. Rags soon stuck to the TV like a limpet mine and we were forced to take extreme measures to detach the boob from the tube. After a short photo session during which Idija managed to crack his brand new camera due to his supreme clumsiness, we locked our room and set out to find a mallu (anything that belongs to Kerala) restaurant to have breakfast.

After` miles of walk and endless groans and moans from Rags, we found that there were no mallu restaurants around and settled for a Udipi one near the lake, which happens to be at the centre of the town. Some egg and masala dosas later, we embarked on some sightseeing.  The first on our list was the Ladies seat. We took an auto from the lake. We reached Ladies seat in about 10 minutes and immediately to our dismay found that it looked nothing like the Ladies “seat” we had in mind. It is in fact a small structure from where you can have a splendid eagle’s view of Yercaud, a sight worth seeing; with greenery, meandering roads and waterfalls. A couple of ice creams and a photo session later, we set out for the Gents Seat which was close by. The Gents Seat is at a higher level than the Ladies Seat and so we had to trek uphill. TM and I challenged Rags and Idija to a race uphill. Rags and Idija did live up to our expectations and 2 minutes later we half dragged them in their semi conscious state to the Gents Seat. The view here was even better and the breeze cooler.

By about 1 PM, we started our trek downhill and decided to have our lunch at the Sterling Resort. We took another auto and reached there by about 1.30 PM. It was a curious looking resort and reminded me of a maze. We had trouble finding the restaurant for this very reason. Since Rags and I recently celebrated our birthdays, TM and Idija quickly decided that the lunch was on us. Before we could recover from the shock, they set about ordering some very expensive stuff. The food was OK but we were stuffed by the time we were done and TM sported a rather smug smile of satisfaction. By about 3 PM, we took an auto and reached the lake. We thought we could do with a couple of beers but found that the TASMAC (Tamil Nadu state’s booze authority) shop was closed. After cussing and bitching for a while, we left for the bus stand. We realized god loves boozers when we found another TASMAC shop there. Though we had to settle for an unheard brand of beer called “charger”, we were happy. We soon got back to The Grange by an auto.

By about 4.30 PM, we began with a few swigs of vodka. We jealously guarded the coke, mirinda, limca peanuts and other eats from Rags’ predatory hands. Being the only non drinker in our group, he ate the accompaniments by the ton. After a couple of swigs more, we were feeling “happy”. We left the room to try our hands at the ATV (All Terrain Vehicle), one of The Grange’s adventure events for tourists (the other one being the resort owner’s wife who was an absolute stunner). There were about 4 ATVs, 150cc each and petrol run. There was a circular path, with swamps, uneven and bumpy, just perfect for an ATV ride. TM and Rags rode the ATVs and concluded that it handled like a pregnant cow. They had to part with Rs 400 each for their discovery.

Shortly thereafter, we left for our room and TM and I continued with the booze. We soon realized that, when Idija said he would have one third of the stuff, what he really meant was one third of a glass. Then we were left looking at a rather imposing bottle, and decided it was going to be a long night.

After a couple more swigs, with about half the bottle remaining and a feeling of immense happiness, TM and I trotted out with the Rags and Idija to have dinner. Since it was quite late in the evening, we decided to have our dinner at The Grange. We soon found that the café was full, all waiting like hungry fledglings, beaks upward, cheeping loudly, waiting for momma bird to feed them. After waiting for eternity, we managed to get seats. Since it was a buffet, there wasn’t much food left after the birds had their fill. Fortunately for me, there was some veg food left. The only non veg that was left for the others was bones from what was left of the chicken curry. Soon after dinner, we realized that this was another testicle removing ceremony and we had to part with a rather hefty sum and were royally pissed. We left for our room and TM and I started with where we left off. At about 10 PM the pansies (Rags and Idija) hit the sack and their snores combined sounded like an   F-22 at mach 3. TM and I got down to business and after 3 hours, stared at the empty bottle. We had won the battle.

Sunday…

We woke up at about 9 in the morning and quickly freshened up and ordered breakfast as we wanted to check out by 11. We beat the other guests to the café and polished off the food displaying scant manners. As soon as we got back to the room, we took out the beer bottles from the bucket of water and chugged them while we packed. We checked out at 11.30 AM. From there we went straight to the rifle shooting range, which was nothing but some bottles of various sizes hanging from the branch of a tree. The man in charge there gave us the air rifles and instructed us as if we were about to handle a bofors gun. TM and I fared quite decently in the target shooting while Idija managed to hit some invisible targets and a wild boar. After ogling at the resort owner’s wife (Codenamed Stacy’s mom) who happened to be there for a while, we left for the lake after being told by the instructor that it was a walk able distance (little did we know).

While we walked, we clicked numerous pictures of the dazzling greenery and foliage that grew on the sides of the road. The roads were virtually empty thus making the experience even better. We walked miles before we reached the lake. Since we were ravenous, we took an auto to the hotel Grand Palace that was on top of a hillock. We had lunch and beer from the pub called cloud 9. Though the bill was steep, the food was excellent. From the Grand Palace, we left for the Killiyur falls by auto. We asked the auto to come back after an hour since we had to climb down a narrow path to see the falls. The climb was nothing like we expected, it was extremely steep and slippery; one false step and you end up with a lot of broken bones. Rags and Idija stared in horror and called it quits. TM and I trudged along with a lot of enthusiasm before Rags acted the wet blanket with some sentimental rubbish and we were forced to stop (to this day, he claims he saved our lives). We took the auto back to the lake.

After a lot of cajoling and threatening, we managed to get Rags to come boating with us (boating is one of Rags’ phobias among brinjals and a zillion others). It was a row boat with an oarsman and we went once around the lake. It was quite OK. It was almost 4 and was time to get back to the railway station. While having some cotton candy, we noticed that all the buses to Salem were crowded and much to Rags’ happiness, we took a taxi back to Salem. The journey down the hill was great and we talked about our school days and gossiped and bitched about everyone we knew. We reached Salem at around 7 PM and had our dinner at an Udipi hotel. We took a bus to the railway station and boarded our respective trains by 9 PM. Since we dislike goodbyes, we cussed elaborately before we left.

All I want to say is, it was one helluva trip mites and I can’t wait to do it again.

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.