To catch up on our first day in Munnar, climb up to the cottage and join us, in Kerala Bhraman- The Theater Of Tea Plants.
Morning in Munnar. The night before was a drowsy one which was filled with the constant groaning of the trees as the breeze loaded its branches. In the morning, outside, there was light. The floating tortoise (Gundumally) stood frozen at its place, gawking at the puny cottage people seeming amazed by the hills around them.
View from the cottage |
“What’s
so new about it?” It wondered in silence.
Definitely,
nothing was new. We had seen the same green scarf clad hills the previous day and it had rained all day. It would probably rain today as
well. But, we wanted to pour into ourselves, each and every bit of the beauty of
Munnar, imagining that this is what heaven looks like. Heaven and the court of the gods.
The
usual drapery of white clouds returned and it rained. We watched the rain drops
tapping on the window panes while having tea. With the last sip, we removed the
last bit of the last night’s sleep and asked the cook to serve breakfast.
We were going to try out Appam with chicken stew for breakfast and mama was
sure that we would lick our fingers in the end.
Indeed
we did. It took ten minutes barely to clean my plate of Appam. The light and
succulent chicken stew had won our hearts and the recipe was immediately in
demand.
Appam and chicken stew |
Outside,
tea pickers in uniform walked on the shimmering road by the garden; the duty
was on the verge of beginning. The tea gardens were so steep we wondered how
the tea pickers kept themselves from tumbling. It was a tough job.
The
park around the house was embellished by an array of flowers, all drenched and
nodding with the rain. As if in staunch agreement to whatever was told to them.
Thekkady
wouldn’t have been complete without its rainforest, Varkala wouldn’t have been
complete without its picturesque beach and its fables, Munnar wouldn’t
certainly be complete without the shops in the main city market selling tea and
spices.
We had decided that we would visit the market that day. After our customary tour to
our respective bathrooms, we were off in our white Innova.
As
we descended the hill, my mother was intent on sighting elephants and stayed on
her window seat, skimming through each shrub and garden we passed. The stark
watchmen of the tea gardens didn’t flinch when the rain drops fell on them and
stood still with their crescent branches stretched upwards.
Jishnu |
Mama had called shotgun and was doing a better job than me; he wasn’t sleeping. In fact he wasn’t letting Jishnu (our driver) sleep either. He kept him awake with his constant questions about stuffs in Munnar and Kerala all together.
And
when mama would go silent, Jishnu would put on his earphones and talk to
someone on his phone. Constantly guffawing. Probably joking about the crazy family he was driving around
Munnar.
He
joked on the phone while we joked among ourselves. Neither understanding the
other’s language.
Mattupetty Dam |
Before going to the market, we hit the Mattupetty Dam. We got down at the tourist market where they were selling fancy hats and umbrellas. It was drizzling as we walked to the bridge over the dam and looked at the lake below us. Several men and women had flocked at the bank and were waiting for their turn for boating, pouring the depths of the lake with their usual pouts and duck faces.
Men
gave horse rides at the market. Boys wearing bandannas rode the buffy brown
horses as the horse boy followed and the friends clicked pictures of their
mate.
The
day wanted some time alone with the
lake and was utterly disappointed of the invasion of the tourists. The rain
fell harder in response and people started running for cover.
The
Kanan Devan Hills Plantation outlet was bustling with the daily crowd of tea
and spice lovers. The walls of the shop were adorned with the glimpses from the
past of the company; all black and white. Of course, none of the attention was
focused on the stills. That was one side of the outlet. Completely barren save
the pastry counter.
Life
began abruptly on the other side. Families, friends, groups of tourists and localites had gathered at the long
spice, tea, coffee and chocolate counter. Leaving little or no place for
someone else to get in.
I
was summoned to choose the chocolates which I would like to take back to
Dehradun.
“What’s
there to choose? Chocolates are chocolates!” I thought.
Inside the KDHP outlet |
The chocolates |
After much introspection, I
picked up the spicy one. It would be fun to watch the look on my friends’ faces
when they would take a bite of those.
The
shelves behind the shopkeepers were stuffed with all kinds of Munnar tea and
coffee. Green tea, Oolong and lots more.
After
leaving the outlet, we stopped at a nearby shop to buy some homemade chocolate
and chips for snacks. There was one shop that was selling tiny exotic wooden
massaging devices apart from nuts, spices, chips and oils.
Once
again, we drove up hill, braving the pebble like rain drops pelting on the
windshield of the Innova. We had forgotten what sunlight felt like in Munnar.
Back
in the holiday home, we had lunch and retired to the common room reading and
snoring.
Mama and baba went on to play a game of carom in the adjoining library.
Munnar city |
On the other end of the library was a door to another room. From behind the shut door came the constant guffawing of Jishnu and the butler and the cook.
Probably
joking about the crazy family.
The clouds had shut the house from
the outside world. The trees bent due to the weight of the breeze and the creaking sound
sent shivers down our spine.
There
was no electricity but there was enough diffused sunlight in the room and it
was pretty cool as well.
At
night, the generator roared again and the tiny spot in the somber Munnar hills
was incandescent.
Sleep
lay upon us like a sheath and after dinner, we crept beneath the comforting
blankets. Silently, sleep closed our
eyes and we dropped into a deep rabbit hole.
Some
time at night the generator stopped blaring and only the wind blew.
We
didn’t do much the next day. It rained and it never stopped raining for the
remainder of the day.
Jishnu asked us if we wanted to go and watch a Kathakali dance performance in the city or a display of the popular Keralite martial art. But we declined and stayed up in the hill instead.
Jishnu asked us if we wanted to go and watch a Kathakali dance performance in the city or a display of the popular Keralite martial art. But we declined and stayed up in the hill instead.
I
peeped at Gundumally from the common room window when the clouds cleared for
some time.
On
that word-less day, in the quiet room, there was nothing to do to kill time. The
book that I had brought with me turned out to be a total bore so I put it away
and slipped into my usual reverie.
I
saw myself floating in the sky, flying over the enormous green tortoise. Then over a temple and the
tiny Lego dwellings before settling on a traipsing patch of cloud. From where I
was, our cottage was a distant spot slowly getting behind the clouds. The lofty
trees swaying like colossal fans fanning the throne of a cottage.
Such
a fine sight! Should I ever return to myself,
siting in the cottage’s common room; amidst the four walls?
Or
should I stay back and enjoy the view.
Alas,
like all other thoughts this too vanished in a snap. “Not now brother!”
Of
all the nights we had spent till now, the last nights were dreadful. Questions
which hadn’t bothered us up till now popped up immediately.
“Why does time fly so fast?”
“Will
we return to Munnar?”
“Do
we really have to leave?”
Answers to which were truly unfathomable.
That
night seemed much shorter. So much where we accustomed to the routinely blare
of the generator, that we never noticed when did it stop. The only thing that
came crashing back in a much eminent form was the orchestra of the night. It
played a slow and a melancholic farewell song and dissolved into the darkness
of the night just like every other time.