Travel With Anjaly

At night, Yercaud transformed into a dark, silent world, guided only by the sounds and whispers of breeze. Far down in the plains, Salem, a bustling town famous for its steel, looked like a million stars. I saw this from Lady’s Seat, high up in Yercaud at 1500 mts, with the cold breeze, chattering crickets and the smell of citrus and coffee blooms for company. Then just as suddenly, thick swirls of mist rose up and enveloped the little town in its embrace. Salem was lost to sight….

I had been warned against visiting Yercaud in the month of April, because, Salem in Tamil Nadu, India, the last town before the climb to Yercaud, was always hot. As warnings go, it went unheeded.

But as the old transport bus wound its way uphill through 36 hairpin bends, I did regret my decision. It was only after we had climbed more than 800 mts when first signs of life appeared, that I actually relaxed. There was a remarkable drop in mercury too. The temperature sometimes falls as low as 13 degree centigrade.

The rest of the way was spent admiring the neatly kept coffee plantation and hundreds of women picking coffee. It was quite a surprise to see Yercaud as a bustling little town on the Shevaroy hills. Little wonder it was called the ‘Poor Man’s Ooty’. Yercaud held promises. There was not much time to lose.

All tourists, I noticed, headed for the lake first. So did I. After paddling about for an hour, failing miserably to make a garland out of lotus stems, I headed for the food carts for some ‘bhajji’, actually potatoes and chillies dipped in batter and deep-fried. It was fun just to sit on the garden walls and add on calories and watch the kids on the lake.

This followed a walk though the Anna Park, a surprisingly well-maintained garden full of beautiful flowers. A short walk down the road from the Lake, I found “Bhavani Singh’s perfumery!! The smells of nature were all captured in bottles for the weary city-dweller to rejuvenate himself. Bhavani Singh must have been a man worth his salt to have thought of it. I dutifully bought “White Panther Oil” after first establishing that no such animal had been shot for the purpose.

Towards evening, all roads led to the Lady’s Seat at the end of the town past the century-old Montfort School. English-style bungalows lined both sides of the road. There were also the Gents’ Seat and the Children’s Seat, the mention of which invited sniggers from the locals. Here clearly the ‘Lady’ ruled. Lady’s Seat has its own charm. From there one can get the best views of the plains and on a clear day, the distant Metur dam can also be seen.

My second day was spent in visiting the old Shevaroyan Temple built by the tribals high in the forested area. It stands at 5500 ft and is the highest point in Yercaud. There are but a few places that can match the magnificence of this old temple.

It was time for a change of view. I opted for the more adventurous roads: which meant simply walking down each road radiating from the main junction or branching off into narrow arteries. One such led to the Pagoda Point. It was a plateau of sorts with several empty little houses perched on it. Past these houses a road led to a small temple on the cliff. The view was breathtaking although it was a misty day and the sun only winked at the world grudgingly. I had heard it was the best place to be. It overlooked an expanse of green, a colour I believe nature created as a comfort for sore eyes. No soul has come away from Pagoda Point without having restored his faith in nature-cure. It’s a long walk from Pagoda Point to the heart of the little town; in fact most tourists prefer to hire a vehicle. Backpacking is about economy, so I walked. It was wonderful to wave to the hundreds of people hurrying past in their cars and jeep anxious for a moment of solace at Pagoda Point. Yercaud is culturally and religiously very tolerant. For a place that has about 343 sq kms area, with more than half of that full of teak, sandalwood and silver oak trees, there are numerous churches, temples and mosques.

Yercaud is not exactly a “happening place” in terms of the night life. The boating closes by 6 pm and the park by 5 pm!!

But what reminds me of the place till date is the fluffy white idli (made of rice and lentil soaked overnight) that I had the fortune of savouring at the Hotel Venkateshwara. Shankar, the proprietor even packed ten of them for my onward journey!! Hospitality was a way of life here.

Despite the advancements in technology, Yercaud still retains its old world charm; it has one internet café and hundreds of telephone booths which remained blissfully non-functional in the best of times. No one is in any hurry to reach anywhere. Everyone has only one thing to say – “All roads lead to Lady’s Seat and the other to Salem”.

Yercaud is certainly very mysterious.

Pipariya took me by surprise.

The name, which I first heard in Itarsi, amused me a great deal. A while later when I discovered that it was in the neighbourhood of a nice hill station: enough to command my respect. So to Pipariya I went from Itarsi. Everything about Pipariya station was amusing. The portly set of porters, the mangy dog that strayed onto the platform, the station master all contrived to give it a comical appearance. The porters also refused to leave me alone, it hurt their traditional pride to see a woman carry her back-pack herself, although I suspect it was more for their pockets that they feared.

However Pipariya had life which was reflected in the way the buses made their way uphill to Panchmarhi 47 km away. They seemed to have a will of their own and did not, as a rule move unless they had made up their minds. And when they did, they were spirited and eager for a run. The fun intensified when taxis and jeeps competed with matadors and tempos and all against each other before setting their eyes on the bus. Often the bus is the winner and occasionally the jeep and the rest of them pull up together, but once at Panchmarhi, all sit down to a friendly cup of ‘chai’ till it is time to go back again.

Panchmarhi was a nice town with sign boards everywhere welcoming you to the ‘Tiger Land’. I did not see any during my stay. In three days I explored caves and waterfalls and verdant green valleys but did not see the cat. But whether the cat saw me was another question altogather.

Panchmarhi in the Satpura range of Madhya Pradesh, central India, gets its name from the five caves, which the legend says sheltered the five Pandavas of the Mahabharata fame. It is not over-developed; nor does it have awesome heights, for the Satpuras are low lying weathered hills. But Panchmarhi likes to show off its treasures too.

The glistening waterfalls are the crowning glory. There are churches built way back at the close of the 18th century with lovely stained glass and plenty of colourful temples. Deep azure pools are hidden everywhere and wild-life watchers can catch glimpses of the animal and birds to their heart’s content.

Infact I did see a couple of them, their eyes glued to the binoculars, so engrossed in their search for the big-cat, that they did not notice when a little boy made away with their caps! Personally I think a day in the Fairy Pool or the Apsara Vihar was a lot more exciting. It must be hard on the eye not to connect to the object it is seeking. I swear I heard a few casual curses, all intended for the cat I hoped, before I made my way through the bushes to the pool. After half a day there I turned my attention to the thunderous waterfalls of the Rajat Parbat and finished off with a swim in the Irene Pool. Of course it sapped a bit of energy but none really grudge the trek. Panchmarhi has a lot of British sounding names and its Indian equivalent, just for the locals!! If you meet a really illiterate local, it helps that you know the names in the two languages.

Day two

I looked for something more exciting and thereby joined a small group and went rock climbing. The guide, aremd with a stout club hacked away at the bushes that threatened to come in his way. He led us though some very hard, rocky grounds, whistling all the while, unaware of our discomfort. After some time we reached where
we were headed.

The rocks at Lanjee Giri are not very friendly to first-timers. I must have cut a pathetic picture to those watching me labour over every rock and every crevice for a footing. I heard the sounds of a “tear” before I saw it. There it was a ghastly sight, leaving a generous bit of me open to public eye!! Luckily, the people in this tiny hill-station are not very “dress-conscious” and therefore I was lucky to get away in my jeans ripped off at undesired places. The guide told me it was not the best thing to wear in the first place.

When I finally boarded a bus the next morning, this time back to Bhopal about 215 km away, I fervently hoped there would be no more competition among the drivers. As it was I had a lot of cheerful memories like a twisted ankle, multiple tear in my jeans: I was not in a hurry to have something done to my head!

Welcome to Waynad

In Gods Own Country, this is but a tiny jewel. Nevertheless it is the jewel most precious.

All around this place is beautiful green as if nature is blushing in different shades of green, from light to dark as she slowly blooms into womanhood…..Then just as suddenly, there is the unmistakable blue mingled with the green giving it the appearance of a fairyland. The soft white swirls of mist completes the picture of pleasure. Welcome to Waynad, the land of luxury and colours.

I am one of those lucky ones perhaps who actually got to experience this place. I lived here a while!! And no other place, till date has fascinated me like Waynad has. So it is on good authority you are reading this article. Trust me, once here; you never want to go away.

To say I have seen it all would be an understatement, because nature here is very playful. With every season she changes colours and the very same thing I saw just-the-other-day, would look and feel so different. I have trekked to the Chembra Peak (it took me almost a whole day!!), paddled about in the Pookot Lake, seen the Edakkal Caves and in moments of tenderness even visited some of the temples here.

The tea estates are remarkably breathtaking. If you are traveling uphill from Kozhikode in Kerala, you are very lucky because as you leave Vythiri, you see plenty of them. From Calicut (Kozhikode the locals call it) is 100 kms away and easily covered in less than three hours but you have to be very good at the curves that are tightly wound round the bends starting from Adivaram upward till you reach Vythiri. There are strategic locations where you can pull up by the road and drink in the breathtaking scenery and enjoy the sudden fall in temperature. Watch out for the monkeys though, if you are seen with food, they usually do not hesitate to claim their share!!

By now you have almost reached Sultan’s Battery after passing Kalpetta, a picturesque one-horse-town and also the district head quarters. Sultan’s Battery is a little bigger town and like a typical hill-town, is surrounded by hills and eucalyptus trees and tea estates. From here, there are plenty of buses plying to Mysore, Bangalore (Karnataka side), to Ooty (Tamil Nadu side). For an obscure hill station, it is very well connected.

Bandipur, the famous tiger park, is in close proximity to Sultan’s Battery. Plenty of jeeps and cars for hire make it easy for the tourists to travel about. The locals are very friendly and never, even in the absence of a rate-meter, overcharge you.

Head for Muthanga and go on a safari and if you are lucky, really lucky, you can see the big cat up close. A word of warning though. Never venture out into the forests alone, you don’t know which animal is out there waiting for his next meal. The forest houses hundreds of varieties of animals, some not so friendly. Never hunt for any animal or bird or carry away a strange-looking sapling. The wildlife department here are known for their strict rules and regulations and do not take kindly to meddling tourists.

Ooty is about 90 kms away and can be reached in two ways from Sultan’s Battery. You can drive all the way to Gundulpet (55kms) and turn right, drive to Gudulur (via Erumad-Cherambady) and climb up to Ooty.

Don’t be surprised if you are suddenly faced with strange-looking people not very well covered. Waynad and the whole of Nilgiris have a lot of tribal people. Of course many of them have joined the mainstream civilization, thanks to the untiring efforts of the local government, but you can still see them about.

The weather is pleasant all through the year but the temperature can drop suddenly sometimes. It is advisable to carry light woolen clothing in the non-winter season that is usually from March onwards till the beginning of the monsoons in June. In the rainy season and winter, heavy woolens are recommended.

Chembra Peak: A trekker’s delight. You do get to see a few of them huffing and puffing their way uphill sometimes, but for most parts, it is left to itself. And am glad for it. I always felt that it was my exclusive domain, not to be tampered by meddling tourists. Chembra peak is near Meppady town, another picturesque town with thousands of jeeps around. They must be banned, you know, for they contribute to a great deal of pollution.

There are hundreds of interesting places here and your senses will lead you to the right place if you indulge in it long enough. This is also a spice-town and everything is fresh here, from vegetables to fruits and fish and meat. The locals, like I said are friendly albeit a little curious to know your origins. Just for their evening laughs around a ‘chai-kada’.

For anyone planning a visit to Kerala, I sincerely must advise them to head for Waynad first before heading to the popular beaches downhill.

You may wonder why I have never written about lakes before, seeing that I have spent half my life (or nearly so) in and about lakes, sea and rivers (not to mention an occasional dam). In fact when I was very young, I even took to swimming in a river and nearly drowned. That beastly river near Calicut (Kerala) nearly took away my life. But you get the drift. I am a water- girl, among other things.

So with a colorful history behind me, I proceeded to this lake. Well, lakes in general are innocent. They are less wild than the rivers and more serene than the sea. In comparison to a dam, they are like kittens. And this lake was above all suspicion. To give a brief history of this one. Pookot Lake in Waynad district in Kerala (southern India) is perhaps one of the largest fresh water lakes in the country. It sits comfortably in the lap of green hills and thick foliage, two thousand meters above sea level, half way between Calicut and Sulthans Battery in a place named Vythiri, which records the second highest rainfall in India after Chirpunji.

So you see it has a lot going for it. And not one negative. It has everything one can hope for in a lake decent lake __deep calm waters, boats, rolling hills, chirping birds, water lilies….everything. There is also an aquarium where you can watch fish lazily swim in captivity if your tired of the woods. An ideal place to put up ones feet and give in to a short peaceful slumber. How I reached here was interesting.

I had been off to Calicut from Sulthan’s Battery one day (a three hour journey). As we reached Vythiri, the bus was grounded. Now, being grounded in Vythiri is no sin. Thousands of vehicles ply on the road. But that day, we were told there had been a mishap downhill. Understand this. Downhill through 36 hairpin bends is no laughing matter especially if the roads are no wider than your palms and there is a deep drop on either side.

A mishap on a turn and the vehicles line up for miles. To top it all it was a cold misty day, not uncommon, but it certainly made going tough. Many of the locals decided to walk some distance to keep the blood flowing. Likewise some distance away the road branched off from the main road and went right, on which I walked. A board bearing the name ‘Pookot’ appeared behind a cloud of mist so I carried on. I remember some footsteps behind me as well.

That is how I reached this lake.

I have never regretted the walk or even the short mishap in the water. I am coming to that. People, as you know, always want something to remind them of the places they have visited. So it happened that this bloke was trying to shoot a video of this pretty lake, but upon seeing me (I don’t blame him though!!) decided to zero in on me. That was also the time when I had passed out of law school (you bet I am not a spitting image of justice but I did drag my feet through the marble floors of the law school!!) and was bursting with ideas of a freedom and right to privacy. So when this guy insisted on having me in every shot, I lost it.

Also remember that paddle boats are not best suited for racing and are known to lose their balance at the drop of a pin. The bloke and his offending family had the advantage of being in a row boat. So when I finally pulled up beside them and saw him grinning very stupidly, I saw red, or rather green and blue (green being his shirt and blue his pants). My mind told me anyone with that combination on him was trouble. He was stupid alright. When I pulled up alongside, he actually leaned across to show me my pictures, looking pleased. First. I hated his choice of colors. Second: I hated his grin. Third: He was a lousy videographer.

Anyone who could make me look like a sheep shorn of its wooly coating had no right to be a videographer. Without a thought I snatched his stuff and with a curse was about to throw it into the lake when my paddle boat shifted. The rest like I said is history. The lifeguard later told me, between giggles and frown that he has never seen anyone wetter than I was after I had to be pulled up from the lake with water lilies sticking in my hair.

 The consolation was that the video camera was lost for good. It was also then I decided that lakes were deceptive. Now I do not mind much if someone is taking my pictures. Law and ideals have long gone. If it helps any silly photographer, I would even go as far as posing. So long as there is no resemblence to a sheep.

To think, I have lived in these parts for so long and NEVER before attempted to climb a thousand steps in search of the temple on top. Leave the temple, any person with a grain of adventurous streak, would make a beeline for the Chamundi Hills,(Mysore) up the stone steps, past the lush vegetation, stop to look at the beautiful view of Mysore spread out below, bow to the black Bull God and finally, in a surge of passion, scamper up the last 400 or so steps to the flat mountian top that houses a nasty looking statue of Mahishasura with a sword and a snake in each hand, standing guard over the various temples spread around.

But I had none of that before. So when I finally made up my mind, (well, it was less of making up the mind and more of for want of a better alternative), I was not alone. Ha, my climbing partner was quite unlike any climbing partner I have had in the past. Maya, was, by no means a climber. But she had the grit. It was up or no where else. I am all for climbing mountains, but my mind and body are two different things. In the end, after trying to bribe an auto-driver into taking us up and failing because he was asking us the price of his ancient auto, we decided to walk.

It is remarkably easy for the body to follow when the mind is made up. One, two, three…on we went, more out of curiosity than with the actual intention of undertaking an exciting walk through sunlit steps and overhanging branches upon which huge spiders had spun their webs, bouncy monkeys chattering away without a care.

Whether it was a miracle or sheer coincidence I dont know, but after we met Ganesha, a tiny young fellow who materialised from nowhere suddenly, our walk became more bearable. Also, I seized the oppurtunity to brush up my Kannada, which, much to my relief and that if Ganesha, I am sure, had not suffered much in the hands of the ultra modern Middle East culture and much wandering about in foreign land. Ganesha hid his curiosity well. For a fellow not used to being around women accustomed to swearing at everything, he kept his head right and eyes fixed on the steps, and never for a moment letting his amusement get the better of him. He hid shock, surpirse, amusement and many other emotions well.

A handy fellow he was, making walking stick out of fallen branches, upon which I leaned heavily from time to time in order to catch my breath. Well, the less said of Maya’s efforts in that quarter the better. I really didnt believe she would make it, and had she not, there was very little Ganesha and I could have done, but she was a chump alright. She plodded on like a good soldier and I kicked myself mentaly because, for all the climbing I had done in the past, I had let myself be taken over by the softness of the city life.

Then we sighted cucumbers. It must have been just as we were about to die at the top of 600 steps. There was a welcome party on the top. A policeman in Khaki uniform with a walkie-talkie had appeared on a motor bike and looked down upon us as we pushed ourself over the last few steps.

Nothing like cucumber sprinkeld with chilli and salt to revive a dying man, I say.