Reclaimed

The work was getting to my head, to my sensuality, to the health of my marital life. There wasn’t one day I didn’t have a dream of a truck or my boss.

A vacation had been long due and I decided to take it in December. I completed the necessary formalities and fixed the date to be December 3rd to December 15th. I would spend 7 days for my own redemption and the other 7 for the redemption of my marital life.

Day 1:

I drive down from Chennai to Dharmapuri in a car. My motorcycle, The Zahir was at my parents’ place. It was a dull drive in the modern yet boring 4 lane highway. I made the 330 kms without any hitches.

I had a tasty lunch at home made by my mother. Any married guy who eats his wife’s cooking knows the value of that lunch or dinner made by mom. I hogged and I started off to Salem (70kms), my first stop in the trip.

My duffel bag fell off The Zahir just 5 minutes from home. I was still a novice in knots and ties! I made it safe. My first ride on him in 4 months.

I checked in and the tomorrow will be a long day. I had to give The Zahir a good wash and some check up and then I have to ride to Madurai (225kms), my next stop.

Day 2:

With great difficulty I found a Bullet mechanic in Salem and got The Zahir checked up and cleaned. He was glistening like new and raring to go. Oh how I love the thump!

It was 12 pm by the time I could start off from Salem. It was a good ride. Not too hot, but not too cold either. Slight drizzles here and there. And the glorious countryside in December – well fed with water and the result – miles and miles of paddy fields. The Indian countryside gets its beauty after the monsoons, though the monsoons are beautiful themselves. Our threshing floors are our highways and the threshers are trucks and buses. What ingenuity!

I stopped for lunch in a Reliance A1 Plaza in Dhadikombu, near Dindigul, and ate what are the birth right and the craving of every Tamilian born in this world – curd rice!

I reached Madurai at 5 pm and checked into my favourite hotel – GRT. I took my beer to the bathtub watching Guns n Roses on youtube. It is pleasant to take a hot shower after a long day in the heat and the dust – a beer and good music going with it makes it heavenly.

Day 3:

I intended to travel to Kodaikanal today.

I had made some special arrangements for my stay. I wouldn’t be going to a hotel this time, and no, not to a resort either. I am taking a hut in a little village. One has to trek 3 kms from a road that ends suddenly to reach this village. The 3kms are very hard on city slickers like me.

I reached Kodaikanal at 12pm and go to the landing point. The place was swarming with firangees – the eternal wanderers – with matted hair and a doped up look. There were a lot of other Royal Enfields parked – all rented out to these foreigners once they land from wherever they are from.

They are all riding the classic Bullet STD while I am on a more modern Thunderbird. They come to look at The Zahir and try sitting on him and certify that this is a real good looking thing and must be very comfortable to ride over long distances. Boy I was proud of you man!

I started the trek downhill. With the entire load on my back, the very first 10 minutes were hell. My legs were shivering from the effort. I was sweating. I was feeling giddy. Then came the solace of the shop of my contact who arranged the accommodation. He is the Panchayat leader of the village.

A unique village – no electricity, no transportation – only horses, water comes from a stream. I drink a wonderful cup of tea, say hello and go to my home for the next 3 days. It is a decent 1 room house, with an attached bath. A fireplace was there. I have to pay 60 rupees everyday extra for the firewood.

I made it back to Kodaikanal to have lunch and buy some supplies. I love food at the Tibetian Brothers. They serve the best Chinese food in town. I ambled back downhill.

I had brought some whisky and I sat outside the house with a glass of whisky and just sat there doing nothing. I was served with chicken fry made by my host’s wife. It was 6 pm and it started getting very cold. It suddenly became completely dark. I went into the house and made a little fire and warmed my feet and had some more whisky. I have never felt so good after a drink. It was like the skin was cold and the inside of my body was warm. The fire was the only light in the house. I ate chapathis at my host’s house and came back home with strict instructions not to keep the door unlocked, not to roam outside during the night. The village is frequented by bisons and a leopard in the night. The latter makes off with whatever domestic animals that are left unsecured during the night.

I was reading by candle light. It would have been 10 pm and I put out the light to retire for the night. I peered out of the glass window and I could see a dark form in the meadow in the incline above my house. Then I could discern 7 bisons through the dim light from the backyard of my neighbor. I lighted a candle and rummaged through my bag for my camera. By the time I ran back to the window they were all gone.

I went to bed, but I could not sleep though my head was feeling clouded. I realized there was complete silence. The silence of the forest and the mountains. You can hear the breeze, the ruffling leaves, and your own hear beat and breath. No feeling of another human being living except you. Felt eerie.

Day 4:

It was a hard trek back to the base. This time it was a climb. My knees were aching and my lungs very nearly blew up on my ribs.

I came into town and there were phone calls waiting for me. Even though you are on a holiday and even though you have informed all your associates of this, the suckers will still call. In the end I had to check mail and reply to a few.

After lunch it was time for a lazy and slow ride along the picnic circuit of the town. There are the Pillar Rocks, the Suicide Point, the Guna Caves, the Pine Forest and one spot yet to be named and then to the Moyar Point and beyond that nobody can go. This road takes you to Berijem Lake and then to Munnar. This was a bustling road once, but now it is closed since the area is a national park. You have to get the permission of the Forest Ranger at Kodaikanal to enter – no motorcycles and the road is open only from 11am to 5 pm. So whoever goes in has to come out, if they don’t, just what you have guessed – nobody cares. The check-post here lets in some vehicles in the morning, if they decide to take a bribe. The roads are unmotorable after Berijem Lake – it once took us 4 hours to cover the 36 kms to Munnar. There is zero traffic. Nobody would know if one got doomed. At that time, I and my friends had posed as relatives of an eminent politician. We got in by paying Rs. 200 per head. This was back in 2001.

Stopped by at the spot yet to be named. The place is infested with monkeys. There are 3 smalltime vendors there and all three are armed with catapults, sticks and even swords to keep them off their goods. Everytime a car stops they try to climb into the car. They terrify children into screaming and then they run away screaming themselves. There are all sorts of personalities amidst the pirates. The hungry ones go mischieving, the ones that are cold are all huddled together, and the babies are playing in a group unmindful of the 3000 feet drop if they fall. Then a group of 7-8 women jogged along carrying firewood from the forest. The load would be 30-40 kgs and they carry it on their head. They stopped at the shop for some snacks and put down their load. They were casually saying that they came this way because some bisons were blocking their usual short-cut. When they decided to leave it took 2 men to load the wood onto their heads again.

Then back to base. The trek down again. Armed with provisions for the night, with a shawl as a gift for my panchayat leader and some chocolates for his sons, and some more whisky and soda. I am now sitting near the edge of the cliff where the village ends and nothingness begins. It is a pleasure to live like this.

This afternnon I asked my host what it would cost to buy a small cottage in his village. He told me that they don’t sell land or houses to outsiders lest their village become a commercial tourist center. Now they are attracting foreigners and very few Indians like me and making good sustainable money. The uniqueness of the destination lies in its remoteness from the bustle and its proximity to town. Anyways he just told me offhandedly that 1 sq.ft. of land here costs Rs. 100. Just imagine guys, a place with a view – not one building in sight, leopards and bisons in close proximity, strange fruit orchards and no roads at all – all this for a paltry Rs. 100 per sq.ft. Consider that land at 50 kms from Chennai costs Rs. 200 per sq.ft.!

Then I saw an amazing spectacle. A huffing puffing postman walked by handing over letters and cash from money orders to the village headman who then ensures that they get to the more remote hamlets. This is done through the horsemen who transport merchandise to these places inaccessible by anything else other than a horse (they take Rs. 5 as forwarding charges from the addressee). One kg of merchandise costs Rs. 50 and are taken strictly based on advance payment by cash. Everything comes in this way. Chicken, whisky, rice, vegetables, medicines. Not everyone can own a horse. You have to get a license from the panchayat.

An ex-serviceman runs a telephone booth, the only one in the village. It is roaring business here. With all people walking to the further hamlets this is the last communication point.

I then walk over to a church – half built. Some foreign trust had started building it and then abandoned it for some reason. It has an old watchman who gets paid in Euros every month! The villagers think he gets Rs. 10000 as pay for sitting there everyday and drinking sarayam (local brewed spirit) and ensuring that no one of the village enters the premises.

I got to meet my neighbor who runs a little shop for passers by. He is a simple man and looks poor. He lives off his shop and his little parcel of land. His son studies in Anna University, Chennai and daughter in a very good school in Madurai. The great Indian ambition – to uplift the lot of the family.

And back to what I love most. I retire to my whisky and will again write tomorrow.

Day 5:

Time to leave the hills and to go home. There is always a lethargy when have to go back home from a holiday. The journey back seems a long one and one considers even lingering for one more day.

But I had to leave today. There are things to be done at home when the holiday still lasts.

I left Kodaikanal after presenting my hosts with my gifts and settling my bills at 9 am. I decided to go through the Palani route this time round. Stopped in a village called Savarikadu for tea. Two old men were remembering old stories about pythons and their doings in their respective villages. It was an interesting conversation. I could recollect atleast 7 stories being exchanged in 15 minutes.

I reached Palani, then Dharapuram and then Perundurai. It started raining. 2.30 pm. I stopped at a dhaba and decided to have lunch – trucker style. Sit cross-legged on a wire cot and eat your food on the plate on a wooden plank placed across. The roti & dhal was amazing with raw chillies. Then a bowl of curd rice.

4 pm: The rain wouldn’t stop and one gentlemen picked up conversation. He too owned a Royal Enfield and he gave me tips on how to make the chrome shine. His motorcycle, a 1985 Classic was shining like new.

5 pm: The rain still wouldn’t stop. I still had to cover 130 kms to get to Dharmapuri. So I decided to turn in for the night in Erode. So one more day of roaming.

Now I miss home, my wife and my bean bag.

Day 6:

I reached Dharmapuri. I have to leave The Zahir there and head back to Chennai by bus. I once more have a sumptuous lunch made by mom.

I got into the bus at 2 pm and it was one marathon ride in the bus. Reached Chennai at 9 pm.

Had dinner at my own sweet home.

Day 7:

It’s the grind from today to the next holiday. One always gets the urge to go back to the holiday.

I have bought my freedom this year after 10 long months in the drudgery of practicality. When on a ride, distance doesn’t matter. The destination is an end which will be reached regardless of the means. The distance is just space. This space is life.

There is always a charm in traveling alone. People may think you are queer. When you travel alone, when all the static produced by your friends and family is non-existent, you get to watch the world as a spectator. You are living in a transparent shell and observing every little movement of the world. You observe, you dissolve. You don’t feel like you are a traveling mass, but as a wisp of grass that is carried along by the wind.