Travel Diary: Southbound, 2015. (Part I)

Why do I go silent sometimes? Silent enough to not pen down my words? There is a high chance that all of it is because I am seeped in sorrow, and wouldn't it be absolutely wonderful and giving to the artistic cause were it so? Yet, it seems possible because joy has doubled. That risks are at every bend and because daring is what daring does. Good Morning reader. This travel diary is going to be something different from what I have written. At least in the last one year. All my travels have found shape in the form of letters or developed into something more intricate in the grander theme of things. Yet, I tell you, when I flip through those glossy pages of old magazines in fine hotels, the travelogues interest me the most. After premium endorsements, of course. There are those invaluable inputs on where to go, and how to reach, things to do and things to eat, and I wish I were the one bulleting those to-do's.

Ever since I have begun earning considerably so as not to be answerable to anyone, I invest in travelling. Nature has so many stories to unfold that it makes me feel puny, at the same time alive. In the truest sense, what is a vacation, a holiday? I am not one who retrives meanings from dictionaries, hence, I would go by a generalized understanding -- that which is a break from the daily. That which makes me lose track of days and dates. That which refreshes sometimes and saddens often. But surely, surprises always. Reader, here is a view into what I have been upto for the past few days.

This journey began with plannings in excel sheets which I am not an expert in. It was meant to be one of prim and proper exactness. With two of the most unlikely friends to come along to form this holy triangle of southbound sojourn. The two of us ran away from the city's artsy deitification madness to join the third in Chennai, after a palpable flight, mostly through air pockets. All's well that ends well though. The homemade food that greeted us put us back on track with the travel. My birthday-sake, equally mad, mountain buddy had the arrangements of an entire kitchen in her black bag. Treasuring it the most amongst the three of us, we boarded an ac-sleeper bus to Thirunelvelli. It was exciting because it was luxurious, to say the least. The individual screen yielded an array of blue butterfiles in Bahubali which glued us to its insane majesty. We reached the destination after a good night's sleep, couple of hours late to be picked up by the retired Professor of English in his white Polo VW. We brought along the rain he said. We drove two hours into what I believe is the end of civilisation (in the name of wilderness) into the heart of nowhere, in the midst of thick forestland, a place called Manimutharu (http://www.rkvadventure.in). We stopped at a shack which would serve the best, I repeat, THE BEST idlis and vadas I have had in the entire trip. It is called The Coffee Club, and is hardly what the fancy name suggests. Raindrops pouring in through the top and two benches, that is it, that it is. But, reader, what steaming idlis and what crispy vadas!

The founders of RKV propagate about the healing powers of the plantations while telling us of wild animals ('cheetahs, pythons and wild boars') casually, yet we weren't prepared for what a night it would be. Before the night though, came the lovely and generous drive to Manjolai TE, a misty drive into the tea gardens, perhaps a curtain raiser of what the rest of the trip would be like. We were put up at the only cottage, a little away from the main villa. It is a round structure, claimed to be hand-built, with dried cocunut leaves for a beautiful but heavily unsafe roof and a bathroom which was surprisingly modern in housing a WC and a hand faucet, yet complete in the wilderness agenda in having toads for companions. The roof was not attached in any way to the wall (for natural air circulation), which of course did not help in our joint safety versus fear project. Fear won of course. M kept awake for most of the night, while L woke up around 4 am to put her to sleep. I gave her company (bullied and ragged her) till about 12. Why were we scared? Well, readers, this is a thick, expanding, descriptive paragraph, precisely because it intends to highlight how ill-at-ease we are with nature. The sound of silence is deafening, the thought of having absolutely no connection with no one for miles (the owner had sent off his helps thinking I would drink, which would scandalise them), and of stories of cheetahs taking away twelve dogs from the farmhouse is well, a little too much to live with, when out of pages. I did not drink and it was truly intense, that night. The three of us were done and in our cottage by 7 30 pm and the minutes stretched into eternity. The night seemed too long to end. I would end by saying it is best forgotten. 

The morning next, the owner showed us around his not so well maintained air-strip and other activity grounds, which frankly looked too unused to be true and we were introduced to our driver for the next seven days, Ganeshan, in his ac-Indica for the following week. We were relieved to leave the god forsaken place and were heading towards Kodai, where we would put up in L's aunt's bungalow, on our own. As the three of us finally found civilisation in curly handwriting shop boards and bright red Vodafone ads and huge NH green markers, L, from the from seat suddenly said, 'Girls! Kanyakumari is 220 kms away!' To which I added, 'how far is Rameshwaram?' The rest as they conclude, is craziness. Poor M, a perfectionist, an OCD, and purely sleep-deprived, could not believe what the two of us were up to. The car was made to u-turn to take us to Rameshwaram. 'I want to see the Pambam Bridge! Shahrukh Khan drove on it!' this was my driving factor. Plus the fact that I would be on a bridge over a sea. Plainly put, it was unbelievable. The excel sheet which had our initial plans, had Rameswaram towards the end of our trip initially, and cancelled finally. It returned in the form of the daring I spoke of right in the beginning. It was the weekend of Dusherra and there were absolutely no rooms available. The next fifteen minutes were a series of no's from all the hotels we called in. I called someone we know back from my neighbourhood who own a fabulous place (http://daiwikhotels.com/daiwikhotels/) in Rameshwaram, but they too could not give us a room. But they did made us promise to have all our meals with them. Nothing deterred us still. The drive to Rameshwaram, in one of the best. We were enamoured by our impromptu decision still, to take in the sights. And just like that the tender coconuts gave way to sideways of the sea! We made G enter a 'virgin beach' (I use the quotation marks because my chicas enjoy my choice of words), and dipped our feet into the high tide while we were originally meant to be in the lap of the hills. As we prepared ourselves to sleep in the car if the worst came, the General Manager called to inform us that one room was magically vacating that night and we could check-in. This news made us go mad and while G managed to keep the car on the road, he could not understand our shrill shrieks when he said 'Bridge-aa!'

Bloody bridge, yes what a bridge (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pamban_Bridge)! I have always had a thing for bridges and no amount of explanations, or self study has been able to convince me how they are constructed over the seas. We stopped and enjoyed the blue of the Bay of Bengal in a way blue never pleases in Bengal anymore. And voila! The train, in the track parallel to the road bridge, ushered in. Well, not exactly ushered, so much as lulled by. No words, no capturing by camera can ever articulate my joy. 'My life is complete!' I yelled. 'Throw me into the sea and I won't die with a regret.' I was talking too much, I was overjoyed till I was wondering what would happen if the bridge gave away and I was actually in the sea. This feeling did not last too long as L and me got busy in voicing our joys and M in internalising hers (it is here pertinent to point out that L is older to me by a good six years, while M is younger to me by five). The long ride of more than 2.2 kms on the bridge finally finished. We were captivated and completely content. For us, our Rameshwaram trip was complete. Yet, it was not to be. The temple was shut down because of some special puja while arrangements were made for visiting Dhanushkodi (in the guise of I cannot disclose that). The next morning began at dawn and temple-run was game-over as a matter of our dedicated unananimous decision. We drove to Dhanushkodi (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dhanushkodi) to meet the dangerous, unvisitied sea and witness the past in broken down structures and the future in its political colour clad construction. By ten we left for Kodai. This time, certainly.