Panchgani’s claim to fame and the spot-to-visit for most visitors is a geographic feature called ‘table-top’ by the locals. It’s a hilly plateau – you can see from the photograph (taken from a point halfway up the hill) that it looks almost as if a gigantic hand had lopped off the peaks of a whole range of hills. One end of table-top is accessible by road and most visitors drive up.
We walked up by road and it was not too long either – we walked through the crowded market, past the Sahakari bank, an abandoned house and St. John’s church.
The Sahakari Bank is quite an unassuming building, the compound wall has a small official-looking board with the name of the bank, and above it and to the left, a wind-vane anchoring a line of laundry drying in the wind, ‘nothing official about it!’, as the tag-line goes; I suppose someone from the staff must be staying on the first floor and utilising the wind-vane as a convenient clothes-horse.
As we continued ambling down the road, we turned left, left the crowded market behind and noticed a picturesque abandoned house, the decay evident in the rags on the roof and the windows without panes in sharp contrast to the lush greenery right outside. We also passed an old bungalow with a moss-covered ancient red brick chimney and a shiny Tata Sky dish poking out of the roof; an increasingly common juxtaposition in small towns.
Further down the road, St. John’s church had stained glass windows, but a strict watchman shooed away visitors and disallowed photography, I don’t think anyone other than the Lord knew his motives.
However, when approached from this end, Table-top itself was mucky, crowded and uninspiring. Tongawallahs clustered around asking if we wanted a tonga ride, there were stalls selling food, and stalls with the usual fairground games such as air-rifle shooting, throwing a ring etc. It is only after we walked past the clutter of stalls and people that the actual vista of table-top opened up - a stretch of thick grass-carpeted land a few km long, offering nice views of Panchgani town, the surrounding hills, the river below etc.
We also discovered an alternate route to Table-top that is only used by the locals. It’s a 10 minute clamber up the side of the hill. Early one morning, fortified with hot tea and biscuits, three of us climbed up. Though the local who told us about the short-cut warned us about the wind on top, we underestimated it. At the end of the path was a small waterfall that welcomed us to table-top with a nice visual, the strong wind makes some of the spray flip backwards over the top of the hill instead of falling straight down. As it is the highest point in the area, the wind here is quite strong and actually buffets you as you walk, to the extent that it is dangerous to venture too close to the edge and a railing has been installed. The wind was so strong that when R took out her harmonica, some notes could be heard from it if she just held it out, she didn’t even need to play it !
Large ponds had formed in depressions in the undulating ground due to heavy rain, these were interspersed with patches of grass with small white flowers. There were small blue birds with bright white underparts and a chestnut head that kept swooping over and around us – I later found out that these were wire-tailed swallows. Against a background of green grass and grey mist, their intense blue-and – white colouring and flitting around added some liveliness. The weather, the expanse of green and the barn swallows reminded us of the English moors as described in Enid Blyton’s books.
The best experience, of course, was to be on table-top as the mist and clouds rolled in additional to announce heavy rain. On a normal day, mists swirl in and out, but the entire army of clouds advancing towards you and the advance guard of the swirling mist is something that can actually arouse a slight feeling of dread. The clouds are dark, dense and ponderous; they seem to be at eye-level or just a bit above, and since this is the highest point in the area, there is nothing but miles of sky all around and much of it rushing towards you, almost like a tsunami of cloud. You’re transfixed and your feet are rooted to the ground with a mixture of wonder and terror, and an awareness of one’s own powerlessness when compared with nature.
