K's list for Goa

Headed to Goa with no plan in mind
except to get away from the daily grind,
smsed K for advice on places to visit -
for Goa, K equals the ‘Lonely Planet’.

Anjuna beach first :
‘Curlie’s’ for chill-out, snacky food and breakfast,
‘Orange Bloom’ for breakfast more;
‘Infantaria’ on Baga-Calangute road for desserts galore
- you will love it
(quite prophetic,
loved their mixed fruit pancake
and the chocolate cheesecake).

Moving on to Baga beach :
‘Britto’s’ and ‘St. Anthony’s’,
‘O Cocero’ – where Charles Sobhraj was caught, you know,
(Ah, to soak in some local glamour before we go.)

For traditional Goan food
(spicy, non-veg and good);
‘Inferno’ for dinner at Candolim
‘Viva Panjim’ in – where else – Panjim !

In South Goa, ‘Martin’s’ for lunch,
And Varca beach has shacks in a bunch.

Now if it’s food for the soul you seek -
No, magic mushroom is not what I mean ( ! )
Its music I’m referring to;
For Jazz and Blues -
‘Stonehouse’ at Candolim –
(We found it awesome
And went there twice)
And Calanguate has ‘Take 5’;

For dancing, ‘Cavala’ at Baga is good, though
best Thursday nights, or ‘Mambo’;
‘Titos’ is over-rated.

Oh, and find out about ‘Sunburn’ it’s in Candolim.

- Adapted from K's sms by Zen

Sounds familiar ?

One of my objectives while planning a vacation in Dehradun was to visit Mussourie, be at the Cambridge bookshop on Saturday evening when Mr. Ruskin Bond is reported to visit, and get one of my books autographed by him. Unfortunately, we ended up being in Mussourie on Friday, and even though we optimistically trotted off to the Cambridge bookshop, Mr. Bond wasn’t there. Shaken, but not stirred, we bought a Ruskin Bond book each at the shop, I picked up one titled ‘Rain in the Mountains’.

A passage from this is reproduced below, it reminded me of one of my bird-watching friends, she must be related to Sir E in some way.

Someone asked Sir E if he could shoot a bird on his land at Ramgarh. The man wanted the bird for dissection in a biology lab. Sir E refused.
“It’s in the interests of science,” protested the man. “Do you think a bird is better than a human ?”
“Infinitely,” said Sir E. “Infinitely better.”

Does the sentiment sound familiar to you too ? :-)

By,
Zenobia Driver

About the Mountains

An extract from ‘Snow Leopard’ by Peter Matthiessen :
The secret of the mountains is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself : the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning”, they are “meaning”; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.

The best part of armchair discussions

A holiday at ‘Ivy Cottage’ on the outskirts of Dehradun; a quaint cottage with a beautiful garden full of flowering plants and trees, surrounded by hills, clouds scudding above.

Picture a group of five people with broad grins basking in pleasant sunshine - we are sitting around a breakfast table laden with empty plates and used cutlery, replete after a mammoth breakfast of eggs, sausages, toast, butter, jam, juice, fruit, gobi parathas and french fries. If you have sharp eyes or a strong imagination, you can see a shimmer of lazy contentment hovering around us and slowly expanding.

What do we select as an apt topic for conversation, sprawled out in our chairs, rendered nearly immobile by the amount of food we have gobbled – we discuss true stories of incredible hardship and adventure. ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer’ and ‘The Climb’ by Anatoly Boukreev – both accounts of an expedition to Mount Everest that ended in disaster; ‘Touching the void’ by Joe Simpson – another soul-stirring story of an expedition to the peak Siula Grande in the Peruvian Andes, and how Simpson survived in spite of numerous injuries; ‘Endurance : Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage’ by Alfred Lansing – about a trans-Antartic expedition by sea in which the ship sank, but the entire crew survived in hostile conditions for almost two years before finally journeying to safety.

At some point in our discussion, a few expressions turned sheepish and some of us lost a degree of animation as the contrast between our current condition and the stories we were discussing sank in. But then, as M pointed out, to admire something one doesn’t have to be experiencing it, neither to have experienced it oneself in the past. In fact, one’s admiration of those facing adverse circumstances is enhanced with the distance from the same.

Think of eating samosas at a nice cosy place, say Samovar (Jehangir Art Gallery, Mumbai), while reading one of these books; biting into the crispy part at the end and hearing it crackle just as you read about the crackle of ice on the Khumbu icefall (after Base Camp, Everest); imagining the cold at Everest’s feet while safely savouring the heat and crackle of a crisp samosa – the best of both worlds, wot ?

(Links to info about the books here :
Into Thin Air
The Climb
Touching the Void
Endurance : Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage )

By,
Zenobia Driver

Windy Days - Panchgani Trip, Part 2

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.

Panchgani trip - 1

A bunch of us set off for Panchgani one rain-drenched morning a few weeks ago. The five hour drive from Bombay, though a bit long, was not tedious at all – the view provided sufficient distraction, and there were friends and a music system for further amusement. It was the kind of journey that made one want to break out into ‘suhaanaa safar aur yeh mausam haseen’ (assuming one was one of the same vintage as yours truly, of course); intermittent downpours caused by the heavy grey monsoon clouds thudding across the sky, hills nearby covered with a canopy of green, hills in the distance wearing wreaths of vapour on their crowns.









We had been lucky enough to get rooms at a highly recommended place called ‘Il Palazzo’, fewer people must travel to Panchgani during the monsoon season. We caused some consternation in the kitchen when we arrived – I had omitted to mention that two of our group were vegetarians, the lunch that the hotel had prepared had mostly non-veg items. They quickly managed to rustle up enough for a meal for two vegetarians though. (Note : For non-vegetarians, meals here are like being transported to paradise –mutton, chicken and fish – all in one meal and all delicious. The amount you hog makes you feel quite guilty, though not guilty enough to skip dessert.) Lunch was served in a small porch-like area just outside our rooms, which gave us the satisfaction of looking out at the tall trees in the garden swaying in the rain and added an exciting picnic – like feeling to the meal. Like pythons that need to rest after a heavy meal, we all collapsed into bed after lunch, only to emerge in the evening at the sound of the tinkle of tea-things being laid for those in neighbouring rooms.



After tea, two of us set out for a small stroll. We stayed off the main road and walked along small streets set with cute cottages. We passed a charming and modest temple, all white with a reddish-orange border like a Bengali sari. We meandered up and down roads at random, seeing where they lead to. By the time we decided to return, it had darkened a bit and we could see a fine mist descending down the hill onto the road. A breeze that had simultaneously sprung up in the opposite direction seemed to push the mist back. The long white fingers of the mist retreated, regrouped and then rushed downhill again. Fascinated, we watched the wind and the mist sparring to establish dominion over this part of the road. The mist was victorious eventually and we decided to hurry back to our hotel before it got dark.

Around this time, we heard the evening call of a masjid, the silence it made its way through and the deep baritone of the person calling to the faithful in an unhurried rhythmic cadence made it a very peaceful sound, one we hadn’t heard in a long time in the din of the metropolis we live in.

As it got darker, the walk was loaded with the faintly-remembered atmosphere of hill-stations visited during childhood. Trees loomed over us on both sides of the road, not fully visible due to the mist, just a darker shadow against the grey misty night; street-lamps were a circle of yellow light diffusing through the halo of fog around them; the light filtering out through chinks in window-curtains all but reminding us to scurry home quickly lest we get lost and Mummy is unable to find us ever again.

The walk reassured us that the decision to come to Panchgani had not been wrong and this was a great place for a short weekend away from Mumbai – easily accessible, yet not too crowded, and really green, with just the right amount of activity for a peaceful indulgent escape. We resolved to fully explore the place the next day.

By,
Zen

Atmosphere

I like watching old Hindi movies of the Basu Bhattacharjee or Hrishikesh Mukherjee variety – think ‘Baaton Baaton Mein’, ‘Chhotisi Baat’, ‘Chupke Chupke’,‘Chashme Buddoor’, ‘Golmaal’ etc, often featuring actors such as Uptal Dutt, Om Prakash, Farooque Shaikh, Deepti Naval, Amol Palekar. Movies shot through with warmth, gentle humour and good music; the love story at the centre mellow, not melodramatic.

When I watch these at home in Mumbai, I sometimes find my enjoyment disrupted by a sense of impatience at the slow pace at which events unfold in these movies; a fall-out of the frenetic pace of the work-week in Mumbai, the urge to get things done quickly carries over into the weekend.

Recently I spent a few lazy days with friends at Panchgani, a hill station a few hours away from Mumbai. We went for walks, looked at the rain pouring down from the safety of the porch, admired tall trees in the garden, read books, chatted and basically indulged in aimless meandering activity. Even time spent carefully watching leaves fall in the wind seemed worthwhile, noting how larger leaves turn and spin multiple times in the eddies of wind on their way down, much like boats caught in a whirlpool must spin, I imagine.





One friend had brought along her small music-system. After breakfast and lunch, while others dozed away the heavy meals, we sat out on the porch and listened to music. Listening to ‘raindrops keep falling on my head’ while you’re watching the rain and listening to the wind ruffle leaves on the trees adds so much to the enjoyment of the song; ditto for ‘tiluk kumod’ with the background accompaniment of heavy rain. Or the Byrds singing ‘turn turn turn’ – a song about the cycle of the seasons makes so much sense and strikes a really true note when you’re amid tall trees that have seen many seasons change and weathered it all majestically.



I realised how much the atmosphere had seeped into me when I watched ‘Dulhan wahi jo piya man bhaaye’ for a bit on TV. The pace seemed just right, none of the dialogues seemed too verbose, though some of the emotions expressed were undeniably old-fashioned. Part of the reason might have been that at points in the movie where my attention flagged, the sounds I heard were not busy city sounds – traffic, hawkers, bhangaarwalas crying ‘papaarr’ – that reminded me of my task-list and time flying by, but unchanging unvarying sounds like the wind, rain, crickets chirping, etc, that had been and would continue to be around for millennia.

(Note : ‘Atmosphere’ does not seem to seep into guys thick skulls as much – they watched an action movie called ‘Kick-Ass’ at Panchgani and then 'Remember the Titans'.)

By,
Zen

Holidays. And Books.

A holiday without books – sacrilege ! Part of the excitement of packing for a holiday lies in calling ahead and finding out which books are available at the relative or friend’s house or hotel you are going to stay at, then selecting which books to carry with yourself, factoring in how much free time you will have, what sort of mood you will be in, maybe even where you will sit and read – in a hammock, in an easy chair, curled up near the fireplace, on a bench with a view of the hills and trees etc.

At least one book that I read during a vacation (apart from a guidebook) matches the place that I am travelling to; the atmosphere of the place helps me get so much more involved in the events in the book. I like to carry a book about mountains or mountaineering when in the hills; for instance, ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer (though not advisable while on a high-altitude trek, it’s about a climbing tragedy on Mount Everest), or ‘Nandadevi’ by Bill Aitken or ‘Silk Road on Wheels’ by Akhil Bakshi. When trekking through forests, I revisit chapters about Mirkwood or about the Ents from the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy. If visiting Buddhist monasteries in Sikkim, Ladakh etc, a book on Buddhism does very well – the autobiography of the Dalai Lama, something by Pico Iyer etc.

It’s always nice to have one thriller or suspense novel at hand too – an Agatha Christie, a Perry Mason. And a light, humourous novel in case the murder mystery gets too scary – P.G.Wodehouse and Terry Pratchett are old favourites; some fibre for the brain to chew on – Amitava Ghosh maybe, nothing too heavy though, no Kafka, no tome on microeconomics, not for me. A collection of poems by various poets is also nice to dip into every now and then.

For one person to lug so many books around is a bit much, even after combining categories by selecting an author such as Bill Bryson (travel writing and humour). Hence I have learnt that choosing travel companions with care is very important. Choose them not for the quality of their conversation, or their enthusiasm levels, or good humour when faced with a ticketing ba**s-up, or the grace with which they lose to you at taboo/scrabble/pictionary etc; choose travel companions for the books they read and you cannot but enjoy the vacation.

By,
Zen

In Anticipation

(waiting for the rains)

Monsoon is the best time for trekking in the Sahayadris. Though the rain makes the downhill route slippery and a bit tricky to negotiate, it is more than made up by the rain – drenched hills shrouded in mist, the clouds and the numerous small waterfalls and streams that spring up all over.

I went with Odati on two perfect monsoon treks last year – to Manikgad and Surgad. Both were short hikes and just right for a relaxed Sunday – a 3.5 hr amble uphill at Manikgad and a 2.5 hr walk at Surgad. The only patch of slightly difficult terrain was the the last patch at Surgad which is steep and slippery and requires concentration. While the rain evaded us at Manikgad, in Surgad we got caught in a downpour that was full ‘paisa-vasool’ and thoroughly enjoyed it. Both treks had lush greenery and long wavy grass rippling in the breeze.

Both places we had a local guide in addition to the Odati team; apart from showing us the way, they added to overall entertainment levels with their eccentric personalities. I have a sneaky suspicion, though, that these villagers might have a similar reason for agreeing to guide us – not for the money, but to observe these wimpy weird townfolk and have funny stories to tell their families over dinner.

The Maamaa at Manikgad was strong ‘n silent and quite a disciplinarian. On the way up the final portion, whenever we halted to catch our breath, he would stop ahead of us, look down at us and make clicking noises with his teeth to hurry us up – the kind villagers make to hurry along cattle in the fields ! Like all such maamaa’s I have seen, the fact that we were paying him made no difference to his bindaas attitude and behaviour. As we had oodles of time to enjoy the view from the peak, we intended to snooze for about an hour after eating lunch but he would have none of it. He woke us up in 20-30 minutes and herded us down, saying that he was worried it would soon rain heavily and we would be stuck there. As he had earlier confidently predicted a dry morning when we thought dark clouds heralded rain, we decided he might be right this time too and clambered down the hill lickety-split.

The Maamaa at Surgad had even more impressive weather prediction skills. A lean, stringy weather-beaten guy over 70 monsoons old, he would predict when it would rain down to the last half hour (maybe the MET office should hire him!) and his reading of the clouds was right more often than not. He was as much of a disciplinarian as the Manikgad Maamaa, but his style was to shame you into hurrying, rather than to herd you. Halfway up the hill, when we stopped for 5-10 minutes at a nice meadow, he proudly told us that he could ascend and descend the hill in less than an hour, which was less than the time it had taken us to reach the halfway point; you can bet we walked faster after that.

All these Monsoon maamaa’s interpret suggestions of alternative routes as mutiny and tend to mulishly insist that you take exactly the path they prefer – maybe it comes from a lifetime of being the undisputed head of the family and getting unquestioning obedience. Our Surgad maamaa had the same attitude towards dissent, except that he was also an expert at psychological warfare. When he didn’t want to climb right to the very peak, rather than argument and obstinacy, he used the tell-tales-of-townsfolk-who-would-not-listen-and-suffered-painful-accidents solution. Quite a storyteller, he relished multiple retellings of the tale of women from Mumbai getting stuck at the peak during a downpour, almost falling all the way down while descending and finally having to be lowered down on ropes. He was quite effective too, we convinced ourselves that the hills, the fort walls and the stone relics scattered around were sufficient adventure and there couldn’t be anything better to see at the peak.

By,
Zenobia

Getting to Goa

A great way to begin a vacation in Goa is to travel by the Mandovi Express, a day train that travels along the Konkan Coast from Mumbai to Goa. While it may sound like a waste of a day, I discovered recently that it is actually the perfect bridge between a hectic work-week and a relaxed vacation, there is no way that you can rush around in the train and nothing much to do except savour the moment. The scenic route passes through hills, forests and assorted shrubbery, the clatter of the wheels and vibration of the carriage leaves one in the mood of childhood holidays – full of excitement and anticipation, especially with the added advantage of chilling in a thanda thanda cool cool A.C. compartment. The pantry car sends yummy food one’s way at regular intervals, dig in, for what is a holiday without over-eating ! For breakfast, don’t even bother with the usual bred-aamlit or bred- kutlit options, wait for the piping hot, fragrant medu wada, sabudana wada, methi bhajji and masala dosa to be brought your way.



K...A...N...K...A...V...A....L.....I...........S...T...A...T.....I....O...N


Tiny stations like Bhoke, Adavalli and Kankavali pass by. Against a backdrop of verdant greenery, a single narrow platform bordered with a fence painted a demure white but often draped with bright and boisterous bougainvillea flowers. A small white board with ‘Welcome’ written on it in red letters greets all who disembark. You realise how hot it is outside when you notice people using the taps placed at regular intervals on the platform. A young banana vendor, after he has worn himself out walking up and down the length of the train in the hot afternoon sun, sets his basket down by the tap and gulps down mouthfuls of water before splashing some on his face. The rivulets of sweat running down his face are replaced by large streams of water.

The train goes through a lot of tunnels – the route passes through difficult hilly terrain and is testimony to the engineering and organisation ability of E. Shreedharan, who is also known for building the Delhi Metro. This article from 1996 documents the difficulties faced in building this railway, while this and thiscelebrate its completion and the awarding of a Padma Vibhushan to E. Shreedharan.

On one section of hillside, I notice a wire mesh pushing back the rock walls – like a security barricade pushing back hordes of groupies when a film-star walks by. Well, why not, the Mandovi Express is no less than a star amongst other trains ! Suddenly this poem by Robert Frost pops into my head; how strong this wire mesh must be to hold back an entire hill full of boulders from smashing on to us !

Our train clatters past a patch with some barren fields bathed in the mellow four p.m. sun. The fields have clearly demarcated mud boundaries and resemble a patchwork quilt in shades of mud-brown and grass-green; except for one small plot which has a host of sunflowers nodding their yellow and brown heads sagely.

A few fields away my eye is drawn to a shiny undamaged auto, with no signs of human habitation or a road visible, wonder how it got there. The yellow and brown of the auto matches the sunflowers - quite a quirky tableau.

It makes me wonder about pretty-but-ruthless mutant sunflowers that start their campaign for world domination by stealing autos for travelling in; resolve to look out of the window and investigate the next time I hear an auto bleating ‘praap praap’ at night. Then resolve not to eat so much chicken biriyani for lunch – all the oxygen seems to have rushed to my stomach, starving my brain of vital oxygen needed to fuel logic and reasoning.

Two hours later, I alight at Karmali station in Goa, which recently won an award from the Union Tourism Ministry as ‘the most tourist friendly station’ (see this article and this one) . Set in the middle of verdant greenery, it has a natural lake on one side of the platform. On the side of the platform opposite the lake is the Station building which is low, long and has a tiled roof with a structure like the bell tower of a cathedral in the centre.

K...A...R...M...A....L.....I...........S...T...A...T.....I....O...N




One platform has regular street lamps on it, the other has lamps in old-fashioned quaint shapes. The lake has a lot of ducks and other water birds; when I alight in the evening, they are quacking and cheeping away – a good omen for a birding trip.

It totally convinced me that my last minute decision to dash down to Goa and join friends on a bird-watching trip was the right one.

By,
Zen

p.s. This blog has a very nice account of a train journey through Goa

What to do in Tawang.....

...Apart from the usual visit to the monastery and to the Bum La Pass.

Visit the Ani Gompa (monastery for female monks). Unlike the main Tawang monastery whose presence dominates the town and which has bright yellow roofs that are visible from a distance, the Ani Gompa is tucked away discreetly on a hillside away from the town.

Visit Hotel Maa for a meal or a snack – awesome rasmalai and yummy parathas.

Visit the small music shops and ask for their own selection of English / Hindi music. These guys record eclectic mixtures of songs and music styles that make for great listening while travelling. You never know which song is going to play next, the unexpected melodies match the adventure waiting around the next turn.

Drive around aimlessly over the hills just outside town. Notice army presence, also old bunkers scattered on the hills, realize how close and fragile the border is over here. Then visit the war memorial in the centre of town – it commemorates the soldiers that died during the 1962 war with China.






















Just walk around town. Notice the contrast between the expanse of the blue sky, the towering white mountains in the distance, and bunches of tiny red and orange flowers growing on the balconies of the houses nearby.

One of the photographs at the exhibition currently at Ravindra Natya Mandir in Mumbai captured exactly this scene and prompted this post. If, like me, you haven’t trekked in a while, an hour spent gazing at the photographs at the exhibition and exchanging memories of treks with friends is well worth it. Of course, it will result in a lot of wasted time the next day while you gaze at other photographs and schedule your next trek etc.

By,
Zen

You-think-you-know-them-but-you-don’t

Travel is a great way to get to know better the people-you-think-you-know.

I always knew that Poppy was a determined, go – getter type, but he just zoomed in my estimation – and Soppy’s – the evening we got on the train to Kathgodam. His quick thinking enabled us to escape from a huge traffic jam on the way to the station and we made it to the train with literally seconds to spare. Once on the train, he readily walked up and down multiple times, checking out both the sleeper coach where we had confirmed berths and the AC coach where we had RAC tickets. Once we had decided to travel by 3rd AC, Soppy and I – old and lazy fatalists - plonked ourselves on the one RAC berth we had and tried to settle ourselves as comfortably as we could on one-third of a berth. Poppy, on the other hand, refused to give up this soon. He attached himself to the TT like the little lamb to Mary and trotted obediently behind him for 30 minutes bleating his request for berths every minute until he actually secured three of them ! “It’s the never-say-die, get-it-done-somehow-large-FMCG-sales spirit,” I sagely informed the newly converted Poppy-bhakt Soppy. (Never lose the chance to point out something good about FMCG to a guy from the air-conditioned corridors of finance.)

The same never-say-die, well-stoked-in-large-aggressive-FMCG competitive spirit manifested itself in other ways too. If I broke out into a merry melody during a walk in the hills, Poppy would be sure to correct me and insist that I sing exactly the words the lyricist wrote; he would not accept ‘happiness’ and ‘holiday’ as excuses for sloppy word placement. Let’s not even start on the comments about the quality of my voice, the pitch, the tone etc. What was most galling was that the source of all this nit-picking and feedback was someone who sang sincerely and correctly through his nose and sounded like Himesh Reshammiya !

Then there were the books Poppy carried with him on holiday. These were the kind that most people keep on bookshelves for others to admire and never actually read – think Kafka, Homer, Aristotle, Socrates, macroeconomics, yaaaawn. Not the holiday kind of books for most of us. Definitely not what I would have thought Poppy would like. I mean, this is a guy who drives a car too fast, slurps his coffee and thinks Chiranjeevi is cool !

Poppy would not just read these books, he would emerge shiny eyed after a few hours of reading and try to engage us plebs in intellectual discussions. That stage got over in a day or two and then he started giving us progress reports on how many pages he had read in the last few hours. Our reactions must have lacked a certain something (admiration ? adulation ?) for he then moved on to the next level. He started checking on what we had been doing and announcing a comparative activity progress report to us at regular intervals, “In the last two hours, I have read 150 pages while Soppy has read only 70 pages and Zen has taken 30 blurred snaps.” Score : Poppy – 10, Soppy - 5, Zen - 0. Insanity – 100.
(Do not work more than 3 years in a large aggressive FMCG, gentle reader. You get too used to competing, driving results and filing status reports.)

By,
Zen.

Chasing the Verditer Flycatcher

(At the outset, a suggestion for readers inclined towards increasing their general knowledge – check out one of these links for background information on and good photographs of the Verditer Flycatcher, this post will not be satisfactory on either count.)

My attempts to get a good photograph of the Verditer Flycatcher (tVF) began at Binsar and continued, albeit unsuccessfully, in Sitla and Mukteswar. These attempts were hampered by two constraints – one, the bird is small and hardly stays in one place for more than a few seconds, and two, my limited photography skills. On the few occasions when I focussed the camera on the bird quickly enough, a combination of my excitement and the stress of clicking quickly lest the bird fly away would result in a shaking hand and a blurred photograph.

Like this snap, for instance - notice the small blue blob in the top left quadrant of the pic ?

And what of my friends-and-fellow-travellers that could have taken good photographs but didn’t, you wonder. One was equally enthusiastic but only marginally better than me at photography, and the second possessed photography skills but not enthusiasm for bird-watching. (In the interests of confidentiality, I was going to refer to them as Pappu and Sadu, but they have objected vociferously to the negative names and shall therefore be known only as Poppy and Soppy in the rest of this post.)

Soppy and I spotted our first VF on the very first morning in Binsar. Our guide Purna had conscientiously cajoled us into the planned bird-watching session rather than the snooze we felt like taking after waking up early to see the sun rise over the mountains. After a short walk and many disappointing non-sightings where the bird that was calling was frustratingly close by but hidden in thick foliage, we saw a flash of blue apparating on a branch nearby. With much excitement, Soppy and I focussed our cameras, but all we got was a blue blur with trees in the background.


It took Soppy a day and over 50 wasted snaps (a slightly better defined blur, as seen here) to get used to focussing the camera quickly, while I only got the hang of it after much practise at Sitla.



Day 3 saw us driving to Sitla. From the garden at Sitla Estate, the mountains covered with snow were visible in the distance. The bungalow and garden themselves were perched on top of a hill whose slopes were covered with orchards and lower reaches with forest. Wind-chimes hanging from a tree in the garden added their notes to the rustle of trees-leaves in the wind. Poppy had spent less than ten minutes here when he complained about being in such a beautiful romantic place with only friends for company, a comment that earned him a well-deserved glare from me, the tireless organiser of the trip.

After lunch, while Soppy and Poppy grabbed a siesta, I ventured out into the garden. I selected a bench under a leafy tree that would shelter me from the intermittent drizzle and settled on it with my book and binocs. That afternoon the drizzle had scrubbed the trees clean, and the recent-rain-wet-mud fresh smell was everywhere. Grey clouds hung low in the sky and the mist was rising up to greet them. It was so beautiful and idyllic that I was reminded of this Persian quote about Kashmir, ’Agar Firdaus bar ruye zamin-ast hamin-asto, hamin-asto, hamin-ast’ (If there is heaven of Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this)

Every so often, I would look up from my book and feast my eyes on the mist weaving smoky white trails on the green hills. I could hear the chirruping and chattering of birds around me and occasionally saw them soaring across the valley or quickly flitting from one tree to another. On one such occasion, a blur of blue caught my eye, and I turned to find a Verditer Flycatcher perched on a branch on a tree nearby. The rainy weather brought out the vibrant blue of its wings and I would have loved to capture it on film, but I didn’t have a camera with me. Once again, I had to be content with gazing at it.

We finally got a snap of this bird on Day6, at Mukteswar. This time, it helpfully perched on an exposed electric wire high up in the sky. Luckily, we had cameras with us. Luckily, P’s camera had both batteries and sufficient memory. Luckily, he managed to focus on it. Unluckily, the camera did not have sufficient zoom.

tVF - One more item on my to-do list for whenever I next visit Kumaon.

Another chase is more successful

Due to the aforementioned lack of photography skills, I was soon relegated to role of bird-spotter-cum-camera-carrier, with Soppy or Poppy essaying the key role of photographer. Not content to play a supporting role, I resolved to improve and spent one rainy day in Sitla taking snaps of birds on a tree near Poppy’s room. The tree had a red flower / fruit that attracted them all – common Himlayan bulbuls in droves, a pair of shy green jackdaws and many others I could not identify.




For every four blurred photos I clicked, one came out clear. I got a lot of clear pictures of the Himalayan bulbuls though. Bulbuls were so common that there was no excitement and no hurry to click, even if 2-3 had flown away, there would still be only 20-30 of them on the tree.


Though normally not very attractive birds, they looked really cute in the rain with ruffled puffed-up feathers.


Suddenly a pair of Red Billed Blue Magpie (RBBM) were there too. The cool demeanour and steady hands I thought I had cultivated over the morning just fell apart. The first few snaps I clicked in an excited hurry were blurred as usual due to my shaking hands.


The pair flew away, but returned in a few minutes. Once I realised that I had enough time, my hand steadied and I took some snaps in which you could actually identify the bird. Though some were a bit random as I clicked at any angle, just so I got a snap, no matter what.


Finally I got some good snaps – notice the RBBM’s magnificent tail in these.




These are some links for information on and snaps of this bird. Please note that ahem ahem my snaps are not too bad. Maybe I will get the Verditer Flycatcher too on my next vacation.

By,
Zen

Kumaon Trip - Basic Info

Kathgodam station is the railhead for most of Kumaon. The most convenient train to get here is the Ranikhet Express which leaves Delhi at night and arrives at Kathgodam early the next morning; during the return trip it leaves Kathgodam at about 8:30 p.m. and arrives in Delhi early the next morning. Be sure to book tickets well in advance - tickets tend to get over very soon during holiday season.

There is also a train from Nainital, but if you take this train you spend daytime sitting in a train rather than being out on the hills. Also, you end up spending time in Nainital, which is crowded and noisy and not pretty any more.

Digression over with, let me get back to Kathgodam. From Kathgodam station you travel by road to your destination. Booking a taxi in advance is preferable. Don’t miss Bhimtal which is on the route out of Kathgodam and is quite pretty. Naukuchiatal which is a bit further off is apparently very beautiful too, but it was off our route and we never had the time to visit it.

Sitla is about an hour and a half from Kathgodam Station. Vikram Maira’s Sitla Estate is the best place to stay. Vikram has converted an old English Bungalow into a hotel with all modern amenities without losing the quaint charm of the place. The Estate has a lovely garden, orchards on the slopes of the hill and woods at the base which merge into Corbett National Park. Do not miss the bench in Vikram’s orchard that is situated at the perfect spot for a panoramic view of snow-covered peaks.







The garden at Sitla


Nandadevi and her circle of courtiers - viewed from Sitla

Sitla Estate is an oasis of tranquillity; if you’re idea of a holiday is lolling in front of the TV during the day and visiting a crowded pub or disco at night, you will be sorely disappointed. On the other hand, if it’s reading and chatting with friends/family, gazing at the mountains, bird-watching, long walks, and other such activities that appeal to you, this is the perfect place to be. Frequent long walks confer the added benefit of helping you burn off the calories you gain eating the absolutely yummy food whipped up by Vikram.

Mukteswar is about 30 minutes drive from Sitla, you can also walk up along the road in the evening if the mood takes you. The town is tiny and quaint and worth walking through. Near the main post office is a small shop where you can get a cup of chai and some biscuits to give you strength for the walk back.




We drove down to Mukteswar and stayed a day at Camp Purple for a day. The camp was very different from what I had expected, quite a relief on the last day of the holiday. It’s a camp for urban-dwellers who haven’t had much interaction with the outdoors, and want to begin with controlled amounts of exposure. There’s not much roughing-it-out involved here; the tents are pitched on raised cement platforms and have proper beds inside ! There is a separate row of clean bath/loo tents with running water, these facilities are kept surprisingly clean.

The staff is friendly and take good care of you. There are a lot of adventure activities that are organised based on demand. There’s bird-watching and trekking for the wimps (like me), for the more active ones, there’s rapelling, rock-climbing and jumaring conducted by the Camp Purple folks at a place nearby called chauli-ki-jaali.

The KMVN (Kumaon Mandal Vikas Nigam) guesthouse at Binsar is right at the peak of Mt. Binsar, in the middle of Binsar sanctuary. It is the best place to stay in at Binsar as it has the best location. Have also heard good reviews of a resort called ‘Kalmatia Sangam’ from some friends of mine, though it is undoubtedly a swankier place than KMVN, it is outside the Binsar sanctuary and lower down the slope than KMVN. KMVN is fairly functional and basic - the rooms are large, comfortable and clean, food is simple, tasty and available in plenty, and the staff is nice. Cold water is available through the day and one bucket of hot water is given in the morning. At night, one bulb in the room is powered by solar power, but only till 9:30 p.m., so carrying a torch along to Binsar is advisable.


Sunrise at Binsar

Sunrise at Binsar - lighter patch on peak of mountain grows bigger

Here comes the sun

Sleeping early is advisable in Binsar as you must wake up early, sit on the terrace and watch the sun rise over the peaks of the Himalayas. Use all your willpower to stir yourself out of bed at 5:30 a.m.; braving sleep, the bitter cold and the biting wind is well worth it. The view is amazing, from the left the peaks of Trishul, then Nandadevi and Nandakot to the right and finally the five peaks of Panchuli or the ‘kitchen of the Gods’, over which the sun rises. As a reward for braving the cold, KMVN staff bring out hot tea at 6 a.m.

The Binsar sanctuary is quite beautiful, there are various tracks through the forest for hiking enthusiasts. You can hire a guide for the day, we were lucky enough to get Purna who was a veritable fount of information about the flora and fauna of the area.
If you want a long walk, you can walk from Binsar to Jageshwar and Dandeshwar temples. Alternately, you can hire a car and driver there or travel by bus from Almora. For some other temples worth visiting check this link.

Kausani and Munsiyari are other great places to visit – I heard about these from fellow travellers during my Kumaon trip. Have added these to my must-visit list, partly because they are small settlements snuggled right next to the mountains, partly because these are what I call ‘new towns’ and used to be villages not long ago. Apparently Munsiyari was a village till about 1982, there was no electricity there and no roads either – people trekked up to it from the nearest bus-stop. Then the UP tourism deptt realised that tourism could be the major source of revenue in the hills and looked for sites to set up KMVN. One was this village. It was only during the 80s that Munsiyari was connected by road and the electric power lines were extended to it. Though some might say that this is not an altogether good thing for the erstwhile village !

By,
Zen

p.s. Contact details of some of the places mentioned in the post above:
Sitla Estate, Vikram Maira – Ph: 05942-286330 or 286030, email i.d. : maira_40@yahoo.co.uk
Camp Purple, Mukteswar – 011-29531036,29531037 (Delhi Office number)
KMVN Binsar – 05962 – 210176, +919412996535; bookings need to be made through Nainital (05942 – 231436,236356, 236209) or Delhi office (011 - 23712246, 23746433, 23746431)
Puran Singh, In Toto Birdwatcher, Binsar - +919411518056, +919410765414.