Rubbing my bleary eyes I tried to focus around me. The bus had just trundled to a stop in the square. As I tried to push the head of my friend up from my shoulder I checked the time out 4 am. Phew!!! That was early. With mist swirling round us in the wee hours, I slapped Pralay awake. After all I don’t get the opportunity of slapping my gym rat friend so easily. Lugging our back packs we slowly started enquiring for the lodge we had booked on the phone. Hotel hill view did accord a view of the hills I presume, but more than that looked more like the Adam’s family home. But on a paltry student allowance you can be picky, so hill view it was and we checked in to our room. Still sleepy we both crept into the bed and caught up with a little more sleep before the adventure in coorg started.
As MBA students from lower middle class families shoestring budgets had not allowed much. But having bagged that placement in IBank it was indeed a moment of celebration and we finally decided to indulge in a trip to coorg. We had boarded a bus from the bus terminus in Majestic in Bangalore. Dinner at mysore of anna sambhara and we were all set for the 100 odd kilometer bus ride to coorg. At 11:30 PM the night was young, but the sow trundle of the bus soon lulled us to sleep and before we knew the chill in the air caught us up and we were fast asleep. The sharp brake just outside the square had jolted me and by the time the bus rolled to a stop in the square I was just waking up to reality. Streetlights winking like fireflies even as the mist swirled round us like a flimsy shroud.
Waking up couple of hours later I went down to get a morning cuppa and bowel cleansing smoke, after all bongs are famous for their fascination towards their motions. Nursing my cup of freshly brewed coffee as the sweet morning sun kissed my back I took a little stroll towards the small hill looming ahead. Nature has a way of mesmerizing you even with small things like a verdant green hillside that you never see growing up in the concrete jungles of the city. On my way back to my room to wake up Pralay with another slap, now that I got the chance, I struck up a deal with a rickshaw owner to take us on a tour. Bounding up the stairs this time Pralay got an even stingier slap to wake up quicker. Rushing through the morning rituals both of us rushed down to the rickshaw.
Coorg is dreamy like a waking maiden. Coorg is lush like the plushest of the beds in the most expensive hotel. Coorg is seductive like an enchanting courtesan. Coorg has an appeal that is surreal and yet so natural. As the rickshaw took us from one place of interest to another, you wondered how all these small bits assimilate into the larger whole-an idyllic beauty of nature at her best. A hindu temple of Shiva, designed like a muslim dargah makes you muse over how assimilation has happened in our country yet there is so much divide. Sitting on the benches in the garden christened Raja’s seat, you wish you had come here at sunset. You can imagine the vale in front bathed in orange light as the Sun God prepared to sleep after His journey across the skies. Madikeri fort makes you think back on the tiger of mysore –Tipu sultan who restructured the fort. The stone elephants in the premises, the clandestine passages under the castles, all seem to give you a thrill.
As the rickshaw made its way, a bitter aroma wafted into you. The rickshawallah pulls over and shows you what is a coffee plantation. The red or purple cherry like fruit that is drooping is so different from the black coffee beans we are used to. Chuckling to ourselves remembering the beans from our CCD visits and what we saw, we get back into the auto. And then, across the bend, Abbi. Getting down from the auto with awe in our eyes we slowly made our way to the hanging bridge, even as the spray from the rushing waters of the waterfall covered us, we could only marvel back at the magnificence of the fall.
After a long days travel that filled us with awe, we checked into a restaurant for traditional Kodagu food. Puthari curry, a stew of red kidney beans, bitter gourd, and salted fish; Pandi Barthad or spicey fried pork and Paputtu- cardamom scented rice cakes was or dinner. Tired but overwhelmed we curled under our blankets as the chill creeped in on us.
Waking up next morning ruefully to the realization that our short but sweet visit to coorg was almost over we packed ourselves for the last leg of the visit. After breakfast, of sanaas and some more pork, we hopped on to a trekker for Bylakuppe. The first glimpse of the Thegchog Namdrol Shedrub Dargyeling or Nardoling monastery is in itself awe inspiring. Smiling lamas, serene walkaways beguiled us as we made our way reverentially to the main prayer hall. And that is what endured till we entered the bustle of Bangalore, a hall resounding to a call of purification of an impure body and mind to an extolled being. Resounding to the chants of Om MaNiPadMe Hum
BY SOUMYASHREE CHATTERJEE
