Part III – Under the Divine Spell

Kakuji seemed to be in a good mood. No vestige of the sullenness that had besieged him yesterday. We started for Kalpa at 9.15 in the morning, retracing our onward route till Karchamm where we left the foaming Baspa and turned towards Rekong Peo, along muddy Satluj. The vertebrae shattering road cut across deep gorges and looming crags. Beyond Shong Tong we traversed as series of switch backs and reached Peo at noon. From then on the towering summits of Kinner Kailash range held us in their unflinching gaze all the way to Kalpa.

At HPTDC Hotel Kinner Kailash, our room offered an unhampered view of the snow bound pinnacles. But, before anything we desperately needed a bath after the night spent under filthy blankets at Chitkul. Post shower we went to the hotel restaurant; an elegant, spacious wooden structure on the first floor of the main building. Dark clouds obliterated the mountains as we sat down to lunch. Rain drops borne on a strong wind fell aslant on the windowpanes. Weather is capricious in the mountains. By the time we finished lunch the it had cleared, leaving moist grass, dripping leaves and a washed out sun. Cuddled against the mountains, the freshly laundered valley reposed under the lengthening shadows of the afternoon sun, glistening with a languorous allure.

Evening we visited the quaint old village of Roghi, 5 Km from Kalpa. Groups of school children giggled past us as we climbed down stone steps. We bought chocolates for them from a local shop. As we wandered about trying to locate the ancient temples in the village a voice cried out from behind us “Temple is that way!!”. We turned around and found a wide eyed school girl, probably 10 years old, in a frayed red pullover over her blue uniform. Renuka took us under her protection and guided us to the temples. Grimy, happy children playing in the temple courtyard made faces at us and nimbly snatched away the chocolates we proffered. Within the gloom of the temple sanctum, a deity wrapped in red silk cloth was barely visible.

Renuka wanted a print of the photographs we took of her. When we expressed our inability to send them without her address she wanted us to frame and hang it in our home in Gurgaon. She didn’t want us to forget her. She desired to be remembered. I feel ashamed that I haven’t abided by her request so far. Before parting she asked us if we were hungry. She wanted to offer us food. The directness and innocence of the question surprised and overwhelmed us. When we smilingly refused, she took out a bunch of walnuts from her jacket pocket and thrust it into our hands. Renuka practiced what we paid lip service to. She gave without expecting anything in return. It was an important lesson.

On our return to Kalpa we got off midway and walked down narrow, sinuous tracks bordered by stone pile walls to the town centre. Apple and Chuli trees dotted the terraces of paddy. The trees were overhung with flowers which caught the sunlight in a ruby haze.  At a roadside restaurant, we sipped butter tea flavoured with milk. The Buddhist monastery was closed, but we met the care taker of the orphanage next door. She was originally from Shimla, but found Kalpa peaceful and serene. It was relatively prosperous too. Tourism was picking up. The valley was very fertile and yielded plenty of fruits and vegetables. She was happy to be there. We too wanted to stay in Kalpa forever and after, under the watchful eye of the majestic Kinner Kailash, under its ever changing hue, under the divine spell.

Hotel Kinner Kailash
Kalpa, Kinnaur Dist.
Himachal Pradesh
PIN – 172108
Contact: 01786- 226159

Note 1: Check out Batu Kheer (made of Chalayi), a Himachali speciality served at the hotel restaurant

Note 2: During July – August devotees trek to the natural Shivling on top of Kinner Kailash. Trek duration: 2 – 3 days.

Part I – Sarahan: Click Here, Part II – Chitkul: Click Here, Part IV – Shimla: Click Here

Photo Courtesy: SV

HPTDC brochure of Kalpa

Part II, Chitkul – Final Frontier

So we bade goodbye to Sarahan and wound our way downhill past apple orchards, past slate roofed brightly painted houses, past fields of paddy – the lush green giving way to olive and finally dull brown as we descended. At Badhal, 4 km from Jeori, Kakuji stopped at Gyan Chand Ki Dhaba for grub. Though we had already had breakfast, we couldn’t help bolting mouthfuls of scrumptious Kadhi Chawal and Rajma Rice mixed with fiery red chilies. A short stop at Tarandamata Mandir for the mandatory divine benediction (Public toilets a short way from the Mandir was an even greater blessing) and we were bouncing along the road hewn through cliff faces that looked like bared fangs of a demon.

At Bhabanagar, our search for the PWD office where we could get a permit to stay at their guesthouse in Chitkul proved futile (We located the place during our return lap). Further down, we plodded through rubble and suffocating dust trails of  trucks and tipper lorries near the Karcham dam site over an NH-22 that had disintegrated into potholes interspersed with short, relatively painless stretches of asphalt. The tossing and turning and jangling and rattling ceased only after Tapri. Breathtaking scenery unfurled – tiny hamlets precariously poised on mountain flanks, snow covered summits far and beyond, mountain goats tumbling down steep slopes… At the tiny Sharda Mandir that seemed attached to the cliff edge with an adhesive, an English speaking Pujari applied vermillion streaks on our foreheads and distributed delicious “Prasad” of dry fruits and sugar balls. Down below, a ferocious and frothy Baspa river gushed over enormous boulders, in a menacingly deep gorge.

Beyond Kuppa, Sangla valley lay threadbare under a vaulting silver blue sky, gashed in the middle by the silver streak of Baspa river, encircled by snow clad mountain peaks and dribbling glaciers. The town was fairly big with quite a few hotels and boarding houses around. Several camps could be seen beside the river. As we climbed up from the valley, the road narrowed, barely wide enough to accommodate two cars at some sections. Ragged, steel grey rock faces rose up like gothic cathedrals to our left, at once disturbing and fascinating. Colossal boulders, fissured massifs and twisted trees bordered the pulverized road evoking images of a celestial battle, an Armageddon that wrecked the landscape.  Pale pink flowers of Chuli trees that dotted the scene were the sole aesthetic relief in this rugged terrain.

Sangla Valley

As we drove further, the snow crept silently closer; muddy and slushy, it reposed under stones, over thorny bushes, near tree roots. We passed Rakcham, a small village of wood, stone and shale houses that lined the road. The mountains suddenly gave out revealing a vast mauve coloured steppe, piled with boulders and partitioned haphazardly by stone walls. An old man, bent double over a gigantic stack of firewood teetered beside the road. We turned a corner and came to an sudden halt. Chitkul!!! The abruptness of the arrival left us disoriented. For a while we did not know where to go, what to do. There was the PWD guesthouse on our left. On the right, in a ditch was the famous “Hindustan Ka Aakhiri Dhaba”. A rabble of concrete buildings still under construction furnished the front view against a backdrop of majestic snow cloaked mountains. On to the right, across the river, pines drooped under the weight of accumulated snow.

It was knuckle whitening cold. Having eaten nothing for the past four hours, we were terribly hungry. We also needed a place to pee. A ragged crowd that wandered about ignored us pointedly. The PWD guesthouse caretaker agreed to put us up, but later changed tack. But he allowed us to use the washroom for which we had to fetch water for ourselves in a bucket. Later he served us the most repulsive Dal-Rice we ever had – coagulated, glutinous rice generously sprinkled with human hair and sand grains. I still wonder if these ingredients were added for taste or to avenge a vendetta of some former incarnation.

The snowfall of the previous day had frozen up pipelines and running water was not available. None of the guesthouses were therefore willing to put us up. Finally, to our immense relief, Rani Guesthouse agreed to accommodate us in a dingy room. We bought some biscuits and snacks at the lone general store in the village, run by a sweet lady with a baby saddled to her back, and went for a walk near the river. A thick blanket of snow covered the river bank. The water was clear as crystal but freezing cold. I dipped my hand inside and spent the next half an hour furiously rubbing my numb fingers and palm. Really scary.

There was no motor able road beyond Chitkul. It was a true frontier village. A narrow dust trail escaped the village and threaded its way across the lunarscape into the white desolation of snow clad mountains, bound for the police post three kilometer ahead. We walked along the trail and wandered about a bit before returning to the village. Snot-nosed children accosted us peering over the camera and occasionally posing. A few village women greeted us with smiles that transformed brilliantly their deeply furrowed, ascetic faces.

We retired to bed early after dinner. The village lay enveloped in darkness with a handful of incandescent lights glowing like fireflies here and there. Through the window the faint iridescence of snow on the mountains was visible as we lay in bed. The blankets were fetid and musty, making  me afraid of catching some skin disease. But we felt really thankful to our generous hosts for the shelter and were soon immersed in deep, dreamless sleep.

It had snowed during the night. When we woke early next morning, the landscape had taken on an ethereal aspect -  snow lay everywhere, on the roof, over tables, on chairs, softening everything, obliterating all features in an all encompassing whiteness. The sun came out, torching the smoking peaks in orange flames. With sun came a freezing wind that blew snow flakes from branches and howled through the streets. It made us shiver and clutch our jackets tight as we walked about.

Snow clung adamantly on firewood, thorny bushes and barbed wire fences. People were sweeping it off their roofs. Snow melt dripped from gables. A shaggy dog took a fancy on us and followed us around taking considerable pleasure in the occasional cuddles and strokes that we bestowed. The fields were being prepared for sowing. In the months after winter the people cultivated Aloo, Matar, Joh, Bhapra and Olga and stored the harvested grains in Kuthars (storage houses) for winter.

Our hosts were unpretentious as they were gracious. We wandered into the kitchen and watched them prepare breakfast and tea. The language they spoke was Kinnauri, but we could easily get by with Hindi. Very few people stayed in the village during winter. Those who stayed back in the wooden houses lined inside with mud hardly ventured out. One could easily catch pneumonia and die. Life was not as idyllic as we made out. But tourism was picking up providing much needed money and some alleviation to hardship.
Taking leave of Chitkul was extremely hard. There it was; recumbent in splendid isolation, cocooned from outside world untill recently; an island in the stream. But change was coming and coming fast. I looked back one last time, sweeping hungry eyes over the mountains, the valley, the wooden houses and a shabby brown donkey that rambled about and hoped against hope that change didn’t inflict irreparable damages to the land and the people; that Chitkul will forever remain stranded in time, retaining its innocence and Spartan charm.

Note: The road beyond Bhabanagar, from Natpha Dam site to Wangtoo, Karcham till a few miles beyond Tapri is in pretty bad condition due to the Karcham-Wangtoo Hydroelectric project construction.

Part I – Sarahan: Click Here, PART III – Kalpa: Click Here, Part IV – Shimla: Click Here
 

Grubbing En-Route : Gyand Chand Ki Dhaba, Badhal, 4 Km from Jeori
Enjoy unlimited Kadhi-Chawal, Rajma-Chawal for Rs.30.00 unly. Taste – Absolutely YUMMY!!. Ambience – Well, you don’t notice it much once you get going…
CHITKUL ACCOMODATION
Rani Guest HouseContact: Ravi Negi (01786-244307)
4 Rooms. Hot Water. Rent Rs.400 per night

Thakur Guest House
Tariff: Rs.400.00 per night off season. Rs.600.00 per night during season
Total 8 rooms. 4 rooms with attached bathrooms. Hot water available.

HPPWD Guest House
Booking to be done at PWD Office, 3 KM before Bhabanagar (See the snaps below showing location)
Contact: Shri Uday Singh

 

 

 

HPPWD Guest House Chitkul - Booking Office

Photo Courtesy: SV

Part I – Black Goddess, Pink Blossoms, Yogurt Mountain!!!

The best things in life mostly occur by chance. Take the case of having a child. You never intended it, but it just happened so and you are so much happier for it. At least, for a while. I was never a great believer in chance. Always used to plan, plan and plan. But this journey undertaken solely on the whim; this journey without maps; it made me a lifelong admirer of chance.

We had booked train tickets to Jammu which didn’t get confirmed till the last moment. The prospect of spending 3 idle days in Gurgaon was horrifying. The situation had to be salvaged, somehow. And the route to salvation, as always was Google. We found a blog (www.bushahrtimes.com) which described Chitkul as this outlandish, mesmerizing outpost, somewhere on the Indo-Tibetan border. That was it. That was exactly where we wanted to go. So we packed our bags and through a friend managed two seats on the Delhi-Shimla Volvo bus run by HPTDC. A chance meeting with Dharmender, our bus conductor, at HPTDC office in Janpath Road helped to fix our transport from Shimla to Chitkul. It was as if a benevolent God had ordained it. Verily, Divinum Mysterium.

Well, once we got going, Chitkul became just another destination on the itinerary. Our journey assumed a life of its own and took us to places we had never heard about. It would be overwhelmingly tedious if I narrated it all at one go. So let me divide the post into four parts, based on the four places we spent the night – Sarahan, Chitkul, Kalpa and Shimla.

Sarahan…

6 AM, the bus deposited us at Shimla. Our laconic driver, Kakuji alias Suresh was already waiting at the bus stop with his rickety Tata Sumo. For the next couple of hours we rattled through winding roads criss crossed with shadows of deodar and pine trees, shafted in the eye by a mercilessly bright sun. We passed several quaint towns perched on the hillsides – Sanjoli, Kufri, Fagu, Theog, Matiana -  before reaching Narkanda where we halted for breakfast. An impromptu discussion over Aloo Parantha and hot tea produced sort of a sketchy itinerary. We would halt for the night at Sarahan, midway between Shimla and Chitkul; proceed the next day to Sangla valley and Chitkul, stay overnight; go on to Kalpa the day after, spend the night there and return to Shimla the next day. On paper, it all looked fine. But we had no reservations and little clue as to where we were heading. Achtung Baby? Nope. Blow caution to winds, go with the flow. Give chance a chance!!!

Beyond Narkanda we followed the silted waters of Satluj till Rampur, capital of the erstwhile princely state of Bushahr. This was the last place on the circuit where we would find functional ATMs of most major banks. It was hot, humid, sweaty. As soon as we withdrew cash, we were back on the road. At Jeori we doubled back and began the steep climb towards Sarahan. Along the road were numerous apple orchards in full bloom. Snow covered peaks towered over the turquoise green landscape dappled with pinkish white apple blossoms.

At the HPTDC resort at Sarahan we got a room with a balcony overlooking the Srikhand mountain range. There was a pleasant nip in the air when we went out in the evening. Bhimakali Ji temple dominated the scenery with its intricate woodwork typical of Kinnaur. Inside, we were stripped of camera, watch and all leather (belt, wallet, shoes) before being allowed into the sanctum sanctorum. Thankfully, they allowed us to keep our own skin. A drunkard teetered over the temple entrance; an old lady with an impassive face lost in wrinkles demanded alms and walked away nodding her head when we requested her to pose for a photograph.

The Tragopan pheasantry was closed, so we decided to trek to the monastery in the valley.  The steep trail that sliced through apple orchards beside a gurgling stream ended near a culvert. An old man, intoxicated, hardly able to support himself, asked us for directions to somewhere. We mumbled an apology and excused ourselves. It was getting dark and we were anxious to get back to the hotel. On the way back, the Mouni Baba (“speechless saint?!!!) at the small saffron coloured shrine of a local deity greeted us with a dazzling smile. This sense of complete unquestioned acceptance was something, as city slickers, we were not familiar with. There was no trace of suspicion or distrust. We were there, he was there, the crimson hued snow peaks were there, there was the gradually advancing night sky, and the apple blossoms, falling, falling, at our feet like snow, and the clean, refreshing air.  As the dusk settled over the town a feeling of eternal peace and contentment descended on us.

Morning, we woke to the sound of temple chants mingled with the ruckus set up by ravens. They glided, somersaulted and performed a variety of aerial acrobatics over the valley that spread out and beyond our balcony. Across the valley the mountain sides were still under shadow. Wisps of smoke rose from chimneys down below. A handful of people pottered about. Our dinner had been miserable (Chowmein and Thukpa in a filthy Tibetan shack). We made up for it with a sumptuous breakfast of Poori-Sabzi. 8 AM, as sunlight flooded the valley, we took leave of Sarahan and hit the road to Sangla and Chitkul.

Part II – Chitkul: Click Here, Part III – Kalpa: Click Here, Part IV – Shimla: Click Here

HPTDC
Chanderlok Building
36, Janpath, New Delhi – 110001
Contact: 91-11-23325320, 23324764
Email: newdelhi@hptdc.in
Web: www.hptdc.gov.in
HPTDC Volvo bus booking can be done from this website 12 hours prior to departure.
Ticket to Shimla – Rs.700 (off season), Rs.760 (season)

HPTDC Hotel Srikhand

Be sure to check out Himachli specialties at the restaurant: Kheroo, Himachli Pulao and the Chef’s special (a wholesome concoction made of mashed potato, corn flakes, fresh milk, coconut and dry fruits).

Koya Ram, the restaurant attendant is especially helpful.

New Himalaya Dhaba (Negi Ka Dhaba)
V P O Narkanda District
Shimla, H.P
Contact: 91-9418042466, 91-1782 – 242426

The Little Chef Restaurant and Hotel
Chuhabagh P.O, Khaneri Tehsil, Rampur Bushahr
Shimal Dist, H.P – 172001
Contact: 91-9882206844, 91-1782-233944
Email: sharmaumesh_simplicity@rediffmail.com
Web: www.thelittlechef.com
Nice stop over for tea, quick snack and good rest rooms
Rooms are also available

Dharmender, HPTDC Bus Conductor
Contact: 91-9418673290
Amicable, but have great affinity for money. Need to grease his palm for every service rendered.
Handle with care!!

Kakuji AKA Suresh
Contact: 91-9817155355, 9459094355
Monosyllabic, conscientious. Occasionally prone to irritability.
A man you can trust.

HPTDC Brochure – Sarahan

Photo courtesy: Subha Varma

Hornbill on the Ridge

Went to Kamla Nehru Ridge Park on Saturday. Had to keep car outside the gate and walk. Notorious place. Epicentre of crime. Didn’t appear so in the late afternoon sun. All serene. Inside, the colonial structures are decrepit, entrance barred. Protected monuments. Relics of time. Adrift in memory. Asphalt promenade lined with trees. New road being laid, blood red brick powder against dark green vegetation. Sun light filter through tamarind and Neem tree leaves. The place is relatively clean.

Afternoon lethargy. People slouch in park benches. Dogs are fast asleep in moist grass. Monkey families rest and groom under trees. Monkey adults bare teeth in ancestral benediction!  Monkey kids scamper for cover as we approach.  Dragonflies hover overhead. Butterflies flit past. Fruit chaat wala’s, gardeners, rubbish gatherers. Amorous couples near secluded spots. Heads welded together. Awkward. Not them. Us. They smooch, we blush. Ironic.

Birds, many! Bulbul, wild pigeon, mynah, parrot, wagtail, magpie, sparrow, HORN BILL!!!! An Indian Grey Hornbill, engrossed in open mouthed contemplation of the universe! Never seen one before. Beautiful bird. It flies past us. Lands on a branch nearby. We watch, intently. Let us freeze he, she, it in pixels; for time immemorial. Let us not leave the task to volatile memory. Lights, Camera, Action! CLICK!!! The bird is gone, leaving no digital trace! No, all is not lost! It will live on, a grey smudge in our synapses, axons, dendrites; the biochemical image of  a fleeting reality. To be remembered, ruminated, recalled, regurgitated – not visually, orally. Hornbills inspire open mouthed philosophy. Wake Up! Time to Stop!

Up In The Air

This weekend was wonderful. The heat had abated a bit. We went for a long walk early Saturday morning and in the evening we went parasailing. Our instructor was Sq. Ldr. SPS Kaushik. At 5.15 PM Saturday we followed his jeep to the open ground beside Powergrid office, next to Leisure Valley. An obstinate wind kicked up billowing clouds of brown dust, driving it into our hair, eyes and nostrils. The crew immediately set about unfurling and fixing up the parachute while we donned the harness and helmet and got ready for the flight. Earlier, during a visit to Pattaya in Thailand we had done parasailing over the ocean. This was the first time we were attempting in terra firma.

Tall and handsome, Sq. Ldr. Kaushik was a charmer. Dark glasses and military green outfit gave him the semblance of an aviator. He claimed to have countless sky dives to his credit which made him numero uno in Asia and second in the world. He had led the Indian sky diving team as well. We were in expert hands.

Once the wind slackened a bit, my harness was hooked to the parachute. A tow rope connected the parachute to the jeep. I was given a short safety debriefing and couple of reassuring slaps on the back. The parachute jerked me backward as it caught the wind.  I bobbed up and down and swung sideways like a pendulum as it gradually lifted. The jeep lurched forward yanking the rope taut and swept me off the ground. “I WAS AIRBORNE!!!!” It felt fantastic, beyond words. Suspended in the air, I flapped my hands and looked at high rises, trees, Metro and the express highway that made up the vista. From time to time I glanced up at the multi coloured parachute to make sure it was supporting me for good. Down below the jeep sped on. I felt like cutting off the umbilical that connected me to it and floating away. I could become like Trishanku, suspended forever between heaven and earth. The fantasy was quickly dispelled as I descended. It was the shortest three minutes of my life. Such an anticlimax! The tinge of frustration that coloured the excitement of the flight was difficult to suppress. As the Sq. Ldr explained later, this sport was addictive, despite the risks. Once you have tasted it you remained captive forever. He had himself been injured number of times during sky dives, but always returned. I couldn’t agree with him more.

KAUSHIK AERO SPORTS
Squadron Leader SPS Kaushik,
28/29, Salasar Vatika IVth, Nivaru Road,
Jhotwara, Jaipur

Tel.: 0141-2173288
Mobile:9414305121, 9413089901, 9278643185
Email: shailshik@rediffmail.com
Web: http://www.blueskies.in/

CHARGES
Single Flight – Rs.500.00
Three Flights – Rs.1200.00
A little on the steeper side, I guess

On the Roll

Our quest for trekking gear landed us at Satya Niketan main market, opposite Sree Venkateshwara College on Saturday evening. The place was choke full of students, puffing away astride bikes, showing off biceps, slouching about or browsing books. All around billboards announced tuition for competitive examinations, there were gyms, book stalls, coffee houses and food stalls. We found Adventure 18, the trekking and adventure gear shop we were looking for, at one end of the market. It had all we ever wanted.

Once we were done browsing for gear, stomach took charge and directed us to the countless food stalls along the main market and side streets. One of them, 34 Chowringhee Lane,  seemed to gather a disproportionate share of the clientele, more heads stuck to the counter like flies on jack fruit, than rest of the stalls. Occasionally some heads spun off this dark, buzzing, shifting mass holding large half chewed rolls (Frankies, if you please) and a dreamy look in the eyes. Precisely the epiphany we were waiting for.

Pushing and jostling, I too joined the crowd and managed to place an order for double chicken roll. As I watched, the executive chef took out a glob of dough, flattened it between hands, stretched it with two master strokes of Belan, threw the resultant round bread into the vast Tawa, pressed it a couple of times with hand, flipped over, another hand press, smashed two eggs on it, a quick twirl, another flip, couple of stirs and out came the Parantha n egg base ready for stuffing. Sous-chefs placed chunks of chicken in a straight line along the centre of the Parantha, added a dressing of sliced onion, squeezed lemon juice and poured chilly and tomato sauce over the chicken chunks before wrapping it in tissue paper. I took this exquisite creation reverentially with both hands. The rest is history.

34 Chowringhee Lane
71, Main Market
Satya Niketan
Opp. Venkateshwara College
New Delhi – 110021

Adventure 18 (http://www.adventure18.com/)

Another review of 34 Chowringhee Lane can be found here: Click Here

Wayanad – An Emerald Breath

Recently we went on a whirlwind visit of Wayanad, the hilly region to the north-east of Kerala, bordering Karnataka. Wayanad is blessed with great natural beauty and a refreshing climate. Early morning, dense swirling blankets of mist smother the hills, which is gently pulled away by a mellow sun by mid morning; dew drops hang glistening on spider webs; bright fuzzy yellow blotches of sunlight filtering through branches of mahogany, jackfruit and areca trees coagulate on several spots on the grass. It is pleasant throughout the year, even during summer.

 

Over the past few years Wayanad has transmogrified into a tourist hotspot from a rural backwater. Agriculture, the mainstay of the region has taken a backseat. The sparkle of practically tax free lucre from tourism has seen almost everyone hitching to the bandwagon. Real estate near tourist spots have undergone an unprecedented escalation. One cannot walk around without rubbing shoulders with a real estate agent or a home-stay owner. Not that it is a bad thing. Home-stays, the tourist arrangement where you typically stay with a family and share the meals, have flourished in this region, and has brought in a modicum of prosperity; augmenting the hard earned agricultural income. Several Ayurvedic massage centers and spas have cropped up aimed at tapping the exploding tourist traffic, taking advantage of the rejuvenating climate.

An Old Jain Temple

 

Our flight from Delhi to Kozhikode was 3 hours late. A sweltering 45 minute taxi ride from airport brought us to the Kozhikode bus stand. The blazing afternoon sun had us scramble for shelter, but an exhilarating cool breeze which blew as the bus zig-zagged across the mountain pass restored our spirits by the time we got down at Kalpetta late evening. Our accommodation was arranged at Hillview Homestay, a short walk from Kalpetta town. The bustle of the town faded away as soon as we turned into a pocket road; it was pitch dark, myriad stars twinkled in the dark velvet night sky stretched between slender trunks of areca trees.

Hill View Homestay

The home-stay was a sprawling double storied concrete mansion set in a small garden. The family was waiting at the porch to receive us. After refreshments, we were ushered to a double room on the upper floor, overlooking a valley. A lavish Kerala style dinner was laid out for us when we returned downstairs. The owner, a retired HR manager in a pharmaceutical multinational in Mumbai spent only a few days in a year at Wayanad. His brother and a caretaker attended to the home-stay arrangements. There were 3 double bedrooms available. Since we were the only guests we had the entire house for ourselves. We spent sometime in the lawn playing with the frisky Alsatian dog ‘Paula’ before retiring for the night.

 

Early next morning we woke up to the clamour of birds. The world outside was awash in shades of green – rolling emerald green of a tea garden, dark forest green of coffee plantations, pale green paddy fields wedged between hills. Yellow sunshine winked across swaying green palm fronds, the air crisp, bright and hopeful. We had a busy day ahead visiting relatives and taking care of business. Evening, we downed couple of beers and munched on fried fish and Kerala mixture on the lawn. The dinner was exhaustive and featured mutton and fish much to my delight. The caretaker, originally from Orissa had prepared Roti’s especially for us which added to the pleasure. We left at day break the next day, headed back to Kozhikode for a long flight home. The visit though hectic, instilled a permanent love of Wayanad and its people in us. We hope to return some time this year for a longer stay.

Hill View Homestay
Off PWD Office Road
Kalpetta, Wayanad,
Kerala – 673121
Contact: Mr. K V Joseph
Tel : 09249112468, 09833416688, 09422475757
Email: joseph_karumalil@hotmail.com
www.wayanadhillview.com

Charges:
Rs.2000 per person per night
(Inclusive of breakfast and dinner, Kozhikode airport/ railway station pickup and drop and local sightseeing vehicle)

How to reach:

Nearest Airport: Kozhikode
Daily flights available to major cities

Nearest Railhead: Kozhikode

By road: Kalpetta is located on NH-212 highway, approx. 70 KM from Kozhikode. KSRTC (Kerala State road Transport Corporation)  bues from Kozhikode to Sultan Batheri and Mananthavadi goes via Kalpetta. Travel time: 2.5 Hrs. approx.

Places to see: We did not visit any tourist places. But there are peaks, waterfalls, a dam, wildlife sanctuary, ancient temples and caves in the vicinity. Plenty to keep one occupied.

There is an Ayurvedic Spa next door to the home-stay. The Kerala Ayurvedic massage is quite relaxing.

Kozhikode is famous for sweetmeat. Be sure to visit SM Street (next to the railway station) for some exciting varieties of Halwa.

SM Street - Kozhikode

Photo courtesy: Subha Varma

Sariska – Return of the Stripes

Waking up on a chill December morning is an ordeal. It was still dark and cold when we loaded up sandwiches and water in the car and headed for Sariska at dawn. 50 km down NH-8 to Dharuhera, we took the left turn to Bhiwadi; 10 km further realized that we were probably going in the wrong direction, made enquiries, veered around and came upon the turn to Alwar. A few shoe shops, a juice vendor, a tree and this road inside. That was it!  No signage! At a junction further ahead we stopped again and asked for directions, turned right and took the road beside Ashiana village, another left and an immediate right and we were on Alwar Bypass. It struck us that while driving on Indian roads “SPOKEN DIRECTIONS” are far more reliable than written ones. Signages are few, often misleading, either plastered over with posters or well concealed from view. The best thing is to ask pedestrians or bystanders when in doubt.

Driving down the sunlit country road flanked by glorious yellow-green mustard fields shrouded in early morning mist was sheer pleasure. At Kurd Chawandi near Tijara we stopped to breakfast on ‘garam-garam’ Aloo-Pyaz, Mixed Paranthas and hot tea, at Chirag restaurant – a shudh shakahari, pavitr hotel. The single lane road was practically traffic-free. Aravali hills formed a corrugated backdrop against panoramic vistas of emerald green fields.

Mid morning, after a brief wait at a railway level cross near Alwar, we took the right turn from the second roundabout, passed over another railway crossing and sped along the road immediately to the left. At a fork we took the uphill road on the right which led straight to Sariska, 40 km further on.

The blue signboard announcing Siliserh Lake Palace Hotel was easy to miss. The narrow, badly maintained road to the palace wound along an ancient aqueduct; bordered by eucalyptus trees, gooseberry orchards and lush green fields. Heavy traffic of motorbikes, Jugaads and jeeps on the road frequently forced us off the tarmac. There were several eating joints beside a large pool at the point where the road climbed towards the palace hotel. Inside the compound, there was just enough space to park about 10 cars. The palace which was built by Maharajah Vinay Singh of Alwar in 1845 as a hunting lodge have recently been converted into a heritage hotel maintained by RTDC. We paid the entrance fee and climbed up to a balcony. Down below, the azure lake lay shimmering in the clasp of grubby, fractured sandstone hills; tinged yellow along the brim by mustard blossoms. There were birds along the lake edge; near the shore an old man in white ploughed the field with a white bullock; we could see villages in the distance. A strong wind ruffled our hair and bent potted plants kept along balustrades where guests sunned themselves. We sat sipping tea on the balcony for a while, taking in the idyllic setting. Back at the car park, we found clean, spotless toilets close by. Refreshed, relieved we resumed our journey to the sanctuary.

The road became progressively worse as we neared Sariska. For a kilometer or two within sanctuary limits we were forced to grind along edges of cavernous potholes in low gear. Entry tickets were available from the Project Tiger counter located on the main road, 500 meters from the sanctuary gate. We could either take our car or hire open air Maruti Gypsies run by the forest department. We chose to drive ourselves. At the sanctuary main gate we had to provide vehicle and driver name for records. The sanctuary rules prohibited us from straying off the main road. Playing music on car stereo was not permitted. Under no circumstances were we to step out of the car.

The asphalt road within the sanctuary was in bad shape. Possibly intentional – it helped to limit speed within the stipulated 30 kmph. We drove along at a snail’s pace scanning the the jungle on either side of the road. My wife was the first to catch sight of a wild boar. It seemed quite unconcerned by our presence and continued to munch grass. Uncharitably, the first image which flashed across my mind was that of Obelix grilling wild boar over bonfire. Further down the road we spotted groups of peafowl, Sambar, Nilgai and Chital. They peered at us curiously but did not pay us much attention when we stopped close by. Trees closed in as we moved deeper into the jungle. This was dry deciduous forest and foliage was not very dense. At several places it opened up into savannahs of brown grass. Occasionally a Sambar or Chital streaked across the road. Sometimes they paused to stare before vanishing into the undergrowth. A pack of jackals, brownish, with ears perked up, strolled along the road. Grey Partridges waddled about picking at the ground and jumped inside thickets as we approached. Peafowl were everywhere, on the road, under the shade, top of trees; the peacock easily spotted because of its fluorescent blue green feathers. Several parrots roosted on a bare tree, giving it a transient pale green foliage.

Signboards along the road announced the distinguished residents of Sariska - caracal, leopard, tiger! In 2005, the sanctuary earned the dubious distinction of being a tiger reserve sans tiger. Three tigers have since been reintroduced and are reported to be faring well. We were fortunate to spot this one!!!

Langurs – black faced and long tailed stalked the road in groups, hoping to be fed by visitors. On one occasion we stopped the car to feed them and got mobbed by the gang. They climbed over the car, stuck to the windshield, perched on side mirrors and tried to insert fingers through windows.  Later, forest officials reprimanded us for feeding them. We understood that instead of helping them, we were harming them. By giving them food we discouraged animals from foraging which was ultimately detrimental to their well-being.

The main road ended at Pandupol temple, dedicated to Hanuman. Langurs and Rhesus monkeys walked about unmolested, under the auspices of the monkey god. According to legends, Pandavas spent part of their Vanavas here. The stone arch over a cascade is reputed to have been created by Bhim by smashing his mace (Gada) on the rock. We parked our car near the temple entrance and walked a little way inside. Water trickled over large smooth boulders, there were silver fish in stagnant pools, a Sambar stared at us from inside a palm groove, squirrels scurried about, a kingfisher sat perched on a palm tree, all around it was quiet except for the rustle of leaves. Back at the temple there were a group of cacophonous pilgrims. Near the sign which exhorted to keep the temple premises clean, a man performed his daily ablutions. A visit to the stinking toilet and the litter was sufficient for us to drop the idea of having samosas from nearby shops.

The sanctuary gate was close to 25 kms from the temple. It was getting late, the slanting evening sun rays had withdrawn to cliff tops.  We turned left from the sanctuary gate intending to return via NH-8 instead of Alwar. A dilapidated fort over looked Thana Gazi  town where we stopped to fuel. A short snack break at Virat Nagar and we hurried on to Shahpura where the road met NH-8. Driving on the pitch dark country road with oncoming vehicles on high beam was extremely difficult. We breathed a sigh of relief as we touched the highway. NH-8 was choke full of trucks which necessitated frequent lane shifts and weaving through traffic. It was late night when we reached Gurgaon, braving traffic jams, rogue drivers and wheezing trucks.

Although we couldn’t spot the star attraction of the sanctuary, it was a delightful experience. During the visit, we noticed several people step out of their vehicles violating the sanctuary rules. People flung tea cups out of the car and littered several spots.  We were ourselves guilty of feeding animals, for our pleasure and for the fantastic photo op.

I hope we all realize that the wildlife sanctuary is the home of animals – they are born and raised there, that’s where they live and die. As guests enjoying their hospitality and goodwill it is our responsibility to respect the animals and their environment instead of spoiling it. We should stop being selfish, at least for the while we are being with them.

RTDC Siliserh Lake Palace Hotel

RTDC , New Delhi
1st Floor, Bikaner House
Pandara Road, New Delhi – 110001
Tel: +91-11-23383837, 23386069, 23381884
Email: delhi@rtdc.in

RTDC Hotel Bookings: http://www.rtdc.in/rtdcconnect.htm

Chirag Hotel (Shudh Shakahari, Pavitr Hotel)
Kurd Chawandi near Tijara
Mob: 9982448744

Sri Ganapati (Sweets & Gud Wallah) – Virat Nagar
For hot Gajar Ka Halwah and Moong Dal Halwah
Mob: 9829861527

Viratnagar ke Prasidh Pakode Awam Dahi Wade wale
For those unforgettable pakora’s and mirch bajji’s
Mob: 9636057950

Note: Preferably carry food and water. Once inside the sanctuary, nothing will be available until you reach the Hanuman temple. The food available near the temple is not clean or hygenic.

Warning: Entry to the reserve is free on Saturdays. But noisy pilgrims throng the temple.  Hords of schoolchildren descend on the sanctuary. Buses honk you off the road. In my opinion, avoid visiting Sariska on Saturdays.

Photo Courtesy: Subha Varma/ V P Vinod

Swiftly Down the Ganges

Whitewater rafting had always fascinated us. When our friend proposed a rafting trip, we quickly made arrangements with Mercury Himalayan Explorations (MHE) who ran a river rafting camp near Shivpuri, 14 Km from Rishikesh.

Late evening last Thursday we caught the Delhi Metro to Chandni Chowk, crossed the underground passage to Old Delhi Railway Station and boarded a crowded and noisy Mussoorie Express to Haridwar. Next day morning, sleepless, bleary eyed and late we proceeded by taxi to the camp. The road between Rishikesh and Shivpuri was dug up for road widening which further delayed our arrival. We got our first taste of a rapid as we boarded a raft (middle oar type) to cross over to the opposite bank of the river where the camp stood perched along a stretch of sandbar below a cliff. Once ashore, we were showed to spacious, well carpeted twin bed tents.

As soon as we finished breakfast, the taxi took us 11 km upstream to Marine Drive for our first rafting trip. The crew helped us into wetsuit, life jacket and helmet. Rajan, the veteran raft captain from Nepal with a scintillating smile instructed us on rafting basics. Our raft was bright yellow, NRS (“Not Really Safe” – joked Rajan) make self bailing type. Once all were comfortable with raft safety and commands (forward hard, forward easy, left back, right back, get down, stop etc) we went midstream and practiced paddling for a while before taking off. A one man safety kayak followed in our wake.

Soon we hit the first rapid, ‘Investment’, a relatively tame one over which we swayed along coming to terms with rafting techniques. On the second rapid, supported on paddles, we stood up on the raft. It was exciting to feel the jerk and pull and lurch of the raft precariously balanced on the edge. Between rapids we drifted serenely along calm stretches of river, gently paddling forward, chatting and taking in the scenery. We could hear the gurgle of mountain springs. Cormorants sunned on enormous black boulders; a bird or two flitted by. There were numerous camps along the shore. At times someone shouted and our raft crew answered back.

Near each rapid we braced ourselves for the wallop and paddled furiously to obtain the optimum angle of the raft to negotiate the rapid. Rajan barked commands from the rear and steered us expertly over rapids as spray fringed walls of water crashed into the raft drenching us. We closed our eyes and dug in the heels as wave after wave slammed into our faces. The rush of adrenalin, the fright and the sense of accomplishment one feels upon crossing each convulsing rapid is indescribable.

At the body surfing rapid, we jumped off the raft, swallowing mouthfuls of (holy) water and clutching the raft for dear life. Once we let go off the raft, we floated down river, buoyed by the life jacket. The water was cold and scary, but the proximity of the raft and safety kayak was reassuring. Borne on the gentle current, we floated face up watching clouds, passing hills, dark menacing scree, blanched sandbanks and overhanging trees, swimming occasionally and listening to hushed ripples, sporadic bird calls and the pervasive silence of the forest. When we signaled, the crew hauled us back on the raft by our life jacket.

More rapids, bearing exotic names – ‘Black Money’, ‘Crossfire’, ‘Terminator’, ‘Three Blind Mice’, left us breathless. By the time we crossed ‘Back to the Sender’ and returned to the camp, we had completely forgotten the lack of sleep and exhaustion and had become die hard whitewater rafting fanatics.

After lunch we did a bit of kayaking. Balancing the one man kayak with the back erect and paddling from side to side was difficult. It took a while to learn the way the kayak responded to paddling. Even with the safety raft present, it terrified us to thrust the kayak into the tail end current of the rapid. Kayaking was followed by tea and adventure activities like flying fox, valley crossing, Burma Bridge and rappelling under the constant vigil of camp staff.

The evening camp fire was enlivened by snacks (chilly chicken, peanut salad and potato fingers) and rafting/ trekking stories. After dinner we came back and sat around the smoldering embers of the camp fire. The somber stillness of night was shattered by the roar of the river; shafts of vehicle headlights intermittently swept across black hills. Conversation petered out as the faint glow of stars, the scarlet radiance of hot embers and the rhythmic flow of the river threw a blanket of reflective silence over us. We found hot water bags under the blanket when we returned to the tent. Lulled by the warmth, I soon sunk into deep slumber as a few confused images of the day flashed across my mind.

The camp site was part of Rajaji National Park. Early next morning we went for a nature walk and trekked across the surrounding hills for about 3 kms till the river bank. Curry plants dotted the trail. Occasionally we heard barking deer. Every forest has a ghost story to tell. Tanzin Angel and Surender from the camp who accompanied us on the trek showed us the house of Sikander who was murdered by villagers. His widow, unable to bear the pain committed suicide. The camp site and surrounding forest are supposedly haunted by the ghosts of this tragic couple. Thankfully the spirits were in abeyance during our visit.

After breakfast, we rafted down from the camp to Nim Beach (near Laxman Jhulah).There were grade III and grade IV rapids in this lap – ‘Double Trouble’, ‘Roller Coaster, ‘Tee Off’, ‘Golf Course’, ‘Brahmapuri’ and many others. Our safety kayak capsized while crossing ‘Golf Course’. Fortunately, the kayak was quickly recovered and soon we were underway. At ‘Any Session Body Surfing’ rapid, we jumped off the raft and body surfed for a while. Cliff jumping was the scariest part of this adventure. I was in two minds as I stood on the cliff edge and looked down into the river. Finally, egged on by the crew, I jumped off the cliff looking straight ahead, arms close to the body and clutching the life jacket. The experience lasted only a few moments, but was sufficient for a lifetime.

After lunch we bade goodbye to the camp, thanking the staff profusely for their bounteous hospitality. Back in Haridwar to catch the train! Another weary night on the crowded and filthy Mussoorie Express and we returned regretfully to our encumbered lives.

The trip was a uniquely thrilling experience. The spirit of camaraderie and shared adventure was beyond comparison. For once, Ganga, the holy river, instead of quenching our thirst left us craving for more.

P.S
We were afraid that December would be too cold for rafting. Surprisingly, it turned out to be pleasant, thanks to global warming. Indiscriminate tree felling and rampant construction is taking its toll of Rishikesh as well. But we found a ray of hope in the following scene. Truly, India Shinig….

Notes:
The title is an adaptation of Eric Newby’s book “Slowly Down the Ganges“.

Adventure Gear recommended by Mercury Himalayan Explorations:
T-Shirts
Shorts/tights for trekking
Sun hat/cap
Track pant
Floaters for rafting
Sun glasses with case
Torch – There are hurricane lamps along every path in the camp. But it is better to carry torch if you do not want to stuble and fall.
Water proof sun block lotion
Personal first aid kit (also available in camp)
Personal toileteries
Camera
Do not carry more than one bag per person.
Do not carry hard suitcases. Carry only soft bags.

MHE offers 3 river rafting packages at Shivpuri
Package 1: 1 Night, 1 Day. Rs.2900/- per person. Includes 1 rafting trip
Package 2: 1 Night, 2 Days. Rs.3500/- per person. Includes 2 rafting trips
Package 3: 2 Nights, 3 Days. Rs.5200/- per person. Includes 3 rafting trips
Local Transport for drop at Marine Drive and pickup from Nim Beach – MHE can arrange but will charge Rs.200/- per person
Taxes Applicable
Camp is closed from mid June till mid September
MHE New Delhi Contact Details:
Mr. Sharfaraz Choudhary
Mercury Himalayan Explorations
Jeevan Tara Building
Parliament Street, New Delhi – 110001
Phone: (+91-11) 23340033, 23346209
(M) (+91) 9990037336
www.himalayanadventure.com

MHE Beach Camp Contact Details:
Mr. Ramakant
Phone: (+91-1378) 261615
(M) +91-9410367492

A very reliable taxi service:
Kuldip
Mobile: (+91) 9410560099
Deep Tour & Travel
Near Gujrat Samaj, Jessa Ram road, Haridwar – 249401
Alternate contact numbers: (+91) 9412072550/ 9837022236
Visit: www.deeptravelsindia.com
Email: info@deeptravelsindia.com

Particularly helpful Camp Personnel:
Tanzin Angel: Currently runs a camp near Keylong with his brother. Aspires to setup his own camp at his native Lahaul in the next 6 months.
Contact details – tanzinangel_geela@yahoo.co.in. You can find him in Orkut.
Mobile: (+91) 9418361559

Surender: Another Lahaul native. Adventure freak.
Contact details – himalayandragen@yahoo.com. You can find him in Facebook.

4041/ 4042 Mussoorie Express: We goofed up on our choice of train. Please do not take this one. It does not run on time.
Mussoorie Express starts from Old Delhi Railway Station (Station Code – DLI). Chandni Chowk Metro Station has an underground passage which connects to the Old Delhi Railway Station.

Pauri – Demure Virgin of Garhwal

I rate the journey to Pauri as a milestone in our travel escapades. Pauri was 1814 meters above mean sea level on the slope of Kandoliya hills in the Pauri Garhwal ranges of Uttarakhand, over 400 kilometers from Gurgaon.

I was deeply apprehensive about driving in the hills and my wife had a hard time allaying fears and prodding me into action. However, upon hitting the road, all fears evaporated and we thoroughly enjoyed the visit.

Khoh River

We started off early morning from Gurgaon, touched Ghaziabad in an hour, took the meticulously hidden turn to Meerut, climbed a flyover, got on to GT Road and raced down NH58. Meerut was chaotic – pathetic roads, lumbering tractors, baffling signage. Sympathetic passersby helped us to negotiate the labyrinthine streets and guided us till Mawana/ Bijnor road.

Chir Pines

Where the road bifurcated to Muzaffarnagar and Bijnor, we stopped for tea and a quick bite at Monty Million restaurant. Beyond Bijnor, we passed several small towns, Kiratpur, Najibabad, crowded with people and cattle. Soon the straight roads lined with paddy and maize fields gave way to winding roads. Far ahead, the Garhwal Himalayas swung into view and formed a constant back drop to the panorama.

We entered Kotdwara hungry, expectant and anxious of the mountain terrain. ‘Eats’ restaurant where we lunched served us Parantha, special Dal and tea along with detailed directions for the onward journey. We filled fuel at Kotdwara and climbed along the milky white Khoh River for a while with eyes riveted to the road dodging speeding jeeps and skirting potholes. At Dugadda a branch road led to Landsdowne. The majestic splendour Shivalik mountains unfolded over a hazy grey horizon, rolling hills and terraces of paddy as we edged past Gumkhal village and gently descended to Satpuli town.

Bad news! The regular route was closed for repair. We crossed a bridge, went past the toll gate at Banghat and took the alternate route via Kanskhet. Bilkhet, Banekh, Ghandiyal, Banjkhal, went milesstones announcing roadside villages. The silver trickle of a river meandered through the valley to our left, flanked by fields in varying shades of green and yellow. Distant peaks shimmied in a play of light and shadow under the slanting afternoon sun.

Khirsu

Evening advanced upon us sooner than expected. Nervous, we eagerly watched each milestone, counting the remaining distance to Pauri. As we emerged from the forest into the faint crimson afterglow of the setting sun, the town sprung upon us. We breathed a huge sigh of relief as we reached the GMVN guest house overlooking the valley at quarter to seven.

Kyunkaleshwar Mandir

 A spectacular daybreak! I lazily watched snow bound peaks of Neelkanth and Chaukhamba floating over cotton ball clouds through diaphanous curtains. The morning air was crisp, fresh, exhilarating. After breakfast we set out for Khirsu, driving through a breathtakingly picturesque vista of oak and deodar. After lunch we visited Kandoliya Mandir, the temple of the local mountain goddess located high-up on the mountain with amazing views of the town and valley and Kyunkaleshwar Mandir, an 8th century temple complex with splendid vernacular architecture.

Alakananda River

Next day, we went to Srinagar located downhill of Pauri, by the river Alakananda. Being on the pilgrim trail, the town was busy, noisy and hot. After a brief visit to the river we returned to Pauri.

Pauri has been spared the inevitable tourist commotion and associated distractions since it doesn’t figure prominently in the tourist circuit. The forests are still pristine, unmolested by tourist litter. People are hospitable and sport a ready smile and an eager helping hand.

With our recollections flavoured with a sense of adventure, achievement, elation and serenity, we departed from Pauri early morning retracing the trail to our wound up, preoccupied lives.

Contact Details
GMVN Tourist Rest House, Pauri 01368-222359, Mr. Joshi

For GMVN Rest House booking contact main office at Rishikesh: 0135-2431793
Email: yatraoffice@gmvnl.com/ yatraoffice@sancharnet.in

Photo Courtesy: Subha Varma