The Backpacker

It is surprisingly easy to write about your country, especially when you are NOT in your country. Perhaps it has a lot to do with memories. Perhaps. Or maybe when faced with a total different geography, one tends to draw comparisons and arrive at a conclusion that the grass, on the other side is, defnitely green. A good enough reason to write, right?

As the plane prepared to land (and it was rainy season, mind) I got the feeling that I was in for some surprise. And having forgotten what a decent rainy season looks like in Kerala, I was mildly shocked. Cochin Airport, though not built like Dubai, serves its purpose well. It is on the outside that the trouble begins. First thing you notice is the chaos. And behind the eager faces waiting for the arrival of their dear ones, is the shocking green. That is the first impression that comes to mind. Could anything be so green?

Remember my destination was Wayanad, the greener part of Kerala. And Cochin was not a great choice to land because it was many hours of bus/train journey away. But I decided to turn it into an advantage. What better way to shoot the real Kerala?

After much dangerous fling with the traffic, blaring horns, deft manouvering and abuses, I arrived at the railway station. Cochin south, was indeed a station like any other. People came and went. The one noticeable difference being that while years ago (seems like a long time), people waited in queues for platform tickets, now you could put in few coins into a machine and pop came your ticket. (see pic)    I have managed to get hold of coke and water that way, but a platform ticket? Never. It guess it is really been so long since I pounded the railway platforms!! To think I have before spent many a nights on the large but broken benches waiting for the train to arrive and take me places. Sigh, those were the good old backpacking days. The very station today appears to me like a specimen fit to be stared at!

The train arrived. No train arrives to an empty station. In India, trains have that special place in everyone's hearts. The train is royalty. Thousands of people wait in line (not exactly in line) to greet it. Upon their faces are emotions of various kinds, longing and expectations are common. The before it has come to a standstill, they are all over it. Exactly what happened. I was lost in filming the train-welcoming party, nearly missing the trian in the process. Where earlier I would have bounded into the train having muscled my way through, I was waiting till everyone boarded. In vain. The seats are up for grabs. First cum-first-serve basis. I did find a seat though. But there was a handkerchief reposing on it. (Tissues are still a rarity)

I pushed aside the kerchief and sat down. People looked at me funnily but said nothing. I do know what a handkerchief left casually on the seat means: That some bloke has "reserved" his seat. A short while later, the bloke returned, apparently from a visit to the loo (which in my opinion should remain firmly shut at the stations). He was quite a bloke. Tall, heavy built, with dark mustaches and his shirt was ever so colourful. He stood over me. I looked at him quite innocently. "My handkercheif," he said. Not to be cowed down into giving up the seat, I politely it up and handed it to him. "Yes, here it is," I said in my best manner.

Once you have a seat, it is easy to change places. I moved closer to the window. I did get some good video after all. But looking at it later I see that it is green. I never really thought that too much of green can be so pleasing. Except for the rivers, there was nothing to break the 'green view'. If anyone were to ask me how many shades of green I could think of, I would probably say "Kerala."

And before long, I was in Calicut (now Kozhikode). It was dark. But I liked this station better. There was more life here and was not so dingy as Cochin. Perhaps it is the familiarity. I have been here plenty of times before. The auto fares are rather low here. The roads are not much to speak of, but people are samrt enough to find pieces of roads to drive on.

The bus ride to Sulthan Battery in Wayanad is best undertaken on a sunny day. But naturally, the sun does not shine at night and occasionally one must make allowances for lapses in weather. A rainy season naturally means "lots of water" everywhere. But when that delighful element of nature seeps through the roof of the bus and the temperature outside is pretty low, there is no heating in the bus and NO place to move to, I have my opinion to air. Not that much can be done. The best way to beat the rising anger and frustration is to laugh. Or smile and tell yourself to enjoy this. After all, where I live, rain is hardly an event to look forward to. In the light of that fact, I did find the whole thing funny. People held up handkerchiefs over their head and from time to time squeezed out water, cursed and tried to sleep despite it all. But the bus continued on its journey, rushing though the dark, rain and without stopping for breath, over roads that had no right to be. We snaked up the Vythiri Ghats ( pic was taken at a different time) to arrive at Sulthan Battery two hours later.   

Sulthan Battery:

This place has always held appeal. I will tell you why. When arriving from Calicut, you enter the town in style. Its like this. The entrance to the town which begins at Assumption Hospital, is on a slightly higher elevation. So when you have reached the point, the town looks more or less spread out for inspection. Thus you arrive in SB, and not just drive through without acknowledging its magnificient presence. Shops line both sides of the street, nearly always bustling with colourful clothes and various odds and ends hanging at the end of frayed strings. One thing that hits the eys is the traffic, quite impossible you may think, but it is a fact. There must be several thousands of jeeps and auto-rickshaws here, not taking into account the motor bikes, buses etc. 

At night this place is even more attractive. In the worst of summer too, nights are very pleasent and you could be forgiven for wanting a plate of steaming hot samosas or prathas served with spicy chicken curry by the roadside dhaba. That road-side dhaba culture seems to have caught on here rather well. The chips-makers were always around, so to speak. So there is now more variety.

SB lives on its own. Surrounded by a different shade of green tinged with blue. In the very brief stay, I experienced rain and some more.

This tiny yet robust town, robust because it always looks freshly scrubbed and bouding with energy, is in close proximity to Mysore and Ooty. It also has its fiar share of curious shocks in the form of tigers and elephants who appear at regular intervals in the town for a little fun. That is perhaps the only time I have heard of traffic jams in the town. You have to pass through one such delighfuly green forest to reach Mysore. If you are lucky you encounter the wild animals. I saw elephants (see pic. Out of focus because the heroic driver of the yellow KSRTC bus dared not get close to the elephants frolicking on the road!)   

Before pulling into Gundlupet (enroute Mysore from SB), we stop for refreshments. Quite a change from the forests we have passed by.

India is a colourful (visual) delight. It comes with many shades. And before long, we hada rrived at Mysore, past even vaguer shades of green of paddy fields, wild vegetation etc. I have a fancy for drinking coffee at railway stations whenever I can. Once in Mysore, I headed for the station for a cuppa. Not a very commendable habit but it pays. It is a very satisfying experience to get lost in the big old railway station. Mysore being the terminating/originating junction, is nearly always full. Yet, it is calm and unhurried. The old book shop by the coffee-maker sells surprisingly new books. I bought two. Agatha Christie and briefly wondered what Hercule Poirot would have said had he seen the miserly man flog his horse outside the railway station.

Forgot to mention that the railway stations in India still required to be washed. Remember what I said about keeping loos closed at station? That, should be taken seriously. (Mysore station getting a wash!)