A Hitch Hiker's GuideTo A Parking Lot

It was a trip I never wanted. When the clouds thrilled us with a few drops on a hot summer evening in my native Nandanam extension, I just had jumped out in joy. Now think that I paid no attention to the words of the aged, don't leap too much in joy as there is danger always outside the pit. And I did leap, in wild enthusiasm of getting wet in a rain... it has been so hot and I could no longer remain in that wretched pit, which smelled of rat's urine. After all I am a Young frog and the hormones are still running high. So I jumped, so high that I could touch the clouds, get wrapped in it and fall with it when it rains in some beautiful wet land. Can't I find a beautiful mate there?

Before I could realise what was happening, I was on a moving object. It was not the cloud but a bundle of dryness in red colour. I searched with my paws to see whether I could feel the cloud pregnant with moisture. I could find none. There were large round domes of light just passing like flashes, they did not seem like stars though, which we had seen when looking up for the rain, with a little romantic twinkling.

I pinched myself to make sure that I was not in one of my usual wild dreams. I was not, I was actually moving and two large frogs, (did they really looked like frogs..I don't know may be frogs from a place which is alien to me) kept on staring at me through a thick sheet of water, which was not wet. I thought of taking another leap, but was frozen with fear. I had never moved that fast in my entire life. Even when we, as children tried hard to match with our mother's leap, it just remained a leap or rather a baby leap.

What I experienced then was not a leap. I did not feel that muscle stretch at my back or thighs. I also did not pant, which any way I used to after a long drill of practise leaps during younger days. The world around me was spinning, I saw every thing disappearing in seconds. Suddenly I thought of my mother, my relatives and friends and suddenly the pit, which I always referred to as wretched, looked so heavenly. Tears started rolling down my cheeks. I thought the life is going to end. My love for expedition died prematurely. And the life in my own Nandanam extension, looked so warm.

Finally, when my damn leap ended, I was in a dry piece of land, more wretched than my own pit. I saw many such clouds, which unlike the tantalising dark ones, were stationary. These clouds will never rain, I thought. Now I am alone. A complete stranger in an even stranger locality. Can please some one wake me up and tell me it was a just a dream and I still remain in the warmth of my beloved pit.

Monsooning in Wayanad

Water is something amazing. When it flows it takes you along, when it freezes, it freezes you along and when it pours, you just stand and drench. When six of us -me, my wife Sannidha, Ayyappan, Kannal, Gopu and Annie, stood stone like looking at the green beauty slowly unravelling before our eyes through the mist at the ninth hairpin bend of Thamarassery Ghats last Saturday, tiny Little rain drops were making their presence felt on our faces. Its monsoon time in Kerala and when we silently escaped from the scorching sun of Chennai to the cold blanket of Wayanad, rain was just warming up to welcome us.

It poured heavily when we landed in Calicut. On our way to my home in Calicut in the autos, it just lashed us with animated hospitality. The dark clouds were melting so fast, with a determination to wet us completely before we reached under a shelter. The roads looked re-born, with small streams of water.

It was the pleasant beginning of a much awaited break. We the dump ass journos, had just left the baggage of routine at the artificial coldness of the offices. We then proudly bragged about the beauty of nature, rain and what we miss while earning few thousands in Chennai, which looked too far away from this world.

By the time we reached home, the rain has almost stopped but the trees were still raining. Water streams became leaner and fell with a sad mourn through the roof tiles. We walked bare footed around my house, feeling the wetness of the soil. Birds were just shrugging of the water drops. We silently listened to the sounds, the sounds of nature, that we badly missed in the concrete jungle.

After a sumptuous breakfast we started our drive towards Wayanad. Could I have counted the trees we passed on the way. Not really, I was busy manoeuvring the curves and speeding buses on a narrow but well laid road.

Then we started the climb, on to one of the most beautiful ghat roads in the country. The black line of tarred surface struggled its way up through thick vegetation. It was another world. But for our conditionalised urbanism, we should have dropped our dresses and disappeared in that wilderness.

After encountering a deep cloud of mist, which almost blocked our vision on the road, we drove into one of the most frequented tourist spot in Wayanad- the Pookot lake. The tourists have actually taken the beauty off that lake. Fortunately, the spot was not that crowded when we landed up. But still, the very-tourist-like, boating we avoided. They haven't had a boat which can accommodate six people in one go.

Nature has a strong say in moulding the character of people I believe. The people we met, in tea shops, on the way side during our enquiries for the right route, were all as crisp and warm as the nature. They had a rawness in their behaviour. They were what they looked to us, nothing more nothing less. There were no thick clouds from the vehicles masking their true face from us.

We then started driving towards Tirunelli, where we had booked our rooms. On the way in Kalpatta, we found time to pick up some booze and 'Ethakkappam' (ripe bananas fried in maida flour). Gopu, ignored the beauty of nature for a while and indulged in gorging ethakkappams and few puffs.

Ayyappan with his obsession for maps, have been making all kinds of hilarious remarks. He wanted me to drive through the map than on the roads to reach early. Kannal was a bit dizzy due to the pressure variation on the ghats or I presume the nature was too heady for her after living long years in the dry heat of Chennai.

The mortal fear of men for existence could not have haunted us in no better way than when we drove through the blind curves of Mananthavadi-Tirunelli route. The road, slicing right through the heart of Wayand wildlife sanctuary, scared us with the possibility of encountering wild elephants on the road. It was pitch dark on both sides and when we switched off the car headlights for a second, we did not exist there. It was night in its best form.

Annie kept on making comments, Sannidha not falling behind, making the drive enjoyable. I am sure Gopu will never take Annie to his family functions as she has that unimaginable ability to make double-edged comments ;).

It was a Hollywood movie re-lived till we reach our hotel room in Tirunelli. The fear just bounced back when the hotel manager asked us casually about our encounters with wild elephants. "You must have seen elephants on the way no?" He asked with a great sense of sureness.
It was then booze time in room number 205 of the KTDC Tamarind. We had few rounds of Smirnoff with lemon and soda along with some deep fried chicken. True to the `spirit' of journalists, we discussed a lot of thing, even international politics. We then drew out a rough plan for the next day's adventure. So on Sunday morning, we decided to head to Kuruva Island, a 950 acre uninhabited island surrounded by the beautiful and historic Kabani river. Leaving the noisy desi-tourists aside, Kuruva island provides profound serenity. We rolled up our trousers and ventured inside. The cold flowing crystals of Kabani was so soothing. Under the sweet guidance of Suresh, (Suresh is a wonderful guide we hired in Kuruva Island. There are 23 such guides inside the island, who are members of a society and are employed on daily wage basis) we started walking inside the island. He took us through the routes, which hardly any desi, non-guided tourist knew and helped us to listen to the giggles of Kabani when she flew through well polished black rocks.
The nature was at its best form, when it started raining. The down pour displayed its beauty in a short spell, and withdrew without drenching us much. We had a small hitch in this trip as Annie continued to get cramps on her legs due to the cold climate. However, we managed to bring her back on foot and then nothing stood between us in devouring the wild Kabani.
We then took a raft to cross the river to the other side. We were hungry after a pretty long water trek. In a small hut restaurant, we had Kappa and Meencurry (boiled Tapioca with sardine in red hot chili curry).
After profusely thanking Suresh (it was not a very urban, stiff thank you. But a heartfelt, genuine expression of our happiness), we rushed to Tholpetti Wildlife Sanctuary, which was approximately 70 kms away from Kuruva Island. We wanted to go for a forest trek and had to reach there before 5 pm to get inside. But our efforts, proved futile as by the time we reached they had closed the gate. The forest guards told us to return by 7 am next day. "Early morning, gives you a better chance to spot the animals. We have strict instructions not to allow anybody after 5 pm," the forest guard told me after I put the trump card saying that we are journalists from Chennai.
We drove back to Tirunelli. On our way we saw a lone-tusker. The most dangerous among the wild elephants. He was few metres away, munching on the bamboo leaves and shoots with majestic ease. We just stood there motionless, watching him and his very white tusks.
I was too excited to drive back after the sun sets, though I had a slight fear of being attacked by an elephant on the way. Still there was a sense of adventure. But others were too concerned about the risk factor and we decided to return before it gets really dark. However, before reaching Tirunelli, we took a deviation and wanted to see the forest bungalow in Tirunelli. We just turned on to the road, which goes deep into the forest and went few metres ahead. But the density of darkness and an uneasy silence, made us rethink about proceeding further. So we took a U turn and drove towards Tirunelli.
We then went near the Tirunelli temple and had teas and snacks at a tea shop outside. On our way back, two Sambar deer came close to our vehicle from a coffee plantation and after giving us a glance, disappeared.
Monday was the last day of our monsooning. A sense of loss has started gripping us firmly. The busy roads of Chennai, the heat and the routines, started haunting us. We wanted to make maximum of the few more hours left in Wayanad. We woke up at 5 am. (Mind you making a journalist wake up at these hours is nearly impossible. But Wayand with its green wonders just managed to do that.)
We paid a running visit to the ancient Tirunelli temple, which is located in the lap of beautiful Brahmagiri hills.
We then headed to Tholpetti Wildlife Sanctuary. When I took a blind turn, a young tusker and his mother stared at us just away from few metres. I had my heart at my hands out of excitement. We stopped the vehicle just close to the animals. Others inside the car, who were in a better position to analyse the pros and cons shouted me to move the vehicle. By then the young rogue had straitened his trunk and spread his ears to frighten us away. "Shoo", he said as if we were some insects troubling him. Hesitantly, I pushed the vehicle few yards more and parked.
A bus passed us in the opposite direction, and the elephants just withdrew themselves into the forest. We waited there to see them again. After few minutes, the mother slowly came up and crossed the road and few moments later, the young one followed.
We continued our journey and by 6.50am we reached Tholpetti. We took the tickets and waited for the gates to open. In a cramped jeep, we started our drive into the wilderness of Tholpetty Wildlife Sanctuary. As the boards suggested at the entrance, sighting of animals could only be just out of luck and we prayed for that luck.
As we started driving through the mud path in to the deep forest, our excitement started to grow. Few metres in to the forest, the jeep driver slowly stopped the vehicle and switched off the engine. We saw a massive male bison to the left of us. He was grazing and did not even bother to lift his head to look at us. He then disappeared into the wilderness. We then stopped at many places to see the Malabar giant squirrels, black cormorants, deer flocks, Nilgiri langoors and a full variety of birds. I was praying to find a tiger. (Tholpetti range according to a recent survey has around 10 tigers.) But we were only fortunate enough to see a huge pug mark of this big cat. He had crossed the road on the previous night.
After a 20 km through the Sanctuary, we finally came out. We had tasted the honey from the tribal men inside the forest.
Then It was a rush time to reach back to Shoranur station to catch the return train. We went to Perinthalmanna (to my wife's house). We committed a mistake of having some food around 4 pm from Thamarassery to compensate for our skipped lunch. Amma had prepared some good food for us but we made a criminal waste of it. Lack of time and feeling too full, we managed to bite on to some and rushed back to Shoranur in a hired vehicle. We had hardly an hour to cover 40 kilometres. But the driver did a good job to take us to the station in good 40 minutes and we were on time.
Sincerely, I was hoping to miss the train, so that I had at least 24 hours more in the God's Own Country, relishing the deep dark clouds and the heavy rains.

To my beloved poet and story teller

When you started seeing death behind your face wrinkles, we never thought it will come to you so soon. When neermathalam started falling, we experienced the poetry, the inexplicable beauty with which you delivered each word from your womb of poetic wisdom. Now you are no more there and Malayalam seems so shallow, without that words of love and affection. Love for you was everything, the spirit, the emotion, the very existence of your being. You passed on that energy, a soft touch of warmth to us, who scanned through each of your words with never-ending enthusiasm.
The pain of your loss is beyond words. As you said once, the limited vocabulary of the present generation will search for an appropriate word to describe this sense of loss for many years to come. Still you will wear that innocent smile on your face and will laugh at our efforts to describe your loss or may be your achievements. After the `bald' universal story teller from Vailalil bid adieu to this world, the world of literature, at least in this part of the continent would not have experienced this kind of a vacuum. When Basheer left, you were there, with your unmatched passion to live, and that too to live it in style.
The titles of your stories does not make any difference to me, it was the sense of belonging, the spirit of unbridled rebellion that you courageously displayed in your works that made us sit and take notice. I always wondered you had the hands of a magician to weave each word with another as no others could. They all began as a drizzle and then poured down on our hypocritical conscience and we remain drenched.
You will continue to poke our hearts with those questions of romanticism, the unconditional quest for love and most of all with your wild world of imagery. We have nothing to return but a few drops of tears of love for you Kamala.