THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

  The needle steadily pointed at 50 kmph in the speedometer. It had been long since he drove this slow. It wasn’t the roads that stopped him from driving fast as usual, it wasn’t any fog that curtailed the visibility either, and he wanted to slow down today. He wanted to feel the subtle breeze that swept across his car, the smell of the place he drove through. He wanted to be himself today.

The car drove smoothly into the parking lot of the cottage. He didn’t need a cottage this time as he was alone, but still he booked for one. Different from the types he had stayed earlier in. Sophistication was his second nature. Comfortable living space, vehicle and gadgets defined him. For a difference he broke all his regular routine. Unlike usual this trip was planned overnight, without his caring and beautiful wife and his lovely kids. He had an urge to be alone and an unexplainable force was pulling him to this place.

  Silent Valley had been his escape spot right from the time he was 24. Each time he came the silence of the place tapped the resting inner energy of his soul. This was a place he wanted to drive to the very first time with someone unforgettable in his life. And till today he hadn’t driven to that particular road with that person and he knew he would not either. “Madhur Swaroop” he said at the reception. “Cottage number 5 Sir” said the overdressed receptionist.

“Hello, this is Sukriti here. Sorry, I am out of office. You may please call back on Monday or alternatively leave a voice mail at 09843360896”…… she finished recording her voice message for the calls she was not going to attend during her precious weekend getaway. It had been four months of tireless working and she needed this break for being able to work tirelessly for next four months. She always preferred this cottage. The rickety look of it, the cane furniture, herbal grass beds and cosy interiors made her experience the inner warmth.

“We should escape to silent valley whenever we lose our energy, be it physical or mental” she always told him and he had asked if she would go with him for a drive. She never had and she knew she never would.

Eight years of her career had been enjoyable. She loved her work, work place, colleagues and her home. It was eight years since she had heard that voice which enchanted her, dissolved her desperation and made her realize what being in love meant.

  Her relationship with Madhur was like Water elements. All hydrogen and oxygen don’t make water and once they are linked it’s almost impossible to separate them. But manier times water becomes unfit to use for the right purpose too.  A short-term relationship of 81 days it was but it left a lifetime impression in her.  Her friends found the reason ridiculous…”cultural difference”. She still smiled when they said it on her face how stupid the reason was. The understanding she and Madhur had was that they respected each other’s decision. They respected their own break-up.

  He stirred his hot chocolate and was listening to one of his favourite numbers from backstreet boys. He liked the different ambience of cottage restaurant with more of natural flavor. Sukriti had spent her three days doing things which she liked. She sat with her book and her ginger-lemon tea at the restaurant. She was reading Rabindranath Tagore’s GORA for the third time. She rediscovered the strength in her each time she read it. She was refreshed now. Taking another sip of tea she glanced around. A slip in the beat she could sense. Their eyes met and silence persisted for long. Madhur equally taken aback smiled at her first. They had been staying in the same place and same cottage.

  Conversation was becoming lighter and easier. They were getting back to the same rhythm of talking as they had eight years back. Their tables weren’t different anymore. They talked about what they did and what they plan to do. More hot chocolates, tea and juices came in. Madhur knew Sukriti never had another man in her life other than him. Not because he kept track of what she was doing, but because he understood and knew her so well.

Sukriti knew he loved his wife and kids and at the same time he always wished the best for her whether they met or not.  As the conversation unfolded, he suddenly asked her “Can we drive tomorrow to the road we always wanted to take?” She paused and smiled. She agreed to go with him.

The night was crawling, He felt. He knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong or nothing against conscience. He waited for the morning. He knew what to expect of the morning, still he went to the waiting lounge. He sat there for hardly two minutes and he walked straight to the reception. “Is there any message left for me? I am Madhur Swaroop” he said. With her trained smile the receptionist handed him a cover. He had expected this. He had two white tulip flowers in his hand with a tiny envelope. The envelope was very similar to the one he had received eight years back for his birthday. It was the same colour. He opened the message card inside. It had nothing but a smiley and a fish drawn to it. It didn’t require extra time for him to understand the message. The fish had left with all smiles to carry on with her life. THE HAPPY FISH. Madhur smiled at the fact she never changed. He carefully folded the message and slipped it into his wallet as proof of the fish being happy. He knew that the road would remain untaken forever after.

She had already pulled the top gear and covered more than 6 miles from the cottage. She pressed more on the accelerator and sped down the road with a big smile on her face.

As she drove, her lips broadened at the existence of water link between her and Madhur. Not as a couple, not as lovers, not as friends but the link of understanding between two humans. That road remained untaken by her and she knew she would not either.

THE UNDYING VIM OF TRAINS

I had developed an unusual pleasure right from age four, when I first travelled in a Train to Chennai along with my mother.  Trains were second home to my family as my grandfather was a railway official. Amma spent most of her childhood in trains and railway stations where my grandfather efficiently managed roles of a station superintend and a teacher to his kids. The station master’s room became the learning centre and sometimes playing area too. Amma, my aunt and uncle would still recollect those days and it always ended with the taste of ‘Thenga pal tea’ (tea made with coconut milk) which my grandfather got for them from railway canteen.

I wasn’t an early traveler like them and the first time I could remember getting into a train was when I was four. Amma took me along with her to Chennai. It was all excitement and amusement that I was drowned into. I still remember the way I was staring at a man pulling out the middle berth for himself. I then thought he was the strongest man I had seen in the world. I wrinkled my nose near the lavatory but was still amused to see the way it was designed, absolutely fitting the needs of an Indian. From then train journey became a regular affair. But each time I boarded a train, the vim and pleasure I felt were the same as my first journey.

I loved travelling alone in a train be it a day train or a night one. Reading a book sitting on the side lower seat with wind gushing at a high speed, the chaiwalas and snack sellers sound, and the view from the train made me feel that it was giving the same old message of life.. life is too short, nothing stays long in your life and yet they are cyclic.

I have never made an attempt to talk to any of the fellow passengers. Amma was very particular about that whenever I travel alone and neither had I felt the need to converse with anyone. But one of the trips was so different and good though everything seemed downhill before the journey started.

I was going to meet my sister who lives in Kottayam with her husband. I had booked my tickets for a Saturday at five past midnight. My aunt and brother accompanied me this time. We were too eager to meet her as soon as possible. When we reached the station I found mismatch in train number being displayed and on the ticket. Gosh!!!! One digit mistake in the train number and we had had actually booked tickets for a train scheduled at morning 5.30 the same day rather than the one we intended to travel in. It took a while to come out of the blunder we had made and decided against going back home as it would disturb people sleeping peacefully there and it was a matter of another five hours to board the train for which we had the ticket. After depositing the luggage in cloak room and a cup of tea we made ourselves comfortable in AC waiting hall at the Coimbatore junction. I was glad they had maintained it well but for the rest rooms. We left the place at 5 and boarded our train to kottayam. During the journey I and my aunt were discussing how the mistake happened, and that we ought to be careful the next time.

The next day afternoon we were set to come back to our paradise. This time my Jij and Didi cross checked the date of journey. We waved big to my sister and Jij as the train made a move and screaming BYE BYE BYE !!

It was a train to Guwahati from Thiruvananthapuram via Coimbatore and Chennai which was dirty and very poorly maintained with no water in the lavatories, stinking compartments, and unhygienic people.

I was the first to stretch my hand with the tickets to the TT. He took all the three and asked for the third one. Now how do I react when the TT has all my tickets and still demands for the third ticket? For about thirty seconds or so it was a repetition of the old tamil movie comedy of  senthil-goundamani except that it was a ticket here instead of the banana. I was furious about his behavior and so was he about mine. But how he could be furious, I thought, when he had my tickets and was still demanding for an extra ticket. Well, the TT calmed down a bit and showed me the ticket. They were two printed for a journey from Kottayam to Coimbatore and the last one had the route Coimbatore to Kottayam. Oh My GOD!! A printing error from the railway ticket counter which was left unnoticed by us till the end.

Now I stood in front of him as an offender, ticketless and to be fined for it. Rs. 400 please, he said. I hadn’t yet recovered from the unexpected and big blunder from my side. Good old TTR took pity on me and asked all three of us to move to compartment number S13 and said he would inform the checking Squad as it was partially the department’s mistake too. Relieved that I needn’t pay the fine we moved to S13 through the dirty compartments. The train carried very few females and the rest were males dressed shabby, stinking and ruffian, and ticketless. The squad had a tough time getting those ticketless passengers in order. We found a place where one lady was lying in the lap of a man. Their behavior was quite odd and was constantly chewing some brown and white substance from a packet which made us feel all the more uncomfortable.

A young boy probably aged between 14-16 years was talking loud over his mobile phone in some incomprehensible language sitting in our berth. He looked calm and the innocence of his face hadn’t worn out. He looked much different from the rest I saw in the train, better dressed, calmly seated and minding his own business. My aunt was a little anxious with the people and type of train we were travelling in. After an hour or so the boy besides us smiled at me and my brother. He asked my brother where we were going in Malayalam, his accent revealing he didn’t belong to Kerela and probably from northern side of India. They both exchanged few words and then continued with their own work.

I asked the boy where he was going. He said Kolkatta. When I told him his Malayalam was good enough he smiled broad as though he had received the biggest compliment and said he had been living in kerela for past five years. I asked where in kerela and he said he had been to most part of kerela. Replying to my questioning expression he said he worked as a labourer in construction sites all these five years. Another child labour victim, I thought. He just continued with his story, said he ran away from his house five years back. The shock very clear on my face, he said he ran away because his father used to beat him every day for no reason and one evening he got into some train from Kolkatta railway station that brought him to Kerela. For a week I roamed about and ate well with the money I had brought with me and I was also aware that I had to find work before my savings got exhausted, he said. He managed to get work in construction site and initially used to supply tea and water to labourers there. He was quite good at picking up works related to construction and soon joined the team, he continued. Didn’t you miss home? I asked. He said he didn’t miss much as he loathed his father. He had a sister younger to him too. No one could save him from his father’s cruelty and he had no choice but leave his place. I didn’t know how to react and all I asked was if he was returning home after five years. He replied with no emotions that he did go the previous year and came to know his father died the next year he left his place. His mother and sister were alone and she was marriageable age. Child marriage it struck me but did not react to it. He came back for work again and now he was going for his sister’s wedding. The sparkle in his eyes couldn’t hide his joy. I smiled at that happy face, the happiest face I could find at that moment which radiated all his love for his sister whom he was separated from for five years.  He soon opened his bag placed under his foot and removed a box from it. It was new mobile phone pack and showed it to me. With all excitement of a kid he said that it was for his sister to take it to her in-laws’ place. The happiest man handling the most precious object on earth, that is what I felt deep within when I saw him.

We were nearing Coimbatore and the squad members were forcing the fine payers to move to the next compartment. Pushkar was one among them. He took his bag and was about to move to the next coach, when I stopped him. I too took out a small box from my bag but with chocolates. I gave it to him telling it was from my side for his sister. We looked at each other for a brief second and he took it from me smiling and said thank you Chechi. 

When I got down at Coimbatore junction, the train I disliked was the one which made me feel good about the travel than other train travels till date. Before I could leave the platform I looked at the same dirty train and smiled which seemed elegant now. The vim of train journey- always undying and delightful !!

SANCTIMONIOUSLY BEAUTIFUL ANUVAVI

The wood was hitting the hard ground, cutting creases and the boy shouted “OUT”. The local boys were busy with their cricket practice session on the ground near my apartment.  The sun was still taking its time to shine its ray out; no one belonging to my block was seen outside. The driver reversed my car from the parking lot. I and two of my friends Alka and Saran got into the car at half past five in the morning.

Born and brought up in Coimbatore, I had never been to this place in my 20 years of life here. Though known to many, only a few take this to be a memorable journey. Not because it is not a worthy spot but for the strain they need to take to reach the place.

Anuvavi Hills, yes that is the place. It is home to the famous Anuvavi Subramanian Temple. Situated 12 km away from the city, our driver expertly drove us to the place. Before entering the Periyathadagam village where the temple is situated, I noticed delicate baggy –like small houses that crowded the area.  After we passed through those houses and travelled little extra kilometers, we took a turn to the left and reached the main entrance of the temple, downhill to be exact.

Our driver told us that there was no other way to reach the hill top other than climbing the stairs which precisely led to the temple itself. I stood near the stairs and glanced over the sides of it to see if any hiking was possible. It seemed a bad option to climb uphill without using the stairs. The sides were bushy and thorny, and also large trees covered the hill floor which was matted with dry leaves. “Stairs girls, trekking is treacherous” I said. They were in agreement too. As we climbed we could see the temple more clearly. I was ready with my camera to snap all that interested me along the way. I pressed the button to bring its lens alive. I pressed twice, thrice and nothing happened later to realize that there was no battery inside it. What bad luck, I thought. Frustrated that the scenic beauty or our faces with this magnificent backdrop cannot be registered I climbed quickly. Gradually I slowed down seeing the flight of steps still lying long. I was reminded of Shravana Belugola at Karnataka. Here the steps were better carved with better rails to hold and another credit was that there were lots of trees around to protect us from the scorching sun unlike Shravana Belugola. Still the flight seemed long.

The countdown ended and we climbed the last step nearly after 35 minutes from our starting point.

The Western Ghats, blending itself with the serenity and pious ecstasy of the temple environment was how I felt seeing the view right from the top notch. Houses, cattle and small fields were tiny and it meant a perfect view point for whole of Periyathadagam just like Dodabetta peak at Udhagamangalam. The difference was that necessity of a telescope was nil. The architecture of the temple wasn’t anything arresting. Like all temples in Tamil Nadu Garbha griha or Sanctum Sanctorum of the temple was of Lord Subramanian, famously known as Lord Karthikeya in North India.  Another small structure where Lord Ganesha is worshipped is just adjacent to the main temple. A wooden chariot to take the lord for a ride during temple festivals could also be seen as we took a full round. The temple as such was small and there wasn’t any specific architectural expertise to detain my attention in the temple premises. What made it unique and a highly appreciable spot was the merging between the temple premises and the hilly surrounding. The freshness that the air held around me was exceptional.

As most temples hold a mythological background, this temple wasn’t an exception. The priest briefed us the story behind the perennial source of water stream called ‘Hanuman Theertham’. It was said that when Hanuman was going to back to the battlefield taking the Sanjeevani hill along with him to bring back consciousness of Ram’s brother Lakshman, he stopped by this Anuvavi hill. He prayed to Lord Karthikeya to quench his thirst and the stream was brought out by the Lord to help Hanuman. The stream never dries and caters to water requirement of people staying around the hill especially during summer. I was quite amused to know that water shortage was a term unknown to them. It was real ‘theertham’ I should say. The water from the stream tasted so good. The energy exhausted while climbing uphill was renewed by the sight at hill top and the energy to reach down with same fresh feeling was well contributed by the water. Though I regretted a lot for not taking the batteries along with the camera, the pictures remains fresh in mind as though it was tough stained not to be faded soon.  We climbed down saving ten minutes than when we climbed up.

We reached for our car and we were all silent for at least twenty minutes on our way back. It wasn’t because we were exhausted rather we felt our energy boosters in action, it was just to take in all the serenity that the place had impressed us with. To take back everything I saw and felt which no lens other than my eyes and senses could catalog. I did not regret anymore for leaving the batteries behind, none of us did.