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Kuruvadweep - A river island

A river island. It already sounded magical. I pictured huckleberry Finn adventures, log cabin with a lazily spiralling column of smoke, worn out paddle boats that one used to get to the island, picnic on a patch of sunlit clearing in the middle of a thick woods after a long trek through the forest, while keeping a sharp lookout for a wild fox or mongoose that surely was scampering amongst the bushes. The reality was not too far away.

Kuruva Islands (or Kuruvadweep) is actually a series of small islands the on the Kabini river. A total of nine hundred and fifty acres of wilderness and adventure. It’s a kind of place that one could get lost from reality.

There are two ways to get to this island. Located on the border between Kerala and Karnataka, one can get to Kuruva through either state. If coming in from Kerala, it’s about an hour from Wayanad. Or if you’re driving in from Karnataka, it’s about 120kms from Mysore. The last stretch is a single track mud  road from either state and is not too great, and is a fairly bumpy drive.  Or one of the best ways to get there is a boat ride from any of the resorts at Kabini lake, if you happened to be staying in one.

My adventure started from a resort in Wayanad. I had thought that a trip just after the monsoons was a great idea - having avoided the deluge of rains and the monsoons having renewed the verdant greens and brimming rivers, making it the best time to visit. Unfortunately I didn’t take into account the bone-jarring conditions of the roads after the monsoons. So an hour long bumpy ride (yes, I am reiterating and cannot emphasise enough) got me to the entrance guarded by the state forest department officials, who take their job fairly seriously. The islands fall within protected and forest reserve areas of Wayanad and Nagarhole, So entrance timings are restricted from 9 in the morning to 3 in the afternoon.  Post which, people movement is barred from the road; thoroughfare for elephants only.

After purchasing the ticket, I settled in for a long wait for my ride across the river. The state department folks have thoughtfully provided eco-friendly means of transport. Like I said, they take their job very seriously. So there’s nothing with noise, or diesel or with rudders and propellers. That leaves paddle boats or rafts made of bamboo strung together and pulled with a rope from the other side. Needless to state, both are tedious and take a leisurely glide across the water, giving you lots of time to peer through the thick foliage on either side for monkeys, deer, or maybe a musk rat and lots of birds. Or into the sluggishly moving murky waters for a crocodile, if you can let your imagination run that wild (it might be the most excitement you encounter).

Because the Kuruva islands are home mostly to wild and slightly exotic species of flora, butterflies, a few monkeys, a fox or two, some musk rats, mongoose,  an occasional water snake, a deer maybe and some utterly harmless species of small animals and of course, lots of birds.

But one could spend a good 3 hours just rambling through (and getting lost, if you don’t have a guide) thickly wooded landscapes, rivulets (where the river deciding to shake of its ennui of flowing around the island has instead sneaked across it) with mossy boulders in it to provide the excitement of having to skip and balance on them. And if you’ve got the imagination, then an aerial root dangling from a branch could become a swing rope, a log fallen across can get you scrambling on it, or you could go looking for a bird nest for hatching up a mischief, or a rabbit hole to just fall through into adventure. Look up! Fat Cheshire cat could just be just up on the branch grinning down at you.

I spent a good couple of hours doing just that. Letting my imagine run riot while I rambled through the wild. Not having engaged a guide made things more fun.

Actually things were so much fun that I decided to extend the adventure to check out an adivasi village and temple nearby. While initially waiting for my bamboo raft ride, an enterprising guide had attached himself to my curiosity and offered to take me there for a sum.

I’m not sure what I pictured or expected; images of adivasis are usually indelibly transferred and imprinted from documentaries on national geographic. But reality had my excitement leaking like air from slightly punctured balloon, slowly bur certainly. After a hot and really humid trek through the nearby forests and paddy fields, we came upon the temple. Quiet, peaceful and quaint. The village however was a bit of a disappointment and shock. Though some of the women were dressed tribal like and sported appropriate amounts of bead jewellery, activities such as powdering rice with a long staff in a stone bowl or husking rice on a bamboo tray was no different from any village in Kerala. What got my eyebrows up however was a dish antenna that capped one of the houses. And the houses themselves were proper brick and mortar structures. But shouldn’t I have been rejoicing in their progress instead of being disappointed at their still not being steeped in antiquity for my amusement and curiosity?

I've seen a number of travel reviews that rates Kuruwadweep as nothing more than a wild patch of nothing and hence avoidable. But to me it was a place that took me back and allowed me frolic in childhood fantasies. It made me smile and ponder at the same time. And that’s what a good travel should do.  

A quirky little beachside town - Varkala

The sun languidly stretched her fading light across the horizon, painting the skies with a riot of fiery oranges, pomegranate reds, pinks and burnt siennas.  Wisps of charcoal clouds floated in, linking arms with fellow comrades, steadily weaving a tapestry of darkness and heralding the night in.  The roar of the sea could be heard crashing on the shores below, mingled with the shrieks of children as the water pulled the sand from beneath their feet. Sea gulls wheeled above in lazy circles while the sea breeze wafted in sometimes gently and sometimes in brief gusts, alternatively lulling and awakening the senses to the sheer magnificence of the nature around.

 I basked in it, perched high above it all, with a plate of fried calamari and wine on a checkered clothed table beside me, at the tiny cliff-top restaurant, the Clafouti. Just a few feet of a paved path separated me from the latticed bamboo railing that marked the end of the cliff. Beyond it, the land just dropped down a sheer 50 feet or more of craggy rocks and outcroppings, straight down to a white sandy beach below. On either side of me, the pathway wound serpentine like, undulating and up and down, hugging close to the rocky edge of the cliff on one side, while on the other side stood shoulder to shoulder, a hoard of eatery joints and souvenir shops, local travel agents and tiny B and B’s, all with their colourful lights and twinkling neons beckoning the beach combers from down below.   

This could be some quirky seaside town in Dovers, England or the Amalfi coast in Italy or Greece. But here I was at Varkala, about an hour’s drive from Trivandrum, Kerala.

The Varkala beachside is actually a series of small bays where the seemingly calm Arabian blue sea meets reddish black ferricrete rocks of the western ghats that date back to the Cenozoic age, giving rise to some dramatic landscapes.

My holiday started with a 3 ½ hr drive down from Kochi to sojourn at the southern beach 

(Janardhanapuram) or what is colloquially known as the Papanasam beach.  Papanasam, literally means destroying all evil (Paap) or getting rid of all evil karma. Hindus come here to perform last rites of loved ones, facilitating a cleansed soul for their onward journey at the 200-yr old Janardanaswamy temple. The Lord Vishnu is found standing here with his right hand in Aachamanam’ - a male purification ritual performed by Brahmins. Legend has it that if his hand goes nearer to his mouth, expected to happen at the end of the Kali Yug, the world will come to an end.

The Taj Gateway, where I was staying is located at Janardhanapuram. The hotel itself is gorgeous – I particularly loved the large and airy lobby that opens out to overlooking the sea, filled with comfortable lounge sofas and bookcases holding an eclectic collection of books.

Waking up to the crisp air with a slight tanginess of the sea, temple bells resonating faintly somewhere, screechy cries of the gulls is itself a refreshingly different awakening experience. I decided to extend the experience with a walk. I was hoping to be able to walk straight to the cliff top directly from the hotel. But that was not to be.  Apparently I had to work my way up to the top. No shortcuts here.   A narrow winding pathway led from the hotel right down to the beach. After a dip of the toes into the azure waters, I walked along the base of the cliff, till I came to a rather steep stairway that led up to the top.   The climb was arduous, the view from the top – breathtaking.

As I mentioned before, Varkala is a series of beaches, each with its own quirks and individuality. One can saunter and meander along the cliff top to get to (well, above) the various beaches, and find a stairway to get down down to the sandy shores.

The southern part of the beach, where I started my amble is the quiet one – the waters deep and deceptively calm, with the temple providing a meditative mindspace for the soul. This part is also home to some spring waters with medicinal properties – a dip in which is supposed to cure anything from migraine to mental illness.

 A little further down, the northern end of the Papanasam beach is the more gregarious one – with the backpackers and beer shacks.  If you prefer your own company, like I do, just walk on. A quirky stretch of black sand (going by the moniker of black beach) with the ubiquitous thatch of coconut palms, mark the end of this beach. The walk way extends a little further on to meet a tarmac that winds its way through the back of the hill top. Almost ludicrously the tarmac and walkaway meet at a point that is actually a helipad! I would have loved to see who choppers their way down here!

Varkala is, well, like a woman – mysterious, alluring, charming, flirtatious – offering quiet companionship or a romp in adventure, whatever be it that you seek.  

Enterprisers hoping to wean away tourists from the more popular sibling, Kovalam, offer paragliding, scuba diving and wind surfing. Not to mention the Ayurveda spas and massage centres.

But for those hoping to just commune with nature, the Odayam beach or further down the Edava beach is where one needs to head to.  The Edava beach is particularly enchanting with numerous lagoons and backwater canals and pristine white sands with just an odd fisherman for company.  A walk or drive down a 1 km stretch of road running right in the middle of a blue lagoon on one side and the backwaters on other, is almost unreal.

For most, a beach holiday in Kerala would mean Kovalam.  Because it’s the one serenaded by tourist promotions as the place to head to since 1930, when the Maharani of Travancore initiated a tourist resort to cater to her European guests.

But for a state with about 600km of magnificent coastline, there’s bound to be a few undiscovered gems like Varkala. 

A temple in the clouds

While on a driving holiday around Kerala and Karnataka, I was on my way to Kasargode in Kerala after a sojourn in the coffee plantations of Madekeri. I decided to take a small detour to check out something the locals said that I should not miss. A half an hour drive off SH 27, I stopped. Time stopped. 

I looked up and saw wisps of fog and mist swirling gracefully in a timeless mystical dance. They parted slightly to reveal a glimpse of serenity.

 A long flight of wide stone steps led my glance first up to the ochre-red tiled roofs peeking from between the clouds. Sounds from the priests’ puja bells tinkled faintly. The air was crisp, pure.

It was a temple in the clouds - the Talakaveri temple in the hills of Brahmagiri in Coorg, Karnataka.   A rectangular tank in the foreground of the premises of the temple is the focal point. The source of the River Kaveri or Cauvery – the mightiest river of South India; and the holiest.

Nothing is more peaceful than spirituality that is one with nature. Situated at a height of about 1300 mtrs amidst the Western ghats in South India, Tala Kaveri is about an hour’s drive away from Madikeri, the main town of Coorg.

Unlike most temples in South India, what set this one apart was its quiet dignity. South Indian temples often are extremely colourful, noisy, with loud chanting of the priests, the clamour of the crowds, symbols of spiritualism being sold in plastic packets or baskets from stalls that line the pathways and the outstretched arms of ubiquitous beggars. There was none of it here.  Just wide expanses of grey stone and concrete that blended and stayed muted amongst its surroundings.  

A Shiva temple and with a rare and ancient Shiva Linga, and another one dedicated to Ganesha stand sentinel to the holy tank. An Ashwantha tree where, according to legend, the Trimurtis - Brahma, Vishnu and Mahesh - gave darshan to sage Agasthya, complete the triumvirate.

A priest guided us to a spot called the Kundike some distance further up where the Kaveri is said to originate as a spring feeding the tank. Disappointingly there was no visible flow of water there. However, each year, in mid October, on the Tulasankramana day, water is said to gush up from the spring at a predetermined moment.

Every river has her story. This was Kaveri’s lore. Sage Agasthya is said to have held the Kaveri river in his Kamandalam (a container of sacred water) while meditating. Lord Ganesha in a bid to distract the sage took the form of a crow and perched on the kamandalam. When Agasthya tried to shoo away the crow, the divine crow toppled the kamandalam and out flowed the Kaveri.

The stone steps leading to the temple didn’t stop there. They wind further up into the clouds from the temple. It was a fairly long walk up. Right up to the Brahmagiri peak. Yet more than the arduous climb up, it was the view once we got there that took our breath away. The Brahmagiri hills and its surroundings valleys and peaks shimmered a misty blue with soft sunlight playing catch among the hidden crags and crevasses.

Religious I am not. Yet this was the place I was going to get as close to being one.

But for the religious, this region called Bagamandala, has numerous other temples, each with its own folklore, customs and traditions. The Sri Bhagandeshwara temple, built in Karavali (West Coast) style;   the Kodava’s (the patrilineal ethno-lingual group from the region of Kodagu) temple at Padi for Lord Igguthappa; the holy spot of Triveni Sangam where the Kaveri is joined by two tributaries, the Kannike and the mythical Sujyoti river. A holy dip here is considered most sacred.

I did not stop at any of them. I did not want anything to dissipate my image of the ethereal Talakaveri that I carried in my mind. And to this day I do. 

A monsoon walk in Bhondsi

Robert Frost’s ’The woods are lovely, dark and deep…’ is what comes to mind when I think of Bhondsi.

Imagine a place far from the madding crowd; a picturesque woods teeming with peacocks, a small lake with water birds and ducks floating by, winding hill trails, a beautiful forest temple, a small ashram – that’s what Bhondsi is. And all this just a stone throw away from the heart of Gurgaon.

Bhondsi is magical, especially during the monsoons.

A green belt area adjacent the Aravalli hills, Bhondsi is rich in bio-diversity and is home to peacocks, rare bids, and small wild animals. Once belonging to former PM Chandrasekhar and intended to be a resort/farmhouse the place is now abandoned, but is open to public.

Tucked away just about a kilometre away inside on the Gurgaon-Sohna highway, the 500-acre wooded area with a small lake and winding trails is perfect for a day out with nature, especially during monsoons. 

My friend and I set out one sunday with our dogs to explore. It had rained the previous night, so the morning was deliciously cool and delightfully promising. We knew there were numerous bird species and wildlife there, but to our delight and surprise we found the whole place is literally teaming with peacocks. 

The day was set perfectly right for a peacock dance, unfortunately guess it was too early in the morning for them, or maybe they dance only in the rain, so there was no show.

It’s a wonderful spot for a morning of brisk activity and adventure as some of the trails wind up and downhill making it perfect for a pleasantly tiring nature hike, or some off road cycling.  We however, settled for a slow hike, taking in the beautiful sights and sounds - the morning light highlighting trembling water droplets on glistening leaves, the air fresh and crisp heightening our senses.  We were, however, warned by some locals there not to stray too far into the forested area, as there had been some leopard sightings. 

The lake is a bit marshy, so it wasn’t a good idea to try a dip in, but it’s incredibly beautiful and peaceful to just sit and watch the birds and occasionally a swan/duck or two glide by. Our dogs were thoroughly disappointed at not being let in for a splash around.

A small but beautiful hilltop temple of Goddess Bhuvaneshvari overlooks the woods and is maintained by people of an ashram nearby. Original inhabitants of the Raghav clan of villagers still live here and are self styled custodians of the area, looking after and protecting the forests and its wildlife they welcome stragglers like us into the ashram and love regaling you with stories about the place. 

We spent a wonderful couple of hours hiking and trampling through the woods. Wish we had managed to get the kids up (they preferred to sleep in on sunday morning); could've had a lovely picnic.  

We are glad we discovered the magic of Bhondsi. Love to come back sometime. 

How to get there: Take exit 10 on NH8 towards Sohna. Cross Badshahpur village (about 7 kilometers from Rajiv Chowk.) Look for BSF camp signboard on right side of road. Take mud road adjacent the camp. Travel about 1 km to entrance or further another ½ km to temple.  

in the land of the dalai lama

Just the name was evocative, alluring, calling me to explore, experience. Mcleodganj. It was the perfect place for my 1st solo travel venture. It was pretty much most of what I expected it to be, charming, peaceful, suspended somewhere between a bohemian dream and a regular touristy hillstation destination.

No, I did not meet the Dalai Lama. But his presence does permeate all aspects of life there. For a race of people who had been evicted from their own land, they are amazingly Zen like. Though there is the underlying sadness at their statelessness and anger against the Chinese, a veneer of calmness and happiness pervades; an acceptance of the way things are, with a quiet resilience of a hopeful future. The Tibetan way of life is still their way of life. And they try hard to keep it alive.

A few things struck me that encapsulate the place, its people, its culture .

The museum/library with photographs of the Dalai Lama and other Tibetan monks flight to exile;
a film festival that had short stories/documentaries of the diaspora Tibetan;
an open music jamming session of Tibetan musicians and Israeli backpackers,
the hauntingly beautiful Tibetan song that a housekeeping staff was singing to herself as she went about just wiping tables;
 a shiva temple next to a beautiful river with the actual lingam in a small cave in the middle of the river,
 a charming, british-time church in the middle of the woods,
small cafes where one could just sit/read/ have good food,

the calm matter-of-fact tone in which a guide at the institute told me that there might not be another Dalai Lama after the current Lama passes away, because the Chinese had abducted the next chosen incarnate!! 

For me, this was not just a trip, it was an awakening of a number of facets...travel, life.