Today is the last day of my three day mini-break in Coorg.
I must say that this time, I got to see a completely
different face of the land that I belong to, the land whose beauty I just can’t
get enough of, I just can’t stop raving about.
We arrived on Saturday morning after a short detour to
KRS(Krishna Raja Sagar) dam. Our car tootled on the cement pathway to our home
in tune to the light beats of a thin drizzle, when I caught sight of the patch
of clouds hanging delicately on the tip of the distant hillock, a hillock I had
never noticed before. They bowed low like hosts, eager to please, folding their
palms.
It has not stopped raining since the time we arrived. The volume of the rainfall
varies from time to time, alternating between heavy and light, but never
stopping altogether. This sound of pattering rain is a pleasurable change from the
constant din of honking horns of a dreary city life.
During the past two days, Krishna, with his outstretched
palms, has been sampling drops of water dripping from different surfaces – from
the red petals of wild hibiscus, from the tips of green unripe coffee berries,
from the eaves of the two dog kennels, from the edge of the porch – all while
we entertained ourselves to some outdoor carrom, a game at which I fare very
poorly and would have happily joined my toddler in his adventures instead. Nevertheless,
we did have some great moments of family bonding, ones that will remain in our
mind for a long time to come.
Today morning, we visited the kere, a small pond which serves as a natural well of irrigation to
the estate. It was as green as the leaves of coffee shrubs themselves and
Krishna was pretty excited to see all the different birds that hung around the
pond. We tried to match them with the birds we had seen from his book, but practicals
are always a different ball game when compared to theory.
Otherwise, I’ve been trying to nature-watch, bird-watch,
insect-watch, flower-watch from the comfort of a sheltered
porch trying to soak in as much as possible.
With a book on my lap and a fountain-pen in my hand, on our first
evening here, I remarked to my husband who was sitting beside me, sipping from a
cup of hot coffee, ‘This is my dream life, you know. Writing in the lap of
nature.’ Like one of my favourites, Ruskin Bond. And another favourite, Shivaram
Karanth. But now at the end of the third day, I realize - I was so lost in her
beauty that, in three days, I could only squeeze in a short poem in her praise.
The days and nights have been cold, a kind of cold that
lulls you into sleep and prevents you from getting on your toes to make
yourself a cup of coffee, to take a bath or to reach for the phone that
lies on the table a few feet away from your bed. ‘Lie down for some time more,’
the cold seems to say, a wicked smile playing at the corner of its lips. The
only other place that reminds me of this kind of cold is Mussoorie , which happens
to be another favourite.
‘The chill in the weather is much better these days. When we
were young, we would find it difficult to even have a change of clothes,’ my
mother used to say. But today, when I call her up, I will tell her about the rains,
the wind and the cold. This pleasant kind of cold.
And hope against hope that this is the beginning of a reversal of climate
change.
