Roses

I love to look at roses

The blood-red ones the best.

They caress at my fingers

And stand out from the rest.

The yellow ones much brighter

Than the soothing whites.

As poignancies incarnate

Play succor to dull nights.

My gaze remains enraptured

My mind assail all gloom

When I treat my senses

To blood-reds in the bloom.

Some give in to romance

To few it just unveils

Some tender mysteries hidden.

To me, “It’s Something Else”.

Its fragrance makes for Heaven

Fills my half-drunk mind

Of all that was born lovely

Its name I cannot find.

Its shade a red of passion,

A Carmine left undone.

At places a deep scarlet

Left baking in the Sun.

With invite in each petal

And intrigue in its breast

Too lazy to awaken

Too frail to be at rest.

I know not if its earthy

Or Angels in exile.

I only feel a timid joy

When ‘Roses’ make her smile.

photo: gettyimages.com

Killer You

Hold my hands

Come to me

Sing to me in trance

While candle burns

In thinning light

And magic does its dance

Drown a while

Breathe for life

And see death face to face

Murder me

If eyes could kill

But stay in my embrace.

The violin strings

That filters pain

Tear them down with glee

Wail with pain

Smile that smile

You often smiled at me.

The breeze is strong

The limbs are weak

A dizzy numbness leads

To hollow roads

And empty hearts

The passion in us pleads

A lilt in steps

Hair askew

Kohl smudged in your eyes

In cold of night

We warm our hearts

Make love midst lurking lies.

The Song of the Dead

Vultures.

I see them swooping down on carcasses left behind by men.

Merciless. Irreverent. Hungry.

Dogs fight for stray limbs of half-burnt humans.

Letting go a shrill cry of frenzied thirst

Not a sound.

Not a sound to be heard.

Hawks nibbling at lifeless eyes.

Empty sockets stay gaping blankly at the night.

Stars too afraid to shimmer.

The moon takes refuge somewhere safe

Clouds- a shade of sinister black.

Life weeps somewhere far.

Like a child too afraid to touch the dead

I wait behind the curtain of silence.

Not even a prayer

Not a prayer on my lips.

Not a hope on my mind.

A spectator.

Only a silent spectator.

Helpless.

Still.

Infirm.

Bones rattle out in the open again.

Sooty at being half burnt.

Bury them!

Bury them deep somewhere

I hate the smell of death.

No incense, please

No flowers.

Death is not glorious here.

Death is not a feast.

Children sing at a far off place

I can hear their song.

Or is it some hymn of death.

Are all the dead awake

To see the living fare

A flux of life snuffs out the cold

from the womb of the night

Like that unborn child

in silent despair

It grudges life to death

Somewhere.

Again, I hear whispers.

Soft, soothing like death.

They are here.

Or am I just hearing things.

Oh! I forgot to breathe for a while.

Awe in awe of fear.

Sighs.

That rend the air

Ricochet twice from end to end

In mourning of a great demise.

No lip will ever arc in a smile.

No flutter flap inside my heart.

I died a painless death that time

When I kissed your lips.

When you drew my blood.

In an endless trickle

With greed in your eyes

I saw death in them.

Let the dust-storm lull.

Let it all begin for once.

Let the rot run riot in your veins too.

Let my ghost die in some peace today.

And float somewhere far away.

To a place where I may avenge this day.

Someplace- I may meet you half-way.

photo: gettyimages.com

Aiming for that Straitjacket

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The Movie that I am

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Arriving at the End

A 'Grand Viva' is supposed to span all 42 subjects taught in the past 4 years.
A panel of 4 or more Professors from one's Dept. is supposed to supervise this process of covert humiliation with a considerable amount of pleasure, trying to impress upon you every moment how you have wasted their (and your own of course) 4 long years by just being 'there'.

Our seniors had defined Grand Viva for us in exactly those terms. It is
'The Ultimate Ordeal' known to any final year Engineering student.

Expectedly, I handled the prospect of facing such an 'encounter' with the attitude that characterizes the 'Spirit of Denial'. (One cannot possibly attempt to do anything otherwise due to the sheer bulk of the task. Even the mention of it is pure intimidation)

"Duck at every fiery bouncer and pretend that it never was".

- And it worked.

All questions were negotiated with logically interpreted 'attempts' and as a result there were not invectives or assaults aimed at us but pleasantries which were exchanged while leaving the room.

With that college had come to an end for us. For me.

Four years, which at the start of the 1st semester had looked like a lifetime were now complete. 4 years which were spent in making friends and keeping friendships, meeting people and greeting lessons, clearing stances and fearing supplementaries were now over. Life will never be the same for any of us. Workplace has its own set of values and own pace of proceedings. The easygoing life of college which was only partially disturbed by the advent of the Semesters will forever be missed. Everyone now feels "time just flew". But in retrospect it glided in its own sweet pace, ferrying life, colliding with every little hindrance in the way, disturbed at every little curb where momentum of languor was broken to the need for change and instilling in its own ancient language of silence the lesson of evolution, if only to the observant.


I, characteristically, am not the sort of person who wears his heart on his sleeves. Emoting is not my forte. I believe somethings are just too private. Yet, I cannot help but wonder at how life with all its uncertainties unleashes itself once in a while and everything around you transforms. The people who you grow to be so familiar with and fond of disappear, the backdrop of events shift and again you are just a character, just a number or just a name suspended in the turbulent waters of uncertainty sculpting the face of future. Then again you start afresh, with new tools and zeal. To build a new family of familiars around you and lose yourself in handling present pressures while the contours of the past is slowly washed away into a bleak semblance of forgotten intimacies.

Life will be a prolonged lull for most of us now, before again the spark of vitality enthuses us to action. But then this fallow too is a necessary requisite, I feel. To sit down and ponder once in a while where life's heading is not such a fruitless exercise after all. It won't make philosophers out of us or change the course of our lives or anything. But if it serves the basic purpose of inspiring introspection and answering the 'Why-s' that have till date fashioned our choices it would be a brief session of enlightenment not many would be averse to.



p.s - With an indefinite period of joblessness staring starkly at me at this moment of time I am of the intention of populating my blogspace with more such random posts. I am also deliberating on a different blog for all the poems. A poem a day might just keep the vacuum away.

Who am I

And they tell me I am him :

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Me and 'emaciated'!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ???????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Thats what I call 'e-Humour' !

Children of the sunshine play

In my garden strewn with hay

Trampling all the virgin grass

Unknowingly they make my day.

I, sometimes, extract a glee

From the frolic flowing free

In my heart of hearts to know

That myself they will not see.

Still they guess a vigil wait

Till they walk out tired, late

I see some of them steal a glance

Past my forlorn, rusted gate.

At times when they are at a game

Going through the tried same

I busy myself fending off

The urge to know some of their names.

In my eager hunt for peace

I find a solace in their ease

Of handling little hurts at play

As envy capers accomplice.

This evening at my window seat

Life does seem so incomplete

Not to mingle with the grass

That tickles all those tender feet.

Tea-shop girl

The corner shop that serves us tea

And houses all furore.

From rising price to falling stars

In voices shrill and sore.

A pair of eyes does follow them

Look askance at their din

When closing shop with little hands

And washing strainers clean.

A simple riddle troubles her,

At times does make her smile

How grown up men have silly fights

Knowing all the while

People die and prices rise,

Stars shoot up at night.

Among things does never change

Her books drink in streetlight.

Amar dosh nei. Langcha salaar jonno kobita haariye gelo. :(

His Last Cigarette

It was the second summer of love for me.

The scorching sun set fire to the bitumen-heart of dusty streets.

I was having my second shower of the day, of sweat and grime

Profusion peeping from behind sweat glands

My favorite deodorant losing efficacy

Slowly in unseen, muted vapors.

I felt an uneasy calm haunting me,

Bullying me around the bylanes of Southern Avenue.

She had said, “I need to talk”.

Me, ever eager for stealing a tryst knew

Her impulses could never wait.

Still, this time, deep inside, anxiety breathed.

How bad could this be?

Many storms had left us tempered, bruised.

Yet, love had had its say.

In all its sweet stubbornness.

Eyes used to lazy siestas drowned in a sea of images.

The air, thinning in a moistureless mirage,

Carrying tender promises of sweet nothings brewed

Promises of a more humane evening beckoned.

-‘An Appointment’.

I smiled at myself.

Far down the dreary road, spent souls prayed for relief, paid for water.

Summers in this city surely didn't promote love.

The defiant zombie.

Charmed with love, kissed with death.

I moved.

In a single minded motivated motion.

Where? I did not know.

I was waiting for my answers. When would she come?

It was about time now.

I could smell the sweet lavender of her talcum with my eyes closed

Soft, soothing, reassuring.

It was her only perfume.

Her tresses made careless riddles at me,

As occasional sighs of stale air teased them, trounced them

And went back defeated, fatigued.

Like me.

Leaning against a rusting post, I lit up.

Curls of white smoke, in their sinuous ascent sneered at me.

They were with her now. Traitors!

She hated tobacco, smoke and fire.

I loved them all, within a single delightful wrap

They called 'Cigarette'.

Smoke made her eyes red,

As red as the setting sun we were audience to, sometimes.

Times we discussed Tomorrow and its Bliss

Today, she was late. Unusually.

My loneliness bought me courage to protest my wait

I rehearsed my lines to get even.

She knew my patience hated being tested.

And she loved that look on me.

Now, I could see her down the lane.

A light sky blue on her, cooling my eyes.

Distance diminishing with her every step.

I had already forgotten my lines.

Rebuke had escaped its rickety prison inside my ribs.

But, there was no playful annoyance in her today

A Duchess miffed at disservice.

Her eyes were unadorned

Naked with an emotion unknown to me.

What could it be?

She knew how I loved kohl on them

How I could stare at them for eternity.

She always tossed those loving gazes

Into the water of the lake.

They sank, gasping for breath.

Rippling out to their deaths.

I could only sigh. She laughed.

She said it was late.

Always.

And left.

Today, she glanced between my fingers.

As familiarity emerged in her eyes.

A blend of distress and discomfort.

Confused, I took another drag at my stick.

Simmering in a telling sacrifice for me,

It could provide no wisdom today

As I grappled for answers.

I waited for that known sweep of disgust

Emanating from her sleek fingers,

Grounding my prized ‘India King’.

I waited for that familiar look of hurt

To reflect on her hazel eyes.

Nothing like that today.

Something had moved.

More sheepish every second, I stood.

Silence dawned. Love waited.

Words trickled in a crisis

I walked. We walked.

In her eyes I saw a storm,

Nestling its fury, exploding inwards.

She spoke at last.

She was leaving.

Far off lands held more promises.

Promises of progress, avenues of learning.

How I loathed my nursery rhymes now.

How I hated quantum physics.

That cruel idol of ‘Education’ had had its revenge.

And wasn’t it sweet.

My helpless eyes looked up

A bead of pregnant emotion had gathered cloud

At the corner of her eyes.

I could never see her cry. Something snapped within

A deluge of emotions arrived in abandon.

She cried. We mourned. Hours flew.

She whispered, “We will meet”.

The skeptic in me jeered.

The boulevard was replete with memories.

As we walked in silent vigil

We trampled them, muting their voices.

Forever.

Our walk was labored. Long and viscous.

Still, it had to end.

Roads never went on forever. I knew that.

Our last walk together. Perhaps, this was.

I put the last cigarette to my lips,

Waiting for her to throw it away.

One last time.

How I longed for her hand to move,

In one final stroke of playful disdain.

The last act of love at work.

She stared back at me

Her eyes the colour of a pallid evening-sky,

Denuding me of all my strength and weaknesses

For the first time ever

I watched her

As she held the light for me.

Kanha-IX

The better part of the morning was lost to lazing off by my friends as I took to the television and it was well past 10 that there arose suddenly a sense of urgency which till a few moments back looked a far cry from the sloth like pace of proceedings. Within 45 minutes all seemed in readiness for us to undertake the 'Bheraghat Expedition' which was understandably expected to be the highlight of our stay in Jabalpur. A few minutes walk from the hotel and, armed with our cameras, caps and water-bottles like full-blown tourists, we were at the auto-stop, Baeka and myself in the midst of a heated bargain with the auto-drivers as to what should be the just amount they should set us back by for a two-way ride. A suitable deal sealed we hired two auto-rickshaws, one in tow the other. A good long ride past the slimming semblances of all that's urban and there sprang stretches of greenery, interspersed with arid patches and dotted with rocks and stones, a feature of this part of the country we had long become accustomed to. Not before long we had reached our destination and scouting for a food-joint so that the stomach could have enough to chew upon and leave the mind to appreciate the beauty of the marble rocks at leisure. As is the custom with tourist spots a dhaba was not far-off and having had our fill we were now poised to treat our eyes to the beauty of the legendary marbles ( sans Kareena Kapoor dancing to raat ka nasha abhie......). But Kareena or no Kareena our long wait and longer negotiations with the naao-wallaahs were amply rewarded by the imposing grandeur of the scenery that met our eyes once we were into our boat-trip. The colour of the water was a deep slimy green which reminded me of certain lines from Coleridge's 'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner'. We were told that the lake was some 300 feet deep at the center and as if to bear instant testimony to such an intimidating detail we saw little energetic whirlpools spiraling into the deep recesses of the river-bed just in front of us. Taking our minds off this frightful spectacle were the six boat-men who started an animated commentary on the history of Bheraghat and the legends of the Marble Rocks.
Right from the spots where numerous hindi films were shot and places where the rocks had been fashioned into familiar shapes by the corrosive hands of Nature their narration covered all in witty couplets delivered with a deliberate lisp to attract attention away from our attendant perils. We were in the middle of the great lake, straining our necks while trying to grab onto our seats, clicking away merrily at our cameras to capture every quarter of the pristine pink marbles which were both rare and grand when the boat-men announced most unceremoniously that they could go no farther from there for what we were paying them. A little nudging told us that they would charge around 200 rupees extra to give the whole guided tour and once hooked to the beauty of the place and with no plans of visiting Jabalpur in the coming decade we decided to take the plunge. What ensued didn't let us down and we felt happy to part with those 200 rupees. Only that the two men who accompanied us throughout the tour proved to be as uncouth as they come and didn't even bother to offer their part. They said they had seen it all before and made it look like we were wasting their precious time, dragging them mid-sea into dangerous territory against their will.

The stairs to the Ghat had locals vending marble souvenirs which myself and Harry took the pains in bargaining for. I say 'pains' because thats when we came to know of the fury that the sun unleashes in these regions. Our backs were literally toast when our transaction was over and I had this feeling that it was perhaps the revenge of the chicken on whose flesh we had so ravenously dined last night and now it was their turn to make walking kebabs out of us. Even Stevens and, weren't we feeling it mightily.

After a short drinks-break at the nearest shop we were walking uphill towards our final destination for the day, Dhuwadhar Falls- our last frontier on this tour. We reached it in all possible states of disrepair, panting and hands hanging loose by our sides when the rumbling sound of the great waterfall injected us with fresh vigor and enthusiasm. Taking a flight of sinuous stairs to the point of nearest approach to the falls our senses stood a lot relaxed and refreshed. The mad cascade of white gushing water kept tumbling out of nowhere, gathering a monstrous momentum before hurtling down the steep gorge only to be calmed into the serenity of the underlying lake. We stood there transfixed for half an hour, soaking our souls in the generous sprinkle of cool water that flew in our directions, blind from the explosive impact on the hard unyielding bedrock beneath us. Though the sun seemed in no mood to relent from pouring fire onto these fuming rocks it was quite late and we hurried up the stairs, panting again, to hire two autos to Bheraghat. Our rented autos were waiting for us there and we took the same route to our hotel, thinking every moment that we might never again have the opportunity of coming to this place. The Marble Rocks on a full moon night made for a heavenly experience, but alas, we were to miss that spectacle this time around. " Better Luck next time", we told ourselves and retired to our rooms at the hotel.



Our train was due at 10:45 in the night and it was only 8:30 and we had already had our dinner, another sumptuous feast at the Saheb's and, myself, Avik, Alu and Harry were busy treating ourselves to a host of mouth-watering sweetmeats at the nearest sweet-shop at Russel Chowk. Another frantic packing session was underway inside our rooms and before 10 we were all set to hit the road to the station. Arriving early at the station, Dudu started becoming characteristically edgy when it struck him that it was 10:30 and yet the platform to Shaktipunj Express was not announced. It was nearly 10:45 and Dudu was at his tether's end fathoming what possible catastrophe had withheld our train to home. According to him, there had never been such a situation in his ten to fifteen illustrious train journeys. Surely, this was a situation which demanded prompt action. And Alu and me decided to give him some of it. Alu, the natural actor that he is, took the opportunity to showcase the more subtler side of his antics when he rushed to the adjoining platform and running back towards us in all earnestness announced that Shaktipunj was lodged at the other platform, that we had been duped by the Railways and that we were to miss the train if we didn't rush. Calamity, it is said, paralyzes some and urges the rest to action. Dudu opting to be the latter for this singular excception lost no time in lifting his luggage and was about to make a mad rush for the other platform when we all fell down laughing at the joke which had been so well executed.

Our train came in at 11:10 and left Jabalpur at 11:35. With of course 'all eggs in one basket'.



If any of us had thought that our party with the Unforeseen was over when the train started to move from Jabalpur he must have committed one of the more horrible errors of judgment. In fact our ride on Shaktipunj was an eye-opener of sorts. A lesson in the great framework of the behemoth called the Indian Railways. Ours was supposed to be a 30 hour long journey to Howrah. We didn't bother ourselves with stacking an unnecessary amount of food in our bags, assuming that there would be umpteen stoppages and stations on our way where we would be spoilt for choice. But what our journey actually proved out to be was a cruel and practical exhibition of a bengali saying, " Sei guurey baali".
Rather , " sei baalitey guur" would have been a more apt title to our escapade, I thought.


The train stopped at every possible opportunity, sometimes at places where there were no visible human settlements, leave alone railway platforms. At times it looked that jogging along with the train would have saved us some money for it would have taken us the same amount of time, at the same time doing a world of good to our collective girth. As if speed was our only worry there arose the little sobs from within our tummies, crying gently for food, sobs which would in some hours turn into terrible grumbles and manic restlessness. In all of the 30 stoppages that we had met from the morning there was not even a chanawallah within our sight. Come afternoon and the biscuit packets were all emptied and the packets of potato-chips lay crumpled. Even our reserves of drinking water were about to run out. It was almost sundown when we finally arrived at a station queerly named Barkakana, which was quite near to the Jharkhand border, and to our utter relief it had some food stalls on it. Three of us quickly made to the stall where anda-bread were being devoured by the masses with as much relish as mutton Rogan Josh at the Maurya Sheraton. I had passed on 5 plates for the others and was about to dig into mine when I saw a harried looking Alu coming up with bottles of water filled from the station tap. Hygiene for once was taking the back seat to basic urges in the most fastidious amongst us.
I was about to order my second plate of anda-bread when it became apparent to us that there was no rush at all. The engine of the train was being replaced and we could have our own sweet time nibbling at what all was there to be nibbled at. Tea was next on our agenda and before long the train started moving. The six of us again nestling safely inside the compartment, this time a little full, bore little smiles of satisfaction for the fact that we were now onto the last leg of a 8-day tour which many hadn't approved of initially. Dinner plates were bought from insisting vendors and suspiciously eaten during the night. By Jove! No one wanted an 'emergency' visit to the toilet that had seen many a troubled tryst with Relief of 70 odd fellow passengers for the last 20 odd hours. I think it was 12:30 when I passed off and it seemed as if I had just started to drift into discovering deeper dungeons of Sleep when bright halogens started shining on me through the half-open windows. It was 4:20 am and we were 5 minutes from Howrah, we were told. Shaktipunj had arrived 2 hours too early to our chagrin.


What ensued after the train stopped at Howrah must go down in our memoirs as the most frantic of packing one has ever witnessed. Shawls were being rolled into ruck-sacks, pairs of chappal tied into promiscuous pairings, air-pillows being extinguished with knock-out punches and shoe-laces getting into impossible knots in the hurry. We managed to get down on the platform before the RPF would drag us out and now, all were looking for taxis to take them home. A thoroughly memorable and rewarding trip had come to an end and as is the case with all beautiful things we weren't even complaining that it did.

Kanha - VIII

Compared to the long winding sessions of frenzied packing and book-keeping went to the details of the last penny spent the proceedings of our last morning inside Kanha could be safely termed as smooth sailing. Also, there was this crank-call in the lodge office the previous night which sparked off a 'wrong name-wrong number-wrong information' fiasco and made us a little jumpy and break some sweat pacing up and down in consternation. A few calls to our homes and all confusion was put to rest. There had been a mistake and our nerves were sinking back to their slothful-modes again.

But now, rows of big, heavy, intimidating looking luggages stayed lined up on the veranda of the hostel as the six of us kept checking and re-checking if anything was being left behind. Having ensured the intactness of our belongings as on the day of our arrival ( save the cumulative tonnage of biscuits and snacks which were devoured during the course of our stay) we moved towards the tourist-canteen. The plan was to have our breakfasts there and wait for the 12-noon bus to Jabalpur right there. The bus would take us to Jabalpur by 6 in the evening and then after checking in to a 'reasonable' hotel we would make our leisurely survey of the city. As Michael Corleone would put it, " Everything was arranged."

While sipping at our tea, standing in front of the canteen premises, we were made audience to an array of exhilarating acrobatic stunts by a group of animated langurs. They gathered in small bands of 3 to 4 in front of the canteen and while the others waited their turn, one amongst them would make a mad dash for the nearest peepal tree, climbing as high as it could in a single breath and then in one flash, with a sweeping motion, banged its hand at one traffic-board while jumping down to the ground. Then this 'performer' would quietly come back and sit with the other cheering spectators. Soon, there were many contestants and the stands were full of eager audience egging their favorite to pull down that sign-board. As to what offense that seemingly innocuous sign-board posed to their pride we couldn't fathom. What was the most amazing aspect of this entire episode of Langur-limpics was the degree of discipline in their ranks. A recording of the event would have, I thought, considerably bolstered the repeated attempts of our junior-school teachers in inculcating Order into us in a most novel way.
I reckon it would have worked much better with us, 'hooligans'. Alas! We were too early, maybe.



The bus was punctual, both in its arrival and departure, and we were looking through the windows at the shifting scenery of fantastic boulevards, easing the mind to the approaching adventures that lay in store for us in the next leg of our tour.
A ride in a M.P Tourism bus is a revelation for any Kolkata commuter, and that we found to our delight and dismay. Diametrically opposed in nature to the Govt. buses that ply on Kolkata ours looked resolute in keeping every nook and cranny inside the bus occupied, all the time. And for this the conductor would jump out at places and call out the mausis and the taus out of their huts, inquiring if they needed a ride to the sheher or not. Some complied, some declined. Yet, the bus was making good time. Villagers thronged the bus with their produce ( matarfallis and food-plates made out of sal leaves) and we were soon thanking our lucky stars that one of them didn't have a mind this morning to bring along his bachhra or bakra for a bus-ride. The women wore sarees which ranged from graphic greens to revolting reds in colour, but they sat on their skin as naturally as any fabric, blending with their beings. I was instinctively reminded of 'Palamou-er Pothey' , a piece we all read in secondary school chronicling the rural life of the Chhota Nagpur region. And here, in the midst of a personal rendezvous with 'men and women of the soil' I couldn't agree more with the author.

Now came the 'dismay' part. Overcrowding has its own share of discomforts and Dudu faced one unusual variety from amongst them. Harry was safe to the window-side leaving Dudu to endure the rigors of a teeming bus. Amongst all the good natured shoving and pushing one infant took the opportunity of dusting his little feet on Dudu's generous mop of hair, all the while hanging from his mother's grip. Miffed yet helpless, he could only hope that the ordeal would last till the nearest stop. When we arrived at Russel Chowk, which Baeka told us was the Esplanade of Jabalpur, the Sun was dipping fast in the horizon and the streetlights were taking over. Having counted all 14 bags into the safety of our custody it was decided that Baeka and Avik go scouting for the hotel as we four, myself, Dudu, Harry and Alu, stay behind with the luggage. Always the one to break into a conversation, I found a good garrulous company in a auto-driver and soon Shivraj Chauhan's Industrial policy in Madhya Pradesh was being discussed. Also, now having the luxury of being able to avail the cell-phone we were making short-work of Alu's balance. A good two hours were now past and still there were no sign of our emissaries. Avik and Baeka had committed the singularly idiotic mistake of not carrying their cell phones and that put us into a tizzy. The four of us were now growing restless from our long standing vigil and for a moment it was considered if the two of them had fallen in some form of distress or the other. At last the two of them arrived and quickly narrated the difficulty with which two rooms had been arranged. The hotel was expensive but keeping in mind our personal reservations regarding cleanliness and also the over-booked status in most hotels due to the Industrialists' meet this was our best bet. We quickly locked our luggage in the three rooms and after a much deserved breather went out in search of dinner. Just round the corner we met our gastronomic paradise. Saheb's.
The display of chicken kebabs just outside the Dhaba brought water to our mouths and the order was put in all promptness. Believe me, we are the most ravenous yet refined of foodies that we know of within our far-flung circle of friends and acquaintances yet it is our collective vote of assent that Saheb's serves THE best Fried Tawa Chicken. The daily diet of vegetarian food though highly delicious had unknowingly frustrated the flesh-eating demons inside us. And thier wrath was in full view when the chicken was served. Within a flash the plates were empty and more were being ordered. When we were finished with giving the waiters a scare with our relentless orders it was ascertained that each one of us had devoured a bit more than one whole chicken. But, none of us were complaining. We left to plunder the nearest sweet-shop with a promise that Saheb's would be our dinner-joint the next day and any day that we decide to come to Jabalpur again.


The night was lost to 'little revelries' that are so integral to my friends' sense of well being as I slipped off to sleep owing to the exploits of the day.

The next morning had more in store for us. One had to be fresh for its challenges.

Kanha-VII

Next morning we headed early for some place known as Sarhi. It was the third gateway, the other two being Kisli and Mukki, which led to the forest of Kanha and we were informed that it was a completely new, unexplored territory which had been opened only one month back. Few tourists even knew of its existence. The morning brought with it biting cold and none felt the snug security of sweaters enough to ward off the fierce freeze. It was literally chilly, jaw-rattlingly at that. Another jacket put on the already clumsy looking piles of woolen-wear that were us, we tip-toed out to the veranda outside our dormitory. It was still dark outside. We had to press the torches into action to navigate our way to the canteen to have our morning tea. That put in more vigor into us instantly ( this Central-Indian tea is markedly different from the variety we have here in Kolkata. Its actually all milk, and practically no-water stuff). We had our breakfast packed from the kitchen and as the other gypsies started to line-up at the gate, we jumped onto ours, waiting for the gate-lifting ceremony patiently. Every one looked raring to go. After all it was our last morning trip in the jungle. Every one wanted to make it a memorable one. As the gate opened gypsies started to move in and onto our car jumped in a familiar figure. He was the same person who had prescribed the efficacious 'jadi-booti' for Baeka the previous afternoon. And today he had come mentally prepared to handle 'the situation'. He insisted strongly that he sit alone, beside the driver, pre-empting any proximity to Baeka which could trigger another rapid-fire round of questions. Four of us were uncomfortably packed into the rear row of seats. But then, Raju guide (that was his name) looked determined this morning and we had to 'adjust'.

Easing into the meadows we could not believe our eyes. The familiarity of their faded green had vanished from them and a sea of mist had settled most condescendingly on top of the grass. It was as if we were inside a completely different forest in a completely different time. Raju was narrating to us how 27 villages, including his, had to be rehabilitated outside the forest margins to set up this Park. Lots of fertile tracts went waste and people suffered. Then, of course, the Govt. came to their aid and nowadays all was well with the villagers. In between sympathising for their plight we were discussing, in hushed tones, how the forest held back so many of its appearances just for the 'effect', so it seemed. And yet, it never failed to inspire awe with recurring novelty. Grand!

The roads familiar to us through the previous trips were now fast replacing some uncharted paths. The colours of the trees were different. The leaves a profusion of hues, some autumn red, some fresh green, at places deep-green left us fascinated. And yet, the marvel of the forest would not end. As we moved deeper into the forest and the Sun yawned in its first rays of light into the setting, everything seemed to have come to a stand-still just to witness this spectacle. Wherever we looked we saw an ocean of mist, far-stretched and imposing, rippling forward riding the waves of sunlight which had just recently invaded its slumber. And then what met our eyes made me think 'Heaven is here' and nowhere else could it be. Lodged on top of a small pool, we could not decide as to which side held a better view as both made us feel deprived, even for a second's delay in noticing them.

On our left, perched on a rock were two Adjutant Storks, spreading their wings to emulate flight and showing us in this process its complete wing-span. Black and beautiful. On the right the sight of a single long tree, dead and leafless, lodged against the backdrop of the faraway ranges covered in a cloud of mist and fog met our eyes. All along our way grandeur of the morning-forest had captivated us so much that we had been completely unaware of the killing-cold accompanying us. Running noses and frozen palms became the topic of discussion now and speculation was rife regarding the temperature. We had no way of knowing that. The chill was near complete. It breached every piece of clothing we had assiduously put on and pierced our very marrows. There was hardly any difference between Kanha and Kanchenjunga here, we felt.

The Sun was starting to reclaim its territory now, its rays pervading space and diffusing warmth. We saw a herd of cheetals stand up in alarm, their ears pointed in one single direction, feeling the air for danger. Kudai Dadar, as this place was called, had all the makings of a Topobon (meditation ground), where saints must have come in quest for salvation and truth. Moreover, I personally felt that this place could surely make saints out of ordinary men, even rogues. It had that quality of overwhelming purity in it. It had a sense of compelling divinity that was captivating and yet was so powerful that it could subjugate hearts and minds with a sensual persuasion, both subtle and alluring. We saw a tree resplendent with bright red fruits, hanging in bunches. Raju told us it was the Sinduri tree, used by tribal women as vermilion. The opulent crimson of the flowers was further magnified by the generosity of the sun shining on them.

When the Sun looked in complete control of the morning, we went back to Center-point for tea and snacks. Many foreigners were spreading out their elaborate breakfast outdoors. It looked as if there was a banquet of sorts commencing in the jungle. And most unfortunately, we were the only spectators to it. Our guide found out from others that the mercury had dipped to touch 0-degrees in the morning. Again ignorance had saved us the panic that this little information could have caused, if known earlier during the trip. Now, we could appreciate why it had been so bone-chillingly cold in the open. That gave us the shivers afresh. After having some samosas and bread-pakoras the six of us went in to see the museum as Chetan looked out for some of his work-related information in the vicinity. Inside the museum, we saw a documentary on Kanha and another one which showed a forest guard who escaped an attack by two young tigers. Another showed how one of the ranger's skull was almost ripped open by a sloth-bear. Both had made narrow escapes and were still very much alive and serving the forest. After lazing around and having a second round of tea from our now famous 'common-fund' we decided it was time we headed for Sarhi, our original destination.

The road to Sarhi was pristine, appealing and almost unexplored as promised. The long grass on the road was ample proof of its untrodden status till now. It was a long journey, but without the climb or turns of the road to Bahmni Dadar. Instead, on both sides were forest-brooks lined with boulders and little mounds on which grew a thin variety of wild-bamboo. Some were dried white and were in stark contrast to the otherwise rich green scenery. After an hour or so we ascertained that we were at a considerable altitude as the foothills of Vindhyas were visible. The hills were covered with greenery and housed Neelgais, the biggest of the Indian antelopes, we were told. We finally got a glimpse of a big herd of Neelgais but, the tall grass hindered our view. The guide told us that as they were totally unaccustomed to human presence they were extremely shy and ran away from our gypsy. Finally out of the Sarhi-gate we could come down from the car. Then, we headed for Bichhiya, a small suburb where we would have our lunch in some local Dhaba. They were dime a dozen according to Raju. We rode through a village from where Raju hailed. He came back in a while from his home and next stop was a Dhaba. While the food was being ordered, one by one everyone of us made a routine call back home as others explored the adventure of sitting on a charpoy. The anda-curry was all red-hot inflammable but, with no other option at hand, the curry was 'managed' with some lemon garnishing. An hour or so and we were heading back into the forest for the evening-trip. Life was becoming hectic but this was our last tryst with the forest and we braced ourself with the hope of seeing a tiger. Rajenbhai, as efficient as he is, quickly took us through the villages to Sarhi . Only once did we stop at Raju's field from where he picked some pea-plants and thrust onto our laps. We were half-way making a 'neat job' out of it when Avik started complaining that the shrub had started causing 'serious irritation' on his arms and legs. Quickly they were disposed off. I, Harry and Baeka, the ever curious ones in the group utilised this delay to explore further and asked for some water at Raju's place which was at a stone's throw. As hospitable as one could be, he made us sit inside his hut and rushed inside to bring some water. It was a nicely made up place. Neat and homely. He brought us water which was as cool as the ones we drink out of the water-cooler in our college. Soon we were inside the forest and anticipation was running high inside us.

On our return-trip we first came face to face with a gigantic bison. It stared at us for a while and then moved away nonchalantly. At one place we waited for while, Raju all ears to the monkeys calling at a distance. A gypsy came from the front and reported alarm calls. We moved forward and Raju inferred that we were very close to the tiger. It must be looking to cross the road to go to the water-hole on the other side, he said. For the next 20 minutes we were ricocheting back and forth in search of the elusive tiger. Then, suddenly, Raju called out, "Tiger, tiger!...... yehi pe thhaa..... uss taraf chala gaya....gaari pichhe lo..". Alu and Dudu approved of this claim as they too had seen a young one coming out of the thickets to cross the road. Startled by the sound of our gypsy approaching, it had gone right back to the safety of its familiar surroundings, thus, robbing us of a 'priceless sighting'.

Though we missed the tiger, we saw a rare sight sometime later, a Barasingha, true to its name i.e The Indian Swamp Deer, was chomping on aquatic weeds in knee-deep water. We also saw a herd of bison crossing the road. They are an imposing emblem of strength and and just their sight can set one's pulse racing. But, to our good fortune we found all of them in good humor and they went about chomping on their quota of grass without any fuss. Finally as the sun was setting behind the Vindhyas, we spotted a wild-cat walking by the road. Baeka informed us that it was quite a rare sight. The tour till date had been great and undoubtedly something to cherish for the rest of our lives. The forest, in its multifarious colours and forms had presented itself before our eyes and fashioned the canvas of our minds with relentless vigor and subliminal finesse at every step. It had inspired and intimidated us, enthralled and enamored us. Though now the time had come to bid the forest a somber goodbye and look back at its chained gate with little regret and complete contentment we were all looking for an 'encore' in the near future.


Next Stop - Jabalpur.

to be continued...................................

Kanha - VI

It was decided that we skip the morning tour. Avik was having a bout of terrible indigestion and acidity, and the rest of us were feeling 'simply too tired'. Taking out one hectic morning trip out of the itinerary would do a world of good to rejuvenate our minds and replenish our vigor which was not lost at all but starting to sag a bit. After all we haven't had a good long sleep from the time we stepped off the train. The night brought in sleep which was made more sweeter by the knowledge that the morning held no rigors. People could just be in bed till they felt hunger rumbling inside them and that's exactly what they did. It was well past 11 when everyone finally seemed to have taken leave of their respective sleep-hang-overs. The morning was spent soaking in the sight and light of the forest, in the green sofa on the big veranda outside the dormitory. One by one a variety of snacks and cream-biscuits made their way to the cane-table. And as swiftly as they came in, they vanished. Lazing around the adjoining areas, looking out for birds and deers, myself, Baeka and Dudu ventured out onto the road for more. A five-minutes walk down it and there we found a place which looked custom-made for hosting a filmi 'dancing around trees' routine. Yet, it had a order of serenity to it. I egged Baeka into the woods for a closer look-in. The shade of the imposing sals lent a sense of eerie solemnity to the surroundings. Everything was so quiet, so still. The silence was punctuated at unequal intervals by the melodious calls of an Indian roller, a variety of bird found in these parts Baeka would tell me. Then the thought of having our baths and lunch occurred and promptly our secret tryst with the forest interrupted. We made for our hostel and from a distance saw cheetals crossing the road to reach a water-hole. A Jackal was also visible from a distance on our way back. Suddenly, we were reminded that we weren't allowed to roam about in the forest on foot by a passing motorcyclist who waved his hand at us with visible consternation. He was pointing to us the way to our lodge.


Inside the hostel, not yet satisfied with his nocturnal exploits from exploring the magic of using a western toilet the Indian way Avik was betting that he could finish his bath within 8 minutes. The last person to put up his money on a proposition which had even the slightest hint of 'loss', Dudu was the epitome of confidence at such a proposal propping up. He was all for the bet. And like in most cases which concern cash or convenience he won. Avik had taken just over 16 minutes to have his kaak-snaan ( crow-dip) of a shower and he still looked drenched. Towelling would account for another 10 minutes at the least. The rest of us being 'average guys' took our average times under the shower and headed for the canteen. It was lunch-time again. That much awaited hour when we would again take pleasure in startling our audience and bamboozling our hosts, the M.P tourism people who had the courage of thinking of the idea of 'having your fill' and implement it. We were teaching them an unpleasant lesson. Bowls made a bee-line for our table and were left marauded in no time. Rice, chapati, sabji, rajmaa, raytaa. Nothing was spared. Nothing was left. Not even the inconspicuous salad. Strolling back to the hostel in all our rotund glory we stopped to 'smell the roses' a little. A little hour of purposeless wandering refreshing the mind, helping us unwind.

At our door-step was waiting a boy of our age. He was to share the dormitory with us for the coming two days. Getting a little conversation underway we learnt that his name was Chetan and he was a final year student of Architecture and had come here for doing some research on the Forest Dept. structures. Gradually as the eager hindi-speakers amongst us ( that would be myself, Baeka and Harry) made headway in befriending Chetan, clearing a bed off our luggage for him and inquiring about his academic course the reluctant Hindi-bhashis in Avik and Dudu made slow yet steady progress. It was so arranged that Chetan would accompany us on our evening-trip.

Work could wait for the next morning. We could already feel the positive vibes.

The evening trip was not too different from the previous evening trips owing to the fact that the gypsies were not allowed to travel far within the forest during the evening. Returning in time was a security issue in the jungle after sunset. The hazards of traveling inside the forest in total darkness was an avoidable anathema to us, considering the images ( or the lack of them) from our first night in the forest still fresh in our memories. The tiger-trail was quickly latched onto by the well co-ordinated guides and soon we were silent in anticipation of a tiger sighting. After waiting for quite some time with no reward we headed forward. I spotted a white vulture, perched atop a tree, looking contemplative with its gray feathers making for a royal gown. Surprisingly, our guide told us it was indeed called the 'King Vultute' and that it was extremely rare in these parts, battling extinction. Making a detour we came back to a spot where we could see a couple of gypsies eagerly awaiting the advent of a tiger. Suddenly, Avik and Dudu shouted out "sher, sher" in unison, the excitement in their voices rendered genuine by their volumes. Then as reason dawned, Avik whispered a husky, " Haa, haa..... wahaan pe sher thaa. Sher thaa. Chala gaya uss taraf." Dudu lent his voice of support to this assertion. Our guide and Baeka looked skeptical of the veracity of such a claim. Now, our car followed with another in tow in 'that' direction. Avik's blue-eyed 'English' beauty was on another car behind us, perhaps wary of her previous experience one would imagine. The tiger, as said by D & A combine, was heading towards the road when the sound of our approaching gypsy startled it and it made a prompt U-turn, only to disappear into the dense woods. I could not track it too.
Recovering from such a miss as a tiger-sighting the mood was a bit on the side of somberness for the rest of us. Avik had made good for his previous day's miss and was happy for it. Dudu was busy counting the exactitude of extracting 'value for money' from the two sightings 'only' he had had and glowing in its obvious sense of gain. Baeka peppered the guide with questions as to how life for them was inside the forest. What training they had received before getting inducted. What type of qualification was required for such a job. Etc etc and etc. The rest of us, especially Alu, worried that such queries were potential precursors to a voluntary van-vaas of a dear friend, were left speculating on the chances of such an unfortunate eventuality. Then as we were approaching the gate at the end of our trip, a single male Bison showed up in all its brute virility. It looked every bit the one-tonne demolition unit it is said to weigh, a fierce fighter and a symbol of massive strength and violence. While all of us were leaning over to have one glimpse of this shy monster, a piece of conversation stole into my ears and made our day. I could only clench my lips with my teeth to not let out a howl of a guffaw at that very moment. As I later narrated the 'little incident' to others people were rolling over the place with laughter, even the one at its receiving end, Baeka.

When everyone was busy accommodating the Bison within their camera frames, Alu had nimbly put a coupe de grace to all of Baeka's queries with a little chat with our guide ( Raju Yadav). He had said, "Iska sawaalon ka buraa mat maniyega, Bhaisaab......... picchli baar jab yeh Kanha ayaa thha...........tab tiger dekhtey waqt gypsy se girke isko dimaag mein chot ayaa thaa. tab se yeh har saal kanha ataa hain aur..........."

The guide had precluded all further narration with a wave of a hand and a sympathetic, " Haan, maalum chal raha hain. Magar, koi baat nahin, Sirji....... thoda jadi-booti de denge inke liye. roj pelaiyegaa..........bilkuul theek ho jayenge."


The rest, as they say, was history. A hilarious one at that.




to be continued...................................

Kanha-V

We raided the bowls and trays like starving tramps and soon the dishes were made to look washing a completely redundant exercise. Veg or non-veg did not matter now, not even to the most fervent followers of flesh-eating amongst us. The attendant at the canteen was amazed at the speed of our intake. If he was ever afraid of the Tiger's appetite we were surely giving him afterthoughts at this moment. All done and devoured it was time for some afternoon reflection. Lounging in the afternoon sun people around me were having their favorite pastime of choking me to death with 'that obnoxious smoke-machine' they call cigarette. Dodging this way and that I was trying to have a conversation with the troupe, but with little success. Plans and possibilities for the evening-trip into the forest were being discussed. All seemed eager to have another rendezvous with the Striped Beast. Soon it was 3 and now familiar with the system of affairs a little more we were less wide-eyed on entry. Two owls stayed perched inside the hole drilled into a old banyan tree, indifferent to the approaching cars. They had indeed adjusted well it seemed.

There is one thing amongst others which is remarkable about a forest. Feeling the forest is a completely different experience from under the shade than under the sun. Not only is the temperature drop stark and realizable it also provides a kaleidoscopic variety to a single frame of vision when viewed from different angles, at different times. The most absorbing aspect of this trip was becoming the sudden forays of evening radiance interleaved with climbing shadows of the sal. At one bend we saw a family of elephants, three adults and one infant. They seemed to be in a bit of hurry and our guide told us that they belonged to the forest department. Elephants were used to track and monitor the animals ( especially the tiger population) during the monsoon season when navigating the kuchha roads would become impossible.

A word of mention for our present guide here. A fair, strapping individual who seemed every bit the army-jawan type, dedicated to the cause of the forest, devoted to the contentment of the tourists under his charge. But, alas, our discovery was a total contradiction to such expectations.
He stopped our car and went all-ears for fifteen minutes at a stretch, perching on his seat, straining his ear muscles in anticipation of some otherwise humanly imperceptible signal, forbidding us to make any murmuring noise or even less. A tiger was on the prowl nearby, he would have us believe. Then, as if on a cue the monkeys on top of the trees bordering the dense thicket around us started calling out. This call was very different from their normal ones. These were the alarm-calls. Distinct, unmistakable and unfailing in their ability to inspire dread in any animal, even humans. The monkeys gave out such screeching alarm-calls when they would sight a tiger. And we were, if the instincts and calculations of the guide were to believed, some ten hands away from it. But then, nothing happened. Twenty minutes into the wait already and our guide and Rajenbhai seemed stuck on the issue if to move forward or stay waiting for the tiger to make an appearance. The alarm-calls had since long stopped. Helping the course of decision I suggested we move forward. "Agar naseeb mein hain to dikh jayegaa", were my exact wordings. This proposal met with nods of approval and we moved away, to a new location. Little did I know then that this innocuous statement of mine would come back to haunt me later. On our way we intercepted a bunch of wild-boars crossing the road. Shy yet every bit enthusiastic to show us their wares, some even came out of the bushes. They were very short and dark, but looked stocky and ferocious. One wild-boar in its natural surroundings could give even a tiger a tough time, we were told.
Half-an-hour or so passed. Coming to a crossroad we could see one gypsy waiting in anticipation of a tiger. The foreigners in that car were as laconic as their guide was garrulous. Avik, not the one to curb his communication skills even in this haunting wilderness, seemed to have found the perfect audience to his antics in them, a blue-eyed girl. "From which country?" was his inaugural query. "England" being the polite succinctness in her tongue it failed miserably to curb further inquests from the other direction. "First time in India? On vacation? Enjoying your trip to ?" were next in store for the unsuspecting soul. She mumbled and nodded to show that she approved of our country very much, but the swiftness of her departure/escape showed that her belief in the semi-literate desi was amply shaken. Whether she recovered or not we will never know. In the mean-time gypsies arriving from the spot we left after waiting for twenty minutes reported that they had spotted a tiger there. And quick to sense the danger in the air as had been taught to him from his childhood perhaps ( though there weren't any that we were posing him) our army-jawan did a volte face. And believe me, he was quite good at it. He squarely put the blame on me for having missed the tiger. That I had allayed his confused state with my philosophical one-liner was lost on him now. He even rued having left that spot at all. My amazement making way for mild amusement could not garner a suitable response from within. Perhaps we were too tired for it. I even complied with him that we had "missed the tiger. Blame be on me."


Tired we were. After the evening-tea was arranged to be delivered to our door-step ( thanks to the immaculate theatrics of Alekhya feigning someone amongst us was 'really beemar' and hence room-service a necessity) life comprised mainly of waiting for the dinner. A little bolder after the previous night, Baeka showed us groups of tens of cheetals thronging the adjoining field under the cover of the night on our way to the canteen. As the torch-light met them in their eyes, some ran away, some stayed on, petrified. Another sumptuous dinner purged off the plates we couldn't wait to watch the stars today. A pity i.e. Everyone was dog-tired. Back in the dormitory, Avik was complaining of an upset tummy, deprived of rest or any time to acclimatize. In the current light of things ( the upset tummy of course ) the feasibility of conducting a morning-trip next day was being discussed. One could gauge all was not right with his war-hog-like digesting capabilities which seldom failed to deliver. Then suddenly, when everyone thought Avik was reclined to relieve himself of his 'present worries', he came rushing out from the toilet. He seemed excited about something, something he had never believed he could do and yet had finally accomplished with much effort and pain. A cherubic smile complicit with a look of astonishment told us of its 'novelty-quotient'. And believe me, we were not at all off-mark on this.




This is what greeted our eyes and revulsed our senses:
.
.
.
.




Avik had done it.






to be continued.................................

Kanha- IV

I sleep for six to seven hours a day on an average. Sleep eludes me when its every other person's pastime. I envy people who have the services of this comforting mistress at their beck and call. They can just lie down, close their eyes and sleep settles over them like a warm blanket in no time. But, no. That does not happen to me. I do not pass out unless and until I am dead tired or it has been at least half an hour that I have tussled with sleep in my bed. Sometimes, I feel, I tire Sleep to sleep with me.
The first night inside Kanha was no exception. But with a reassurance of an old habit relapsing sleep diffused into my system within half an hour after the lights were put out.


I woke up to see Baeka covered from head to toe in winter-gear. Three to four layers of clothing to be topped by a fine jacket made me feel warm from inside somehow. Empathy, maybe. His monkey-cap lay ready beside him, resting like a weathered shield awaiting its call to duty. I wondered if it was really that cold outside. Reluctantly leaving the comfort of my blanket, I stepped out to realize Baeka was doing the least he could to keep off the biting cold. It was freezing outside and coupled with the advent of a steady breeze things felt even worse. Dudu, the ever vigilant and the unnecessarily anxious soul that he is thought it better to keep to the warmth of the blanket for a bit longer. Alu was next out of bed after me. Dudu followed, never the one to be left behind last at anything. Harry was looking every bit 'the baby boy in a dreamy daze' that is so typical of him after he wakes up in the morning, sitting up on the bed, not letting off the blanket, staring at people on their move, waiting for that opportune moment to step out and get to work. Avik, was still somewhere lost in his blissful slumber that refused to part with his company even at this hour of morning exigency. The 'daily chores' were swiftly done away with and then started a session which saw 'the great unraveling episode' with our respective baggages playing the lead roles. Every kind of warm clothing, woolen or otherwise, known to human kind found their way out into the open and everyone made the other feel 'ill-equipped' for facing the morning chill with their cache.
There is something magical about the weather in Madhya Pradesh we were told. The days can be pleasant and warm in the winter but, sweltering in the summer whereas nights, irrespective of the season remain a soothing refuge by being cool and comfortable. However cold or chilly, it was a happy haven for us; panting souls roaming the roads in the midst of May with the full blast of the Kolkata Sun and the inexorable humidity we couldn't have asked for a better clime for a outing.


All in readiness, our gypsy arrived with Rajenbhai at the wheel and soon we were all waiting in a queue of cars raring to get in first and have the first glimpse of the forest under the wrap of mist and fog. Baeka, slave to his temperamental tummy, got one of his normally numerous calls of nature as the gates were just about to be opened. Panic set into the herd. "Were we going to be marooned in this island of desolation and come last in the race we should have won otherwise ?", "Was this the first of sign of things to come? Was this an ill-omen for us?" were the questions troubling the weak at heart. The stolid preferred to think on the lines of, " How late would Baeka render us?" and "Why us, always ?". One doubts if even Rajenbhai was all praise for Nature's timing at this crucial a juncture. All queries, frivolous or frightened, were answered at the sight of Baeka approaching us, a 'liberated bliss' sketched clear on his features, a gratified smile diffusing in all its human effortlessness. We were left aghast at this 'miracle' of sorts as to how one could ease ones' self in just under 60 seconds. As the gypsy kicked up dirt and pierced into the open meadows one more was added to the number of 'The Biggest Unsolved Mysteries of the World' with the likes of Bermuda Triangle and Riemann Hypothesis.

'The Curious Clean-up Act', we would call it later.


The forest shrouded in the mystery of the morning mist looked breathtakingly beautiful, as if waking up in all its childish reluctance to the nudge of nascent rays the headmaster like Sun lavished on it with an eye towards inculcating the lesson of seeking Truth in Beauty. The meadow was covered with a thick blanket of mist, which looked more like rising from it than setting on it. Two bamboo thickets converged overhead, in the middle of the road, looking every bit a 'Welcome' sign. Our destination was 'Bahmni Dadar', the highest point of Kanha. By the sound of it we knew it would be a longish journey and had collected our breakfast wrapped in aluminium foils from the tourist canteen. There was a thin sense of urgency, not too pressing though, in reaching there as quickly as possible considering that the view from the top was most beautiful during the early hours, gradually decaying to the tyranny of the sun as the day progressed. We had to hurry to be on time. But, we were lucky that hardly anyone had made plans to be there this morning. So it seemed by the silence that greeted us as our gypsy took hairpin bends and tumultuous turns like on hilly roads. Life for the next one hour was a roller-coaster ride. At places the beauty of the forest fascinated with unfailing regularity. Peacocks made way for us and cheetals looked cautious. After a heady climb, which our guide told us was about 850 odd meters above the sea-level, a sight met our eyes which captivated our senses for the last-leg of our journey. This was it! Bahmni Dadar!

The place belied all our expectations as to how a vantage point should look like. Unlike places of high altitude, this was really a plateau, a completely flat piece of land nestling at a reasonable altitude. The vegetation was the surprise-package. It was as green as green could be. Every shade of it. Faded, fresh, fertile. The sprawling meadows reminded me of Discovery channel documentaries on Africa once more. Sunlight was filtering in through a shadow of clouds, the sort of thing we know heralds a doibo-baani ( divine message) in our mythological serials.

We were streaming past the tall grasses which hindered clear sight and it seemed as if somewhere deep inside them was in ambush a tiger for its prey. The very thought was thrilling and going by our surroundings my supposition seemed every bit possible. Enthused, I stood up on my seat ( which was beside the driver's) to soak in the sight and the sounds. The breeze was strong now, now that we were at a reasonable height it was becoming more pronounced. A few meters ahead and we were face to face with a small herd of samvars. They were really close and two of them seemed far from shy. Actually two posed for the cameras, folding a foreleg in true emulation of the alert-deer pose. "What business, Mister? So early in the morning, eh ? Jobless humans!", it seemed to be saying.


At last we were at Bahmni Dadar. All jumped out to touch land at last. It had been quite a long journey. We rushed off to the edge to have a glimpse of the entirety of Kanha from there. It was truly a beautiful view. A natural spectacle riveting to every detail by the sheer power of its size and extent. I accepted the fact that sighting one of 131 tigers in this vast expanse of blinding greenery was but a little short of zealous optimism. Not a subscriber to such 'brightness and light' that often drives an element of wishfulness in the name of Hope into humans, I took solace in the fact that one night inside the forest and already 'one tiger sighting' was good enough for us, starters. In that way we were fortunate, judging by the sheer probability perspective of another sighting in the offing.

A prolonged photo-session later when everyone clicked everyone else, clutching and holding onto anything in sight ( e.g a rock with a notice engraved on it) we jumped into the car to head home.
The breakfast-foil forayed out and was quickly emptied to the cry of our aching tummies.
Baeka pointed out at a strange white bird, the Changeable Hawk-Eagle, on our way back. But, it promptly flew away precluding any possibility of taking a picture for future research. The rest of the journey was spent on an argument raised by Avik as to why the changeable hawk-eagle was so queerly named ? Was it hawk by the day and eagle by the night thereby justifying the 'changeable' part? Aren't hawks and eagles the same thing indeed? Not finding suitable answers to buttress his otherwise suspicious inclination towards the wild Avik concluded with his trademark callous indifference (bordering on restlessness at not having found a satisfying answer) that, "such hawks were dime a dozen in Kolkata too. The average Chil it was.". All this while Alu was giving constant company to more such hilarious theories on 'Apt Nomenclature'. There were comparisons being drawn between the Deer Park in Shantiniketan and Kanha and how it too housed a variety of deers. The animal lover in Baeka was aghast at such a horrendous proclamation ridden with falsity and ignorance. Some comparisons just never fail to blow your lid off. As battle-lines were being drawn we again offloaded for a while to see the place where it is believed Sravan's ( the character who carried his blind parents around in Ramayana) parents were cremated. Our guide pointed out to us that not a single blade of grass grew on the two mounds till date.

In serious need of a cup of tea or two to rejuvenate our senses from the overdose of an exhilarating optical extravaganza we stationed ourselves at the Center-point inside Kanha. It had a spacious canteen which served piping hot tea, samosas and bread-pakoras, had a parking space, green benches and to the delight of Bekaa and Aka ( i.e Harry) a set of 'spectacular' toilets.
Next we headed for our hostel. Adequate rest would be of essence considering we also had an evening-trip coming up shortly. But it would be a post-lunch affair and how much we were looking forward to that!

Food came first. Everything could just follow. Like always, no exceptions. No exemptions.




to be continued ..........................................................