It has so happened that I have lived in few places, houses, cities. The longest of course was where I was born, birth to 19 years. Then to pursue further studies and then where the jobs took me. I counted seven cities fourteen houses.
Then I looked up nostalgia. Just so that I can check if that’s what I feel.
In the past few months, actually few years, I have realised that I want to spend time with my women friends. Friends who have lasted and friendships that has flourished beyond the workplace. So I make travel plans to only, specifically, meet and spend time with these friends. We talk, about the present and the past, the good, bad and ugly of what we have lived through, not in any necessary order, but as we recall them, as that time connects with the now. Few things we don’t indulge in; they are not important anymore.
So in the recent past, I went to meet two friends who continue to be in those cities, Hyderabad and Ahmedabad.
There is lot of excitement in anticipation. Shared familiarity around food, clothes, places leading to a plan, what all to do. As I land, the first reaction is of happiness, that I have missed this place. Oh how many times I passed this airport, this train station, this road, this lane, this shop. A stampede of events in my mind, bringing back a picture from the past and laying it on the passing sight. To go back to where one lived in turbulent times, personal and communal. This very earth that was once bloodied, the horrible nightmarish times.
And then it happened, both times. The absolute loss of my bearings. An once meandering road through agricultural land on both sides, is now, may be, a straight line? A deserted outskirt where nothing was available on walking distance is now made invisible by all kinds of buildings and shops. Am not joking. I just don’t know where is what I saw day after day, every day, twenty years ago!
Yes, it’s been a long long time. Urban landscape is always changing. Forget the trees, you cannot even use building names and boards as landmarks. They have all changed, moved, closed, renamed. And with that, sets in a new unfamiliarity. You think you knew, but you don’t anymore.
The friendships though, have flourished, despite the distance. Despite that we do not share the same office space, assignments, travels and lunches anymore, and do not meet on a regular basis. Many things continue to happen in our individual lives, through the grief, loss, achievements, troubles, each one of us finding our calling at our own pace, aging, our routines, idiosyncrasies, OCDs, there is a bonding that has stayed.
There is a certain kind of empathy for the life that was then. An equanimity that comes with time and in hindsight. We are kind to what we were then, and realise that we have evolved. We have replaced much of our judgmental, opinionated selves to make room for things that really matter. Fun, camaraderie, to just talk, to just listen, to just be.
Travelling after eighteen months, a long and impatient wait for us as we almost travelled twice every month, on an average. The packing of a suitcase this time meant more than just a routine activity. There were apprehensions, but the excitement was way more than the concerns. Bunches of masks and bottles of sanitiser being the new additions.
I did not know of Valparai, honest admission. It was while looking for a break after months of coping with the covid pandemic, with many additional considerations, travel restrictions, flight availability, duration of the journey, less crowd, un-touristy, my husband suggested Valparai. It ticked all boxes and is also a new destination. We started our search, emails and phone calls, and found Briar Tea Bungalows. Having stayed in tea gardens and converted British bungalows, we quite enjoy them. They have history and character and a certain coexistence to them. Usually remote, vast, expansive, rhythmic in a way that rhymes around the tea estates. So, all necessary arrangements followed and we set off.
The airports are a disappointment. How people still do not care enough about distancing and following hygienic practices.
Uncertainty, the most prevailing condition of the current times, I got a call as we landed at Coimbatore, “Coimbatore is in complete lockdown and the Collector has ordered no tourism. We will refund your reservation amount.” Valparai is about three hours drive from Coimbatore, over 100 kms and up on the hills, quite disconnected from Coimbatore in many ways than one. So I said, “I am not going back. Am going to make the drive and see what happens.” Armed with fully vaccinated certificate, negative RTPCR report, we started, not knowing whether we will get to Valparai!
Best decision ever! We were stopped at the check-post, we showed our papers and were allowed to proceed. Yay! This good news followed a tea break, nice strong tea and tasting of varied vadas.
Hungrily savouring the greenery, as we started the climb, views of the reservoirs, waterfalls, the permanence, resilience of Nature, the shining sun on rain drenched tea leaves, new and old, breathing the fresh air, the gentle cloud slowly engulfing the valley, happiness back in our veins.
Stanmore bungalows was built in 1935. The Briar group has five properties, each with a specific character, closer to forest, or river or in the middle of tea plantation. Sitting there, surrounded by tea, I brushed up my knowledge.
When did tea cultivation start in India?
In 1837, the first English tea garden was established at Chabua in Upper Assam; in 1840, the Assam Tea Company began the commercial production of tea in the region. Beginning in the 1850s, the tea industry rapidly expanded, consuming vast tracts of land for tea plantations.
Who discovered tea in India?
An intrinsic part of daily life today, tea was introduced formally to Indians by the British. The origin of tea in India is owed to the British who intended to overthrow China’s monopoly on tea, having found that Indian soil was eminently suitable to cultivate these plants.
This is a hideout, a place where you may not have a lot to do, though there are points of touristic interest, a tunnel under a waterfall which runs for four kilometers, a reservoir, few temples, what it offers is great, scenic, quiet walks which you can do without a mask. No one around for almost as far as eyes can see, except the many species of birds. The birders will have a field day! You may not see the wild life like you do in an organised safari. But they are seen by the locals and the lucky. People talk about leopards, bears been seen in certain locations. During our stay, we saw a herd of elephants, CCTV footage of bears and leopards, fleeting glance of a white mongoose, two flying squirrels hanging upside down from the branch of a tall tree, a shy lion tailed macaque looking down at us from a canopy, two Sambar deer and two magnificent Nilgiri tahr. This was enough for us. That they are all coexisting in harmony.
Where we return to at the end of the day and how close it gets to make us feel at home is our comfort yardstick. The team at Stanmore is amazing! Very receptive to details, and small demands, like warm water to drink, an extra bedside lamp, tea at any intervals. The kitchen staff, chef and cook, with skill to not only make world class continental dishes, but also our longing for idli, dosa, puttu, kadala! Each dish brought to the table was both visual and mouth-watering treat. Everything served, from breakfast to dinner, was insta-worthy and tasteful. A team that functions in tandem brings in peace and positivity to the space which was palpable here. As we all know how badly hospitality industry has been affected, for these young people to hold themselves together and go about making the others happy is really appreciated.
Another beautiful feature of Stanmore bungalows is the old trees and the flourishing garden. Mossy, healthy, many old trees, litchi, avocado, guava, mangoes, and many more, full of vegetation and brightly coloured flowers, the gardeners constantly cleaning and nurturing the land and its living.
A trip that made me realise how much I missed travelling, and how grateful I am to be able to do so. This pandemic has given us a new perspective. It’s up to each one of us to understand that we are part of a larger system and we need to recognize and respect the parts played by all living beings. It’s the humans who make the changes, good or bad. And Nature will react, for sure.
This was a place that made us happy deep inside, no cutting of the queue, no aggression, no violence, no arguments. When we drove around one day, and went through the Valparai town, there is a temple, a mosque and a church within one kilometer radius. Once back in the airport, and then in the flight, I cringed every time people exercised their power to prevail, being rude, treating the airhostesses like servants and several incidents, usually brushed aside as minor by many, which is not really what it is, leaving always a bad taste. I don’t need this and I hoped I have to watch less of these in our everyday lives.
The most resplendent memory of our stay at Stanmore Bungalows, was to wake up to the singing of the Malabar whistling thrush. I had never heard, had only read, sings from dawn to dusk, a song most extraordinary.
You sing on sweethearts, “the whistling school boy”, you make your own tune, sing to say that every day is a new day, and you make it a happy day. Like a friend said, Sarvabhutatmabhutatma सर्वभूतात्मभूतात्मा,
“to consider yourself a part of the world, and the world a part of yourself”.
Having taken care of Kittu and Pudgy, two street cats, who both came with very little time on earth, we were hesitant to get involved again. Momila fought with our Pudgy tooth and nail, terrorizing with her growls and power.
I first saw Momila when we were moving to this house. She was sleeping in the yard. Momi and Tom are the primary cats of this area. In these four and half years, there has been at least two pregnancies each year. Like a ritual, Momila (so the name, always mothering) will deliver somewhere, keep moving and then most of the kitties would disappear, or one or two show up when they are older. Momi is a disgruntled, frowny, grouchy cat who fiercely protects her territory. I ascribe all this to her life on the streets, her survival shields as a female cat.
We started feeding Momila since November 2020 because she looked pregnant again, only a fat belly, rest was all skin and bone. We had just lost Pudgy, and were grief stricken. Momi would wait for us at a designated place on the road, a fussy eater for a feral. Thanks to the pandemic, we were not travelling, and it became a mutual habit. We will sit with her, pet and cajole, coaxing her to eat.
Long ago, I had chanced upon the stall of People for Animals (PfA) in the Lalbagh Flower Show. I gave a tiny donation and took their number. Later when Pudgy came to our life, I reached out to the cat community for advice. Once she was spayed and vaccinated and preferred to be an inside outside cat, that’s when I had first spoken to Colonel Dr. Navaz at PfA. I wanted to check if Pudgy can be a farm cat, moved to a vast space with less threat from vehicles, humans, other cats and dogs. He had thoroughly explained the significance of territory and how shifting may not work at all. Since then, I have been in touch with PfA. The rescued owls stole my heart.
January 2021, Momi delivered a litter of five. Adorable, cute two orange and white, two black and white and one calico. I built a nursery with cardboard boxes and brought all of them home. While the kitties had a blast, playing, sleeping, jumping, Momi whined and cried and cried to be let out. The yard was full of scaffolding, and having lost Pudgy when she climbed up a transformer, we did not want to take any chances and left her at her hideout. Fortunately, all kitties got human slaves and happy homes waiting for them. However, on the day of adoption, Momi got an inkling and escaped with two kitties to another campus. Three of them got adopted.
In the next three weeks, once her mammary glands dried, I planned for her spay. Colonel Dr Navaz at PfA made special consideration for Momi and sent for her pick up. Momi refused and sprinted at the sight of the carrier and that was that, end of story.
Come March, Momi was pregnant again! Early May, four more kitties, all white and brown this time. They would come out cautiously when we went to feed Momi and started licking the wet food and biting the dry food. I had started taking the carrier and keeping food inside to lure them inside. Momi was still suspicious but ventured inside the carrier at times. She preferred sitting on top and dozing. In about a month, one of the kitties was not there. And suddenly, the rest three kitties went missing. Just for a happy ending, I want to believe all found homes.
Momi looked lost, lounging here and there, with her mammary glands full. Suddenly one day, she followed us, entered our house and got all nervous. Neighbours have complained earlier if cats come into the building. She kept coming back to our yard that day, where in many years of making it welcoming for birds, finally a warbler had made a nest and there were three eggs.
That day during her lunch, Momi got inside the carrier and I could lock it. I saw that I was in the position to be a conduit. This was the one chance to get her spayed. I had to take a call quickly as she was on heat and Tomcat was stalking her again.
I called Dr. Navaz. He explained it is a difficult attempt but he will try. I veered between opening the door and letting her out or getting her spayed and bring an end to the endless cycles of child birth and torture of rearing and adoption. I sat near the carrier while she settled down inside and occasionally mewed in such sad tones that I was already pained even before she went to PfA.
The team had a tough time restraining her for surgery. Post surgery, Momi refused to eat. I suggested all that I know that she loves, raw meat, raw fish, whiska. The doctor tried broth, milk, cooked meat. But she just refused to eat. Dr. was absolutely certain that she needs to be released in her territory. Her wound was clean and she was given pain killer and antibiotics. He was sure she needs to be back to her familiar surroundings to recover, else if she continues not to eat, it can be fatal.
She came back looking stressed and haggard. Scratched a known tree, climbed a boundary wall and walked around a bit. She continued to not eat anything we offered. I was worried sick, with anxiety gnawing my insides. Guilty and sad, I tried every two hours with all kinds of food. She sometimes drank a little water, came when I called, but just did not eat.
Then one day, having refused chicken, curd, milk, paneer, wet whiska, dry drool, she moved to the garden and pooped. I have never felt that happy to see poo! Immediately called Dr Navaz and he said “this means she is eating from somewhere else, and something she likes”. She will recover, he said. That evening Momi licked a little wet whiska form my husband’s finger and I had tears rolling down my eyes.
Over ten days of anxiety, praying for her recovery, of reasoning with my guilt but failing, of trading any good thing I have ever done for her life to be saved, Momi is galloping again! She is socialising, talking, and caught a snake recently, garnering some support from the otherwise unkind unconcerned urban neighbourhood.
Or so they think. Just because the fellow I hung around with was skinny, does not mean I am pudgy. And mind you, I came pregnant. So it was just the tummy. And of course I was hungry. So I ate more. So..so they have right to body shame me? That’s why I don’t respond to them when they call me by that name. I respond to those silly sounds they make. And between us, they look very silly as well, making those schunp schunp schunp sound , twisting their lips. 🙂 🙂
So my friend, the white and black Kittu brought me here. I was in some other campus. But he was very fond of me. He said, come, there is food, two friendly humans, and quiet area, good places to nap. So I started following him. The two friendly humans, let’s call them D & A, live in the house next to the staircase, They were feeding Kittu. They got food for him once in the morning and once in the evening, one bowl of curd and one bowl with few spoons of rice, small pieces of roti, some fish smelling bits of brown. He didn’t eat any of that but they will try to feed him with a spoon. And when I was willing to eat anything, they would stop me till he finished. Just because he was skinny.
Then they started bringing two bowls of everything. Still I could not help feeling discr iminated. I always wanted to first see what he got. What if they were giving him something tastier? Then D would lift me from the bench and put me down. I will again try to get back as it made me even more curious and more determined. Kittu did not mind. He was just looking here and there always. Very fickle. No concentration.
Overall, it was all right. We managed to catch a mouse every now and then. A & D had a yard with plants, few lizards, and insects, which was ok to sniff and catch for a snack. The boundary of this yard had few good sleeping spots. In the evening, we hung around on the road, as there were another set of humans (M & S) who gave us food. They had cat smell on them so maybe there is one in their house. The small in size humans also said hello to us. Some of them are very fond of us and some are scared. There are many cars parked on that road and Kittu was making a habit of chewing the cover of one, making smaller tear into big holes. I told him he should not do that. But he was very stubborn and playful. He would also go here and there without informing. He will come late for breakfast. I always told him to be on time.
But one day he did not turn up for breakfast, again. D kept his food on top of the windowpane, away from me. But when he did not come for quite some time, they gave it to me. I ate and waited. I roamed around looking for him in our common places. I rolled on the sand to get attention from the humans, to ask if they have seen him. By evening, I saw D & A looking heartbroken. They were listening to a human sitting on top of two wheels that move. He was saying something to them about Kittu Master. I gathered he was not coming back. I was very sad 😦
The babies were growing bigger inside me. I moved slowly, slept most of the time. For two mornings D &A were not at home. They left my food with Rana . But I went near their door nonetheless. Then they came back. For many days after that only A stepped out. Then D also started walking again but with a stick. Sometimes when he brought the stick too close to me, I bit it. Those things make me nervous.
I figured one car was not moving at all, just parked there on the basement. And right on top of it was a ledge. Perfect for hiding! I gave birth there one rainy night. A kept looking for me. I could not eat much though I came out and circled around her legs so that she does not worry.
That big fat ugly tom was beginning to get an inkling of my babies. So I moved them to another ledge when everyone was sleeping in the night. It was good place again. But one night when it rained, there was water everywhere. I had to bring them out. They were exactly a month old.
Just as I was bringing the first, D saw me. I placed him on the first landing. But both D & A went berserk bringing out brown boxes of different sizes. D picked up my baby and put him in the box. I followed him. He placed the box in a dark corner in their house. I went inside the box and it was a fine box with a soft cloth. But I did not want to stay there. I went down and took the other two one by one to the same corner on the first landing of the staircase. Stacked them there and parked myself next to them.
D then brought out the box and Rana lifted all of us into the box. It was all right. Babies got comfortable and started drinking milk. Some humans took our picture. But some humans looked angry, their eyebrows knotted. Our box was moved to the car park. D gave me lunch and as I was eating, they put the box back on the ledge where I was earlier. It was a dry ledge but I did not like the basement anymore. Babies were bigger, crawling and they might fall. There also was the tomcat. And all these big cars with big wheels. I picked them up again in my mouth and brought them back to the corner and stacked them there. Again some other humans took the box back to basement. But in the night when everyone was sleeping, I moved them back again. I was exhausted climbing up and down so many times.
Oh the next day was so awful! It was going fine. I got breakfast. But again they took the box and kept it next to D&A’s car. The stupid babies crawled out and climbed into the engine space of the car and did not know their way out. It took three drivers to bring them out. I watched horrified but they kept climbing back. For some time I also went and sat on top of the tyre.
Then, I saw two new humans come close so I ran and hid under another car. One of them picked two of my babies and kissed them and put them in a box. I was scared. The third child had crawled deep inside the red car. Again there drivers took him out with lot of difficulty. Just as he was out, a smaller size human came. A gave him another box and he took the third inside. A was saying next week but everyone told her let him go.
I could not understand what was happening. I was petrified and incoherent. This another human who usually pets me was talking to A. she soothed my whiskers and patted my head. So I followed her. I did not know where she was going, but I did not know what to do either. I followed her and sat down. Then I heard the sound of a door being shut.
O hell! I was locked in.
I tried to find a way out but there were none. Guess nobody could hear me. I could hear the schunp schunp schunp of D & A but my cry was not getting heard. I heard A’s footsteps.. schunp schunp schunp then D’s footsteps schunp schunp schunp. They were looking for me where I am usually, but I was not in my usual places. I was locked in a strange room with strange things around me.
So from 12 o clock in the afternoon and the whole of the night nobody heard me. No one even came close to my side. I did not know what to do. I could not even cry loudly anymore.
And suddenly D appeared! I don’t know how but he was there. He brought his hand next to the mesh on the window and I felt relieved. But he still could not open the door and let me out. A came. More humans came. Two small size humans came. But nobody was opening the door.
I kept hearing A, footsteps, humans talking. I thought something is going to happen. I sat quietly mewing softly.
Voila, the door opened! D called me and I slowly emerged and stepped out. A had my food ready in that corner. I ate a bit and ran up the stairs looking for my babies.
Then, all hell broke loose. One human was shouting at A. I heard words like germs, infection, no pet policy, do not feed, not inside campus…were they talking about me? Cats and germs? Isn’t there something called Corona everywhere?
I had messed inside the room. I had pooped. A went and got broom, and some other things to clean the room. But this other human continued to shout. Then I heard A shouting back also. And I could not contain myself and kept running up and down the stairs which seemed to infuriate the human shouting at A. All in all, there was lot of shouting.
Later D&A let me inside the house. D gave me a nice back-rub. He kept saying poor girl, traumatised and some such words. I was feeling a little better.
It has been a week. I now come to D&A’s garden to eat. Sometimes they let me take a tour of their house. When they do, I like to stand near the window and peek at the outside world. How does it look for the people inside, with a safe roof over their heads and continuous supply of food.
I sniff at their bookshelf…it has the smell of James Herriot, Gerald Durrell, Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats, and my favourite, The Dalai Lama’s Cat.
Most of the time am sleeping. The tom is stalking me again and there is another new cat. Even Grouchy, the multicoloured she cat is trying to corner me.
I hear D&A discussing the V word and the S word. I won’t go. But then yesterday D combed my body and tail and it felt so good that I may end up going where they take me.
After walking many paths, through the debris and rubble, seeing bodies being pulled out even after thirty-five days of the earthquake, watching people returning to their houses, the greetings of tears. They had fled to someplace else looking for safety, wanting not to see the flattened houses, beneath which lay someone, dead, flattened by the same roof that was to be there to protect. To protect from the sun and rain. Who thought it will be the earth?
She suddenly felt tired, fatigued. She needed to eat. She spotted a food shelter, numerous men and women were camping in groups, organising food for the ones left to be living. Few tents were working as kitchen, chopping, cleaning cooking in huge vessels, food for everyone. Good Karma, she thought, in that heat and dust and air filled with the smell of burning, many things burning. Good of these people to travel all the way, they need not have, they could have written a cheque.
She reached near one of those tents. There was a make shift bamboo log, working like a gate. There were some women standing there, all clad in black, the colour of the locals. She heard someone yell at them to wait a while.
She ducked the barricading log and stepped inside tentatively. There were rows and rows of people sitting down and eating, what looked like a pretty elaborate meal for that time. They looked like visitors to the place, people from the cities, may be looking for their families, may be government officials, corporate officials taking stock of the damage, volunteering, people like her. Someone showed her a place, she sat down, took off her shoes. She was wearing her regular clothes for field work that involved walking under the sun, shoes, backpack, bottle of water, packet of biscuit, a bandana to keep the head cool, keep the hair covered, so that she won’t have to wash it so often, where is the water to wash your hair?
Someone placed a leaf plate in front of her. A kindly lady approached with a bucket containing may be rice, as that usually comes first, followed by daal poured on top. She stopped in front of her, took out a ladle full of white rice, paused mid-air when she noticed her bandana, no jewellery, no spot of colour on the forehead, looked into her eyes and said, “sister, would you chant the gayatri mantra?”
She looked back at her. She wanted to get up and leave. It’s not that she did not know the gayatri mantra, it’s being asked to chant it at a place which was supposedly there, to help people through their grief and trauma. Not to cause more grief, not to discriminate, and to choose which grieving person is entitled food, entitled to recover and live, and which ones could die, or be humiliated, humiliated in the act of compassion. The arrogance of giving, she thought.
She wanted to leave, but she was hungry, the woman had left after dropping some rice on her plate from a height. There was no touch, so she had not committed any sin after all. Tears were welling up in her eyes. It had been a long day of tearful moments and they needed to roll down.
Anuradha...the longing to find a language 