It was a lazy Saturday morning and we were in Tiruvanthapuram or Trivandrum staring endlessly at the beaches in Kovalam . Unlike most capital cities, this quiet nonchalant town-city has a certain charm that makes you linger and lose youself . .My reverie was interrupted as voices emerged from the sea . A long line of fishermen immediately queued up and tugged at a thick neverending rope , pulling their booty from the sea.

We were in Kovalam at the beach , sipping a tender coconut when the vendor asked us if we had been to Poovar . I recollected travel packages promoting Poovar , images of floating cottages and a couple of resorts vying for attention . We were not the typical beach bums , so we were willing to tear ourselves away from the sunny shores and look for newer shores. We went driving , in search of a coastal hamlet called Poovar along the River Neyyar . The drive is not just beautiful, but it takes you into the heart of rustic India. A little bustle here and there, a few shops convert a sleepy village into a market. The smell of the fish was everywhere – we took a detour and came to a jetty which only allowed tourists who were staying in the resorts ..We managed to talk the boatman into taking us for a little ride on the backwaters . And we discovered not just an idyllic island, but an interesting chunk of history as well.

We learnt that Poovar was a trading center of timber, sandlewood, ivory and spices. It is believed that the trading ships of King Solomon landed in a port called ‘Ophir’, which is probably today’s Poovar.’ As we waltzed down the backwaters, our boatman regaled us with this story . I was quite surprised to read that Poovar had a royal connection as well and it owed its name to a king . It was in this tiny hamlet , then a rich trading centre, that Raja Marthanda Varma , the legendary 18th century king of Travancore had sought refuge . The story goes that Ettuveetil Pillamar, had proclaimed Marthanda Varma as his successor and the former’s sons declared war.

The Maharaja had to flee from his land and he landed in Poovar with the help of one Moosa Marikar, a merchant who also helped him regain power . The Raja was fascinated by the sight of red flowers, chipped out from the Kovala trees growing along the Neyyar river , which floated in the river as a red carpet on water. The legend is that the stream was named as “POOVAR”( meaning a stream of flowers) ,as the Raja described the river .

There were a few boats dotting the landscape ..but besides that, all we could see was just the azure waters and the blue sky . The coconut trees stretched out, kissing the waters here and there, as we sailed ..Until we saw two horizons ..one separating the sky from the sea, the other – a sandy beach separating the sea from the backwaters . The estuary here connects to the sea during high tides . I looked at the vast expanse of waters called sea, river, backwaters , estuary and wondered if there was anything so simple and yet so beautiful in life ! This is probably what they call happiness !

If you would like to experience a bit of this bliss, do spend a few days at the Poovar Island Resort from Club Mahindra’s bouquet of resorts .  The floating cottages will just lull your senses transporting you into a world of your own

If you take a leisurely walk down the malls and markets of these towns, they still smack of the colonial legacy. These hill stations were dubbed the summer capitals of the Britishers who lorded over them for several  years. And yet, one little hill station stands apart from the rest, defying the colonial hangover . It owes its existence on the political and tourist maps to an Indian ruler who made it his summer capital. This is the story of Chail , a town barely 45 kms from Shimla in Himachal Pradesh .

Located at a higher altitude than Shimla, the story goes that the Maharaja Bhupinder Singh of Patiala made Chail his summer capital when the British barred him from entering  Shimla. Although the conflict was not on military grounds, the story goes that the Maharaja was romancing a daughter of Lord Kitchener, who was then the Commander in Chief of the British army. The Maharaja decided to give the British a fitting reply and went on to create his own summer capital in Chail.  He first built a palace near Khandaghat  called Chail View Palace and then  built a road to Chail and finally his own summer retreat in this little town surrounded by deodar forests. Ironically Chail itself had been gifted to the Maharaja by the Britishers earlier .

The Maharaja was an avid cricketer and had captained many an Indian team besides playing several first class matches himself .  He left Chail a trophy – a cricket ground which has the highest ever pitch located at 2140 metres and it doubled up as a polo ground as well.

Like many Indian towns , Chail has its own share of myths and legends. We visited a temple dedicated to a saint, Sidh Baba built on a hillock by the king. The locals believe that the king had planned to build his palace here earlier , but the seer had visited him in his dream and asked him to choose another location.

Nevertheless, the Maharaja couldn’t have found a better place to create his summer capital. With the Himalayas in the background and the valley beneath,  the river flowing down and three dense hillocks covered with deodar forests, Chail looked every bit a royal capital. The lights of Shimla and Kasauli came up  as I stood there for awhile watching the sun went down. Chail had indeed come a long way from an idyllic hamlet to a royal seat and now a tourist resort .

This story was published in The Hindu , as part of the author’s column, Inside Story

Club Mahindra has a lovely resort in Mashobra , near Shimla and the author was invited to the property as part of a blogger’s trip

CLAY wishes all its readers, members, travel writers and bloggers a very happy and prosperous new year. Here is wishing all of you exciting travels in 2012.

We begin this new year with a  sunrise in The Himalayas , as seen from our resort in Mashobra, near Shimla .

It is misty as we climb a small hilltop to the Padi Iguthuppa temple in Kakkabe. The bells start ringing the moment we enter the temple , as a gentle breeze blows from the rolling hills around. A group of Kodava women enter and speak with the priest Kush Bhat who welcomes us and insists that we stay over for lunch. “ No one comes to the Iguthuppa temple and goes away without eating lunch ,” he says. He explains that Iguthappa means giver of food and the deity is a form of Subramanya or Muruga, son of Shiva

“Close your eyes and ask Iguthappa whatever you want ..If you have faith, you will get the same,” says Kush Bhatt adding that centuries ago, Shiva and Subramanya came here and loved the hills so much that they decided to settle down here . The temple is known to feed anyone who comes here and all pilgrims offer food, not money to the deity . “Iguthappa told the people of Coorg that you will never go hungry as long as Im here and if you accept me as your God, ” explains Kush Bhatt. Some call him a saint, some say he is one of the four brothers who settled in the hills around the area. But despite the legends, every festival of the Kodavas starts with the invocation of Iguthappa and the  most important festival of the temple is Tulabharam .

We go to the another Iguthappa temple in Naljee, inside a forest through a lush coffee plantation . There is not a soul around and it is peaceful just listening to the sounds of the forest. These monuments are probably lost to the average tourist , but as a traveler, I realize that one finds sanctity in the silence around them

Club Mahindra has a wonderful resort in Coorg and make sure you get an experience of mystical Coorg when you visit them next

The summons arrive on the mobile and we are hurriedly on our way to keep up our date with the tiger in the forests of Corbett . It is our second attempt out there to meet the most coveted denizen of the jungle, having spent an entire day in the wilds . But the tiger probably was aware that almost 20 vehicles would be entering through the Jhirna zone for a rendezvous. So it left us high and dry, leaving behind its pugmarks as we saw several jeeps bringing in all types of tourists including international students who would break into a jig at the very sight of even a deer. We did see several birds, butterflies and smaller mammals, but for the “tiger tourists”, the sightings were just not enough.

Today , however as we board our jeeps, there is a feeling of hope. It is an auspicious moment, as the Bijrani Gate of the Jim Corbett National Park is to be opened  today ,months after the monsoons. The other gates, am told are still closed.

As we drive away in the darkness, hoping for an encounter,  we have no idea  what is in store for us .The experience begins at the government office in Ramnagar.. A couple of members from our group are already waiting there for the last hour to get the requisite permits and documents for the safari. I am told it’s a bit of luck and some push here and there. Then we see the never ending queue for the permits. And that is when I learn a bit about the trappings of tiger tourism . We wait there for what seems like hours.

Finally there are smiles all around as we make our way to the gate. And then the never ending wait begins as another 20 odd jeeps queue up around. Dawn breaks and the sunlight filters as restlessness sets in. The drivers exchange notes and the topic of discussion veers around the recent strike by the forest guides who are demanding more rights. “In fact “says my driver “the opening of the gates was postponed by a few days because of the strike. “  I ask him why we are still waiting and he says some officials have to come.  We laugh wondering if there is some form of an opening ceremony and to my surprise, a television crew lands . The interviews with the officials are on ; the cameraman takes some footage of us , sleepy eyed and hungry waiting to enter the national park . And finally after more teas and pakodas, the green signal is given and after almost a couple of hours wait,  we enter the national park

The sunlight filters through the tall sal trees as we drive along the safari route of this deciduous forests, squinting through the dense foliage . The naturalist in our group Karthikeyan Srinivasan keeps us engaged , spotting birds , spiders and small mammals.  . Corbett he says has about 600 species of birds, of the 1200 recorded in India. We spot a mongoose , while our friends see the rare yellow throated marten ,besides langurs and deer . But then the tiger, probably having spotted the jeep load of tourists, has again moved on , leaving its footprints on the sands of time. As we head back, the birders in our group are happy , but the tiger tourists are a tad disappointed .

As for me, Corbett is more to do with the man,  Jim Corbett himself than about the tigers he hunted .Corbett National Park, the oldest in India was earlier known as Hailey National Park before it took the name of the famous naturalist, author of several books. And having grown up on his “Man eaters of Kumaon,” I saw the villages and the forests vividly in front of my eyes, as I had imagined while reading the book.

My favourite memory of Corbett is visiting his house, now a museum in Kaladhungi,  walking around it, looking at the paintings and imagining him being on call from villagers when a man-eater struck in their hamlets. And as I walk away , his words remain in my mind .. “A tiger is a large-hearted gentleman with boundless courage and that when he is exterminated – as exterminated he will be unless public opinion rallies to his support – India will be the poorer by having lost the finest of her fauna. “

However, I am sure,  I will get a glimpse of  this “large hearted gentleman “someday in the forests .

This story was published in The Hindu Metro Plus as a part of the author’s column, Inside Story. The author was part of the Bloggers’ Meet in Corbett. For details regarding the resort, please visit here

At the Fort Museum, one can see maps and illustrations which documents the evolution of the fort and settlement over the centuries.

The Fort initially took about 14 years to build and was designed as a squarish structure with canons in the corners

Towns evolved around the fort – a white town within the town and the Indian or Black Town outside its walls

Some of the streets and monuments are seen even till date . The St Mary’s  Church for instance is one of the oldest structures in Fort St George that you can visit even today. It is said that Robert Clive got married in this church which houses several tombs and memorials

Today Fort St George is open to the public and on the occasion of Madras Day, there are several heritage walks held in the area. It is a pleasure to walk down the streets which still bear the original names and look around some of the structures that exist still date. For more details visit the official website of the Madras Day.

which gives the city a bit of its history. As we drive through this ancient village that dates back to the 6^th century reign of the Gangas , we see rampant construction everywhere , threatening to erase its cultural ethos . We are in search of an old inscription, which historians believe records one of the very first  mentions of  the place , “ Bengaluru , “ way back in 900 AD.bbb

As I enter the main street of the village, driving past the lake , I see the locals gathered in front of the 1000 year old Panchalingeshwara temple . A bright yellow  chariot is getting ready for a temple festival . The flower sellers  are making a brisk business , as a few devotees throng the old temple,  built during the Gangas and Chola dynasties . The oldest of the shrines is the Nageswara temple and the remaining four , Nagareshvara, Karneshvara, Choleshvara and Kalikamateshvara were added later.

We walk around the temple compound  and find several Veerakal or hero stones scattered around – some depicting scenes from chieftain Nagattara’s life and death . I learn from Girish,the head priest that one of them which documents the chieftain’s death is now in the Bangalore museum.

I look for the inscription that refers to Bangalore and find it lying in the open along with some broken hero stones. The reference to the city is however in a violent context  . Meera Iyer from INTACH, Bangalore explains, “ It speaks of a  Battle of Bengaluru fought around 900 AD which resulted in the deaths of Nagattara’s son Buttana-setti and  his ‘house-son’ Pervona-setti .” She also tells me about another inscription found near the fort that speaks of  Nagattara’s daughter who fasted to death through a Jain ritual called sallekhana .

I look for some majestic citadels ,but find the remnants of an old fort in some crumbled mud walls ,  a stone entrance with some pillars that serve as an “ adda” for the villagers , while the kids play cricket inside . Two old temples , a well and some more inscriptions and carvings contrast with the high rise constructions that seem to be coming up around the village .

I hear about a Jain Basti close by and ask the locals who give me a blank look. Finally a few people take us to a small patch of land amidst  a residential colony where a headless Teerathankara, possibly referring to Mahaveera and another idol of Parshwanatha lie in the undergrowth . We also find another  small idol in front of a house near the temple and learn that it has been around for more than 100 years.

We walk a bit more and realize that the connection between Begur and Bangalore seem to be lost in the wake of modernization that seem to rob not just Begur’s but even Bangalore’s identity and heritage .

This story was published in the author’s column, Inside Story in The Metro Plus, The Hindu

The book that is being read and reviewed today says just that – Just look up and see  the magic in the trees around you . I did just that this morning . As I walked around my house in Bangalore , the flowers were in full bloom and the colours refreshing. There was so much drama around as the squirrels chased each other and the birds were flitting around.

Author Sadhana Ramchander is no academician and yet her childhood love for gardens and trees has urged her to write the book . She says that it all started when she worked with her children’s school in creating nature and tree walks and when she realized that its not just the kids, but adults like us who have forgotten to look up and enjoy the beauty around us. Armed with a camera, she went about photographing trees and flowers and collected little details and trivia about them and lo – the book was born . A simple book , but a wonderful effort nevertheless that enriches our minds and creates awareness about the world of flora that surrounds us .

Just Look up is more than just a ready reckoner of more than 20 common trees in urban sprawls. It has got a foreword by Bittu Sehgal , Editor , Sanctuary Asia and photographs by the author , Sadhana and Karthikeyan Srinivasan , Chief naturalist , Jungle Lodges .What really fascinates me about the book are the little nuggets and snippets , the lovely pictures and beautiful detailing .There is the fiery gulmohar, the golden Indian Labarnum, the raintree, the coral bead tree , whose beads were my precious collection throughout childhood, the sandalwood,the banyan, the badminton ball, the pink trumpet tree, the tree of gold , the jacaranda among others in this collection.Although Sadhana has referred to the trees in Hyderabad and Bangalore , most of these are found in almost all cities

I am not very good with names and even as a kid failed thoroughly with the botanical and zoological names . But trees have always forged a deep relationship with me. I grew up with fruit and flowering trees around my home in Madras and even today, some of them still remain. But ask me on the names and I will shake my head. The book is like a field book for dummies like me . In this slender paperback, the gardens open out to you as you read every page ..Next time you look up , see the riot of colours and the drama that they enfold everyday .
If you are interested in buying the book, you can pick it up online as well.

A longer version of this story was published this month in a Delhi based travel magazine,Terrascape