Wednesday 20 July 2011

Blog revival attempt: Nashik

Long, long ago, a divine prince from Ayodhya, accompanied by his chaste wife and loyal brother, clocked in at Nashik for about 14 years. Legend has it that this stay at Nashik, some call it exile, was purely at the whim of the former's step-mother who insisted that he undertake an extended outbound training programme (OBT) in the jungle.

One day, along came Surpanakha, wandering through the woods, lost in romantic frenzy, her heartstrings twanged by the forest's rhapsody and birdsong. Smitten by the handsome prince, she proposed matrimony to him pronto; without bothering to 'look him up' first and completely ignoring the possibility that he could  be already-married. Of course, matrimonial websites were not in vogue in those days, neither were social networks. One sympathises with the lady in question regarding such anachronistic aspects.
But alas, her ill-timed haste unleashed fury in the prince's brother: He promptly sent her back to Lanka with a quick nosejob, swording off the respiratory organ.

"History's first documented nosejob", if one may claim so.
Skeptics refute this claim, notable among them being an ex-Chief Minister of Tamil Nadu, who had earlier highlighted credibility issues of the said prince's engineering acumen, and now calls into doubt, his brother's medical/surgical skills... I digress...

Anyway, the nosejob is what gave Nashik its name, but it is not what I'm driving at, mind you. What puzzles me is this:  If such a place on earth could blind a lady into a lethally romantic trance, causing her to make such tactless moves, then clearly, History lacks a first-hand travelogue on Nashik from her part.

A couple of appreciative verses on Nashik could have been expected from Fa Hien or Hiuen Tsang, the 2 Chinese travellers whose names our history textbooks are awash with. But sadly, it looks like they missed it out on their itinerary, blame it on their emperor's frugal travel budget sanction or their measly Outdoor Duty Allowance or whatever. Experts are still probing the subject, in case you were wondering.

Another intriguing thing is, Fa Hien seems to be so well-known in India. In his home country, China, however, people are disposed to draw blank faces at the mention of his name. Fa Hien's vivid travelogues on India and lively depictions on the culture and life of its people have immortalised him here. One supposes that his praises of a foreign land were not very well-received at home. I mean, who is to say... if one digs through Chinese history, one might unearth travelogues on China by Indian travellers like a Sankaran Kutty, or for that matter, an Amit Travelwallah. One ponders at the plausibility.

Seeing that I have digressed yet again (and that you, the hon. reader, are still here on this page) I shall make another attempt at a birdie on the topic, and thereby, a feeble attempt to fulfill Fa Hien's mission and establish my rightful place in history

So, as I mentioned somewhere in the middle of those rants, Nashik is indeed a beautiful place, with its pleasant climate, typical bazaars and galis, charming people, lush green vineyards, mighty hills and indefatigable autorickshaws fitted with Dolby® Digital Surround EX™ and also about 15 fully-grown adults.

Having said so much about Nashik in just one sentence, let me proceed to tell you that for the last 9 months, I have shied away from updating this forgotten blog of mine because of the fabulous weekend bike-trips we, my friends and self, have been having.
Starting with late-winter, our weekend bike-trips have spanned across spring and summer and are currently in their monsoon phase. Unlike in Kerala or elsewhere in the tropics, a change of season can completely change the colour of the landscape in these parts, both literally and figuratively. Our explorations of the local geography have been highly gratifying.

The countryside to the north, west and south of Nashik is bejeweled with mighty hills, rolling meadows, a wealth of lakes and dams and vineyards. The shade of vegetation goes from green-brown in late-winter to golden-brown at the peak of summer, occasionally dotted by vibrant colours of bougainvilleas, coral jasmines and palash flowers that blossom in the spring.
As one trudges along the winding roads, one might see bullock carts loaded with produce; fields of sunflower, cabbage and tomato; pumpkin cartons lying about for collection, women huddling around a village well, artfully balancing colourful plastic pots on their waists; a little boy herding playful goats; horses grazing on the dry turf; taxis stuffed with villagers in every possible nook and cranny; children rushing out after their mid-day meal at school, gaily welcoming the man who brings them cotton candy on a bicycle; or even an old man waiting all by himself at a bus-stop, revealing his skinny legs, making one wonder how he manages the strength to stand at all.

Come monsoons, and this land turns magical. If one could imagine a wand being waved over the place, transforming the place from golden to velvet green as it sweeps, that would be it. Except for the fact that mist sails into the picture, adding that finishing touch to the portrait.
Riding in the rains is, no doubt, a most relaxing pastime. The sheer spread of greenery would work wonders in uplifting your spirit, to mention nothing of the exhilarating valley views, monsoonal waterfalls that garland whole hillocks, secretive mountain-tops that hide amidst the mist, lakes that resemble unpolished sapphires in the clouded sunlight, the rollicking breeze that showers you with its play-pearls and the mere bliss that arises from hearing the pitter-patter of rain and the raw smell of the earth!


If it were not for the ghastly Aloo preparations that occasionally bring about great intestinal suffering, Nashik is a beautiful town to live and revel in. There's a wonderful charm to the place.
What would life be without the Western Ghats, I often wonder!


Credits: The possibility of an Indian traveller, 'Sankaran Kutty', sent abroad as an ambassador was originally suggested by Shrijith V Nair during one of our many intellectual discourses on nothing-in-particular