And Then, The Cashew Tree Shed a Dozen Leaves

Bejewelled, in Green


Ratnagiri is like Sri Ragam from the vocal chords of the maestro of Maharajapuram. The showers that add bliss to beauty is akin to the Kunnakkudi magician in accompaniment. Ratnagiri has given me the bliss of a lifetime, amidst all that nature could do to me on my way back home from somebody’s Mumbai to someone else’s Trivandrum. It’s just Entharo Mahanubhavulu reverberating inside me as I visualize the bejeweled mountain range as the dream maiden decked up in lush green.

Ratnagiri is nature’s golf course. From start to the horizon yonder, it’s all green - curvy and smooth. Laidback and lustful, she lies on her back inviting my gaze as I perch precariously inside a rickety MSRTC people mover. Who all should I thank for gifting me this experience of a life time? Gratitude is due to the Konkan Railway, to buddies Sangeetha and Anirudh, the rain gods, my mindset and the power within that makes me dream.

It all happened on a Sunday afternoon, en route to Padmanabha’s own land from the land of the aged Tiger. From a land where dreams are made and then marred beyond redemption, I start my journey back to the lovely space called home. Netravati, though not a charmer as the name suggests, has been mandated to ferry me back to that space I come back to wherever I go.

A sleepless night on the upper berth of the steel enclosure bearing the number 10, had been orchestrated with the enviable camaraderie of the three worldly-wise Gujarati grannies from Mumbai and the occasional fart and belch of a Malayali gent from Mumbai. Somewhere in the wee hours, good old Netravati ground to a halt. Word spread there is a case of flooding in the tracks somewhere ahead. The train chugged again a bit to slam the brakes one final time at a station in Maharashtra. Ratnagiri!

The public address system at the station screamed out in three different languages on our next course of action. We are being transported in 30 buses to a station called Advali (Hats off to Konkan Railway officials for being there for the passengers when they really needed them). Armed with just a backpack, I wasn’t hassled. But it wasn’t so for the innumerable passengers with tonnes of baggage. Kids, aged men and women and families all were skeptical about the whole process waiting to happen.

So, we were in the bus. The real story gets scripted from here. Away from the town, as we sailed along Ratnagiri’s hinterland roads, it was paradise yonder. Ratnagiri opened before me nature’s cutest nest. All green, and watered by incessant drizzle. Small streams metamorphosing into waterfalls as they reach a cliff made me thirst for the nectar of the hills. Life giving they must have been. Except for the asphalt tarmac that led to Advali, everything around me was green. Even the rocks were so, with an attire of moss. Young school children were there at certain points waiting for their school vans, and they looked immensely fresh, as would have been the angels. I envied them, for I was on my way to a mad city where innocence is passé. Here’s a jeweled hill top where the angels tread. Call it love at first sight. The love boosters lay spread across the greenery, making me lust for more.
Wonder why people flock to capital cities where green is something you relate only with professional jealousy and back stabbing. Green is this - life too. I would want to come back to my Ratnagiri. Somebody’s Mumbai and somebody else’s Trivandrum have just given me rotten green, I realize. I am jealous. I’m envious of the angels that tread these beautiful meadows all day and night! Wait for me Ratnagiri. I’ll come back to you, some day. Stay green, as always. My heart continues to stream along with Maharajapuram and Kunnakkudi’s celestial musicians -- antariki vandanamulu… entharo mahanubhavulu.