Big Foot's Big Walkathon

There are sportspeople, there are fit people, there are outdoorsy people, and then there’s me. Happy that I wasn’t crushed to death in a near-stampede (There are no tracks in a nature trail, I learnt), I almost forgot I was supposed to join the horde! Like I said: Big Foot's Big Escapade or 'Escape'ade? Then, as if I ruled that trail, I simply walked my way through, along with a few other aunties, uncles and kids. I was going to make it a cakewalk… well, a walk, anyway. I am pretty sure, I heard my Puma running shoes groaning in disgust.

Nonchalant to the fact that this is a “run”, I simply put one big foot in front of the other, walking as slowly as you could possibly imagine. I looked right to see a rivulet gurgling past pebbles and stones. I looked left to see acres and acres of coffee plantations. I looked straight ahead and saw no participants (thanks to my amazing speed). I looked back and saw, much to my amusement, that I was on par with oldies and kids.

It was as I paused at the rivulet to watch it slithering past, gurgling away like a happy baby, that I remembered why I had signed up for that trail run at all. It was as I walked past plantations after plantations that I remembered why I had let go of my introversive instincts in the first place. It was as I let my shoes and socks get wet in a stream we were to cross, that I remembered why I had chosen to let Mother Nature get the better of me.

About forty minutes into the trail, a while before I had to climb a steep hill, a few crew members of the organisers handed out glucose packets and water. When a foodie says glucose tastes like manna from the heaven, you can imagine the extent to which their body must have dried out! Well… I don’t know about the others, but it certainly had a great impact on my energy, at least until it began wearing off as I climbed, slipping every now and then, one of the Chomakundu Hills.

I wondered if I would get to the top and back alive at all; my sweat-beads had long turned into sweat-sea. But I guess I had a writer’s gumption then: I was there in pursuit of my favourite muse – Mother Nature, and I was going to get all of her, one way or another! At the back of my mind, even as I climbed like a snail, almost on all fours, I wondered how I would describe the walk, the crawl, and the hilltop view. I had no clue; only a small voice uttered (with as much difficulty as I climbed) “breathless”. I stifled a laugh; I didn’t want the aunties and uncles around me to think the trail had unhinged me!

Once atop the hill, though, the Bilbo in me stirred and took full flight. The ‘Misty Mountains’ track, from The Hobbit movie, played in my mind. My big, ugly feet tingled, as I set my eyes upon the landscape: there she was in all her lush beauty, my Mother Nature, the one who is the ink in the pen, the rhyme in the poem, the word for this smith…

Photo credit: Sindhu Rao & Flash Bulbzz Photography

Big Foot's Big 'Escapade' or... 'Escape'ade?

Every time I force-open my eyes from a slumber, I feel like I am destined to die from lack of sleep. Every bone in my body protests and my feet, mysteriously, become extra heavy.

The morning of the big run was no different. When I looked into the mirror while brushing, I might as well have been a puffy-eyed corpse that had slept the night in King’s Cottage, a homestay in Kakkabe, Coorg. Even 7AM does no good to my sanity, let alone 5AM!

But the run would start at 7.30 from near Chelavara Falls, and participants were to report at 6. Naturally, my body had to give in to the trauma of waking up at 5. And so, I dragged my corpse-like body along and sat, mum as a graveyard, in the taxi as the driver drove me to the starting point of The Coorg Escapade. 

When the trigger on the gun was finally pulled as an indication to start, I merely stood out of harm’s way as a horde of eager, well-toned-bodied, sportspeople made their way, rushing into the trail... 

Big Foot's Big Love for Nature

I may have big feet, but they don’t really bring out the sportsperson in me…

I may travel, but I never really get outdoorsy…

When I make a trip, I have only two purposes – one to go in search of myths, legends, folklores, just about any kind of stories, another to gather my thoughts while I bask in the beauty of nature. In fact, those purposes are so strong in me, that when I travel for mere fun, it is oddly unfulfilling!

So when I told my parents I was taking off to Coorg, yet again, merely a week after I was back from my first solo trip, and that too, to run a trail of sorts, they were dumfounded. Here I was, their never-a-sports-girl-always-locked-up-in-her-room-writing-something daughter, suddenly announcing my interest in wanting to “run a 10K nature trail” 

that Amway Nutrilite was conducting in Coorg on a Sunday.  

You see, my interest in this activity all rested on the ‘nature trail’ part of it. The ‘run’ part barely mattered. But just in case, I did practise a one hour walk-and-jog (more walk than jog) exercise in the night in the preceding week. And my muse for this unexpected enthusiasm for a 10K run? The trail that was to be run: amidst coffee plantations, past waterfalls, crossing rivulets, climbing steep and rocky hills… And no, none of these brought out any kind of sportsmanship in me; they simply teased the writer in me, making my eyes yearn to see them all.

After my Big Foot and Big Bore episode and my Big Foot Spirit episode, I didn’t quite know where to place Coorg as I had barely seen it. But with this nature trail run dangling, tantalisingly, like a carrot, in front of my eyes, it seemed like Coorg wasn’t done with me, after all…

The Big Foot Review I - Coorg O Farm Homestay

A view of one of the cottages at the homestay

Some places are meant to bring out the explorer in you. Some places are meant to bring out the leisurely creature in you. And Coorg O Farm Homestay belonged to the latter category. Far far away from the humdrum of metro living, nestled amidst a coffee plantation in Coorg, this homestay is for those who want to catch up with their reading, writing, eating, walking, smelling the incessant rain and other small pleasures of life. 

Room: 4/5

Interiors of a room 

Basic, clean, neat.

With TV, large double bed, dressing mirror, attached bathroom, torch, and mosquito coil.

Food: 3/5

The homestay's dining quarters

Basic, hygienic, well-cooked.

Tomato soup, coffee and tea, and dosa are great.

Ambience: 3.5/5

A view from the porch at the room

Coffee plantation, small agricultural land.

Great for sipping on coffee and reading your favourite novel at your room’s porch.

Location: 1/5

Two attached cottages with a common porch

Not very conveniently located; most tourist places and trekking areas are far away.

If you are looking for absolute cut-off from the rest of the world, this place can be your silent haven.

Value for money: 3.5/5

A view of the plantation from the homestay's dining quarters

A room costs Rs.2,500 for a couple, and about Rs.1,700 for a solo traveller, and includes breakfast and unlimited coffee and tea. The room is very well-kept, with a good TV connection, and the bathroom has 24X7 hot water. Moreover, the porch makes for your own tranquil space at your room, with a view of the coffee plantation and the agricultural land. So, it is reasonably priced. 

A vegetarian meal costs Rs. 250, and a non-vegetarian one Rs. 300. While the food is basic at its best and well-cooked, it is a tad over-priced as the “meal” doesn’t really feel complete. Also, there is no ingenuity in the cooking; all that fresh produce from the plantation (guava and jackfruit grow in abundance at this place) is going to waste. The cooking need not be extravagant, but it can easily be special: using that produce and making some local delicacy would be a good start.

Overall rating: 3/5

The homestay is decent, with a very amicable host, Deepak, and his cooks and helping boys follow suit. It is only because of the average food and inconvenient location that I have given this homestay 3 out of 5 points. Otherwise, if the food were better, it can easily score a 4.

RELATED POSTS:

Big Foot and Big Step

The Big Foot Blank Page

The Big Foot Solitude - II

The experience of going solo is sometimes mightier and more important than the destination itself. It does not even matter if you got around to doing everything on your bucket list while at the destination; the fact that you managed a solo trip in itself can feel like a huge achievement. The top most benefit of a solo holiday is finding out that you can do it! You will find that you are stronger and more capable than you think. 

It’s what one of my freelance writers (I work as a sub-editor for an English daily) wrote in an article about the joys of solo travel.

It has struck a chord with me. I might not have made an epic journey. I might not have made a holiday worth being carried in travel magazines. I might not have made an adventurous trip. Just because I went solo, it didn’t make it a grand escapade.

But I learnt a lot from this trip. Things that I probably knew deep down, but never really considered. Things that I probably never expected to learn. Things that I probably snubbed as pish-posh, previously…

I am not afraid of being alone

Well, I have always been someone who loves solitude, as you may have gathered from my Big Foot Solitude post. But spending three nights and four days in an unfamiliar place, all alone, called for a whole new set of solitude dynamics. It meant I had to be on guard all the time. It meant I had to find something to do when I wasn’t exploring the place. It meant I was solely responsible for the schedule and planning of the trip. It meant that I was mostly in control of the outcome of the trip.

I am not afraid of the dark

Well, I knew I was never scared to walk around in the dark even when no one was home. But I never knew I wasn’t scared being alone in a room at a homestay in Coorg, even when the power was gone! I never knew I would just switch on a torch and continue reading a novel in the dead of night, when power was gone, and I could hear insects chirping away to glory amidst a coffee plantation.

I gel well with the opposite sex

Well, I have never had many guy friends and I had no clue I could actually be comfortable talking to guys while on a solo trip! It was as I sat in my short shorts and drank a couple of Breezers with the homestay host, Deepak, discussing the Game Of Thrones series, that I realised I can be friendly and unawkwardly with male acquaintances, too. I, who hides in my room when relatives come home.

I cannot afford too many solo trips

Well, following your passion means, more often than not, you don’t get to make much money. Being a writer and editor, even if it is at a leading English daily, is no way to fund your solo trips, especially when you are a compulsive money-saving freak. The room tariffs that are usually aimed at couples or groups are not very solo-travel friendly, and even when you strike a bargain, it’s not budget-friendly. And you’ve just got to eat like a pauper for fear of having no one to share your food with, and spending a bomb on it anyway!

The Big Foot Spirit

The non-stop chiming of Nagavalli’s anklets in my mind should have been a foreshadowing of what was to come, but the fantasy-loving fool that I am, I assumed it was my mind conjuring her up for my entertainment. So, I just let her dance away the 45 minutes’ drive, all the way from Gaddige Fort to Mandalpatti. 

My tour-guide-cum-homestay-host, Deepak, was playing the driver for me again (isn’t he a gracious host?), and even bought the tickets, for us and his teen nephew who had accompanied us, from a small make-shift ticket counter at the foot of the hills. We were to take a jeep with a driver and ascend the winding slopes of Mandalpatti. The jeep we were to hop into was, to put it politely, antique, and the road was, to put it understatedly, bumpy.

Only as the guards opened the gate to the hills and the jeep tried to speed up, did I notice that I could no longer hear anklets. But before I could so much as ponder over the dancer’s sudden disappearance, the jeep threw me up and down, left and right, all in a fast and non-stop sequence. My shoulder bumped into the front seat on the right side, my head bobbed onto the metal body of the jeep’s top, and my legs swept the floor of the jeep in apparently lifeless movements. Have you watched the movie The Exorcist? I pretty much felt a ghoul had entered my body and was throwing me around with vengeance!

Perhaps I was paying the price for pursing my lips at the boring tomb. Perhaps I was being challenged for turning my back on it and paying my attention to the carvings on the walls that protected it instead (not that the royal bones and dust under the concrete floor ‘tomb’ needed protecting). Perhaps I was being taught a lesson for planning to title my blog post ‘Big Foot and Big Bore’ in honour of the King’s mortal remains.

Well, it was surely exciting, albeit bruising to various parts of my body, and oh my… what a scenic view… even as the ghoul threw the jeep to the very edges of the unprotected hills, I couldn’t help but gape in awe of this partially cloudy, partially green, partially muddy vista. On reaching the top of the hills, the howling of the wind seemed to confirm my doubts that it was indeed a ghoul that threw me about. Anyway, without a doubt, I could see that Mandalpatti is every picnicker’s paradise, not counting the ghoul I carried there.

And just as I was planning on trekking a trail on the opposite hillock, the heavens gave way and the clouds grumbled in agreement. The skeletal face of Doddaveerarajendra, under
Raja’s Tomb, seemed to be smirking in my direction…

Big Foot and Big Bore

I had never visited any tomb or monument [courtesy: my parents who barely ever made trips], as a child. So when I finally took off as a solo traveller to Coorg, I decided I should go see one. An hour’s drive from the Coorg O Farm Homestay in Chembebeloor later, I landed my big feet at the Gaddige Fort (Raja’s Tomb) in Mahadevpet. 

I really hadn’t seen any other tombs to compare this nondescript place with. The old, yet, kind of pretty yellow buildings were rather common place, although I did note that they were built in the Indo-Saracenic or Hindu-Gothic style. Well, they certainly looked gothic, alright; I could almost hear Nagavalli’s haunting anklets to the male vocalist’s tha-jum-tha-jum beats, from the famed Ra Ra track of the Kannada film, Apthamithra.

Wondering where to start, I just walked on and found the main building (I figured that out because that was the only one with open doors; the others seemed locked away for good). Leaving my slippers outside, I walked up the few stairs and into the sanctum of ‘Raja’s Tomb’. 

A black granite stone tablet lay resting against the wall, next to an archway leading to the heart of the tomb that lay in darkness and abandon; it contained the history of the tomb – nothing of much interest though. It just said that the 19^th century King Doddveerarajendra lay buried there, as bones and dust, along with his wife (unnamed; shows the lack of importance and respect placed on women, back then), and his son, Chikkaveerarajendra. The two other buildings, that were on either side of this one, held the mortal remains of the king’s royal priest, Rudrappa, and the royal official Biddanda Bopu, who had died fighting Tipu Sultan, and Biddanda’s son, Biddanda Somiah. 

The “tomb” was merely a concrete floor with an ornate lamp hanging over it from the ceiling. And that was it. That was the tomb. I realised that my mind playing the Ra ra, sarasaku ra ra track was more interesting than these “royal” remains. But when I got out of the building, I noticed a symbol etched at the top of the doorway. It was the Kannada letter for ‘v’. Apparently, this happened to be the King’s signature, something he had had inscribed on all the royal properties to mark his rule – an ancient logo, if you will. 

The carvings made on this building were more interesting than the King’s royal remains. These certainly weren’t as refined as the famous temple carvings we have known, but they were kind of fantasy-oriented. Whether or not they depicted some mythical story, I do not know, but they sure got the attention of 

the crazy fantasy fiction fan in me.

Of all the things I have seen and done (and I’m quite a boring person, really), this “royal” tomb, perhaps, deserves “the most boring” crown. As for the haunting danseuse, Nagavalli… she didn’t stop dancing in my mind that whole day…

The Big Foot Blank Page

All my life, I had believed, staunchly, that solitude is the Holy Mecca for a writer. That solitude is the Messiah of all writing prompts. That solitude is the Holy Grail for that much elusive muse. But the only thing I felt, upon placing my big feet on Coorg lands, was "blank".

I had pondered over several homestays for weeks, and had finally zeroed in on “Coorg Farm” in some area of Madikeri, called Chembebeloor. The host, himself, had offered to drive me all the way from the Mercara KSRTC Bus Station to his homestay, and I had, more than gladly, obliged. 

It was only as I slided onto his car seat, that I realised not only was I alone in an unfamiliar place, but also alone with a stranger. Oddly, I wasn’t nervous at all. I still felt only one thing: blank. And to be fair, Deepak seemed like a happy-go-lucky fellow and could have easily put any lone lady at ease with him.

As we drove past the lush fields, dense coffee plantations, and ever-winding roads, all I felt was still just that: blank. He made some friendly banter; I replied, I joked, I smiled. But within me, I was just blank. Some tiny part of my brain registered that something had changed about me in the last one week.

A silent and introvert Cancerian seemed to have put her head outside her shell suddenly, and had decided to sniff about. She sniffed about, but couldn’t quite comprehend the unfamiliarity. At least, not yet. For now, she felt blank. 

She had no urge to retreat into her shell though. Her Cancerian senses were tingling. Not from some kind of sixth sense, but from the depths of her tummy, rumbling with hunger. She wondered if the blankness was actually the emptiness of her stomach.

Upon reaching the homestay, however, the blankness took on a whole new meaning. It seemed as if Mother Nature had simply emptied my mind (and stomach) just so I could take in her splendour… Well, she certainly did make an empty page out of this writer. And so, I’m now an empty page, awaiting beautiful lines to adorn me...

Big Foot and Big Burp

My Big Foot and Big Step episode went just as I had expected it to. I broke the news of my solo trip to my parents. Mum searched my face for possible guilt of lying; she seemed to find none, so she was okay. Dad arched his eyebrows so high, I thought they might join the top of his almost-bald head. Mildly heated arguments and some grunting from my father later, I retired to my bedroom. Flushed with my success, I had a vindictive spark in my eyes and a Grinch-like smile on my lips. 

The day of my departure finally arrived, and I looked like a dreary zombie boarding the bus at 7AM. A long bus ride, as all of us know, makes most people throw-up left, right, and centre. But no, not me. I have a heart of gold, a tummy of steel, and a mind of brass. All my life, neither bus, nor car, nor even ghat-sections could make me retch, no matter how curvy or bumpy or fast a ride got. I’m the queen of travels. Or so I thought until this one solo trip I took to Madikeri, by bus…

For the first half an hour, I tossed and turned in my seat, unable to sleep and unable to stay awake. I was stuck in a dreary limbo of sorts. In the next half an hour, I wondered if the weird feeling in my chest was the reason for my state of limbo. And just as that thought hit me, my eyes snapped wide open, my back straightened up, my hands flew to my mouth as my tongue forced itself out. My teary eyes searched for the conductor, to motion to him for the “black cover” he was supposed to distribute, but my buttocks seemed glued to the chair!

The lady beside me asked gently, “Do you need a cover?” and I simply nodded. She got up and went to the front of the bus to ask the conductor for covers, and came back and handed one to me. I put my mouth inside it, but I didn’t retch. I burped. Burped loud enough for the whole silent bus to hear. Luckily, the two men on the other side seemed fast asleep, and the rest of the bus couldn’t see my face, but for this sweet, helpful lady. But embarrassment seemed to have abandoned me, and I almost smiled with relief, happy that I didn’t have to keep a cover full of puke in front of me.

And rather with too much bravado for someone who had almost thrown up, and just burped loudly, I extended my hand and introduced myself to the lady next to me. The cordial, and really sweet person that she was, Shalini didn’t so much as recoil from my hand of friendship. There are some things that just can’t help but foster friendships. And in my case, burping loudly, apparently, was one such thing.

Big Foot and Big Step

I’ve said this before, and I will say it again: Indian parents are an epitome of sexism and intense drama. In their eyes, a daughter is supposed to stay put at home.  If she so much as goes out with her girlfriends, they have only one fear – What if she has a boyfriend and what if she’s going out with him instead? 

Alright, maybe not ALL Indian parents. But mine are an epitome of the sexist and dramatic type, in epic proportions! Everytime I say I am going out, my mother’s hair stands up in a frizzy shock, and my father’s fat moustache gets ready to crackle with electricity. And then they slaughter me with innumerable number of questions (Where are you going? Who’re you going with? What time will you reach there? Will all three of your friends be there? What time will you be back? How are you going – auto or bus or two-wheeler?). No kidding. Some 
severe headache and dry mouth later (from 
answering all the questions separately to my 
father, mother, and granny twice or thrice each), 
I bolt from the house…

Today, I told my mother I am going for a lunch tomorrow with my girlfriends. The look on her face… You would think I kissed some ‘roadside-Romeo’ right in front her! Anyway, the last time I went on a trip with my girlies to Chikmagalur, my parents decided they should get me ‘married away’ after I came back (nice try, parents!). Well, as to what they might have assumed I was doing there, I will leave that to your imagination…

Now think of my torment if I’ve got to tell them that I’m going off on a solo trip to Coorg next weekend! Don’t you worry, I am gonna put my Big Foot down, and stand my ground, like I always have. You see, my choices, decisions, and actions in life ("big steps") have never been short of The Big Foot Battle. As for the encounter ahead... Well, let’s just say George Martin’s Westeros seems like a fairytale land to me right now.

The Big Foot Solitude

My Big Foot Dreams are aplenty. My eyes know no bounds when it comes to that genre of life. Maybe it’s got to do with being a writer… Maybe it’s got to do with being a cancerian… Maybe it’s got to do with being both (yeah, I take pride in being both)… I’ve always loved solitude. And for what seems like ages, I’ve always wanted to travel as a writer. Oh and not just travel as a writer, but travel alone as a writer.

Soaking in every moment…

Indulging in every movement…

The thoughts in my head pamper me the moment I’m all theirs and theirs alone. Then, my big feet notwithstanding, small and slow steps pave way for 
a symphonic rhythm of hazy ideas. And then that 
rhythm just eludes me until such time that it sees fit 
to return, when I’m solitary again. 

When your passion is god, and work worship, it possesses you. If your passion is writing, you are a writer at every moment, at every instance. A travel then is the Muse that possesses you, not wanting to let go until you love, adore, and worship Her in all Her grandeur. 

What matters then is only that chair in the corner claiming your presence. What matters then is only the travel reining your ink. What matters then are only the words blinding your worldly eyes. You don’t claim your writing; it claims you!

And in the buzz of all these grandiose feelings inside of you, those around you turn into mere blurry visions.
And you know you’ve just got to let your feet, big or small, take you alone. 

And you know you’ve just got to travel alone, and soon. 

And you know you’ve just got to write to please the Muse…       

  

Big Foot and Bicylce 'Bum'ps

The banks of the Kabini river is a gorgeous landscape to behold. You would think Oh, what a lovely feeling it must be to cycle along the riverside... Hold your horses! If you've been out of touch with your active side, you better tread that peddle with caution!

I saw that landscape cycling was on my itinerary and I headed out donning my sports shoe to show the cycle who's boss. I made my way to the bicycle rack, and requested the keeper to lend me one. And soon I was off happily peddling down the concrete slope, past the gates, and onto the mud track. I did my best to keep my feet on the peddles as the bicycle 
bumped my bottoms hard against the hard seat. 

Calling it a bumpy ride would be an understatement; the stone-ridden path to the river bank was nothing short of a spank-sport! But if I thought that was the difficult part of it, I was only being a pea-brain... A mere ten minutes along the banks and I was huffing and puffing as if I had delivered an obese baby! And to think I'm young... Never mind... 

I stopped at the edge of the river to enjoy the view of gazillion birds happily chirping and preening one another on the rocks amid the river. Some more huffing and puffing later, I decided the bicycle was the better boss after all, and made my way back. Uphill! Alright, "uphill" might be an exaggeration. But atleast it was up'land'. 

So what seemed like rivers of sweat and a near-wheezing syndrome later, I approached another part of the river banks where I set off the Big Foot versus Angry Birds battle yet again. Their indignant cawing and "did-you-do-its" didn't really help my love handles speed the cycle up. And that meant I would carry my heart in my mouth until I passed their territory safely. 

It took all the cholesterol in my body to keep myself peddling; sadly I didn't feel any lighter afterwards though. Some uneven tanning, near-breathlessness, and severe junk-craving later, I returned the bicycle to the keeper (who looked 
amused at my state), looking dead on my feet. 
I simply dragged my feet to the room and submerged 
in my private pool like a hippo.

Big Foot and Big Trunk

The ripples of the Kabini river made it look like a muddy red skirt playing to the gentle breeze blowing about. As I walked the path to the river, I could hear indignant cawing and "Did you do it"s. Oh dear... Not again... Seemed like the Big Foot Versus Angry Birds battle was still on... I faked a calmness I didn't feel and simply walked on.

A little further down the banks, and I could see Meenakshi – The Majestic. She lay in the shallow part of the river, with her mahout beside her, both patiently waiting for me to sit on her back. I entered the water, strutting. Queen like. Atleast until the water became too cold and deep for comfortable strutting.

Hesitantly, this scaredy queen approached Meenakshi closer. I slowly stretched a hand to pet her back and my, was she warm even in the coool breeze! Her face looked calm and gentle. Her mouth seemed to be curved in a smile, her trunk resting in the water. The light spots on her ears and trunk were a sign of her age and wisdom, and she was completely at ease with the river, the breeze, the mahout, the many people and animals watching her. Now who's the queen!

The mahout asked me to sit on Meenakshi's back for "a bath" and I hastily replied, "No, that's fine. I'm alright just petting her, see?" patting her hairy and warm back to prove it. The mahout insisted, lifting me bodily off the riverbed, and placing me on Meenakshi. For half a heart beat I thought I would hear her trumpet indignantly. Instead she simply flapped her ears more graciously. She is a lady, indeed.

"Madam, ready?" the mahout asked. But before I could so much as nod or open my mouth in answer, I heard him utter something very tongue twisty at Meenakshi. Some tiny part of my brain guessed it was perhaps Malayalam. Lady Meenu hailed from Kerala, apparently. At his request, she sucked in a trunkful of the muddy red Kabini water, threw her trunk backward at me and splashed a huge amount of it, enough to soak me wet in an instant. I squealed in delight, all my lady-like dignity forgotten. Meenakshi too seemed to be enjoying it, for she flapped her ears vigourously in acknowledgement and splashed another trunkful at me. So she went on for another three trunkfuls until her mahout requested her to stop. With some difficulty, I jumped off her back and pet her forehead. It was ever so satisfying to see her close her eyes at my touch.

It was her time to get a real pampering bath now, and her mahout obliged. I pet her one last time and then it was time for me to warm up quickly. The queen-like strutting lady smiled to herself as she walked back to her room. She happily smiled to herself at the spa-like treatment she had received in all its natural goodness. But that was only until she passed by the Did-You-Do-It birds again...

Big Foot versus Angry Birds

If you thought that sighting carnivores is the ultimate thrill you can get amid nature, think again. If you thought bird-watching is all about gluing binoculars to your eyes and speaking in hushed voices as you watch a bird nipping at a worm peacefully with its beak, you’ve only been bird-watching on television!

After a good night’s rest in nature’s lap, I signed up for a bird watching tour the next morning, and it turned out to be an adventure of sorts. As I and my co-travellers, guided by our OCK Naturalist, walked along the banks of the Kabini River, he pointed out to a certain bird at a distance and educated us that it was a red-wattled lapwing, commonly known as the “Did-you-do-it” bird. Now, there is no need to think too much, dirty mind! It is a mere reference to what their calls actually sound like. 

As we moved forward to get a closer look, we heard its “did-you-do-its” getting louder, and lo and behold, there were atleast four more of its kind chirping hysterically. What I saw next made my eyes pop, jaws drop, and heart almost stop: the birds were closing in above us at about 10 feet distance, in a closed circle formation. This, our Naturalist informed us, was what these birds did when someone was nearby their eggs.

Their paranoid “did-you-do-its” have a strange way of inducing guilt-like fear in your heart, trust me. I had half a mind to take cover and screech back “I didn’t do anything” at them! 

Just then, our naturalist mentioned that these birds were even known to peck humans if we strayed too close to their eggs. That did it. I walked my ugly big feet away from there, lest I be pecked by half a dozen real-life Angry Birds and turn a comic character in the eyes of Mother Nature!

After that action packed “bird-watching” session, we headed back to our “hut”, to luxuriate in our private pools before we went to have lunch. Little did we know we weren’t by ourselves; we had a visitor... A crow sat on a reclined chair overlooking our pool, happily nibbling a packet of roasted cashewnuts straight from the cover!

We had forgotten to shut the doors at our porch and living room, and nature had got the better of us! The crow had flown in, whether from the porch or from near the pool we do not know, and carried away one of the two complimentary packets of roasted cashews that was placed on the table in the living room.

Even as I decided to just let it be (in honour of my Big Foot Muse), the crow tilted its head, looked me in the eye and croaked. I do not know if or not it was thanking me for my so-called sharing, but I took that look to mean “snatch this packet and I’ll peck you!”

Delicious cashews they might be, but I had had enough experience with birds for one morning! I didn’t bother with shooing. I just let the crow nibble our cashews peacefully, as (s)he enjoyed the pool view, sitting on our reclined chair.