MOL_Where the Mountain Stories Are: Of Having Lived in the Nilgiri Mountains
4 years of staying in altitudes above 2000 metres has had a life long effect on me. While the work was phenomenal, it was the place that held me like a magnet and continues to do so today.
But the memories of those years remains etched in me and while we speak of living in the mountains, maybe I could also recall my days of living in the mountains.
Personal life and work was intermeshed and yet separate in this unique space I was in. And the world around me was bubbling with sounds and sights.
Without much ado, many mornings would be a walk on the road. How far I walked and in which direction was a matter of debate but I did end up seeing a bit of the immediate neighbourhood during those years.
Postscript - Everything is changed. Only houses along our old road. The spirit of the bus stand remains the same and much of Ramchand square also retains its new/old world charm, but the changes happen as we traverse the peri-urbans of what is now the city of Kotagiri.
Living up there, mornings would be a walk, either to the left, through the village, beyond the bushes, till the curves and beyond the waterfall. Or I could take a deviation and walk till this mysterious tea estate that seemed to the the end of the road. Sometimes, I would imagine taking the parallel road on a ridge to the left. The village, still nameless, moved with me as I reached the end of the road and almost upon the waterfall. What was this village, I always wondered.
My walks would turn around for the hours would extend beyond normal allotments, a couple in the morning and a couple in the evening.
But on other days, I would turn right and walk straight up or take the long winding road and walk all the way up to the office, often wash the bike and then come rolling down the hill. On other days, I would park the bike and take in the Kotagiri skyline. Often, turning towards Cintra and wondering what finally happened to the nature's automated refrigeration system.
Much of the morning went in walking and then getting ready for office.
it was a typical hill house. The toilet was slightly outside, the kitchen had a fireplace, the house was chilly at all times, the garden overgrew every few days and our well had a mind of its own. The roof was where the warmth came but sitting on it would also mean half the village looking at you. Why, because we were atleast 30 metres below the road level and directly on the line of sight.
Postscript - Now, more than enough houses mean that our old house is far below the road, both literally and physically.
But soon, we would get ready and bike up to the office. A normal office day would begin and if we are not going to the field, it would start with work, some talks, some walks, more work, some talks, some reads and some tea, a lot of jostling for lunch, a great evening tea and then a walk or bike back home.
On other days, there would be holidays or our life during the day was filled with adventures. Such days were aplenty as well.
Such was my life in the hills. Walks, work and I forgot, a lot of crazy gardening.
