The morning had started with a monkey in my tea cup.
Our charming hotel room in a 19th century bungalow in Coonoor overlooked a sweeping expanse of lush green — fruit gardens, flower beds and the Nilgiris. There was a little balcony and wrought iron chairs so you could sit and drink your morning tea and listen to birds in peace.
Until the monkeys showed up.
As I watched from the doorway, the monkey shimmied down a pole, jumped onto the table, inspected my tea cup, and dunked its head right into the cup. It was clearly not its cup of tea for it bounded off into the trees where it was joined by the rest of its family leaving me to rescue my tea cup.
I was counting on Coonoor to be slow-paced especially since the summer holiday season was over. But I didn’t expect a monkey drinking my tea would be the big adventure of the day.
Other than the heritage Nilgiri Mountain Railway, there was nothing on the agenda — no ancient temples, no museums, no monuments. These were not the Himalayas, so there was no need to set the alarm to rush off to see the sunrise from some viewpoint. We could enjoy the clouds and mist swirling across the valley without worrying about a to-be or not-to-be sunrise the next morning.
There were no throngs of tourists, not even the ubiquitous Bengalis. As a Bengali, I felt like I had somehow crash-landed on an alien planet bereft of Bengali tour groups. That suited me fine. Coonoor was meant to be a misty escape, for a few days at least, from the reality of ghastly violence in Manipur, searing heatwaves in Europe and skyrocketing tomato prices.
A trip without an agenda
But a part of me was also nervous. I like planning. The prospect of empty time unnerves me. I had packed a couple of novels but surrendering to a trip without an agenda wasn’t easy. There were only a few things on the list — a tea factory and a couple of viewpoints like Dolphin’s Nose and Lamb’s Rock. At the viewpoints, a few newly-married couples posed while photographers hurried them along before the mist obliterated the view. A small child complained that he could not see any dolphin at Dolphin’s Nose.
The tea factory was a bit anti-climactic as a bored woman reeled off her spiel. The sample teas — elaichi, masala, milk and black — were underwhelming.
The spotty cellular coverage at the hotel meant I could not rely on even my usual online word games. After I complained to my service provider they called every day assiduously, sometimes more than once a day, without doing anything.
I worried I might just overdose on the greenery and the peace and quiet.
But then slowly Coonoor revealed itself. Its landmarks weren’t the Lonely Planet types — just the pleasure of a town without plastic bags and plastic bottles, the bakery with scrumptious varieties of homemade chocolate and luscious slabs of pineapple upside-down cake, and road signs that warned us of ‘Elephant Crossing’ though we saw no elephants.
The All Saints Church was shut tight but it gave us an excuse to explore its graveyard and read the marble tablets covered with pine needles — Maria Antony fell asleep, 16th April 1870. Jospeh Alfred, died 25th June 1851, aged 2 years, 1 month and 10 days.
Flaky parathas and tree hugs
Instead of rushing from one to-do item on the itinerary to the other, we could savour whatever we stumbled upon. Like a Wellington at the old Ramachandra Hotel — flaky paratha stuffed with minced meat accompanied by a bowl of mutton broth. Or a 150-year-old tree at the Sim’s Park with branches that looked ready to give you a hug.
On the last evening as we walked into town for a cup of coffee, the light was fading. It had been raining and there was still a fine drizzle. Suddenly, we saw a large dark shape looming ahead of us. Cow? I wondered. But it was a massive gaur just walking down the street in the gathering dusk. Up close you could see why it was the biggest bovine in the world.
“Very dangerous, sir,” said the man at the roadside vegetable stand as he mumbled “shoo, shoo” at the animal. Luckily, the gaur was not interested in his vegetables. We followed at a nervous, respectful distance since it seemed headed for our cafe. Approaching scooters skidded to a startled halt. The gaur ambled on unperturbed.
As it vanished into the darkness and we managed to reach our cafe un-gaured, I realised the day had started with a monkey in my tea cup and ended with a gaur on the way to coffee. More importantly, I realised sometimes it’s alright to just let the universe plan your day for you.
The writer is the author of ‘Don’t Let Him Know’, and likes to let everyone know about his opinions whether asked or not.
