Cauvery Fishing Camp (Without The ‘Fishing’)

For the sake of posterity, I must report that we took the kids to Cauvery Fishing Camp a couple of weeks ago. We’d taken them to Doddamakkali a year-and-a-half ago, when they were still too small to have enjoyed it much. This time we went to Bheemeshwari and they really did enjoy themselves.

Bheemeshwari is quite a bit nearer than Doddamakkali. We started around 8 a.m. and after a leisurely drive that included a break for a snack, we reached around noon. The kids played in some rubber rafts that were kept by the water’s edge, and then it was time for lunch. In the early evening, we went for a coracle boat ride. Unlike the usual such boat rides, which just take you around in a small area, this time we actually went downstream for a couple of km, and the water was quite fast. We have been whie-water rafting once, years ago, and this was nothing compared to that, but it wasn’t entirely placid either. There were sizeable waves, one of which swept right into the boat and wet a good part of Amit’s pants. Given that it was soon after the floods in North Karnataka, and that water level in the Cauvery was said to be still quite high – and, in fact, it appeared to be quite high, as we could see trees up to their knees in water, and roots of some of the massive old trees in the camp that we thought used to be above water were now submerged – I’m not sure how wise we were to go on this boat ride; but this was all part of the Jungle Lodges package, and they should know what they’re doing, so we didn’t worry too much about it. Besides, we all had our life jackets on… For whatever that was worth.

There was a jeep waiting to drive us back to the camp, but we decided to walk. They all thought we were crazy, and perhaps we were, but it was a comfortable walk of half an hour or so, and helped the kids work off some of their energy.

The bonfire that evening was very pleasant. It was too warm for a fire, but that didn’t seem to matter. We took a table some distance from the barbecue area, and the twins spent the evening running up and down ferrying food to the table and clearing away the used plates. I was amazed to see them go and ask the servers, coherently, for whatever they wanted. Amit had palpitations whenever the ran past the fire, logs from which jutted out in various directions, but they managed the evening without falling anywhere in the vicinity of the flames.

The next morning, we went for a mini trek. The guide allotted to us was visibly reluctant to lead us up the mountain path with the girls in tow. First he proposed a flat route, then, when I said no, we want to go to the watch tower on top of the hill, he led us a short way, then stopped and pointed up to where the watch tower stood. “Full teep” he said. It did look a formidable climb from there, but, having done it before, I knew it wasn’t that bad. Besides, after all the Himalayan treks we’ve done, I wasn’t going to be scared off a small hill like that, not even with the kids in tow. So we went on up the “full teep” path, holdin the twins hands and egging them on, and the guide took pity on them and led us up a route that eventually joined up with a jeep track and was quite as steep as advertised. We reached the tower in 40 minutes or so, and climbed the wet and slippery metal tower to the top. It was very misty, so we couldn’t see anything worth seeing, but it felt good to have made it that far with the kids. The descent, of course, was somewhat worse, but we made it without incident and were soon back at the camp seated at the breakfast table.

After breakfast, the girls had fun climbing the giant net and tackling the hammocks, and got scared by a monkey whom they rashly invited into the tent ‘for lunch’ and who appeared ready to take them up on their invitation. Then we all bathed and it was time to leave. Mrini kept us entertained during the early part of the car ride home by making up stories based on pictures in the books we keep for them in the car. She was amazingly good at it. She started each story with those hallowed words “once upon a time…” then she introduced some characters, usually monkeys, tigers or other wild animals, then she strung together 6-10 sentences about the characters, then she either trailed off, or ended with the other hallowed words, “happily ever after,” which, as she says it, would be written “happiligili after.” And on that happy note ended our first mini trek outing with our girls.

The Selfish Gene

It’s not Richard Dawkins’s book I’m referring to here; it’s me. I must be the most selfish person I have ever met. I’m so selfish that I actually enjoy traveling alone, because it means I get to do just what I want, when I want, how I want. I might not want to be this selfish all the time – like most things, I expect you enjoy it most when it’s a rare privilege – but once in a way I really like it.

I’m getting remarkably immune to all the funny looks and comments you get when people see you alone in a holiday kind of context. Of course, Goa is an easy place to be alone in that way; specially the kind of upmarket resort that I’m stayed in. People will largely leave you alone, and keep their questions and opinions to themselves. It’s not as easy in many other places I can think of.

This was also an extremely luxurious trip, by my standards. If I wanted to travel without the family because I wanted to enjoy the whole travel experience, then this is not quite the way to do it. I’d have to have a backpack, a local bus, and about one-tenth the budget of this trip for that. Heading into the Himalayas is of course always tempting, but I didn’t really come up with this whole plan early enough for that. Maybe next time.

Although, I don’t think I could bear it. Being away from the kids for that long, I mean. It was more difficult than I thought it would be just leaving the house without them. I didn’t even go into their room to say bye when I left in the wee hours of Thursday morning, because I didn’t want to disturb them. Of course, I had told them beforehand that I’d be away for a few days and I’d be back soon, and I think they understood that. But all the time I was away, I kept hoping that they were ok with it. At the end of the first day, reports from Amit indicated that they were fine, not missing me at all. He thought I might be sad to hear that, but I was relieved and happy. I don’t think that if they don’t miss me it means they don’t love me or anything like that; I think that if they don’t miss me, it means they are comfortable, secure, and independent kids who don’t have any conscious scars from their vaguest memories of their earliest days. And that’s wonderful.

And Amit tells me that they wolfed down three helpings each at dinner, which is completely unheard of, so that’s good too.

Once I was actually in Goa, I didn’t feel guilty about not bringing the kids along It was very hot, and the sea was very rough. They’d have played in the sand for a bit, then wanted to go back. Without their normal activities and with a small subset of their toys, they’d have decided to look for innovative ways to keep themselves busy. That would have driven us mad, and we’d have spent most of our time shouting, “Don’t!” So if they’re home with Amit, in their safe and comfortable environment, and if they don’t mind my being away, this works better. I’m all for taking them out of their comfort zone every so often, but when they are subjected to significant discomfort in our pursuit of travel/pleasure, then I feel horribly guilty. This way seems just so much easier.

Though I miss them and think of them constantly, there are the simple pleasures of not having them around. Like…

After a year-and-a-half of parenting toddlers (don’t forget they were already over a year old at the start of that period), it is really strange to walk into a room, dump whatever you are carrying on any horizontal surface, and not have to rush around moving everything into child-proof hiding places.

And it’s also really nice to be able to sit down to a fancy meal outside the house (at home I often eat while they’re asleep) and actually get through it without once having to drop everything and wrestle with the health and hygiene aspects of two kids in an unfamiliar, public restroom.

Being able to sleep when I want, for as long as I want, without interruption. And likewise spending quality time in the bathroom without them kids banging on the door saying rude things like “Mama, sussu done?” and “Mama, big potty coming?”

And the ultimate in luxury: A big, soft double bed, neatly made and turned down by somebody paid and – more importantly – trained to do it, immaculate white sheets, and FOUR soft pillows all to myself! Ahhhhhhh

Yeah, I know – petty and completely selfish. That’s me… and I’m not ashamed of it.

If parenting is a full-time job, does it come with paid vacations?

The answer, I guess, is: it depends.

One way of looking at it is that full-time parenting (I mean, stay-at-home parenting) is a paid vacation. But I don’t know. Stay-at-home parenting is a break from work, it’s true; it’s just that, depending on the kind of household help you have, it’s a vacation that involves a heck of a lot of work, and not the kind of work that you are used to, either. And it’s not all fun.

Then, of course, you can always go on vacation with the kids. This is especially easy before the kids start going to school, and Amit and I have actually made a good attempt at this, with trips to Binsar, Lakshadweep, and an abortive trip to Leh to our credit. The moot point about traveling with small kids, though, is whether, from a parent’s perspective (and especially from the perspective of a stay-at-home mom), this can be considered a holiday at all. There’s actually more work to be done when you’re away from your regular set-up, and many variables that are worryingly difficult or impossible to control: travel times, meal times, nap times, quality and quantity of food and drink available, toilet availability and cleanliness and usability…

There is another option: leave the kids with someone, the most likely candidates being their grandparents on one side or the other, while both parents go on holiday together. Without passing a value judgment of any kind, I have to say that this option is not for me.

And there’s at least one other option that I can think of: holidaying alone. Or, to put it more precisely, each parent taking a holiday separately, while the other stays home with the kids.

In Binsar, while I was still recovering from the trauma of the drive up (which had both kids retching and puking for three straight hours), I decided that this was the only alternative left to us. Staying at home with the kids all day, while it has its joys, is not – in my dictionary – the definition of a holiday. Neither is holidaying with two two-year-olds.

It’s not that I’ve never traveled alone before; I have, on more than one occasion, and both for business and – on separate occasions – for pleasure. I have to admit that at first I had my doubts as the to “pleasure” aspect of traveling alone, but now no longer. While it’s great to travel with a companion, it’s also nice in a quite different way to travel alone.

But, in the past whenever I traveled alone, I left only Amit behind; next time, I’ll be leaving Amit and the kids.

The longest I’ve ever been away from the kids till date is when I took a day-long trip to Pondicherry and back (for some adoption-related paperwork). That time, Mrini was terribly upset with me and refused to come near me for hours after I returned. That really hurt – the more so because I was totally unprepared for such a reaction. But they are a good bit more grown up now, and if I tell them I’m going away and that I’ll be back in a few days, they will understand it, won’t they?

When Amit travels on work, the kids don’t fuss much about it. They do ask after him sometimes, but they don’t seem upset or anxious in any way. But then, they are used to him going away from home every morning and returning in the evening. With stay-at-home moms, it’s different.

In the past couple of months or so, they have grown accustomed to my going away from home from time to time, usually leaving them in the care of Shaba-aunty. They’ve never seemed put out by it, nor upset when I return. So does it mean that they’ll be ok if I disappear for a few days at a stretch?

The other day, something went ‘click’ in me, and I decided it was time to put the kids to the test. I would take a short three-day break, get away on my own, lounge by the sea, read a book or three, eat, drink, sleep, and not worry about a thing. Then I’ll come back, and we’ll see how the kids cope with this. Amit, of course, will be at home with them for the entire duration. This should work.

I have, of course, several complex and contradictory feelings about this: guilt and selfishness and a reprehensible sense of self-indulgence; all covered over with a thick layer of pure, delightful anticipation. Amit has been totally supportive about it, and in fact I think it has even prompted him to go ahead and book his own holiday later in the year, which is good because it helps me feel a little less guilty about mine.

But all the guilt and questioning notwithstanding, I’m planning to go ahead with my solitary vacation. What do you think: is it completely selfish and self-centered to do this, or only just a little?

Binsar

Yes, this write-up is long overdue. I’ve written it in about 15 separate installments, some of them all of two words long, so be prepared for a somewhat disjointed account.
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Of all our trips with the kids so far, I’d have to say that this was the most successful – and so also the most enjoyable, for everyone.

The long train journey – three nights interrupted by a day-long stopover in Delhi – went off without a hitch. The car journey up through the hills was horrible, though, as the girls were car sick every minute of the way. Luckily Amit had taken his medicine so he was ok, but it was still interminable and nightmarish.

Our guesthouse in Binsar was in a nature reserve (hence no electricity), which meant it was quiet and remote. The rooms were clean and of a comfortable size, but not luxurious. The funny thing was that the bathrooms had windows that looked out on to – and worse, could be looked in to from – the reception and driveway area! Just as well there was no electricity so it was always quite dark inside.

Outside, a short distance away from the rooms, there was a large terrace. Lined up at a good distance from the terrace was an impressive array of snow peaks, with lower ranges of hills and valleys spread out before them. The most famous of the peaks was Nanda Devi; other well-known peaks including Trishul, Nanda Ghunti, and, far away to the northeast, the Annapurna range also did their best to impress.

Binsar is not a place for frenetic activity. There are some nice walks you can go on, even a ten-km day trip, but with the kids around the best we could hope for was to do the leisurely 2-km walk to zero point.

We spent Sunday doing nothing much. I don’t know about the kids, but I was still recovering from the harrowing drive up.

On Monday, we lazed around on the fabulous terrace, enjoyed the fabulous sunshine, the fabulous views, and the fabulous food.

On Tuesday, we moaned about the weather being overcast, the sunshine being weak, the views being obscured, and the food being monotonous.

On Tuesday evening, there was thunder and lightening, and the invertor gave way (due to the lightening, they said) and we had a candlelight dinner and were packed off to bed amidst a short but businesslike spell of rain.

On Wednesday, we woke to rain which suddenly and magically turned into snow. It snowed all day and we began to wonder whether it would keep it up the next day or not, and whether, if it did, we’d be able to get out on Friday morning. Meanwhile, we moaned about the cold and the challenges of keeping two kids occupied for the whole day indoors.

On Wednesday evening, the snowfall stopped, and the sky cleared up and the moon and stars came out. With everything white, it was beautiful. We stopped moaning about the cold.

On Thursday the weather was clear and the snow began to melt. By late afternoon, it was all gone. But we weren’t complaining – it was wonderful while it lasted.

On Tuesday, we had ventured towards zero point with the kids in tow. We didn’t quite make it, because the kids got tired and hungry and cranky and we had to carry them back to the rest house for lunch. On Thursday afternoon, I set out after lunch, leaving Amit to keep an eye on the sleeping twins. A mere half an hour later, I could proudly say that at least one member of our expedition had made it to the peak – that is, to zero point. It wasn’t a great achievement, there was only a bit of a tower there and a good view. The path was easy – a four-wheel-drive vehicle could have made it. Still, it was a nice little outing, especially with all the clumps of melting snow that slid off the trees all around me, missing me by a hair’s breadth many times and landing with a soft, soggy “plonk” on the forest floor.

And on Friday, after a leisurely breakfast, and just around when lunch was being served, we left.

I had been dreading the drive down, with the memory of the drive up still deeply etched into my consciousness, but it wasn’t bad at all. None of us had had lunch, so there wasn’t much in the stomach to come up, and apparently there was just enough to stay down. The kids fell asleep soon after we started and stayed asleep nearly until we reached, with very few, short breaks for retching. I could almost enjoy the scenery.

Looking back, it was a great trip. Everything that could have gone wrong didn’t. Nobody fell sick, nobody got lost, and on the whole a good time was had by all, with the exception of that traumatic 3-hour drive up to Binsar. Given all the disarray of travel, specially when you throw together two long train journeys, a long-ish car ride, twins, a remote hill station with limited electricity and uncertain weather… and altogether a two-week stint away from the comforts of home, I’d have to say this trip was a resounding success. We all returned home overflowing with high spirits… and several shades darker than the way we were

Of Omelettes and Delhi

Life always looks better after a good two egg omelette has gone down the hatch. Amazingly better, specially if it’s made by someone else and you don’t get to see how much oil has actually gone into the making of it.

Apparently, the kids don’t share this view, which is how I got to eat two such omelettes – how can I possibly lose weight if I’m always eating the kids’ rejects? (Convenient way to blame yet another personal failing on the kids.)

The two egg omelettes are what we got soon after reaching Amit’s father’s home in Delhi.

The train journey was as comfortable, relaxing and unremarkable as I’ve come to expect. A/C First Class is a mode of transport that takes very little getting used to. It beats air travel any day. Amit warned me that when the kids turn five and we have to pay full-fare for them on trains, we’ll have to revert to flying. I don’t know how we’ll handle that degradation and deprivation, but it’s too far away to worry about from now.

We reached Delhi at 6 a.m., and the stark contrast with Bangalore hit me like a slap in the face. H. Nizamuddin used to be this quiet, sleepy station like Bangalore Cantt. Or that’s what I remember. Today it was crowded, noisy and hellish in a way that I thought was reserved for Pahar Ganj.

I used to be a Delhi-ite 11 years ago. It’s not that long, but it might as well have been another lifetime or another planet. Or both. Delhi assails the senses like nothing else I’ve ever met, and that’s me, a former Delhi-ite – in fact, a former proud-to-be-a-Delhi-ite Delhi-ite. What must it be like for those poor Westerners who’ve never been to such a place in this lifetime or before?

Amit went off to look for a pre-paid taxi counter, only to find that there wasn’t one. He then went into the throng of taxi-drivers to haggle for a cab, a skill which he has almost entirely lost. We wound up paying Rs. 220 for a drive of less than 12 km measured by GPS, which the driver claimed blithely was a full 19 km. And me a former Delhi-ite.

To make matters worse, the taxi we ultimately got sounded and felt more like a motor boat – and not a particularly sea-worthy motorboat, at that – than like a car.

No wonder it takes a couple of omelettes and a strong cup of coffee to recover – and by recover, I mean only get sufficiently fortified for the next excursion out of the house, when you get another blast of Delhi right in the face again.

Complete Chaos

We’re leaving for Binsar today and it’s complete chaos in my neck of the woods.

I started working on Monday – and what better day to start work than on your birthday? Well, actually, I started working a few days before that, but I took Monday as the formal start date for myself. Which was really nice of me, because my contract actually dates from 12 Feb. Which is strange, because I’m out of town till Feb 19. But well, these things even themselves out, so why bother.

So I’ve now been working full time for three whole days, and it’s killing me. Well, it’s fun… in a way. Amit says he hasn’t heard me laugh this way in a long time. But then, it’s that half hysterical laugh which says: I’m way stressed out but I can’t cry right now, so let me giggle like a lunatic for a bit and see if that makes it any better.

Anyway, in the midst of a flurry of emails (200? 300?) and F2F meetings requiring a 20-minute drive each way, AND a late night telecon with the US, I haven’t got anything in the way of packing done. And we’re going to be spending three nights on a train, and going from warm, hot Bangalore, through cool, cool Delhi, to what is supposed to be a pretty cold Binsar, which, moreover, has no electricity.

So I’m sitting in the study surrounded by mountains of clothes that need to be packed into numerous backpacks that are evidently too few and too small for the mountains that are supposed to go in them. The girls, for some obscure reason, have a holiday at playschool today and are shouting for my attention.

And what, exactly, am I doing here ignoring them steadfastly? Packing? Working? Meeting important people?

No, I’m blogging! No wonder it’s complete chaos over here.

Traveling with Twins

Traveling with two-year-olds is not easy. Traveling with two of them is no easier… Or at least, it is not much easier. True, they do a lot to keep each other occupied, but two kids also means twice the number of crises in the shape of bumps and falls, tantrums, toileting accidents, and everything else.

Last year, we made several trips with the kids: Once each to Delhi-Chandigarh and Calcutta to visit family, and three or four trips to Pondicherry for their adoption legalities (which, believe it or not, are still under way). On each trip, the kids enjoyed at least some part of the journey, but we also faced some troubles. Still, we bravely (or stupidly?) undertook a trip that was exclusively a holiday – no family, no court case and no reason at all other than our selfish pleasure.

Did the kids enjoy it? Well, at times they did.

Did we enjoy it??? Well… at times… or at least occasionally… hmmmm…. let’s see now…

It started badly, when Tara managed to wet her pants in the Indian style bathroom at the station while waiting for the train to Kochi. Mrini immediately seized the opportunity to run out of the bathroom and on to the platform.

After I had got that situation under control, we boarded the train. It being early evening, the kids were full of energy and did their best to run into other people’s berths or to run out of the coach altogether. Keeping them in check took all my energy (whatever was left after making all those masala dosas, remember?) and when they started fussing about going to sleep, I was end-tethered very quickly and reduced to a screaming wreck.

To make matters worse, no food was served on the train. We ate what was left of the dosas, then I started to dig in to the supply of snacks intended for the cruise, before sleep overtook me.

The next day, in Kochi, when we ventured out to go to the SPORTS office to get our tickets, we found that traffic was off the roads because Sonia Gandhi was visiting. We lugged the poor kids around while we searched for byways that would get us outside the cordoned-off area. By the time we had given it up as a lost cause and gone back to the hotel, her convoy had just passed and the roads were re-opened to traffic. But the kids had been subjected to a lot of foot-soring by then, and for no good reason. Still, after a trip to the toilet, we dragged them out again, and this time we managed to get an auto.

By the time we actually reached the SPORTS office, they were tired and sleepy, almost asleep in fact. Not that that explains why they chose to spend the half-hour there driving me to distraction running around screaming, and touching everything they shouldn’t touch.

When we got back to the vicinity of our hotel, we stopped at a restaurant for lunch. It was your typical “meals ready” type of thali, only, it was so extremely chilli-hot that by the end of it even I was begging for mercy. And I have a fairly high tolerance for chilli. The poor kids ate a few bites, then drank a gallon of water.

Stupidly, I then let them – made them, in fact – fall asleep, without thinking about diapers. With the natural, inevitable consequence. Not only did both of them do oceanic puddles on the bed, Tara, who was snuggled up with Amit managed to thoroughly wet his jeans and underwear as well. Of course, none of the three of them woke up until it was all a cold, soggy mess.

I paid for my stupidity by struggling with a huge load of laundry. The mattresses remained damp the rest of the day, as did the bed-cover. The sheets dried, but had a visible “watermark”. Ugh. That’s one hotel I won’t dare to show my face at again.

Toileting accidents continued to plague us. The first night’s dinner was as horribly hot as the lunch, and probably was the cause of both kids’ mild stomach upsets. The trouble was that on the islands we had access to only a couple of toilets among 150 tourists, and for kids with tummy upsets, that’s simply not enough. Nor were there any bushes for them to decently hide behind.

Moral of the story: use diapers, or don’t go on the sort of holiday where you aren’t guaranteed instant access to the toilet at all times. Ideally, if you have twins, you need access to two toilets, specially once they get tummy upsets.

Luckily their tummies weren’t too bad, and most of the time we could focus on other things. Like, for instance, on the ship, where we were mostly focused on keeping them occupied. In the cabin, there wasn’t a whole lot of room for them to run around and play, so I had to spend a lot of time reading to them. On the deck, the problem was making sure that they stayed on the deck and didn’t roll out between the railings and into the sea below.

Mealtimes, specially dinners, were hectic. We fed the girls before our dinner time was announced, then when it was time for our dinner, we took it in turns to go. Apart from breakfast, Amit and I didn’t eat a single meal together. Normally, at home, dinners are together, and so are weekend lunches.

It wasn’t all bad. The girls didn’t enjoy the boat rides to and from the islands much, but they loved the sandy beaches and were quite happy on the ship as well.

But, it wasn’t the way it would have been had we gone without the kids. (Not that that’s an option any more or will be for, oh, say, the next ten years or so.)

So, all said and done, is traveling with kids worth it? It’s a different answer for every family and maybe even for every journey. So far, from what I’ve seen, all I can say is that it’s better to go, and take the rough with the smooth, than not to go at all. But it doesn’t always seem that way.

Lakshadweep Part 4: Minicoy

For the first time on this holiday, we had a slightly less hectic morning. After breakfast, we even got to go back to our cabin for a few minutes before the announcement to disembark. (The previous two days, I had not even had enough time to finish my cup of tea.) It had rained at night and the sky was heavy and grey. Someone said it had to do with a depression building over Maldives, a mere three-and-a-half hours’ boat ride away.

Getting on to the boat was an exciting experience. I was standing at the back of the room (or whatever it’s called) watching over a sea of heads. There was the open doorway through which passengers had to exit and step into the boat that should be waiting just outside. In the doorway stood, as always, at least three men with good balance and strong hands. They always wanted to grab Mrini from me (and Tara from Amit), but usually I was quite confident of taking the step while holding her in my arms.

As I watched, I could see a surreal sight: a number of heads would rise into view outside the doorway as the tiny boat outside was tossed up by the sea. The next minute, they would all sink out of sight again, carried below the level of the doorway by the whimsical waters. Up and down they went, a bunch of disembodied heads floating around in outer space, up and down, up and down…

Ahead of us, a middle-aged man was the first to step into a boat. His wife was right behind him, but she was terrified by the prospect of stepping into the small boat that was being thrown around by the sea. So terrified was she, that her husband had to come back to the ship. In the end I think they stayed on the ship that day.

Amit went next, then the two girls, then I. It wasn’t that difficult to cross, it was mainly a matter of waiting for the small boat to rise, and then taking a quick and confident step on to it. I’ve done far more difficult things i the Himalayas. Still, for once I handed Mrini over and crossed unencumbered.

It was still raining and the initial part of the journey was quite a roller-coaster ride. The 40-odd school-kids who were in the boat with us were unusually quiet and there were a lot of pale faces and downcast eyes. The twins were rather quiet too, but after engaging them in conversation for a bit, they began to perk up.

As the rain picked up, the crew first handed us a yellow jacket to cover the girls with, and then dug out a small blue plastic sheet which they somehow spread out and held over our heads to keep them dry. It was one of many, many small acts of kindness that we received from so many of the local people along the way. The girls, by far the youngest on this trip, obviously won us a lot of good will.

It took about 45 minutes to reach land. A short walk past a tuna canning factory brought us to the SPORTS facility. The rain continued sporadically, though it never turned into a serious downpour. First on the agenda (after the obligatory coconut water) was a visit to the lighthouse.

We were driven to the lighthouse and climbed the 215-odd steps to the top. The twins, much to our amazement, managed the entire climb on their own steam after a little fussing. At the very top, the tight spiral staircase gave way to what was practically a metal ladder, and here Amit and I decided to take it in turns to go up to the top while the other waited below with the kids. But the staff at the top were very helpful and carried the girls up one at a time, something neither Amit nor I could have managed. In fact, the ladder was of the type that, once upon a time in a long gone and forgotten era, would have scared me witless. Now I went up it without a second thought. It’s a testament to how far I’ve come in overcoming some of my many fears.

The view from the lighthouse made the effort well worth while. On one side, the sea and surf, untamed and infinite; on the other, the lagoon, as calm as could be. In between the two, a sea of green: coconut palms forming an unbroken canopy. And away to one side, surrounded by a perfectly semi-circular beach of pure white sand, stood the tourist resort.

A short walk brought us to the tourist resort. Scuba diving was on offer, but there were too many takers, so we didn’t get a turn. It began to rain again, and most of the people gathered under the thatched shelter where water dripped through the holes and spattered on the sand. I left the kids in Amit’s charge and went into the water. It was clear and cool and inviting, but too shallow for swimming. I waded out a long, long way, sometimes walking, sometimes crawling, but it never got any deeper than mid-thigh depth.

When I was out far enough to be barely visible from shore, one of the water sports instructors, Mohammed, caught up with me. He said that at high tide, the water would rise enough to be able to swim. He pointed to where the scuba diving boat was anchored,way far away and said that if I wanted to walk ot till there, I’d find a sudden drop in the sea floor and there I could swim. I was already very far from shore, so I decided against it. Mohammed told me that there were about 150 tourists at Minicoy now, which was few. If you stayed there for a few days, he said, you could go and swim in the sea on the other side of the island. But right now, the sea was too rough. He spoke good Hindi, and like all the other locals we had met, he was very nice. After chatting to him for a few minutes, I headed back.

Efforts were already underway to get our group back to the beach near the jetty for lunch, and it was still raining. Lunch was the standard affair, and was followed by a sightseeing trip to the village and yet more folk dances. The rain seemed to have cleared up and a wonderful post-rain, still-hidden-by-clouds, soft sunlight played on the water to fabulous effect.

For a change, we went along on the village sightseeing tour. We were driven a short distance, then led along in a group through the village. It was quite well developed, as villages go. Many of the houses were nicely designed and constructed, there was a fair-sized school with a proper building, and the mosque was in mint condition. It seemed quietly prosperous, not rich, but not poverty-stricken either.

Afterwards, we got a tour of the tuna canning factory as well. This was especially arranged for us; Amit had expressed an interest to the manager in the morning when we reached, and the manager remembered and set it up for us.

It was an interesting visit. The type of tuna processed here weighs from 20 to 100 kg, but after discarding head, internals, and red meat, they get only about 25% of its weight in white meat. This is steamed in huge steamers, cooled overnight, cut into inch-cubes manually (by women – does that make it womanually?) weighed, placed in cans with 3 grams of salt, vacuumed, sealed, sterilised for an hour, and labeled. The factory had an installed capacity of 1500 cans a day, each can containing 185 grams of tuna.

Having nibbled on bits of unsalted tuna, we thanked the people in charge and returned to the rest of the group. The girls slept while a particularly lively song-and-dance routine was on. Within a few minutes, tea was served and it was time to return to the ship.

We spent part of the evening on the rear deck-cum-helipad, dodging diesel fumes and trying to ensure the girls remained onboard the ship. The rest of the evening passed in tidying up, getting all four of us fed and watered in three shifts as usual, and getting the girls to bed. I spent a few minutes on the swimming pool deck, and then it was time for bed.

The next morning, I was up at 7 by force of habit. After bathing, dressing and packing, we went up on the deck to watch our arrival. At 9.30, there was still no sign of land on the horizon, but by 10.30 we had reached. It was close to 12 by the time the crowds had subsided enough so that we could easily leave. One of the ship’s crew members made arrangements for an auto to be waiting for us when we reached the gate. Soon we were back in Kochi, at a hotel close to the train station, waiting to catch our train back to Bangalore.

It had been a good trip; the ship was comfortable enough and the islands in the sun (we had joy, we had fun, do you know that song?) were really lovely. But it goes without saying that traveling with kids is not easy (more on that in another post).

It’s also a pity that it’s difficult to experience Lakshadweep in isolation. The only tourism is government sponsored, and that translates to package tours of the extremely mundane variety. Meals were all buffet with a small number of items and very mediocre quality; what’s worse, you got about a 45 minute-window to grab your grub or go hungry. Embarkation and disembarkation was mostly a mela. It is never an easy thing to hop into a swaying boat in the open sea, but vast numbers of people jostling, laughing and panicking at either end does not make it any easier. And, saddest of all, you never could find yourself a quiet spot of beach, far away from everything else, you never could find a moment to make your own, a place, a meal, even a photograph, because there were always approximately 150 other people hanging around in the same space.

But these were minor irritations. The islands were beautiful and the people in charge were as considerate and polite as anyone could be. And scuba diving was an eye-opening experience in every way.

Yes, this is a place that maybe, maybe, hopefully, we will be finding our way back to sometime in the future.

Lakshadweep Part 3: Kalpeni

After the late night at Kavaratti the previous day, we almost didn’t want to go ashore on Friday, but after the usual mad rush in the morning, we found ourselves on the boat out by 8 a.m. It was a long and wonderful ride. We headed straight for a long strip of land, then veered to the right, passed another strip of land, and kept on going, passed a sweet-looking house on the edge of the sea, passed a land bridge between what would have been two separate islands, passed a jetty, passed a lighthouse, and finally drew up at another jetty. From here, a series of small vehicles transported us to the furthest tip of the island, where another small fleet of boats took us to yet another island. This island was tiny, and obviously uninhabited. Bathrooms and lunch were available back at the main island. On this appendage island, there was snorkeling equipment, more kayaks, and, later, a couple of drums of lemon juice.

As before, the lagoon water was clear, shallow, and still. After getting the girls into the water for a bit, I got hold of a snorkeling set and went off on a long circuit. Snorkeling was easy once I had figured out how to keep the air pipe upright. The goggles were wonderful, again, though here there wasn’t as much to see. In places, the water was too shallow to swim, but I hated walking through it because the floor was full of poky, squishy, icky things that I didn’t want to touch. Sea cucumbers littered the area and they look like cucumbers that have gone rotten and squishy, or alternatively, like big, dark, sticky lumps of turd. I actually stepped on one and it was… Ewwwwwww… Gross!

Our time on the little island ended all too quickly and we had to traipse back over what looked like volcanic rock and pebbles, get into horribly overcrowded boats that scraped along the bottom of the sea, with the water literally lapping at the edge of the boat, until we had covered almost half the distance back to Kalpeni, where the water was deep enough to risk starting the engine. Nobody was afraid of drowning if the boat capsized: the chap pushing the boat was not even in up to his waist. Still, if the girls and/or the camera had fallen in, it would have been a nuisance (or a disaster).

Lunch followed, and so did another folk dance and another sightseeing trip. We had seen a little more of Kalpeni than we did of Kavaratti, because of the long, winding drive from the jetty to the beach. We had caught sight of a police station, a post office, a government press, some houses and yards, some chickens and hens. Again, there was not much activity catering to tourists. Perhaps we should have gone on the sightseeing tour, but the twins were tired and cranky. So we took them and sat down under a palm tree in a breezy, shady spot, and in a few minutes they were both sound asleep.

The ship had promised to return by 5.30, and by 4, it was just visible, an indistinct white blur on the horizon. Apparently, the sea was quite rough and winds were high, so the ship had sent word to get people back on board in double quick time. We heard that normally the ship would come around to a wharf on the other side of the island, just 5 minutes’ boat ride away, but that it had been forced to come around to this gate — which was usually used only during the monsoon — due to the rough seas and high winds.

The girls awoke just as it was time to get going. The ride back was a little rough, but not anything spectacular and we were home and dry by a little after 5. We spent the evening getting clean and keeping the girls entertained. The ship was rolling quite dramatically now, making it difficult to walk straight. The kids were still trying their usual antics, with results that were sometimes hilarious, sometimes almost tragic. We went out on to the deck (with a great deal of reluctance on Amit’s part) and found that the swaying wasn’t half as noticeable in the open air. In addition, we were treated to occasional bolts of lightning.

It had been a tiring day, and by 9.30 we were all tucked up and out like so many lights.

Lakshadweep, here we come

All this time I’ve been thinking of Lakshadweep in terms of islands and beaches; what I’ve only just begun to realise is that it is not just islands and beaches, it is also a cruise.

Of course, when I say cruise, I immediately think of the movie Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Now that was a cruise. This? I don’t know. We get to spend four nights on the ship, so it’s a floating home to us, but I don’t know whether it’s so hot in terms of luxuries, or, for that matter, facilities. I don’t expect a swimming pool, tennis courts, ballroom and stuff like that, but a large double bed, attached luxury bath with fancy-schmanzy shower attachment, and a private sundeck wouldn’t be asking too much, would it?

After all, we are going Diamond class. Ooooooooooooh my, that sounds so luxurious.

The reality, no doubt will be quite mundane. So far, my understanding is only that you get a 2-berth cabin instead of 4-berth (which you’d have to share) or dorm. Put like that, it doesn’t sound very luxurious at all. It’ll probably be a tight squeeze with the four of us and all our luggage. As long as I don’t have to sleep with my feet in the bathroom, I suppose it’ll be ok.

Meanwhile, we left home on Monday afternoon and caught a train to Kochi. This train doesn’t have AC First, so we had to slum it in AC 2-tier. We didn’t realise that you don’t get any food at all on this train, not even vendors and hawkers passing by. Luckily I had packed masala dosa (!!) for the kids and we all wolfed them along with a packet of biscuits and called it dinner.

The masala dosa was a first, by the way. Homemade, I mean. I’ve been practising my idli and dosa making skills diligently ever since our neighbour-friends invited us for dinner-cum-demo-cum-crash-course. My dosas have improved by leaps and bounds (they were at a level where they could hardly get any worse), but my idlis are unpredictable, which is surprising because I always thought they’d be the easier of the two. Anyway, I’m becoming a mish-mash South Indian, much to my amusement; I’ll be making bisi bele bath next. And inviting people home for idli-dosa breakfasts. Oh wait, I already tried that on my sister.

Anyway, I said fond farewells to the Christmas cake, which was looking rather lonely as we left. The last time I left home leaving behind uneaten cake was after our wedding, when, apart from bidding goodbye to my parents, sister, dogs, cats etc, I also bade a tearful farewell to a wedding cake in my honour that I had hardly tasted. Oh, I hate sweet goodbyes.

And now we’re in Cochin, eating appams and stew for breakfast and wondering what’s with the steamed bananas. There’s constant banging going on around here (literally, I mean; I don’t know about the other kind) so we’re wondering if it’s a belated celebration for our test match victory, or another Taj-Mumbai like situation. I’ll keep you posted, whenever Internet access is available.