#TheBlindList – A Blind date with the world.
A tucked-away package .
The letter from aunt arrived on a Thursday afternoon. It included the tickets. The destination had a strange sounding name. Google Search was used. The answer was...not found. Surprise, surprise! Everyone was doubly excited because our silver haired, no nonsense aunt, was known to be creative.
Phone calls to her elicited no information. Her reply was bizarre...come prepared for Shangri-La. We packed both summer and winter clothes. Dad added the inevitable medicine box, a first aid kit and plenty of mineral water bottles.
The day arrived. We boarded the train that took us to aunt’s coastal city. She was waiting at the station to receive us, an innocent look on her face that was in total contrast to the twinkle in her eye. She had just a bag with her while we carried a whole lot of trolley suitcases. She led us to the adjoining platform where we, a party of four, boarded the train to a nearby town. It took about an hour.
Upon arrival, aunt led us away from the taxi stand and while we were pointing out this error to her, the soft tinkle of bells caught our ears. Aunt signalled us to stop and stepped briskly forward. A bullock cart awaited.
With ‘oohs and aahs’ and ‘Oh my God!’ echoing, we climbed in with bag and baggage, grumbling at the tight squeeze, wondering if the pooris we had eaten for lunch would resist the tumble and if we would ever reach our destination in one piece.
‘Hey, hey!’ The villager driving the cart cracked his whip and we set off on a rickety journey, which took us an hour and a half, passing through kutcha roads and green fields. Finally, when dad began holding his neck and his back and asking his sister, our elderly aunt, if she ever gave little thought to what she was subjecting him to, the cart halted near a hut by the roadside.
An old man stepped out and offered his ‘Namaste’ to aunt. He led the way and we followed him by foot, lugging our suitcases, huffing and puffing our way, through a near invisible, winding trail strewn with leaf litter, deep into a nearby casuarina grove.
The sun was setting and the long shadows cast by the trees and the chirping of the crickets made the place seem eerie. After a twenty minute journey, we stopped. And stared!
Everyone except aunt took out their phones to click pictures. The old man signalled...no. Not wanting to offend our host, we immediately put our phones away.
Right before us, we could see a big green coconut, one of the usual kind, we see being sold at street corners, buried halfway into the mud, barely visible. Water spewed out from inside, through a hole atop the coconut. The spray rose upwards, three feet high into the air.
The old man stepped closer, filled a tumbler he had and offered it to us. We each took a sip. It tasted unusual. It had the taste of fresh water plus the refreshing zing of tender coconut water.
We sat nearby and watched, awestruck. Sometimes, the water rose high, even upto six feet, sometimes it was low, at times just a trickle. A natural fountain of sorts, it reminded us of the divine Kamadhenu, the cow of plenty, popular in Hindu mythology.
We questioned the old man. ‘Did it ever stop?’ He said the ‘magic fountain’ as he termed it, had been going on and on for the last three years, since he had first discovered it, with the flow not stopping. We speculated as to whether there could be a natural spring underneath.
It turned dark and the old man led us to a hut close by. He lit a candle. We looked inside the hut and stood still, our mouths agape. The mosquitoes loomed large but the mud floor was clean. Dad advised us to cover up with his full sleeved shirts.
The old man whispered something to aunt. We were to be ready at four a.m. Some of us who had the habit of not rising with the larks, groaned in sheer agony.
Dad finally set the alarm on and amidst grumbles, we went to sleep. It seemed like we had hardly closed our eyes, when the alarm rang and we woke up to desperate proddings from aunt.
Wiping sleep ridden eyes, we followed aunt outside and were in for a surprise. The spray was really high, upto ten feet and we were totally drenched. The water was cold and we jumped around, shouting merrily, having fun, amidst the spooky glow from the old man’s lantern. The first streaks of dawn appeared through the foliage and the water level fell. We went back to the hut for a rub down and change.
The old man, meanwhile, had lit a fire outside the hut with dried logs from a nearby pile and offered us some veggies. Aunt opened her bag, took out her clanging pots and pans, winked at us and began the process of cooking a meal over the fire, as if she were an expert at it, with fresh water bought from the magic fountain.
Gulping down the hot khichdi she had made, everyone agreed it tasted extra special, thanks to the unique taste of the 'Chakravartin' water as aunt called it plus the ambience, the resonating cry of birds and insects all around us.
‘Are you prepared to come here the next year too?’ was aunt’s question, the wicked glint in her eye more pronounced than usual, as she glanced at our silent mobile phones, piled up together near dad, overworked devices getting a well deserved rest. A chorus of ‘yeses’ was our answer.
After an hour spent in total relaxation mode, playing near the water, wading through the pools and aunt lifting her hands up to say her prayers, we packed up, ready to leave. We each took a quick look around to make sure there were no traces left, of our having been there. We thanked the old man and offered him money. He politely declined. He wanted it to be kept a secret. We made a solemn promise.
We held out our now empty mineral water bottles with a beseeching look, the mineral water in them being fed to the casuarina trees by aunt. The old man bent down and filled the bottles with a smile and we carried them with us like precious babies.
We looked back now and then, for a last glimpse of the fountain through the trees, as we followed the old man down the trail to reach the road. The place was etched in our memory.
The bullock cart journey back was fun with aunt regaling us with songs about water from old films and dad reminiscing about lugging pots to fetch water from downstairs in his ‘ever water scarce’ apartment block during his bachelor days, with the age old elevator often playing truant.
We soon waved goodbye to aunt, thanked her for her choice of a getaway, boarded the train back home, our minds full of memories of water and more water.
The book slipped and fell. The sound woke me up. I bent down to retrieve the small book presented by my aunt...Health Benefits of Coconut Water.
I rubbed my eyes and looked around. It was my ‘oh so familiar’ bedroom. The jug of water, on the nearby table, which mum always kept for me, caught my eye.
What a dream! I wondered if there really existed such an untouched place, a tucked-away package, away from the eye of tour operators, like the one in my dream.
I smiled as I recalled aunt’s words. The world is filled with surprises and you may well end up pulling a rabbit out of hat, if you are bold enough to venture on a Blind Date with the wide wide world.
As I looked out the window, I spied a coconut lying in the garden rolling around. I swear...it winked!
------The End-----
The letter from aunt arrived on a Thursday afternoon. It included the tickets. The destination had a strange sounding name. Google Search was used. The answer was...not found. Surprise, surprise! Everyone was doubly excited because our silver haired, no nonsense aunt, was known to be creative.
Phone calls to her elicited no information. Her reply was bizarre...come prepared for Shangri-La. We packed both summer and winter clothes. Dad added the inevitable medicine box, a first aid kit and plenty of mineral water bottles.
The day arrived. We boarded the train that took us to aunt’s coastal city. She was waiting at the station to receive us, an innocent look on her face that was in total contrast to the twinkle in her eye. She had just a bag with her while we carried a whole lot of trolley suitcases. She led us to the adjoining platform where we, a party of four, boarded the train to a nearby town. It took about an hour.
Upon arrival, aunt led us away from the taxi stand and while we were pointing out this error to her, the soft tinkle of bells caught our ears. Aunt signalled us to stop and stepped briskly forward. A bullock cart awaited.
With ‘oohs and aahs’ and ‘Oh my God!’ echoing, we climbed in with bag and baggage, grumbling at the tight squeeze, wondering if the pooris we had eaten for lunch would resist the tumble and if we would ever reach our destination in one piece.
‘Hey, hey!’ The villager driving the cart cracked his whip and we set off on a rickety journey, which took us an hour and a half, passing through kutcha roads and green fields. Finally, when dad began holding his neck and his back and asking his sister, our elderly aunt, if she ever gave little thought to what she was subjecting him to, the cart halted near a hut by the roadside.
An old man stepped out and offered his ‘Namaste’ to aunt. He led the way and we followed him by foot, lugging our suitcases, huffing and puffing our way, through a near invisible, winding trail strewn with leaf litter, deep into a nearby casuarina grove.
The sun was setting and the long shadows cast by the trees and the chirping of the crickets made the place seem eerie. After a twenty minute journey, we stopped. And stared!
Everyone except aunt took out their phones to click pictures. The old man signalled...no. Not wanting to offend our host, we immediately put our phones away.
Right before us, we could see a big green coconut, one of the usual kind, we see being sold at street corners, buried halfway into the mud, barely visible. Water spewed out from inside, through a hole atop the coconut. The spray rose upwards, three feet high into the air.
The old man stepped closer, filled a tumbler he had and offered it to us. We each took a sip. It tasted unusual. It had the taste of fresh water plus the refreshing zing of tender coconut water.
We sat nearby and watched, awestruck. Sometimes, the water rose high, even upto six feet, sometimes it was low, at times just a trickle. A natural fountain of sorts, it reminded us of the divine Kamadhenu, the cow of plenty, popular in Hindu mythology.
We questioned the old man. ‘Did it ever stop?’ He said the ‘magic fountain’ as he termed it, had been going on and on for the last three years, since he had first discovered it, with the flow not stopping. We speculated as to whether there could be a natural spring underneath.
It turned dark and the old man led us to a hut close by. He lit a candle. We looked inside the hut and stood still, our mouths agape. The mosquitoes loomed large but the mud floor was clean. Dad advised us to cover up with his full sleeved shirts.
The old man whispered something to aunt. We were to be ready at four a.m. Some of us who had the habit of not rising with the larks, groaned in sheer agony.
Dad finally set the alarm on and amidst grumbles, we went to sleep. It seemed like we had hardly closed our eyes, when the alarm rang and we woke up to desperate proddings from aunt.
Wiping sleep ridden eyes, we followed aunt outside and were in for a surprise. The spray was really high, upto ten feet and we were totally drenched. The water was cold and we jumped around, shouting merrily, having fun, amidst the spooky glow from the old man’s lantern. The first streaks of dawn appeared through the foliage and the water level fell. We went back to the hut for a rub down and change.
The old man, meanwhile, had lit a fire outside the hut with dried logs from a nearby pile and offered us some veggies. Aunt opened her bag, took out her clanging pots and pans, winked at us and began the process of cooking a meal over the fire, as if she were an expert at it, with fresh water bought from the magic fountain.
Gulping down the hot khichdi she had made, everyone agreed it tasted extra special, thanks to the unique taste of the 'Chakravartin' water as aunt called it plus the ambience, the resonating cry of birds and insects all around us.
‘Are you prepared to come here the next year too?’ was aunt’s question, the wicked glint in her eye more pronounced than usual, as she glanced at our silent mobile phones, piled up together near dad, overworked devices getting a well deserved rest. A chorus of ‘yeses’ was our answer.
After an hour spent in total relaxation mode, playing near the water, wading through the pools and aunt lifting her hands up to say her prayers, we packed up, ready to leave. We each took a quick look around to make sure there were no traces left, of our having been there. We thanked the old man and offered him money. He politely declined. He wanted it to be kept a secret. We made a solemn promise.
We held out our now empty mineral water bottles with a beseeching look, the mineral water in them being fed to the casuarina trees by aunt. The old man bent down and filled the bottles with a smile and we carried them with us like precious babies.
We looked back now and then, for a last glimpse of the fountain through the trees, as we followed the old man down the trail to reach the road. The place was etched in our memory.
The bullock cart journey back was fun with aunt regaling us with songs about water from old films and dad reminiscing about lugging pots to fetch water from downstairs in his ‘ever water scarce’ apartment block during his bachelor days, with the age old elevator often playing truant.
We soon waved goodbye to aunt, thanked her for her choice of a getaway, boarded the train back home, our minds full of memories of water and more water.
The book slipped and fell. The sound woke me up. I bent down to retrieve the small book presented by my aunt...Health Benefits of Coconut Water.
I rubbed my eyes and looked around. It was my ‘oh so familiar’ bedroom. The jug of water, on the nearby table, which mum always kept for me, caught my eye.
What a dream! I wondered if there really existed such an untouched place, a tucked-away package, away from the eye of tour operators, like the one in my dream.
I smiled as I recalled aunt’s words. The world is filled with surprises and you may well end up pulling a rabbit out of hat, if you are bold enough to venture on a Blind Date with the wide wide world.
As I looked out the window, I spied a coconut lying in the garden rolling around. I swear...it winked!
------The End-----
