Sahyadrica

Rain step-danced on the rickety asbestos roof as we savoured the delicious vada pav . It has only been a few minutes since we escaped from the frenzy city that now lies 700 meters below, 12 miles away. We’re in the land that Sahyadri adorns so well during monsoon, it is only when you touch it you believe it’s not an illusion. It is probably her greatest possession for miles north or south. The city-dwellers, like me, have chosen to come cherish this crown forest hidden away, literally, from prying eyes. No one questions anyone’s presence here – nor do they acknowledge it. It is a world in itself, whole – with gaming stations to liquor shops – a place where no vehicles are allowed, except for the neighing horses. If you’ve visited this place, you’d probably know I’m talking about the mighty Matheran – a hill-station we all love in our own ways. Matheran, over the years, has grown into a city in itself. Hotels and so-called cottages sprawl along the very edge of the mountains, a

It will be wrong if I say I have not spent time (a lot of it) looking at the nimbostratus clouds passing silently from the south-west, waiting for the horns to blow that mark the arrival of monsoon. This we must agree, that monsoon is the epitome of change. It is the most astonishing of all changes. The change is in the air, in the earth, and is ultimately wrought in the mind. And all of this may happen just as you sit and stare out of the window! Monsoon this year did not arrive at its stipulated time. It thundered sparsely. There was no dance of the lights. May I say that Lord Varuna is not happy with what mankind has done to Mother Earth? That he is not in our favour anymore, and would abandon us when he knows we are completely, hopelessly dependent on him? We are all out praying, some loudly, some in their minds, some going to the length of marrying Hoplobatrachus tigerinus , the Indian Bullfrog, in hopes of impressing the Rain God. Today, the interval between two continuo