Preparation for the holidays is always fun and this time too it was no different and hence Chammak Challo and our brood set about collecting their various garbs from different corners of the city. Of course their favoured location is always the ever dependable Rehri market which keeps throwing up special nuggets every now and then. So sundry denominations of currency in our purses found a way to convert itself into various shades of shorts, capris, slippers and shirts. Personally for me holidays are the only time when I am dressed in anything other than my Kurta-Pyjama for the better part of the day. Therefore I too had to arrange for all my combinations of T shirts and shorts. That accomplished we launched into the first leg of our trip, the flight from Chandigarh to Delhi. The airport at Chandigarh is undergoing a major facelift because of which one is forced to take a long walk to the entrance gate. I do hope that after the renovation it will look better than a local bus stop. We got our boarding passes from the smiling lady behind the Kingfisher counters and got caught in the security check. I had forgotten to take out the scissors from my toilet bag which was inside my hand baggage. The security guy looked at me as if I was just about to blow myself up. I took out the offending piece of metal, put it in the dust bin and proceeded to board. More smiles from the pretty faces welcomed us to the aircraft. It was time for the takeoff and promptly Chammak Challo took a deep breath and a firm grip of the arm rests determined to prevent the aircraft from flying. Despite her efforts the aircraft took off for the twenty minute flight to Delhi. Some more smileys came and served a really good sandwich, dahi vada and a soufflé. After landing the plane took the same amount of time to taxi in to its allotted slot as it took to fly from Chandigarh. I had come to Delhi airport after almost six years and was amazed to see the complete makeover. It’s truly a world class airport now.
After waiting for a couple of hours we took off for the three hour flight to Chennai. Everything was pretty cool except the inadequate, though tasty, serving of Chicken biryani. Even pretty smiles can’t make up for that. So it had to be followed up with an exorbitantly priced salmon sandwich at Chennai airport. I am going to send the bill to this Mallaya fellow. I was last in Chennai in the year 1984 for a month long training at a place called Kilpauk. The friendships I made then last till today. In fact the association that began twenty four years ago has now blossomed into a big group on Google where I have found more wonderful people who have been the uncomplaining victims of my cyber idiosyncrasies. All the images of that time came flashing back as we waited in the lounge. Our flight to Port Blair was at five in the morning so we all settled in our chairs to catch up on some sleep. But it was not to be. One little baby behind us started wailing incessantly. It’s amazing the kind of stamina little kids have for wailing. A long scream was followed up with a brief interval for catching up on the lost breath before launching into another blood curdling wail. This sequence continued for some time and then Chammak Challo decided to take matters in her hands. She came back after a short while and wailing had still not stopped. It turned out that the poor baby was suffering from a facial rash and the newly returned from USA parents decided against giving him an Avil because it was Indian!! I felt like boxing their heads. But we did manage our forty winks, wailing and all.
The flight took off on time and since it was Chennai what else could you expect for breakfast except Idli and sambhar and of course some more charming smiles. The quality of both was good nevertheless. For this sector we flew by Deccan which has recently been taken over by Kingfisher. They call it Kingfisher Red. Just short of our destination we ran into massive air turbulence. The plane started shaking and its handling reminded me of the driving scenes of the sixty’s movies. Remember the exaggerated right-left movements of the steering wheel of a stationary car with a movie of a road running in the background. The plane made a few thumping sounds and some faces turned white and I heard a mumbling of Hanuman Chalisa right next to me. The collective prayers were soon favoured by the Gods and we landed safely into the Andamans.
I had not made any background check on the islands so I didn’t know what to expect and to my pleasant surprise it turned out to be a lot like Kerala. Lush green vegetation and coconut trees adorn the landscape all across the islands and the sea had rich blue green color. We were picked up at the airport by our local liaison, a pleasant guy called Sham.
The arrangement for our stay had been made at the South Point Circuit House, a nice place located on a hillock close to the sea and overlooking the Ross Island. A quick shower and a change later we were ready to gallivant. Sham arranged for a full time cab for us. It was a well maintained Omni owned & driven by a sweet guy called Chandru who was employed as a driver in the local Municipal Council but also moonlighting as a cab driver during his office hours. Smart guy and of course between him and Sham they knew the entire Union Territory and so, everything as they say was ‘arranged’ for us. God bless my friends in the bureaucracy who open doors where there are none.
The first day was spent in local sightseeing. Port Blair is situated in the South Andaman islands on a cluster of small hillocks overlooking the sea. Modern transport and communications systems now make it difficult for us to fathom the immense distance it is from the mainland India. A little more thought into it only throws a little more comprehension of the tremendous sense of isolation and loneliness that the inhabitants of this place must have felt in the days gone by. This feeling got reinforced as we walked through the corridors of the Cellular jail.
A chill ran through my bones as I looked at the honour roll, the pictures of dozens of its former inmates who were single minded in their selflessness and chose the unspeakable hardships of this place rather than tolerate the masters of their enslaved country from the comfort of their homes. Picture after picture of these ordinary men from all castes and religions who became heroes and legends in their lifetime now adorn the walls of the first few rooms of the jail. A majority of them once incarcerated never left. Some were hanged and others stripped, beaten and usually succumbed to the persistent torture. A lot of us have been brought up on the romantic tales of the Raj, their sense of fair play, cricket and all that stuff but it is here that the ugliest face of the English rule rears its head. It’s also a freak coincidence that the original jail was built in five diverging columns much like the heads of the mythical monster Hydra. The compound of the jail is now more like a modern garden and is a constant witness to tourists, digital cameras in hand, laughing away and getting themselves photographed inside the cells. We too did as the Romans do but it seemed kind of inappropriate. Considering the history of the place I felt that we were not paying adequate homage to our martyrs and trivializing their memory but then that’s me. Everybody else was having loads of fun.
Apart from the Cellular jail there isn’t much to see in Port Blair apart from the tourist must dos like the various museums. An unusual exception was the Chatham Saw Mill. Situated in an adjoining island it was established in 1836 and is reputedly one of the largest saw mills in Asia. Since we had never seen a saw mill earlier it was fascinating to the see the process of huge logs being lifted and placed on the conveyor belt which took it to various work stations and finally ended up being sliced and chopped to the desired size. Within fifteen minutes a giant tree which took a hundred years or more to grow up was reduced to the ignominy of an insignificant plank. Ecological murder or price of progress, you can take your pick.
We woke up early next morning and took the ferry for the two and a half hour sea ride to the Havelock Island. A ship ride on the high seas of Bay of Bengal, it was a first for all of us. The ferries are smallish ships where are about seventy to eighty people are seated in an air conditioned hall. One can hire separate cabins too but it’s quite beyond me to comprehend why one would like to be cooped up in a cramped cabin for a short trip rather than be out on the deck. And out on the deck we were, soaking in the spray, tasting the salty seawater and looking at the endless expanse of water. So were most of the passengers. The most visible activity was of course clicking photographs. Most of the younger couples were busy interlocking arms, peering deeply into each other’s eyes while having their moment of intimacy captured for a few decades if not eternity. Occasionally the ship would roll more than expected and their romantic posture quickly changed into a balancing act with flailing arms and squeals of alarm. While the women and children were quite vocal the men folk were clearly feigning indifference lest their macho image took a hit in their spouse’s perception. I tried testing Reliance’s connectivity challenge by calling up a few friends to share what I was feeling but clearly their case is overstated. I couldn’t get through to anyone. Smug in the knowledge that I can always write more than I can talk I switched off the phone for the rest of the day.
We were picked up at the shore by one of Sham’s contacts who was also driving an Omni. It was fast turning out to be the most preferred mode of travel in these islands. Through narrow and meandering roads, coconut groves and paddy fields we zoomed our way to the Radha Nagar beach. Just short of the beach there is a cluster of thatched shops selling food and drink. Our driver took us straight to a non descript shop and asked us place our order for breakfast. The owner turned out to be a Bangladeshi immigrant named Brish Khan married to cute little thing called Kavita ! We asked the obvious question and were informed that since illegal immigrants can’t quite advertise to marry their own they simply accost the local beauties. The arrangement seemed quite cool as the Khan duo seemed pretty happy together. The doe eyed beauty told us to run along and play in the water while breakfast was being prepared. Like obedient children we obeyed. Radha Nagar is touted as one of the ten most beautiful beaches in the world, a claim I have no means of verifying since I haven’t seen the other nine. However my vast knowledge of all the international beach resorts accumulated after diligent watching of the Discovery Channel tells me otherwise. But that does not take away the fact that it is indeed a very beautiful place. The clear blue water was pounding on the white sands and inviting the admirers to jump in. The children wasted no time. I sauntered along on the sand pretending to be an avid photographer. Chammak Challo was busy gorging on the mangoes which she had bought near the beach. Soon the hunger pangs took over and we rushed back to the Khans. They served us a mixture of vegetables, scrambled eggs and light paranthas. After we had burped our appreciation we asked them to prepare fish & prawns for lunch and promptly reverted to the beach. This time I too joined the kids in frolicking in the water. It’s strange how every time the water makes the child in us come alive. The simple act of splashing water on each other had us ducking and squealing with laughter. One can never have too much of joy, so it continued unabated for the next few hours. Suddenly the sky turned overcast and within minutes it started raining. For a minute we were caught unawares but then getting hit by water from two directions simply added on to the fun. By now since the sea had started roaring a little more and the waves were getting choppier we retreated to the mainland. After washing the sand off our hair and bodies we went back to the Khan kitchen which was vibrating with activity and we noticed that their labour was now being shared by their son and our driver. Unlike the fancier restaurants we hardly had to wait. The gourmet lunch commenced with huge pieces of fried Betki followed by the best prawn curry I have ever had along with the usual dal chawal. The food was great but the affection with which we were served was immensely touching. After a perfuse thank you speech and a hefty tip we drove back to the waiting ship for our return journey.
By now the wind speed had increased and fresh rain was imminent. No sooner had we boarded the ship that my tired body slipped into a dreamless sleep. After what seemed a moment I was jolted back to wakefulness. We were about fifteen minutes into our voyage back to Port Blair and the ship was pitching and rolling like there was no tomorrow. I looked around and saw that there were only a few which included my own who were still asleep and the rest wore a grey pallor looking sick and terrified. I tried to get up and almost lost my balance. Slowly and carefully I made my way out to the rear deck. The sight was at once thrilling. We were in the periphery of a Force 4 storm and the sea was angry as hell. Waves, twenty feet high, lashed the bow of the ship and broke into spray and foam. The ship travelling at about 18 knots an hour seemed like a knife tearing through the water. One moment its stern rose with the passing wave and then it plunged into the water, the bow almost submerging in the sea before it pulled itself out and climbed onto the next wave. I held onto a small pillar on the starboard with one hand and with the other tried to capture the fury of the sea on camera. The unstable foothold and my one handed acrobats made it a little difficult and I noticed that some of the crew who were coolly relaxing there was giving me amused looks. It just made me more determined not to let these moments of a lifetime go by without my full attention and participation. And then I thought of what Chhamak Challo was missing. After a lot of persuasion I managed to extricate her from the confines of her seat. Both of us slipped and stumbled our way to the rear deck again. One look at the sea and she silently handed me a thousand curses. I casually walked over to the starboard of the ship this time and flicked my fingers at her in an invitation to join me. Her knuckles were turning white and the metal banister she was holding on to seemed about to creak and then she gave me one of her dazzling smiles which translated into simple English meant “If I could kill you, I would do so. Happily and right now!” Having been a keen student of the language I quickly comprehended and turned my attention to the less dangerous sea. Soon the winds eased off, waves abated, the ship increased its speed and we sailed to the safety of Port Blair’s harbor where Chandru was waiting to drive us back to the Circuit House.
The weather of the Islands is generally hot and humid and the recommended time for visiting is Between December and February. We had been warned that we were going when the summers are at their worst. Luckily for us it remained overcast or raining for our entire stay there. While we had to miss out on the Wandoor beach and the sound and light show at the Cellular Jail due to the rain the rest of the trip was made pleasant by the overhead clouds. So it was in pouring rain that we set foot on the motor launch which was to take us to the North and The Ross island. The launch was shaky because the sea was so. Gingerly we crossed over from the jetty to the launch to be greeted by a bunch of rugged ruffians who gave all of us a disdainful look over but nevertheless chugged on to our destination. North Island is where the coral reefs are, the beauty of which can only be truly appreciated on a sunshine day. The option of viewing from a glass bottomed boat or diving into the sea vests with the viewer. Our options were limited as it was raining incessantly. The boats gave us a near nothing of the treasures below. Sure enough the ruffian masters of the launch asked if we would dare the snorkeling. And sure enough we accepted. Chammak Challo, kids and me took the motor boat along with another family from Bombay. The guides explored a few points in the sea to ensure that we got our money’s worth. My old eyes deciphered a few places where we could have stopped but it would have been unsporting to speak. Hence we stopped where we were supposed to. The kids were promptly given life jackets and they jumped along with their chaperones into the blue and muddy water. Irresponsibility comes naturally to me and so I asked my guide if I could jump into the water to swim. He asked ‘Can u swim?’. I said yes. He said Jump. I did! Ladies & Gentlemen let me declare here and now it was one of the most rewarding experiences. The sea is where every overweight fellow can rest in peace. Swim, float, drown, nobody cares. You can still come out of the sea looking like Daniel Craig or Halle Berry depending upon your sensibility or at least that’s how you can feel. The guides let me wallow in the water for about fifteen minutes after which I requested for the orthodox snorkeling. The breathing mask put in place I dived to gaze at the beautiful marine life. The most beautiful shapes that nature can put to display were on offer a few feet from my gaze. Star fishes slipped past me and the coral display was almost like the surreal paintings of Salvador Dali. It was intoxication without artificial stimulants. My guide was constantly pulling on my life jacket to take me to new wonders. It was beautiful and beautiful and beautiful. After forty minutes of gazing into the miracles of nature we were bundled back to the motor boat only to discover that Chammak Challo and the Lady of the other family had now been lured into the water they so feared. The boat fled away to the shore leaving the two ladies in the water. Chammak Challo’s chaperone was a gentle soul who had lost his entire family in the Tsunami. His steady persuasion quelled her terror of drowning. She blessed him for his kindness and prayed that he find his peace. People like him are living examples of bravery and an inspiration for the rest of us. Once back on the shore I started raining and all of us crouched under the makeshift shelters. Soon enough I was accosted by a stray dog who for some reason insisted on giving me his version of a loving hug and shaking my hand. In gratitude I fed him an entire packet of biscuits.
The next stop on our way back was Ross Island which is just about two hundred yards from Port Blair’s shore. The island served as the headquarters of the British rulers. We met the local guide, a feisty and an unusual lady called Anuradha Rao. Dressed in a shirt and loose trousers her language was a rapid fire mix of English and Adamaanized Hindi. We followed Madam Machinegun Rao who guided us through the ruins of the once stately buildings. A major part of the island has been taken over by the Navy which is off limits for the general public. Miss Rao amazed us with her close relationships with the animals on the island. She had specific names for deers who actually responded to her calls. As if that was not enough so did the birds! And what had the children squealing with joy was when she scooped a little squirrel from her shirt pocket. The little bundle was injured and recuperating with the lady’s warmth. Chammak Challo always overpays such people but this one time I thought it was well deserved.
My achievement of small ambitions and the destruction of Chammak Challo’s phobias deserved a celebration which took us to a quaint restaurant on the beach of Port Blair. Like all good seaside joints the live & the caught sea food is put on display and you can make your choice. This time I chose to get a red snapper grilled along with some boti kebabs and pulao and of course the tiger prawns.
It was our last day and due to inclement weather it was not possible to go anywhere. However our driver was kind enough to take us around the city and show us some entirely avoidable places. You know, parks and markets and stuff. Soon it was time for our flight back. Chandru, our driver, became all emotional and insisted on getting photographed with all of us. After some hugging and bidding good byes and promising to remain in touch we went back to the pretty smiles of Kingfisher which took us back home.
