Wild sunflowers painted the Nilgiris in Tamil Nadu with startling dabs of yellow. It was almost as though nature was celebrating the fact that it was still able to hold on to little nooks in the Blue Mountains - nooks that had not been replaced by concrete in the name of progress and development. There are still large swathes of land in the Nilgiris that exclude the ineffable charm that first endeared them to the British. We, however, drove across mountains awash with crisp Indian air under a vast blue Indian sky. A few kilometres before the more popular hill resort town of Coonoor, we pulled into the Kurumba Village Resort, named after one of the five ancient tribes of the Nilgiris. The air was spiked with the delicate aromas of nutmeg, clove and pepper, betraying the fact that we were in a thriving spice plantation that accomodated the charming little resort. The retreat was built without felling any trees and so the cottages were scattered around the property in a random manner giving it a rustic back - to- nature charm.
Having driven from Coimbatore, the closest airport 60km away, we slumped into the bed in out airy cottage, bright with Kurumba tribal motifs, and let the vision of the lush forest framed in the large picture window of our bedroom caress our frayed nerves like a soothing balm. As dusk, hurried on by a thin veil of mist, mantled the surrounding slopes, we gazzed out at the branches at the trees waving eerie fingers at the cresent moon that floated above the horizon.
JUNGLE WALK : We woke up the next morning to serenade of the senses - the sight of a tangled green forest and the mist smugged nilgiris beyond the picture window of our cottage and the perky call of the whistling thrush. Even as the morning mist danced like a flimsy veil in the wind accross the forested mountains slopes, we set off on a jungle treck. Tiger, the resort's guard dog, led the way as we stomped through the forest. The dog bounded ahead self-importantly with a proud wagging off his tail ; the canine was obviously aware that he had an important job to do. Woodpeckers tapping on trunks of towering trees, the creaking of bamboo groves nodding in the breeze, the chirruping of birds, the grumbling of distant waterfalls, the gurgle of streams...the forest regaled us with its morning raga as our feet crunched on the dry amber leaves. Delicate flowers blushed under the jealous gaze of thorny leaves. The rays of the morning sun streaked through the branches and glinted off the strands of spinders' webs.
