Saturday, September 12, 2009
KONKAN IN THE RAINS
The drive from Mumbai to Chiplun in the monsoons is absolutely mesmerising I must have done this trip umpteen times – in all seasons - but the rains transform this country-side into something else altogether! I would say Switzerland!
The topography is spectacular. The narrow Konkan strip runs all along the western coastline of Maharashtra upto Goa cutting thru the Sahyadri Mountains. The NH 17 (National Highway 17) courses thru the ranges adapting to the gradient in the terrain. The serpentine curves rising and dipping with the changing altitude. As you drive you see the hills on either side - thickly forested and bursting with foliage. Every speck of earth comes alive sprouting forth its own shade of green. The trees which were skinny brown and skeletal a few months ago, are now over blown - their branches hidden by the spurt of thick leaves. Even the trunks are invisible, with myriad creepers twirling around them, scrambling up for their share of light and food. A carpet of lush green grass runs along both sides of the narrow Highway.
Every patch of earth - however little, is brimming with life. There’s paddy swaying in every tiny plot (granaries of the poor farmers). These are sprinkled with neatly scaffolded vegetable patches, heavy with gourds, cucumbers, lady fingers, egg plants - the speciality of the season - along with melons of all colours, shapes and sizes; green to golden.
The wealth of beauty is matched by the wealth of crop. But as they say, the ghar ki murgi syndrome – we never cast a glance at our own backyard; we would have sung praises had we flown a few thousand miles and spent not a few thousand bucks to see the same sights!
In parts, the narrow Highway has the rising mountains on one side and the plunging valley on the other. The single lane drive is not easy on the driver or the passenger. You have to be in a constant state of readiness - guard yourself from the on-coming Tempos and Sumos hurtling towards you from behind the hairpin bends; or sit patiently behind the huffing and puffing trucks trying to scale the gradient in front of you.
In parts, the giant trees on both sides of the road extend their branches to reach out to their friends on other side. They meet in the centre forming a beautiful archway for you to drive thru.
In the mornings you can witness the heavily laden clouds descend into the mountains and fall into the valley literally bringing the sky down to earth. You have the forests and the clouds vying for space in the mountains!
Having done the route so many times, I now feel I know every tree, every turn in the road, every tea shop and bhajia stall. The greenery is only broken by clusters of tiny thatched huts on the hill tops or now and then a pucca chira (a red stone found in this region) or cement structure. Development has taken its toll, you now have the Konkan railway crisscrossing with numerous bridges and out of the green comes chugging the bright blue Konkan Express!
The Highway is lined by signboards every few meters cautioning drivers of the trecherous turns: but to no avail. You can’t escape the sight of a scrambled vehicle – (the result of a head on collision) or a truck or bus precariously perched halfway down the slope.
The sign boards are quite innovative too!
“Manaacha brake, Uttam brake” or “Gati badhaana, Jivan Ghataana” - for the sensible types .
“Babuji zara dheere chalo ! “ or “ Jaagte Raho, Kal Ho Na Ho !” - for the film buffs.
“Accident SPOT , Karuya STOP” or “Control your Nerves, on the Curves “ - for the Goans, I guess.
“Pravasi Ahaat, Spardhak Naahit” a warning for those who are transformed into a Schummi or at least a Karthikeyan, and visualize the hair- pin bends as Formula-1 tracks!
And if you happen to get caught on a typically bad day, when it’s neither sunny nor rainy you had it! Alternating spells of rain showers and sunshine could make the road sticky and dangerous. Such weather conditions and traffic sprinkled with humungous trailers and container trucks make for a deadly combination. I am mostly sitting on the edge at such times.
Small and large villages greet you on the way – breaking the peace and tranquility of the scenery. A hub of activity erupts; shops, stalls, stores selling everything from veggies to auto parts; a confusion of tempos and rickshaws jostling for space; their horns blaring in the middle of the chowk!
The rickshaws seem like they are ever-evolving; from the regular 3-seater they can now carry 6 to 8 passengers, with provision for 2 more to be perched on either side of the driver – but only space for one bum each.
Then you see a sign board announcing the presence of a school or college (Arts, Science, Engineering, even management studies) and students in blue, brown, khaki uniforms trudging along with their backpacks. The lucky few are on their cycles. The college students, both girls and boys stand out in their jean pants and tee shirts; equality of the sexes!
Of course the people of the Konkan have always been more willing to emancipate than people in many other parts of the country. During the 70’s and 80’s a number of houses (esp. in the Brahmanwadas) have lost their sons and daughters to Mumbai, Pune and even to the US; to the call of higher education and better jobs.
But it is heartening to see industrial development beginning to happen in these parts. Technical and Agricultural colleges of repute have sprung up in response to their needs. There has begun a reversal of trend as the local children don’t have to move out; in fact, children from the cities are seeking admission to these colleges.
City-bred systems are finding their way – the flat system of housing has caught on and kitchens are being equipped with modern gadgets. But the native informality is preserved – the doors of the flats are left ajar – just as the old houses whose structure itself was not conducive to keeping out anything – from friend to frog, all were welcome! Besides if you need to check on your neighbor, you just need to holler across from the window!
For the city bred like me, it is complete carefree-dom. Clothes are a non-issue. A comb and a cream is plenty of makeup – a bindi is a must. The air seems fresher and the head clearer – peace and tranquility on the mental front. Material comforts are adequate – if you don’t pay too much heed to the red soil that creeps into every nook and corner of the house!
The people are politically very aware and active. Their honesty, self righteousness and self-pride goes hand in hand with their swollen egos. They fought Enron tooth and nail, but unity was lacking; they lost to the political forces that lured sections of their own bretheren.
Also, commercial acumen and business enterprise is sadly lacking. The rich red soil bears the King of Fruits – the Alfonso; and the coconut and beetlenut wadis are a sourse of wealth. But no efforts have been made to develop the business. Compare this with Kerala; where the coconut has been taken to great heights – commercial and artistic!
Dawood Ibrahim Kaskar is a native of the Konkan and there is a flourishing Muslim community that is growing from strength to strength. The Gulf money has helped put up grand bungalows and the occupants speak a curious dialect – a Marathi sentence, but the key words are hindi or urdu. Sounds quite cute actually!
The drive from Guhagar to Ganpatipule across the new Bhatgaon bridge, is fascinating! The Arabian sea gushing in between the Sahyadri ranges – creating our very own Fjords - and equally beautiful too! But again its Ghar ki murgi; there’s no mention, no hype and the rolling hills and spurting seas live on in their majestic beauty!
The topography is spectacular. The narrow Konkan strip runs all along the western coastline of Maharashtra upto Goa cutting thru the Sahyadri Mountains. The NH 17 (National Highway 17) courses thru the ranges adapting to the gradient in the terrain. The serpentine curves rising and dipping with the changing altitude. As you drive you see the hills on either side - thickly forested and bursting with foliage. Every speck of earth comes alive sprouting forth its own shade of green. The trees which were skinny brown and skeletal a few months ago, are now over blown - their branches hidden by the spurt of thick leaves. Even the trunks are invisible, with myriad creepers twirling around them, scrambling up for their share of light and food. A carpet of lush green grass runs along both sides of the narrow Highway.
Every patch of earth - however little, is brimming with life. There’s paddy swaying in every tiny plot (granaries of the poor farmers). These are sprinkled with neatly scaffolded vegetable patches, heavy with gourds, cucumbers, lady fingers, egg plants - the speciality of the season - along with melons of all colours, shapes and sizes; green to golden.
The wealth of beauty is matched by the wealth of crop. But as they say, the ghar ki murgi syndrome – we never cast a glance at our own backyard; we would have sung praises had we flown a few thousand miles and spent not a few thousand bucks to see the same sights!
In parts, the narrow Highway has the rising mountains on one side and the plunging valley on the other. The single lane drive is not easy on the driver or the passenger. You have to be in a constant state of readiness - guard yourself from the on-coming Tempos and Sumos hurtling towards you from behind the hairpin bends; or sit patiently behind the huffing and puffing trucks trying to scale the gradient in front of you.
In parts, the giant trees on both sides of the road extend their branches to reach out to their friends on other side. They meet in the centre forming a beautiful archway for you to drive thru.
In the mornings you can witness the heavily laden clouds descend into the mountains and fall into the valley literally bringing the sky down to earth. You have the forests and the clouds vying for space in the mountains!
Having done the route so many times, I now feel I know every tree, every turn in the road, every tea shop and bhajia stall. The greenery is only broken by clusters of tiny thatched huts on the hill tops or now and then a pucca chira (a red stone found in this region) or cement structure. Development has taken its toll, you now have the Konkan railway crisscrossing with numerous bridges and out of the green comes chugging the bright blue Konkan Express!
The Highway is lined by signboards every few meters cautioning drivers of the trecherous turns: but to no avail. You can’t escape the sight of a scrambled vehicle – (the result of a head on collision) or a truck or bus precariously perched halfway down the slope.
The sign boards are quite innovative too!
“Manaacha brake, Uttam brake” or “Gati badhaana, Jivan Ghataana” - for the sensible types .
“Babuji zara dheere chalo ! “ or “ Jaagte Raho, Kal Ho Na Ho !” - for the film buffs.
“Accident SPOT , Karuya STOP” or “Control your Nerves, on the Curves “ - for the Goans, I guess.
“Pravasi Ahaat, Spardhak Naahit” a warning for those who are transformed into a Schummi or at least a Karthikeyan, and visualize the hair- pin bends as Formula-1 tracks!
And if you happen to get caught on a typically bad day, when it’s neither sunny nor rainy you had it! Alternating spells of rain showers and sunshine could make the road sticky and dangerous. Such weather conditions and traffic sprinkled with humungous trailers and container trucks make for a deadly combination. I am mostly sitting on the edge at such times.
Small and large villages greet you on the way – breaking the peace and tranquility of the scenery. A hub of activity erupts; shops, stalls, stores selling everything from veggies to auto parts; a confusion of tempos and rickshaws jostling for space; their horns blaring in the middle of the chowk!
The rickshaws seem like they are ever-evolving; from the regular 3-seater they can now carry 6 to 8 passengers, with provision for 2 more to be perched on either side of the driver – but only space for one bum each.
Then you see a sign board announcing the presence of a school or college (Arts, Science, Engineering, even management studies) and students in blue, brown, khaki uniforms trudging along with their backpacks. The lucky few are on their cycles. The college students, both girls and boys stand out in their jean pants and tee shirts; equality of the sexes!
Of course the people of the Konkan have always been more willing to emancipate than people in many other parts of the country. During the 70’s and 80’s a number of houses (esp. in the Brahmanwadas) have lost their sons and daughters to Mumbai, Pune and even to the US; to the call of higher education and better jobs.
But it is heartening to see industrial development beginning to happen in these parts. Technical and Agricultural colleges of repute have sprung up in response to their needs. There has begun a reversal of trend as the local children don’t have to move out; in fact, children from the cities are seeking admission to these colleges.
City-bred systems are finding their way – the flat system of housing has caught on and kitchens are being equipped with modern gadgets. But the native informality is preserved – the doors of the flats are left ajar – just as the old houses whose structure itself was not conducive to keeping out anything – from friend to frog, all were welcome! Besides if you need to check on your neighbor, you just need to holler across from the window!
For the city bred like me, it is complete carefree-dom. Clothes are a non-issue. A comb and a cream is plenty of makeup – a bindi is a must. The air seems fresher and the head clearer – peace and tranquility on the mental front. Material comforts are adequate – if you don’t pay too much heed to the red soil that creeps into every nook and corner of the house!
The people are politically very aware and active. Their honesty, self righteousness and self-pride goes hand in hand with their swollen egos. They fought Enron tooth and nail, but unity was lacking; they lost to the political forces that lured sections of their own bretheren.
Also, commercial acumen and business enterprise is sadly lacking. The rich red soil bears the King of Fruits – the Alfonso; and the coconut and beetlenut wadis are a sourse of wealth. But no efforts have been made to develop the business. Compare this with Kerala; where the coconut has been taken to great heights – commercial and artistic!
Dawood Ibrahim Kaskar is a native of the Konkan and there is a flourishing Muslim community that is growing from strength to strength. The Gulf money has helped put up grand bungalows and the occupants speak a curious dialect – a Marathi sentence, but the key words are hindi or urdu. Sounds quite cute actually!
The drive from Guhagar to Ganpatipule across the new Bhatgaon bridge, is fascinating! The Arabian sea gushing in between the Sahyadri ranges – creating our very own Fjords - and equally beautiful too! But again its Ghar ki murgi; there’s no mention, no hype and the rolling hills and spurting seas live on in their majestic beauty!
# posted by rdbelite @ 3:00 AM 
