Untitled Part 38

It was a small miracle that they woke up early the next morning, got ready and hit the high road for the journey to Lonavala, all of them bleary eyed except for Aman who was fully charged up with excitement. Ironically he had travelled down the route more frequently than the rest; he often accompanied his grandmother on her family visits to Pune. Randhir had insisted that they set off at dawn to beat the traffic pile up on the Expressway. They halted briefly for breakfast and soon resumed the road trip with Randhir behind the wheel. Fortunately for them it was a weekday and their exit from the city was hassle free due to thinner traffic. As soon as they left Mumbai there was a considerable drop in temperature and they could smell the clean, fresh air welcoming them as they rolled down the windows. Aman sat huddled between the two girls in the back for his safety, with one of the girls clearly recalling the previous road trip they had undertaken a few years back to the Shekhawat family shrine, wondering if her prayers were on the way to being answered.

There is something unique about the Sayhadris in Maharashtra. If you travel in late summer it is a stark and unforgiving landscape, the rocks bearing silent witness to decades of defloration of nature, radiating searing heat through the ravines and valleys. But come monsoon and in a matter of weeks there is a transformation, a tableau of mists and low clouds floats aimlessly in the ghats, little streams turn into bold cascades as they leap in a rush of white foam between the craggy faces, a woven pile of dark green flora is flanked by a border of grasses a shade of lighter green, the aroma of the sodden earth wafts on the breezes that promise to cool the tired soul. A brocade of wild ginger and pale lilac balsam sprouts boldly, every little dormant flowering seed awakening from deep sleep to manifest itself in the fullest glory. The parched earth soaks up the precious moisture like a sponge and catalyses the life hidden in every crevice. Everything looks freshly bathed for a span of four months, decorated with monsoon blooms and the colourful butterflies that flit over them.

The beauty of the lush emerald scenery beckons one to tarry and admire it but this is both undo-able and dangerous considering the speed of the moving vehicles on one of the country's busiest routes. The bends offer inviting sights but are deadly, one wrong move and they propel you to plummet over the cliffs. The travellers had to make do with taking pictures from the car's rolled down windows whenever they slowed down a little near the meandering turns on the road. As the car entered the kilometre long Bhatan tunnel Aman celebrated his excitement with a loud cheer and applause bringing a smile to everyone's face. In less than two hours they took the Lonavala exit and drove to a dam nearby to stretch their feet and to take in the serenity. Randhir had done his homework well and they planned to avoid places that were either too crowded or were difficult to explore owing to steep climbs.

After relaxing for a while they drove into town to enjoy freshly roasted corn-on-the-cob and tea. The next stop was a tiny little shop called Cooper's near the railway station, renowned for its chocolate walnut fudge which is sold off in minutes. They bought generous quantities of the legendary fudge sold in small white boxes along with the famous National chikki (nut brittle) and garlic sev.

Shopping done they headed for the cottage that had been reserved for their stay in town; mercifully this was located in a quiet corner and had a magnificent valley view. They enjoyed their lunch on the upper deck overlooking the valley. Randhir and Vidushi spoke to their parents updating them about their whereabouts while Parth spoke to his mother in Delhi. They then called up Aman's grandmother, letting her video chat with her very excited grandson.

When they were done with relaxation they set off on a sightseeing tour enjoying a bird's eye view of the valley from the many viewing points, spotting rare birds, monkeys and more wild flowers, taking pictures wherever they went. The trek on foot can be quite demanding due to the elevation being well over 2000 feet. After sundown they decided to call it a day having a simple and light dinner on their return trip.

Back at the cottage they freshened up and prepared to go to bed. Vidushi and Parth bid them goodnight while Randhir noticed Aman clinging to the love of his life, who was singing a sweet song to lull him to sleep. He was caught unawares to hear the Bengali lyrics of a song he had never heard her sing before, the opening lines were "Doore aakash shamiana".

He had an elementary knowledge of his mother's native tongue, as he listened to the words he noticed the diction was perfect, as if this girl hailed from the land of the same language, adding more to his confusion about her possible origins. He strained to stay awake as her words slackened his senses; soon she stopped her singing and tucked both her sleeping babies into bed with gentle kisses, joining them in the warmth of the inviting duvet.


Aakashi, ei gana apnake samarpaṇa   : )

For your listening pleasure:

Doore aakash shamiana-by Lata Mangeshkar

Cover version by Shreya Ghoshal


Fans of Marathi songs go on and enjoy the original Marathi song Tinjisanja sakhe milalya, also by Lata Mageshkar











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