In today’s world the question “which is most valuable?” could be the most helpless query, as we would stare with emptiness or hasten with greediness. Too much has changed in “what was a once beautiful world” that, too many things have become valuable to too many people. From the cheapest eraser for a 5 year old to an expensive diamond for an about to be married woman, from the simple Nike air for a teen to the complicated Breitling for a CEO, from the “friend’s gathering” to a “family get-together”, from the Geared bicycle to a paddle shift Lamborghini, from the Breakfast to a dinner with wife, from the “one day vacation” to the recurring weekend, from hearing to a favorite song to indulging in a valuable hobby, from a joke to a laugh and from etc to etc. The list is so big; it really doesn’t make sense to identify them as I would end up with an endless list. Our lives have been tuned to a particular frequency and very few find the “reason” to retune that regularity. Recurrence is so rapid, we fail to recognize the fact we grow old every single day without significant addition to our “sensitive memory”. It’s been cleansed of all that creativity and forced to accommodate a long “things to do list” which only keeps adding with age and growth. Iam a victim too and in this context, it’s sensible to declare “Time” the most valuable commodity in this international order of chaos. How much time you get to authentically enjoy your beloved car you bought after months of analysis and negotiations, apart from that daily drive to office through ruthless traffic? How much time you get to authentically spend memorable moments in your 300,000 dollar home which you bought after years of sweat and saving, apart from the lethargic sleep in it during that most valuable weekend? How much of your friends, whom you walked with since you learnt to walk, are remaining at your thirties? How much of your time is spent on those old quiet parents, who spent their entire lives to see you where you stand now? How much of your time is spent over your children, who will do the same to you as you did to your parents in the previous statement? And how much of your time you spend for yourself, your dreams and your indulgence, apart from that long meaningless weekend sleeps? Time has become so precious that there’s no meaning raving at it rather, it’s meaningful to fight against it and grab back the lost opportunities to enlarge your experience and beautiful memories. The same feeling pushed me to the extreme of urban frustration that I decided to embark on my longest jaunt in the shortest possible time, fighting against and rushing through it. I didn’t lose a single day from my yearly allotment of leaves though, as I transformed my travel plans from generous to lean.
As a child our attractions were many - everything we saw, we did were a fantasy and we wanted to have and do all of it. We wanted that doll on the television and we wanted that big truck on the road, we wanted that cold ice cream and we wanted that huge gas balloon, we wanted that bag with Mickey Mouse smiling and we wanted that pencil case with Goofy running over, we wanted to play all the time and we wanted to wonder all the time. When we grew into a teen, time trimmed down the unwanted branches and let grow only those destined to, only those written over our head and only those which we deserved. Those unwanted branches were the additional growth fueled by our energetic childhood, not needed now though. We still wanted everything but our options were instinctively narrowed down to a “little more than narrow” bandwidth. We wanted that powerful motor bike, we wanted that expensive car, we wanted to be an air force pilot, we wanted to be a race driver, we wanted to befriend every other beautiful girl, we wanted to be with friends for ever and we wanted all that weren’t destined to be given to us at that point on lifeline. Very few of us understood this was the period to begin that massive labor to get hold of all we dreamt and for those who didn’t, it only remained a dream. Down the lane, time further trimmed down the options and now gave the opportunity to every individual to embark on that tough journey he was destined to. Some got what they wanted and some didn’t and how they reacted thereafter determined the remaining of their life. It’s interesting to think that we wanted everything when we weren’t prepared for them but, declined to accept one among what we wanted when it was offered at the time it was meant to be. Most of us, now, continue the race with a small sense of dissatisfaction lurking at some corner of our conscience and cross landmarks in a hurried fashion as life hurls past. At this point of lifeline there’s only one vision for every man and it’s what he’s destined to do best. After years of experiments and failures, most men gain their valuable identity and at the same time lose their “that charming something”. Years roll by as scenarios transform more stupendously than in the best thriller novel ever. We complete graduation, we part ways, we get busy with job, we fail to look twice at that beautiful woman, we lose our parents, sometimes; we lose our friends, sometimes; we join hands with our life partners, we kick-off the next generation, we raise them up and at some point through this busy schedule we happen to see, after a decade maybe, that something which we had very close to our heart as a child, as a teen. Our heart gives way, yields to the situation and wants to live that moment or go through that wonderful feeling once, before we rejoin the orderly Chaos. This could mean many things for each one and I have my desires too – like, to sit inside an expensive sports car, to fly a Russian Sukhoi for a fee, to sail on high seas, to stare into the eyes of a King cobra, to stalk a tiger, to photograph a snow leopard, to kiss for an hour, to drink a liter of Vodka, to see earth from outer space, to walk on a railway track through pristine rainforest region in absolute loneliness, to stare at the night sky on a cold December night lying on a desert, to operate a Barrett M107, to wade through the streams of the western Ghats under pouring rain - to name a few. Few of them would transform to reality while few of them would fade with time and I was more than excited when one among the above was about to happen on a lazy September weekend.
While browsing the web for details on my next destination I stumbled upon the name Sakleshpur, a small town on the “Ultra Sexy” NH48 (now renamed NH75) connecting Bangalore with Mangalore. Its lies roughly 35 Kms after Hassan, on the laps of Western Ghats, and it shot into fame when the Meter Gauge railway line connecting Mangalore with Hassan was shut down to be converted as a broad gauge. This section of the railway line is special as it traverses through virgin ever green forests over innumerable bridges, 3 dozen tunnels accompanied by erotic forest streams and reservoirs and it became an obvious destination for weekend hikers. Trekkers usually start the hike from a small ghostly station Donigal and walk till Yedakumari, 17.5 Kms away, though the actual route ends at Kukke Subramanya some 40 Kms further in the adjoining Dakshin Kannad district. This stretch of 55 Kms is popularly referred to as “Green route” and for me, it was the dream route. At Yedakumari trekkers make an exit through a forest tract, where the Kempu hole hydro power project lies nearby, and rejoin the NH48 to get a lift either back to Sakleshpur or Subramanya. Going through the details, I spent a sleepless week and eventually decided to make a rapid dash to this beauty, before my next major travel plan was about to hit the charts. I didn’t have any leave options nor I had anyone to accompany but, 1400 Kms to drive through in two days and INR 7000 to fund this indulgence. I was still short of budget and thankfully, Mr. Dave jumped into the scene with INR 4000 and we were more than all set when Napoleon too joined us for this unexpected Jaunt to the laps of Western Ghats in Hassan and Dakshin Kannad districts of Karnataka. The drive was typical, solitary, with me and Napoleon driving from Chennai to pick Mr. Dave @ Bangalore and proceed then towards west. Bangalore was unusually hot for this part of the year as we soon found Mr. Dave walking fast towards the car and it was a quick exit thereafter, through the NICE road, towards Tumkur on the majestic NH4. Soon pre dawn sleep made a strong surge as I struggled to keep the car away from the median and slow moving heavy trucks. It was early morning and Bangalore bound traffic was heavy with their powerful lamps playing havoc over my weak vision. I was thankful that our regular Tea halt, a truck bay with busy commercial outlets, came soon and it was an extremely addictive feeling as I stretched like a cat on stepping out of the driver seat and found the temperature to be significantly lower than in Bangalore. Few minutes later we were passing by quietly over the dark bypass avoiding Tumkur and dawn was slowly emerging when we hit the NH206, that ever lasting beauty connecting Tumkur with Honnavar. As I was driving over it the third time in last one year, and the first time when it was dry, sun was popping out from the other side of the world faster than I have ever seen as my ever probing eyes got hold of this mesmerizing shot (Photo no 4), a shot which has inscribed the ambience of NH206 more firmly in my mind. Continued till Tiptur where there was that tempting left turn, which I had already chalked out in my TTK state map, waiting to welcome us with a narrow railway crossing and heavenly stretch of Tarmac ahead, 51 Kms to be precise, to reach Hassan. Left turns have never been good choices in my life so far, since I took one at Hiriyur a year back in pursuit of Tarikere, and the Tiptur-Hassan state highway proved it wrong the second time when the road just disappeared into a mud track after the first 10 Kms. The remaining 41 Kms were covered at 20-30 Kms/hr and our plans of an early start to the Donigal trek were already seen being buried into the mud ahead. It was 2.5 Hrs behind schedule when we reached Hassan, a town which rekindled romance inside me a year back when on my way from Chikmagalur to Chennai, and we prepared ourselves quickly to drive west towards Donigal through one of the most romantic stretch of National Highway I had ever driven through.
NH48 (now renamed NH75) undergoes mind boggling transformation few Kms after Hassan, indicating the approach of Western Ghats, and just how good it would be in enhancing my creativity under pouring rains remains to be seen when I drive over her during the SW monsoon of 2012. Its ultra narrow, with Bangalore-Mangalore Volvo coaches dominating the scene, and the fact that Mangalore is a prominent hub on the Oil& Gas map of India only makes matter worse with huge Tankers ripping their way through the “mild Ghat section” posing a grave risk through their Natural gas filled capsules. Overtaking them is a matter of skill as there is just couple of inches between your car and the road shoulder, when that Volvo is already at a compromising distance in the opposite lane. Speeds in excess of 100 Kms/hr are mind boggling on this stretch as the vast paddy fields and the distant Ghats make the driving experience terrific, not to mention the adrenalin oozed out by the force with which the Volvo’s pass by in the opposite direction. Sakleshpur came by at the expected time and we planned to leave the car in this town to hire a vehicle that could drop us at the Donigal station, some 7 Kms ahead. Rather on inquiry, it turned out to be a good idea to drive right till Donigal and park the car near one of the tea shops before proceeding on foot in pursuit of the tracks. Drove a little further and I instantly recognized the Ghat section I memorized on Wikimapia, through the preceding week, making it easier to make our second inquiry stop at the gateway to “Shiradi” Ghat section which connects the rain shadow region with its rain drenched western cousin. Donigal is a small stopover for interstate truck drivers and it has a friendly ambience with shop keepers willingly pointing out directions on inquiry. Though the 2011 SW monsoon was already in its dying phases, recent rains have played havoc with road conditions and the region was still blisteringly green with occasional streams paving their way down the numerous slopes. Learnt we could further drive up the Ghats where there’s a lonely tea shop that could serve a safe parking place for the car. Reached in no time, that exotic lonely tea shop, and had a cup of hot refreshing tea before embarking on the long, hard walk in pursuit of what we had come. Compensated that shop owner with business worth INR100 to let him take care of the car with a willing heart, as we three walked towards the much hyped Donigal station hidden among lush vegetation. I knew we were out of the core season but still, I had a sense of confidence that September wouldn’t let me down. But it did and the already drenched and dehydrated body only heightened apprehensions about our stamina to cover the “long stretch of ballast ahead” piercing through unadulterated natural region. It was a dream about to come true and only spoilt by our delayed arrival, both in terms of season and timing.
The walk from “that lonely tea shop” was brief as we reached the path leading to “Tucked away” Donigal station in a matter of few minutes. With lots of speculation, we entered the deserted station to find a single “non-official” boy guarding the platform as we made a humble request with him and to our delight; he showed the green flag with more than expected enthusiasm. It was a “feeling of freedom” like never before as we began that long walk over the never ending ballast and sleepers when the regular Yeshwantpur express chucked its way towards Bangalore, supported by two additional diesel locomotives from behind. Thereafter it was a lonely walk under burning sun and killing humidity, as our legs began to feel that notorious “ballast induced pain”, remember, it’s an act of balance and perseverance to hike on a track as the ballast keeps hurting your feet and when you use sleepers to avoid them, the continuous bending of your feet causes more pain. It’s advisable to wear a trekking shoe with heavy bottom that could bear the onslaught of this “man made terrain”. We kept walking with no significant improvement to scenery as I was noting the Kms down from Hassan. Indian railways have done a remarkable job in providing excellent markings all through this “notorious section” and the Donigal station had the “49.7 marking” indicating, it’s as much Kms from Hassan. There’s a sign board recurring every 100 meters from each of the completed Km, for example; the 100th meter from 50 would read 50/100, the 200th as 50/200 and 900th as 50/900 after which we would come across 51 Km. Such marking makes the distance appear insignificant and very soon we were crossing the first bridge where I got this shot (Photo no 24) and there wasn’t a doubt how awesome this shot could have been during the monsoons. After the first bridge, it was eventless until a pair of mongooses retreated hastily into the woods on our approach. The marking read 53/600 when the sun was beginning to go down and we sat for a drink on the tracks. Though reaching Yedakumari was never on our agenda, I wanted to reach the 61/100 landmark which holds the highlight of this grueling trek. At this point lies the highest bridge of the “green route” and adding to the thrill is the absence of side protective railings with the probability of a train crossing very high. Adding beauty to this thrill is a rotting wooden bridge few 100 feet below the main railway line with a stream below both of them. With daylight fading away I wasn’t sure if we would make it to this man made marvel but, I was sure about one thing which was to make it to one tunnel atleast and failing to do so will make our 620 Kms drive meaningless. Pumped up the enthusiasm of Mr. Dave and Napoleon as an “R” marking greeted us against the glaring sun.
I was now sure we were fast approaching a bridge and out of “frustrated happiness” screamed to my friends there were a couple of tunnels just around the next corner. That was a foolish gesture, of course a deliberate lie, but that kept them going as I spent some time over the bridge to produce these pictures (Photos 5 and 31). There was a forest tract below this bridge and I strongly suspected this could have a lead to the NH48 some where across that fear inducing jungle bushes. Walked fast in the direction my friends went as one of the very few “happy moments” of my life was just hundred meters away and being endorsed by the loud screams of Napoleon and the hasty retreat of Mr. Dave from his photographic indulgence. My childish lie was transforming into reality as I could have a glimpse of this shot (Photo no 27) from the distance and the Sun was more than willing to shy away my vision from that nostalgic sight. As a child, like every one of you, I used to sit with awe as that coach carried me through the darkness of a tunnel and it was a feeling in itself. Now with not one but two, in succession, ahead of me to walk through, to jump through, to scream through, to roll through and to laugh through; my joy knew no bounds as I fortified my shooting capabilities to get these shots (Photos 1,10, and 35). God was annoyingly generous at this particular point of my life line as he showed a narrow opening on the right side of the first tunnel (Photo no 18) and I never knew it was the door way to heaven (Photos 11 and 17). There’s just enough space for your sneakers to hold ground and the slightest movement could see you plunge into the depths below, not to forget the strong gust. If you’re suffering from acrophobia it’s highly recommended you never reach out to this place. You just could lose your life. Ascended back to safety with the most trembling legs I have ever had and learnt the pathway to heaven isn’t an easy one when Mr. Dave captured my mood exactly the way it was intended to be (photo no 7) – it’s a special one very close to my heart and would remain my favorite to the grave. The ambience inside the tunnel was extreme loneliness and air was filled with the pungent odour of Bat droppings. Should you trek alone, exercise extreme caution with common sense and never forgot to carry a powerful torch and a strong cane. Adding a final dose of spice were those couple of Diesel locomotives on their way back from Hassan after having dropped the Yeshwantpur express onto the plains.
Reached back that second bridge which we crossed through few minutes earlier and my assumption was proved right when a courteous railway official confirmed, the forest tract beneath indeed lead to NH48. Thanked him for saving our legs and hiked for 3.5 Kms through a quiet forest tract before hearing those grumbling diesel engines struggling their way up the Shiradi Ghat. Donigal was a good 5Kms from here and we never had the energy levels to make it through a casual walk, when a courteous truck driver yielded to our “lift request”. Apparently, he and the cleaner were from our state, Tamil Nadu, as we had a brief chat on their driving routes (they were driving from Goa towards the port town of Tuticorin in TN) and on our recent adventures. Jumped out at Donigal with a big sigh as the truck smoked its way towards the plain and I was more than elated to have made it back to “that lonely tea shop” before dusk. The thought of tunnel was doing “that something” as I watched a group of young guys enjoying their beer over a small cascade and I was savoring a cup of hot tea at the same location. The drive back to Hassan under the cover of darkness was nostalgic as that wonderful image of Diesel locomotive speeding past our face through the tunnel was inscribed permanently in our tired minds. On reaching the hotel and after a cold bath, my body was as exhausted that I fell asleep over the table we were having our beers. I don’t remember much on what happened after this………The morning next was the last day of this rapid Jaunt and we geared up for that 220Kms drive to Shivan Samudram falls (also Shivasamudram), close to the border of TN. This drive took us through the gorgeous Hassan-Mysore state highway which rarely had vehicular movement and the blistering sun made it resemble a highway through the hot country side of Rajasthan. It was noon when we reached Mysore and I unintentionally took the Mysore Bypass when I began to gain that “seen somewhere” feeling. After a hard rewind on memory, I slowly recognized it to be the same road which, three years back, I drove through with Gokuls, Sunand and Prasanna in pursuit of Wayanad. That one still remains to be beaten by any of the numerous trips I have undergone in succeeding years, in terms of ambience, in terms of entry and in terms of my personal life. It was so good and so impacting that it forced me to travel to Sultan Bathery 2 years later and made me write a posting under the same name. From Mysore it was a boring drive to Kollegal and from here, the mighty Shivanasamudra falls were just a stones throw away. Shivanasamudra is collection of two falls, Barachukki/Gaganachukki, and Barachukki is the one most frequented owing to its location factor (Shivanasamudra is a segmented waterfall). Here river Cauvery splits into two forming the western and eastern branches with the western branch forming Gaganachukki and its eastern counterpart giving birth to Barachukki. Asia’s first Hydro power station was located here and it powered the then flourishing Kolar gold fields, which also happened to be the first Asian town powered by Hydro. Mesmerized by the facts and views, I pulled back my friends to normality and kicked of the drive back to Bangalore. Couple of years back this wouldn’t have been the case and I would have spent my time exploring such a gorgeous area till darkness engulfed. But age and responsibilities were pushing me on toes and I rarely had the content which I was filled with years back. Reached Bangalore, just after Dusk, where Mr. Dave was dropped by and it was a lonely drive, with Napoleon, until I reached my unlit home under the cover of darkness on the early hours of a September Monday. I fought against two days of sleep, against my parent’s frustration, against my friend’s concern, against my car’s failed bonnet lid, against the lack of funds, against my temptation to enjoy a vacation, against fear and against time, to make the above memory mine. Only to find myself back in office the very next day, and forget all these……………..
Parameters
Route–Chennai-Vellore-Hosur-Bangalore-Tumkur-Tiptur-Hassan-Sakleshpur-Donigal-Sakleshpur-Hassan-Mysore-Kollegal-Bangalore-Chennai.
Best Time to visit – During the SW monsoon if you don’t care about the difficulties and risks or just after it to spend a relaxed moment.
Specialties – The excellent tunnel experience and the mind boggling loneliness.
What you should do – Keep walking without complaining, you’ll be rewarded.
Don’t Forget – An umbrella, a torch, a strong bottomed shoe, full sleeved shirt or wind cheater to avoid the sun, lots of water and a strong cane if you’re walking alone.
