A Week in Coorg: Diary Entries

The Homestead

I spent last week in Coorg. I spent it with friends from Bangalore, my hosts, in a small traditional home, within a coffee estate, embedded in a grove of tall rosewoods. The home was a comfortable urban dwelling and yet there was a simple, rural charm, with red oxide floors, hanging brass lamp and hurricane lanterns for those long hours without power, and a small veranda to stare out into the forest. Coffee dried on large tarps, saplings were stacked ready for planting, an orchid tumbled from a plastic mug - a gift. Three dogs bounded to greet us when we arrived, appearing from no where-and stayed with us while we remained.

The day started early for my hosts, with work to be organized, labor to be planned. I stayed in bed, enjoying the quietness, leisure of being a guest. Days flew by in conversation, long long walks with frequently forgotten details of which cousin owned which share of property, propriety and impropriety of the affair etc. What was memorable was the land-rolling hills, green, dense cover of trees, garlanded with pepper vines, and coffee bushes under. The valley floors were fertile, flooded with neon green patches of freshly sown rice; and all of this intermingled with cardamom, bananas, jackfruits, citruses of several varieties, wild flowers and a hundred different ferns still squeezed through the remaining space-dense, opulent, land of plenty...

An Evening at an Estate

That evening, I felt I had stepped back in time. A time that I only knew from old English writings - a world with chivalrous men, gracious ladies, large estate bunglows of wood and glass, shiny red floors, portraits of family and ancestors, gleaming brass, sparkling crystals; bunglows with sprawling gardens, jumbled with flowers, small islands of refinement and taste, carved out in jungles deep and dark, where cicadas chorused at deafening volume; evenings at long, deep verandas sipping that scotch to a sunset; dinner served on long wooden tables with good china, relaxed conversation about - only nothing in particular, always pleasant, non controversial, charming.

I played a role..attentive guest, interested, well behaved-mimicking graciousness, only to be defeated by an uncontrolled laughter, a slurried Bacardi-song, a non-rehearsed comment that escaped, unheeded, to my need to blend in, observe, study this strange world unobtrusively, not influencing their old world charm, faith, lifestyle, where men were men, accepted lords over feminine, whom they protect, cherish, at their will...

Bylakuppe, Kushalnagara

In the Mysore district of Karnataka, extending below the foothills of Coorg, lie Bylakuppe, and Kushalnagara, the second largest Tibetan settlement in India, outside Dharmashala. We knew we had arrived when the homes sported colourful fluttering flags offering prayers to the winds, shop fronts carried knick-knacks of a different world, restaurants advertised momos and thugpa, and lamas wandered streets in maroon robes or sped by on motorcycles. The agricultural patterns changed from small disorganised growing with human and cattle labor , to large holdings with mechanised farming, rotating sprinkler systems, a lush denseness to growth that only prosperity can bring-blessed again by tall poles carrying prayers. The community by its hard work and adaptability has achieved a level of economic success and stability rarely seen or matched in this nation-the Golden Temple complex at Bylakuppe is an outstanding testimony to this success. Seen from far and wide, across green fields and prayer flags, in a unsettling setting of tropical lushness, the temple stands tall, gleaming, blinding, unbearably colourful, attracting visitors from near and far. Done with patience, and love, only experienced by a threatened culture, each detail of their faith is remembered with ardor and reproduced with painstaking care. The giant doors are red and gilded, the walls frescoed with stories from life of Buddha, the fight of evil versus good, temptations of flesh, and finally at the alter, the enlightened being, Buddha himself with other Bodhidharma avataras on either side-enlightened and at peace, beyond the grasp of Maya.

We were in time for the afternoon prayers where a few hundred novices of boyish ages ran to their positions at the floor benches and then chanted in deep, sonorous voices, prayers which salved a heart, stilled a restless mind...