JOIN USSumescapes? Yes, it is an odd word. It's a fusion of 'summer escapes' and 'summerscapes' (as in landscapes) and, at a bit of a stretch, even 'some escapes'. In fact, this is about all three and a bit more so, like Lewis Carroll, we had to invent a word. Welcome to six places that are as close to a summer wonderland as we know. Come, fly with us to:
Cool, cool Kerala
This cool, green, relaxing network of rivers, canals and estuaries is an unbeatable getaway. Reputedly discovered by the rich families of Kerala for summer cruises, they were forgotten for a while, then proposed by us to a state minister of tourism, scoffed at by him, developed by enterprising Malayalees offering uniquely Keralan houseboats and palm-shaded, off-the-beaten-path, faux-rustic-heritage luxury hotels in the 'most fascinating waterworld on earth'.
The best is a private cruise, with your own crew and guide, homestead-fresh food served as you glide past the tiny hamlets and cottages watching life unreel closer than a wide-screen projection. The backwater hotels have beautiful settings, offer village tours and backwater cruises; flavoursome local cuisine; and their internationally reputed Kerala massage.
Also on the backwaters, after the harvest season when the monsoon is wagging its departing tail, are the great boat races. Most of them feature the world's largest team sport: the battle of the 100-oared chundan valloms, often called snake boats because their curved sterns resemble the raised hoods of cobras. These were, originally, war-boats designed to speed warriors down the narrow waterways. The other types of boats competing in these regattas also served specific purposes in the old water-wars of Kerala, fought between competing principalities.
While in God's Own Country, as Kerala calls itself, you might like to replenish your stock of spices. The wide range of these aromatic, flavoursome and therapeutic natural goodies attracted the world to this nature-blessed land.
The Romans, Arabs, Jews, Portuguese, Dutch and British established trading colonies in Kerala. Communism gifted it a vibrant co-operative movement and public health system, its close-knit social structure, with shared customs and traditions between faiths, gives Kerala a continuing religious harmony which divisive forces have failed to disturb.
Moody Matheran
But if you prefer an old-world tranquillity, head west, where time seems to tick by at a slower pace. Opt for a quaint little hill-station called Matheran, in Maharashtra's Western Ghats. Here, yesterday is today as it will be tomorrow. Though it is probably the smallest hill station in India, it doesn't feel so. One reason could be because motor vehicles are not allowed in Matheran. So we take it easy: walk, stroll, ramble, get lost in the woods. There are plenty of winding, forested roads with little paths meandering through the trees, plenty of shady, secluded places to dream your dreams away and forget the hurrying world far below.
Thanks to the far-sightedness of its original settlers, Matheran never became a noisy tinseltown. Its main street is still a happily dusty place with drifting groups of tourists, horses, rickshaws and shops like the Nariman Chikki Mart, which also sells honey. Then there are the vendors of genuine, hand-made, leisure footwear ranging all the way from chappals and sandals to... naturally... chappals and sandals! If it's reasonably clear, we carry a light picnic snack and head for the quiet, pale-green spread of Charlotte Lake. We enjoy the stillness and the cloud-reflecting serenity of this cool, secluded place.
Matheran's major attractions are still the horizon-stretching 'lookout points'. Panorama Point is the best. It's only five kilometres from the post office and, if it's clear, you should be able to glimpse the ghats to the north, and with a lot of luck, Mumbai. Hart Point and Monkey Point give the best views of the plains. Then there's Echo Point for those who like to hear the sound of their own voice.
'Beastly' Bandhavgarh
Matheran's elevation is only 800 metres, but because its forested heights rise out of the coastal plains, it seems much higher. In spite of its beautiful forests, we saw no wild animals in Matheran. Wildlife-spotting fascinates us and, for that, one of the places we choose is in Madhya Pradesh. Because the forest in this national park has been allowed to grow at its own pace over decades, it has become a living entity. Its trees and wildlife are as closely integrated as the organs, blood and cells in our bodies. Thus, rain falling on the mountains surrounding Bandhavgarh enriches the forests, meadows and wetlands of the national park. These in turn provide sustenance for wildlife: from the insects, birds and reptiles, to the herds of herbivores and, finally, at the top of the food chain, to the flesh-eating carnivores.
We saw families of wild pig digging for tubers, snuffling in the shallows of forest streams. They were often followed by adjutant storks snapping up fish and frogs and dragonflies disturbed by the rooting pigs. A sambar stag, with a sweep of antlers, barked an alarm call when it sensed danger, sending two timorous barking deer scuttling for cover. Our notes on the security systems of the jungle were filling up.
But we wanted more, and our driver helped. "I overheard what the forest guard said on the walkie-talkie," he shouted over his shoulder. "I know where they've found the tiger!"
Thanks to his keen ears and knowledge of the jungle trails, we had more than a head start over the others. We screeched to a stop near a small riding elephant with its mahout perched on its neck and a howdah secured on its back. We ambled into the jungle for about five minutes, and stopped. Looked. There below, about two metres from the elephant's foot, a large sub-adult tiger cub lay feasting on a fresh kill. It filled our view-finders and digital screens. It looked up, justifiably irked at being disturbed. Our cameras buzzed and clicked.
Nebulous Nubra
We could ask for nothing more... Sometimes, however, we do: we want to look beyond, which is what tourism is all about. We drove up the highest motorable road in the world and down the other side, into the magical valley of Nubra, and also into India's segment of Central Asia.
Our journey began in Leh, 3,500 metres above sea level, green and watered by the Indus. At 12.15 pm, we left our vine-hung Yak Tail hotel in Leh. At 1.04 pm, we saw tiny white pellets speckling the windscreen: it had begun to snow. Then, groaning, churning and sliding through the thick slush of the road, we reached Khardung La. A sign proclaimed Khardung La, 18,300 ft. The highest motorable road in the world.
Colourful strings of prayer flags fluttered above the snow-covered hillsides. Then we started on our way down the back of the Himalayas, facing the great, cold plains of Tibet and Central Asia. We turned a corner and there, far below, was the Shyok river: braided ice-blue streams flowing across a platinum-grey bed with the cold neon-flare of the sun glaring behind the distant hills. We stopped on the sandy bed. Beyond the green fields of a village and the cold quicksilver glint of the river rose the bluing backs of the Himalayas. We were now standing on the slopes leading up to the awesome black range of the Karakorums.
A breeze from the valley brought the sweet, musky, overpowering scent of the wild roses they call skangba. We broke off a tiny piece of it and saw a smiling woman looking at us. "We want to take it home to Mussoorie and plant it so that, in time, it will perfume our cottage in the Himalayas," we said, self-consciously. Still smiling, she shook her head and said, "My daughter lives in Mussoorie. She has also tried, many times." Then she said something that encapsulated the hazards and rewards of our trip beautifully - "If you want to breathe the perfume of Nubra, then you must come to Nubra."
For some people, however, Nubra is a little too far away, a shade too rugged for a summer getaway. If you still want to get a taste of Tibet in a more accessible place, Gangtok, Sikkim's capital, is the answer. For us, that first evening was like a dream.
Gangtok goodliness
We had driven up from West Bengal's green and steamy Bagdogra. Welcome to Sikkim - a banner proclaimed, undulating softly in the feather rain. Through the mist, monastic bells chimed, merging with the distant growl of traffic on the road behind us. We walked up to Gangtok's permanent flower show where experts had created exquisitely beautiful blooms.
Across the road, in the handicrafts centre, the heritage of generations is passed down with the intensity that parents pass on the richness of their bloodlines to the next generation. Now we plunged deeper into those reservoirs of tradition that make Gangtok really different: its magical, mystical monasteries.
The old Enchey Monastery was, apparently, teleported from 'a distant place' by the supernatural strength of a spiritual master. We heard the 'deep throat' chant of trained monks in the great monastery of Rumtek across the valley. In fact, after the Chinese invaded Tibet and many of their people found asylum in India, Gangtok became the repository of much of Tibet's esoteric knowledge, and the refuge of many of its legendary scholars. In an unassuming way, Sikkim's capital has become a major power centre for the renaissance of Tibetan culture and its psycho-spiritual disciplines. Quite apart from the interesting things you can see and experience in this town, we believe that Gangtok is the most beautiful state capital in our country.
Beyond these publicised tourism attractions, there is also the special thrill of driving up to Nathu La, the high pass where Indian and Chinese troops stand face-to-face. The road winds past towering hillsides of fields of brilliant wild flowers. Finally, you could, possibly, reach across the frontier line and shake hands with a Chinese border guard. Our granddaughter did.
Misty Mussoorie
Finally, we would like to invite you to visit the place we call home: Mussoorie, in our northern state of Uttarakhand.
Last night, as we expected, there was a loud thunder-clap, and then our red metal roofs rang like kettle-drums with a graupel storm. That's a word our computer choked on. It's also called 'pellet snow' and is formed when snowflakes get coated with colder water on their way down to us. We also have five seasons: spring, summer, monsoon, autumn and winter, a unique light phenomena called the winterline! Oh yes, the people who really control our land cut their milk-teeth here in the LBSNAA aka The IAS Academy.
Visitors are the life-blood of our economy and as we have never been the summer capital of any government, we have never been uptight about visitors' needs. When you wanted a lake, we created one, gave you a cable car to see the high Himalayas. Need a waterfall? You've got it. Nowhere else can you stand on a peak in the heart of the town and see the everlasting snow peaks of the Himalayas, turn around and look down at the spread of the Doon valley at your feet, and the panting hot plains of our land beyond the curve of the earth's shoulder. All this with shopping and snacks and excursions into the Garhwal range.
Successful authors make a living by having experiences and then reliving them, undisturbed, in their writings. Mussoorie has more published and aspiring authors per cubic centimetre than, possibly, any other place on earth. Excitement and tranquillity perfectly balanced: that's the lure of our hometown 2,000 metres high in the Himalayas. Incidentally, authors don't congregate like starlings, and they generally don't like unexpected guests. But if you're in Mussoorie, you could increase your chances of bumping into them in Cafe de Tavern, good for Italian cuisine, MoMos for Tibetan food, Hamer's Department Store, and Cambridge Book Depot opposite the State Bank of India.