A taste of life as it might have been lived at colonial plantation bungalows in the Western Ghats. Leopard! Shoot him!” exploded George, waking me up from my dream-trance in the front seat of the car. I grabbed my camera, springing out into the forest road at 3am with only car headlights and a small torch for visibility, quite the panther myself. Beautiful beyond words, gracefully shy and lit in our lights, the big blot-spotted yellow cat crossed our path before darting through wildflower bushes and into the night. There was nothing dangerous and everything magical about this guy. “Shoot him! Shoot!
A series of public bus rides that day, through three climatic zones and two southern states, in addition to various states of mind, had me passed out on the car seat by midnight. The leopard changed all that: I was now unbelievably wide awake. Finally, this was my real welcome to Kerala’s Western Ghats after weeks of travelling. By the looks of it, George’s panther buzz had hit him even harder.
George and I had met only that evening through a common friend. One beer led to another, which in turn eventually led to this impromptu safari through jungles and on to the Downton Estate Bungalow, a well-maintained 1930s colonial house in the middle of a cardamom plantation owned by George’s relatives. Downton is the only privately owned plantation in the massive Periyar Tiger Reserve in Kerala and the only way to enter it is along the forest road. I wasn’t complaining.
A rubber planter who diversified into the plantation tourism business, George Abraham Pottamkulam is also a history enthusiast and has published a book on South Indian colonial plantations called The Path to the Hills.
The plantation experience in the southern hills, George explained, is mostly about being pampered by a battery of loyal attendants and living it up the planter way—a sumptuous colonial existence inherited and somewhat indigenised (including the cuisine, thankfully!) by their Indian successors, who continue to regard the early British settlers as important cultural references and the founding fathers of the land.
Naturally, many takers for George’s plantation tours are nostalgic descendants of the original British planters trying to find their Indian ‘roots’. These trips, George explained, are also about luxury, high tariffs and the resulting low tourist numbers per unit of land. Compared to the mass tourism widely promoted in most Indian forests and hill stations, with their unplanned constructions and overcrowding, this option is low-impact and more sustainable, since estate tourism doesn’t require new construction, working instead with old houses and existing plantations.
There’s much truth in this eco-friendly aspect as things stand today, but also a fair dose of irony when seen in the historical context: It was for planting tea, coffee, spices and other lucrative cash crops that early colonial ‘pioneers’ had hacked into the virgin forests in the region to begin with. Their settling activities replacing natural forests with cash-crop monoculture eventually set the stage for the long-term ecological damage in the Western Ghats we see today. But like many things colonial, the bad also came with the good.
And so it was with mixed emotions, as a lover of both nature and tasteful things, that I responded to these bungalows when George asked me if I’d like to photograph some of them for his next book. It was now time for me to switch hats and sample the planter’s life in the comfort of his natural habitat, the estate bungalow, and indulge in some time travel. This was going to be a long ride.
By the time we reached the Abrahams’ Evergreen Estate Bungalow in Kuttikal, near the Mundakayam Valley in Kerala, it was nearly dawn. We were just in time to hit the village meat shop and score what was to turn into a delicious cutlet brunch after an overdue snooze. George’s wife would soon warm up to the foodie in me, sharing her wonderful Syrian Christian meat and fish recipes.
Meanwhile, we were now in rubber country. The relatively moderate altitudes make the climate here more temperate than in the higher ranges we left behind, but still nowhere near as warm as the plains. The immediate surprise, though, was finding myself in this mazy late-Art Deco bungalow, complete with original furniture and fittings, in an inland village of Kerala. A few Syrian Christian touches—like portraits of George’s ancestors on the wall, a Malayalam Bible and a wood-fire kitchen with a red cooking platform—punctuated the décor.
We also visited other properties owned by George’s relatives in the region, such as Hill House—a colourful, curio-filled villa in a cardamom estate owned by an ardent antique collector; we met the owner’s parents, who now live in what was once the summer palace of the Queen of Travancore. Then there was Plapalli, a Syrian Christian house on the Mundakayam Valley hillside, with visitor-friendly additions like a tree house and infinity pool overlooking the mountains.
We then moved on to Kanniamalai, a tea estate overlooking the Rajamalai peak. Set up in 1895, Rajamalai Estate began producing one of India’s first high-quality ‘orthodox’ black teas in 1902. Resisting an afternoon siesta that was calling after a heavy lunch and an early morning, we set off on an excursion to Gravel Banks, a trout-fishing stream that promised to be a worthwhile way to spend the afternoon. Gravel Banks welcomes only expert anglers. The only access is through the 97 sq km Eravikulam National Park, on the foothills of Rajamalai and Anaimudi (2,690m).
Eravikulam’s shola forests, with its stunted trees, montane grasslands and unique criss-crossing river system, support at least twenty-six animal species, including the largest number of Nilgiri tahrs—some 750 of them. Eravikulam’s lovely, big-eyed tahrs are as unafraid of human beings as common goats, casually going about their rock-climbing business, as chatty tourists surround and stalk them with flashing cameras and cellphones. If you’ve never seen a Nilgiri tahr before, this is the easiest place to start.
We drove past the last tourists before crossing the Rajamalai rock face and rolling through the tea estate to reach Gravel Banks, which proved to be a quaint, rather basic set-up. The British-era fishing hut is bounded by a ditch to keep wild animals out. A stream runs through one side, an old wooden suspension bridge swaying over it, still going strong after all these years. Eravikulam and Gravel Banks presented a glimpse of what the Munnar experience might once have been. On our return, our happy clear sky suddenly turned into one big shroud, fluffing up and parting again in suspended woolly animation.
After a stop at the Kallar Bungalow, the next destination on our list of overnighters was Sholamalay, an 1898 property sitting in a meadow. The first Christian mass was conducted here in the High Ranges. This might explain the church-style Gothic arch appearing like a wildcard in a corridor connecting the rooms in an otherwise typical planter’s bungalow. Various owners carrying out restorations over the years probably left the arch untouched for religious and sentimental reasons.
The wet weather continued the following morning. However, it was time to leave Munnar and explore more tea estates and bungalows across the Ghats, in Peermade, Valparai, Kodaikanal and Coonoor.
Among the houses we visited, I found the Red Lynch Bungalow in Kodaikanal particularly impressive. Although not a plantation bungalow, this English country-style home—with a sprawling lawn, superlative food, boutique hotel-style service and modern amenities—is a vision of what a modern planter’s home might feel like were the British still around. In most other colonial bungalows in the region today, you’re mostly on your own in a time capsule, with only a cook for company. But Red Lynch has been subtly modernised in terms of service, bathrooms and heating. The antique furniture may or may not be period- or region-specific, but they go well with the property’s spirit of good taste and sophisticated luxury. This might have something to do with the ownership of Kathleen Vera Vincent, of the Vincent planter family, between 1940 and 1952, after which Tamil cinema superstar Gemini Ganesan bought it. His descendants and the current leasee, George Vincent, now offer it sparingly to discerning guests.
Four other properties in Tamil Nadu were also impressive, each differently. The first was the 1930s Stanmore Bungalow in the Anamalai Hills, with its long verandah enveloping nearly its entire façade and overlooking the hills. Then there was the bungalow at Waterfall Estate, also in Valparai, which incorporated local Tamil elements into its otherwise British architecture. The best part of Valparai, though, was a drive to the Akkamalai Estate, after which civilisation ends and the wild sholas and Grass Hill Forest begin. Watching moonrise over Grass Hill was an unforgettable experience, making me want to return as a trekker next time around.
The third distinctive property in Tamil Nadu was Mailoor Estate in Coonoor, on the high slopes of a tea estate in the Nilgiris. Unfortunately, the original façade has been neutered of charm by modern renovations; its empty bookshelves and sparse furnishings contrasted with Red Lynch’s comfortably plush feel. The great thing about this place, though, was its location and wildlife. Bison herds, by now somewhat used to people, enter the lawns every evening. A half-eaten bison carcass was found the week before, suggesting that there are big cats around as well. The manager, also named George (I met at least four Georges on this trip), is as fond of these wild bovines as I am. Our morning walk in the hills together was a pleasure.
The most luxurious property of the lot emerged during an unplanned stop in Ooty. Once we landed there, we couldn’t help but stop to photograph it, as it was nothing short of extraordinary. This was neither a plantation bungalow nor a country house, but a lavish English-style country manor bought by the Mysore maharaja and turned into his summer palace. Ferrnhills Royale Palace has what is probably the most ornate and well-maintained décor anywhere in the Western Ghats. The royal family has embellished it to a new level of extravagance, incorporating panelled red Burma teak walls, vaulted Elizabethan and Jacobean ceilings, glass-panelled corridors, Persian rugs, silk drapes, ornate murals and Chesterfield couches.
With so many young bloods now moving away from the estates to the cities for varied career prospects and more cosmopolitan ways, the planters’ lifestyle seems to be facing the threat of obscurity. Nowhere is this more visible than in the reduced crowds at the old planters’ clubs—watering holes that were once the fulcrum of European social life in these parts, with their celebratory lifestyles featuring ballroom dances, live music and sports, now look somewhat abandoned.
When I mentioned this during a conversation over drinks with a regular at the Mundakayam Club in Kerala—also named George—his response was interesting: You could label an empty club ‘forsaken’ or see entry as a rare privilege that accords exclusivity and intimacy for those who choose to endure.
No comments:
Post a Comment