I had forgotten the smell of the hills. The fresh clean smell of mountain air mingled with the spicy fragrance of eucalyptus and the overpowering aroma of green tea leaves. But as we negotiated each tricky hairpin bend on our drive up the Coonoor ghat, it was the colours that opened the flood gates of my memory: The lush verdancy of the sholas bordering the highway, fading into the smoky haze that gives these hills their name: Nilgiris or Blue Hills. And as we climbed higher, the delightful panorama of manicured tea fields.
R brought me here as his bride oh so many years ago, and our new life began in a little cottage in the first estate on the highway approaching Coonoor, with a propah Scottish name: Glendale. Our proximity to town, as well as to Ooty, was the envy of every planter around.
Within a year, we moved to a larger manager’s bungalow on another plantation nestled in a valley over an hour away, and accessed by the narrowest and most winding road, ever. The drive, especially on some mist obscured nights after particularly ‘happy’ parties at the club, could be (were!) hair-raising, but our vehicle always seemed to find its own way home however inebriated its driver.
Life on a plantation replicated the life of the English pioneers who hacked their way through these jungles to set up the first tea gardens a couple of centuries ago. So we had butlers and bearers to serve us food and bungalow servants to clean the house and wax our floors. We had two full time gardeners to ensure every inch of the enormous garden was in full bloom in May and an ayah to look after our baby girl.
English high tea was the norm, with dainty cakes (baked in cast iron firewood stoves) and thin cucumber sandwiches, although carrot halwa and spicy pakoras often made an appearance. And we had call bells in every room, even a foot switch discreetly concealed under the dining table, to summon the servants. Really!
Anachronous? Very. But R and I drew the line at not allowing his staff to enter our bungalows, a tradition inherited from the days when native underlings were unwelcome in their white managers’ homes. R, the faithful follower of every rule book, broke this one by inviting his staff to tea to celebrate some collective achievement. And they, and I, adored him for it.
Most of all, I remember the tranquility of our uncomplicated life here. The absence of TV’s and other modern distractions. A prehistoric phone that needed to be cranked briskly to get through to an operator, if at all. The long winter evenings cuddled together in front of the fireplace (there was one in every room). The unlimited time at my disposal to go through the huge crate of books I had inherited from my father in law. The overseeing of the garden. And the simple, companionable days spent with close friends. We had many.
Then, one afternoon, at a planter’s meet at one of the exclusive clubs in town, R was informed of his promotion and transfer to a coffee processing plant in Hassan. This was the break that opened up many opportunities for us later, but at the time, I cried.
A bungalow servant came with us to help us unpack. The day he left (our bungalow in Hassan), our five year old daughter sat on the front step and cried. She, quite like our many cats, hated changing homes and that boy was the last link to our life in the Nilgiris. I sat down beside her and cried again.
In many ways, we have come a long way since…small town bumpkins seduced by big city lights. Reveling in the energy of our dirty metropolis. If R hadn’t been transferred at that point, we would no doubt have retired to our very own cottage on the edge of town with many old friends for company. And not a thing would have been different from the day I stepped foot there, except for the absence of the army of servants.
Would we have been happy? Most certainly. Only, our daughter would have remained in boarding school longer, my design school would have been a distant dream, and we would have been too broke to travel. (We were always broke then, as were most of our friends and we often laughed over our running accounts at the clubs and stores…everywhere actually.)
Still, I gazed wistfully at the rows of pretty new cottages on a re-purposed tea garden close to town and dreamed of what might have been.
Equally, my heart bled for all that had changed. Water shortage is now a major issue (in town. The gardens have their own springs), as is power. The main roads were unbelievably crowded where once you would be hard pressed to pass another vehicle for miles.
Unbridled (unlicensed?) and ugly construction catering to increased domestic tourism has turned this once beautiful hill station into a shanty town. Making me wonder, how long before the entire country degenerates into one?
What was our life like? I almost don’t remember now.
Though I remember ‘it’, the space of time it occupied.
And I remember it fondly.
~ “The Sportswriter” by Richard Ford
PS: Our first home on Glendale Estate was washed away in a landslide.
The Urge To Wander 
Madhu, have you ever read any of the M.M. Kaye’s biographies (there are three)? She grew up in India and based some of her fiction there. They’re fascinating. Beautiful post. I’m glad you mentioned it, as this was before I discovered your blog.
janet
Thank you taking the time to read Janet. I read Far Pavillions a long time ago. Not the biographies. I think she wrote a novel based in Kashmir. Need to hunt that down. She lived in the North, Shimla if I am not mistaken.
I think it was called “Death in Kashmir”. All her mysteries are called “Death in ______.” I really like them. I should have said “autobiographies” as she wrote them and her memories are quite something. She also wrote “Shadow of the Moon” which takes place in India, too. I haven’t read that one for ages and may have to pick it up again. Rumer and Jan Godden also grew up in India and wrote autobiographies about their lives there, as well as novels.
Thats the one! Haven’t read Rumer or Godden. Shall try and pick them up. Thanks Janet.
Rumer Godden was more prolific than Jan. If you read any, let me know what you think.
Will do 🙂
Hi Madhu,
So well titled and beautifully written.
This evoked so much memories of the childhood. I can so much relate to the environ, growing up around coffee and tea estates in Chickamagalur. With parents we had visited few of the estates and manager’s bunglaw when we were kids and the luxurious warm hospitality we were offered.
It was a life so close to nature,
Thank you for sharing this post 🙂
I’m fan about your photography your fabulous shot and thanks a lot shearing your blogs
So, so, so beautiful…reading this post for the second time 🙂 The development of the hillstation for domestic tourism and general commercialism is very similar to our hillstation and tea plantations in Malaysia – it’s sad. This is definitely on my bucket list when I venture to South India some day, and at the rate am travelling to India, it could be anytime soon, LOL!
Thanks Kat. Do be sure to let me know when you venture South. Would love to catch up with you.
Absolutely! 🙂
Reblogged this on taniaswordplay.
Wow! The place looks like a paradise with those intense green colors. I would love to be there. Kind greetings.
Marianne
Madhu, these magnificent landscapes remind me of Munnar. Having spent just over a week there back in 2012, I can understand why you had such a difficult time leaving this beautiful part of the world. We, too, met such kind people.
I’ve never travelled. How nice to enjoy yours vicariously. Lovely blog, Madhu.
Madhu during the 20 years we lived in and travelled India we developed a deep love for the peoples (for there are many nationalities) the culture and topography. This kind of blog tugs at our heartstrings. I’ve travelled the busses, taxis and 3rd class rail gari and been totally exhausted in the process. lol But never got tired of the changing landscape and kaleidoscope of experiences as I went. Who needs TV! One of the most comforting memories is of being in some non descript building far from the cities and going to sleep at night with the sound of a Hindi song blaring from a far off village. Something familiar in unfamiliarity. 🙂
I can see this post induced nostalgia in you as well Ian 🙂 I miss the silence most of all.
I have spent some years of my life here, I am glad I could live here in the hills. Ooty, Coonor, Kotagiri 😀 …Feels so much in love with these places now.
True. We leave behind a part of ourselves in each place we reside in. Thank you for the visit and comment Anoop.
great post! – looks like heaven! so lush and green!
It is a stunningly beautiful place. Guess we took it for granted when we lived there 🙂 Thanks Busybee.
Madhu, your life in the plantations sounds like something straight out of a wonderful period film – I can just imagine the sounds and smells of the hills, and all those simple pleasures that us city folk rarely get to enjoy. Your photos capture the Nilgiris so beautifully as well. If you hadn’t made the move to Hassan this blog may well have ended up becoming ‘The Urge to Drink Tea’. 😉 When will you be publishing a memoir?
Ha, I would have had a lot more time to devote to that tea blog certainly! 🙂 A memoir??? I am not sure my life is interesting enough to fill a few hundred pages James 🙂
What a beautiful place! It was a pleasure reading this post, Madhu. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for reading Uday.
What wonderful wonderful memories you shared. I can taste the tea! You’ve made me ever more desperate to return to India as soon as I can. I love the hill areas 🙂
You should Ken. Does Bangladesh grow any tea? I am truly clueless about that country except for the fabulous food we tasted in Kolkata last December.
There are some working tea gardens up in Sylhet other than that I don’t know.
I could have read on and on. You’ve taken me on your journey down memory lane. I enjoyed every word as I read it.
The images created by your description and photo were the exclamation. Thank you for a taking me on a visit to your past.
Great post …. !!! ~~~ : – )
p.s. my medical physician is Dr. Hassan. Is it a name that has a meaning?
Happy you enjoyed my trip down memory lane Isadora. And thank you for the kind words. Hassan is a common Muslim name, not restricted to India. I doubt there is any connection with the small town I referred to.
My doctor is from India. But, I don’t know from where he comes from. He is friendly but I don’t want to ask personal questions. Thanks for the info. ~~~ : – )
Your writing is always so real and your images truly take me to places I will never get to see but for you. Thank you Madhu!
Thank you for reading and for the lovely comment 🙂
simply magnifique, Miss Madhu… I love green, in general and raw or dark green in particular… a few samples, if you have interest and 1 spare minute: 🙂
http://myvirtualplayground.wordpress.com/?s=raw+green
Thank you Melanie. And I enjoyed the breathtaking landscapes in your gallery.
So beautiful, such a fabulous story to go along with the pictures.
Thank you Valentine. Happy you enjoyed my story 🙂
Madhu, what a fantastic storytelling and the images as always. How terrible to lose your home in landslide, were you living in your home at the time it happened?? Your story is so full of warmth – it’s like I’m sitting beside you and sharing it in person with you. Hope you understand what I mean.
Do you know which country is the greenest in the world??? Norway – they claim they have 52 shades of green – one more than Ireland, but I think it is a Norwegian that has been counting.
Not a tea drinker, but I understand that it goes a lot of work, care and passion in to the tea plants.
Glad you enjoyed reading my reminiscences Viveka! No we weren’t living in that house when the landslide happened although we were still in the district. An assistant manager lived there, but no one was hurt!
I am inclined to agree with you about the Norwegian stats! My title used poetic and nostalgic license of course 😀
Idyllic is what comes to mind while reading of your time in the hill stations. Lynne and I thought of you often during our short time in Munnar recently. But nothing last for ever and I can certainly attest to the crush of tourism, we being a part of it.
Thank you for sharing your memories.
It really was an idyllic life. We avoided Ooty in summer even then, especially during the week of the flower show. Now they are both shadows of the towns we knew. Incidentally Munnar was not a tourist destination when my sister lived there, between the late sixties and late eighties! All those hotels were built much later. Wish you could have seen it then. Thank you for reading Ron.
Return to Eden.. your narative reminds me of a family saga, which combined with these views in expertly taken photos makes me dream of lands I never thought of visiting. The post is very touching as it reveals so much of you Madhu.
Yeah, kind of! 🙂 My ‘memories’ posts always elicit the most attention strangely!! The one on my childhood home has received the most comments to date, apart from my about page! Glad you enjoyed this Paula.
I see nothing strange in that. People like feeling close to you, Madhu 🙂
What an idyllic setting Madhu! It was lovely to get a glimpse into your life. How wonderful for your family to have had this experience. 🙂
It is an experience that we cherish to this day LuAnn.Thank you for reading 🙂
your tales of earlier years are my favorites; ah, nostalgia! our hearts ache when we return to changes in those idyllic landscapes. the wounded hill has many cousins throughout our world…i grieve with you.
the hollyhocks are always happy flowers! the tea fields are stunning! the thunbergia – ah, i am sure it was once stunning draped high above and dangling like a curtain.
thank you for sharing such a lovely heart-felt post.
lisa/z
The Thunbergia ‘curtain’ hanging over lush green ferns was the showpiece of our garden. And the huge Azalea bushes. I miss those flowers the most, the ones that don’t grow in the heat of the plains. It felt good to see and touch some of them 🙂 Thank you for reading Lisa.
Your photography in this post is exceptionally beautiful, Madhu, as are your reflections on your early years in Coonoor. I can understand why you have a strong connection with this area!
Delighted you think so Elisa! Thank you very much. Have a great Sunday 🙂
Oh, that’s lovely! Takes me back to childhood and the rural properties my Dad bought and sold.
Glad you enjoyed this Ian. And happy to have stirred fond memories.
It looks so peaceful. Just beautiful.
It was Juliann. Still is, away from town. And our friends who have settled there cannot dream of living anyplace else.
Such a beautiful piece, Madhu! I am mesmerized by your description of the Nilgiris….
Thank you Shikha. It was a blissfully uncomplicated life in the most beautiful of surroundings!
Glad I came to find out what you were up to tonight, Madhu. What a lovely post and what an amazingly romantic place to start your lives together. The scenery is incredible.
I wondered as I read if it was a mistake going back and seeing the changes, but it still looks incredibly lovely to me, and I think from reading your comments that you still find it so. 🙂
It still is very beautiful away from the center of town Jo. Not sure how long it will remain so. Some of the tea gardens around the periphery have been converted to housing plots!
You take us to the most interesting places Madhu! Love this time travel down memory lane and how wonderful to gather with your friends, to celebrate and reminisce in ll that lush green!
Happy you enjoyed my reminiscences Patti. Catching up with friends we hadn’t seen in decades was the best par of the trip.
Beautiful post, Madhu, and gorgeous photos! Thank you for allowing us to travel back in time with you…have a wonderful Wednesday!
Thank you Lauren. You too 🙂
Gorgeous views,Madhu and personal narrative of the tranquility of an uncomplicated life. At least you went back knowing there were many changes but were able to enjoy the sensuous beauty surrounding you in those lush green hills. Outstanding post.
Thank you Lynne. My personal connection apart, the beauty of the Nilgiri biosphere is truly breathtaking. I hope we can return for a longer visit sometime soon.
Amazing images and memories – you brought my soul to a whole new place.
Happy I did!! Thank you Mary.
Oh my! I have to echo Eric—charming and idyllic comes to mind. And the photos are gorgeous. I really loved the story, a sweet poignancy here. Have you considered writing a memoir, Madhu??!!? 🙂
Memoir! Oh no Riba, never considered my life interesting enough! 🙂
Wonderful Ooty and Coonoor coverage.. was there by 3rd week of May by the by.. regards
Thanks Ashwin! When did you change your name?? 🙂
Thank you, Madhu, for sharing snippets of your early life. It came across as idyllic and charming. 39 years you say – now that’s some achievement and what a journey it must have been.
All good wishes,
Eric
P/s I did visit Ooty in the 1990s and unfortunately it was already a shadow of what my Grandpa had related to me. So sad.
Makes me feel ancient to read 39 in print! The thing is I don’t feel old at all! 🙂 Ooty was best avoided during the summer months, even when we lived there Eric. It has fared far worse than Coonoor in the ensuing years.
wonderful pictures…refreshing…in this hot humid afternoon your pics felt like a chilled glass of fresh lemon juice….sipped it drop by drop and aah how soothing and refreshing it felt.
memories…nice to go through your experiences. Nostalgia is a necessary thing…those happy memories tucked in the scrap book of heart provide a bitter sweet feel.
and yeah, almost all the verdant hills of our country are turning into chaotic places. heart bleeds to see their exploitation in the name of tourism.
Ah yes, just the thought of those hills helps relieve the Chennai torridity a bit! 🙂 Thanks Namita.
Madhu, you have had – and have – an exciting and interesting life. When I revisit places of old and my memories wander, I always cry. For what once was, for old friends and for beloved relatives now gone. Life is wonderful but also filled with sorrow, with things we wished we had said or done. Isn’t it strange how certain views, scents and music can stir our very inner depths and let our hearts and eyes be filled…
Interesting perhaps, exciting…..not so much Ann Christine 🙂 The most exciting incident in our lives was a burglary in our Hassan house. But that is another story!
I don’t believe you…
🙂 Honest!
😀
It was so lovely to travel back in time through your words, Madhu. What an idyllic life! Your old bungalow on Adderly estate is beautiful (pity about your first house though)… And that view! Your photos showcase the beauty of the place so well.
I absolutely understand the emotion behind your comment that your heart bled for all that has changed. So much of the change that we see in our country under the name of “progress” doesn’t seem progressive at all.
I was aghast at the sight of Lower Coonoor! Tin sheds cheek by jowl with ugly concrete hotels! Who doles out licences for these I wonder? And how much grease is involved? Seems like we have lost the plot somewhere along the way Kan. I really don’t see how anyone can turn things around.
It’ll get much worse before it gets better…There is just no catalyst for turning things around in the near term 😦
I think the construction probably caters to the target audience, which is focused on affordability and not aesthetics… it is sad, but that’s what I think it is. A friend of mine was making the same complaints about the state of “hill stations” in the Himalayas. The demographic of the majority of the visitors has changed over time… and that has dictated how these places have evolved.
So beautiful! Can almost smell the fresh air 🙂
Returning from Chennai, it felt cleaner than ever! Thanks Mahesh.
awesome 🙂
Thanks Joshi.
Thanks so much for sharing your memories of a bygone era. When we revisit the places of our past, things are never the same, and we realise how much we’ve changed in the intervening years. I so enjoyed reading of your lavish life on the plantation. What a lot of fun you must have had.
It was great fun while it lasted Sylvia. And we cultivated some lifelong friendships there. Thank you for reading.
Beautiful area very well depicted. Love those colours Madhu.
Thank you David. Incredible greens aren’t they?
Nostalgic indeed!
Yes, a kind of ‘remembrance of things past’! 🙂 Thank you for your visit and comment.
How pretty – was there nearly two years ago – thanks for the reminder… yes water is a huge issue in the area – my mum had to get rid of her two cows due to a lack of rain for the past few years – she is doing it tough!
Your mum lives in Kotagiri doesn’t she? With all the abuse the hills are subjected to, I am not surprised nature is biting back. The indiscriminate construction is only going to wreak more havoc.
Now I’m feeling nostalgic, Madhu … nostalgic for beautiful jungly hillsides, manicured tea gardens, red roofed bungalows and English cottage gardens … and the lifestyle, anachronous even then, both there and in my island Paradise, mostly untenable now, except for tourists who can afford to pay. But that bridge … wow, that’s a shot of pure romance!
Gorgeous photographs of those glorious views – ahhh – I can imagine how your feelings must have soared and swooped, Madhu – a bit like finding your way home from the club, those days!
Oh yes that drive back was hair raising some misty nights! No city dweller would be able to navigate those bends in low visibility, sober 😀 It felt good returning after decades Meredith. Apart from all the memories, we got to catch up with many, many friends, all there for the wedding we had come to attend.
This was so beautiful to read, thank you for sharing!
Thank you Jade (or Oli?)! Appreciate your taking the time to read it through.
The countryside and your life then sounds idyllic. I would have cried, too, when it came to moving. Life, however, brings changes – not all of them to our liking. I’m sad to read that your first home was washed away in a landslide and happy to learn that so many good things have happened since your move. Wonderful story, Madhu. Thank you for sharing your memories. 😉
Thank you for your thoughtful response Judy. Our move was serendipitous for us, although we didn’t know it at the time.
Oh, now I want to smell the Nilgiris Hills! -Ginette
You should try and work it into your RTW plans then Ginette and Gordon! 🙂 The parts away from the main towns are still magical with loads of stunning trails if you are into trekking or fishing. Delighted to ‘meet’ you by the way! 🙂
SO many memories packed into this post — the photos are like a picture book. Reminded of the simplicity of things that make us most happy, yet the opportunities that other complexities can create.
Thank you Kat. I miss the simplicity. But we do all evolve in such a way that there is no going back!
So interesting to read how your life began as a married couple. Seems like R was quite a rebel in his own way 🙂
Ha, one wouldn’t guess it from his calm, imperturbable nature! 🙂
Precious memories, my dear Madhu. Nostalgia is such a beautiful feeling [albeit bitter sweet] especially with places of your heart. And no matter how much they change, there will always be that little sniff or view or something that will take you on a ride to the past instantly! Beautiful place! 🙂
We were returning, for a friend’s daughter’s wedding after three decades!! So we had a lot of remembering to do. Thank you Marina, for the comment, as well as the share. And Happy Wednesday! 🙂
Amazing captures… 🙂
Very exciting and interesting story – we are all a result of our life and experiences – often changes dependent on coincidences – we must always look ahead and see obstacles as opportunities and not say “ohh if just the thing had gone so or so” – but it is nevertheless always touching to see back in time – really enjoyed your post here so much, and really understand your feelings – during my entire life, I have lived countless number of places – and they all have a place in my heart… 🙂
I tend to fall too easily in love with even the places I visit Ledrake, but this was special and we were so very young. I think I miss that more than the place 🙂
Well this has been the story all over.. we have a small house in a place called solan..on way to shimla..when we built it ours was the second or third house on that particular hill and we could see the little town centre of solan..
But now it is so very crowded..and it has become so warm and hot place..lost the idea of being called a hill station.
And the title yiu say ten thousand. . Nooooo.. I am sure I can see ten thousand PLUS ONE..
He he he he
I see the whole country going that way Bikramjit. No one seems to be bothered by the idea.
What amazing memories Madhu, I feel privileged to read this and I’d love it if you posted more some time 🙂
This year has been, quite unintentionally, one to revisit memories Gilly. Who knows which memory I will go chasing next? 🙂 Thank you for reading.
A wonderful share, Madhu.
Thank you Stephen. I would have finished an average of two books per day at the time. Today, it takes me weeks to finish a thin paperback! Almost done 🙂
Thanks for letting us into your reminiscences….
You are most welcome Sue. Thank you for reading.
Enthralling reiminiscences of a different era. Similar, in many ways, to the Colonial era in Africa.
Thank you Col. I am sure the lifestyle of the time was shared by many erstwhile colonies. It was fun while it lasted 🙂
Emerald… the real beauty of our Planet Earth, dear Madhu…. I always wished to look at such beautiful teafilds, but I never was in Tamil Nadu.
I saw teafilds in Japan, a lot of them, and in western Kenya… always a superb experience!
A great hug 🙂
You should return then Claudine! Kerala grows tea as well, in Munnar. My sister and her husband lived there. Hugs back 🙂
Madhu, thank you for sharing your memories. How precious those years were. I know that life in a plantation, away from city comforts, may have been hard, but I can’t help romanticizing it and thinking of that place as paradise – which does look like one form the photos. I admire you and your husband for your more egalitarian philosophy.
My pleasure entirely Imelda! It didn’t feel hard at the time, we felt privileged in fact. But i could never go back to that way of life again. Wouldn’t know what to do with myself 🙂
What bliss!
It seems even more so on hindsight Ishita, now that we are perennially short of time.