It was
22nd August. The day I had been waiting for so long. I was thrilled
and excited and our bags were packed and ready to go days ago.
Booking
a call taxi, the guy, showed off his collection of teen songs that varied
linguistically as well as beat-ically. The airport grew as we came closer; the
new Kamaraj domestic terminal towered above our heads like a huge umbrella
filled with many shiny new metal spikes. After a small shuffling of documents
we entered the dome greeted by Naval Singh, the officer by the gate. Dad woke
us up really early fearing a crowded airport, but voila, every person seemed to
move toward counters other than ours. And poof, we were done and had an hour
and half long wait at the airport. Shortly near gate no 5, a smart bus arrived
that picked us up and moved all the way to the airplane. There was another
crazy bunch of tourists that rode with us, clicking away pictures at the
slightest hint of anything different. Arming my brother with canon Powershot
a330, I urged him to click away and he started right off.
After
the eventual boarding, takeoff and flight, I had to wait 2 hours before any
signs of land could appear below. After what seemed liked ages, a stretch of
land was spotted. My vacation has started and thus begins my imagery.
The
clouds slowly parted and engulfed the funnily small windows near the seats. It
hid the magic behind it like a shy girl all covered up. Then patches of green
appeared as if god threw them carelessly on the ground. It was perfect. You
could start about guessing what shape came next as the chunks of earth grew
into different shapes. My neck ached from turning left and right. There were
unbelievably brilliant pieces of land strung together like a bead necklace gone
awry. There was also earth snaking its way through the sea and reaching out to
grab another piece of earth or sometimes sink into the hungry ocean.
Breathtaking
and awe-giving, the scenery was something I had never seen before. There were
also islands that showed a faint border around it depicting the likes of an
atoll or coral reef. Imagine, lush dark green forming a thick canopy right at
the centre before seething sheepishly on all sides into the sea forming a pale
green texture on the sea bed. Only the whiteness of the sand that lay between
the two greens tells you the island ends there and the great sea begins. And
looking deeper you can see the massive land underneath which was greater than
what is being proudly displayed atop.
In
spite of the jealous sky trying to turn our attention to the plush and thick ice-cream
white snow, the land and sea seemed to be showing it the middle finger. Only an
aerial view can let you estimate the various shades of green God can dazzle you
with making you sink in humility.
As the
plane neared the ground tearing our eyes from the brilliant green show, a huge
display of coconut trees loomed into sight and as we got closer to the ground,
it struck me that I was still in India. The stray garbage and dirt can be
discernible at any altitude only over Indian soil and it never failed to prove
me wrong.
And I
was like, Oh Australia, come on.
Touching
down we entered what looked like a hut in comparison to the other airports I
had been. The air was fresh and foreheads were thick of vermillion indicating a
finger in the state from where the sea borrowed its name. Bengal.
Yes it
was populated by Bengalis, with Hindi being commonly spoken and English being
the official language.
First
Impression: Awesome I’d say. I had a feeling I was entering a sparsely
populated, more pristine piece of earth.
And it
felt like a lord when I found out we had someone waiting for us with our names
on a board. Ha! I never had that done to me before.
And
our ride was not bad too. A shiny new scorpio, it was rich and had a perfect
sense of calling. And what’s more they hand us a basket full of maa’s and
lay’s. Ha! Not bad at all. Food....
After
a short drive up a road that resembled ones in munnar or kodai, we came up a 3
star hotel TSG emerald view. It was stylish and the bell boy seemed sturdy on
carrying our luggage himself.
Yes
yes it was quite a welcome, Nature and Tour Agency wise.
The
guide gave us a briefing of what to expect in the day and asked us to be good
to go by 3. And we were. I am thankful my dad is around. Cause I don’t remember
being on time with any other group I have been out with. Let’s blame the women
shall we.
The guide
said he knew Tamil. I dint know he knew it the way I knew Hindi. So it was all
fun, questions fired up with wrong answers shooting back or us making futile
attempts to convey the same in Hindi and being dazed some more.
Our
destination was Chidiyatapu, a beach
35 km from our hotel. We packed up our stuff to go, handy with a digicam and
handy cam and also loads of expectations. And oh my god the ride, it got my
head spinning for the next hour. Sharp turns, climbing up and down hills, it
was terrible I tell you. We reached finally what seemed to be a deserted
stretch of pure white sand with couple of uprooted trees and demolished walls.
The place had huge boards warning you of crocodiles. Why was the place open I wonder?
The trees were magnificent; sometimes two of them had their roots across each
other holding for dear life. We climbed a trunk as far as our untrained limbs
and bellies could carry. The sand was clear and the water was shallow up to a
few metres. The beach was surrounded by hills covered with green all around.
Small huts were built, tree logs were cut to make benches. We had an hour to
kill before the next stop, so we sat around taking as many pictures as we
could, videos and what not. There was one tadpole like creature which we
fathomed it be a crocodile spawn or something. The place resembled the island
you might notice in the HCL ad where two guys are marooned on an island. It was
different from the usual sundal, popcorn vendors, hawkers, tamed horses and the
imperative hustle bustle of marina.
After
spending a while we started off to Cellular
jail which was the place Siraichaalai was shot. As we reached early, we had
to wait at the Rajiv Gandhi water sports complex which had Jet Ski and other
stuff. I so want to be back there again.
There
was also a small park opposite the cellular jail commemorating the people who
suffered torture in the jail. It was then I understood why the Port Blair
airport was named Veer Savarkar Airport. Quite a gesture.
The
cellular jail was being preserved in its original state with few restorations
done and safeguarded by the department of art and culture. It was now a
national memorial. Revolutionaries who took part in several conspiracies and
bombings, or spoke against the British Rule violently, like Alipore,
Chittagong, Lahore and many others spent their last days here.
The
jail was one place that really took me way back in Indian history, creating a
vivid description of what might have taken place. The light and sound show
really brought life the rich Indian history forgotten and ignored by us. The
story talked about how Andaman was made a penal island, how the jail was built,
(note, Indians ourselves gave birth to its monster.) one point that caught my
attention was the unwavering quality of Indian promises made. 3 years was the
proposed plan. It took almost 10 year to complete it rather. But imagine the
entire cost was only 5, 71,000 Indian rupees.
The
prisoners from neighbouring jails participated in building this slaughterhouse.
Brick by brick, 10 years went away. A neat little ghetto was built. Each cell
was symmetrical in size and about 4 out of 7 of them had oil presses. I had no
idea how hard it was to extract oil from coconuts when there was an example
cited. It seems it takes two cows to extract 16 pounds of oil in one day. Jailer
David Barrie was instrumental in perpetuating torture. The prisoners, 3 in
number were made to extract 80 pounds a day. They were thrashed, beaten if they
failed. One guy, Ullasam lost his mind owing to the torture. He was still
tortured. The prisoners were flogged, made to work oil presses and so on. Food
was worse. There was stones and dirt in the porridge and a vicious circle of
jailers roamed around to steal their scanty rations. Another Mahabir Singh,
Bhagat Singh’s aide was forced fed milk to break his protest fast. The food
drowned his lungs and killed him. This was the singular event that sent waves
of shock across the nation bringing the toils of the prisoners to check.
After
a few years of normalcy the Japanese conquest came by shedding bloodshed.
Though their reign stayed for only 3 years, they killed thousands of Indian
farmers and workers on the pretext of being spies.
A tree
stood on one corner telling the story. It chanced to escape felling while the area
was being cleared to build the seven spokes of jail. only three stand today. On
another corner, a voice appeared claiming to be the spirit of the prisoners.
Both the tree and spirit gave an almost live tale of what time had gulped here.
Gripped by eerie recounts of Indian struggle, we started back to our room for an
early end to our Day 1.
