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Mt Abu: Honeymooners' Paradise


Born & brought up in Mumbai, Manohar Rakhe went to London in 1967 and has lived there since. On his visits home, other than catching up with family and friends, travel is a major focus.

I suppose, if you are on your honeymoon, even a garden shed might feel like paradise. But Mount Abu, in the state of Rajasthan in Northwest India, has some special attributes which a garden shed is rather unlikely to have. Like a tranquil lake, simply made for an idyllic boat ride, under a warm and inviting sun. Country walks, so quiet, that you can hear your own thoughts. But most of all, nights in hotels without any heating on coolish nights (certainly not cold or even chilly by European standards), where the only way to keep warm is to snuggle up to your loved one under a couple of blankets. However, Mount Abu has got something to offer to non-honeymooners as well.

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Although it offers something for everyone, the one thing it does not boast of is deafening disco music or all-night ear-splitting raves. The only thing you are likely to hear in the middle of the night is possibly a cricket serenading its mate or the distant bark of a dog, protesting at being disturbed in its slumber.

I first went to Mount Abu some 40 years ago, as a schoolboy. I was entranced by the sheer tranquillity of the place, having been born and brought up in the cacophonous world of Mumbai (Bombay). Ever since, I have hankered to revisit the place, but only managed to do so on my last trip to India. I wanted to make the trip by train from Ahmedabad to Abu Road, not only for old time's sake, but also in order to carry on my on-going love affair with Indian Railways. But at the time, the track between Ahmedabad and Jodhpur (Mount Abu is about half way between the two), was being changed from Metre Gauge to Broad Gauge and consequently, there were no trains operating to Abu Road.

 

Mount Abu has got something to offer to non-honeymooners as well. Although it offers something for everyone, the one thing it does not boast of is deafening disco music or all-night ear-splitting raves.

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I had to go by road in a coach (bus) from Udaipur to Mount Abu. It was the first time I had travelled in what was described as the 'Cabin'. I have since sworn never to repeat the experience. Cabin on the coach is a place beside the driver. There are no seats as such. Just a sort of bench arranged at a right angle around the engine cover. There is no backrest. You can rest against the sliding glass of the windows. The snag is, in the early morning in winter, the window glass can get bitingly cold, but as the day goes on, it gets blistering hot. Also, as the engine heats up, obnoxious oily fumes start seeping into the cabin.

The road between Udaipur and Mount Abu could only be described as a long pothole, interrupted by isolated bits of tarmac. But the worst part is the greed of the drivers of these vehicles. Every one of them wants every inch of the road for himself, and to hell with other road users. The only respect shown is to the meandering cows. Anything or anybody who dares to cross their path does so at his own peril. Considering the number of times the coach gets airborne, between the potholes, these fellows amply qualify to be described as pilots. By the time the coach reached Abu I surely had more bones in my body than when I left Mumbai.

The project at work was hectic, requiring full attention and gave its bit tense moments from the perspective of starting the trip. On September 14, a new sub-task got added to the project and it looked that the trip was off completely. Then in a miraculous turn of events on Friday the 15th, there suddenly seemed to be a possibility of a two-week gap when my involvement in the project could be minimal. The journey could start the next day! One realised that a lot of things still had to done, MFG 5456 had to be serviced, spares bought, other things taken care of, and there was no time. But, things could not be delayed, the road beyond officially closes on September 15th, and we were still in Mumbai.

 

I had to go by road in a coach (bus) from Udaipur to Mount Abu. It was the first time I had travelled in what was described as the 'Cabin'. I have since sworn never to repeat the experience. Cabin on the coach is a place beside the driver. There are no seats as such. Just a sort of bench arranged at a right angle around the engine cover.
As I got off there was the usual Indian holiday resort crowd of hotel touts. Mercifully, I had a confirmed reservation at The Shikhar Hotel, run by Rajasthan Tourism Development Corporation. The mode of transport to reach the hotel was the most novel that I have encountered anywhere in the world. My luggage and, despite my protests, I, were loaded onto a sort of pushchair and literally, pushed up the road to the hotel. Mount Abu is very hilly and also a very small place. Therefore, the ubiquitous rickshaws and taxis seen in the rest of India cannot operate here. I felt silly being wheeled around like a baby, but on those steep roads the pushcarts really come in very useful for carrying luggage. I felt distinctly better when I saw a young couple being wheeled around not just by the cartwalla, but their two young children as well.

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After unpacking in my very comfortable room, I went to the hotel restaurant, expecting a big crowd. It was deserted as Indians do not regard winter as the 'in' season for visiting Abu. It is the time for honeymooners and 'foreign Indians' like me. A waiter emerged from the kitchen to take my order and also to inform me that since they were not expecting anyone for lunch, my order would still have to be cooked. In the meantime, would I care for some tea and biscuits? Since I never commit the sacrilege of saying 'no' to Indian Tea, prepared the Indian way, I happily acquiesced. While I enjoyed the delightful pot of tea and watching playful squirrels scampering up and down the trees in the garden, a honeymooning couple entered the restaurant.

For connoisseurs of Gujarati food, the lunch was a treat. Being a pukka Bramhan ('Brahmin' in corrupt English), I enjoy all food, as evinced by my bulk. So I went to town on it. There was only one way to work off that feast. I had a great 2-hour nap!

In the evening I walked through quiet, leafy country lanes to Sunset Point. Quite suddenly, as you approach Sunset Point, there are people everywhere. The experience is probably akin to that of Wordsworth, "When all at once he saw a host of golden daffodils," (after wandering lonely as a cloud ). Being on my own and unhampered by any luggage, wife or children, I climbed up to a vantage point to watch the famous sunset. Having participated in the ritual of adding my share to the coffers of Messrs. Kodak, Fuji et al. I ambled back to the hotel. Having devoured my way through another delightful Gujarati meal, I retired to bed. It is just as well there were no discos or all-night parties, for I was in no mood for either, after all that sinful eating.

Next morning I booked a post lunch sightseeing tour of Abu and its surroundings. As there was nothing else to do, I went for a walk to the shores of Nakki Lake, about 1 km. from the hotel. It is a very tranquil lake, not unlike Lake Windermere. Being winter, there were very few people about. A young boy of some 7 years approached me, selling feed for the ducks on the lake. I usually do not indulge in this kind of thing. All it achieves is to make the ducks fatter and your wallet lighter. The flip side is that when other children see you buy the food-bag, they all besiege you, pestering you to buy from them as well.

 

In the evening I walked through quiet, leafy country lanes to Sunset Point. Quite suddenly, as you approach Sunset Point, there are people everywhere.

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But the look of total innocence on the boy's face persuaded me to change my mind. I gave him the money and said that he could feed the ducks himself. I fully expected him to pocket the money and disappear in search of other customers. But, no! The boy really was innocent. He gathered the ducks with birdcalls and fed the entire bag to them. He was about to leave when I called him back, gave him some loose change, amounting to very little in Sterling, and said this money was intended for him. A mistake indeed! I had to beat a hasty retreat from the other aspiring sales boys.

On the lake itself you can go for a boat ride. Or relax in the lakeside park and let your mind off the leash. Gaze in wonderment at the natural phenomenon of Toad Rock, which, as the name suggests, looks just like a toad. Or if you are inclined, get your easel, brushes and paints out and start painting. If you are gifted enough, you may be able to recoup some of the expenses of this trip by flogging the pictures, after getting home.

After lunch in the hotel, some fellow guests and I set off for the coach tour. After visiting a local temple, we made our way to the world famous Dilwara Temples. These temples are of Jain origin with marble carvings the beauty of which quite surpasses words. It is said that while carving, say a flower, if a part fell off or an asymmetry was discovered anywhere, the artist had to reject that entire carving and start all over again, with a new slab of marble. Since these carvings are over a thousand years old, when modern sculpting gadgets would have been unavailable, you are left in total awe of the skill and perseverance of the artistes. There are some 5 temples in this group and each one is a masterpiece. In fact one of the principal reasons for visiting Mount Abu is to visit these temples.

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We also visited two other functioning temples, one of them being right at the top of a hill with a superb view of the surrounding countryside. Getting to the top was strenuous but not difficult, as there were steps carved in the rock. As far as tours go anywhere in the world, this one costing only 30 rupees, offered perhaps the best value for money. The guide was a student of history at a nearby university and his knowledge was impressive.

After returning I had to pack for my next destination, Jodhpur. But half an hour before the scheduled departure of the coach, the local dhobi (washerman) still hadn't brought my clothes back. Upon hearing of my plight, the night duty manager, jumped on his bicycle, cycled to the dhobi's house, extracted my clothes from a pile of washing and dashed back. He refused to charge me for laundering, saying that after causing me such anxiety it would be inappropriate to accept any money from me.


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