The monsoon slides up the map of India from the seas of Kanyakumari through God’s own country Kerala, the land of temples Karnataka, the beautiful Goa and the vivacious Maharashtra. A trip along the Konkan route – which stretches between Panvel in Mumbai and Mangalore – is the perfect recipe for enjoying the region’s beauty in its entirety.
Konkan railway is a marvel of civil engineering and architecture. It takes us across the Deccan plateau via the hills, rivers and lakes, ploughing through tunnels and bridges, affording us a view of some of the most spectacular scenes of the monsoon. Though the rainy season is definitely the worst time to travel, with the flooding of roads and risks of flu and indigestion, there’s nothing like a train journey along the Konkan to revive life in you.
I set out for Mumbai from Mangalore, in the peak of monsoon, when the four states on the route were reporting heavy downpour. Some trains on the route were cancelled as tracks between Nivsar and Adavali in Maharashtra had been washed out in soil slippage, while many others were either diverted or delayed. Despite all this, I took the risk of travelling, for I was eager to watch the countryside in the lush of greens.
In Maharashtra, the hills give endless silhouttes on the horizon, and you can never determine their number. And each of them is striped with innumerable little streams and rivulets that are a characteristic of this state’s hilly sections in this season. The state transforms itself from a dry, water-craving red land into a smug valley during the monsoon. The streams flowing down the hills make for both wonderful waterfalls as well as help feed the flourishing fields of paddy and pulses through step irrigation. The grazing cattle and the peasants covering themselves with plastic sheets add to the idyllic beauty. The cool breeze is both soporific and soothing.
The hills are also set alive with snake-like paths on which trucks and cars crawl towards their destination. The season and the region is perfect for some backpack travelling, with long walks, hitch-hiking and get-drenched-light-a-fire moments galore. A ride on the train is no less adventure-filled, though – with patches of rain appearing and disappearing with equal speed, we were kept busy manning the windows. As soon as the downpour began, we had to throw the shutters down, or else, we stood the risk of getting drenched by the influx of water from the roof as well as in the screeching winds. We also had to open the windows the moment we thought the rain had abated – how could we miss even a little patch of the Konkan! However, the floors of trains were thoroughly wet and filthy, and we had to don our slippers all the time.
Among the other highlights of the trip are Konkan’s tunnels and bridges. With around 2,000 big and small bridges over the innumerable little rivers, ponds and lakes on the 760km-route, and over 90 tunnels carved out of the Western Ghats, the construction of the stretch must have been truly formidable. While the bridges invoke suicidal tendencies in one by affording such intense view of the waters below, the tunnels are truly a wonder. Carved out of the belly of the Sahyadri, each time the train passes through one, shouting children and teenagers remind one of human desires to break free and express ourselves. Snaking through the innards of the hills is really a chilling experience. The stuffiness of the tunnels and the roaring sound of the train gnawing through one seem to be accusing us of ravaging Nature’s core, and make me feel guilty most of the times.
The rains are not all good news, though. Alongside all the pretty pictures it creates, it wages destruction in many places. Filthy brown waters harbour diseases in high numbers, and flooding is quite common. Even from the train, I could see quite a few farms, trees and huts submerged in water. The season is truly a paradox – flourishing farms and lush valleys on the one side, and water-logging and flooding disrupting daily life in places like Ahmedabad and Mumbai on the other.
As we move away from the pastoral areas into the city, the ‘remnants of development’ – ugly and disease-ridden slums, chawls and shanties near railway stations and life overflowing on to the railway tracks offer a sharp contrast to the beauties of Nature that just witnessed. But I immediately cut the thought – regretting the elite urban Indian attitude of frowning at the under-developed – I am ready to accept the extremities of our wonderful country. Anyway, if all were rosy, would it be called the Earth?
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