Posts Tagged ‘cemetry’

The hills have no sighs

The last time I visited Coonoor, both time and space were conspicuous by their absence in my memory. A few weeks ago, I merrily scaled an altitude of 2000 feet to drench a weekend in her love. The train from Chennai gathered steam slower than a sloth on medication and as usual, I was grumpy. These train journeys were always tedious but never wanton. Thanks heavens for that. I spent hours in the train, counting seconds before the dawn breaks through the sky and sketches portraits of her reflection on my face.

Upon reaching Coimbatore, I met her and a few chutney sandwiches that she had bought to keep us company as we headed out to Coonoor. The taxicab climbed up the cold hills, surrounded by wet greenery silently serenading the sound of warmth. Holding her hand with much aplomb, I let the beautiful pictures painting themselves atop the hills skid past her cheeks and fall into my eyes. Everything appeared more peaceful than they actually were. The clock struck 11 a.m. as the disappearance of signal on my cellphone was greeted by fluffy, moist waves of mist floating effervescently through the hills. It was an invitation to sink slowly into an abyss of serenity. I held her hand tighter than I normally did, hoping to feel the warmth she carried in her fingers in my own.

Taj Gardens was nothing short of quaint. And for a few extra bucks, we munched on chicken sandwiches and sipped on hot chocolate while the world around us moved at a pace that is normally reserved for cocoons and war veterans. The room was non-deluxe and everything that we had hoped for. Far from the madding crowd and comfortably nestled next to a lush, green lawn. The bed looked like it jumped straight out of a pre-war literature and straight into our weekend and the pillows…ahh let me tell you about the pillows…they were soft like melting cheese, often caressing the flesh to move without a sound.

In the evening, we walked. Into the local cemetery, out of the church and back on the streets of Coonoor. In the cemetery, we found lost love, Anglo-Indian names, grand epitaphs, and even a tombstone which read, “In here lies, my love who left me in 1876”. We held hands and continued further, seeking out each hidden corpse now only identified as the way their loved ones used language to portray how much they were missed.

While taking a short walk uphill, we stumbled upon orange bulbous tulips that strangely looked quite in tune to a red Getz car parked nearby. We made connections that weren’t there. We found peace in obscurity. The hills and the ghostly mist that gracefully glides above its shoulders made summer special once again. As special as it is, but never close to how pretty it could be.

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