OF A WALK FROM THE AIRPORT & A TALE BY GULZAR -I
OF A WALK FROM THE AIRPORT & A TALE BY GULZAR
ANDAMAN ISLAND – DAY NUMERO UNO, Nov. 7th
WOES OF A TRAVELLER
It’s the dawn of a new day. 12:55 am to be precise. Somehow, travelling repeatedly stands for early mornings, or in this case, a late night, an incomplete sleep, and a hurried cup of tea. A transformation into a zombie.
The relief is that one is not alone, though. Someone somewhere must be celebrating a birthday, an anniversary. Cakes and balloons, video calls, and cheers all around. Travel is equally exciting, perhaps even more as the party extends several days.
A holiday beckons. To the end point of India- the islands of Andaman.
Somewhere at the back of the mind all we country people must have thought of the Andaman, but never much more. Always there, and yet not there. Geography lessons at school. A place far, far away from everywhere. Period.
There are no expectations, as there’s no knowledge. Lack of knowledge, after all, leads to ignorance.
Some basic research has given an introduction to white sand beaches, rain forests, and tribes living since eternity. But is that only what a place is? What about its people, its culture, its cuisines, its dynamism?
Andaman is about to unravel all.
LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL & TAXI SERVICE ANDAMAN STYLE
Delhi- Vizag- Port Blair, an endless flight. The excitement builds. An antiquated airport welcomes. Foreign tourists with their scuba diving gear, however, tell that Andaman is anything but antiquated.
A short walk from the airport to the main road, a crosswalk, zig-zagging the traffic and in return receiving an exasperated glare from the traffic policeman. Voila, the hotel arrives. Shell decorations everywhere remind that this is the land of the seas. Miss Shakti, the graceful receptionist becomes the first guide, informing about the most popular eating joints in the city.
It’s a quick introduction to the unique taxi service – Andaman style. Taxis run in circles here, the driver is never dedicated to any one rider. Drop passenger 1 at a destination, drive off to pick up passenger 2, make passenger 1 wait while passenger 2 gets dropped off, assure passenger 1 that it’s just a few minutes to pick up. Then bask in this assurance, and go home and have lunch. And so the cycle continues. By the time the modus operandi unravels itself, it’s time to return home.
Alok Taxi is no different. The circus is just beginning.
SEARCH &SEEK
It’s off to the seafront where on December 30th, 1943, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose hoisted the Indian tri-colour and declared the Andaman free from British rule. Today, the massive pole (built by a Delhi-based company) holds the tricolour fluttering in the gentle breeze as several ships float in the blue clear waters of the Indian Ocean.
A short walk to the Kargil Memorial Park gets enhanced with the first observations of the locals. Students exiting their Government College for the day, many sitting on benches by the sea, chatting, snacking, laughing, high fives galore, as would a young group anywhere in the world. The park itself is bejewelled with some retired Army tanks and machine guns. Netaji’s statue stands tall and proud.
Ahead is the Rajeev Gandhi Water Sports Complex. Holidaymakers, especially juniors are enjoying the time of their life. Cross the road and a Government Press arrives. It’s lunchtime, and like any midday meal in a government setup, it’s time to unwind.
The women staff, dressed in glamorous sarees (one could mistake an office party) are busy chatting, some male colleagues are deep in their afternoon siesta, the office benches serving as temporary beds. All this amid bundles of printed memorandums, Government Gazettes, and resting machines.
Mohanan and Malti, however, are happy to see visitors and willing to explain. An orientation of the work carried on and a brief on the clitter clatter machines, a glass of cool water, and a walk through a photo gallery of the island’s native personnel round up the visit. Mohanan, Malti, Arunab, and Shirish accompany to the gate. A warm send-off. They remain standing till long. A first-hand experience of the warmth of the people of this island.
CELLULAR JAIL- THE HOT SPOT
What’s Port Blair without the Cellular Jail, the Kaala Pani of the British Raj? Alok drives, drops off, promises to wait, and disappears. Meanwhile, inside the building, group guide Mustafa tells gory stories of the British treatment of Indians, the brave freedom fighters, the imprisoned murderers, and dacoits. Modernisation, it is said destroys originality. And the Cellular Jail is a perfect example. Much renovations later, its historicity seems to have just a bit vanished. How life must have treated all with such injustice is more left to the imagination.
WHERE TIME STANDS STILL – ROSS ISLAND
Alok with his cab is nowhere to be seen, his phone mysterioyusly unreachable. After a half-hour wait, the elusive taxi re-emerges. No explanation, no justification. It’s a race to catch the last boat to Ross Island, now renamed Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose Island. The cab drop-off point is a km away. The walk, nay, run to the boat has to be conducted as the rain lashes away. The boat cannot get boarded though before some jhalmuri getsconsumed and a friendly canine served some biscuits. All’s well that ends well.
A 30-minute boat ride and Ross Island arrives. Dusk is falling. The trees silently sway as the water lashes on the beach, singing its sweet song unchanged for centuries, a bunch of deer hover around, gentle, shy, unafraid. There is no sign of rain here. Battery-run rickshaws take visitors around the structures abandoned by the British during World War2.
It is 5:02 pm. The sun has set. Darkness envelops the island, the broken, dilapidated buildings silhouetted against the night sky, adding further to its mystique. The island, once a thriving colonial residential area, now relives itself through the daily Sound and Light show where the caressing deep voice of the Urdu poet Gulzar time travels to a bygone era.
It’s past 8:00 pm by the time the boat arrives back. The rains have increased in intensity and the sheltered walkway is now occupied completely. Canines, cats, and humans all wait in anticipation.
THE NEW LIGHTHOUSE
Alok Taxi arrives. It’s a dash to the car. Many eyes look longingly. A small convenience in the splash and the slush.
It’s off to The New Lighthouse, a tin shed restaurant, the size of a mini football stadium. There, in the company of locals, visitors, and tourists, with the cashier sitting behind a grilled window and sipping hot water, a candle on every table gently swaying to the sea breeze, twinkling lights from ships far away, the best dinner in the world gets enjoyed.
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