Hello Again Matheran! Revisiting a Childhood Holiday Destination

Wednesday, April 10, 2019

Hello Again Matheran! Revisiting a Childhood Holiday Destination

     Namaste from Matheran!

     There is something incredibly romantic about returning to a place you know only in your memory. There is something deeply fulfilling about walking again in the footsteps of your childhood and searching through the storehouse of recollection for a treasured find. There is something incredibly gratifying about meeting someone who can help you piece those dimly-recalled moments and give them sum and substance. I had all these experiences in Matheran to which I returned with my friend and trusted travel-companion Nafisa today. Here is an account of an extraordinary day!

    

Getting to Matheran:

     Our day began at 5.30 am in Nafisa’s flat in Byculla after she set the alarm. A quick wash and a breakfast of one small loaf of bread (pau) with cheese spread and we were off.  We took a Number 6 bus from across the street that went over the Dongri flyover and dropped us off at Victoria Terminus by 6.15am It was a delightful to have this busiest of Bombay’s neighborhoods almost entirely to ourselves at that early hour of the morning. We made our way to the Ticket Office and bought return tickets from Bombay to Neral and back for just Rs. 25 each—a real steal! These were second class tickets and we chose the Ladies compartment, taking the 6.50am train that terminated at Karjat. It was a fast train up to Kalyan and two stops later, we were at Neral.  The train was empty when we set off but picked up hordes of female passengers in the one hour forty minutes that it took us to reach our destination.

     Neral is the nearest significant railhead for passengers headed to Matheran. It is down in the plains. The ride into the Western Ghats, where Matheran is located, begins from Neral. There is a toy train that runs from Neral all the way to Matheran Railway station. It leaves at 10.50–which gave us about ten minutes to buy our tickets and board it—if we chose to go that route. By the time we arrived at the Ticket window, the second class tickets were sold out. We did not fancy paying Rs. 400 for First Class seats. Hence, the shared taxis that ply from Neral to the entrance to Matheran are a good alternative. They cost Rs. 80 per head and take thirty minutes. We chose that route.

     By that point we were starving and entered a small cold drinks stall to buy packets of biscuits (Monaco and Chocolate Delight and a bottle of pistachio milk for me). We found a taxi driver who led us to his vehicle (a rather battered looking contraption) and having found 4 other passengers, began his journey with us.  It was a hair raising ride along hair pin bends as we climbed ever higher from the plains into the hills of Matheran. 

      We arrived in half an hour and alighted, paid him and made our way under a vast arch that said Gateway to Matheran.  There we were asked to pay Rs. 50 each to enter the precincts of the hill-station. Ten minutes later we were at a railway junction called Aman Lodge from where we could book tickets for the shuttle train to Matheran. That train was not expected to arrive for an hour and 45 minutes. The alternative was to hike along the toy train tracks—a gentle upward climb of another half an hour.  Nafisa and I elected to do that as we each had only a light backpack. 

     The hike was delightful. We spied our first horses—Matheran is full of them as they are the only form of transport permitted in the area—and our first monkeys—very cheeky chaps who look for food which they grab from your hand. The hike itself was lovely with many bosky bits (as my English friend Barbara would describe them)—meaning dappled sunlit stretches—that provided us with a whole lot of shade as we passed by the toy train on its many journeys back and forth. As we neared journey’s end (Matheran Railway Station), we saw loads of people on horseback as well as a herd of pack horses that were going down the railways track to meet the train.

     Past Matheran Railway Station we went. Nothing seemed even vaguely familiar to me. We asked for our hotel—Lord’s—and were told to keep walking for another ten minutes, Sure enough, there was a prominent sign board to announce its presence.

Checking into Lord’s Hotel:

      Lord’s Hotel is one of the oldest hotel establishments in Matheran. I did remember its name very vaguely from all those years ago. It was a bungalow that belonged to British officials from Poona or Bombay who made these hill-stations their summer resort in the days of the Raj. Their homesteads—sprawling old corrugated sheeted roofed affairs with front porches and wraparound verandahs—were taken over by wealthy Parsi families after Independence. They used them for family holidays or converted them into comfortable old-world style hotels. Lord’s has been run by the Lord Family for almost a century. Today the place is overseen by a little old Parsi lady called Zenobia who checked us in, put us through the paces, upgraded us to a room with a view (as the place is almost empty, it being off-season) and told us how to get to some of the more accessible view points. She told us about the provision of meals (lunch and dinner for an extra charge of Rs. 500 each—breakfast is included with our tariff) and about the existence of a heritage property called The Verandah in the Forest where we decided to have our dinner. Lunch, we thought, would be at Lord’s which is reputed for very good meals. 

In Search of Childhood Holiday Venues:

    After we’d left our backpacks in our room, we decided to go out in search of the places I remembered from my childhood. So here is what I was seeking: When I was little, 35 members of my Dad’s side of our extended family—aunts, uncles and cousins—had spend an entire month of May in a huge 6-bedroom bungalow that shared a common fence with the local church. Among the memories that I have stored are noisy monkeys on the roof in the afternoon while the adults were dying for naps, post-dinner singsongs which my Dad led and in which the local nuns joined us, horse rides to points with names like Sunset Point, Louisa Point, Panorama Point, boating on Charlotte Lake, playing on our scooter in the compound just in front of our house, a really huge Parsi woman hiring a hand-pulled rickshaw each day and going by our home with a parasol held over her head, buying packets of chikki and leather footwear to take back as gifts, going for horse rides almost daily, having my first Western-style multi-coursed sit-down down dinner when my wealthy Aunt Anne (on my mother’s side) arrived with her three kids to stay in West End Hotel very close to our bungalow. I recall eating my first ever British steamed pudding in that setting at the end of that meal. It was just wonderful!

     For so many years, I have wanted to return to Matheran and seek out the landmark venues of that lovely holiday. But somehow I never did get down to it. This time, since I am in India long-term, I decided to place it on my Bucket List—luckily, Nafisa was ready to go with me. Hence, our little excursion in search of my childhood. 

     Zenobia told us where to find the church—that would help me find my bearings. It was only five minutes away along a dusty red mud road but in a few seconds I spied it. There was a female caretaker who looked after the property and she was kind enough to open the church for us so that we could pay a visit. It was wonderfully cool and well maintained inside—the simple altar freshly painted and pretty. 

     After we got out, I walked toward the fence and knew exactly where our bungalow once stood. I was aware that it had been razed to the ground many years ago—a small playground stands in its place today. Right next to it is the Red Woods Resort—we wandered in and met a man who told us he was born and raised in Matheran. He informed us that the hotel used to be called Sylvan Hotel. It came back to me immediately! Yes Sylvan Hotel was right next door to our bungalow! And, he said, next door is the West End Hotel that used to belong to a Francis Goudinho! Yes, I remembered! That was the hotel in which Aunty Anne and my cousins had stayed and where I’d had my first ever Continental meal! He could not remember our bungalow or the name of the landlady who had rented it to our family that summer. But we browsed around what used to be Sylvan Hotel and then we browsed around in what used to be the West End Hotel and at every point, my mind tried valiantly to capture what I remembered of it.  Of course, much has changed in these places. There has been a great deal of renovation as the hotels have upgraded and modified in half a century. They now have sparkling kidney-shaped pools and al fresco poolside dining and bars.That simpler, less snazzy life that we had enjoyed all those decades ago are fast fading—if they have not disappeared already. 

     I made a call to Dad to find out if all was well in Bombay and to tell Dad where I was. He too could remember things only vaguely. We were delighted to receive a bit of iced tea as a welcome drink in the premises and on our way out, we ran into a man called Baba, who owned a pair of beautiful horses—one brown and one black called Royal Choice and Royal Son!  We inquired about his rates and decided to go to the various view points on horseback as walking to them would have been the only other means of access. We decided to go back to Lord’s for lunch, then take a long nap (the heat of the afternoon can be quite oppressive even in the hills) and to meet Baba at 5.00 pm for our evening of outdoor exploration on horseback.

Parsi Lunch in a Parsi Hotel:

     And so we arrived at Lord’s—by which time we were ravenous—for our five-course lunch. The menu was Minestrone Soup (most inappropriate in the heat), Fish Cutlets, Pullao Rice with Chicken Dhansak, Kachoombar (delicious), rotis and caramel custard for pudding. Indeed it was a delicious meal for the price (Rs. 500) and we certainly ate well.

     Later, in the cool quietness of our air-conditioned room, we took a wonderful long nap and awoke to have our showers. On cue, we met Baba who was waiting with his horses as our evening’s excursion began.

On Horseback to Matheran’s Hottest Points:

          The evening turned out to be one of the highlights of our trip—our horses were beautiful thoroughbred stallions who are regularly monitored by the local authorities for health and suitability to work. Baba spoke impeccable English—he was educated at the local St. Xavier’s High School and did Junior College in New Bombay. He accompanied us on foot throughout the almost two hours that we were on horseback as we coursed through varied terrain.

      Over a two hour period, he took us first to The Verandah where we told them we wished to have dinner—we actually chose our menu after chatting with the resident chef, Minin Hendricks, who told us he would make us Nalli Nihari and Stuffed Brinjals—Bareli Baigan. For dessert, he promised us hand-churned ice-cream. Nafisa was very excited about this possibility although I declined as I have given up ice-cream for Lent.   

     Back on horseback, Baba led his horses to the first place of interest—Charlotte Lake. I have only very dim memories of this place although the name was unmistakeable to me. I found it to be no more than a trickle of water with the green of the surrounding trees reflected in it. This is a man-made lake on which there used to be boating, if I remember correctly. We walked across a dam built over the lake and found our way on foot to King George’s Point which offered lovely views of the hills basking in the quiet silence of the evening. 

     Not long after, we were on horseback again, this time headed to Sunset and Echo Points where we did actually see the sun set behind rather hazy outlines of distance hills. We took pictures in these spots and as twilight fell rapidly over the land, surrounded by the silence of the hills slopes and peaks, we got back on horseback again and were dropped off at The Verandah. I had not expected that we would actually hire horses and enjoy these rides—but in doing this, we were able to enjoy the landscape for which the place is famous. 

     

Dinner at The Verandah:

     Both Nafisa and I were delighted by The Verandah. The interior designer in her took in the old-world ambience of this heritage property that also first belonged to the British, then to Parsis (which is why it is filled with oil portraits of the erstwhile Parsi owners) and was then taken over by the many Indian boutique hotel chains that have quietly converted these glorious old bungalows into holiday homes for those seeking an escape from the stress of urban life. 

     We walked about the super spacious living room that is superbly appointed with colonial antiques and paintings, landscape etchings of Bohr Ghat that is visible from every spot in Matheran, etchings of erstwhile British colonials and a whole lot of porcelain gravy boats that were collected, apparently, by one of the former owners of this establishment. The dining room was another visual delight—a really long dining table was surrounded by Chippendale-style dark wood chairs, many pronged silver-plated candelabra, lots of wooden colonial-style dressers and the like. We took a lot of pictures of these interior rooms as well as the huge verandah outside where it was much cooler than inside.

     Our dinner was very good but a tad too spicy for both Nafisa and myself. That said, we did enjoy it and lingered over the giant chappatis that were served with our nihari and brinjals. Instead of ice-cream, I opted for the white pumpkin halwa which was simply superb. Service was impeccable and both the manager, John, and the chef, Minin, came out to chat with us. Having the place to ourselves everywhere we go, is a blessing. In another week, when the three-day long Easter weekend is here and the summer holidays begin, this place will be mobbed. We were very lucky to find it like this—pristine and reminiscent of its fifties’ avatar.

Escorted to our Hotel in Pitch Darkness:

     Baba, our horse-owner, had told us that we would easily find our way back to Lord’s as the roads would be well lit.  I had my doubts but kept my reservations to myself. When, therefore, at the end of dinner, Minin informed us that he was going to the market on a personal errand, I asked him if we could go with him. He was more than happy to oblige. Hence, we paid our bill, tipped the wait staff, thanked the staff at this gracious homestead and followed our escorts.

     They took us along what they called a short-cut—an absolutely pitch dark path along the woods that they illuminated for us with the flash lights on their phones. There was absolute silence around us broken only by our footfalls on the leaf-strewn earth. The birds had long gone to their nests for the night and I was afraid of snakes and scorpions (for which Matheran is known). I do remember seeing one under a mattress when I was a little girl on our family holiday. 

     About twenty minutes later, we saw lights in the distance and knew that we were back to civilization. Walking through the woods in the frightening darkness and the utmost silence of a mountain station was not on the cards and it was this sort of unexpected occurrence that remains forever memorable.

     We parted company at the entrance to Lords when we thanked our escorts—Minin and his colleagues, another chef, had walked with us—and made our way back to our room. With the AC on, we washed and got ready for bed after what had been a truly lovely walk down Nostalgia’s Pathways. 

     I found far more than I expected for while seeking and finding those spots that I associated with childhood, there was much to enjoy and love about Matheran today—its lack of any vehicles, its red mud streets that sent up clouds of dust at the slightest provocation, the sight of school children returning home on horseback at the end of a busy school day, herds of pack horses carrying loads up the slopes from the plains into the hills, stirring sunsets over silent mountain ranges, absolute and complete safety in a place where crime is truly non-existent, the unspoilt nature of narrow wooded pathways, impressive trees whose roots are dangerously exposed as a result of past land slides, packs of noisy and quarrelsome monkeys sitting high up in jambul trees and flinging showers of fruit below, a few straggly tourist families posing for portraits in picturesque locales, the aroma of horse manure that was quickly picked up by municipal workers, chikki shops and footwear stalls—all these old-fashioned delights continue to exist in Matheran. Long may they`` remain!

     Until tomorrow...