Neelakurinji (Strobilanthes kunthianus) blooms every twelve years, blanketing the hills of Munnar with blue flowers. In 2022, Kallipara hills near Munnar decided to ditch the tradition and bloom just 4 years after the last full monty.

Upstaged in Munnar

I no longer go crazy over tea plantations in Munnar. I mean, who has not seen Munnar, right? Munnar is like the Lulu Mall—an entire Metro system to walk straight into the shopping mall.

Malu, however, was going crazy; she kept praising the beauty of rolling hills, like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music. It took a whole day for her to spit out that it was her first time in Munnar.

Oh! It was a crime that the car did not stop and let her have a glimpse of the tea leaves. But I know a crime graver than this: we did not play the song Ividuthe Kaattanu Kaattu, Malamoodum Manhanu Manhu.

Almonard

It was pitch black. Like pine needles, stars punctured the black sky. As the clamor of people and the howling dogs ended, a deep, wailing noise emerged from the dark. It felt like a sword cutting the darkness and air. In the morning, it was evident that the gutturals belonged to a giant windmill. Albin does not hesitate to chime in: I need to see them spin fast, like an Almonard fan.

Teachers

We were on the Neelakurini trail. Two teachers in their late 40s were complaining about the climb. One of them decided to take a shortcut (Albin thinks she was a Mathematics teacher). Her friend protested.

“What are you going to gain? A yard? It is not worth it. Stick to your God-given intelligence.”

I hate teachers!

Wear it like an honor

It will take an hour to reach the summit of the climb. Beyond the flat top of the hill blooms the Neelakurinji flowers. Everyone was panting, laughing, and trying to soak themselves in the moment – as if they were in a Vineeth Srinivasan movie. I was thinking about a sentence to utter in a finite moment like this. Maybe I should do a Neil Armstrong and say, "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.". As I prepared my mind, I heard two women in their late 50s, giving no f*ck to the arduous climbing to proclaim: Are you OBC? You can file it in the same office.

Penis Envy

They blamed me for booking a hotel on top of a hill. Their anger was justified when the 800cc hatchback had a tough time navigating the prehistoric potholes, and GPS played the regular Porattu Nadakam in the eerie midnight. Spotify went silent. We made a right turn, as suggested by Google Maps. It was a wrong move as the road ended in the compound of a large Mosque. Albin desperately reversed the car (remember the scene from Jurassic Park), and the beam of headlight fell on the neatly pruned bush. Everyone started to giggle. The thick shrubs were almost cylindrical; their tips cut away from the top in a circle, leaving bulging heads. I still cannot believe they circumcised a poor bush because [maybe] it was not Muslim enough. 

Posh

Sunglasses are an elite accessory in Kerala. Sethu (a friend) once lamented: People go freaking judgemental when one wears sunglasses. The poor lad has a pair of Ray-Ban but was reluctant to wear them when we traveled to Idukki once.

In Munnar, I choose not to wear my sunglasses. It was early in the morning. Children were making their way to school. We lost our way, thanks to uncompromising tactical navigation by Google Maps. We take a U-turn before encountering a red-pill-blue-pill situation at a junction.

Two tiny little school girls were waiting for their Jeep. They almost sunglass-shamed us with their roaring pity and bemused faces. Then, I, the one who wore a Led Zeppelin shirt, asked them for directions. Alas! A small victory for the village folk, she explained the route. It was easy to read from her face that she was waiting all her life to earn this victory. Bravo!

[This article is part fiction]