With its old churches and residences, lakes and dales, and a certain old-world vibe, Kodaikanal is the balm your city soul so ardently desires.
Text & Photos | SATARUPA PAUL
If the hill stations in India were a deck of cards, Kodaikanal would be their Queen of Hearts. To revel in her indelible charm is to play your game with patience. For Her Majesty truly ever reveals her full glory to the most deserving, and only after you’ve passed the litmus tests she sets forth.
For me, that meant sitting through a three-hour-long dangerously turbulent flight, feeling my heart plummet into the pit of my stomach with each dip. My delight at disembarking unscathed into the cool evening air of a cloudy Coimbatore was short-lived as I boarded a cab for a tedious, five-hour-long drive ahead. The straight, wide road of the plains soon gave way to a barely two-lane road that seemed to get thinner as we climbed higher up the hills. Swaying coconut palm groves were abruptly replaced by thick deciduous forests, which in turn were taken over by whispering tall eucalyptus and mighty pines.
Night came upon us fast and thick, the town of Palani twinkled far below, the glow of its many lights keeping us company for a bit. Then the car took a few turns and the road ahead plunged into complete darkness, even as we caressed the many dangerous curves and sharp hairpin bends carved ontothe face of the mountain. Kodaikanal, or Kodai as she’s lovingly called, had already retired to bed by the time we finally made it
to her court; barring a couple of shops, the streets lay deserted. I arrived tired and dazed at my abode for the next three nights. I wasn’t sure if I had passed the Queen’s tests, but tonight was not for counting my wins and losses. Tonight was for the
beginning of my surrender.
The Narrow Winding Road To The Past
“This shack and the one next to it were the first two houses to be ever built in Kodaikanal,” Syed said, pointing ahead. We were out on an evening stroll through one of the first lanes of the hill town. The narrow winding road, mostly used by pedestrians today as in the old days, was bordered by a Shola forest on one side. This was apparently where the first eucalyptus trees of the area were introduced by a certain Mr
Patridge from the Bombay regiment of the British Indian Army.
Syed, who left his corporate gig years ago to become a self-taught naturalist, pointed at several things growing wild along the way, attaching interesting nuggets of information to them. A 600-year-old jamun tree that stands as a landmark today; the poisonous devil’s fruit brinjal and its antidote that was the Thai pea brinjal; a bunch of Jerusalem cherries, so called for their use in decorating Christmas wreaths; Mysore raspberry, Coimbatore raspberry, wild strawberries; many varieties of flowers, some pretty in pink and purple, others glowing bright in yellow, and finally, a tree laden with large, attractive orange flowers called the Angel’s Trumpet. “There’s nothing angelic about them; they give nightmarish hallucinations,” Syed dismissed them.
Steering our attention back, he next pointed to one of the first “shacks” of Kodai—a beautiful, whitewashed bungalow with sloping red-tiled roofs, bordered by a high stone wall that contained within itself a sprawling lawn and scores of trees and flowering plants. An unpretentious signboard by the gate outside read ‘Shelton’, while the one on its neighbour, which was built in a similar fashion, read ‘Sunny Side’. “These look like anything but shacks,” I let my mind be known. Syed laughed and said, “That’s exactly what I thought when I first heard them called thus. But they really were little more than shacks for the first families of American missionaries who arrived here and
built them.”
The earliest residents of the Palani Hills—the eastward spur of the Western Ghats on one of whose plateaus modern-day Kodaikanal sits—were the two primitive tribal communities of the Paliyans and Puliyans. They were nomadic tribes who never settled in one place. It was much later during colonial rule, when the British were in a mad scramble to establish hill stations to escape the scorching heat of the plains, that the patch of hills that today contains Kodaikanal was first surveyed by one Lieutenant BS Ward, in 1821. However, his positive report on the healthy climate and beautiful hills of the area went unattended until 1834, when the then Collector of Madurai climbed up the hills and built a small bungalow near Shenbaganur—a 20-minute drive from Kodaikanal today. His bungalow, however, would later be consumed by a fire.
Around the same time, a contingent of American Protestant missionaries arrived in Madurai from the shores of Jaffna in Sri Lanka. They, however, had come unprepared, without a physician and medical supplies, so in case someone fell ill they had to be transported all the way back to Jaffna for treatment. It was only in the 1840s, when faced by a massive cholera outbreak, that they began looking for a suitable retreat closer to Madurai to escape the heat and the brunt of the epidemic. In doing so, they stumbled upon the report by Ward.
Eventually, in 1845, six of the missionary families made their way up the hills and built the first two houses in Kodaikanal, outside whose gates I now stood. The missionaries would come in batches from the plains with supplies, live, relax and rejuvenate for a
few months, and then alternate with the others. Shelton is still a private property, I’m informed, inhabited by descendants of the original families, while Sunny Side has been bought over by an Indian businessman.
More houses were built in the consecutive years and we walked into the compound of one of those next. A kutcha trail led down from a makeshift gate to a cosy, stone cottage, with green arched doors and windows, creepers climbing up the pillars and walls of the small porch, and two chimneys poking curiously out the sloping tiled roof. If this looked like it was straight out of a fairy tale, the structure next to it could very
well have been Hagrid’s hut in the Harry Potter movies—with a wheelbarrow et al! Another stone cottage like the first stood a few paces away; together, they now serve as the office and guest house of the Palani Hills Conservation Council.
As the settlement grew around these early houses, the British too eventually made their way up to Kodai. The then Madurai Collector, RD Parker, built the first British house here, called Pambar House, close to the site where the stately Pambar Cottage now stands. (At present, it acts as the guest house for a nationalised bank.) Then came the district judge, CR Bayne, who built Bayne’s Bungalow next to Pambar House. It was later
bought over by a Jesuit Father who expanded and converted it into a sanatorium for young priests and called it La Providence. Centuries apart, La Providence now stands carefully restored into the luxury resort of the Tamara Kodai.
Where The Bells Once Tolled
The year was 1860. Kodaikanal had become a fine little settlement nestled high in the hills, with cool climes and natural splendour that were drawing in more people from the plains. Among them was Father Louis Saint Cyr who was in charge of the Jesuit mission headquartered in Dindigul. On one of his earlier visits to Kodai, he had envisioned building a sanatorium there for young priests. In a separate instance, on a voyage to
Madagascar, he had been afflicted with Madagascar fever that no one had been able to cure. He took a vow at the time before Our Lady of La Salette in France that, if he were cured, he would build a church in India in her name.
So, when Bayne’s Bungalow went up for sale in 1860, Father Cyr purchased it with the intention of fulfilling both his wishes in one shot. The single block of Bayne’s Bungalow was extended upon, a portion of the building was converted into a chapel, a residence block with rooms for the priests was added on the back, and a sanatorium called La Providence was born. Consequently, the foundation stone for a new church was also laid at a site next door and the consecration of the church dedicated to Our Lady
of La Salette took place on May 28, 1866.
Over the next two decades, the church was expanded to include a bell tower, an entrance and spires. When Father Cyr died in 1887, his body was buried beside the church. The La Salette Church is today a major tourist attraction in Kodaikanal. I made my way there on an early Sunday morning. The church stood stark in white and blue up a flight of stairs, displaying a wonderful mix of Tamil and French architecture. Inside, a congregation was attentively attending Mass; they prayed to the statue of Our Lady of La Salette, sang hymns, and bowed thei heads when the holy water was sprinkled around.
While the original structure of the church has been carefully maintained for over a century and a half, the neighbouring La Providence, however, underwent many unsympathetic interventions as it passed through the hands of different owners over the years. That is, until the Tamara Leisure Experiences group took over and carefully renovated the erstwhile monastic retreat into the new luxury resort of Tamara Kodai.
Here, the old has been painstakingly restored so as to keep the original construction and essence intact, while the new has been ingeniously designed and built so that it seamlessly blends in and appears to be a part of what might have been. A sculpture of three hooded monks stands guard at the top of the driveway, perhaps as a tribute to those early inhabitants of La Providence. The lobby is warm and inviting, with stone walls, a wood-panelled ceiling held up by beams and a long central panel of glass for natural light. Adjacent to it is a lounge area overlooking a large, serene pond, with the blocks containing the lobby, the lounge, the restaurant and kitchen making up its four
walls and an open sky for a ceiling.
While the ground floor of what was once the living quarters of the priests now makes up the kitchen, its first floor is where the Elevation Spa is located, with the old resting spaces having been converted into five fully equipped massage rooms. A couple of rooms that might have originally been the quarters of Bayne and later Father Cyr, have been converted into a wine cellar; adjacent to it and extending outwards from the wall bearing the original front doors and windows is the vintage-themed, French-style Bistro 1845. It is, however, the transformation of the chapel of La Providence into the restaurant of Tamara Kodai that is the most striking—even at peak dining hours with the din of people indulging in the lavish buffet spread, the high ceiling and thick walls here exude a sense of calm and reverence, akin to the feeling of having walked into a prayer hall.
From Heaven, With Love
Let’s do an exercise. Close your eyes and imagine thick dark forests, lush green meadows, a lake or two sparkling in the distance, paths carpeted by leaves and flowers, waterfalls cascading down rocks, and misty clouds playing peekaboo with rolling mountains. What would you call such a place? Heaven, maybe? In these parts of the country that heaven is named Kodaikanal.
I had woken up at the crack of dawn. Monsoon was at its peak and it had drizzled through the night, plunging the July temperature of Kodai to a sweet 13. I packed myself nice and warm and set off with Syed and a motley group once again, only this time it was a morning walk along one of the many jungle trails here. This one began right behind Tamara Kodai—a narrow trail that wound down through a thick Shola forest for a
bit, before opening up on one side to one of the most stunning vistas of the mountains of the Western Ghat, being teasingly caressed by the cold fingers of mist and clouds.
Up ahead, at another such viewpoint, we were treated to an occurrence that happens only once in 12 years—the blooming of Neelakurunji flowers. Swathes of the mountainside beneath us blushed a soft pink from the clusters of these flowers in full bloom. We blessed our luck and walked on, up and down steep, narrow routes, over fallen trunks and under hanging branches, all the while making sure to not touch the poisonous plants growing sneakily between the innocent ones, or let a leech latch on to us.
Then almost suddenly, the trail disappeared under the gushing streams of the Pambar Waterfall. Apparently, this is where Lieutenant Ward had first arrived from the plains
through the forest trail we had just walked on, when he was commissioned to survey Kodaikanal nearly two centuries ago! The water cascaded down boulders from one side, forming a shallow pool over flat rocks, before gathering into a fall again and disappearing into the crevices of the hills below. Nothing else could’ve complemented this gorgeous setting better than our picnic breakfast of hot coffee and gooey brownies.
I had been privy to a trailer of Kodai’s natural blockbuster that morning, and I couldn’t wait to watch the full picture. So, I got into the trunk of a pick-up truck and let my hair fly wild in the wind as we drove towards Kookal Lake, about 30 km beyond Kodaikanal. Tall pines stood sentry along both sides of the road, their canopies reaching so high that they blocked out much of the sunlight, plunging the way ahead into dancing shadows.
Somewhere midway, we halted and climbed up a rickety bamboo tower to look at the 3,000-year-old Poombarai village. With terraced fields and colourful houses set against
the backdrop of the Palani Hills, Poombarai is home to the original tribes of Kodaikanal.
I was delighted to find Kookal Lake devoid of any tourists. Barring a couple of farmers carrying sacks of garlic and an old local lady who graciously posed for our cameras, the small lake surrounded by green hills lay quiet. I sat by its edge and spent some time in pristine contemplation.
“Get your passport ready,” Syed interrupted my thoughts. Looking at my confused expression, he laughed and with a flourish added, “Arre, we’re going to Switzerland next!” I dismissed this as those gimmicks locals adopt to attract tourists. Half an hour later, I’d be swallowing my own words and sitting mesmerised in a setting that could very well have been Swiss in the making.
The green meadows of Mannavanur lay sprawled beneath my feet, undulating, rolling and blending with the hills around. Here and there a solitary tree stood proud, while short tufts of grass covering the ground swayed gently in the cool breeze. Flocks of woolly sheep stood grazing, a few bleated softly if I approached too close, and a few others strayed off the group, only to be lightly admonished by their shepherd, who sat
chewing a straw and humming a song.
When I could finally wean myself away from this charming landscape, I made my way to the small block of one-storeyed buildings in the distance. Belonging to the Southern Regional Research Centre of the Central Sheep & Wool Research Institute, these enclosures housed the research facilities as well as a shed full of rabbits and hares. After spending some time watching the activities of these animals, I was ready to head
back to the car and to main town Kodai.
But the Queen of Hearts had one last hand to deal to me. For right behind the rabbit sheds lay a narrow trail that Syed beckoned us on. I trudged along, expecting to find nothing that could beat the meadows of Mannavanur. Instead, there I was, standing wide-eyed and slack-jawed in a field full of flowers, yellow and purple, that rolled down and farther down to the beautiful Mannavanur Lake below, even as a mist rose and
swirled around the hills beyond. I was smitten, the Queen had won this game, and I had lost my heart.
First published in September 2018 issue of Discover India (www.magzter.com/IN/Burda-Media-India-Pvt.-Ltd./Discover-India/Travel/)
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