That bottom tip of India
By RAJBIR DESWAL
Now if you think it’s just the tip of India—the size of a
pin-head—at the southern-most miles-spread of the sea-line at Kanya Kumari, you
will be taken in for a big surprise on being there, for what you’ve been visualizing
as a tip was only less than a dot on the
map of India. I happened to visit the place when the sea was the roughest
during monsoons and the seawall was being as if, thumped, pounded and crashed
against, by mammoth waves that roared and soared the highest.
We were then staying in the Dak Bungalow which is the last
building on land in Kanya Kumari and if you plot it on the map, this one is the
last built up dot where there is the lands-end too. Vivekanand Memorial is
close by but you need a ferry to take you there. Be prepared to stay bundled in
that boat to the Rock Memorial. They have recently seated a Kanya Kumari—Goddess
idol at the rock temple.
A view from the lounge on the first floor of the Dak Bangalow
allows you marveling at the expanse of the confluence of the Indian Ocean with Arabian
Sea on the West and Bay of Bengal on the East. You are filled with a real patriotic
feeling when you look at a mixed crowd of tourists—local, national and
international. Skyline on all sides is dotted by temples, mosques and churches.
Local men and women in their traditional lungis and skirts dominated the
crowd. Women are fond of putting lot of oil on their hair with a flower or two
to deck the parting or the plaits. They also have a style of letting the tresses
drop loose but clutched near the nape, again with a flower or two to adorn it.
The lane that leads up to the ferry dock has eateries galore.
You mostly get south-Indian food here but if you ask for an Aloo-Parantha
it comes only with a pungently smelling coconut oil. Curd or milk—out of
question. I was amazed at the size, variety and colour of bananas here. The
market has sea-shell sellers display their stuff on small vending platforms.
From a small cowrey to a huge coral or a conch—everything is here, mostly
in white. Beads, rosaries, earrings, bangles and all ethnic cosmetic stuff for
women is available at a very cheap price.
On the way to Kanya Kumari from Thiruvannathapuram in Kerala,
you enter Tamil Nadu near Nagarcoil which has the famous Shiva temple having an
18-feet tall idol of Hanuman. You are allowed entry only if you are wearing a dhoti
or a lungi. The temple is surrounded by a beautiful sacred water pond.
The evening lights dancing on, and dipping deep in the pond water, make the
visual a perfect blend of spirituality serenity and ethereal inquisitiveness.
The Kanya Kumari temple is said to be a thousand years old. All temples in
South India have huge boundary walls with white and burgundy strips.
Being afflicted with playing typically rustic gimmicks as
Haryanvi officers, we committed a blunder, infact a silly and weird thing to
say the least, while retiring of the day in the Dak Bungalow. We ordered out
beds to be put in the open space to let us have a feel of sleeping on the
sea-shore, hearing thunderous sound of the mighty waves. I don’t know when did
we sleep but the sudden torrent drenched us head to toe when leaving the beds
behind we sprinted to the verandah—not to save ourselves from the innocuous
water—but to seek shelter against the pounding of those heavy and hurting watery
missiles.
Only the keeper of the Bungalow had the last laugh.
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