I have, by virtue of my profession, had a birds eye view of our beautiful and varied country. I have seen the beauty of India in its entirety; the drying heat of the summer, the freezing cold of the winter and whilst its thirst was being slaked, during the cleansing and headily perfumed Monsoon.
We live in a really beautiful land which is filled with wonders large and small. Which, we in the hurry of our day to day life just gloss over. I am trying to write about some of the places I have seen and explored a little more than the average countryman or woman of mine. My endeavor is merely to try and bring to your notice these little gems which exist in our land, ones we need to see, before they are slowly but steadily crushed in the march for so called ‘modernisation’.
If I were to be asked “which is the most beautiful place you’ve ever seen”, I’d say without any hesitation ‘Arunachal‘. I’d say this with conviction, if I was asleep, half asleep or wide awake. The erstwhile NEFA was rechristened in 1986 as Arunachal Pradesh. It is euphemistically called the North Eastern part of India. It is the politically neglected and a collectively ignored part of India. It is what I personally like to call the mystic and magical North East. If one was to consider politically neglected as a negative attribute, ignored is certainly not. Its precisely because of this attribute that for me Arunachal is such an amazing destination. Let me try to describe how it used to appear to me from the air, ground and from my heart (A different perspective that an Aviator is privileged to have)…..
The sluggish looking brown river called Brahmaputra, is vast and seemingly never ending. It has to its north, hills. Hills, where I could see the end of the color brown. They are covered with thick green verdant forests. Isolated patches of blackened earth with smoke rising due to Jhoom cultivation and tiny villages are the only breaks in the green foliage. As I move ahead, the hills gain height slowly and their tops are soon covered by wispy cotton like clouds. The confluence of any two hills are marked by a river rushing, frothing its way in an unseemly hurry to marry up with the Brahmaputra. Dozens of waterfall dot the ridge line. Some were so high I just couldn’t see any cascade reaching the bottom, only what seemed to me as a heavenly cooling mist.
Seldom are words spoken while flying through this area, this was especially true for me, as I try to soak up every little thing I can see. In my mind the silence is also for several dear friends who have perished near this place. The forest quickly overgrows the areas of impact, but the hurt in our heart’s is forever. Far in the distance, my crew and I can see snow capped peaks. More clouds allow me to play peek a boo with the mountain tops. When I look down no concrete can be seen any where, all houses are made the traditional way, using locally available produce. When I say all houses I mean a cluster of three or four every 20-30 miles as a crow flies… Talk about space!!!
All houses are beautifully handcrafted, built with love they are without doubt both Traditional and Eco friendly…….
One of the larger settlements enroute to Mechuka
I lost my train of thought, as I frequently do in such breathtakingly beautiful places, forgive me… My crew and I gradually reach the snow topped mountains… the slopes are covered by beautiful snow laden coniferous trees. These slopes would rival even the most sought after places in the world….Ahead in the distance I can see a beautiful green bowl surrounded by scraggly peaks, beautiful patch work terraced fields of various shades of green with a small clumps of houses in the middle.
The approach area, time to get airborne, weather is packing up.
As I set my trusty An-32 down with a mild thud & a lion’s roar, absolutely no one complains…. after all who would complain of a mild thud while reaching heaven.. would you? 🙂
The first thing which strikes a visitor to this small piece of heaven on earth is the cold bracing breeze which welcomes one and all. The air is so crisp, so clean, that I began to wonder how in the world had I survived in the real world outside till date? The only sounds I remember hear was the soft pleasant but persistent gurgling of the stream close by, persistent because it is making an attempt to remind one not to miss the stream. The river in the village I remember, was about 30 odd feet wide, it had a beautiful, swaying road bridge and inspite of it being just four odd feet deep (when not flooded) the rocks lining the river bed are clearly visible. The water fed by melting snows, is of course, mind numbingly cold.
The first thing all crew do after an arrival here, is get a refreshing cup of distinctive chai. It’s hot, to warm ones hands, strong, to help one get refreshed and has light fragrance of kerosene (so distinctively true on any ALG). Oh how I miss that Chai.
‘All along the river are small wooden sloping roof houses, with fields all around. Fields are filled with tall stalks of corn ready to be harvested. This corn is from personal experience, the tastiest, most tender and organic corn anyone could ever taste’.
I remember walking into the compound of house which had no gates whatsoever with a slight amount trepidation and hesitantly asking if I could buy corn. It was for home, neighbours, my friends and colleagues, the list was long, a total of 18 cobs of corn were required. The family of four were seated on the floor dehusking the corn & removing its kernels. (They make beer, flour with it. It’s their staple), They looked up at me questioningly, I asked, with my hands folded in greetings ‘Mujhe Bhutta chahiye’ the man responded, ‘peeche jaa ke lelo’. I said ‘Kitne Ka hai, kyuki mujhe 18 chahiye’, by then he had resumed working. So he stopped and looked at me & smiled, ‘jitna bhi chahiye lejao’ (he meant just go back and pluck them, as many as you need). When I insisted on paying, he told me that there was only one man in the village who sold stuff. He could be found six houses down. Such is the openness in our little paradise.
It was not at all unusual to see a warrior clad in traditional finery carrying a finely crafted Dao (deadly long knife) in a leather case, strapped on his back, lugging a 12 Bore rifle, heading out to the forest for a spot of hunting if you please!! In fact one of the bigger shops in this village, was selling weapons and ammunition!! Hunting continues to be one of the commonest professions.
This is a breathtakingly beautiful place where trust is easily gained by flashing a happy smile. Where friends are quickly made merely by a jovial wave of the hand. No Internet, no mobile phones, hardly any cars, the favoured way to travel is walking, No hurry, no rushing… We have utopia within our reach…. I can reach this place simply by closing my eyes and allowing my mind to drift…. Once you visit this place you’ll know why… 🙂
I don’t need my An-32 any more.
