Andamans - "The islands in flux"

To wake up at 3:15 AM no one was complaining on a chilly morning with very low visibility. Sitting in the plane for 3 hours gave us the first glimpse of the multitude of green islands dotting the blue waters. The breeze heavy with the sea and the Sun hiding behind a cloud welcomed us on Port Blair. The exuberant green broke though the rampant construction and usual chaos of an Indian city. I had actually expected better and my fantasies took a recalibration. Within 10 minutes we exited the city but the garbage that should replace our national emblem continued unabated. Fields gave way to forest and the narrow road in a white ambassador with a flag post proudly mounted on its hood carried us to Wandoor beach and where we would stay. 

Nestled in tropical outburst of green, surrounded by a sanctuary was our wooden abode for the next few days. Unassuming and at peace with the surroundings and with itself. While we waited for a while we crossed over to the Wandoor beach. Blown away - is what we were. Clear waters, changing hues to light blue and emerald with small islands just 2 km away from the shore, the beach being given a short space by the forest and mangrove. It was heaven and truly a magnificent site. Monaal started to walk with me in the sea, a fall later with the salt water all over her, she took to the sea like her home. Treading in and out, playing with the small hermit crabs, picking shells, she was self engrossed. The crocodile scare played its annoying part bu not withstanding. A longish wait for an overrated lunch at the adjoining resort was followed by a re-beach and stroll. Along there was supari drying in the sun, chickens, goat and cows. The only room where we were staying had no walls in th bedroom, open to breeze with a mosquito net and nice siting spaces all around - blissful. At Sunset we were back at Wandoor, the Sun did not appear but the crimson and red played out the roles. We sat in the sand seeing the canvas play out. Digging holes and burying our feet, hands and Monaal making her chair with an underground legs made the evening short. Tired we thought of sleep and soon enough a tropical downpour, sudden, forceful and relentless made its rightful way. Tropical islands are vibrant with life, not a single speck of land is without life in metamorphosis. 

The night was dark, insects loud and bird calls galore. The rain on the leaves soon sounded as a background. With open sides all around, the breeze and sounds lulled us to a deep sleep. Around midnight we woke up to a loud sound, unsure if its an animal or a bird - we looked at each other in the dark. We were sure its in the verandah around us. In the milieu of sounds, we slept through it. The early sun with the early birds welcomed in the new day. 

Today our plan was to scuba at Chidiya tapu with the local touristy things of the open zoo etc. But Laka dives had shut shop and many futile attempts later - we gave up the plan of scuba. No remorse, Andamans had put in a place to secure our return many times over. We ran to Wandoor, before the local enemy of “do to swim” and crocodile man turned up. Monaal was a different person once she heard the waves of sea and till the Sun came up and strong and we played in water. 

Viraj showed us his pictures of his ventures in to the surrounding islands, jet ski, scuba, treks, hidden waterfalls, dive boats and uninhabited islands. We were ardent listeners to weathered sea faring captain, absorbing the tales. Understanding the dynamics of the fragile zone, the Jarawi people, the forced inhabitation by the government, the first generation of local populace, lack of roots in the forest and the land as a result of the locals. Simple people, simple land with complex undertones for the island and its future with aspirations. 

Evening we headed of into the sanctuary (loha sanctuary) on foot, aiming to circuit and return by the beach. The road head hut had a man sitting out by his drying supari, few odd long teeth, bidi stuck between them, shirtless in the afternoon sun and blackened, potebellied. Greetings exchanged and we started a short ascent. By his hut was hanging a basket in which a hen was sitting, perhaps laying eggs each morning - only to vanish soon after into the belly of the toothless supari man. The trail started closing in, leaves brushing our cheeks occasionally and the track made of root steps. We crossed another two houses and then the track became pencil thin. The forest around us reminded me of what we were taught in school of an evergreen forest. The base line of trees and shrubs hardly get light, the strong ones have long wide trunks taking their leafy branches way above to surrounding trees to get their piece of sun. In turn giving shde to the shade loving ones below. Where we stood at the base, only rays of the sun peeped in. In late noon there were zones of pitch dark. The Mahua tree stood out amongst the lot, wide bodies and strong. Its branches wider than the trunks of most. By the coast they made an impressive sight. The track wound and descended over a Japanese era bunker to the beach. 

The beach, pure and having no entrance other than what we took was magnificent. Blackened to charcoal - sandstone rocks the size of elephants lay by the side. The forest and sea playing a daring game, mediated by the sandy beach in between is what it seemed. At the far end we could see the beginning of the Jarawi people protected homeland forests. They seemed so near and so full of stories to tell. Its difficult to imagine that the same tribe of people, on an island, cut off fro the world has inhabited for >10s of thousands of years. Your direct lineage extending 40,000 years. The history, society, survival and life so closely intertwined with the forest and the sea. It was an overwhelming thought and sight. 

AT night we had the Grouper fish, not the delivery service, but a fish that was wildly swimming about in the Indian Ocean until a few hours back. Suresh did a fantastic job in 15 minutes and pinkish orangish fish was ready on our plate, then palate, then gullet —- and thats where it is as I write. Its started to rain again, the mystery of the strange night noise solved to be a lizard that stays on the roof of the hut we inhabit. 

Lingering thoughts, spoken between us of our desire, need to adopt a life stye off the grid from the city and pursue what we dream of. At a stage we are in, the discussion and thought seems real. I feel ready for it, lets see what happens and how it spans out. Should we be stuck to a place or earn and travel to many such places. Would an intermittent life of living substitute for the real thing, would we pay someone to make us laugh ? Would it be boring to stay in a place like this, disorienting, what would our aspirations be, what would be the meaning? Thoughts and dreams - need more sleep and more running time to gain some clarity. 

There are days that start with a halo around them. You get the feeling from the minute you open you open your eyes. Today I opened my eyes to the face of Monaal, opening hers, and in a flash a sparkling smile, glinting eyes and stuttering good morning - a few seconds later Deepams eyes reflected the peace and shoul of our world. I can never have enough of starting at her or at her actions, her face, her eyes - they are so enchanting and superlatively attractive. And the smile I got just blew me off the earth. A slight lingering touch of the feet and warm embrace…..

Another DV cooked breakfast of eggs and bread and cheese and SV concocted coffee and we were set to leave. Today our partner was Gopal, hailing from Chennai by lineage and a first born Andamanese. Heading off to Mount Harriet we passed through numerous supari plantations, works in progress, small villages and bad roads. The forests are playing a spirited battle against the development - where ever they get a space they are attacking back. But truly we are making a paradise into a hell hole. Communal polarisations are evident and so is the fight against the forest and sea. As of now they square off but for how long and who would win is not a big question to answer. Enjoying the winding roads and understanding the character of the forest we carried on. Crossing the jetty that had garbage strewn in the crystal clear waters of the sea, was hard to ignore though. Entering in the forest protected area the forest gains an upper hand again. Lush and enthusiastic and almost childlike in its exuberance and tenderness of touch - it was magical. There were no thorns, no harmful insects, no aggressive wildlife - just a forest for the children, welcoming and tender, and full of wonder. We walked through the evergreen forest crossing a gun embankment of WW2. The path was slippery, leafy and  all along covered by a thick canopy. We crossed dozens of monkey bars - Monaal was counting them repeatedly from 1-10. Cross linking twining creepers and barks, some as monkey bars some as twirling slides. The roots made the perfect steps and the badam tree roots standing out as smooth triangles at 3-6-9-12 O clock positions of enormous proportions. On the barks were bouquets of other ferns sitting in balconies of mushroom outcrops or other bark outcrops. The black leaves, so intensely black as the hide, with a sheen and an inherent attractive quality, set against the mustard yellow leaves and the others a dark red and the green made startling colour combinations. Spectacular they looked in the pocket of DV of her navy blue dress, attractive - secretive - seductive - colourful - bold. Monaal perched on my shoulders, DV making good speed - made the distance short. Soon we were at “Kalapahar”. The point where freedom fighters were pushed off the cliff in the colonial era. It was cordoned off with barbed wire and there was no explanatory board. The weather was closing in, fearing the sudden downpour we re-traced our steps. 

Given it was late noon, a halt at Central Jail was planned. Our taxi hopped on to the vehicle ferry with 7 other cars and dozens of two-wheelers and people. It was a 15 minute ride across to the next island. We stood next to the captains cabin. DV climbing up and down in her skirt was a furore :) more imagined by me than reality. 

We filled our bellies at a south indian restaurant , perhaps the only air-conditioned space we used on this vacation. It was a hearty affair and MV did full justice to the existence of toilet there. In the meanwhile speedy Gopal had purchased our ticket for the Central Jail. It was poorly presented saga with no empathy being evoked. Next door was the medical college, perhaps the best located such facility ever seen by me. From the roof of the watchtower we could see the neighbouring Ross Island which was the seat of governance for the British. Back at our BNB we enjoyed a relaxed evening full of chat about the travels and the Pin Parbati pass, Tirthan valley. The night got its fare share of the sounds and insects and birds. The forest rat made its presence felt and I scrambled to rescue our passports back to our bed. The morning was as peaceful as they get and by now we had settled into a rythm. The coffee and milk retinue was nearly meditative. This what we yearn for, a clean peaceful mind without pre-occupations of the planning for the day. Simple acts and simple days. 

As I type in the last words sitting on the airport while Monaal is keeping DV occupied, perhaps we would or perhaps not return to Andamans. Smith-Ross island and the Diglipur stay of Alex seem attractive , so does the idea of the virgin beaches and forests. But the whole hassle of doing anything here and lack of facilitation is not what you want when on a vacation. Maybe Agathi island ?

Andamans hold many secrets, a culture of the tribals to understand, the cultural milieu now, the forests and birds, beaches and sea. If we can solve the riddle of how and where, we will brave this front again. I hope we can do this before the paradise becomes truly lost and civilised in its entirety.