A day at Coimbatore

Of Greens and Friendliness…


I was waggling with the bus sitting on the last seat right next to the door as I was enjoying the cool breeze gushing over my face. I was thankful to the conductor who would let me sit in the place where he normally sits. That was one of the many acts of kindness I received throughout the day when I was in the beautiful city of Coimbatore. I had Anil as my last-minute company, as he too offered to join me after he cancelled his plans for the day. Both of us had come to the city for Aravind’s brother’s marriage – Yet another reason for me to travel. The mini-bus was on its way from Perur to lolly road, from where we were supposed to take another bus to Marudhamalai. I was caught between enjoying the moment and capturing it, my complex camera requiring more attention. As my eyes were feasting on the tall and slim coconut groves and sugarcane fields passing by, my ears were in for a good entertainment with one of our fellow passengers singing impromptu songs from various south-Indian languages spanning various genre and spread across various generations. Once he got down from the bus, a quick murmur spread across the entire bus, including the two of us with Anil wondering if the man was in his senses. The fact was, I didn’t care. I enjoyed his songs. And I knew he didn’t care either. He was singing his heart out. But there were so many “well-mannered” “cultured” “well-behaved” people on the bus who could not appreciate a poor man’s harmless expression. Humans have evolved.

My travel had begun the day earlier, a Saturday night, as I decided on the last minute to make it to the trip. When it came to staying over in the city on Sunday to complete a not-so-hopeful project versus a one-day trip, I chose the latter as any sensible person would have. Work can wait. Always. As I made my way to home around 6 PM still having no clue as to how I was going to make it to Coimbatore, my dad came to my rescue. He arranged for a reserved ticket with berth in no time as luck favored me in the form of current reservation. I hunted down a few books in Higginbotham’s at the station, the owner of which was my dad’s friend and the one who got my ticket in a jiffy. And I promptly forgot to call my dad to let him know that I had received the tickets and was on time for the train. He called me anyways. A few things, we do take for granted.

As the train started its onward journey, I was digging through the books I got in search of some inspiration as I was not having a particularly good time on my personal front. And Osho did help me a bit (Oh, he jus said Life’s difficult), until I was distracted by the night sky visible through my window. As my cabin’s lamps were scanning through the shrubs aside the track, my roof was constant – both the one above my head and the one above its head. I had made my way to the railway station through two metro buses, one of which got caught in traffic jam and I switched to the next after walking a mile. I traveled on foot-board just for the pleasure of the breeze it can provide. As expected, a small altercation with the conductor followed with the conductor winning the argument, but I somehow managed to hold on to the steps. Little did I know that I would be doing the same hours later in a different city.

I reached Coimbatore early morning, deprived of sleep, cold and shaking. I had declined an offer of a pillow and bed sheet from the railway staff not wanting to pay for something that I get to use everyday. And I regretted it all night. A few things, we do take for granted.

Aravind was there to receive me from the station. He rode me on his scooty pep to his uncle’s home as the mansions he had booked for me were already occupied by his unexpected visitors. He showed me a few important landmarks in his city as we rode down the main road – A few renowned colleges and textile mills. I was half enjoying and half panicking in the morning mist as we entered into a few crooked lanes to his uncle’s home. Finally, some village feel as we drove through limestone houses dotted with cows tied to a corner and simple shops.

After refreshing in his Uncle’s home and making a mess of the dosas he had bought by pouring the sambhar all over the hall, we finally set off to Perur. Anil, being the Lord Shiva fan he is, was excited to go the Patteeswara temple where he could worship lingam. I wanted to visit a temple that is 1800+ years old built by Karikala Chola. And the town bus we took to Perur was full enough to make both of us hang on to the bus steps, one foot at a time. I did not enjoy it as much as I did the previous night, the wrath of the driver for hanging in the women’s section notwithstanding. The bus did get penetrable as stops went by and finally when we sat for a while, the destination had arrived. The temple was a bit busy as it was a Sunday. We left our slippers at the entrance of the temple to the shoe-keepers and set our first foot in. We were greeted by colorful roof with murals depicting various legends and pillars with sculptures and carvings as sharp as they are. A huge elephant was tied in a corner and people went and received their blessings from Ganesha. I did not want to risk. If it had come to know what was running on my mind, it might have lifted and banged me somewhere.

We were walking in and around the temple admiring the stone work and the Chola architecture, trying to visualize how life used to be in those days. We were fascinated by the legends and creatures carved on the walls and pillars, musing over our rich history and culture. I was intrigued by a particular depiction of a love-making couple in one of the pillars right in front of the moolasthanam (a.k.a karuvarai, the place where the God’s idol is placed). I could not find such a depiction anywhere else inside the temple. On hindsight, our ancestors might not have been as hideous about sex as we are these days as this was not the only temple with such sculptures. The majestically sculpted avatars of various Gods were noteworthy. As we walked out of the temples with Anil justifying homes in a temple’s shadow would never prosper, I was wondering why this temple was called “Mecca of South India”. Perhaps, I might not have the right eyes to see it. I couldn’t help thinking Srirangam and Suseendaram were much more admirable for their majesty and rock work. However, no credits should be taken away from the Patteeswara temple, for it was indeed one the more beautiful ones I have been.

As we walked out to collect our slippers, another surprise awaited us. When we inquired how much we had to pay them, they simply said we can pay how much ever we want. It pleased me in some untold way. I paid 4 bucks and walked away with a smile. We went to the banks of the Noyyal River, one which I had come across in my school days in Tamil literature. The river was a mere shadow of what I had imagined. It could be said no more than a canal, a not so clean one too. After taking a couple of snaps there, we tried getting to Siruvani, another famous river in Coimbatore. But since it required a special permission from the forest officers and we had a lot of time left, we decided to go to Marudhamalai, a Murugan temple atop a hill. And thus began our journey from Perur to Lolly road.



Once we got down at Marudhamalai, we were greeted by the majestic hills. Anil was reluctant to climb the stairs, 2000 of them, to reach the temple. I somehow convinced him that it is worth the climb and we began our upwards journey with Anil whining all the way. I tried my best to inspire Anil by showing him a cheerful kid who was climbing alongside us. I sometimes feel kids don’t know what it is to get tired. The last time I played Lock and Key with my younger cousins with an average age of 10, I remember taking a 5 minute break for every 5 minute game and the kids standing around me waiting for me to join them. As we made it to the top, the view was as pleasant as the weather as we strolled around to take in the picture inside us. The temple looked ordinary when compared to the panoramic view of the city it offered. Anil stared at me as if he would kill me when I suggested we climb down (I loved the look on his face). We took a bus down and boarded another to the city.

After a short nap, we made it to Aravind’s home, thanks again to our fellow passengers who carefully guided us to the right stop. We reached his home, refreshened ourselves and promptly attended the reception and dined stomach-full. As we left back to Chennai in a Volvo, I was already in love with the city. The city promised much more to provide. If only we had the time. I can’t wait for my next trip to this wonderful city.