My native place

Let me tell you about this place called Chikkadi I call home... rather, my ancestral home. It sits prettily in the middle of the Western Ghats, somewhere halfway between Kumta and Sirsi off the highway. You take a left, (or a right, depending on which way you're travelling. Irrelevant, because there's hardly any possibility of getting it wrong in the middle of a forest road with a big sign screaming right at you.) and then walk or drive half a km into the forest. The road is muddy, as is expected, and calm. If you're the average urban resident used to the noise of the street, the first thing that you'd notice is the lack of any running motors or honking horns here. The silence is overwhelming, and if it were not for the chirping birds, one would go mad.
Then as you walk the road, you come to the plantation. Betelnut... Adike as they call it in Kannada. A keen observer would also find vanilla and pepper creepers hugging the pillar-like tree trunks.
The road is peppered with valuable trees like rosewood and teak, and honne and matti and nandi.
I asked my dad once if its safe to let them grow that way, without any security. He said it was not obvious, and few people (not even me, till he told me how to recognise it) could tell what tree was what. Another interesting reason he gave was that trees which were not straight had little value, because they were not good furniture material, or ‘Nata’. He said that’s why the trees from deep within the forest were more valuable because they were forced to go straight there due to competition.

Hmmm… back to the topic, as you walk down the path, you see the first signs of civilization. The plantation gives way to fields of paddy and sugarcane, and then a small pond. There is also a spring right on the road, which is seen only in the monsoons. The water table is very high there I suppose. And if it is monsoon, you would also see a number of rivulets running down to join the pond.

Chikkadi is right I the middle of the hills. You stand in the fields and you realize that you’re surrounded by hills on all sides, and the only access to the village is the road that leads into and then away from it. The greenery and the serenity around take your breath away. And then you come to an old traditional Havyaka household, but not before you see a young Sandalwood tree, if you can recognize it.

I’m lucky to have grown up here. For at least two months every year. Away from the stressful city life. I’ll tell you why in the next post.