From: bcsabha.kal...@gmail.com To: From: aguiar...@gmail.com
Good Morning, Below is an article in the latest issue of the SECULAR CITIZEN that will be on the stands this – 4th May Do comment / respond on the article – Matheran and the Holy Cross Feast Happy Reading Don Aguiar Mob - +91 9820603927. Matheran and the Holy Cross Feast Don Aguiar. In our younger days when we travelled to Matheran for the HOLY CROSS FEAST, which falls either on the first or second Sunday in May, we always looked forward to the “toy” train and the vendors shouting – “Aaay, col' drrrinks, fofcorn, chiffsss..." Sometimes a vendor flashes a grin at us through the window bars of our "toy" train as it pants resolutely over the winding narrow-gauge track. Snack tray slung over his neck, he is swinging adroitly from one carriage to the next along the foot-boards. We level out, travelling through a glade of spreading trees. The soil is now rust colored and pathways meander through the forest. As groups of holiday-makers pause to wave and shout greetings, the train, in a burst of confidence, puts on a terrific show of speed. We steam into Matheran station with aplomb. As youngsters we suck on popsicles or play hand-made paper-windmills against the breeze, Later during our teenage years we boys & girls used to start from Neral after a customary breakfast at the hotel opposite the station with Rava Idlis and Misal Pau and trek our way up on the hill opposite the great Matheran Mountain. Surprisingly the girls used to take the lead throughout which they later explained: they feared the idea of being left far behind. First half hour is always ok. Not many fellow trekkers on this route as most tourists zoomed past in the cars, private taxis and Mobikes. We used to stop three times once on a bend once at Ganesh mandir where we have cold drink and one in a wayside restaurant to relieve and have lemon juice. The road I recollect was never a tar road, not even one that goes to Karjat. Even 20 years back this was a pretty dangerous road with steep curves where marutis would fail in summer due to intense heat and there were instances when cars have fallen in the ravines. Matheran, means "forest on the forehead" (of the mountains), is an eco-sensitive region, declared by the Ministry of Environment and Forest, Government of India. It is Asia's only automobile-free hill station. It is the smallest hill station in the world. It is also the cleanest hill station. No vehicles are allowed inside the town including bicycles. You have to walk the whole place or get a horse. Wildlife includes monkeys (lots of them) and horses trotting along the path as the local means of transport. Jokes apart, Matheran is known as being an abode for various exotic birds. I would probably attribute that to the pollution free air and lack of vehicle sound. You can ramble through the woods to various lookout points, or maybe go horseback riding or Browse through the market. Or just laze around! So as one can imagine, Matheran, a tiny hill station in Maharashtra was known for scenic beauty and wilderness alone. Yet, time has taken its toll and those who have not been to Matheran for many years will be pleasantly surprised. Much indeed has changed. Several multi-storied hotels have sprung up, and with their garishly painted "modern" architecture, they are hideously incongruous among the gently forested glades. They offer the same amenities you have in a Mumbai hotel and play loud music disturbing the calm, quite and scenic surroundings. Unlike our younger days where the population of the monkeys was more than that of humans and the Victorian styled cottages and hotels gave you the feeling of being in the wilderness and entwined in the calm, quite and scenic beauty this beautiful place offers. It also had a small, but affluent, resident population. Retirees, mainly, who lived in sprawling bungalows with winding pathways and curlicued, iron-wrought gates, reminiscent of the days of the Raj. Most of these homes are hidden within forest glades, but some flank the pathways. Not any more as most of these bungalows have given way to multi-storied hotels accommodating tourists who are more glued to their mobiles and TV’s and only move in and around their hotel or nearby restaurants rather than rambling through the woods to various lookout points in order to appreciate the calm, quite and scenic beauty this beautiful place offers. As usual my dad, mom, brother and I use to go for a morning stroll. The pathways are deserted at this hour, but the morning is alive with movement and sound. A couple of hens pecking busily in the dust, flutter agitatedly at our approach, and a defiant cockerel stretches his neck into a long "koo-koo-roo-kooooo" before strutting off. Parrots, dawn-flashed into emerald bursts of colour, screech in counterpoint to the raucous bickering of crows. In a small clearing, a group of tethered horses snuffle and neigh as they feed from jute bags. Beyond the market, we follow a short, winding pathway and the hillside drops away into a sheer gorge. It faces east, and the sun, an enormous orange ball, rises above the surrounding peaks, swings out of the mauve mist and seems to roll towards my dad and mom. There wasn't a greater site to see. The branches of the trees were positioned just to let a few rays pass through as if they were to escape from a prison inside of the sun. The rays illuminated everything they touched with beauty, color, and life. The earth began to glow in the golden light as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky. We always couldn't bring ourselves to leave this beautiful surrounding. We sometimes spent the remainder of the morning and most of the afternoon just taking in the beauty of the horizon watching the day unfold. When we finally managed to extricate ourselves from our relaxing position we decide to wander around in search of another point. As we stroll over the side of the mountain we come upon a fairly small lake. But what it lacked in size it made up for in vibrant color and clarity. But this time the sun was just past the top of the sky and it cast its golden rays across the lake just as the wind rippled the clear blue water. The rippling water shinned and shimmered in the sunlight as the subtle little creatures came out to bask in the beauty of the sky. The whole scene is just so captivating that we could not help but long to be a part of it. The yearning didn't last long because we normally are unable to resist and we slowly submerged ourselves in the peaceful lagoon thanking God for a new beautiful day. Behind us, women gather at a communal tap, thwacking garments against a concrete platform, scrubbing their shivering kids, and exchanging gossip. "That one's haunted," My dad suddenly tells us on one such morning stroll as we go by a dilapidated red-brick house. "Really?" We say in unison, stopping to stare. "Uh-huh," My dad says. "It's called "The Red House" and Matheran residents give it a wide berth. I sure as heck wouldn't hang around the place, especially after dark. Not after what happened to us." "What…what?" I swing around to my dad. "Well, this was about twenty years ago. I was with a group of friends and we'd come up to Matheran for the weekend. About seven or eight of us were out on a late night stroll. We were just about here…" My dad walks back about fifty yards to indicate the spot. "As we approached the house, we saw a figure wearing a white shirt and loin-cloth walking towards us. It moved right under that lamp-post there by the gate of the Red House. As you can see, the light would have shone directly on it. One of us, I forget who, said jokingly, 'Now there's a ghost for you!' The words were no sooner said, than the figure vanished. Kaput. Gone. Nothing there. Just the empty road under the lamp-post. Yet we'd all seen it clearly." "So what did you do?" I ask. "We turned and ran. Glancing over our shoulders all the way back! We puzzled over it for days afterwards, but it wasn't till much later that we heard about the reputation of the Red House." I glance again at the bungalow, at its crumbling walls and gaping roof. It looks brooding, secretive. My brother is intrigued. "Take a photo of us on the veranda, Dad," he says. "So I can tell them about it at school." My dad feels a prickle of unease, even though it is broad daylight. He shrugs. "Well, okay, but let's make it quick." My brother and I stand by the rotting veranda rails and my dad clicks the camera. (The photograph when developed later shows a figure standing just behind us. It's just a trick of light and shadow, but the effect is eerie nonetheless.) In the evenings as usual we go for another stroll primarily to see the sun a fiery red orb of light slowly sinking beneath the horizon, and threads of light lingering in the sky, mingling with the rolling clouds, dyeing the heavens first orange, then red, then dark blue, until all that was left of the sunset was a chalky mauve, and then that melted away in turn as stygian darkness took over the sky. Sequin-silver stars like the glowing embers of a dying fire winked down at us, illuminating the atramentous curtain of sky, and then suddenly the clouds parted, and we find ourselves looking at a lustrous, argent disc casting brilliant rays of moonlight onto the dark grounds... we watch with an unwavering gaze, in the quite scenic atmosphere, as we now thank God for the beautiful day. The monkey population hasn't decreased; they still make their presence felt at mealtimes, and the young monkey chasers continue to heft their sling-shots! We are half way through our main course, when there is an ominous rumble on the roof. My brother freezes, his spoon half way to his mouth. Monkeys," my mom says, and small army of them descends, swinging off overhanging branches and landing just beyond the veranda railings. A big male leaps onto the veranda baring his teeth and eyeing a slice of bread at my elbow. There is a shout from across the compound, and a small boy races towards us, sling-shot poised. The monkey beats a hasty retreat, and the whole tribe crash off through the trees, in search of easier pickings. The small boy squats on the steps of the veranda and grins triumphantly. It turns out that he is the son of the youth-now promoted to waiter-who performed the same service for my dad and mom when they were honeymooners many years ago. The art of monkey warfare is handed down from generation to generation in Matheran. In spite of the multi story hotels offering modern amenities, loud music and tourist not interested to ramble through the woods to various check points to enjoy the scenic beauty the place offers, the red-earth trails will still meander serenely through the glades and ghosts of the past will still inhabit the remaining bungalows tucked away in the woods. Matheran "chikki" fudge/toffee will still be sold in the shops and the cheeky monkey population will continue to mooch tidbits from the unwary. And, likely as not, the bazaar's chess champion will "estill" be there too, with the skin between his toes scoured to depletion. And so also will the HOLY CROSS FEAST in Matheran be celebrated with aplomb and the attendance at the Feast Mass increasing year after year. So come and participate in this year’s HOLY CROSS FEAST in Matheran which will be celebrated on 10th May 2015 in the morning. At 11 AM When you enter the Church compound you get excited, how is the Church going to accommodate so many devotee for the feast service? You may also think that participating in the Church service and Church celebrations of the Feast of the Holy Cross in Matheran will be so boring but everything is different, it’s so devotional, enjoyable and everywhere fellowship and fun, you just will enjoy participating in this service and celebration which comes just once a year. Do not miss