One Early Morning in Pune

Taking an auto rickshaw ride for 14 km at 6 am, might sound too much, but on the morning of 8th Sept, it was just beautiful and reminded me more than ever why we moved here. Even that early and on a Saturday morning, school kids were out waiting for their buses or rides. It was still quite darkish as we left our compound; the lazy sun stayed rolled in its cloudy quilt, barely opening an indolent eye and there was a nip in the air. The usual glorious sunrise over the river, was absent when we passed the bridge and took a short cut across the army cantonment area, passing their parade grounds and houses with well maintained gardens and beautiful official buildings, remnants from colonial times. This part was about the same as any other Cantonment town, anywhere in India. It is the army that maintains places most beautifully and it is always a delight to visit them.

The drive to the school was more or less a blur, then we and by ‘we’ I mean the Paranoid Mother’s Group, of which I am the supreme world leader, spent an hour, till the buses finally set off to take the kids for their trek in the hills. The kids in this particular school, even the Indian nationals, are almost all from countries other than India, and for many, this trek was a strange and new experience and hence the show of extreme neurosis.

All the buses had to leave together, but after two had passed, a pair of donkeys came and stood between them and the third bus, simply refusing to move. Now this is not so strange because the human: donkey ratio of this part of Pune is almost equal, though it is hard to say, for sometimes you can’t tell them apart. The PMG whipped out the cameras they had carried along but had been afraid to use, for fear of the kids’ embarrassment and protests. Finally the donkeys gave us the chance to take pictures, even if it was only of the retreating backs of the buses and the stubborn donkeys. For some reason none of the members of the PMG thought of shooing away the donkeys, maybe subconsciously we wanted to hold on to our beloved babies for a few minutes more, fearing they would come back all changed and grown up. This climb on slippery mud on some faraway mountain suddenly seemed to appear as some new fangled initiation rite into adulthood. Finally one donkey had the bright idea of shoving the other one like telling him “get out of the way you ass” with his nose. The other guy, who was a bit thick, took some time to get the message but finally both of them moved out and with a sigh of relief the buses headed off.

Even after the buses left we hung around chatting, as women are wont to do when they come together for any reason. I normally don’t need a reason and can pick a conversation in the strangest of places, even supermarket queues and by the time we have finished, e mails and phone numbers have been exchanged and a firm friendship established. Finally after about thirty minutes we all parted and I took my rickshaw back home and this time sat back and enjoyed the ride and the scenery.

I love the wild unkempt look this city takes on in the monsoon, like it is rebelling against all the so called progress and development and trying to make a last ditch effort to revert to its original state. How beautiful it must have been once, before the buildings replaced the rolling hills. Some places which have somehow miraculously survived the degeneration, at least for the present, bear a mute witness to this. One of my favourites is an open ground, once again luckily defence land, that is covered by aged, almost ancient banyan trees. A banyan tree is a beautiful entity, its just spreads as it grows, its adventitious roots growing out from the branches; give it a wide, shady and rambling look. We passed the market of fresh fruits and vegetables, and the little bridge over the tiny brook, sadly quite polluted now, and then on to Prince of Wales Drive.

This is one of my favourite roads here in Pune, with its old, sprawling bungalows and overgrown, wild gardens. Each driveway looks so inviting but they can only be admired from the outside. One of the gates, declaring the eccentricity of the owner of the house, once proclaimed “Beware of ferocious dogs and ghosts” This was found humourous by one and all. I even thought I would send him a little note saying, “Please tie up the ferocious dogs, coming in to meet to the ghosts” Sadly, I lost my opportunity to photograph it by my usual bad habit of procrastination and now the sign has been gone, hopefully the proprietorship of the house has not passed on from the eccentric owner to some developer. I fervently pray that these lovely old houses never find their way into the hands of insensitive, greedy and unethical builders.

There are many pretty places on this road, like the Bishop’s house and St. Patrick’s Church, the beautiful and extensive botanical gardens called Empress gardens, named after Queen Victoria, once Empress of India.

Then there is the Bhairoba canal that brings water from Khadakvasla dam, the Terriers nursery, etc.

here is also a vast open ground, which is sometimes used by the Bhatkya Jatis (Nomadic Tribes) for camping. These people always intrigue me whenever I see them. They travel everywhere by foot with all their worldly belongings loaded in vast net bags, on their horses. The women dressed in traditional, colourful sarees load and unload the horses and set up camp wherever they go. They also sell herbal medicines and the men herd sheep and goats. When they travel they walk in a straight line along with their horses and it is a very picturesque sight. I have often wanted to learn more about them but never had the courage to go up to them and ask questions. Maybe next time, so I always keep an eye out for them whenever I pass this particular ground, where I have seen them a few times before.

One of the most interesting places we pass is the Royal Western India Turf Club or let’s just say the racecourse. On any day it is a beautifully verdant place but of course more so in the monsoons. It is also during the monsoons that the Pune racing season is held and the horses come out to train every morning. These stunning thoroughbreds are walked or ridden to the race course, from stables close by. For a few hours, one can watch these noble and beautiful animals going up and down from the country lane, II Victoria Road, where there are stable facilities for about 600 horses. We followed the animals into the lane and passed them and a moment later two little school girls, with their pigtails tied up with ribbons and their heads close together, talking earnestly as they walked to school. Turning left again we drove up the road passing more rambling gardens and homes. Outside on old bungalow, a cream colour Morris Minor stood a reminder of a slower, more leisurely era.

Most of this was army area, the grounds were covered with grass and the thick, lush hedges with tiny, brightly coloured flowers made a very attractive sight. Driving down the lane where I lived, about 2 km away from the main road, the lovely creepers growing on chain linked fences around the small houses caught my eyes. The rain washed leaves, gleamed clean and glowed golden, in the morning sunlight. . It was a glorious sight and I sighed in pleasure. It was one more reminder of why I loved this city so.