The British

White walls, green windows. Pink walls, novel platitudes. Woman in queue, pricking fingers. Serpentine curves, gazing glances. Shoddy roads, heightened anticipation. This, while on way to the 19th century. The more I see of the above, the more I am reaffirmed that this road does indeed lead to the 19th century. Half and hour; that’s how far this place is from the previous one. And I have kept track of every single minute in the past twenty-five minutes. For I don’t want to miss out on my trip to the past. The closer the minute got to half-past, the further my anxiety grew. More walls, white ones, pink ones, green windows, more platitudes, woman and more shoddy roads. Unanticipated wilderness, out of the blue. Anxiety grows into an apprehension. Apprehension discernibly visible as my countenance. Did they exaggerate?

They said it’s British. And the Queen once lived in it. Is still owned by one from Jamnagar. Even Swami Vivekananda lived in it. On the long stretch of curvy road, not a single indication to portend that. Finally, my worst fear. A relatively large edifice, having multiple doors. Very traditional Indian. Phew, the jeep turned away from it. More serpentine curves and the jeep halts in front of what I saw a minute ago. Pink walls, large edifice, I am forced to convince self that a hundred years ago pink was in vogue.

I pull out my luggage from the hatch, load myself and start following others towards the entrance. I don’t bother to look towards the foyer. I focus on my steps and the grass and the trail underneath when I realize that I have moved alongside the entrance and still walking ahead following the trail. I lift my eyes with astonishment and hope. And in the next five minutes, my hope was envisaged. Rusted auburn roof, Rugged stony white walls. Creepers all over the walls and roof. Grape vines hanging over, rhododendrons, hibiscus, tiger lily, flowering currant. Green plants, florescent sprigs. Florescent plants, orange fruits. Time-honored fiddleback chair inseparable from the red-bottom bird’s nest. Blood-Red pomegranate trees, lemon yellow ones just next to it. In those five minutes, for the very first time I saw the nature and the man-made homogenize. Hence forth, since that day, every day I wait for the mackerel sky to restore its original azure so that I may have my date with the eternal Trishul and Nanda Devi, up close and personal. Ofcourse they didn’t exaggerate!