THE LONAVALA DAYS

 

THE LONAVALA DAYS
A nice bloke he was. Lady wealth always at his side, he traversed life as there was nothing else to it than wine and dine with his fairies.
He was clever at making everyone believe his hard work and brilliant marketing insights, kept the organization ticking. He truly had perfected his immense charm and skills to bowl the maidens over. Both at home and office.
One of the few good things that he did, this nice bloke, a colleague of mine, was inviting us to his holiday home in Lonavala often.
Off we used to go on a Friday weekend. The drive of couple of hours, laid the foundation of great expectation. These were rare occasions for him as none of the fair maidens were with him. Rest of us kind of being the occasional punishment given to him by goddess Venus.

The ancestral house, designed elegantly and decently kept, say amid a similar one of his cousins and among trees and plants all around. Thick and green. A functioning kitchen which your truly was assigned to work in and dish up some food for these hungry souls. A caretaker, in his fifties, who’s poha in the mornings set the day for a great time. His old mother older than the home and it seemed life itself, swept the yard every day and earned our admiration and love for her work.
We went often during rains. As we sat in the veranda, half covered, with the rain pouring, its rhythmic patter creating a soothing melody, against the leaves. Outside, the world gets transformed, reflecting the muted colours of the overcast sky. Trees stand still, their leaves dripping with moisture, while puddles form like small mirrors on the ground. A warm glass of coffee will be icing on the cake, it would seem.
The visits to Bushi dam et all, the corn bites, the chai,  all taken in while the mist surrounds us.

The night falls in the meanwhile and   with the glass of  fine whisky or whichever you swear by, in the hand, the conversation drifts to the exploits of this bloke at work and finally of his unabashed right extremist views. He gets battered in the conversation. All of us. there would be another three of us, all nice blokes too, would verbally bash him, but it would be of no avail. In that he was a lost cause!
Off we would drive down at near midnight to the highway where a burjee pav, sumptuously buttered and along with a magi noodle delicacy would warm our hearts and fill out stomach.  We would not miss it for the world.
The drive then towards Ambi valley, beyond midnight, often results in an encounter with the white saree clad damsel, seeking desperately the company of our dear bloke. She has been haunting this area ever since she met him years back. His experiences with her are kept secret as it violates an NDA between us.
The night or whatever is left of that, would see us in deep slumber on a cosy bed.
There were days I carried my telescope there and I would show the guys some of the wonders of the sky. We would also, occasionally, take to hiking, white water rafting and some such adventures to keep naughty men on a leash. 

The lonavala chikki was passé but the parsi guys fudge was out of the world.

 
Good things keep coming to an end. Memories are left of it to be partaken as years go by. A special thanks to all the dudes who were part of this sojourns and this special bloke for his hospitality.