The Sounds of the Jungle

So obsessed are we, in the pursuit to spot the big cats, that we often forget to observe the beauty of the jungles that surround us. We hear, but don't listen. We look, but we don't see. We admire, but seldom appreciate.

The jungle, to me, is a place where imagination comes alive. A large rock sheltered by the bushes resembles a gaur or an elephant in the twilight. Twigs take on the shape of snakes, lying motionless, patiently waiting for an unsuspecting hare or rat to come by. Sometimes, on a moonless night, something scurries past, rustling a bed of dry leaves. And I find myself playing guessing games, wondering what it could be.

It was one such warm, moonless night, when I found myself in a dark tent, surrounded by acres of thick jungle. It was our third visit to the K.Gudi camp in Biligiriranga Hills or BR Hills for short. The fact that my husband and I were the only guests at the camp and the lack of electricity added to the excitement. At about 8 30 that night, after we were done with a delicious, but simple dinner, I decided to step out for a while to take in the familiar, soothing, sounds of the jungle. The cicadas, after making quite the racket, decided to take a break, giving the nightjar the perfect opportunity to make its presence felt. I felt myself being lulled into a stupor, my thoughts wandering all over the place. This blissful state of affairs continued for a good thirty minutes or so until the realization suddenly hit me that all the denizens had quietened down. Now if you've been to the jungles as often as I have, you'll know at once that a silent jungle can mean only one thing – a predator was on the move. I was alert, straining my ears for a faint rustle, or the rough, sawing sounds of the leopard.

Soon enough, the deathly, oppressive silence was shattered by the alarm call of a sambar deer. "Dhonk, dhonk, dhonk!" it went. I followed the direction of the sambar's alarm call, and mentally traced the path of the cat that must have walked around the periphery of the camp, barely 200 meters from the tent. Was it a tiger, or a leopard, I don't know. For I was as blind as a bat, my ears doing all the listening and seeing for me. I retired to the safety of the tent, as the calls continued well into the night. Sleep, of course, eluded me, for I was high on the heady mixture of thrill and curiosity. The sambar stopped calling eventually, signaling that it was safe for the denizens to come out of their hiding. A few hours passed, and I could hear the wild boars outside, sniffing and devouring any tasty tidbits they could find. My glow-in-the-dark watch showed that it was nearly 3 AM, and I decided that I simply had to get some sleep.

"Oye, wake up, wake up," someone whispered frantically. Groggy and confused, I grumbled at my husband for disturbing my sleep. "Listen, it's a barking deer!" he whispered, hardly able to contain his excitement. Sure enough, it was now the barking deer's turn to call out. Something was definitely afoot, moving stealthily about, but this time, the calls were from the opposite direction, indicating that the predator was returning to its lair, which clearly wasn't too far from the campsite. I imagined it to be a leopard, returning from its hunt to the comfort and safety of a tree. We passed, what was left of the night, listening expectantly for more alarm calls. They'd died down of course, and we found ourselves dozing off, as the first light of the dawn kissed the dewy foliage.

Thirty minutes and two cups of tea later, we were on the morning safari. I mentioned the previous night's alarm calls to the driver and the naturalist, and they weren't too surprised, but nevertheless excited.

"We heard it too!" they exclaimed, in unison.

"This particular leopard lives somewhere close to the camp," said the driver. "But, he's a master of camouflage, so the guests rarely get to see him."

No sooner had he spoken, we saw a rush of yellow and dark spots jump across the fire trail, and crash into the bushes. It was the leopard alright! My jaw dropped in awe at the fleeting glimpse of this beautiful creature, just before it vanished.

"You're fortunate madam," the naturalist said, grinning from ear to ear. "Most people only hear him, you got to see him too, albeit for a few seconds."

Lucky indeed! But I couldn't wait for nightfall, until I heard him again, in the alarm calls of the deer, and the silence of the cicadas.

Waiting for Shere Khan

Picture this – tall, dry grass beckoning languidly, clear blue cloudless skies, and the wind gently caressing you, as you wait patiently, ears attuned to every little sound.

Welcome to the Pench National Park, the jungle that inspired Rudyard Kipling's The Jungle Book. Named after the Pench River that divides the forest into nearly two equal halves, the Project Tiger Reserve is located in the Seoni and Chhindwara Districts of Madhya Pradesh. Unlike the jungles in South India, the topography of this tiger reserve is distinguished by grassy meadows, with large tree species like teak, amaltas, dhora, and conspicuous white kulu trees, popularly known as "ghost trees". Treated like the step-sister of the popular Kanha and Bandhavgarh Tiger Reserves (also in MP), Pench (among others) had been on my checklist for as long as I can remember.

Like a middle-aged couple, comfortable in our marriage, the jungles and I have grown to love and respect each other over the years. But every marriage has experiences that awaken you from the deep slumber of domestic bliss; similarly, every once-in-a-while the jungles offer an experience that remains etched in my memory until something better comes along.
What distinguishes Pench from all the other jungle safaris I’ve embarked on so far, is the fact that this time around, I learned to listen; keenly, and patiently for the innumerable sounds made by the various denizens that reside here. The high-pitched "meow" of the peacock, the noisy crescendo of the cicadas, the "whoomph" of the langurs as they leap effortlessly from one tree to another – these are the sounds that bring contentment to my heart and a smile to my lips. Until now, I’d only “heard” these sounds, never actually listened. The "whoomph" of the langur, for instance, varies in crescendo when it’s in a state of sheer panic, quickly transforming into high-pitched shrieks of sheer terror when one of the jungle cats is on the move.

But when the King calls, the jungle listens; all the other sounds fade into the distance.
Our jeep was parked at a "chauraha", the Hindi word for intersection or crossroad, in the jungle. Following the panic-stricken calls of the Sambar with our ears, we waited in complete silence for the reason of the Sambar's alarm to materialize. Surrounded by thick vegetation on three sides, and tall, dry grass that concealed any animal that moved through it on the other, we depended heavily on audioception to determine the direction of the animal’s movement.
The "oongh" was unmistakable. The grass, at a distance, ruffled with every "oongh". I could barely conceal my excitement. If you've heard a tiger call, you'll know what I mean when I say that it's mesmerizing. It transfixes every other creature in its tracks. It's a call that announces the arrival of a creature that’s so beautiful that it's terrifying. Even today, when I close my eyes and think about that day, I can hear the "oongh" coming closer and closer to our jeep. We stared intently, straining our eyes to catch one glimpse of the jungle cat, cameras ready. The screams of the Sambar faded away, as the grass parted finally. I stopped breathing.

Quick as lightning, the tiger bolted and leaped onto the opposite side of the fire-line, vanishing into the wilderness, even before any of us could react or move a muscle. We were aghast. The jungle seemed to have swallowed this beautiful creature whole, leaving us feeling cheated. The driver assigned to our jeep seemed apologetic, like a parent covering up for his favorite child’s mistake. "It isn't just the tiger we've come to see," we told him. "It's the jungle we want to experience."
And what an unforgettable experience it was, as we drove into the fading twilight, watching the stars twinkling brightly in the velvety night sky, as the creatures of the night woke from their long slumber. For their watch had begun, and they wouldn't rest until the first rays of the sun touched the dew-kissed grass once again.

Nature’s Ultimate Predators

"How was the safari?" I asked someone who’d checked-in a day earlier at the Kabini River Lodges near Nagarhole.

"Nothing great!" he exclaimed. "All we saw were some deer, bison, birds, and dogs. I mean, I paid so much to come all the way here just to see some buffalo-like creatures and dogs? No tigers, no leopards. Such a waste!"
It's this single-minded obsession to spot the big cats that prevents people from enjoying their trips to the jungles. Sure, I'd love to see the tiger in all its majesty, or spot the shy leopard lounging lazily on a rock. But what I enjoy the most is the proximity to nature. The calling of the peacocks, trumpeting of elephants, or the "whoop" sounds the langurs make as they swing effortlessly from one tree to another, is music to my ears.

But what I'd never seen, until the recent Kabini trip, is a hunt in progress. Two days, and four safaris; the pack of eight Asiatic Wild Dogs, or the dhole, were a familiar sight. Three out of the four times we spotted them, these fearless, diminutive killing machines looked anything but ferocious. Frolicking in the grass, chasing each other around, this pack would remind anyone of their playful neighborhood dogs. Until, you watch them hunt.
On our last safari, we ran into the dhole family, clicking pictures and watching them from a safe distance. Soon the pack grew bored, and began walking lazily along the jungle track. As we continued watching, we saw a herd of chital or spotted deer, grazing peacefully at a distance. Suddenly, this picture of serenity took on a completely different turn. Pandemonium broke loose the moment the leader of the pack spotted the herd. Emitting a barely audible whistle-like sound, the pack broke into a run, splitting into small groups in a smooth flanking movement, catching the chital by complete surprise as they scattered haphazardly.

Unlike tigers and leopards, these communal hunters don’t give their prey the luxury of time to warn the others of the impending danger. They simply attack, tearing off chunks even as the terrified animal continues to run, eating them alive bite by bite. It is said that even the mighty jungle cats steer clear of dholes. Weighing as little as 13- 17 kilos, these rust-brown carnivores are said to bring down a lone tiger if need be. That said, what’s concerning is that these highly endangered species are ignored by most conservationists and researchers. Perceived as pests, the common folk look at them with the same disdain reserved for street mongrels. Adding to their misery is the fact that they aren’t as beautiful to look at or enthralling as other predators.
Coming back to the hunt. As the chase continued, our jeep followed at a distance, so as to not interfere with nature’s plan. It was chaotic mix of dust and hooves, before the herd and the dhole family disappeared into the thick, impenetrable vegetation. Whether or not the dhole went hungry that day, is something I don’t know. But when a new guest asked me how the safari was, I replied, my eyes twinkling with excitement – "It’s an experience that's going to remain imprinted in my mind for a really long time!"

Taking Home a Tasty Human: Understanding the Tiger’s Palate

The reactions are almost always predictable. Bubbling with excitement, I immediately sent images of the tiger we spotted on our last trip to Biligiriranga Hills (also known as BR Hills) to almost everyone in my phone book. Although some of the reactions were the expected "wow" and "amazing", I was surprised when some folks asked if I wasn't afraid of being attacked.  My response, apart from rolling my eyes, is usually the same. I tell them that it's the elephants I worry about, and not so much the cats.

Thanks to a healthy dose of cheesy Bollywood flicks and folklore, tigers and leopards are perceived to be vicious man-eaters that never miss an opportunity to take home a tasty human or two. Nothing could be further from the truth. Tigers prefer their natural prey like the chital or spotted deer, sambar deer, and other species from the herbivore family. They avoid human settlements and instinctively prefer fleeing to attacking should they run into humans. But one could argue that the phrase "man-eater" wouldn’t exist if there weren't instances of the big jungle cats molesting and devouring humans.

Yes, tigers and leopards have killed before and will kill again. But not because they have developed a "taste for human blood"; it’s because of the extreme human-animal conflict that drives this beautiful, noble creatures into a corner, where they have to choose between killing and being killed. Sometimes, it's a purely accidental attack. Most jungle cats turn man-eaters because they are either old, or injured. It's surely some form of desperation that drives them to kill and devour man. In fact, conversationalists and those working in the forest department will tell you that there have been instances where tigers and leopards have mauled people without so much as tasting their blood! This only happens when they feel threatened.

Of course, by the time I explained this to the umpteenth person who’d asked me this question, I simply lost patience, and found it convenient to smile, play dumb, and say, "Yes, it was so scary!"

My husband and I have been to many safaris in India and have spotted several tigers in the wild. Yet, the feeling of absolute awe, every time we go around a bend, expecting a tiger to emerge, is hard to describe.

If you’ve spotted a tiger in the jungles even once in your lifetime, you must consider yourself fortunate. The rate at which these animals are being hunted (sometimes poisoned) for their skin, bones, and teeth, falsely believed to have medicinal properties and protective powers, we'll soon have to contend with watching the tiger in a cage, pacing about hungrily, stripped of all its dignity and splendor.

800 Kilometers and One Bike: Part II

As promised, I’m back with part II of 800 kilometers and One Bike.

In the first part of the blog, I described our ride from Bangalore to Bhadravati and to Chikmagalur. Now it was time for the second part of road trip from Chikmagalur to Kudremukh and back. Thankfully, this time, the cumbersome backpack was left behind at the homestay in Chikamaglur, and it was a relief to cover this stretch with nothing more than some water and a couple of biscuits in a small bag.

The plan was to cover the 212 kilometer (including the ride back to Chikmagalur) ride in one day, and return to the homestay well before dinnertime. After a hearty breakfast of Shavige bhath (rice vermicelli) and coffee, we were on our way to the abandoned ghost-town of Kudremukh.

First things first, anyone who visits Chikmagalur simply must add Bhadra Coffee Shop to their itinerary. A refreshing change from the loud, colorful, and overpriced coffee shops that are mushrooming in the city and along the highways, this quaint little place is just what the doctor prescribed for coffee lovers. If coffee is not your "cup of tea" then you can always sample the lemon juice, the greasy bread-omelette or the hot holige, among other delicious snacks this place has to offer. Located on the Sringeri-Chikamaglur State Highway, the coffee at Bhadra Coffee Shop is as fresh as it gets. I say this because this coffee shop is located right in the middle of a coffee estate. It can't get better than this. But it does! Besides being freakishly easy on the pocket, the place is clean and has simple outdoor seating, ensuring you enjoy your cuppa while listening to the sounds of the jungle.

As much as we enjoyed our little break at the Bhadra Coffee Shop, we still had a long ride ahead of us and decided it was time to leave. The skies were clear and gave no indication of the bad weather that was in store for us on our way back. But we’ll come to that later. One of the famous trekking destinations in the South of the Indian peninsula, Kudremukh derives its name from the shape of the hill, which looks like the face of a horse. Hence the name Kudremukh, or "horse face". Rich in wildlife, the Kudremukh National Park is a Global Tiger Conservation Priority center and boasts a thriving tiger population (although we didn’t see much wildlife on that trip). We maintained a steady speed of 60-90 kmph, slowing down at the bends at regular intervals. With every passing kilometer, the forest seemed denser, with massive trees and thick shrubs nodding their heads in the cool breeze that was blowing. The ride was simply spectacular!

The road, at one point, forks, with the left fork going towards Agumbe. Although we were very tempted to visit Agumbe, we simply did not have the time to make that detour. My suggestion for someone who plans a ride to Kudremukh, is to also visit Agumbe, one of the most picturesque places in Karnakata. The rainforest boasts several waterfalls, and the vegetation in many places is so thick that it’s impenetrable. However, Agumbe was not on the itinerary, and we continued towards Kudremukh. Bordering the Arabian Sea, the view as you ascend is simply breathtaking! You can also stop by at the Lakya Dam, built by the Kudremukh Iron Ore Company Limited (KIOCL), for some pictures.

On reaching Kudremukh, I was slightly disappointed. The town lies abandoned, with the ghosts of its past sadly beckoning visitors to witness what might have once been a thriving township. It was sad to see the staff quarters standing tall and proud, but ringing hollow with the sounds of the days gone by. We parked the motorcycle and walked towards what looked like a restaurant. Hungry and tired, some food would definitely help. More disappointment awaited.

The staff at the makeshift restaurant in the abandoned office told us that lunch was only rasam, rice and pickle. While I had not expected a 3-course meal, I had definitely not signed up for some strangely sticky rice and watery rasam. However, my rumbling stomach told me it wasn't the time for snobbery and that I should simply make do with whatever was available. After the meal and a bathroom break, we decided it was time to head back to Chikmagalur.

Barely 20 kilometers later, the clouds that looked white, cheerful and fluffy an hour ago, now looked dark and angry. Soon enough, big, stinging drops of rain had us completely soaked in less than 10 minutes. Stopping in the middle of the forest for shelter was out of question; so we decided that the sensible thing to do was to ride on. We weren't prepared for a downpour of this sort and the jackets offered little protection. To add our misery was the low visibility. Still, we rode on, slowly and cautiously, because one wrong turn or slip, we’d find ourselves tumbling downhill. I don’t know if it was that thought or the incessant rains that made me shudder.

But it's the rains that bring out the beauty of the forest. Rich in flora and fauna, the protected forests are home to a wide range of animal, bird, and insect species. In fact, a trek through the forests and you may just end up with leeches enjoying a hemoglobin-rich meal that’s generously provided by you! Thankfully, that wasn't something we had to worry about.

It was near dusk by the time we reached Chikmagalur, and we were really looking forward to a hot meal of biryani and kebabs that our hostess has promised. Satiated and happy, I drifted off into the night, dreaming of jungles and motorcycle rides.

The Where, When and What:

Where to Stay: You could stay at one of the hotels/ homestays in Chikmagalur. The other options are the resorts and retreats at the foothills of Kudremukh, although I cannot vouch for those.

When to Go: If you’re planning to ride up, the best time will be between October and February, when the sun isn't beating down mercilessly. Be prepared for unpredictable downpours though.

What to Do: Kudremukh is popular among trekkers; although special permits from the Forest Department are required. You can also visit Lakya Dam and the Hanuman Gundi Waterfalls.

800 Kilometers and One Bike: Part I

After a 600 something kilometer (two way) trip to Ooty on a gearless scooter, we’d just not had enough. We longed for something more, something different from the usual car trips we took. So, we decided it was time for the Honda Unicorn to make its debut. This time we zeroed in on the Bhadravati-Chikmagalur- Kudremukh belt, in 5 days.

The Unicorn was longing to stretch its legs and so were we; although, the first 100 kilometers later we realized that there wasn’t much leg-stretching for us. A fully loaded petrol tank, and a fully loaded backpack later (oh what a dumb thing to do!) we were off on a crisp October morning. This was to be the first 270 kilometers of our journey where via Tumkur,- Arasikere- Kadur – Birur – Tarikere, and finally Bhadravati, where we planned on staying the night at Jungle Lodge’s River Tern resorts. The roads were great, and the weather perfect. Our loyal steed devoured the distance hungrily.

Our first and only break, Café Coffee Day near Arsikere. Hunger was the least of my problems. I was paying for my lack of common sense. Instead of using saddle bags as is the norm, I was carrying a massive backpack, and the strain from the excessive weight started to show. My shoulders hurt, and my lower back felt numb. It served me right, I suppose, for not doing my homework and going with the decision to carry loads of clothes, and other knick-knacks on my back.

But the excitement of the trip, a strong coffee and some stale sandwiches later, I felt much better and was rearing to go. The route was simply picturesque, with beautiful sunflower and paddy fields, and clear blue skies to keep us company. The unpolluted air and sparse traffic was a refreshing change after battling peak hour traffic every day in Bangalore. The rest of the journey was uneventful, barring a small potholed stretch just before the Lakkavalli Dam.

The River Tern property is one of Jungle Lodge’s best, albeit expensive, ones. Overlooking the Bhadravathi River, you can either choose to stay in the cottages nearest to the "gol ghar", where the food is served or in one of the cottages on an island. We choose the latter. I'm not going to dwell too much on how our stay at Jungle Lodges was or the details of the Jeep and boat safari. But I must stress on the fact that the Bhadra Wildlife Sanctuary, a Project Tiger reserve, is a lot denser than either Bandipur or Nagarhole. Enveloped by a thick canopy of trees, you must be really lucky to spot any wildlife at all. Besides a few peacock, we did manage to glimpse a herd of the gaur and the usual population of chital. To be fair, it's a place that's suitable for bird watchers.

Moving on to phase 2 of our motorcycle trip. The next morning, after a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast, and a steaming cup of tea, we started for Chikmagalur. Refreshed after a good night's sleep, a shower (did I mention the bathroom has a one-way glass wall, which overlooks the expansive jungle?) and a good meal, I was determined not to let the steady drizzle dampen my spirits. The skies were grey, and it didn't seem like the sun was in any hurry to make an appearance.

The roads were slippery and wet, curving right through the rain-kissed forests. Our Unicorn hugged the hilly bends with strange familiarity, swallowing curve after curve as we sped ahead. At one point we simply had to stop, just to gawk at the massive trees that appeared to touch the sky. Besides cutting right through the Bhadra forest, this is one of the most scenic and traffic-free routes that you can take from Lakkavalli to Chikmagalur. Eighty-three kilometers, some tree-gawking and endless photo-sessions later, we reached Chikmagalur just in time for lunch.

End of day 2; it was time to give the bike and ourselves some rest. Moreover, my shoulders ached and my legs felt sore. Definitely time to call it a day. I went to bed that night, dreaming about the long ride to Kudremukh that awaited us the next day. From what I’d heard, it was going to be a challenging, yet memorable ride to the mighty Kudremukh range. Little did I know then that God was chuckling, making his own plans that involved riding through the dense jungles, soaked to the bone!

Click here for part II of 800 Kilometers and One Bike.

The Where, When, What, and How:

Where to Stay: The best place to stay at Bhadra will be Jungle Lodges’ River Tern resort. Undoubtedly, they have the best boat and jeep safaris and great rooms. It’s this monopoly, however, that eggs them on to quote exorbitant prices. Chikamaglur has plenty of homestays that are easy on the pocket. We stayed at Nature Craft Homestay. They offer simple, home-cooked food and
clean rooms.

When to Go: If you’re planning to ride up, the best time will be between October and February, when the sun isn’t beating down mercilessly.

What to Do: You can visit the Lakkavalli Dam. But don’t miss the jeep and boat safaris, which are great if bird-watching is something you enjoy. Chikamaglur, on the other hand, has plenty of places to visit. You can drive up to the Muthodi Wildlife Sanctuary or hire a cab to Mullayanagiri, which is the highest peak in Karnataka.

How to Get There: The simplest route from Bangalore is via Tumkur,- Arasikere- Kadur – Birur – Tarikere, and finally Bhadravati. To go from Bhadravati to Chikamaglur, you must take the awesome route from Lakkavalli that goes right through the lush, green jungles.

Road Trip to Rohtang: Maggi, Tea, and a Lifetime of Memories

"A pile of corpses...really?" That was my first reaction when someone told me what Rohtang Pass literally meant. Had I known this before we embarked on that arduous drive, I would have thought twice before proceeding.

Part of the Pir Panjal mountain range in the Himalayas, this treacherous stretch between Manali and Leh is aptly named. Trucks falling into deep gorges, cars veering off the slippery sleet, or landslides brought on by the sudden change in weather, there are quite a few options to choose from, if an early retirement from life is on your mind. Yet, the sheer beauty of this place, the little streams that appear unexpectedly as you drive along, and adrenaline rush that's part of this memorable experience, attracts scores of tourists every year.

After the 'heart-in-my-mouth' journey from Delhi to Manali, I hoped that the nearly 18 hour, hair-rising bus drive, with someone's nauseous 'mummyji' throwing-up endlessly, was worth it. When I held snow for the first time in my life, I can say it certainly was worth all the trouble.

My husband and I hired a Toyota Qualis for our trip to Rohtang Pass. Our driver, a jovial man of nearly 50, chatted animatedly as we enjoyed the start of the 51 kilometer drive. En-route we stopped to rent the waterproof jumpsuits and gloves that are a must if you want to use your limbs again. The weather was lovely, the skies clear, and the day just seemed great. Thirty minutes later, it was a different story. As soon as we crossed the bridge over the Beas river, I had my eyes tightly shut, because I couldn't bear to look outside. To make things worse, one mistake meant falling right into a gorge that looked dark, forbidding, and endless.

"At least the visibility is good," I thought to myself. Those who frequent the mountains often say that the weather can change in seconds. That's exactly what happened. Fog started to descend gradually, enveloping us in its lethal embrace. Our highly skilled driver (still chatting away) expertly manoeuvred the Quails over rocks and slush, not once taking his eyes off the road.

To cut a long story short, we nearly made it in one piece. But the journey wasn't over yet. We hopped off from the vehicle, and hopped on to the ponies that were to take us to the highest point. The weather was flirting with us again. The fog, which had cleared, was back. To ensure everyone stayed together, the guide tied the ponies one behind another and gave the first one a pat on its rump. Off it went, trotting with the sure-footed grip of a mountain goat, while the others followed at a steady pace. The fact that I couldn't see a thing wasn't as worrying as being tilted at a 45 degree angle sometimes when the animal needed to negotiate narrow, sloping curves. I was both petrified and excited at the same time.

Although I've heard and read so much of the beauty of this place, nothing can do justice to the actual experience. It was simply breathtaking! The white and grey snow-capped mountains, the biting cold weather, and the majesty of the Himalayas can make you feel like a tiny, insignificant speck.

The altitude and the excitement had certainly given me an appetite. What's amazing is that, despite the perilous weather and road conditions, you actually have vendors selling hot, extraordinarily sweet tea, and Maggi noodles. Normally, I'd turn my nose at Maggi noodles, or not take more than half a teaspoon of sugar in my tea, but 'normal' is overrated. When I close my eyes, I can still smell the aroma of noodles wafting towards me as I stood salivating at the prospect of sinking my teeth into a hot bowlful. The steaming glass of tea, with enough sugar to send me bouncing off the rocks, was like a warm blanket on a rainy day.

Manali has a lot to offer apart from Rohtang Pass.There's the great food,the Hadimba Devi temple , and Pandoh Dam, among other places. For me, however, the highlight of my trip was the drive and visit to Rohtang Pass.

I strongly believe that there are some vacations that simply fill up the photo album, and some that make memories. For those of you who haven't been to Rohtang, I'd say "go on, make some memories!"

The Where, When, What, and How:

Where to Stay: Manali has plenty of budget as well as luxury hotels. You can choose depending on how much you want to lighten your pocket. Check out TripAdvisor for more.

When to Go: Tourists are allowed to visit from June to October. It remains closed during the rest of the year, owing to the heavy snowfall and blizzards.

What to Do: Although tourism websites advertise adventure sports like skiing and snow-mobiles, here's a tip – The skiing is rudimentary and the snow-mobiles are fun as long as you don't mow down a tourist.

How to Get There: The simplest route is from Delhi to Manali via road. But, don't expect the buses to be on time. On reaching Manali, you can hire a local taxi that will take you to Rohtang Pass.