Dhanushkodi - Of Sunsets and Dreams

by Devika Dinesh (India)

A leap into the unknown India

We’d been planning for days. Four bikes, 8 of us, destination: Dhanushkodi. We were set. Or so I thought. And then one by one, each of them cancelled, until one fine September evening, Deenu, Prayag and I, the only ones who hadn’t dropped out, sat on the beach dejectedly contemplating life. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one sick of cancelling plans a zillion times, as Deenu just looked at us and said “Let’s go”. And that was that. Early next morning, we set off. None of us slept that night. Once we entered Tamil Nadu, the roads got better. There’s something to be said about straight roads. As intoxicating as it is to turn sharp corners, there is a sense of liberation about straight, unending roads that seem to merge into the distant horizon like a tiny speck of freedom in a vast, open sky. By evening we’d reached Kodaikanal, our first stopover. We spent the evening walking about the place, just taking in the chilly atmosphere. We had some really good chai above misty slopes. Had a British painter passed us by, he’d have called the scene “High Tea atop Olympus”. Or so I felt, watching the fog swirl about beneath our feet. After this we checked for rooms. I did not care much about the condition of the room or the location or anything at all, save for the fact that I could finally sleep. As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out. The next morning, I got up feeling a lot more human. I went outside to find the first rays of the day were slowly emerging from a foggy blanket, and the view was becoming singularly spectacular with each passing minute. After breakfast we left. We had another 300km or so to reach our destination. The heat began as we descended the slopes, and by the time we reached sea-level we were practically baked to the bones. But that was only the start of it. After a while, there was hardly any trees in sight. Which meant that we had to face the scorching midday sun without any respite or shade. Each of us drank more than one bottle of water that day. We reached Madurai as the sun reached its zenith. We’d filled our tanks at Madurai, although this caused a serious dent in our wallets. One of the bikes, Dominar, was taking up a lot more fuel than we’d planned for, and oil prices were at its peak. At around 3pm we were on a four-lane highway, when we saw the signpost. Continue straight to Kanyakumari, left to Dhanushkodi. We made no more stops. Our destination promised (or so they said) a glorious sunset, and we, ravenous wanderers, set off chasing the sun. Surrounded by azure waters on either side we neared the vermillion tinged horizon, where the misty ocean waves soothed the bleeding sky. And as we watched the setting sun drown like a molten god of ember and flames, all thought left my mind and a deep-seated sense of serenity took over. The next day, we got up at around 5:30 am, and without even brushing our teeth took off to meet the rising sun, whom we’d barely even got to bid farewell to last night. We reached the very tip of the island before the sun had even peeked out, prepared to receive the first rays of the day in all its éclat. One of my friends had once mentioned that, on a clear day, it was possible to see Sri Lanka’s coast from our vantage point. I cannot attest to that, as I did not catch even a strip of land on the lightening horizon. It was a busy Monday morning when I arrived back home. I decided that weekdays beginning with M really were the worst and slept the rest of the day off to express my discontent with the naming system of the Greeks. When I recovered the next day from my semi-hibernation, recalling the past few days, I realized that no matter the adventures that awaited me, Dhanushkodi would certainly be a rather fond memory, and definitely a place I’d be visiting again.