An exotic flower that bloomed every 12 years didn't surprise me... Read the full story
The town is silent, with the occasional car with a group of waving tourists passing us as we make our way. The mist is surprising, the chill seems familiar, and for once, even the tea seems to be doing its work. The car is going slower, my anticipation peaks, but as usual, I’m caught unawares.
It begins really early, and it hits you before you realise it. By the time a bright and spirited M had turned the corner, I saw the first wave. Small flowers, a mystical purple wave, which adorns the hillside as though caressing a precious lover. I clutch my wife’s hand and keep staring. Lost, without any words. No prior thoughts, assumptions, pains or worries can touch you here. It leaves you rooted, alongside the others gathered, who unlike in the rest of Munnar, seem to be silenced by the mere sight. We all gaze as the mist slowly unveils different facets to the hills, like the final act of a major production, with the climax bowling over every single audience member.
The Kurinji does make you want to love the world again. The people around us were from a multitude of places and, to this day, the shared joy binds us all together. It wasn’t something we could control; these hills enchant you long before you realise that you’ve been ensnared.
Words will never do the sight any justice. The heaviness in your heart can’t be comprehended by mere language. 12 years from now, we shall return here with our offspring, to show them that there are still places in the world where nature won the fight and the old magic still stands strong.
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