Going to the Country, Gonna Eat a Lot of Chipatis

On each of the past two Sundays I’ve taken a day off to cruise the Maharashtran countryside. The town of Panchgani sits about a mile above the earth on the top end of the Western Ghats. The Tabletops of the Deccan Plateau more suitably describe the area here. In the dead heat of summer it is beautiful and amidst the monsoon, the scenery drips with unimaginable green.

There are five stunning plateaus in the immediate vicinity – to which I’ve only climbed on two. Two weeks ago my friend Alex and I spent the morning hiking to the farthest of the five, a tiny island in the sky about three miles from Panchgani.

India isn’t really one of those places where you have a proper hiking trail to a plateau. You just walk along the road until you get close and then you walk overland to it. Typically the road carves its way through the major passages, which means they tend to butt up on the side of the buttes. Alex and I packed up our gear and took to the road, trusting our eyes and our instincts to guide the way.

We weaved through village after village, garnering the stares of many, the attention of a number of English-ready schoolboys and the occasional farm animal that blocked our way.

I’ve never experienced anything like an Indian country road. The pot-holed dirt pathway, puddles and all, works like an artery, bringing the life of the area here and there. An old man walks with two cows, a donkey and two goats in tow. A young boy labors on a rusty, full-size bicycle. A teenager screams by on his moped, his mate on the back chattering on his Sony Ericsson. Behind them a bumblebee jeep, half truck half-taxi, rattles along stuffed beyond capacity with people and product galore. A dalit woman, clad in a magenta sari, brushes the litter off the road. Three middle-aged men sit at the local storefront and chat endlessly over chai and pan. Mother washes the clothes as the children run after chickens in the yard.

A village comes into view. We pass through. Again and again.

Finally we reach the plateau. We climb overland to find the top. Pictures will do it greater justice than my words.


A week later, my friend Suresh organized an afternoon jall out to a waterfall, flowing mightily with the rainwater of the monsoon. I’d seen it from distance a week before and persisted with my Indian uncle that we take a closer look.

We set out at midday in the white Tata Sumo, a massive sport utility vehicle able to hold nine comfortably and about 20 in a jam (I myself have never been in one that surpassed 12, but I saw one today that held about 17). We packed in along with a massive picnic spread and set off towards Mahabaleshwar.

I’ve been on a few Indian picnics and they are worth some description. In the States, we tend to picnic with food that serves the function of the event rather than the other way around. In India you don’t pack a picnic per se. It’s more like you make lunch and then carry it to wherever you are going. But lunch in India isn’t cold cuts, chips and a coke. It’s a pot of dal, several hot curries, a steaming stack of chipatis, a massive thermos of rice and non-disposable bowls, silverware and plates for the lunch itself.

Surprisingly, this works really well when you drive directly to a picnic spot, but in order to enjoy the waterfall, we needed to walk a mile in with our supplies. I myself championed the chipatis, a stack of 50 tortilla like pieces of flat-bread that Maharashtrans use to scoop up curry. They were held in an insulated plastic container, light brown with a dark brown trim. Alongside my khakis, brown shirt and rainbows I was thrilled to declare it the fashion accessory of the year (plus, everyone loves the keeper-o-chipatis). My friends made strong bids as well, one lining his pockets with silverware and sounding like a trail-blazing grunge 7th grader with a massive chain wallet. One walked patiently with stacked metal containers filled one-top-of-the-other, carefully balancing the main course. Another simply carried 15 metal plates.

In general, I just had to laugh. In almost every sense, we couldn’t have packed more inappropriately for this picnic. No bags, a lot of metal and most everything resembled a soup except for the fried fish (another questionable picnic item) and a massive load of bananas. In the same moment, everyone had something to carry and no one was overburdened. We walked to a gorgeous spot, had a glorious picnic and walked out with big waterfall-curry smiles on our faces.

In some ways I figure this provides a pretty good glimpse of how India works sometimes. At first glance the process seems ill-thought out and ill-prepared. Yet in the doing, everyone plays his part. Even though it may never really make sense the whole time it’s happening, sensibility often has nothing to do with the eventual outcome. We share a nice meal, a good view and a nice memory for the rest of our days.