A Small Piece of Heaven

If Kerala is God’s Own Country, then Coorg is where they come to frolic after checking in at the Tamara. 

- Chumki Bharadwaj

Controversy courts comparisons, but whatever side of American singer-songwriter Bob Dylan’s genius you weigh in, Nobel or not, the lines from his cult favourite Blowin in the Wind, “Yes, how many times must a man look up before he can see the sky?’’ seem more prophetic than poetic, more common concern than social commentary, especially if you live in the city. But if hankering after a clear sky on a starry night seems like poor ambition, you haven’t been introduced to the full fanfare of nature’s charm and intrigue.

Here’s where Coorg inspires not just thoughts but sensations; the landscape, wildly unpredictable and whimsical bares in equal glory matted green Thekkady-style rain forests, the swell and troughs of the Yorkshire Dales, interspersed with lakes that break into paddy fields at a moment’s notice.

Somewhere at the end of winding trails, where the undergrowth gets scruffy and poinsettias pop up to break the hegemony of green, Tamara looms up. Almost lofty, nestled in the mountains, cradled by the trees, the cottages look like cribs for angels; dark wood peeking out of the dense green.

Tamara, like Coorg, is charmingly schizophrenic. The all-wood resort, broken into Robinson Crusoe cottages, jostle for space among the highest trees, harmonising with the environment yet standing apart. Even within their silences, it’s never quiet; the orchestra of insect sounds compete with gurgling water bodies and whispering winds.