One kindly young woman explained all the hikes I could take. My mask could not conceal my true nature because she ended with, “many people never make the early morning walk because they say the weather is so good I don’t feel like getting up.” We both laughed. She sadly, I sheepishly. Then she added, “Also madam, whenever you are not in the room be sure to close the door tightly. Otherwise, the monkeys will come and take away the amenities.” “Amenities?” I asked, imagining monkeys blow drying their fur. “They have a liking for the coffee creamer and sugar. If it’s in a box they smash it and take,” she smiled. “Also, no room service because if there is food, then insects will come. If insects then frogs, and then if frogs, toh snakes are definitely going to come, ha ha.” Wot.

At daybreak, seduced by birdsong, I sat on the balcony staring at stylish yellow bottle brush flowers. Escaping into nature is not so bad after all, I thought and wandered into the room, balcony door open. In a minute, a hectic kerfuffle began in the trees. Monkeys chasing amenities! I ran and shut the door in the nick of time. They escaped into nature.

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Later, yet another resident naturalist tried to interest me in hikes. “But you cannot wear any bright clothes in the forest,” he said, basically cancelling my entire wardrobe. “You have boots?” I shook my head inadequately. He looked sad. I wanted to stand up and say I had come first in college, okay? “Doesn’t matter, we will give you socks.” He pointed to a canvas sacking around the calves of a gent who immediately assumed a lofty explorer expression. “Otherwise tics and all. Nowadays no leeches but in case.” Noting my non-commital air he gently added,  “We have a nature club too. You can come and discuss with us in case you see any bird, or butterfly you are curious about.” 

I only saw one butterfly, nutty brown and black, like a two-toned shoe. And lavish-tailed Malabar squirrels as big as little foxes, Angel’s Trumpet flowers as oversized as a cartoon vamps pout crossed my path often. Walking up the steep slope at night, the moonlight penetrated the petals of poisonous white flowers. The forest was densely silent and full of breath. I realised I had not thought about work for 48 hours, nor taken stock of the year or a photograph of that Malabar squirrel. I had not even felt like sleeping in, the city dweller’s ultimate, paltry luxury. I think I will go for the 6 am hike tomorrow. After all, you can’t escape nature.

Paromita Vohra is an award-winning Mumbai-based filmmaker, writer and curator working with fiction and non-fiction. Reach her at paromita.vohra@mid-day.com