Nine years is a long time https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kodaikanal to hold on to an ordinary day. Most days blur, some disappear completely. This one didn’t. It stayed quiet, unchanged, and now feels ready to be written down. So, welcome to “Nine Years Later I Open This : First The Park Then The Forest”.

I reflect on that day long after it unfolded. While the details have faded, the day’s rhythm remains in my memory, providing a foundation strong enough for me to share my experience.

To know the deets of us visiting Valliyoor via Madurai, a journey for serenity, click on Journey To Serenity : Exploring The Hidden Beauty – Wander, Feast & Thrive

First The Park Then The Forest : Nine Years Later I Open This

It was June 2016. We boarded a train from Chennai Egmore to Kodaikanal, an overnight journey where sleep came in fragments. We arrived at Kodai Road station early morning, and our pre-booked taxi was waiting. From there, the climb began.

The drive up was long and winding, through ghat roads with hairpin bends that kept stacking one after another. Palani slipped behind us slowly as the altitude rose, the air thinning without announcing itself. Kodaikanal sat higher, around seven thousand feet above sea level. By the time we reached town, the body felt lighter and slower at the same time.

Our hotel was not right on the main stretch. The taxi took a downward bend after crossing the town area, leading us away from the immediate movement and noise. We checked into Mount Pleasant, a small boutique-style homestay. It felt lived-in rather than serviced. We rested for a while, washed up, and let the journey settle. Breakfast there was simple and unhurried. Nothing stood out, and nothing needed to.

Our first stop for the day was Bryant Park. The walk toward it already felt different from the roads we had climbed earlier. The hills opened up gently, the lake nearby holding everything together. We went for boating first. A four-seater pedal boat, slow and slightly awkward to steer, moved us across the lake without urgency. The water was calm, the surroundings quiet in a way that still allowed people to exist without disturbing it.

After boating, we walked through the park. Anna Park, or Bryant Park, was vibrant with flowers in bloom. It was crowded but not chaotic, with rows of blooming plants and trees that appeared carefully arranged. Dahlias, Dianthus, and other plants filled the space with color, creating a sense of pause and tranquility.

Later, we entered the pine forest. Tall, dense rows of pine trees altered how sound traveled. Sunlight filtered through in narrow beams, unevenly illuminating the ground covered with dry pine cones and fallen needles. We took photographs in front of different trees, almost instinctively, without suggestion.

The pine forest enveloped us in a gentle stillness, even amidst the presence of others. Horses meandered by now and then, some strolling leisurely, while others stood in tranquil contemplation. The forest, in its quiet majesty, didn’t demand our attention; instead, it gracefully allowed us to pause and experience the day’s slow embrace before it drifted away.

I didn’t know then that this day would stay with me. It didn’t announce itself as memorable or ask to be held onto. It simply passed, leaving behind a way of moving through a place without needing to extract meaning. Nine years later, what returns is not the sights or names, but the ease of that afternoon and how little it asked of us.