As our definitions of vacations have changed from hectic, see-everything-you-can sightseeing holidays to leisurely travels where we would rather not see hordes of people blocking our view, the wide open spaces of the world seemed to have shrunk but thankfully haven’t disappeared altogether. It’s time for us to start experiencing destinations in a whole new way by stepping beyond the cliché and exploring the hidden gems around popular spots. Kerala is a hot favourite among travellers and naturally gets a lot of attention. That means it can feel crowded and all too familiar at times. Fortunately, the state has enough sights and secrets to hold those who stray off the beaten path, in rapture. Including the likes of hiking in the flourishing hills of Nelliampathy and a walk among the humbling Dolmens of Marayoor, here are few offbeat ways to experience the best of Kerala.

In an unassuming town called Marayoor, 42 kms away from Munnar, a secret of historic proportions is waiting to be unraveled by anyone who is willing. Ancient dolmens that have miraculously survived the test of time (over 5000 years to be precise) can be found littered on a rocky slope at the edge of this particular village. Dolmens are megalithic structures from prehistoric age where large slabs of stones are stacked together to form tombs. Given these are structures from thousands of years before, there is little information available but the idea that something from another time has survived all this while is most intriguing. Located on the barren slopes of a hill overlooking the town of Marayoor and Pambar river, surrounded by the looming hills of Western Ghats, it is hard not to get drawn to the intense energy of the place. It helps that the drive to the town of Marayoor from passes in immensely beautiful as well, including the famous section through the rare and natural Red Sandalwood groves on the way.

The first glimpse of Pothundy Dam on the way to Nelliampathy Hills is a great preview of the spectacular scenic beauty of this little-known hill station located 60kms away from the town of Palakkad in Kerala. The glimmering water of the reservoir is surrounded by lush forest and pointy hills that extend till the eye can see; it looks particularly impressive on a stormy day. Even though a lot of the forest here has been converted to massive tea, coffee and cardamom plantations, there’s still a huge swathe of forest that’s pristine and where wild things roam free. With the help of a forest guide, a hike to one of the viewpoints inside the protected area offers stunning vantage point views of the valleys below the windswept slopes.

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While the usual reason to visit Kolukkumalai Tea Estate on Kerala-Tamilnadu border may be sampling a cup of the delightful organic hand-rolled tea, I offer another incentive. Stunning views of a Tea Garden dwarfed by rugged mountains and surrounded by deep valleys! At 8000ft, this has to be the world’s highest organic and orthodox tea processing estates that eschews machinery to Cursh-Tear-Curl machinery. A sad excuse of a jeep trail winds through the tea plantations to climb to this estate and the road is as bad as it can get. The trail then crosses over to the other side to reach Kolukkumalai. The journey, though backbreaking, offers full redemption in the form of extraordinary views. From here, we can see the mountains and villages in Tamilnadu. The tea factory here has been standing since 1930s and is still in use to produce tea in the orthodox seven-step process.

Nestled between lush forests of Devikulam, yet another little known hill station in the vicinity of the more famous Munnar, Sita Devi lake is a small but idyllic water body which can only be reached on foot. What it misses in grandeur, Sita Devi lake more than makes up for it with its incredible serenity. Without any of the ugly manifestations of so-called development, the lake is pristine as it comes, surrounded by lovely groves immediately and tea plantations in the far distance. Even the hike along the dense forest and by the stream is equally enjoyable as the destination by the end. The hike starts from one of the estates in Chinnakanal that’s at a distance of 22kms from Munnar, and is an easy one-hour effort, quite suitable for beginners.

While Chembra Peak is a great hike during most part of the year, it is only in the monsoons that the grasslands covering the higher reaches of the mountain transform into a lovely carpet of green. Between that glistening expanse of swaying grass, the heart-shaped lake of Chembra shines like a jewel. As you go higher up on the trail, a view of the lake below and its iconic shape becomes more and more detailed. The starting point of the hike to Chembra Peak is situated at a distance of 8kms from the town of Meppady and the period just before or right after monsoon is the best time to hike here. At 2100m high, in theory, it the lure of scaling one of the highest peaks of Wayanad that may draw the traveller to Chembra Peak, but it is the heart-shaped lake that eventually steals your heart.

Furious winds were thrashing the windowpanes of our family's 4th floor apartment. It was June and I'd just returned home from the forests of Pench and mountains of Kashmir. The stormy afternoon was a portent of happy times to come. In a week, I'd be chasing monsoons along the east coast. In three weeks, I'd be in the thick of monsoon in Kerala. Soon after, I'd be in Rajasthan, covering a monsoon festival for crying out loud. And I would end the monsoon chase on the glorious green slopes of Sahyadris. By October, I'd be soaked and satiated.

Sonki flowers and a view of Bhandardara reservoir from Ratangad, Maharashtra

Only trouble was that the erratic monsoon of 2016 had no plans of sticking with my plan. It's no surprise that I love monsoons. If you had any doubt, this Instagram series (#30ReasonstoloveMonsoons) should clear it. So when I saw the gale-force winds rocking my hometown, my anticipation was running through the roof.

Arriving at the coastal town of Vishakhapatnam on assignment, I was regretfully informed by my relatives that it had indeed been pouring cats and dogs, but only until I arrived. I drove through the lush forests of Araku valley (Eastern Ghats in full Monsoon Glory) where the effects of monsoons were fully visible but there wasn't a drop of rain to quench my thirst. Although, a week later, chugging out of the railway station towards my next destination, dark storm clouds hovered above the hills of Vizag. They poured down with a vengeance, as the city disappeared into the horizon.

Araku Valley, Andhra Pradesh

The previous year, I couldn't shake the rains off my trail. From January till December and from Ladakh till Turkey, unseasonal rains hounded me everywhere I went. It was as if the monsoons were chasing me. The tables had turned on me this year. Marking the beginning of my woes, the drought followed me to Kerala too.

* * *

It was July and we were traveling along the ancient River Nila, also known as Bharatapuzha in Kerala. The plan was to enjoy the rains and explore the vibrant culture the river has inspired for centuries. We stayed in gorgeous heritage houses which were hundreds of years old and witnessed intriguing art forms that were breaking both gender and caste barriers. Everything was good. Except, it rained everywhere in Kerala apart from a 10 kilometer radius around me, like I was carrying my own invisible shield. Our local hosts were as amused as I was exasperated.

Pothundi Dam, Nelliampathy, Kerala

"It was raining just yesterday!" said my hosts.

"It's pouring here," called another man from the next village.

"It was raining like all hell broke loose the last time we were here, which was merely weeks ago," gleefully rubbed in my fellow travellers.

For two whole weeks, rains eluded me like a mirage teasing a nomad in the desert. It was always within tantalising reach yet it never rained upon me. On the very last afternoon before I left Kerala, a perfunctory downpour was to be my best encounter with the monsoon in God's Own Country.

* * *

"But it's only July. Monsoon will last two more months, I'll meet the rains soon." I say to myself.

Amer Sagar Lake behind Amer Fort near Jaipur

August took me to Jaipur. I once visited Rajasthan in monsoons and have been dreaming of returning to the desert state when it rains, ever since. Yes, it rains in the desert and it is nothing like we can imagine. There's fresh greenery everywhere. I was there to photograph a "sawan" festival – a festival that's celebrated at the onset of the monsoon – Hariyali Teej. So I should get some rains, right? Wrong!

"Well, it has been raining till yesterday. We're surprised it's so sunny today", chuckles a lady in a colorful saree.

"Traditionally, it has always rained on the day of Teej. This year looks like an exception!" sympathetically adds another woman.

"Of course it is an exception, the rains have stopped conspiring with me this year!" I dejectedly reflect.

* * *

Karvy bloom inside Sanjay Gandhi National Park

Still believing in a happy outcome, I reminded myself I had one more month before the rains go away for the year. It was early September and I arrive in Mumbai with stars in my eyes. Mumbaikars are fed up of monsoon already, as evidenced by the angry curses floating in the twitterverse. But I was looking forward to the infamous rains, only to realize the monsoon has deserted the city of dreams too. The first two weeks of September were terribly humid. I hiked in the green valleys and on the slopes of Sahyadris but there isn't a drop of rain falling on my head. Instead, I’m sweating bucket loads due to Mumbai’s oppressive sultriness, even inside the lush forests of Sanjay Gandhi National Park. It’s unreal, that it is supposed to be monsoons.

Dhondane Waterfalls

Ready to book my ticket out of the terribly humid city, “One last hike”, I told myself. Along with a dear friend, we went hiking to Sagargad in Alibaug where the ruins of a small fort and a fantastic waterfall are the prime attraction. There’s a heavy mist, hanging low over the hills of Sahyadris. They look as alive as possible in a luxuriant coat of green. The rumble of a brimming cascade was encouraging. Soon the mist descended upon us and I could feel the crisp freshness of an impending downpour.

Dripping in sweat until then, the heavy rain cleared the salts clinging on to my face swiftly. The water tasted sweet in no time. My raincoat was tied tight to my waist; I wasn’t going to hide from the rare opportunity to enjoy the monsoon in wilderness. Looking at me facing upwards, as if thanking the heavens with my outstretched arms, “Happy?” my amused friend asks. I break into a huge smile. On our way back that evening, the sky turns a dark blue under the cover of a thick spread of storm clouds. We are treated to another round of heavy downpour.

I was soaking wet, at last! Phew.

Ratangad, the jewel of Sahyadris, was nothing more than a mandatory hike to be ticked off the Sahyadri bucket-list. Who comes to hike in Sahyadris and not climb a fort? No one. So there I was. But it turned out to be a parting gift from Sahyadris to me. Encompassing a whole range of surreal sights that included jagged peaks ensconced in swirling clouds, entire hilltops covered in the “Sahyadri special” – mass blooming of Sonki flowers, misty views of the expansive Bhandardara Dam waters and an unforgettable torrential downpour that briefly cleared up these views for us, my heart was brimming with joy at the unreal beauty of Sahyadris in monsoons.

“You say you love rain, but you open an umbrella and walk under it”, said someone wise. Not me! I lugged around my purple rain-jacket all over the place. Not once did I use it. At first, it never rained. Later, I didn’t want to escape the rain. I waited for rains for all of 3 months to no avail. Yet, who would’ve thought that the last week alone would give me more memories of relishing rains in pristine nature than I could have hoped for? If the weight of expectation takes the fun out of travel, the sheer uncertainty of circumstances adds an equal amount of gratification to whatever it is that we find.

My cravings of all things monsoon – fresh greenery, frolicking like a kid in gurgling streams, getting lost in unbelievably misty whiteouts, wildflowers that come to life in a sudden profusion, waterfalls and everything else – were gratifyingly met after weeks of tantalizing denials. Magic, just like happiness, is not a tangible affair that goes on and on. It’s an ephemeral moment in time that disappears the very next minute. But the permanence of that feeling could very well outlast a lifetime, I know the monsoon of 2016's will.

How were your monsoon adventures this year?
Tell me in the comments.

It is surprising how sometimes we set out on paths that can lead us nowhere good but all that misery occasionally manifests into a life lesson and a surreal moment that forces you to wonder if all that happens, happens for good! So, when I missed out on seeing one blue lake, I was hell bent on seeing another blue lake – all of 1000 meters higher than the previous one that eluded me. Trouble was, I was still recuperating, it was pouring cats and dogs and I wanted to head straight into the eye of the storm in the heart of Himalayas!

It was the monsoons of 2011 and not a single person said anything good about traveling to Sikkim in July. Until then, few had ever travelled for pleasure to Sikkim in monsoons. Travelling in the rains wasn’t a fad then, as it is now. With stars in my eyes, I set out in pursuit of one of India's highest lakes at 17800feet – the holy Gurudongmar Lake.

With a whole lot of uncertainty and equal parts excitement, I arrived at Darjeeling to find weather gods were already playing havoc with the fickle mountain roads. Arriving at Gangtok after delays, I found out no one was willing to drive us, me and another friend who joined me for this stretch, to north Sikkim. They all laughed at our naivety in thinking Gurudongmar Lake, at 17800 feet, would even be accessible in this gnarly weather. All we could manage was a 20-year-old driver! His inexperience would come back to bite us but at that point, we couldn’t have passed upon this only opportunity.

North of the state is the wild frontier of Sikkim. While roads to east and west are considerably well maintained, the road forges higher up into the mountains in the north making maintenance a laboured process fraught with ever present risks. That the roads are nonexistent or pothole ridden at best and prone to frequent landslides made it only worse in the torrential downpour of Sikkim.

The driver, henceforth referred to as the ‘boy’, was already dreaming of cutting the trip short when we were informed of a major landslide on the way to the lake. His reluctance was growing by the hour to take us all the way till Gurudongmar Lake, which usually takes 3 days to reach from Gangtok. Hearing of the landslide, we were expecting one or two anyway, we tweaked the plan a bit to reach a day later at the lake. The rain was pelting hard, even stones fell on to the road due to the forceful winds and there were waterfalls that could only be heard behind the mist-covered slopes.

Without another tourist in sight, the offseason adventure was unraveling rather delightfully. The intimacy of a landscape shared only with you and no one else was a rare joy. The obscured mountainscapes and bone chilling weather was no match to the incredible beauty of the resplendent greenery veiled in a coat of grey mist. Driving along the flower filled grazing pastures of Yumthang and the desolate high grounds of Zero Point, we wished with all our might that the landslide would be cleared even as were being lambasted by relentless downpour without a single minute’s respite.

Arriving at Chunthung, the place where the road forks towards Lachung(Yumthang side) and the other towards Lachen(Gurudongmar side), the boy was raring to go back after he heard the landslide still hadn’t cleared near Chaten. Having seen the pathetic situation of the roads even as low as at 3500m, he wasn’t exactly looking forward to the prospect of driving to 5400m. I, on the other hand, was definitely not looking forward to abandoning another lake considering a failed pursuit of a similar kind brought me to Sikkim in first place.

Sending out a million prayers silently, we convinced the boy to drive us at least till the landslide. The boy meanwhile picked up few other local boys and they all started to mock us hearing of our plan. Do you know what would have been amazing in this situation? If the landslide was cleared just as we arrived. And that’s exactly what happened! After being blocked for 2.5 days, the road towards Gurudongmar was finally open, minutes before we crossed the bridge before it. Serendipity?

That’s what we wanted to shout, my friend and me. Instead, all we did was breathe a sigh of relief. Waking up at an ungodly hour the next morning when the sky still looked a deep shade of indigo, teeth chattering we bundled into the vehicle for the final assault towards Gurudongmar Lake. After enduring a bone-shattering ride on the slushiest roads ever, with an ever-present danger of earth giving way below our feet or a deluge sweeping us away, we figured the worst was behind us. True enough, the rain stopped. There was even a faint glow in the sky, a break from the looming storm clouds that kept us company throughout that week. Perhaps sun would shine upon us and the lake would reveal its intense blue to us?

We arrived at the Giagong check post, 11kms before Gurudongmar Lake and the army was aghast that someone would even dare to visit in this weather, let alone two women accompanied by a boy who seemed to be just sprouting facial hair. They reliably informed us the road is still under maintenance but it is open. All formalities done, we proceeded towards the lake. Surely nothing could go wrong now, could it?

Halfway through, the boy realizes the road, meaning a flattened track of mud in that vast desert was all dug up. Monsoons being the low season, PWD was doing its maintenance work. A small bump to the underbelly of the vehicle and he panicked refusing to move another inch ahead on that road. All sorts of pleas and reasoning went in vain. The boy wouldn’t budge!

We were still 7kms away from Gurudongmar, reaching 5400meters high in a day, we wouldn’t even be able to walk in thin air without any acclimatization. Just when we were about to give up, a PWD jeep lumbered towards us.

We finally hitched a ride to the lake, he agreed to drop us but we would have to figure out our own means to get back to Giagong. Blindly we jumped at his offer, this meant that we might have to walk back the 11kms to the army check post since hitching a ride would be impossible considering Sikkim in monsoons was as deserted as a shopping mall on a Monday morning. And walking in the thin air meant either one of us could collapse in a heap, again!

Finally when we arrived, the sweet relief of reaching the turquoise blue waters of the holy Gurudongmar Lake after a week mired in quandary felt like the heady hangover of a hard-won battle. Breathless from the altitude, I stood there in disbelief that something this magical could be conjured out of a wretched trip that made me miserable just few weeks ago. It was consequential enough that I remember that feeling even five years after. After all, our best memories stem from the incredible joy of the unexpected or the gratification of a long awaited dream. This was the latter, I’ve dreamt of a cerulean lake far too many times I can care to admit.

Sauntering along the lake that was lined with fresh monsoon greenery, Gurudongmar that looked every bit like an oasis in the heart of the cold desert was how the universe decided to reward me I suppose. An army jawan posted at the lake even corroborated my hypothesis when he told us that it was the first time in over a month that the skies cleared up to reveal the lapis lazuli splendor of the holy waters. The smile plastered on my face was refusing to fade away. Meanwhile as if the universe conspired to make everything all right at once, we were also offered a ride back, in one of the mighty STALLION'S - the army’s preferred workhorse!

The unrelenting rains, the unpredictable landslides, the uncooperative driver and the uncertainty in general notwithstanding, traveling to Sikkim in monsoons taught me that half the time our fears are unreasonable. All along I was driven by a fervent desire to reach the lake but what the experience brought to me in disguise was a life lesson that sometimes you can will things to happen. Little did I expect that a series of misadventures would ultimately lead me to where I was - a glorious place of understanding where I found reverence for both the spectacle of nature and the kindness of strangers.

Soaking wet in pouring rain, I stood on the banks of a wild Mhadei River trying to soothe my frayed nerves. But, with every word John uttered, my knees shook more violently than before. John was giving instructions on what to do should we fall into the water or get swept away by the strong currents. Looking at the raging brown waters of the river though, I felt falling into the water is not going to end well no matter how “well-instructed” we were. John was our instructor and we were about to go rafting on a swollen muddy river surrounded by the mist-covered peaks of Western Ghats.

Here’s the kicker, I’ve never rafted before!

I’ve spent weeks around beaches, lakes, rivers and waterfalls but have rarely gotten into water. I’m a mountain person and I tend to get extremely nervous around water. Yet, the lure of an exclusive monsoon rafting adventure in my favorite Western Ghats wasn’t beyond me. With my knees shaking still and heart in my mouth, I sat on the edge of the raft and off we went into the brown waters.

When we hit the first of rapids, I braced myself for a violent jerk. Surprisingly and thankfully, it didn’t feel as rough as it looked. But my feet were still very firmly stuck under the straps inside the raft, so much that the rough edges were piercing into my skin. But I couldn’t care less as I was trying very hard not to fall into the water. After getting over the initial fear and anxiety, I began to relax and enjoy the pristine surroundings of Chorla Ghats. It helped that our guide was John Pollard, the person who pioneered the first commercial rafting operations in south India, by charting routes down the Kali, Kundalika and three other rivers down south.

Having trekked, camped, cycled and road tripped my way through the Ghats before, rafting through the heart of the forest brought forth a brand new perspective. Hiding behind a veil of mist, the lush forests of Mhadei National Park surrounded us in every direction, drenched in the spell of a monsoon-induced greenery. Where the river widened, it calmed down and so did I. Gentle drizzle and a warm breeze kept us company as we floated over the muddy Mhadei River, the milder waves lapping gently against the raft. Despite the sights that enthralled me, I would be lying if I said the fear of falling into the water disappeared entirely from my consciousness. It’s hard to let go of our fears, no matter how irrational they might be. But the thrill of overcoming such irrational fear is no less fun either. I waited with bated breath to celebrate my first rafting session until I reached the shore almost 90 minutes later. There’s nothing more awkward than celebrating victory before winning, now is it?

Driving back to Miramar from Valpoi where we had met John earlier that afternoon, I realized it was not the thrill of rafting that stayed with me but rather it was the uniqueness of the circumstances that entranced me more. The visible currents, the insanely fast flowing river, the muddy water and the lovely Ghats on a rainy day in a place as stereotyped as Goa, made my first rafting experience an unforgettable adventure. After all, we only came across three class 3 rapids, which is pretty mild come to think of it. However, to put this uniqueness into better perspective, do a quick Google search on rafting and tell me if you’ve seen any picture where the scenery is like this. Monsoon rafting on flooded rivers doesn’t sound very inviting to begin with but it’s half as scary and twice as exciting! I, for one, couldn’t have asked for a better way to start with rafting than with Goa Tourism on the flooded Mhadei river; it included three of my favorite things - Monsoons, Western Ghats and exquisite Outdoors!

Make it happen!

Monsoon rafting over Mhadei River is a monsoon exclusive and the rafting sessions operate only during a short window of 10-12 weeks between June to September depending on the flow of water. It costs Rs.1800 per person and takes about 3 and 1/2 hours starting from Valpoi in north Goa. Call up ahead and confirm if the rafting is in session for the day. For bookings, visit www.goarafting.com or email at info@goarafting.com or you can call at +91 7387238866 or +91 8805727230. More information here.
(And for more monsoon ideas, follow Goa Tourism's facebook page.)

Other essential “Monsoon in Goa” reading

The Legendary Monsoon Pilots of Goa!

And if rafting doesn’t lure you to experience Goa in Monsoons, perhaps these pictures might?

A quaint Church in the hinterlands of Goa

On the banks of Mondovi, a flooded river and a forest draped in a carpet of greenery

The stunning countryside of Goa during monsoons

Over two days we saw as many vehicles as we count on fingers, no kidding! The route was through the lush green countryside of Kodava land. It rained on and off but when it rained it poured and it looked like those who cycled had the time of their lives.

I could talk more about how much I love monsoons but by now, you all probably know and it doesn't make sense to repeat the same old again. So, how did you enjoy this Monsoon Odyssey? My friends at TAG, (The Adventure Gypsies) have many more events planned for the monsoon, do join if you like getting off the beaten path.

Have you done any monsoon trips so far? Let me know in the comments.

More Monsoon Magic Here :-
Monsoons of Rajasthan - Photos of Desert in the Rains!
Monsoons of Kerala - The Offbeat side of Mystical Munnar
Monsoons of Sikkim - Photos of Nature Extraordinaire
Monsoons of Maharashtra - A Photo Essay of 1800+km Weekend Journey!
Monsoons of Karnataka - Photos of Cycling in the Rain, Madikeri

So this was my first monsoon foray in this season and I couldn't have asked for a better start!
Where have you escaped/planning to escape this monsoon? Let me know in the comments.

{P.S - I was about to leave to BR Hills with just an Ultra Wide Angle but in the last minute I rented an 18-200mm Canon Lens from Tapprs - my gear partner, just in case I saw a tiger! Highly unlikely scenario but so glad I borrowed it. :)}

More Monsoon Magic Here
Monsoons of Rajasthan - Photos of Desert in the Rains!
Monsoons of Kerala - The Offbeat side of Mystical Munnar
Monsoons of Sikkim - Photos of Nature Extraordinaire
Monsoons of Maharashtra - A Photo Essay of 1800+km Weekend Journey!
Monsoons of Karnataka - Photos of Cycling in the Rain, Madikeri