A few days ago I visited a tiny hamlet called Kigga, 10km from Sringeri, buried in the forests of western ghats. At Devarmane farm, in the middle of a dense jungle, cut off from the outside world, I was rubbing my hands to warm myself up on that cold and misty morning. I could hear nothing but the calls of hornbills and peacocks. After some time I could hear the crackling of the firewood, a sign of water being heated for bathing. Believe me when I say that the water smells amazing and different when it is heated with firewood. Taking bath in the sweet water of river Thunga that smells like burnt wood, in the misty morning among sounds of the birds, are stuff dreams are made of.
While I refreshed myself, I was offered a lota of the famous Malnad coffee while the breakfast was being prepared. I was curious about the old fashioned kitchen with a traditional oven, butter churning pole, stone wet and dry flour grinder, and all other things indigenous. I met a frail thin old woman called Girijamma. I heard that in the entire household she was the only one who could make akki rotti, or rotti made of rice flour, with bared hands, without the need of rolling pin or even a hard base to beat it. As much as I would like to consider myself to be cool city folk, I was literally dumbfounded. And like city folks I had to record it on my phone. I was also told that no new generation of the populace had learned this skill, which made it more compelling for this act to be recorded. It was a bittersweet moment. Bitter because this tradition might vanish in a few years but happy because I could at least watch this.