Dripping weather and foggy meanderings, gleaming plants and landscape, cuddled-up dogs, old grand bungalows (painted fresh as charming hotels, some abandoned to disinterest), make up the laidback charm of Panchgani. History has it that British superintendent, John Chesson, discovered and developed the place into a summer getaway in the 1860’s with the help of the Zoroastrian community. Many residential schools evoke the legacy and architectural charm.
We arrive at the cheerful IL Pallazo villas in Mediterranean hues of bright blue and white with lawns adorned with vibrant plants and stunning flowers. The rooms (teakwood furniture, bathrooms with a walk-in wardrobe) are spacious with a private dining space enclosed by French windows looking out to the garden, falling rain, swaying tall trees. This property dates to 1925 and has been run by the Davierwalla family since 1933. IL Palazzo has had its share of high-profile guests from the British Deputy High Commissioner who visited them sometime in the 1980s to the Indian film star Aamir Khan’s wedding reception a couple of years ago.
I cover myself with a long raincoat, prepared for the weather, for a grimy walk through spilling houses and shops, taking the main road to the highest spot in Panchgani. And, I am caught by the high-velocity winds and piercing raindrops thrashing my exposed face on Table Land. It’s excruciatingly windy, pouring, disabling to walk. I feel playful like a liberated child, atop a vast rocky plateau patched with green grass and wildflowers, wearing my entangled hair and soaked muddy shoes. It’s gleeful, the pounding heart, deafened ears. The earth is loose and slippery where not held by grass and rocks. I make my way to the tea stall offering ginger tea and fritters. The roasted corn on coal fire has eased to boiled kernels, and I miss the charred smell in the air, claiming the Monsoon season.
The villas are lit up as we arrive, and the gazebo looks fairy tale pretty. Dinner has a traditional Parsi spread of keema pattice, salli boti, kadhi kichdi, Bombay duck/bombil, laganu custard, and more. Most ‘mains’ are on the sweeter side, with a hint of sour, but delectable.
The next day, we walk to the Lingmala waterfall that gets wild post the rains, falling in a tall scenic gush amidst resplendent greens. A crowd is built on a weekend, the elderly and the young, walking a kilometre or so for the viewing. It’s a moderate paved pathway that opens to a railed viewing spot to huddle and request for space to sight the waterfall. It’s a pretty sight, the ghats with drifting fog, drizzle, rain water flowing down crevices, and the gregarious fall.
We take the beautiful hilly road to Devrai Art Village. Devrai specializes in rock dhokra and has the patent for it as well. We enter the shop to an inspiring display of sculptures, home decorations, works of art (mixed media), jewellery. It’s transformative to see how they use rocks, leaves, wood, to construct art pieces, combining these with brass. We take a tour of the workshop, and the artist and teacher, the visionary behind the village, Mandakini takes us through the dhokra process of creating desired forms – gods and goddesses, humans, plants and animals – over the chosen stone. Tall bamboo trees and other foliage evoke a space deeply rooted in Nature, as are their creations.
As we wind our way back, we find a board marking Jaffar Bhai’s Delhi Darbar restaurant and are in for a treat of dabba ghosht and rotis, a lemon soda, and the set custard. This is the place to have – salli boti, paya, dal gosht, bheja masala, raan, khichda, biryani (prawns, chicken, mutton), the menu runs into pages.
Lunch is followed by a peaceful nap, the slow pace and wet weather, morning’s easy goings setting the leisurely mood. The evening tea flask releases the brew with a loud bang, Monsoon-stale “khari” puffs sit on a steel bowl, like a homely routine and warm memory from the past that clings to that gentle raindrop weeping behind a veil.
Signpost 
Sounds like a dreamy chill holiday..
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