Siddharth

Dheere Dheere
Dil Mein Mere
Aa Gayi
Toh Cha Gayi
Teri Aarzoo
Raahon Mein
Nighahoo Mein
Mere Char Su
Ab Hai Tu Hi Tu

~ Javed Akhtar
~~ Kyun! Ho Gaya Na



Coorg, is called India's Scotland. And rightly so. For as far as your eyes can stretch, the horizon and beyond is just rolling hills with coffee plants or paddy fields. And when the coffee plants blossom, and the air is heavy with a sweet jasmine-like fragrance, and it's white everywhere, it is heaven. You can just stand at the edge of the estate and look around and feel content like you have achieved everything in life and it is perfect the way it is. Siddharth was one of the few lucky ones to be born in this life filled with beauty in Coorg. His parents had everything in life and when they had Siddharth, they had achieved everything and more. Siddharth, means someone who has found the meaning of existence: Siddha (gotten) - Arth (meaning), his parents thought it was perfect for them and him.

Siddharth Karumbaiah was the only heir to their vast heritage of Coffee Plantations near Madikeri in a town called Chettali. He studied in the prestigious COPS (Coorg Public School) near Gonicoppa and grew up to be an extremely charming young man, who in spite of his extremely vast wealth was humble. A quality that his parents thought him to respect and value. They also taught him the meaning of humility, the importance of being considerate to those less fortunate than them, the importance of money, tradition, respecting elders and everything that a Coorg should be. Siddharth loved the coffee estates, while so many youngsters were moving out of their homeland searching for brighter prospects, Siddharth could not keep himself away from the beauty that was Coorg. He loved the pace of life in Coorg, it was slow and people weren't worried about too many complex things. There was the estate, the hope that monsoons this year would come and come soon, innumerable weddings to attend and 10 picnics to go to, 20 village gatherings to attend, Wild boar hunts and much much more. The city might give him more money but never this pace of a beautiful easy life, it might give him malls but never will he know people in each and every village and hamlet like he did in Coorg, it might give him awesome supermarkets to shop, but never Khadir, the fish man, who came selling sardines on a cycle and knew that those were Siddharth's favorite kinds. He might have an pubs to go to and party all night, but never will there be the pleasure of hunting down your own boar and roasting it, catching your own crabs in Kaveri's tiny little streams and cleaning them to prepare them for dinner at night.

Siddharth couldn't leave Coorg and nothing will make him. It tore his heart when he went to university in Mysore to studies Agricuture Sciences, but he loved the subject and it was a passion to learn all he could about the land he was cultivating, because he loved it. He loved his land. His friends from COPS who went onto do MBA from IIMs and ISBs and INSEADs, jokingly called him a farmer. And Siddharth loved it, that was what he was, a farmer at the end of it, a planter yes, but a farmer nevertheless. Those who have read Gone with the Wind and have lived in Coorg can identify the similarities between the gallant men and their fair ladies with their cotton plantations in the South and the way of life here in Coorg. There was the same sense of merriment, love of the land and pride in their culture. Almost every planter in Coorg could relate to the love of the land Mr. O'Hara talks about in the book, because if you are a Coorg there is no getting away from it.

After completing his graduation, Siddharth went on to do a Master and started working on his PHd. His father was now old and needed help managing the estate. While Siddharth was already actively involved in some spheres, his father now wanted him to take over the complete running of the plantation. He had done his share and now wanted to pass on the heritage to his son. This was what Siddharth was waiting for, his entire life. No luxury car, no apartment in a high rise building, no 10 figure salary could give Siddharth the sense of fulfillment that running his father's plantation could give him. He had over the years learned the works from his father, to be able to now put everything he had learnt as a child and in college to action was a dream come true. When Siddharth went to sleep after a hard day, he never had questions that many of his friends had in the cities. He was satisfied with what he was doing, the way his life was headed. Every night there was a sense of accomplishment. And he never got bored, there was always something to do, work didnt feel like work, and a drink with some coorg pork was always near by!

When he was 26, people started coming home with marriage proposals, but Siddharth wasn't ready yet. At least this is what he told his parents to tell people. He was actually waiting for his dream girl to walk into his life. And however long it took for her to come, he would wait. Like he was with his land, Siddharth was also a romantic in his heart. And so he waited.

One coffee season, work was on full swing, workers were picking coffee, when the sky turned grey and it started to rain. The workers started gathering their gunny bags full of coffee and ran towards a shelter. Siddharth was just standing at the end of the estate, near the main road. He let the rain soak in. He turned his face upwards and let the raindrops fall on his face. He then shook his head and combed his hair back. When he opened his eyes, he saw something that he couldn't take his eyes off for a minute. The rain fell harder with each minute but Siddharth was oblivious to it all. He knew in that one minute that his wait was over..