Hills of the South

Introducing "Hills of the South"

Hills of the South is a versatile mixed resin sculpture crafted as a captivating table or office décor piece. This masterpiece celebrates the charm of South India’s iconic hill stations nestled in the Western Ghats, including Munnar, Ooty, Wayanad, and Coonoor. Known for their lush tea plantations, winding roads, and serene waterfalls, these hill stations are a treasure trove of natural beauty and cultural heritage.

The sculpture showcases remarkable details of a classic Kerala State Road Transport Corporation (KSRTC) bus and a Tamil Nadu State Transport bus navigating the rolling hills. It brings to life the essence of tea country with iconic tea leaves and a Nilgiri Tahr standing proudly atop a ridge, a symbol of the region’s unique biodiversity.

From cascading waterfalls to tiny yet vivid scenes of life—like a tea plucker at work, a photographer capturing the beauty, and a couple admiring nature—the sculpture is a celebration of the serene landscapes. Little touches, like clusters of Neelakurinji flowers in bloom, add to its charm, reminding us of the rare and ephemeral wonders found in these hills.

This intricate piece evokes the nostalgia of hill station journeys while paying tribute to the vibrant culture and stunning natural beauty of the Western Ghats.

Details:

Please note that these pieces are hand-painted and may have variations from the photo represented.

Material: Quality marble dust and resin piece painted by hand.
Size: Approximately H - 11.2 cm x W - 15.9 cm x L - 17.6 cm.
Includes: An authenticity card and a lovingly written story card that immerses you in the journey.
Weight: Approximately 975 grams.
Care Instructions: This miniature is meant for display purposes only. Clean gently using a soft cloth or non-alcoholic wet wipe.

Backstory

The bus jolted forward with a groan, and I giggled as my head bumped against my grandfather’s shoulder. “Appuppa, why does this bus sound like it’s coughing?” I asked, pointing to the red-and-cream KSRTC bus that we were in. He smiled, adjusting his round glasses. “It’s an old warrior, Ammu. Like me!”

I pressed my face to the window, my breath fogging up the glass. The air smelled different here—like wet leaves and fresh earth. Back in Kochi, it always smelled like petrol and fried pazhampori at the roadside stalls.

As the bus climbed the hill, I could see tea bushes, all neatly planted like the green school uniform shirts we ironed on Mondays. Rows and rows of them stretched out, almost as if someone had combed the hills with a giant comb. “Look, Appuppa! The hills are wearing their Sunday best!”

We passed a small waterfall tumbling down the rocks. It reminded me of the time I poured a whole jug of water over my brother’s head when he stole my crayons. “That’s how Amma scolded me, no? Like that waterfall!” I said, giggling again.

Grandfather chuckled. “Yes, but that waterfall doesn’t stop, even if it gets scolded.”

Further up, a woman was plucking tea leaves, her hands moving quickly like she was picking the best ladoos at a wedding feast. “Do they drink all that tea here, Appuppa? Like Amma and Achan during their evening gossip?”

“No, Ammu,” he said. “These leaves travel far, across the world, to make someone’s perfect cup of chai.”

A little further on, the bus slowed down as a family of goats crossed the road, their coats shimmering brown and white in the sun. Among them was a baby goat, hopping clumsily, trying to keep up. “That one’s like our neighbor’s puppy, Mocha! Only… less naughty,” I said.

Appuppa pointed up toward a steep ridge. “Look carefully, Ammu. Do you see the Nilgiri Tahr?” I squinted and gasped. A goat-like animal stood on the edge, its horns curved like Amma’s bangles. It looked so proud, like my brother showing off his report card when he gets first rank.

As we rounded another bend, the hills turned blue. “What’s that?” I asked, my nose glued to the window. “Are the hills shy, Appuppa?”

“That’s the Neelakurinji, Ammu. They only bloom once in twelve years.”

“Only twelve years? That’s longer than I’ve been alive!” I said, wide-eyed. The blue flowers made the hills look like they were wrapped in the sky.

The bus finally came to a stop at a small tea shop, and Appuppa patted my head. “Come, Ammu. Let’s have some tea and vada.”

I skipped alongside him, already imagining telling my best friend Maya about the hills when I got back to Kochi. I would tell her how the hills dressed up in flowers, how waterfalls scolded the rocks, and how the air smelled like green magic. She wouldn’t believe me, of course, but that’s okay. Some things, I thought, are better felt than told.