Chanced Encounters

Eastern Sojourn(Continuing 11-14)

2011-06-18T05:37:00.001-07:00

Day 11: Back to the Civilization

I wake up happily notwithstanding the uncomfortable night, the thought of calling my loved ones later once we reach Tsoka being the reason behind it. After breakfast we start for Tsoka. Instead of climbing the steep ascent to Devraali point towards Dzongri, we take the dense forest closer to the riverbank. It leads to Phedang, bypassing Dzongri. The snow is still ruling over the landscape. The path is full of mud, resulting into irritating sound of Pchk Pchk while walking. The sunlight is sparsely piercing thru the dense cover of leaves and does not help much to dry the mud. The trail is constant up or down, never flat, and always demanding. No known mountain is visible now. It’s hard to find the traces of our mission. The only assuring thing is the sound of Prek Chu flowing down on the left. A river can nourish mind also, I realize.

Many birds are busy in practicing early morning raagas, calling for our attention. Walking swift on the serpentine trail ahead of others, I try to find these melodious performers. In the process I miss my steps and slip on the muddy trail, not once but thrice. All the times the stick in my hand and the favorable fortune save me from falling flat. Encouraged by my escapes, I keep on going at the same pace, failing to notice that the red soil is even more slippery now. Another bird calls, an entrapment, and I fall for it. I slip full on backwards, but the backpack saves me from hitting the stones. The great lesson of the mountains is that Do only one thing at a time. When you are walking, do not distract yourself from the trail. If you want to observe the surroundings, catch a glimpse of a bird or an animal, do it gently and silently. Stop, See, Savor. Walk. One precipitous fall in these high altitudes can take you to the silent valley of death forever, unless you believe in afterbirths or rebirths.

We humans hardly learn the lessons though, and most of the times we learn them hard way. I am no different. My good luck makes me overconfident and I do not heed to the impending warnings. The forest whacks me more forcefully this time, drawing me backwards and sideward. By Golly Graciousness, I still go unscathed somehow. I decide that I do not want to test my luck anymore and slow down considerably. Jaggi overtakes me and I watch pink bandana leading our little platoon. Over one slippery step, he also falls, rolling over to the next step. Fortunately for him, he stops short of crash-landing his head on a stone. He survives with some bruises on his arms and knees and back. It dawns to me that this is leader’s curse. A leader needs to be ever so watchful.

There are small waterfalls on the way. One particular waterfall is completely covered in snow. We can hear water gushing below the thick white layer. We cross the landmass bridge on the waterfall which is not visible due to snow. After a steep ascent, we finally reach to Phedang. I remember that while going to Goechela, this was the place after which we started encountering snow. Now that we are here, it pleases me to think that the snow will not be our companion anymore. We meet Mr. Sridhar, a gentleman from Mysore, who conducts summer trekking expedition for schoolchildren. Every year he brings groups of children from Mysore and Bangalore to Dzongri thru his firm Snap Adventures. We see his group of 17 children around the Phedang Hut. They offer us homemade coconut barfi. It’s delicious. My love for coconut is slightly less than my love for mountains, which borders on the infinity. To eat something made of coconut after 10 days is heavenly. Thanks to Mr. Sridhar who got it prepared at his home. We spend some time sitting on the benches at Phedang to watch the kids go about their activities.

The pink rhododendrons and the red magnolias smile at us in the caressing breeze on the way to Tsoka. The colorful flowers are relief from the snow after four days of relentless whiteness. The trail is still muddy due to the rain overnight –when it snowed in Kakruchong, it was raining here – but the joy of seeing the vibrant colors overshadows that minor discomfort. We let some yaks overtake us on the National Highway in the Mountains. The plant life is in abundance now. Every crevice boasts of handful of small plants. The fresh leaves signals of a new life. The pungent smell fills the air heavy. From a turn at a cliff, we spot Tsoka village. There are hardly 15-20 houses there, most of them converted to lodges, in this small village. The ground next to the Trekkers’ Hut is dotted with tents in all colors. Tsoka seems to be hosting many guests today. The monastery stands alone, on the far side of the small water body, connected by the wooden bridge. The simple building is spectacularly set in the serenity.

The trekking Hut in Tsoka is the best we have seen in the whole trek. The toilets are comparatively clean. The rooms are spacious and have wooden beds. We do not get space to setup our kitchen in the hut so Birjubhaiya finds an abandoned house and starts preparing the lunch. We do not catch any signal on our phones. The locals say that there are only a few spots in the village where mobile signals are received. We go to the ground next to the hut and after continuously laboring to find a right spot, we manage to step on a land on the slope not wider than four feet where signals are sporadically received. I do not get any signal in my phone though, but luckily Jaggi’s phone grabs the signals quite well. I call home and talk to my father and my sister. It’s great feeling to hear their voice. I cannot talk much in the fading signals. The friends have to wait for the next day as the connectivity is no longer available now.

After lunch, Jaggi decides to take rest while Suman and I go to the yak grazing ground, next to the two chortens. Facing the valley, we sit and enjoy the silence. The sunlight is glistening in the blades of the grass. A few birds are playing on the trees on the precipitous slope. The brown mountains on the other side look like ruins of past. I listen to some music on my Kindle. I read my favorite poem The Rhyme of an Ancient Mariner by Samuel Coleridge.

The clouds gather in no time and encase the sun in their volume. We return back to the hut. A few locals are playing a game of Changu. We watch them jumping and passing. Once the rain starts, it’s back to the inside of the hut. We sip tea and eat jaalmuri sitting on the dining table. A foreigner couple joins us. The man is from Britain while the lady is German. He is back from the Mt Everest Base Camp trekking from Nepal and now they are going to Goechela. We talk about our trek. The talk invariably leads to general discussion about India, Indian politics, religions and then US and its policies. I know we are back to civilization now. From the caring lap of nature, we are returning to the harsh world out there. The couple sadly gives us the news that Sri Satya Sai Baba has left this world. They talk about Baba’s huge following in England and Nepal.

Our dinner is a sober affair. We finish the food under the low flames of candles. There is a party going on in the dining hall. A huge group of foreigners is celebrating their successful trek. They dance, sing songs and rejoice in the glory of their expedition. The revelry goes on for late in the night. Off to sleep, I am content and glad about the lovely encounter with the mother Nature.

Day 12: Retracing the Steps

The final day of the trek finds me properly rested in the night. The bright sun is illuminating Pandim and Narsing from the east. In the west the overstretching mountains shake hands with each other to convey morning greetings. Pandim looks beautiful –I have lost count of how many times I tell that to myself- and we want to store that image in our eyes forever. Behind the Tsoka Hut, we watch the Pandim with adulation and an eye of a lover while sipping the black tea.

We pack everything –there is not much to pack anyway besides the memories- and start for Yuksam after taking the last breakfast of meshed potatoes and pancake. Birjubhaiya packs us our lunch for the day. The day will not be different than the day when we started, but in the reverse order. We say goodbye to our foreigner friends. One more turn on the right and Pandim will be out of our sight. We wave goodbye to Pandim. It’s one of the toughest farewells. The majestic mountain solemnly stands, as if the farewells are everyday affairs for it. I understand why it’s clad in the white now. Thanks for the wonderful time.

If white was the color of the mountains, the plants also have found it worthy to don it. The chap flowers have competition of the white rhododendrons now. The tall chap trees rule over the sky while the trail and the sides of it are full of rhododendrons.We descend to Bakhim in no time, hardly half an hour. We meet Mr. Sridhar’s group again. They stayed in Bakhim overnight and will start for Yuksam in some time. We continue towards Sachen.

The descent to Sachen also does not take much time. How easy it is to go down! Birjubhaiya is walking with me along with Suman. The time and distance passes in flash while talking to him. We plan our next trek, carefully detailing all the places. He asks for my mobile phone. He wants to talk to someone special as we stop to relax at bridge 4. Unfortunately there is no connectivity. We march on, avoiding getting hit by some yaks. At last, when we reach the 3rd bridge, my phone is able to talk, all sense and nonsense. Birjubhaiya calls a number and talks in a low tone, smile always escaping from the corners of his lips. He must be talking to his girlfriend, or fiancée, or someone like that. He throws the phone at me and requests me to talk to her and ask her to marry him! The voice on the other side has a hint of playfulness. Her Hindi is relatively pure than Birjubhaiya’s. Not mincing words, I tell her that Birjubhaiya loves her much and she should marry him soon. She avoids the matter, at least on the phone, and takes it as a joke. I just wonder what I have done as I give the phone back to Birjubhaiya. Will I dare the same f the girl on the other side happens to be my love-interest or will the courage desert me? I guess I will buckle in the pressure. Daring is easy when one need not pay for the consequences.

We finish the packed lunch of Faley, boiled eggs and boiled potatoes near the bridge 2 while Birjubhaiya carries on with the happiness in his heart which only love is capable of providing. The chirping of the birds get louder to match the melody of the emerald green water of Pao Khola hitting the boulders. A big group of trekkers meet us on the way. The 60-odd trekkers find it difficult on the first day. I almost forget to notice that it’s a hot day. From sub-zero degree Celsius temperature, now we are into 20s and 30s. I reach the first, and in a sense last, bridge before Jaggi and Suman and wait for them there. A few young men are knee-dip into the water. Under a shadow of a tree, I enjoy the cool breeze wafting the song of the river. My comrades, and my only family in the mountains, join me in trying to stop the time running away. But time waits for none. Like the river running in front of us, between the bushes and the boulders, among the ridges and the rifts, the time also marches on eternally.

Reaching to Yuksam is a low key affair. We walk silently, almost meditatively and stop only after crossing the tourism department’s office. I leave my stick there. Somebody else will have good use of it. The strong stick served me quite well. May you serve others happily. It’s hard to believe our trek is over, and indeed it is! Jaggi lifts his arm skywards one last time, in relief and exaltation. Suman has two thumbs-up. I don’t know what to do. I smile at them.

We decide to stay at Hotel Pradhan, run by a certain Mr. Pradhan. More than room, I am interested in the the bathroom. It’s huge, and it has hot shower! A bath has never felt so good than this day! After 9 full days, to stand under a hot shower is heavenly. I feel like it’s not the droplets which touch me, but it’s joy, pure bliss. As if I have discovered the paradise! I am feeling fresh, and light, like I am reborn.

Sitting outside in the sun, we finish lunch of Pizza, sandwich and rice at Gupta’s. It’s hot but I feel the sun penetrating my being positively. There is a long queue of empty gas cylinders in main bazaar. The delivery truck is scheduled to come today. The people have been waiting for more than couple of hours. It’s an utter waste of people’s time. Why can’t be the cylinders delivered door-to-door like in the cities? Why don’t we care for our very own brothers and sisters in the rural and remote areas as much as we do for our urban counterparts?

In the evening we go to Dubdi Monastery in Yuksam. The road to Sikkim’s oldest monastery is steep. After every 200m, there is a resting place for the visitors. Somehow I feel the incline is more than what I have encountered till now and I find it hard to climb. May be I was not ready for this climb when I started. Perhaps I need a leap of faith. I see an old couple laboring their way along with a foreigner lady. The gate to the monastery is closed, but not locked. We open it and climb the last few step to the holy place. Some kids are playing in the compound which is wide and decorated with flower plants. Kids are shy and I fail to approach most of them. One particular boy, while maintaining some distance, keeps asking me in broken Hindi, tum kahan jaa rahe ho? Where are you heading? I don’t quite understand what he means. The question may be physical, metaphysical or philosophical. I don’t know how to answer that. I am limited by my own shortcomings.

The monastery is closed so we cannot go to the sanctum sanctorum to prostrate ourselves in front of the deity or light the butter lamps. We spend sometime in and around the compound. While returning back, we are joined by the old couple and the lady we saw while climbing up. I assumed then that the couple is Indian, but as it turns out, they are French. The genial husband reminds me of Ruskin Bond. The haughty wife is clearly struggling with her steps because of arthritis. At times I want to give her hand to help her negotiate the slope, but I stop short as I know the man is quite capable of doing it and it gives him pleasure to do so. It is quite comforting to see two old people, deep in love, holding their hands to walk side by side in the twilight of their lives. Their only companion is an Alaskan lady whom they met during this trip. They want to know many things about India and also reconfirm what they have read and heard about the country. We talk about Hindu funerals, the epics Ramayana and Mahabharata, Buddhism and also about the kingdom of Sikkim. The Alaskan lady is especially well initiated into these topics. She talks about Satyajit Ray’s movie Sikkim which she happened to watch in Gangtok. I am astonished by how much interest these people take in the places they visit. They try to know everything about the people and the culture. They adopt the costumes and the accessories also while they are travelling. It’s truly remarkable how much they want to get mixed with people. That shows their openness and respect for other people.

Then the lady stumps me with a question. She asks me why Rama and Sita did not have a child even though they were married for 11 years before they went for vanvaas! It seems logical that they should have had a child if they were married that long. Frankly, I did not know they were married for that many years before starting their 14 years arduous journey. Completely baffled, I search for words, reasons and responses. None comes. Finally, a little embarrassed, I reply that we do not ask questions of our Gods. Such a lame reasoning! Why? Why don’t we ask questions of our Gods when we put everyday man under so much scrutiny? Don’t we need to scrutinize them more since they show us way to live?

We spend good time with them sharing what little we know about this vast land of wisdom. After bidding them goodbye, we sit in a restaurant in Yuksam bazaar to drink tea. Slowly the darkness takes over the mountains in front of us. The crowd is gathering inside the restaurant which is run by a lady. Many young people are drinking thumba, the locally made millet beer. They are singing and dancing. The cheerful mood permeates the air. One intoxicated person pleads us to join them in drinking the liquor. We refuse respectfully. He thanks us for coming to Sikkim, especially to Yuksam, his own village. I wonder who should thank whom.

Mrs. Pradhan serves us the same food she prepared for her family. The home-cooked food is delicious. We finish it while Mr. Pradhan entertains us with his stories in high-pitched tone. His words echo in the ears even when he is not speaking anything. But, indeed, he plays a good host. The walk under the dark sky after the dinner is a relaxed affair. We stop at a shop to eat chikki, our dessert for the day. The whole bed is available to sleep in in the room. After 10 days, I will sleep outside a sleeping bag. From the prison that was the sleeping bag, I can almost sense the whole sky open above me. I reflect on my time in the mountains – I did not think about stock markets, Indian cricket teams, the work pressure or the world affairs during any of those wonderful days. How simple, ecstatic and surreal the life was! I am slipped into delirium.

Day 13 : From the Old Capital to the New Capital

The early morning finds us at Gupta’s for a steaming cup of tea. We load our luggage on the taxi which is to take us to Gangtok, Sikkim’s current capital. Biren and Birjubhaiya also join us in our journey as we need to pay them once we withdraw money from an ATM there. Besides 5 of us, there is no other passenger in the taxi. Everyone is silent on the way. The solemn look is constant on each face. What’s going in the minds? About the trek? About the days to come? About the imminent separation? Or is it tiredness which I equate with gloom?

One by one every town pass by us – Pelling, Geyzing, Legship etc. Just before Ravangla, we stop for a break on a winding road. The Kangchenjunga mountain range which we saw so closely is visible in distance. The snow-capped mountains watch over the green and brown lower mountains. There are hardly any clouds on those white pillars of the snow. Why the sky was not so clear when we were there? Is this a cruel game the nature plays? Or is it effect of distance? I will not know the answer of that, but the view Kagnchenjunga provided from the Goechela View Point 2 will remain fixed in my eyes forever, however brief period that was. What we see now is vastness of the emperor, what we saw then was the greatness.

After Singtam, we join NH31A. While we were going to Yuksam from Siliguri, I was perplexed by the absence of Border Roads Organization(BRO). My favorite BRO builds durable roads and bridges in these difficult terrains. What did not strike me than was that the BRO is a military arm first, and they work in the areas which are strategically located near the borders. As such, Yuksam and the West Sikkim do no pose any threat to Indian national security as it borders with almost friendly and very small Nepal and well-protected by the natural vertical walls of Singalila range. The north and the east Sikkim are different. Their proximity with Chinese border render them strategic in the security map and the roads are the veins which carry the vital supply of military needs. That explains the BRO landmarks I see on the road now. No doubt it helps common people also as the roads are the only way one can travel in this part of the country. I miss the witty BRO road safety messages on this stretch though.

The flower plants in the side of the mountain wall greet us outside Gangtok. If the outrageously colorful flowers are any signs, Gangtok will be beautiful beyond my imagination. We reach there at 11 AM. After climbing up a narrow file of steps, we step on the Mahatma Gandhi Marg, or the MG Marg, of the city. Looking at the street, my first thought is – where am I? An inexplicable chord touches the heart in an instant. The litter-free and spit-free area is clean beyond comparison. The column of different varieties of the flowers divide the road. On both the sides of it, the benches are laid for the people to sit back and enjoy the good weather. Multi-storied buildings of various colors, mainly the shades of green, rise over both the sides. A solitary tree stands in the middle of the road, as if speaking about the love of the people for the environment. Each Indian town boasts of one MG Road and I have not been to many towns of the country, but to my mind, I have no doubt that this the cleanliest and the most beautiful MG Road of the country. Bapu would be proud of it! Bapu might have not travelled to this remote place which does not have any rail network in the state, but the MG Road speaks off the virtues of cleanliness Bapu preached and followed so vigorously. Ironical it is that India’s best MG Road is in a state which was not part of the country till as late as 1975. And to say that Porbandar, the non-violent messiah’s birthplace, was the crime capital of the state of Gujarat till very recently!

Once on the MG Marg, we do not want to stay anywhere else. We pay to Biren and Birjubhaiya and they depart as they need to catch the taxi back to Yuksam. May we meet them soon again, on another fine trek. We find a room in a hotel on the MG Marg itself. The room overlooks the sprawling Gangtok city and the valley beyond that. The serpentine roads are crisscrossing the green landscape. On the horizon, among the clouds the massifs of Kangchenjunga range are visible among the army of the clouds. No wonder the Sikkimese people venerate Kangchenjunga. Like God, it’s omnipresent here. Perhaps it is the God.

In the afternoon We again set out to explore the MG Marg. The road is L-shaped. One side of the longer stretch is open for vehicular traffic. The side for the pedestrians is well-paved with tiles so that it can remain clean in the rain also. The wooden benches are polished and almost all of them are occupied even in the afternoon. Opposite to our hotel, there is a small statue of Bapu, in the middle of the road, surrounded by red, purple, pink and white flowers and the poles with hanging goblets of light. There are sprinklers set between the plants at regular distance. I examine the plants. Every plant seems to be different than the other, except one particular plant which barely grows more than half a foot. Over the long line of these plants, the difference is the color of the flowers – of blue, yellow, white and pink.

At the end of the MG Marg, there is Star Theater. The posters of many movies stuck on its walls give it a colorful look. There is an exhibition going on there – projecting gangtok. Suman and I get inside to take a look. On the ground floor there is a photography exhibition. One particular picture which catches my attention is that of a long queue of people and empty cylinders, just like the one I saw yesterday in Yuksam. The problem is common across the whole state. The caption below the picture says it all – LPG:Line Patience Gas.

The exhibition on the first floor of the theater is about the future of the city. Various architectural projects planned for the city are depicted there.They are about flyovers, sewage systems, traffic management, malls etc. My favorite ones are the Butterfly Bridge, a bridge the top-view of which looks like a butterfly, and Gangtok Tower, a giant structure destined to be built in the middle of the city. Good thing about these projects are they are planned with keeping environment in the sight. I hope to see them as major landmarks during my future visits.

In appreciating the MG Marg till now, I have not noticed the shops on the road which draw people in hoards to this vibrant street. There are small sweet shops which serve mouth-watering delicacies, the smell of which makes one forget about everything else. The curio shops on both the sides display the local handicrafts, the hand-fans and artifacts of inviting beauty. Inside one such shop, I cannot resist myself from buying a whole lot of little wonders. We buy the colorful Tibetan cups with paintings of animals on it, some real and some mythological, from another shop. While returning, the rain also visits the MG Marg. The pedestrians rush to find a cover. Those who have umbrellas open them and bring their sky closer to them. Watching over the proceedings from a pavement standing under a roof, I watch the umbrellas playing with the rain. They are of all the colors, sizes and designs. Merging them all will make a rainbow. Instantly I fall in love with umbrellas. The words fall from my mouth as effortlessly as the rain in front of me – Ambar ka tukda tauda, lakdi ka hathha jauda, haath me apne aasmaan hai. The desire for one such umbrella takes the form within.

In the evening we decide to stroll away from MG Marg for a change. We cross to the other side by the footbridge adjacent to the Sikkim Tourism Office on MG Marg. There is a small bookshop on the base of the footbridge. Browsing thru the collection, we end up buying some travel books and a Tibetan story of love and magic. Glancing over the other side of the road, both Jaggi and I notice the poster of the movie Sikkim by Satyajit Ray. This documentary feature film was banned for many years and the ban was removed recently. The Vajra theater in the city is showcasing it. We want to watch it. Suman decides to stay back. As the theater is not very far, about couple of kilometers , and we have time on hand, we decide to walk the distance. Various government administrative buildings are along the way. The architecture of these buildings is simple but beautiful, reminiscent of the yore. The footpath is well-paved with cement bricks and a strong railing prevents the pedestrians from falling down on the road by mistake. All the roads in the city have such footpaths. The roads are closed for heavy vehicles. It’s amazing how much care has been put for everyone in the planning.

In our excitement to watch the movie, we forgot to realize that the poster was put as the next-change. It’s Thursday today and the movie will be screened from tomorrow, the Friday, as it happens with the release of all the new movies. Our bad! We enjoyed the walk though, and we don’t mind going back on our feet again. From a small opening on the road, where there is no building standing, we can see the twilight on the Kangchenjunga range. The orange, red and the pink mix in delightful proportion to present another magnificent view of the mountains. Another day spent in the mountains! I am loving it!

We stop by at the Gram Shree Handicraft Mela on our way back. Craftsmen from all over the state come here to display their art. I buy a couple of things. As it’s time to wind up the day, there is an air of funfair in the mela. Some boys and girls are dancing on the tunes of Sheila Ki Jawani, Kajrare and other popular Bollywood songs. It’s unbelievable how Bollywood spans out to the people of this country who differ so much in their cultures and languages. But then it’s hard to believe so many things about India itself.

We wander around on the MG Marg in the night. We keep eating snacks from small shops. The soft music is played on. Another specialty of the MG Marg is the Bose speakers attached on the light poles. These high-quality speakers air the music the whole day. I did not notice it during the day. The beloved MG Marg keeps springing surprises. I am running out of superlatives for the road now. I will rest at it.

Day 14: The End is the New Beginning

We search for tea early morning while walking towards the point from where we saw Kangchenjunga last evening. The tea shops are not open yet. We find tea only in one place, in a hospital, that too machine-made tea. After paying our morning respects to the emperor, we come back to the MG Marg. Hot kachoris and another round of tea sooth our stomachs. People are flogging the street. On their morning jog, they greet each other with salutary messages. Every bench is occupied. People come and shake hands with those whom they know. They are chatting, unmindful of who sits next to them. Those who are alone are reading newspapers or sucking the surroundings in. We measure the length and the breadth of the road again. While returning back, next to the Bapu’s statue, three kids approach me and request me to click their photo. They pull me to give force to their request. That is not needed, I will do it anyway. They look like destitute children. After every click, they request for one more and I happily oblige. It’s nice to see the innocent smile on their faces. For a moment, I feel Bapu is smiling inside me. For that the briefest of the moment, I am Bapu.

We are doing what the bulk of the tourists do – clicking our pictures in front of the signboard which announces the MG Marg. A foreigner is playing with a ball. He throws the ball in the air, the ball comes down to the earth but his gaze did not follow it. Instead he keeps on looking at the sky. I try to see what he is so keenly looking at in the sky. The heart momentarily stops beating. Wow! a spectacle has taken place in the sky. I have never seen such a cosmic wonder. Centering the sun, a full ring is formed around. The ring looks like a rainbow. The blue outer edge and the red inner edge form the perfect 22 degree halo. It is so wonderful. I call it the Lord of the rings.

We watch the halo till our necks start paining. We get back to our hotel, freshen up, pay the bills and venture out again on the MG Marg! My last meal in Sikkim is Aloo Chop, very spicy and tasty. We take our luggage from the hotel and hire a shared taxi to the bus stand. Outside the bus stand, we get the bus to Siliguri. While we load our luggage on the top of the bus, the traffic is halted and the temper flares. Good thing is that we need not to wait for the bus. We take our seats inside and take one last look over the Gangtok city. My memories of the city will largely consist of the MG Marg and the halo. There are many places to explore for a few more visits, I guess.

The bus journey feels dull after our happening undertakings in last 12 days. The heat is increasing as we approach the plains. The flying dust discloses the nature of where we are heading. We cool ourselves with sweet misti doi. That will be my saving grace for next week. The Teesta’s roar is heard again as we near the border of the state to West Bengal. The sunrays dance in flashy costumes on the water of the river. From the narrow high-altitude path, it’s widening in the plains. The uproar is dying down to slow murmur now, falsely giving the impression as if its might is reduced. If anything, it has acquired the strength of rhythm and continuity.

I have not thought about running much except while I talked to Roshni while taking dinner at Pradhan’s in Yuksam. Her cousin, Samir, has booked my accommodation in Dolly Inn on Bidhan Road in Siliguri. I check in in the hotel. Suman and Jaggi also come with me to freshen up before leaving for the NJP railway station in the evening. They have a train to Kolkata today. We meet Amit Joshi, another runner from Mumbai, who is also part of the gang which is going to run 50K from Lohapool to Pedong, Roshni’s native town.

We walk around on the Bidhan Road and eat samosa with tea. The sweets and snacks shops are plenty. It’s the time when people return home from their work. On their way back, they stop in such a shop, have a piece of jalebi or jamun, and get some packed for their families. We don’t need to get the sweets packed, so we finish more than our fair share at one of the shops.

It’s time for Jaggi and Suman to leave. Farewells are always uncomfortable, more so when you have shared majestic moments like the ones we did. In short span of time, we have been part of memorable moments. These two gentlemen are my family for last few days and I am going to miss them. I wonder if the next 7 days of life will give me as much pleasure, or even half of that. I will meet Jaggi in Bangalore but Suman? Not sure when will I meet him again. Our bonding is founded on and strengthened by the mountains, and in all likelihood we shall see each other again when another mountain calls both of us. Farewell fellas!

Once my friends leave, I aimlessly walk on the Bidhan Road, not looking for anything but just to kill the time. Kill the time, did I say? How un-thoughtful! In reality the time kills everyone, slowly and surely. There is chaos on the road. Hand-pulled carts, cycle rickshaws, cycles, bikes, cars and buses rush violently to the empty spaces on the road. How on earth these things move in this anarchy? Maybe I am not back to the city mentally though my body is well back to it. I get off from the Bidhan Road to inside the markets. There is a vegetables and fruits market, clothes market, toys market etc. The prominent names for shopping are the Hongkong Market and the Bidhan Market. I will see them with more clarity tomorrow. For now my wandering is just concentrated on getting myself tired to retire early in the bed.

I take dinner at Prabhu Bhoj on Bidhan Market, followed by couple of sweets. Oh, I love them! I stop by at a paanwala’s, before returning to my hotel room. Truly alone, by myself, I recognize that the first phase, the longest one, of my trip is over. From trekking, it will be running which will take precedence now. I am moving to the part two of my journey. The Teesta is done with trekking wild in the high mountains; it’s time to slow, continuous, rhythmical running in the plains. Time to start another story…

Eastern Sojourn (Continuing 9-10)

2011-06-08T00:00:00.001-07:00

Day 9 : Slightly Closer

The early dawn has brought splendid sunshine with it. We are getting glimpses of what Thangsing can provide and what we missed yesterday – close and clear view of Mt Pandim. The massif of the mountain is thick smooth layer of snow. The side falling on the river side is sporadically showered with snow. The other side is fat skin of snow. The mountain is so close that one is tempted to start climbing to reach the peak. But the climb is more than 2500m and we are not trained for mountaineering. Joshua, one of our foreigner friends, says that the hill behind the Hut offers good view of the mountains. Our breakfast is almost ready but we are drawn into viewing the mountains first. We take the small uphill trail behind the Hut. The snow has accumulated on every inch of the space. The rhododendrons are standing like zombies dressed in white. I see footmarks. Someone else must have also gone by this trail. After a few steps, the trail reaches a dead end. The footsteps are now following a random path between the trees. I duck myself in many places to save my head from hitting the trees.

We rejoin the trail again once we negotiate the patch of rhododendrons. The narrow trail is steeper now. It’s quite cold than what it was at the camp. The vertical climb finally takes us to the highest point of the hill. Our eyes momentarily set on Pandim before stretching far beyond. Far far on the horizon, from among the clouds, a peak rises high above, out of reach for its neighboring peaks. That’s Kangchenjunga! We are looking at the southern side of India’s highest mountain. We can see only one side of the mountain from this point. The side is extending beyond our vision. The mountain is peeping out of its window to look at us. Nah, to have us its celebrated look. It’s calling for us. We are not very far now.

After breakfast we are ready to start for Lamuney, our next stop. Joshua and his family is returning back to Yuksom, so we bid them goodbye. The trek to Lamuney is very easy…the easiest we have till now. There is still snow on it. We are walking between the rift created by Pandim and Kabru mountains with river Prek Chu on one side. We cross the two bridges we visited yesterday. Small streams are aplenty on the way. They are ripe with wafer thin infant ice. They run their course before melting into Prek Chu. On our right, just behind Mt Pandim, we get first glance of Mt Japuno.Though it is slightly higher than Pandim, it’s view is obstructed by Pandim from most places because of it being very close to Pandim.

The gradient is small and the trail is wide with red and brown grass on both the sides. The ground is ideal for yak grazing. On our left, a brown plateau-like mountain has spread itself over long distance. It perplexes me that I have not seen any wild animals here. Jaggi has an explanation though. He thinks that even the animals are camouflaged here. He saw some animals during his trek last year and it was very difficult to differentiate them from the surroundings. A few red colored tents are visible now and that is Lamuney. The day is still bright and we intend to go to Samiti lake today itself to get magnificent reflection of Mt Pandim in the lake water.

A few foreigners are sipping tea sitting on rocks. We say them hi. 3 local people, presumably porters, are playing cricket! We Indians love cricket and can’t get enough of it, can we? They have made stumps and bat from wood. Clothes and plastic wrapped in a ball makes their last required accessory. We stand there, admiring their game at more than 4000m altitude. I click some pictures of them. My hands are inching inside the gloves to hold the ball. The small ice flakes have already started showering us. The sun is unsighted now. I don’t think we should go to Samiti lake in this weather. I look at Jaggi and we know that it’s the end of trekking for the day. Surprisingly I am not much bothered. I jump onto the cricket field and join the gang. Suman also follows me. India’s recent world cup victory is still fresh in my mind, as fresh as the water of Prek Chu running besides us. It’s time to break some stumps and swing the bat wild.

The game of cricket is refreshing but it has to end. The snowfall has increased. We sit inside someone else’s dining tent as our tent is not set up yet. We play cards, this may be the umpteenth time, watched over by our cricketer friends. Lunch is served and taken care of. Once it starts snowing, the day becomes monotonous and boring in the mountains. There is nothing to do. Your world reduces to your tent and sleeping bag and that’s not real world. That moment onwards, it’s more or less a long wait for the night, and eventually the next day of bright sun. The snow is relentless. No wonder the high-rising and ever-standing mountains are the only ones who can tackle the snow effectively. I remember one of my favorite songs - parvatoh pe barfaan barfaan, parvatoh pe thandi barfaan, barsan laagi re.

In the evening –there is no way to tell except with a watch- Jaggi and I go for a walk towards Samiti lake. Our yakman is tending his yaks. He is also going in the same direction. Prek Chu is slightly dangerous in the narrow and precipitous gorge. He crosses the river to the other side with the yaks. We try to cross but sensing our discomfort, he advises us not to go over to that side. We climb the nearby hill. The snow is severe after combining with heavy wind. Our blue-yellow tent is white now. The kitchen tent is also white. I can’t tell where is Pandim, where is Kangchenjunga. Where am I? I want to see my friends. I miss them. I miss my mother. I want to go back, but not before I see Kangchenjunga.

During the dinner inside our kitchen tent, our yakman is in mood for some obscene jokes. His style of telling a joke is more humorous than his actual joke. We enjoy it after a dull afternoon. We go to sleep early as we have to wake up really early tomorrow to go to Goechela, our destination. Besides the game of cricket, the only good thing the day brought was to take us closer to Goechela. And that’s not a small thing. Tomorrow we will be there with the mighty mountain…

The High and the Low

Jaggi gets up at around 00:30 to answer nature’s call. When he returns back to the tent, I ask him if the sky is clear outside. He says that it’s largely clear. Before I went to sleep, it was cloudy. No stars were visible. I was afraid that the weather might spoil our trek or view of Kangchenjunga. I am a bit relieved now. We wake up properly at 1:30 in the morning, if that can be called a morning. The sky is cloudy :( Given that good and bad weather change hands quite often in the mountains, we do not want to sit idly waiting for it to get cleared. As long as we do not have to face rain or snowfall on the way, we are good to go. Moreover, we will take that chance to have any possibility of seeing Kangchenjunga burning with red lava like sunlight.

Birjubhaiya makes us hot black tea and wish us good luck. You need them both, the tea and the luck. Along with Biren, Novel, our porter, also is accompanying us. He is going to Goechela View Point for the first time in his life, so am I. I feel more clothes on me than I have ever felt in whole my life – upon an inner thermal, there is a tee-shirt, a winter jacket and a raincoat. Two pairs of socks are trying to protect my feet while two caps are on the guard to save my little brains. It’s totally dark –no wonder- and the only source of light is my headlamp which illuminates my path ahead for about 3-4 meters. We are walking in single file with Biren at the front and Povel at the rear.

We cross the Prek Chu streams and climb up the hills before the Samiti lake. The sky is slowly opening up, revealing the soft glow of the moon and the twinkling little stars. Even in the darkness, we reach Samiti lake in no time. I realize how easier it would have been the previous day had we had supporting weather. There is a Trekkers’ Hut at Samiti Lake. In old days, camping and staying at Samiti Lake was permissible. Not any more. The hut is abandoned now. It is reminiscent of a haunted house – broken windows, screeching door, foliage on the ceiling and inside the hut.

We leave Samiti lake after a few moments. Hopefully when we return back, we will get to see a beautiful reflection of Mt Pandim in the lake. We are walking on the snow beside the water channel which is the source of Samiti lake. We do not know how far we are from the channel. The sound of the stream in the silence of the night is scary. I feel as if we are on the bank of a big river whose depth no living man can fathom. We try to stay close to each other so that none of us is lost.

On the way to Zemathang, the trail becomes very narrow and steep. My eyes are fixated on the trail. I see no left or right. But inside my heart I know that one wrong step can lead me to the frozen whiteness forever. My assessment of the risk may be exaggerated but that is what darkness can do. When you do not know or cannot see what you are up against, you always imagine that you are up against the worst monster. The sky is almost clear of clouds now. The stars are dancing to the tunes of the moon in a dazzling performance. The snow-covered trail is no less spectacular. The snow glistens brightly in the white background. It is as if I am looking at a reflection of the sky on the earth. There are twinkling stars in the dark black sky and twinkling snow on the white earth.

After crossing Zemathang, we reach Goechela View Point 1. It’s still dark and we hope to reach to the View Point 2 before sunrise. Biren asks us last time if we really want to go to VP2. He has his reasons. The VP1 is on a hill from where we need to descend into a plain of snow on the way to VP2. The descent is steep, almost 45 degree gradient. The climb to VP2 after that will be similar. We all nod our heads in affirmative. It’s hard to see the trail clearly in the dark. The snow compounds the danger of steep descent by making the trail slippery. I don’t trust my legs. In couple of places they slip against their own accord. I walk on four legs, with one of my hands holding the stick tightly and the other resting on the snow wall. Jaggi asks us to maintain some distance between us lest one person falling will result into a cascading effect. Suman is behind us and he trips down dangerously once. Luckily for him, and for us, Povel who is behind him catches his backpack just in time to prevent him from taking a short cut to the plain nothingness. All the while, with every step downward, I imagine about returning on the same path and having to climb up the very incline. That is nightmare!

That precipitous descent takes us to a cleft. Wherever I see, I only see the snow. We are walking on the gentle slopes instead of in the middle of the plain. With every step, we slide towards the center. It’s kind of snow-surfing without a surfboard. As we walk faster, and here we can, the sliding becomes more enjoyable. Biren and Jaggi climb to the ridge to find out the correct trail as we are not sure if we are on the right one. We continue walking on the rich snow. We increase our speed as the daylight is breaking slowly, but it will be soon bright. It’s a long walk, very long one. I look for hint of the tall mountains, but cannot find any. The ridges on both the sides are quite close and no other mountain is visible on the horizon. The altitude is more than 4600m now. VP2 is at around 5000m mark. We should not be very far, but the climb is very gradual. At last, after an hour’s walk which felt like not less than a day, I see Kabru peaks, after two days again! The joy of seeing the monks again quickly vanish in the thin air, as the peaks are already smiling in the after-glow of the first sunrays of the day. That means the golden light is gone and what we will see will be only silver white light donning the pinnacles.

I am almost running now, to get to the VP2 as fast as possible. I see Biren waiting at the base of the VP2. All the nearby mountains are visible from there – Kabru peaks and their neighbors – but one mountain is conspicuously missing. Without that one we will not consider the trip worthy of the effort we have put in. Kangchenjunga is tormenting us even now. At this point our collective life has only one meaning and motive – meeting the mountain. So the steep climb of more than 300m starts toward the peak of VP2, which will give us the clear view of object of our obsession.

We follow Biren on the narrow trail up. The temperature is surely below the freezing point. The peak which feels so near is actually quite far. One can realize that only when one tries to reach there. The energy is leaving us, but the determination fuel the legs to take one more step closer. Our foreigner friends have joined us. They started an hour after us from Lamuney. How good trekkers they are!

I drag myself up to the narrow ridge. Biren is ahead of me, but at a lesser altitude. I ask him for the trail. Suman is behind me. Biren says that we are on a wrong trail, we should go down a bit and take the correct trail. I don’t see any trace of the trail below. On the contrary I find a trail of not more than a foot wide on the ridge. Our foreigner friends get pass by us. I start following them. Biren warns me but I see no other path ahead. On my left I see a frozen water body. On the right is the steepest of the slants. I stop there and take a glance of the surroundings. A wrong step on the either side and I am next to nothing in a moment at the height of 16000 feet. A few steps further, the foreigners are celebrating. The prayer flags are fluttering. That is VP2. The Kangchenjunga is barely visible among the clouds. That sight gives me courage. We march on. Jaggi and Povel are coming from the other trail behind us.

Kangchenjunga literally means The Five Treasures of Snow, referring to the five peaks of the mountain. As we all gather at the VP2, the veil of clouds is lifted from the huge massif of the Mt Kangchenjunga, India’s highest and the world’s third highest peak, at 8586m. What is revealed is sheer beauty, pristine and pure. We can see only one peak. In front of it, the Pandim becomes just a gatekeeper at the door. The Kabrus are only the loyal servants. The emperor is in front of us, royal, majestic, proud and almost arrogant. No mountain is carved as perfectly and precisely as this one. The sides join at the pinnacle as if they are extensions of each other. Clad in the full white, the firm emperor is sitting on the throne that is sky, unmindful of who looks at it and if anyone looks at it at all. It’s so self-assured of its powers that it needs no eulogies and confirmation from others and none can effectively sum up the great strength it possesses. I am looking at the highest of the highs and feeling the same. My only regret is that we cannot see it dressed in red or golden robs of the morning sun. How extravagantly beautiful that scene would have been!

It’s very cold here and my hands and feet are numb now. We all dance our celebratory Kangchenjunga jig there at 4916m altitude. Everyone seems to be possessed. One of our foreigner friends is hurling abusive words at Kangchenjunga which you can only attribute to the extreme love. The other one is singing Om Namah Shivay at the highest pitch of his vocal chords. Jaggi, Suman and I do our huddle dance. All of us are so happy. Then a sudden lightening strikes me within which empties me from inside. I want to share this happiness with my loved ones who are not here with me. Happiness is only real when shared, those last words etched in Christopher McCandless’s book in the movie Into the Wild appears before my mind. Though I am sharing the happiness with whoever is present here, the flood of happiness inside wants to drown a few others. I slump down to low from the high I experienced a few moments back. I want to blow up wind in the direction of the ones I love and spread my happiness to them in the form of a cool breeze. I know they will enjoy that breeze in these hot summer days wherever they are. I am sure I will give up my world to see them here at this moment, but what is my world but them. Yet how I know that they are all with me in spirit!

We keep on drinking the blissful beauty of Kangchenjunga for a long time. Ultimately the clouds again start gathering over the peaks and the cold gets hold of us. We start back, saying goodbye to the mountain unwillingly. On the way down to the base of the VP2, I slip twice but once my backpack saves me and the other time Povel holds me from behind. I keep on laughing though. I guess the joy of achieving the goal and the pain of not sharing it with my loved ones make me lose the focus. Once I hold Jaggi from falling and the next moment I myself fall flat on the snow.

I am feeling depressed now. A bit lost. The goal is achieved quite well and now I am empty inside. Everything is white, and inside it’s black. In front of me is a sea of blinding white, and I am unable to say if it’s real or if I am dreaming. I am walking on the trail in the direction of Lamuney, I think but I may be walking in the other direction also. Or I may not be walking at all. I am totally disoriented. I am in front of everyone else, walking at fast pace to run away from the white. I do not realize that there is a deer on the ridge of the distant mountain. Jaggi stops me and points at the deer. I think it’s a stone but when it moves I realize I have become a stone. No doubt the animal is camouflaged. It strikes me then that why there are no Ruskin Bond or Rudyard Kipling stories about the wild animals in Sikkim. If you cannot sight them, you cannot write about them.

I remark that I may become color-blind. Suman brings more miseries to my sorry state by telling that color blindness becomes effective after a day so person comes to know about it the next day. The climb back to VP1 is hardly troublesome now in the daylight. The darkness accentuated the sense of danger in the morning or maybe I am not feeling anything now. The snow becomes our unwanted companion there. Though VP1 also offers good view of Kangchenjunga, the clouds and the snow have robbed us of that delight. That would have helped me somewhat to rid of my somber mood. I want to go back soon so I hurriedly cross the VP1 and Zemathang. Nature comes to my help finally. From a distance, I see a green lake nestled between the mountains. That is Samiti lake. Looking at it I find myself cheerful again.

I reach to the Samiti lake before everyone else. I find my camera’s memory card full. I remove it and insert a new one. To my horror, the camera does not recognize it! The beautiful blue magpies with orange beaks have gathered around me to get themselves clicked and my camera flunks at the most inopportune time. I try umpteen times to get the memory card working, but to no avail. In the end I give up, raging with anger. I see the magnificent birds play the games in the water. A rhythmic and curvaceous water channel ends up in the lake coming from the direction of Zemathang, thus becoming its source of water. The reflections of the surrounding mountains is quite weak in the lake because of the clouds. Pandim is not at all visible. We stay at the lake for sometime, reflecting back on our journey so far. On our way back to Lamuney, we see a lot of birds, the most notably a black-and-orange bird. A wondrous group of white-winged birds take the flight like a squadron of air-force planes. I see our blue and yellow tent again. The yaks are grazing. I am back to relative sanity.

We take our lunch outside the Lamuney camp while the sun is shining for the brief period of time. The slow snowfall starts before we finish our lunch. We start walking towards the Thangsing immediately after the lunch, as we want to reach to Kakchurong today and spend the night there. For the full stretch I keep on thinking about Mt Kangchenjunga and more about calling my parents and the friends. By the time we reach Thangsing, the snow is coming in sheets. We want to wait at Thangsing but Birjubhaiya forces us to start for Kakchurong without any further delay. The boulder strewn steep descent is slippery because of the snowfall. On top of that, the fresh yak dung has made it treacherous. On the way we stop many times as we spot some birds in the forest. As we go down, the birds are getting bigger in the size. Some of them are rich in colors.

We reach Kakchurong late in the afternoon. There are only two long rooms in the Hut here. One is utilized by trekkers and the other by their support staff. There are 9 foreigners in our room along with we 3 Indians. It’s still snowing outside and the gloom sets in. Birjubhaiya treats us with jaalmudi. We play cards for some time. The dinner is served early, after which we go to sleep immediately at 6:30. The wooden flooring of the room means that whenever someone walks in it, the heavy thud wakes everyone up. I feel as if the room is also shivering in the cold. I reflect back on the day. It was the day which brought insurmountable high and unfathomable low in same measure. Such is life.

Eastern Sojourn (Continuing 7-8)

2011-06-05T23:55:00.001-07:00

Day 7 : There are no differences under the shadow of a tree

The night reverted to its normal ways again, waking me frequently during the dark stretch. I had never been inside a tent for a night before, and it feels good to see that the tent protected us for the full night and did not leave us under the sky by flying awry in the windy weather. We have plans to go to Chaurikhang(4380m) and from there to Lam Pokhri before returning back to Bikbari(3800m) and eventually to Dzongri today. That means the day is going to be a long one. Biren and Birjubhaiya do not think that we can do all that in a day. We still want to try so we start early at 6 AM. The clouds are hovering around above our heads. The trail is gradually climbing up. We have to cross many rivulets on the way. The clear streams are passing thru the maze of rocks to finally become one with Ratong Chu.

Occasionally I hear a bird tweeting from behind the bushes or on top of the brown ridge of the mountain on our left. All efforts to sight them go in vein for light is dim because of the clouds and, according to Jaggi, most of these birds are camouflaged with the surroundings. The serious ascent starts from the moment we leave behind the flat grassland. The sun is seen between the clouds but it’s devoid of its prowess and is reduced to a mere white circle. The mountains on the opposite side of the river look like a sleeping tiger as the vertical stripes of snow lay on the slopes. A flock of birds take its flight in an army-like formation just before our eyes. The boulder strewn trail is precipitous now. We take short little breaks every now and then. After persistent effort for two and half hours, we reach to Chaurikhang, the site of Himalayan Mountaineering Institute(HMI) base camp. The Garmin shows 4500m altitude.

Our hopes of going further to Lam Pokhri are dashed when the in-charge of the camp, Mahadev Singh, stops us at the camp. He says that it’s not permissible to go any further. We have come savoring the dreams of seeing Ratong Glacier on the ways, and the milky white reflection of it in Lam Pokhri water. The trainees at the camp have gathered in one place to start the day’s activities. My hands are freezing inside my gloves. We want reward for our effort, and the remedy to rid of the dejection of not being able to go further. And what better way to get compensation than a hot steaming cup of tea in this cold? Jaggi uses his Big B charm and the age of wisdom to get Mahadev Singh into talking and receiving an offer for tea. He dutifully obliges.

We watch the trainees practicing rock-climbing from distance. The camp sees many adventure enthusiasts coming from every part of the country and world to do some serious training. There are some 150 trainees in the camp right now. I would like to do this basic level course some day. Suman has tried to register for the camp in the past, but his application was rejected because he is under-weight. Now that'’s trouble! I fear same fate for my application if I try it ever. The shocking fact was that Suman has less weight than me! i don’t get to see such people often.

In the background, Mt Ratong and Kabru peaks can be seen when clouds show some mercy. They are not much merciful though. My eyes keep going in the direction of Ratong and Lam Pokhri. Some other day, says the part of me which complies to all the rules. Disguise them, break the rules and set out on your way, says the rebellious twin. Rules are designed to keep the society in order is the winning argument. Some birds are gliding effortlessly in the sky. They have no rules to comply, I assume. And still they are together, no infighting, no disorder, no grudge. What makes us humans so complex? Why can’t we just be ourselves and let others be themselves?

After the tea which took some doing on Jaggi’s part to get, we are again on our way back to Bikbari. Kaali, our loyal dog, decides that she has had enough of us. She does not want to come back with us. We leave her at the camp. The return journey does not take much time as the steep fall helps us. We reach to Bikbari camp at 10:15. I am already tired and give myself up to the inviting arms of the grassland. The journey to Dzongri is long one so we decide to take brunch here. Birjubhaiya prepares noodles soup, halwa and omelet for our ever-hungry stomachs. With some(!) food inside our bellies, we are ready to start the next part of our trekking for the day.

While coming to Bikbari from Dzongri, we came via Dzongrila pass. Biren says that we will take different route while going back, which is supposedly easier. We cross the river to the other side into the forest. It’s almost noon and the day is hot. I remove the extra layers of warm clothing. The forest is full of rhododendron trees. Most of them are dry. While crossing one dry stream, Suman twists his right ankle. We stop and wait as he applies lotion. I hope it doesn’t hamper his walking. He is ready to go now. I walk behind everyone else for some time. Suman’s movement does not suggest any trouble. Thank God! Ratong Chu is with us, the roar constantly making its present felt. On the opposite side, we can see some waterfalls breaching the mountain walls. They are beautiful. The snow-capped mountains of Singalila range in Nepal grow taller as we approach the riverside of Mt Doring.

There are no thorns in the trees, but the dry rhododendrons cut my skin nonetheless. The trail is narrow and there is no chance I can escape my brush with these trees. There are bruises along the half exposed arms. The day feels hotter among the trees. The sun is hitting us from the west. There is a fine stretch of around 200 meters, flat and scenic, before we start climbing Doring. The trail is made of sand or delicate soil. That does not help our cause. The legs feel heavy. Many a times I catch a branch of a tree to support myself. There seems no end of the climb. When Biren said this will be an easy trail, I thought we will be whizzing past our way to Dzongri. This turns out to be quite different than my initial thought. Finally, passing thru some thick green cover of rhododendrons, we reach to a point which is the peak of Doring. We sit for a while there before descending into Dablakhang meadows.

From the Doring Hill, we climb down to Dzongri Pokhri. There is no water in the lake now. It must have been beautiful when it had water. The damp and dry soil crisscross the lake which is bordered by rocks. The Dablakhang meadows look beautiful in the backdrop of Singalila range and Mt Pandim. Jaggi and I lose our way in the meadows. It takes us some time to figure out the right direction towards Dzongri Hut. Upon reaching Dzongri Hut, I expect to go to room and crash down in my sleeping bag, as the day has been very long and tiring. I see our blue and yellow tent set far from the hut. The Hut can’t be so crowded that we have no room left for us! Sleeping in the tent in the night will be difficult as the snowfall is regular in this part of the world in nights. The lady who looks after the Hut says that all the rooms are occupied. We check the room which we stayed in two days back. We see only one sleeping bag there. The lady says that there is a foreigner in that room. So what? We can share the room, like we did last time. The rule is that when there are not enough rooms, trekkers share the space to make lives of their fellow travelers little easier. A local person who looks like a guide comes to us and remarks that foreigners need to be given first preference over the Indians! The foreigner guest will not share room with anyone else. Will a tree prefer a foreigner under its shadow, or for that matter an Indian? Does it even know or care about these shallow differences? Why don’t we learn much from the nature? That fret us, especially Jaggi. He gives him angry look and asks him to keep out of the matter while he talks to the in-charge. The altercation assumes heated proposition as the supposedly-a-guide does not budge and threatens us that he can spoil our trekking expedition. He pretends to be an Environment Conservation Committee member and chides us not to challenge his powers. Jaggi, not flustered by such fake claims and wanting to fight for his rights, asks him to do his real duty as ECC member and not step onto someone else’s shoes. In our hearts, we all know that he is just a guide or a travel agent. The poor lady does not speak much. She must have not been thru such situation. Finally the pretender gives up, sensing our resistance. He takes out the sleeping bag from the room and sets up the tent outside instead of allowing the foreigner sharing room with us. Biren tells us that he is just a guide-cum-travel agent from Gangtok.

After having tea and snacks, Jaggi and I go for walk as Suman decides to take some rest. A foreigner couple is sunbathing outside the Hut. We exchange greetings and start chatting. They have been to many parts of the country including Karnataka and Gujarat. They have picked some words from Kannada and Gujarati. Both of them are fond of South Indian food as well as Gujju food, especially vegetarian food. In their opinion, Gujarat offers the best vegetarian food in the country, and by the extension of that fact, in the world. I will not refute that by any means.

We have our own plate of vegetarian food of French fries, fried rice and boiled vegetables in dinner on a dining table inside the forest department house where our kitchen is set up. A game of cards followed. We trekked for almost 16 km today. All of us are tired. We go to sleep early. It was a long day but it brings us closer to Goechela, closer to Kangchenjunga, the mountain which has us in obsession. Morning, morning, come to us fast…

Day 8 : The Canvas Painted White

The morning is pleasant. There is no better time than this to make amends for your previous day’s digressions, however legitimate they might be. Jaggi tries to reconcile with the guide-cum-agent we involved in altercation with, but he is in no mood. With a squirm, he rebuffs our noble intentions and bitterly says that though we succeeded the previous day, that would not guarantee that we would succeed every time. He still holds the grudge against us. I tell him that success sides with truth. Jaggi offers that life is too big to be bitter about such small incidences. Nothing pacifies him. Young blood and bruised ego lead to a flood of anger. We leave him at that. He will see the truth some day. One can’t keep on postponing life’s valuable lessons forever.

We have an easy day today. We are going to Thangsing, which is at almost same altitude as Dzongri. Biren says that the trail is flat or downwards for the most part. We climb the hill on the North-East of Dzongri Hut before descending into plains on the other side. In far distance, we can see the river Prek Chu running its course in the gorge created by Mt Pandim and Mt Kabru. On our left Kabru peaks are rising over a long and gentle slope. On the far side of the river, Mt Pandim and Mt Narsing rise almost vertically to form a wall. The comfort of plains do not last long. We hit a trail of rocks. The melted snow has made the stones slippery. In places where the stones have not invaded the earth, the mud clutches the shoes. The black ornament that is the Kabru Dome has started disappearing with its taller twins. This is first time in last 4 days that the Kabru family is out of our sight. The trail is full of thick snow now. The rhododendron trees are standing in knee-dip snow. At many points we slip on icy trail. At Dasaraali Point, the Pandim stamps its authority. The majestic mountain has no competition now. The prince has become the king.

From Dasaraali Point, the trail to Kakchurong is downhill. The steep descent takes you down 300m in flash. It’s very hard on the knees as it’s difficult to control your speed in winding downward trail. Kakchurong is on the bank of Prek Chu river. The river is roaring menacingly. The clouds have gathered in one big heap of precipitous substance. We eat some dry fruits before starting on our way to Thangsing. Crossing couple of small bridges on the river which has split into multiple streams before joining again in single force a little further, we start our climb. Slowly the snow starts falling. As we climb higher, the boulders are getting bigger in size. The snow is falling heavily now. I am enjoying walking in snow, with my vision broken by the falling lines of white balls. We find icicles formed around tree roots hanging in the air on the slopes or on the boulders. The force of the snowfall slows us down considerably. In a few moments, everything turns white – the mountains, the boulders, the trees, the trail and the sky.

The climb keeps getting difficult. How on earth people say this is easier trail? There are no easy treks in the mountains. And if there are, snow will not make them appear so. At every turn of a corner, I hope to see Thangsing Trekkers’ Hut or a prayer flag signaling for it. Not yet. I try to catch hold of Biren but he is out of reach. There is handful of snow on my backpack. White, milky white, like the raw plastic balls I saw years back. Or like the thermocol balls. If it continues like this, there will be a new mountain of snow in front of us by the evening. I notice the rhododendrons. It strikes me instantly then why the leaves and the branches of these trees or the pine trees are either downwards or upwards: that helps them ward off ice. Nature nurtures everyone and everything, and how well! Just then, climbing an almost vertical slope, I see a hut. That’s Thangsing! Aah, the relief! Biren and Birjubhaiya are already there. It’s 12:30 in the afternoon and they greet us with hot orange juice.

There is only one room here in Thangsing in the Trekkers’ Hut. 3 of us need to share it with 10 others, all of them foreigners. The room is made of stones, with a wooden ceiling. The inside walls are not plastered, and are uneven. Once we spread our sleeping bags in one corner, there is no space left anywhere. Probably this will help against cold in the night. Luckily some space is created when a family of 3 foreigners move to another hut operated by the forest department. 3 of us run a race in the snow in which Suman wins. I almost get tripped in the end but fortunately hold myself from falling down. We stamp our footprint on the snow, and the next wave of the never-ending fall destroys it like it never existed. The snow is ceaseless and it is depressing now. The temperature is well below zero. The noodle soup and steamed momos lift my spirit but only for a while. Everyone in the hut is reading. We buck the trend and play cards. That tempts our foreigner neighbor and he also joins us in the game of Rummy. he is new to the game and takes some time to get adjusted to.

A silver lining appears in the sky after 4. Everyone is out now to get whatever they can of the sun. Jaggi, Suman and I start walking upstream, in the direction of Goechela. We intend to go for some distance following the reverse trail of the river Prek Chu. We keep walking and come across a bridge supported by two wooden logs. A similar bridge follows after a few meters. We see a yakman tending his yaks while the sun is shining. That does not last long though. The clouds think that the sun has had enough attention and should go back home now. We also return back lest the snow covers us from toe to head.

Our foreigner friends insist that we should all play snow-golf. I don’t know what is that but it turns out to be an enjoyable game. And you can play it without any accessories. Some of us take small wooden logs as our preferred leverage. A few put a mid-size stone inside their dirty socks and plan to use it in the game. One person has a Frisbee. We need to throw our leverage towards some designated point, like a tree, or a stone, which is akin to a hole in golf. Every hole has par score, like in golf. If we hit the birdie in less than par number of shots, we get above par score. It’s fun game as during the long and slow game, we get to talk to each other over the walk towards the holes. We cover the full ground in front of Thangsing Hut playing the game. The game is over before the snowfall starts again.

After a quiet dinner, we go to sleep early as the snow is still relentless. After Kakchurong, the snow has been our constant companion today. Anything and everything was white. It feels the painter was running out of any color so he painted the canvas with brushes of white, layers upon layers. I hope the day stays clear when we go to Goechela. Kangchenjunga is notorious when it comes to allowing the view of its golden peaks to the visitors. As I close my eyes, first time in my life, I don’t see black. I see only white…

Eastern Sojourn (Continuing 5-6)

2011-05-31T23:44:00.001-07:00

Day 5 : The Sky Lights Up

I wake up suddenly. It feels that I have spent a long time asleep. It must be dawn. I feel for the watch to check the time. To my utter disbelief the time is just 10, not AM but PM. It’s hardly 100 minutes since I have slept. This is going to be a long night. I decide not to see the time again till morning. The sleep eludes me. The dogs are barking outside. Even they are awake! Is the night too cold or is this called altitude sickness? Judging by the constant sound of struggling movements of others, I assume they are also sleep-deprived. Krishnan’s snoring is the only formidable challenge against the mighty sickness.

It’s our rest day. And what you do on such day? You get up early at 4 in the morning -in case you are not already up, get ready and go to watch sun rising over the sleeping mountains. I am glad Biren knocks the door. It’s been a long sleepless night and I have been waiting too long for the savior. Everyone is complaining about not getting proper sleep. Krishnan is the only one still silently wrapped up in his sleeping bag. I remark that he is the only one who could actually sleep in the night. Jabaan kheech lunga agar kisine bola mujhe achhi neend aayi hai, comes the guided salvo fired at me. The tone and the intensity is so high that we incredulously break into laughter. Krishnan, you too! I wanted to say those words but my laughing spell did not see merit in it. The morning has started well. It’s gonna be a good day.

The dawn is yet to break the night’s spell. We climb the small hill in front of Dzongri Hut and start eastward towards Dzongri Top, which offers view of sunrise over the mountains. Behind me, in the west, over the Singalila mountain range in Nepal, the almost full moon is all set to watch sun going to its business for the day. It must have snowed in the night since the path is full of fresh snow. The white ornamental snowflakes are entangled in the bushes. Most of the mountains are covered with white blanket. We are actually above the clouds. The thick layer of clouds is trying to rise to the level of the mountains.The temperature is zero degree Celsius and it feels like every bone is freezing inside the body. We cross a hill, follow the narrow trail and see the fluttering prayer flags. The flags are local people’s way to thank the Almighty to help them survive in the harsh weather. It’s also kind of landmark to identify a place. That particular place is Dzongri Top.

At 4167 meters, Dzongri Top offers the panoramic view of the full range of mountains which not many other places can provide. From East to West, Narsing, Pandim, the three Kabrus, Ratong, Kumbhakarna and Frey’s Peak stand tall. In between North Kabru and Pandim, Kangchenjunga is slightly visible, tormenting the viewer and enticing him to get closer if he wants a full view. What catches my attention is the Kabrus: the South and North Kabru are extrelemy white, covered fully in snow and give impression if someone has plastered the snow on them working overnight. They look like the monks in white robs, unflinching in their devotion. The twins’ younger sibling, the Kabru Dome or Kabru Black, is fully black and dome-shaped. In comparison to their taller twins, it looks more human and thus fallible. That is the only black mountain in the full range. It might be out of place. Or placed strategically to enhance the contrast.

The sun lights up the mountains with morning light of red and golden hues. Light seems to be touching the soul of every life, be it humans or trees. The sky regains its blue color. We click some group photos for memorabilia. I am busy capturing the peaks. Krishnan is standing next to me. A foreigner lady is on his other side.

He looks at her and asks, Are you a German?

She frowningly replies, No, I am from Poland.

This conversation would have been completely forgettable if not for what follows next.

She asks back, Why did you think I am a German?

Krishnan’s reply is, From the texture of your skin…

I cough a laugh. I am barely holding myself from breaking into splits. I am not facing them so I block my mouth. This is quite a novel way to identify someone’s country. The question in my mind is, how many other textures Krishnan knows. He has solid explanation that he was living in Germany for a long time and can identify the Germans by their skin texture.

Though the sun is out now, the cold does not cease to freeze us. We cannot stand at the top for long. We start back towards Dzongri Hut. Suddenly the wind starts blowing heavily. The weak snowflakes are lifted from the ground or from the bushes in air and flying recklessly. I am slapped on face by some of them and it hurts. I better hold myself lest I will start flying in this wind. I stop on the trail, my back facing the wind, the feet firmly on ground, holding my stick and hoping that this little storm will pass. As the wind slows down a bit, I start walking fast. The chilly breeze causes me running nose. I feel as if I am breathing snow and exhaling water in the process. Penetrating the rampaging wind, I reach to the hut. Vinay struggles his way to the Hut. He is in trouble. He had trouble climbing to the top. He felt giddy. Jaggi says that he has altitude sickness. That’s another bad sign. These are signs of the challenges to come in coming days as we go higher.

The breakfast consisting of bread omelets and hot pancakes is waiting for us. After finishing every bite of the food, I try to sleep but I find no entry to that impregnable fort. I venture out. The sun is shining bright. It’s time to take bath – not in water, that will have to wait for a few more days- but in sunlight. I climb over to the small hill. Our porters and yakman are enjoying the sun. A little further, Sandip has spread himself over the grass. Making my camera bag as the pillow, I stretch myself over the gentle slope. The warmth of sun is caressing my face gently. The white smoke of the clouds rise from the valley every moment and hurry past us. In childhood, we used to say that the clouds are going to fill water in them. Those were the days of watching a train whistling past on the track, splashing in the rain, getting dirty in mud and watching clouds in the sky. This very day, I watch those clouds passing by on horizon. Drifting…drifting away…like wandering thoughts…in the realm and reality of their own.

When there are no clouds --and such moments are rare- there is a clear view of Singalila range and Kabrus. The alpine trees are lined up on the slopes of the mountains. In some distance I can see some alpine meadows where yaks are grazing. I switch on my iPod. The first song it plays is ye hansee waadiyaan. Every time i enjoy nature’s bounty, somehow my iPod always succeeds to echo the sentiments of my heart. The next appearance is aaj main upar, aasman neeche. The ever grateful iPod does not fail to thank nature and sings shukraan allah.

Ashish and Ashutosh join us. All of us watch the clouds taking different shapes – a horse this time, a deer next, a dragon the following moment. The canvas of the sky is throwing shapes in wide variety. I would love to pass my day just watching the artist spraying the white color on the canvas. Ashutosh and Ashish walk to the rock on the cliff. It overlooks the alpine valley beneath. The river Ratong Chu is down somewhere, currently hidden by the tall trees. We sit there, silent with the valley and the Singalila range in front of us. Some birds fly in an imposing formation. They do that quite often here, says Sandip. I observe a solitary crow flying up starting from valley deep down. It flies over our heads and goes behind the Hut in a flash.

Jaggi, Krishnan, Vinay and Suman also join us there. I am expecting that Vinay will come up with an ultra short plan, proposing to skip Bikbari and Chaurikhang which are there in our original plan, and instead directly go to Goechela, thus finishing the trek in next 3-4 days. Instead, to my sheer horror, he says that he is returning back tomorrow because it’s not advisable to continue when you are down with altitude sickness! I miss a heartbeat when Krishnan also says that he is returning back because he has knee pain! He started getting pain from yesterday and it’s getting aggravated. They want to go further, I can see that in their eyes. But when your body speaks, you should listen to it, else it shouts a great deal by the way of intolerable pain. They know that they have made a correct choice however painful it may be. It disturbs me thinking about missing them. That also makes me miss my other friends and family members.

In the evening, Jaggi, Sandip and I walk halfway up the Dzongri Top. Kabrus are magnificent in the setting sun. There is something soothing when you look at those monks. It’s transcendent. They remain there forever, like a reliable friend.

Sandip does not stay much inside the room. Every time he comes back, he has information about a new foreigner. He is inclined towards them, I suppose. This time when he enters the room, I expect to hear about another foreigner. Instead he says that night sky is beautiful. We should go and take a look. The dinner is over. Everyone is preparing to go to bed. I want to check the sky before starting my tryst with sleeplessness again while others stay inside the room. I will thank my luck all the life for that decision. There are hundreds of stars dotting the sky as if in a big religious procession. They are so close you actually get tempted to stretch your arm to get hold of them. The peaks and the sides of the mountains are decorated with the bright starry lights. They twinkle like children are laughing wholeheartedly. Sandip sets his camera many times to click the photos. I am just happy looking at the sky. We find Saptarshi, or the Big Dipper, in that big crowd. I know only that group of stars and it has fascinated me since my childhood. My hands are numb as they are out of the gloves to hold the torch and help Sandip set his camera. But the heart is all warm with the delightful scenery above us. When I close my eyes to go to sleep, the stars still shine brightly in them. Thank God for all the stars…

Day 6 : Separation and Punishment

First time I slept properly in the night during this trek. It was of the kind which you dream about in your sleepless state with open eyes. The sky last night must have blessed me. Our ways separate today – Krish and Vinay will go back, Sandy and Co. will head towards Goechela. We will take a tow-days detour to Bikbari before returning to Dzongri and eventually making our way towards Goechela. It’s time for some group photos. Everyone is eager to get a photo in their camera. Krishnan and Vinay are going back with Ajay. Their eyes speak, and speak quite clearly. The pain of not continuing is visible in their eyes. Krishnan encourages us to finish the trek and make them proud. We will, I nod in my heart. We hug each other. I hope they transferred some energy and determination to us. Farewell, my friends! The mountain is still there. You will soon get a call again.

At around 8:25, we start for Bikbari. Instead of climbing towards Dzongri Top, we descend into Dablakhang meadows which is a good place to camp. It also offers a big grazing grounds for the yaks. Four chortens stand at the end of the meadows. Behind that princely Pandim rises resplendently. We leave behind the view of the mountains for a steep climb to Dzongrila. We keep making light fun of each other, and especially Birjubhaiya, to make effect of the ascent lighter. He gets himself photographed couple of times. He keeps saying, aaste aaste. Go Slow. He thinks that Jaggi looks like Amitabh Bachchan. To prove his point, he always refers him as Jagtaap, to rhyme with Amitabh, instead of Jagdish. I am slightly ahead of others. At one point, I see two foot-trails and get confused. I ask him which one to take. Kharaab raasta mat lo, achha raasta lo. How simple! And consequently how difficult to implement in real life this philosophy is!

We encircle the Dzongri Hills on our way to Dzongrila. The Garmin shows that the altitude is 4360m at the pass. I have never been to such heights before. Hurray! I am climbing mountains. We all are. Forget about humans, even our canine friend Kaalu is a mountaineer now. By now, we have realized that it’s a female dog, so we rename it to Kaali. She is with us for last 3 days.

The pass is full of thick snow. Once you reach to the top, the vista opens up to offer splendid view of Kumbhakarna, Ratong and the Kabru peaks. Kumbhakarna looks like a burly figure of human sleeping in the sun, so the name. Some people call it Sleeping Budhdha. Kabru Black, or Kabru Dome, is so close that you can actually kiss it from here. And true to the name, it’s black! And imposing. Jaggi says it’s the only mountain which is not beautiful. To me, it’s a black mole which adds to the beauty of a fair lady. Or a piece of jewelry she puts on for a change. We climb on a rock and click many pictures. I jump down from that rock like I invariably do every time I get a chance. Jaggi and I have a Saurav Ganguly moment when we remove our shirts in the sub-zero degree temperature and and get clicked.

We climb down to the other side thru snow and infant ice which breaks at slightest of the pressure. The path is almost flat now. Kabru Dome is on our right. Ratong Chu is on our left, running like a vein in a bulky body. The emerald green water is bouncing on small boulders in a narrow span. The rhythmic sound of the river is piece de resistance. There is a waterfall on the other side in distance. We need to cross the river to go to the Bikbari camp which is on the right bank of the river. The descent from the ridge to the riverbank is precipitous. And it’s full of river sand. The 150m fall takes some effort as we need to be careful so we do not fall.

There is a makeshift bridge on the river to cross to the other side. 4 wooden planks are set on each side on two big rocks. Two of the planks are not reliable. So we have to walk only on two planks to cross the river. Biren helps me reach the other side. Kaali is afraid of crossing. She walks on the bridge halfway and turns back. She sits nearby, contemplating the crossing but courage deserts her. Finally Biren goes to her side and runs after her. Afraid, she runs towards the bridge and crosses it in hurry.

There is a Trekkers’ Hut in Bikbari but it’s not maintained at all. That means we have to pitch a tent. Biren, Povel and our yakman help set up our tent. Kaali is tired after her struggle to cross the bridge. She is fast asleep next to the tent. We have tea and biscuits. The thermometer shows 26 degree Celsius on the scale! That’s quite high, but we are feeling cold. Mysterious are the ways of mountains!

Ratong Chu is slowly working its magic on us. The crystal clear water, washing the sins of the stones, is enticing. After the lunch which we take sitting on the riverbank, we give up in the face of unyielding river. In a place on the bank, where pebbles are as clean and pure as prayer beads, we jump into the river. Little did we know that the sun doesn’t heat up the water here. We immediately develop the cold feet. For a few moments which feel like eternity, I stay inside, hoping that the cold will pass. It does not. For those few seconds, the river takes me over from the feet to the head and from the mind to the soul. I am the river.

We spread our mattresses outside the tent, very near to the river, so we can listen to the soulful rendition of nature’s sweet melody. How perfect everything feels – some rising mountains seen from the crescent view the valley offers, stone marbles lying in the riverbed, the sky which is home for us now. Face upwards, I watch the clouds making different formations. Coming from the direction of Mt Ratong or from behind the brown rising ridge in front of us, they meet and separate in the sky. I see the world go by, unmindful of past and future. The clear blue of the sky is almost unreal. I see a horse, a dog, a duck, a goat, a flying dragon, a child and a man in the sky. When there is no cloud, I see my loved ones – oh, I miss them! How much more the joy will be if they are here. But they are here: a river like mother, a mountain like father, a bridge like a sibling or a friend. If there is ever a perfect place, it has to be this. If there is ever a perfect moment, it has to be now.

Snowfall just then reminds me that life is not always --and rarely- perfect. We are driven into our tent involuntarily. We play cards for some time. Suman and Jaggi wants to take a nap. I try to read a book. The mood does not set in. I listen to some music. I come out of the tent. It’s almost evening. The weather is clear again. I take a walk along the river. I wish I can flow like it, ceaselessly, seamlessly, unabashedly. For now, I just watch it do all that I cannot do.

Night falls early. We take dinner inside the Trekkers’ Hut kitchen. The noodle soup is delicious. The clouds have started gathering their army outside. It may rain in the night, or there may be snowfall. We have to be ready for a long and cold night. Just before we go to sleep, Jaggi asks a question which will linger in my mind for a long time – why we punish ourselves so much by running marathons or trekking to the harsh and uninhabitable places? I know one of the answers: it is to have the experience which I had in the afternoon, to feel one with nature, to feel the presence of God, and to stop feeling anything and just be still. Such experiences do not occur always though, and there must be some answer which is true for all the times. When the time is right, the answer will come in sight and there will be glowing light…

Eastern Sojourn (Continuing…)

2011-05-29T21:54:00.001-07:00

Day 3 : The World Is Turning

It was not a perfect sleep in the night. It was disturbed too many times, so I wake up early. It rained for the better part of the night. The water drops, hitting the roof and the compound of the hotel, made constant sound. There was another sound of snoring in the room. Then there were yaks outside the hotel joining the chorus. At times I was not sure if the sound came from yaks or someone snoring in the room. The day is bright. We get ready and take our luggage outside. While others go to Gupta’s for breakfast, Jaggi and I work with Biren to hire yaks and porters. We settle for 4 yaks and 3 porters. Just then a dog comes and pees on some of our luggage in that famous doggy style of lifting the back leg. It’s a strange early morning!

We finish our breakfast at Gupta’s and get our lunch packed. The chirping of the birds gets louder as we move towards the Forest Department Office from where we have to take permission for the trek. There are neatly placed and aptly colored green dustbins near the office for different kinds of waste – glass, cloth, plastic etc.The lady at the office notes our names, the supporting crew’s details and grants us permission after we pay for trek charges and the camera permission fees. Going further we have to pay for the accommodation in the Trekkers’ Hut in different places for next 10 days. Leaving the tar road behind, we climb onto the slope on the right passing by many houses and hit the trail paved with dirt and stones. Finally all of us are truly on our way to Goechela to view the majestic Mount Kangchenjunga.

The yaks, laden by our rucksacks and the kitchen utensils, passed by us. The yakmen put a bell around the neck of any one yak in their lot. When such a group of yaks is nearby, you will hear the bell ringing and that will be a warning to clear the path for the yaks. I like the harmonic sound it produces. It reminds me of some song which I don’t remember clearly. The trail is either climbing up or climbing down, never flat. After about 45 minutes, we see the first bridge of the four we are supposed to cross today. A photographer is trying to focus his lens very far from where we are standing. On inquiring further, he points to a spot in the wall of the mountain on the other side of the valley. A beehive is barely visible there. He says that he is here to capture a photo of Honeybird which is found in these forests. A honeybird eats honeybees, so the name. The bridge on the Pao Khola is nothing sort of spectacular. The iron plates and the railings are supported by steel suspensors. The water is emerald green and dancing on the boulders. Green is the theme of this place. Everything is green.

The second bridge on the river Tsushsay Khola also takes almost the same time to reach. The structure of this bridge is also similar to the previous one. We sit there for some time and have light snacks. Once on the trail, I notice the wide variety of ferns adorning the side. They are beautiful. I try to catch every variety and in the process ends up trailing behind others. But who cares when you have such esteemed beauty vying for your attention.

The first real sign of any flowers is provided by the presence of red magnolias before the bridge at Minto Gang. We are hungry now and finish our lunch of Chowmin and puri-sabjee. We fill our water bottles from the river. A bridge in these mountain means double challenge. First you have to descend down to the level of river, then you have to ascend much more than that on your way up. We have planned to reach Tsoka, a small village at an altitude of nearly 3000 meters. Yuksom is at 1780 meters. It’s a tough challenge and some of us are already tired. Many trekkers stay at Sachen on their first day but we do not want to do that. We are about to reach Sachen now. It’s drizzling now. Our bambaiya friends are stitching raincoat for them from plastic cover using flame from a lighter. Some of the other trekkers are having lunch there. Suman and I march on. By the time we reach to the last bridge, on river Prek Chu, the incessant rain clearly warrants a raincoat. I pull out my jacket from the backpack and put it on. All the bridges are full of colorful prayer flags with religious sermons written in Tibetan language all over them.

Biren and Ajay, one of our porters, are already there. We wait for sometime but the water from heavens do not help us much. We continue walking again. Biren says that primary source of income in the region is tourism. The season lasts only for couple of months in summer and around the same duration in winter. Rest of the time they grow corn and millet in the small patches of lands on the slopes. Some yaks pass by us. The yakman is behind the animals. It strikes me that the tenders of the animals control them and drive them from behind. Unlike vehicles which are driven from the front. They just need to nudge them when they are going off-track, otherwise they are wise enough to follow the right path. That is one of the benefits of livestock – they have brain of their own.

The climb is too steep now. The Prek Chu is roaring in the distance. The gentle and steep slopes of the mountains are washing their feet in the river. The beautiful vistas open themselves to full view at every turn. Between the green leaves of the trees, there are newborn small red leaves. Ever so gentle, ever so fresh. The smell of the soil bathed in the rain permeates the air. Biren wants to wait for others. He asks us to continue for Bakhim, the next big stop before Tsoka. He warns us strictly not to take shortcut to Tsoka. I, along with Suman, negotiate the steep curves, stopping here and there to catch our breath, soaking in the fascinating scenery.

We order for tea at the shop in Bakhim. A lady runs the shop. A giant mountain blocks the view of one side. On the other side, across the valley, other range of mountains rise in their full glory. The sun is going down behind these mountains. The garden near the shop is blooming with yellow flowers. There is a tree, barren of leaves, next to it. It is laden with white color flowers. The air is getting colder. It’s better for me to put on my winter jacket but I want to start trekking to Tsoka and don’t want to take it out now. This is probably last place to get mobile signals. I call some friends. The signal is not strong. After a long time Krishnan and Vinay come and join us. They order masala maggi along with tea. Vinay says that Sashi is having some problem. Jaggi and Biren are with him somewhere between Bakhim and 4th bridge. we wait for them anxiously. After a wait which seemed to border on infinity, we see frames of Biren, Jaggi and Sashi. I don’t know what is wrong with him but he looks jaded. They enter the courtyard of the shop. Jaggi stops there, thinking that I will get hold of Sashi. He keeps on walking towards the cliff and I keep looking at him without stopping him, not realizing that he might not be fully alert. Jaggi runs after him and catches him before he ends up falling in the valley. Jaggi gives me angry look. At least I should have been alert. Jaggi gives us the account of the incident. Somewhere after the fourth bridge, Sashi started complaining of breathlessness and exhaustion. He was feeling dizzy. The world was turning around him. They sat quietly there for some time, taking rest and hoping to let it pass. Since they were behind everyone else, Jaggi goaded him to continue slowly so that they can at least reach Bakhim and get help if needed.

Sashi’s condition means that we are not going to Tsoka today. That is bad news, but at least he is safe. The worse news is that he may not continue the trekking here onwards. It’s just the first day and the signs are not encouraging. We get couple of small rooms in Trekkers’ Hut in Bakhim for the night. Krishnan and I are going to sleep in the dorm room. Our cook, Birjubhaiya, has already reached Tsoka by now. We have to call him back. The mobile coverage is partial and intermittent in Tsoka, meaning someone has to go to Tsoka to get him back. Biren takes off for Tsoka and gets him back in couple of hours. Birjubhaiya comes and prepares tea for all of us. There is no sign of strain or complain on his face. He then starts preparing dinner. It’s already dark. We sit in the same kitchen area, eating samosas with tea and singing songs. Sashi is feeling better now and he also shares some jokes. The dinner is served fast –may be the result of our hoarse singing which prompted Birjubhaiya to get rid of us fast- and we munch on everything which comes our way, such was the hunger at the end of the long and tiresome day.

It’s a full moon night. The mountains are moonlit. The stars twinkle in the clear sky. I call home to say that I will not be able to call for another 8 days. I know there will be times when I will want to talk to my loved ones, when I will want to see them, when I will want to go back. I understand why Vinay does not want to spend more than 6 days. For now the moon has soothing effect on the mind. And the promise of a view of the mountain brushes aside everything in the passing wind…

Day 4 : The Cold Welcome

The last night also did not yield much by the way of sleep. It was first time I was sleeping in a sleeping bag. It’s too constrained inside a sleeping bag. Even the coffins are more comfortable! To add more miseries, the presence of many people in the dorm room meant there was constant movement in the room. Krishnan’s snoring made the matters worse. But even his look does not suggest that he had proper rest. The day is bright. It’s time to catch some light.

Sashi has decided not to continue with us and is going back to Yuksom. We will miss him. We get a porter from a group which is returning back to Yuksom after finishing their trek. Sashi will tag along with them. Sashi is our in-charge of keeping track of the trail with the help of Garmin GPS device. In his absence Jaggi thrusts the responsibility on my shoulders. That means changing the batteries of the device every day, turning it on before the start, marking the various points on the way, saving the record at the end of the day and turning it off. I will like it though – keeping the progress card with me, monitoring the altitude and the distance.

After the breakfast, Sashi is ready to leave. We bid him happy journey. As he fades into the thick of the tree cover, we start our ascent towards Tsoka and Dzongri. The climb is steep, but fresh legs after a night’s rest is helping us going at a good pace. Everything is shining in the bright sunny day. Red magnolias compete for attention with the green of the forest and the clear blue of the sky. A bird is making a sound like someone is blowing a bamboo pipe. The sound resonates in the air. I try to look for the bird but in the dense forest my eyes do not find what my ears easily can.

The leafless tree with white flowers which fascinated me yesterday is in abundance now. Biren says that the flower is called Chap. They make pickle from the chap leaves. There are no leaves on those trees and I will have to let go the temptation of tasting the pickle. It’s fall season and the trail is full of dried leaves and the big yellowish white chap petals. The famed rhododendrons are still elusive. We need to go a little higher.

We are about to reach Tsoka Trekkers’ Hut. We climb up on a serpentine trail and we stop short, amused by the beautiful landscape in front of us. The snow-capped Mount Pandim is in full glory, with Tenzingkhang and other mountains on its side. Pandim gives an impression as if it’s carved out of snowy white marble and put there as an afterthought. It’s 6691m high, not much comparing with other mountains in the range but it’s majestic. It could have been a beloved prince in its human incarnation.

From behind Tsoka’s Trekkers’ Hut, Pandim surfaces in another great view. We are not stopping here since we are already lagging behind in our schedule. Vinay fortunately finds the mobile signals he was looking for desperately in one spot. Tsoka, situated at around 3000m, is the last village on the way to Goechela. We pass by the small lake on the other side of which a monastery is rising above a small hill. A small wooden footbridge takes one to the monastery but we save it for the return journey. A dog starts following us and then leading us.

The climb to Phedang is steeper than what we have encountered till now. There are big steps made with boulders. Birjubhaiya is walking along with us. When I ask him to go fast and reach to Phedang before anyone else, he jokingly says that he is not going to do that lest we may stop before Phedang and send someone to call him back. The little dark pink flowers are occupying every inch of space available on the tree roots. I find mushroom in a place. Birjubhaiya was plucking this tasty fungi yesterday to prepare a dish for us. He was effortlessly climbing the slopes and finding it behind or below a bunch of tree leaves. I show him the one I have found. He stops me from touching it. He says that some mushrooms are poisonous, and this is one of them!

The black dog is still with us. We name it Kaalu. Krishnan has fed him some biscuits. The trail is turned into a path of well-placed wooden planks now. Suman calls it National Highway in these mountains. Then we see them – the rhododendrons. The leaves are bunched together pointing downwards. The bell shaped pink color flowers are also bunched together like a bouquet. The rhododendrons are lined up on both the sides. Magnolias are reduced to occasional presence between rhododendrons. I want to see a flower closely but Birjubhaiya does not let me do that. What? Even these flowers can be poisonous! Oh my God, why on earth some of these splendid starlets are toxic? To save themselves, I guess, from reaching to the digestive systems of animals and living rooms of humans. We take a break at Gomchen before continuing further along the pink-lined trail. Poisonous? Why? Couldn’t the creative nature find some other ingenious solution?

Phedang has a small hut which can be used as a kitchen. The small ground next to it is an ideal picnic spot. We spread the mattresses there and are relaxing now. We are surrounded by gathering clouds. They do not miss to pinch our nose whenever they pass by. Birjubhaiya serves us soup, sabjee and puri for lunch. It’s delicious! This mountain air makes everything doubly delicious. The rain can come at anytime now so we wind up everything, put on our wind-cheaters and hurriedly start for Dzongri, our last destination for the day. The tree cover is giving way for shrubs and bushes now. The sun is involuntarily playing hide-and-seek in the clouds. The steep climb to Mon Lepcha is strenuous. At around 3860m altitude, tiny hail stones hail us. There is a thin layer of snow above the ground. Mon Lepcha is at 4000m. By the time we reach there, the wind is blowing heavily and down comes snow. I have never seen a snowfall before. The delicate white snowflakes tickle my bones. I cover whole of my body with woolen clothes and move in the direction of Dzongri.

There is a 100m of downhill trail into a plain before the uphill trail to Dzongri. The trees in the plain are all deep into snow. After crossing the plain and climbing the hill, we reach to a point which Jaggi affectionately names as Pink Bandana Point, because he got his pink bandana from a friend at this point during his last trek. The Dzongri Hut can be seen from this point. The temperature is dipping fast. The snowfall is turning its tirade. We need to hurry. My hands are freezing in the gloves. They are almost numb. I keep looking at the trail and walking at a brisk pace. With some forced effort, we reach the Hut in short time. The snowfall is relentless now. We get in the Hut and are led to our room. Guess what? There are not enough rooms so five of us need to share the room with three more people. Those three are no one else but our very own bambaiya bandhus!

The temperature is below zero degree Celsius. We get our rucksacks and get each and every extra woolen cloth we have. Thermals, woolen socks, monkey caps, and gloves find their utility on our bodies. Everyone is clad in minimum three layers of clothing. There is no electricity. We go out to see the snow. It is delightful to watch snow foam landing on the earth. Yaks are out there in open using their skin shield as the protection against cold. Birjubhaiya gives us black tea to warm ourselves. The light is dim. There is nothing to do except playing cards and chatting. By 7:30 we finish our dinner and go to sleep after another round of game of cards. The room is made of wooden planks and there is wooden flooring. With so many people inside it, it should keep us warm in the night. Dzongri has given us white and cold welcome…

Eastern Sojourn

2011-05-20T05:53:00.001-07:00

Day 1 : A Tentative Start

When I wake up this morning of 16th April, 2011 I find taps running out of water. What a start! I have a flight to catch in and the first signs are not encouraging. I rush to the ground floor and switch on the motor to fill the tank on the terrace. Krishnan, one of my co-trekkers, has the same flight to Kolkata and he calls me to inform that he will meet me in the bus to the Bangalore airport. I finish bathing in hurry. Bhavik meanwhile wakes up on his own before 7AM, which is quite surprising by his set standards, and offers to drive me to the bus stand. Very thoughtful of him. The start of the day is not that bad after all. We reach to the bus stand on time. I board the bus.

I call for Krishnan and a burly figure answers. His round face sits pretty on his spout body. I am meeting him first time. He is a colleague of Jagdish, fondly Jaggi, a runner buddy, who has taken all the efforts to organize this trek for us. Krishnan’s winter-jacket is dangling on the side of the seat. His orange color sleeping bag instantly catches one’s attention. An SLR camera is occupying the seat next to his. He hasn’t packed fully. He looks at my bags and asks how I managed to stuff everything in two small bags. I myself don’t know. What I know for sure is that those two little drums on my shoulders are heavy and I would like to offload them at any slightest chance. Krishnan talks about his previous trekking experiences, about his office and family. I think I will get along well with him.

We go straight to the Cafe Coffee Day for breakfast once we reach to the airport. One thing noticeable without fail is number of house-sparrows here. They are flying wild in different directions scouting for food and water. Quite paradoxical to see the house-sparrows in a place far from hme! I remember my childhood days when these small fliers frequented our home and neighborhood, picking morsels of grains from the courtyards and drinking water from the flower pots. A child, obviously startled by their presence, happily follows a nearby birdie to catch it and take it home. Her mother gets hold of him before he can succeed. I watch the sparrows running their riot for sometime before going for security check.

I pick up the travel magazine in the flight and end up on an article on Darjeeling. That makes me happy since just a week back I decided to take an extra week off to visit Darjeeling and Kolkata along with my two weeks plan of trekking in Sikkim and running in Pedong. I did not know then what places will excite me in Darjeeling but the article listed some places which surely made my list. Just a day before, my friends Rashmi and Gopal recommended some places to visit in Kolkata. The cherry on the cake was an offer from Rashmi to stay at her relative’s place in Kolkata for free! Till that moment I had no idea where will I stay in Kolkata or what will I do there. The old cliché is that when you really want something from heart, the whole universe conspires to bring it to you. The universe certainly took its own sweet time, but finally it’s filling my goodie bag and I have no qualms lifting this bag no matter how heavy it gets.

Our flight reaches 20 minutes before the scheduled time. They always do that when you are in no real hurry. Jaggi and Vinay also land at around the same time. We meet near the conveyor belts. Vinay also works with Jaggi. There is prominent hint of smile on his face. He is constantly talking on mobile phone. They are carrying a few packets of groceries which we are going to use during our 10 days trek. I frown at this added luggage but it’s a necessary evil for survival in the high mountains. We take a taxi to the Highlands Park. We realize in the taxi that we were cheated at the airport. The prepaid taxi counter was inside the airport and someone led us outside where a person was sitting on the pavement with a small table pretending that counter is shifted there because of the on-going renovation work of the airport. It was quite clear there was nexus between the taxi drivers and police to let that prepaid taxi counter function under the sky.

We meet Saptarshi Roy at a mall in Highlands Park. Sapta, as he is fondly known, has his own venture, Himalaya Trekkers, which organizes treks. We take lunch in the mall, followed by the famous Calcutta paan. We hire a cycle-rickshaw from outside to go to a place from where we will get sleeping begs and tents on rent with the help of Sapta. He argues with the rickshawwala to reduce the charges from 70 rupees to 65 rupees! Now we are definitely in Kolkata. This is the city where 50 paisa coins are still in use, even if they are piece of heritage in other parts of the country. It also shows there are many people below poverty line here and every penny matters. Jaggi and I sit in the rickshaw while Sapta rides his bicycle guiding us. Jaggi is uncomfortable that someone is pulling two healthy people for a small amount. I am also bothered by that thought, but be a Roman when in Rome and ride in rickshaw when in Kolkata.

We reach to David’s house. He runs his enterprise from his humble house where many people work to manufacture tents, sleeping bags, rucksacks and other things used in trekking. There are a few tailors sewing the tents or rucksacks in one room. The finished products are occupying the shelves in the main room from where David seems to operate the proceedings. He also rents them to trekkers for a nominal charge.We check the tents, learn how to open it, set it and dismantle it. We pay David his rent and deposit and leave for Highlands Park where Krishnan and Vinay are waiting with all the luggage. The rickshawwala is furious since he had to wait for 15 minutes outside David’s house. When we get down at our destination, he asks for extra 5 rupees for waiting. Sapta walks off, but Jaggi reaches to his pocket and hands him a 10 rupees note. He is happy. In Bangalore, autowalas charge minimum 10 rupees extra for any distance, any time of the day, even without waiting. Suddenly I am full of rage against those extortionists.

We say thanks and good bye to Sapta. He spent a couple of hours to help us find the right things for our trek. Encounter with another good Samaritan today. May you happily help many others! We load everything in a taxi and leave for Howrah station from where we are to catch the train to New Jalpaiguri. We meet Suman at the railway station. He comes from a town in West Bengal bordering Orissa. He came to know about our trekking trip from www.indiamike.com and called Jaggi to join us. Suman is thin! Almost as much as I am. You cannot miss the typical Bengali-Oriya accent in his English. It reminds me of some of my other friends from the same region. His rucksack, protected by waterproof thin fluorescent green cover, catches my attention. That’s the only luggage he is carrying. It can fit in everything, including Suman, i am sure. How lucky!

Good that our train is to come at platform number 8 which is near to the main entrance. There are 26 platforms on this busiest station of the country where some of the most important trains end their journeys. As we wait for the last member of our troop, Sashi, I explore the platform. There is a nicely paved cab road between the platform 8 and platform 9. You can actually drive your car in here to drop your loved ones to the station and then go back from the flyover a little further. Sashi comes just then, right in time. I have met this tall and hefty person before while shopping for trekking gear in Bangalore’s Decathlon sports store. He works for Unicef. Once the introductions with others are done and pleasantries are exchanged, it’s time to board the train. The whole compartment is occupied by 6 of us. It’s been long since I have travelled with so many people together and I want to make the most of it. We play cards, drink tea, eat jaalmuri – the yummy Bengali version of bhel,chat loudly, make fun of each other, never forgetting the mountains which brought us all together this day.

For a long time I have been wanting to go to Himalayas, anywhere from Kashmir in the North to the Arunachal Pradesh in the North-East. Different plans came –of Ladakh, Sikkim, Arunachal Pradesh, and went. Nothing fructified. So when Jaggi told me that he was planning to do Goechela trek in Sikkim, I gave my tentative node. One thing or the other stopped me confirming my participation. But when a mountain calls, you cannot ignore that call for a long time. Now that I was going, I wanted to make most of it so I have extended my vacation. This moment, as I go to sleep, in that state when you don’t know if you are asleep or awake, I see myself looking at the white pyramid that is Kangchenjunga. My mountain is calling, and I am already on my way…

Day 2 : To Sikkim’s First Capital

The machine tea at the New Jalpaiguri(NJP) station does nothing to wake me up from my slumber. We are on the far side of the platform. The taxi driver who is going to take us to Yuksom in Sikkim is waiting outside in the parking area, but it will be long before we start our journey. Our friends from Mumbai who are going to share the taxi with us are reaching not before 9:30. We have much time to spend. We take turns to get afresh. Jaggi tries to find a hand-pulled trolley to carry our luggage but to no avail. We will need to carry it to the parking lot. Everyone picks up 3 to 4 bags and start walking. To my complete surprise I see elevators leading to the exit. This station has elevators! The platforms are clean and the station is well-organized. The parking lot is big, much bigger than what you find in some of the big cities. And why not? This is the place which leads to Sikkim and the Seven Sisters in the East, to Nepal in the North and to the Queen of Hills, Darjeeling. We are in the gateway of the North-East. The taxies are being loaded with luggage of trekkers and tourists. Jaggi goes to find our taxi while Krishnan, Suman and Vinay go to find a good breakfast joint.

We load the luggage on the roof of the sturdy Mahindra MaXX. Just outside the station, on the right, our search for food ends at Joy Baba Loknath dhaba. The parathas are taking shape in front of us. We order for omelets and parathas. When everyone’s stomach is filled with more than what they can effectively consume, we pour tea on it. Our Mumbai friends have still not reached and they do not know how much time it will take. Roshan, our taxi driver, is inching to leave. We also want to start for Yuksom fast since we need to buy remaining groceries from there for our trek. Finally train arrives at around 10 AM. I get omelets and parathas packed from Joy Baba Loknath for the bambaiya babus so that they do not need to spend more time in NJP. Finally we are out on the road to Yuksom.

Our taxi pass thru the Siliguri town on the National Highway 31. Sandip, Ashish and Ashutosh, the bambaiya babus, finish their breakfast in jiffy. After crossing the army area outside Siliguri, we are into Mahananda Wild Life Sanctuary now. The verdant forest is inviting. The green straight trees are standing tall. The sanctuary ends near Sevoke where river Teesta greets us with all its might. I see a lady carrying a large wicker basket -used by tea plantation workers -on her back supporting it by a strap across her forehead. Many ladies are looking after the shops in this town. I see more women working then the men. The roaring Teesta is one of them. We are going on NH 31A which leads to Gangtok, leaving behind NH 31 which goes to Guwahati. The road is winding upwards resulting into elevation gain. Teesta’s banks are getting closer to each other. The emerald green water is so enticing that I have urge to get out of the car and jump into Teesta, free falling in the gravity of the river. That being not possible without getting myself killed, I happily remain seated between Suman and Sandip in the back seat of the car. That does not stop me from watching the river running it course though. In some places the sand extraction from the river for construction work has resulted into big white patches. The contrast between emerald green and dull white is stark. But wait, does water have any color? I remember learning in science class that water is tasteless, odorless and almost colorless. What gives this water emerald green color then? Those green trees lining on the slopes leading to the river banks? A man’s life is given colors by his friends. Similarly the trees and the mountains are the river’s friends. What gives it taste and odor? The earth. On the same lines, if a man’s grounded to the earth and if he follows righteous path like a river, his life smells good and tastes better.

We enter into Sikkim by crossing the bridge on Teesta to reach Melli. The guard at the border post stops us for checking. He looks at all of us and then asks Jaggi, Is this your family? Jaggi nods in affirmation. Quite a strange family! There are no females in this family of 9 people. The guard does not check anything else. He lets us go. We stop for lunch in Jorethang. Roshan and Cheema, his assistant, tie a rope around our luggage before joining us for lunch. The lemon water is quite strong and salted, so we keep adding water in it to dilute it. One glass of it ends up resulting into three servings. A glass becomes a pitcher. Vinay wants to finish the trek in less than 10 days, possibly in 6 days as he wants to be back to home in a week. He is busy coming up with different plans. Jaggi has been to this trek the previous year, and he knows that stretching ourselves to do the trek in 6 days is not possible. Vinay is quite persistent though, and so is Jaggi. It will be interesting to see how and how fast the trek goes.

Roshan pays 10 rupees for parking. I offer him a 10 rupees note, but he is reluctant to take it. Cheema shoulders him not to refuse it. That may end up as his pocket money. Finally, after some forcing from Cheema, Roshan takes the money. As we move past Legship and Geyzing, Jaggi, sitting in front seat, is talking to Cheema about their religious practices, rituals etc. Cheema, in between, frequently speaks names of different car or motorcycle models and breaks into laughter. It takes us some time to realize that he does that only when he sees a girl on the side of the road. He has devised his own system of comparing a girl with an automotive based on her looks. We all join him in his laughter after that. I invariably remember that song from Gadar, main nikla gaddi leke.

Just a few kilometers before Yuksom, Roshan stops the car. There is a waterfall in distance overlooking the bridge and the valley beneath. Roshan wants us to enjoy the scenery before we enter Yuksom. I fetch my camera and start clicking pictures. As I move in the direction of Cheema and Roshan to click their pictures, Cheema beams exuberantly, smiles free hai, jitni chahiye le lo. Hum to taiyar hi rehte hai hanse ne ke liye. Those happy and smiling countenances make their way into my memory. I always wonder what makes these mountain people so cheerful. It’s difficult to spot a face which is not smiling. Do they have some defect which stretch their facial muscles in permanent smiles? I guess not. These are genuinely happy people. No wonder the world’s happiest country is Bhutan, a kingdom surrounded by Himalayan mountains.

The darkness is about to set its shop when we enter in Yuksom, Sikkim’s first capital established in 1642 by Phuntsog Namgyal. This is where the motorable road ends in North-West Sikkim. Nothing in this village suggests that it was kingdom’s capital once. The main bazaar street is around 200 meters long and on both the sides of it there are a few hotels, shops and restaurants. Prayer flags run thru the better part of the street above one’s head. There is a monastery on the top of the hill whose base is the end of the street. We get down at Hotel Demazong. Our guide for the trek, Biren, and cook accompanying us there, Birju, welcome us. We check into the hotel after paying for the taxi and waving Roshan and Cheema goodbye. Our friends from Mumbai check into another hotel. They will be with us intermittently during the trek as we have slightly different plans for the trek. A tea serves well to rid of the exhaustion. There is not much time left and we have some important shopping to do.

We first register ourselves at the police station. The police officer courteously thanks us. We then proceed towards the provision store at the other end of the street. We buy rice, daal, noodles, oil, spices, paneer, kerosene etc. From the adjacent vegetable shop we buy enough vegetables to last for next 10 days. Birjubhaiya helps us renting some kitchen utensils and kitchen tent. He also gets two sticks on rent for Vinay and Krishnan as supports during trek. There is light drizzle of rain. It’s dinner time. The Gupta’s Restaurant feeds us with rice, pizzas, sandwiches and chicken dishes. A full pot of ginger honey tea beckons after the dinner. We return to our dorm room in the hotel, pack our most important stuff in daypack, the needful in the rucksack and the needless in separate bags to be left at the hotel to be collected later when we return. Cuddled in the comfort of the thick woolen blanket, I think about the high mountains, about the trek. One day closer. The excitement is gathering inside like the clouds in the sky outside…

When the time stood still

2011-04-12T06:36:00.001-07:00

It was the perfect setup made up of dreams conjured in the most hopeful of the mindsets. Sachin Tendulkar was expected to complete his century of centuries in international cricket at his home ground, the Wankhede Stadium, Mumbai in a world cup final. According to him, the reason he picked up playing cricket was because he wanted to win cricket world cup for India. No moment would have been better than that one on 2nd April, 2011. The country waited eagerly, praying in religious places, holding its breath in anticipation. The script was written for him, so did everyone think.

But life seldom follows a script, and rarely conforms to the whims and fancies of its actors. Though in my mind I had no doubt that Sachin was destiny’s child and was on the road to win the cup. That feeling came from the luxury of lives he had against Pakistan in the semifinal. It was strengthened further when the day before the final the news came that Angelo Mathews was injured and not going to make it to the Sri Lankan team in the final. Regardless of that, when Sachin got out to that slinger Malinga’s deviously angled delivery, just a few minutes after Virender Sehwag went for duck, my heart was in my mouth. The time stood still and threatened to send me into endless pit of depression. If Sachin waited for the cup for 21 years, the people also waited for that many years, some more and I waited for not less than 15 years, from when he first raised the hopes in 1996 tournament. The crowd was devastated. It was the scene so familiar to the whole country for last 20 odd years. Sachin getting out meant colossal loss of any hope of winning. God of cricket was not infallible – Gods never are. Those painful moments felt like time had suddenly stopped moving for worst. Then came the relief which is experienced only when you have lost everything. Suddenly heartbeats returned to the normal pace, nerves cooled down and hopes floated in air. Something inside refused to believe all was over. In fact, if anything, it was vociferously screaming with all might for an inevitable win.

4 years back, when Mahendra Singh Dhoni’s little-known Indian team won inaugural T20 world cup, I had feeling that he was the man who would help Sachin realize his dream in future. It was sort of neat arrangement – God wanted an angel to bridge the gape between him and the devotees. Dhoni would be that angel. While Gambhir and Kohli steadied the Indian ship, Dhoni later on propelled it towards the harbor. When Kulasekara started his strides towards wicket in the 48th over, the time stood still once more and the moment Dhoni hit it in the crowd, it erupted like it was shackled there for centuries and wanted to break free. The whole country was in a happy sort of delirium.The celebrations went on till late night across the country. On Bangalore’s MG Road, people were dancing, burning fire crackers, high-fiving each other, hugging each other. I must have high-fived at least a hundred people, if not more. The tricolor shone bright thru the whole celebrations. I met Mayank, a friend and one of the finest cricket experts I know. We jumped like little kids in small pools of water and embraced each other. Such jubilant scenes on the streets were never seen before in this country. As somebody rightly put, it was the biggest street party in the world.

Nothing is beyond the reach of excesses though, and this world cup was no different. Some people equated the India-Pakistan match with the previous 4 wars the two countries have fought for the territorial gains. We need to be reminded that sports and wars are different things. A sportsman lives to see another day and have another chance to win; a soldier can only live in his beloveds’ eyes and hearts if died in a war. On the same lines, terming Indian team as God Rama’s side and the Sri Lankan team as Raavana’s side is equally jingoistic. What can you expect when war is used as a metaphor for sports! Even to see sports games as revenge matches do not comfort the heart. Everyone gets a chance to take revenge, to use their term, in sports. That’s the best thing about sports – you get a second chance. That chance should be taken as an opportunity to up your performance, to raise your game, to be a fierce competitor but a good fellow off the field. Sports is all about celebrating human spirit to excel, nothing more, nothing less.

In the end, some things would stay in mind for a long time. Afridi’s friendly smiles to Sachin lightened up the match. Kevin O’ Brien set the ground ablaze with his once in a lifetime innings. Sachin celebrating the victory with his kids delighted the hearts. In retrospect, the 21 year long wait was worth every second. How rewarding it is for a father to see his children capable of appreciating his achievement! How satisfying to see pride for him in their eyes! But the image which will never cease to amuse me and please me is that of Sachin sitting on the shoulders of his teammates parading the ground. The man who made all of us happy for so many years finally got what he deserved and valued the most – a cricket world cup. In his boyish laugh reflects the ultimate happiness – of living to see your dream come true, of belief and faith, of not giving up. That time now stands still in my eyes.

Of Unsolicited Calls and Credit Cards

2011-02-24T20:39:00.001-08:00

Unsolicited calls are largely annoying. When in the middle of some urgent work –by that never-failing law of Murhpy, you are bound to do something very important – suddenly your phone rings and a voice announces her name and the company she works for, and then going thru the details of very exciting and unique offer they have come up with. That is irritating, to say the least. But you gotta enjoy whatever comes your way:

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Nobody can match the credit card companies when it comes to making unsolicited calls and sending cards. They have insatiable desire to throw cards at you. We don’t even distribute our visiting cards at the frequency with which they send us credit cards. I never knew I had so much credit in the world before I started getting these cards! Thanks for the enlightenment! They are the ones who know the mathematics of the permutations and combinations by heart, and practice it every day and night. So they have one card for every food joint which sells you junk food, every petroleum company which also houses a junk food joint in their petrol bunks, every music channel which plays enough songs in between the commercial breaks just to be qualified as a music channel and anything else they can think of(see, I find myself not good at these permutations and combinations). Then they try to put some art into it by making cards of different shapes and sizes and colors. One real benefit is, –give the credit where it’s due – now I know that platinum and titanium are the precious metals along with gold. Unfortunately miners and scientists are not discovering precious metals faster than these companies can dole out plastic currencies, depriving ignorant people like me of acquiring precious knowledge.

So how do you stop these calls? You can’t! They always pretend that they did not hear your NO, and never fail to call you back. I realized that I may be better at lying than at saying NO, so I always say I already have the card which they are offering. It works, believe me. They will ask if you use any other bank’s card and you should answer NO. That is the only NO they like and accept. The call is over there and then until the next time. But I only figured that out after I accumulated 10 cards, 8 of them sent without my agreement or knowledge. Like Angulimaal, literally the one who wears a garland of human fingers, I could have worn a garland of cards but I decided not to flaunt my ill-gotten wealth for which I am supposed to pay later! Rather I decided to take the path of renunciation without any Buddha to guide me. I cut them to pieces, taking violent pleasure in the process. Even the scissors’ blade became blunt by the time I rid all of them. At last, Buddha inside me was smiling.

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Out of need, I applied for an account with some ABC Bank. I submitted all the documents to an executive(everyone is an executive officer in the age we live in). In due time, I got the account. That’s straight-forward, isn’t it? After a few days, I got call from the same executive, but he was employed by some XYZ Bank now. He requested me to open an account with XYZ Bank. The reason? “Now I work with this bank, and if you open an account with us, that will help me.” He replied. “Very well.” I said, “But aren’t you guys there to help the customers, not the other way?” I do not remember his vague answer, but that day onwards, he never called. Either he had no urge to move to any other bank or he had no urge to help me. My account with him was closed forever.

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“Is…is this Mr. So-and-So?”, a reluctant voice asked in a low tone.

“Ye…ss?”, I tried to match her reluctance and almost succeeded.

“Good morning, sir! I am from MoneyMatters. Do you need a loan?”, this time with more confidence.

“No, I do not need any loan.”, I started reaching for the disconnect button.

“Are you salaried or self-employed?”, she asked before I could hang up the phone.

“Salaried.”,instinctively I replied.

“Then you can take a loan, no, sir?”, almost implying that getting monthly salary and not having a loan burden is a sin in this world.

“For that matter, lady, I can kill you. How would you like it?”, my mind already conjuring what else I can do.

Next I heard is a loud thud. Complete silence after that. I assume her life was very dear to her, since I never heard back from her. Between the money and the life, you see, the life still matters more.

I wonder if they would call the God for a loan had they had His phone number or any hotline existed between the earth and the heavens. They surely would. Going by what is happening around us –droughts in China and Brazil, floods in Australia, earthquake in New Zealand, hottest summer in Russia, volcano eruption and coldest winter in Europe, and adding the troubles in Middle-East – heaven’s finances are certainly out of order. God may be desperately looking for some help, a possible loan. There is no better customer than the providence itself. Does anybody have His number?

Back to Auroville

2011-02-21T19:54:00.001-08:00

It is with the great affection that you return to places which have given you fond memories or which have brought the significant firsts in your life. Auroville is one such place for me. It is the place where I shared so many great moments with some of my best friends on a trip a few years back. That trip brought many unknown facets of the world to the fore and got me interested and hooked to travel. Last year I also ran my first full marathon in Auroville. Exactly a year after, as if in a happy coincidence to celebrate my first anniversary of that marathon, I find myself on that land of red soil and lovely trail to run the second of the 12 marathons we have endeavored on.

Auroville Marathon is, without doubt, one of the most scenic and easiest marathons to run, given you run it in daylight. But we start at 5 AM in the morning, in complete dark, and no lights on the trail, except the torch given by the organizers. That spells danger considering the uneven surface, small narrow trails and never-ending turns. Many people injure themselves on the route, sometimes very badly that you can hear them abusing the organizers, the trail and everything else they can think of. I intend not to be member of that distinguished group, so I start slowly and try to contain myself from running fast. After a couple of kilometers I hit a narrow trail inside the jungle. The torchlight is so dim that at every turn, I have to stop and see if I am on right track and not hitting a tree. It looks scary in the darkness. A dog’s howling afar comforts me! I never imagined I would say that but it’s the truth. Screeching sounds of birds feel like masterful rendition of a classic. Even the stars which are so distant you would need a computer to find out their distance from earth become your guiding lights. I hear a faint sound of a runner’s approaching footsteps and see the fading light from his torch. I somehow manage to match his speed by adjusting mine according to the sound and the light from back so that I do not need to run alone. His name is Deepak. What a fine name, I think to myself, and very apt too! A piece of synchronicity to occur at the right moment. After a few minutes I realize that it’s not necessary to do that fine-tuning because even he is interested in keeping pace with me. We both need each other. The realization dawns upon me like a burst of a supernova – we humans need each other more in the darkness than in light. In the darker moments when we are vulnerable and lost, the support and the guidance of fellow humans allay our fears and nudge us to right direction. We are partners, not participants and competitors. Ever wondered why the camaraderie is relatively stronger between the members of a mafia gang? They are creatures of night.

I see face of Deepak first time after running with him for about an hour. We stop at a water point and I look at him to capture the image of the man who accompanied me and helped me negotiate the twists and turns of the dark trail. Not surprisingly, once in light, we both revert to our normal self – competitive, self-centered and goal-oriented. He asks me about my goal for this marathon. We both share same goal, of finishing in less than 4 hours. We must pick up the speed if we were to attain that. He increases his speed. I try to stay with him. After a while, I cannot keep up with him and he runs ahead, out of sight, as if he never existed. I would have done the same if I were capable of doing that. We move on, alone, whenever we can, leaving behind those who were with us till that very moment. That’s why the members of families who constantly go thru hardships are strongly bonded. They share a common objective to fight for their wellbeing, which the others do not who have it rather easy. Happiness and comforts carry their own disadvantages.

At the half way mark, I see the 5K and 10K runners starting their run. I blend myself in the lot. Not feeling very strong, I start walking in between. The group of drummers at one corner lift my spirits but that does not last very long. But that weakness come with blessing. While walking I can enjoy the surroundings more. The turns which felt so dangerous before suddenly become openings to new vistas. The narrow trails bring me closer to the nature, literally, as I relish the scratching of the green leaves on my body. The sun rays making their way thru thick trees feel like the early morning shower. The plethora of architectural delights from all the over the world constantly pleads for the attention. In the process I lose some time, but gain much more that what the clock could provide for.

I finish my marathon in 4 hours and 22 minutes, taking out 35 minutes from my previous Auroville marathon. After collecting my finisher’s t-shirt and having breakfast under the shamiyana, I wait for my teammates. One by one they keep coming, finishing stronger than ever. We make a picnic-eque scene whenever any runner comes sprinting for that last dash to the finish line. Everyone is greeted like a superhero. In the end, only Manish remains on the trail. I set out on the trail in the opposite direction to see how is he doing and check if he needs any help. Vinit joins me. We see a group of runners from Hyderabad in identical outfit feasting on chocolates and biscuits. They are waiting for their hero, they say. No, it’s not celluloid hero like Chiranjivee or Nagarjuna they are talking about. They mean the last runner in their group. I make a point that long distance running is the only sport where being last is not seen as being unworthy of or matter of being looked down. On the contrary, you are looked upon as a hero – a hero which never gives damn to what or how others do, never leaves blazing and lonely trail and continues his march even when every micron in the body and every neuron in the brain pull him back.

We find Manish just 600 meters away from the finish line. We goad him to go faster. He says that his knees have all gone weak, but he still runs with us. The gang welcomes him to the loudest cheers. Our second marathon is completed. Prakhar analyses his run and makes some fine points. He also observes that every marathon teaches a runner a new lesson which he carries with him forever. For me, every marathon brings some lasting image. I try to think what that image is for this marathon. I cannot think of any though I try very hard. Just then I see a runner putting his final steps towards the finish line. There comes my image – at times we try so desperately to look for something that we do not see it right there in front of our own eyes. He reaches to the finish line but does not cross it. He stops there and then. The strength of his posture makes you think that even a bulldozer cannot move him from there. He looks skywards, his hands folded and mutters a prayer. I guess he is thanking God. The tears in his eyes are dried in the hot sun before they leave the eyelashes. In those eyes I can see the look of fear, dread, doubt, agony, ecstasy, accomplishment, achievement and love, all together. That might be his first marathon, or the most trying one. Satheesha runs to congratulate him. Gopal hugs him. None of them knows him. That is what a marathon can do to you – it makes you grateful, it connects you to God and the people who are embodiments of that Almighty. In that moment, the line does not signify finish, but start of a new life, a new adventure, a new beginning. One just needs to Get, Set, Go!

P.S. – Deepak finished his marathon in less than 4 hours. I am happy for him. Post marathon, we had lunch at the restaurant in the Auroville Visitors Center. We hogged food like elephants. The food is highly recommended, more so if you also happen to run a marathon prior to that and are hungry to the last bones of your body.

Musings on an Indian Train

2011-02-10T05:22:00.001-08:00

When you travel in a train in India, the journey is always replete with many challenges, events and experiences. The biggest challenge, according to me, remains that of luggage. Indians tend to carry a lot of luggage, unnecessarily so, though an alternate belief is that we carry our town and state wherever we go. It’s a tough task to enter the train when the doors are all stacked with tons of bags and suitcases of those whose journey is coming to an end. It reminds me of that commercial floating on the TV during the Commonwealth Games, Indian Rail, Desh ka Mail. If you are fortunate, you board the train on time but a bigger challenge awaits you inside – where to put your own luggage? By some sheer stroke of ingenuity, some people manage to fly their luggage in and chain them to all the luggage hooks in your compartment before even you can locate your seat. When you ask them to make some room for your luggage, you get to hear the famous line with Indianness imprinted all over it, bhaisaab, thoda adjust kar lo na. They invariably have kids with them for whom they do not need to buy the tickets, meaning they are going to share the seats with the little ones. Most of us do adjust, out of our generous nature or out of the fear of inviting frowns from fellow passengers. It’s impossible to fathom what is more stretchable – our tendency to ask to adjust or our tendency to adjust? When adjustment is not an option –if you are one of those who wanted others to adjust – we piled the luggage on the seat, eating out the sitting and sleeping space.

Another frequently asked favor is to trade your seat with someone. The great Indian family is so big, and the births are allocated in such a way that not all family members get seats in same compartment. We love to travel with kins of our family and friend-circle, even if the journey is only going to last overnight. And there is no limit to how much the family can extend! During one train journey, I exchanged seats with 3 different people within 10 minutes of boarding the train. One family was so huge and their seats were so widely scattered that they took another two hours to gather their clan in one place. I settled in my seat, finally! So did I think! I saw a kid sitting in the seat opposite to mine. Her brown hair was tied in two little ponytails behind her head. The deep-set eyes and curled lips made her nose look bigger than it actually was. She glanced at me with that look when you are not sure if you can trust the other person. I smiled, just enough, and she laughed. The friendship was established. Before I could dwell more into that newly-found affinity, her father came calling, asking me if I could exchange seat with his relative. The trouble was that his relative was in coach S1 while I was in coach S7. I hesitated since it involved walking inside 6 full coaches with luggage. Besides who knew how many more such requests awaited me there. His pleading continued. I had to yield in the end and one more family was united, what if only for the journey. By then I came to know that the kid in the opposite seat was not a girl, but a boy! These days you cannot tell the difference really.

But for all their shortcomings, the Indian train journey provides the most conducive setup for a mind which has some inclination for philosophy. As Mihir says, saari duniya ki philosophy books ek taraf, aur bharatiya rail ek taraf. If you think deeper, the reason for it is that Indian trains are so slow! You are sitting idle, you keep looking at hamlets, towns and farms, mountains and rivers, all patched up in the fabric of this multi-cultured country and sewed by the network of thousands of stations. Compare that to the trains in European countries or US or China, which run at 150kmph or more than that. You can only see those blurred images floating past in jiffy and crowding your mind with more images. Philosophy feeds on an idle mind and idyllic scenery. Once I was just looking outside the window. From behind the window, it appeared that the world was divided by artificial lines drawn by the horizontal iron bars of the window. The sky was separated from the hills, which in turn were separated from the trees. The trees were separated from the grass on the ground. We humans are given to divide the world in our quest to classify and simplify everything. At that moment, the train stopped, waiting for a signal to turn green. I stepped out of the train, and the picture presented itself in the whole. There was no division. Everything was connected. The world became one grand orchestra where everything and everyone had something to play…and sometimes you just have to play nothing. That day onwards, whenever I encounter myself in a hopeless situation or find my role insignificant in an event of life, I relive those moments and rescue my mood from deep slump.

No journey is complete without giving a thought to distance. I always feel that distance is more when I am going to a destination than when I am coming back home. Perhaps like time, even the distance -and space -is also relative. Einstein famously defined relativity as, “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. THAT'S relativity.” I guess our notion of distance is entangled with notion of time. Otherwise why would you have a unit of distance with the name light year? In the matter of hearts though, the concept of distance is even more fascinating. Sometimes the distance brings people closer to each other. Conversely, at times, too much closeness separates them beyond any hope of reunion. Like a Bolywood song’s line goes, jyada najdeekiyon me hote hai dooriyon ke ishaare. Poets are, in a way, scientists whose research topic is the human heart and emotions.

Then you always meet some people who inspire you in some way or make your day or simply introduce some good side of humans which you failed to notice till now. In another journey, I was waiting for the train to start. A beggar suddenly showed his face from outside the window and asked for money. His face evoked pity in me. As a matter of principle I do not give money to beggars because there are even business racquets running around begging and you can never tell if someone is a genuine beggar or in business of begging. I turned away from him. Just then I saw the person in the opposite seat taking a 10 rupee note out of his shirt pocket, making rounds of it on his son’s head and giving it to the beggar. By no means it looked as if he was from a well-to-do family. He was there to see off his wife and the child. From his khakhi shirt, I assume he was an autowala. He was laughing and playing with his son and making light fun of his wife. He was happy and loving. I did not understand what drove him to such generosity. May be love makes people generous. Or he just understood the value of 10 rupees and how it could help the beggar. Poor people are rich in hearts anyway.

On the same journey, I was fiddling around the next day. It was afternoon and I had no intention of having lunch inside the train. Though the train food stops short of it sucks, it is never tasty to call for second eating. A waiter came asking if I needed food, and i just glanced above, all prepared to say no. But the words escaped my mouth! The broad, innocent and unpretentious smile he carried over his face was overpowering. The grin was so wide, I thought even his grey moustache was also smiling along with it and it made his eyes sparkle with delight. It was kind of smile which made you believe the world is in perfect order. I ordered the food, not for the sake of food but to see him smiling again. Remembering that face makes me smile even these days. Some faces have that positive effect on you. And that is the promise and potential a train journey always holds.

The City of Dreams

2011-01-21T00:54:00.001-08:00

The city of Mumbai always seems different. The country within a country. The paradoxes, which are so much part of every day Indian life, are accentuated to grander proportions like the ever-rising skyline in the city. The city where the most of the autowalas are young and the most of the taxiwalas are old. The rich and poor walk the streets of this unending city side by side. It boasts of the country’s richest citizens as well the largest slum in Asia. The dazzling Bollywood keeps churning over-the-top, larger-than-life masala movies while the dark underbelly of the city holds its own with its unspeakable and unimaginable enterprises. One comes to the city dreaming of sleeping in a king-size bed and ends up sleeping on a roadside pavement. One spends his full life dreaming of a palace in a one bedroom flat. Dreams -born…battered…shattered…crashed like the wavelets crashed into the stones lining the Marine drive and reduced to tiny pieces…born again. When I got down at the CST(erstwhile Victoria Terminus), my eyes were sparkling with one such dream – the dream of finishing my first Mumbai Marathon in my target time of 4 hours and 30 mins. Though I am not a complete novice in the marathon circuits, this was going to be my first globally recognized marathon, an IAAF(International Association of Athletics Federation) Gold event. To run in a city which never falls short of producing exciting encounters was a long time desire. Speaking of dreams, while taking a walk towards Marine drive in the evening before the marathon, Gopal put his wisdom hat –he does that often- and came up with a gem of a quote, We do everything twice: once when we dream about it and second time when we actually see its manifestation in reality. It was time to do it again!

The soft early-morning breeze caresses me as I walk towards the start line. The voices are beaming in an expectant air. Azad Maidan is getting filled with runners from all over the country and world. We click a customary pre-race picture. It also happens to be our first 12m12m marathon and everyone is hoping for the impressive start. Just before the flag off, Prakhar wishes everyone Personal Best. Only with the benefit of retrospection will we come to know and appreciate how genuine and hearty it was! As we start from the CST towards Flora Fountain, I see some enthusiastic runners sprinting their ways to the front, shouldering fellow runners aside and causing some discomfort. The dawn has not broken yet, so the halogen street lamps show us the way. As I near Marine Drive, the smell of the sea lights my heart. We take left towards the Trident hotel. From Trident, we take –turn towards Girgaon Chowpatty. Regulars are taking stroll along the Marine Drive, otherwise there is not much activity except the marathon. The city never sleeps, but the citizens are still nestling in the comforts of their beds. A group of children is performing Marathi dance to cheer the runners on the way. Another group is singing melodious Bollywood songs. Going little further, a Punjabi group is performing Bhangra dance. All the while, the speakers set up by the Radio Mirchi, one of the partners of the marathon, are playing the marathon anthem. From Girgaon Chowpatty, we head towards the Peddar Road. I overhear a shop owner telling to his bemused friend who cannot figure out why we are running that this is an annual affair and runners will come back on the same road in an hour! Not so soon, my friend! Not before at least another two hours. I complete my 10K in around 50 mins, and feel positive of achieving my target. The sun slowly lights up the sea as we move towards the Haji Ali Dargah. I hear chirping and notice the presence of the birds which I thought never existed in Mumbai before. A group of birds take dip into water for early morning hunt, before others join in, same like the people do here. I remember another gem uttered by Gopal: If you cannot beat it, join it.

As I reach near the INS Trata circle, we are joined by the half marathon runners, who have started their pursuit from Bandra. The road is almost blocked. I slow down, unwillingly, to find my way out of the crowd. After about a couple of kilometers, the crowd withers out and the road is all again mine. Running in a road race in a city of 20 millions make you feel like an emperor for the day. People clap for you, support you on the way, there are security cops all around and you just keep marching towards your finish line. The spectators are increasing in the numbers on the way as they wake up to the news of the marathon. The street is getting narrower, and the rush of spectators only make it look more so. I observe an aged person watching me from the window of his first floor house, staring directly into my eyes. Those eyes speak of hope and delight.

I finish the half distance just then, as the two hour mark is approaching. After the Bandra Fire Brigade Station, my garmin announces two hours mark, and the distance I covered is 23 KM. Suddenly there is temptation to do it in less than 4 hours as there is only 19 KM left to cover. My legs start moving faster, but the moment I enter the Bandra Worli Sealink, The reality hits hard. The gradual climb is not helping, as well as the fact that we all are exposed to the sun directly. There is no shade, no tree-cover. I try to gather my spirits and strength, but remain wanting. I stop running and start walking after 24 KM. The sealink is about 7 KM long, and I slow down considerably there. The 4 hour temptation still looms large, and I try to run with vigor but give up almost instantly. On a side note, the marathon is a blend of ancient and modern, as it covers some of the colonial monuments as well as the modern veins of lifeline of the city. The end of the sealink takes near eternity to reach, but once it’s crossed, there is new lease of life in the legs. I speed up for a while, and again return to walk-and-run after a KM. The route from here is same as we took in the morning, in opposite direction. The Peddar Road is now a sea of humanity as people from all ages and walks of life reach out to runners. Children, dressed in colors and nature of help, line up with chocolates and biscuits and bananas and oranges and smile. I take a glass of water from a kid and he just runs away to bring the next glass. A cute 5-year old girl is so happy when I take chocolate from her that she cannot stop talking to his parents about it. They also try to clean the road off litter if a runner happens to throw some on the way. I understand now why it is so easy to fall in love with this city. Those who come here becomes part of it, and the city part of them, and if they ever leave, unwillingly so, they leave their inseparable part here. The famous spirit of Mumbai is at its exaggerated best.

When I re-enter Marine Drive, after some 38 KM of run and walk, the festive mood is all over it. The Dream Run is going on and some 20000 people have thronged to participate. The seaside is occupied by different bands, most notably the Indian Navy band, and dance groups and everyone is singing and dancing and cheering. There is sea of runners on the road and the spectators on the side as if to challenge the Arabian Sea. For a while I forget that my legs refuse to move because of the surrounding extravaganza. Mohan greets me there – he has already finished his half marathon in less than 2 hours – and prod me to go for sub-4 hour finish. By then my garmin shows 3 hours and 54 mins and there is still 3 more KM to go. I give up of finishing in less than 4 hours, but still is on course for less than 4:30. I keep waving at the Dream Run runners, many of them running for the charity purpose. After crossing Flora Fountain, I dash off for the finish line. As it comes near, the muscles pull stronger, albeit with pain. The voice of the spectators rise with every step I take and that gives me extra fuel to do more. In a flash, the finish line is crossed, with an impressive timing of 4:10:31, my personal best. I have lived a dream. The body takes rest on the wall of a nearby building, but the mind celebrates gleefully. And another seed of dream is sown in that most fertile land…

The ‘Perfect’ Birthday

2010-12-31T07:14:00.001-08:00

I am generally not very ecstatic about my birthdays. I don’t consider them very special or exciting enough, except the fact that I get to talk to the most of my friends on the same day. It is not that I don’t like to celebrate, or shy away from throwing parties. I just don’t think that only a birthday is a special day. Everyday is a special day, in fact every moment is! Nature doesn’t act any differently on these so-called special days like showering one with flowers or money! Only way it makes you feel special is by your friends. Biologically there are always some dying cells and new-born cells to replace them instantly, so theoretically one dies and is born every moment. Psychologically you are born with new understanding every moment. So it is uncharacteristic, as well as amusing, that I am very excited about my birthday this year as I turn 28. There are a couple of reasons for that, one founded in literature and the other in mathematics.

What I found in literature : My office friends gifted me Thomas Hardy’s classic Far From the Madding Crowd on my last birthday, but not before I treated them for lunch. Lousy friends I have. Love them all! I have a firm belief that every event and every thing has some significance in your life. That day I could not comprehend what significance this book would have in future. I did not get chance to read it until just before my following birthday. The description of certain farmer Oak bemused me and made me eager to wait for the day when I turn 28. It reminds me of myself. Here is that apt and very beautiful passage:

“He had just reached the time of life at which "young" is ceasing to be the prefix of "man" in speaking of one. He was at the brightest period of masculine growth, for his intellect and his emotions were clearly separated: he had passed the time during which the influence of youth indiscriminately mingles them in the character of impulse, and he had not yet arrived at the stage wherein they become united again, in the character of prejudice, by the influence of a wife and family. In short, he was twenty-eight, and a bachelor.”

What the mathematics provided : Pythagorean Brotherhood was fascinated by numbers – Pythagoras proudly declared that Everything is Number – and among the numbers, they were after the very special and rarest numbers, called the perfect numbers. A perfect number is a positive number whose divisors exactly add up to the number itself. The first perfect number is 6, because 1, 2, and 3 are its proper positive divisors, and 1 + 2 + 3 = 6. The next perfect number, adding to my excitement, is 28, because 1 + 2 + 4 + 7 + 14 = 28 :) In other words, the perfection is achieved not when there is nothing to add, but when there is nothing to remove. These perfect numbers comply to that definition because adding the divisors just make the same number again, nothing more, nothing less.

The perfection of 6 and 28 is also acknowledged by some cultures who observed that the moon orbits the earth every 28 days and who declared that God created the world in 6 days. When I was 6, I was too young to appreciate this perfection and the next perfect number is 496, which I will not live to see unless I am blessed with immortality. So 28 remains to be the sole celebration of perfection in my current life. Let there be celebration galore!

The Silence of the Lamb

2010-12-26T03:41:00.001-08:00

One of the finest scenes of Yash Chopra’s memorable movie Silsila comes when Dr. Anand (Sanjeev Kumar) and Shobha (Jaya Bachchan) are chatting in the doctor’s clinic. Both of them are aware of their spouses’ clandestine affair. The good-natured doctor advises Shobha to exercise her right and plunge into action. In return, Shobha asks him, “Aur raja kya kar rahe hai?”, referring him as raja, and obviously showing dissatisfaction over his lack of action. That moment the palpable pain and helplessness over his face is enormous. He is drowned in silence. Whenever I see Prime Minister Dr. Manmohan Singh, I am reminded of that scene.

The recent unearthing of some corruption scams have been quite uncomfortable for the PM. The two most striking ones are CWG scam and 2G spectrum scam. They obviously have dented the image of the country on the global front. Together they might reveal the graft of 200000 crores. But the statistics only does not reveal the true nature of wrongdoing. What is really unnerving is that these scams had gone on for many years, right under the nose of the PM. By no means, I am accusing him of graft. To his credit, even his staunchest enemies would not dare to blame him for corruption. He is incorruptible, and that is given. It is not possible that he was not aware of the scams much before the world came to know about it. He chose to remain silent over the whole episodes arises a suspicion in the mind that he was privy and gave his approval. What baffles me is his silence on these matters.

He has been silent for too long. Silence is golden, but it ceases to be a virtue if not backed by right action. Then you become object of public ridicule. Remember the joke doing rounds on internet - Regarding 2G Manmohan Singh said "I know only 2G -that are RahulG and SoniaG"? The PM’s credibility is at stack. You cannot claim your right to remain silent when you are a leader of a country of 1.2 billion people. Nor can you find relief in the fact that you were performing your dharma with utmost sincerity, barring these incidents. In more than one ways, his is the situation akin to that of Bhishma in epic Mahabharata. Like Bhishma, he decides to do his duty selflessly, but for the wrong side (the sides are not the political parties, – they are all same -but the people of the country and their betrayers). In that way he has betrayed the country. All he has to offer is that like Caeser’s wife, the PM should also be free of suspicion. The problem, Mr Singh, is that in the country where family values are still revered, the whole family of Caeser’s wife is expected to be free of suspicion.

Being a PM, he is answerable to the people of the country. By some strange and misplaced sense of duty, the PM thinks that he is only answerable to Sonia Gandhi because she put him into that seat of power in 2004 by renouncing the crown. No, Mr PM, you were not given any favor but you were favored because of your clean image. There was no one else who could have claimed that. Sonia, in fact, did not renounce the power; she renounced the responsibility. In the current arrangement, she decides the policies and portfolios while the PM gets all the blame for anything which is not right. That was the reason A Raja was made telecom minister again in 2009 in spite of Manmohan Singh’s opposition. Politics certainly has some place for theatrics. Atal Bihari Vajpayee showed that when he threatened to resign and got his way when he was PM. It’s time Manmohan Singh follows his predecessor.

The country is suffering because of these unwanted happenings and there are not many people we can hope to provide the beacon of light – Rahul Gandhi is also busy dividing the people of the country like many others, Narendra Modi is busy taunting Congress leaders, Advani is busy bringing Uma Bharati back in BJP and other leaders are busy strengthening their little pockets of power. True that the night is the darkest before the dawn, but there is a lingering question in mind – Kya is raat ki subah hogi?

The Ultra Special

2010-12-18T04:44:00.001-08:00

Waking up with a burden of history is no good feeling. And I had twins to tackle with the day I woke up for the Bangalore Ultra Marathon 2010. One, I was going as a reigning champion in the 37.5 KM category. Victory feels sweet the day you taste it but also puts you under the pressure of expectations, from your well-wishers as well as from yourself, the next time you compete. My change of category from 37.5 KM to 50 KM not withstanding, I somehow could not rid my mind of that fact, though I always considered that win a favor from fortunes. Second, more importantly, was the recent incident of bonking when I had severe back pain as well as feeling of intense exhaustion while training for the Ultra. I stopped after 36 KM that fateful day, feeling terribly dejected. The pain ruled so much over my mind that I tried, with little success, to show it an exit door thru a poem. Then there was that niggle in my left knee, which frequently gives me scare. In short, it was a terrible state to be in.

The race started at 6 AM, during that period of twilight when the darkness gives way for the light. As the runners got into their rhythm and pace, I found myself running with Ajith, a fellow from my runnerhood. The sky was clean and cloudless, and the sun peeped over the green meadows and hillocks. Something in that sun was telling me that it was going to be a hot day. Ajith also agreed to that. The mood was rapturous among the runners, not fully aware of the sun’s plans, as they kept on chatting and cheering. My anxieties started vanishing, rather slowly like the pace I was running at, watching the proceedings around me. A little while later, the history was history again and the pain became just another four letter word. When you hit the road, nothing matters but the present. Running, or any other sport for that matter, helps one achieve what the zen philosophers and psychologists always profess – live in the moment. The mind, however, has too many doors to escape. One of the important psychological studies this year shows that Just about half of the average person's time is spent "mind wandering". My mind wandered in the world of the words, especially the four letter words, and could not stop observing how some of the four letter words have profound effect on life(itself one of those words) – love. luck, fate, will, pain...even f**k.

All this while, I kept on looking at the fellow runners and noticing their efforts. During the first round, the runners greeted each other with loud cheers. As they grinded themselves further, the greetings became less ecstatic and more subtle. In the end, one only moved his eyes to say the most. There is unwritten pact between runners to acknowledge the agony and ecstasy of running. The camaraderie keeps growing during the thin and thick of the running. The 12m12m which we will embark on next year is born out of such camaraderie.

By the time I finished the half distance, the sun was ruthless in its pursuit of sucking energy from the runners. Mai, a Motorola colleague, who came all the way from US to run one of the best ultra marathons in the world, was all red and struggling to keep her heartbeat. The effect was evident on the other runners also. The Bangalore weather was considered to be the biggest advantage for this illustrious event but this year it sprung a surprise not many people were ready for. In the end many people would give up their challenge in what was later believed to be the toughest Bangalore Ultra Marathon till date. The recent training in late mornings and afternoons certainly helped me a lot in reducing the effect of the heat. Along with that I carefully kept eating oranges and bananas and glucose biscuits to fuel the engine. The bigger challenge was to keep the monotony out of the equation which results from 4 rounds of 12.5 KM each. To that effect, I planned to utilize ipod in the last round to listen to songs which could give me some boost. How well it worked that day! I finished the distance after 5 hours and 35 minutes. That being my first ultra marathon distance(anything more than 42.195 KM), I thought I did pretty well. The heart still rejoices for finishing my first ultra distance. But the icing on the cake is the realization that the past and pain are just the bystanders which you can choose not to heed.

The Garden of Life

2010-11-07T09:43:00.000-08:00

Though I admit that I prefer solitude or a company of one or two friends most of the times, there invariably are times when I get bored being in company of myself and there are no friends around to seek the immediate meeting. In those times, my hands automatically search for my ipod shuffle, and the feet effortlessly march towards the nearby garden. And why not! There are so many signs of life in the garden that one can hardly remain aloof – plants and trees dancing to the tunes of the wind, children running around and playing all sorts of games, elder people chatting or indulging in the laughter sessions and joggers performing their routine. Today being one of those days, I end up in the garden looking for revival of my mood.

I find an empty bench to sit on. The sun is fast winding up its day behind my back. While my ipod sets into rhythm of its own, the gardener comes and turns on the rotating sprinkler to water the lawn. The spread of the sprinkler is little more than what is required so it succeeds in spraying the benches in the opposite row. One of the benches is occupied by two little girls, 5-6 years old I assume. They try to duck the water but break into laughter whenever the water wins the duel. Their giggles and the resultant unadulterated joy attract attention of everyone present there. Aware of this attention, they blush which makes the whole act even more attractive.

On the right side of them, three friends, a couple and their male friend, are busy performing their own part. The man of the couple collects some green leaves lying nearby and makes a bandana out of it. He puts it on the head of his love interest. The lady then mocks a winner of a beauty pageant. She is crowned as the beauty queen and her friends cheer her. Her happiness makes me wonder if she really was crowned Ms World or Ms Universe or something like that. Thinking more about it, she is really the beauty queen of her own small world! Every man is a king, every woman is a queen. You do not require crowns of pearls and diamonds to realize that. A bunch of leaves can do that for you. Your kingdom is around you. After all, the best kings and queens rule the hearts.

My mind soon travels from palaces to playground as I notice some children playing. All of them are involved in ball games. The youngest of them are playing with light inflated rubber ball. They pass each other the ball with their tiny hands and run for it on their tiny legs if somebody fails to catch it. If a new kid comes, they include him without any hassles and the game goes on. The situation is different with the elder children, though they are also playing similar ball game. I get the impression that they are school going children. Everyone tries to throw the ball the farthest, everyone tries to be first to catch it and no one wants to pass it or include a kid who is not familiar. I cannot help but thinking if our education system has something to do with it. We have made it so competitive that every situation is being looked at as a race or competition and we have forgotten the idea of community or sharing. Probably those younger children can teach us more about it.

A kid cuts short this race of thoughts. He comes running, shakes hands with me and then repeats the ordeal with others. His shoes dazzle with green and red lights as he stamps the floor. After shaking hand with one person, he looks around, finds yet another person to shake hands with, smiles at him and runs towards him. There is no caution in his steps, just long and carefree steps. Like a branch of a wild tree which grows unabatedly without any notion of boundary or limit, the kid follows his heart and extends his warmth to everyone. With a delightful coincidence, my ipod plays Taare Zameen Par.

A puddle elsewhere meanwhile continues its pleading for consideration. The shadows of the trees make its water green. A few yellow flowers are bathing leisurely in it. A kid comes running and splashes water around by jumping frenetically inside the water. His mother, not amused by his undertaking, comes and scolds him but is unable to drag him out of the water. While the kid continues frolicking, his mother looks worried and keeps babbling about cleanliness and health. Pity us grown-ups: the kids have all the fun while we remain apprehensive about the surroundings.

In a flash the heavy wind blows up, bringing the dark clouds of rain. Umbrellas are open and those without one start searching for cover. The rain pours in buckets and tanks now while I remain standstill on the joggers’ track. It’s the sheer joy of catching rain, like a chance meeting with a long lost friend or an unexpected gain! Water trickles down my head and face and makes its way inside my clothes. A chill runs down my spine and the body is shaken uncontrollably but I refuse to give up my position. The ipod has uncanny knack of playing the right songs and it does not fail to exhibit terrific timing this time also. It plays Gunja Sa Hai Koi Iktaara. Eyes closed, I listen to the song as well as the sound of the rain and I feel as if I am transported to some different world. I am completely drenched – outside from rain and inside from the bliss. It is inevitable that the mind is impregnated with a seed of a dream. The words of Baawra Mann Dekhne Chala Ek Sapna fill my ears and the heart.

The Story of a Flower

2010-11-02T06:03:00.000-07:00

This is the story of a flower --

It got its blue color from its father - the sky

Mother Earth nurtured it, and raised it high;

The passing wind cradled it in its arms

The rain showered it in purity and filled its palms;

Thus born and blossomed, it was the most beautiful thing around

For a sheer glimpse of it, the people flocked abound;

It was the object of portrayal for many a painter

And made its place in every sculpture;

Scores of honeybees drank from its cup of nectar

The birds rushed in chorus to compose their twitter;

The wind carried its fragrance to far and wide

The garden enjoyed its popularity with pride;

Then came a day when it died

The inconsolable creatures cried;

The death, though, could only touch the body

It lived in the memories in spite of the tragedy;

It was a short but significant life

Worthy of all adulation and love.

An end to this pain

2010-10-25T05:24:00.000-07:00

O alien! This is not your abode,
You belong to the planet where screams and nightmares rule;

Say me hi, if you really insist,
But rush off to say bye in the same breath;

Yours are not the ways I wish to tread on,
Nor hit the wall they ultimately end on;

Pain, pain go away! Pain, pain go away!
But before you go -- make me strong, show me way!

Waka Waka Finale

2010-07-12T10:24:00.000-07:00

Curiously enough Waka means poetry in Japanese and quite fittingly the poetic display of Spanish team won them the FIFA World Cup 2010. The intricate passing, ability to play in the triangular formations, supernatural awareness of their teammates’ positions, patient build-up of highest quality and belief in their type of football got the La Furia Roja (The Red Fury) their first world cup. The team shed the tag of perennial under-achievers to put the most coveted trophy on the earth alongside their Euro 2008 crown. They still under-achieved in terms of number of goals they scored in the tournament. For a team which averaged 3 goals per match in 10 qualifying matches, 8 goals in 7 matches was definitely below par. But had the football been only about the goals, the game would be decided in the 10 minutes of penalty shootout rather than 90 minutes of tactical brilliance.

The signs could have not been more ominous in the beginning. Their most potent striker, Fernando Torres, was nursing injury and was not at his best. They lost in their first match against Switzerland which only knew how to unfailingly block the ever raging Spanish bulls. History was against them as no team which lost their initial match in the world cup ever went on to win the trophy. But the history is made by those who dare to believe. The signs were already there in that match. They kept working on the passes; they kept their cool and showed indefatigable will to trust their brand of football. As the tournament progressed, they got better and better. It was like a beautiful orchestra. Sadly it never reached to its rightful crescendo.

They were destined to be winners. This golden generation of Spanish football has all the qualities which make a team successful. They have the most creative midfielders in the world – Xavi and Iniesta. Xavi completed the highest percentage of passes in the championship. He was the master orchestrator. Iniesta was fast, imaginative and subtle – in a sort of poetic justice, he scored the winning goal in the final. He was omni-present throughout the tournament. He was in left, right and center, on flanks, in attacking positions and in defending positions. The opposition must have feared him the most as he might hold the distinction of being fouled the maximum number of times. In Xabi Alonso and Busquets, they have the best of the holding midfielders. While Torres left his shooting shoes somewhere in Spain, David Villa came to the fore. Sergio Ramos ran like a mad bull and perhaps deserved many goals, and still managed to perform his defensive duty with exceptional accuracy. Capdavila was so efficient that he almost managed to go unnoticed. Piquet and Puyol made sure that they could defend a slightest margin of one goal. When everything else failed, there was captain Iker Casillas who again proved that he is the best goalie in the world. All the reserve players were so good that it was injustice to leave them on bench, but such was talent in this side. Llorente was remarkable in league stage, Pedro entertained in semifinal and Navas and Febregas illuminated the Soccer City in the final. Then there was grand old guiding force behind the Spanish armada - Vicente Del Bosque.

In a country fiercely fragmented, the credit goes to Del Bosque, a Madrid coach, to lead the team which consisted mainly of Catalonia players and a few from Madrid, Basque and Canary Islands to the glory. The country is already reeling under financial turmoil and touted to be the next ‘Greek’ tragedy. But the win gave them something to rejoice and revel in. There was everything Spanish about the win. They played like a team. They showed great respect for the head of the family (the coach). They were selfless (almost, as Pedro showed his selfish side against Germany in the semifinal, and immediately got retributive justice in the form of substitution) – so much selfless that the midfielders wanted to pass even when they were in the sight of the goal. Iniesta and Xavi were like monks in the garb of footballers. Following Bhagwad Geeta’s immortal philosophy, they continued performing their karma without any visible wish for the fruits. They showed how the beautiful game should be played. When there was scare in the final, San Casillas (Saint Casillas) saved them to elevate his status from a saint to a god. Iniesta’s message on his jersey was a great tribute to Dani Jarque who dies last year: Dani Jarque siempre con nosotros ( Jarque, You are always with us).

I have a complaint though. My biggest worries for the final were not founded in my fear of seeing the side losing. I knew they cannot be defeated if they play the way only they can. It was about the aggressive physical play of the Dutch. Within first couple of minutes, Robie Van Persie jabbed Busquets behind his knee without any intention of playing the ball. A few minutes later, Mark Van Bommel came rushing and slid to dispossess Iniesta from behind. No wonder Van Bommel is hated by the opposition fans wherever he plays his club football. The Dutch dedicated themselves to gamesmanship against the beautiful game of their opponents. As Van Bommel went down, he carried on Iniesta with him. It was that natural human folly grounded in the envy – I will get down but make sure you accompany me. De Jong kicked Alonso in his chest as if to prove that they were in a bout of wrestling. And it was form of WWE because the Dutch were good actors also. Quite predictably Spain responded the way the Dutch wanted – by reciprocating, though not as pugnaciously but still uncharacteristically. The team which got only three yellow cards in their first 7 matches got 5 more in the final game (though I do not understand what prompted the Yorkshire referee to give card to Xavi, and Iniesta was carded for removing his jersey after celebrating the goal). The Dutch surely got better of the Spain there, getting 1 red card and 7 yellow cards. A world record for total number of cards in a final. I remembered the match between Portugal and the Netherlands in the previous world cup when they wrestled with each other in the infamous match.

My fascination for Spanish team was born out of the fair play they demonstrated and rightly rewarded with fair play award in the 2006 edition of the tournament. They shared the honors then with Brazil. Though they even denied sharing the fair play award with anyone this time, I wish they had less yellow cards in the final or no cards at all. Agreed that the Dutch started it all and the Spain were dragged into the brawl, but they should have displayed the same hermit like qualities with which they won my heart. For once Iniesta was flustered by the Dutch sandwiching him anywhere and everywhere. As Gandhiji put it, the means to an end is as important as the end itself, though they won all fair and square. A little more fairness and beauty would not have harmed. One word for the Dutch – the will to win got them into the tactic to play physically aggressive but they showed great character when they refused to play the corner when jabulani jump beat Casillas and also the respect they showed for the winner before the victory march in the ground. That prompts me to think that there is nothing like black and white, in football in particular and in life in general. Like in Marodana’s beard and suit, there is shade of grey in everything.

It was necessary for them to win to show the world that you can win fairly and beautifully and can still gain respect of your opponents. The match with Germans was the best of the tournament when it came to fair play. There lies the hope for the future – both Spain and German teams are quite young and if they continued playing fair and with flair, the beautiful game will win many more hearts. They will represent all the good there is in football. As the game goes to Brazil from South Africa, the Samba dance will take over after 4 years. One just hopes that the sound of the irritable vuvuzela dies soon and the fair play never does.

Out in a City Market

2010-07-09T09:59:00.000-07:00

The Saturday morning is fulfilling its promise of non-stop reading the newspaper without any thought of getting ready and going to office. While I find myself lost between the colorful pages, the phone ring brings me back from the world of newsprint. I answer without looking at the screen to see who the caller is. “Ready for an adventure?” asks the caller. It is Mihir on the other side. “What?” I am startled by this sudden inquiry from a person for whom the only real adventure lies in gulping pitchers of beer down in as less time as possible and it’s still too early to go to a pub! In that state of bafflement, I still ask what kind of adventure he is referring though I am sure about the answer. But it turns out to be a different one. He wants me to accompany him to City Market. Now for those who think that going to a market does not qualify as an adventure, it will be good to know that in the world where we do most of the shopping online, visiting small and crowded shops in narrow alleys of a bustling market and bargaining about everything gives you some sense of adventure. I have been hoping to visit the market for a long time and grab the opportunity at first go.

Along with the obvious cost-advantage, these markets also offer the charm of old world: criss-crossing of streets, frantic negotiating of vendors and buyers, an occasional roadblock by a cow or a hand-cart, people rushing like ants and delight of some tasty street food. Our shopping list includes dry fruits, books, spices and thermocol balls (you heard it right, the tiny balls with which a bean bag is stuffed). Not surprisingly, the market has designated streets for different items: there is a street for spices, for dry fruits, for books, for sarees, for clothes and on and on. The trouble is that we do not know the names of these streets or their locations. We just decide to roam around and find our way somehow. We start with the dry fruits as the quantity is less and it also empties the wallet faster. We just need to unburden, don’t we?

The spices market is really the extension of the street where we find the dry fruits. You cannot miss it as the smell of the Indian spices is unmistakable. That moment you realize what really drew Vasco de Gama to India five centuries back: it was not the temptation of gold; it was the smell of the famed Indian spices over the oceanic air. The closure of the spice route must have been crisis for the Europeans from which they had to bail themselves out if they wanted to add spice to their lives. For a few moments I breathed more pepper, chilly and turmeric than oxygen! Mihir comes up with this patentable idea of inventing cameras which can capture images as well as smell. Very imaginative but I hope it does not happen else people will never get out of their couch in their air-conditioned rooms once they capture the smell.

Cubbonpet delights us beyond limit. We want a coffee/tea break and there is no better place than the one we have just hit. Curiously named Indian Coffee Bar, the place serves exquisite South Indian filtered coffee (as per Mihir’s testimony as I do not drink coffee). Mihir is ecstatic, again, for the idea of combining a bar and café together which can serve finely brewed beer and filtered coffee, both his favorite drinks. We also buy some coffee powder from the opposite shop and observe the big machine eating the coffee beans and grinding it to powder form.

While roaming around, we find the shop which sells thermocol balls. The shop is full of the little things for decoration and parties. From every corner, the glossy and funky specimens are dangling above your head. We buy two big packets, each around 3 feet high. The tiny ultra-white balls shine through the thin transparent plastic cover. As we head for the Avenue Street (the book market), someone pokes a hole in one of the plastic covers. Mihir goes back to the shop to get the cellotape while I wait outside when the other plastic bag also decides to give company to its cousin. We somehow patch both the bags but the thin plastic remains a constant threat.

Avenue Street is the place to buy the books for schools/colleges. Mihir has a long list of Computer Engineering books to buy so I wait outside the shop with the bags of thermocol balls. The fun begins now. Within seconds the bright thermocol balls seduce the onlookers. They become the object of their curiosity. Everybody wants to know why I have bought two full bags. A few of them want to know the price. A fellow - obviously inspired by the Indian film industry – assumes that the plastic balls are going to be used in a wedding scene in some movie. He wants to know the movie name. I unsuccessfully look for a place I can hide behind to fend off the questions. Luckily Mihir does not take too long and I survive the onslaught of the questioning brigade.

It takes a while to reach to the place where we have parked the bike from the Avenue Street. Chikpet, Balepet, Nagrathpet, Tharaupet and many more streets are on the way. On every corner or cross-road, I try to put the image in my memory so that I can call upon these images when I need to visit it again, though I am quite sure I will not remember it; not for my memory will abandon me but because what I see embodies beautiful chaos and there is no fix pattern to chaos which you can recollect. As a pillion rider, my duty is to hold those two bags containing thermocol balls on my lap, one on each side. They completely shield me from both the sides so much that only my back is visible. If someone sees Mihir driving from front, she will imagine that he is propelled by two white cylindrical engines on the back of the bike. I have more romantic version though. Remember that poster of a popular Bollywood movie, in which that lady with a soft voice, Karishma Kapoor, and ever-smiling Madhuri Dikshit are in arms of SRK on each side. I, in fact, have fairer beauties on my lap – the Karishmas and Madhuris of the world are pale in comparison to those white balls. And the plastic covers give them a transparent skin. My mother once told us a story in which a beauty of a princess was described in terms of her transparent skin: when she drank water, one could see the water rushing down her throat. Such was her skin! This is by no means to suggest that I am SRK (!!!) but when a 3 arms length plastic bag full of mushy balls can be Mrs. Nene, nothing seems too far-fetched. And ultimately, dil to pagal hai! Enough of the silly fiction! Our SRK falls flat when the bike stops at Church Street on Brigade Road. Mihir wants to have coffee at recently moved Coffee House.

In a friendly gesture, I give one of my dashing girlfriends to him, for the time being, of course. Coffee house has changed the building, but still it feels the same as the old time. But my mind keeps nagging me that there is something really eerie about the place. It takes a while for me to figure out that it’s not as much about the Coffee House as the company we used to be with. Before career, family or ambition moved many friends to different cities, we used to come here in a big gang. There were constant blabbing and fights and discussions. I can still hear the chatter as if it happened the day before. I am happy at least Mihir is there. What the place will resemble when there is no one to sip coffee there from that happy bunch of people who formed my world then? A cemetery…may be. A ruined palace…perhaps. Time brews us all. That’s the bitter truth.

Fortunately some people cannot allow you to be sad. Mihir is one of them. My cup of grief is empty before he finishes his. We head back for home. On the way the mouth of one of the bag is open and I am not aware of it. A scooter-rider points to that. Before my fair lady dismembers into white spray like a falling star, I manage to shut the mouth off. The bags reach to the house safely, and so do we. We stuff the bean bag. By virtue of carrying the bags, I earn the right to dump myself on the bean bag whenever I am in the house. I do not waste much time to use that privilege. There certainly is fun in being a lazy bum once in a while.

Up and Close with Nandi Hills

2010-07-01T06:30:00.001-07:00

It was Sabine’s idea to go to Nandi Hills, some 45 KM from Bangalore, and run from the base to the peak. As she put it, one can run/walk/crawl but should not stop on the way – what matters is the moving feet on the road. I needed a change from my routine running routes, so happily agreed to the proposal. Owing to the habit of my cook coming very late in the night, I could not sleep before midnight and I seriously doubted if I could run uphill after waking up early in the morning, deprived of much-needed rest before the run. Eventually when the morning arrived, rather too early at 4 AM, I woke up, feeling extremely good and light. I knew then it was going to be a great run.

We reached to GKVK at 5:15 after picking up Gopal from his home. There were more people than I imagined. Sabine was preparing for 100 KM Ultra run and this run was part of her uphill training. Sunil Chainani, the director of FabIndia, already ran 100 KM in previous Bangalore Ultra Marathon and is veteran long-distance runner now. Sindhu and Jagdish are regulars at GKVK and we often get to see them on the running trail. Then there was Rajesh, and another Rajesh and the third one could not join that day! Prakhar, Gopal and I completed the contingent. We set off from GKVK at 5:30 and reached the Nandi Hills base at 6:05.

Light had already started loosening the evil grip of darkness by the time we started running. It is actually a 7 KM tarred road from the base to the top and you go from 1000 meters at base to around 1450 meters at top. There are 41 curves; many of them sharp hair-pin bends. The initial half of the route is consistently and gradually increasing gradient. I started slow, but still found myself leading the peck. After about half a kilometer, my lungs already started working overtime. But the weather was beautiful; air fresh and rejuvenating. The monsoon had clearly set its sight on the hills, it seemed so, as all the hills were covered by the thick clouds as if they actually made the mountains! It was pretty sight to watch brown and green hills clad in the grey and silver clouds. Wind, though blowing in my face at times making running difficult, encouraged the trees to whistle and dance in early morning spectacle. The shrubs smelled of fresh rain and there was no stopping of cheerful little birds chirping and running wild.

I continued running without stopping for water after half-way. Prakhar convinced his driver to support us on our way, so we made his car a mobile support. We put all our water bottles and eatables in his car and the driver stopped and waited at some points on the way so we could get what we needed from the car. That relieved us from the trouble of carrying water in our hands. As I crossed 5 KM mark, I saw a fickle sign of the sun between the clouds. Surprisingly it was not crimson red or orange or golden. It donned the silver attire to go with the theme. I was happy that it was too shy to come out that day. That kept at least the trouble of heat out of our equation.

It has become custom in India to paint the names and messages on rocks, and it was no different in Nandi Hills. Someone had decided to proclaim his love for a girl, so he would draw a heart, put an arrow within and write the name of his love-interest. Cupid game or stupid game, I asked? Then there was painting of the most famous and omnipresent of the all Gods in India, Hanuman, carrying the Sanjeevani Mountain to revive Lakshman. I thought about the Hindu Gods; a monkey is the most famous God and an avatar of Shiva, a turtle and a fish are made into Gods, cow is considered to be a mother, every God having an animal as His vehicle, there are temples on every reachable mountain top. What do all these suggest? Our ancestors were wise enough to carve an image of God in every life form and build temples in such places so that we could preserve the environment. It gives sanctity to the cause of the environment protection. There is so much to learn from the ancient wisdom.

The clouds got darker and thicker as I moved up. The gradient was steeper now and wind blew heavily. The winding hair-pin bends became pain now and I was almost jogging. As I turned after 6 KM mark on a sharp turn, I heard a few dogs barking. I passed by those dogs a few moments back. The noise got louder with each passing second. When I turned back, I found army of 4 dogs chasing me. I had to stop against my wish because they were adamant and relentless in their pursuit to slow me down from my slower than slowest speed. When I started running again, they started their chase again. I had no option but to walk for a while. But what I experienced was amazing. Water droplets started trickling in. The valley looked beautiful in rain from distance. The wind almost carried me along with it. The elements of nature conspired together to create that scenery. And the dogs were part of the whole scheme! They were not chasing me to bite, they came running to plead me to stop and savor the bounty of the nature. Happily I obliged. The dogs ran away once they realized that I got the message. The peak was just a few meters away but I was in no hurry. The light faded completely and it was totally dark. I could not make out if the silhouette at my arm’s length is of a tree or a cloud. The winding road was barely visible. Inevitably a few lines emerged from my heart:

The road is narrow and winding,

The conditions are tough and grinding;

The clouds of doubts blinds your vision,

And fear is in air beyond the reason;

But darkness gives way to the light,

Fear makes room for will to fight;

Only if you put your heart before your head,

There is always…always way ahead.

One more right turn and I reached to the entrance of the hill fort. 7 KM of running and I was celebrating my first uphill run. Sunil followed soon. Others were lagging behind. We did not want to stop so we ran downhill for a kilometer and joined them to go back to the peak again. We filled our mouths with bananas and cakes and refueled ourselves with water and Gatorade. The downhill run was easy, but hard on knees if one is not careful. Half way, Sunil and I decided to go uphill again instead of going down all the way. The sun finally gave vent to its wish to come out of the clouds. Everything dazzled in the bright sunlight. This time, after touching peak, I ran downhill till the base. When I touched the feet of Nandi at base, I noticed no pain in my body, and mind was still as fresh as before starting the run.

I was glad I finished my first hill training. That was the best run of my life. What made it easy and enjoyable? I was feeling very good that day from the beginning. I think it’s imperative to feel good to do well, to go beyond your limits, to surmount the seemingly insurmountable, though sometimes it’s difficult to feel good when you are going through rough patch, when the lady fate refuses to sleep with you. If you keep reminding yourself to feel good, no matter the circumstances, the life will not shy away from extending its helping hand towards you. Nandi Hills are out of way now, but there are mountains to climb and I wait for more beautiful mornings.

A few pieces, here and there

2010-06-25T11:06:00.000-07:00

It has now become my habit to blog about my experience during the run. So this time I thought, instead of doing that, I will put down some nice quotes I noticed during Bangalore Sunfeast World 10K 2010 and Bangalore Duathlon(marriage of running and cycling) with a couple of photographs. So here it goes:

· I would rather wear out than rust away. (This one truly captures a runner's mindset)

· The race for education has no finish line. (How true!)

· I felt like running. (Is there a better reason to run?)

· We are a team in a solo sport. (My own creation - a tribute to my Runnerhood friends)

· If you are not going to cheer them, why did you come here? (Overheard a mother scolding her son who was not too enthusiastic about cheering runners)

My favorite memory, though of those runs, turns out to be during Bangalore Sunfeast World 10K 2010. As I passed by Cubbon Park Library, I saw a girl holding a banner bigger than her size with the message “My daddy is the best”. One of our Runnerhood members, Rajesh, reached to her and said that he also thought her daddy was the best. Later on, while we were feasting on apples, we came to know that she was daughter of Gopal, our fellow runner(Bib no 1550 in below photograph)!

बारिश

2010-06-03T21:48:00.000-07:00

द्वंद्व खेलते काले घने बादलो से शुरू होती
गरजती, असीम आकाश के प्रचंड रूप का प्रचार करती
टप्प टप्प गिरती ठंडी बूंदों से, मासूम हंसी सी
ह्रदय के द्वार पे दस्तक देती है ये बारिश |

पेड़ों पे जमी हुई धुल को उड़ाती
मानो बेजान इंसान को झंझोद्ती
हवा में सरसराते पत्तो से सिमटकर
उनको फिर से हरा कर देती है ये बारिश |

स्वयं को नष्ट कर देने की चाह लिए
अविरत गिरते ये बूंदों के मोती
धरती की रगों में खून की तरह मिलकर
नए जीवन के आरम्भ का एलान करती है ये बारिश |

कभी तो प्रियतमा से दूर अकेले प्रेमी को
बेचैन बनाती, विवश करती, तडपाती,
तो कभी दुनिया की भागदौड़ में भटके इंसान को
अपने आप ही से मिला देती है ये बारिश |||

Love, Hate and All That

2010-05-30T11:41:00.000-07:00

It was the second league match between Mumbai Indians (MI) and Rajasthan Royals (RR) during the recently concluded IPL season 3. I was obviously supporting MI as the God of Cricket plays for that team. The going was good for the Mumbai side and Sachin was at his best. He hit a brilliant unbeaten half-century to take his side to a strong position in the first innings. He particularly hit very good boundaries to Shane Warne and exploited the field placements to his advantage in the final overs. All was well.

The Rajasthan batting started the way I wanted. They lost a couple of wickets in first 4 overs. Shane Watson was a key player and when he got run out in a horrible manner, I was quite exuberant. I was happy noticing his sad face while he was making his way towards the dug-out. When Yusuf Pathan, the last hope for the stumbling Royals, got out, I jumped out of my seat and celebrated as if I had won the world cup for my country. But there was something really unpleasant and sadistic in that celebration. I soon realized that my joy was not result of my love for Sachin as much as for my hate for Shane Warne and some of his teammates, notably Shane Watson. That was quite disturbing. My ecstasy was justified when Sachin was playing like only he could. But marveling at the misery of Shane Watson or misfortune of his team was mean by all standards.

The realization got me into thinking – what makes me hate Shane Warne? As some people point out, he is not quite a gentleman in the game of the gentlemen. His methods, and execution of them, are quite questionable at times. In short, he is not a good man. But does hating him make me any better? Or more importantly, does it make me worse than him, assuming he is actually a bad person? He is one of our own lot…a fellow human being…as imperfect as we all are. So what really makes us hate other people?

Before I understand source or the cause of hate, my thoughts wandered to the topic of love – the equally celebrated, if not more, brother (or sister, if you will) of hate. The case of love is no less intriguing. It escapes the clutches of reason effortlessly. It gives a miss to the rationale and intelligence, which we proudly consider the gift received only by the mankind. Take the case of Sachin – while all his good shots are considered to be straight out of heaven, like the holy river of Ganges, whenever he gets out, I so conveniently blame the bad bounce, the bad luck or bad umpiring for his dismissal. My love for him does not make me accept that he may be imperfect, out of form or simply, outplayed. When we love someone, we simply underplay her mistakes and impropriety, and overplay her achievements and good deeds, however small they are, again and again.

The question becomes bigger and sharper – why do we hate or love as much as we do? I am sure I am not the first to ask this question, and certainly not the last. Many people have asked the same question to themselves. So do we really have the answer? Or is there no answer because the answer is more uncomfortable than the question? Blaise Pascal, the wise man, did provide one satisfactory explanation – Le cœur a ses raisons que la raison ne connaît pas (The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing). I managed to get one different explanation though – these are not to be understood, but experienced.

Ole Ole Aroville!

2010-02-18T21:29:00.000-08:00

No, it did not start when I first time decided to start long distance running two years back when I registered for the inaugural Bangalore Sunfeast 10K Run. It started long time back - some 2500 years back – when the Greek soldier Pheidippides, a messenger, ran from the Battle of Marathon to Athens. The soldier did not know then, obviously, that he was unintentionally setting the roots for what would become the ultimate test of endurance and determination for generations of human beings – a marathon running of 42.195 KM. Like Pheidippides, I also did not know that 10 KM run would sow the seeds of the dream to run a full marathon (the term full marathon is a misnomer – a marathon itself signifies 42.195 KM. All other distances are just there to attract greater participation.). There comes the Auroville, the place where I would try my first marathon.

It was 5:00 in the morning, the starting time of the race. More than 150 runners gathered at Certitude, the starting point. At the word Go, the runners started running like horses let loose from a stable. My mind had already started running much before that. It was dark and all the runners were given torches to find their way. In the dark, the different colors of light the torches threw made nice colorful moving images of yellow, green, white, blue, and purple. At 5:30, I was sweating, which was a bad sign. The day was going to be hot and humid, the kind of weather a runner loathes. Apart from the chirping of the birds, the only sound I could hear was that of the stamping of the shoes on the road. The cracking of the fallen leaves beneath the feet was no less than the music. Occasionally a dog would bark somewhere to break the silence. I like to run watching the trees, the road and anything around. But in the dark, it was impossible, so I observed the light beams coming out of the torches. I could make out which runner was struggling by observing how violently the light beam moved. After crossing the Visitor’s Centre, the tarred road gave way to the mud road. It was mainly flat, but sometimes uneven and stones-studded. A couple of runners fell down, but their courage did not give in. All they were hoping for was the daylight. After about 15 KM, near the Surrender community, I saw the sun coming out from the trees; the road was visible now, the torch was not needed and the surroundings looked at their beautiful best – the way you always imagine the Auroville.

The path between Surrender and New Creation is one of the most scenic routes one would see in the whole Auroville Marathon. It almost felt like I was running through some forest – so narrow at times that only one person could pass and one would require to make his way between the plants. Plants bearing small flowers were plenty on both the sides. A fortunate person could spot some beautiful birds there. One of the most pleasant things about the event was the cooperation of the people and the support of the volunteers. Right from the cyclists who showed us way initially in dark to the enthusiastic lot of school children who manned the aid-station near New Creation, everyone made us feel special. The most of the inhabitants in Auroville are foreigners, but the best thing was that, looking at them, you could not know their nationality. No putting them in different categories based on their country, cast, creed etc. They were just good human beings, ready to help you any time. As simple as that.

I finished the half of the marathon by completing the first round at Certitude at 7:10. Two hours and Five minutes was not a bad time for 21 KM run. I was happy and feeling well. I hoped before the start that I would take less than four hours and thirty minutes for the run, and I was right on the mark till then. Then it hit me, somewhere after Siddhartha Farm. I felt sudden pain in my right knee. I was at 24 KM mark and still there were 18 KM left. My first reaction was to ignore it since it happens a lot many times to a runner – the body, wanting to give up, throws some pain here and there. Soon the hip conspired with the knee to aggravate the pain. I started walking. When I tried to run, I made sure I put more weight on the left leg than the right to avoid the trouble. That did not help – the left knee also started hurting.

I was in a new territory – that was the first time I felt such an intense pain while running. I tried to trick my mind by watching the buildings and trees which I could not see during the first round. I even unsuccessfully tried to compose a song! The body wanted to give up and it had reasons. At such times, one needs to listen to the body. I was not running now; I was barely able to walk by supporting the right hip with my hand. I wanted to stop there; the excuses were many - there will be more opportunities in the future to run marathon, I can be better prepared next time, there can be something seriously damaging the knee, you can hurt your knee beyond repair. They rang loud in the ears. But the heart did not want to stop, as if it was saying with every beat – there is something more important than the pain. I listened to it and continued.

The volunteers and photographers encouraged the runners. Irrespective of how one ran, they kept repeating, “You are running very well”. That helped, but not for long. Like a dog, the pain is a loyal companion. At around 32 KM, I was walking alone when I found a fellow runner sitting on the road massaging his knee. I instantly understood what he was going through. I asked if he was well. He replied positively. He inquired if I wished to walk with him. I needed a company, a feeling of fraternity to carry on. He proposed to run for four minutes and walk for a minute and repeat the same till the end. I obliged. Running and talking with him diverted my mind from the pain. I suppose he also felt the same. He was running his tenth marathon and was supposed to participate in a grueling 90 KM run in some mountains in South Africa. That was inspirational to know. Together as a team, we found a way around our troubles. Like my Runner Hood t-shirt quote says – We are a team in a solo sport.

We diligently followed the run-and-walk strategy. After the last aid-station, we increased our speed a bit. The road after the second to last turn was long and bare – not many trees, playing grounds on each side and the sun directly firing at you. I focused on the last turn and kept on running. When I took the last turn, I saw many people on both the sides of the road, cheering and greeting me. Some of the half-marathon runners were walking or stretching there. The finish line was visible now and I called on the last reserves of energy and will to fire on all the cylinders. My strides got longer and swifter. Gopal and Satheesha paced me up for last 100 meters. In a flash, I was on the other side of the finish line.

Nenikékamen (‘We have won.'), uttered Pheidippides before collapsing and dying after his marathon run. There was another me on the other side of the finish line. I said the same words to him. Winning over the devils of within. It took me 4:57:42 hours to finish my first full marathon. Coincidentally, meaningful or otherwise, I was ranked 42nd in my first 42.195 KM run. But long distance running is not about victory, or the timing. For I thought it was eternity before I could finish it. A runner’s pride is in finishing; finishing when everybody else has finished, when you are the lone runner, when you think you cannot do it. It is about the pain, patience and perseverance. What you eventually get is pleasure which is beyond description. Gopal said that all that is good comes with a little wait. I want to add to that – All that is good comes with a little wait…and some pain.

I thought about last two years of my running. Everything came in front of the eyes like action replay: getting up early in the morning when the whole world sleeps in their cozy beds, running half-naked in the cold winter morning, each bone sweating in hot summer morning, protecting myself from a barking dog or a speeding vehicle. All these sum up to this one moment. 42.195 KM – it’s not mere a distance – it’s a manifestation of a dream, a realization that with determination we are capable of much more than we think.

While returning back to the hotel, I looked at the finisher’s medal. I kissed it again and again. Insane it was! A simple hand made piece of paper became my object of affection. As I am writing this, I think about why I did not stop when my body almost gave up. It is sheer madness. A certain madness which comes from love. Love for running. So much love that it hurts! But today what I remember most is finish line and the joy of crossing it. The pain goes away, the memory of it also follows, but the joy remains. Running is a kind of intoxication which gives you a happy hangover. That hangover stays till your next run. Yes, I am addicted to it!

Wah! Wah! Waynad

2010-02-10T23:19:00.000-08:00

A few turned impatiently in their beds in the anticipation of the trip. Some other unfortunate ones missed on the sleep because of the work. After days of waiting, the sunshine brings the cheers today. We gather near our office gate and wait for the vehicle which is to take us to Waynad - literary Land of Paddy Fields -a district in north-east Kerala, bordering the states of Karnataka and Tamilnadu. Bharathi, Rashmi, Vidhya, Udhaya, Amit, Chandan Bhagat(CB from now onwards) and Sanjay line up on the footpath with their luggage – a few backpacks, badminton racquets, volleyball, speakers, snacks and water container. If their eyes were heavy with the expectations, the luggage was heavy with every imaginable thing you would find on the earth to make a trip fun-filled and comfortable. Chandan Mohanty(CM) arrives just in time before the vehicle, a 12-seater silver color tempo traveler. We stack up our luggage inside, make ourselves comfortable and take the name of God –He will surely be needed and relied upon in the time to come –as the journey begins at 7:20 AM. We still have to pick Vishwambhar, his wife Anamika and Gunjan on the way.

The motion of the vehicle puts Amit into action. With his hand glued to his camcorder, he starts interviewing the people. In next three days, he will use that camera so much that I will start wondering if he was born with his hand tied to it. Sanjay and the Chandans(by now you should know this is not about a couple) voice their opinions about the probable winner of the fashion show which is planned for today night. CM particularly stresses that a certain oomph factor will eventually decide the winner. Udhaya puts a brave face when asked about her lack of understanding of Hindi. She is indeed courageous – the only one in the dozen not to understand the language and still decides to come. Though we give her bravery award for that, we make sure she keeps the wonder and horror on her face by using Hindi as much as possible. Amit asks me if the trip will turn out more enjoyable than the planning we carried out for last few days sitting in our office amphitheatre. What a thorough planning Amit has done for the trip – the only way it can go for toss is if the 24-hours day changes to something else! I am sure the trip will surpass the fun of the process of planning. I have this belief that all the trips I go on turn out quite eventful, sometimes a little uncomfortable and chaotic but always memorable. Meanwhile Rashmi and Vidhya, like good and caring Indian ladies, prepare vegetable sandwiches for all of us. That is the advantage of, not the only one though, travelling with a woman. You can take her out of kitchen, but never a cook out of her. Without them we will be waiting for the next good breakfast joint forever. You see, men know how to remain hungry; they seldom know how to prepare food.

Once Vish, Anu and Gunjan board the TT, we are served with sandwiches which I have been guarding with watering mouth till now. Anu, in spite of meeting us first time, gels with everyone without any strain of extra effort. A series of karaoke songs follow. We soon realize that the TT is somewhat uncomfortable and we are cramped for space. We choose to ignore that fact as it is not going to increase the space in the vehicle. After a while, we start playing Antakshari, India’s unofficial national game. To make the circle small, I share the seat with Sanjay. Our fun-hungry fellow-travelers take that cramped closeness as intimacy. We just play along, of course to provide them some entertainment and perform little act of Dostana. No kisses, mind you.

Amit tries to be adventurous by sitting on the side-rest of a seat and falls badly. He whispers in my ear to check his jeans from behind. I explode in laughter when I see a window size opening just above his left knee! It stretches vertically upwards to you know what. Between those fits of laughter I manage to seal the opening with two safety-pins. Amit escapes the embarrassment and is much relieved. He changes his jeans when we stop at Kamat Lokruchi on Mysore Road for another round of breakfast. There has been a constant complain that except Amit, none of the men has contributed much to the planning of the trip, so to wash our hands off the accusation, and give ourselves a false sense of importance, we decide to take care of the security of the girls. A frantic process of assigning each girl a security person follows. While I am about to board the TT, an old lady, a beggar, comes approaching me. I generally don’t give money to beggars, but something inside me prompts me to spare a dime. I oblige to the inner voice. The next moment was one of the most touching moments of my life. She takes my hand in hers, rolls her other hand on my head and gives me tons of blessings while symbolically taking away my difficulties. She repeats the same with Vish. In moments such as this, you see hand of God.

We spend the next few hours playing games, singing songs and dancing. We are forced to take lunch at an Udupi restaurant in Gundulpet since the time is running out. Next time we stop at the forest department check post somewhere in Waynad. While Pervez, our driver, goes to the office for permission, we climb up the TT to show our Chhaiya Chhaiya moves. On the other side of the road are the ever-expanding bamboo trees. We slip inside and click some photographs for memory. The remaining part of the journey is spent in silence as the most of us are tired and feeling sleepy. We check in hotel Haritagiri in Kalapetta at 4:30 in the evening.

After freshening up, we set out for a walk. We get some refreshments at Woodland restaurant. We wander in the bazaars purposelessly, just for the sake of it. It is dark so we start back for the hotel. It is the time for the fashion show, much anticipated by the well-prepared people, and equally feared by the others like me. First it’s turn of the men. One by one each of us walks the ramp. I double up for a cameraman also. It is difficult to hold yourself back when your natural instinct is to start running whenever you come across some open space. I somehow hold my horses. CM makes us laugh like a crazy bunch of people when he answers the question – whom would he choose among us as a slave if he is given a choice? He says that he would like to make all of us his slaves. The reason? Well, he wants us to make his roti, wash his laundry and clean his house. 11 slaves for his seemingly basic necessities of life – Roti, Kapda Aur Makan! Manoj Kumar would be ashamed of himself for making the movie with the same title! Amit, in response to the question what will be the happier world – one with only the boys or one with only the girls, answers that it would be a world with only the girls and him. He surely has a funny bone somewhere in his body. He then dissects the problem thoroughly, as always, by arguing that since hot and beautiful girls add to the global warming, and their complete absence makes the world freezing with global cooling, such possibilities are avoidable at any cost. He is eventually declared the winner. Global warming is still hot topic around the world, isn’t it?

The ladies take their turn for catwalk after that. And you immediately notice the difference. Every inch of the detail is taken care of, starting from the minute details of dress, the footwear, the hat, the walking style, the expressions on the face, the positioning of the hands on the back, anything and everything. And here I am, in a t-shirt and denim which is not less than three years old and worn out. Thank God, I did not win in my category. It would have been a shame and a disaster for the fashion industry! When we were planning for the trip, I noted that men love ideas, and the women love the details. Well, I did not think then that they are sticklers for every detail. Probably I did not go into the details much. Irrespective of the details, they are certainly capable of the oomph factor which CM so much expected. Bharati gets the winner’s trophy for female category, while Rashmi runs away with the best model among the dozen of us. As the ladies show their beautiful legs for the camera, it reminds me of Saadat Hasan Manto’s letter to Uncle Sam in which he talked about pretty legs of American ladies.

We have a short –ok, not quite short! -drink session while the ladies have dinner. It is time to hit the beds and we cannot wait any longer.

Day two starts very early. CB gets up first at 6:00 AM and then he makes sure both CM and I listen to him. He shares some interesting anecdotes and passes some knowledge to us. I call it guru gyaan and from that moment onwards, he becomes Chandan Baba for me. All of us gather in Amit’s room and make jokes of each other. CB, in his own humorous style, notes how CM’s heavy and loud breathing in the night made him believe there was a storm passing by. The fashion show is still the most talked about thing. We decide to get ready and meet for breakfast. After a heavy breakfast – we may not get proper lunch – we leave for Banasura Dam. Considered to be the largest earth dam in India, it is surrounded by hills and bounty of nature. We need to walk from the place where we parked the TT. As we climb up the steps to the wall of the dam, the spectacular view of the dam unfolds. There are small islands and the hills everywhere. CM, Vish and I cannot resist the temptation of going closer to the water. We jump the wall, hop on the big stones and dive knee-dip into the water. The small fish with black and orange vertical stripes soon give me titillating foot massage. Others decide to go for boating which we think is not good trade in exchange of spending some time peacefully on the shore made up of stones.

The water is crystal clear. The clear blue sky and the greenery on the hills give it hues of beautiful blue and green. When the sun rays hit the water, the optical effect gives the impression as if diamonds are generously spread on waterbed. It is quite tranquil. Breeze blows through and sends the mild waves of water hitting the shore. We delightfully track the waves. As the waves hit the stones, it produces nice low sound as if stirring a soul with gentle care. A solitary bird comes down hurriedly and flies over the water like a hovercraft, picking some fish in its beak. CM or Vish throws a stone in water which breaks the spell of silence. We watch the whirls touching our feet. Then they start singing thehre hue paani me kankar naa maar, saawre; mann me halchal si mach jaayegi, baawre! - Do not throw stone in the steady water; it creates ripples in my heart. By now no corner of the heart is untouched.

After noon we start for Kuruva Island. On the way there are lots of banana orchards and coconut trees. All these trees, along with bamboo trees, grow straight upwards. Involuntarily a sudden thought comes in mind – political situation notwithstanding, the things natural are quite straight and simple in the God’s Own Country. Curiously enough for me, I find a lot of gas cylinders on the road time and again. My guess is that people keep empty cylinders outside their houses as some kind of indication to the gas agency.

We get the tickets for the boats which carry us inside the island. There is a long queue of people waiting for the boats. It takes some amount of waiting and shouldering to get our turns. The trekking starts as soon as we land on the other side. Kuruva Island is formed by tributaries of river Kabini. The forest is very dense. A patient bird-watcher can spot scores of birds here. We hire a guard who leads us inside the forest. The river is flowing parallel to the path. Then we come to a point where we are required to cross the river. It’s full of small and big rocks. The green cover of the forest gives the water green color. We start crossing the river. As we reach in the middle, the water level goes above my knees. The slippery rocks make some of us fall in the water. But that is the best part of the water – once you take plunge in it, you are completely into it. We shed the last trails of reluctance and march forward. Obviously we have to support each other – giving hand to each other, making a human chain, we cross the river. Bharati and Gunjan see their footwear floating away in the river before we somehow manage to bring it back. We cross the river three more times before we reach to the other end of the island. Rashmi falls in water while talking on her mobile phone. Her phone stops working and she strangely celebrates it! When inquired, she replies that she has been waiting for long to buy a new phone and this gives her opportunity. We sit there on the rocks, eat fruits and happily chat. We missed our lunch so we decide to eat some Kerala parotas and have tea at the nearby dhaba before going back. The plain ground and the surrounding trees make it perfect place to spend a lazy evening. But we have to leave the place because of the restrictions in the area.

While returning back, instead of crossing the river four times, we take a boat to the other side. It is rather a simple structure of bamboo sticks made like a floating carpet. No rafts are used to move it in the water. Instead a rope is tied to a tree from one riverbank to the other. The boat-like structure moves ahead as you pull the rope. A turtle is seen on a far rock sitting meditatively. That ends our trekking expedition on Kuruva Island. So we thought! But to Sanjay’s astonishment, the boat service is closed and we still need to cross another tributary to get out of the island (remember the long queue?). We again start crossing the river one last time. This turns out to be the deepest water and the most difficult crossing. Bharathi breaks the toe-nail of her left foot. She braves the great pain (I know what that pain is since I have broken three nails while running) and reaches the end. Vidhya, having the record of not falling in water till now, falters at the vary end. Nobody is spared from the water, but we eventually win the battle, although battered and bruised.

As we head back to the hotel, we see sun playing hide-and-seek with us in the winding roads. CM notes that in Bangalore he never gets to see sunset. In the night, we gather for a campfire. We play a game of Truth and Dare. Boy o boy, how many truths surface themselves! All kinds – funny, romantic, revealing, emotional, lovely, childish! We take the dinner there. While coming back from Kuruva Island, Amit proposed that the men should do mujra for the ladies! He in fact is quite serious about it. So we go to our room, the ladies arrange two duppattas and then they sit on the bed like the frequent visitors of the kothas who are always ready to savor the dance. Amit starts with dil cheez kya hai aap meri jaan lijiye. Once he breaks the barrier with it, each of us follows. CM’s steps remind me -more than a mujra -of devoted Meera dancing for Mohan, such is the state of trance he is in. I try to do inhi logo ne le liya dupatta mera. My thumkas become instant hit. CB then comes, a duppatta drawn as a veil, and serves the drinks to the visitors. Vish tops it all with his spirited performance on salaam-e-ishq meri jaan. Laughing in that madhouse, we finally separate and go to our rooms to sleep.

The next morning also brings a little sadness – we have been enjoying together for last two days and it will be over today night. We want to make full use of our time, so we take breakfast and leave for Soochipara waterfall. After about a 2 km of walk through woods, and some downhill climb, we reach to the fall. The first thing you want to do when you see it is to go inside the water and reach to the bottom of the fall. We all oblige to that feeling. The rocks are slippery but it does not hamper our spirit. We sit at the bottom of the fall, enjoying the water hitting our backs like stones. CB does not come inside; instead he sits on a big rock and watches us as well as meditates. Later he will share his keen observations with us. We scream, dance and sing, celebrating the nature. After an hour or so, everyone else comes out of water while CM and I sit there, appreciating the waterfall. We thank God for making such a beautiful world.

We line up on a long rock to dry ourselves. I feel so much cold that my body shakes violently for long time, as if it received an electric shock. When we are about to start for the uphill climb, Rashmi suddenly faints on a rock. Udhaya manages to catch her and lie her down. She tries to bring her to senses. I shout to Vish to throw water bottle and glucose. After spraying some water on her face, she regains her consciousness but still feels very weak. I give her glucose and a few seconds later she is back on her feet. But that incident gives a little scare to me. Though I like to travel alone once in a while, I fear what will happen to me in such situation. What if I die in the lack of any first aid? Surely, the death in the cradle of Mother Nature is the most dignified one, but I want to live and enjoy every moment. That thought makes you more responsible and caring. You want to take care of your near and dear ones. For once, you do not want to jump the rock, cross the water and reach to the other side before anyone else does. You do not want to show that you are the most adventurous and fearless. You want to stay behind, watch the steps of your friends and give them hand if they falter and hold them if they topple.

Taking frequent breaks, we finish the uphill climb. We buy some souvenirs and then leave for the hotel as it is already 1:00 PM. After lunch, we say goodbye to the hotel Haritagiri and start for Bangalore at 3:45 PM. We expect to cover the distance of around 280 km in 7 hours. On the way we see a family of tuskers. We also spot some deer and monkeys. Some 18 km before Gundulpet, the TT stops on the road. We have barely crossed the forest. The driver suspects that it has run out of fuel. He takes out an empty can and hitchhikes to bring the fuel from Gundulpet. We are cursing him for his stupidity – how on earth he forgot about fuel? To cheer ourselves up, some of us climb on the TT and entertain others. Udhaya and Anu decide to stay inside and catch on some sleep. When we feel hungry, we climb down and search for food inside the TT. Udhaya feels weak and dizzy, so we give her some chocolates. While we cheerfully chew on some of the food, CB notes with his sharp observation that Udhaya has fainted! We are shocked. We try to bring her to senses but to no avail. Gunjan checks her pulse. It is running. Thank God! We spray some water, but she is still unconscious. Panic-stricken, we try all we can to bring her back. Some of us curse the driver. Some other prays to God. That seems to work – she comes back to senses, but still very weak and on the verge of unconsciousness. Vidhya and Bharathi keep talking to her so that she stays awake. She mumbles for every word. With glucose, she regains some strength. The driver arrives, to our merriment, and we head for a hospital in Gundulpet. I stand up in front of Udhaya’s seat to keep a watch on her. We do not want her to faint again. I see grim faces all around. Everybody looks dull and concerned. In that somber state, I see mellow and orange sun going down behind us. Something in that sight makes me feel very happy as if all izz well. Taking it as a positive signal, I am relieved. We go straight to a hospital in Gundulpet and the doctor there gives Udhaya some primary treatment and medicines. We leave the hospital and continue the journey.

We bypass Mysore while singing some songs. From the beginning of the trip, Gunjan has expressed her desire to have dinner at McDonalds on Mysore-Bangalore Road. She is very excited and looks everywhere for the red Big M. In her excitement, she even mistakes a green board bearing name Melkotte as McDonalds. Rashmi is very hungry and joins Gunjan in the wait. By now we have almost forgotten that Udhaya is not keeping well. She reminds us that, and how well! By the time we reach Maddur, she again complains of vomiting and dizziness. We stop at Coffee Day thinking that she will be OK in a minute or two. She again almost faints down and also complains of skin irritation. Realizing that it may take a little longer, we get down and unwillingly have dinner there while Udhaya takes some rest. Panic spreads again as she is still low. She recovers for the remaining journey of 77 km. Bharathi decides to take Udhaya to her house in Bangalore and Vidhya agrees to stay with her. By now all of us are very tired and sleep in the TT. Gunjan stays awake though, like a hawk – her increased mental awareness due to the consumption of Red Bull will not let her sleep. Besides she is the first one to get down. One by one, our fellow travelers get down. CM, Sanjay and I remain the last ones to get down. It is 2:00 in the morning now.

We bring back lots of memories from the trip: from the highs of the waterfall to the lows of the faint episodes, from the catwalk to the boys’ talk, from the falling down in the river to the falling down laughing while watching the mujra, from the tranquility of the water to the shrills of frequently exercised vocal chords. The treasure trove is enriched with the finest of the jewels. They will shine forever.

The Day the Earth Shook

2010-01-26T12:07:00.000-08:00

It is

India

’s 61^st Republic Day. The whole nation is celebrating. Newspapers are abound with all sort of stories: how the Indian Republic came into being, how the constitution – the Bible, the Koran and the Gita of the republic – was formed, how the democracy, though sometimes crippling, has thrived in the country, how the nation has moved in last 60 years and what we still need to do to truly achieve the dream the forefathers of the nation once saw and worked for.

Once the euphoria subsides, I quietly sit back and recall my memories of this particular day over the years. There is president of the nation saluting the tricolor. The grand parade down the Rajpath is impressively showing the military might of the nation along with the rich and diverse cultural heritage. I can see them clearly even with my weakness to visualize images and it makes me happy. Then comes a blot! It was the same fateful day of year 2001 when the earth shook in Kutch and other parts of Gujarat with an earthquake of 7.7 magnitudes on Richter scale. 12000 unfortunate people were killed that vary day. Hundreds of thousands of people were left homeless. Those gory pictures made me sad.

In fact it was Golu who reminded me of it the previous day when he called. At least a couple of years passed by without any remembrance of it. How could I forget it? But then, our memory sometimes serves us best without serving us at all! Recollecting those horrifying images would have been a sad affair. That Friday morning I was doing my routine Surya Namaskara. I do not exactly remember what others were doing – we were a big bunch then, 6 of us in a two bedroom house on first floor in sector 3, Gandhinagar. I guess some of them were reading. It was our first year in engineering in prestigious Nirma Institute of Technology and the first internal exams were scheduled to start from the coming Monday – we were a studious lot in those days. My only contact with the floor was my palms and the feet when the earth vibrated. Until that moment I did not know what an earthquake was. We were wondering what that vibration was when Dharmesh jumped out of the sofa, the antique relic provided by our landlord, shouting Earthquake! Earthquake! His initial schooling years in Mount Abu came handy to recognize the quake instantly. Poor fellow forgot what an earthquake is called in Gujarati so he tried to remember the correct word for a second or two before he concluded that life was more precious at the moment and started shouting and running. All of us followed him and gathered in the small ground next to the house. The earth was still shaking. I looked at the mango tree in front of our house - without my spectacles on, it looked like a huge fellow dancing to a slow rhythmic tune. People were flocking towards a big ground behind our society. Curious to know what interested them, we rushed to the place – there was a small cleft in the land as if someone wanted to split it in two halves. We would spare next couple of weeks sleeping outside the house, with some dogs for company in the night as the aftershocks kept visiting us. By afternoon the news started flowing about the havoc wrecked by the earthquake in Kutch. Many a cities – Bhuj, Anjar, Raapar etc – were in rubbles. The devastation spared no one. Kutch was virtually dusted to the ground.

Has the region regained its splendor? Has it rebuilt itself after 9 years? It surely has. I hear a lot of success stories of NGOs either working with the people or the government for rehabilitation and reconstruction. More than 3.2 lakh houses are built in these years, more than the actual number of houses damaged. Kutch is being developed into a tourism destination and it’s in the thick of industrial activities. Once one of the remotest areas of the country, it now occupies quite a center stage in the development schemes. That is very satisfying. I sincerely hope

Haiti

, the country currently grappling with the same disaster, also turns out to be one such success story.

The Motorcycle Diaries

2009-12-23T11:10:00.001-08:00

Day 4 – It Has To End, Nah?

“Brijesh! Brijesh!” exclaimed Alpesh frantically, “There is someone in the hut!”

I woke up by the loud cry. It was 5:30 in the morning. From the corner of my bedside there came the sound of someone dragging the plastic bag full of the snacks. I put it next to the table fan before going to bed. It was pitch-dark and there was no electricity. I switched on the torch light in my phone. From the distance I tried to look into the corner to see if there was a rat or mouse which was searching for food from between the bamboo sticks. None was found. The dragging was stopped but both of us were afraid of checking the corner. The white plastic bag was hanging in awkward balance between the table and the wall. Satisfied by the prevailing silence, and more importantly afraid of going too close, I switched off the torch and went back to bed. The dragging was again heard after about 10 minutes, but was stopped immediately at my loud Shh….

The trip was coming to the end. After breakfast we again went for a short walk towards the waterfall. After coming back we paid our dues, had one last view of the camp and left it. On the way back, before Kejenta, there was another camp, the Udhal Mahuda Camp. We had time on our side so decided to go there. Udhal Mahuda was small guesthouse on top of a hill overlooking a river. The river carved its path neatly between the hills crammed on both the sides. There was a small machan and a bench at the cliff. The clear blue sky and the brown and green hills gave the water beautiful bluish green color. A boatman was enjoying his solitude in the calm waters. Two ducks were fighting and playing in the water. We had to fight the reluctance to go.

The ride back home was rather uneventful. The bike was cruising along the well-tarred roads. It was evident we were moving away from the forests to urban civilization. After Balasinor, we stopped for lunch on a roadside dhaba. Before some 40 km from Ahmedabad, Alpesh stopped the bike. There was no shade and the afternoon breeze was hot. I asked him why he stopped the bike there when there were plenty of banyan trees just 100 meters away. He showed me the distance meter on the bike. It read 0999.9. He wanted to see all the 9’s change to 0’s together. He dragged the bike from there until the meter read 1000.0. The slow motion of change was quite rhythmic. I was glad he thought of that.

After 4 days and 520 KMs of road travel, we were finally back. The bike dutifully went into garage to cool off. The trip which was almost called off the day before it was to be started turned out to be one of the most pleasant one I had been part of.

After the Sunset

The Bus for Amreli is on time in the evening. That is a luxury I rarely get to enjoy. But things are quite different these days. The luck has befriended me and it enjoys my company too. A little panic like situation is created when Alpesh announces that he has lost his two-wheeler keys. We try to find it in the bus but to no avail. The engine grunts, the wheels roll on, off goes Alpesh little worried about the keys and waves me goodbye. By the time the bus leaves Gandhinagar, he calls to say that he has found the keys on the bench we were sitting on in waiting for the bus.

I ponder over the events of last four days. I remember the butterflies…the waterfall…the bird that was the Indian Roller…the sunset. Those were the most beautiful things I came across. And they were free. Free as in freedom. Nobody can own them or buy them. Can anybody order a butterfly to flutter its wings…Can anybody force a bird to fly for his fancy…Can anybody dare to summon the sun to rise or set down according to his whim? The most beautiful things in the world are free…free from the bondage…free for all of us to receive, enjoy and be blessed with. And it does not apply only to the things of nature. What about the love and the care we shower on our fellow humans? Aren’t they free? Pity we run after inconsequentials all our life and refuse to embrace the true source of happiness.

In the end I have to thank the people who made this possible. Thanks to Pradip, without his idea the trip would have not been possible. Thanks to his father, who made sure we never ran into troubles. A special thanks to Alpesh for sharing the vivid dream and making me feel that the reality was indeed as beautiful. And a very very special thanks to the life, which again proved that when you don’t make plans, it comes up with the best plan for you. Live on!

The Motorcycle Diaries

2009-12-22T10:24:00.000-08:00

Day 3 – Ramblings in Ratanmahal

We packed our bag after the breakfast since we were leaving Kevdi to go to Ratanmahal guesthouse which was some 30 KMs away. Jethabhai was in cheerful mood and cracked a few jokes. Unfortunately they were certified as adult jokes. We bade them farewell and left. I wanted to ride the bike so asked Alpesh to sit back and enjoy the ride. The bike was little heavy for me but to drive it was an awesome feeling – the sound of the engine, the wind blowing on the face, the trees and houses passing by in hurry. From Kejenta, the straight road made the way for the serpentine road with lots of ups and downs. The good thing about all those roads was that they were properly tarred and marked with white lanes even inside the forest. I have not seen such good roads in the other parts of the country. Gujarat can certainly guide other states when it comes to the road network. How comfortable it will be to have the same kind of roads in Kerala or Coorg!

At Ratanmahal Forest Office, the Range Forest Officer (RFO) suggested us to stay at Naldha Nature Camp which was not far from there. We got a nice bamboo hut there for cool 250 bucks. The camp was situated between hills and a river ran nearby. The food was tasty and the service was exceptional. We strolled around after lunch and watched kids playing cricket inside the camp. There was a waterfall which was reachable after a moderate trekking. We were told that it was 2 KMs away. On the way to waterfall, just outside the camp, there was a machan. We occupied the machan for a while and pretended that we were soldiers guarding the fort. But in the rein of the nature, there are no enemies. I thought I saw enough of the butterflies the previous day, but Devdi was a lone soldier compared to the army that was Ratanmahal. Plenty of butterflies of wide variety asking for your attention! I forgot that I was going to a waterfall. Alpesh had to literally drag me.

The trek seemed far more than 2 KMs. The climb was steep and heavy stones made it more tiresome. At one point we reached nearly to the top of the hill and still there was no sight of the fall. We almost gave up but what kept us going still was the sound of the water crushing the stones. We knew we were about to win in that game of hide and seek. Finally we emerged as the winners. It was a small but virgin waterfall. It seemed not many people frequented this place which helped it retain its beauty. The water was cold and we had no intention of splashing it despite having our swimming costumes with us. With the loud background music of the falling water, we recorded ik din beek jaayega.

We sat there blissfully, enjoying the all the Mother Nature had to offer. The hills, the trees, the water – Alpesh noted that these very things, the building blocks, are same everywhere but the way they are put together differs in each place. Or for that matter, all humans are of same composition but still no two human beings are same. The different patterns emerge, and they make the world beautiful and exciting. As Alpesh meditated, I sat quietly allowing the water to run over my feet. That was the moment when I could not help but remember Kailash Kher’s the Cherapunjee song - barse barse re ambar ka paani, jisko pee pee ke dharti deewani; khilkhilane lagi hai, muskurane lagi hai, bheeg gaya mera mann.

The descent was easy from thereon. We enjoyed nice tea at the camp. It was 5 PM by then and we immediately started for the sunset point. The RFO met us in Ratanmahal and advised us not to waste time because sun set early there and the 8 KM road to the point at the top was rather not supportive. We soon realized what he meant – the road was full of small pebbles, quite steep and winding. Not used to that kind of road, we almost fell down at one curve. Twice the bike stopped on the road and refused to move. Undeterred by the difficulties, we continued going up on the treacherous road. Later that night the RFO said that the bike Thunderbird was a royal maharaja bike and we should have not put it under that heavy stress. What I thought was that it was the beauty and the beast; only vehicle that could have taken us to the top with wanting for more. And don’t the maharajas carve their place in the history by fighting rough battles?

Halfway through the terrain became plain and easy and the gregarious bamboos crowded both sides of the road. They looked dry. The RFO explained that these trees flower after 50 years and then die. What I was looking at were the dead trees! A bird full of life caught my attention soon. I watched it taking flight from the empty riverbed. It was an Indian Roller – blue colored bird with brown and black beak and legs. It disappeared in the bamboos just after two seconds but I could vouch that was the most beautiful bird I have ever seen. My eyes searched it between those trees, but it was not to be found again. Poor me!

In the end it took great courage, caution and care to reach at the top. On the opposite side of the sunset point, there was a small temple. We offered our prayers first. The view was spectacular from the point. The hills were all spread across the horizon and giving an impression of camel humps in a desert. The sun was slowly going down behind the hills covered with green vegetation. It looked like a lonely sunflower in a huge farm. If before a few minutes, I was ready to give up my life for one more sight of the flight of the bird, now I was a sucker for life. Give me more…the sunrise, the sunset. The twilight made compelling case for Alpesh to meditate again. I was not ready even to blink lest the wonder wither away.

We had to leave the place involuntarily. The RFO gave the students lessons about the nature while we had our dinner. There was no electricity in the night. The camp ran on solar cells and they were discharged that night. We retired to our beds after a walk. It was the best day of our trip. We were rejuvenated. As the cook in the camp put in his own lyrical words – aav haala, ratanmala (Brother, Come to Ratanmahal).

* Photos can be found at: http://picasaweb.google.com/brijesh.gajera/Ratanmahal#

To Be Continued...

The Motorcycle Diaries

2009-12-20T10:28:00.000-08:00

Day 2 – Walk in the Woods

I woke up at the sound of the knock at the door by Mohseen, one of the employees in the guesthouse. He came to invite us for breakfast. I opened the door of the balcony to feel the morning. The air was still chilly. The east facing balcony gave a spectacular view. The sun was coming out of the dense trees. Between those trees and the room was a very small stream. A group of swans was looking for the food in the water. Interestingly there were some black swans with golden beaks, which are hard to find. It was perfect morning for a lazy breakfast and tea with prospect of morning walk afterwards. But Alpesh thought otherwise and did not trade his sleep for the breakfast.

Mohseen was waiting in the dining area. It was a dome structure made up of wood frame and grass on the roof. While having poha as breakfast, I talked to Mohseen about the place and surroundings. Every year during winter, the forest department runs Nature Education Camp for the school children of the nearby areas. They are introduced to the trees, animals and birds of the sanctuary and also given lessons to conserve the nature. Hopefully some of them get interested in the diversity the forest is endowed with and come back to work here as grown-ups. That also helps to contain the problem of people leaving the bounty of nature for the urban dreams. One such group of children occupied the tents there and was currently out in the forest under the careful guidance of an official. I regretted the fact that I missed the chance to go with them but Mohseen informed me that the way inside the forest is well marked out and I could go inside without any guide. I sipped the tea enjoying the beautiful landscape of hills and the stream and set out for a walk. An army of guesthouse dogs accompanied me for the most part of the walk. I did not go much farther since Alpesh and I already planned another walk in the late morning.

I came back soon and took bath. While Alpesh got ready for the day, I sat in the balcony, reading The Power of Coincidence. He also shared a coincidence involving one of his pilot colleagues. Incidentally that man was a captain in Indian Air Force and was on routine flight on much dreaded MiG-28 when suddenly the engine failed. The seat was supposed to eject in that moment of emergency but failed to do so. The plane started descending at higher speed with high g-force. He became unconscious by then. The plane passed between two trees in the forest which had just enough gap to let the plane pass. It slide on the ground. At that point the seat ejection miraculously worked and he was thrown into a pit a few meters away. The plane exploded with clouds of fire spreading skywards a few seconds after. He was lucky to fall into the pit because of which he survived unscathed, without a single scar on his body.

We started our jungle safari on foot. The sanctuary is famous for its sloth bears, though we did not expect to locate one in the afternoon time. We climbed a hilltop to get the panoramic view. The rocky hills lined up on three sides. We also found out in the process that it was the only place around where we received mobile signals. While Alpesh talked on the phone, I climbed down and went deeper in the woods. The mahudo was the predominant tree in this forest. I did not see any animal, but butterflies filled my time completely. I chased the small and big, colorful and fluttery creatures to frame them forever in camera. It was tough job to do because the sensitive subjects of my affection fluttered away even at the slightest sound of the foot crushing the fallen leaves. In the end I managed to click a few good shots.

Alpesh joined me after finishing his call. We went further inside after those butterflies. It was already lunchtime and feeling obliged to feed ourselves, we turned back. The idea to shoot some of the songs we like struck us. I call us the Occasional Singers who need no occasions to exercise the vocal chords. Alpesh started with Rafi’s main jindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya while I captured the video. The next was Mukesh’s haal-e-dil hamara.

The afternoon passed in the rest after the heavy lunch. In the evening everyone was gathered near the office. It was time to see flying squirrel! I never knew there are flying squirrels in the world. The children were disciplined with a stick to sit quiet as the squirrel might be disturbed by the sound. The wait for half an hour yielded no sight, but finally it appeared, like a superstar turning out late for a show. I watched it gliding between the trees like those flying saucers seen in the alien sci-fi movies. There was a particular tree in the place under which we surprisingly received mobile signals. As both of us kept talking on phones for long, we did not realize that the dinner was already served. Jethabhai, the officer, scolded us gently for coming late with lessons of disadvantages of late night food. We ignored him though since we sighted lapasi, a popular dessert in this part of the country and hurried towards the food. We again set for one more shooting of the song – Mukesh’s woh tere pyaar ka gham. This one was hard to do as it was sad song. We had to change the location thrice because of the lack of proper lighting. But in the end the effort satisfied us.

One more day well spent. We soon fell asleep to welcome another day.

To Be Continued...

The Motorcycle Diaries

2009-12-17T10:49:00.000-08:00

Day 1 – The Countryside

Alpesh came at around 9:30 AM and informed me that he mailed Pradip, fondly called Bapu, for more details. When he checked his emails, a certain mail from Pradip popped up. It contained the contact details of his father, who is a forest officer. When we contacted his father, we got more than what we ever hoped for. He arranged a stay for us in a forest department guesthouse, provided contact numbers of the people there, gave us the directions and highways we should take and places to visit. In matter of a few minutes the whole thing was set up. I am sure I would have not thought of that much had I been given a choice of fulfilling a wish. Extremely happy about the turnaround, we stepped out of house to find a good travel book and a map in case the need arises. That was my first encounter with Royal Enfield Thunderbird. That was some bike!

When we started packing, Alpesh suggested that we should put our entire luggage in one backpack. I thought it was not possible since I had only necessary things in my bag and it had no room for anything more. But then I started pulling out things which suddenly seemed totally unnecessary and out of place. It felt as if I was getting rid the burden off my shoulders. It lost half of its weight in seconds. That way we made only one backpack for both of us. After a nice homemade Kathiawadi food for lunch, we were all set to hit the road.

Off we were on the road. Instantly we realized that we had one problem. With helmet on the head, and heavy wind blowing in the face, it was very difficult to talk to each other. We had to holler to make any sense. We pulled off after only 26 kilometers, rather unwillingly, just before the start of NH-59 which goes directly to Indore in Madhya Pradesh. Since talking required hard effort, we thought why not to keep our tongues busy by chewing something. I tightened the belts of the backpack around my chest and stomach. I felt as if some octopus had monstrous grip around my body! There was no point complaining though – we had a long way to go and that was what I wanted.

The main advantage of going on bike, especially in countries like

India

, is the countryside you get to see. And if you are a pillion rider, you are in for a pleasant treat. Stripped from worrying about the road and the other vehicles, you can just look on the both sides of the roads and marvel at the sights the country offers. There were huge banyan trees with thick dangling roots. At some places the trees were so dense that you could actually play Tarzan act for a long distance. The temples are ubiquitous in

India

and are easy to locate with the flags on top of them. Then there was cricket –the game we play -which is as ubiquitous as temples, if not more. Wherever there is enough space for 22 yards, we have kids aspiring to be a Sachin Tendulkar one day fighting for their turn to have a go. Gujarat is a dry land and there is not much farming after the monsoon season. Farms are barren at this time, with only the leftover grass of the crop spread in small heaps. People sometimes cover their huts or houses with the grass, which gives impression as if they are made of grass. The highways in

India

are not actually made only for the vehicles - stray cows and dogs have equal rights over them and the poor pedestrians also. They even do not mind getting run over. They just refuse to listen to the horn and move away.

We took our next break at Godhra after 220 kilometers of drive. The light was fading away quickly and we had still some distance to cover. On top of that, we were supposed to go thru the forest so we did not waste much time in Godhra. Some time was wasted at a railway crossing going further. I also dropped the map after that and we had to turn back to fetch it. As the evening sets in, the wind got chilly. We were in the sanctuary now. By the time we reached Devgadh Baria, it was completely dark. Our destination, Devdi guesthouse, was still far away. The cold was treacherous now and I pulled out my sweater to save myself from freezing. That was first time in more than a year that I used it. Alpesh covered himself fully from top to bottom. We were very slow because of the winding roads and the cold. At 7:45 PM, we pulled off in Devdi Guesthouse with the sigh of relief and satisfaction of job well done.

We were obviously very hungry and the food was ready, so instead of going to our room, we headed for the dinner. We got traditional food of the place – the maize rotla, rice and kadhi. It was simple but very tasty. The guesthouse was newly built and we were the first occupants of the room. It had only basic amenities you require in places like these. It was time for friends’ talk. We hadn’t talked much during the day and we made amends for that in the evening. We talked about whatever we could think of – Chance, Coincidence, Luck, Success, Women, Love, Living in Present and Life. And when we were silent, we talked more.

To Be Continued...

The Motorcycle Diaries*

2009-12-15T10:27:00.000-08:00

Before the Sunrise

It was Saturday and we still had no clues about our trip, which was supposed to commence the next day. Alpesh and I decided a month back that we would go together on a trip to some nice place in Gujarat. After a month the only things we knew were that we would go to a place called Ratanmahal in the east Gujarat bordering Madhya Pradesh on a bike. Alpesh could not contact Pradip -who suggested the place to us -for more details in remaining days. I had a bit somber mood on this particular day since I thought we might not make it to the trip. At one moment I even entertained the idea of dropping the whole plan – how in the world someone can call it a plan! But I was quite keen to go and sensed the same keenness when I talked to Alpesh.

In the evening my brother arrived unannounced with a couple of his friends after attending one of their friends’ wedding. A few moments later he left the house to drop his friends to the bus station. This would have been the inconsequential detail for this post had it not been for the coincidence of talking to his friend, Jaypal. As it turned out, they did not get the bus and came back half an hour later. From our chitchat, I came to know that Jaypal was familiar with Ratanmahal and surrounding areas. Jaypal ran me through the map of the area, showed the places to visit and the route to take. It boosted my confidence immensely. Had he got his bus, I would have not talked to him later and would have gone to Gandhinagar, where Alpesh lives, with little enthusiasm. Not that our trip materialized the way I envisaged it while talking to Jaypal. On the contrary, it was completely different. But the booster it provided to me was something I needed badly.

The day before, I started reading a fascinating book The Power of Coincidence. The book talks about the powerful coincidence we come across in our lives and their significance, and even how to increase their frequency for a better life. Let me confess – I did not believe in meaningfulness of them until then; for me they were mere events with statistical probabilities, however small they may be, which have very realistic chance of occurrence and they do occur at times. I saw no patterns in them and I thought they were beyond one’s control. Call it a chanced encounter, nothing more. The book changed whole of that. Within a day I experienced the coincidence, the meaningful one and powerful one. I believed it was a interference from a higher order, the universal soul as they call it. Belief makes it happen.

Late night I boarded a bus to Gandhinagar. The journey was uneventful except the fact that the weather was cold. Early morning, before the sunrise, I was at Alpesh’s place. He was returning back from Delhi later that morning. Marveling at the power of coincidence, I slipped into a dream world.

* This has nothing to do with Che Guevara.

To Be Continued...

The Ultra Dream

2009-12-01T10:01:00.000-08:00

It is rather unusual to get up at 3:15 in the morning and still feeling gay and cheerful, legs more than ready to run at the first sign of GO. That was exactly what I felt today morning. In fact, since last many days, I was getting mad day by day as the Ultra Marathon event was approaching. It might be also because the same day I was leaving for my native place for a 2 weeks vacation. Whatever may be the reason, but I was feeling goose-bumpy and had a faint idea that the day was going to be a special one. Eventually it would turn out to be the one.

It took quite an effort to reach to the Our Native Village (ONV), the starting point of the marathon. Considering it was dark, and not many people were there on the way to get the help from, Gopal and Satheesha did great job to bring us at the starting point much before 6:00 AM, the start time for 37.5 km run. After a brief warm-up session, we were all set to go. It was still a little dark when we started. The 12.5 km trail consisted of 6.25 km going in one direction and then coming back on the same trail. We were supposed to finish 3 rounds of that trail. Around a km of the trail was filled with small stones, but after that it was a proper mud trail barring a 500 meters tar road. As the promising day lifted the darkness, I could see the vast grassland opening before my eyes on both the side of the road. It was quite a sight - small hills, grass dancing with the wind, birds taking flights and the heads of the runners appearing and disappearing in the grass on a winding trail! The grass smelled fresh in the morning. Another 2 km and we left behind grass to enter into the land of big trees, a kind of urban jungle.

After a while, I was at the 6.25 km mark, from where I took u-turn to go back on the same route. The tar road climb was steep there and quite tiresome. I was cheering those fellow runners who were going in other direction. There were some old runners, a few ladies and even children. Though running is a solo sport mostly, a runner still requires appreciation. A thumb-up, a clap or just a few words of encouragement cheer a runner beyond imagination. When legs refuses to move, and lungs get tired, a simple gesture like this can motivate a runner.

I saw 3 runners in my category finishing first loop before me. That meant I was fourth in the lot. That was quite encouraging! Prakhar did mention before the start that I stood a good chance to finish in top draw. I resolved to stick to top-5 for the full race. The good thing was that the weather was very supportive. There was no sign of the sun, but it was not humid also. These were ideal conditions for running. I kept on running, observing the surroundings. A foreigner, a cyclist, was waving at the runners and cheering them. He looked quite amazed to see the so many runners attempting ultra marathon. Another foreigner lady, sitting under a tree, was drawing something in a paper. I assumed she was trying to paint the grassland with the tree line and hills in background. When I came back to finish the second loop, she was standing on the other side of the road, showing the drawing to the runners. There were two red flowers in it, and nicely written Well Done. That was touching!

At the end of the second loop I realized that I was leading the pack now! That was scary and surprising at once! I was tired, hungry and thirsty now but buoyed by the new-found energy from the leader’s position, I somehow kept dragging myself without stopping much. The thought that Glory awaits you was my companion thereafter. I did stop at the aid stations to get some water or munch something. In the middle of the third loop, I knew that the second-positioned runner was about a km behind me. I met Gulprit on the way and he suggested me to speed up for last 6 km. But the climb was grueling and I was exhausted. On top of that, the knowledge that you are leading also kind of acts as a deterrent sometimes. The constant threat of the other person overtaking you lurks in mind, even if you know that he is lagging far behind. The fear is constantly with you, like your own shadow - it never leaves you. I don’t remember how many times I glanced back to see where exactly my competitors were. It was as if I was running with twisted head.

I saw Mohan C, Mohan G and Ambika cheering for me before the last km mark. I was sprinting now. When I crossed the finish line, taking long steps and hands extended in joy, I looked at the sky and thanked God. It was a long, 4 hours effort. In my childhood I used to dream that one day I would become a sportsman and win the big competitions in front of big crowds in huge stadiums. I even tried to get admission into a sports school but was refused. The reason: I was a slow runner. And today that dream came true. I know now for sure that dreams do come true, although they may not manifest the way we see them. But we are so much tied to the images we have of them in our minds that we do not identify with them taking different forms. We see less with the eyes than the mind. That is why a blind person’s life is not completely black. Tonight when I sleep, there will be more dreams. I will be waiting to see how they come to pass.

* Check more photographs at : http://picasaweb.google.com/brijesh.gajera/UltraMarathon2009#

Viaje de Vagamon (Vagamon Trip)

2009-10-29T03:38:00.000-07:00

Dilip, my friend, who is settled in Australia, came to see me this October. He was keen to go for a short trekking expedition from Bangalore. I came to know about this place, Vagamon, a small hill-station in Kerala from a few friends. I decided to do something which I do not do often – go for a trip without any sort of planning. So there was no arrangement for transportation till the day he landed in Bangalore and there was no place booked in Vagamon to stay. The next day evening we went to get the bus tickets at 4:30 PM for 6:00 PM bus to Kottayam, a place 40 km from Vagamon. Fortunately (or not so, based on which side you end up after reading this) we got the last two seats available in the bus. After two hours we were on the way to Kottayam, chatting happily in those seats in last row which were far from being comfortable. Little did we know that this was going to be a rocking ride and the trip would be completely unimaginable.

After dinner, which can be put in the list of the worst meals I had, Dilip talked about life in Australia. This name, Dilip, sounds too impersonal; I would rather call him by his nickname, Golu. Golu freely shared his experiences from down under. We did not know when sleep got better of us, but a sudden high jump at a speed-breaker by our bus woke up all the passengers, and how well! Till then we did not know that the bus was a convertible which can give you flying experience without any kind of security check. We were flying inside that fly-on-wheels but the landing was not so smooth. Some of the passengers got pain in elbows, others in knees, and backs and where not. When I crash-landed, I felt some pain in back of my neck which was going to hurt me for a couple of days. I thought the pilot lost his license after that because the plane never took off again. The night was relatively peaceful and the next day morning we were in Kottayam hunting for a Vagamon bus. Surprisingly we reached in Kottayam two hours before the scheduled time.

After another two and a half hours bus journey, we got down in Vagamon. The weather was sunny and pleasant on the way, the ideal for the trip and we expected the same in this little-known hill-station. When I tried to call the person who could give us accommodation, his mobile phone was switched off. What a start! We enquired about the place where he was to be found, a certain Asha Sadan, and started walking towards it. There was a beautiful lake on our left with green-top mountains in the background. But rain started pouring in. Now that was not the welcome we anticipated and were prepared for. We had to buy an umbrella on the way. Six years in Bangalore, and I have never used an umbrella, and there I was, in Vagamon, barely within six minutes, holding it like it was my companion for years! The wind was trying hard to snatch the umbrella. We were lucky to get a home-stay opposite to Asha Sadan, which was at the footstep of Kurusimala Hill. We had lunch at a near-by place whose owner was the caretaker of the place I was staying at.

Vagamon has something very interesting – there are three hills: Kurusimala Hill which is a Christian holy place and has a Cross on top, Murugan Hill where there is a temple of Murugan Swamy and another hill which hosts a dargah of a Baba. Religious harmony on the hills! We started climbing up for Kurusimala. It was rather very easy hike of around 2 km. By then clouds had completely taken over the sky and they were resting on the mountains. We were surrounded by mystic and blissful haze; the only sound we could hear was that of wind. We could hardly see farther than 10 meters. I enjoyed that – not being able to see far beyond and see what lies ahead, and savoring the moment of peace and tranquility. Who cares where we are heading as long as the journey is enjoyable. The trail started descending soon. The intermittent rain constantly accompanied us. There were small streams everywhere, and water was trickling down below my feet. We drank from the streams. Remember the line in Rang De Basanti - maine jharne se paani maa taud ke piya hai? We reached to a dead end from where there was no way going forward. There was a house there and when we asked about the place where the Cross is, the man said that we could not have reached his house without passing by the statue of Christ and the Cross! We actually went past the Holy Cross without seeing it. A game of hide and seek in the mist! Golu found a guava fruit on the ground and started looking for guava trees. Eventually we traced the source of the fruit, plucked a few more by using the umbrella. That was the just reward we got for coming so long! A lady, watching us jumping in air for the fruits, started talking smilingly. She was speaking in Malayalam, I guess, which I did not understand. After a long and difficult conversation, I figured out that she was offering us a long wooden pole to get more fruits. This is something which I love about people in mountains. They are innocent, humble, happy and always ready to help. I don’t understand why such rough conditions make them so soft. Hardships may have their own ways to infuse softness in people. A little sunshine showed the Cross in complete light when we reached there again. It was there, in front of us. This is the thing about God – if you have clouds of doubts covering your faith, you can’t see Him even if he is right there, for us to see and be blessed. The balloon of faith flies high as long as it’s not punctured by a needle of doubt. There were a few steps to reach to the Cross. We climbed them and stayed on the top for quite some time. The wind blew heavily and with my underweight body, I struggled to stand upright. We set on the steps for sometime but soon slept, sitting there…just like that. A gang passed us by and we did not even notice that. That was the best 5 minutes nap I have ever had. The nap in the lap of the God!

We also had tea at the tea-shop there. The Murugan Temple was a climb to another hill from there and we wanted to pay the visit. It was a steep climb and as we went up, the wind kept getting stronger. The visibility was very low. We kept on going but could not find the temple. We set there for a while and filled our lungs with the air. Occasionally when clouds were cleared, we could see the mountains all over the place, erect like hump of a camel. Pretty sight…but the air was getting heavier now, the sign of impending rain. We decided to get down the hill and reach our place. When we were half way down the hill, the heavy rain started. Golu removed his shoes and walked barefoot. He had an interesting theory – he believed it rained only when he tried to take out his latest Nikon camera. The rain never stopped that day. To make the matters worst, even power was also gone. Golu was too reluctant to go out to visit an Ashram which was just 2 km away. We had nothing to do so we played cards whole evening. A little session of game after dinner and the curtains were down on the night.

The morning was serene. We wanted to visit the famous Vagamon meadows and the palm tree forest. We took a bus to the palm forest. We got down at a place from where we had to walk around 2 km. There were some tea gardens on the mountains. It was great fun to watch sun rays spreading over the green meadows...lightening up the trees. The houses, scattered around, were of different colors – yellow, red, orange, and pink, as if the flowers have flourished in the valley. Probably it was a way to identify their houses where everything else is green. The palm forest was on a descending side of a mountain. The most of the trees were straight, standing in order as if they were part of a great army. The light coming from behind made the trees more elegant. We were in woods! At that moment I pitied the man who derived the phrase getting out of woods. Why the hell the woods became synonym for troubles? Why do you want to get out of the woods when they are so beautiful? The only thing I could think of was a little poem:

Let me stay here,
Allow me to pray here;
To right the past wrongs,
And to sing the happy birdsongs;
Dear God, never let me out of the woods!

The sky was getting darker, a sure sign of rain. Golu, by then, was so much frustrated with rain that he decided that we would leave for Kottayam the same afternoon and then catch a bus to Bangalore. I was little disappointed that I could not stay for another day, but agreed with him. On our way back to Kurusimala Hill, we had to travel in a jeep. The jeep may not be a likeable vehicle in plains, but it’s a queen in mountains. It was fully loaded and there was no place to sit, so we stood in the back of the jeep and enjoyed the serpentine ride, though it was scary when the driver took turns. By afternoon, we reached to our home-stay, and had lunch and left for the bus station. Vagamon was beautiful, but a day was not enough. I felt like I tasted a very good food but too little, too less; the taste remained in mouth, wanting for more.

We got the bus for Kottayam in another 15 minutes, reached to Kottayam at around 4 pm and caught the Bangalore bus at 5 pm. Next day morning, we reached to Bangalore at 7 am, reached home, had breakfast and slept for 12 hours. I wish the trip ended that way, at least for the sake of poor Golu. That was not meant to be. Remember the prayer? Such a fast turnaround! It had never happened before. We waited for 2 hours at Vagamon bus stand to get a bus, that too not for Kottayam but some place on the way to it. From there we got bus for Kottayam. By then Golu decided to visit Mysore for which bus was available from Kottayam at 5 pm, the same time as that was of Bangalore bus. We reached Kottayam at 4:45 in the afternoon, and the Bangalore bus was there, not many seats occupied, but the Mysore bus was in workshop for some repair. We let the Bangalore bus go, but when Mysore bus came, we realized it was packed. Not a single seat was available. The 17 hour journey standing in a bus was not possible. So we were left stranded in Kottayam since all the Bangalore and Mysore buses were gone.

Golu was festered by now and dropped idea of going to Mysore. Somebody advised us to go to Coimbatore and catch Bangalore bus from there. We saw a Coimbatore bus leaving in front of us. Then it struck to me that we might try private bus operators. We caught an auto to go to the place from where we could get the bus. On the way the break in the auto failed! The auto-driver was following a bus and when the bus driver applied breaks, the auto-driver had no options but to change the lane sharply. In the process he drove the auto on footpath, if you can call it one. The stone plates were rough and ill-placed. The auto jumped twice like a frog and came to a sudden halt. Unaware of all these, I was typing a message on my phone and when auto stopped, I asked the driver why was he in such a hurry to overtake the bus? Golu looked at me as if he wanted to kill someone. I am pretty sure that someone was me! No doubt we did not get any tickets even from private bus operators. We had dinner in a hotel. The food was horrible, but I could at least charge my mobile phone! We went back to the state transport bus stand. The Coimbatore bus was at 7:30 pm. The problem was that the most of the buses had Malayalam or Tamil boards, not English boards. So we decided to stand at different sides of the bus stand, and kept asking everyone about Coimbatore bus. Finally we got the bus at 8:00 pm. It was crowded, and the seats were narrow and hard. 7 hours journey was difficult, but Golu and I tricked us a bit by playing Antakshari. We remembered all the songs we used to sing when we were in college. The ik din beek jaayega maati ke mol used to be our anthem. Pyaar hame kis mod pe le aaya hai was great fun to sing. It was 2:30 am when we reached to Coimbatore. Was there a direct bus to Bangalore? Nope. What next? Go to Salem first and catch the Bangalore bus. After 45 minutes, we could not get a bus to Salem so went to Erode which was on the way. From Erode we boarded Salem bus at 5:30 am. The sun was out after a goodnight’s sleep and we were awake for almost 24 hours. That bus, with its blue and green color shining seats, was full of commuters. There was not even space to move my hands. What pissed me, though, was loud music in the bus during that early morning time. Somehow we reached to Salem and got Bangalore bus in half an hour. On our way back we had very good breakfast on highway, which was the only good food we had during those two days. Around noon time we reached to Bangalore. The end of the journey, a long and hectic one.

That was an eventful journey, to say the least. Did I enjoy it? Surely, I did. It was enjoyable, if not comfortable. It was different; to go unplanned, wander in woods, unaware of what was coming, run wild for buses and the relief of reaching home at the end of it all. Beautiful chaos!

By Chance*

2009-10-20T10:25:00.000-07:00

After working till late evening for a couple of months, finally, today the work I had been assigned to reached to a major milestone and I was relieved, and more importantly satisfied with the outcome. I decided to treat myself by leaving office early while the sun is still at work in the sky. I could not afford luxury of sitting idle though, since the coming weekend was looming with horrible prospect of my Spanish class exam. I thought of relaxing for a while and then start the preparation. The sun was sarcastically laughing at me when I left the office. I could not understand why, but when I reached home, it was evident what the God of light found funny. I gave my house key to the landlord the previous day to keep with him, and when I really needed it, he was not home. Where do I go now? The office is not the place, certainly. A mall…loud and suffocating. No way. Garden…surely…why not? There was still enough light and I had my Spanish book in my bag. The next moment I was at the garden.

A few moments later I found a bench in a peaceful corner and opened the book. I was trying hard to concentrate but a voice kept disturbing me from a nearby bench. A girl apparently was talking to her best friend’s fiancée on phone. She was indeed a glib talker. She was trying to get the man to come to the garden so that she could see him. Her friend was accompanying her but she had a passive, nothing-to-talk-about role in the whole conversation. Our active talker was completely unaware of the people around her. I wanted to ask her how could she switch off the world around her with such an ease but she did not stop talking for infinity! I was not finding it interesting it any more after a while so I put on my earphones and started listening to music along with reading the book. I could not write anything with the trembling hand and my heart was pounding at fast pace inside the chest. The heart kept going back to the man I met at the entrance a few minutes before. He was my first manager in my company, so effectively he became my first mentor in the professional world. He gave me a smile and enquired about my project. Behind his smiling face, there was an unmistakable tinge of sadness and worry. When I enquired about his work, I came to know that he was laid off 6 months back and he was still searching for a new job! That came as a shock! Here was a man who has worked in the computer industry for more than 15 years, had contributed to large number of projects and had quite an insight into the working of the industry, but he was jobless and clueless at that moment.

The same day morning, I also read a blog of a man who is a PhD and was handed over a pink slip due to recession and could not land himself a job after months of trying so decided to drive a taxi. He writes his blogs to share his vivid taxi-driving experiences and there is clear air of hopefulness in his writing. The fate has certainly delivered a rough hand to these two people. They are much more talented and deserving than people like me. That made me think how lucky I am. There are less deserving people in the same world who are more successful. A dear friend of mine once described such people as lucky bastards. He certainly had a point there if you can ignore use of language for a moment. What it also implies is that we may be giving too much credit to our own talent when success is mostly serendipitous. There is, no doubt, role of hard-work and perseverance along with the skills, but they alone seldom make for a winning combination. These two gentlemen might have great plans for their family and future, but what happened to them was beyond the limit of planning. Our nature is such that we try to see patterns where there are none. We think that life is like a farm where you can grow whatever you want the way you like, but life ultimately turns out to be a forest. Any wild plant comes up anywhere; there is no fixed pattern of growth but the wild. And the worst of all, wild bushes catch fire! Can we do anything about it? Maybe not. Except go wild, grow in wilderness.

* The title is my tribute to Pankaj Kapur for his role in Vishal Bhardwaj’s movie The Blue Umbrella, and especially for the scene when he delivers his speech after a wrestling competition, under his beloved umbrella, with the ending note “by chance”.

Death By Running

2009-09-15T22:17:00.000-07:00

River Kaveri greeted me as I opened the curtains of the room of the resort I was staying in. A few ducks had already jumped into the water at a dim sign of the dawn. It was the perfect setting to have a lazy and relaxed day, but that was not what I had come to Shrirangpatna for. The Kaveri Trail Marathon (KTM) was scheduled to start after about an hour and a half. I left for the assembly point with my gang of enthusiastic runners.

People were flocking in, mainly from Bangalore, at the venue. We got ready for the run the moment the full-marathoners were flagged off. I had set target of reaching to the half-marathon mark (21.05 km) in less than two hours. Considering that KTM is one of the toughest races in the country, and my previous best time was 2 hours and 18 minutes, I felt that achieving the target was going to be challenging. A quote on a t-shirt of a runner provided some inspiration – I run because I can. It was almost like a stampede when race started as there were more than 300 runners running together. A cameraman barely managed to avoid the flood of the people. The runners were distributed in their respective speed groups after around 2 km. I got into my own rhythm now. For a company, I followed a few runners running ahead of me. The trail was part of Ranganthittu Bird Sanctury, and I got a glimpse of it when I spotted a solitary bird sitting on a leafless branch of a tree. Crows seemed to be in majority here and their cacophonous orchestra provided no entertainment. Occasionally one heard twitter of other birds. This is the twitter I follow – not the one on the Internet. The trail was fantastic – though difficult as the road was paved with small stones -with river Kaveri on the left side, and fields on the right. The water of the river, moving rhythmically, made pleasant sound, as if humming into your ears: Chalna hi jindagi hai, chalti hi jaa rahi hai. Water sustains life, and there was ample proof of it. The fields were clad in full green. A few ladies were washing clothes on the banks of the river. A herd of buffaloes was trying hard to get a little fair by taking bath in the water. A farmer tied both of his cows on each side of the road and I escaped somehow from getting kicked. I suppose they were furious because they did not get to see so many people frequently.

The weather was hot and humid. Though everyone likes to receive some appreciation and perform to the audience, the sun was the least wanted spectator in those conditions. The sun got bored initially with our relatively slow speed so hid behind some clouds and gave us some relief. Half way mark, we needed to take a U-turn. I was happy when I crossed 10 km sign. But the road till the turn was very steep, and it was tiring to climb up. I started walking there. I felt the distance was more than half km, the feeling which was shared by fellow runners. I gulped water after turning back. It took me an hour to reach 11 km mark. There was no one in the sight now. The faster runners had gone quite ahead, and the slower ones had remained far behind. I was a little bored and tired, but there was a long way to go so I kept running remembering Sukhwinder’s beautiful rendition: Main Chala, main chala, saath mere chale jindagi ka safar.

By the time I crossed 15 km mark, I was quite exhausted. The sun was out fully now, blazing, as if wanting to see photo-finish. Go away; this is not 100 meters sprint. All of a sudden, I started feeling cold in that scorching heat. That was dangerous because the cold signals weakness in my case. To make the matters worse, my head started spinning. It was difficult to manage two different motions – the forward movement and the movement of the head. Then came the fears. Fear of giving up. Fear of not finishing the race in 2 hours. The worst - fear of not finishing at all. After every step I wanted to stop. It became the game of will versus want. I kept dragging myself for last few kilometers. I had 11 minutes left to achieve my target and 2 km to cover. My body was a bag of iron now, and quite heavy at it. The clouds of doubts were all over. But that Sukhwinder song still played in mind - Hai dhuan hi dhuan, raasto ke nishan, har kadam par mere, haunsle hai jawan, meri manjil mujhe aa rahi hai najar. I saw the finish-line now. I started sprinting with long strides, panting heavily. The heart was jumping in the chest to get out as if I kept it hostage for years. The faces in the crowd started cheering. The final stride and I landed on the other side of the line. When I reached there, I not only cross the line, but also overcame all the fears. How many fears we live with. Fear of stepping on a stone and getting hurt. Fear of getting bitten by a dog on the way. Fear of society. Fear of failure. Fear of rejection. Fear of consequences of our actions. Fear of ending on the wrong side. Fear of God! This is not to imply that I do not believe in God On the contrary I much believe in Him, but not because I am afraid of Him, but because of Him I have nothing to be afraid of. The fears are tamed. Fear no fears, friends. Go all out and pursue your passions like there is no tomorrow.

My stop-watch stopped at 1:58:41. With it I also stopped. I fell down on the ground and sat there. I felt completely giddy and exhausted and dehydrated now. A couple of people came to me asking if I was well. I requested them to get me some water. Unable to sit, I stretched myself on the ground. I do not remember when my heart skipped some beats, but after a few seconds when I woke up, I felt as if I kissed the sweet and sour death and came back. I felt no body weight. I was only aware of the conscious – and that too kept getting unconscious. After about an hour which seemed like an eternity and drinking liters of water, the life fully came back to me. That experience of near-death made me humble. How strange it is that death teaches us how to live. Think about it – a man completes half-marathon but cannot walk even 5 meters after that to bring a glass of water. I thanked all the people who helped me. Without them this blog would have died an infant’s death in the thought process itself. The KTM was a lesson in sending fears to graves, in experiencing death and escaping it. Call it death by running? Nah, I call it living by running.

It's Jungle Out There

2009-09-07T09:22:00.000-07:00

Many joggers and runners greet us as we enter into Gandhi Krishi Vigyaan Kendra (GKVK) on the Devanhalli Airport Road. The place seems to be the favorite of early morning risers. And there are good reasons for that. If lush green trees on the both sides of the main road are any indication, this campus is no less than a forest. We park our car near the small temple. Three dogs are taking naps on the steps of the temple, unmindful of the warm-up exercises the runners are doing. It is the first time I have come to the place and I am rightly forewarned that there are many trails inside the large campus and a wrong trail may lead one running around the bushes for quite a long time!

Within first 100 meters of our run, I realize the importance of that warning. Left or right? Which way I go? I decide to stay with other runners who know the track. After a while we leave the pukka road to follow a mud trail. The overnight drizzle has made the soil soft. We avoid jumping into small water patches on the way. The surrounding is getting denser now. Chirping of the birds make me take notice of them. We don’t care about that free music anymore. The air is fresh with the smell of rain soaked earth and green shoots. The trail becomes narrow going forward. The touch of grass and the water droplets on it sends a sensation up my body. Remember the childhood sensation of running your hands on the grass? Make no mistakes; the grass is greener on my side, or for that matter, on the every side. There are mango and chiku orchards, the sight of which makes me hungry. This is a perfect place to indulge all the five senses in.

The trail again becomes wider now with downward gradient. I can see a Gopuram in the distance. We need to take right once we reach to the Gopuram. The road is closed there by a fallen tree. We get inside the chiku orchard to catch the road a little ahead. But what is this? It’s a massacre out there. Many trees are felled and made to bite the dust. Some lunatic has decided to make a wide tar road here. Such a mindless pursuit of urban amenity in this jungle! A crow, saddened by the death of a tree, is mourning at the root of the tree. Many birds go homeless when a senseless man sees a purpose in such a nonsense act.

In the sudden attack of youthful exuberance, and to escape the murderous scene, I start running fast. The route is straight as far as I can see. But at certain point I have to decide which turn to take. I go right. Why? I have no idea. A dear friend says that though we think that we don’t know our soul intrinsically knows the path. It always leads us to the right path. We somehow block that sound coming from within and invite the troubles. In case the soul doesn’t know, there are other souls to guide you along the way, aren’t they? After all they are also part of the universal soul of which yours is a tiny dot. So am I on the right track? Well, it doesn’t matter at all. The soul knows.