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)!
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 |||
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.
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!
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 KuruvaIsland. 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. KuruvaIsland 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 KuruvaIsland. 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 KuruvaIsland, 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 arealwaysready 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.
It is India’s 61st 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 MountAbu 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.
“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!
