Eastern Sojourn (Continuing…)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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…