The Spirit of Sandakphu - Part 3

This part of the narrative is dedicated to all those people who asked at different points of time why I had stopped writing this travelogue. I only hope that I take the narrative to its conclusion without much breaks in between.

Along with a few others, I had clearly strategized that we would walk a little ahead of the rest of the team while we were inside the Singalila National Park. That way, we would have an edge in spotting the red-panda, fate permitting. I started off quite well. However, owing perhaps to the strain of the previous day (and of course, my neglected fitness routine – a theme which shall repeat several times in this account), I conceded my lead within the first hour.

As fate would have it, we did not spot any red panda. Our success was limited to an odd hare here and a bird there. While we rested at one of our pit-stops in the middle of the trail, we could hear a bird call. As we strained ourselves to try and spot it, our attempt was disrupted by another group singing one of those Bollywood party songs as loud as possible while they walked. With them, went our chance of actually spotting any wildlife. Having had tasty momos upon exiting the national park, we continued on our trail. To be frank, this part of the trek was perhaps the most uneventful – except for those few moments in which I enjoyed the music of silence, in solitude. In the words of one of my co-trekkers, we were attempting to “capture silence” to carry with us forever.

Our destination, Kalipokhri/Kalapokhri, was a small village with a lake of the same name. It is named because of the black (kali) water found in the lake (pokhri, Nepali). Legend has it that the lake was formed from the imprint of Shiva’s right foot. It was evening when we reached there and a heavy fog blanketed the lake, reducing visibility. This gave an aura of mystery to the lake.

We spent the evening sitting around charcoal listening to stories. It was here that Sushant told us of a hilarious incident which had happened at the Sandakphu campsite. In one of the earlier groups Sushant had led, there was an Australian gentleman as well (the country has no significance with respect to the narrative, though). At the campsite, there are two types of tents. One for sleeping and the other is a toilet tent. The structure of the toilet tent is simple. It is merely a cloth covering the four sides around a pit, a couple of feet across and a few feet deep. (Using water in such cold climates is, perhaps, best avoided. Forget nationalism!) However, the skeleton of the tent is very fragile. Any excess pressure on any of the pillars propping the tent up can dislodge it. Our gentleman had to attend to his business in the middle of the night. Despite all warnings to the contrary, he held on to the poles heavily, causing the tent to fly away. Exposed to the winds at the wrong place and time, he dirtied the place around the pit, rather than easing his business into the pit! The tent was found a few feet away the next morning, fortunately.

The night sky at Kalipokhri (and at Sandakphu the next night) was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen. My attempts at capturing them on my phone failed, telling me that it was more important to live the moment than collecting it for an unknown, unseen future. I recharged my powerbank so that I could sustain the phone – the camera – for the next two-and-a-half days until we descended to Gorkhey, after two nights in a tent. The idea of sleeping in a tent looked exciting. The toilet tents - even more so!

The next morning, the first thing on our agenda was to look at the Kalipokhri Lake. It turned out be a huge disappointment. All there was to the lake was some mass of water, with colourful Buddhist prayer flags crisscrossing it. From our makeshift viewpoint – on top of a half-constructed house – we could see our trail for the day. There was hint of snow along the road. We were told that that day’s trail – from Kalipokhri to Sandakphu – despite being the shortest (at around 7 kms), was the toughest part of the trek. Once we exited Kalipokhri after breakfast, our lunch would be served only after we reached Sandakphu. Were we up for the challenge?

Kaaluru Kronicles: 2. The Marriage Broker

It had been a few months since Vishwa vanished from Kaaluru. Having known him closely, I did not feel perturbed. I believed he would turn up within a few days and life would go on, as though nothing was amiss. However, this time, I was wrong. Days stretched into weeks, then months. I assumed Vishwa would never come back, perhaps having found a new haven. 

In those initial days, Kaaluru was abuzz with the news of Vishwa having gone away – yet again. I was at pains explaining to those who asked – at Ramu’s, over by-2 coffee, where we were regulars;  at Muttaiah’s saloon; at Chandru’s photo studio on MG Road; to Shastry at the Chamundi Temple; even to Aslam, the taxi driver as he waited at the railway station, looking for customers who never came – that I had absolutely no idea. Gradually, people lost interest in the whereabouts of Vishwa, having their own troubles to take care of. I would still go to Ramu’s sometimes and order by-2 coffee, hoping that Vishwa would turn up to drink his share. I gave up after a few days. My parents were happy that their son now took interest in the banalities of household work than spending time with that good-for-nothing. 

That night, out of the blue, Vishwa landed at my front door. He being gone for months, his landlord had rented the house to a family and he needed a place to spend the night. My parents were kind enough to keep their opinions to themselves and let Vishwa stay for the night. I rolled out a mattress for him. Having freshened up, he lay there. I knew it would be long before either of us slept that night. However, I did not question him, waiting for him to open up.

******************

“You know very well”, Vishwa began “that I get tired of being the same place for long. Life in Kaaluru seemed monotonous. The same old faces, the same domestic squabbles. Despite me being unemployed most of the time, I could always walk into anybody’s house for lunch or dinner and nobody minded. That is this place’s strength and weakness. It discourages competition and enterprise. Irrespective of whether you liked me or not, you would feed me, for you know I will be useful at some point in time, when you need people to get work done in Mandya or Mysuru. And for long, I took advantage of it.

“One fine day, I got frustrated with the life I was leading and decided to try something new. I packed a few clothes, took some money and boarded the bus to Bengaluru. I had been to Bengaluru only once. I think you know that story, right? Flour Mill Krishna’s co-brother wanted a document signed by some minister and Krishna thought I would be the right person to help him with it. All I knew was a peon in the minister’s many offices, from Mandya. Because I knew him, I was let right into the minister’s chambers and Krishna’s co-brother was awed by it. The Minister was in a good mood that day, I guess. He talked as if he had known me for years and signed the paper right away. Krishna and his co-brother spread this among people in Kaaluru. Not that I enjoyed all the attention. However, I was done with all that now. 

“Bengaluru welcomed me with open arms. I could now get lost in those swarming crowds. I could swim anonymously in that sea of humanity. Here was one place where I could start afresh. I booked a room in one of the cheaper hotels and went in search of work. A studio near the central bus stand caught my attention. Having worked in Chandru’s studio for some time, I thought I could use my experience there. The owner was a gentleman. Along with the job, he gave me a room to stay, free of cost.

“Two weeks into the work, I noticed that most people who came to get their photos clicked were prospective brides and grooms. I smelt an opportunity here. What if along with clicking pictures, we started a marriage bureau? The owner was surprised that this hadn’t struck him for so long. Thus began a new chapter in my life. While the owner took care of photographs, I used my smooth talk to get details and requirements of brides and grooms to be. 

“We introduced a new clause. If a marriage was arranged through our bureau, then our studio would be given the order for photographing the wedding. It increased the business for us while the families did not have to search separately for photographers. It was a win-win arrangement. A few successful weddings later, I befriended a couple of purohits as well as caterers. They became our new partners. Now, we offered nearly end-to-end solutions for any wedding. This model worked for all of us. Steadily, my owner’s income grew to an extent that he was able to employ two people for wedding photography.”

“Then why did you leave that work to return here?” I cut in. “Don’t tell me you got bored with it so soon”, I said, sensing that perhaps the story had not yet begun. 

“I will tell you" Vishwa said, annoyed at my question. "The first rule of storytelling is that the storyteller should not be interrupted." 

“One fine day, we received this client, searching for a groom for his daughter. The daughter was pretty good looking. She had an MA in history. It was a fairly well-to-do family as well. It wasn’t hard to find a groom for such a girl. Preliminary talks were successful and an engagement was announced as well. 

“Post-engagement, I went to the groom’s house with the photo album a couple of days later. I sensed that the atmosphere was not alright. They said they had noticed that the girl’s first cousin and the girl appeared to be ‘pretty close’. Some in the groom’s family had taken objection to that. They wanted me to convey this ‘subtly’ to the bride’s family. Being the middle-man, I had no choice. 

“When I subtly broached this issue while talking to the girl’s father, he appeared to be expecting this. Apparently, ever since the girl and her first cousin were children, their families had playfully discussed that those two would be married when they came of age. The girl and the boy grew up with such feelings as well. When the parents became aware of the situation, they realised that the joke had gone too far. They conceded on the condition that the two first ‘settled’ in life before discussing marriage. As fate would have it, the boy turned out to be good-for-nothing. The families, in their collective wisdom, decided that it was not prudent for the girl to be married to him. Despite the two opposing their decision, the girl’s father took it upon himself to find a suitor for his daughter, not without the backing of his extended family. The girl’s father promised me that he would ensure the wedding went on without hassles. However, he wanted me to talk some sense into the girl. Why is it that I appear responsible to most people, when I cannot fend for myself?

“I felt awkward to talk to the girl about this. Neither was I her age, where I could approach as a friend; nor was I her parents’ age to be a paternal figure. What surprised me was the resolve with which the girl spoke. She said that perhaps they should not have taken their parents’ joke that seriously. She loved him deeply. She said she would support the family entirely until the boy established himself. If she left him now, just because he was not successful, wouldn’t she be running away from her responsibility as a lover? What if the groom that her parents – through me – had found for her was thrown out of job a few months into the wedding? Would she be allowed to desert him then? The ‘closeness’ she and her cousin had displayed at the engagement was to try and get the wedding cancelled from the groom’s side. 

“‘Your father has promised that he would ensure this marriage takes place’ I told her. 

‘Neither I, nor the groom nor will my cousin be happy. This one marriage can spoil the happiness of three families. Ask my father if he wants that’ she said. ‘Better still. I’ll commit suicide if my father forces me into the marriage. My cousin will follow. Let me spare my fiancé the horror’ she quipped matter-of-factly, a few moments later.

“I was not prepared to handle this challenge. I was supposed to be a marriage-broker; not counsel people. Yet, there I was. I used the emotional card. Did her parents’ love mean nothing to her? Did she desire that her parents hang their heads in shame in front of the groom’s family? ‘A suicide never solves anything’ I told her. ‘It is not the sign of strong-will. It is an escapist’s way out. It does not end your troubles. It compounds it for those around you.’ Much argument, punctuated with silences, later, she seemed to come around. I was surprised at my ability at counselling, I must say.

“She told her parents that she had agreed to the wedding. It felt strange to me, however. I would wake up in the middle of the night, hearing the indifferent tone with which she said she would commit suicide, if she was forced into the wedding. I would check my phone for any message or missed calls, heave a sigh of relief and go to sleep. I dropped by their house for absolutely no reason at all, just to check that she was safe. 

“As the day of the wedding approached, I was perhaps more tense than either of the families. I decided then. A couple of days before the wedding, I went and spoke to the girl. I had made all arrangements for her to elope with her cousin, if she did not want enter this marriage. I gave her the details and even before she could react, I left the house. I had already told the owner of the studio that I would be leaving Bengaluru. I distant relative had died, I told him. It became my obligation to be there for the rites and help the family in time of need. He did not object, now that he would get my share of the profit as well. I boarded the bus to Kaaluru and here I am. The very same anonymity that I had desired in Bengaluru helped me exit noiselessly” Vishwa said, smiling half-heartedly. “The wedding is the day after tomorrow.”  Silence engulfed the room for a few moments.

******************

“Why did I leave the business when it was flourishing? Being a marriage broker, I was supposed to arrange weddings but there I was making arrangements to disrupt one. Yet, had I forced this wedding, there was no guarantee that the girl and her cousin would not commit suicide, despite the girl having agreed to the wedding. I could not bear anymore nights like those when I woke up sweating, feeling guilty of abetting two suicides.

“Kaaluru’s romance attracted me. I found the local politics between the Chairman and board members of the Government School comforting. Small talk at Muttaiah’s saloon seemed interesting. I would rather spend time doing odd jobs and narrating stories than going back to such a life in Bengaluru. At least, not in the near future.”

I lay there in silence, digesting everything I had just heard. Minutes later, I heard Vishwa snoring blissfully. It was dawn when I finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.  

Yours Whimsically – Part 10: Indian of the Year 2017: The Intolerant Indian

Dear Reader,

Let me tell you this before you read further. You have been invited only to read this. I do not want your critiques, because others’ opinions matter little to me. In any case, I have been declared the Indian of the Year. So, who are you to judge me? However, rest assured that I am judging you all the while. Even as you read this.

You cannot miss me. I am that person in your group who believes that my opinions are a notch above those harbored by the rest of you. Do I keep my opinions to myself? No. I impose them on the group, because frankly, I do not see any point discussing with you. To me, any discussion ends the moment I have tabled my points. You argue using logic and I am allergic to that. If there is one thing I am intolerant to, that is logic. And debate. And difference. And discussion. And dissent. And reason. And…

What brought me this far so that today I am recognized as the Indian of the Year? Let me tell you the secret to success. 

I know that the opinion I have is not the majority opinion. Most of you perhaps do not even have an opinion. So before the logical brigade takes over, I start spreading my propaganda, my half-informed opinion. I become the loudest voice in the house. If you have a differing opinion or a reasoned argument, I make personal attacks at you because I know I cannot win logically. “If you cannot convince, confuse.” That is how I gain attention. That is how my views get attention. Overtime, you hear them so much that you believe those to be your own opinions. (Inception!). So when someone tries to give you a well-reasoned argument, you are armed to fight it. 

I am techsavvy too. I post my opinions on facebook – as my status, as posts in a group. I am sure some logical fool will comment opposing it. However, I am also sure that I will find an apprentice for myself. The apprentice and I proceed to create a group on WhatsApp with more such vulnerable, likeminded people, indoctrinating them day after day, arming them to indoctrinate several others. As for the fool, the apprentice and I troll and threaten him on social media. I am not supposing that the fool is a woman because I believe that a woman is not entitled to her own opinion. Even if she does have an opinion, along with my minions, I resort to shaming her and threatening her with assault. That is the only thing a free-thinking, logical woman is fit for, isn’t she? I am sure nobody will bat an eyelid, because ours is a society which victimizes the victims. And women. 

With people and technology at my disposal, I decide what you wear, what you eat, who you love. I make long, emotional posts and tell you which animal is your best friend, which animal is your god. You might feel these animals are a nuisance. Perhaps I feel that too. Perhaps I don’t even care. Yet, just because you have an opinion, I want to have the opposite view and push it down your throat. I cannot stand it when you invite me to a discussion. I only know how to shout before I think. So, I provoke you. I ensure that you either shut up or you get down to my level. I abuse my right to free speech. Yet, when I am targeted, I raise a red flag, because I am a hypocrite. [And yes, I do not want you to credit someone sitting in New Delhi for spreading intolerance. I deserve all the credit.]

If you still don’t believe that I can be really loud while making my point, read this piece again. You will see the redundancy in my arguments, simply because I am not accustomed to think. I grab one point and continue to harp on it. Spreading propaganda a thousand times doesn’t turn it into fact. However, it does make one forget the truth. This is what I leave you with. Think it over…. No. Don’t think. I hate it when you come to a different conclusion.

Yours Sincerely

The Intolerant Indian

[Indian of the Year 2017]

Yours Whimsically - Part 9: Waking up with Stella

I chose ecology not with the motivation of delving deep into research. I knew I had one year in hand as part of my Master’s thesis and I wanted to make the most of it – go to different places as part of field work, meet new people, gain as much diverse experiences as possible. I looked at it as an opportunity in character building than a research project. Little did I know that I would be faced with my first challenge within a fortnight of reporting to work.

Disclaimer: I do not hate animals. I wouldn’t be in ecology if I did. It is just that I am a little scared. Err…quite a lot, actually!

I have taken some poetic license in describing the incidents here. You can consider this to be an exaggerated ‘fictional autobiography’ or ‘autobiographical fiction’.

It was a Thursday when Senior told me that we will be going to his city for project-related work. Always on the lookout for experiences, I agreed. Before going to anybody’s house, I usually ask them about their place, family and other details before finding out if they have pets. I don’t know how I missed it this time, though. I was about to enter the house when Senior asked me to wait. They have a dog – a 9-year old German Shepard – as a pet and he had to see to it that it did not overreact to a stranger – that’s me. I froze. It slowly dawned upon me that this was a point of no return. Bravely, I marched ahead. Despite all precautions and me sitting at the far end of the hall, Stella walked upto me and for a brief moment, before she was pulled away by Aunty or Brother (I was in such shock that I don’t even remember!), she rested her muzzle on my thigh. I wonder how I did not soil my pants out of fear! Perhaps my mind was in stupor to even react. I will never know.

In Hindu mythology, we have Asthu Devatas – divine beings who keep saying “Asthu”, meaning “So be it”. That is why, as children, we are told to always think about and say good things. I am pretty sure of having told my friends in some conversation that I wanted what-is-the-word-for-female-dogs? around me. I did not mean it in the ‘literal’ sense, though. I then realized that Asthu Devatas did not use Urban Dictionary.

When I met Uncle for the first time, he genially asked if I had made friends with Stella. I, hesitantly, replied that I am not a huge fan of dogs. He laughed and asked me to think of her to be human. I would, if only she walked on two legs. I did not say this aloud, though. “You cannot work in the field if you are this scared”, he said. I couldn’t tell him that in the wild, when confronted, all of us had the same reaction – to run. Could I?

Since we had very few appointments, we spent most of the time in the house. Stella was lazily lying in the hall, as we sat and talked, worked or watched movies. I must say I spent half my energy in just keeping an eye out for every little movement she made – stretching, getting rid of insects or merely moving a limb while asleep. I do not know if they had a pact but there were times when both Senior and Brother conveniently disappeared for a few minutes. Those were moments when I sat there, chanting names of all those gods I have been familiar with since childhood, hoping Stella remained asleep. She opened her eyes sometimes and looked at me. I think, she sensed that I was watching her. Senior’s advice flashed in my head – “Do not look into dogs’ eyes. They take it as a challenge”. I then shifted my gaze, pretended to look elsewhere, but watched her out of the corner of my eye. I could not even be scared, for I had heard a million times that ‘dogs sense fear and prey on it’. That is perhaps the worst punishment – you aren’t even allowed to feel fear. The moment either Senior or Brother entered, I heaved a sigh of relief. Battle won!

Everytime I sat down to eat, despite the food being very good, I was unable to relish it. Aunty asked if I was okay. How could I say I wasn’t? How could I say that half my mind and one of my eyes was constantly monitoring Stella, fervently praying that she didn’t come too close for comfort? Had I so constantly and single-mindedly thought of any god, I guess he or she would have been mighty impressed and appeared before me! The Happy Man standing on the table looked at me. I asked if he was laughing at my predicament. He merely continued to laugh.

The first night in their house was perhaps the most difficult. Blame the movies for those scenes where dogs sleep with their owners. I spent the entire night, waking intermittently just to make sure that Stella had not entered our room to sleep beside Senior. I couldn’t blame her if she did. It was her ‘territory’, after all, and I was the ‘intruder’, in ecological terms. Every night, I relived this ‘fantasy’ of waking up with Stella. And everytime, I got up sweating, not so much because of the heat as out of fear.

Four – five days into my stay there, Stella and I seemed to have come to an unspoken pact. ‘I respect you. Please stay away from me’ I said. ‘Alright. I don’t care who you are as long as you don’t cause trouble’ she replied. There were no attempts are getting friendly. No attempts at scaring me away. We had, perhaps, learnt to tolerate each other’s presence. And we lived happily ever after. Err…cut out the last three words, please.

P.S: For those of you who started reading this piece believing that Simha has entered into a “new genre” of writing, I am sorry. However, I hope this was worth your time!

The Spirit of Sandakphu - Part 2

Our trail began through a wooded path with tall, sturdy conifers and the Himalayas were no longer visible. Tenzi dai, our guide, told us that those forests are a gift from our colonial masters, who replaced indigenous flora with pine trees to supply wood for a variety of purposes.

We stopped for tea at Chittrey. The tea shop there was the last establishment on Indian soil, beyond which lay Nepal. Throughout the trek, we would often alternate between India and Nepal, we were told. Over tea, the weather changed dramatically with the sun preferring to hide behind the clouds.

As we walked through the forest upto our next pit-stop, we saw trees full of beautiful red and yellow rhododendrons. All this changed after the break and we were asked to take the motorable road, due to the fog. The fact that I had totally neglected any fitness routine came back to haunt me on the slightly inclined path we treaded. We were served lunch in a local household which doubled up as a hotel for trekkers. Funnily, when the food was served, we spent time experiencing the warmth of hot rice and dal than eating it. The next few minutes were silent, punctuated periodically by speech to ask for servings of the items, for all of us were terribly hungry. I do not know whether it was due to the fact that we were served good food, at such a height, in such cold or just that we were hungry or a combination of both. There had been no delicacies, no exotic dishes, yet there was a deep sense of satisfaction within.

Perhaps it was the food. Or perhaps, I was tiring after having walked for so long with a backpack. Post-lunch, on the last leg enroute to Tumling, our camp for the night, I slowed down a little. This resulted in me having to walk alone at times, giving me time to be with myself. I remembered having read this statement somewhere – “If you are lonely when you are alone, you are in bad company”. Fortunately, I found this experience quite enriching. As I walked, I did feel the urge to off-load my backpack to the mules next day onwards. However, I had come to the trek with the purpose of putting my physical and mental endurance to test, hadn’t I? Besides, you experience a masochistic high in that pain when you push yourself to the limit! Thus, those momentary urges were fought back.

The fog was now so thick that the visibility had reduced to perhaps less than five metres. It is when the external world has nothing to offer that the vision turns inward. I was concentrating on my breathing, trying to recollect what we had learnt about hemoglobin as part of a course in physiology. In those few precious minutes of silence, there was nothing to listen to but my own heartbeat. It is in moments such as these when you realize that, perhaps, a trek, where you focus on your breath, is also a method of meditation. With every step you take in the mountains, you learn to love your heart - tirelessly beating, womb to tomb - adding new dimensions to your outlook towards life.

That evening in Tumling, over soup, we had another ice-breaker session. Each one of us had to introduce ourselves along with what ‘excited’ us most. More importantly, each person had to remember the names and interests of everybody else preceding him or her. I felt sorry for Tom & Brownene, both British, as they struggled to pronounce our names. It was here that Hemanth joined the group. He had planned on trekking to Sandakphu alone. However, due to uncertainty in weather, he decided to join our group. Hemant had left a lucrative career in the corporate sector to co-found a trekking group in Bengaluru called Nature Walkers. I felt an admiration (with a tinge of envy!) at his courage to take such a decision, living life on his terms. He was then on a two month ‘sabbatical’ in the mountains. Why is it that we always admire those which do not conform to the norm?

The next morning, we were given a wake-up call at five-thirty so that we could catch a glimpse of the Sleeping Buddha range at sunrise. It is named so because it appears like a person sleeping, with Mt. Kumbhakarna forming the nose, Mt. Kanchenjunga, the belly and Mt. Kabru North and Mt. Kabru South, the feet. It was too cold and the fog was still lifting as we walked nearly a kilometer to a proper view point. From the view point, we could also see the Everest, far away. Despite a very strong temptation, I shall not be putting up any image of the Sleeping Buddha range here.  Looking at the mountains, we realized what all we had missed the previous day, walking through the fog. As the first rays of the sun kissed Kanchenjunga, it turned a beautiful shade of gold. Gradually, it shifted to yellow and finally white. A profound sense of peace filled within, at that sight. I will perhaps fail if I try to write down what exactly I felt at that moment. “Experience cannot be explained” (a very famous line from a very famous Kannada movie). Walking through dense fog had been worth the effort, after all.

Having had such a beautiful opening sequence, what would the day have in store for us? The trail that day to Kalipokhri lay through the Singalila National Park, home to the endangered red panda. Would we be able to see the elusive red bear-cat? Only time would tell. 

                                                                                                           To be continued...

The Spirit of Sandakphu - Part 1

To be frank, I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the 3^rd-AC coach of the Humsafar Express. Perhaps because it is a relatively new train with new coaches, the train was fairly clean. What surprised me even more were the modern sanitary facilities like a jet-spray and a hand wash! The coach also had a feature of displaying the station which we were approaching, like the metros. It seemed like fiction! On the return journey, we were booked in a sleeper class coach, which was more ‘real’ – more like what I had expected on train journeys. I shall tell you more about it at a later stage.

As per schedule, we were supposed to reach NJP at 4.30 AM while our pick-up was at 9.30 AM. The train seemed to have understood my apprehension about having to spend five hours at a railway station and hence, by the time we reached the station, it was 9’o clock. Feeling an urgent need to use the washroom upon alighting, I was directed by the station staff to the washrooms near the second-class waiting room. While in the queue, I saw another person standing guard close to a toilet. I clearly understood why when my turn came – the toilet doors had no bolt on the inside! Having asked my friend to be with the luggage in the waiting area, I had nobody to guard while I was at my business. That was when I decided to resort to the universal code of coughing, whistling and singing! This code came in handy at our camp site in Sandakphu as well. There is another fairly interesting story about that campsite. But then, we will have to get there slowly.

We met some of our co-trekkers over breakfast at a modest hotel outside the station. Post-breakfast, we set off in three vehicles towards Jowbari (or Jaubhari), our base camp. My friend, Naman (he personally asked me to mention names – his name, at the least) and I were grouped with four others from IIM-A along our journey. I found it unique that a group of young men and women should choose a trek as their grad-trip than perhaps getting drunk in Goa or a road-trip to Ladakh – things which are trendy. One of them is a pretty good singer and he sang along most of the Rafi and Kishore Kumar’s songs which were played during the drive.  

The setting was perfect – beautiful music, cool wind and majestic mountains. What was missing was, perhaps, coffee. Those mountains can silence us into introspection. Reflecting, I realized how insignificant we are. Yet, we humans bore through mountains to create tunnels and roads, stamping our authority on nature. However, would we have been able to do something had nature willed against it? All it takes are a few seconds for any earthquake or landslide to destroy all those symbols of human conquest, along with our ego!

The journey was pretty uneventful and by the time we reached Jaubhari, it was late afternoon. Fog was setting in and the weather was turning cold, prompting us to wear multiple layers of clothing. We were let off for a while to socialize, call up home and rest. I spent time looking at the mountains till they disappeared behind the veil of fog, trying to understand what I was looking for on this trek.

Here, we met our trek leader, Sushant. Along with him was Karthik as part of the Green Trails, a highly commendable initiative by India Hikes. The idea is to collect any waste, plastic especially, which we come across along our trek, in the “Eco-Bags” which were given to us and deposit them at the next camp for disposal. Thus, we leave the mountains cleaner than they were when we entered them. Over tea, we were given our health cards and our BP, pulse and oxygen readings were taken. For the next six days, our pulse and oxygen readings would be taken thrice a day – in the morning, upon arrival at a camp and in the evening. What caused anxiety was the fact that in the health card, it was written that any parameter below a certain level mandated immediate evacuation. Everytime the oximeter was put on to take my readings, I sincerely prayed that the score was favorable, just like while waiting for results of an exam!

We were served hot soup, the first of the many delights that we were served through the trek, and Sushant explained the itinerary in some detail, with special stress on the no-smoking and no alcohol clause. There was also a mini ice-breaker session. An interesting observation about our batch is that the youngest member was 11 while the oldest was 52 years old. Dinner was good as well. Perhaps one reason why I would recommend India Hikes is the amazing food that they serve. Throughout the trek, at all camps, we were served quality food, not to forget the sweet dish and ‘hot drink’ (no euphemism there – we were provided Bournvita or ginger water!).

I was surprised to find myself happily going off to sleep at around 9’o clock, unlike in the hostel, where an average day ends at 1’o clock in the morning. I went to sleep wondering if the ensuing week would reset my biological clock to timings which my parents would be proud of!

The next morning, after a moderately heavy breakfast, we were set to begin our trek. With backpacks, shoes and trek poles, we looked professional. Through the clouds, we caught a fleeting glimpse of the snow-capped Himalayas, beckoning us and off, we were.                                                                                 

                                                                                                               To be continued…

The Spirit of Sandakphu - Prologue

The trek is over. The hangover is fading. Now that I have sat down to write about it, I am faced with a question. When actually did this story begin taking shape? It surely did not begin on Day 1 of the trek. More importantly, it does not end with that final step with which we reached the end point on the trail. Experiences of that one week will be ruminated over for days, with new insights gained every other time.

Over the next two or three pieces, I shall narrate this story, hoping to capture the spirit of Sandakphu.

                                                         *************

It was in November when a couple of friends and I sat down to make plans for the break in the coming semester. Package tours were too mainstream. Our previous experience had not been great either. That's a story for another day. Besides, a bunch of 20-somethings are expected to do things which are hatke. The idea of 'self-discovery' has been much romanticized. Moreover, 20s is the age when you decide what the philosophy of your life is. It was this that drove us towards the idea of a trek - to find our real selves and where better to delve within than the mighty Himalayas?! December was dedicated for shortlisting treks and trying to get other 'like-minded' friends on board. We also promised that regardless of who joined us or otherwise, the three of us would surely be going.

By January, our group was five-member strong. After much deliberation and debate, to the extent of switching over to the idea of a package tour, we zeroed in on the Sandakphu - Phalut trek offered by India Hikes. The batch of 12th - 18th March seemed tailor-made for our plans. The website said it was a trek for beginners. The trail was through a national park, in a month when flowers would just begin to bloom. The summit provided views of the Everest! What more reason do you need to start a love affair with nature?

A few days after having booked the tickets, one of our friends decided to back out. The reason is still not known to any of us, perhaps even to himself, even after the trek is over. Attempts at convincing him failed miserably. That was, however, only the first wicket to fall. Some days later, two more decided to cancel, with justifiable reasons, though. Of the initial three, only I remained and the group was reduced to two. In fact, until the day that we actually boarded the train, I dreaded that the only other member would decide to back out as well, for whatever reason!

Couple of weeks before the trek was when we decided to burn a hole through our pockets – by purchasing gear and equipment from Decathlon. While shopping was an experience to remember, the fact that we travelled nearly a couple of hundred kilometers for the same is a story in itself. On that fateful day, we travelled to and from the warehouse (which is in the middle of nowhere!) in buses, local trains, cycle rickshaws, auto ricks and motor thelas. Lack of time prevented us from travelling by steamer across the Hooghly, though. By the time we exited the warehouse, we had heavier bags and lighter wallets, having purchased more than what we had intended to!

Our first challenge was not on the trekking trail but on the train to Howrah. Bengal is, of course, a densely populated state. That evening on that local train underlined this for us. We already had difficulty moving with our heavy backpacks. Add to it the heat, sweat and pressure of a crowd trying to push you in every other direction! At one point of time, some of the kids on the train began crying, perhaps because they felt claustrophobic and were gasping for air. In hindsight, it feels that this was the first point along the entire trek which highlighted the value of one of the things we take for granted – breath.

Funnily, though, throughout this prelude to the trek, I felt absolutely no sense of excitement – not while backpacking, not on the night before the trek, not on the train to Howrah. It was replaced with an eerie sense of calmness. Or was it anxiety? I will never know.

Humsafar Express, our train to New Jalpaiguri, our pick-up point, was a couple of hours late that night. Our journey had just begun.

                                                                                                                       

                                                                                                                To be continued…