(waiting for the rains)
Monsoon is the best time for trekking in the Sahayadris. Though the rain makes the downhill route slippery and a bit tricky to negotiate, it is more than made up by the rain – drenched hills shrouded in mist, the clouds and the numerous small waterfalls and streams that spring up all over.
I went with Odati on two perfect monsoon treks last year – to Manikgad and Surgad. Both were short hikes and just right for a relaxed Sunday – a 3.5 hr amble uphill at Manikgad and a 2.5 hr walk at Surgad. The only patch of slightly difficult terrain was the the last patch at Surgad which is steep and slippery and requires concentration. While the rain evaded us at Manikgad, in Surgad we got caught in a downpour that was full ‘paisa-vasool’ and thoroughly enjoyed it. Both treks had lush greenery and long wavy grass rippling in the breeze.
Both places we had a local guide in addition to the Odati team; apart from showing us the way, they added to overall entertainment levels with their eccentric personalities. I have a sneaky suspicion, though, that these villagers might have a similar reason for agreeing to guide us – not for the money, but to observe these wimpy weird townfolk and have funny stories to tell their families over dinner.
The Maamaa at Manikgad was strong ‘n silent and quite a disciplinarian. On the way up the final portion, whenever we halted to catch our breath, he would stop ahead of us, look down at us and make clicking noises with his teeth to hurry us up – the kind villagers make to hurry along cattle in the fields ! Like all such maamaa’s I have seen, the fact that we were paying him made no difference to his bindaas attitude and behaviour. As we had oodles of time to enjoy the view from the peak, we intended to snooze for about an hour after eating lunch but he would have none of it. He woke us up in 20-30 minutes and herded us down, saying that he was worried it would soon rain heavily. As he had earlier confidently predicted a dry morning when we thought dark clouds heralded rain, we decided he might be right this time too and clambered down the hill lickety-split.
The Maamaa at Surgad had even more impressive weather prediction skills. A lean, stringy weather-beaten guy over 70 monsoons old, he would predict when it would rain down to the last half hour (maybe the MET office should hire him!) and his reading of the clouds was right more often than not. He was as much of a disciplinarian as the Manikgad Maamaa, but his style was to shame you into hurrying, rather than to herd you. Halfway up the hill, when we stopped for 5-10 minutes at a nice meadow, he proudly told us that he could ascend and descend the hill in less than an hour, which was less than the time it had taken us to reach the halfway point; you can bet we walked faster after that.
All these Monsoon maamaa’s interpret suggestions of alternative routes as mutiny and tend to mulishly insist that you take exactly the path they prefer – maybe it comes from a lifetime of being the undisputed head of the family and getting unquestioning obedience. Our Surgad maamaa had the same attitude towards dissent, except that he was also an expert at psychological warfare. When he didn’t want to climb right to the very peak, rather than argument and obstinacy, he used the tell-tales-of-townsfolk-who-would-not-listen-and-suffered-painful-accidents solution. Quite a storyteller, he relished multiple retellings of the tale of women from Mumbai getting stuck at the peak during a downpour, almost falling all the way down while descending and finally having to be lowered down on ropes. He was quite effective too, we convinced ourselves that the hills, the fort walls and the stone relics scattered around were sufficient adventure and there couldn’t be anything better to see at the peak.
By,
Zenobia
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
What to do at Tawang....
....Apart from the usual visit to the monastery and to the Bum La Pass.
Visit the Ani Gompa (monastery for female monks). Unlike the main Tawang monastery whose presence dominates the town and which has bright yellow roofs that are visible from a distance, the Ani Gompa is tucked away discreetly on a hillside away from the town.
Drive around aimlessly over the hills just outside town. Notice army presence, also old bunkers scattered on the hills, realize how close and fragile the border is over here. Then visit the war memorial in the centre of town – it commemorates the soldiers that died during the 1962 war with China.
Visit Hotel Maa for a meal or a snack – awesome rasmalai and yummy parathas.
Visit the small music shops and ask for their own selection of English / Hindi music. These guys record eclectic mixtures of songs and music styles that make for great listening while travelling. You never know which song is going to play next, the unexpected melodies match the adventure waiting around the next turn.
Just walk around town. Notice the contrast between the expanse of the blue sky, the towering white mountains in the distance, and bunches of tiny red and orange flowers growing on the balconies of the houses nearby.
One of the photographs at the exhibition at Ravindra Natya Mandir in Mumbai captured exactly this scene and prompted this post. If, like me, you haven’t trekked in a while, an hour spent gazing at the photographs at the exhibition and exchanging memories of treks with friends is well worth it. Of course, it will result in a lot of wasted time the next day while you gaze at snaps on Jayesh’ facebook account and schedule your next trek etc.
By,
Zen
(read more posts by Zen at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)
Visit the Ani Gompa (monastery for female monks). Unlike the main Tawang monastery whose presence dominates the town and which has bright yellow roofs that are visible from a distance, the Ani Gompa is tucked away discreetly on a hillside away from the town.
Drive around aimlessly over the hills just outside town. Notice army presence, also old bunkers scattered on the hills, realize how close and fragile the border is over here. Then visit the war memorial in the centre of town – it commemorates the soldiers that died during the 1962 war with China.
Visit Hotel Maa for a meal or a snack – awesome rasmalai and yummy parathas.
Visit the small music shops and ask for their own selection of English / Hindi music. These guys record eclectic mixtures of songs and music styles that make for great listening while travelling. You never know which song is going to play next, the unexpected melodies match the adventure waiting around the next turn.
Just walk around town. Notice the contrast between the expanse of the blue sky, the towering white mountains in the distance, and bunches of tiny red and orange flowers growing on the balconies of the houses nearby.
One of the photographs at the exhibition at Ravindra Natya Mandir in Mumbai captured exactly this scene and prompted this post. If, like me, you haven’t trekked in a while, an hour spent gazing at the photographs at the exhibition and exchanging memories of treks with friends is well worth it. Of course, it will result in a lot of wasted time the next day while you gaze at snaps on Jayesh’ facebook account and schedule your next trek etc.
By,
Zen
(read more posts by Zen at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)
Friday, October 2, 2009
Of Mountains and Folklores:
I believe that urban ‘superstitions’ had some logical basis once upon a time….its just that those logics don’t apply to the current situation anymore. And hence you tend to ignore them. But when you travel closer to nature, deep in its interiors and you hear certain folklores……somehow you don’t want to tamper with them. Many people listen to them as that only i.e. folk tales and forget about them. But I find them fascinating and mysterious. And I believe always, always told in order to respect and protect nature.
The first interesting one that I heard was on the trek to Dzongri in Sikkim. We had reached the base of the Dzongri peak and were getting excited about going up to the peak in the wee hours to see the sunrise. The sunrise there is said to be spectacular and pinkish in colour. In the night the guide told us quietly….that if a person is a sinner, he or she won’t be able to see the sunrise on Kanchendzonga. We saw a muted sunrise as the clouds floated in and out. On our way back, the same guide pointed to a group of foreign trekkers of a particular country and said that they are not good people and they will never be able to see the sunrise. Lo and behold, a storm engulfed us the very same night.
A very fascinating folklore exists in GHNP. The final destination of our trek was to the origin of the river Tirthan in Bhuindari. On our second day just before our climb started, there was a tree filled with stuff made of iron. The guides refused to go ahead without lighting incense there. For our safe return, they informed us. Anyway….this is not the fascinating folklore I was talking about. There are two glacial lakes in Bhuindari from which the Tirthan originates. Women are not allowed to go near them or see them. Men can go to only one lake….the other remains untouched by human hands…in its very pure form. It’s the only other place in India where Brahma, the Creator is worshipped and rightly so. We womenfolk stayed away.
Monal, the state bird of HP is brilliant and elusive. The locals say that when God created the Monal, all the birds of the world presented it with one of their feathers. That’s why you can see every possible colour in that bird.
My favourite folklore however is about a place where I have not been yet – the Valley of Flowers. This valley was hidden from humans for a long time. It was only in the 1930s that a British mountaineer stumbled upon it. The locals however knew about this valley but refused to go there ever believing it to be visited by fairies. They say that if you enter their dwelling place, the fairies will carry you away. Some believe that that’s how the female botanist from England also died there. Even now the locals refuse to go into the interiors of the park which remains off bound to humans. And yes….I do believe in fairies!
In the grueling trek to Tso-Moriri in Ladakh, bad weather followed us constantly making us change our plans everyday. Out of pure frustration, B a fellow trekker started abusing the mountains. J and I jumped on him and immediately told him to stop. It’s a cardinal sin to curse nature especially when you are out there in nature…for nature. Why do we forget that we don’t and can’t ever control nature? It is nature that always controls us.
And then there are the prayer flags…it’s not a folklore but I simply love the concept. The prayers written on the flags flutter in the wind and gets carried up to heaven. Up there standing on top of the world, with nature in its purest form……it’s simple to believe that the prayers will always reach the right ears.
The first interesting one that I heard was on the trek to Dzongri in Sikkim. We had reached the base of the Dzongri peak and were getting excited about going up to the peak in the wee hours to see the sunrise. The sunrise there is said to be spectacular and pinkish in colour. In the night the guide told us quietly….that if a person is a sinner, he or she won’t be able to see the sunrise on Kanchendzonga. We saw a muted sunrise as the clouds floated in and out. On our way back, the same guide pointed to a group of foreign trekkers of a particular country and said that they are not good people and they will never be able to see the sunrise. Lo and behold, a storm engulfed us the very same night.
A very fascinating folklore exists in GHNP. The final destination of our trek was to the origin of the river Tirthan in Bhuindari. On our second day just before our climb started, there was a tree filled with stuff made of iron. The guides refused to go ahead without lighting incense there. For our safe return, they informed us. Anyway….this is not the fascinating folklore I was talking about. There are two glacial lakes in Bhuindari from which the Tirthan originates. Women are not allowed to go near them or see them. Men can go to only one lake….the other remains untouched by human hands…in its very pure form. It’s the only other place in India where Brahma, the Creator is worshipped and rightly so. We womenfolk stayed away.
Monal, the state bird of HP is brilliant and elusive. The locals say that when God created the Monal, all the birds of the world presented it with one of their feathers. That’s why you can see every possible colour in that bird.
My favourite folklore however is about a place where I have not been yet – the Valley of Flowers. This valley was hidden from humans for a long time. It was only in the 1930s that a British mountaineer stumbled upon it. The locals however knew about this valley but refused to go there ever believing it to be visited by fairies. They say that if you enter their dwelling place, the fairies will carry you away. Some believe that that’s how the female botanist from England also died there. Even now the locals refuse to go into the interiors of the park which remains off bound to humans. And yes….I do believe in fairies!
In the grueling trek to Tso-Moriri in Ladakh, bad weather followed us constantly making us change our plans everyday. Out of pure frustration, B a fellow trekker started abusing the mountains. J and I jumped on him and immediately told him to stop. It’s a cardinal sin to curse nature especially when you are out there in nature…for nature. Why do we forget that we don’t and can’t ever control nature? It is nature that always controls us.
And then there are the prayer flags…it’s not a folklore but I simply love the concept. The prayers written on the flags flutter in the wind and gets carried up to heaven. Up there standing on top of the world, with nature in its purest form……it’s simple to believe that the prayers will always reach the right ears.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Odati Oddities
Trips with Odati are rarely short on entertainment, something or someone (with initials J M ?) attracts eccentrics of every kind.
Kooky K : K is the absent-minded forgetful kind, the type that puts his mobile phone into the washing machine by mistake and then switches it on – the machine, that is, not the phone.
K is also the obstinate type. He once wore really – short – almost – absent – shorts while trekking in a mosquito infested area and refused to use Odomos in spite of Jayesh’ repeated admonishments. K’s stated reason - “Odomos is only for women” ! I suppose he also believed ‘mard ko dard nahin hota’, a principle that was quickly disproved after he got bitten to bits. Rather unreasonably, he failed to understand why none of the women expressed any sympathy for him.
[Rule 1 of trekking with Odati : Those who disobey Jayesh do so at their own peril.]
‘Ncouraging N : Then there’s N, one of the group leaders on a monsoon trek to Prabalgad on a day it poured torrentially. By evening, all of us were soaked, bone-tired and running low on energy. We cheered up as we finished our descent and realized that we had just one tiny stream and a 20 minute walk between us and the vehicle which would bear us speedily towards hot tea and steaming pakodas. Our slow plodding steps had just regained some of their bounce and vigour when we rounded a curve in the path and gasped in horror – the babbling brook that we remembered had morphed into a frothing rage of water that would reach higher than our waists as we crossed.
While us city-bred folk fretted about losing our lives, N had his own worries that we selfishly ignored. Not for long though. Being a true-blue Bawa, N could not but speak his mind. While J fussed about helping everyone link hands and then cross, N loudly voiced his concern that one of us (paying customers, mind you) would pee out of fear while we were crossing the stream and he would end up standing in soiled water ! Now that’s perspective - Where you see a scary death by drowning, another sees only the dinginess of ….ugh…. soiling !
[Rule 2 of trekking with Odati :A reality check is never far away.]
Resplendent R : And how could I forgot R ? For his first high altitude trek, he chose to turn up with two hold-alls, one of which had a zip that could not be closed ! Apparently he had spoken to people who trekked regularly and none of them had classified a backpack as a necessity. On the other hand, good ol’ R’s friends and well-wishers had focused on the necessity of managing without a bath for days on end. As they say, forewarned is forearmed, and R was sufficiently prepared with about 10 pairs of knee-length cotton shorts, each of which had bright candy stripes in pink, orange etc. Even the rhodendrons and the hornbills we saw could not match R’s colourful flamboyant style !
[Rule 3 of trekking with Odati : Positive Attitude and fun are non-negotiable, all else can be managed somehow.]
A pseud person who spoke the Queen’s English with a clipped accent, nevertheless a loyal son of the soil from Bihar, R felt an indefinable bond with every Bihari he met. Somehow he seemed to meet them all - grocers, barbers, waiters, a guy running a lodge etc, and he could never resist a ten minute chat with each of them. R loved discussing intricate details of his newfound friend’s life – his native place, schooling, his children, their education, which bus they caught to go to the school nearest the village etc etc. We shamelessly eavesdropped on these chats, it was almost a cultural exchange program hearing the two accents collide and communicate – one rough and colloquial, the other refined and speaking in shuddhh textbook Hindi.
Single S : S was single and eligible and the group decided that one of the objectives of a two week high-altitude ‘mission’ in the Himalayas was to find him a pretty bride. J in particular favoured someone whose parents owned an STD booth in a small town. Not only would S be able to live in such a beautiful place forever as a ghar-jamai, but his friends from Odati would also get free boarding and lodging. In J’s opinion, the deal-clincher was the fact that whenever S felt homesick, he could make FREE STD calls to his Mum !
[Rule 5 : The hearing of PJs will be as frequent as the sighting of greenery or mountains.
Rule 5. addendum 1. He who cracks the worst joke shall be the guy or girl Jayesh likes the most.
Rule 5. addendum 2. Often Jayesh will crack the worst joke (he has a whole repertoire of corny ones). In that case, addendum 1 refers to the worst but one joke]
Movie-star M : You and I would consider M’s looks fairly average, but he thought otherwise and never felt entirely free of the fan following and paparazzi that followed him everywhere, even on a high altitude trek. During one dangerous river crossing, he almost got swept away, but managed to hold tight to a rope with one hand and was pulled to safety by the porters. You or I, average people, would reach shore and our first impulse would be to thank God for sparing us and to hug the porters who pulled us to safety. But M was not made for such mundane reactions. On reaching the shore, the first thing he did was to dig deep into his pockets, unearth a small comb and quickly brush his untidy hair into submission. He then turned and waved nonchalantly for the benefit of his anxious friends on the opposite bank and the assembled (imaginary) paparazzi.
[Rule 4. Be ready to achieve fame of a sort on a trek with Odati – stories deemed worthy are retold to other trekkers for years.]
By,
Zen (Read more by Zen at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)
Kooky K : K is the absent-minded forgetful kind, the type that puts his mobile phone into the washing machine by mistake and then switches it on – the machine, that is, not the phone.
K is also the obstinate type. He once wore really – short – almost – absent – shorts while trekking in a mosquito infested area and refused to use Odomos in spite of Jayesh’ repeated admonishments. K’s stated reason - “Odomos is only for women” ! I suppose he also believed ‘mard ko dard nahin hota’, a principle that was quickly disproved after he got bitten to bits. Rather unreasonably, he failed to understand why none of the women expressed any sympathy for him.
[Rule 1 of trekking with Odati : Those who disobey Jayesh do so at their own peril.]
‘Ncouraging N : Then there’s N, one of the group leaders on a monsoon trek to Prabalgad on a day it poured torrentially. By evening, all of us were soaked, bone-tired and running low on energy. We cheered up as we finished our descent and realized that we had just one tiny stream and a 20 minute walk between us and the vehicle which would bear us speedily towards hot tea and steaming pakodas. Our slow plodding steps had just regained some of their bounce and vigour when we rounded a curve in the path and gasped in horror – the babbling brook that we remembered had morphed into a frothing rage of water that would reach higher than our waists as we crossed.
While us city-bred folk fretted about losing our lives, N had his own worries that we selfishly ignored. Not for long though. Being a true-blue Bawa, N could not but speak his mind. While J fussed about helping everyone link hands and then cross, N loudly voiced his concern that one of us (paying customers, mind you) would pee out of fear while we were crossing the stream and he would end up standing in soiled water ! Now that’s perspective - Where you see a scary death by drowning, another sees only the dinginess of ….ugh…. soiling !
[Rule 2 of trekking with Odati :A reality check is never far away.]
Resplendent R : And how could I forgot R ? For his first high altitude trek, he chose to turn up with two hold-alls, one of which had a zip that could not be closed ! Apparently he had spoken to people who trekked regularly and none of them had classified a backpack as a necessity. On the other hand, good ol’ R’s friends and well-wishers had focused on the necessity of managing without a bath for days on end. As they say, forewarned is forearmed, and R was sufficiently prepared with about 10 pairs of knee-length cotton shorts, each of which had bright candy stripes in pink, orange etc. Even the rhodendrons and the hornbills we saw could not match R’s colourful flamboyant style !
[Rule 3 of trekking with Odati : Positive Attitude and fun are non-negotiable, all else can be managed somehow.]
A pseud person who spoke the Queen’s English with a clipped accent, nevertheless a loyal son of the soil from Bihar, R felt an indefinable bond with every Bihari he met. Somehow he seemed to meet them all - grocers, barbers, waiters, a guy running a lodge etc, and he could never resist a ten minute chat with each of them. R loved discussing intricate details of his newfound friend’s life – his native place, schooling, his children, their education, which bus they caught to go to the school nearest the village etc etc. We shamelessly eavesdropped on these chats, it was almost a cultural exchange program hearing the two accents collide and communicate – one rough and colloquial, the other refined and speaking in shuddhh textbook Hindi.
Single S : S was single and eligible and the group decided that one of the objectives of a two week high-altitude ‘mission’ in the Himalayas was to find him a pretty bride. J in particular favoured someone whose parents owned an STD booth in a small town. Not only would S be able to live in such a beautiful place forever as a ghar-jamai, but his friends from Odati would also get free boarding and lodging. In J’s opinion, the deal-clincher was the fact that whenever S felt homesick, he could make FREE STD calls to his Mum !
[Rule 5 : The hearing of PJs will be as frequent as the sighting of greenery or mountains.
Rule 5. addendum 1. He who cracks the worst joke shall be the guy or girl Jayesh likes the most.
Rule 5. addendum 2. Often Jayesh will crack the worst joke (he has a whole repertoire of corny ones). In that case, addendum 1 refers to the worst but one joke]
Movie-star M : You and I would consider M’s looks fairly average, but he thought otherwise and never felt entirely free of the fan following and paparazzi that followed him everywhere, even on a high altitude trek. During one dangerous river crossing, he almost got swept away, but managed to hold tight to a rope with one hand and was pulled to safety by the porters. You or I, average people, would reach shore and our first impulse would be to thank God for sparing us and to hug the porters who pulled us to safety. But M was not made for such mundane reactions. On reaching the shore, the first thing he did was to dig deep into his pockets, unearth a small comb and quickly brush his untidy hair into submission. He then turned and waved nonchalantly for the benefit of his anxious friends on the opposite bank and the assembled (imaginary) paparazzi.
[Rule 4. Be ready to achieve fame of a sort on a trek with Odati – stories deemed worthy are retold to other trekkers for years.]
By,
Zen (Read more by Zen at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Adventure in High Mountains:
The trek promised of adventure from the very beginning….only we never read the signs. For me it was an ill-gotten holiday and by the time I was ready to leave for Chandigarh, Jayesh declared that the team of some 10-12 trekkers had now dwindled down to just 5 guys and me.
Trouble started on our jeep ride from Manali to Kibber. A rocky ride led us to a gateway in the middle of nowhere, welcoming us to Spiti. Nature, as if taking cue from this, also made its presence felt. Just as we crossed the gate, our heads throbbed painfully due to the lack of oxygen in air. And by the time we reached Kibber, the starting point of the 9days trek to Tso Moriri in Ladakh, my condition was so severe that I had made up my mind to abandon the trek.
Acclimatization day: Jayesh puked. I mean Jayesh puked! If that could happen to him, then I didn’t think I had any chance.
Day 1: Bright and fresh with no headaches. Trek begins. Down and up a valley under a hot open sky. It was a long walk to the green Thaltak meadow, our camp. When M didn’t reach even after an hour we panicked. A guide was sent and M came back lips parched, white and dry. He was dehydrated.
Day 2: We took it slow and steady. Just as we neared the base camp of ParangLa Pass at 17500ft, we spied ominous dark clouds on the horizon.
Day 4: We had overslept due to exhaustion. It was 9 in the morning by the time we got ready to cross the stream which was by this time in full flow. M tried to cross but was swept off by the current. The guide grabbed him at the nick of time and hauled him to the other side. This left us with only one option….climbing the slippery glacier and then crossing over to the other side. We held on to a rope, jumped crevasses and gushing rivulets and rappelled down the other side and greeted M like a long lost brother.
Day 5: We got ready at 5 in the morning to cross the river again. The water was bone numbing cold and I lost sensation of legs within minutes. It was then I realized how easily M could have become hypothermic. It was hours of walking and I was on the verge of panic before sensation on my feet returned. The cloud which was hovering in the background caught up with us forcing us to camp in a hurry.
Day 6: We woke up to hysterical laughter from the other tent and peeped outside to see a horrendous sight. What we hadn’t realized was that we had camped in a trough and it had rained the whole night. Now the whole area had become mud slush and our belongings were floating in it. Rain played hide and seek with us as we hurried along the trail fearing mudslides. We went to sleep while a lone wolf howled in the distance.
Day 7: The clouds fleeted in and out. A mare and her filly grazed freely on a grassy knoll. An aggressive looking Changpa shepherd crossed us with his flock of hundreds of sheep carrying rice in pouches on their backs. We camped at Norbu Sumdo, the last site before crossing over to Ruphsu Valley. The wind was howling but it didn’t deter the boys from playing cricket with a rolled up plastic ball. While everybody settled in for the night, I stayed outside gazing up at the trillions of stars and the Milky Way so prominent in the sky. I felt humble and tiny in front of God’s amazing creation.
Day 8: It was a glorious day. The clouds were gone leaving the mountains sprinkled with fresh snow and the sky a deep shade of blue. We had to cross the river one final time before entering the valley. This we did by huddling together to fortify ourselves against the current. A long agonizing walk over a dry, pebbled river bed took us to the exquisite Tso-Moriri…our destination. A herd of kiangs grazed nearby. The Lake mesmerized us as it changed colors along with the sun. From sparkling blue, to sea-green, grey and then back to blue-green again. The water fed by the freshly melting glacier was as clear as glass and the lake appeared divine and mystical.
Day 9: The last day’s walk was a long 24kms along the lake’s shore. Ducks waded in the lake creating the tiniest ripples, clouds gathered and then blew away like a film in fast forward mode creating the most amazing patterns on ground, strong winds pushed us about and yet we walked silently – awe struck by the unimaginable beauty. My left leg was cramped from hip to feet but Korzok, our final destination never seemed nearer. At one point, tired, cramped and dirty I gave in to my feminine urges and cried shamelessly.
We were almost at break point when we reached Korzok in the evening to loud cheers.
Back in Leh, as I scrubbed off 10 days of dirt and grime I was overwhelmed by a desire to go back again. To the barren mountains and snow covered peaks, the beautiful pristine lake, the freedom of the Changpa nomad and the mare grazing on knoll, the cry of a lone wolf and a star studded sky. The hardships and adventure at every turn had enhanced our experience further showing us the reality that is nature….in its full glory.
I had lost a drastic 9 kilos on this trek but in return I gained an experience which can never be repeated anywhere in the world.
Trouble started on our jeep ride from Manali to Kibber. A rocky ride led us to a gateway in the middle of nowhere, welcoming us to Spiti. Nature, as if taking cue from this, also made its presence felt. Just as we crossed the gate, our heads throbbed painfully due to the lack of oxygen in air. And by the time we reached Kibber, the starting point of the 9days trek to Tso Moriri in Ladakh, my condition was so severe that I had made up my mind to abandon the trek.
Acclimatization day: Jayesh puked. I mean Jayesh puked! If that could happen to him, then I didn’t think I had any chance.
Day 1: Bright and fresh with no headaches. Trek begins. Down and up a valley under a hot open sky. It was a long walk to the green Thaltak meadow, our camp. When M didn’t reach even after an hour we panicked. A guide was sent and M came back lips parched, white and dry. He was dehydrated.
Day 2: We took it slow and steady. Just as we neared the base camp of ParangLa Pass at 17500ft, we spied ominous dark clouds on the horizon.
Day 3: The dreaded 1000ft+ climb to cross the Pass. Taking even 10 steps was an effort. Our breathing was labored and headaches returned with a vengeance. Jayesh was struck and had to be carried over by a mule. It took us 4 hours to reach the pass. But when we did, it was to see the most breathtaking sight ever…..a sweeping panorama of snow-covered peaks. We camped at the base of a glacier.
Day 4: We had overslept due to exhaustion. It was 9 in the morning by the time we got ready to cross the stream which was by this time in full flow. M tried to cross but was swept off by the current. The guide grabbed him at the nick of time and hauled him to the other side. This left us with only one option….climbing the slippery glacier and then crossing over to the other side. We held on to a rope, jumped crevasses and gushing rivulets and rappelled down the other side and greeted M like a long lost brother.
Day 5: We got ready at 5 in the morning to cross the river again. The water was bone numbing cold and I lost sensation of legs within minutes. It was then I realized how easily M could have become hypothermic. It was hours of walking and I was on the verge of panic before sensation on my feet returned. The cloud which was hovering in the background caught up with us forcing us to camp in a hurry.
Day 6: We woke up to hysterical laughter from the other tent and peeped outside to see a horrendous sight. What we hadn’t realized was that we had camped in a trough and it had rained the whole night. Now the whole area had become mud slush and our belongings were floating in it. Rain played hide and seek with us as we hurried along the trail fearing mudslides. We went to sleep while a lone wolf howled in the distance.
Day 7: The clouds fleeted in and out. A mare and her filly grazed freely on a grassy knoll. An aggressive looking Changpa shepherd crossed us with his flock of hundreds of sheep carrying rice in pouches on their backs. We camped at Norbu Sumdo, the last site before crossing over to Ruphsu Valley. The wind was howling but it didn’t deter the boys from playing cricket with a rolled up plastic ball. While everybody settled in for the night, I stayed outside gazing up at the trillions of stars and the Milky Way so prominent in the sky. I felt humble and tiny in front of God’s amazing creation.
Day 8: It was a glorious day. The clouds were gone leaving the mountains sprinkled with fresh snow and the sky a deep shade of blue. We had to cross the river one final time before entering the valley. This we did by huddling together to fortify ourselves against the current. A long agonizing walk over a dry, pebbled river bed took us to the exquisite Tso-Moriri…our destination. A herd of kiangs grazed nearby. The Lake mesmerized us as it changed colors along with the sun. From sparkling blue, to sea-green, grey and then back to blue-green again. The water fed by the freshly melting glacier was as clear as glass and the lake appeared divine and mystical.
Day 9: The last day’s walk was a long 24kms along the lake’s shore. Ducks waded in the lake creating the tiniest ripples, clouds gathered and then blew away like a film in fast forward mode creating the most amazing patterns on ground, strong winds pushed us about and yet we walked silently – awe struck by the unimaginable beauty. My left leg was cramped from hip to feet but Korzok, our final destination never seemed nearer. At one point, tired, cramped and dirty I gave in to my feminine urges and cried shamelessly.
We were almost at break point when we reached Korzok in the evening to loud cheers.
Back in Leh, as I scrubbed off 10 days of dirt and grime I was overwhelmed by a desire to go back again. To the barren mountains and snow covered peaks, the beautiful pristine lake, the freedom of the Changpa nomad and the mare grazing on knoll, the cry of a lone wolf and a star studded sky. The hardships and adventure at every turn had enhanced our experience further showing us the reality that is nature….in its full glory.
I had lost a drastic 9 kilos on this trek but in return I gained an experience which can never be repeated anywhere in the world.
Friday, June 19, 2009
All I want is a Roof Somewhere
On popular trekking routes, groups of tents huddled together are quite a common sight at points designated as night halts. Amongst my happy memories of sleeping in a tent is one of discovering my favourite mountain orchestra at Tsokha, a small settlement at about 10000 ft on the route to Dzongri in Sikkim (you can read about this trek here, here and here) . Playing to a musical score set by the forbidding mountains, the wind swooshed and whistled aggressively down the peaks onto the meadow where we were camped; this was offset by the reassuring, gentle tinkle of bells tied around the necks of pack-ponies as they grazed.
Tents are striking from an aesthetic viewpoint - whether the peaks are covered with shades of summer brown, monsoon green or winter white, the bright orange- yellow – purple tents add a dash of colour and their compact shape makes for a neat picture. However, the low roof and compact size tend to make them a bit claustrophobic and difficult to move about in, especially for someone with a large build, i.e. yours truly.
I would much rather sleep out in the open in a sleeping bag - weather permitting, of course, with the wind on my face, gazing at the starry sky and giggling my way to sleep as my companions come up with non-zodiac descriptions of the stars. Never to be forgotten is one young gentleman’s description of two unusually bright and prominent stars of a constellation as ‘Aunty Sharma’s (pause here for effect)…………..earrings’ and the reactions it evoked, half the group cackling with glee and the other more – astronomically - inclined half wincing at the sacrilegious intrusion on their discussion.
While tents, sleeping bags and caves such as the one in Harishchandragad are all a welcome change from mundane city life and have an adventurous element to them, it is on the Himalayan treks that one really gets to experience the entire range of shelters possible.
While trekking with Odati from an altitude of 12000 ft to that of 14000 ft in Arunachal Pradesh (read Anusha’s description of the trek here), we stayed in log huts made by the GREF - General Reserve Engineering Force. Like the BRO (Border Roads Organisation), these corps, unnoticed and unsung, are responsible for building much of the basic infrastructure in the border areas. When they work in remote areas for a short span of time, they often build log huts to stay in. Two of these, in Nagajiji and Dhonk chi phoo, were a boon to us - it was raining and snowing intermittently at both places and the charm of such weather fades very soon if you are directly exposed to it. Having a GREF hut implies not just thick wooden logs between the elements and yourself, but also a roof high above your head that allows you to stand up straight, enough room for 6-8 people to spread out their things comfortably and the added bonus of a log fire to warm you up. Truly the answer to the wish for a room somewhere !
‘All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air,
Lots of chocolates for me to eat
Lots of coal making lots of heat,
Warm face, warm hands, warm feet,
Aow, wouldn’t it be lovely ? ’
(with apologies to Ms. Eliza Doolittle)
(The GREF hut at Dhonk Chi Phoo)
Each GREF hut has its own unique features that you discover only when you enter. The one we stayed in at Nagajiji was big enough to have contained two Bombay-ishtyle 1BHKs in it. There was a big central fireplace near which we huddled to make the most of the warmth, even stretching our frozen feet out dangerously close to the flames. Around the fireplace were poles on which we tied strings and dried all our wet clothes, thus ending up smelling of wood-smoke for the next few days. The GREF hut in Dhonk chi phoo was as big as the one in Nagajiji but had a wall dividing it into two halves, almost like a planned conservative zenana-mardana divide. The wall even had tiny holes that enabled conversations across it !
In the same mountains but at a lower altitude of 10000 feet, we spent a night at a village called Lubrang near the Bhutan border. After a refreshing walk on a path overhung with rhododendron flowers, we arrived fully satiated and satisfied with the trip, prepared to spend the night in a corner of one of the villager’s houses. We were totally stunned when the village headman, who was our guide, invited us to stay in the village Gompa (Buddhist monastery or place of worship). I initially thought I must have misunderstood him, until one of my companions actually spread out his sleeping bag and went to sleep, right inside the sanctum ! In his defense, I must mention that he was unwell and suffering from fever and a bad cold. (As an aside, consider what a title that would make for a book – ‘I snored at the feet of the Buddha’, a bit blasphemous, but definitely attention grabbing!)
(Pictures of the entrance to the Gompa at Lubrang - don't miss our shoes outside the door and the tea kettle kept nearby, also the amazing prayer wheel to the right)
There was something awe-inspiring about us mere mortals being permitted to close our eyes, not in devotion but in slumber, in the presence of divinity. Never had I imagined I would sleep in such a beautiful place, guarded by a statue of the Buddha, surrounded by walls with beautiful paintings and shelves filled with religious items ! The generosity of the village in offering us such hospitality proved that the clichéd ‘atithi devo bhava’ is still practiced in some areas.
Another trek, another shelter – a home stay at village Tolma (altitude approximately 10,000 feet) in the Garhwal Himalayas. Here we stayed in simple rooms in the villager’s houses, the normalcy of it reassuring after an arduous walk in a snow-storm the previous day. Tolma village is defined by Dronagiri mountain in the foreground. T he immensity of the mountain dominates the horizon as it looms over the village like a majestic-but-moody guardian, and the village huddles gratefully-but-carefully by its foot. The early morning has the mountain at its gentlest as the rays of the sun warm its cold visage and a snow plume languidly wafts off its peak. It was lovely to wake up, step out of the room and see a white snow plume stretched out across the blue sky, especially when I knew I had the option of retiring to the sanctuary of the room and snuggling under thick quilts the minute I felt too cold.
The beauty of Tolma was not limited to Dronagiri’s majesty, or the quilts that protected us from Dronagiri’s largesse of icy cool wind blowing off snowy slopes, it was also in the bucket of warm water each of us got for a bath in the makeshift bathroom, and in the nice clean loo that the villagers had constructed specifically for tourists to use. After five days in the wilderness without the pleasures of even basic plumbing, it was a close run thing between Dronagiri and the amenities when it came to deciding which sight gave one more happiness ! Dronagiri eventually won, but only just; quite a typical reaction towards the end of the trek !
No matter how much I relish the experience, after some days of the harsher, more basic existence, my city-bred spoilt side comes rushing to the fore and demands attention. While I love the mountains, I am also used to many amenities of Life in a Metro and start longing for them. Then it’s only the shelter provided by the grimy building where I reside in my dirty polluted Mumbai that I want. As they say, ‘There’s no place like Home’. Amen.
By Zen
(you can read more posts by Zeb at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)
Tents are striking from an aesthetic viewpoint - whether the peaks are covered with shades of summer brown, monsoon green or winter white, the bright orange- yellow – purple tents add a dash of colour and their compact shape makes for a neat picture. However, the low roof and compact size tend to make them a bit claustrophobic and difficult to move about in, especially for someone with a large build, i.e. yours truly.
I would much rather sleep out in the open in a sleeping bag - weather permitting, of course, with the wind on my face, gazing at the starry sky and giggling my way to sleep as my companions come up with non-zodiac descriptions of the stars. Never to be forgotten is one young gentleman’s description of two unusually bright and prominent stars of a constellation as ‘Aunty Sharma’s (pause here for effect)…………..earrings’ and the reactions it evoked, half the group cackling with glee and the other more – astronomically - inclined half wincing at the sacrilegious intrusion on their discussion.
While tents, sleeping bags and caves such as the one in Harishchandragad are all a welcome change from mundane city life and have an adventurous element to them, it is on the Himalayan treks that one really gets to experience the entire range of shelters possible.
While trekking with Odati from an altitude of 12000 ft to that of 14000 ft in Arunachal Pradesh (read Anusha’s description of the trek here), we stayed in log huts made by the GREF - General Reserve Engineering Force. Like the BRO (Border Roads Organisation), these corps, unnoticed and unsung, are responsible for building much of the basic infrastructure in the border areas. When they work in remote areas for a short span of time, they often build log huts to stay in. Two of these, in Nagajiji and Dhonk chi phoo, were a boon to us - it was raining and snowing intermittently at both places and the charm of such weather fades very soon if you are directly exposed to it. Having a GREF hut implies not just thick wooden logs between the elements and yourself, but also a roof high above your head that allows you to stand up straight, enough room for 6-8 people to spread out their things comfortably and the added bonus of a log fire to warm you up. Truly the answer to the wish for a room somewhere !
‘All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air,
Lots of chocolates for me to eat
Lots of coal making lots of heat,
Warm face, warm hands, warm feet,
Aow, wouldn’t it be lovely ? ’
(with apologies to Ms. Eliza Doolittle)
(The GREF hut at Dhonk Chi Phoo)
Each GREF hut has its own unique features that you discover only when you enter. The one we stayed in at Nagajiji was big enough to have contained two Bombay-ishtyle 1BHKs in it. There was a big central fireplace near which we huddled to make the most of the warmth, even stretching our frozen feet out dangerously close to the flames. Around the fireplace were poles on which we tied strings and dried all our wet clothes, thus ending up smelling of wood-smoke for the next few days. The GREF hut in Dhonk chi phoo was as big as the one in Nagajiji but had a wall dividing it into two halves, almost like a planned conservative zenana-mardana divide. The wall even had tiny holes that enabled conversations across it !
In the same mountains but at a lower altitude of 10000 feet, we spent a night at a village called Lubrang near the Bhutan border. After a refreshing walk on a path overhung with rhododendron flowers, we arrived fully satiated and satisfied with the trip, prepared to spend the night in a corner of one of the villager’s houses. We were totally stunned when the village headman, who was our guide, invited us to stay in the village Gompa (Buddhist monastery or place of worship). I initially thought I must have misunderstood him, until one of my companions actually spread out his sleeping bag and went to sleep, right inside the sanctum ! In his defense, I must mention that he was unwell and suffering from fever and a bad cold. (As an aside, consider what a title that would make for a book – ‘I snored at the feet of the Buddha’, a bit blasphemous, but definitely attention grabbing!)
(Pictures of the entrance to the Gompa at Lubrang - don't miss our shoes outside the door and the tea kettle kept nearby, also the amazing prayer wheel to the right)
There was something awe-inspiring about us mere mortals being permitted to close our eyes, not in devotion but in slumber, in the presence of divinity. Never had I imagined I would sleep in such a beautiful place, guarded by a statue of the Buddha, surrounded by walls with beautiful paintings and shelves filled with religious items ! The generosity of the village in offering us such hospitality proved that the clichéd ‘atithi devo bhava’ is still practiced in some areas.
Another trek, another shelter – a home stay at village Tolma (altitude approximately 10,000 feet) in the Garhwal Himalayas. Here we stayed in simple rooms in the villager’s houses, the normalcy of it reassuring after an arduous walk in a snow-storm the previous day. Tolma village is defined by Dronagiri mountain in the foreground. T he immensity of the mountain dominates the horizon as it looms over the village like a majestic-but-moody guardian, and the village huddles gratefully-but-carefully by its foot. The early morning has the mountain at its gentlest as the rays of the sun warm its cold visage and a snow plume languidly wafts off its peak. It was lovely to wake up, step out of the room and see a white snow plume stretched out across the blue sky, especially when I knew I had the option of retiring to the sanctuary of the room and snuggling under thick quilts the minute I felt too cold.
The beauty of Tolma was not limited to Dronagiri’s majesty, or the quilts that protected us from Dronagiri’s largesse of icy cool wind blowing off snowy slopes, it was also in the bucket of warm water each of us got for a bath in the makeshift bathroom, and in the nice clean loo that the villagers had constructed specifically for tourists to use. After five days in the wilderness without the pleasures of even basic plumbing, it was a close run thing between Dronagiri and the amenities when it came to deciding which sight gave one more happiness ! Dronagiri eventually won, but only just; quite a typical reaction towards the end of the trek !
No matter how much I relish the experience, after some days of the harsher, more basic existence, my city-bred spoilt side comes rushing to the fore and demands attention. While I love the mountains, I am also used to many amenities of Life in a Metro and start longing for them. Then it’s only the shelter provided by the grimy building where I reside in my dirty polluted Mumbai that I want. As they say, ‘There’s no place like Home’. Amen.
By Zen
(you can read more posts by Zeb at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)
Friday, May 29, 2009
Spectre of Brocken
Nature has its own way of letting itself be, unaffected by us mortal's doings. Sometimes 
enough care is taken so that we do carry anything back from it, but only spectacular memories. Some events, when revisited, spur your imagination to think “Why was I not allowed to capture the moment to show it to others?” But such is the power of nature and such are some memories; very personal experiences, very vivid memories, images so strong that even after years they refuse to fade away even a wee bit.
I still feel the chill, still remember the panorama, see the sun break over the horizon behind a thick cluster of clouds, glistening up the tip of Mt. Khanchendzonga – the first of the 8000ers (there are 14 peaks in the world that stand above 8000mtrs) to grace the spectacle.
“Sir, Chai”, he says knocking at our doors holding out two steel cup full of freshly brewed chai and a bowl of popcorn. Popcorn! So early in the morning? Heck, what an idea! But who cares? I illuminate my digital watch, it reads 03:00 am. The date, 23rd May 2000. We zip out of our sleeping bags, initially reluctantly, but fire up immediately after the hot cup of chai. Setting out at 0315Hrs in the freezing cold is unacceptable. But we have taken so much efforts to be here, to see a spectacle unfold in front of our eyes. Through frosted ground we take about 45 minutes to get to the top as others too make their way up. We realise, that dawn there will not be more than a handful of us who will be privy to the drama of nature. Poor others sleepy souls, they will never see this!
The horizon lightens up slowly with a golden hue, anticipation rides high. A brilliant glow appears on the eastern horizon and with spontaneity the sun heads out for a new day. On the western horizon the gloomy, grey Khanchendzonga responds with equal enthusiasm transforming itself into a wonderful spectacle. The summit assumes a vermillion tinge, slowly changing into yellow and then golden. Early in the dawn, nature knows how to announce the best and the top!
All our fingers are on the shutter switch and we get into frenzy; absorbed in capturing every single moment, record the progress of the sun and the light as it progresses over all the summits, marching over the broad flanks of the mountains. We almost ignore the fact that this moment is for us to savour. We want to take this home to show others… some of whom may return here to take more shutters back for others to see. Now, the alternation of such a panorama between the view finder and real eyes seems like a fading idea. Maybe, if we had not taken our cameras, the real views would have embedded in our souls more strongly, that those pictures on the film tend to dilute our imagination today.
Little do we realise that, on our first visit here unguided by any advise or experience, we expose ourselves to shiver and frostbite. The thermometer reads minus 5. The views cast a warm blanket over us. It is so easy to ignore the chill and the waft against such a spectacle. I instantly knew I was hooked. Almost as a family, many summiteers here huddle and queue for a group photo, the warmth of the group extending to the hearts. Its been almost an hour that we stood there, changing views, films and cameras. Between the 2 of us we shoot 150 pics of this marvel. Everyone leaves.
We are the last to descend. Even our guide left for the chores of the day. It’s only two of us now slowly making our way down! The sun is lodged well behind our backs at a perfect angle. With the monsoons on its beck, the valley below is brimming with clouds, almost touching out feet. Elation draws upon us. The eye is still transfixed at the horizon panning across the snow clad massifs of the Goddess of Five Elements. We enter a tuft of cloud, thin enough, that we can see the path and the valley below, thick enough to caress our faces.
Suddenly our eyes catch the shadowy characters walking alongside us. It’s enigmatic. We trace the shadows back to our own feet. The sun behind has cast own shadows on the clouds below. We trace it up to an unbelievable sight. There is a rainbow that appears around our own shadow, a halo! We are ecstatic, ‘unbelievable’ we say! It’s heavenly! There are no words to describe the view, miracle and feeling. Are we on cloud nine, are we in seventh heaven? We don’t know. We pull out our cameras again.
Click….clack…clack. The film does not move. Oops! No film left. My friend clicks! Clack again! He is exhausted of film too. Do we have extra… frisk ourselves for more and return with a handful of retracted films in their cartridges - memories of dawn’s tryst imprisoned in a tiny dark cell, captured for all those dear friends back in the plains. We wished that there was at least one film that teased its tongue out! Or at least one shot left. Frustration!
This was the moment. We decide that we will stay till the sight does, not taking our eyes off even for the distraction of a shutterbug. We are no more disturbed, we are at peace with ourselves. We were our own gods for about 5 minutes till the clouds grew thinner again, exposing the thicket of juniper below. We move on, we wonder ‘why did this happen to us?’ We thought that for all our endurance and efforts, nature chose us minus our paraphernalia. The captured views were for the others; the experience our very own. Was it a coincidence? No, I believe. It was designed such by nature! Such is its power. That was our moment of glory.
We return back home. Everyone loves the pics; we have no way to describe what we experienced. “Maybe, if you go there, you will see it too.” We leave it at that.
Rrrrringg… “Hey my friend. How are you? Do you remember our shadows we saw in the clouds with a colourful halo around us, at Dzongri? It’s called the ‘Spectre of Brocken’”. I conclude!
enough care is taken so that we do carry anything back from it, but only spectacular memories. Some events, when revisited, spur your imagination to think “Why was I not allowed to capture the moment to show it to others?” But such is the power of nature and such are some memories; very personal experiences, very vivid memories, images so strong that even after years they refuse to fade away even a wee bit.
I still feel the chill, still remember the panorama, see the sun break over the horizon behind a thick cluster of clouds, glistening up the tip of Mt. Khanchendzonga – the first of the 8000ers (there are 14 peaks in the world that stand above 8000mtrs) to grace the spectacle.
“Sir, Chai”, he says knocking at our doors holding out two steel cup full of freshly brewed chai and a bowl of popcorn. Popcorn! So early in the morning? Heck, what an idea! But who cares? I illuminate my digital watch, it reads 03:00 am. The date, 23rd May 2000. We zip out of our sleeping bags, initially reluctantly, but fire up immediately after the hot cup of chai. Setting out at 0315Hrs in the freezing cold is unacceptable. But we have taken so much efforts to be here, to see a spectacle unfold in front of our eyes. Through frosted ground we take about 45 minutes to get to the top as others too make their way up. We realise, that dawn there will not be more than a handful of us who will be privy to the drama of nature. Poor others sleepy souls, they will never see this!
The horizon lightens up slowly with a golden hue, anticipation rides high. A brilliant glow appears on the eastern horizon and with spontaneity the sun heads out for a new day. On the western horizon the gloomy, grey Khanchendzonga responds with equal enthusiasm transforming itself into a wonderful spectacle. The summit assumes a vermillion tinge, slowly changing into yellow and then golden. Early in the dawn, nature knows how to announce the best and the top!All our fingers are on the shutter switch and we get into frenzy; absorbed in capturing every single moment, record the progress of the sun and the light as it progresses over all the summits, marching over the broad flanks of the mountains. We almost ignore the fact that this moment is for us to savour. We want to take this home to show others… some of whom may return here to take more shutters back for others to see. Now, the alternation of such a panorama between the view finder and real eyes seems like a fading idea. Maybe, if we had not taken our cameras, the real views would have embedded in our souls more strongly, that those pictures on the film tend to dilute our imagination today.
Little do we realise that, on our first visit here unguided by any advise or experience, we expose ourselves to shiver and frostbite. The thermometer reads minus 5. The views cast a warm blanket over us. It is so easy to ignore the chill and the waft against such a spectacle. I instantly knew I was hooked. Almost as a family, many summiteers here huddle and queue for a group photo, the warmth of the group extending to the hearts. Its been almost an hour that we stood there, changing views, films and cameras. Between the 2 of us we shoot 150 pics of this marvel. Everyone leaves.
We are the last to descend. Even our guide left for the chores of the day. It’s only two of us now slowly making our way down! The sun is lodged well behind our backs at a perfect angle. With the monsoons on its beck, the valley below is brimming with clouds, almost touching out feet. Elation draws upon us. The eye is still transfixed at the horizon panning across the snow clad massifs of the Goddess of Five Elements. We enter a tuft of cloud, thin enough, that we can see the path and the valley below, thick enough to caress our faces.
Suddenly our eyes catch the shadowy characters walking alongside us. It’s enigmatic. We trace the shadows back to our own feet. The sun behind has cast own shadows on the clouds below. We trace it up to an unbelievable sight. There is a rainbow that appears around our own shadow, a halo! We are ecstatic, ‘unbelievable’ we say! It’s heavenly! There are no words to describe the view, miracle and feeling. Are we on cloud nine, are we in seventh heaven? We don’t know. We pull out our cameras again.
Click….clack…clack. The film does not move. Oops! No film left. My friend clicks! Clack again! He is exhausted of film too. Do we have extra… frisk ourselves for more and return with a handful of retracted films in their cartridges - memories of dawn’s tryst imprisoned in a tiny dark cell, captured for all those dear friends back in the plains. We wished that there was at least one film that teased its tongue out! Or at least one shot left. Frustration!This was the moment. We decide that we will stay till the sight does, not taking our eyes off even for the distraction of a shutterbug. We are no more disturbed, we are at peace with ourselves. We were our own gods for about 5 minutes till the clouds grew thinner again, exposing the thicket of juniper below. We move on, we wonder ‘why did this happen to us?’ We thought that for all our endurance and efforts, nature chose us minus our paraphernalia. The captured views were for the others; the experience our very own. Was it a coincidence? No, I believe. It was designed such by nature! Such is its power. That was our moment of glory.
We return back home. Everyone loves the pics; we have no way to describe what we experienced. “Maybe, if you go there, you will see it too.” We leave it at that.
Rrrrringg… “Hey my friend. How are you? Do you remember our shadows we saw in the clouds with a colourful halo around us, at Dzongri? It’s called the ‘Spectre of Brocken’”. I conclude!
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