Uttarkashi Diaries: Part 3

“It’s impossible for you guys to be able to reach Dayara”, smirked the middle-aged man managing the roadside eatery at Bhatwari, a village on the way to arguably one of the most beautiful destinations in the district of Uttarkashi- Dayara Bugyal.

In local language, Dayara means ‘high altitude’ and ‘bugyal’ is a meadow. Whatever that is supposed to mean, we had to kill time through our extended weekend (remember, it was the ‘Holi’ weekend and we had to come up with unholy plans for the day before). Believe me, breathtaking views on mountainous terrains are not worth it unless you’re out of breath. That calls for long, difficult treks. The length of the trek has been debated over the last week and no one has so far been able to guesstimate with confidence. (To give the readers some idea, a few websites claim that it is 8 km long.)

“Huh! We’ll definitely complete it” - reacted each of us in our own way, yet in unison, and marked by a confused blend of emotions which was dominated by disagreement, disappointment and disapproval. As Gi prepared to pay for the breakfast, the man remarked again, “You neither have the right shoes, nor the right clothes for the trek. There would be 5 feet thick snow. You guys won’t make it! What food are you carrying?” We replied, “Chips, biscuits, chocolates” to which he smirked even more derisively. Enough! We had gotten ready by 6 on a Sunday morning for this trek; there was no way he could demotivate us.

As the engine of the car forced itself to pull us through the hostile roads, we were overwhelmed by the first sight of the army of snow-capped peaks lined up before our eyes. As the wheels came to a halt, we realized we had reached the village of Barsu from where we were to start the trek.

We started off at quarter past 9, asking solitary villagers about Dayara and the path that led to it, and we were terribly disappointed by their vague responses. The beginning of the trek was made of steep, stony steps. “Is the trail entirely like this?!” Some villagers nodded; others- we felt- weren’t sure what we were asking. “Is there snow at Dayara?” One woman responded negatively. Confused, we started moving. By the time we had covered a kilometer, Pa had revolted against having to continue any further. Sa had managed to keep her part of our herd by employing some old trick. Others, who were tired themselves, chipped in to keep her (and in turn the group’s) morale high. We made sure we took frequent breaks in order not to wear ourselves out early in the trek. We rested whenever the view was good, and whenever it wasn’t. Having walked what then appeared to us a 20 km already, we had our lunch (a meager and unhealthy composition of chips, biscuits, chocolates and a few sips of water). Meanwhile, we were happy to see the first strip of snow, which then onwards appeared in more abundance than we would have possibly liked.

The crooked twigs we had collected on our way supported us through the slippery white floor. We kept moving past one patch after another carefully. By then, we had managed to keep the thought of exhaustion off our mind by focusing on short-term objectives of conquering small strips of snow, one at a time. There was no signboard anywhere and we had no clue how far we were from our destination. That didn’t keep us from moving, though. Often, whenever one of us thought we had walked enough and the scenery around was really admirable, we paused to decide whether we should stop going any further. We’d brought that old saying which had something to do about ‘the journey and the destination’ (and by the end of the journey had progressed to ‘the means and the end’) - up so many times that we feared being beaten up by the rest of the group for serving monotony on top of fatigue.

We were not even sure if we were moving in the right direction; the only footsteps to follow in the snow was the occasional trail left by some animal. When we had almost decided we had had enough after walking on snow completely, and not just on patches, something triggered us to look beyond the horizon of white which was visible to us then- something I still don’t know if we should be regretting or not, for after ascending the part that covered our sight, we could see right atop the mound of snow, a small tin shade (looked small from that distance). We instantly knew it was Dayara! Now that we could see it, there was no looking back. The next part happened to be the toughest. It was an exceptionally sharp ascent for the ones without any trekking equipment. Our shoes dug into snow badly at every step and we could hardly move. Still, we made short strides, digging a “knee-full” of snow every time, lifting the legs and heading upwards. What appeared to be the last leg of the trek wouldn’t get over; our energy had gotten drained completely. As each of us made our way to the tin-roof shade after a thrilling five hour long journey, we experienced elation and relief. We were surrounded by white; we had conquered the white!

We took “time-outs” in our own way. Gi chose to take a dip in the ‘lake’ there. I bet the water was damn cold. After having spent about quarter of an hour clicking pictures, eating, chatting, relaxing and drying our clothes, we decided to leave. We had to get down before dusk, to avoid the slippery surface of the snow in the dark. The trek downhill was almost a cakewalk, compared to the ascent, except that we had run out of water and had to fill our bottles with snow and wait for them to melt to be able to quench our thirst.

Not sure if we ran, were scared of the dark, followed shortcuts or were just plain fast, our sprint led us to Barsu where our car waited, faster than we thought: in almost two hours. We proudly shared with Sachin-ji, the driver, our success story! On our way back, overjoyed at having accomplished the difficult trek, we wanted to give a few words of advice to that “rude” man from the roadside eatery who had predicted that we wouldn’t make it to Dayara. Sachin-ji persuaded us not to get involved in an argument with an ignorant someone. In India, no one challenges a Sachin. Too tired, we let go.

About a half an hour drive later, Sachin-ji mustered some courage. “You guys didn’t go to Dayara. It was a different place. Dayara must have had more snow and you couldn’t have had made it without proper shoes and equipment.” Our jaws fell. It was like shattering a child’s dreams. It was like waking up someone from a beautiful dream, with the news of a death. Later, we confirmed with others that we had really not gone to Dayara.

That we couldn’t have gone due to heavy snow is another story but the way the castle of dreams, pride and achievement was first carefully erected and then brought down was painfully heart-breaking at that instant. After enough contemplation, I realize that I have no regret for not having made it to Dayara. After all, we did not know if it was Dayara, or not. We did our best, pushed ourselves to a point we can talk about in the future. If not Dayara, someplace else; but we created our own path in snow, out of nowhere. If that is not commendable, what is?

Uttarkashi Diaries: Part 2

Daily accounts are good only for a historian. Call me a pessimist, but I am confident that forty days and forty nights of event log would in no way result in a story as gripping as that of Alibaba. Not that it would otherwise, either. Indeed, I am caught in a dichotomy of having to shed the ‘excess fat’ of details like in meat and having to bring out the intricacies of trivialities that form a major component of any work of art. Here we go- walking the tightrope.

As I try to dig out of my inadequate memory what I (and perhaps, my readers) would think would be interesting enough to chronicle here, the most significant change that I am being constantly reminded of is the weather. From dark clouds to bright sunshine, from clear star-studded skies to light drizzle, from numbing wind to unkind heat- we had our share of all in just seven days. While predictability is boring, surprise is sometimes unwanted. For most people, that is. We knew we couldn’t afford to pay much heed to the whims of Nature if we were to make good use of our sojourn.

Well, there wasn’t ever any “to do” list. But, by virtue of local opinion and popular choice, it turned out that Nachiketa Taal was already impatiently queuing up for a place in that imaginary list. Sunday morning and we couldn’t sleep till noon- we would’ve cried foul had we not ‘salivated’ at the prospects of what was told was in store for us. Ha and Pa chose to stay back. Reduced to eight now (Gi made a late entry to the group the previous evening), we walked up to the stand to board a taxi which would drop us at Chowrangi (pardon the spelling errors, if any: our eyes stopped noting inconsequential details after our time with a local Babaji at Chowrangi, or whatever). Having stuffed our stomachs well with boiled maggi and hot paranthas, we headed for the Nachiketa Taal (henceforth to be referred as NaTa). A welcome board greeted us to the 3-km trek.

We chased the turns of the beautiful trail. Everyone has a different way of looking at such treks and sadly, I can only present mine. Like a bee rushing at the scent of a fresh flower, I kept looking for what lay beyond the next curve. The first sight of snow-capped peaks thrilled us. As I waited for others in the group to join me, I concealed myself in grooves, secretly appreciating the colorful coexistence of green, brown and white. Slippery surface of patches of white carpet occasionally slowed down Aa and Ma. In order to ski without the skiing boots for a good part of the latter half of the trek, we had to carefully mix the platter of joy with a dose of caution.

A momentary disappointment struck as we got a glimpse of the ‘lake’. Not sure what to expect at the end of a beautiful yet tiring journey, we were probably confused. The urban lakes had unconsciously created a new but contrasting perception of its primordial anatomy. With time, we started to experience the calm that was characteristic of NaTa. With remarkable serenity did it welcome our noisy team. This tranquility was contagious.

It started with interesting chats with a Baba. His answers were outright sarcastic in the beginning, somewhat amusing in the middle and relatively ‘proper’ in the end. Less interesting story (am I being too polite here?) about the inception of NaTa which blended mythology with history, followed. Next, we headed for Yamraj Gumpha. We found a snow-covered stretch beyond which there was a small streak of land in green. That was all. So, we assumed that the Gumpha lay hidden beneath the layer of white- moreover we were more concerned about returning before it got dark. We had little doubt that the snow would pose greater threat in the dark. As clouds turned darker, we knew it was high time we left.

The return trek being mostly downhill was relatively easy. Also, the confidence of already having traversed the same path once boosted our speed through the jungle. As we completed the trek before sundown, our stomachs begged for food. Maggi and paranthas were ordered. Egg, plain, vegetable, aloo, onion, mixed, everything. More chocolates were bought than anyone ever had. We gulped them all. The taxi sped through the bends at alarming speed as it took us back to Uttarkashi. We held on to our seats, too tired to ask the driver to slow down, as we looked out through the glass.

Uttarkashi Diaries: Part 1

Prelude: Thrown off the shelf

June to February. That’s nine months- almost the same time as human gestation period. On hindsight, there’s glaring similarity. Management studies had shaken us all of the many myths and clichés which were so ornately treasured by us before we took on the ride. The rollercoaster ride had to end with a jolt. They had conveniently named it DOCC: Development of Corporate Citizenship. For the uninitiated, it’s our jargon for Rural Internship! And six weeks, we believe (and I do so even as I write this piece), is a long time. If there was any relief in the whole story, it was probably the location. Pilgrimage was certainly not on my mind. Snow-capped mountains were. Prospects of treks were. A long holiday in a hill-station free from the cycle of assignments, deadlines and grades was what we were hoping for.

March 1, 00:05 HRS, Bandra Terminus Railway Station. As the wheels of Dehra Dun Express rolled reluctantly, we settled down, putting our bags and selves together, struggling to keep off our mind the thought of having to spend over forty hours inside the train. A grand description of the journey could get me a call from the Ministry of Indian Railways, and as such I’ll refrain from doing so. In short- trash talk, card games, music, funny songs on RaGa by Na, books, food, more food, sleep, more sleep, boredom, more boredom- sum up most part of our journey. Getting down at stations (and there were 98 of them!) was fun. Getting back on while the train had started to move was even better. [Kids and their parents: please read the underlying caveat]

Welcome to the North

March 2, 17:35 HRS, Dehra Dun Junction. Having braved the demanding (more in terms of mental health than physical) journey, we were elated to get off board what had been our home for the previous 41.5 hours. We split, as the girls moved to their relatives place, and the guys jumped into an Auto-rickshaw to find for themselves a place to stay for the night. Hotel Balaji got to host us. It turned out to be a decent place free from the hustle and bustle of the main city. Hot tea in cups and warm water from taps greeted us. After making full use of these, we had some snacks (the spring-rolls were freaking delicious! Fried chicken was great, too). We entered a small roadside restaurant (‘restaurant’, really?) named ‘Oberoi’ for dinner- we were the only customers. In little time, we realized that the guy at the reception was the cook as well! The food didn’t disappoint us, though. Butter-chicken, paneer, roti and rice- enough to put us to sleep after a tiresome travel.

The next morning, we gathered at Prince Chowk to leave for Uttarkashi. 2 Boleros with back- seats full of bags and front ones full of us! What was promised to us a 5 hour journey turned out to be 7 hours long. Our voyage was punctuated by a faulty rod between the wheels and had to be repaired. Music, gossip, a few lame games, football-munching (‘football’ here is a chocolate candy wrapped in football-like skin) - that more or less formed the major part of our journey. Oh did I forget the hot paranthas and maggi in a dhaba on the way- couldn’t have imagined a more perfect breakfast. As broken roads led to the town of Uttarkashi, we could sense the kind of damage done by the floods last year. The river Bhagirathi continued to accompany us till we got down at Joshiyara.

“Aap sabhi ka swagat hai. Hotel Relax me aap log aaj ‘relax’ kijiye”, said Gopal-ji, who is the project manager at the NGO here. The first time we laughed at the joke. But by the time he had repeated the same joke two more times, we were off to our rooms with our bags.

Relax: Grihapravesh, Day 0

We were not really expecting to be awed by either the interiors or the facilities. I must say there was no major disappointment. The warmth of hospitality covered up for whatever was missing. As I looked out of the balcony, my eyes absorbed the green of the magnanimous mountains that shelters the town. Still recuperating from the devastations of the flood, this town had tractors, earth movers, donkeys, men and women working incessantly toward making it as beautiful as it was before the calamity. The cold was getting unbearable before we saw the thick blankets arranged on our beds.

Food was simple but served hot. I cannot yet understand why I couldn’t get myself to like the food at my hostel (which was menu-wise better and possibly more hygienic) but loved every bit of the food cooked here. The hardcore non-vegetarian in me has no answer to the question of how I am enjoying the vegetarian food here.

Food is best served hot and sleep is best served cold. The latter with blankets, of course. That was one reason I always wrote about winter when they asked me to essay my thoughts on my ‘favorite season’ in school. Anyway, tired, we said- “Let there be darkness”- and we fell instantly asleep.

Day 1: Formalities & NIM

The meeting with the NGO people appeared bland before the hot Aloo-ka-Parantha breakfast that preceded it. Introductions occupied center stage; no majorly inspiring event. I have no intention of making the journal boring by repeated mention of the meal menu- therefore, I’ll skip. That gives me enough time and space to write about the biggest event of the day: a trek to Nehru Institute of Mountaineering (or NIM, as it is popularly called). They said it was 3 km long one-way. We’re in no mood to argue that it was twice as long- or so did our under-confident watches say. However, being in no hurry, our legs didn’t feel the distance as badly. The shutters opened and closed at the changing poses of Nature. Ashutosh Gowarikar’s crew was shooting for a television serial named ‘Everest’. Unfortunately, the main attraction was absent. Yesteryear actor Milind Gunaji was present though. There could be a separate blog post analyzing him, and it would, I bet, be a sorry tale. The cold ensured us of continuous refills of caffeine and theine in inappropriate quantities throughout the day. The walk downhill was easier. The trek however took its toll only as we got inside our blankets. Interesting or ironical? Or both?

Day 2: Change in weather

As if the falling mercury wasn’t enough- it had started drizzling. Dark clouds, like soot hanging from the ceiling, covered the mighty mountains. That meant we could stay back in our blankets longer without feeling guilty. Ru had to head for a field visit while it hadn’t started pouring, only to be deceived minutes later. Sa and Ka (and I don’t know who else, because I was sleeping) got us hot samosas in the evening and we indulged religiously in them. The night had real surprise in store. Some dark liquid with magical powers was poured into 8 glasses. If I knew what happened next, there would be no fun. And we wouldn’t be awed by the magic either.