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.
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