The Grapple with American Portions!

For some weird reason, that evil temptation knocked me down only after I had a few hair shaved off my head – (as if those long locks were the reason of my poise). I stared at the not-so-hottest- looking-female-of- the-day over the bridge, devouring a waffle cone of chocolate chips, in the most indulgent fashion. Her teeth were yellow and her tongue was white but it was the cone that made all the difference. I looked away but the seed had been planted. The evil was already inside me. I had to have the chocolate chips by any means possible now (analogous to the Barista coffee at the top floor of the Great India Mall I guess). After leaving a few voicemails (damnn…no one wants to talk to me syndrome), I finally got a call back from one of the loyal members of the bakar-bhasad group advising me with the directions to the nearest JPLicks. Had never heard of them or never bothered to hear about them but they seemed to be the biggest ice cream chain in the world to me right now. A couple of lefts and rights and I was right inside the JPLicks. Choices were easy. Ice cream with chocolate chips in a waffle cone is all I wanted. The big question and the reason for this blog was the size. We know size DOES matter late at nights. It does matter at electronic gizmo labs. But not in icecreams please!! Out of sheer ignorance, I ordered for a medium and ended up getting 4 scoopfuls of icecream with chocolate chips on a disproportionately small waffle cone. I raised my fist in my usual show of frustration but the damage had been done.

I walked out of the store – It was colder outside which might prevent the 3 scoops out of the 4, to melt off - licking the JPLicks creation in a 360-degree fashion, sampling it circumferentially every 2 inches or so. And then to my discomfort, Jieh and Amrita found me, in the most compromising situation, me grappling with a waffle cone that was disproportionately round and huge at the top. I pretended to listen to their girl-talk for 5-10 mins before being asked some pivotal questions, to which I was seemingly unaware. I pretended innocence. Jieh smelled my predicament and let me lick the jplick’s while they talked of eyewear and boyfriends and livers. We parted in 3 different directions hoping that we would meet again on the Halloween evening.

I kept moving towards the bridge, hoping no one would discover my plight; my pace keeping pace with the rate of the cream drip. My hands were all ice-creamed, the napkins I had were soiled but the fighter spirit in me refused to give up. And then! The inevitable happened… I lost my grip on the cone!! It flipped and started falling down. The strong reflexes came to the rescue from my spine rather than the brains and I caught hold of the cone; upside down though!!! I held the two scoops, remaining still, upside with my naked hands and there stood a small girl, requesting for dimes, in laughter. I ignored her with all fervor I could gather, flipped back the cone to its original state. Reason had prevailed by now and I was looking for the nearest trash bin. I found one after treading 20 long treads – a walk that seemed to be as long as a walk from Tommy Doyles’ to Spangler in the harsh Bostonian cold (I could have exaggerated with better analogies but I choose not to!) at 3 in the morning. I summarily trashed the remains of the draconian cone and sped off to the confines of the Hamilton Hall across the river.

The Periodic Spurt

Music teases me. Time and again it proves the extent to which I have lacked balls and guts. Believe it or not. I am a living example of someone who would easily kill his talents just for the sake of the herd. Was it the upbringing? Was I intravenously fed with risk-averseness since childhood? Was I recited stories of bankers and engineers rather than rockstar singers or writers before I went to sleep? Can I go back in time?

Its easy to blame and pass the buck and then forget it until you are accidentally poked again. But its worthwhile to pick up hints and motivations. Its worthwhile to be inspired by the very same things that poke you, the very same words that hurt you, the very same tunes that challenge you.

The energy burst is here, I hope it doesnt get busted. The time to live is now, I hope it doesnt get wasted. The mental vigor is alive, I hope it doesnt get rusted.

With these thoughts, I go to bed, hoping to 'excel' tomorrow, yet not lose the vigor. I hope someone will enjoy the pun and the irony intended.

The Lonely Traveler - The Closing Ceremony and the Solitude

I reached the town before noon, took a good long desanding shower and ran to the exquisite temples that close off by noon. By the end of it, I was convinced that our forefathers were gods of sandstone. The sculptures were so immaculate, minute and smooth, that the technological advances were no match to it. The Jaisalmer Fort and the Patwa Haweli were more examples of such exquisite work. The only glitch that remained was the glaringly poor maintenance of the Haweli in particular. You could do a rich hunt for rats, pigeons, bats and their droppings accompanied by foul smell in the Haweli that boasted of having one of the most exquisitely carved frontal façade. They say that the Archaeological Department has woken up. I am just keeping my fingers crossed…rather than doing something myself about it…

With this last piece of architecture, my sojourn had come to an end. The roots were calling and I decided to head back to Delhi via Jaipur. On my way back, I was evaluating the pros and cons of solitude and lone traveling. On the positive, you are a free bird. You go whatever places you want to, whichever means you want to and whenever you want to. You have time to write and listen to music of your own choice without much distractions. However, as wisely said by someone, ‘He travels fastest who travels alone…but he hasn’t anything to do when he gets there.’ Another point worth mention is the non-existence of the concept of lone traveling in the country. Right from the autorickshaw to the camel guide, everyone in the country was worried about my traveling alone. Immense pressure it was for me. Was I normal or had I just gone desperate. I took respite when I saw a few other homosapiens traveling alone, nationalities anyways had stopped making a lot of difference to me.

The Lonely Traveler - The Dunes

As the sun went for the usual dip below the horizon, I embarked on a longish walk, from one end of the dune to the other (about 4 kms). Dunes are like near-harmless seas. Water can drown you, sand won’t let you. The only danger it poses is that of getting disoriented. Looking at my own footsteps in the sand, I realized how I was never walking straight even if I wanted to and hence how easy it was to be lost once it was dark.

Walking alone, I soon got enthralled by the beauty of the brown ocean with seemingly stationery waves. The silence and the vast expanse of nothingness had an inexplicable charm of its own. At one moment, you would let out a gasp of delightful surprise, at another, you might just want to kneel down and close your eyes. Often you would also experience those sudden spurts of energy in which you would want to run over the convex side of the dune and slide down the concave side, knee deep in sand.

Having spent a few hours on the dunes, I finally decided to retrace my steps back to the camping place, which I readily got confused with. Liyaqat found me after an hour and took me back down the dunes with impressive ease. A dinner of quarter-an-inch rotis this time, alongwith curry, maggi and beer followed, as innumerable desert beetles worked tirelessly to collect camel droppings and roll them over to god knows where.

Post-dinner, Liyaqat continued his ‘joking-toking’ stories about his exploits with white females who had undertaken long desert safaris with him. Another interesting fact that came up was his reason for being single till date. It isn’t often that you hear of disadvantages of being a male, but here is one, in case you are born in one of the Muslim villages in Rajasthan, adjoining Pakistan. Unlike most of India, where males are gifted dowries for having married a girl, Liyaqat’s family would need to cough up atleast 100,000 Rs to the bride’s father. The lucky father of the daughter would gift away about half the amount back to the daughter as she leaves her father’s house while the rest of the money could stay with the father. Similar practices are known to exist in some societies of the North-Eastern states in India. In this case, Liyaqat admitted, the sex ratio was heavily biased towards males and it was too difficult to find a girl.

With these revelations, I slept under the beautiful crystal clear skies where, it seemed, that a hundred thousand new twinkling lamps were glowing full throttle to prevent me from sleeping in the open on the dunes. When the lamps failed to dent my sleep, the dust storm decided to take the lead. I was bathed in sheer sand by strong winds blowing from south, south-west. After an hour long struggle, I simply covered my face with a dirty piece of linen and shut myself off.

Next day morning was comforting as I came to know that even the seasoned camel man had troubles sleeping off. Finishing off the morning chores, drinking sanded tea and toast, we prepared the camels and headed back towards the road. 4 more hours of arse-wrecking camel ride and I was back on the road, in a 4-wheel drive, racing towards Jaisalmer.

The Lonely Traveler - Desert Safari

The Safari day began lazily. I woke up early but didn’t really feel like getting out of bed. This was my first sane sleep in the past 4 days. I finally brushed my teeth and headed for breakfast and tea. Quite expectedly, the imaginary English girls were not going for the Safari and I was the lone guy out there. I was prepared for it.

The camels were supposed to meet us at Amar Sagar. I had quickly bought a desert safari dress with turban for 400 bucks and headed in the jeep towards Amar Sagar. A small teastall was the rendezvous point for the camels and the jeeps. The ration was loaded, Liyaqat Khan introduced and I happily bade goodbye to Little Johny as I finally embarked on the camel safari.

Liyaqat Khan, the camelman, was a tall, lean figure with a face that seemed to have wrinkled and hardened by the vagaries of life. He wore a long Pathan suit and spoke comfortable Hindi, fluent Marwari dialect and comprehensible English – quite a must for all camel safari guides. He belonged to a village that was about 3 kms from the first source of water – a source that was a man-made pond about 20 mts in length 10 mts in breadth and might be a meter or two deep. The amount of dark brown water in the pond depended solely on rainwater. The camels, humans and mules drank side by side – heights of equality, or was it just an irony.

First few hours of the ride took us through scrub and cacti vegetation and a few ponds, one of which was surrounded by a gypsy settlement. The Rajasthani Banjarins are considered to be adorned with the most colorful dresses and ornaments. You would inevitably find them wearing colorful printed red ghaagras and cholis with borlas. The bangles are generally huge and with different designs, so are the nosepieces and necklaces. They would invariably call every tourist on desert safari as a ‘gora’ or a ‘gori’ and would expect some tips from you.

Our first stop was for the sake of our camels. We stopped near a pond for filling the camel’s water sacs, while I was nursing my cramped hip joint. And this reminds me, I did not really find riding a camel to be an easy job. Although a folded cotton mattress is placed over the saddle, it doesn’t prevent the deep insides of my hind to get badly cramped up. Eventually, I imitated the camel man who was sitting with both legs on one side. Although scary and prone to falls, the posture, no doubt, is more comfortable.

An hour or two after the first stop, we decided to rest for lunch. Liyaqat unsaddled the camels and left them to feed on thorns. He meticulously laid down the mattress for me and set out to gather dry twigs and branches for the fire. We were about three hours from the dunes and I preferred escaping the hottest part of the day by laying down in the cool shade of the lone tree in the vast expanse of short cacti. I ate potatoes, lentils and half-an-inch thick chapattis (or probably tried to eat them). Another small nap and we started proceeding further west. After crossing a small hillock, we reached one small set of dunes which, to me, seemed exquisite. This might sound geekish and irritating, but the look of these dunes immediately reminded me of the default Microsoft Windows Desktop image of picture perfect sand dunes. Another hour on the camel and we were at our destination. I waited for the tea before heading out on the dunes for all the fun.

The Lonely Traveler - Jodhpur Shall Wait!

After a hot, humid, 3-litre sweat-day at Jodhpur, I decided to race to Jaisalmer. Jodhpur was, frankly, a letdown after the beautiful Udaipur and only a desert safari could make good for the losses. I took the 3 o clock bus to Jaisalmer from behind the Bombay Motors workshop and the Rs. 120 ticket was another accomplishment. I was beginning to believe that comfortable travel was getting cheaper in India but soon I saw tens of people sitting on the passage of the 2 x 1 sleeper and I knew that not much had changed.

Anyways, the journey started and I was sitting alongside 50 other villagers, with traditional, colorful ghagras or dhotis and giant moustaches with saffron turbans. Needless to say, I was not the most comfortable, with a tight black T-shirt that said, “Manhattan to Brooklyn” and black sunglasses. Meanwhile the winds were blowing full swing and I adjusted the window just enough to let fresh air come in and work on the free flow of sweat. How ironical it was, the winds that are created by of low pressure areas over the desert of Rajasthan, feed the whole country with rains but bring nothing for the desert itself. The barren waterless desert was, in other words, the lifeline for the whole subcontinent as far as water was concerned.

Three hours into the journey, we reached Pokharan, the place where all known and unknown nuclear tests in India are conducted. On a 4-wheel drive, the site is about 30-35 kms from the highway. The journey continued after a short stop as the high neems gave way to cacti and short stunted shrubs dotted the brown terrain. I reached Jaisalmer by 2030 hrs and the sun had already set.

The town is easily differentiated into two parts – Inside the fort and Outside the fort. The part of the town inside the fort is actually a village. The gullies are narrow even for a bike to pass and houses are closer to each other than you can imagine. The streets outside the fort are slightly better off in terms of width. I had not planned or made any hotel bookings and hence I fell prey to the first tour operator’s crony who found me in the bus itself. Lacking enough time and energy to look out for hotels myself, I gave in.

Little Johny took me through the serpentile trails inside the fort into the smallest guest house that was ever built or modified. Actually, every second house was equally small and had been converted into a guest house. In one such house, I found a room for myself, a room that was definitely worth 200 INR.

The room had a big window and was done in traditional flavor. The sills had old broken pottery kept on them while the ceiling had colorful rustic decoration on it. Very clearly, Jaisalmer had understood tricks to catch the aorta of the foreign tourists. They knew the importance of tourism for their survival in that, otherwise, barren village. They knew their strengths and they played to them. And this reminds me of the language too. The guide could speak English, so could the cook. Quite irritatingly, both had put up an accent as well. Even the small gypsy girl, 40 kms into the desert, away from Jaisalmer, could speak a bit of English. Clearly, tourism was the most important part of their life.

The Lonely Traveler - Udaipur

And I finally overcame the inertia and embarked upon the most unplanned trip ever. Jaipur, Jodhpur and Udaipur form an inverted triangle with Udaipur being the inverted tip. Jaisalmer is skewed. I tossed a coin at 7 in the evening and decided in favour of Udaipur over Jodhpur for the first day.

The late decision found me one last seat in the night sleeper from Jaipur to Udaipur. The bumpy ride began Ajmer onwards as the road became narrower – I felt that my back would give in again, thankfully it didn’t. Meanwhile, I sipped hot tea at every stop to fight the chill of the strong air conditioner in the bus. Honestly, I am not used to working air conditioners in buses, an unregulated, full-blown one is far-fetched.

Reaching Udaipur at 8 in the morning, I rushed to the public conveniences, eased myself, short and long, and then started evaluating my options. “Travel Cheap” was the mantra. 250 bucks and the autorickshaw was ready to take me around the city to all good spots. Considering the fact that I had received a quote for 21,000 Rs for the three cities (include Jaisalmer), I was more than just happy.

The day started with a visit to the Verma Gardens that have been neatly carved on a hill overlooking Lake Pichola. Not expecting a hiking experience of any degree during this trip, I found the walk to the top of the hill quite a pleasant surprise. The views of the Pichola, Lake Palace, City Palace, Sajjangarh Fort and the town itself were breathtaking. Having spent about an hour at the top amidst nice cool breeze, I decided to head back and make a move to the City Palace, prime attraction of Udaipur.

City Palace, Udaipur, is considered to be one of the largest palaces in the world, second only to the one at Mysore. It took about 400 years for 8 generations of rulers of Mewar to bring about what it is today. A guide worth 100 bucks was instrumental in letting me know the nitty-gritties of the palace, the ones that I readily forgot. However, by the end of the tour, I had been face to face with Maharana Pratap’s armoury and weapons, exquisite frescos, flawless carvings and minute colored mirror-work. It all took me about 8 kms on foot inside the palace (atleast the guide chose to believe so).

By now, the heat had taken a heavy toll on me and I wanted to avoid further walks. A few more touristic points like the Maharana Pratap’s Memorial, the Zoological Park, Saheliyon Ki Baari and I was more than exhausted. I ate my lunch at a small stall at the Memorial (greasily and spicily cooked Bhaturas with Cholaas) at around 1400 hrs and started wondering as to what to do next.I had a ticket to the next town (Jodhpur) at 2000 hrs and I had way too much time to kill. That’s when a bit of solitude did set in and I started weighing my options to keep the monster away. I decided on the Sajjangarh Fort till late noon, Island gardens in the evening and then catch the bus to Jodhpur at 2000 hrs. An extra 100 bucks and we decided to drag the auto up the steep incline towards the Sajjangarh fort. It was a small monsoon getaway for the monarchy, offering imposing views of the city, the greenery around and strong cool breeze. The place rests in complete solitude and it seemed to be the perfect locale to pen down the account for the day. I sat in the front verandah and wrote all this in a diary as occasional tourists passed by, giving queer looks. After a heavy brownie at the renovated café, I headed back down towards the town. After having gone to all the famous places in the town, I adjudged the Verma Gardens to be the best place to spend the evening. I headed towards the hilltop again for a sunset view before heading for the boatride in the lake. I reached the top while the sun was still 30 degrees above the horizon and I was almost sure that the mist would ruin the sunset. Still I chose to wait!

Glam and 'No Shit' - The Descent

We rushed down soon after finishing the breakfast as we had to reach all the way to Tsokha before the nightfall. The summit having conquered, there was no stress, no qualms and no negativity. We stopped once in a while to rest and listen to music from Prashant/Nandini’s Sony Ericsson, while I being the judge of whose phone had better speakers.

Pines started reappearing and pneumonia seemed to be disappearing. Each of us was feeling better with the decrease in altitude. We reached our destination before nightfall and broke all stories to Zen and Sachin. Photographs were seen and reseen. Anecdotes were re-narrated. The feeling was that of three musketeers returning home after a long journey. We retreated to our tents after a lively dinner. Tsokha to Yuksom was never going to be easy; our knees and calves had already cracked up.

As expected the next 16 kms didn’t happen to be the easiest. Even after reaching Yuksom, the distance from the start of the town to Hotel Tashigang seemed terribly long. Once we reached the hotel, I instinctively lay down flat, flat on the road and the two fellow musketeers followed. The last few clicks were now being clicked. Sachin arrived a little later and Zen arrived a little into darkness with Sujoy.

We soon had our relaxed dinner with a few drinks before we raced to the comforts of pillows and mattresses of Tashigang. The journey was over and we were now waiting to break the news of the trip to friends around.

Glam and 'No Shit' - The Stick and the Carrot

I woke up on the D-Day to the noises made by a Bengali group of trekkers who were getting ready to hit the top. I woke the rest of us up and put on as many layers of clothing as possible, to prevent the imminent leash of harsh cold and wind chill. The three of us were concerned about being late already and feared that we would miss the daybreak and the first light on the peaks. Sujoy was the last one to appear from his tent and we were raring to go. Each one of us had borne enough hardships to let anything go wrong now. We embarked upon the trail with Nandini, for a change, without her contacts, walking safely between Prashant and myself. The climb was definitely tough and the three of us had similar thoughts – descending such a steep decline would be an even tougher ask. Only Nandini was voicing the concerns and we were irritated to hear OUR thoughts aloud. What kept us going was the fact that there was no way we could call it quits after days of efforts. Meanwhile, the climb did not seem to be leading anywhere yet. We were walking along a ridge and had to overcome two ascents even before Dzongri top could be visible.

An hour into the hike, Nandini was clearly sagging and had started complaining of exhaustion and headache. Over the past two days, altitude was taking its toll on Nandini. Her appetite had drastically reduced and so was her liquid intake, which is crucial for fighting against altitude sickness. My jovial self had by now stopped egging her up but was literally pushing her to the top, my walking stick acting as the cane that hits the cattle to force them keep moving. Given that she wasn’t as easy as a cow, this approach did not work for too long. That’s when Prashant unleashed the carrot of the ‘carrot and the stick’ methodology. As she sat on the side of the trail, Prashant tactfully drew out a potent finger of KitKat out of his daypack and offered it to Nandini. She was more than happy to accept it and the chocolate bar gave her mental satisfaction and physical energy to continue to the top. Sujoy allayed our fears of being late by suggesting that there was enough time before the day breaks. Soon we were at the top and we were well in time. The summit had been achieved. The mission was accomplished. We jumped in joy, rejoiced, clicked hyperactively, huddled and made videos of the view with our voices in the background, before the first light of the sun hit the range. Right infront of us were Black Peak, Kanchenjunga, Kabru North, South and Dome, Pandim and a host of unnamed peaks, all above 7000 mts, some above 8000 mts. On the left were ranges of mountains partly snow-capped, partly covered with mist and clouds and on our right was a deep valley with streaks of clouds, all below us. It was a weird view to behold. Weird enough to let Almighty’s name slip out of my lips.

Kanchenjunga fanned off the mist from infront of her to stare at us and soon all the peaks were glistening with the first rays of the sun. By now, we had stopped clicking as we had realized that some things could be captured only by the non-digital wide angles of the eye.

The wind was biting my toes below the two layers of socks and shoes. The cold was freezing the blood in my veins but we refused to leave until there was not much of the peaks left to be seen (they were slowly getting mist-clad again). Meanwhile OUR tea-boy reappeared like an angel from down below, holding the same kettle and glasses. We rejoiced and drank two glasses of the best hot drink I have ever had. Eventually, the mist started to reappear and Kanchenjunga was behind the cloud cover. It was now attacking the Kabru family and Pandim simultaneously. Heaving a sigh of total satisfaction, we started retreating back to Dzongri and soon discovered the beautiful trail we had taken to hike up; the trail and the surroundings that were not visible at 3 AM. At one instance, we found ourselves walking on a very narrow ridge, connecting two hills while one end of the ridge went down very steeply, with ofcourse, beautiful snow capped mountains in the background. At another descent, we saw a flat stretch of land covered with dwarfed rhododendrons. A recent snowfall had painted the plain with white, as if the trees had literally grown out of white snow.

We reached Dzongri and did our victorious breakfast. Nandini rushed into the tents to put her contacts on while Prashant sped with sheer determination towards a small piece of land covered on all four sides. I simply sat, totally convinced that I was now suffering from pneumonia, figuring how long could a person suffering from pneumonia survive without medical aid.

Glam and 'No Shit' - The Sleeping Trinity

Next day morning was the best view till then. On one side were the snow-capped peaks led by beautiful Mt. Pandim, while on the opposite were valleys and ranges of lesser height, barren and brown in general, white occasionally, hinting of a recent snowfall. I and Nandini finished our morning chores as Prashant struggled for it. Nevertheless, we were all ready for the breakfast that was set under the sky amidst beautiful landscape and a lot of puddle from last night’s rain, about a meter away.

Before setting off for our last camping point, Dzongri (4050 mts), we stretched ourselves, did a small hike on a side trail for a better view of the looming peaks and then embarked upon the tedious main trail. The vegetation was clearly getting stunted. Deodars were giving way to pines which too, were eventually disappearing, as the snow and ice started to appear on the sides of the muddy trail. The air was getting thinner and the three of us were stopping every ten minutes to catch our breath. The sight of snow and ice near the trail lifted our spirits and we stopped often to click away to glory. By late afternoon, we reached the camping grounds and trekkers’ huts at Dzongri. We had our lunch and set out on a trail into the Dzongri valley and pastures for want of beautiful views. Tired of waiting for clouds and mist to clear off, we simply lay flat on the slopes and slept under the sky. It was clearly evident that the body was in a confused state of shock, whether it was because of lack of sleep, exhaustion from walking or just high altitude, was not known. After an hour of eagerly lapped up sleep, Nandini woke up with a start, mortally scared of being sunburnt. We were therefore summarily ordered to get back to the camp. The next day was going to be the day we reach the summit but the climb was known to be considerably steep. We were supposed to wake up at 3 in the morning and climb up to the top so as to enjoy clear breathtaking views (depending upon the availability of air) of the Kanchenjunga range. We prepared ourselves for the morning, discussed at lengths the layering we were going to employ to beat the coldest time of the day at the Dzongri Top, and then slept for a few hours hoping for a clear day ahead.

Glam and 'No Shit' - The Tea Boy

The famous and the beautiful rhododendrons were beginning to appear. Unlike Yumthang valley, which is famous for rhododendron shrubs, this place had dwarfed rhododendron trees growing under the aegis of taller pines and deodars. The trail was relentless still and a short section of plain land or a descent was enough to lift our spirits. It would inadvertently make Prashant pull out his camera while Nandini would catch the hint smoothly as she would get her disheveled locks in place, put on her Gucci sunglasses, clear the non-existent dust from her ever-shining, red and white Tommy Hilfiger pullover and be ready for a pose, even before Prashant could decide a sweet spot for a picture. I would simply hop in the picture and later, return favors by taking Prashant’s picture, the integrating factor of all pictures being The Tilted Head with me or Prashant, somewhere in the background.

Three hours into the day and it looked like me, Prashant and Nandini were losing all steam to the altitude. Exhausted completely, we asked every passerby as to how far Pethang, our next camping ground was. And then to our delight, we saw a familiar figure. The tea-boy of our group appeared from the woods ahead of us with a kettle of hot drinks, climbing down towards us at brisk pace. Our delight multiplied when we realized that he had biscuits too and that the camping ground was not more than an hour away. We lapped up the hot drink and thought we were ready for another hour-long battle. The tea-boy, meanwhile, went further down to meet Zen, Sachin and Shujoy. Unfortunately, Zen’s health couldn’t hold it any longer. She decided to retreat back to Tsokha and wait for us to return victorious. Sachin decided to give her company like a true old friend.

Reaching Pethang after another hour, we rested happily and waited for the lunch to be served. But the irony is, the more you rest, the easier it is to catch cold. Meanwhile, after a long time, the exquisite singer in me had woken up too. Although the cold was in the bones, I and Prashant still had the spirits to sing our hearts loud while Nandini did what she knew the best.

Evening mist approached and we braced ourselves with layers of clothing to keep the monster away. With the nightfall, we receded to our tent into our sleeping bags while Prashant started his daily ritual of applying Volini at every possible joint on the body. I resorted to a hot water bag which was of great help to my lower back.

It rained for a while at night, or was it a hailstorm, we didn’t bother to venture out of our tents to discover. The bells in the necks of the yaks and horses clang continuously as they ate their fodder and I slipped into oblivion.

Glam and 'No Shit' - The Long Walk

Day 1 was literally a shot in the face for all of us. We geared ourselves up with moderate amount of stuff in our daypack, put on the famous 60 spf sunscreen and sunglasses and embarked upon the trail. The initial part of the terrain was a friendly mix of ascents and descents. The foliage was thick and many species of birds could be seen and heard. We crossed two temporary rope bridges, stopping occasionally for water or pleasant views of the stream below, before we reached our lunch halt. We applauded ourselves when Sujoy – the Guide told us that our pace was all right and we had completed 8-9 kilometers already.

After a relaxed lunch consisting of poori, sabzi, soup, with some fruits and lemonade, we proceeded towards the third bridge. Sujoy pointed towards Tsokha on a far-away hill. I laughed it off saying, he was trying to freak us out. Tsokha cannot be that far. It had to be Dzongri. Sujoy, looked back at me with a queer smile. Now, I totally know what the smile had meant.

Once we crossed the bridge, we entered into the Kanchenjunga National Sanctuary and for the rest of the day, we never descended. By now, all of us had started walking at our own paces, stopping once in a while to wipe off the sweat, grab a sip of water or a bite of a chocolate. Soon, I stopped enjoying the vegetation and the birds. I was nearing exhaustion and the walk never seemed to be getting over. My over enthusiasm was soon doused with tiredness. I just wanted the day to get over; so did Sachin, I think. Both of us were walking faster than we should have, causing exhaustion. Nandini and Prashant, on the other hand paced themselves well. As the day passed by, the weather started to deteriorate. Thick mist and clouds had descended into the valley and it got considerably chilly.

After a long walk, that seemed eternal, the first view of a few huts was available. I got too elated. I sped up to reach the huts only to realize that Tsokha was still a good 4 kms away. I had just reached Bakhim. My huge grin disappeared with the mist. I removed the day pack from my back and sat down near the hut. Sachin was visible at a distance. He had a similar smile, I liked to believe, and I made no efforts to warn him of the place not being Tsokha. Sachin knew this was not Tsokha and we started laughing at ourselves the moment he reached. All the investment in the brand new trekking shoes, backpacks, sunscreens and raincoats; what for? For having ourselves screwed maybe. Meanwhile, the porters arrived as well and we had a much needed cup of tea at the hut before moving on for another relentless 4 kms. Slow and unsteady, I finally did reach Tsokha. I was terribly cold. It was almost dark when I reached and it was windy, chilly and cruel. I went straight into the kitchen and sat as close to the stove as possible, half dead. Humor in crisis has often been my savior. I asked the calm looking cook, “Is it just me???” He looked at me, laughed and said, “Nah, everyone goes through the same shit. You will be allright in a while” as he served a cup of hot tea. Meanwhile Sachin arrived too and we had another hot drink before proceeding to the tent, evaluating strategies to brave the cold. Prashant and Nandini soon followed and found us in the tents. Zen came in an hour later with Sujoy. She was terribly exhausted too and had serious doubts about her health. We had a silent dinner, contemplating the action plan for the next day. After a brief discussion, we decided to ease our ascent to the top. So, the next day was a shorter, 4-5 km walk alone. I walked a little after dinner, avoiding the pegs of the tent in the dark, before getting back into the tent. The old back pain that I had, had resurfaced and I was not happy about it.

Glam and 'No Shit' - The Plot and the Star Cast

The Classic Dzongri trek (appeared as one of the top 20 treks in India in Outlook Traveler) begins from a small village called Yuksom. The same has been very lucidly and aptly described by Zenobia Driver. The trek is of moderate grade and comfortable in terms of facilities available. One important fact about Yuksom worth repeating (Zen already mentioned it in her blog) is that it doesn’t sell anything less than ‘L’ sized T-shirt, for a simple fact that majority of the trekkers are westerners and they happen to have L-sized bodyframes in the least.

From Yuksom, you trek upto Tsokha for about 14-15 kms. Tsokha is the last place of human habitation at about 3050 mts. From Tsokha you can either go upto Dzongri in one day or break the journey at Pethang and continue till Dzongri (approx. 4050 mts). Next day, early in the morning, you climb till Dzongri Top (4269 mts.) to catch stunning 270 degree views of the mountain ranges. This is the high point of the trek and you more or less retrace your steps on your way back.

Our group consisted of 5 of us.

Sachin : A very thoroughly finance guy. Very calculative and very cautious in nature. He was the best-equipped guy in the group – the only guy with a 60 spf sunscreen. The best laugh I had on this trip was with Sachin alone.

Zen: The creator. The mastermind behind this whole trip. A huge nature enthusiast and the only one with a big umbrella.

Prashant : Mr. Reticent and politically correct guy. Our treasurer and a very helpful person. The official shutterbug of the group as well.

Nandini : The official glam element of the group. 3 days down into the torturous cold and thin air and she finally admitted that she did practice the tilty heady poses infront of her mirrors. So while Prashant was busy running on the seaface, on Marine Drive, preparing for the trek, Nandini was deciding whether to tilt her head towards the left or the right. I am glad she did that with all sincerity as the results were really tremendous. She couldn’t breathe but she could pose, she couldn’t eat but never let the glam element be dented in the least. Hats off!

My own meager self : Don’t really require a lot of introduction. Do I?

Glam and 'No Shit' - The Start of it All

Should I start with January! My life took a turn into green meadows on Jan 16th 2008, when I got admitted to HBS. All worries at work about transfers, promotions and eventual future took an immediate backseat. Work didn’t stop then and there; I was actually starting to perform even better (or maybe the team just got better) and was happier than ever before.

Anyways, as a result of constant poking by Meenakshi, and spending a few restive days at Karaikal, I decided to take a month off at work from the huge kitty of vacations that I had accumulated – I had 90 surplus vacations pending. In other words, ideally, I could sit at home for three months, and eat, doing nothing. It’s a nice feeling. Meanwhile, Meenakshi visited her Bombay office for work and the visit paid rich dividends. An idea for a week long vacation was mooted and I simply piggybacked. Eventually, Meenakshi had to drop out of the trip because of the usual reasons but I was deep into it to call it quits. I knew noone in the group of people going on this trip but I thought, how bad could it be (It turned out to be quite allright actually). After long discussions, research and email exchanges, a trek in Sikkim was decided upon.

Sikkim is an extremely tourist-centric, environment-friendly state. Usage of plastic/polythene is strictly prohibited and people seem to be surprisingly law-abiding and well off in general. The state shares its border with Tibet in the north and is home to a lot of Tibetan population, as also, few of the oldest Buddhist monasteries.

The entry point for all treks into the hills and forests is manned by Forest and Tourism Department. Entry and exit into the forest is to be logged and the number of polythenes being carried declared. A registered guide is mandatory for the treks.

Take my word on it; inspite of having worked out in the sun for long hours, having done literal physical labor at work and being generally fit, I found this to be one of the more physically grueling experiences. Cold and altitude can be merciless killers and so can cigarettes be. 14,000 ft cannot be as easily trekked as can be thought of or written, definitely not by a first timer like me.