The Carazy ride

Did I come up with this title. Definitely not! She did. Cara. And that is how she is – full of ideas and a running tap full of energy.

In the twilight of my first day in Bharmour, I found her sitting near the bed sipping from a Nalgene bottle. Sometimes you wouldn’t realise she was there until she spoke. But later I realised that was only because it was her bedtime and also because of racket in the room. She came there with lofty ideas of cleaning a pilgrimage town and went back with a truck load of stoned friends.

As my nights turned into days there, she turned more pages in the books she was reading than anyone else I knew. She would escape into the animal jungle of hers when she got tired of the orangutans around her. Oh! Yes, she loves animals more so she bleeds them. Any sort – wild or tame. They all seem to come to her as well. Jane Goodall seemed to be her imaginary friend.

As I started to get around her sharp tongue and weird voices, I saw the mischievous glint in those hazelnut eyes and the child-like heart in her. More so when she took on anyone with a spirit to spur her into a battle of teasing. While she warred with Seana Paula about marriage, it was sexist in Sameer that she liked to punch.

Not surprisingly, as the three of us squeezed in to one bed, we got around talking about chimpanzee rapes, male chauvinism and of course the community flour mill by our home.

 Just as quickly as we trekked up to Manimahesh, I began to like this bundle of energy. With Shiva Tandav Stotram bubbling in the background, we got around talking about our lives. Around every new discourse, I would revise my stories until she knew the truth. She always took it with gusto usually over plates of noodles, pasta and dripping Hello to the King. Always vegetarian, only the food! Not the conversation!!

She loved food and loves it probably more than I do. That itself made life easier! To have an eating partner while you are out is just as warm as the fleece jacket she wears around.

And like the kiwi toppings on my cakes, she loves travelling and is a good hiker. And I can eat the cake too. Because she can walk ahead of me during the treks and still talk long distances and not get annoyed!! To make things easier, she speaks her mind too...

To my crazy travelling and dining partner...

Call of destiny

For someone who just started to believe in destiny and karma, this trip has been nothing but only that. Every call I get, every move I make, every person I meet leads me to something eventually I was supposed to do. All the people I meet in between have just led me on to there.

Even my trip to Bharmour was just that. I had decided not to go despite my friends deciding otherwise. They left Bhagsu and I was happy to have the apartment to my own. Wonderful sunrises, plenty of books and new faces I would meet everyday. Dalai Lama also happened in between.

Would my friends from Bharmour call? No, not really. My conversation was usually restricted to some anonymous figure called Sameer, who sounded like arrogant asshole. (A couple of calls and days later, I figured he is not so bad!!)
 Every alternate day they would call to talk about work and would tell they would leave for Manimahesh the next day. And my answer to that would be "if you guys were to leave, I'm not coming there". Interestingly, the next day never came for them.

I made friends all along my week here and I was even supposed to go to Triund alone. I attempted it!! But without the jabbering noises and the cloud of smoky friends, I knew I couldn't make it to the top. Disappointed in my lack of will power, I headed down from Gallu, only to stop at Heena Cafe and flip through Rohinton Mistry.

Knowing that I wouldn't finish reading the book, I leave the cafe thinking about my day. A few steps out of the cafe downhill, I get a call asking me to go to Bharmour as everyone there were planning to leave for Manimahesh the next day. In the words of my caller, "You are not doing anything much there, are you? Nothing much is happening there! So come over. There will be mutton curry too." Not at all welcoming but the mutton curry sounded tasty enough! And maybe the wanderer in me decided to pop out!.

After picking up a couple of coconut cookies for Seana Paula, I head home only to get out by 11.30 am. Too late to head out for Bharmour, everyone said. They told me I would never reach Bharmour the same day. And have they ever gone to Bharmour - No!

Deciding to trust myself and to just keep going, I reach Mcleod Ganj. Only to find a bus waiting to go to Dharamshala. Hopping on to it, almost all passengers tell me Bharmour is a futile dream for the day. Reaching the bus stand, I hear there is a bus from Kangra to Chamba by 1.30 pm. I realise there is a bus there waiting to go to Kangra. Just as I settles down my thoughts on the bus, I reach my destination for now. And there I see my bus waiting to take me to Chamba.

Being a firm believer in IST, I sniff around for something to munch on and guzzle down. Only to see the bus moving away. Ouch! Screaming and running helter-skelter, I manage to bring the bus to a stop just outside the bus stand. And there began my 6-hour journey to Chamba. A lot of uphills, downhills, dried river-beds, a plate of steaming hot chicken curry later, I reach Chamba at around 7.15 pm.

A couple of calls later, I'm told I'm unlikely to reach Bharmour and Jimmy's Inn is likely to be my home for the night. Determined to eat my mutton curry and prove a lot of people wrong, I find a bus headed that way. But they had no intention of taking it out soon. I find a strong soul on the bus, we take on the conductor and managed to get the bus rolling eventually by 8.30 pm.

And I reach Bharmour by 11.30 pm to find my guitarist waiting for me! Another 10-minute uphill walk to dive into the wonderfully spicy mutton curry.

Surprise of surprises, there's a truck load of people living in a 2-bedroom house.

And my life has never been same again!! For I have made friends to last a lifetime and learnt to trust only your voice and not those of others telling NO!!

Maybe I'll tell you about the people later, each one with their own idiosyncrasies like me but better!!!

Along a ghost town...

On the top of nowhere, surrounded by inaccessible forests, mountain ridges, dams and rocky terrain lies every smokers’ paradise, Malana. A trek to this mountain was interspersed with new friends, trusting my intuition and killer views.

On my way back from Manikaran, my travelling partner for then - green shoe Srini - decided not to do the trek with me. The thought of doing it all alone was intimidating but not one to ever turn back from a step once taken, I decided to go ahead. It was one of my best decisions ever!!

Alone and no one to ask any thing, I learnt to talk to strangers on the road and in the omnipresent teashops. Armed with half a handful of information, I realise I cannot walk, rather trek all the way to this grassland from Jeri. I decide to cheat my way into there.

I hop into a taxi that I finally get after a lot of others refused. And the driver, Rakesh Sharma, was a mine of data. Even as we haggle over prices, I learn about the terrain, the damage the dam is doing to the area and police check-posts (no points for guessing!).

Taking all the twists and turns on a rocky-muddy road, I reach Brijpur. One of the points from where the 2.5 hour trek begins. My taxi driver-cum- guide agrees to come at least half way. Steep steps and ganga-crunching babas keep me company the other half. And in between, some others who said "take the collar of your dog or else they wont let it in", "Don't touch anything there, they will penalise you"...

The climb is tiresome but the sound of the gurgling stream soothes my frayed nerves and maybe the smell of the weed. It did nothing, how ever, for my stretched hamstring, aching ankles and shin.

The village doesn't just pop into view. Like every thing with something to hide, you slowly meander into the village in such a way that everyone can see you arriving.

And I enter a ghost town... a town that looks like it has been ravaged but also had been forgotten by the rest of the universe. Covered in filth, blue-eyed and golden-haired children run around in wellington boots and crocs. That is how far globalisation has touched them. Men and women seem to be conspicuously absent. The ones present seem to be preparing a meal at the centre of the village and a few of those who have seen life, crushing the weed.

A wooden-doored temple takes up my view as I turn around a corner. Carved with intricate designs and stuffed animals on the lock, they seem to lure any tourist only to be stopped by an alert that says - Do not touch!

They seem to take their purity too seriously... The people of this village believe themselves to be descendants of Alexander the great and do nothing to defile themselves. Is it a sham - well, maybe it is just a business trick!! Pique your curiosity and get stoners to come to the mecca of weed!!

As I stroll across the valley in search of someone to talk to I walk till the end only to be stunned by the view of the valley beneath and the mountains ahead.

And as I give up my search for some one local, a man appears out of one of those wooden house lined all along the village. Emaciated, but clothed in lamb wool he beckoned me to a stone bench to get to business... Though I was a walking rupee sign for him, he refused to touch anything I had and always had everything covered in crinkly plastic...

Did I do business with him? Did I smoke a spliff? Did I buy more than a T from him? Do I have my own peddler now with his name and number intact? Maybe yes and maybe no!

For those lazy souls who want to reach Malana, but do a shorter trek, you can take the taxi up to Nerang. The walk is just over an hour but just as picturesque as I did it downhill.  

Love in the kitchen and food on the mini table...

Amidst fights, nonsensical arguments and discussions on conspiracy theories, my kitchen floods with love. It seems like a place full of happiness and mirth as each dish takes its shapes, liquid or solid.

All differences seem to turn into banana and papaya smoothies and arguments into fillings on my pancakes. Coconut shavings, fried bananas or crispy apples with ice-cream. A feast definitely for breakfast and it carries on for the day.

And reiki discourses over a plate of steaming paneer masala. Can it get better? Yes... Crop circles over a bowl of flambeed fruits basking in the tenderness of molten ice-cream.

My kitchen comes alive with laughter when I decide to make special mallu chai with bits of cardamom and julienned ginger thrown in. Just as the my pot of tea overflows, the statements on priests and sex go on an overdrive but, all the while passion and happiness froth over on the table.

Food soothes all souls and all I had to do was decide to attempt to cook or just help my commies whip up delicious mutton curry!

It ain't so hard...

As the crow glides!!

Taking the trail up to Triund seems like a joke to most locals in Bhagsu who manage to hop, skip and jump their up and down in one hour or less. But for us lesser mortals, the track can seem ardous in bits and walkable around most but definitely more than 3 hours.

It was the second trek of my life, the first being to Guna temple. This track seemed a lot better and now having done it almost four times, almost a rocky cake walk.

But before we begin all this trail, can I go before gorging on some deliciously cheesy pancakes and healthy muesli. Definitely no! A walk to Sansu's place in Upper Bhagsu is like my preface to the walk later in the day. Huffing and puffing, I fall on his table for the yummy morsels he makes for anyone who doesn't fall foul of him.

It's easier walking on a full tummy than a growling one.

As I cross the river from across his place towards Dharamkot, I begin my journey up in to the clouds. The first strech can seem strenuous and it is! For it has a lot of steps, then there are rocky and steep bits with muddy paths in between. And I reach Gallu in sometime. Green guest houses and few rocks to seat my self greet me. I make it this far without crying out loud only due to my friends who decide to be patient with me, knowling fully well I'm a plains girl. I'm only beginning to become a mountain lass.

From Gallu, the walk is rather pleasant but not easy especially during the monsoon. It does get a little squishy, but isn't that expected on a trek? Tiny rivulets, popping spings and picturesque waterfalls accompany you on most part of the trail after Gallu. At some places, there are even green tunnels and small caves. You can let loose your imagination here.

Panting, I reach the magic view cafe. After all the green cover and waterways, the cloudy, misty cloud cover in the distance does seem like somone cast a spell for me to relax. An expensive garam chai and friendly banter amidst crystals does seem like the perfect place to hang my legs, maybe even yours.

But not for long, as I'm just still half-way from the mountain-top. Shepherds with flutes and wanderers with ektaras become a part of the romantic landscape here. Notes and sheep float about in equal measure. One soothes your soul and the other your view. Like hairy beings in white, black and marble, the sheep flit about sometimes deciding to be as stubborn as a mule.

The climb is steep and in some bits, full of rocks, so leaves you no time to muse. But all in good time, you cross another chai shop and some more stony parts and bingo you are on the top. It's not as easy I make it sound. It will take you a good 1.5 hours to finally make it to the top from the half-way shop.

As much as you are tired, the view and the sunset is wonderfully stunning that you forget your muscle aches and breathlessness. Sitting on a parapet wall or even the meadow up there, watching the sun sink or throw up a ball of fire at the last moment makes up for all the effort. In the distance you will see eagles with rake-like wings fly past and even crows glide by. These sqeaky crows seem to be jet-black beauties up here and get away taunting the mountain eagles. The crows seem to have come into their own up at Triund, from where the snow line is just a blink away.

Lovely, don't you think. Come and see it for yourself to believe...

Of tangerine flowers and moss-chocolate mountains

Every day up here in the mountains throws up so many different spectacles that I'm just glad to be a part of the rainbow that just moves around showering droplets of happiness everywhere.

I see far away green mountains and hear a rippling brook as long as I decide to be silent and let the world take me in.

A pink flower vase filled with orange and white petals, a curled up dog on a red scarf are the images I see almost on all my waking days. Then the multitude of people that I meet, each one lends me something to take home and carry way. Some make me smile, some give me the gift of patience and others just love.

You'll be surprised at the amount of love some people are capable of. They just give and expect nothing in return. They are just happy to be there... Life seems so much more simpler with each of them around...