Tips For Valentine's Day

A New Beginning.

It was a cold morning in Diskit with colder water to brush our already numb teeth. Despite the fact that we had to reach North Pullu only after 1100 hrs. the Crazy Old Man woke us up in the middle of the night. The evening before, we had learned the hard way that water heated for half an hour would reach to a temperature that would be referred to in Mumbai as saadaa paani. So without fussing over the numbing experienced by us at both the extreme ends of the alimentary canal, we got ready.

We assembled at the hotel dinning room with empty water bottles and equally empty stomachs. A brand new day and a brand new beginning. The host served us omelettes and parathas and we continued to live up to our tradition of exhausting the food supplies of every place that we ate at. We were also served a rare speciality beverage - warm water.

Water bottles and stomachs full, we started our journey back to Leh. The route was scenic and wound around endless mountains, valleys and rivers. North Pullu was a three-hour journey. Onwards, we would be passing Khardung La, the highest motorable pass in the world at 18380 feet above sea level. A day earlier we had clicked pictures there in the snow standing around a board, which clearly mentioned “No Parking”. It sure must be lonely at the top. From Khardung La, we had to reach South Pullu and then a one-hour drive to Leh.

We reached North Pullu at noon. The Army convoy from South Pullu was expected any minute. Needless to say, till it did arrive and pass us, we would have to wait at North Pullu along with other buses and trucks. Quite a few roadside establishments, which partially hid a clear flowing stream, were offering instant noodles for ready consumption. It was almost lunchtime and the singing had made us hungry. Surprisingly our stomachs had enough place to accommodate two to three plates of Maggi Noodles.

The Army Convoy was yet to arrive and it was already 1500hrs. We had passed time eating, drinking water from the stream, chatting up random military personnel and were suddenly out of interesting activities. I decided to play some fast songs in the bus and the group responded by dancing to them inside the bus, the driver responded by switching on the coloured lights in the bus and a large crowd gathered outside the bus wondering why the bus was gyrating like a car in some condom advertisement.

At 1700 hrs. we were informed that the Army Convoy would not be coming as it had snowed heavily near Khardung La and that we could now pass along with the other vehicles at our own convenience. Our bus travelled for less than an hour only to be stopped on the narrow road. The trucks ahead of us in line had stopped for reasons unknown to us. Possibly stuck by excess snow on the road. We had gained considerable height and were thereby drinking lots of water and eating sweets to fight altitude sickness.

By now we had gained expertise in over-eating but the water we drank was beyond our control. The snowfall made it worse and we had to relieve ourselves every few minutes. Soon we were out of water and some of us started showing symptoms of altitude sickness. Headaches, drowsiness, breathlessness, the works. Maybe we’d find some wood to burn outside the bus. The facts of the case were as under:

1) We were around 17000 feet to 18000 feet above sea level;

2) It was snowing;

3) Rocks and three feet of snow covering the road were the only things visible in torch light;

4) It was dark; and

5) The road was hardly 10 feet wide.

So … no firewood.

The bus drivers had a stove and a cylinder. They were glad to be of help and set it up in the aisle. A first batch of two to three guys donned their jackets and gloves and headed out with our empty water bottles to bring snow to melt into water. But the snow solidified in the bottles to form ice. Tiffin boxes were then used to get more snow. The snow was transferred to a partially cleaned steel vessel and heated over the stove. The first batch of warm liquid snow with a lot of impurities and a distinct rubber odour was consumed as fast as a tequila shot.

At the same time we decided to distribute chocolate for to the gang in order to get their energy levels up. The chocolate slab was so cold that it refused to break using bare hands. We had to strike it on the bus handlebars to each time we needed to break a small piece of chocolate. Eating chocolate and drinking water had by now initiated movements in the guts. Nine of us had to go take a dump in the snow. That experience is a separate story in itself.

We were out of water very quickly. I volunteered to go collect snow. I made sure that I collected snow from only the highest places possible to avoid human waste pollution. I was required to make three trips in that cold freezing night. After that I cooked us some water. Somehow it tasted less funny now. Maybe the vessel got cleaner. Maybe the previous team had collected snow from a much lower height. Just drink the damn water and stay alive!

At around 2230 hrs. we heard a knock on our bus door. Apart from the driver’s door and my last seat window, that door was the only opening in the bus that was not jammed due to frost. Two heavily clothed Army personnel informed us that they had come walking from Khardung La and efforts were on to restart the traffic movements. They also informed all guys above 18 years of age to be ready in case the bus needed to be pushed out of the snow. They even sarcastically called Ashwin Joglekar (who was showing off his skills in tolerating the cold by just wearing a singlet and jeans) a ‘Hero’ and asked him to wear some warm clothes and he agreed and did the needful so fast that to an untrained eye it would appear as if he was initially being victimised by the rest of the gang.

The traffic started moving in an hour. Slow but moving. We reached Khardung La at about 0130 hrs. and made it a point to wake up everyone who had wished to visit the souvenir shop on their way back. The exhausted gang managed to wake up but did not appreciate our effort. Our intentions were good but what could we do if the souvenir shop was closed at 0130 hrs. in the morning?

An officer of probably the Ladakh Scouts got into our bus and kept talking into his walkie-talkie. He was to accompany us to South Pullu as our hotel in Leh had alerted the authorities about the delay in our return. The road from Khardung La to South Pullu had absolutely no signs of snow, not even rains. It was much warmer than the other side of the mountain.

After dropping the officer at Sorth Pullu, our driver took us down to Leh by driving straight down the mountain and bypassing the winding road completely. We reached our hotel in Leh at 0400 hrs. Before sleeping the COM informed us that wakeup would be at 0830 hrs. A whole new day would begin in the next four hours.

Himesh to the Rescue

Captain’s Log: 30^th May 2007, 1800 Hrs.

As instructed, the entire gang reached the dormitory in Manali to get ready to leave for Kalka. The bus that got us to Manali from Leh and its irritating crew of driver and cleaner (neither did the driver drive properly nor did the cleaner clean that well AND we were certain that both were drunk!!) were responsible for the journey to Kalka.

Manali – Kalka, we were told, was a twelve-hour journey, which was scheduled at 1900–1930 Hrs. so as to facilitate our boarding the Paschim Express (departure time 1010 Hrs. 31^st May 2007) to Mumbai.

But to our surprise (rather shock), the old man declared that we had an extra hour to continue “interacting with the locals”. The bus apparently was delayed by an hour due to unknown reasons. Overjoyed by this rare opportunity, the gang got busy in “interacting with the locals” and ended up buying all kinds of stuff that was available cheaper in Mumbai.

Captain’s Log: 30^th May 2007, 1900 Hrs.

Bags packed and ready to leave the gang was directed to reach a certain bus stop, a five-minute walk from the dormitory. Confusion and later chaos regarding the existence of this very bus stop was thereby very natural since despite walking for over twenty-minutes, the said location was nowhere to be seen. Also, the bus had been further delayed due to traffic on its way back from Manikaran (that’s what the travel agent conveyed).

Captain’s Log: 30^th May 2007, 1945 Hrs.

The C.O.M. made us walk to the bus station. Some five-minute walk that was. But still no bus. Traffic? Maybe, maybe not! Was it going to come? It was nearing dinnertime. The twelve-hour journey was not supposed to include time taken for dinner. Our feet were aching. The inaction made us cold and the t-shirts we were wearing made it worse. Our warm clothes were already packed at the bottom of our bags.

Captain’s Log: 30^th May 2007, 2230 Hrs.

The drunken travel agent was pleased to inform us that the bus and its crew had already left for Leh. But we were asked not to worry as he had arranged for taxis. Thirty-two of us and a lot of luggage. Eight of us in each of the four taxis (we presumed them all to be ten seater jeeps). Taxi No.1 Qualis, Taxi No.2 Sumo, Taxi No.3 Qualis and Taxi No.4 Maruti Omni!! (That too 5 seater including the driver!!) A careful “size-wise” distribution of the gang and its luggage ensured that despite certain discomfort all the members, drivers and luggage fit in the four cars.

Captain’s Log: 30^th May 2007, 2245 Hrs.

The drivers tank up their vehicles but inform us that due to certain “taxi union” problems, we would leave at 2300 Hrs. and via a different route, passing through Nagar. “No problems… just get us to the station in time.” Akul’s walkie-talkie set springs into action. One handset with Akul himself in the last car (Qualis) and one with me in the first car (Maruti Omni, a.k.a. ‘Nature Club One’ as the C.O.M. was in it) crackled to life as soon as the journey started.

The gang was told that the guys sitting next to the drivers were to remain awake. A task next to impossible. Especially after a day that began with a trek to Jogini Falls, then a walk in the Manali Nature Park, an extended “interaction with the locals” and finally the four-hour wait for transportation. Also not much energy to stay awake, as we were yet to have dinner. But we had to stay awake. Sleeping in the seat next to the driver could mean the driver feeling sleepy too. How do we crack this riddle??

“Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo Huzurrrrr … tera tera TERA suroooorrr…” Sleep?? What that be?? With Himesh Reshamiya blowing his nose away to glory even sleeping pills would prove ineffective. Now that we were forced to stay awake and also to listen to Himesh’s songs I couldn’t help realise that our drivers were driving to the beat. Every hairpin bend in the road was negotiated on a ‘Dhichchick Dhoof’. It didn’t take us long to figure out that keeping the first and the last car informed of which exact song Himesh was singing in that particular car was an ideal way of using the walkie-talkie as well as keeping ourselves entertained.

The drivers drove their individual vehicles at a constant speed. A constant unwavering speed of 75 Kmph. Up, down, right, left, curves, straights, potholes and smooth roads all manoeuvred at a constant steady speed. The road desperately tried to slow us down and if not that to at least challenge the skill of our drivers. But our drivers showed one-upmanship by negotiating the curves while chatting on their cell phones or by taking off their sweaters while steering with their knees or even switching off the lights and driving in the pitch dark. Knowing that the regular road was not a good enough workout, our drivers even drove over a suspended wooden bridge over a wild river, which was strictly meant for “Pedestrians Only!”

Captain’s Log: 31^st May 2007, 0300 Hrs.

We had passed Sundernagar (proposed dinner halt) long ago. Some women felt nauseas as the curvy roads and the high speeds churned their guts. However, lack of food in their bowels was resulting in mere spitting. There was also a theory making rounds that it was Himesh who was responsible for these irregular bowel movements.

I was receiving continuous messages on my radio handset that people were hungry and need to eat and some needed to stretch their legs. Roadside policemen seemed confused as to my identity as and when they saw me talking on the radio while zooming past them in our taxi. At around 0330 Hrs, I spotted a roadside dhaba and after due permissions from the C.O.M. instructed our driver and the others to stop for a meal. A hot and tasty plate of Rajma-Rice followed an initial cup of chai. Who paid the bills is to date a mystery for me.

Captain’s Log: 31^st May 2007, 0730 Hrs.

Our drivers had got us within six kilometres of Kalka and took a quick and well-deserved break on the outskirts of the city. The weight of our eyelids were unbearable. Moreso because Himesh had now given way to spiritual songs, which our drivers thought were best played in the morning.

Captain’s Log: 31^st May 2007, 0815 Hrs.

We reached Kalka Railway Station almost two hours before departure and profusely thanked the skilful drivers and their remarkable machines, not to mention Himesh Reshamiya who had entertained as well as kept us and the drivers awake and thereby alive.

Loo-p Holes

From the time we entered Ladakh from Sonmarg, we were directed to drink water. Not one or two sips or gulps but 3 to 4 litres a day. I remembered from biology class that 70% of the human body is composed of water. Water happens to be the base of our cellular constitution and also the medium for transfer of oxygen and energy to these cells and thereby keeping our body alive. The brain happens to be the most sensitive organ of the body and brain cells start dying very quickly if flow of oxygen and energy is stopped even for a few seconds. And brain cells did not regenerate.

Water was important. But then another biology lecture had informed me that the human urinary bladder has a maximum capacity of half a litre. And that coupled with the fact that the temperatures were around 10 Degree Celsius, well, we had a problem.

Due to narrow roads and hilly terrain, the bus was anyways on an average doing a 20 kmph. and now these su-su breaks were not exactly helping us increase our average speed. But if you had to go then you HAD to go! There were no two ways about it. But we had to wait at least till the bus was at a convenient place to stop. Also we had to make sure that there were places favourable for the women to go. There were no streetlights or lanes drawn on the roads, so expecting toilet facilities along the road was like expecting a non-coalition government in India.

But as I said before, if you had to go then you HAD to go! So we started improvising. Sleeping bags were used as makeshift cubicles. The women always had to go in groups wherein they took turns holding the sleeping bags and … doing their business. We guys were better off and could all pee at the same time enjoying the scenic views. But by the time the girls returned from their mission we guys would have a newly filled bladder ready to burst again. Timing was of prime importance.

And then again there were some women who I can swear were endowed with enormous bladders. They just never went out to pee. I wasn’t quite sure if it was their anatomy or some other secret procedures they followed, so I made sure that I had water ONLY from my bottle.

We have answered the call of nature at some of the most fascinating places in Ladakh. The view of Pangong Lake was awesome and while I am writing this I suspect I have another theory for it being brackish in nature and devoid of life. I just need to work out the mystery of its shades of blue.

The synchronization experienced during community excrement session while we were stuck in a blizzard at Khardung La is worth a mention. We were covered in woollens and warm attire from head to toe except for our exits and the snowfall made it more adventurous.

The women, I am sure, must have had their own set of adventures while they had to resort to evasive manoeuvres to hide from trucks and other vehicles carrying curious onlookers.

Some places did have toilets but it was rare that they would be usable, forget clean. Some were made such that I think they just installed the pots without any plumbing beneath it. And then there were the Ladakhi style toilets. These toilets are generally just rectangular cavities in the ground with at least 10 to 20 feet of empty space below them. Ladakh is devoid of fertile soil and night soil collected over a year is used to fertilise the fields. I did not use them. I am not a sadist when it comes to poop. Imagine your poop falling 10 to 20 feet below you. What had it ever done to deserve such treatment?

We had problems as a group as regards to toilet facilities, but we managed. We did raise this issue with the Deputy Commissioner of Ladakh, one Mr. Dwivedi, when we met him in Leh. He was very diplomatic in his answers and replied coolly that by the time we visited next, the problem would be solved. He must have known that the same group would never manage to find the time and resources together to visit Ladakh again, ever. And individually, we’d never meet him.

So that was it. That’s what we faced and that’s how we solved the problems. As guys we had lesser sufferings and I am sure that they must feel more strongly towards the issue. But they have got to admit that no facilities meant complete freedom and an experience worth remembering.

Rani

Our 52 hour train journey from Mumbai to Guwahati was to end at 1130 hrs. in the morning. We reached at 1930 hrs. The journey had transpired through central India’s hottest states and during the peak of summer. We were a gang of 43 travelling in the Second Sleeper compartment so needless to add we were without any air conditioning whatsoever. In fact, we even had a good number of nonworking fans. So by the time we reached we were quite messy and hungry.

We were greeted at Guwahati by Aarin Mehta and Sanjay Joshi, who had flown in from Mumbai and had waited 8 hours for us to arrive. They lead us to our bus which was going to be our transportation for the rest of our journey through Assam, Nagaland and Arunachal. “Rani” was what was written on the front windshield of the bus and I felt some amount of happiness since after 60 hours of train travel our camp had now actually begun.

Anish Menon was miraculously already on the roof of the bus to load our bags along with the cleaner of the bus. I placed my bags along with the other bags and looked at the COM for instructions. Go check how many people can be seated in the bus. Well, barring a handful the rest of the gang had already occupied the seats in the bus. 8 rows of 2 seats each on the left, 7 rows on the right, and the last row had 5 seats. So 8 plus 7 equals 15 into 2 equals 30 plus 5 equals 35. “Thatty Faif seats SIR!!!”

Aadmi 45 aur seat 35? Bahut na insafi hai. Nah … don’t worry, we had received training for this in Ladakh and had our best volunteering to sit in the driver’s cabin equipped with self owned or borrowed MP3 players. Of course there was also a Tata Sumo which would be leading the way for us; however, apart from the faculty members no one volunteered to be seated in it. Clearly, it was a known fact that all the action was going to happen inside the bus and no one wanted to miss it.

Our driver we were told was the best there was in the plains of Assam and he managed to take us to Bhalukpong (Arunachal) where we were served dinner, before we could lose our patience. There have been instances in the past when restaurant owners in Sonmarg (Kashmir) and Drass (Kargil) had to shut shop after a gang of hungry Nature Club members managed to eat every single morsel cooked or stored in the restaurant and 3 or 4 neighbouring restaurants. So getting us food before we start eating anything and everything around us is a good idea.

Over the days our driver proved he was the best driver in the plains of Assam. The problem was that most of our travel took place in the hills of Arunachal and Nagaland. Our driver turned out to have absolutely no experience of a slope, let alone a mountain curve. We have practically hung over cliffs on at least 2 occasions after which we had to completely empty the bus while arrangements were made for alternative “mountain” drivers to drive us to a flat road, on which our driver could show his expertise. We also had to push the bus to help it start a few times and once to stop it from rolling into a ravine. This also gave us an opportunity to experience the beautiful northeast on foot.

Apart from that, we had a burnt clutch plate, an oil leak and a plethora of assorted broken down bus parts. Our driver also left no stone unturned in crashing the bus into mile stones, rocks, trees, walls, gates and other vehicles and he did so with such panache that “Rani” had dents, scratches, bruises and missing body parts on almost all sides including the top. Needless to add, while the bus crashed, banged and rocked and rolled on the outside, we, its passengers experienced the same physical forces inside.

The aisle was too narrow. The seats were welded in such a way that they could be folded into half but one couldn’t recline without breaking them. And someone had forgotten to polish the millions of sharp rusted metal edges that surrounded every exposed metal part of the seat. All those who were active on their feet and singing in the bus could be easily identified by the numerous scratches on their bodies and of course their torn clothes. But one could call it a blessing in disguise. Not one single beggar ever irritated those active guys. In fact, some beggars volunteered to help and even offered their own clothes. A certain girl from F.Y.B.M.M. (name withheld on request) had to purchase an entire new wardrobe on her return to Mumbai. Her “Northeast” clothes are now used to swab the floors, stuff soft toys and to exchange for utensils. She now has a new stainless steel spoon.

The bus ride was very eventful and it came to an end when we reached Guwahati on the night of 13^th May 2008. All bags downloaded, we waited for the COM to tell us our room allocations. I still remember that evening as we stood near the bus tired, hungry, sleepy, and bruised and with torn clothes of course, with a certain amount of gloom that our camp was over and my best clothes needed patches, when I saw what was written towards the back of the bus. Rani. Luxury Coach, Classic Seats. Yeah right #@!*%@#** !!!

Moral Science

Fairytales and fables have been the oldest form of moulding instruments used for training a child’s influential mind. The child is taught righteousness, morality, ethics, honesty, humility, etc. through these stories. As the child grows up, he is introduced to books like ‘Panchtantra’, ‘Easop’s Fables’ and the like. The ideas often get reinforced in the mind of the child as he grows up.

I have observed that these reinforced ideas usually tend to produce slightly different results than were expected. The individual tends to get a bit superstitious in his thought and conduct. For example, poor performance in an examination is a direct result of poor preparation. I used to play during study time and thereby fare poorly in my exams. But this situation would be analysed by me as ‘A period of immense pleasure is immediately followed by a period of ultimate sorrow.’ This more often than less resulted in me trying to spend the period before exams in boredom so as to automatically avail myself immense pleasure during the results. It never occurred to me that studying would ensure a good result. I learned the truth the hard way.

But sometimes these moralistic stories do help. Remember the story of the woodcutter whose axe falls into a pond? It so happens that he prays that he get back his axe and a fairy appears from the pond with a silver axe. The woodcutter is honest and tells the fairy that his axe was not made of silver. So she fetches another axe made of gold. But the honest woodcutter doesn’t claim that axe either. Finally when the fairy gets the woodcutter’s axe made of wood and iron, he takes it from her. Amazed with his honesty, the fairy gifts him both the silver and the gold axe too. And he lives happily ever after.

Well on our way back from Ladakh, my very humble looking bag was stolen from the train as it was lying amongst various attractive looking bags at Ambala Station. The bag was so plain and simple that if I were a thief, I would have never looked at it. But I presume the thief had great humility and decided to take my bag anyways. And he was rewarded too as my bag contained my mp3 player, my Ray Bans and various other articles which would easily be worth over Rs.8,000/- I guess whoever took my bag, if not before the incident, surely started believing in fables after taking away my bag. And it reinforced my old belief that ‘A period of immense pleasure is immediately followed by a period of ultimate sorrow.’

No Privacy

We were on our way to Mumbai from Jabalpur, Madhya Pradesh. We were a group of 32 with only 9 guys. As usual the C.O.M. had got us to Jabalpur Station well before our train arrived. Almost over an hour before the train could arrive. So the scene looked like usual; a huge pile of luggage and people dumped in the middle of the station platform. Since Jabalpur was very hot unlike Bandhavgarh and Kanha that we had visited in that week and since we had a long train journey ahead, the dress code of the group was shorts and loose t-shirts.(since majority were girls – sleeveless tops, etc...)

We had seen some activity outside the railway station, wherein a lot of Policemen had gathered and one could make out from the crowd gathered that there was some activity of a political party. Soon that crowd started entering the station premises with flags and banners. Two things were possible from their body language. One they were there to receive someone. Two they were there to travel. Either ways, no one cared what they were up to.

A group of those party workers spotted our group and almost instantly their primary objective became staring at the girls in our group. Not a quick glance or a look from the corner of their eyes but actual wide eyed stares with huge grins from ear to ear. It was a group of about 10 people and though we were irritated by them, we knew that we were in control. But the number of those party workers started increasing and within minutes there were more than a 100 guys who had surrounded our group and were staring lecherously at the girls.

The girls who were initially relaxed and lying around amongst the luggage heap were soon mighty irritated and there was an uncomfortable feeling which began to seep in the group. The body language of the betel leaf chewing party workers was that they stood facing our group with their hands in their pockets and their red and brown stained teeth grinning at the girls while their eyes seemed as if they’d fall off from their faces. At the same time, the body language of the girls was hands folded while they tried to ignore the huge crowd.

I was as irritated as the girls or may be more. And decided to stare down those lechers, but it was no good. So instead, I stood up at a strategic location from where I made it clear that the party workers maintain the distance between them and our group and not come any closer. Bhaski joined me with a stout stick I had picked up in Kanha. The party workers maintained their distance but we noticed some of them clicking pictures of the girls with their camera phones.

I felt even more angry and helpless as I could do nothing to stop them. Suddenly, one of the party workers started walking towards the group. My fists were clenched and senses alert. I could feel the same feeling of alertness in our group. “Come where you from?” the guy asked me. I grunted, “Mumbai”. The guy continued, “It is girls Hockey team?” looking at Bhaski with the stick. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. But I said yes. If that’s what was keeping them away, then be it. The guy asked some more questions and I replied back in monosyllables. The guy then returned to the group where he was received with laughs, high fives and pats on his back as if he had managed to get all the girls’ telephone numbers.

It was a very disturbing and helpless hour on the station till our train arrived. We were relieved when we realized that the party workers had come there to receive a party leader and thereby they wouldn’t be traveling with us. As the train left Jabalpur Station, I started to feel relaxed and less irritated by every passing second. How could people behave in such a manner? As in what were they expecting from the girls by portraying such an attitude? But as we headed towards home, I quickly returned back to normal and was now singing songs and playing games in the train.

But on a serious note, would I behave like those guys in Jabalpur? Would anyone from the group behave like those idiots? Why did we have to go through all that? And suddenly it struck me that it was only human nature. Now I knew how the Tigers must have felt back in Bandhavgarh and Kanha. Jeep loads of tourists staring at them, clicking their photographs and expecting to go closer and may be interact. No privacy I say.