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Some interesting people I met on the trek…
Ram Mohan, our guide’s assistant warms his hands while making tea at Kacheru
Beeru sips chai at his shop
Dipender with his Aamir Khan smile
Taking home fodder for the cattle
The shepherd… and his sheep
Naughty Sahil with his mother
Heavy burden on young shoulders
And so Manjhi. Just before the campsite is Beeru’s tea shop – now Manjhi is not an inhabited village, a few people from Agoda, 11 km away come there during “season” (meaning the summer months which sees some pedestrian traffic in the area) to graze their cattle and sell tea and snacks to the trekking public. Beeru had spotted potential sales, when he saw our group and another the day earlier headed to Dodital and so he had made his way to Manjhi to set up shop with his supplies of instant coffee, Maggi and Kurkure. Now that is the irony of modern India – call it shining or shaming, what you will – this is territory without electricity, where women travel 10 km to collect fodder for their cows and children trek the same distance each day to go to elementary school but there is unlimited supply of Pepsi and Kurkure everywhere you see.
Anyway. We stopped at Beeru’s tea shop, tucked into eggs and Maggi and made conversation with him and the other porters who had arrived by then. Beeu blushed prettily when asked about Jai’s whereabouts but otherwise chatted merrily about his life. The campsite was close by and when we headed there, our lovely cook Dipender had chai and snacks ready for us (any thoughts of getting slimmer and fitter thanks to the trek evaporated when we saw the food that appeared every few hours). It was just past five in the evening but there was a chill in the air and soon the bonfire came up. The sun was about to set and cast glorious orange light on the distant mountains; everything was perfectly still and quiet. That is how we brought in the new year – warming ourselves in front of the fire at minus five degree temperatures, tucking into piping hot dal chawal. Cannot think of a better way.
Dodital the next day was an easy five kilometer hike that only half of the group undertook – the freezing temperatures added to an unforgiving wind chill factor made it a miserable morning for the trekkers. But the rest of the day was spent back in front of the bonfire chatting and sipping endless cups of chai. The trek back towards Bebra was easy given how most of it was downhill – we reached the camp just around lunch time and got to spend the entire afternoon there – again, inside the small chai and Kurkure shop owned by the local who also ran the camp site (Nabeen Pawar Lodge, proudly says the painted sign).
And finally, the last day – the easiest part of the trek – going back into civilization and easy downhill walks. We stopped to photograph and chat with locals – mountain goats most of them, who walked the toughest stretches with great ease. Back in Kalyani, the starting point, we stopped to catch our breath and take the “after” photograph – weary and aching but happy to have completed the trek. Beginners and gentle it may be, but it still required a level of fitness that none of us possessed. Never mind, the plans for the next trek are already on – Valley of Flowers in August. And this time, we go prepared!
That’s me, folks. Intrepid I was, because I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. A gentle trek, he said, the guy organizing the trek. For beginners, he assured us. A mere walk. And so on. You get the drift.
Ten minutes into the trek and I could not hear anything, even my own thoughts: my heart was pounding so loud in my ears. As I stopped yet again to catch my breath that promised to desert me at any time, I asked my husband, “tell me again, why do people do this for pleasure?” I then asked our guide who was patiently bringing up the rear, “Vasuji, will I ever get used to this or will it be this tough till the end?” Vasuji, many things but not the best diplomat said, “how can I say? It is all up to how you manage it.” Very reassuring, not.
We were staying in a homestay in Dehradun (Shri Krishna Guesthouse run by the lovely Renee and Jayant – but more on that later) – we had barely survived the gruelling (read head spinning, stomach churning) six hour drive up to Uttarkashi and had lunch there before we drove further ahead to Kalyani. Also known as Sangamchatti, this was the beginning point for our hike to Dodital, and further on to Darba, weather permitting.
Grand plans.
As a friend said later, “in the first half hour of the trek, I had questioned every single decision of my life, and not just the one to come on this trek!” Vamsi and I huffed and puffed our way up, step after weary step – we were six of us in all, plus a couple of guides, porters and cooks each. Of the six trekkers, V and I were right in the middle, neither superfast like the “competitive” ones racing ahead nor the friends trudging along even slower than us. Renee at the guesthouse had given sound advice – just focus on putting one step in front of another. True, if I looked any further ahead, things just seemed insurmountable. By the time we finished less than half the trek, I was telling Vamsi that I wanted to go back down the next day. “I just cannot carry on!”
Luckily, we persevered. The first day was bad, given that we had driven for a long time and started the trek after 3 p.m. – all of us trek novices. It got dark soon enough and we were then walking on these narrow mountain trails using just torchlights and a foolish hope that the end was in sight. By the time we reached Bebra, our first camp site, it was completely dark and our friends who had reached ahead of us were sitting around a tiny bonfire (this was what helped us survive through the five days, even in minus temperatures!) Hot soup and popcorn soon materialized and the tiredness of the day was forgotten as we tucked into dinner dinner immediately after that. Bed time was early: and that means 9 p.m – at the camp site, there was no electricity, nothing to do in fact but stare at the brilliant sky above. And then the struggle of getting into a sleeping bag and getting used to the feel of the hard earth under the back: at that point, every thing seemed an adventure.
Bebra is at a very pretty spot, just by a gurgling stream, surrounded by mountains but we were too busy with other things to notice. The second day was better in terms of the trek itself and we were able to manage it, if not easily, then certainly with less difficulty than the earlier day. Sure, the steady incline was a challenge; muscles that we did not existed cried out in protest. We stopped for a quick chai made by one of the guides near a small stream called Kacheru and then made our way to the next camp site at Manjhi. The original plan was to head on all the way to Dodital (14 km from Bebra) but seeing our state the earlier day, our guide had decided to halt at Manjhi just 9 km away.
(to be continued)
I am off for a trek in the Himalayas in a couple of days. Picture me bringing in the new year in a shiver and freeze mode (yes, don’t ask – but tell me, those of you who have met me, I don’t actually *look* crazy, do I?). Anyway, so here is looking back on 2011 and where the year took me.
Rajasthan for a week in January, followed by the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival in Mumbai…
Europe was the big trip of the year – three weeks in Austria, Czech Republic, France, Belgium and the Netherlands…
A quick trip to Turkey for a few days in May…
Varanasi for a photography workshop and from there, Khajuraho and Orchha with Vamsee…
Ooty with my parents for a long weekend before Deepavali…
In November, Pushkar for the cattle fair, which I’ve wanted to do for years now…
And now, the trek – see you all in the new year! Have a wonderful, wanderful 2012 
RIP George Whitman, the eccentric owner of the original Shakespeare & Co. bookshop in Paris’ Left Bank. The shop, now in its second avatar, celebrates sixty years of existence this year. And Whitman, who bought it from the original owner Sylvia Beach died last week, aged 98. I have been dying to write a story on this fabulous bookshop where I spent hours on my Paris trip – am waiting for an editor to bite buy. And I am really looking forward to writing that story. For now, just a pic.
Till then, let me tell you about the two other bookshops I spotted in Europe, named after Shakespeare. There are probably many more but these two for now. One in Prague – of all places, an English bookshop in an Eastern European country! Shakespeare in Prague – but then, I found Lennon there, so why not?
And the other, the really really charming one in Avignon in Provence – a small bookshop with what I can only call a typical French attitude. Look at the cheeky sign on the shop window. That said, the owner, who was closing for lunch, was nice enough to keep it open for ten minutes while I browsed and clicked and drooled. Go figure.
I found this in a small street somewhere in the heart of Avignon as I was wandering aimlessly one fine spring day. I probably would never be able to locate it if I were to try again. The shop also had a tiny cafe (I did try asking for a coffee but clearly, that was going too far!) and books stacked in some method-to-the-madness way that only the owner understood. In all, a lovely discovery.
One of my travel dreams is for a ski holiday sometime, somewhere – preferably in the Alps. I did manage to go to a ski resort in Austria on my Europe holiday this April. Not to ski – given that neither my husband nor I know even the basics of skiing. Actually, we didn’t even go there with the intention of seeing the ski slopes.
This is how it happened. I had read about Alpbach – that it had won prettiest village in Austria awards many times. So, there was no way I was missing it. We had hired a car in Vienna and driven down to Salzburg. One morning, we took to Alpbach, hoping to head on to Innsbruck from there. As it happened, Alpbach was so charming that Innsbruck was soon forgotten.
I would have loved to visit Alpbach in summer when the flowers are in full bloom (as pictures on the Internet told me) but winter in the village had its own charm. We walked up and down the only main road, popping into the beautiful church with its stunning stained glass windows and the small cemetery at the back and looking longingly at stylish boots in shop windows. And after that stroll, we had a quick pizza lunch and headed to the hill just outside the village. We took the ski lift up to the top and stayed there for an hour, sipping on mulled wine and coffee and barely managing to stay out of the way of serious skiers. Not to mention, freezing our butts off.
Some day, some day soon, I will learn to ski. You fabulous Austrian Alps, wait for me!
The scene at Pushkar is everything I expect from a mela. Not surprising, considering that like many of my generation, urban born and bred, my idea of a mela has been shaped by innumerable Hindi films where young hapless children are forever being separated from their mothers and siblings. Sure enough, the loudspeakers blare out names of such children, requesting their parents to rush to the main office to reclaim them.
The loudspeakers announce other things too. “Sabse Saandar So!”—the most splendid show, claims the man advertising the circus. There is Bhojpuri and Rajasthani music, the women in the videos gyrating in an impossible manner. Someone else is calling out to people to see—and shell out money for—the Amazing Computer that tells your fortune; the digital version of nadijosiyam (astrology) which has come all the way from Thanjavur in south India. Above all this din, children manage to make themselves heard as they clamour for rides on the Ferris Wheel.
My favourite, though, is the one that promises, in a not particularly devout manner, “Barah mahine me barah tarike se tujhse bhakti jataunga re” (In 12 months I’ll find 12 ways to show you my devotion).
Even God goes Dhink Chaka Dhink Chaka in Pushkar at this time.
For most of the year, it is a sleepy town that backpackers have just begun to discover. Then in November, the mela arrives, turning it into a party zone and, for an all-vegetarian temple town, Pushkar parties hard. All the action is centred on the large open ground where camel herders from all over the state gather to trade (over 12,000 camels this year, says one of them).
The fair, which usually takes place in late October—early November, ends on the day of Kartik Poornima, when it is believed that all the millions of gods and goddesses descend to bathe in the sacred lake in the centre of the town. What began as a religious festival grew into a camel trading fair and is now one of the largest attractions Rajasthan has to offer eager visitors, locals and foreigners alike.
Now, apart from the trading of camels, there are plenty of events on the periphery: a hot air balloon show twice a day, competitions like turban-tying (for foreigners) and longest moustache (for locals) and of course, the noisy mela itself just outside the trading ground.
In 1940, I read somewhere, the most expensive camel went for `77. In 2011, the price went all the way up to `5 lakh for a good camel. And far, far more expensive are the horses; there are whispers of amounts like `2 crore around a gorgeous all-white one standing tall and proud, just like his owner. As the sun begins to set, the hot air balloons floating above the grounds begin their slow descent and cooking fires spring up in front of the tents where the traders stay for the duration of the fair. The women pull the ghunghat of their saris closer against the evening chill as they flatten out rough chapatis on the braziers, while the men in bright yellow and orange turbans begin to light up their chillum, discussing the day’s trade.
Normally — other than these eight days — life in Pushkar revolves around the lake (known as the sarovar), surrounded by 52 ghats. The hour prior to sunrise sees a flurry of activity as pilgrims take a dip in the sarovar, before heading to the 14th century Brahma temple, one of the few that are dedicated to the god of creation in India. In the lanes by the temple and the ghats, well-worn clichés come to life: the old meeting the new, and the sacred the profane.
For instance, amid the stalls selling piping hot kachoris and malpua that melts in the mouth are small cafes with names like Out of the Blue and Honey Dew, the latter serving coffee procured all the way from Colombia. And it is in the lanes that the real Pushkar shows its face; a place where pilgrims and backpackers flock to, each in search of his own personal nirvana.
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Mu photostory on Pushkar published in the December issue of Fountain Ink.
Presenting Charles Bridge – across the river Valtva in Prague in pictures.
Any time of the day, a few thousand people are on the bridge…
If you want it to yourself, go early – really early – in the morning. Or try late at night. I froze though, taking this picture…
In the 17th century, thirty statues were placed on either side of the bridge all the way. This is one of my favourites…
More than anything else, it is the buskers, artists and vendors on the bridge which make it special…
I know I have been missing in action on this blog for a while now. I have been traveling loads and been so busy writing for a living (isn’t that great?!) that I have not had the time and energy to blog. Promise to rectify that soon.
For now, head to FirstPost and read my travel column – Wanderlust – it appears twice a month, so watch out for it. Also, please please share with me your ideas and suggestions for the column – interesting travel destinations, trends, websites. Thanks much in anticipation!
From my latest Wanderlust column on the beautiful city of Madurai –
Malayadhwaja Pandiya must have been a sad king. Fate had played a cruel trick on him. After years of being childless and spending days and nights in prayer, and pouring countless kilos of pure ghee in the sacrificial fire, he had been blessed with a daughter. Alas! A daughter who was a freak; she was born with three breasts. Just as the royal couple was torn between joy and despair, a voice from the heavens informed them that her abnormality would disappear as soon as she met her consort. The girl Meenakshi — the fish-eyed one — grew up into a beautiful princess who was finally won over by Lord Shiva and married him.
Travel. Mine. Nowadays.
Not that I am complaining.
Varanasi, Khajuraho, Orchha, Pushkar. Watch this space for more. Soon!
