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 had never heard of the Ootea festival before – and from the looks of it, neither had many of the participants. We were walking out of the railway station after inquiring about the timings of the heritage train when we spotted these costumed kids waiting in long lines, restless as only kids can be. Turned out they had no idea what was happening – “some rally”, one of them finally ventured.
The Ootea festival is an annual affair that celebrates Tea and Tourism in the Nilgiris. We stood by the road watching the pageant – school children, Tibetan women, folk dancers and musicians, music bands, a miniature heritage train, and a flower garden, among other things.
What about you? Do you know anything more about this festival? I hope the Tourism Department makes a louder noise about it from now – and make it an event people want to attend, rather than discover by chance.
Almost as lovely as being in Ooty itself is the drive there from Bangalore. The route goes through the forests of Bandipur and Mudumalai and then briefly past Masinagudi before the climb up the Nilgiris.
Plastic is banned through most of this route – you tell me, is there a way to ban those morons who honk and shout and smoke through the beauty of it all, enough even to make the elephants turn back on their path?
And the final stretch up the hills, with its thirty six hair-pin curves and stunning views miles across the distance…
Next stop now – Bandipur and Masinagudi…
One of my quick halts at Ooty was at St. Stephen’s Church on the way to Charing Cross. I had been keen to visit the church ever since I had seen photographs of its lovely stained glass windows.
The church was almost empty but for a solitary worshiper on the last pew. The late morning light streamed in through the stained glass windows, making the colours come alive.
Here is some history: the foundation stone for the church was laid in April 1829 and it was opened for service two years later in 1931. The cemetery by its side holds the grave of many of Nilgiris’ Britishers, including John Sullivan, the founding father of Ooty town.
Crossing off one more item from my ‘must do sometime’ list: taking the toy train from Ooty. Ideally, I would have loved to travel in the heritage train from Ooty all the way down to Mettupalayam but there was just not enough time. And so, the short one-hour ride to Coonoor, just for the experience.
A day before I left for Ooty, I came across Sankara’s post on the train. and so I landed up at the station well in advance of the counter opening and managed to be well ahead in the queue.
It was the day of Saraswati Puja (or Ayudha Puja) and the entire station wore a festive look – banana leaves, marigold, camphor, sweets… The counter opened at 11.30 a.m. for the 12.15 p.m. train. And we managed to get first class tickets. Now, these tickets to Coonoor cost Rs.76 each while general tickets are Rs.3 and I hear everyone say that the price difference is not worth it; in first class, you get allotted seats and do not have to rush to get into the train and fight for seats!
And so, the train left Ooty on the dot and made its way slowly down to Coonoor, stopping on the way briefly at Lovedale and Ketti before a longer halt at Aravankadu to give way to the incoming train – it is a single track all the way through.
And so, we hopped off the train at Aravankadu for pictures and piping hot vadas. The train stopped here for over ten minutes before it resumed chugging again slowly towards Wellington.
The route is picturesque all through, with the deep valley on one side and bright, colourful flowering bushes running along the tracks on the other. The run from Ketti to Aravankadu is particularly scenic, especially since it was a bright day with cheerful sunshine.
At Coonoor, the train emptied and many passengers found, to their dismay, that the train back to Ooty was over three hours later (4.30 p.m). We made our way out into Coonoor without a plan in mind – the area around the railway station is crowded and depressing and so after a quick lunch at the first available eatery, we took a cab back to Ooty.
We had anyway taken the train only for joy of the ride…
The streets of Mcleodganj, where the smells of a fresh batch of momos just being opened mix with the sharp twang of longing and nostalgia of the residents…
Where faith finds many, many, many expressions…
And dusty, crowded, hot Dharamshala, down in the plains – and home to the Norbulingka Institute – a testament to a community trying hard to hang on to its roots, down in the valley, if not up in the mountains where a modern and non-Tibetan way of life is slowly eroding everything that is familiar.
Read Longing, Belonging – on The India Tube…
More Mcleodganj photographs here on flickr…
The Tibetan community has been in Mcleodganj for close to five decades now, but the nostalgia for home and country is evident on the faces of Tibetans I see on the streets. Despite the trappings of modern life – cellphone, internet, fast food – that the community seems to have adopted, what stands out is the way they strive to preserve their traditional way of life.
The most telling example of this is the Norbulingka Institute in the valley, set up and managed by the trust created by the Dalai Lama himself, a few kilometers from Dharamshala. Entering through the ornate gate from the dusty road off Dharamshala, I suddenly find myself in this sylvan campus, full of tiny bridges and cool streams and ornate arches. Norbulingka is the summer palace of the Dalai Lama back in Tibet; walking around the campus, I can sense the efforts of the Tibetan community to recreate that feel.
At the front office, a young novice monk offers to take us around; he has a script he has rehearsed well and the words flow off him easily. He is trying hard not to show his impatience as I stop at each workshop to admire the intricacy of skill involved; perhaps he needs to get back to the front gate where there are more visitors waiting for a guided tour, or perhaps he needs to join the group of young people working inside the rooms.
I am especially taken by the Thangka painting and applique work. A large piece of Thangka work can take up to six months to complete but then where is the hurry? Inside the large sunlit rooms, the apprentices are at work, most of them silent and focused, music plugged in to their ears to shut the noise of the outside world. Suddenly one of them behind me breaks into a loud ‘kaho na kaho’; Emraan Hashmi has a fan in the hills of Himachal. A couple of his friends look at him and then at me and grin before joining in the chorus.
Guided tour over, the monk deposits us in front of the Losel dolls museum with strict instructions to visit the gift shop at the other end of the campus. By then I am glad he has left us; I am stopping not just to admire and photograph but also to read the descriptive cards under each of the exhibits. The museum has a large and fascinating collection of dolls depicting traditional Tibetan costumes and rituals over the centuries.
I leave the campus an hour later with a sense of a community trying hard to hang on to its roots, down in the valley, if not up in the mountains where a modern and non-Tibetan way of life is slowly eroding everything that is familiar to them.
It is 50 years since the Dalai Lama came to India – this is a photoessay that appeared in Sunday Mid-Day (April 05) on my trip to Mcleodganj…
It is really early in the morning and still dark when we set out for a walk. There is a whiff in the air, not the smell of fresh momos, this one lingers longer; the nostalgia of hundreds of Tibetans for the motherland that they have left behind. Of course I am imagining it. I have just finished reading the Dalai Lama’s autobiography and am thinking about the history of the place and the people.
It was fifty years ago, on March 31, 1959 that the Dalai Lama entered India after a gruelling and dangerous journey across the Himalayas. He was offered refuge in India and land up on a hill in Himachal Pradesh, in McLeodganj also known as Upper Dharamshala. Today, it is a bustling community, populated largely by Tibetans, who have slowly recreated their lives here. So in the market, there are the thukpa vendors, the women selling assorted jewellery and sweaters, the locals from the plains below, the foreigners in search of their personal nirvana, and finally the monks in their bright maroon and yellow robes.
There is really nothing much to see or do in McLeodganj, a friend has warned us. And that is indeed the best way to spend time here – in a blissful routine of nothing-doing. Our days are filled with late lazy breakfasts, mid-morning momo snacks, long walks up and down the winding hill roads browsing through the second-hand bookshops, lunch at Nick’s Kitchen – rooftop restaurant with stunning mountain views, followed by afternoon
siestas and evenings in the monastery watching the glorious sunset in the distance.
Actually it is not true that there is nothing to do here; every tiny tea shop and building offers trekking and assorted mountain adventures, including an alluring trek all the way up to Triund, at 3350 meters the closest point to the Dhauladars. However, that sounds too much like work, and like with most people who visit McLeodganj, we decide – conveniently – that this is a time to look inwards.
The only exception is a morning at the Church of St.John in the Wilderness, hidden in the mist, followed by a drive to Naddi village. Our lone car is parked in the middle of a mountain road, the tall deodars whispering their secrets, little children scurrying about like busy ants in the school yard way down in the valley and the Dhauladars within touching distance. Almost. And we stand there watching their snow-capped peaks of early winter now visible through the trees, now hidden by the cotton-candy clouds.
It is truly a time and place to look inwards.
