Rewalk in the hills

Cities are deaf to real conversations, words get lost all the time. If you go searching for the light banter and relaxed moments you shared with a friend some years ago, you will mostly draw a blank. There are no safe deposits where you can commit a memory and revisit it again to find your gold.

The slow moving camera, the long gazes, the deep breaths and gentle blues music in the background, that is how memories are made in movie and somehow it is true in real life as well. The world slows down, folds inwards closing out the outer chatter and accentuates the presence of the small space around you- the eyes, the smiles, the carefree words, the spying sun and may be the flutter of the leaves or the crashing waves or the singing birds. In the quite of the woods and the rugged hills, the words and smile, the sweat and the short breathe, the apple and the taste of wind are all frozen in time.
The real magic reveals itself when you retrace your steps and find the little nuggets of forgotten gold from your last visit still shining under the clear blue sky!

Clueless

I wanted to write an informational detailed account of some of my recent hiking trips as a helpful 'how to' guide, after all how hard can it be?(ring a bell!)
But what can I say, I had no idea what was the final destination in my last hiking trip, we were just walking it up. Next day I was looking up the route, how far we made it and where was the last milestone. Needless to say I will have to undertake the hike again, so that I can walk back with the smug look of actually reaching the end point and then may be offer some words of advice..

Let me try to paint a picture, imagine two clueless Indians trudging uphill with no idea of how far they are from the end point while regularly coming across gaily retreating Chinese hikers. When you can't communicate, everything seems like a mystery and in this case a Chinese mystery (where were they heading back from, what was at the end of the hike, how close are we).. constant questions and no answers, so clueless!
It was almost sunset hour, and the only website we had referred for our hike research talked about a cop who had gone missing somewhere along the trail. Although I couldn’t fathom how, because it was a paved road and there were green taxis going up and down along the road ferrying passengers back from the mysterious ‘end point’. Perhaps I had researched a different trail and we were hiking on a different route..So much for background research in the information age!

Just today I came across an expression, ‘flying by the seat of one’s pants’, meaning to decide a course of action as you go along, using your own initiative and perceptions rather than a pre-determined plan or mechanical aids, which sounded about right for most hiking trips I have undertaken in HK so far and this one in particular.

I was curious about the origin of this phase and did some research. This is what I found; the phrase traces its root to early aviation parlance.  Aircraft initially had few navigation aids and flying was accomplished by means of the pilot's judgment. Flying by the seat of one's pants was originally a literal (or nearly-literal) phrase, meaning to use all of one's senses -- including lateral and vertical "G forces" transmitted to your derriere through the seat -- to control an aircraft in flight. Also the pilot would feel the side of the seat to tell how the plane was moving. I was glad to discover the roots of the expression and thought to share the gyan along!

Coming back to the afore-mentioned trail, the 100-kilometer MacLehose trail, traverses Hong Kong’s New Territories from sea level to a peak elevation of about 550 meters (1,800 feet). Here is Hong Kong's most varied - and finest - countryside. The east coast, where the Trail begins, is deeply indented and wild. The central mountains, which the MacLehose Trail crosses, include many of Hong Kong's highest peaks. And the western part, where the Trail winds to its end, has impressive valley reservoirs. (Thank you Wikipedia and such)

The MacLehose Trail is divided into ten stages, and we were (unknowingly) attempting the first section-10.6km stretch. This is not a trail but rather a paved road alongside a concrete retaining wall for about 5 kilometers on one side and the aqua waters on the other side. Since we were not in a hurry to reach the end point of the hike, we took a detour from the paved road, climbed down the hilly slope, hopping on tricky stones and boulders to reach level ground by the side of the reservoir.

It is always a good idea to leisurely lie down on your back on a gentle rock and let the sound of gushing water drown the noises in your head and experience the weightlessness of the wind as it blows away your worldly cares. It is also a good idea to pack some juicy oranges for such an afternoon. When our gods (aka Hanumanji) couldn’t resist the orange temptation in the sky, mere mortals like us cannot be blamed for our orange indulgence on a sunny afternoon sun!

Having enjoyed a leisurely break we thought of continuing our journey since everyone else seemed to be briskly marching ahead. At the sight of each panoramic view along the road we had the temptation to stray from the regular route and explore the vista beckoning us. However like prudent travelers we marched onwards in the hope of completing the trail before sundown. Also with no internet connection and scant milestones/directions along the route we had little information, we were just flying by the seats of our pants.

Directions from people walking down the road were of no avail, the 15minute estimated arrival time didn’t quite ring true when we had walked for 30mins and no end was in sight. We tried to track a passing taxi to get some clue about the distance remaining but that also didn’t help us much because the cliff offered a limited view and the taxi just turned around a corner far ahead and disappeared. The thought of getting stranded here away from civilization with no Naan & Palak Paneer for dinner didn’t quite appeal to us and we turned back.

I’ll update this post once I complete the hike. This time I’ll probably have a better idea of our undertaking, the route and the destination. Also the promised details of the route/bus number will also finally make it to the blog..

From what I hear Section 2 of this trail is better and interesting than Section 1, also it sounds a good idea to cover the entire 100km. Guess that’s how life is, one moment you have no clue where you are headed and next you want to walk the entire 100km stretch. Humanity you were always doomed!

Dreaming Apples!

It was frog green, you might as well call it ugly. It would screech and growl with clenched jaws and still not reach a speed of 40kmph.  It would breathe in fresh pure air of the hills and exhale out dense black fumes from its garbled lungs. It huffed and puffed and belched as it tried to squeeze through narrow serpentine roads overlooking cliffs and valleys and at each hilly turn, all the skinny passengers aboard that bus gingerly clutched any adjacent bars, handles or rods for fear of being rolled off by the mischievous centrifugal force..

The mid-aged fellow behind the wheels looked least bit athletic but he showed sufficient dexterity when he steered the big black steering wheel, carefully manoeuvring the big fat bus around tricky turns and bends.

The bus conductor in turn had a gift of the garb starting instant conversation pertaining to weather (dhoop), potato prices and condition of roads with on-boarding passengers (favorite topic of conversation for Paharis) while tearing out tickets.

Between the two of them they ran a successful courier business, carrying packages back and forth between families living along the bus route and for their services they were well paid- fruits, vegetables, cooked meals, winter clothing and occasionally a pack of cigarettes.

As for the bus route it was an absolute delight, passing through the lower Himalayan ranges with occasional views of the glistening snow capped mountains. Step farming is a common practice here, the green-carpeted stairs look inviting for a jumping match. Tall pine trees, Oak trees and Deodar trees form a dense canopy hiding the elusive sun. Many a dark nights people run into a stray leopard roaming these dense jungles. The route is undoubtedly scenic however each season has a different highlight. In winters there is nothing more inviting than fresh snow-carpeted hills with brightly colored birds hopping and leaving their footprints around. The early spring is the season of fresh green shoots and bright red rhododendron blossoms. The monsoon season ushers in the fruit season- apples, pears, peaches, apricots, plums, strawberries, pomegranate, almonds, some very native fruits like small dark ‘kafal’.. It’s a long list.

This is a magical story of a journey for a little impressionable girl onboard this bus going to her Nani’s home in the hills.  Mesmerized by the pristine beauty, and slightly lightheaded by the circuitous journey she unconsciously drifted into a dreamlike state where her imagination further accentuated reality to create a beautiful tantalizing memory for her adult life.

That monsoon season was very generous to the hills, and the trees were bent with heavy load of fruits. The bus meandered through the narrow road flanked by apple orchards on either side. Sitting tall in the bus she was at a good height to survey the colorful apple trees around. The branches of the apple trees seemed so close that they almost brushed against the bus. A shiny red apple caught her dreamy eyes and with all the agility she could muster she plucked it right off the tree while sitting inside the moving bus. Ah.. What a moment of absolute delight! Wonder if anyone had ever done that before.  She took a victory bite and the juicy apple was quite a mouthful..

What joy lies in the simple luxuries of life, like eating a Delicious apple and gazing through the window at the passing hills!

Imagine a long drive and just when you feel a little hungry or a little thirsty you can just pull an apple from thin air. This little memory fills me with joy and a part of me still believes that you can get lucky enough for an apple on the go!

I drove through this route again after more than 20 years. The fat ugly bus was politely ignored; the route was just as scenic and magical. As for the re-run of the apple story, I had to console myself with buying a bag of apples by a vendor sitting by the road side.. 

For some reason certain dreams, memories and impressions are more vivid, beautiful, tantalizing and real-life than well real-life! Sometimes our dreams embody our deepest desires and wishes in their truest form, more than we concede in any waking hour. I wake up sometimes smiling inwardly at a weird conversation I had with a long lost friend, sometimes a forgotten childhood memory plays out and sometimes I just eat apples off a moving bus :)

                                     

                                     Maa enjoying an apple..

PS: This post is not about Apple watch or any of its kins..

A visit to Lat Sahib's HeadQuarters

As I focussed my camera to take a picture of the Governor's House(Raj Bhavan) formerly called Government House, I chuckled inwardly at my poor Pahari imitation of the name from the Raj era- Lat Saab-ek-haveli..

The rising mists of the Monsoon set the perfect stage for this symbol of ancient majesty
Green is the new Purple!-the Monsoon green Deodar and Oak trees flanking the building, stand tall as the royal sentinels..
The architecture style is called Victorian Gothic domestic style, but to my vivid imagination, the front facade of the building looked like royal chess pieces laid out in this sprawling 220 acres lush green space. The police in their khakis completed the picture as the bored pawns, policing the handful of tourists.

The foundation stone of the Nainital Government House, modeled after Buckingham Palace, was laid on April 27, 1897, and the building was completed in March 1900. If memory serves right, the scaffolding and the repair work is a constant feature here, maintaining a century old building in a moisture rich atmosphere is a tall order.
Inside the building, water has seeped through the cracks and crevices of time, slowly staining the walls black and turning wooden floors mouldy. The combined effect of the constant temperature changes and the occasional dramatic hailstorms has shattered the old glass windows and glass houses. The almost shrunk bows with missing arrows, and the rusted muskets no more look menacing however the decorative animal head mounts do look menacing in this picture of slow decay and death.

The repair work has been underway since the last three years and certain parts of the building are closed for public viewing, the whole upper storey is out of bounds for tourists. The entrance foyer, ballroom, the dining space, the visitor's parlor are open for viewing. Most of the old paintings hanging on the walls have been treated and restored, the copper artefacts and the elephant tusks in the front foyer gleam eerily under the light of the grand chandeliers, the piano is kept dusted and tuned, the ballroom floor is still bouncy courtesy the springs embedded between the wooden floor boards. The guide usually makes the heftiest person in the group to jump so that the others can feel the bouncy floors. I believe this is a daily performance for the empty chairs now sitting around the ballroom!

Interestingly there is a certain vanity in all the present day repair work, the guide tells you proudly that the new renovation is modelled to replicate the current look of the Buckingham palace. The wallpaper and the carpets are same as the ones adorning the British royalty and are imported all the way from England. This 'good' part of the building is not open for general public viewing and you need to have some 'good contacts' to witness the current day luxury befitting the 'de-jure' head of the state.

Stepping out of the building is a slight relief as the stale mouldy air inside gets overbearing after a while(true only for the public section).
The well kept garden is truly inviting with multicoloured shrubs of hydrangea in full blossom. The uninterrupted expanse of green surrounding the property is a true testament to British idea of leisure, wooded pathways with trailing climbers, ornate lampposts, resting benches under the trees, stairways cutting across hill slopes.

And then there is the Golf course, an 18 hole golf course spread
over an area of 50 acres, at an altitude of 6500-6580 feet above sea level. Set in a lush and pristine hilly terrain surrounded by mixed forests, the changing elevation and thin mountain air(your ball travels longer here) make it a connoisseur's delight . The golf course has an underground tunnel to channel water to the lowest part of the course, a marvel of engineering skills of 1920's.















Apart from the touristy stuff, we also stood for a while standing and admiring the engineering details of one of the big drainage channels (nalas) constructed in the premise to allow for easy drainage of rain water. The frequent landslides in Nainital prompted the Britisher civil engineers to set up an elaborate system of drainage channels to save the hills from the ravages of heavy downpour. The rains of last year and flooding in neighbouring SukhaTaal brought the spotlight back on the neglected nalas- the lifeline of the hills..The 'Nala's' are again topical and trending courtesy high profile HighCourt orders but the real life picture hasn't changed much..

Also in close vicinity of the Raj Bhavan are the most prestigious boarding schools of Nainital. Founded during the British rule, each of these schools has a hundred year old rich history and many young lives have graduated from these hallowed portals to real world.
As we drove past the gates of my Alma Mater, I was flooded with fond memories of walking to Government grounds for school picnics. It was a magical place then.. and it is an equally magical place for me even today..!

Coming Home-II

Nainital, India:

After a very long time-almost 7 years I came home to the Monsoons in Nainital..

While growing up, these were the magical days of rising fog, green ferns, wild flowers, random waterfalls, brown snails & slugs, yellow raincoats, duckback rainboots, rainy-day holiday. This was also the season fraught with the perils of landslides, roadblocks, cloudbursts, waterborne diseases, fungi growth and damp smells. Every Monsoon season a wild river would usurp an adjoining village; a cloudburst would wipe off a complete village; landslides would trap unprepared travellers, but I guess we had accepted these risks as part of nature’s plan.

And then last year happened, days of heavy rains, large-scale destructions, thousands of deaths. However to call it nature’s fury would be naïve, last year was a man-made disaster in equal measure. We became victims of short sighted, half-baked development projects-Tehri dam, large-scale residential construction in eco-sensitive zones, greedy commercialization of religious pilgrimage and absence of any backup plans for a natural disaster.

I saw the ravages of last year and the current onslaught of the rains as we drove along the twisted-turning hilly road from Haldwani to Nainital.  We passed by broken roads, partially blocked roads and impatient people. Despite the sight of the lush green, the general air of apathy agitated me. The critical part of me could not shake off the thought: “Things seem to move backward here..”. Is it just the realist part of me questioning the status quo or am I enamored with the developed world and so critical of my modest pahad?

California, Nevada, Pacific Northwest USA:

California Coast: Brown hills with ridges sculpted by the whimsical winds and patches of stunted trees hurdled together in trenches. The restlessly beautiful waters, the splash of colors at sunset, the joy of taking the less-travelled secret hidden roads and discovering small cozy houses or lavish large ranches in the hills.

Nevada: Brown barren mounds of dusty hills, some had random single English letters etched upon them. This barren monotony was occasionally interrupted by pockets of sudden greens and flowing streams

Sequoia National park:Dusty brown hills with withered brown vegetation, sightings of burnt tinder and warnings of forest fires. Then after you climb 3000ft above sea level, the landscape changes completely, the hills became verdant green. These hills are home to some of the tallest trees in the world- Sequoia trees. You also find the sun at its playful best here, playing hide and seek with you and staging multiple ‘sun-sets’ as you climb down the hill.

Pacific northwest coast:Dark blue hills at a distance separated from land by water bodies, floating white clouds over the hills, tourists flocking with camera's to capture the colorful totems of the Red Indians along the waterfront..

When I drove along the US west coast soaking in the beauty, I was completely at peace, not a bit agitated by anything. The only distraction was the question of where to stop and eat (so many choices) first world problem!

It’s a familiar story you leave a loved one behind to meet new people. You see the idiosyncrasies and struggles of the old world in sharp contrast to the convenience and simplicity of living in the new world. You come back to the old world, only to find it encumbered in the old struggles. You look into the shriveled face of the loved one, the sunken cheeks smiling a shy toothy smile to welcome you.. You try to muster the humility to embrace him with the same warmth without the arrogance of judgment but it’s a labored effort.. Its not how it should be..

Then magically from somewhere the white Monsoon fog descends upon the hills, it hides everything from sight- everything visible to judgmental eyes- it conceals all the colors in its white embrace; the only sound is the falling rain. I stand at my balcony, stretch out my hands to feel the raindrops and in that moment of complete peace, I am finally home to the Monsoons in Nainital..

Pahad..

Bhai's unfinished painting.

Earlier i used to showoff his guitar skills when my friends used to come over and now his paintings as well.
Way to go bhai, proud of you always!

And the finished version with some green tress around and a house in the snow!

Said the mountain to the girl…

The sunrays play lazily in the valley in the winter days. It cozily snuggles in, slowly takes the little houses and the tall trees in its warm embrace. It’s the time of school holidays, college breaks and the time to break free from office and head home for a while. It’s the time to pack a little picnic lunch and hike to a sunny little place around.


She prepares a light lunch, packs a bottle of water and a few seasonal fruits. She’s sure to find those fruits en route but still she prefers to carry her own bounty. She packs her camera religiously, a sweatshirt to ward off the evening chill and heads onwards.

She enjoys her solitary excursion. It satisfies her need to escape, the need to be with herself at peace. The city she has been carrying with herself feels lighter as she climbs up the hill. With every step forward she feels the fetters loosening. All she has for company are people who are deeply engrossed in their daily activity. The laborious ilks are collecting wood for the evening fire or tree leaves for animal fodder. They glance at her nonchalantly and continue with their activity. She occasionally flashes a smile across that gets shyly reciprocated. Along the way she finds scanty shops that give her a sufficient look as if satisfied with their regular customers but humble enough to provide for her if she goes asking. They leave her in peace and don’t shout across to sell her something.


She comes across fellow travelers who carry a backpack like her and brandish their enviable cameras. They are there to soak in the peace, away from the clamor of the city they took refuge in the hills and seem to be overwhelmed with the serenity around. For them it was a first time experience. For them the beauty of the hills and the sky overhead is a novelty that they want to capture in their cameras and take it with them. They look at the glory of the hills on ‘one’ wintery day, they have not seen it all verdant in monsoons, nor in blossoms in April. She had. For them the river flowing below was all tame and somber, they had not seen her wild and gurgling in the rains. She had. It amused them to look at the antiques of the monkeys around, the young ones trudging along their mothers. However she had fought them when they came to uproot the pretty geranium she had planted and gnaw at their stems.


But that was long back. She has been away all these years. She had to move out for her education. She had to move out for her career she always had her reasons to march ahead and leave her home behind. It suddenly struck her where did she belong now. Is she the outsider who looks all around with a sense of surprise? Her life spent in the hills is now a memory for her, will it slowly keep fading away. Would she gaze at these photographs some day and not feel nostalgic. Will the alienation someday make her a tourist in her own beloved home?

She stood by the still mountain top overlooking the meandering road and watched afar at the lazy bus as it tried to negotiate the turn with utmost care. She spread out her mat loosened her backpack and sat still with her eyes following the approaching bus. It amused her to look at the so very familiar roadways bus that looked like a lost leviathan from her childhood days. It brought back memories of all the trips to all the relatives spread out in the hilly-hemisphere. Spreading her hands on the grass beneath her she found the little ‘lady bird’ as it scurried its way hurriedly. She picked it up, looked closely at the beauty of her red and black spots as it walked across her palm. She felt lighter within. Just as light as the blooming white dandelion that allows the wind to just sweep it away.

She looked reassuringly to the hills. Her every childhood memory was still preserved with them. It was as if when she was around they could sense her, and then they would playfully toss around all those memories, which bounced and echoed loudly enough for her to recollect everything vividly back again.


They would speak to her even when she returned after a long silence. And the girl knew deep within, she will always return, for it was the only place that she would ever call home.