114

Knights in shining armour no longer ride up in stellar horses to our doorway. Here is what happens instead......
The five o’ clock air was chilly. I could feel her sit close for warmth. After we left the bumpy mud road and touched the tar, the machine steadied itself. As I accelerated the trees crept in closer and my path became a dark and beautiful tunnel.
She was a Royal Enfield Std 350, affectionately called the Bullet. As I went along I could almost feel her fuse to my body, her thump vibrating with my heartbeat.
80: I could still hear her talk. We were steering well through traffic on the village road. Her rock solid stability needed no slowing down.
90: She was silent now. She was feeling the build up with me. From the rear view mirror I caught a glimpse of her eyes fixed in concentration. She was beginning to understand the poetry too.
100: It was just us on the highway now and her thump never sounded better. I signalled to her and she gave thumbs up. There was no stopping now.
114: The moment of power, love and respect had arrived. I could feel the rider’s ecstasy tingling inside me. All three of us were now one. The road, trees and landscape disappeared into non existence. We had released from this world into sheer happiness. Nirvana had been achieved.
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The Other Side




Remember your first trip to the zoo? It is almost a ritual in families with young children to picnic on Sundays in the nearest zoological garden. The trip is supposed to expose the child to the rich biodiversity that exists and a face to face encounter with it. Why then do these children grow up to become animal skin traders, corporate heads who bribe the state into wiping out rainforests or simply people who crush out snake heads in their backyards and melt honeybee nests by setting them on fire? Why do we become sterile to the blatant disregard for animals around us?
It is because something is greatly amiss in the first encounter.
When you see a Royal Bengal Tiger behind bars, sitting dejectedly and looking into blankness and being troubled by loud passersby, nothing appears Royal about him. When you see a mating pair of lions being photographed (flashes on!!) by over five hundred people on honking Sumos you almost begin to look at it as an object. And when you see pythons and cobras behind glass boxes in artificially lit nocturnal caves you realize that there is only one animal worth his salt: Man
Respect comes from watching a deer run wild in its habitat, a crocodile lie undisturbed on a sandy beach for hours or an elephant being the master of his own will and splash in water. Respect comes from observing it from behind bushes and not disturbing the animal’s peace and space. Respect comes from acknowledging that he too had a right to life and privacy.
We, with our giant footprints have left no space for animals to exist. They can now either die of extinction or exist in zoos and national parks as objects where their life and death is a public spectacle.
I can almost imagine a day in the near future when the divide between the robbed and the rich would be so great that nobody would raise an eyebrow to exotic human exhibits: Tribals from Madhya Pradesh, Baby foetus floating in glass boxes and aborigines from Andamans.
For reconsidering your way of life and thought please watch: http://www.greenthefilm.com/

Chasing the elusive Yarsa Gambu

When he was a young boy, G would allow me to follow him on Hisalu Hunts (HH as it was secretly called) up and down the then green forests of Nainital. I tried to match his pace as he walked with much enthusiasm and talked of Bumblebees and Bichu Buti. Now, twenty years later I found myself following him once again. This time the hunt was bigger and better: the multi million rupees Yarsa Gambu or Keeda Ghans.
For the uninitiated, Keeda Ghaans is a unique entity. A worm during winter, it wriggles under the snow somewhere at an altitude of 5000 meters and dies. Fungus grows on its dead body and when the snow melts out emerges the plant: a 10 cm long wriggly brown shoot easily missed by the untrained eye. It sells for Rs. 3 lacks a Kilo across the border where it is used in Tibetan medicine and in recent times to make steroids for athletes and Viagra for others.
Keeda Ghaans has brought about something of an economic revolution in the villages beyond Dharchula. Each year thousands of families climb up to the peaks of Himalaya 4000m and beyond to collect a few grams of this organic gold.
When we reached Himkhola it bore a deserted look. It was late in the afternoon and old men were immersed in a game of cards, puffing hard on their biris as they went along. Women were hard at work drying out Dhania and attending to cattle. Everyone else was out on the hunt. Pradhaan Jee was kind enough to allow us to sleep in his son’s room (now a student at Allahabad). For the evening walk we went over to the nursery run by the forest department and found out about:
Thunair (Taxus Bacata) A pine like tree that is a sure shot answer to cancer (its bark extract sells for Rs. 4 lack per gram). It is rare in the forest so the forest department is trying to grow it and spread it out to provide a source of income.
The real fun began after sunset. All men sat with a glass of Chakti: the locally brewed daroo. Uncontrolable laughter and exaggerated stories of hunting two tigers with one bullet followed.
Next morning we set off with Pradeep( Pradhan jee’s son) as the guide and Shyam with his horse(Kris) to assist our “bloated and unsustainable” luggage. Paksa, the world’s best forest dog, decided to tag along. So we set off from Himkhola village to Karangdang top: a vertical distance of 2000 meters with an almost eighty degree incline. The first few kilometres were easy and enjoyable as we followed the gadhera( stream). The climb was eased by Pradeep’s encouraging words, Shyam’s titbits( from chewing gum to mouth freshners) and Tiwari jee’s anecdotes.
The first day ended when we camped on Maidan no 2 ( Pancha Sua?)as it was close to the water source. We bonded that night with rapid fire rounds of antakshari and dance by the bon-fire. The tent G brought along was nice and cosy so we were doubly charged next morning to reach the top.
A word about relieving yourself in the open: could nirvana be any different?
The Bugyal comes when the tree line ends. Ekla-Rukh(single tree) marks this transition. It’s just grass after that, so you get to meet some interesting shepherds who live here for 4-5 months in summer. Their lives are almost as calm and serene as the mountains around them (except when the wolf comes or the sheep jump off the hill). Groups of Gamboo hunters would stop at the shepherd tent to exchange news. Everyone talked about the huge party at 5000m where most families camped. Imagination was assisted with their description of hot Jalebies being made and Chakti flowing free. There were difficulties though- rain to freeze your bones and the un-named blue flower at Nasa Marti that caused hallucination by merely looking at it.
View from Karangdang top allowed us to view two valleys and the river in between. We made a few dance-song videos and interviewed the locals on their thoughts on Yarsa Gambu. Their songs would always have memories of the beautiful girl in the village who awaits their arrival and it is these memories that give them strength. It was also interesting to note how the folk song described the actual geographical route for reaching the top and beyond.
Climbing down was sad and fast. We drank Thuner tea and chatted up about the problem of unemployment in the hills, migration and whether Gamboo hunting was a good enough alternative. It was on the ride back to Dharchula in a rickety Sumo way past sunset that my thoughts were pre-occupied with moving to Himkhola for ever. My faith in the magnanimity of the hill folks was restored . The little girl who had followed the little bigger boy had found out why they said that you can take a man out of the mountains but never mountains out of a man.

Credits:
G : now popularly known as Almora Boy (almoraboy.blogspot.com)
Tiwaree Jee: an excellent driver and an even better trekker
Shyam: Rider on the storm
Pradeep: Climbs the hills during his summer vacations but is otherwise working on his B.Ed in Allahabad
Paksa: Dog is a man’s best teacher and guide.
Special mention: The bird that eats smoke off campfires!!!

Cheap and Best

"Ija, the flush is at it again!"
We stared helplessly at the anti-peristaltic movement of the WC. Monsoons in Almora were always marked by our war against the sewage system and the defeat thereafter.
The winner each year,however, was Devi Mistry. This local plumber had learnt the art of twisting p-traps and turning s-traps at eighteen when the British first introduced it. Now, at eighty one, he practised it like wizardry.After each monsoon he married off a daughter or two with enough to last the dry spell.

By next day my patience began to wear and I cribbed about his monopoly and high handedness during crisis period. Ija calmly sipped her Lopchu and recounted the year they almost ended his dominance.

Our newly formed hilly state was just beginning to discover its limbs. Almora's drainage system had always been a sore so the ministers and bureaucrats discussed it at length in the first assembly and decided to solve the problem once and for all. A week long visit to Almora was announced immediately.

The government rest house was dressed up like a doll. Shama uncle still thanks the bright street lights they arranged along Havelock Road during those days.He managed to clear his university exams by its grace while his not so fortunate friends sat brooding in the darker parts of town.

Government cars carrying our agents of change, their family and trail of acquaintances drove into Almora. During the day the ministers were occupied in meetings, flipping through papers held in designed folios (hand painted by some expensive artist in Bombay). Meanwhile their families visited the local places of interest and graciously accepted gifts for blessing the people with their presence.
Meals were always a grand affair. Local cuisine as well as gourmet food was served with the best accompaniments and drinks. Almora knew how to keep its guests happy. Especially ones who were labouring hard to provide them basic sanitation and clean drinking water.

At night entertainment reigned supreme. After all, even hard(ly) working officials needed mental relaxation to prepare them for the next day.
The meeting ended three days later with a "very positive outcome". Devi Mistry was seen secretly flipping through the local employment news. The cars rolled out and six months later when monsoons came, so did hope.

A soul troubled journalist published an account of the expenditure of this fruitless meet in the newspaper the following week. Approximately twenty lakh rupees of the state fund had "gone down the drain" leaving it more clogged than ever. Ija read it out during a ladies' meet. Situ's mother shrugged and said with flooring simplicity," Hmm, ten rupees and a nice cup of tea is all Devi jee needs!"

SUMMER: here already!!!