Camp II: Tol Pani, 11 May 2007

It was probably the sheer physical strain of it all that blinded us to the tranquil beauty of Camp Tol Pani. We were drained of the ability to see that this camp was the cleanest and probably most comfortable of them all. Our tents were nestled at the feet of the wooded slopes and we had a view of the snow clad peaks. The trees that one can safely assume had seen more than we had seen in our lifetime, stood there protectively, designed with natural hollows and carved trunks. Ayesha adopted one to share the privacy that it gave. Near the eating-place, a fallen log gave us dining bench.

But what was alive in our heads was the fact that this trek was arduous and that the requirement for sunscreen was minimal—what we needed was more warm clothes. It was getting colder by the hour and the rain that was imminent before and in drizzles, would pour down on us at night. We realized that the concern we had for the toilets was the least of our problems—the makeshift Indian-toilet tents were clean and more than we could ask for in the middle of wilderness. It just took some getting used to (along with a Savlon-wash, hand sanitizers, wet tissues and the self-instructions, “Two feet on two sides, crouch and just do it.”)—our girls at Tol Pani began to ease out their insides and as mothers, we began to relax.

What was biting into us was the cold (now I know the true meaning of the expression ‘biting cold’) and the physical toll of the trek. Lien couldn’t breathe and became really sick—it was the high altitude. Aparna’s TLC and Priya’s asthelene saved the day. Liz seemed to have all the humor drained out of her. At 10,000ft, we were faced with all the complication elevation brings in. It was a humongous effort from people like us whose exercise was confined to driving to work, sitting behind desks and staring at computers, and bending to pick up things from the floor. The maximum heights we had reached were the ones that the staircase in our houses leads up to. Personally, I feel that the month and half of brisk walking prior to the trek helped Ayesha and me—we were all pretty impressed that Ayesha walked up all the way. No amount of coaxing got her on the mule. But then so many other kids had walked and they did not even have the comfort of a parent. As we sat around the camp, we told the kids so—if you can do this trek with the fortitude and patience you have shown and without the comfort you are used to, nothing will be impossible for you in life. The children were all tired and the common lament was. “Bah, what torture we have paid up for.” Even then, they picked up their spirits and their guts and played games till it rained. The problem was that there was no one to point out the daises to them or the mysteries that these mountains held. What the hey—there was no one to point out to us adults the deep philosophies that were born in these parts.

At this point in Tol Pani entered the Gentleman officer. Dr Manish Jha, an officer of the army, a PhD, a teacher, a father, whose love of the mountains had him help out adventure treks like this one. He rushed to help Lien. He told the girls stories. He instilled discipline in us all of keeping the camp clean, sticking to the rules and being on time. He assuaged our outrage at the misinformation we had regarding the trek. “What you need to know is on the Internet—when has the Roopkund Trail been called easy?” Maybe our excitement of it all did indeed shortcut our efforts to find out more. After a hot dinner on a wet evening, we got into our cold sleeping bags in our drafty tents. I had not been sleeping for the past two nights and I have no idea if the others had. We all used to keep quiet anyway—that night I called out to Preeti and told her I wanted to go home. She was awake but didn’t say a word. It was another night of fighting the cold, hearing the wind, the rain, the mules and their bells.

Onwards to Tol Pani, 11 May 2007

From almost the first step we took it was an uphill task—literally. We all had our faithful sturdy sticks and tackled the very narrow and tricky trails with respect. The nine of us split up—Ayesha and I go ahead with the other kids, Meena and Nayanika alternate on the Narayan’s mare, Munni, with Aparna and Lien while Liz, Priya and Preeti come in with the tail end. Dash it, I missed some spicy moments—an attempt was made to snatch Munni and Narayan , who in the state of dumb stupor probably double-dealed and promised Munni to two parties—Impedimenta (names have to be changed to protect identities, both theirs and mine) will be known for doing the entire trek on a mule but not on ours! Aparna the lovely and Preeti the Perilous (name changed again just for a while) managed to avert the kidnapping and war.

The trail was exceedingly steep. We had to stop to take in deep breaths through our mouths. The Physical Training teachers, Sunil and Narayan were our knights in shining armour—adored by the kids, armed with knowledge of how to cope with this physical stress and blessed with a sense of humor that kept us all going. Ash seemed to sprain her foot a bit but kept on with the walk till we got to a meadow. Meena began a stick-sword fight, Nanu surveyed the scenery. Sunil examined Ash's foot to massage it, asked her to look at the mountains in the distance and cranked her leg—I heard a “Ahhh…!” And then she smiled, got up and did a little dance. Thank you, Sunil—but then before we knew it the boys, Subodh, Avinash etc., sat down next to Ayesha and said, “Sir, please Sir…we need massages too.” Sunil went up to them to oblige, with me thinking, “what a nice guy” and then suddenly the PT teacher instincts came over him as he brandished a stick and said, “C’mon you Donks—walk on I say!”. The response was a lot of laughter and all us Donks along with our brethren the mules broke into run!

After a while, the run petered into a half-hearted, slow-paced hauling of each leg, one after the other, along the track. We looked down at the forests of pine and conifer and the distant mountains. We passed small hamlets with stone and thatched house. We met a new bride, Pushpa, whose husband (he proudly said he was Mister Hari Singh) egged her into posing for a photo. The women we met wore huge earrings in their ears that seemed weighed down but still in working condition. We trudged past them. Higher and higher. It was like leaving everything behind. The weather began to match our mood and the sky exhausted its sunshine to bring in the clouds. “Can you see any camps?” was the only question shouted out to the people in front. The same question posed to the local porters and guides always elicited the same response, “Bas thoda aage hai (It’s just a little ahead)” but we would see nothing ahead.

We came to some flatlands lined with mountain faces on one side and dense forest on the others and saw the trees rustling with...Monkeys! They look confident, stylish and utterly disdainful of our presence. We look at Minakshi on Munni and her fur-lined hood seemed to have emerged as a fashion trend from these guys swaying from branch to branch! Meena gives the smile of a diva and flutters her eyelashes. And we resume the trudge. Impedimenta passes by with the pony’s hooves clopping in time with her disdain of us people on foot.

Then suddenly, “Look, look—there’s a welcome banner to the camp”. With a sudden surge of energy we lunge forward to make it to just have a glimpse of this sighting and are so happy that we have reached camp by 2pm. But it’s still quite a walk to the actual camp at Tol Pani. We finally reach and tumble on to the ground. I drag out the plates from Lien’s rucksack and get Meena, Nanu and Ash, their lunch. They are amazingly full of cheer, even Ayesha, who did not take a turn on the mule. They were back to playing and chatting—it was like the weariness just drips off them like water off a duck’s back. Aparna and Lien walk in and Preeti, Priya and Liz follow. It’s so good to be back to the group of nine at the Tol Pani camps to rest our feet, ease our souls, knowing that we have jokes to laugh at, notes to exchange, updates to share and revel in a collective respite from it all.

Camp I: Raun Gadera, 10 May 2007

Our first camp: Cosy warm red and blue tents, a stream running by over rocks that have stood the test of time, green mossy banks, mules lazily grazing with their bells ringing, and the smell of food cooked over smoldering logs. Except that the tents let in the cold drafts, the water in the stream would chill a snowman, the grass was too damp to sit on, the mules snorted all night…and more: toilets that had to be visited, sleeping bags that were so cold that you did not want to slide into them, lining up for the food like prison inmates and washing the plates and mugs afterwards and not being able to have a bath. Lien of course was undaunted and stuck her head in the cold, cold stream complete with shampoo and probably conditioner too. We of less hardier souls left our hair as is and relied on wet tissues, lotion (both sunscreen and odomos…especially for Preeti…didn’t she after all ask us to buy the stuff?), talc and deodorant.

That apart, Camp Raun Gadera had the makings of a picture perfect camp (if only there was plumbing thrown in, the need for which was compounded by the fact that our children were resisting every attempt at recycling the food they had ingested since Delhi. It was worrisome for us moms but they had no complaints and merrily skipped around picking up interesting stones, wood, leafs, flowers and in Ayesha’s case little bouquets for Liz who ended up saving each one of them). The camp was clean with little dug out dump pits, affectionately called “DUMBPIT”. The stream was crystal clear and the music the water made was hypnotizing. There were river-crossing activities and the food was good. The bonfire was lit and songs were sung. Our tent was full of the gang of girls (Nikhila, Jyotsna, Usha, Priyanka, Aaliya, Anushka) and more kids, all attracted to Priya, who was becoming more like a logo for the nine of us. We got to know a lot more of our group and marveled at how parents had let some of the young ones come alone on a trek up to 12000ft. The children outnumbered us and what with the seemingly honey-covered Priya, we had children hovering all round us. They came to have their hair combed, their bags packed, and even for a good cry. Some were beginning to feel homesick—for their parents but also for the potato chips, the air-conditioning, the comfy beds and their Gameboys.

It had slowly crept on us all that trekking was not a walk in the park and that the Roopkund Trail was not for beginners. We also began to realize that it wasn’t the sunscreen that we needed. It was much more harder made harder than harder by the fact that we were all first-time trekkers not exactly in the prime physical condition. We had already given our rucksacks to the mules and now a decision was taken to get a mule for the children. Enter Narayan—we just could not decide between him and his beast as to which one was the mule. He was endearing in the way that you hate to love Donkey in Shrek. We were at 6000ft now and the climb to Tol Pani-Camp II at 10000ft was surely not going to be a joke.

We did not realise it then but we were part of an adventure that was bringing in a whole of lot of learning into our lives: about the beauty of little blue, purple and yellow flowers that dotted the landscape, the tricky challenges of the trail that this beauty shrouded, the unlearning of urban ways to adjust with the bare necessities of nature, the amazing things we did not know about our children, the warmth and support of people we were getting to know, the spice added by the intricacies of having to live within a large group at such close quarters, and in all this - holding on to oneself as an individual and just being.

From Loha Jung to Raun Gadera, 10 May 2007

We got up at Base camp with the sun and the regal peak of Nanda Ghunti. Breathtaking. One felt a surge of enthusiasm despite the dampened clothes and spirit. The children dressed and ran to the nearby Devi and Shiva temple. We gathered around after breakfast to be addressed by the organizers. “ Show respect to the Himalayas. Avoid littering, drink water in small gulps but keep yourself hydrated. On Day 3 of your trail you will be climbing half a foot higher with every step you take. Show respect and you will get it back.” The same sentiments are expressed on the base of the main tree in Loha Jung in almost Chaucer-like quaint English.

We by then have several ceremonies of our own: the adoption of Liz by Ayesha, the initiation of the Medicine woman Aparna and her assistants, family photos in the backdrop of Nanda Ghunti and a group photo of our band of women all set to scale new heights.

And then we found out, as Preeti said, why we have legs. It was a 7 km walk that was amazing. Through dense forest green woods of pines, up and down narrow rocky trails, restful meadows etc. Our paths were paved with silver, shiny rocks, trees with artistic mushroom growth, soft lichen and moss covered boughs. We stopped once in a while to look at the carpet of trees below, the mountains looming around us, and the awesome song and dance of the sun, clouds in the blue skies above us. Everything seemed to come together and damp clothes, cold camps aside, we knew it was a privilege to be part of this. We passed by villagers who were it was plain to see living a life very basic in nature. Jobs were few and most of the men were army personnel. One army chap on vacation showed us how he had channeled the stream to power his flourmill.

Talking of streams—I now know how sweet water can be. The streams were cool, clean, fresh and satiated our thirst like an answer to a prayer. Every gulp of the water was fulfilling. Our stops to look here and there had us lagging behind and we lost our way a bit just as we were about to reach Camp I—we climbed down a steep hill and used stepping stones in the stream to crossover to camp. We made it—our first day of trekking—our legs were already weary but it’s long way to go baby!

Bus from Rishikesh, 9 May 2007

We traveled through the night to Rishikesh and when we arrive disheveled, crumpled up and with clogged internal plumbing, it’s in the wee hours of the morn. We have to change and get on to the bus to Loha Jung. The driver Dev looks like the Hindi film villain Danny Denzongopa and we quickly freshen up for a photoshoot. We board the bus. I brace myself as we pass the picturesque Lakshman Jula. I am famed among the circles I move for throwing up in the UK, USA and the UAE and I do not understand why my own country should be an exception. Our bus driver Danny obligingly stops the bus before the holy Dev Prayag as I get off to throw up. Woe is me—what a way to pay my respect! Surprisingly, Liz joins me—just adopted as aunt and already showing family solidarity?! There are others too, unrelated, and we continue to dispense our bile thru the ghats till we reach the Base Camp—the only consolation for me was a compliment from Preeti which is very rare indeed, “That was very dignified throwing up.”

So for 12 hours, we suffered the rain, the cramped seats, the sudden jolts and turns (of the bus and the stomach) and great advice on the billboards “If married, divorce speed”, “Better to be Mr Late than Late Mr”, till we got to Base Camp. The sight on the way was literally for sore eyes—amazing views of the Ganga, Alaknanda, Bhagirathi, meandering around playing tag with the mountains. We took in the shores of white sand, avid river rafters braving the rain and the aggressive currents, and the awesome mountains—with sensible advice from the government, “You have the license to drive, not to fly”. And flying was what we wanted to do rather than be crumpled up into our little seats.

After the rigorous, seemingly never-ending hours of the bump and grind in the bus we reached Loha Jung, our Base Camp at 7,200ft. We got off with dampened spirits and clothes—the rain has soaked our clothes and us with disappointment. The Base Camp was gloomy, wet and cold. As Preeti and Aparna set out to dry whatever they could, we all began unpacking what we could carry in the rucksacks given out to us. The tents were far from being cosy and the sleeping bags did not keep us warm enough. The makeshift toilets were apologies to basic hygiene. The dinner warmed our souls with delicious hot jalebis along with the Rajma and rice. When we slept, it was probably with one thought bubble over our heads, “What have we got into?” But we trusted Baz Luhrman on the sunscreen—we had plenty between us.

Train to Delhi, 7/8 May 2007

There’s something leveling about the Indian Railways. No matter what class, caste, religion, you will be covered with the same dirt, sweat and use the same toilets. No matter what brand of shoes you wear Gucci, Reebok, or Bata; your toes will be trod on. We Himalayan trekkers (87 of us—probably 25 adults and the rest a range of kids from 7 to 19 years) were a buoyed lot, proud of ourselves of the challenge we had took on—12,000ft—we are coming up! We chatted and laughed at each other’s expense over Rite Bites, Chips, the famous Indian Railway chai and coffee that walk up to you in the ubiquitous dispensers, the cold drinks in buckets full of ice, the cutlets, the bread-anda, etc. We passed the fields of paddy and wheat, the orange orchards of Nagpur, the lakes clogged with water hyacinth and rubbish, the early morning bums of faceless fellow homosapiens along the railway tracks, the cows, the buffaloes and the vendors on the platforms—till we chugged into Delhi two hours late.

An organizer was aghast at our luggage.“ Is this a fashion parade or a trek? All you need is shoes, two pants, two shirts, a sweater, cap and a raincoat. You should be able to swing your rucksack over your shoulder like a purse and walk like this”, he said, doing a catwalk jiggle. But there we were huffing and puffing with our 12 day ensemble of underwear, shirts, pants, socks, several tubes of Odomos, analgesics, back braces, plastic mugs, plates, toilet rolls, tissues, sunscreen lotion—the list was unending. To make us feel even more wonderful, our Karol Bagh hotel greeted us with rooms on the 3rd floor and a lift out of order.

We take stock of our inner group of 9—Meena, Nayanika and Ayesha are our strength, luck and joy, Aparna is the medicine woman with medical supplies a medical representative would envy, Priya is the universal mentor to ours as well as all the other kids on the block, Lien is the dynamic mover and catcher of the best seats on the bus, train, etc., I am the journal keeper, Liz is to document the trek on the camcorder, and Preeti is the last word on everything.

Unfortunately the camcorder blacks out on us and Liz and I set off to every single Sony showroom in the vicinity in Ram Ayodhya Sahni’s auto (RAS seems like a godsend on Hanuman’s auspicious Tuesday). Liz trades for a automatic camera as the camcorder issue can’t be resolved, and decides that RAS is someone Priya has to actively consider—he’s got the height, the pan habit can be cured and he’s an entrepreneur who owns his auto—but who knows what will happen in the knotty world of matrimony!

We finally board the bus (the best seats, thank you Lien!), luggage piled up on top and set off from Delhi to Rishikesh.

Climb Every Mountain?

At this age? C’mon, rather now than never!!

Alright, here are the details—the trek is for beginners. Our destination is Roopkund in the Garhwal Himalayas. Not only is it a picturesque climb, it’s shrouded with mystery ever since National Geographic Channel researched its findings on the skeletons found at Roopkund Lake in a documentary titled Skeleton Lake. Base camp is at 7,200ft at Loha Jung. From there we trek for a eight days to Raun Gadera, Tol Paani, Bedani Kund, Ran Ki Dhar and get a breathtaking look at some of the peaks like Trishul and Nanda Ghunti.

The lunch is vegetarian. We look at die-hard non-veg friend—she is squirming. No smoking and alcohol. It’s then that we chime in that non-veg friend will have problems. She grits and says, “Why must you mention it after the smoking and alcohol—couldn’t you have said it after the food bit?” Questions pour in.

Will there be wild animals?
May be the Himalayan bears but they would be more scared of us than we of them.

And there’s this very naturally urban reaction to the wilderness…how do we..er..go about…er…attending to the…er…calls of nature? And we do not mean talking back to chirping birds.
You want a rest room? Well, finally you are in a place where you can rest anywhere. Behind a tree, on a rock, in the bushes, but you can use the makeshift toilet tent—just cover up your stuff. So am I expected to carry a shovel and follow myself around?
A caring friend intervenes, “She’s just been released from Erragada. You do not want her to take care of your children.”
Erragada is an a mental asylum in Andhra Pradesh can I possibly take it as a compliment? Yet another friend moves her chair,distances herself from us with a pointed finger and a prim, “ I am a respectable school teacher—I don’t know these people.”
Back to the resting issue—baby wipes, use the tent when it’s around or just unite with nature.

What’s with the vegesaurus?
More healthy, less chance of contamination.
An aside from the die-hard non-veg, “I am sure we can pass a village or two where I can grab a chicken and stick it in the campfire”. Thoughts of us shaking off the chicken feathers crowds our minds and one die-hard veg friend is thinking the movie Madagascar, when the steak-deprived Alex wakes up chewing Marty’s butt. But we are a brave lot.

Once the names are given it turns out that there are nine of us—all of the definitely fairer sex. The men want the comfort of the four walls, the TV, plumbing and the peace of not having women around (but “We’ll be Back). The nine of us include the lovely Aparna, seven-year-old Meena, and Meena’s aunt Lien; then there is Preeti the Perfect, nine-year-old Nayanika, Nayanika’s aunt Priya, and Priya’s buddy Liz. And of course there is nine-year-old Ayesha and I but with none of Ayesha’s aunts. We decide to adopt Liz as the aunt. Says Aparna, “ But I’m Ayesha’s aunt”. Adds Preeti, “I am Ayesha’s aunt too—from the father’s side.” Applying the rules of stretchable kinship, it’s clear now that Lien is an aunt too, as is Priya and Liz of course has been adopted already.

So here we are at the beginning of our trek to Roopkund lake at 12,000ft—Meena, Nayanika, I, Ayesha and Ayesha’s five aunts.