Trekking In Kashmir

If this were an introduction to a typical I.C.S.E Hindi essay on Kashmir, it would have had to begin “Kashmir bharat ka swarg mana jata hai, jaha manushy ka man khush aur santhusht ho jata hai.” and since it is about a personal experience, it would have to continue with “Mujhe bachpan se Kashmir jaane ki iccha thi.” At least that is what my Hindi teacher told me at tuition class last week, ignoring the fact that I have never entertained such ‘icchas’ in the first place. That’s how I.C.S.E works, and even though I’m doing I.G.C.S.E for my boards next year, this is the only way I know after close to 6 years of learning the language. There was a lot of Hindi on the trek. 4 guys from Delhi, 8 from Bombay, 1 from Lucknow, the guides and horsemen from Kashmir and Uttarakhand… each spoke their own kind of hindi, and yet not one matched the kind I have to use at tuition class.

The Hindi I learn for exam purposes is a very perfected, ‘shudh’ version, and similarly the ‘ideal’ or picture of a camping trip can sometimes be far from the more entertaining reality.

When people imagine ‘life at camp’ most would think along the lines of bonfire, sleeping bag, maggi noodles or steaming soup, songs and guitars, maybe even scary stories. Yeh Jawani hai Deewani, screaming at the world from a mountain peak sort of thing. To give you an idea, here’s some of the most… well, ‘interesting’ things about camp life.

• What do you think of when you think of a sleeping bag?

It’s warm, it’s comfy, it’s heaven when it’s raining outside, and for some reason you never think of having to pack it all back in. At night it looks welcoming, by morning you’re looking at it’s bulk with disgust and horror, wondering how-oh-how, it will ever fit into that tiny pouch in your hand. You think about those instructions; fold it in half, roll it up neatly, then gently ease it in. Let me tell you, ignore the logic and put your instinct to use instead. Punch it, shove it, cram it, stuff it! Clench your fists, bare your teeth, curse it and attack!

Well this time we began with a toilet tent. It was tall enough to stand in and was not-so-carefully placed over a pit and a pile of sand (one day it was a bit to the left, and everyone had to lean while.. you know..). It was green in color, had pockets on the inside and flap-door with a broken zipper. I think Trippan bhaiya tried fixing it with candle wax and later Hameed bhaiya tried with velcro, but eventually it was just left there, flapping.

By the 3rd day most of us seemed to find the outdoors a much less tension-y-fied experience, and the camp periphery gradually became more and more crowded. There were of course, numerous instances where people chanced upon each other, but with a little bit of caution, it was overall perfectly manageable.

Unlike the sleeping bag method, here one had to be extremely well organised and careful. Remember to pack the tissue paper and once you’ve found a suitable rock make sure you scan in all directions for you never know where those shepherds can appear from. At nighttime, don’t ever forget to turn off your torch before you begin, and if the sky is especially starry, be wary of Brijesh Tiwari uncle’s camera lights; sweeping the landscape in order to create perfect lighting for his spectacular night-sky and milky-way photographs.

• Third: the water. (And I do not mean the spectacular lakes or the foaming rivers, I mean that lifeless, cold and painful thing, that is completely devoid of any sapphire blue or jade green.)

On the trek, we’d wake up around 6 everyday, and immediately have to get down to tooth-brushing, an activity that I desperately strove to avoid. The brushing in itself was fine, tooth-chilling but bearable, and it was my father I was afraid of. You see, he was forever trying to get his shivering children to wash their faces in that aaah-so-freezing cold water that I was forever trying to get away from. Come to think of it, the only advantage of having chapati for dinner was that I could use it to pick up the rest of the food and keep my hands clean in order to avoid having to wash them later on.

• And finally: Can Acute Mountain Sickness affect sanity?

The 6th day was supposed to be a day of rest and relaxation. I was supposed to have woken up only much after 8 if not 9, (and I knew 10 would be pushing it) but I woke at 7. That is to say, I was woken at 7, by Trippan bhaiya who clearly did not think sleeping was good for growing teenagers. So I turned my cocooned self around and lay resting my head on my arms, looking up cheerily every time someone passed by and then collapsing back into a heavenly laze. When Roomani paused to peer down at me, I should have known that something was most terribly wrong. She chewed her lip, let it go and then chewed at it some more. “Let’s jump into the lake”. I still don’t know whether that was a question or a statement, but for some, not even remotely sane, reason I enthusiastically nodded my head. We then foolishly committed ourselves to it by informing the entire camp of our ‘brilliant’ plan.

I remember, I couldn’t feel the water at first. Or the mud at the bottom for that matter. My left toe felt plasticy. My right… like it didn’t exist. I knew I was screaming, but what mattered was that scrunched-up-paper-ball-that-was-somehow-going-to-explode feeling in my head that simply kept me from thinking. It was like both heaven and hell all at once and I still find myself not quite knowing whether to laugh or shiver at the memory.

Nundkhol, Gangabal and the time I tied my own shoelaces together.

It was a wide stream, both swift and clear, appearing around the bend in one, smooth, continuous motion. The surface looked perfectly polished, unscratched as it moved almost silently towards the long traffic jam of rocks, that was also our only way across the water. Trippan bhaiya rolled his pants up to his knee and helped me across to the middle, whereupon he turned back to help Pooja. The sandpaper brown rock I stood upon was large and warm and didn’t shake when I leaned forward to peer through the water. There were weeds, like bunches of thick, green thread, straining at their roots as they were pulled along by the flow, and there were pebbles; creating a somewhat crunchy bottom.

The 2nd half of the crossing was tougher, made up of smaller, precariously balanced rocks, and I had to curl up my toes for a better grip. As I sat on the other side, waiting for the rest, I watched the stream as it tumbled over the crossing, losing all it’s composure and calm. It then separated into ropes of water, making it’s way between the scattered boulders in it’s path, and picking up speed as it raced down towards Nundkhol lake. Pooja jumped across the last rock and we watched laughing nervously as Kanishk and Shashank made their way over the 2nd half alone. With every step they took I felt as if they were about fall and really, watching was more nerve-racking than crossing over itself!

Once Manan and Trippan bhaiya made it successfully across, we scrambled up the last grassy slope with our shoes in our hands, and arrived at Gangabal lake. For a minute we said nothing, engrossed in watching a lady double over near the water. We wondered whether she was trying to vomit or not, until at last she looked up with her mouth wide open and punched the guy beside her playfully, apparently struggling with silent laughter. Then we noticed the lake and agreed that it wasn’t as spectacular as the other 6 we’d seen after all. Vishansar lake for example, had been much more stunning. Like a turquoise gem, with the sun’s final dusty rays, refracting like glitter on it’s wind-chopped surface. It wasn’t never-ending like the ocean, but just enough to fill up your view until it was all the world, cupped in the hands of the mighty mountains. Gangabal on the other hand, was flat. Sprawled out carelessly and absolutely lifeless.

So we examined the abstract mess of knotted metal that lay on the shore instead. A rusty ruckus that Manan meticulously photographed. Only later did I learn that it was a discarded government project, intended to generate electricity from the water. They were forced to discard it however, because everytime they tried installing it, the lake would flood and the story goes that it was the River Goddess, preventing them.

We left after a while, making our way back to camp as the sky began to darken. We had to cross the stream again, and on the opposite bank my so called ‘companions’ had a good laugh at me when I tied my own shoelaces together. (-_-) I had tied them together before crossing the stream the first time, then carried them to Gangabal and back over the stream, after which I forgot to untie them and simply slipped them on without thinking. Why had I tied them together? Well… so that if one fell… “the other would fall as well?” suggested Kanishk, but that was not it! There was some logic behind my action that my father had talked about before the crossing at Nichnai pass. Never-the-less, they laughed ruthlessly, and didn’t even hesitate before spreading the news at camp. You know my parents, you think they’ll ever free me of that incident?

On the way back, after taking a detour around the shepherd’s camp for fear that the dogs there would “kantega kantega” us, as Trippan bhaiya said shaking his head furiously. Just before camp we stopped short and vowed to describe Gangabal to the other’s who’d stayed behind at camp, as the most breath-taking of all the lakes. Just so that they’d feel jealous and resentful. “Remember” we warned each other “Gangabal was heart-beat-missing!”

Bye to the bhaiyas.

Ishaan’s bony, brown hand worked rapidly at the handle, spinning it to lower the rattling window as the next hairpin bend swerved into view. There! The truck ahead of us turned the corner and the bhaiya’s skidded into view; perched in the back of the truck, grinning and laughing at our somewhat frantic waves, as for a fleeting moment our jeep appeared on the road above them. Then we too turned the corner, and just as they began to slow down at a turn off, we overtook. Just like that, they were gone.

And I was left, blinking into the slender trees that whizzed past my window, aware that I’d most probably never meet them again. We arrived at the bottom of the mountain and the jeep began bouncing across the metal bridge, some 20ft above the river that gushed furiously below. For those of you who have never seen such rivers, it was the exact same colour as the liquid centre of a ‘Centre Fresh’ chewing gum, and just then, I felt like eating it.

When I woke up in Delhi 2 days later, having absolutely nothing to do but laze, relax and read, I realised with a shock that I wasn’t quite fully enjoying myself. I wondered at that, since usually it was the other way around. I loved staying in Delhi after a trek. Uday’s house, cool and pleasant. Uday’s cooking, a relief after all the unfamiliar food on the trek. Uday’s T.V, entertainment at last! So why couldn’t I enjoy paradise this time? I realised I missed the trek. 7 days of waking up and walking, filling water from streams, fooling around with the others, snuggling into a sleeping bag beside Moushami and Pooja. It had set itself firmly into me, and now not following that routine felt simply wrong. When I wrote my essay at Hindi tuition class, I ended with “ek din, mein yeh trek phir se zaroor karoongi. ” If there was one line of truth in that essay, it would be this last one.

Originally published at www.shalomgauri.in on October 10, 2013.