A bigger tragedy

Note: I have been meaning to write something like this for a long time now. But with a lot of distractions, I never really found the time till now. It may not be relevant to everyone now, but it still is relevant to me.

A cab ride in Bombay is quite an easy experience. One does not have to wait on end for a cab driver willing to take you to your destination or haggle for a rate. One just flags down a passing cab and gives the destination address. Oh, and above all this, at times, one is also kept entertained by the cab drivers with their respective life stories. I had the privilege of being driven around by one such cab driver last October, when I was heading to a friend’s place for our customary weekend party. But for a change, the topic of discussion with the cab driver veered more to the state of Bombay, its lack of infrastructure and the apathy of the ruling class. “How can they be so indifferent to the problems of the city?” the cab driver asked. “Something drastic needs to happen to them, to shake them out of their corrupted, lethargic minds.” With that thought he left me at my destination, only for me to dismiss it completely in an alcohol-induced haze.

The night when the city was awake

A little more than a month later, on 26^th November, something happened in Bombay that made me remember the cab driver’s words. Much has been written about the events of that night, and of the next few days so I will not dwell on that here. Suffice to say that after a quick round of phone calls to ensure that everyone in the immediate friends circle was safe, I settled down at home, hoping that my stock of cigarettes would last the vigil. I doubt if most of Mumbai slept that night. Like me, most of them were watching the coverage of the attacks on the television, with ‘expert’ comments coming in frequently, both on television and on the internet. And I thought to myself, maybe this was the drastic action that was really needed. To remind us what we held close. To remind us what can be taken away by a few men with guns. Also to remind us of what we have lost over the years. And to remind us that a constant demand for our rights means nothing without exercising responsibility. The desire to sleep was too overpowering and by 4 am, I switched off the television hoping that the situation would be resolved by the time I woke up.

A world apart

It wasn’t. And it would not be for another couple of days. But this is Bombay and business must continue. Except for the offices in South Bombay, in the areas close to where the NSG operations were still ongoing, it was business as usual. Restaurants were open, cigarette ‘tapri’s’ were open and people were going about their usual, daily life. A friend of mine, Shiv who lives nearby called me out for lunch. He was at a loose end, his office having asked all the employees to skip work for the day due to security considerations. We met at ‘Bagel Shop’, an eatery in Bandra, a place that usually caters to the young urban crowd. Once inside the place, it seemed like a normal Saturday. The conversation too, seemed to be a world apart. Cricket, work, relationships with only a smattering of the events of yesterday. It was almost easy to forget that a pitched gun battle was still happening only 10 km away. It was almost as if by collective will that the events still unfolding were not to be discussed. Or maybe the full extent of the attacks had not yet sunk in to people’s consciousness. This seemed the case for another friend of mine who works in South Bombay. Despite the NSG operation in full flow, he still went to work in the morning, expecting the police to create a safety corridor for office goers. And his office is the building behind the Oberoi Hotel. He returned home, blaming the police for not getting their act together in time.

Candlelight vigils

However, the reactions of the public did not show indifference. Support groups were formed within days, some within hours. All with varying messages. ‘End the corruption.’ ‘Get rid of politicians.’ ‘Mumbai is my city.’ Etc. But these were ordinary, law abiding citizens, not given to venting their anger and frustration through violent means. Blogs, online petitions and candle light vigils were the only possible ways to protest. And people did definitely flock to these forms of protests. Toto’s, a friendly pub in Bandra was one such place where people would discuss such next steps. I went there to drink beer. And ideally, the twain should ne’er meet. An outraged man at our table was exhorting us to join him in a candlelight vigil tomorrow. A girl sitting next to him agreed. As did the rest of the table. Apparently I was the only dissenting voice. Instead, I asked them a few questions. Foremost being – Why? Pat came the reply – To stand up for our rights. I asked them if they considered voting in the upcoming elections. Or if they were registered voters at least. Not a single person was. Without exception. ‘Why was that the case?’ was my follow up question. And the reply too came quickly again, but this time probably with the honesty that is associated with drunkenness. ‘It’s too painful and difficult to get registered in Bombay.’ I smiled inwardly, having received confirmation of what I always suspected. It is always easier to stand up for your rights rather than stand with your responsibilities. As a rejoinder and in an attempt to save face, someone else spoke up – ‘But we should still protest. It sends a message that we will not forget this incident. This is not a one-off protest march. We will continue until whenever necessary.’

The aftermath

I was away from the city on personal matters for the most of the next two months. Bombay crept along fine without me as I expected it would. Also, as expected, the citizen protests petered out. Voter registration was not going as well as expected. Politicians have moved on, now promising sops in exchange of votes. The MNS was in full force again, demanding the change in name of a sweet shop, saying the current name was unpatriotic.

26/11 is still remembered by everyone. But unfortunately, merely remembering this incident is not enough. One must act on it, one must learn from it. Or maybe this event wasn’t drastic enough to shake the apathy and lethargy out. From both citizens and politicians alike. And this may be a bigger tragedy.

Maybe

Maybe some day we will tire of this

The perceived sins of a thousand lifetimes

Destroying forever our will to endure

 

Maybe some day the flowers will bloom

But a bloom stained by crimson red

Of the blood that dried aeons ago

 

Maybe some day only a leaf will flutter

Careening desolately over a deserted road

With none to watch and none to smile

 

Maybe some day the sun will not dawn

And the night be prolonged into lasting darkness

Hiding away all that I hold dear

 

And maybe some day we will lose our conscience

Turn again into animals from men

Losing our way in a maze of hate

 

Maybe some day all this will be routine

And then again, maybe not

But if it is so, I want to live until then

Coffee

Ridiculous topic for a post, I know. But it’s been a while and I am damn particular about my coffee. Black, no milk, no sugar, thank you very much. But this is somehow inexplicable to every waiter I have ever come across.

At a Barista (the proper noun), the other day, I was just lounging around, waiting for a couple of friends to show up. Since punctuality is the art of waiting for the unpunctual, I decided to make the most of it with a copy of “The Remains of the Day” by Ishiguro and a coffee. But what followed was enough to take my mind of Ishiguro completely.

Me: “Excuse me”

Waiter: “Yes sir?”

Me: “I’d like a black coffee please”

W: “Sir, do you want an espresso or a mochachilo?” (At least I think it was these two things)

Me: “No no. I just want a black coffee, no milk.”

W: “I’m sorry Sir, we don’t serve that.”

Me: “???”

W: “Perhaps you can take a look at the menu.”

Me: (After regaining my voice) “This IS a coffee shop right?”

W: “Yes Sir” (aware that he was talking to a probable lunatic)

Me: “All I am asking for is a black coffee without any milk or sugar in a large cup.”

W: (something finally ringing a bell) “That’s it?”

Me: “Yup. Thanks a lot.”

W: “But that is black coffee”. With the awestruck look of Mike Gatting when he was bowled round the legs by Shane Warne.

Me: “Yes, I know”. I mean, I know that a huge cup of steaming black coffee isn’t exactly the best thing for my constitution, but with the whiskey and the cigarettes, this seems an acceptable risk.

W: “All right Sir”, retiring only to be replaced by a stronger willed individual.

W2: “Excuse me Sir, you ordered a black coffee, no milk. Is that right?”

Me: (Inwardly sighing but outwardly trying to be nonchalant) “Yes, that’s right”

W2: “And that’s the entire order?”

Me: “For now, yes. I’m expecting a couple of friends to join me in a bit.”

W2: “Okay Sir”. Although I think he felt like adding “It’s your funeral”.

Minutes later my coffee arrived. But now my curiosity was aroused.

Me: “Excuse me, but why was there such difficulty in understanding my order?”

W2: “Well Sir, It’s just that no one orders black coffee here”

Me: “Come again please. This is a coffee shop!!! So what do people order?”

W2: “Other things Sir. A latte, an espresso, a mochachilo, a mochachino.” This seemed to rhyme and I expectantly waited for him to go on to a mochashino (a shiny mocha), moachadino (a Jurassic Park mocha), a mochalino (it’s just lined with mocha, more healthy) and a mochamino (it’s mine and you can’t share it!). But unfortunately he didn’t.

Me: Unable to carry on this conversation any further. “Okay, thank you.”

W2: “Thank you sir.”

Just after this entertaining interlude, my friends walked in. After the usual “Wassups” they gave their orders.

Friend 1: “I’ll have a double espresso and he will have a cafe latte with whipped cream, no ice”

W2: “Yes sir.”

Sigh. Outwardly, this time.

IPL Obituaries – Part 2

After the critically acclaimed (critical, not acclaimed) part 1 of this series, comes the second and final part of the IPL obituaries with the remaining 4 teams.

 

Delhi Daredevils:

One of the rare teams to start with a mistake. The mistake of making Sehwag an icon player instead of choosing “Sehwag ki Maa” as the iconic figure. Despite this flaw, Delhi boasted of an extremely well balanced side consisting of strike batsman Gautam Gambhir and top class bowlers such as Glenn McGrath and Daniel Vettori. This balance though made it extremely difficult to pin the blame of repeated losses on any single player and post match team meetings soon degenerated into a series of brawls causing Gautam Gambir to lose his customary seriousness. They were also one of the first teams to declare bankruptcy as the team owners, GMR claimed that the fine print was too fine thus successfully obtaining tax breaks for the ridiculous Delhi airport.

 

Kings XI Punjab:

“One king to rule them all,

One king to market them all,

But the day you have more than one king,

Heralds a disaster with no inkling,

And down will come kings, kingdom and all”

So goes the famous Swa-Hillee limerick (shamelessly flicked from a number of sources). Though the true import is lost in translation. Much like the Pink Floyd song. These words of wisdom were unfortunately given a miss by the Mohali team owners with a deft “Bah!” and dimpled smile (pause to reflect on the Herculean task of saying Bah and smiling at the same time). Mohali, led by their non-playing captain (in a manner of speaking. And in a manner of playing), Yuvraj Singh soon began to dominate the bottom of the league and was soon competing with Mumbai for the bottom rung of the IPL. When questioned about the uninspired performances, Yuvraj replied “We need to pull up our socks”, thus once again effortlessly changing the topic from cricket to his sartorial habits. “Practice makes a man perfect”, he said. However, no amount of sock pulling could change their fortunes, but Sreesanth did receive an extra sock from fellow Indian team mate Harbhajan Singh for his efforts. 

 

Chennai Super Kings:

There are kings and there are emperors. But Chennai decided to introduce a caveat emperor – the Super Kings. This was probably due to the heavy Chennai slang influence (sooper). Chennai Super Kings lorded over the first few rounds of the IPL routing the Royal Challengers, the Rajasthan Royals and Kings XI Punjab (Note: This is a highly regal statement. Not in stature though). Ably led by stalwarts of the game such as Stephen Fleming who did not play a single match and M S Dhoni who played all matches they soon established themselves at the top of the league. Things began to go horribly wrong after that when star batsman, Matthew Hayden (of the ‘obnoxious weed’ fame) left the team for greener (weedier?) pastures of the international arena. Dhoni too had his hands full by trying to mediate between Harbhajan Singh and Sreesanth with an eye on the future harmony of the national team. His feelings on the matter were beautifully summed up in his classic hit song “Weed didn’t start the fire”. This diversion of focus due his role as mediator and wannabe rock star soon left the team in the lurch from which they were unable to recover.

 

Rajasthan Royals:

Yet another alliterative name. Yet another bunch of unfit players. But the levels of fitness (or lack of it thereof) would have put anyone to Shane….err, shame. Owned by the least media savvy owners among the 8 teams (ironically named Emerging Media), the cricket was to do the talking for the team. Bad move. Shane Warne had lesser wickets than press conferences, Graeme Smith scored lesser than he spoke (yes, scored runs!). It did not really augur too well for the team as they constantly moved from nerve wracking close defeats to unmitigated disasters and they perennially failed to emerge from the shadows of the Emerging Media.

IPL Obituaries – Part 1

By all accounts, the IPL is set to be a smashing success. Or maybe not. It’s also possible that the IPL will have an early demise. If so, I wonder what posterity will have to say about the various teams. Here is my take.

Mumbai Indians:

Named with the intent of gathering support from across the country, the Mumbai Indians soon suffered from an early identity crisis. Within the first few days itself, star players such as Sanath Jayasuriya were often found roaming the streets of Mumbai confusing Breech Candy with the Sri Lankan city of Kandy. The supporters of the Mumbai Indians were equally confused showing up for matches in the hope of a raunchy exhibition and were treated to the batting of Luke Ronchi instead.  Missing their inspirational captain for most of the season, the team relied heavily on the Innocent Sledging school of thought which was vociferously championed by the stand-in skipper, Harbhajan Singh. Being versatile in Hindi, English, Punjabi and possibly Greek he later added Marathi to his repertoire of languages which enabled him to proclaim his innocence by saying “F%$@ the bowlers” and then claiming it was Marathi for “only bowlers” (Phakt: Marathi for ‘only’). Unfortunately, given the ICC’s strict stance against sledging, this tactic soon fizzled out and the players left for more lucrative contracts in the Zimbabwe league leaving cricket star of yesteryear, Vinod Kambli to shoulder the captaincy. As of now, he is planning to revive attendance levels for the IPL matches by displaying his different hair colors.

 

Kolkata Knight Riders:

Armed with jazzy uniforms and jazzier cheerleaders instead of a sword and lance (not to be confused with Lance Klusener) the Kolkata based team soon made a favorable impression on the IPL scene. However, there was soon a rift in the lute as the team management decided to rope in David Hasselhoff as brand ambassador since their market surveys showed a favorable recall of Hasselhoff in the TV series Knight Rider apart from his stellar role in Baywatch. Kolkata captain, Sourav Ganguly however took exception to this move considering Hasselhoff a threat to the bare chested antics he was planning to unleash on the unsuspecting crowd. Unable to handle two bare chested men at the same time, the team desperately looked towards banned Pakistani player Shoaib Akhtar for providing the much needed team spirit and unity. With the aid of a cricket bat, if necessary. This unfortunately did not provide any succor to the team and the team owner, Shah Rukh Khan was forced to employ them as extras in his movie tentatively titled “Kehna Kya Kricket Ka” with Karan Johar as the director (obviously!). Affectionately shortened to 4K, we hope this movie will teach Shah Rukh the 4Ks of movies since he evidently hasn’t learned the 4Ps of marketing.

 

Deccan Chargers:

Birds flock. Cows herd. Bulls charge. But after the initial euphoria, the Deccan Chargers neither charged nor were they heard of. This was primarily attributed to the deficiencies of their main non-iconic player Vangipurappu Venkata Sai Laxman who was an early supporter of nicknames on the back of cricket shirts. Despite not having played 20-20 cricket before and on the fringes of the one day team for India, VVS led the Hyderabad side with great vigor and vim only to be vanquished with vindictiveness by visiting teams. In his autobiography – “East of Eden” (after his inspirational knocks there and ‘inspired’ by the John Steinbeck novel of the same name), Laxman however attributes the failure of the team to external sources and maintained that “the boys played really well”, subconsciously repeating the favorite line of his idol and former India captain, Mohammad Azharuddin. When questioned on the failures of the batting stars such as Andrew Symmonds, Adam Gilchrist and Shahid Afridi, Laxman replied “Taare zameen par” in an enigmatic fashion before disappearing into the boardroom of the Deccan Chronicle (owners of the Deccan Chargers) where he still currently holds the post of independent director for previous loyalty to the company.

 

Bangalore Royal Challengers:

Given the amount of alcohol sales that went into building the team, it is ironical that Bangalore had the most watered down team for the 20-20 format. Full of veterans of the domestic game such as Sunil Joshi and coached by express pace bowler Venkatesh Prasad the team looked hopelessly out of sorts from the very beginning of the tournament. The notable exceptions were Rahul Dravid (in brilliant form as usual. No sarcasm here) and Jacques Kallis (of “Who the F$#@ is Kallis” fame, see previous post) who soldiered on in a dignified manner for the entire duration of the tourney. Sorely missing strike bowler Anil Kumble to a sore shoulder and Wasim Jaffer who’s batting is definitely not a sight for sore eyes, Bangalore could never really muster enough strength to beat legendary tennis player Thomas Muster let alone any of the other IPL teams. The presence of the cheerleaders of the Washington Redskins however, was enough to guarantee 100% attendance for their matches thus proving owner Vijay Mallya’s foresight into the actual interest behind the hype of the IPL.

 

Rest of the teams in Part 2.

Hindsight is 20-20

I saw my first T20 match on Sunday. I mean, my first T20 match in a stadium. A couple of friends and I decided to bear the crowds, the exorbitant ticket prices and indecision of the team to support to go to Wankhede Stadium for the match between the Mumbai Indians and the Bangalore Royal Challengers.  My friends decided to support Mumbai. Mumbai is a city for all Indians and we are in Mumbai and all that jazz. One of them, let’s call him Absurdly Repressed Junkie Understanding Nothing (or Arjun for short. Not to be confused with any real life Arjun. Or so I would like you to believe) isn’t that interested in cricket but just came since the original ticket holder was stuck with work. These corporate types, I tell you. The other chap, Big Hirsute Angry Soul Kindling A Rage (aka Bhaskar . Again, not to be confused with any real life Bhaskar) is a huge cricket fan. But for some reason is also a huge Hrithik Roshan fan. And his support for Mumbai stems from the fact that they have Hrithik as their brand ambassador. And that was also the reason why we landed up at the stadium pretty early since Bhaskar was hoping that his idol would be a part of the pre-match entertainment.

It was not to be. In fact, hardly any entertainment apart from the fireworks displays. Which we couldn’t see as it was on the roof covering the stand where we had tickets. Grrr!!! I want a Rs. 100 refund. But then as Arjun pointed out, it was the only stand where they could have lit the fireworks due to the wind direction to prevent the smoke from coming onto the pitch. 30 seconds later, he lived up to his name when the entire ground was covered in smoke. Which caused a delay of another 10 minutes.

The match started with a flurry of activity. Boundaries galore and cheerleaders galore. It’s not just cricket. And just to prove that Anu Malik is not the only person to be “inspired” by songs, the crowd too made up and sang a song for Jacques Kallis – “Kallis, Kallis, Who the F#$@ is Kallis”. Ah well, as long as there wasn’t a racial slant to it. An interesting point on the crowd – very partisan to the Mumbai team. Something that I didn’t expect in the first match! Although they did take it to extremes by booing Dravid (who in my opinion is one of the greatest players to play the game. And to keep the post short, I won’t continue on his exploits). There were also chants of “Bangalore sucks” to which Arjun’s classical reply was “At least they are getting some!”

And since this is not a news report, I am not going to give you scores or anything like that. It’s enough to say that boundaries were hit, wickets were taken, Dravid was phenomenal and Bangalore won the match. Not much of a surprise actually. Bhaskar was supporting Mumbai and he has the dubious distinction of never seeing the team he supports win a match. His international record – 16 matches of India seen, 16 matches lost by India. And yet he goes to see every possible match hoping to see India win. Hats off to his perseverance. And kicks when India loses.

I have to end with a few words (sort of like the few words which are requested from the chief guest of the function and end have no end) on the excellent facilities at Wankhede Stadium and the brilliant fire exits. To cater to a capacity of nearly 40,000 the exit was a narrow culvert of 3 feet in width. Too brilliant. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. Can we expect the BCCI to use some of the money they have made from the IPL to improve this before a major disaster? Don’t bother, I know the answer. Coz only Hindsight is truly 20-20.

Musings without a muse: 2

Late night flights are always a pain in the wrong place. Not that there is every a pain in the right place. But late night flights are always irritating. And lonely. And the same today. Or maybe not.

The queue at the check-in counter was long. Damn, why didn’t I tele-check in???!!! Sigh. No eye-candy around. And all the candy I had flicked from the hotel was in my digestive system. Damn! Sigh. And then it happened. In true Hindi movie style. The crowds parted and I saw her. The face looked really familiar. It had to be Riya. But I wasn’t sure. It was now 6 years since I saw her last. Age was clouding my memory. Should I talk to her? What if she isn’t Riya? What if she thinks I am a total jerk? Well, if it is Riya, then it’s an improvement on the opinion she held from 6 years ago. She caught my glance and a faint memory came to her mind as well. At least I think it did. She quickly averted her gaze. Damn, it is Riya!!!

Why won’t this line ever progress? And now she’s gone. Late night flights are always irritating!

Musings without a muse: 1

“They don’t have the guts! All they do is beat up isolated taxi drivers and paan-wallahs. Defenseless people and who dont have a political voice. Chill! It won’t be a return of 92.” Cheering me up with those words she left for her weekly girl’s night out. I settled to read Stranger in a Strange Land by Robert Heinlen. The only other option being watching the rumour mongering TV channels. Never really a choice there.

Sleep eventually overtook me. I had no idea for how long I was asleep when I was awakened by the harsh ringtone of my cell phone. A hospital administrator asking me to come to the hospital immediately. The restaurant was burnt by rampaging mobs. I could hardly recognize her with all those bandages. She too was defenseless and without a political voice. Just another stranger in a strange land.

A Krazzy Review

Krazzy 4 is a movie that fills me with regret. A lot of regret. Regret for wasting time and money. Regret for being subjected to completely blade humor for a seemingly endless portion of time (Blade: Tamil slang for irritating, boring etc). Not that I had any high expectations from the movie, but somehow I did not expect it to stoop to such low levels. There are mindless movies and there are mindless movies. Andaaz Apna Apna is a mindless movie. Krazzy 4 is also a mindless movie. Between the two is a gap of irreconcilable immensity. And ne’er the twain shall meet.

Krazzy 4 suffers from an identity crisis. For the life of me, I don’t know if it was a “humorous” movie, a movie with a social message or a Bollywood potboiler. It was probably a hash of all three. That in itself is not a bad thing but they really managed to make a bad thing out of it.

But let’s start from the beginning (sometimes not a very god place to start). Two of my friends and I, for brevity’s sake let’s call them Bhonpu and Manac wanted to watch some random movie. Actually, Bhonpu did and somehow conned us into the movie. And so we went for the 11 pm show (11 pm Godammit! On a weekday). The movie began bang on time. 11:30 pm that is. This is where the interesting part of the night ends.

Scene 1 had bad acting, sad attempts at humor and a social message thrown in for kicks. Scene 2 ditto. Scene 3 ditto again. Scene 4 was an astounding revelation. No social message and a kidnap to make things interesting. Back to scene 1. Repeat. It was almost as though the movie was written in a never ending loop. Add uninspiring music. And Rakhi Sawant gyrating. You get it right? No? Doesn’t matter.

But let’s give the movie some credit. It does have its good points. Or maybe not. In fact, definitely not. But  go for the movie nonetheless. Let me not be the only chump who saw the movie.

Gasp, Cough, Wheeze….Phew!!!

Ooh, my aching lungs….er… legs! A four day trek to the upper reaches of the Himalayas is not exactly my idea of a relaxation. Especially when my last burst of physical activity was being the goal keeper in a Frisbee match in IIMA six months back (Which we won due to my heroics, may I modestly add).

Ranveer’s idea really. A long weekend in October; and nothing enthuses him more than a trek on a long weekend. Apparently he has never heard of the word “sleep”. Or maybe he just wanted a last trek before marriage. Most people have bachelor parties. Ranveer goes on treks. To each his own (pun not intended). But if you really look at it, planning a bachelor party and planning a trek have a lot of similarities.

Step 1: Collect a lot of random guys (single by default) who have no life on weekends (not that we single guys have a life on weekdays)

Step 2: Plan for supplies (use your imagination here!)

Step 3: Fix a suitable weekend

Step 4: Ensoi!!! (Or at least pretend to)

In this case, the random bunch of single guys were all from my organization – Ranveer, Jayant, Ankush, Manish, Bhaskar, MoMo, Anand Vivek and yours truly! (Quiz question here – Whats my name? Ha, you don’t know. I thought so!). Bhaskar and I being based in Bombay exercised our managerial experience and quickly delegated all the planning and procurement to the minions in Delhi. The place for the trek was Dodital, somewhere in the upper reaches of Uttarkhand. Ranveer mentioned that this was Tom Alter’s favorite vacation spot. I suppose that made a big difference! Anyways, under Ranveer’s able directions the rest of the guys were able to get the tickets, sleeping bags etc etc.

We started our journey from that great support of Hindi movies – the railway station. Nizamuddin station, to be precise. I don’t know how this always happens, but if you have ever had experience of traveling in a group there will always be one person who will give the rest heartburn by arriving precisely at the last minute, never before. That person was Anand. Fortunately the train was 10 minutes late giving us a clear 11 minutes to find our seats. A slight goof up in the tickets meant that Bhaskar and I had to move to another bogey while the rest happily cosied together (cosied together. Yes, I know!). It was a short trip to Haridwar, our immediate destination. Too short for comfort since we managed only 4 hours of sleep. We reached at 3:30 am, half an hour before schedule. Manish, who apparently does not like waking up that early was pissed off when Ankush woke him up. He demanded proof that we had reached Haridwar much to the merriment of the rest of us and to the annoyance of the rest of the passengers. The conversation went something like this

A: “Manish, uth jaa.”

M: (sleepy voice): “Time kya hua hai?”

A: “3:30. Hum Haridwar pahunch gaye.”

M: (pissed off voice) “Tujhe kaise pata? Kya sabot that tere pass. Bata. Bata!!!”

A: (Taken aback) “Abe, kya bak raha hai!”

M: (still pissed off voice) “Saboot de mujhe!”

A: (giving up) “Dekh, tujhe aana hai to uth jaa. Else keep sleeping!”

Sanity finally prevailed and Manish alighted with the rest of us.

 

No trekking just yet. That would be a further five hour drive to Uttarkashi. I was told the drive had some good scenery on the way but I was too tired (already!) to give a damn. Uttarkashi is a sleepy little town which we waste no time putting behind us. After a quick meal, we were ready to leave. Mules and guides and all. It was the first day of the trek so everyone still had enthusiasm and volunteered to carry their own sleeping bags to give a lesser load to the mule. The mule shot us an o-thank-you-kind-people-from-the-city-who-think-they-can-carry-their-own-sleeping-bags look of wondrous gratitude. Or at least I think it did. The trek started well enough with all of us making good ground. Until the first hour, that is. Then the lungs gave out. And then the legs. Okay! Time for a cigarette….err water break. Also time for Ranveer to give some encouragement to Bhaskar and me.

R: “The first part is always tricky here. We’ll get used to it.”

B: “Chup saale. But no more cigarettes for me. I’m quitting.”

And true to his word, Bhaskar did quit cigarettes. For the next one hour.

The gasping and panting were an excellent accompaniment to the lilting breeze and bird calls. As a trekking route, the route to Dodital is excellent. Fantastic views, a moderate level of trekking difficulty and a good breeze. The trek went on smoothly until the end of the day. We are great adaptors and can fall into a comfortable routine quickly. We went uphill for a while and downhill for a while. MoMo and Bhaskar cribbed about the lack of birds (the feathered and non-feathered kind respectively). Ranveer kept smoking. Manish kept panting away to glory. And so on ad infinitum till we reached the night camp.

 

The first activity was to set up the tents. And to expose MoMo for all his fraud of being an outdoors expert! Ranveer and Jayant decided to take a break from doing all the work and decided to let the “managers” set up the tent. Bhaskar and I smartly decided to decline this gracious offer. I took up the counter offer of filming the next 15 minutes. Ably led by MoMo, the remaining people made a hash of setting up the tents in a manner never before seen (and probably never after). Ranveer dug deep and didn’t find his sweaters. He dug a bit deeper and found some pity and showed everyone how to set up the tents. And so we adjourned for the night.

Next morning there were thankfully saw no tantrums and we left pretty early for Dodital. A pretty sedate day without any alarms and excursions. Except for Manish’s random questions to which I had to think really hard to answer.

M: “What’s that mountain called?”

Me: “Bandarpoonch”

M: “Why is it called that?”

Me: “Coz only monkeys ask about the name of that mountain!” (With groans from Ranveer and Bhaskar in the background)

An hour before reaching Dodital, we had our first excitement of the day. Predictably we were taking one of our innumerable breaks of the day. And predictably it was Manish who caused it. There was a bend in the trek route and we were sitting on a few of the rocks trying to get our breath back. Manish, sitting to my left and uncharacteristically silent suddenly leapt up with a loud yell. WTF!!! What happened??? “I just saw a bear or a wolf or something like that.” He said. That sounded interesting. And highly unlikely. Nonetheless Jayant and I took a peek round the corner with our feet ready to take off in the opposite direction. Manish was giving us further information from behind. “There were two of them. Huge animals!” We looked and there they were just 10 meters ahead of us. Two dogs. We burst out laughing and went back and kicked Manish.

Eventually we reached Dodital. It is a really beautiful place. A lake in a valley surrounded by pristine forests. In the background snow capped mountains beckoned us even further. But for now we were content to take in the beauty before us. Legend has it that Lord Ganesh chose this place as his abode and a temple stands in his honor on the side of the lake. Of course, I found no evidence to support the legend. Not that I looked for it. Or that I cared. But he did choose a fantastic little place, I must say.

 

Night came early, as is wont in the valleys and tired by the exertions of the day we soon retired to bed. Ranveer, Anand and I had planned to leave early morning for Darwah top, 4000 feet above Dodital. The others, taking cognizance of their legs and lungs prudently decided to stay behind and enjoy the scenery. But the night was not devoid of its entertainment. Manish and MoMo were in different tents, yet sharing the same pain relief spray. Things became quite exciting and a simple act of passing the spray was elevated to a battle of wills with neither of them willing to move out of their respective tents.

Manish: “MoMo, please pass the spray”

MoMo: “Come and take it”

M: “Yaar, I am too tired, please give it”

Mo: “Me too. Take it from me.”

M: “Come on! Be reasonable”

Mo: “I am reasonable”

M: “Okay okay….just throw it here”

Mo: “Throw it where, I can’t even see you. It’s too dark”

M: “Throw it in the direction of my voice”

M: “Throw it!!!”

Mo: “I threw it already”

M: “Oh shit”

They found the spray in the morning. Bhaskar, Ranveer and I preferred a more liquid form of pain relief though which thankfully saw no other takers.

6 am saw Ranveer, Anand and I set off for Darwah Top. I regretted the decision within the first half an hour. It was a steep climb. Taxing on the legs, taxing on the lungs and no sign of a physical analogy of Section 80 C. Anand had no such issues, him being a non smoker and all that. Ranveer too had a constant spring in his step despite the huge number of cigarettes. Which gave me a real complex. However, with the help of a number of breaks we made it there. Ranveer was a constant encouragement throughout. According to him the summit was just 15 minutes away. For a total of three hours. I replied by suggesting he was born out of wedlock!

But the summit was heaven on earth. Ranveer and Anand decided to go ahead a bit. I elected to stay behind and soak in the rarefied atmosphere. At 15,000 feet this was the highest I had ever trekked and I wanted some time to enjoy it. At 15,000 feet, even the birds and the waterfalls were some 2000 feet below. The only company I had was a lyrical breeze and a pleasant sun. Fantastic combination. And I slept for an hour. Probably the most peaceful sleep I have ever had in my life. And one of the most best reflective periods in my life!

Completely rejuvenated, we headed back down to join the others. They were supposed to have cleared the tents so that we could leave as soon as possible but MoMo’s bird watching shenanigans came in the way. Just to check if he really knew his stuff or was just spouting drivel, Bhaskar and I invented a bird with blue wings, orange neck and white breasts and asked him to name the bird. Surprise surprise, he actually gave a name to the bird. What a fraud!!!

The return trip was as uneventful as trip to the lake. Yet again, it was one particular incident that took the cake. Ankush and Manish (who don’t know jack about trekking) suddenly decided to take a short cut. That had a slope of 50 degrees. Bhaskar lost it and was constantly suggesting ways and means of making their mother and sister into one! Ankush and Manish led the way resolutely nonetheless. After 30 minutes, they came to the conclusion that we had come to earlier – that we were lost! To save face, they suggested that we head back and take the normal route. Hearing this, Jayant (normally silent) yelled at Ankush subtly referring to his relationship with his mother. And then immediately apologized. The associate – manager relationship is a difficult one.

Anyways, all’s well that ends well (never really understood that phrase, especially when juxtaposed with – the end never justifies the means). On the way back, MoMo in a bid to regain some of his birding respect (if there ever is such a thing) was giving all of us information (i.e. gyan) on how each bird looks, how they fly etc. Though he had no answer to Bhaskar’s question on how are they in taste! That sealed the debate on MoMo’s knowledge of birds and we headed back to Uttarkashi and thereon to Delhi. And a hot bath.

I was totally out of condition. Gasping, panting and wheezing throughout. And Phew, I trekked upto 15,000 feet. Totally worth it.