The Sleeping Buddha

Under the frozen fireworks, the mighty Buddha sleeps

Lying blissfully in his fortress of snow as the dawn sweeps

A lens-shaped cloud draws over his face like a soft curtain

And I watch him, rooted to the ridge of another mountain

The bluish-white silhouette embodies eternal tranquillity

acknowledges me as a child lost in the crowd of humanity

Trekking from Sepi to Samanden to Sabargram via Molley

for a flawless view of the Kanchenjunga wasn’t some folly

I fill up on silence as my heart reels from the inner noise

awaiting la primera ray of light to stir the panoramic poise

A crimson orb appears in the east, highlighting the horizon

Casting a celestial glow on the massif that’s now vermilion

I stand witness to the genesis of a new world anointed by fire

And I see a shot at redemption before we face nature’s ire

Racing against disruptions, degradations, disasters & deaths

Why can’t we allow our only planet to catch a few breaths?

Will we finally ask ourselves how much do we really need

and let Buddha’s message of contentment win over greed? 

I can’t listen to music

I can’t listen to music

I can’t just listen to music

It is like a set of commands to move 

I have to flow with it, I have to groove

If I don’t move physically, my phantom limbs will

And my brain will get on its toes; it knows the drill

All set on a stage of its own giving a performance

It needs no invite nor any approving audience

I am on happy-go-lucky flashback train

And I can’t seem to pull the chain

As if it is compulsory!

It is all involuntary!

And that is the problem … 

When my classmates used music to concentrate

I put fingers in my ears or scurried out like a spate

When the whole world was using music to meditate

I could hardly use it to strengthen my spiritual state

How do I stay relaxed and focus on my breathing? 

When the neurons inside my brain are doing swing

But I am not complaining …

For it stirs me, sways me, takes me away from me

Into a wonderful space where my soul is set free

If this is not meditation, then what else could it be?

Under an elephant’s foot – I

Etched in my memory is that early morning walk in a coffee plantation

Four of us chatting, brushing past the dew-laden leaves in slow motion

 

Plucking pepper from the peppercorn vines, smelling the vanilla pods

Nothing could be more idyllic than this weekend, what were the odds?

 

Our guide, Prakash was born in these hills so no trail was new to him

nor were the birds or animals; he could sense an elephant and its whim

 

What are our chances of spotting one today? I had tried to think loudly

‘Coorg is a part of Elephant Corridor ma’am’, he reminded us all dryly

 

We were now closer to a watering hole to spot some feathered friends

Only to discover fresh circular footmarks in wet mud around the ends

 

‘Wild elephants often impair the electric fences to cross over for water’

‘Why did we come here then?’ I felt my trust in our young guide totter  

 

But the bird watchers, pros and amateurs were busy with their lenses

And inner peace seemed to have arrived too, suffusing all our senses

                                                                Suddenly all hell broke loose! 

A lazy vacation?

As the moon grazed the pine tops over the mountain

I slid back in my seat to check that searing body pain

‘Slow’ was the mantra when we had set out this time

Soaking in pools by the day, chatting over fresh lime

Lounging on a tree swing, gazing at the clear blue sky

Waiting for the sun to melt slowly at the beach nearby

Tying up few words to rhyme, exploring stars at night

Were some of the ideas we had thought to get IT right

‘Fast’ would not be a figment from what we felt now

Packing in jungles & beaches & all that seemed wow

Temples, paddies & sierras pulled us out of the town

Clinging on to our bikes as the paths tumbled down

Here, on top of a wave, there, on top of a volcanooo!

Además los acantilados, como puedes decir que no!

Each moment, was a story, a painting, an expression

Each breath, was an escapade, with unlimited action

Stop! Pleaded those aching calves, from hours of run

Just a little more! We coaxed, the fun has just begun!

The days passed in a blur amidst all this commotion

& our lazy vacation morphed into its sketchy notion

Sit back, unwind, take it easy or feel at home advice
Slumbered down in our backpacks, all comfy & nice

As those sooty shoes & slouchy steps exposed our plight

Next time! We promised ourselves, getting into the flight

Siem Reap - the land of Angkor Wat n more ...

You don’t have anything or anyone nudging you to think in any particular way so you are eventually free to think what you’d always wished to think or better still, to not think at all.

Siem Reap was one such place for me.

Chugging around in a tuk-tuk; fresh air on my face en-route to Tonle Sap, I was simply feeling good. But this ‘good’ was different. It wasn’t the thrill of discovering a new place neither was it the euphoria of a good bargain. It didn’t have the like of a Facebook or the filter of an Instagram.

This good was fresh & light. It was dewy and breezy! No matter which direction I turned, I was greeted by uninhibited and unadulterated abandon. No hoardings to tempt me, no advertisements in whatsoever form to distract me. No big billion sales, no mobile launches or the must try new restaurant of the town. No traffic to manipulate or deadline to chase.

Life here was akin to lying in a hammock by a sleepy river, gazing into infinity. Every moment had a story to tell and you could listen to them for hours together putting aside your reasoning and inferences. Every breath had its space to breathe. 

I guess a day of meandering about the temple ruins of Angkor Wat with eyes peeled apart to absorb the panorama, had scraped away the last bits of aspirations and conditionings, leaving behind a bare heart. I was no longer worried about my mobile or wi-fi connectivity for the connection that I felt with the place and with myself was much stronger.

There’s something unassuming yet striking about the stones of Angkor Wat. Putting up together the awe-inspiring temples of Bayon and Ta Phrom for over so many years, they still seem so uncomplicated. Even though some of them are losing their grip over time, they have not lost their grip over their humility. It was almost like being in the company of wise men, listening to what they have learnt over the ages without being pigeon-holed.

Tonle Sap on the other hand turned out to be much more than an experience. It was and will remain an uncanny realisation. When the river sized inlet poured out into a sweeping expanse of an all-encompassing source of life, all I could think about was, death. And the only thought that could bring some consolation in that maniacally trembling boat was that everything eventually will come to an end. I left that thought at the grim horizon as the boat turned around once again towards the lively floating village.

Siem Reap for me now, is much more than the land of Angkor Wat. It’s a place to lose yourself in. The moment you enter, it embraces you with an unhurried grace and a comforting smile. It doesn’t seem to be in a rush to catch up with the world. Rather it works upon you slowly, unwinding the invisible race clock inside, with each passing minute. Far from the deliberations of assertiveness over aggressiveness, this piece of land is rooted in kindness and compassion, celebrating each day as a blessing.

So when it rained that night, all I did was, soak in all the bliss and the blessings!

at the 'Sangam'

‘Someone there?’ I knocked at the door, hoping against hope that someone opens it. It was 2 am in the night and I knew I would have to sleep on the bench of the now deserted Allahabad railway station if the house keeper refused to let me in. After few minutes a short skinny & sleepy soul emerged from behind the doors. ‘My train got delayed. I have my exam tomorrow. I need a room just for a day. Please. I’ll leave tomorrow’, I blurted out.

He looked up at me like a patronizing father and I found myself shifting to stand straight with heads down acknowledging that it is not safe for girls to be out at this time of night. He then turned back, waving with his hands to signal, ‘Come in’. I eased a bit. ‘Phew!’ It was nothing less than an exam.

Next day, my actual exam got over at 5 in the evening. And then, I was free. I felt like celebrating this freedom. So what if I was alone? I’m a woman of 21^st century! I immediately I hailed an auto for the ‘Sangam’, confluence of Ganga Yamuna and the mythical & mysterious Saraswati.  

In around twenty, the auto reached near the river bank. After some bitter haggling for the fare, I managed to save ten rupees and patted myself secretly for it. I’m not sure, but I think he signaled to someone sitting at the river bank coz no sooner than I had taken a few steps towards the banks, a boatman approached me ‘Sir, want to visit the sangam?’ I nodded & began to follow him towards his boat. Not many people were there. The few I saw were returning back. I felt a bit odd. Is it the wrong time to be here? Even the sun is about to set. Am I entering the rivers at the wrong time?

Not wanting to show my nervousness, I began a casual chat with the boat men. ‘How long will it take to complete the trip?’ ‘Little more than an hour. Come get in.’ He waved. I swallowed the lump in my throat and jumped in.

As the boat left the Ghats, another set of thoughts or rather sights occupied me. Some pleasant ones! Ignoring the fact that there wasn’t any other boat in the river except ours I watched the sun go down. The sky, until now a mélange of honey and mustard turned to silvery blue with few bright stars. All of which, the river mirrored inexplicably. The sounds of the huge temple bells drifted by the damp wind reached my ears intermittently.

I closed my eyes for some time turning away from the boatmen to soak in the serenity. But the moment I opened them I realized my blunder. He had oared me to what seemed to be a floating altar in the middle of the river. Few more boats were anchored around it with pundits sitting in them in their characteristic saffron gowns and turbans.

‘Where have you taken me?’ I choked out of fear as I tried to speak out shifting few inches back in the boat. He definitely knew those people before. They exchanged ugly smirks and sneers, deciding whose turn it was next. Even the chilly December winds could not control the sweat that had begun to appear on my forehead. Despite trembling like a rock cutter, I tried to keep my brain working ‘What could be their plan? What do they want to do to me? Am I in the middle of some black magic or worse, am I their ... gosh no?’

I looked around for help only to blame myself further. Being full moon, the waves were now getting bigger. The boatman was constantly trying to keep the boat up on the water. I was scared to death. ‘Why on earth did I decide to take a boat ride after sunset? Even in my wildest dreams I had never imagined myself in such a situation. They will definitely sacrifice me at this confluence and no one will ever get to know what happened. What a glorious finish to this inglorious life!’ 

My tirade against myself subsided when the boatmen finally whispered in my ears. ‘Madamji, this is the sangam, you must pray here. It is a very sacred place on earth. These pundits will pray for you, your family and your ancestors. All your wishes will be fulfilled’  

I wanted to tell him that I only wish to get away from here right now. But I did what he told me hoping it would save my life. As soon as I nodded in a yes, the pundits flung in to action with incense sticks, flowers, vermilion and even ash. All of them chanted in something in a language that was not even Sanskrit. They gave me a garland to wear, put a vermilion paste on the forehead and sprinkled lots of things on me. It must have lasted for around twenty minutes, but every cell in my body prayed that day to give me another chance with life.

‘Madamji, you donate Rs. 5000/- here, we will continue to pray for your ancestors everyday for a year.’ ‘But I have only Rs.2000/-’. Oki then you can give us that. We will try to manage.’ Anchored in the middle of the river at night with some seven strangers, I quietly emptied y wallet and waited to see what else was in store. Finally the boatman declared with a tinge of sarcasm, ‘Ok friends, this much is enough. I think our madam is feeling hungry.  Let us finish this. It’s getting late.’

‘Oh my GOD what did he say just now? ’That means they were not sacrificing me. This 21^st century woman could now go back home.’  Till today I cannot express those feelings in words. So much for those two thousand rupees. We began to sail back in silence. I was earnestly looking towards the banks, eager to get off the boat. But what lied before me was something I couldn’t have thought of at that moment. That the darkness had set in, only added to the mystique.

People were slowly gathering near the banks for the evening ‘aarti’. As a ritual, people began t float ‘diyas’ placed in cup made out of dry leaves. In about thirty minutes I was witness to a dazzling display of faith. Over a thousand little lights were now floating in water. Each one floated to fulfill a wish. I too floated a virtual ‘diya’ of mine to offer thanks to the God to bring me back safely.

an eco-system on wheels !!

Sometimes enclosed ecosystems can be a reticent discourse on life or to a certain extent on human behavior. One such ecosystem is the ubiquitous office cab. It is supposed to pick and drop you off daily along with 6 or 7 more people harmlessly. But this supposition gets stretched with the distance and time taken to reach office. Coz then, various elements of this ecosystem start to act or rather react in inexplicable ways.

Here, let me introduce our cab driver. He is our Mr. Know it all, Done it all, Been it all and What not all!!! There isn’t any road in Delhi that he doesn’t know. All the traffic lights of NCR pay obeisance to him. ‘har shortcut jaanta hun main’   
He knows at least one person in each industry and in each country. ‘Mujhe batao, kidhar chahiye, main lagwata hun job, travel agency, bank, amex, SOTC ???’

If you want to learn driving, swimming, or even flying an airplane ‘oh mujhse poocha hota, main achhi rate dilwa deta’ Still more, however dense the fog, he can see through ‘ye to kuch bhi nain, yaad hai jab hum …’ he can tell the singer from a distance by listening to the song ‘tum batao kaun hai singer ….. are are ye bhi nahin pata’

Yet he is very adjusting. ‘kitna adjust karta hun main tum logon ke liye’ If the number of people in the cab dwindle, you bear the charge, if the new joiner stays a km off the route, he rejects to take in without batting an eyelid ‘pata hai rate kitne badh gaye hain, vo to main hun jo chala raha hun’ 
But don’t you dare set off this Mahatma fan, ‘gussa mujhe bhi bahut aata hai’

A man conned by Miss Destiny while on the path to become a rich man or so he tells every new cab entrant. It would begin just when the cab enters the embassy area, recollecting his thriving days and ends only when you get down. By then, you would have known all his ancestors, where they belonged, how they migrated (no, not from Pakistan, but from Daryaganj to Moti Bagh to Dwarka), settled, prospered, withered and resurrected.

Every morning he gives us a missed call five minutes before arriving, so that we get to our stops on time. But there are a few for who are always tricked by the clock. So while we attempt to enjoy the beautiful sunrise from behind the apartments, they would be gulping down their left over juice, rummaging their shoe shelves to get that matching pair, pressing the lift’s button while they rescue their limbs out of a pullover, all throughout supported by their nervous parents, who would be running around to find that id card or wallet and finally handover the final piece of toast as the lift door bids goodbye. Yes, these are all men and women deemed fit to cast their votes and work in IT industry.

Some clever ones get their breakfast to have it in cab or office, besides doing their hair, skin and nails. How else do you spend 2 hours each day traveling? So while we smell pohas, paranthas and pastas, it is time for some to finally take charge of entertainment for all along with our ‘bhaiya’. He has a formidable collection of bhajans, aartis and dohas in his cds apart from the Kumar Sanu and Zee Cinema hits, all of which are played when he and his team can’t get much out of nearly ten fm stations. If that doesn’t suffice, our ‘bhaiya’ has a ‘pen-drive’ (he is always ahead of technology!!) with songs literally meant for the fashion ramp.

But even from this out of the world collection you end up with the ‘choicest’ few that are repeated tell insanity does them apart. The volume varies with the mood (usually upbeat) of the team as we watch it being turned up from 18 to 36, sometimes even 48 for ‘favorite’ ones. Only for ‘official calls’ it is relented to humane levels; for the rest, you are at your own. The only good I see here is that one is saved from accumulating more news about one’s neighbor and his or her neighbors. Headphones are passé when one can’t even listen to ones’ own voice.

But all of this reached the tipping point when the movie ‘Hisss… ’ was played for our ‘entertainment’ on TV. Yes, we do have one in the cab. Alas! it lost its charm the day I realized that I had to watch Style, Aloo chat & Victoria No. 203 (I never knew such a movie existed!!!)

A few ‘out of this world’ souls manage to catch a few winks in this bedlam while I try to distract myself looking out, forecasting the next jam and its possible solutions. But, why to fear when ‘bhaiya’ is here? At the right moment he turns down the cab into an unimaginable alley that reminds more of the dirt track meant for four wheeled drives. Only that, here, it is lined on both the sides by single roomed, single storeyed (ground floor already beneath the ground level) shady shacks with at least one of the corners giving away the lives of people inside. For those few minutes, you feel like a part of a police - underworld chase sequence; every stone & every bump mocking at your bones.

Only when the wheels touch the roads again I promise myself never to sit on the back seat, at the same time wondering over the worthiness of the effort (mental, physical & spiritual) spent each day to reach a cubicle. I have been travelling like this for over ten months now and I am pretty sure that if I continue like this then I will be spending another good deal to get my back, back!

But I have gained a lot of other qualities hands-on. I now know that patience and thoughtfulness are wonderful virtues to have, but a little more and you become the ‘butter of every bread’. Mutual understanding becomes a potential mutant when fermented in the minds of self-obsessed individuals. And above all, time is a cultural concept. While some have been brought up to value it, others have been taught to bend it.

That’s it. So if you live in Dwarka and are motivated enough to be a part of this unique ecosystem, drop me a mail. We do give free trials to guests and prospective entrants provided you live on ‘our route’. On confirmation, you’d pay Rs3430/- only in advance for each month.  We will be more than happy to have you on our cross-country venture!

t r a v e l ...

Travel | Till the last rays dip behind the mountains
Travel | Right where the space greets the uncertain
Travel | All the way deep to seek the myriad blues
Travel | Very much across, collecting all the clues
Travel | Even if it means to stretchhh & reach out
Travel | Like there won't be any reason without !!

lights .. silence ... camerassss .. action !!

We had trekked some 13 kilometres down the village of Rajmachi. A good 6-7 kms still remained, but what remained little was the energy. Like nomads, we looked at the sun for support, when Abhishek declared, ‘ the sun is up there for at least an hour and half. We must try to hit the civilization (read Lonavala) by that time. From there we can get some means of transport. ’ Hardly any consolation for the weary souls.

Barely 5 minutes had passed, when someone called from behind ‘ Look back, it’s a lorry coming our 
way !’

And then there was a sudden spate of uncontrollable excitement.
Woo hoo!  ………Will they give us a lift? ……… Of course, why not! ……… Let’s ask them. ………They agreed ……… oh wow………amazing man………nothing could have completed our trip so brilliantly……… how do we get in ………use the wheels……… jump in ………this is crazy ………hang on tight ……!!
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After having scanned the Google map of Maharashtra for over ten days, I thought I was ready to write my own book of weekend getaways, a plagiarized concoction of the content on numerous such sites. But at the end of it I was a little more than flummoxed by the choices put forward by the third largest state of India. It was then that a casual chat resulted in a trek we all would remember for long.

What made the trip interesting was the group of six, in which only two knew each other. We all met at Karjat station early in the morning with the smell of fresh vada pavs & dew for the backdrop and soon forgot the names rattled off during introduction, as we began by exploring the by lanes of Karjat, in search of an auto.

The sleepy town was only a precursor to what lay ahead. Quietly welcoming the sun was the mist covered lake beholding the reflection of the splendor above. We crossed the school, houses and community centers to reach the make-shift auto-stand next to the bridge. From there we reached the village at the base of the hill. The ride was marked with rustic views as if freshly painted on a canvas.

These village homes doubled as base camps and ‘hotels’ for wanderers like us, feeding us with hot poha, ‘extra nimboo’  and tea for a nominal amount, as scores of chickens wandered about; just what we required to get us going for the trek ahead.

The path unfolded slowly and steadily with varying flora all around us. It was Pooja and my first experience with photographers cum trekkers. Very soon we added words like aperture, shutter speed, macros etc to our vocabulary with renewed respect as they discussed various perspectives and other jargons! So while they clicked we would trek a little ahead to rest a little more waiting for them to join. In fact after every fifteen minutes of trek we would come across a micro stream or a water fall, with a different set of flora & fauna inviting us to take a break.

Had it not been for our ancestors who had painted the directions on the rocks and the locals who frequented the dense forest to get firewood, we would have most optimistically ended up on some other hilltop.

Our next major stop was ''Kondane caves''. Carved out of the igneous Deccan rocks, these Buddhist caves dating back to 5 ^th  or 6 ^th  century are also perfect for waterfall rappelling. While the guys enjoyed the waterfall sans rappelling, we sat back for some photo session. We looked at our watches. It was still 11 30am. Gosh! And it seemed as if we were trekking since ages.

Beyond this point the path surprised us. Steep slopes, strong roots erupting out of ground together with the rocks, just what I had imagined and may be what Pooja had not imagined! I had heard Rajmachi is meant for experienced trekkers and now I could feel it myself. The thrill was palpable. Nikhil (thin as the cigarette he smoked after every two hours) lead us all through out with the same gusto, while Abhishek, Arghya and Nil trudged back clicking pictures & keeping the spirit of the trek alive. With the bag growing heavier with every step, and no network to reach out to some guide for directions they pulled it through well!

After covering around three fourth of the distance, we sat down for brunch. Cake, snickers, cheese cubes and water. While we searched for something to cut the cake (for some reason the guys decided that girls can do it better), Arghya and Abhishek recounted distasteful stories of how to survive in the wild eating earthworms and other stuff. Finally a broken set square (revise your geometry!) emerged from my bag to our rescue.

On the way ahead, we realized the importance of a pocket local language dictionary to ask and understand directions on a trek, after losing our way thrice. We even tried to follow a village milkman but he proved way too nimble for our overworked lungs. The silence of the woods allowed us to use our own voice for overhead communication

Nikhil still leading had the same solemn look on his face, no sign of exhaustion. Abhishek, Nil and Arghya were happily clicking their way up, the strain could not dampen their spirits. Pooja, with a pulled nerve had already disowned me and set herself to a comfortable pace, careful not to overwork the ligaments. The end was nowhere in sight and I had almost begun to lose hope, when Nikhil and Arghya spotted the village.

‘ Guys, we are there…… That’s the village …… We can see it …… Finally we have reached …… Yu huuu’

Soon, we were on the top of a plateau, where the Rajmachi village with a little over fifteen huts, thrived. A walk through the fields warmed up the sagging souls. Abhishek, the only one in our group who knew a little Marathi, got us to the right place. Small clean huts plastered with cement and mud with all basic amenities. No superfluous piece of furniture or showpiece. Lunch time folks!! Bhakri, dal, minced cabbage and rice vanished quickly from our plates.

The rural development corporation had constructed two pukka huts for trekkers. Surrounded by a blooming garden, it had raised platform for seating in the front courtyard. We spread mats and the bed sheets over them and settled down to tend the aching nerves. But not our photographers! With the sun about to set they had work ready for them all around.

‘Abhishek, h ow do we ask for washroom, can you ask someone’
‘Bhau sulabh kuthe aahe’, he tried.
The villager bore a blank expression as if we just read a few lines from Shakespeare.
‘ Try some other word for washroom na’. After few trials, we asked, ‘ Bathroom?’
He smiled ..  ‘oo bathroom!’. We smiled too … now bathroom is a marathi word.  
Some more conversation transpired in Marathi. ‘ He is asking what you want for evening snacks. ’ Abhishek offered. Not wanting to trouble them any more we settled for onion bhajiyaas and masala tea.

An hour of nap or rather simply lying down in peace had a calming effect. In some time our coordinator arrived with snacks and firewood! ‘ Wow, we are going to have a bon fire! Great!’  

Quickly the woods were lit up using cow dung cakes and kerosene. The hot tea stirred the cells inside.
After dinner (we had non-veg option), we lazed around the fire again till late night! The clouds had hidden the starlit sky. So while our photographers waited for the moon to materialize, Arghya posed... Sitting, standing and even flat on the ground, with and without cigarette and sometimes glowing logs of woods to all of which Abhishek obliged.

Sitting on the platform under the tree around the bonfire discussing the trek that lay before us tomorrow reminded me of the travelers of the early. With our eyes adjusted to the fire, the surrounding area was at best a silhouetted sketch. But with former and present IT engineers around, the conversation about keeping the fire on with a newspaper fan soon had jargons like schedule slippage, deadlines, managers, QA, outsourcing, knowledge transition, team effort etc courtesy Indranil.

Only after the last straw was reduced to ashes, we wound our conversations, iphones and limbs and hit the mats. We had thoroughly enjoyed one of the longest days of our lives. In a single day we had done so much,
when sitting in our cubicles time just flies by. Living for a year on these hills would get you the feeling of living for at least five years. You have all the time in the world to enjoy yourself, your presence on this planet, without being influenced by others.  

The night was chilly. And the only piece of shawl Pooja and I had each for ourselves did little to save us. I have no idea how the guys managed! But next morning, while I struggled with my shawl, I could see Abhishek all set to get the rising sun through his lenses.

Next morning, after another breakfast of poha and tea, we started our photography cum trek mission. On the way we saw semi-natural caves filled with water. The Shiv temple was half way on the trek. A mix of present endeavor and ancient remains against the rocky background seemed straight from the page of a wanderer’s diary. It even had a small orchard. The Rajmachi fort and peak were right up there, and the climb seemed too challenging.

Pooja rightly decided to return back as a pulled nerve had made her trek very uncomfortable. The rest of us marched ahead. In fifteen minutes we reached the fort periphery or rather the remains of it. Stone water tanks were present around it for purposes left to our imagination. Nikhil gave out a call which echoed in the mountains and in no time, other groups at various heights joined him. As for Arghya and Indranil, they posed!

What seemed to be a treacherous trek was completed without much pangs and in around forty minutes we were at the Rajmachi peak. One of my life’s first. Feelings, beyond words. Only yesterday, it looked so difficult, but today we were there. The village looked so small and we could actually count the huts there. Nikhil managed to spot a lake across two mountains.  

But the whole feeling was marred for some time by a stray incident. Minutes after we had settled to the top, a group of young boys joined us. And in the duration same as that for headlines in any news channel, they climbed up the flagpole and tied their flag higher up, bursted crackers and opened few pet bottles of Thumbsup and Coke to mark their victory.

When they left, the peak was left with bits of paper, plastic and of course the sound of crackers echoing in the valley. I had seen a live example of how callous man could be towards environment and still raise voice against others for spoiling it. If Rajmachi peak could be soiled so easily, I shuddered to think what must be left out of Mt Everest.

The gloom was lost when Nikhil scrambled the same pole and we lend him a hanky to tie up there. Soon all of us except Abhishek took turns to try out the same. One part of our journey was now complete. The other half awaited us. Till now I hadn’t told Pooja that her ‘Rajmaland’ trek (that is what was left of the name after I had first called her up to tell the last minute change in plan) is meant for experienced trekkers. We trekked down to the village from a slightly different route, and landed just before the small ‘hotel’ run by a local woman selling toffees, biscuits and serving ‘ nimboo pani’, ‘kokam sherbet’ etc . 

In the hut we met Pooja, looking invigorated apparently by the rest and sleep she caught upon. After lunch we went towards the end of the village hoping to find the lake we had spotted form the top. But we had to abandon our search after Nil’s reconnaissance, and Pooja’s SWOT analysis showed us no hope!

It was now time to pack our bags and say good bye to the hospitality we had enjoyed since yesterday. The route taken to trek down was easier but longer one and so it proved itself to be. Two of the cameras had run out of battery, but Abhishek continued with his run! A break of bourbons, banana chips, Chiclets and water got us going. But we really thought we needed glucose at this point of time.

From somewhere, Nil and I had the extra energy to go off track & explore what seemed to be an old rock water reservoir while Pooja stared at the implausible! The Sahayadri Range was before us in full view. The mountains imposing around us like some fort wall seemed to shield itself from the gatecrashers like us. The dam which the villagers had mentioned as a landmark was now in sight.

‘ But where is the transport they had referred to ? ‘, I despaired.
‘Let me go a little ahead and check’ , Nil offered.

We had trekked some 13 kilometres down the village of Rajmachi. A good 6-7 kms still remained, but what remained little was the energy. .. :) ... continued from the top ...