Day 2: Part 2

Stuart’s violent reaction to Kris’s miraculous and slightly unconventional water purifier resulted in some early unwanted rainfall within the car which spawned a wave of laughter. We were basking in the now ceaseless sea of mirth, (to metaphorically continue the wetness of the afore used ‘rainfall’ and ‘wave’ comparisons) and luxuriating in the splendour of the vistas that were unfurling before our mesmerized eyes, when our hypnosis was broken by a rather unpleasant sound – a sound you do not want to hear when you are in a closed car as tightly packed as salted sardines, a sound that is very unwelcome when you are in rather stingy quarters and can’t recognise if the foul smell under your nose is the vestige of your friend’s hungrily devoured carelessly-brushed dinner from yesterday or the knock-out fragrance of your own feet, a sound that is symptomatic of a lethal projectile of unmentionable stuff that might come your way any moment. The mountain goddess, who with her paralysing beauty and stunningly magnificent visuals evoked feelings of awe-struck humility and open-mouthed wonder in every traveller blessed enough to set foot in her glorious lap, had found a rather unappreciative audience in Irene - the only open-mouthed tribute Irene deigned to pay the mountains was the nauseous grunt that had caused so much horror and chaos. Mercifully, the sound had only been an omen and there was no accompanying matter. So, we hurriedly shifted Irene to a window seat, gingerly shoved a pill into her mouth (fearing the deadly outburst any moment) and plonked a reluctant Stuart next to her (ah!! the pains and trials of love). The upshot of all this bedlam was that we were treated to Irene’s contented snores for the rest of the road.

Blanketed by the captivating spectacles on either side, our journey continued in a speechless trance and we reached our in what seemed like an instant. Maneybhaijan was a charming little Sherpa village with rosy-cheeked, runny-nosed children, tiny colourful houses and of course people whose faces shone with simple smiles and genuine warmth. We were shown our cabin by the innkeeper at whose place Kris had made arrangements for us to stay - a person whom everyone affectionately called “Master ji ”. With the morning’s burnt dosa long gone and our stomachs thundering away, we dumped our rucksacks rather unceremoniously and tore headlong into his kitchen.

To our disappointment, we were told that he had had no idea as to when we would arrive and therefore had to start preparing our meal only then. So, we decided to explore the village and the surrounding countryside and set out in the direction of a little temple we had spotted from the roof of our cabin. It was a typical Nepali temple atop a small hillock vividly painted in dazzling colours with quite a few flags fluttering in the wind to carry to the heavens the prayers of the trusting natives. The brilliant azure of the clear sky perfectly complementing the bright yellow of the temple provided our shutterbugs with some very pretty pixels. After many many photographs, some involving bawling local children (courtesy Mr. Red) , we climbed down and were just about to enter a winding lane when an old man sitting at the street corner told us that the gutter at the beginning of the lane was a very important landmark. Wondering what or whose famous waste it had once contained, we inquired about the reason for this rather queer piece of information. Buoyed by his enhanced importance in the wake of a group of youngsters gawking at him, he very flamboyantly announced that this seemingly insignificant gutter was actually the Indo-Nepal border. Lauding ourselves for having set foot on this “exalted” piece of ground, we resumed our stroll around the village.

Having spent almost an hour roaming around, we could no longer silence our growling stomachs and decided to check on masterji’s progress with our lunch. The wafting scent of the tadka told us what we needed to know even before we entered the kitchen. With the steaming rice looking inviting in sparkling white and the rich yellow dal dotted with specks of lustrous green, with the velvety smoothness of the Dal enhanced by the crisp, succulent freshness of the Gobi matar, all accompanied by the heavenly intoxicating fragrance that characterises good food , Master ji’s cooking was indeed a delight to all the senses. We stuffed ourselves to the limits of our stomachs’ storage capacity (“hearts’ content”, though linguistically more appealing, would not have conveyed the full extent of our greedy plundering) while listening to the seasoned Masterji’s accounts of the adventures, dangers and wonders of mountain climbing. After our rather loutish devouring, we were introduced to Santa Bhaiya, our guide for the next ten days. “He’s the best of the best” said Masterji and we could see what he meant when we looked at the small, sturdy Sherpa standing in a corner of the room smiling shyly. With the youthful athleticism that comes from years of trekking in arduous paths and unforgiving climes and eyes shining with wisdom and unbridled enthusiasm, Santa Bhaiya was and looked a son of the mountains themselves.

Day 2 Part 1 -reaching Maneybhaijan

With a whole night’s fitful slumber (punctuated by heavy snoring, some what-can-qualify-as-slightly-scary grunting and also a few other bizarre sounds last heard on national geographic) behind them, our team woke up refreshed, rejuvenated and raring to go....well, most of us did atleast... Irene was still hugging her berth like a long-lost sibling and absolutely refused to wake up until the exact moment when her not waking up would mean we had to leave her behind....

a few minutes of coffee, crosswords and chitchat had passed when, to our delight, behind an ethereal veil of the early mist, our destination slowly came into view.... the morning fog adding to its appeal, the deserted NJP railway station looked beautiful and welcoming, a harbinger, probably, of the days to come...

As soon as we had set foot on the platform, Kris had gone into high energy mode, his head visibly whizzing with road maps, taxi charges, travel timings and god knows what else.... but, the considerate commander that he is, he had allocated some time for fulfilling the natural necessities of other normal a.k.a un-Kris-sy human beings....with everything timed to the millisecond, we lived up to the daunting task of accomplishing the requisite rituals to our contentment, all the while policed by Kris’s ticking clock.... They say excitement intensifies hunger and for six famished to-be-mountain-climbers, the burnt dosa and glue-like chutney at the railway canteen, that too after a long wait, were a huge let down (poor Kris’s plight at such unforeseen and unavoidable damage to the atomic precision of his schedule is left to the reader’s imagination).... but fuelled more by enthusiasm than the gourmet breakfast, we marched ahead to the next task on Kris’s roster, taxi bargaining... the ranks were divided into two armies one manned by the commander-in-chief himself and the other containing Stuart and, probably for comic relief, Rob.... with a resigned sigh from the taxi driver and a victorious grin from our soldiers, we were on our way to the starting point of our walk among the mighty mountains , the sleepy village of Maneybhaijan...

At our first pitstop along the way, a tiny road-side tea stall, Mike got down to buy some mineral water when Kris, doing a Scrooge a la Dickens said, “Mineral Water?? Bah! Humbug!”... a dramatic pause ensued and then “Behold the miracle water purifier!!” he said, holding up a rather unremarkable little blue bottle with the pomp and haughty splendour of a showman exhibiting freakish prudence and the ever expanding horizons of his expertise... It stands as lasting testimony to the importance of humility as a virtue that Mike spat out his generous first gulp of ‘purified’ water with disgust saying it made him feel like he was drowning in a seldom-cleaned swimming pool.... as the water was passed around (with muted grumbling from Kris that we had to get used to what he chose to call the ‘slightly unconventional’ taste of the purifier) we suddenly realised that Stuart was missing.... as we waited for him, assuming that the cold had made his body phobic to previously consumed water molecules and that he’d gone to relieve himself, we witnessed the first occurrence of what was soon to become a normal happening....the infamous cluck-click phenomenon....a group of hens were hurrying our way with indignant and slightly frightened clucks.... closely followed by their camera wielding predator, Stuart... after some not-so-veiled threats from a frustrated Kris and fuming Irene, we were back on the road singing at the top of our voices and enjoying the rolling hills and roadside springs....

DAY 1 : THE TRAIN JOURNEY

With the colourful characters introduced, it is now time to plunge into our travelogue...

After many disappointing delays owing to unrest in Darjeeling, D-day dawned with our lil bees packing their rucksacks and meticulously checking and rechecking the list of must-haves (provided, of course, by our queen, err, king bee Kris)... it is worth mentioning that quite a lot of thought and effort went into the rucksacks themselves... Kirsten’s took about three hours of combing through the lil bazaar in Guwahati (which is where the beehive is situated, in case i haven’t mentioned this earlier) for just the right size, shape, and given that it’s Kirsten in question, the perfect ‘look’...along with a lot of coaxing, cajoling and threatening (all of which add up to something Kirsten dreads and Irene has skilfully mastered- the science and methodology of effective bargaining)... and Irene had to do an exhaustive survey of the hostel to find her perfect one...(and in her case perfect turned out to mean least comfortable and most likely to not last for the entire trip, her struggles with the afore mentioned rucksack will be explained later)... with the preparations in order, the pioneering trek began with blaring trumpets and amidst wild cheering (audio effects by Irene and Kirsten)... after a sumptuous dinner at a nearby restaurant, the six-pack entered the train, only to find their seats occupied by four other men... though the men had valid tickets, it turned out that they had been upgraded to first-class... the heavy weights (Kris and Stuart) were explaining the situation to the ‘intruders’ while the feather weights were doing the same with ignoramus Kirsten... three of the men finally accepted that the ‘up’grade was, after-all, to their benefit, after some patient explaining by the TTR and other passengers (our persistent clarifications were silenced with a suspicious and scornful gaze)... with that out of the way, we sat down with a collective sigh of relief, only to realize that there was one more fellow left in our cabin... he was a dark, tiny, rotund man clutching his one bag very tight with an expression akin to a cornered rodent...he hadn’t understood one iota of what had happened until then and was still labouring under the delusion that we were trying to dupe him and steal his ticket... the TTR was called again, and since our bloke here couldn’t understand hindi very well, the entire sermon had to be repeated in broken Bengali... he still wasn’t ready to move... the exasperated TTR had by then, had enough... he told us to show him to the first class compartment and plonk him down in his seat... so Stuart and Mike walked him to the first class compartment, sat him down and, since the guard had blown his whistle, ran back to our cabin... the train started...and we were safely chaining our bags and laughing about the man who didn’t want a first class seat, when, wonder-of-wonders, there he was again... with the very same rat-like expression of fear mingled with wariness... the rodent man had returned to plague us with his mistrusting eyes making us feel like we were really encroaching his rightful seat... after around 15 uncomfortable minutes of awkward silence(interspersed by muffled giggling from, well, guys don’t giggle...), the train halted and the rodent man was firmly led back to his first class seat and cautioned that we would have to complain if he returned to annoy us...

Though it was time for lights-off, the party was too charged with adrenaline to be able to sleep... however, after repeated admonishment from Kris and threats to leave anyone who wasn’t well-rested behind, they had to relent and agree to at-least try and get some sleep...if the rat man had come back, he would have seen six blissful faces with delightful dreams of the wondrous adventures to come...