Bummer - Part II

Dhar and I woke up earliest next morning to catch a glimpse of what was a beautiful sunrise. It was very relaxing to be out in the peace and quiet of the desolate town early in the morning. Much to our surprise, Nayyar also managed to wake up early and join us in a short while. A few hours later we found ourselves on the road to Chhitkul, an hour’s drive away. When we arrived in Chhitkul, we found ourselves mesmerized with its beauty. Chhitkul is a tiny village where the road stops dead and one must walk to get any further. On one end is one of the Bhagirathi peaks, and Gangotri is a week’s summer trek across the mountains. The village has a population of only 610, and almost half the people had headed south for the winter. Suri told us that it was 600 when he visited three years ago. The people are beautiful and very jovial.

(Below : Chhitkul, Mamta and Bunty)



We faced a similar problem at Chhitkul. None of the guest houses were open. We somehow found ourselves a PWD rest house to stay in. The trouble was that there was no running water. Any water required had to be drawn from a tap that supplied melt water. This would have serious consequences on any willingness to maintain basic hygiene.

After having packed our luggage into the rest house, we embarked on a trek down to the Baspa River where we crossed a wooden bridge into snow fields. Nitin’s happiness, of course, knew no bounds. After about two hours of buffoonery in the snow, we found ourselves back at the rest house; sitting in the lawns and watching the sun go down as the cold began to reach places where it shouldn’t.

(Below : Icicles, A very happy Nitin, Sikder making a snow angel, and sunset at Chhitkul)

By night, the temperature had dropped to sub-zero and the alcohol was being pumped at an unprecedented rate. The fire outside helped in keeping us warm for a while, and then got overpowered by the cold. Sikder, however, had been having a little affair on the side with his bottle of Blender’s Pride. With half the bottle down, he seemed to have felt a certain bien etre that made him rather delusional. He decided to take walk outside in the freezing cold and none of us stopped him, reluctant to step outside. After what seemed like an hour we realized that our man of God hadn’t returned from his walk. Alarmed, I looked outside and I couldn’t spot him. By now we were quite worried for his safety and began looking around. Well, two of us did. The other three were too warm to get out. I too would have abandoned my search in the interest of warmth, if I hadn’t found him staring at the moonlight a short distance away. Sikder found his way back safely, and after a few senseless games of poker and the temperature dropping to about minus four, we wrapped ourselves in every conceivable piece of clothing we had and every blanket available and slept (Below).

(Above: Sunrise behind the Bhagirathi peak)

Dhar, Nayyar and I woke up again next morning to catch the sunrise. Answering the calls of early morning by itself was a challenge. When we brushed, the water stung the gums. When we washed, the water hurt every part of bare skin it touched. The puddles of water outside had frozen over. The sunrise, however, was pristine and beautiful. After having taken a few photographs, we got ourselves ready and left for Shimla, about nine hours away. We paid another visit to Cheel Baba on the way back, this time just because of Nayyar and Suri’s devotion to the wise man.

A slight digression about Pahaadi songs, that you would invariably find playing in your cab when you're in Himachal. Tapes for Pahaadi songs usually come with only one or two songs on them that fill up the tape completely. The songs typically last for a good half an hour each and then keep looping till the road journey ends. Also, all songs have a short, funny sounding (due respect to the dialect) refrain that tends to get annoyingly stuck to one's brain. The driver, of course, will not take very kindly to you making fun of his music. What he will also not take very kindly to, is if he stops with a screech when a cat crosses the road and is waiting for someone else to cross the cat's imaginary line, and you're sitting there in his car, laughing about it. What might really drive him up the wall, is when someone's car does cross the line, and Nayyar yells, "Haha! Chhakka marega, chalo peechha karo! Lets see kaun si khai mein girta hai!".

By five the next morning, however, after a twenty hour road journey, we found ourselves at the bus station in Delhi with memories of a great trip. We were greeted at the bus terminus by two gentlemen, one of whom refused to take photograph of the group, and the other who took the photograph so remarkably well, that it cut out three and a half of us from the photograph. Nonetheless, we were happy to be back after a great trip, safe and sound, and in full cognizance of that one fact I had yelled out to Dhar in the throes of those warm glasses of rum. We knew we'd had a great time. We knew we may probably never get to travel in this group again. But above all, we knew that:

“The general order of the universe is intact”