Incredible India!
The road to Hemkunt is paved with landslides.
That they will be there to greet you, there is no doubt. The only variables that exist are the magnitude and “stopability” of these landslides. I know of some who had attempted the journey and not even made it to the base at Gobind Ghaat, whilst some others were stranded on their way back, having to spend an uncertain number of hours in their vehicle while the road was cleared.
This I knew, and I went prepared for either eventuality. I had already decided, after all, that being able to go was really not in my control anyway, regardless of how much I wished it or how intensely I prayed for it.
And because of this little acceptance, I tried to look at each landslide as a part of my journey as opposed to an obstacle. This wasn’t difficult… the road was windy and the movements of the bus were relatively slow, unless Vijay Bhaiya was feeling particularly enthusiastic. Each bend, each pothole, each bump, gave me ample time to push my nose up against the window and inspect my surroundings.
What I saw amused me. An interesting choice of word, you may say, and I would have to agree. Today I am brave enough to use it because I have the benefit of hindsight; we were fortunate that our journey was fairly uninterrupted and we could stick to our schedule. So yes, today, I am amused. Had the situation turned out differently, I suspect my word would perhaps instead have been @?&%!$ or something of that variety :p.
One has this preconception that a landslide is about mountains and cliffs, rocks and stones, sand and dust. But isn’t everything more vivid, more exaggerated, more layered on this subcontinent? :)
This I knew, and I went prepared for either eventuality. I had already decided, after all, that being able to go was really not in my control anyway, regardless of how much I wished it or how intensely I prayed for it.
And because of this little acceptance, I tried to look at each landslide as a part of my journey as opposed to an obstacle. This wasn’t difficult… the road was windy and the movements of the bus were relatively slow, unless Vijay Bhaiya was feeling particularly enthusiastic. Each bend, each pothole, each bump, gave me ample time to push my nose up against the window and inspect my surroundings.
What I saw amused me. An interesting choice of word, you may say, and I would have to agree. Today I am brave enough to use it because I have the benefit of hindsight; we were fortunate that our journey was fairly uninterrupted and we could stick to our schedule. So yes, today, I am amused. Had the situation turned out differently, I suspect my word would perhaps instead have been @?&%!$ or something of that variety :p.
One has this preconception that a landslide is about mountains and cliffs, rocks and stones, sand and dust. But isn’t everything more vivid, more exaggerated, more layered on this subcontinent? :)
The landslides to me were a photo book, a CliffsNotes, an India 101. Not quite the Incredible India that is on the posters all around the world, but India as it was; uncensored, unPhotoshopped, unInstagrammed.
“Horn please” signs painted on almost every available rock face, occasionally accompanied by words of wisdom on the perils of speeding. “Be Mr Late, better than Late Mr”. Ha!
Naturally followed, by ring tone horns with an average 3-5 second sound time, going off one after the other in a curious medley of beeps.
“All India Permit“ trucks with missing bumpers, the latest Bollywood songs blaring from the speakers in a great spirit of music-sharing with the local villagers who may not enjoy the good fortune of radio technology.
Traffic jams with buses packed like sardines (I wonder what the Indian equivalent is to this expression?), with kohl-lined eyes and bits of saree cloth peeking through the prison-bar windows.
Piles. Yes, just piles. Rubbish, cloth, plastic bags, who-knows-what-else, vegetables, sand. There is great comfort in being huddled up, isn’t there?
Cows chewing. Grass that grows on the roadside. Plants that sprout out of the gaps in the rock face. Leaves that stick out of their semi-covered transport trucks. Chewing, chewing. Occasionally giving dirty looks to the sweet Punjabi girl trying to sneak up for a photo. But still, chewing.
(Now this next one isn’t something the prudish me would normally write, but unfortunately it is completely unavoidable as I would be ignoring reality if I don't mention it.)
Men standing with their backs to the road, performing a certain ritual that is known to grant relief. There. I’ve said it now. Don’t judge me! Or roll your eyes :p.
Conveniently located food stalls and dhabas, creating an entire industry just for slowed-down vehicles, with arms waving through the windows exchanging rupees for street munch, fruits, paan, Kurkure packets, and refilled mineral water bottles. We were significant contributors to this economy.
Water flowing through the rocks, down to the Ganges far below, where many a pilgrim waits to receive his drop, his purification, his answer. The gentle, dancing sound it makes as it skips over the stones.
Half-constructed bridges, like forgotten ideas. I imagine the men came one day, started building, went off to have tea, and never came back. Why bother, when a landslide would wash it down anyway, and you’d have to build it again?
Audiences, especially at larger landslides. Men with shirts rolled above their bellies (such shiny drum-like bellies!), arms akimbo, waiting for the next piece of action. Add a muffler or two, and a beanie perhaps, and there you have it, a funny picture.
Trolleys with rows of glass Coke bottles, now home to mountain water adorned with a beautiful yellow nimboo in the place of the cap. The eternal Indian question for me: to drink or not to drink? The water was pure, but could the same be said for the bottle, thenimboo, and the handler? Where lies the line between caution and surrender?
Statues of gods placed at particularly perilous parts. They may appear old but you would be wrong to think them abandoned; the uneven garland of marigolds around the neck and red tilak on the forehead suggest recent invocation.
So… just mountains and cliffs, rocks and stones, sand and dust?
A hundred landslides to describe one word: India.
Incredible?
Real :)
~ notes from my road, Hemkunt 2012 ~
Real :)
~ notes from my road, Hemkunt 2012 ~