We met at Victoria Terminus, (I shall persist in using the British name, they built it after all) Ankit, Praveen and I. We were to catch the 7:10 p.m. Vidharba Express from platform 18. The train actually turned out to be rather royal despite the name having connotations of farmer suicides. We walked past more than 12 AC coaches before reaching our 2nd class sleeper – S3. The humble 2nd class too had rather classy yellow lighting and with the monsoon breeze roaring in through the window at 90 kilometres an hour the setting was pleasant to say the least. After a while we moved to the main door of the coach where the wind was even more fierce. The time passed quickly as Ankit and Praveen discussed the glory of the 1990s and tried to convince me that I had lost out on a golden period of great culture in terms of music and cinema. I remained non-committal. Neither the 90s nor the 2000s inspired much loyalty in me although I did not mention that I felt that songs picturised on Emraan Hashi and songs sung by Atif Aslam (the two are sometimes concurrent as in the case of the legendary Woh Lamhe) were aspects that the 1990s missed out on. There is no man as stubborn as a nostalgic man. Try convincing your father that the 60-70s were not the golden era of music and cinema or try convincing your brother that the 90s was not in fact the best era culturally; in both cases you will hit against a blank wall.

The train rolled into Igatpuri Station at 10 p.m. Equipping ourselves with vada pav and water we started walking. The destination was a beautiful lake that Ankit and Praveen said was uninhabited and undiscovered. At around 10:30 p.m. we arrived at our destination. The lake was astonishing in its beauty, even at night. Surrounded by misty hills and lush green meadows, the lake had a mysterious glow to it. I did not even attempt to capture that beauty from my rather average cell phone camera, I waited for morning to capture the beautiful scene. We set up camp next to the lake with the water less than 4 feet away from the tent. Setting up the tent took approximately 20 minutes. We then threw in our bags and spread our sleeping bags as a mattress. The weather was not chilly but it was cool and breezy. Comparisons with Scotland were made and were quite justified. We took out our food, and while it was still no match for Enid Blyton’s legendary picnics we did have Coke and chocolate biscuits. We sang, not always soulfully, but Praveen somewhat made up for the lack of singing ability of the Vyas brothers. Ankit and Praveen insisted that we stick to Hindi. This led to several average songs being given more than their share of glory but today was about the magic 90s and thus every average song was a classic.

It rained intermittently, all of us were aware that the tent was not waterproof. The water seeped in a few times. A few times the wind ripped out the bearings of the tent and one of us had to venture out and repair it. It was 2 a.m. at the time we saw a torch light. All 3 of us were already outside battling the elements of nature as repaired the tent in drizzling rain and a heavy breeze. There were 6 of them, listening to a Marathi folk song on their mobile. They approached us curiously. One of them carried a torch light in one hand and in the other he held a machete (a machete is a large knife like instrument, a cross between a sword and a knife) that was around 2 feet in length. I spotted another man with a fish and assumed that the machete was for cutting the fish. Praveen engaged in a brief conversation with them, their first inquiry being whether we had anything to do with fishing. Once assured that their fishing had not suddenly acquired midnight rivals they proceeded to curiously observe the three of us struggling to pitch the tent. After 5 minutes they moved on and we managed to set the tent back to shape. Inside the tent Praveen and Ankit started thinking furiously on the nature of the activity of the 6 men we had met. Walking around at 2 in the night was an activity usually carried out by men on the wrong side of the law. Possibility after possibility was examined and dismissed. I declared my intent to sleep peacefully even as Praveen protested and said that it was unsafe to stay on in the same spot. The machete, he said, was certainly not to be used for cutting the dead fish in their hands. Ankit was neutral. He said that the moving camp in the middle of the night was suspicious too. Praveen foresaw various different possibilities, all rather gory. While I dozed off around 2:30 am Ankit and Praveen had stayed awake for an hour after that, keeping guard. Morning found us alive and with all our possessions intact. Praveen refused to be abashed, he stood his ground. Said that the machete was a very menacing object.

The view outside was spectacular. There were hills surrounding us with rain water brooks flowing through them even as their peaks were covered in heavy mist. The lake was serene and beautiful. Taking the remnants of our food we proceed to another side of the lake, a meadow. Here we played a brief game of catch-catch (a thoroughly Indian term) after which we had more biscuits while dipping our legs in the water. Then we proceeded to pack up our camp and set out trekking. The hills were treacherous, the rain water had made the rocks extremely slippery and the grass had grown thick and tall so that it reached our knees and we could not see where our next step was falling. We progressed steadily, the climb was not easy but we were careful and focused. We reached a small cave at a point that was 30 feet below the summit. Here we rested, and took stock. To our left the cliff was steep with only the grass providing grip. The grass is never reliable, it comes out from its roots if too much force or weight is applied. To our right was a small waterfall, the mouth of the waterfall was the next level that we wished to accomplish. After a few minutes of rest, photography and general appreciation of nature’s beauty, we were ready to go. The next 8 feet were some of the toughest we had ever attempted as we climbed up steep and slippery rock with only the wet mud providing some support. At this level we were found that the next 15 feet that separated us from the summit were beyond our reach, especially in the monsoons. The rain had made the rocks a liability. Ankit and I are especially good with rocks when they are dry, they give exceptional grip. But wet rocks are dangerous. We were happy with our accomplishments, it had been one of the more challenging treks of our trekking history.

An hour later we found ourselves in the restaurant of a rather decent resort. Lunch was average but we were famished and had cleared the plates by the time we were done. We bought train tickets from Igatpuri to Kurla (a Mumbai suburb). While we had tickets, we did not technically have a reservation. Which meant you sat wherever you found the place to sit. For us that meant the space between the the doors and the toilets. This meant that we were completely in the way even as shared that little space with around 7 more people. Praveen and I were placed the worst with someone having to step over us anytime they wished to walk between compartments or visit the toilet. Then a great man came and placed his huge suitcases in the last remaining space in the aisle. This resulted in several curses being directed at us as people assumed we were responsible for the entire blockade. We defensively mentioned that the suitcase did not belong to us and the offended party was at liberty to throw it out of the train if that was what they wished (and we secretly hoped). Tragedy struck when Ankit and Praveen realised that they had lost our tickets. We stayed put and waited for the ticket checker. He arrived in due course. Praveen told him that we had recently discovered that our tickets were missing and that they were in the vicinity of the space where we were sitting. The TC listed our offences and said that we were liable to pay a fine of Rs 1,050 (350 multiplied by 3). In what turned out to be a master-stroke Praveen assured the ticket checker that we were looking for the ticket and were confident that we would locate it. The TC said that he would be back to check on us. With 15 coaches in front of him and more than a thousand tickets to check in the space of 2 hours, he never returned. We got down at Kalyan Jn., a station on the out skirts of Mumbai. We got tickets to the local train from Kalyan and waited for one to arrive. When it came it found us standing in front of the luggage compartment. We did not hesitate. Unlike the rest of the train, the luggage compartment felt like hallowed territory. There were few people and the doors were astonishingly large. We sat down next to the door, using our sleeping bags and rucksack as cushion. It was a fast train (in local train terminology that is defined as a train that does not stop at every station, only selective ones) and the driver pushed it to its limits. Soon the green countryside surrounding Mumbai was speeding past at speeds exceeding a 100 kilometres an hour and we all dozed off into a peaceful sleep. Kurla arrived in about an hour and that was the end of our journey as Ankit and I walked back home to Chembur almost exactly 24 hours after we had left.

After the thoroughly exhausting marathon Ankit and I collapsed on the bed and had a rather largish nap. We still had 3 days of free time before we caught a train from Kathgodam to Delhi and we were not about to spend 3 days in a small trekking village. We considered various hill stations in the region and decided that Nainital was a pretty good bet. We had been there previously on three occasions and the beauty of Naini Lake was still fresh in our minds. In the evening we headed to Dineshji’s shop in town, one of his many occupations. He guided us towards a rather rickety looking state transport bus that was scheduled to leave the next morning. We went back to the lodge and packed and looked forward to Nainital the next day. We somehow had the fatal misconception that Nainital was a mere 3 hour drive away.

The next day dawned, slightly greyish, perhaps a sign of things to come. We boarded the bus. Sitting inside with a fancy handheld ticketing machine was the conductor. We asked for 2 tickets to Nainital. “398 rupees”. I gaped at Ankit in utter shock. Surely there must be some mistake I thought. This was outrageous for a state transport bus. He pointed out that the distance was 200 kilometers. We could not have heard worse news. 200 kilometers of mountain roads were an ordeal of the highest order. However we summoned our mathematics skills to the fore and decided that this should not take more than 7 hours and considering that it was 6 am at that time we decided that it would be fair to assume we’d be there by 1 p.m. We took out our books, fortunately at that time I was reading one the best books of all time – Flight of Eagles by Jack Higgins. Each of us grabbed a window seat and we settled down. At around 10 am I could not take the suspense anymore and decided to venture forth with a question that Ankit had expressly forbidden me from asking. “Kab pachunge?” I enquired of the conductor. “4:30″ was the brusque answer I received. Ankit looked like he would kill me, while frankly the thought of what lay ahead of us was enough to do that. Ankit told me to look to it as a challenge. He said that we had already

had one endurance challenge yesterday. This was another endurance challenge. “We’re now graduating to be veteran travelers”, he said. I steeled himself and dug deeper into the book. The journey was as bad as described and worse.

Finally we disembarked at the periphery of Naini Lake and it started raining. The stunning beauty of the emerald waters of the lake were however enough to instantly lift our spirits. We were looking for a moderately priced hotel room with a TV. We spotted ‘Hotel Payal’. The rooms were unimpressive and the man was a thorough tout. Next we headed across to Hotel Mansarovar. Here we struck pay dirt. The room had a clear view of the beautiful lake, wooden ceilings and wooden walls and a tiny television. It was perfect. We later discovered that the bed sheets were so dirty because their laundry man had been on a holiday for the past week and were politely informed that sorry, there was not much they could do in the matter. We were fine enough with it. That night we were too exhausted to venture out so we ordered room service and tucked in. The next day I woke at 7 a.m. while Ankit chose to take his time. The strategy, he said was to effectively use as much time in every activity as we can because we still had two full days in Nainital without much planned out. Our first plan was to have a classy hot coffee and then find a movie theatre. The first we accomplished at the ‘Cafe de Mall’ which had an interesting tagline: “Strong as death, black as hell, sweet as love”. Technically we achieved the next task too. We found the theatre. The same one as shown in Koi Mil Gaya. ‘Capitol Cinema’ it called itself. And it looked thoroughly closed. After an over priced cup of hot chocolate the hot chocolate boy (not in the Ranbir Kapoor sense) informed us that the theatre was closed down as they had not paid their taxes. Why this should be amusing for us Gujaratis coming from the land of tax evaders I do not know, except that I do remember laughing for the next 5 minutes. We were now in a soup however in terms of how we should spend our time. Hot chocolate boy suggested  we see the typical tourist sights but such a suggestion was repulsive to us. We suggested we take a boat ride in the emerald lake. Ankit refused this too. Finally out of frustration he asked us to buy a ball and play with it.

We decided to buy more books. We found a bookstore on their Mall Road, the main lake side road in the town. Our budget and reading speed (fast) constrained us to buy books priced at only Rs 100 so that we could buy a larger number of them. Ankit selected one and I selected one. After we had read both of them we wanted to a) feed them to a mule b) put them under a running train or c) drown them in Naini Lake. Ankit would have none of that however and he eventually sold them at Delhi Station for Rs 40 each salvaging something atleast. I will not reveal the names of the books just in case some of the readers are tempted to go out and buy them out of sheer curiosity.

Between eating in British era cafes, reading our books, walking alongside the lake, seeing TV and even more coffee we managed to have a good time in Nainital. The next day we decided to catch a picture in Haldwani since inquiries had revealed that every theatre in vicinity of Nainital had had an aversion to the tax man. After another mind numbing ride where we descended 6,000 feet in about 2 hours we were back to civilization proper at the town of Haldwani. Here we found Prem Theatre. Rs 25 for stall, Rs 30 for balcony. Stall would do fine said Ankit. We had to wait an hour for the next show of “Faltu”. We waited, having little else to do. The theatre was similar to Batra Hall, slightly smaller perhaps. In the interval occurred an incident that both cracked me up with laughter and warmed my heart. But first, a contrasting visual. Imagine yourself in Cinemax in an over priced red chair with the most comfortable Air Conditioning. In the interval well dressed uniformed waiters come to your seat to either take your order or offer your snacks that usually run into the triple digits. In the Prem Theatre interval in walked a cheerful young man carrying an aluminum platter offering….Cucumber! Thats right. Ankit and I had one. Rs 5. Thats the beauty of small town theatres. They say in a small town everyone knows everyone. We got a classy live example. The movie started and the lights remained on. A man sitting ahead of us yelled loudly, “AYE NILESH, LIGHT BANDH KAR”. The lights of course were promptly switched off as the aforementioned Nilesh must have rushed to his duties.

Haldwani Station was a sight to behold. It was newly constructed and very modern. While it had only one platform it housed 2 ATMs and airport-like LCD televisions stating the arrival and departure times. It also had arrival and departure lounges. The train trip to Delhi was uneventful. We arrived at 4 am however and spent 2 hours reading our books (our 10th respectively) at Comesun Restaurant. At 6am we again headed to the Gujarati Samaj. The receptionist glared at us balefully when we informed her that we wanted the simple dormitory. She clearly thought we could afford more and were foolish to take the dormitory. For us, it was just another part of the adventure. More experienced now we checked the newspapers and found Batra Hall airing ‘Thank You’ at 12 pm. The heat was now formidable. We decided to travel Delhi and get some AC at the same time. We hopped onto on the many red AC buses that ply Delhi roads and asked to go to the farthest stop. That put us back by Rs 50 but the AC was worth it. After getting down from there we did the same thing with another bus. And then caught a metro back to our cinema hall. After the movie which turned out to be better than Game and Faltu we headed back to the G.S. Later we made our way to the  New Delhi railway station. We reached platform 16. This was the side near to the fancy parts of Delhi. Ankit insisted that he wanted to have Pani-Puri. We decided to cross over to the other side, to platform 1. This was the side adjoining the notorious Pahadgunj. There were scores of touts crowding the area and they thought we had just disembarked from a train. We were instantly offered rooms in the Pahadgunj area, some for as less as Rs 50 while the touts assured us that their commission was only Rs 20. We decided that the next time we were offered a room we would inform the tout that we had a suite waiting for us at the Ashoka Palace. Funnily enough almost as if sensing our intentions we not approached again. The trip back to Ahmedabad in the Rajdhani was comfortable and uneventful and thus ended one the best journeys of my life.

After arguably one of the worst nights of our lives we looked forward to getting out of our tent in the morning. We had barely slept the entire night, the -15* Celsius had ensured that we spent most of our time twisting and turning in the vain hope of acquiring a position that would protect us against the brutal cold. Outside the snow was thick and white, very white. The sun had decided to sleep late too ensuring that the morning temperatures also remained near the zero degrees mark. As Ankit and I entered the hut we found that even they had suffered and realised that such temperatures affected everyone even though they were mountain people living in the region for years. That morning we would be slow to depart as the entire camp had to be packed up. Ankit and I were ready in good time and were given Maggi for breakfast. Was not the best, rather watery but it was hot and that was all that mattered. Dineshji said that we would trek for around 7 kilometres and then take a jeep for the remaining distance. It was the standard practice. Ankit steadfastly refused and I supported him. In Ankit’s words, “Paap lage jeep le toh”. Dineshji was rather astonished by our refusal but agreed nonetheless. At this stage we did not know that it was going to be the toughest physical exercise that we had ever performed in our lives.

We hauled up our rucksacks, put them on and tightened all the ropes to give a crushing closeness to the body ensuring that the center of gravity was concentrated. We set off at exactly 8 a.m. The first 7 kilometres were tough, we had to ascend through snow while carrying a rucksack. The rigours of the past 3 days however had ensured that we were fitter than before and the first 7 kilometres were trekked with ease. At this stage all the other trekkers would sit in a jeep and be whisked away to base camp. We trekked on. The next few kilometres consisted of descent. While it was slightly gentle to begin with, it got progressively tougher. Ankit and I walked slowly, chattering away. Then Dineshji told us to hurry up, he wanted us to cross the forest quickly. The forest meanwhile consisted of a continuous steep descent with thousands of rocks strewn about. A perfect setting to strain the ankle. This was the first time we had ever been asked to hurry. It was enough for me and Ankit. We started setting a mad pace and within minutes the three of us were virtually running through the jungle at a pace set by our mule. The next 4 kilometres were covered in this fashion, of graceful yet frantic pace. Then the inevitable disaster occurred. I sprained my left ankle badly. We rested for a while and carried on, slower now, chastened by my injury. The next few kilometres was a steep descent on a mountain path. We had first climbed to 12,000 feet, now we were to descend to 6,000 feet and then again we would ascend to 8,000 feet. The descent was slow and tortuous due to presence of hundreds of thousands of small rocks (not pebbles by any means) of varied shapes that basically constituted the path. A false move could result in the bending or perhaps sprain of an ankle. Finally we had reached the bottom of the mountain. Crossing a bridge that connected two mountain ranges we again began our ascent. The going was exponentially tougher this time around. We had already been trekking for multiple hours and by Dineshji’s estimate we had finished not more than half of the day’s trek. By this time Ankit and I were thoroughly exhausted. But sitting down to rest would ensure that getting up and starting again would be difficult. It was thus logical to keep the progress steady and relentless. We continued ascending, already stretching our bodies to the limit. By this time we had already done a lot more than a day’s worth of trekking and now the rest of the trek was to be a pure climb.

By sheer determination we dragged on, not stopping for fear of cramping and losing focus. Walking in the mountains is tough. Walking in the mountains with a 10 kg rucksack is tougher. Purely ascending in the mountains with a 10 kg rucksack was the toughest especially after we had already been trekking for multiple hours. The sun was shining brightly now, the snow left far behind. We sweated but dared not to remove our jackets as we did not wish to stop. To trek non-stop was the only way we were going to accomplish our goal. We knew we had covered an enormous distance in a single day when we saw even Dineshji panting. The narrow mountain road appeared to stretch on infinitely, hugging the mountain.

Finally I mustered up the courage to ask Dineshji how much distance was left. “2.5 kms” he answered. By this time Ankit had declared that this trek had been a lot tougher than the 21 kms half marathon he had completed. The last 2.5 kilometres were the toughest act of physical endurance of our lives as the route got steeper and the mental defences started fading. We now simply looked forward to the clean white bed of the lodge at Loharganj, no other thought occupied our minds. After what seemed an eternity we saw the first buildings in the town of Loharjung. The last 100 metres were the toughest.

As we finally stumbled onto the balacony of our lodge we noted the time. “1:53 p.m”. It had taken us approximately 6 hours. And finally we asked Dineshji the distance we had covered. “28 kilometres”. No other trekker in his career had covered the entire distance from Ali Bugyal to Loharjang in a single day. This was another first.

The day dawned, bright and sunny. The tent was a mess, the shoes contributed dirt and Ankit contributed messiness. Today however we did not have to carry our rucksacks, we were to return back to camp in the evening. This was the day every trekker looks forward to, a culmination of days of effort, the day when you strike for the peak. After a heavy breakfast the three of us set out. The mule handler preferred to laze around camp. Ankit noted the time, “7:10 a.m.” he declared. Dineshji pointed out a far peak, “Baidni Peak, 14,000 feet” he told us. That was to be our main destination for today. Dineshji told us that we ought to be there by around 10 a.m. Without rucksacks however Ankit and I could trek faster than before, we started at a very brisk pace and continued relentlessly. The climb was intense and steep but experience and an intuitive sense had gifted us with a sense of balance that other trekkers are often not similarly bestowed with. We asked Dineshji to speed up.

Baidni Peak, 14,000 feet was conquered at 8:05 a.m sharp, smashing all previous estimates that Dineshji had made. We savoured our moment of glory and took some rare pictures. Ankit and I are hesitant photographers, usually finding it a pain to fish out the camera, wave it around, pose, click, re-click, review etc. etc. This time however we took some spectacular views of the landscape around us, and got a rare view of the legendary Nandadevi. For the uninitiated Nandadevi mountain is said to be  India’s second tallest mountain (K2 assumed disputed, Kanchenjunga first). It is also said to the toughest mountain climb in the world due to ferocious weather conditions. The region surrounding Nandadevi is subject to some of the most unpredictable and dangerous weather conditions of the Himalayas. We were in the dead center of this region at 14,000 feet. Dineshji looked apprehensively at the sky. For me and Ankit it looked clear enough with just one small black cloud in the distance. Further along the horizon it was snowing at Nandadevi. Dineshji looked around, it was just 8 a.m. and we had already done an entire’s day climbing. Ankit and I pointed to a craggy looking peak across a steep valley. “Too difficult” instantly declared Dineshji and shook his head. Ankit and I persisted, “It looks possible, we’ll go slowly, lets try atleast”. We started off again, off to conquer our second peak of the day.

The going was indeed difficult due the to the presence of treacherous snow having a thin layer of ice on top. At one stage we even had to take a detour when faced with an entire slope of ice, impossible to traverse without cramp-ons. All the time Dineshji’s anxiety mounted observing the weather conditions. Ankit and I however hurried him along assuring him that we would descend even faster. At around 500 feet away from the summit we stopped for a break. Dineshji handed out apples and I assure the readers that I will never taste a more delicious fruit. It was the freshest apple ever, helped along by the absolutely purity of the air in the Himalayas. We finished it quickly and were given “Jumpin Fruit Punch” (Frooti type drink basically). The handful of cashews and almonds that we were handed also disappeared in quick time. We were on our way again faced with the 500 most difficult feet of climbing in our lives. It was a steep and icy rock face of the toughest kind.

It was a sweet victory. Ghodalathoni Peak, 14,000 peak. “It has never been conquered by amateur trekkers. Only professionals”, Dineshji informed us. Ankit and I exchanged smiles, the hours of horrific travel on mountain roads, the train journeys, the long long days of trekking, the heavy rucksacks, the days of effort, it had all come down to this beautiful moment. Even as we basked in our glory, it started snowing. We felt the elation of the purest kind. Ankit even took a video and we clicked some more pictures. By then then the snow was coming on even more heavily. The Legend of Nandadevi, we wondered. A pure blue sky had taken a mere 10 minutes to transform into a terrific and over bearing grey sky. Even as we descended the snowfall intensified. Temperatures plummeted to 6 degrees below zero. The camera conked off preventing us from clicking the most beautiful landscape we had ever seen in our lives. Perhaps such beauty was not meant to captured we consoled ourselves, vowing to store the memory forever in our mind.

We came up on a lake bed. There were 2 ancient temples on the dry lake bed. By now the entire landscape was covered completely in snow even as more was added by the second. Dineshji led us to each of the temples by turn. They contained sculptures of Nandadevi. Nandadevi is another name for Parvatidevi. The Garwhal Himalayas has three major peaks dedicated to Lord Shiva’s family. Trishuli is dedicated to Lord Shiva, Nandadevi is dedicated to Parvati Devi while Nanda Gomti is dedicated to Lord Shiva’s holy cow Gomti. Mount Kailash was sadly annexed by the Chinese in 1962. Dineshji told us the origin of the sculptures inside the temple was untraceable and could date back thousands of years. The presence of these temples was a local legend and not shared with outsiders. It was there standing in the snowfall surrounded by the lofty peaks of the great Himalayas and gazing at a sculpture dating back thousands of years that one understood about Indian spirituality, about great Indian sages meditating for years together in the solitude, of where the epics of Indian mythology originated, of the last vestiges of land not encroached upon by modernity, we understood why the villagers never wished to reveal the temples to outsiders and why it was just not meant to be photographed. Something things in life are to be experienced, this, this was one of them. By now the snowfall had engulfed the entire countryside in more than a foot of snow and the entire landscape looked like a vanilla cake.

We had more than 9 kilometres left to cover and we rushed on taking giant strides. For the first hour of the descent our body heat ensured that the below degree temperature did not affect us but as we entered the second hour of the descent the cold was beginning to penetrate the layers. Finally we reached the campsite. It was covered completely in snow. Our tent was virtually invisible under sheets of snow. We trooped into the hut for a glass of tea. The cold ensured that it took a good 30 minutes to make but when it was ready I had never tasted anything better.

There was obviously going to be no campfire that night, all the logs were covered with snow. As night time approached the sky cleared. We already knew what that meant, we shuddered. For the uninitiated, in the mountains a clear sky ensures a colder night as it follows all the terrestrial heat to escape into space. We entered our tents and fumbled for the longest time with our sleeping bags. Dastardly contraptions! I cribbed. We never actually settled, the cold got progressively worse. The sleeping bag was good but when sleeping near India’s largest high altitude meadow the wind was always going to be fierce. It was a bad night, as bad as the day was good. In the morning we asked ‘the’ question to Dineshji, who incidentally had suffered just as much. ” -15* Celsius”

This trek was unique in the sense that there would be just the 3 of us. Ankit, Dineshji and I. While traditional trekking expeditions include a total of 50 or more people including the staff (cooks, guides, mule handlers etc.) this time there would be just the 3 of us. Traditionally we had always considered ourselves exceptional trekkers, however the presence of a large group with several weak links had always prevented us from realising our true potential. This core group however had no weak links. We were free to challenge ourselves and push the boundaries.

Dineshji, a 40 year old trekker, a senior person in his organisation, was a multi-faceted personality. He was apprehensive looking at the two of us. We had arrived at short notice and he was not very sure of our capabilities. Our fairness is often held against us, usually we are judged to be rather delicate characters. In reality we are tougher than anyone we know and had the experience of several previous treks to back us up. Dineshji however was not immediately convinced. He asked us multiple questions, most ending with, “Koi dikat toh nahi hai na”? After several assurances that we were in fact completely fine he left for his home, we were to start off at 8 a.m the next day.

Yesterday we had repeatedly assured him that we would carry our own rucksacks, which surprised him (usually rucksacks are handed over to mules, leaving the trekkers with nothing to carry). Thus we started off our trek with 10 kg rucksacks which is 10 kg more than what any other trekker usually carried. In the morning we had vowed to gain his respect. That would open us several avenues for us. On a mountain trek usually there are several routes, ranging from the easiest to the toughest. Since there were only the 3 of us we knew that he had considerable discretion about the route, but would select the toughest only if he knew we were upto it. Ankit and I decided not to speak much for the first few hours, just to trek. We finally started off on a beautiful morning. The destination for the day was Didna, a small village across a valley. The trek was basically U-shaped in nature, we would descend and then ascend. We wouldn’t gain much height that day. It was a 6 hour trek having approximately 9 kilometres of travel. On the descent, on the narrow mountain path strewn with rocks, I started running. Ankit followed, equally proficient. Dineshji was somewhat startled, this had never happened before in his entire trekking career. Nonetheless he followed more or less effortlessly. We finished the descent in quick time, real quick time. At the bottom of the mountain, before the ascent started Dineshji warned us that we should not exhaust ourselves too soon. Ankit and I exchanged looks. It appeared that gaining respect from Mr. Dinesh was going to be a lot tougher than this.

We finished the day’s trek at 11 a.m. We had completed a 6 hour trek in 3 hours. Didna was a small beautiful village where again we rested in a tiny lodge (4 small rooms). At 4  p.m. Ankit and I recommenced Mission Respect. We embarked on a small trek of the neighboring mountains. Dineshji followed. We spotted a river and decided to follow it upwards. In the process we climbed a cliff that had a gradient of approximately 80 degrees. At the end, we got our reward. The first door opened. Dineshji asked us whether we would like the ‘steep’ route tomorrow or the ‘easy’ one.

The next day’s destination was Ali Bugyal (Bugyal stands for meadow). The tough route basically consisted of just a continuous and relentless steep descent through the forests. It was a ruthless trek and we opted for fewer breaks than usual. That day we gained 4,000 feet, ascending from 8,000 to 12,000 feet. The vast twin meadows of Ali Bugyal and Bedni Bugyal at the height of 12,000 feet are considered the largest high altitude meadows of India. April however was not the trekking season per se; we had opted for April only as Ankit was not free afterward. Thus the meadows had not yet blossomed. This however had a unique appeal of its own, Ankit and I compared it to the Scottish Highlands, a region we intend to visit someday in the future. The beauty was desolate and lonely, no man-kind around for miles. We were instantly enraptured. The focus however remained on the trek. At day we finished at 12:30 p.m. and waited with bated breath to ask our score for the day. “A normal group would finish anywhere between 3:30 to 4:30 pm” we were informed by Dineshji. Mission Respect was bearing fruit, the next day would be significant, it would be the day of our final conquest on the mountains.

That night we were to camp at the edge of a cliff. There were 3 Nissen huts of green colour constructed by the Forest Department and one solitary tent at the edge of the cliff. While Dineshji and the mule’s handler would sleep in the one of the huts, Ankit and I would sleep in the tent. However what thoroughly astonished me and Ankit was that Mr. Mule was to get an entire hut for himself. No less than the Ritz Carlton;we remarked, would do for this donkey.  At 4 p.m. we descended some 400 feet into the forests  to assemble wood for the night’s bon-fire. Each of us carried over 20 kg (perhaps 30 kg in Dineshji’s case) of wood in our arms and trekked back to the camp. The night’s campfire passes as one of the most memorable nights of my life. While Dineshji made the evening’s meal inside the hut, Ankit and I plugged in one end of the headphone each and listened to our favorite music at 12,000 feet. We sang along lustily, confident that there was no human around for miles to scorn at our utter lack of musical ability. Later, we snuggled into our sleeping bags which I personally don’t rate as very comfortable contraptions, essential however, for camping at 12,000 feet.

It started on the 5th of April, 2011. Ankit (brother) and I set out for a long awaited trek in the Himalayas, my 5th such expedition but unique in the sense that this time there were only the 2 of us, not an entire troupe. We had vowed to keep it thread-bare simple as is the spirit of a rugged adventure. The first destination was Delhi. To compensate for the luxury of the Rajdhani (if I knew I had international readers I would said “Radjdhani Train”, sadly I can safely assume that this would suffice) that took us to the Delhi we straightwayheaded to the Gujarati Samaj. There we proceeded to check into the “General Dormitory” at the princely sum of Rs 30 per day. Sharing the dormitory with us were people from all parts of Gujarat but certainly not all walks of life for they seemed to be pre-dominantly Rabarans (cowherds/gypsies/shepherds). As our connecting train to Uttaranchal was at night, we had an entire day to spend in Delhi. As is the spirit of a trek, the thought of brushing and bath  never even arose, we simply dumped our haversacks/rucksacks and proceeded to explore the city that is Delhi. The metro station appeared to be nearby. The plan was to catch at least one movie to help us pass along the time. We had brought along with us 7 novels (thats right) but wished to preserve them for desperate times. Since I had visited Delhi a few times previously I was reasonably well-acquainted with the Metro stations. I suggested we head to Rajiv Chowk Station, or Connaught Place (CP), the poshest shopping district in all of Delhi. In retrospect, it was a foolish decision. CP did house 2 cinemas. Sunday afternoon and Delhi’s poshest locality. Suffice to say that we quietly headed back to the metro station. This time to “Vishwavidyalya”, the metro station connecting North Campus, the locality that houses all of the nation’s best Commerce colleges. Here we struck pay-dirt. A typical Delhi character informed us that “Batra Hall” would suit our needs completely. It did.

It was a seedy, shady run-down cinema that was running “Game”. Perfect. Though we arrived at 4 o’clock for a 3 o’clock show we were promptly informed that we needn’t worry, the show had just started. We settled down into wooden seats in a theatre with no AC (obviously) and wondered exactly why theatres were struggling. The movie was terrible of course. We headed back to our dormitory and had dinner in the surprisingly ambient outdoor canteen. Old Delhi railway station was nearby. On the pavements outside the Old Delhi railway station aggressive salesmen advertised their wares. The product? T-Shirts. The price? 5 t-shirts for Rs 100. God bless China. Ranikhet express arrived on time. This was apparently a surprise to everyone as the North Eastern Railway is notorious for running behind schedule. So delighted was the announcer at hearing this unexpected news that she repeated it multiple times, it wasn’t often that she wasn’t apologizing and assuring the public that the authorities were considerably pained by the inconvenience that they had caused.

At 4 a.m. we arrived at Lalkuan, Uttaranchal. Rajpalji, the driver asked us to have tea at the local tea shop and assured us that he would be right over to pick us up. He arrived in his Tata Sumo at 7 a.m. We had both finished a third of our respective novels by then. The car was obviously not private, that would have cost upwards of Rs 4,000. Thus we waited for another hour as it got filled with a motley bunch of characters. By 8 a.m we were off, destination Devall. 250 kilometres of  mountain roads. The journey was horrific to say the least. We alternated between sleeping, reading our novels, listening to music and again sleeping. Devall arrived at 4 p.m. From there a connecting jeep to Loharjung, thankfully just 25 kms away. By 6 p.m we had arrived at Loharjung. Altitude: 8,000 feet. Here we were met by Dineshji. Dineshji was the base camp manager of Indiahikes, the trekking company that would lead our march into the Himalayas.