Trek that!

"Never has so much been owed to so many by one person for so long". My take on Churchill’s take on WW2.

Let me explain. I owe K, N and P a story. One I’ve been carrying in my head for a long time. I owe them this one tale. For I have nothing more substantial to offer.

I hate reducing people to mere letters. In just one post, a capital person becomes a capital letter.

And so I shall reduce them further to the names they were thrust upon by a circle of sleepy people waiting for the trek to start.

What trek? You ask. Let me begin from the beginning.

Do you know what sobriety can do to you?

Drunkenness can make you take off for distant lands with strange people you just met, making for great stories to tell over your next drink. But sobriety is a shade more unforgiving.

And so it was that four OH-less days found me testing the peripheries of my patience. Out of sheer boredom, I watched ‘Friends’, cleaned plates, folded counterpanes, rearranged books and fluffed pillows. And finally, after running out of things to do to keep the devil from setting up shop in my head, I opted for a “night-trek” out of the city.

What’s ironic is that an organized, one-day trek is something I wouldn’t even dream of going for, even if I was under the influence. And here I was, as sober as sober can get, looking forward to the damn thing.

A trek normally means that you carry the usual suspects. Water container, Petzl head lamp, cooking gear, tent (which one I take depends on the altitude), sleeping bag, change of underwear, toiletries etc. etc.

But this was a night trek. What do you carry on one of these? The mail from N asked me to carry a torch and warm clothes. My day-pack felt light with just these in it. You don’t feel like you’re off on a trek unless the straps on your backpack, bite into your shoulders. For once, the heavier the burden, the lighter you feel. And so I stuff it with dozens of mars bars, Bar-ones, two bottles of water and a windcheater. Slightly better.

RV is at Mallya Hospital. That is the first time that the extent of my folly first began to dawn on me. If it wasn’t for the fact that I was in the company of three extremely charming, intelligent women, I’d have bolted at the sight of the motley crew that was to be my group.

Now came the most difficult part of the trek. The ride to Kalwarbetta, in a bus full of geeks of the unbearable kind.

Who cares where they come from. Call centers, software companys, BPOs, they all breed the same sort. I’ve nothing personally against techies. I respect the fact that they can do something I realized I could never do. But they try so hard to be cool. Like, for instance, the conversation about the Grand Canyon that was ensuing between two such specimens on my right. It wasn’t even an earnest conversation. They were speaking too loud.

Here’s what they said, followed by what they meant to say.

What they said:

“Have you been to the Grand Canyon?”

“Yes! It’s so amazing no?”

“I know. The view took my breath away”

What they meant:

“Let’s tell them we’ve been to amreeka”

“Ok! Let’s talk about the Grand Canyon! That should impress them”

“Yeah Let’s”

That’s why I dislike techies. They try too hard.

I look out of the window and zone out. P next to me is silent. Reaching Yellahanka. I point out the aircrafts on the runway to P. I love watching aircrafts. Wanted to be a pilot for as long back as I can remember. I wanted to be the co-pilot of the ‘bhaiya’ who lived next door. Very close family friends. He’s just joined the Air Force and I’d promptly joined his fanclub. My sister, not wanting to be left out, wanted to be the air hostess. I’d tease her and tell her the airforce doesn’t have air hostesses. And she’d run around crying till someone’ll tell her they have. Spoilsports. Couldn’t I just share one passion with my hero. Instead of sharing it with my sister.

But we did. We used to model aircrafts out of balsa wood kits. I still do now. Makes me feel less of a jerk for letting myself be talked out of pursuing my passion. Gullible George. Think I’ll opt for that name. They’re asking me to add an adjective to my name beginning with my initial.

Wait! When did this happen? We’ve reached? Apparently. Cos I’m standing in a circle with the lot of them. I remember the names of my group. The rest I sieve out. Nitwit N, Klumsy K, Perfect P registers. I decide to play along. Gullible George it is.

I light up a cigarette. Have to rebel don’t I? Just have to be dickhead who lights up before a trek. But I needed it. I’ll need a bottle too if they want me to join them in the funny exercises they are doing. Over my dead body.

The trek begins. The night air feels good. I look up at the cloud crowned mountain I’ll be climbing. More likely, the mountain that’ll allow me to climb it. Heard that from Edmund Hillary. People asked him how he felt about conquering Mount Everest. He simply said that he didn’t conquer it. She let him climb her. So true.

The first stretch is good. It’s drizzling in spurts. I feel the familiar pull in my calves and rise in pulse. Looks like this is going to be an interesting climb after all. I begin to regulate my breathing. In through my nose, one step, out. Never breathe through your mouth while climbing. You lose heat and energy that way. Could be potentially dangerous if you’re trekking high-altitude.

P’s wheezing in front of me. I start to tell her that she should take smaller steps and not breathe through her mouth. But I’ll sound preachy. I hated it when people told me how to do stuff. She would resent it too. I’ll tell her when she’s tired. People are more receptive to advice then.

The gradient increases. I’m taking a lung full of air in every breath. Adrenalin’s pumping. I feel the need to charge up the slope, but opt to stick with P and N. My schooling in the hills have made climbing second nature. But now the smoking and abuse is beginning to tell.

At one point P tells me she can’t climb. I’m telling her to get to that knoll, then the rock up ahead, then the bush just 5 paces away. A climb is easier if you break it into small sections. She yells at me saying she can’t climb and she won’t. But she does anyway. I remember my first trek. Hated it till I got to the top. N’s being helped up by one of her classmates in college who happens to be one of the guides on the trek. What a place to meet. Should write a hindi movie on these lines.

And suddenly we’re there. ‘There’ is a small clearing near the summit, enveloped in a cloud. It’s cold. Colder than I thought Bangalore could ever get. Probably because of the wind that’s blowing and howling like a banshee. I walk around in a dream. There’s a small ruin of a part of an old fort, made of granite slabs. I’d get a slightly uneasy feeling as I walk towards it. Can’t put my finger on the feeling. I decide not to tell anyone about it. The rocks are the only surface they can sit on that’s not really wet and muddy. Wouldn’t want to freak them out.

N says she sees a ghost. I’m laughing at it. But the uneasiness is still there. K’s shivering with cold. I’m feeling sorry for her. I give her my windcheater. My sleeveless fleece jacket ‘s warm but my arms are cold. K’s still cold. Now she’s wrapped up in an assortment of clothes donated by the group. She’s bent over. She must really be suffering. Doesn’t seem the kind who’ll sham.

P and I smoke. Watching a bunch of nitwits trying to start a fire with 30kmph winds and a bunch of wet sticks. Fat chance. The rest of them decide to play a series of ridiculous games. It’s a picnic for them. I’m waiting for dawn. And there seems to be no sign of it. Watch says 6:00 but still no sign.

The geeks want to go. I’d rather stay and watch the sunrise. What’s the point of toiling all the way to the top if you don’t. But it wasn’t to be. 6:15 and the sun’s missed his appointment. We decide to descend.

Halfway down and the cloud clears. The sight nearly took my breath away. A congregation of bare hills being caressed by scattered sunbeams fighting their way through an army of clouds. Like spotlights on a stage, they move over the north face and then the south. Now this boulder has his 10 seconds of fame, now that tree. I can see the beams, like light from a giant disco-ball in the sky. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.

Somehow the entire trip has managed to redeem itself at the end. The ledger book in my head has balanced itself.

I come back a better man.