It has been two months since I came back from Rupin Pass Trek. The memories and feelings are in abundance. They catch up with me sometimes during a long meeting or during a random hangout with friends. And for a moment, I zone out and a smile spreads across my face. When somebody around me notices it and asks the reason, I just shake my head like an idiot.
All that is fine, but during the past two months, I have been haunted by a question, something a fellow trekker, Rajib, said to me during the return journey.
"Manish, you are a gem at heart. You are a silver lining for many. Keep smiling, brother...One last question, you don't need to answer it though: तुम इतना जो मुस्कुरा रहे हो | क्या ग़म है जिस को छुपा रहे हो ?"
Normally, I would automatically respond with a witty or funny comeback. But I was speechless. Rajib had caught me off guard. It was as if a CCTV recording of a bank robbery showed my face in Ultra HD. There was no evidence to prove otherwise. All that remained to be done was to confess.
I still don't have a clean answer to that question. What I have instead is everything that happened before he asked it. So, here it is... my confession, of sorts.
***
It was a cold December night and I was in a remote village of Nagaland. Leaving everyone else behind in the homestay, I went for a stroll. On any trip, my mobile remains on airplane mode the entire time. But I had turned on the network in case the group wanted to reach me. It was a beautiful coincidence, because had I not done that, I wouldn't have received that call from MJ.
"Rupin Pass Trek dates have opened. I have already booked for the dates: 30th May to 5th June. You do it too and confirm me."
I smiled thinking how what she said wasn't a request or suggestion, but an instruction. I booked the trek within minutes and confirmed with her. I didn't even talk to my boss or do any research on the place I was going to.
Why?
Maybe I was just in a good mood. Or maybe I was amused at the realisation that for the first time in my life I would be on a trek during my birthday, ticking an item off my bucket list. But mostly I did because sometimes it's not about where you are going to but who you are going with. And MJ, who I had met on my last trek (Gaumukh Tapovan) with Indiahikes, was a mad woman. She was recovering from a knee surgery and still wanted to go on a trek. I, on the other hand, after my ligament tear incident during the descent from Tapovan campsite, had decided not to go on a trek ever. But she remained persistent about getting me back on the trail: eat right, exercise, and what not. She introduced me to Strava and followed up with me regularly. But every time she offered to go on a trek together, I declined. I wasn't mentally prepared. As it turned out, despite her enthusiasm she wasn't able to go on a trek either. Sometimes the treks got cancelled, and other times, she had to reschedule because of her injury. So when I agreed to Rupin Pass, it was a salute to her determination, more than anything else.
When I met her at Kashmere Gate to catch the bus to Rohru, her excitement mirrored mine. But out of nowhere, looking at MJ in person, something in my mind turned. Her presence reminded me of somebody else's absence.
Neil. The last time I met MJ, he was still alive.
I brushed the thought away, focusing on the present. But once MJ and I were inside the bus, my mind reminded me that the last time we were inside the same vehicle, it was Neil's car. I was in Mumbai for the long weekend to meet Neil. Both of us had gone to pick her up when she came from Pune to meet me. My knee injury was still fresh then. I never thought that someday I would look back on that day and think how the pain in my knee was nothing compared to what the future had in store for me.
"Did you lose weight?" I heard MJ say.
"Yes, 5 kgs," I replied, my mind returning to the bus. "I was pleasantly surprised a few days ago when I stood in the doctor's cabin holding my medical certificate. So much effort to go on a trek with you!"
She rolled her eyes and said, "Oye, shut up! You did it for yourself, not for me."
I smiled, thinking how this trek with MJ was going to be a much-needed break, from work and everything else. All I needed to do was not let myself be distracted from the distractions I had planned.
***
There wasn't much to do in Rohru. After I had freshened up, and had a very disappointing lunch with MJ in a nice restaurant and then a good sleep, I looked outside my hotel room window, at the river and mountains. When I had breathed it all in, I made plans to go to the riverside along with MJ in the evening. But the rain ruined it midway, and both of us found ourselves in a cafe seeking a cup of coffee, as well as shelter from the rain.
That is when my mind turned again. In a way, Neil had kickstarted my journey with Indiahikes. He had told me about the 360-degree view of 4 of the world's five highest peaks from Sandakphu Phalut Trek. And since I loved mountains, I should do that trek, even though he could not accompany me because of his physical unfitness. I eventually did that trek, my first with Indiahikes, and seeing Everest, Makalu, Lhotse and Kanchenjunga from the same location remains one of the fondest memories of my life.
I told MJ what was bothering me. She knew about Neil. I had told her long back. And like so many times before, she told me to let go of what had happened and focus on the present. In fact, she had arranged a meetup in a short while with all the fellow trekkers who were staying the night in Rohru. She asked me to join as well. Meeting new people would take my mind off things. It wasn't a wrong suggestion, just the person to suggest it to.
I refused and went back to my hotel room once the rain paused, however briefly.
On the way to Jiskun from Rohru, just before reaching Chansal Pass (12,300 ft), there was a brief stretch of road that gave me Kyrgyzstan vibes. Suddenly, I was teleported to a different car heading to Son Kul lake along with...
Neil, just get the fuck out of my head. Leave me in peace.
If I could shout inside my head, I did. It worked. When I finally got down at Chansal Pass, I wasn't thinking of him. I was focused on shielding myself from the howling cold wind with only my jacket. My woollen cap and neck cover were safely tucked inside my backpack. We didn't stay there for long, mostly because we could not. The descent began soon after.
Twisting and turning went the valley, and so did the people inside the Scorpio. I had chosen to ride along with MJ, and she obviously chose the only two women (Pallavi and Kamya) who were part of the group. Now, my dynamic with MJ was mostly about coming up with innovative ways to annoy her. That was obviously fine when it was just two of us, but sitting with three women, I couldn't even risk an inappropriate word. A wrong word and I could risk being branded as a sexist misogynist and be thrown out of the vehicle. Since there wasn't much to say, I listened instead. It was the first trek for Pallavi, who had come from Bangalore, and the third trek for Kamya, who had come from Ahmedabad. Apparently, she had done Hampta Pass twice. I wanted to ask her why. But I didn't. I reminded myself. She's a woman. Her body. Her choice.
See, exactly why I should keep my mouth shut.
When I couldn't keep my mouth shut, I told Pallavi and Kamya about the numerous exploits of MJ, elaborated on how she was an ardent follower of Indiahikes. She had already done seven treks with them. I even joked that if she doesn't book a trek for a while, Mr Arzun Mazumdar, founder of Indiahikes, gives her a call to check up on her, to see if she was doing all right. Upon hearing that, she gave me a look which could only mean one thing.
Shut up!
And I did. We stopped for a tea break along the way. The other vehicles with the remaining group members stopped by too. Across the road from the shop, a beautiful landscape stretched out. That is where we had our first group picture. Soon, we were on the road again, and I only focused on playing songs from my offline library which I had saved long back when I was heading to the mountains, and how well they matched the sights flying by outside my window. With everyone enjoying my collection of favourite Hindi songs, we reached Jiskun.
***
Next day, I woke up early, well rested, to a beautiful morning. Outside the window, it was difficult to decipher the clouds from the fog rolling over the mountains.
The rain, which was only a drizzle the previous evening, had turned into a heavy downpour. Patiently, we waited for it to cease, during breakfast and the briefing that followed. Nitin, who hailed from Uttarakhand, was our trek leader, accompanied by Varun, Joginder and Ronit as our guides. Around 9 AM, it was decided that it was pointless to wait for the rain to stop. Therefore, everyone took out their rain jackets or ponchos and we set out for the day once the rain slowed down to a drizzle.
"My dream came true at last," I said sarcastically to MJ, as I took out my poncho which I had carried on previous treks but never got to use. When I put it on, it matched my bag cover and I looked like a tall walking orange. I stood out from the group, who mostly wore black or dark-colored rain jackets.
I did what I do on every trek: stayed at the back and walked with the sweep guide, Ronit. Also, it was raining and I had my left knee to think about. So I was extra cautious on the muddy trail. I took small unhurried steps, and tried to match them to my breathing. I finally rejoined the group and MJ when everyone had accumulated at a tricky descent leading to a flat pathway. One wrong step could hamper my morale.
One step at a time. One step at a time.
And so on and so forth we went on, accompanied by the rain. Our first stop was at a riverside where we found a shed. The river that was flowing below had levelled with us. A huge trunk lay over it. A picture-perfect place, but Nitin outright declared it a no-no. One wrong step and you could go hurtling down the river.
When we began after hydrating ourselves (the most important to-do item during any trek), I looked at the path that lay ahead, or more appropriately, up above. The mountain stood like a wall and my fellow trekkers acted as tiny location pins on it. During the ascent, I was repeatedly irritated by my poncho. It was somehow restricting my movements. And then moments later, despite the rain, I was feeling hot inside. It was my jacket. I needed to take it off. But I couldn't do so without taking out my poncho and unwrapping the back cover to keep it inside. I couldn't risk my clothes getting wet. Ronit said that there was a tea point coming up ahead. I only had to manage till then. So I did.
Once we reached the tea point, taking off the poncho and then the jacket was the first thing I did. Everyone else ordered tea or maggi. I didn't. I took out my Snickers for the day and took a bite. That's the only thing I eat while trekking. It has become sort of my personal ritual. Down below, I could see the riverside, a tiny blot on the landscape. I didn't know what was more unbelievable: how far up I had come or how far up I still had to go.
Putting my poncho back on over the t-shirt, I resumed the trek, still remaining at the back of the group. I was more comfortable now without the jacket, but my irritation associated with the rain did not cease. Also, I had started feeling the weight of my backpack. I repeatedly fought the urge to stop. I continued on even if what I took was the tiniest of steps. That was the key, I had come to know from my experience.
Around 1 PM, when we reached Jakha village, I was eager to take off everything I was wearing and just lie down. I was disappointed to find out that half my backpack had soaked through. I hung what I could across the corners of a room built for four, now crowded with everyone's wet things. Lunch went down easy enough. Rest didn't. The moment I stopped moving, my knee started talking, and it had a lot to say.
I should have worn the kneecap today.
After applying some Volini, I tried to get some sleep. Something else rushed in instead. The same old second-guessing myself.
Was it a mistake coming on this trek?
There was something missing. Maybe it had to do with me going on a trek for the first without any prior discussion with Neil and the gang. The exciting part of going on any trek, even without them, was the discussions we had around it, both before and after. The three people in my life who understood my 'mountain thing', who set me on it and encouraged me to pursue it, weren't connected to me anymore. After Neil's demise, I had distanced myself from the gang. It was just too painful to keep in touch.
Was my 'trek phase' of life over? Would it die out the way it began? With the gang.
In the evening, Nitin took everyone to explore Jakha village. I didn't go. I needed some 'Me Time', to recover from my knee pain and from my mental state, as well. The rain had ceased and a beautiful evening had set in, the one I wasn't in the mood to appreciate. I went for a walk on my own until I found a place to sit, a green field overlooking the valley. There was complete and utter silence. The moment called for a song that I did not play in the car on the way to Jiskun, the song I listened to only when I was alone, the song that I had discovered during my first trip with the gang, surrounded by a similar landscape, the song that had changed its meaning after Neil's death.
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.
A few months before Gaumukh Tapovan trek, Neil had been trying to get me to join the trip to Russia with the gang instead. Somehow, Neil had convinced me to postpone the trek and join them instead. He said that it had been a while since we'd all travelled together. Then we had a stupid argument, one I couldn't tell you the subject of today. I told him I wasn't coming. And to make sure there was no room to change my mind, I booked my trek for the exact same dates. Without me, the Russia trip never happened. Neil, who'd planned the whole thing, took it hardest. I only understood what I'd done once I was back from my own trek. So when he asked me to Mumbai, I went out of guilt more than anything else.
I had no idea I was about to see him for the last time. I had repeatedly told myself that thinking about the past wasn't going to change it. But a wise man once said, "Grief is the price we pay for love. It would be sad if it wasn't sad."
Before long, I picked myself up and whispered a prayer to the open skies.
Rain, rain, go away.
Come again
Another day
Pain, pain, go away
Come again
When I'm stronger one day
***
End of Part 1
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