Day 1 (Border and Golden temple)
It was an early start. The onset of the dawn saw us at the New Delhi railway station. The chill of the Delhi breeze tried hard to get inside us but the clothing shooed it off. Finally the ‘Swarn Shatabdi’ Express arrived at the station and the hustle and bustle let the human stream flowing randomly in all the directions. All of us hurriedly got into the train and occupied our seats. Yes! I was finally relieved for I was going to my place – the mountains. 26th February – 6:30 am marked the official start of my vacations! Yippeee! I was so happy.
After having my hot steaming cup of coffee, I dozed off. The train stopped with a jerk and I woke up instantly. Finally I was in Amritsar. We started off for the Wagha border. We had a letter from a govt. official so we got the front seats and the rest of the people who were without any such favouritism waited for long in a line to get their seats far off. This was the first stage of discrimination and I felt bad. But the other things made me forget that. The army on both sides of the border played patriotic songs. And there was a sort of competition. Each side tried to increase its volume to suppress the sound from the opposite side. Suddenly I saw Indian flags running everywhere. A closer look revealed that young enthusiastic girls were running here and there with the Indian tricolour. It was their way of expressing affection and respect towards India. A moment later Pakistani flags were to be seen everywhere on the other side. All this was followed by parade and the opening of the gate of India and Pakistan. The soldiers on both the sides tilted the mast of the flags and took them to their respective places. After the official procession, people started dancing to the bollywood songs. I was guided by BSF Inspector Ajay Yadav towards the no man’s land. There I saw a barbed wire strong fence supported by iron pillars. And in between there was an open space. On the other side were standing numerous innocent Pakistani men and women. There was no attitude. And then I turned back to see the attitude of the wealthy and rich Indian crowd. The superiority complex was clearly visible. Same was the case with the rich Pakistani people. The difference made me uneasy. I walked back to the diversion. The lush green fields on either sides of the fence showed no difference. Each leaf appeared to smile in its natural way. Some parts of the long leaves on one side of the fence tried to make their way towards the other side and vice-versa. The water which irrigated the fields knew no bounds. It nourished both sides equally with its mineral contents. Suddenly two ravens crossed the fence and went to their nests. It made me smile. When nature knew no boundaries then what right had we to set up physical and useless distinctions. I so wanted to tell them that very moment but as soon as I saw the proud and sarcastic faces of the army men on both the sides, my thought too got separated by the border. It was really difficult to let that happen, especially when people on both the sides were trying to look down upon others.
On way back the picture of the soldiers at the Indo-Pak border in Rajasthan emerged in my mind. That border was not as peaceful and this one. There was no procession like this and no spectators. It was only the soldiers on both the sides who had to undergo harsh weather conditions to safeguard their motherlands. The people who were dancing to the tunes had absolutely no idea what the word ‘border’ meant. Their get up and fashion clearly revealed their attitude towards the border security force. They weren’t aware that their safe life was totally the gift of the BSF. Lot of scattered thoughts took birth in my mind and I wanted to cry for no reasons. But before I could start, our vehicle stopped at the Atari Raliway station.
My mother yelled – this is the same place where Shahrukh Khan and Preety Zinta meet for the last time. I tried to rack my brains and finally stamped on the truth of the statement. While others were busy in associating that place to various events and talking to the locals there, I went inside. Finally I was there where I wanted to be. The eerie silence at the station clearly reflected the invisible line running in between the two countries which they call the border. The lone platform stood shivering in the cold. The three tubelights tried to give it whatsoever warmth they were capable of providing. The old railway track running parallel to its entire length tried to smile and welcome me to the sensitive area. It had seen the bloodshed during the partition. It had tried to smile that time but each time it cried instead, on seeing the trainloads of corpses. Since then its smile had gone dry. The winds of the violence made it shiver with fear. On the other side was the new platform which was actually in use now-a-days. The situation was a lot different in the present times.
Suddenly I remembered ‘Train to Pakistan’ by Khushwant Singh. I could very clearly visualise what Mano Majra people would have experienced during the partition - a painful and sensitive topic which everyone wants to overlook. It was about to rain so I fled to the vehicle and we started our journey back.
We then went to the Golden temple and appreciated its grandeur and beauty. The walking place was laid down with pure white marbles. It was hard to believe that this very place had the bloodstains during the operation blue star of 1984.
Ironically this place formed a nexus between all the three colours – blue, white and golden. It had temples of many Gurus. I saw many people having bath in the deep dark waters of the pond surrounding the temple. There people from all shades of life – rich to poor. The extremities had no value inside the premises of the temple and that is what makes it the place of ‘guru’. Small children with running noses were made to take a dip in holy waters so as to get rid of their worries. The atmosphere all around was heavy, it was full of ‘devotion’.
With the onset of night all of us enjoyed the quality time at the roof top as the speedy wind lashed our faces. The day was different. It gave me lot of thoughts to ponder over. I had witnessed things which were phases apart that day. With ongoing clashes in the grey matter of my brain, I went to sleep only to wake up the next day with all the thoughts carefully jacketed inside the folds of the brain with the tag – to be visited soon but later!
Day 2 – Dharamshala.
I slept peacefully after days of hardwork and that made me relaxed. I woke up in the morning and the hot water massaged me entirely. The bath was simply divine. The hunger showed up as soon as the clock struck 10. The sumptuous breakfast was soothing and we started off for Dharamshala – the real mountains. The journey started in fertile plains and ended in the steep slopes. As we proceeded through the lush green fields on either sides of the road, the effort of the farmers clearly showed up. We passed Noorpur, Gaggar, Shahpur, Pathankot and from there took another road for Dharamshala. But my imagination was completely thwarted by what I saw. I had imagined a lush green forest cover but instead there were acres of arid land with dry crops. The slopes were full of terrace farms and the green pine trees watched me with helplessness. Someday they too would be chopped down to make a place for some house or some farm. The immobility of the trees was their greatest enemy – I thought. The exponentially growing population was a threat to the nature. It was devouring the forests and its inhabitants like locusts. Even inaccessible slopes were the places of residence now-a-days. But finally the farms gave way to green slopes and I calmed down. We were in Dharamshala. Situated on the picturesque slopes of Dhauladhar mountain range, it boasted of its little population and scenic beauty. The entire town flourished along a single road. The livelihood of the people there depended solely on the tourist inflow. There were hawkers selling various Tibetan handicrafts while others survived by selling woollen clothing. After keeping our luggage in our rooms, we decided to take a stroll on the road. The onset of the dusk saw us at a view point. The sunset was ambrosial. Flocks of birds flew back to their nests and the entire town became alive with lamps and lanterns and lightings. On way, I spotted a shani temple. There was no one in there. Inspite of hating to go to such religious places, I removed my shoes and stepped on the steps. They were ice cold. An old big tree acted as a side wall. And inside there was a small cave housing the god. There were creepers and big black ants all around. There seemed a great bond of friendship between them and the mice for both of them lived in the crevices and survived on the offerings made by the devotees. The sound of the bell broke the prevailing silence and all the tiny inhabitants looked around full of curiosity. It was a lovely sight. Finally I walked back to the main road. I searched my bag and surprisingly I found a ten rupee note. That was the need of the situation. I hurriedly crossed the road and gave it to a vendor there. He gave me a packet of roasted groundnuts – simple and cheap pleasures of life. Long, meandering, dark roads, joyful chirp pf the birds, the hustle and bustle of the tourists around, the sound of the hawkers, the chilly mountain breeze and groundnuts seemed to be a perfect combination. The clock struck 8 and it was time to pack all the things. All the shops were on the verge of shutting down. I incidentally entered a souvenir shop and met Mrs. Anuradha Dogra and Mrs. Sunita Kaushal. Their high thinking and simple living moved me. I took their video but later I learnt that my dratted camera didn’t record their voice. It was absolutely disgusting.
It was time to return back to the warmth of the room. The chilly breeze forced all the inhabitants to snuggle up comfortably in their respective abodes and the road was once again all empty. The occasional flickering of the street lamp gave me goose bumps. It was the perfect backdrop for Jim Corbett’s ‘Man-Eater of Rudraprayag’. With the passage of time the dark clouds descended down and the dense fog enveloped the entire town and reduced the visibility. The corridor in front of the room was long. It was dully illuminated and empty. This gave it a spooky look. A glance outside from the window there was encapturing. The mercury vapour lamp threw light in all the directions which was further scattered by the fog droplets and it gave an orangish tinge. There was perfect silence. The clock struck 10 and it was time to get back to the dream world. The ‘do not disturb’ tag on the knob of the door had enough power to keep anyone out of the room and hence the fantasy world until the next morning.
Day 3 – TCV + McLeodganj
The intense cold kept us in covers until late in the morning. Finally we forced ourselves out and filled in the warm aromatic mountain tea. The vehicle again smooched the dark roads and we reached McLeodganj. It is a beautiful town situated at a distance of 6 kilometres from Dharamshala at a height 1780 metres. It is full of Tibetan people. They earn their livelihood by selling Tibetan handicrafts and handlooms. The people there are basically a mix of the original people from Tibet and local people. Further high is the temple of Bhagsunag. It is an ancient temple of ‘Nag Devta’ as the locals call there. There is no road to the temple. But the motorable road ends at the bus stands and one needs to walk down to the temple from there. The temple is made of rocks and old cementing material yet it is strong enough to withstand the forces of nature. Inside the temple, there was an otter running here and there. It finally vanished in the darkness of the temple godown. It seemed as if it was the oldest inhabitant of the temple. As the time passed by, excitement seeped in. I was becoming restless. Finally we reached the Dall lake and facing the lake was the entrance of the ‘Tibetan Children Village’ which I had always wanted to visit.
The road took a sharp bend and revealed the most beautiful location. The children were playing footlball and cricket in the playground which was more like an intermountain plateau. Snow capped peaks adorned it further. It was serene. I went to the office and there I met Uni and Lobsong Tsomo – the one whose name was famous on Horn Ok Please. It was a great opportunity. Uni took us around the place. The first were the group homes which housed children ranging from 6 years to 14 years. They were taken care by a house mother. The girls and boys had separate dormitories. Group homes were the perfect places to develop great family bond among the children residing there. Uni told us that whenever the passed out students used to come to the re-union ceremonies, they used to search for their house mothers and batch mates. Next was the play ground. It was surrounded by classrooms on one side and the auditorium on the other sides. The upper slopes boasted of a beautiful building which was the senior boys’ hostel. Next came the monastery or the common place of worship. Students come there to pray at any time of the day and use the place for studying during the exams. After that was the baby home. It housed kids ranging from 1 year to 5 years. They were looked after properly by 2 to 3 mothers. After crossing stage three of 5 years, children were shifted to the group homes. Next was the infant section or the play school. It was stunning to hear to hear that some of Uni’s colleagues started the journey of their life from this very baby home.
TCV made perfect use of funds from all over the world to nourish its children and provide them full education.
I noticed tears in Uni’s eyes when she gave a brief speech which I forgot to record as I too was moved to tears. In her words –
When the children come from Tibet, they come with absolutely nothing. There the people have to face lot of hardships and they lead a life of slavery. The children have to cross mountains in the harsh and cold weather to come here. The parents leave their kids here for the sake of education. Some just leave them when they are infants and never take them back. Some children even don’t know their place of birth or about their parents. Many of them have no bonding for their parents. Other don’t even know whether their parents are alive. I too come from Tibet. I completed my studies in Mysore. Though India is a second home for all of us but still it pains inside for being away from our motherland. The love for motherland still exists deep in us. We still live with the hope of returning back some day.
This was indeed touching. I was moved to tears. The TCV kids have a stabbed history behind them. Still their smiles are so lovely. They are the bastions of innocence. They need a salute from all of us. They have fought bravely with the circumstances to be what they are today. We have parents, relatives and many more people to take our care or to seek shelter in times of difficulties but those children are all alone on this world. They have no one whom they can call their own. They have no parents to hug in times of difficulties. These children lead a life of difficulty. But hats off to TCV for what it is doing. The care, the love, the love it provides to these children knows no bounds. I have so much more to say about TCV and the kids there but it can’t be conveyed through written text. If at all one need to feel all this, one must surely visit the place someday. While descending down the stairs of the office I saw a little girl who was busy painting. The scattered crayons around her clearly reflected her childhood. In the white paper there were two persons – a male and a female on a road and in between them was a little girl. It didn’t take long for me to recognize that she was making picture of her family. I asked here about her home town. What she said shook me from within and made me cry. Her words – Didi, this is my mother and this is my father. The girl walking in between is my sister. My teacher tells me that my parents left me here. She tells that they would return to take me back with them. I have written them a letter and asked them to bring toffee for me. I have also asked them to bring my little sister with them. I miss her. I want to play with her. And you know, I don’t even know her name. (She laughs). (She then stands and holds my hand). Didi, see there. My teacher tell thar your home is beyond those mountains. It must be beautiful. Ok now I am going, I have to complete this drawing before the evening as I have to send this to my parents along with my letter. Bye didi.
This was too heavy to bear. These children need help. People! Do visit the place and shower your love and affection on the kids there.
With a heavy heart, I parted off from that girl. We had lunch in between and came back to our room. My head was spinning due to outburst of the situation and I went to sleep with a promise made to myself to help the destitute section of the society.
As I was about to sleep I remember three faces I had completely forgotten – a man, a woman and a small kid. They had no relation among them. The man and woman belonged to separate families who had left their hometown in Chhattisgarh and had come to this far off place in order to earn their livelihood. They were the labourers for the construction work going on in the TCV. The extreme situations prevailing were heartbreaking. When on one side children were sleeping peacefully in the warmth of their beds, the labourer child had no clothes to wear. He was shivering in cold. His running nose made him cry. His helpless face was dreadful. I had a thick layer of jacket and woollens and he was almost bare. I started to hate myself. My parents gave them their visiting cards and asked them to visit Bilaspur anytime. The disparity in a small circle was indeed ridiculous. When on one hand TCV was helping kids with no one to look after them, the labour kid on the other hand was totally at the mercy of the nature and the CG govt had absolutely no concern for them.
Day 4 – Dalhousie
I woke up in the morning to the sound of the falling rain. It is the most melodious tune which makes me sway gently to its rhythm. I drew the curtains apart. The mighty mountains wished me a merry morning and the dark sky produced rumbling sounds. Birds shivered with cold while their young ones enjoyed playing with the drops. Stray animal ran here and there to seek shelter. People huddled up closer in narrow space to protect themselves from the tiny swords of rain. The rain washed off the dirt from the mountain road and it once again looked dark and fresh. The clock struck 9 and the rain stopped. People diffused out in the open still unsure of the weather. But 10 minutes later life returned back to its normal pace. I turned around. All others had had their bath and I was the only one who was still lost in the moments of morning. I quickly got ready and we started off for Dalhousie. After about an hour of drive, we were back in the plains. From there we took another route and as time flew by, the vehicle attained god-speed and we reached Dalhousie. The sleepy town was calm and silent unlike Dharamshala. People were comfortably enjoying the warmth of the room-heaters. We reached our rooms and felt the chill. The chill forced us out in the lap of nature. The chirp of birds was dying away as the rays of the setting sun further high up the mountain peaks. We walked down the slope for about 500 meters and reached the bus stand. It was full of lights and oil lamps. Suddenly a movement to my side caught my attention. It was an old man. His destination was a small hut open on one side. Inside was a gas stove surrounded by kettles and glasses. The hut was dimly lit by the oil lamp which was about to die. Two people were sitting close to the lamp and enjoying the tea prepared by the old man. The smoke was rising up high in the air and the light rays made its streaklines shine brilliantly with an ingrained mystery. It was soothing to watch how the daily routine of the locals revolved around a cosy tea corner.
The clock stuck 7 and we went to the local market. Three narrow lanes emanate from a small round about and each lane is lined up by shops – garments, handicrafts, woollens, eatables, restaurants, Lhasa market, etc. In about half an hour the night life of Dalhousie markets came to an end as all the shops closed down and the 3 narrow lanes returned back to their state of deep slumber until the hustle and bustle of the hawkers the nest morning. We returned back to our rooms, had dinner and went to sleep – on the top of hills, a place British Memsahibs loved.
Day 5 – Rain in Dalhousie
As the clock struck 10, I opened my eyes and had a look all around. All others were sleeping peacefully except my father who was nowhere to be seen. He got up early and went out to enjoy the morning beauty. Finally we all go ready and went to another place to stay in. The table tennis and the pool table saw myself, Anand, mama and baba running with excitement. Table tennis on the top of mountains with a fantastic view around was a perfect idea – a want of the situation. I had held the bat in my hands after so many years. I felt charged up and was lost in the game which I had learnt from my father in class 9th. It was a divine experience. I dind’t want to return but then there was a butterfly effect and all of us hurriedly ran upstairs to have our lunch. A short walk would have made us reach our destination but sudden rains messed it all. Finally our vehicle took to a south Indian restaurant. Dosa in north India! Whoa! I loved the prevailing irony. Cleary we stand tall in unity in this diverse country. We then went to Lakadmandi from where a trekking route starts for the Kalatop Wildlife sanctuary. The route was all covered up with thick layer of snow. Coupled with the rainfall, the temperature dipped down further. [Khajjiar is just 17 kilometres from that place and we would have reached there early but the road ahead was blocked due to heavy snowfall in the area and hence we had to go to Khajjiar through a longer route, 75 kilometres from Dalhousie through Chamba.] We took some snaps and returned back to the warmth of the rooms. That night ‘udaan’ was up in air and it was touching. Well, let me tell you one thing, this journey is dedicated to ‘train to Pakistan’ by ‘Khushwant Singh’ for no reasons. With no pre-conceived nations, this journey made me see glimpses of the events from the novel in real life. I simply loved it. Good night for day 5! J
Day 6 – On way to Khajjiar
It was time to leave Dalhousie and proceed towards the last leg of the journey – Khajjiar. With a heavy heart, I stepped out of the room. Dalhousie looked even more beautiful with the clouds all around and the splashing rain made it look even younger. Macaws jumped from one roof to another as a part of morning frolic. Our vehicle started and we were on way to Khajjiar. The meandering roads led us to Chamba – a city famous for its temples. The driver wanted us to visit the temple and hence parked the vehicle at a place. As I was about to step out, I noticed something which made me faint. It was filthiest location with city garbage all scattered around. Rain made the mule shit flow all around like a river of mud. And just on the periphery were dhabas. God! I so hated that place. A beautiful city was being spoilt by the shitheads living there. It was a pain to watch the beauty of the city going down the drains.
We soon rushed out of the place and the journey started again. Finally we reached a place some 3 kilometres before Khajjiar. There was a landslide and the JCB didn’t arrive even after the wireless message. The terrain was really non-realistic for it to travel such a long distance. There were just two hotels and no food. And we here hungry like devils. Finally the manager managed to arrange for some food and we attacked it the moment it arrived on the table. But finally after about an hour, the road was cleared of the debris and we reached Khajjiar. It was beautiful. The meadow was lit up with the golden rays of the sun. In the middle was a lake with an estimated depth of 500ft. It might have been a site of volcanic activity some years back. Whole meadow was surrounded by a concrete narrow walkway which was lined by pine trees on either side. Somewhere on the periphery was a forest bungalow. Its white colour had slowly turned green and it looked similar to its green tin roof. In nutshell, it was a perfect ‘forest bungalow’. The farther end of the walkway vanished somewhere deep in the wilderness and re-appeared soon after that. The entrance of the meadow was crowded with hotels. There were numerous tea corners which attracted the tourists especially the younger lot with their display of hot and steaming maggi bowls. The main road was full of horses and their owners were searching for tourists who could provide them with their daily wages. There were many hawkers who were moving here and there through the entire width of the ground holding their cameras and displaying the stylish images they took once upon a time of the tourists. The name of mini Switzerland was perfect.
Suddenly it started raining and hence we had to rush to our hotel – hotel mini swiss! The temperature began to dip further. Body started losing its warmth and I started shivering. I wanted to bring back the lost warmth as soon as possible. And a mere thought of this appeared in the form of an evil grin. Out of the many possible options, I chose to play table tennis. 45 minutes of the game perfectly restored the heat and the passion. Though the atmosphere for my passion to flourish was missing but thinking it as temporary I settled back in the cosy couch which was positioned so as to catch a perfect view of the snow clad mountains.
The clock struck 8 and it was time to sleep. It was a little weird to sleep early as I am a perfect night owl but the chill lingering around forced me in the covers. I slept near the door and the chill made its way from the cracks and crevices. For the first time I felt the absence of my senses. My head turned into a clod heavy rock and I shivered again. But the tired mind and body took charge of the situation and I returned to my state of deep slumber, a state of dreams – a country of purity and serenity was about to welcome me. As soon as I closed my eyes, I felt the warm touch of my destiny on my cheeks. Startled by the situation, I opened my eyes and sat up instantly on my bed. Every one was sleeping and an eerie silence prevailed around. I peeped out of the glass window. Entire village was in deep sleep except for the occasional bark of the dogs. The mountain breeze tried hard to force open the window but failed each time. The outcome was a rhythmic thud. The slopes reflected darkness. Nothing unusual was happening and hence I returned back to the state of sleep until the next morning.
The night was violent. Clouds enveloped the entire village and rumbling sounds rained the entire night. There was thunder coupled with torrential rains. It was all too fearful.
Day 7 – Dribble in Khajjiar
I woke up in the morning. It was a heavenly feeling. Sunshine showed up for a small amount of time. The snow clad peaks looked picture perfect. 7 distinct ranges were clearly visible. It was a lazy morning. The door bell rang. I opened the door and there stood a cup of hot steaming mountain tea. The steam was reluctant to leave the warmth of the cup and this clearly reflected the intensity of the cold. I held the cup delicately and went out in the balcony to sip it in the lap of nature. The pigeons on the top of the roof seemed to enjoyed the bright morning. Their playful mood said it all. Cattle were grazing peacefully on the green slopes. Their shining hair made them look even more beautiful. Ravens flew up high in the air. In nutshell it was a photogenic day! I quickly got ready. I spent that day in the meadow and in the snow clad slopes. The evening tea blushed for it saw the marmalade orange colour of the handsome mountains. The sunlight reached high up the slopes to finally declare the onset of the night full of stars. It was time to sleep. But this was the last night of the journey in the mountains. So, I enjoyed it to the fullest by spending it in solitude – with the forces of nature. I slowly closed my eyes and imagined myself as a free mountain spirit and hence enjoyed the boundless joy of freedom. I ran with god speed on the glades, in the forest, on the rocks and finally fell asleep until the next day.
Day 8 – The last day of the excursion.
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