The Shepherd
Somewhere around July in 2008, I was on a week-long vacation to Mcleodganj - a popular hill station in the Kangra district of Himachal Pradesh, India. The quiet town is a pretty sight of the peaceful Buddhist monks, happy faces of the locals and a lot of eateries with local, regional and international cuisines mostly crowded by the tourists. The place has a different noise with a unique charm - a charm that attracts thousands drawn to it like moths rushing to the candle. At least that was what the place made me feel when I first visited it. A few kilometers away is Triund, a trek of few hours to reach the watch points from where Dhauladhar range can be clearly witnessed. It was not a widely known trek back in those days. I have decided to go there once with my friend. The receptionist at the hotel in Mcleodganj gave us directions how to reach the peak, rather how locals trek that path. Because, by rule we never traveled anywhere like tourists. We decided to leave our luggage at the hotel. But the receptionist was certain that we would stay at the peak at least for a day as he claimed the beauty of Moon Peak is beyond words. Indeed, he was right. We reached the peak after a few hours of trekking and exploring the forests and hills. The magnificent view of the Himalayas from Moon Peak would just take your breath away. Its pure white blanket of soft snow was shining bright even in the late afternoon when we reached the top. There was only one small stall of a shepherd who would be there till it begins to snow. Once winter enters, everyone moves out of the entire Triund. Well, everyone included only him and some porters who would carry luggage of trekkers and basic food supply to the shepherd's stall. That stall is the only access to food for the trekkers. He also keeps small tents for trekkers who would come and stay there to witness the Moon Peak. The shepherd said very politely, "Just wait patiently till dark." By the time we reached there, lots of trekkers were lounging in their tents across the peak. We could not just move from the place without watching the night view. And what a magical view it was! The shepherd gave us food - very basic, the food he prepared for himself he shared with us - along with a small tent and blankets. As the night came down, the Moon Peak began to shine bright like a big chunk of silver dazzling in the full moon. There was no electricity up there. And it was not even needed. The night was made brighter with bonfire in front of the shepherd's stall. The trekker with the guitar started playing it, everyone around began singing, we shared the same plate of Maggie passed to one another, the laughter, the language of love shared among this bunch of total strangers who were united by the simplicity of the shepherd. I still remember that night. I wonder where the shepherd is now. Do trekkers still acknowledge his kindness and simplicity? Can he still climb the treks with ease? Does age bother him now?
Lady in Red
Coming down the treks of Triund was another experience for me just like climbing it. There is something in the air of the Himalayas. I could feel it, inhale it, touch it, talk to it. The climb-down was fun. We started early in the morning. We came across so many trekkers and locals climbing up, and greeted almost everyone - something which is rare in the capital city where I was living in those days. I saw a lady in bright red saree climbing up the trek. She looked old, probably in her early or mid-50s. She was alone, all by her self in the hills. Her red saree was specific - the one a bride or a newly-wed usually wears. When I smiled at her to greet, she didn't seem to notice. She was smiling on her own, looking a bit lost in her own world. She seemed happy, glowing with some happiness which was clearly visible in her lost look. How is she going to climb up? Won't she be exhausted? Who will help her? I was a bit surprised to see her in that bridal saree. She also wore some ornaments, just the way a bride usually decks up on her wedding day. Who is she going to meet at the peak? I had a thousand questions in mind. She already had passed me but her questions and my curiosity tagged along until I suddenly saw the lady in red climbing down the trek again. Just a few minutes ago I saw her climb up. Maybe 15-20 minutes ago. How could she come back so soon? I am sure she didn't reach the peak and decided to climb down. But she had the same happy and lost look in her face. I started becoming restless with the questions crowding my mind. Where was she going? Is she going to meet someone? Is she lost? She must be tired walking up and so returned half way. "Did you see that old lady in red saree just now?" I asked my friend who looked at me with a question mark. Am I the only one who saw that lady in red climbing up and down the trek? But that can't be possible. She walked past twice. For real. Just after 10 minutes of this confusion, she climbed up the trek again as I crossed her. This time she paused to look at me; those eyes were dry. She stopped smiling and gave me a long, deep look. And before I could react, she resumed climbing up again. By the time I looked back, she disappeared somewhere in the hills. My friend claimed there was no such lady in red saree. He never saw her. Did the lady in red actually look at me? What was that long, deep look for? Was she for real? Where is she now?
The Flute Player
The same vacation took me to Dharamkot - a hilly neighborhood of Mcleodganj. It's a quiet village in the lap of serene greenery. Well, I have passed by a lot of Israeli 'local' farmers who married the local girls and settled there. The village had homestays at that time when it was not a common practice as such, not at least among the Indian travelers. But yes, there were a lot of foreigners who used to frequent the village and stay there for months. The foreigners actually showed me the way to find a local eatery that used to serve pizzas as authentic as Italian pizzas. It included quite a good number of cafes mostly crowded by hippies. You would experience a completely different vibe in that village - a very comforting vibe. We relished on the much popular pizzas prepared by the village women and decided to stop by a cafe for a hot cup of tea - a thing of luxury amidst pure greenery. While looking for a cafe, the road ahead showed a bifurcated view - one road leading to the way out for more eateries and cafes and another directing to an edgy, narrow lane leading to the thick forest. We decided to walk that way just to explore the place a bit. A few minutes of walking on the edgy lane brought us close to a soothing music of a flute echoing in the forest. Who could be playing that? It made us more intrigued. We walked more into the thick forest on that edgy lane. The sound of the flute became clearer as we approached the thicker and edgier part of that narrow lane. It was broad day light but the sun was not so visible in that dense lane on the hills. There could hardly be any human in this corner of the forest. Soon after, a face appeared in front of us. He wore a simple kurta, a bit shabby but clean enough. No shoes or slippers, just barefoot on the raw, dusty lane. He was a foreigner walking barefoot on the dusty, edgy lane of the Himalayas playing a flute so effortlessly and soothing to the soul. There was a different pain, a comfortable pain in that music consoling the slings of the heart. At least it made me feel so. We walked past him. He looked at me, still occupied with playing his flute. But those eyes smiled and greeted me. We decided to come back to find the cafe for tea. There was one next to the bifurcated road which we discovered now. The music on the flute was echoing across the hills even now. We came out of the cafe and headed to the hotel down the road, a good 2 hours walk. The music was still heard. That barefooted, kurta-clad foreigner was still playing it. What was he doing in that thick forest? Where was he coming from? He was so lost in playing his flute. Who taught him how to play the flute? Where is he now? Does he still play his flute? Does it still soothe souls?
The Fading Royals
Early winters of 2007 brought me to Dalhousie - another quaint town at the foothills of the Dhauladhar range. Chunks of snow were visible everywhere in the town. It had a slow life, but it definitely had life. Locks of pine trees adorn the roads and the hills. Its natural springs have water purer than bottled water. I did taste it while walking across the coiled roads, hopping villages, witnessing meadows. The whole town in winter gifts you the feeling of a Swiss vacation in its true sense. Writing about the town will take me two or more stories. So I will skip to the last day before I boarded the bus to my city. That morning I decided to start early, giving one last and good look of the town before I leave. The coiled roads took me to Jandri Ghat, a quiet neighborhood of mostly pine trees and natural springs. By now, I could talk to the trees and springs with ease - something that draws me to the hills. Pure joy. While walking through the melodious pine trees of Jandri Ghat, I ended up discovering a beautiful heritage palace which is the residence of the Governor of Chamba. The palace spread across a wide area behind a thick blanket of pine trees. It was a restricted area for commoners due to security reasons. But I was curious to know who lives there. The palace instantly caught my attention, I felt something, some connecting vibes for reasons unknown to me. I met a local there who came to collect woods there. Out of curiosity, I asked him about the palace and its people. He brought me to a corner from where the lawns of the palace could be seen clearly. It belonged to the royals, he said. I saw a lady in saree sitting in the lawn with two children playing and hopping around her like chirping birds. That laughter full of life in the middle of a thick pine forest. They looked happy. After watching them from afar, I returned to the bus stand to board my bus to my city. Those children must have grown up by now. Where are they? Maybe studying abroad, or settling somewhere, married to some royals, or trying to hide pain behind the garb of royals - how it happens in regular soap operas on royal lives. I am sure they won't live in that forest palace. Do they visit it even? Do the locals treat them like it used to in the past? Do they even remember that place? Does the royal vibe exist there anymore?
The Spying Eyes
One of the most mysterious ways of talking to the hills and clouds happened to me in 2010 when I went to Kasol. Yes, I do converse with hills and clouds, even oceans. I feel a strong connection with nature that way. Am I weird? But I like this weirdness. The sky over Kasol has a different way of communicating with you. Or at least with me. I could literally see images of different deities in the chunks of clouds there. Not that I am so religious, but I do have a strong connection with faith, this energy of faith. I don't know how to put this in words, but the sky and the hills did talk to me so very clearly in Kasol like in no other places did ever. I had two friends accompanying me in that trip, which is one of my most adventurous trips to a hill station at a time when there were less tourists to that place from the city I used to live in. The cafes wore a simple yet elegant look with the crowd more mature and peace-loving than the ones in the city pubs and restobars. I just fell in love with the place right from the moment I stepped into its roads. We went in to a cafe for a drink. It was a bit dark but comfortably cool. The crowd minded their own business. One guy next to our table was sitting quietly playing his guitar. He looked at us and came directly to greet us. Soon after we became so comfortable with him and began to discuss almost anything under the sun - from politics, crime, economy, society to culture, love and life. He seemed very knowledgeable who could talk on anything with ease. He had a charming smile, a smile that can win hearts for its simplicity. His eyes were deep, dark. Not pitch black but with a darker shade of deep blue. He said he is a doctor who is taking a short break from the mechanical routine of hospitals. He has been in the town for a while now. He gave us a lot of useful information on the town, the unexplored places around. He is the one who talked a lot about Kheer Ganga, one of the most popular treks which was not known so widely at that time. So we went for the trek next morning. The experience of Kheer Ganga trek was almost life-changing for all of us. But that's not the point of discussion right now. Maybe some other time. We stayed in Kheer Ganga for two days. Totally cut off from the monotony of life. Up the hill had two resting places for trekkers. We lived there, with the groups of wandering hippies, musicians and revelers, discussed life and everything that mattered to us. It was a life without any worries or demarcations of people, races, colors, societies. Almost like a Utopian heaven. I am happy I could live it for two long and wonderful days. On the second day, I was walking across the meadow trying to talk to the clouds again when I came across the familiar deep blue eyes. Yes, that doctor was there. He joined us for the evening tea and then for dinner too. He knew so much about the place. Almost every single detail of the place by the palm of his hand. He knew each and every detail of the government functions, the secret services being operated there. He knew it so well that I almost began to doubt he is a spy. He indeed had the qualities of a spy. Maybe he is. Maybe that's why he was there for some time. Why would a doctor take a lonely break to stay away from everything and live in this warm place alone? A young, good-looking doctor with deep, darker blue eyes. When I looked at him, he simply smiled. As if he knew what was rushing in my mind. Out of sheer curiosity, I ended up questioning him, "How long have you been here?" He smiled again, "Over three months." Before I asked him why, he explained that he likes this place as it helps him forget negativities and unwanted stuff. There was a strange shine in those deep, darker blue eyes. I could not get much but it was enough for me to understand he definitely is not a normal, regular doctor having over 3-months break from his hospital and family. When we left Kheer Ganga, he was not there. He had already left. When we reached Kasol, I saw him again in the crowd. He almost ran out of sight as if trying to avoid us. But before I lost him, his deep darker blue eyes stopped for a moment, looked straight into my eyes, smiled silently and disappeared in the crowd. I never saw him again. He didn't even tell his name. Everyone used to call him Doc. Where did he go? I would never know. Was he really a spy? Or someone else? Where is he now? Does he still go to the hills?
Somewhere around July in 2008, I was on a week-long vacation to Mcleodganj - a popular hill station in the Kangra district of Himachal Pradesh, India. The quiet town is a pretty sight of the peaceful Buddhist monks, happy faces of the locals and a lot of eateries with local, regional and international cuisines mostly crowded by the tourists. The place has a different noise with a unique charm - a charm that attracts thousands drawn to it like moths rushing to the candle. At least that was what the place made me feel when I first visited it. A few kilometers away is Triund, a trek of few hours to reach the watch points from where Dhauladhar range can be clearly witnessed. It was not a widely known trek back in those days. I have decided to go there once with my friend. The receptionist at the hotel in Mcleodganj gave us directions how to reach the peak, rather how locals trek that path. Because, by rule we never traveled anywhere like tourists. We decided to leave our luggage at the hotel. But the receptionist was certain that we would stay at the peak at least for a day as he claimed the beauty of Moon Peak is beyond words. Indeed, he was right. We reached the peak after a few hours of trekking and exploring the forests and hills. The magnificent view of the Himalayas from Moon Peak would just take your breath away. Its pure white blanket of soft snow was shining bright even in the late afternoon when we reached the top. There was only one small stall of a shepherd who would be there till it begins to snow. Once winter enters, everyone moves out of the entire Triund. Well, everyone included only him and some porters who would carry luggage of trekkers and basic food supply to the shepherd's stall. That stall is the only access to food for the trekkers. He also keeps small tents for trekkers who would come and stay there to witness the Moon Peak. The shepherd said very politely, "Just wait patiently till dark." By the time we reached there, lots of trekkers were lounging in their tents across the peak. We could not just move from the place without watching the night view. And what a magical view it was! The shepherd gave us food - very basic, the food he prepared for himself he shared with us - along with a small tent and blankets. As the night came down, the Moon Peak began to shine bright like a big chunk of silver dazzling in the full moon. There was no electricity up there. And it was not even needed. The night was made brighter with bonfire in front of the shepherd's stall. The trekker with the guitar started playing it, everyone around began singing, we shared the same plate of Maggie passed to one another, the laughter, the language of love shared among this bunch of total strangers who were united by the simplicity of the shepherd. I still remember that night. I wonder where the shepherd is now. Do trekkers still acknowledge his kindness and simplicity? Can he still climb the treks with ease? Does age bother him now?
Lady in Red
Coming down the treks of Triund was another experience for me just like climbing it. There is something in the air of the Himalayas. I could feel it, inhale it, touch it, talk to it. The climb-down was fun. We started early in the morning. We came across so many trekkers and locals climbing up, and greeted almost everyone - something which is rare in the capital city where I was living in those days. I saw a lady in bright red saree climbing up the trek. She looked old, probably in her early or mid-50s. She was alone, all by her self in the hills. Her red saree was specific - the one a bride or a newly-wed usually wears. When I smiled at her to greet, she didn't seem to notice. She was smiling on her own, looking a bit lost in her own world. She seemed happy, glowing with some happiness which was clearly visible in her lost look. How is she going to climb up? Won't she be exhausted? Who will help her? I was a bit surprised to see her in that bridal saree. She also wore some ornaments, just the way a bride usually decks up on her wedding day. Who is she going to meet at the peak? I had a thousand questions in mind. She already had passed me but her questions and my curiosity tagged along until I suddenly saw the lady in red climbing down the trek again. Just a few minutes ago I saw her climb up. Maybe 15-20 minutes ago. How could she come back so soon? I am sure she didn't reach the peak and decided to climb down. But she had the same happy and lost look in her face. I started becoming restless with the questions crowding my mind. Where was she going? Is she going to meet someone? Is she lost? She must be tired walking up and so returned half way. "Did you see that old lady in red saree just now?" I asked my friend who looked at me with a question mark. Am I the only one who saw that lady in red climbing up and down the trek? But that can't be possible. She walked past twice. For real. Just after 10 minutes of this confusion, she climbed up the trek again as I crossed her. This time she paused to look at me; those eyes were dry. She stopped smiling and gave me a long, deep look. And before I could react, she resumed climbing up again. By the time I looked back, she disappeared somewhere in the hills. My friend claimed there was no such lady in red saree. He never saw her. Did the lady in red actually look at me? What was that long, deep look for? Was she for real? Where is she now?
The Flute Player
The same vacation took me to Dharamkot - a hilly neighborhood of Mcleodganj. It's a quiet village in the lap of serene greenery. Well, I have passed by a lot of Israeli 'local' farmers who married the local girls and settled there. The village had homestays at that time when it was not a common practice as such, not at least among the Indian travelers. But yes, there were a lot of foreigners who used to frequent the village and stay there for months. The foreigners actually showed me the way to find a local eatery that used to serve pizzas as authentic as Italian pizzas. It included quite a good number of cafes mostly crowded by hippies. You would experience a completely different vibe in that village - a very comforting vibe. We relished on the much popular pizzas prepared by the village women and decided to stop by a cafe for a hot cup of tea - a thing of luxury amidst pure greenery. While looking for a cafe, the road ahead showed a bifurcated view - one road leading to the way out for more eateries and cafes and another directing to an edgy, narrow lane leading to the thick forest. We decided to walk that way just to explore the place a bit. A few minutes of walking on the edgy lane brought us close to a soothing music of a flute echoing in the forest. Who could be playing that? It made us more intrigued. We walked more into the thick forest on that edgy lane. The sound of the flute became clearer as we approached the thicker and edgier part of that narrow lane. It was broad day light but the sun was not so visible in that dense lane on the hills. There could hardly be any human in this corner of the forest. Soon after, a face appeared in front of us. He wore a simple kurta, a bit shabby but clean enough. No shoes or slippers, just barefoot on the raw, dusty lane. He was a foreigner walking barefoot on the dusty, edgy lane of the Himalayas playing a flute so effortlessly and soothing to the soul. There was a different pain, a comfortable pain in that music consoling the slings of the heart. At least it made me feel so. We walked past him. He looked at me, still occupied with playing his flute. But those eyes smiled and greeted me. We decided to come back to find the cafe for tea. There was one next to the bifurcated road which we discovered now. The music on the flute was echoing across the hills even now. We came out of the cafe and headed to the hotel down the road, a good 2 hours walk. The music was still heard. That barefooted, kurta-clad foreigner was still playing it. What was he doing in that thick forest? Where was he coming from? He was so lost in playing his flute. Who taught him how to play the flute? Where is he now? Does he still play his flute? Does it still soothe souls?
Early winters of 2007 brought me to Dalhousie - another quaint town at the foothills of the Dhauladhar range. Chunks of snow were visible everywhere in the town. It had a slow life, but it definitely had life. Locks of pine trees adorn the roads and the hills. Its natural springs have water purer than bottled water. I did taste it while walking across the coiled roads, hopping villages, witnessing meadows. The whole town in winter gifts you the feeling of a Swiss vacation in its true sense. Writing about the town will take me two or more stories. So I will skip to the last day before I boarded the bus to my city. That morning I decided to start early, giving one last and good look of the town before I leave. The coiled roads took me to Jandri Ghat, a quiet neighborhood of mostly pine trees and natural springs. By now, I could talk to the trees and springs with ease - something that draws me to the hills. Pure joy. While walking through the melodious pine trees of Jandri Ghat, I ended up discovering a beautiful heritage palace which is the residence of the Governor of Chamba. The palace spread across a wide area behind a thick blanket of pine trees. It was a restricted area for commoners due to security reasons. But I was curious to know who lives there. The palace instantly caught my attention, I felt something, some connecting vibes for reasons unknown to me. I met a local there who came to collect woods there. Out of curiosity, I asked him about the palace and its people. He brought me to a corner from where the lawns of the palace could be seen clearly. It belonged to the royals, he said. I saw a lady in saree sitting in the lawn with two children playing and hopping around her like chirping birds. That laughter full of life in the middle of a thick pine forest. They looked happy. After watching them from afar, I returned to the bus stand to board my bus to my city. Those children must have grown up by now. Where are they? Maybe studying abroad, or settling somewhere, married to some royals, or trying to hide pain behind the garb of royals - how it happens in regular soap operas on royal lives. I am sure they won't live in that forest palace. Do they visit it even? Do the locals treat them like it used to in the past? Do they even remember that place? Does the royal vibe exist there anymore?
The Spying Eyes
One of the most mysterious ways of talking to the hills and clouds happened to me in 2010 when I went to Kasol. Yes, I do converse with hills and clouds, even oceans. I feel a strong connection with nature that way. Am I weird? But I like this weirdness. The sky over Kasol has a different way of communicating with you. Or at least with me. I could literally see images of different deities in the chunks of clouds there. Not that I am so religious, but I do have a strong connection with faith, this energy of faith. I don't know how to put this in words, but the sky and the hills did talk to me so very clearly in Kasol like in no other places did ever. I had two friends accompanying me in that trip, which is one of my most adventurous trips to a hill station at a time when there were less tourists to that place from the city I used to live in. The cafes wore a simple yet elegant look with the crowd more mature and peace-loving than the ones in the city pubs and restobars. I just fell in love with the place right from the moment I stepped into its roads. We went in to a cafe for a drink. It was a bit dark but comfortably cool. The crowd minded their own business. One guy next to our table was sitting quietly playing his guitar. He looked at us and came directly to greet us. Soon after we became so comfortable with him and began to discuss almost anything under the sun - from politics, crime, economy, society to culture, love and life. He seemed very knowledgeable who could talk on anything with ease. He had a charming smile, a smile that can win hearts for its simplicity. His eyes were deep, dark. Not pitch black but with a darker shade of deep blue. He said he is a doctor who is taking a short break from the mechanical routine of hospitals. He has been in the town for a while now. He gave us a lot of useful information on the town, the unexplored places around. He is the one who talked a lot about Kheer Ganga, one of the most popular treks which was not known so widely at that time. So we went for the trek next morning. The experience of Kheer Ganga trek was almost life-changing for all of us. But that's not the point of discussion right now. Maybe some other time. We stayed in Kheer Ganga for two days. Totally cut off from the monotony of life. Up the hill had two resting places for trekkers. We lived there, with the groups of wandering hippies, musicians and revelers, discussed life and everything that mattered to us. It was a life without any worries or demarcations of people, races, colors, societies. Almost like a Utopian heaven. I am happy I could live it for two long and wonderful days. On the second day, I was walking across the meadow trying to talk to the clouds again when I came across the familiar deep blue eyes. Yes, that doctor was there. He joined us for the evening tea and then for dinner too. He knew so much about the place. Almost every single detail of the place by the palm of his hand. He knew each and every detail of the government functions, the secret services being operated there. He knew it so well that I almost began to doubt he is a spy. He indeed had the qualities of a spy. Maybe he is. Maybe that's why he was there for some time. Why would a doctor take a lonely break to stay away from everything and live in this warm place alone? A young, good-looking doctor with deep, darker blue eyes. When I looked at him, he simply smiled. As if he knew what was rushing in my mind. Out of sheer curiosity, I ended up questioning him, "How long have you been here?" He smiled again, "Over three months." Before I asked him why, he explained that he likes this place as it helps him forget negativities and unwanted stuff. There was a strange shine in those deep, darker blue eyes. I could not get much but it was enough for me to understand he definitely is not a normal, regular doctor having over 3-months break from his hospital and family. When we left Kheer Ganga, he was not there. He had already left. When we reached Kasol, I saw him again in the crowd. He almost ran out of sight as if trying to avoid us. But before I lost him, his deep darker blue eyes stopped for a moment, looked straight into my eyes, smiled silently and disappeared in the crowd. I never saw him again. He didn't even tell his name. Everyone used to call him Doc. Where did he go? I would never know. Was he really a spy? Or someone else? Where is he now? Does he still go to the hills?
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