UTTARAKHAND DIARIES

by Shamit Bagchi

PROLOGUE
It all started with the trigger, an unbearable pull, also known as 'WANDERLUST'.

There is some allure of the hills,

The raw challenge, the chills

And thrills.

To respond to it and conquer them is a must

And only just,

For then shall I satiate my wanderlust!

Compelling it is to travel,

Ignore if you will, redoubled it’d strike,

And burst forth, the unbearable pull,

The maddening ache of wandering,

Of getting lost, and discovering.

The pleasures of going the distance!

New Delhi Railway Station

The flight landed at the New Delhi airport at 1 AM and I had no further bookings - was still debating:
Uttarakhand or Ladakh!

The outside of the Airport is not exactly warm nor exactly chilly, June has just arrived - I grab a Red Bull
from a sleepy looking guy at one among the several food counters; ‘cause I know I have to sustain a long
sleepless night. I browse on my new touch screen phone - the LG GT505 and make some inquiries about
the multiple Delhi railway stations (everything in Delhi is in multiples). I start chatting to an auto
rickshaw driver who compelling spins a yarn – but he’s a sweet middle-aged person – speaks with me for
a while - tells me why I must go to the farther off railway station and checks and confirms over his
mobile that I will get the Dehradun Shatabdi at around 7 AM. As I am speaking a red AC bus arrives, the
conductor calling out – I confirm with the auto driver, apologize to him that I cannot take the auto and
jump into the bus - the charges are one fifth that of the rick.

These AC buses ply back and forth from the airport to the bus stand/New Delhi railway station. I reach
the railway station in 20 minutes. I start asking around for the railway station and meet two more men
of roughly my age or slightly younger – they are coincidentally from Bangalore and are headed to Agra.
The semi-dark lanes have a few shops open. A couple of men ask me if I would like to hire a taxi, I sit and
chat for a while and then let them know I will head for the railway station.

Once I am in, I loiter around for a while, find the over bridge and at its other end reach the ticket
counter which is outside the station. Near the counter I chat with the ticket brokers who are desperate
to get some cash from me – am waiting for tickets for the Dehradun Shatabdi to Haridwar about which I
had checked on the net earlier.

There is this broker with one hand missing, he is the most active of the lot and subtly conveys to me that
without their help I will fail to get a ticket booked to my place of choice. Other brokers come and go –
this man persists and smiles every often as I keep repeating I am not interested and he says: "Try kar
leejiye".

Hundreds of people are sleeping in the open passenger entry area before the platforms. A scene you
normally don’t see unless you go at that unearthly hour - twitching, tired bodies now resting. At around
3 AM I feel a bit drowsy, I go buy a magazine and some eatables to keep awake.

I hang on as they tell me that the ticket counter opens at 4 AM, and it does but the train’s details are not
available until 5 AM. Filling up the form and after submitting it, the bespectacled person at the counter
checks on his terminal and lets me know that only 2 seats are available and that too till Meerut – he
advices I take the ticket, later I could speak to the ticket checker and adjust. I do as he suggests!

Then I wait for the train until 7 AM. I board the train not sure what I will do after Meerut… Meerut is 72
kilometers from Delhi and Haridwar another 140 plus kilometers.

Train to Haridwar
Loads of foreigners in the compartment and also noisy kids; one set spiritually inclined the other
decibel-ly! With all this however the train is quite comfortable – AC chair car – with breakfast served.
After a few minutes of departure a person comes and sits beside me on the vacant seat and gives me a
big smile. In another few minutes we start conversing. I tell him about my limited ticket up to Meerut.

“So when did you buy the ticket, did someone tell you to buy it?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye. This
man of a smallish build was well dressed and his black leather shoes were shining; he sat in style beside
me.
“Yes, the person at the ticket counter where I was all night,” I replied back, to which he started nodding
his head in a gesture of knowingness.

“Good,” he continued, “that was clever of you – unfortunately I came at the last moment and had to
speak to the TC to enter without a ticket. So where are you from?”

“I am from Bangalore, I hope I can extend this ticket beyond Meerut; where are you headed to?,” I ask
him.

Saharanpur or someplace he tells me and he is without a ticket; and I look more nervous than him – he
is perfectly nonchalant; I then realize that many people could be doing this regularly.

The checker comes up and I mention to him if I can get my ticket extended till Haridwar.

“Speak to me in a while – I will let you know,” says he in a gentle voice; my ticket less co-passenger
speaks to him in some sign language which I completely fail to fathom and then the TC vanishes! He
never comes back.

Meerut arrives and we are told to vacate the seats by a mother-daughter duo perhaps, no - in all
probability bengalis I figure. Me and my ticketless friend – apparently he is a manager with some
Ayurvedic firm - move on, although I put up a brave face in front of the ladies; ultimately the ladies get
the priority you see!

We move into the next compartment and find 2 seats vacant. I am sitting in between two people and
they seem to be daily travelers. I feel extreme embarrassment in sitting between them like a ticketless
traveler. They are calm and silent - going about their activities, reading the newspaper, having breakfast
etc.

After a while another ticket checker arrives and I regain my composure then I go on to narrate the facts
glibly – he says he would definitely look into it and vanishes – no other ticket checkers come after that
and I give up on worrying. Ticketless has also vanished in the meanwhile, after a while.

I reach Haridwar at about noon while chatting for the last hour of the train travel with a serene and
chatty but wise, old man with an ivory white, flowing beard; from Baroda. He is from a yoga ashram
there and has extensive knowledge of Reiki and pranic – energy healing! I listen to him sceptically, some
of his scientific explanations are quite plausible I must add though!

The Haridwar station is very small, I come out of the station premises and there are so many cycle
rickshaws waiting in a queue along the road. The rickshaw wallah takes me to a pricey hotel first which I
immediately come out of and then we settle for another one. On its board is written in Bengali script:
Hotel Arati.
Yet another train to Haridwar
Before I enter Hotel Arati let me abruptly pause for a while here and hop onto another train. This time it
is a train of thoughts that travels far and wide to everywhere!

Why am I here in Haridwar? What brings me here? To start with was it a conscious decision – of course
triggered or by an impulse - that started it all? Or was it pre planned, beyond my volition? The latter is
too farfetched to be imagined being true! At least I refuse to believe it although some part of my brain is
instructing exactly the opposite – saying this is a part of my destiny – it had to happen…

Going by the easiest explanation first - it was an escape hatch from the banal life of the city that is
Bangalore – academics and work combined had merely intellectual stimulation to offer. Get away,
anywhere, now! It was a short break of four weeks (the longest we get between years) between the
second year of my post graduation and the next quarter when I had exactly a week left. It was an
urgency and impatience to grab this opportunity to travel to some place and I finally chose Uttaranchal,
and to start with Haridwar. See? That was easy.

The next thing is this concept of wanderlust, to explore beyond just guided tours and work related
travel. It is a sort of honey that attracts us as if we were bees. Getting lost – going up yonder – the pull
of the majestic mountains and the beautiful hills – or the plains or the forests and the seas – infinite
possibilities - one life. Notions imbibed from books and experienced in life too.

I had done an anonymous trip to Benaras, a year back and probably that was the source, a reference
point. Once you take off on your own – you’re hooked, addicted as if to travelling independently, free
from all things, going along, through thick and thin – carefree of the consequences. The ‘just do it’ spirit!

You won’t believe it – it all happened in the span of one day. I made the decision on a Sunday morning,
went ahead and bought some travel gear that morning, booked the flight tickets in the afternoon and by
midnight was on my way. Swiftness of it all also gives you that kick! Adrenaline high – I am reminded of
Ernesto ‘Che’ Guevara’s remark: “We travel just to travel”!

More than travel it is my free will asserting itself! It tugs at your innermost core and then you give in! It
is not your usual sight-seeing or relaxing in a resort (which incidentally I find repulsive, it has its social
value I agree) – it goes beyond; it helps you connect to something beyond just life’s immediate, here and
now activities and utilities.

Metaphorically the link of comradeship and love is established with the vast expanses of the universe
through these spaces and natural formations such as mountains, seas, forests on planet earth and act as
perfect surrogates. Transcendence reached albeit temporarily through these means.

The trailing compartment of this train is the destiny bit – the notion that it had all to be and so it did –
destined as it were! Someone even told me this exact thing too, later on in my trip. I don’t deny that
some part of my brain is reeling in pleasure at that thought but is it rational? Hmmm... Does everything
have to be rational in life?
The train screeches to an abrupt halt. There is a momentary silence.

There erupts the hustle bustle of the Haridwar streets. Walking through a small entrance into a place
dungeon-like, I check-in into Hotel Arati.

Hari ki Pauli
As he started off from Hotel Arati sitting in a cycle rickshaw towards Hari ki Pauri – the banks where
thousands bathe every day, Mr S felt the drizzle on him – he had expected searing heat – this was so
cool – literally! The rickshaw puller experienced considerable agony in pulling Mr S’s bulk through
particularly one part of the market where the rickshaw-wallahs can no longer cycle but have to pull the
rickshaw and the customer sitting on it as they walk along!

Now we can see Mr S walking across the bridge across the Ganga (Ganges) walking down in the drizzle
and then there he is standing on the red paved platform on one side. That’s the Hari ki Pauri. We can see
him now as a tiny dot among thousands of worshippers. He seems to be saying “Wow, I love this place,
it is drizzling and that makes it even more breathtaking”. Camera in hand he gapes at the thousands of
bathers, some changing clothes, some dipping in the holy waters, some getting ready to jump in, some
fully drenched. Can you feel the tingle in Mr S’s spine? No - you won’t, you can’t if you have not gone to
this place – Hari ki Pauri – Lord Hari’s tank in Haridwar an area where the gushing waters of the Ganga
are utilized for bathing and worship.

Mr S speaks to two Sadhus asking them what they are doing here, they retort back to him the same –
then they all have a hearty laugh! After looking in wonderment all around for a couple of more minutes,
Mr S walks down to the water front and is bending gingerly to take a handful of water in his cupped
palm when he hears a strange sound. A Hisssss.

“Hissss”

Mr S looks around and doesn’t find anything, apart from people frolicking in the waters - he continues to
try and reach the water since if he slips he is going to be in the water, so he is very careful.

“Hessss”

“What is it?”, thinks aloud Mr S.

“Insehssss”

He turns to his left to find a strange creature now visible just above the water surface. It is a strange
creamish color water creature – small rounded head, a cup shaped lip, and several tentacles – red
tentacles.
“Ah this is something I have seen somewhere”, says Mr S and that’s when he recollects browsing
through the Lovely Planet magazine in the airport in Thimpu, six years back. He had gone on a tour
through CorningSpar tours and travels. He distinctly remembers his guide Nomit Dhasu. Dhasu was a
smart-alecky know-it-all kind of a man, at least in his subject, but had the air of an Indiana Jones about
him. He had felt reviled first but the man was knowledgeable.

Anyways here and now he remembered the magazine talked of a Haripauli Gangeticus, scientific name
for an octopus - rarest of rare non-oceanic breed found in India and seen only once in four years in and
around the Hari ki Pauri. People used to fondly call it ‘Hari ki Pauli’. So this was it, and as the notion went
only the most fortunate had sightings of this frothy, odd-looking creature. And apparently it had soothe-
saying powers.

“Hey what is it that you are saying”, said Mr S trying to listen more keenly.

“Princehesss”

“You mean inches?” asked Mr S looking at his pot belly, frowning; then straining his ears, bringing them
closer, slipping once almost on the verge of a fall as careful as he was.

“Princesssss, you will see the princess,” said Pauli distinctly.

“Tomorrow,” he added.

“Who, where, when?” shouted out Mr S amidst the deafening roar of the mighty river, his interest now
sufficiently piqued.

“The princess in disguise. However there is a condition”, said Pauli – a smile spreading across its brown,
grainy and white bulbous head, eyes blinking.

“What condition?” Mr S yelled, unable to control his excitement now.

“Don’t yell. Let me tell. You have to climb the stairs to reach the Manasa Devi temple. There that way”,
Pauli raised one of its blood red tipped tentacle.

“Oh really, great!” said Mr S, blood now rushing up to his face.

“Bye then, have a great time ahead”, said Pauli now waving all its tentacles.

It was a wonderful sight that is still etched in Mr S’s memory. He waved back and within seconds it had
disappeared as if assimilated within the spray of the gushing waters.

He ran up the stairs and back across the bridge and started walking towards where the rickshaw wallah
had told him the stairs to the Manasa Devi temple began. No big deal he thought, he had no idea why
Pauli had thrown him this challenge. Was it a joke? Or was it true? Who was this princess? In disguise he
had said. Was he sleepy and day dreaming? He could hardly wait till tomorrow…
He started climbing up the stairs, and he went on climbing, and climbing and climbing and climbing! At
one point he got so totally breathless that he gulped down a bottle full of water mistaking his
breathlessness for thirst! There were hawkers asking him to buy Prasad or holy offerings to the goddess
every few hundred or two hundred steps. When he reached the destination it was a revelation. People
thronged in great numbers which meant they had all climbed too. Had they?

After the visit to the temple, he asked and someone informed him that there is a ropeway but it was not
operational for the next two hours due to gusty winds. That meant he had to climb down the stairs. He
was much more prepared now, once he was near the end he asked two people and they told him that
he had climbed eight hundred and fifty steps. The stairs had become slippery and muddy in the rains
and he could slip anytime so carefully he came down and promptly walked into an eatery in the market
place. He could hardly eat anything when sleep started to envelop him. He now realized that he must
have slept for one or two hours in the train from Delhi. He quickly finished gulping down some food and
hurried back to the Hotel Arati.

Sleep overcame him as he locked the door of his room from inside; he lay motionless in bed, after
having tossed the camera on one side of the bed. None of the photographs had picked up any trace of
Pauli – the octopus Gangeticus, he discovered later. In his dreams he jogged through the alleys of his
memory, Nomit Dhasu and the adventures at Thimpu.

It was evening. Princess Sa Ri Ta had reached Rishikesh the same day, the dusky complexioned, full
bodied beauty, with dark pouty lips was staring at the distant something, sitting in the balcony of Hotel
Ganga across the table with her mother and they were sipping tea. The two of them were to tour
Rishikesh the following day in a bus booked by her dad back in Gwalior. The same bus that Mr S would
take – he didn’t even know if he was going to Rishikesh the next day or somewhere else, but then
coincidence or otherwise, things happen...

Fire and Night

It is getting hazy and dark, the taste of the halwa puri and another syrupy sweetmeat special to
Haridwar first grabs my taste buds, sends pleasure signals shooting to my brain, envelopes my mind for
a while and then as I finish it off, the taste lingers on in my tongue. Delirious, as I cross the bridge I can
see the river of dark molten watery nothing-ness, caressing the banks, which slowly gets filled with
thousands of gathering devotees all eager to look at a daily spectacle that will soon unfold. Ganga Aarati
– river worship at the Hari ki Pauri starts around 7 PM every day. A glimpse of the holy fire is supposed
to be sacred I guess, that’s why the near stampede; which I become a part of in moments. Until minutes
before the fire is lit, agents of the Ganga Mandali are feverishly collecting donations from devotees,
loudly calling out names of those who contributed and the amount they contributed. My contribution is
meager in comparison with others - which means there are a lot of tourists - but then I don’t believe in
comparisons!
The chief priest starts chanting and then the fire is lit in a brass holder that he holds - smell of camphor
and other holy oils never reach my blocked nostrils. People pushing to get forward to be nearer to the
fire; as leaping flames become visible in stark contrast to the pitch darkness that has suddenly fallen. I
turn around to see another flame behind and little flakes of fire come leaping towards us in the blowing
wind; one small fleck sticks to my bag and I realize it has caught fire, I extinguish it with my a few blows.
There you go - a permanent mark left on my bag. Burnt? Yes and perhaps blessed!

After the Arati I head towards the market hoping to get a rickshaw but at this time of the night the roads
are choked with devotees and the few rickshaws that manage to reach the spot quote bizarrely high
prices for a ride. I keep walking as a panoply of vendors and devotees throng the roads, walking through
is a difficult experience. Finally I get a rick ready to go for twice the usual rate – might have walked down
all the way, I think.

I reach the hotel and ask for what kind of trips they arrange for and the man at the reception hands me
a pamphlet, the Rishikesh one looks best for an arranged 1 day trip. I enquire about Kedarnath and
Gangotri, these are to the centre and north of Uttarakhand and will take quite some time to reach,
Kedarnath I am told has to be trekked for about fourteen KMs to reach. I ask about Joshimath and
Badrinath, he asks me to go and speak to a few travel agencies down the road, the GMVN (Garhwal
Mandal Vikas Nigam) office is also nearby (there are two actually, one an office and another is a PRO).

So I wander about until I find a good travel agency – a reasonably knowledgeable guy, who speaks
confidently and convinces me! I plan the way he suggests – Badrinath (east Uttarakhand) and then I
come southwards to South Garhwal, Joshimath, Rudraprayag. Kedarnath and other places will not
happen this time given the time I have available or the lack of it, for this trip. Later I go to the GMVN
PRO – it has shut by the time I reach there. I come back and book the ticket to Badrinath (the bus is at
4:30 AM) the trip will take almost 12-14 hours I am told.

The next day I will go to Rishikesh! Lakshman Jhula and Ram Jhula. I will come back to this later…

Next Day - After I get back from a whole day’s trip to Rishikesh, I go back to the hotel and ask them to
wake me up at 3:30 AM in the morning so I can take the bus to Badrinath. I have a sumptuous dinner
and then as I switch off the lights to go to sleep, sleep eludes me completely. You would have expected
after all the tiring events of the day sleep would come easily – no sir, no such luck. Thoughts and images
from the trip to Rishikesh come trooping in – sleep has vanished! And you cannot force sleep. The mind
at times behaves in extremely strange ways and gets attached as it were with certain thoughts, events,
ideas and people. The mind capture can be so complete that all else is forgotten for that period of time.
It is like that example of a transparent crystal taking the colour of the nearest object and completely
identifying with it. So finally I fall asleep at around 12:30 am or so and the room service promptly wakes
me up at 3:15 am. Groggy, foggy eyed, I get ready, checkout of Hotel Arati and leave in a rickshaw; a
chatty rickshaw driver for company.

The bus is supposed to leave at 4:30 am. I call once and am told the bus hasn’t come yet. I wait till 4:20
and then call again – and when I describe where I am the contact person informs me that I am perhaps
at the wrong bus stand. I am wary I will miss the bus. Luckily I reach the other bus stand at about a
distance of a kilometer, and as I ask for my seat – seat number 10, a young chap gets off the seat
number 10 and goes out mumbling.

Feel the chill and the thrill.

Being from Bangalore I had never experienced this sort of cold. In June it was 5-6 degree Celsius... what
on earth would it be like in the winters? And the real reason was that I was totally unprepared. During
the late entry of the bus (around 8 PM) along the circuitous roads with hairpin bends, firstly the mind
was shocked and numbed, then a downpour started and as I got off the bus having reached Badrinath
with only a jacket on - the chill hit me - hard. Initially it was manageable but later the second day the
body was slowly giving way to the onslaught, unexpected, un-acclimatized and unprepared as it was. I
managed to reach the GMVN Yatri Nivas asking many people on the way as it was dark all around and
the drizzle intensifying and ebbing all the time.

The Yatri Nivas though spacious it had these flickering yellow lamps reminiscent of massive halls of some
old and dilapidated mansion. The cold outside had me blinded and it took me some time to get
adjusted, the dorm was nice and cosy looking with wooden beds and massive blankets that would turn
cold if left alone for a minute. The second day evening was horror - as I kept shivering even with a jacket
and a sweater on, almost caught fever and had to eat properly (a heavy dinner as I wasn't eating
properly for last 2 days) to get my system working up to all its potential. The first morning the bath at
the natural geysers beneath the very colorful Badrinath temple was like bliss. Hot to the first touch it
becomes warm as you enjoy frolicking in the waters.

The roaming around the Mana village the whole day was yet another exciting experience - we went
down the rocks and touched the river waters! Crossing the bridge and reminiscing the idyllic life that the
villagers live! It is harsh though very harsh to lead life at those altitudes. Later when I had to get back to
Joshimath it was a long wait at the bus depot waiting for jeeps and Sumos and Qualises. Finally quite in a
bad health and a Crocin to reduce the pain I reached the sunny Joshimath. Most of these memories is
now overshadowed by the breathtaking beauty of Badrinath and Mana. The wait at the temple for
hours, the rock formations and quaint huts of Mana, the gurgling river spewing fresh water as it slapped
on the rocks turning them to round boulders and smaller stone fragments and even stone powder! The
green river, the muddy river, the blue river, the white waters - so many forms, so many colors ...

EPILOGUE
Fleeting moments of heightened whatever …
Have you ever felt that eruption of a crush? As if someone has just squeezed your heart and all the
blood has reached your head! You start floating around in space even though you are standing right
there on the ground. It is nothing but a chemical surge. You got to blame the chemical dopamine. So
what? I say! It feels real and it is – we can define real later on!

The bus for Rishikesh had started moving when there were voices heard, someone was yelling from
outside. The conductor asked the driver to stop for a minute. Two women came into the bus and seated
themselves and the bus started off again with a lurch - the dusty landscape soon giving way to narrow,
congested roads.

She was now sitting in the bus with her mother. She would have been around twenty five or so, well
endowed and taller than her mother; as she sat there she wiped the sweat beads off her dusky forehead
with her dupatta!

Princess is what her mother called her (the translation from Hindi). It was during the stopover at a
temple - a large white one that I faintly remember was related to some goddess that I met Princess (P in
short).

The mobile phone is one device, one marvelous invention of mankind! Towering companies fight over
market share and mobile memory share. All its advantages of mobility and tons of ridiculous features
and then some! However it can sometimes be a real pain, if you ask me.

As we were walking down to the temple her mobile rang and after that she continued speaking
forever... Later the guide kept explaining something on the efficacies of Rudraksh - a dry herb and P kept
speaking on the mobile. I kept looking at her once in a while - she realized my gaze at one point, that
didn’t deter me – she was quite beautiful!

It was inside Choti-waale - a unique hotel at Ramjhulaa (Rishikesh) that I first spoke to her. Actually she
spoke to me!

"Have you missed the bus?” she asked me suggesting that we may have missed the guide.

"I hope I haven’t", I quipped.

We waited for sometime after which we actually started going towards the spot where the other visitors
were.

"So you are from Haridwar?", I asked her keeping the conversation going.

"Yeah, you?"

Bangalore I said and then she started to speak on her mother's sister's husband being a software
engineer in Bangalore, and her wide eyed wonder when I said I wasn’t exactly employed and was
running a small startup. She wouldn’t believe as if in the Mecca of jobs - Bangalore it was impossible for
me to be an entrepreneur! Is this common for all girls?

We continued speaking once in a while when we would get a chance. She smiled when she spoke, and
I'd admire her in my mind. Her mother was a woman of few words and just smiled and nodded once in a
while.

We had lost the way and we crossed the river Ganges at the Ramjhula bridge and as we chatted along
we got an auto and reached the spot where the return bus to Haridwar would be. In the bus we hardly
spoke as I was sitting in the end and they were sitting in the front. When we went to the final temple we
met for the last time. They went in one direction and I went in another.

I could hardly sleep that night and then the alarm woke me up at 3:45 AM! And that’s the end - if I meet
her again I may not even recognize her - the little fallacies and joys of life!!

The dopamine attack washed out as we in the bus started climbing the hilly terrain on the way to
Badrinath. The breathtaking views erased every last residue of memory of the beautiful damsel!

That should explain why dopamine attacks are alternately termed as Maya in Indian spirituality and
literature! Humans are tuned that way to be on the lookout. And as long as they don’t cause any
damage, no harm!