On a trek to Lal Tibba and blue berry cheese cake.

Here is the trek description in a more readable form.

• Trek from the academy to Lal Tibba.
• Started at 7.30 am.
• Downhill walk till Bhilaru pump house.
• Salt sprinkling ceremony to ward off leeches and to maintain pH levels, slaughtered few mountain goats to propitiate trekking gods (ok, this part is made up, the sacrifice part).
• Some more downhill walk on algae covered paths (slippery as hell).
• Bicchu buti kisses in between (painful, painful, irritating initially, but one forgets after a while as the aches in legs from climbing overtakes the bicchu buti sting). Nobody quite grasped the nettle!

  

  Beware of bicchu buti.

  
  

• 

  Some mushrooms enroute.

• Dead wood blocks the narrow path; OTs slide on their bottoms in order not to roll down 80 ft before the fall is broken by trees. Fat bottomed OTs you make the rugged world go round!
• Crossed leech infested area near a pool of stagnant water and a ribbon of a stream that has the deceptive roar of a raging torrent, somehow. Yours truly mistook the leeches for earthworms, steps in to the pool, soggy shoes and socks torment for the rest of the trek.
• Climb begins in earnest. Narrow, gravelly path. Precipitous drop one one side and stinging nettles on the other.
• Crawl on all fours at a place. Palms still sweat when one thinks of that part. Happy because of the paunch which lowered the centre of gravity.
• Climb past hamlets, barking dogs, flatulent cows.
• Climb past fruit bearing trees (apple, apricot), 'mansoor' shrubs
• Climb ends at Lal Tibba view point. Two sleepy, generic cafes. A binoculars on a roof top. Cloudy so could not see any of the upper Himalayas. Do ends justify the means? Not for Lal Tibba trek I say!
• Pleasant walk downhill and some more climb up to ITM lawns for lunch.

• 

  A bee going about its business.

• Kellogg Memorial and St.Pauls churches, old and redolent of 19th century Raj era.
• Char dukaan disappointed few motor vehicle borne pretty young things. Heard the pancakes are worth making the trek to Landour. Should check out the said pancakes.

  

  Signboards at a cafe.

• Kulri bazaar home to quaint shops. Antiques store was a shortcut to an indeterminate past, in to lives of others, memorabilia mundane and mysterious. Reminded me of the saying that love is greater than truth. And commerce in nostalgia did not seem an example of exploitative capitalism.
• Serendipitous discovery of Clock Tower Cafe by friends. Blueberry cheesecake was out of this world. The ambience made it especially noteworthy.

  

  The interiors of Clock Tower Cafe.

  
  

  

  The coffee was good.

So that in nutshell is an account of the trek. Was it tough? You bet it was. Was it memorable? Every bit yes, especially the scary bits. Was it worth all the sweat, salt, fat etc? I suppose so.

A larger collection of photographs of the trek can be found here.

Below is the trek account in its original form.

Lal Tibba earned an enemy in me today. The trek was 18 km long. The unsuspecting batch started a slow walk downhill till we reached a point where we sprinkled liberal amounts of salt on our shoes (a pointless exercise, for dry salt does not stick to dry shoe surfaces), socks and inside the shoes. This pickling of ourselves in salt was to deter potential dependents in the form of leeches. Once sufficiently salted, the batch made its way through a narrow path surrounded by an abundance of bicchu buti. A handwritten caution note pinned to a tree does not prepare one to the full scale horror of bicchu buti rubbing against one's shins and arms, even through a layer of cloth. The resultant sting was bitter, intense for the initial 2-3 minutes and the itch fades away in to the background remaining a persistent irritant for a time. There was a spot in the descent where a fallen tree caused few anxious moments as the OTs had to go around the gnarled roots on a narrow path and descend some 12 ft in an almost vertical drop, land on another narrow strip of loose dirt path of 1 ft width failing which the OT would take a tumble down an abrupt drop of around 80 ft. It was the first instance when one feels a bit of trepidation. One also imagines Final Destination 1 to 5. Then there was another point in the climb where the loose gravel and a slope of close to 60 degrees meant one had to cling to tufts of grass or shrubs and climb on all fours. It was not a dignified sight for the civil servants to crawl on the sides of the hills, but between the indignity of crawling and the reasonable certainty of a headlong plunge to the very bottom of the valley some 1500 ft below, rational human beings choose crawling.

There was this funny thing of feeling giddy the moment one raises their head to admire the vista of trees of the deepest tree-green covering folds of earth, like vertical love handles, the tremendous middle Himalayan Mussoorie range. So, to avoid falling off the mountain side, one tends to keep his head down, eyes peeled to the path, belabored breath like a sputtering engine. Keep one's head down and climb and climb and climb. Through rocky paths strewn with slate slabs, dried cow dung, an accompanying dog and a racket of dog barks. Climb till you wonder if you are ascending to heaven. Climb some more till your calf muscles turn in to mountain goat muscle. Stringy and tough.

After all the climbing one reaches Lal Tibba. The point we landed up at after the rather difficult trek was a small piece of tarred road and couple of cafes. Since it was overcast there was no chance of seeing the snow-clad Himalayas and the prominent peaks. The culmination of the trek was underwhelming to say the least. Post lunch one was free to move to the academy as per one's preference and I opted to walk down to Landour, along with few friends. Landour was pretty as a post card. Of special mention was the Clock Tower Cafe, a delightful cafe with superb views and a blue berry cheese cake to die for.

Mussoorie weather, Bollywood movie and Mills & Boon

There was a conditioning walk today for the trek tomorrow. I am not complaining. Who would not want to escape the hip gyrations, the awkward bending of limbs, the absurd twisting and exertions that pass off as PT? It may all be good for us, yes, but why would any right thinking individual want to wake up at unearthly hours in this weather, in this place?

The clouds envelope you when walking (climbing, huffing-puffing) to the Officers' Mess at Karmshila, like a beloved draping a coat over your shoulders, a wrapping around of delicate concern. There is a moderate rain in the morning before the PT starts, in the afternoon and in the evening. The sun shines bright and strong in between. In the remaining times the clouds come calling, like fluffy white cows airborne, out in herds for grazing. And graze they do the hill sides clad in million shades of green. With grace. There is always something happening in the skies in Mussoorie. If, by chance, the sun, the clouds, the rain etc forget their lines, a rainbow appears as if on cue and gladdens my heart from this end of the sky to that end. A better prompter of happiness one could not find.

The celestial drama does not end with the sun set, which is poetry in hi-definition in itself. The nightfall reveals the Milky Way in all its glory if the sky is cloudless. It was a full moon day few days ago. The moon hung over Mussoorie, a crown of indescribable beauty to the Queen of the Hills.

Such sights and sounds make one's stay pleasurable. In particular the sonorous call of a bird (have to ID that blessed bird- the call is a 5-6 note call) is most pleasing. A chance to walk in the hills before the sunrise is a rare privilege in deed.

The only disagreeable thing in it all is perhaps the pockets of methanaceous air that one has to pass through where the cattle congregate in groups for rest at night. The odour is quite incongruous with the sweet hill air.

One of the guest lectures was cancelled and a movie was screened in lieu. I had not watched 'Paan Singh Tomar' earlier. It was a good movie. The strongest point of the movie was when Paan Singh Tomar, who transformed from an international athlete to a 'baghi' in the Chambal valley, could not find closure to his situation despite cornering his enemy whose actions forced him to turn to violence in the first place. Violence begets more violence, a vicious circle in which the man confuses an effect for a cause.

The Gandhi Smriti Library springs surprise after surprise. There is an AV (audio/video) section with excellent and extensive collection of movies from different regions and industries and genres. And, who could have guessed, there are two shelves full of mint-new Mills & Boon titles. While one does not understand the need for Mills & Boon titles in an academy for administration, the fact that they seem unread gives one hope, still. Maybe the OTs of this and the previous batches of Foundation Course are not mushy, sentimentalist romantics after all.

On that note, ciao. A trek looms large tomorrow. Leeches, exhaustion, solitude and exhilaration await.

Thukpa, solitude, Mahatma Gandhi

Leeches dominated the last post. That was not my intention. Nor theirs, I believe. Let us agree to be friends and bloodsuckers.

Post trek, since my feet were still zombie walking while my body was stationary, I felt I needed to be out and about. What better destination than the Mussoorie town? Besides, a social media post of a photo of a friend with Ruskin Bond at a book store spurred my curiousity. I had last seen him eight years ago. I thought I might get a glimpse of him again. Celebrity spotting is not my hobby and I do not think Ruskin Bond answers to the title 'celebrity.' Nevertheless, curiousity is a powerful thing, it can move mountains.

By the time I reached the Mall road, the author was gone. I took a leisurely stroll and popped in to the restaurant "Momo's" after I felt safe I was not being followed by food snatchers. The food snatchers are nasty creatures that inhabit one's mind and make it impossible for one to have food anywhere but the Officers' Mess. They also reside in one's purse, from time to time, mostly the month ends and forever when one is in the government's employ. Momo's (apostrophe placed as per the signboard) specializes in authentic Tibetan and Chinese food. That alone is a give away. There is no such thing as authentic Chinese food. We know it to be a deadly concoction of MSG, soy sauce, vinegar and possibly, sesame oil. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the meat Saptak and meat Thukpa. I ate alone. The food was greasy, as may be expected from an outlet selling 'authentic' any food. All those calories I burnt during the trek were regained seven fold. This place may be my haunt over the weekends for the remainder of my time in Mussoorie till I discover a better place. The hot soup of Thukpa helped clear sinuses and warmed me enough to consider walking back to the Academy from Landour. It was two days before a full moon but the clear mountain air was as a thin, cold sheet of glass. The moonlight came flooding through the trees and illuminated the road as paved with a carpet of shadow leaves.

Solitude finds one in the hills like Cupid's arrows find their mark. Or not. That was a stupid comparison. The hills seem to be an enabling environment for solitude. I trekked for long periods alone, out of sight of others, my belaboured breathing my companion with the songs of a few birds or the gurgle of a stream far out of sight. What is it with mountains and me and solitude? The altitude perhaps. So much potential energy. It is natural for it to be converted in to kinetic energy. Words gush out, in poems, through blogs.

Today was Onam. The Malayalee OTs organized a gala fest. Onam sadya was well appreciated by the entire batch. The pookkalam was the centre of attraction. Not to be outdone were the ladies who dressed in their festive best. A slice of Kerala was seen in Mussoorie. One misses the seafood, though. The Konne Mara market in Palayam of Thiruvananthapuram was the place to be for fresh seafood. The best time to snag fresh produce was before 6 am, preferably around 5.30 am.

I spent most of the day at Mall road. Picture Palace to LBSNAA is a moderate walk of one hour. I have come to like these walks. It affords one time to think while walking. I am waiting for creativity to strike me one of these days while I am walking. As long as it is not in the form of lightning, I shall not complain. 

I have been hanging around the Gandhi Chowk so often that I may be considered as much a fixture of Mall road as the statue of Mahatma Gandhi at the band stand near Library Point. The clouds came rolling in from the valley below. A day of brilliant, blue sunshine and crisp, sweet air transformed in to a day for the moody, the gloomy, the solitary writer. The father of the nation emerged from the clouds, looming larger than life, his staff gripped tight in his right hand, the robe draped in a way that meant business, his stance that of a warrior going to battle. The sculptor used his imagination, no doubt and the result is better for the effort.

As a nation, we have a lot to fight for still. Maybe we should stop fighting with each other first?

A fist full of salt.

Leeches are as leeches do. They are much maligned creatures. One expects them to be engorged with blood from a hapless victim, sinister creatures with no morals, blood suckers, etc. In reality, they are no more than an inch in length and quite often can be mistaken for earthworms, except for their colour. A leech that has partially fed itself looks like this.

Yes, it is not a pretty creature. And judging from their desperation to cling on to anything, they remind me of eternal romantics, dil phenk characters that I run in to from time to time.

I encountered leeches in good number in our trek to the Kempty falls, some 14 km from the academy as the road rolls. The trek path may have been much shorter- not more than 15 km in all. There was a trek briefing yesterday, complete with Google Earth view of the trek path. Needless to say, the GPS-computer jazz did not resemble anything we have seen on ground. That much must be obvious. Doh.

The trek briefing had specific instructions on how to deal with leeches. A fistful of salt liberally applied on parts of the body vulnerable to leeching, would get rid of the creature. I saw it in practice today when a sprinkling of salt antagonized the leech. They were present in full numbers in parts of the trek through the mulch and dense undergrowth.

The trek in itself was uneventful. The upper reaches of the Kempty falls have improved a bit, with cement pavement in place of boulders behind which the tourists would unburden themselves.

I shall continue this post at a leisure time. I need to sleep now.