Sehnsucht [ˈzeːnzʊxt]:the inconsolable longing in the human
heart for we know not what
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Some things I
knew. Like I wanted to get away from all these for a while. Like I wanted to go
to a cold place. Like I wanted to travel in a train and not take a flight. A
lot of things I didn't - especially in their exactitude.
I had
miraculously secured two days leave
and I wanted to get away from Hyderabad at any cost. My half-sorted out plan -
whose execution rested sorely on getting an emergency ticket -was to get a
ticket to New Delhi and from there to go and check out Tirthan Valley. And, I
didn't get that ticket.
“You should just
go to a railway station, check which trains are leaving and get on anyone of
them which catches your fancy”, Jiddu Sir had once remarked during Rajmachi
Trek. It kept coming back to me that day. I spent 2 hrs. in kfc explaining(in
vain)to di, why I needed to travel and travel by train and that I didn't want
her buying me a flight ticket to Delhi. Sometimes when you argue things out,
you end up convincing yourself so when we left that place I knew that I was
going. So, I went home, packed a few bare essentials and went to Secunderabad
station. Now, only the How part remained to be figured out.
I spent
two-third of the trip travelling. So, this travelogue has three parts: Rail Trip,
Road Trip and Tirthan Valley.
Rail Trip
The only train
available to Delhi by the time I reached Sec’bad station – which was around 4
pm – was HazratNizamuddin at 11 pm. I got a general ticket till Delhi on that
train and I waited. The train was full, and I was just going to give up when I
found that there was a compartment reserved for ladies and it wasn't that
stuffed. So, I got in and after some initial coaxing with a woman, got myself a
place in upper berth – to sit and not to sleep. It was long back since I had
last traveled in a general, but I wasn't in my usual whining/cribbing mode, so
I found it interesting. There are so many moods, so many incidents in that
small running space; a sort of repository on human nature.
They were mostly
women from lower working class and their conversations and concerns were identical/communal
yet simultaneously personal. The young woman sitting in front of me with her
young daughter was beautiful. She would have been younger than me and she still
had that innocence, her face wasn't exactly calm, but a sort of contentment
gleamed in her eyes, as if the vicissitudes of life had passed through her and
left her untouched. She was narrating the story of her three sisters, one whose
husband beat her continuously and thankfully was now dead (the husband not her
sister). The old crone sitting beside me agreed and narrated a similar story
and the discussion took a turn towards religion. They had practical yet fanatic
views on religion and religious practices in general.
After an hour or
two in some station there was a sudden infusion into the compartment and in a
span of two minutes it was completely full. My place was established, owing to
the fact that the women hesitated getting on the upper berth. So, children were
pushed into upper berths and there was scarcely any place to stand on the
floor. The train resumed its pace and there were heated arguments full of
expletives, fighting for places, there was the usual taking sides and more
shouting, more rallying, cursing each other’s entire generations, making
literally brutal appeals to humanities of those who were somewhat comfortably
sleeping, and so on. But just like one more handful of grain will go into that
container, if you tap it or give it a slight shake, similarly after sometime
they all settled down, finding a corner here, displacing some luggage there.
There was some
animated discussion on religion, politics (upcoming elections), communities,
kids etc. Then on subsequent stations people were getting down, some were
getting in. Few men tried to get in, in one of the stations and there was a
general resounding uproar from the whole compartment, and no one was let into;
the men pushed their wives and children into the compartment. Somehow the
children always come under the woman’s responsibility and I was wondering that
at times like this it’s an extra burden and how the men are conveniently free
from it. I remembered that line from Mary Collier’s poem, “Were
you, like us, encumber'd thus with Care”
The crone
besides me was another interesting specimen I ran into; she was thin in a
strange way – she had reed thin thighs.She had all sorts of trinkets on her;
one big Cat’sEye gemstone adorned her wrinkling neck, a watch with a broken
dial on her right wrist along with few bracelets and unmatched bangles, and fading
golden anklets on her feet. She appeared to be in her late forties, neither
young nor old, neither over-bearing nor hostile. Just like each one of us she
had her opinion on everything, and like most of us she voiced them.She
speculated and considered my marriage
prospects, gave me consolatory warnings and advices. She took up a discussion
with the aloovada vendor, suggesting
that next time he should be carrying pav,
as the vadas felt incomplete without
them. All this time I was just taking it all in. “It’s always easier for a
woman to travel alone, somehow or other you’ll always manage to find a place”,
remarked my know-it-all travel mate. So, it was she who finally coaxed me into
checking with TTE and I managed to get a 3rd AC seat from Itarsi Jn.
I missed the
lively atmosphere of general compartment when I moved out. It’s not like I was
blind to the comforts of AC compartment, it was summer and I had a long journey
ahead of me, I just felt a twinge of regret. Everything was hushed here and
conspicuousness seeps in, how am I dressed, is my hair fixed, as if
irrespective of whether people are judging you, you are seeing yourself through
their eyes. There I didn't have to worry about all these; my unkempt state had
gone unnoticed. I quickly slipped into the upper berth and took up my novel. Not
that there were any less interesting natures here. There were a group of CRPF/navy/army guys who got into at Jhansi, and started catching up with each other; they were
loud enough for the whole compartment to know who was placed where and how, what
were their plans, the ways and means to climb up in their posts – whether the
end justified the means and so on. A mother in a nearby seat was worried about
the tantrums her adolescent kid was throwing; she was joined by another couple
who narrated their incidents with their kids. They finally came to the
conclusion that in earlier times four kids were easy to bring up in the world
and today it’s difficult to raise one. I read parts of Austerlitz between short naps. We reached Delhi around four in the
morning, and I went straight to Kashmiri Gate to take my bus for the next lap
of my journey.
As one grows up,
there are no more superlatives; the illusions are shattered more easily. I had
it in my bucket list to travel in Rajdhani Express once, and my return trip
from Delhi to Sec‘bad was in it. It was not all the heightened experience that
my saved-up and longed-for expectations demanded; I have traveled in better
trains with better services and better food. But, maybe it’s all a part of the
act, and there had to be disillusions.
Road Trip
Changing trains
would have been a headache and to reach Tirthan almost two-thirds of the
journey had to be by bus – it being the only affordable means of commuting. So,
I took the first available bus to Mandi (Delhi to Manali via Mandi).
I have a mild
form of motion sickness and I prefer trains to busses and if it’s busses I
prefer them with windows, not the AC Volvo ones. I knew we were travelling into
Himachal Pradesh which had mostly hilly terrains. It was 5:00 in the morning;
the bus conductor gave me a front seat and upon enquiring pointed me to a free
dispensary. There was just a helper there, a very young guy who wouldn’t be
more than 20, and no doctor. I told him that I might feel like vomiting during
travelling and I needed some anti-emetic pills as precautionary, he fidgeted
into some drawers and dished out 2 chewable tablets. I don’t know if he
understood me and knew what those tabs were for, but since we both trusted each
other I think the pills did work (whether inherently or as a placebo, I cannot
confirm).
It was difficult
to breathe in Delhi, even in those early hours one could feel that heaviness in
air and as we moved along it was clearing out and I could start breathing fresh,
clean air.A few miles from Chandigarh and I had my first view of mountains.
Initially I didn't know if I really smelled the cold in the wind or my mind was
playing tricks with me showing/feeling what I wanted to.
We changed the
NH after a few more miles after Chandigarh, around Kiratpur where I saw a
river, a full gushing river. The mountains which were visible sometime back
were now close by and we were going into
them. There was no plain road anymore.From here it started, one hill then next
and after a while I lost count. We passed by Swarghat and Naina Devi Temple on
our way, also the famous Bhakra Nangal dam.This route would be lusher during
winters but I could still see coniferous trees, there was this one tree which
bears purple flowers whose name I didn’t know, which appeared now and then and
looked beautiful. The weather was becoming pleasant and the sight of dry leaves
falling was picturesque. It was a long journey of 12 hrs; we passed by
Bilaspur, then Sunder Nagar - both charming and noteworthy places. I was
already feeling satisfied, drunk on that scenic route. And then we reached Mandi,
that beautiful hamlet on the banks of river Beas. I wanted to stay back, it was
like let me just stop a while here, but then again this wasn't my destination.
I took a bus from Mandi to Aut. If what I had seen till now was scenic, there
was more waiting for me. Meandering through the river Beas, the road crosses
mountains and one 3 km long road tunnel through the Pandoh Gorge to reach Aut, I
loved this stretch of tunnel too.(By the way this is on the way to Kullu, so
people travelling to/from Kullu would also pass through the same route.)I have
almost fallen in love with bus journeys because of this trip.
It was getting
dark and I took a cab from Aut to Tirthan Valley, the beauty of this route was
waiting for me on my return trip. This was the best of the three, if I take
Delhi-Mandi, Mandi-Aut, Aut-Tirthan. I envied those people their proximity to
nature, nature in its unadulterated forms. It didn't feel like summer. From
Tirthan to Aut, the river Tirthan passes through the towns and at Larji there
is the confluence of Sainj and Tirthan. While returning one can visibly see the
difference between the two waters, the clear and clean waters of Tirthan was
very different from that of the water downstream. It’s some 30 odd kms from Aut
to Tirthan via Banjar, but it took more than 2 hrs. because of the hilly road.
Not that I was complaining, I almost wished the road wouldn't end. It seemed
like belonging to some other part of the world. I was sitting on the front seat
and had an awesome view. I passed through trees with leaves in shades of green,
yellow and red. The driver was chatty;we talked on driving/managing those
narrow roads and bends and he was remarking that someone who learns and manages
driving in the maze of Himachal roads can drive through anything, and I can
feel the truth in that. He was telling me about the apple orchards, the road
feasibility, the pros and cons etc., all these in the background of those 70’s
hindi songs playing.He dropped me at Aut and waited till I got a bus to Mandi.
From Mandi I
started at 6:30 in the evening towards Delhi. We came through an alternate
route this time, and I have to mention this ride. We didn't get a blink of
sleep that night. There was literally no road, or barely patches of it and this
was the condition for a stretch of five whole hours. Initially I tried to nap
but then I gave up that idea when I saw that every 5 minutes or so there would
be a jerk, that screeching brake, next a bend and so on. I had still managed a
front row seat in the bus, so I opened my windows wide and I concentrated on
the roads and the way the driver maneuvered. There used to be these Maut ka kuan (Wall of death) in
circus/carnivals which we used to go and watch. So, I felt like the bus driver
was trying such a feat, taking the passengers along. After a few complains you
give up, so I started enjoying it after the first hour I guess. It was almost
like a joy(read death) ride, and one got a fair share of adrenaline rush so it
was tiring but fun.
Tirthan Valley
As I was
travelling I was feeling as if I was being pulled into something; and just when
you think it’s enough, it pulls you further in. Like that fairy tale in which
one has to cross seven seas and seven chests to retrieve a key. When you've
reached this far, crossing everything, to the other side of mountains, do you
want to go back? As if all these mountains are physical barriers, shielding you
from that outside world and you want to stay back – here forever – ensconced
within these mountains. That is how this place was.
When I reached
it was night, the cab parked on the other side of the flowing river and it was
through a cable car that I reached the hotel other side. The people were warm
and welcoming. It was a small place; they lent out some five or less rooms to
tourists. The room was clean and warm, they got me hot tea, dinner sometime
after and I happily went to sleep.
I didn't want to
go anywhere; I just wanted to spend some time away from my cubicle, away from
the cacophony of Hyderabad, away from everyday work, from obligations, and just
for 2-3 days.
The water in the
stream was cold so I couldn't stay in it
for long, but it was so calm and tranquil. There were high mountains wherever
you turned your head. There were small flowers on shrubs, multi-colored
flowers; there were a bunch of cat tails at some distance. I was sitting under
a fir tree; and I saw a spider’s web, one straight filament connecting one tree
to the next. It wasn't always visible, only when the sun’s ray fell on it and
you leaned to a certain angle you could see it. I wished I had that Whitman’s poem,“A
Noiseless Patient Spider” and I could read it aloud. But then I thought would I
ever have read it aloud just to myself? I’d have done it if there was someone
to hear me, but then again I didn't want anyone there as in I’d never take
anyone there, just like I wouldn't suggest anyone that they should read
Maugham. Ya, few things we keep to ourselves, not like others are forbidden but
more like I won’t impose these on anyone. You are free to discover if you feel
like.
So, this is what
I did for 3 days, got up in the morning, had tea, went out, sat by the river
and read novels or watched spider nets or collected stones or just lied down. I
walked here and there, nearby, just following the stream, searching for some
rock to sit in so that I can dip my feet in water. There was no one to disturb,
I used to sit in water for a while and when tired of that used to laze in the
sun. There were chair and table and I
used to prop my feet up, recline and go back to my reading. I had taken
Thoreau’s Walden and I was somewhat
comparing notes. Whenever I felt like why I exactly came all this way to sit
and read, all I had to do was browse through few pages of Walden and it made sense or at least his arguments were
satisfactory. Also, I actually wanted to do just that and I cannot reason
myself to anyone.
The second day I
started Marilynne Robinson’s Housekeeping,
I had it with me since last year and now I came to finally read it. So, the
second day flew by quickly with me being engrossed in the novel. The kitchen
was near my room, I had a room downstairs, they grew their vegetables there,
and they used to lay my table on the outside, on time breakfast, lunch and
dinner and teas in between. The stuffed paranthas
for breakfast were heavenly, so were the hot phulkas with butter. It was authentic north Indian ghar ka khana, neither too oily nor too
spicy, and just perfect. To top it off there was halwa or kheer for
desert. I loved every moment of it.
I left with a
heavy heart, that last day I was thinking you should come here to benumb your
senses, to forget, to be indifferent to everything for a while, to let go of
everyone and everything – just temporarily.
If you are
looking for something slightly calmer then you can visit the place. There’s a
Jalori pass for trekkers and there was a waterfall and Great Himalayan National
Park among nearby places or you can just walk around. I didn't check out all
these as they weren't in my itinerary. So, travel enthusiasts, please google.
Some people will love this place.
I don’t know
what I left there or what I took from that place. Would the sound of that river
or those views stay with me or it’d all become a part of some dream? Was it
worth the arduous journey and my stubbornness? What did I run from? What was I
returning to? And what did I loose in between? Did I want to stay? Did I want
to return? Did I have to go and return? I won’t know these answers. So many
places to return to, so many books to re-read, things undone, words unsaid,
excuses made, explanations evaded - I want to go back, someday soon. I don’t
know when.
