Everest Base Camp – a trek.

Given that in all my trekking years this was never on my list, I have now done it twice.


To me, it seemed more a trophy trek than an exploration. It is still a trophy trek for many, however, it is also an exploration of a valley of amazing beauty. The opportunity to be surrounded by some of the world’s highest peaks. A look into the local culture and enterprise of an intrepid people that inhabit the villages along this route. What stays in my mind are the many women of quiet substance that run the lodges that provide such comfort to weary trekkers, under harsh and difficult conditions. Everything is carried up here by porter or pony. First, to build some of these lodges with their crazy luxuries. Then to cater and supply almost anything that one could ask for. The logistics, the planning, the costs – and the goodwill, it is awesome.

It upsets and angers me when I see or hear  trekkers being rude, demanding and unreal about what they are getting and what they assume they should get. Every little bit in this area is a bonus to be thankful for.

‘This cake is really dry.’ complains someone sitting in the bakery at Dingboche.  At 4300 m, the fact that you can sip a fresh brewed coffee and eat a melting chocolate brownie, in a lovely warm space, is an unheard of luxury. You bless yourself and the hard working couple who smilingly make this possible and swallow the, really not dry cake, with a smile and look out at the majesty surrounding you. Marvel at the fact that you are here and able to be a part of it all. 


The bakery at Dingboche


There are many day by day accounts of this trek with heights and distances and trail features. This is just a rambling from both my journeys.

The groups I led were varied. In 2014, we had a majority of women and two men. That was divided by the physically young ones and the other young ones. So though the departure times every morning were the same, the arrivals greatly varied. Also, we did this trek as per the regular itinerary, which did not work at all with the average Indian trekker – we are not the people that go off every weekend hiking up some hill in our backyard and prone to long walks in all weathers.

All those western traditions that make hardy walkers that step out briskly, seemingly conquering those ‘little bit up, little bit down – nepali flats’, with supreme ease. Of course, they succumb to the altitude same as us. Which is what many of that 2014 group did at various stages. It was mostly due to exhaustion, carrying too much and not being sufficiently hydrated. Most people do not take the hydration seriously. There is also the problem of – ‘where will I pee?’ In the loos of the many tea houses that abound, behind a rock, a bush, a tree. You seriously have to lose that inhibition and drink lots and pee lots. However, we all got to Gorakshep, which is a great achievement in itself.

This year, 2016, I had, again, a very varied group. Varied ages, varied purposes for the trip and disparate personalities. They more or less came together after a few days. However, half of them felt enough had been achieved by the time they got to EBC and chose to shift their itinerary and helicopter out after descending 2 days and getting in an extra night at the beautiful ‘Rivendell lodge.’ The other half completed the trek back to Lukla. Where bad weather finally delayed our departure, whereby most of them chose to helicopter out too.

There is nothing like a long, exhausting, pushing the boundaries expedition in an unfamiliar habitat to showcase human nature at it’s most exposed. There is also nothing that equalises people better. When your only option is get with it or get out, and sometimes getting out may not be so easy – you get to see people at their best, there worst and everything in between.

On this route, however, that little red helicopter does manage to get almost everywhere in double quick time. As was evidenced by the one crisis we encountered this trip. One person with acute AMS developing at Gorakshep. Snow falling and low visibility meant the helicopter may not be able to come in. There was no way to get her down in that weather on foot or horse. The terrain is too treacherous to be carried or to ride through that huge, boulder strewn morraine. Besides it was snowing. Administering oxygen helped as a stop gap and we would have had to keep it up through the night if no evacuation happened. I have to say, I prayed very hard for a clear window for that helicopter and badgered the insurance company, the helicopter company and all the Gods I know, like a nagging fishwife. That saviour of a helicopter appeared as soon as a tiny window of weather allowed and off she flew to the great relief of all concerned. Those pilots must be earning many points with whosoever up there is counting.

My highlights –


Lukla airport


The most amazing flight into Lukla. The little aircraft, propellors whirling, flying lower than the towering mountains. Slipping over a pass almost grazing the trees and being buffeted by the cross winds to land at the edge of a cliff. I imagine my father must have felt a little of the same when landing on his aircraft carrier. Except we could not run off the runway – just run into the mountain, because the runway sloped up the hill and just as you thought you would hit, it U turns onto the apron and the craft slows – disgorges one lot of passengers, immediately loads another waiting group. Whirrs up and off it goes down that slope and launches off the edge. A quick turn around and they do this in relays all morning as long as the weather holds. Those pilots have got to be good!

What a beginning to a journey.

Lukla is a little village of red green and blue roofs most of which are family run lodges.

The first introductory walk taught us about that ‘little bit up, little bit down – Nepali flat’.

You hit the Dudh kosi river and are walking along it. Every few minutes you find pretty tea houses with flowers in pots, little gardens, growing vegetables and all so clean. It is remarkable. There are large trash bins along the way for segregated rubbish. A pretty, pretty valley. I am going to discover if these are traditional families who have converted their homes or have more come and settled this road to Everest.IMG_9560

On our first trip we stopped at Phakding which was a 4 hour walk. This made our next day a hugely challenging one. The morning was beautiful. We walked along the Dudh Kosi, climb a little, drop a little, then climbed and suddenly came to this gate. Decorated and painted in true mountain style, making sure you realise the significance of the great space it announces – the Sagarmatha National Park. On passing through an amazing vista of the valley fell below us – and of course the path fell straight down the mountain to the river far, far below. So that’s what we did, rolled down the path trying to keep the gospels of downhill walking in mind.

Many long years ago a village woman in the hills carrying that huge load of grass on her head helped me learn; keep the spine straight, hang yourself off the sky and swivel your hips – great way to save the knees and looks rather exotic too. We now call it the ‘Garhwali Matak’.

Well we descended to the bottom and hit the Dudh Kosi to walk along this raging river that originates from the Khumbu glacier and the legendary mountain, Everest.

Our group was divided by age and ability – the ‘young adventurers’ who forged on ahead and we the ‘slow and steadies’ who are diligently practicing the ‘Nepali Shuffle’, another gem of information gleaned from an old Nepali porter on a long ago trek. Take very small steps, never climb a high step if you can do a shorter one – and always walk with your breath. So the ‘Nepali shuffle’ and the ‘Garhwali matak’ allow me to walk many miles in the mountains with great ease. It is something I try and impart to anyone who walks with me – it has been a large part of my enjoyment of the mountains – they make for tireless walking which you can keep up for long hours.

So we shuffle and try to spot the young ones up ahead only to see the marvellous sight of two unlikely looking bridges, suspended in space high above the valley. Do we have to cross those and try and climb that ever rising path that goes straight up the mountain across the bridge?  We surely do and the sight makes many a heart stop. What feat of engineering created these?


Bad photo of an awesome bridge!!


That bridge was awesome. Blowing wind tunnel of a gorge, swaying bridge with prayer flags flying. Crossing it was a hat holding, heart holding affair, and after came that awful, continuous climb.

Time out to introduce our great guides for 2014 : Kudumbir, Nima Sherpa and Bir Bahadur.

Kudumbir is a young man of about 27 years who runs up and down to Everest Base Camp about six times a season. ( After getting us safely on the flight back – he went back up to run the Everest Marathon.) He knows everything about the area, mountains, well being et al. An extremely well trained, well spoken, fit young man who gauged our group immediately – the ‘Hot shot young bloods’ and the ‘Aunties’.

With him are the other two, Nima speaks some English and is a great guide with a sense of humour. Bir is a trainee who has still to become proficient in communication but knows the trail like the back of his hand, and they are all willing, smilling and so hard working – it is a safe, happy feeling to be with them.

This year we had a string of support staff – all smiling and willing and guides who worked very hard. The quality that comes from having the right certification and knowledge, however, is supremely important in these terrains. With Kudumbir, I had very little to do. This year, though the trek was easier, I worked harder.

To return to the story. Somehow we finally did get to Namche. We had to leave one sitting on a tree trunk. KB came running down because I decided to call for a horse and he stayed and took care to bring her up. The rest of us plodders, put one foot before the other to finally see: first the forest check post, then a series of stairs once again and finally after many stairs – washing women – The Irish Pub – many exciting shops and at long last the NAMCHE HOTEL – just short of dark.


Namche Bazaar


This year, we did not stop at Phakding that first day, but continued another 3 hours, easy walking to Monjo. Thus starting our walk for Namche the next day, just short of that lovely Sagarmatha gate and getting to the great NAMCHE HOTEL with ease, in good time for lunch!! And what a hotel! – you walk straight into this warm dining room, great rooms with attached loos. ELECTRIC BLANKETS! Such a blessing to aching backs and legs.

At the entrance to Namche the washer women and their little ghats are gone. In their place are being built gates and structures of ‘importance’ to announce the entrance to Namche.

I have trekked all over the Himalaya for many years, never have I trekked into a place like this – mid trek.

Namche Bazaar must have been a tiny village, today all but two homes are lodges – and good ones. There are shops that can kit you for a complete expedition, a bakery that sells Strudels to Chocolate croissants as good as any big city. It’s a thriving little community which runs for about 6 months of the year and seemingly does good business.

IMG_9558What strikes one along this whole route is the cleanliness, the care for the environment, litter sorting, organic farming. I spoke with this lovely lady called Maya who owns and runs the Namche hotel – my curiosity about local families or outsiders was satisfied. They are all local people who have converted their homes and created good businesses. They send their children to Kathmandu and even to India to study. The children come home to help with the business. There is a community movement for keeping the area clean and carting all the waste out. They grow their own crops of vegetables – potatoes, greens, onions, garlic.


Maya of the Namche hotel


We all spend an acclimatising day at Namche and walk up to the viewpoint to look at Everest, Ama Dablam and the grand array of high peaks. The highlight, for me, was to actually see a Monal pheasant in the wild – the first I have ever seen – it was a wonderfully healthy specimen of glittering jewel colours, that just regally walked away from our crowd of ignorant, noisy viewers.

Then is was like a holiday – shopping, bakery, wifi and a jolly good foot massage from a young man who went all the way to Sri Lanka to learn the art – his name he said was Simba, later it became Sim Bahadur. He is across the street from the German bakery for any who want to try him.


Ama Dablam ( I only do phone photos!)

The next day is just a marvellous walking day! 10 hours of it but gaining only about a 1000 feet – from Namche to Deboche via the Tengboche monastery. It was level and smoothly paved, ( a most well set up track ) around a bend suddenly the huge mountain vista opens – Everest, Llotse, Ama Dablam that stayed with us the whole day as we walked through pine, juniper and rhododendron – an explosion of sights and smells. It was the usual Nepali flat – little bit up and little bit down – though it felt more like a lot of up and down. Down, down, down to the river, across another of those long, swaying bridges. Lunch at a tea house by the water turned prayer wheels of Pungi Thanga and then up, up and up to the Tengboche monastery. Sit and listen to the monks chanting and playing their big resonant drums. All climbers of Everest stop here for blessings and so did we. Sitting in that prayer room was a transportation. The sounds fill you up and soar you out over those splendid mountains – you can manage any feat at that moment, there is so much pure energy resonating through you.



Tengboche Monastry


From the monastery down to the Rivendel lodge was a fairyland of pink, flowering rhododendrons, interspersed with glowing white and gold Bhojpatra. A magic walk to the beautiful lodge. The dining room was warm and welcoming with the inimical wood burning stove – wooden benches and tables – really good food ( beefsteak for Rs.950 and Johnny Walker whisky at Rs.400) and comfortable beds once more.


Rhododendron and Bhojpatra

No one mentions how beautiful this walk is. The view from my window gave me Everest, Llotse and Amadablam. The lodge sits in a lovely meadow surrounded by glowing Bhojpatra or Himalayan Birch, the peeling bark shining gold in the sunlight. Trailing fronds of lacy moss hang from the branches. The rhododendrons are a canopy of white and pale pink, sprinkling petals on the enchanting path and making a fairy scene. You walk through this forest, with the big roots of the trees criss crossing the path, prayer walls and then the river. The big bridge lies broken and atilt – evidence of the power that nature often displays. A smaller bridge fords the river and the dry, sandy trail goes up the valley till it emerges onto the early moraine of the Khumbhu Glacier. Above the tree line, the juniper turns scrubby and gnarled, and the valley opens up with the river breaking into various silver streams below. A meandering walk gets us to Dingboche – a spread of roofs watched over by the stupa – across the valley from Ama Dablam.


The Debochhe, Pheriche area


From here on, you are in high, high mountains – the walking is slower, the breath is shorter as are tempers. However the vistas are unsurpassable! Ringed with mountains, cloud shadows march along shielding you from the hot sun. Mists rise and make a wonderland to stop and stare at. Which the breath makes very necessary – anyhow. The terrain now is glacial moraine, boulder strewn, harsh and rather mindless. A very steep and tiring climb brings you out at the memorial to all who perished trying to climb the mountain of mountains. If the wind chill and fatigue allow, this is a great place to spend some time reading the inscriptions and spending a moment of silence in commemoration. It’s probably better done on the way down than up.


Khumbhu glacier

The most amazing sight is getting over a rise and suddenly seeing the whole of that huge river of ice spread out before you all the way up to the orange tents of the base camp and that phenomena – the khumbu ice fall. Littered with debris, cliffs of blue ice, milky blue lakes, ice shards like buildings, spiking up from the mass and all of it creeks and groans if you stop and listen enough.


This is also the area to find the snow cocks with their guttural glocking. Himalayan thrushes with their tuneful whistles abound. The call of the marmot can be heard and the pikas with their shy inquisitive faces peep out if you sit still enough. Myriad flowers of most exotic shape and colour bloom all over, potentilla, gentians, delphiniums, anemones, asters, primulas and a hundred others that I only know as scientific names that I cannot recall. You just have to make the time to sit and stare.IMG_9855

In 2014 there were no climbers at EBC, no city of orange tents, not a soul, but the cairn of rocks with the fluttering prayer flags. Thus, going and touching that barren wilderness, struggling over those enormous boulders for a photograph of black rocks, it hit me so forcefully, why would i want to do this? Stopping at every two steps, exhausted beyond measure from waking at 4.00 am and walking from Lobuche to Gorakshep in bitter cold, with icy winds and darkness. Getting there, having breakfast and heading out to this empty EBC. It was done by half our number and the rest were satisfied by having gotten to Garakshep at all.


EBC tent city photo by Amit Singhal

This year it was different, it’s still an unassuming area of dirty black rocks – but it was littered with those little orange tents, pitched higgledy piggledy wherever a tiny flat could be found. All the group did it. But it was because we had a rest day to do it in. Not straight out of Lobuche and back down. Snowy ground, but a clear, clear morning, everyone fit and ready to go, other than the one person who we had to finally evacuate. There were climbers to be met, stories exchanged and lots of photos and excitement. Perhaps this is the whole purpose of EBC, if there is one?


We returned to the tragic news of the death of climbers that were met at EBC. May they rest in peace.

George Mallory said many different things about climbing Everest – but the last few words of this quote resonate:

“For the stone from the top for geologists, the knowledge of the limits of endurance for the doctors, but above all for the spirit of adventure to keep alive the soul of man.

― George Mallory

Confusions of alone.

IMG_8080Lonely – the heart or the mind? Neither actually, physical loneliness is what I think it boils down to. The heart can be full of love, the mind can be happy with the day, the flower, the circumstance, a book, a movie, the very air.

No one to sit by, no one to turn and smile at, no hand to hold. Physically alone.

Such a happy place to be when you need to make a decision, get up and go, not seek an opinion, not worry about anyone, no one to ask and no one to tell anything at all. So much ease and bliss.IMG_8365

I love travelling alone. You can decide where to go, for how long, what you most want to do there and it’s easy.

I love being home alone, wake, sleep, lounge, grunge, eat, not eat. No answerability.

Perhaps, when you sit in that cafe in the evening, it might be nice to chat about your day, what you each saw – if it was different, or what you each experienced if it was the same. To perhaps discuss what to do the next day. To even share a bad moment or a IMG_8415magical sunset.

Perhaps, wake to a smile, share a breakfast, feel a touch, walk a walk, cuddle a goodnight. Throw a tantrum even.

I actually tend to think alone people would be very good companions to have. Alone people have had lots of time to think, grow and gather experiences. They have leisure to introspect and understand. They have the ability of silence and observation. They have the value for a companion.

Perhaps, I would like to find another alone person to be alone with.IMG_8148

Trekking the meadows of Kashmir

Kashmir, always evocative of romance. The last time I drove through on my way to the Zanskar, I found the magic of the houseboats. This time was closer to the childhood Kashmir of cottages in Gulmarg – picnics in the meadows et al.

Dilshad said, ‘you have to come on this trek.’ There are no have to’s for me when you offer me a walk in the mountains – I would live my whole life out of a tent opening to incredible vistas every morning. That I manage to do it more often than not, is the greatest blessing.IMG_8250

The first time I ever flew into Kashmir, the airport was the beginning of the enchantment – there were fields of red poppies nodding in the jetstream of landing aircraft all along the runway. I don’t know if that still happens in summer, but there were certainly no poppies this October day. It was cold out and nice to anticipate the, brisk weather, walking. We had what was meant to be a quick car ride to our trek start point in Tangmarg – unfortunately – it was delayed by a traffic jam at road works blockaded by trucks. Just the usual fare. We started our trek from Tangmarg rather late, down to cross the river where the bridge has been swept away by the floods last year. The bridge still not fixed, but the large pipes that carry the water from the small power house were all in order. We scrambled over pipes and slippery boulders to the village of Drung. IMG_8138There IMG_8139was produce being dried in fields and on rooftops, corn and vegetables, getting set for the winter. We moved on through, being greeted by so very polite school children, all rosy cheeked and clean.
Our first stop was in a meadow surrounded by pine and fir, close to a now abandoned Gujjar hut. The family and buffaloes having moved down for the winter.

IMG_8280IMG_8142We stopped to eat our lunch. The air was crisp and clean with the smells of pine and fir. There were remnants of daisies and buttercups reminiscent of the passing of summer. Our trek continued crossing burbling brooks and through forest and meadow – we passed an ancient Hindu temple, built by the Mughals apparently, now in ruin
s and shelter for cows it seemed. It was beautiful with fall colours on the few Chinar and wild Walnut trees. Carpet of green, gold and red. I was also imagining it in summer, the riot of wild flowers and colour that we could see remnants of would be in full bloom and make for an element completely different to the one we were experiencing. It never ceases to amaze – how well nature clads herself with impeccable style, colour and taste – perfectly suited to the seasons!!

IMG_8226IMG_8227We did a two day route in one and were rather hurriedly clambering up hills and down dale to get to camp before dark, which took away some of the enjoyment of stand and stare time, which is what I savour most when on a walk like this. However our guide Wali Mohammed would saunter off way ahead of us and then lie on a rock meditating, while we scrambled to catch up. He would look pityingly and ask if we were ‘ok’ or needing a rest? We did not dare need a rest so on we would trudge – him with his easy loping stride and us with our ‘Nepali shuffle’ slowly up the mountain. IMG_8146We did make it well in time, coming up below the high Gondola wires and through a large Gujjar and ‘Ghorha wala’ settlement to descend down into a charming meadow surrounded by firs and bordering a stream.IMG_8264IMG_8149Our camp was set and waiting and the fire was lit to warm our frozen selves. A new moon appeared in the twilight blue sky and all was oh so good with the world. IMG_8148It’s that moment that one breathes a sigh for the magic and gives thanks to whatever has led you to be here now.

To wake to the sun gilding the mountains and emerge into this brightening world out of a warm cocooned tent – it is one of those special joys of the trekker along with sweetly sore muscles. IMG_8224-1We were going up and over the ridge to the Frozen Lake. Crossing the tree line and up into the barrenness of browning meadow and giant scattered boulders, is not so exciting in biting cold. Then the clouds came and blocked out the light making for more ‘Drear’! Totally joyless walking when it’s meant for pleasure is no one’s idea of fun. We diverted through an enchanting forest of Bhojpatra, bone white tree trunks with flaking, paper thin bark.IMG_8239
Myriad coloured leaves that crunched underfoot, we stopped for our picnic lunch in this wonderland. Continued traversing the ridge and climbed down to the Cable car – which zoomed us up to the ridge we would have been walking across. Short cutting totally. IMG_8259By the time we reached the top it was hailing and raining and an absolute white out. The frozen lake would have to wait for another time, when perhaps the meadows would be a burst of interesting wild flowers to make that trudge more palatable.

That night as we lay snug in our marvellous tents it rained and rained and rained. I woke to the call of nature, which went unanswered because I kept waiting for the rain to abate. It didn’t at all and I finally put on my rain jacket and emerged into a breaking dawn – the toilet pit was flooded making for a natural water closet – no details here. The dining tent had stuff piled up on the table and water channels crisscrossing the floor. We had a makeshift breakfast and decided to abandon a further trek to Ningal nalla and just clamber down into Gulmarg. It turned into another enchanting walk through the rain with the mist enshrouded trees and the streams bursting their banks.
IMG_8282I must admit I could have walked some more – it was so beautiful. Unfortunately we very shortly reached the roadhead where a car and driver awaited us – he surreally appeared out of the mist holding a placard. IMG_8283We transfered to the posh Khyber hotel – where admittedly the bathrooms and the rain showers were a very acceptable luxury as was their spa. A steam and deep tissue massage were very welcome to cramping, cold muscles.

We then wandered into a lovely old village near Tangmarg to visit an old home where carpet weaving was taught. All handicrafts are essentially winter activities in most hill areas – the short summers being used to grow a crop or do outdoor work as required. The kashmiris along with having the most spectacular scenery to dwell amidst, also seem to have the most beautiful crafts and artisan work. From their fabulous carpets to the gossammer woven, intricately embroidered shawls. Beautifully carved and crafted wood work and furntiture. Papier mache art with it’s skilled painting – they truly are a talented people. Watching those spinnners and weavers sit in that old room with the misty daylight that barely penetrated the dusty windows was a fascination.IMG_8286 Their strips of pattern strung in the threads above, their nimble fingers didn’t seem to pause and obviously they made no mistake to the intricate pattern they wove. In turn we also seemed to fascinate the whole family who came to peek at the strangers peeking at them.IMG_8293IMG_8296

Our day ended with hot chocolate at the Highland Park bar, I needed to go check out an old haunt – it was much the same and it was nice to see that though Gulmarg is unrecognizable from when I knew, all the new structures have the same old architectural style – it is still the large meadow of memory and has not been high rised and built into oblivion.

This is what I would term the perfect short trek,  – it is utterly beautiful country, comfortable walking terrain, great campsites and ends with an option of opulent luxury.

My happy drive to work

IMG_5925I have been based in this city, on and off, all my life – and for the most part have been happiest away. These last few days, something changed. Not the city, just my awareness of it. Have a look at my drive to work, it is quite the happiest part of my day. Every round about is a blaze of spring colour, the roadsides are blooming.  That I choose to only drive through the pretty parts of Delhi is a very concious decision, why would one live in this city and not enjoy the bestest part of it. I find I am coming to terms with, if not actually enjoying my city.


It is quite spectacular – at least the bits I choose to see everyday. My spirits lift the moment I cross the Dhaula Kuan flyover and start seeing the pretty flowers and nicely maintained road sides. The Teen Murti Circle is a delight, then I turn and the majestic Rashtrapati Bhawan takes centre stage – very proud making. The fountains and flowers of Vijay Chowk have to be the best bit of it all – such a wonderful spectacle spreads all the way down Rajpath till India Gate. By now I am in such a happy state that the rest of the traffic becomes

IMG_5920IMG_5922inconsequental and the mood wafts me into my office on a haze of happy colour. How easy it is to change a perspective, I only just realized that I have an infinite ability to see only what I please. Thus, when I drive back to Gurgaon in the evening and leave the pretty bits behind, honestly, I still manage to see a very pretty sunset almost everyday through the haze of pollution. It’s a happy state.


The River

IMG_5738I drove across the bridge at Hardwar, and that first sight of the Ganga brightened my heart and set me smiling. It happens every time – the river, the mountains and that forest act like an elixir. The guard at the barrier to Rajaji Park, smiles and waves you through, the road winds through the forest and it feels like old friends welcoming you. Every vista, the trees and the grasses spell home. The old guard at the inner gate who has been there forever, recognises and waves. This time I took the road along the left bank all the way to the Garur Chatti bridge, by passing Rishikesh aswell. How I do love this part of the world and what a beautiful drive it makes with non of the traffic and noise, the perfect way to enter this home stretch after the maddening road conditions all the way from Delhi. Suddenly, it all washes away, the sunlight makes tree shadows dance, the road along the canal brings memories of elephant meetings and butterflies.

Three days at camp – blissful sunshine, the sparkling river with all her familiar nuances and time to stare despite being there to work. It is never work surrounded by that view. I found a new rock and spot to replace the one I lost. Sitting there and talking to the river as in the old days was a healing that has been a long time coming. She was my friend and confidante for so many years and washed away many a care and I thought I had lost the connection. Now as I sit and watch, the cliche of life flowing like a river resounds  – the turbulence, the obstacles, the depths and shallows and all through it, the constant flow. How many, many people before me have thought and said it, and how many more will say it, the point is how many have found wisdom, strength, succour on the banks of how many rivers? This one is just special to me – I think all rivers are special – but the Ganga truly is my friend and I am blessed to still be able to live on her banks whenever I choose.


Bombay: Nostalgia and memories


The Gateway of India

Bombay, for the last few years I have been coming to a different Bombay – what I knew as the suburbs, but where all the young ones, including my daughters live. This time the girls are not here and I am in old haunts and it is a trip down memory lane. Just how much I realised when I was sitting by the window of my beautiful old room in the yacht club, overlooking the Gateway of India and saw the Naval ensign flying off this venerable old building. Obviously I opened the window and tried to peer through the trees to see what was on. That’s when I heard the announcement for the beating retreat ceremony to be held there forthwith. It is a ceremony that I love, with the marching bands and the melodies. Imagine it in this setting, with the backdrop of the harbour and the ships.IMG_5558

I ran down and out into the street to see what I cold see. Naval personnel all over the place, for an instant, I actually thought of going up to the entrance and talking my way in. Then I looked around at the milling throngs and decided I had been in the enclosures often enough. This time I was going to be just one of the crowd peering in.


The Naval ships lit up


Helicopter fly past

Found a great vantage point on the median of the road in front of the Taj Hotel. I had to crane my neck to actually see much, but I could hear the music and I could see the colours of the sunset. The helicopters arriving and doing their bit, I realised I didn’t actually have to see any of it, my minds eye relived it all from so many times, but just the fact of being there – in that place at that time. The haunting melody of ‘Abide with Me’ and the naval ships in the harbour turning on their lights. I think all my ‘naval brat’ friends will understand exactly what I mean, there is a poignancy to the whole; pride and a belonging along with a sense of nostalgia.

That this was to occur just the day that I chose to be here, happy chance!

I am now sitting in the bar at the Yacht club, overhearing snippets of sailing conversation, some gentleman trying to get a pretty, scared lady to go sailing. I look around at the memorabilia of sailing lore and think how much I love the sea. I think i shall go sailing one of these days while I am here.

I am so glad I decided to stay here rather than with family and friends. It reiterates for me that thought that comes so often, how being alone can be such a blessed state. Though I would have taken that buggy ride if there had been someone to share it…..so….


Lit in tricolour

The fortune of my life that throws up these magic moments makes me sure to thank the powers that be for the enchantments.

PS: My photographs are just for story telling not for their great quality!!

The great Taj Mahal Hotel

The great Taj Mahal Hotel

The buggy rides.

The buggy rides.

An encounter in the Dhauladhars


Many years ago I did an amazing trek up across the Dhauladhar range, crossing the Indrahar pass above Dharamsala, down into the valley of the Chenab and the ancient temple town of Barhmour. But feeling intrepid, we had decided to keep going and cross the crazy Kugti Pass aswell bringing us into the Lahaul valley and on again across the Rohtang into Manali and roads, baths etc. That this was a fabulous trek with many adventures is true, but I tell this story because during that trek we were travelling with the Gaddis, (Shepherds of the Himalaya) who take their flocks to the high pastures perched below these passes. We met one family while crossing the Indrahar, and they introduced us to another that was going upto Kugti.

259bd908e21fcd0d842a3d606e4c0e63Now a few weeks back I was on a short walk in the very same mountains with an amazing group of people who had come all the way from Ecuador to visit the Himalaya and also touch base with the spirituality of these mountains. We were doing a comfortable trek from Macleodganj, via Baal village upto the meadows of Triund, up beyond to the Lahesh caves and back. The age group varied from 30 to 78, all wonderfully positive and full of vim and vigour.

We had lovely clear mornings, but after the first day every afternoon would bring the clouds and rain. Every evening we would sit around the fire and recount what were the pearls of our day. It was a lovely ritual, but I can’t tell you how many times I heard that the pearl of the day had been ‘walking in the rain.’ This was just how positive the mood in this group was.IMG_5399

On our third day, while climbing up to the Lahesh caves and or the temple at the top of the hill, one of the ladies felt under the weather and so I walked back to camp with her, while the others carried on. Back in camp after she was comfortable, I decided to go find a likely rock and write, gaze, medititate in this suddenly found free time. The mist was swirling, I went and sat comfortably in the embrace of a likely boulder and the dreaming came easy. Shortly I heard the familiar bells of goats and sheep and sure enough they were all around me in minutes, appearing out of the swirly clouds like ghostly shapes. Along with them came the shepheard. He perched himself on a rock when he saw me sitting there and we started chatting, I asked him when he would head down and where his home was. Somewhere during that chat I asked where their high grazing grounds were – he said below the Kugti. That is when I told him that I too had crossed that pass with the help of some shepheards many years ago. He said, ‘I know, I was a young man then and I remember taking you and your friends to the top. You have not recognized me, but I do you.’


It was the most surreal moment – sitting on top of a mountain in this misty haze surrounded by the tinkle of sheep bells and meeting a stranger who was an old friend. What a perfect afternoon that added another touch of magic to my many magic moments in these mountains.