The mountains are ancient, magical, mystical, and full of stories; shall we ever hear these stories exactly as they happened, and from an unbiased, factual point of view? I think not, because the mountains are tight-lipped, unshakeable, and unyielding, as are the most unforgiving parts of nature. We shall have to depend on the accounts of woman, child, and man, for the recollection and regaling of these tales across the ranges, when and how they happened, what adventures befell the denizens of any story, be it a great one, or an inconsequential one.
I've always been more of an ocean person myself, what with the blood of pilots and seamen(yes, go ahead and laugh at the one, that's the plan) running through my veins. Every now and then, one must venture to the mountains as a possible homage of sorts - paying your respects, even if in the form of a vacation.
The last time I really ventured up there (well, a trip that counts, seeing as there are varying definitions for the term 'mountain') was in 1998, on a family trip. Thereafter I went to Kasauli to perform at a music festival, but I'm not really sure that it counts as a trip to the mountains.
As life was happening, I decided that I needed a break and that I needed to do something different, so I booked myself on a trip, that had 3 other random people occupying car space on this journey just to venture out a bit; and so, the decision to drive through Kinnaur, Spiti, and Lahaul, just happened.
The first evening was spent exploring, eating, and walking around Chandigarh. Saw the little lake, walked around the few quaint marketplaces, drank some locally brewed beer (yes, the microbrewery kind, not the desi daaru that could possibly pass off as beer). Slept early enough to be reasonably fresh for a 0500 departure, with just a cup of coffee and no food, I tried not to shed a tear over the lack of breakfast, but it eventually happened. The only consolation was that the next 10 days were promisingly full of a lot of food, alcohol, and some absolutely stunning mountainous terrain.
0500: Innova loaded up with bags, a guitar, and the four of us plus a driver. My companions decided that they didn't want to be featured in this 'potential' memoir of mine if it ever did get written, and so in these days which are dark for the concept of consent, I shall refer to them as the couple and the lady.
The first stop was the gloriously jam-packed, clusterfucked Shimla, which owing to all the Bollywood popularity, is probably something one would not want to visit for a peaceful trip if their life depended on it. Some form of breakfast happened, a few kilometres before Shimla, in the form of an omelette or 4, and of course, the local favourite, parathas with curd and an absolutely inconspicuous block of butter(ours not to reason why).
Moving on, we reached Thanedar, our first stop, and checked in to Kinner Villas, probably the most promising of the local hotel/lodge properties. Walking into the allotted little all wood cottage, I reminded myself that this was definitely not planned as a budget trip, and hence this place was a little bit lavish for a resident party of one, there were no complaints whatsoever. Lunch was delicious, filling, and much needed, after which a little catnap followed, despite the urge to just sit and admire the view from the room.
The view itself was very captivating, and I realised that this was just the first bit of what was to come over the next several days, if the weather held, and the sun shone, and it wasn't pouring and overcast, which, I surmised, would showcase a very different kind of view: gorgeous, enticing, but haunting in its own way.Post coffee saw our little foursome take a walk through the town towards a spot that looked over a beautiful river valley, through which the Sutlej flowed, supporting and nourishing several settlements and villages throughout its course.
As the sun began its descent for the evening, the light that it cast was softened by the few clouds, and the journey toward sunset, illuminating this valley in the most amazing way: clear, well lit, and nothing short of a beautiful painting; when you know that it isn't life imitating art, but quite the other way around.
As the sun sets in the distance, taking leaving of our timezone for the next few hours and illuminating other parts of the world, she who shines bright, although reflecting the sun's light, announces her appearance in the most breathtaking way: appearing before the sun has completely set, close to being bright and full.
There she was in all her glory, well, most of it, at any rate, shining down, lighting up the soon to be dark night.
As the evening wore on, we made our way back to the hotel, taking in the sights and sounds of the small town hill life, how it made its own connections with urbanisation, and probably found a sweet little bit of equilibrium between being a little detached, happy, yet connected enough to be abreast of what was going on down in the plains.
There was a barbeque pit in the hotel's lawn that was being primed for use later that night; orders were taken from the guests as to what they fancied eating from the limited menu since the barbeque wasn't going to be en masse. A few starters here and there were to be followed by dinner in the main dining area.
The night came on, with the moon shining down, the four of us sat on the verandah of one cabin and brought out the candles, spirits, and shut off the lights, all set to enjoy our first night in the mountains, toast the journey ahead, and watch the bonfire/barbeque from a distance before feeding ourselves.
Like silent assassins, the clouds drifted in above us, blocking out the moon, bathing the valley in absolute darkness; with a sudden crack of thunder, and a jabbing, wickedly sexy streak of lightning that split the sky in two, the valley lit up for a second, and the heavens literally burst open with a torrential downpour!
Needless to say, clearly, that was the end of any hope of sitting by the barbeque and bonfire and seeing the night out. Fortunately, our food was ready, and we asked for it to be sent to the cabin that we were sitting in. We moved back from the verandah, opened the large doors/windows, poured ourself some more, and sat back, taking it all in.
It was all very poetic, almost dramatic in a sense, but I felt that something was missing. Picking up an umbrella, I ran to my cabin (probably more of a quick waddle at that point), picked up the guitar I had brought along with me, and charged back to where we were sitting.
What followed was wine, song(plenty of it), a few that came to me on the spot, wherein I had no idea what I was singing, or playing, and I don't remember any of it right up to this day, but it just happened.
We had hoped to be sitting and looking up at the moon and stars, almost quietly, taking in the sublime skyscape that was to be above us. Instead, we had music, laughter, conversation, great spirits, and those beautiful moments, when there's nothing but the strum of a guitar, and possibly a few notes or lines being sung, and you're looking not at the sky, but out, in front, and down below, at an entire valley full of stars.
