Where were we, that is my family and me, going? Uttarakhand, especially for the Yamunotri yatra. Last year we did the rest of the four dhams, viz. Gangotri, Kedarnath and Badrinath. This would complete the supposedly holy char dham yatra. Great! Especially for a religion-basher like me.

Day 1: Yeh Hai Dilli Meri Jaan

The 13th of October finally arrived (it wasn’t a Friday), and a car arrived to take us to the Dum Dum Airport (or for the more technically minded – Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport). This was the first time I would be on a flight (and hopefully not the last) but still was curiously nonchalant. A colleague of my father, along with his family made up our party. We arrived at the airport just before noon, were introduced to each other, and proceeded for the formalities, which we wound up in surprisingly little time. I watched the final day of the Bangalore Test till we boarded. Vijay and Pujara put India in a fine position. By the time I had reached Delhi, India had already won.

The flight was uneventful. We landed at Indira Gandhi International Airport only a few minutes late, collected our baggage and left for New Delhi railway station. Now I had been looking forward to this trip through New Delhi, wanting to see what difference the Commonwealth Games had made. The 15km distance was covered in only 20 minutes but the route was circuitous due to the traffic restrictions put up. Traffic jams seemed non-existent though. We left our luggage in the cloak room and fell upon debating which place to visit as we still had 6 hours to kill before our train five minutes before midnight. We finally settled on Qutab Minar, as it implied a long Metro ride. What we didn’t realize was that the monument was a long way from the Metro station. So we had to walk more than two kilometres to reach the already closed monument, quite a feat considering we had three people suffering from knee ailments in our group. We caught a glimpse of the tower and returned to New Delhi by half past ten. A fast dinner later we boarded our train, the New Delhi-Dehra Dun AC Express (which seemed to consist of coaches rejected for other trains with almost each one having advertisements all over) bringing an eventful first day to an end.

Day 2: Dehra Dun Darshan

This was the start of our real trip. The train pulled into Dehra Dun station around half past five in the morning. The station was nice and empty at that time and we were among the last to get out of it, taking our time to freshen up. Once outside, I had assumed we would be hiring a car and going straight on to our next destination, Chakrata. I really wasn’t in the mood for doing some sightseeing at this hour, which was exactly what was on everyone’s mind. Two auto-rickshaws were  booked to take us around the popular tourist spots of the town and we were off, with the cold wind literally freezing me to my seat.

Our first stop was Sahastradhara, a 14km ride from the station. A thousand individual streams of water are supposed to meet at this place. We arrived to see people bathing in the freezing water, anxious to wash off their sins. I had expected the place to be a bit more impressive but most of the thousand streams were nothing more than trickles falling from the hill side. Their sources are again presumed to be unknown. We rounded it off by having a nice cup of chai at a nearby shop that had just opened.

Sahastradhara

Sahastradhara, view to the north

The sun had come up now and the cold was beginning to abate. Our drivers next shepherded us to a Sai Baba Mandir on the Dehra Dun-Mussoorie road. As is the case with me regarding temples and the like, I ambled inside without much interest. The more religious-minded joined in the morning prayers while I roamed around. Thankfully, we were on the road again in a little while. We had breakfast at a roadside stall of chhole and some enormous bhature. We were passing the Doon School compound when we spotted a Durga idol. Bengalis that we are, we stepped off to examine. It turned out that this was the Durga Puja being organized by the Dehra Dun Bengali club. We spent a few minutes here and then were taken a little outside town to the Tapkeshwar temple. To get to the temple we had to walk down a flight of stairs and along a hillside into a small cave.

We were all quite tired by now and the climb up the stairs made us decide that we had had enough sightseeing and it was time to be on our way to the hills. Hence we next went straight to the Forest Research Institute, which was our pick up point for the car which was to take us to Chakrata.

Forest Research Institute, southern facade

F.R.I, northern facade

Having never seen photos of the main building of the F.R.I. before, I was very impressed with the huge structure. We took a guide along with us for the tour of the building, who led us through its history and the 6 different museums it currently houses, each pertaining to a different aspect of forestry. This institute is truly a haven for botanists.

It was past noon by now and an exhausted bunch got into our rented car. I promptly fell asleep and woke up in Vikasnagar, where we had lunch. We went through Dakpathar, which had a dam on the Yamuna river, and Kalsi on our way to Chakrata, reaching our destination around four in the afternoon. Our hotel was the Snow View, situated amid lush forests and commanding a nice view of the mountains to the north including a few snow capped peaks.

Hotel Snow View

View to the north from Hotel Snow View

The building had been built, we learnt, almost 150 years ago and it sure seemed so. We had a two bedroom suite, which cost Rs. 1,850 a night. The rest of the evening passed in conversation and roundly berating the hotel for the absence of major channels on its DishTV subscription.

Day 3: Chakkar-e-Chakrata

Today was our sightseeing day. Considering the fact that there were hardly any major points to go to, we could afford to have a late start, which is what we did. We spent a leisurely morning soaking up the sun and roaming around in the small but beautiful hotel campus. The car that we had booked to ferry us around throughout the trip arrived around ten.

My brother had unexpectedly developed some stomach pain the day before. It continued overnight. We gave him some medicine that we had brought along, hoping it was only due to some temporary cause. When the pain didn’t recede, he chose to stay back at the hotel while we went off in the afternoon. Not thinking much about it (our fault), we trooped into our car and started around two in the afternoon.

Our first point was to be Kharsuan, a small wooded hamlet on the road to Tiuni, towards the north-west of Chakrata. We only had a vague idea about the distance and hence when we had gone about 10 k’s and still hadn’t arrived with no sign of the place yet, it was a unanimous decision to turn around and head for our second and final point, Deoban. We retraced our route and caught a small side road which (a sign said), led to Deoban, 8k’s away.

That was the start of the nightmare. After travelling only for ten minutes, all of us were convinced that this was a bad idea. This road made the road to Hell seem like a F1 circuit. It hadn’t been repaired for who knows how many years and the recent torrential rains had only made it worse. But like the true tourists that we were, the journey was continued for we wanted to catch the sunset from Deoban (some brochure had mentioned it) with the car crawling along at a snail’s pace. We went past an army camp, that had rock-climbing facilities (Chakrata is an important camp for the Indian army, and foreigners are not allowed here without permits). Finally after covering the 8k’s in about an hour, we arrived at what could be politely termed as a desolate spot with some Forest Rest Houses present (it seemed like the end of the earth to us).There was no sign of the aforementioned sunset point.

Deoban

Ruins of a former cottage at Deoban

Forest Rest House, Deoban

We met the caretaker of the place who gave us a background to the place. Apparently, during the Raj, the British had built some getaway houses here (the ruins could still be seen). We looked around the place, which wasn’t much (certainly not worth the drive). If the government plans to make a tourist destination of this place, they have got to pull up their socks. The caretaker, we found out, was paid less than Rs. 140 a day to stay in this godforsaken place to be of the service of the occasional forest official who visits. We left after 20 minutes, with me wondering if the caretaker would lose his power of speech if he were to spend a whole summer here without any visitors.

The journey back was a nightmare again, until we came to the Chakrata-Tiuni rod again, after which everyone heaved a very audible sigh of relief. We went to the main Chakrata town, which was nothing more than a few shops at an intersection of three roads. This was on a small escarpment between the two peaks of a hill and offered a fantastic view of the west, which gave us the fabulous sunset we wanted. We had some snacks here and then were back to our hotel.

We arrived to find that my bro was still in pain. A bit alarmed, we took him to a doctor in the town (the only one, I suppose). It turned out that he had a urinary tract infection. The doctor administered him an injection to reduce the pain and some medicines which thankfully had cured him by the next morning. Our second evening in Chakrata passed off almost like the first.

Day 4: In the Land of the… Demons?

Our yatra, as they call it, started on this day. We were to travel 140k to Janki Chatti, the starting point of the Yamunotri trek. With this point in mind and with my brother’s ailment having been taken care off, everyone’s mood took on a definite upturn following the event’s of the day before. We left the hotel at half-past-eight, hoping to reach our destination well before sundown. We planned to make a short stopover at a waterfall named Tiger Falls, which we were told would be on our path. The road was none too good and traffic was non-existent. You could travel for almost an hour without passing any other car on the road.

We came to a fork in the road which seemed to be the way to the waterfall. We weren’t sure hence we waited at the crossing for almost fifteen minutes for a car to pass so that we could confirm our beliefs. Finally, we took the road. After travelling a few kilometres, we came to a roadside shop and asked the way to the falls.

Near Tiger Falls

The people there pointed to a path that led down the hill slope. Some of us went a little way down, decided that it was too long and steep, promptly came back up. The falls ignored, we were on our way again, with the roller-coaster road further ruining our mood.

We came to Lakha Mandal, the place where the fabled laksh-griha, in which the Pandavas of the Mahabharata resided, is supposed to be located. A few of us went to the temple built to that effect in the city and it was when we were resting in our car that the news fell upon us. A passerby informed us that the bridge over the Yamuna, which was only about 5k away, was closed to all vehicular traffic except cycles and  motorbikes. Astonished, mostly at the fact that we had heard nothing of this the whole time we were in Chakrata, or anywhere on the road, we set out to confirm the fact, which was done soon enough. The bridge was indeed closed.

Now we were in a right fix. The only alternate route for us was to go back to Chakrata, and take a road from there, which would translate into a detour of around 200k for a 5 k trip. Impossible! We went up to the bridge to find that the road had been almost washed away in a landslide and the bridge had been closed for the recent rains had caused it to subside a bit from its foundations and the authorities were taking no chances. We called up the car hiring agency to work a way out. It was decided that we would cross the bridge on foot, take a bus or hire a car on the highway on the other side of the river and complete the journey. Our car would return to Chakrata and complete the 200k detour and reach Janki Chatti the next morning.

Yamuna near the site of the closed bridge, view to the north

Three of us went across and booked a car at the nearby village of Bernigad, to take us to Barkot, about 25k away. It was one of the local cars that serve as taxis in the area. We brought our luggage across, and reached Barkot by four. We were all quite famished by now and had a quick late lunch before hiring another taxi to take us to Janki Chatti. The road after Barkot was a right hell in some places, with boulders and huge trees strewn across, which made us appreciate the extent of the damage caused by the floods. The Yamunotri road had in fact been opened to traffic only a few weeks earlier after being closed for almost two months.

On the road from Barkot to Janki Chatti

We reached Janki Chatti well after sunset but the important fact was that we were able to reach it. We moved into Hotel Arvind Annexe, which was decent enough and was right on the trekking path. A two night stay set us back by Rs. 500. The evening passed off quickly, with us going to sleep quickly to give our bodies time to recuperate before the next day’s assault on Yamunotri.

Day 5: Jai Yamuna Mata Ki… Jai

Waking up, the mood was upbeat. Four among us were to walk, the rest were to go on horses because of their knee problems. After a quick breakfast of roti and aloo ki subzi, we began our climb in earnest, buying some walking sticks on the way. The horses soon outstripped us as we kept on walking at an optimum pace. The path was mostly flat with a slight incline for the first half of the trek. The tourist trade here was in its off-season and so there were not too many people on the road. It was relatively clean, too.

On the Yamunotri trek, view to tthe north

Road to Yamunotri

Yamunotri

We caught up with the horse-goers at the midway point, where they had stopped off for some refreshments. We too plonked down onto the benches put up by the roadside for some much needed rest. The journey was just going to get a lot tougher. We set off again after some time but now were seriously becoming winded. When we came to the last kilometre, we stared, aghast, at the path that winded its way before us, for as far as we could make out, it was hairpin after hairpin. It seemed that almost all of the 500 meter climb had been scrunched up into this last kilometre. Making a huge effort, we set off, resting after every second bend. I now understood why the Yamunotri trek is said to be the toughest of the char dhams.

Eventually, the last hairpin was crossed, and the road began to slope down towards the small settlement of Yamunotri. From a afar, we could make out the temple, coloured a bright red and yellow. The uphill trek had taken us almost three jours.Without wasting time, we met up with the ones who had already arrived and proceeded towards the temple. The small complex was relatively free of people, many of them bathing in the warm water supplied by a hot sulphur spring present right in the temple compound. All of us except my brother and me soon got involved in the puja process. I loitered around and deciding that there wasn’t much to see, parked myself on a bench waiting for the puja rites to wind their course.

The main Yamunotri shrine

After a long time (or so it seemed to me), the puja was done and the darshan was completed. We trooped back down, picked up some souvenirs, had lunch (a plate of Maggi for Rs. 30, whew!) and set off back for Janki Chatti. The set-up was different this time round. Most of us having experienced the dangers of riding a horse downhill, none were up for it. It was decided that the horses would accompany us while all of us walked so that if mid-journey if one felt that walking further just wouldn’t do, then he or she could get on a horse.

The trek downhill was a bit less strenuous, with two of us deciding to take up horses when the reached the midway point. The rest of us continued walking, reaching Janki Chatti around four. Within hours, most of us had begun to feel the after effects of the trek, especially leg pain and an extraordinary degree of exhaustion. On reaching, we learnt that our car had reached Janki Chatti by 10 in the morning, after our driver had driven all night back from where he had left us. He told us that he had even seen a couple of tigers in the forests near Chakrata. We were quite relieved that he had managed to reach us in one piece. The rest of the evening passed in conversation (which is what you do when there’s no TV) and as before we turned in quickly.

Day 6 & 7: The Queen of the Hills

We left Janaki Chatti around eight, following NH-94. The road was in bad condition throughout, even after Barkot. We had lunch at Nainbagh, about 40k from Mussoorie. We stopped at Kempty Falls, 14k before Mussoorie. This was the town’s main attraction and it was quite impressive.

Kempty Falls

A few of us went down to the base by ropeway, while the rest witnessed it from the walkway instead. The walkway was lined with souvenir shops and it was sort of inevitable when the ladies in our group filed into one that sold some wooded furniture. Thoroughly bored, I sat on a nearby bench waiting for them to finish. They finally did about an hour later and we were off again. We arrived at Mussoorie around 5 and moved into Hotel Dwaper, located a little before the entrance of the Mall Road. The room cost us Rs. 950 per night. Later we found some hotels on the Mall Road itself that had rooms at only Rs. 600. We went out on the Mall in the evening but didn’t go far. It was nice to be back to a place where your mobile was online again (Have I become that dependent?).

View to the north from Hotel Dwaper

The next day was to be our last in the hills before heading back to the plains. We planned to go to Dhanoulti, a small place about 30k from Mussoorie on the way to Chamba and visit a famous nearby temple. We left after breakfast, crossing the width of Mussoorie, taking in the sights of the small town, which is fast morphing into just a commercial establishment. The drive to Dhanoulti was a beautiful one indeed and at one place on the route we had to stop to take in the marvelous view of a huge chunk of the Himalayan range that was on offer. Even though the peaks were a bit clouded over, the view was fabulous.

On the road to Dhanoulti, view to the north

We reached Dhanoulti around eleven. This small village has a few hotels and is known for two Eco Parks that offer a chance to better experience the natural beauty present. We visited the newer one, which came earlier on our route.

The newer Eco Park at Dhanoulti

Eco Park, Dhanoulti, view to the east

After romping around a bit, I trealized that the place would have been more beautiful in the afternoon, when banks of clouds would be rolling in, which is exactly what was happening when we passed the place on our return leg. We had a small snack here and were again on our way to Kaddukhal, 7k away, the starting point of the 2k trek to the Surkanda Devi temple, on of the Sati pith sites, where the 51 places of Sati fell.

Surkanda Devi Temple, as seen from Kaddukhal

The temple stands on the place where, apparently, the head of Sati fell. The trek was two kilometres long and contained a rise in elevation of almost 500m. Three of us booked horses for the trip while the rest, including me, stayed behind in the car. We had lunch at a nearby restaurant while they were away and whiled away the time listening to our driver’s anecdotes. The three returned around three, finished their lunch and then we were on our way back. By now, clouds were moving across the hills, a phenomenon witnessed regularly here in the late afternoon, which made the drive even more exciting. We reached our hotel just after sunset. The evening passed in front of the TV, and after a botched-up choice of restaurant for dinner, we called it a day.

Day 8, 9 & 10: The Finaleidldj

Mussoorie was left behind at ten. Our destination was Haridwar, where we were to spend two nights before returning to Delhi. We stopped at a Shiv temple on the way a little after Mussoorie, had lunch at a resort in Raiwala, about 10k from Haridwar and finally reached Haridwar around three. Straightaway, we were off on a temple darshan tour, even before finding a hotel. Some of us visited the Bharat Mata temple, in the northern part of the town and then proceeded to the Chandi Devi temple, which lies across the Ganga from the maintown and is to be reached by a rope-way. The ride was a nice one though the views were spoiled bya haze that lay all over the town.

Rope-way to Chandi Devi Temple, Haridwar

We then went straight across the town to Kankhal, towards the south of Haridwar, to visit a Brahma temple. This part of town was completely dedicated to ashrams. I, as is my wont, refrained from stepping into either temple. After a bit, we were on our way to find a hotel in town.

There were no good rooms available at the Bharat Sevasharam Ashram, which is the first choice for visiting Bengalis, so we proceeded to Shiv Murti Chowk in front of the railway station and moved into Hotel Kailash, located right on the main road. The rooms cost Rs. 5oo a day, and were basic but with the almost ubiquitous TV sets. That evening I stayed behind at the hotel to watch the 2nd India-Australia ODI while the rest went to Har-ki-Pauri ghat for witnessing the evening aarti. sjfndfn

The day after was reserved for temple-hopping, literally (what else is there to do in Haridwar). We hired an auto to take us to the street on which the Bharat Mata Mandir stood, for it had temple after temple all along its length. We visited four or five in all, including one that had artificial caves built into its structure.

A Ram Temple in Haridwar

Pawan Dham temple, dedicated to Hanuman, with its main shrine built entirely of glass, was the most interesting. The evening was again spent at Har-ki-Pauri for the aarti. Even at this time of the year, there were quite a few people present.

Har-ki-Pauri

The Clock Tower at Har-ki-Pauri

Aarti at Har-ki-Pauri

Diyas floating down the Ganga after the aarti

The day was rounded off with some shopping in the claustrophobic markets around Har-ki-Pauri.

Our train to Delhi was the Dehra Dun-Indore Express, leaving Haridwar at 7. It reached Hazrat Nizamuddin at around half-past one, quite on time. The transfer to the airport, with lunch on the way, took a little longer than expected, with the traffic jams back after the Commonwealth Games. Our flight was delayed by 45 minutes due to a spell of unexpected rain. We arrived at Kolkata around eight.

Twilight at 8000 metres.

The trip had been quite a good one. The problems that had plagued us at the beginning could not dampen our mood and after the Lakha Mandal episode, nothing further happened to put us into discomfiture. Yamunotri was not as bad as I had imagined, even though it cannot be compared to Kedarnath or Badrinath. There were hints of adventure in some aspects and that should form a part of any successful journey.

The Crime

The shops had shut a long time ago. Sagarnaga, bustling with tourists and peddlers alike just a few hours back, had become the playground of dark shadows caused by the few street bulbs that had survived the purge of the urchins. Ahead, the occasional car passed by on the main road.

Breaking the silence came two pairs of footsteps and a soft conversation.

“You did confirm it, right?”, asked a female, looking at her companion.

“Relax, girl. I know the way,” the man replied in a hushed voice.

The two backpackers hurried on away from Plaza de los Murillo and entered a side street on the right, into the main Witches’ Market.

“Just a little bit more…yeah…on the left, the chap said…” said the man, looking furtively around him.

“There!”, the female cried out but hurriedly hushed herself. She was pointing to a pale pink building in front, with a sign, lit by a single light bulb, saying “ROUTE 36.”

“Oh, baby…”, they both moaned and increased their pace. The foreboding look of the place, with just a single light showing behind a dusty glass pane, did nothing to deter them.

On reaching the porch, they eased open the door. It gave a loud creak of reluctance but admitted them nonetheless.  A Bolivian sat just beyond on a rickety stool, eyeing their approach.

“Passports,” he quipped, as they came near.

The pair fumbled in their pockets and handed the passports to the man who examined them with a small torch and, handing the passports back, motioned them inside. Another glass-paned door let them inside and they found themselves in a crowded but quite noisy hall, filled with tables and people, all of them foreigners, all around. There was a candle on each table and no other lights, giving the place a surreal ambience.

A teenager came up to them and led them to an empty table.

“What’ll it be, folks?” he asked in heavily accented English, once they were seated.

By now their excitement was at its peak. Stammering, the man replied, “Two Cokes and two cases of coca.”

“Sure thing,” the boy said, nodding, as he hurried off towards the back.

Soon, two CD-cases were brought filled with cocaine. Taking in their first drag, the two let out a long and appreciative moan. They kissed in celebration and sat back to enjoy the effects of the drug.

“It feels so great,” the woman began. “The stuff’s so pure it almost makes this place feel like…”

“…the Mecca of cocaine lovers,” finished a waiter, who was passing by. They both looked up to see a tall man, well-built with a smart, young face, smiling at them.

“Yeah…exactly.”

“That’s what Route 36 is for,” the waiter continued in non-accented English, “The world’s first cocaine lounge is supposed to be.”

“Yeah, man. It is,” the man agreed, “Say, you are a waiter here?”

“John, head dispenser,” he replied, formally.

“Man, your life must be great with all this coca aound you…”

“I never touch it, sir,” replied John, suddenly a bit distant. “It’s against my principles.”

“But he has no qualms selling it to others,” finished a voice at the next table.

All three looked up to see another Bolivian, of the same build as John, looking at him. He was dressed casually but gave off an air of authority.

“Inspector Alexandro,” said John, smiling easily, “didn’t see you come in. On official duty?”

The backpackers who didn’t have a hope of catching the rapid Spanish, began to look from one to the other. Finally deciding that they weren’t wanted, they returned to their material ecstasies.

“Oh, no! Just dropped in for a drink. So all right with you with all the extra scrutiny?”he asked, eyes narrowing. “It must have had some effect.”

“Not yet. And I don’t intend for that to happen.”

“Of course not. Still you never know, one mistake and…whoops-a-daisy.”

“How will you like your drink, Inspector?” asked John, suddenly businesslike.

“On the rocks,” the inspector replied, equally coldly but as John passed him he said so softly so that no one else could hear, “My eyes are on you.”

John went back to serving the customers as they began to pour in, for it was the busiest time of the night for the cafe. He pretended otherwise but his gaze returned to the Inspector frequently. The inspector didn’t move from his seat on his part, ordering drinks every now and then.

John finished with a table and returned to the counter when a slender form caught his eye. He knew who it was but he deigned not to acknowledge her presence first.

“Hello, John”, said Maja, smiling at him from the chair beside him.  Slowly, John turned to face her.”

“Hello, Maja,” he returned the greeting.

Maja was the girl in this area of La Paz. Known for her exquisite body and extreme beauty, she was the most prized of all the women in Sagarnaga. Her rates were exorbitant but still people came from all parts of Bolivia only for her, happily paying for what they considered a taste of paradise. She was dressed as she always was. A sleeveless poncho with an alarmingly plunging neckline and an alluring ly embroidered skirt, supposedly the most apt dress to attract customers. Considering the body-hugging form of the dress, Jon could not help but agree.

“How come you are here? No work at the Arms?’ John asked, scornfully.

‘Maja was not deterred. She never was. “Alas, no’, she replied, ‘none could pay may rates. Although if it was one as  sexy as you, I would do it for half,’ she finished, moving her index finger down John’s muscular right arm.

John moved his arm out of her reach and began to walk towards the door.

‘Going so soon, John?, maja called after him, in what John considered her most seductive tone. He refused to be broken and did not turn back.

John came out into the deserted street and got onto his bike, a rickety old Harley. He began to wind his way through the streets of La Paz to his flat. A few minutes later he came to a road that was notoriously slippery. With the recent rains, it had transformed into a mud track.  People had to walk their bikes along this stretch. In a hurry to reach home John was walking at a much higher pace than was safe. Midway, The bike slipped in the mud and fell.

‘Shit!’ John hissed and bent to pick the motorcycle up. As he did so, he noticed that the side box had flung open. Inside it was a carton that shouldn’t have been there.

Frowning, John took it out and examined it. There were no markings. He reached into his pocket and took out a pen-knife. Glancing once around him, he cut open the top.

Stacks of cocaine were arranged neatly inside.

All of a sudden, he began to hear police sirens, coming from the direction of Sagarnaga.

Swearing violently, he jumped on the bike, tossing the cartons into the shadows on the street and hit the accelerator. Managing to negotiate the alleys without mishap, he threw the bike into overdrive. The sirens kept on coming closer though and knowing that it would be best to act innocent, he slowed down and allowed the police to catch up, which they soon did.

John pulled over as soon as the police gave the signal.

‘Anything wrong, Officer?’ he asked, as he dismounted.

‘Just a routine check,’ one of the two policemen answered, dismounting from his motorbike. John watched bemused as the police straightaway opened the side-box and discovered it to be empty.

At once, a look of disbelief came over their faces, to be replaced by one of suppressed anger. John tried hard to keep his face from showing a smirk.

“All right, you can go,” one of the policemen disgruntled.

John didn’t need telling twice. He jumped up on his motorbike and whizzed off down the street, having realized just what had happened.

Alexandro might have some surprise ready for me at my house, thought John, it won’t be right to go there.

But where else could he go that the police weren’t expecting? The answer hit him in a flash. It disgusted him but he had no choice.

Fifteen minutes later, he stopped before a rundown little house at the other end of the city. He went up to the door and knocked once.

Maja opened the door. A small flutter of surprise touched her face, but almost at once she beamed. “Welcome at last, John,” she said, moving aside. “Come in.”

John looked at her brusquely and without answering entered her two-roomed apartment. He took the first chair he found and faced her as she came in

“What brings you here, John, at this time of the night?” Maja asked softly, standing in front of him.

“The police planted drugs in my motorbike. I figured that they would have something up at my house too. This was the one place I wouldn’t be expected to go.” John answered slowly, looking at her levelly..

“You did the right thing. But why would they plant drugs on you?”

“No idea,” John lied.

“Anyway, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back soon.”

Saying so, she went into the inner room while John surveyed the room he was in. It was lit by a small electric bulb and was big enough to accommodate only a single bed, a table and a chair. Two doors led off to the inner room while the other went into the kitchen. He got up and walked towards the kitchen when he heard a noise behind him. Turning quickly, he saw a sight which left him stunned.

Maja stood there, naked. The light of the low-power bulb fell right on her and threw every contour of her body into sharp relief. John’s insides suddenly started to squirm. All he wanted at that moment was to feel that perfect body with his own hands but his dislike for Maja’s profession held him back.

“I have waited a long time for this, John,” Maja said, in what could only be her most seductive voice. At that moment, the chains binding John broke and he rushed forward to entwine himself around her and seal his lips on hers. This night, he knew, would be the best of his life.

Light was flooding in through the windows. John opened his eyed and immediately shaded them. A shadow or two passed over them. He tried to get a clear look and suddenly he felt a sense of alarm flood through him. The room was filled with people!

He sat up at once to see Inspector Alexandro smiling sinisterly at him. Maja was at his side, still not awake. Two other constables were searching the apartment.

Anger boiled up inside him and though he knew shouting would have no effect, he screamed out insults at the Inspector. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Smirking the Inspector said, “Uh-uh, temper, temper. Rough words from a drug-peddler.”

“What? Drug-peddler? I am not a drug-peddler!” John screamed out. Without any clothes on he couldn’t get out of bed and it was only adding to his anger.

Maja stirred beside him and woke up. One look at the scene around her was enough to make her scream. She fainted.

“So the prostitute can’t put up with this,” Alexandro said, still smirking, “Anyway, we don’t need her. It’s you we want.”

“I haven’t done anything!”

“Don’t fool with me,” the Inspector said, suddenly serious, “Drugs were found at your house. We searched it.”

“I never had drugs. You planted them!”

“The packets had your fingerprints,” said the Inspector as to close the argument.

John fell silent, realizing what must have happened. The police had found the packets he had thrown and planted them. Who was going to fight them?

“Yes, so you see now,” said the Inspector, as if reading his mind, “Enough. Drag him out, boys!”

The two constables abandoned their false search and pulled John out, dragging him outside to the police van. The cold bit into his naked body, but he did not complain. The police wanted to make this as hard for him as possible and he was not going to make it any sweeter for them.

Let me explain. Since the early part of this decade, when Indian cricket broke free of its shackles, when a television set, and perhaps, more importantly, cable television, became ubiquitous, and the Board of Control for Cricket in India went about marketing the game ever more aggressively (before the 2007 World Cup, they even brought out a perfume line branded after some of the most un-glamorous players in the game), the viewer on television has had to put up with the steady decrease in the amount of time reserved exclusively for covering the match being played. So, now we have channels cutting into commercial breaks the moment a fielder picks up the last delivery of the over, returning just when the bowler breaks into his delivery stride, sometimes just before the batsman plays the ball. If that wasn’t enough, we have advertisements cropping up after every alternate delivery. Cropping up? That’s an understatement. The new fashion is to shove the visuals into a corner and show ads in the remaining space. It seems as if cricket has become the disfavoured child of the broadcasters.

Why has this happened? It’s because of the same reasons that India today is the commercial powerhouse of cricket. Numerous sponsors have agreed to back us and the BCCI has rightly enough taken them on board. We had to pay them back. The Indian Cricket Fan, the reason the Board is to the cricketing world what the U.S. is to world politics, has had to bear out the debt. And it’s to their credit that they still continue to put their full faith behind the Men in Blue.

These problems are significant only when India is playing, naturally. Broadcasts of neutral cricket is relatively free of airtime-hogging sponsors and hence is much more of a treat to watch. In the former case, the golden rule seems to be, “If the bowler not bowleth, then commercials aireth.” Not so in the latter case. We get the opportunity to watch the colourful crowds, watch the players, finding a moment to relax, re-transform into ordinary beings, like us, enjoying themselves, listen to the words of wisdom of experienced commentators such as Richie Benaud, Tony Greig, David Lloyd, laugh along as they recite memorable anecdotes from their experiences. That is why this writer loves the broadcasts of Sky Sports in England and those of Channel Nine in Australia. No hassled commercial breaks, no picture shrinkage, just pure, unadulterated cricket accompanied with commentary of the first order.

Commercialization will, without a doubt, persist. The outfits of players will soon mimic their Formula One counterparts’ (a taste of which can be had during the Indian Premier League). The colours of cricket will not remain green and blue any longer. The skies will turn black (day-night tests) and grounds will be covered in banner ads. Broadcasters will offer ad-free telecasts at premium rates and people will opt for them. Cricketers will be on television regardless of the fact whether a match is on or not.

Here’s in fond memory of the time when a game of cricket was a gourmet experience which could make even the lowliest of spectators feel like a connoisseur.

Let’s look at the facts. It all started with the Andhra Pradesh government initiating a process to form a state-Telengana, from the present Andhra Pradesh. The move did not go down well with some of the elected representatives of the state’s Vidhan Sabha and the Lok Sabha, with as many as 93 MLAs and MPs offering their resignation. Nevertheless, Kumari Mayawati, Chief Minister of Uttar Pradesh, wrote to the Prime Minister to form a state of Purvanchal out of eastern UP. The issue of Bundelkhand, to be carved out of UP and Madhya Pradesh, had alreday been mooted earlier. Maharashtra is known to be considering the creation of the state of Vidharba and of course, the Gorkhaland issue in West Bengal has been in the news for quite a while.

Is this the right way to go for the world’s largest democracy? Splitting itself up into smaller and smaller pieces? As the number of states keeps on increasing, it becomes harder for the Centre to keep its hold over them. And splitting up states isn’t always the best solution. India formed three new states in 2000 and of them only Chattisgarh has shown significant progress. Jharkhand has fallen prey to corrupt politicians and Maoist insurgency while Uttarakhand has fared only a little better than Uttar Pradesh.

We have seen how Yugoslavia split up into several states, the most recent, Kosovo, formed mere months ago. Do we really want to travel that way again? On the other hand, this process can, if used correctly, lead to better governance. It is up to the centre to decide whether by 2025, India will still have 28 states or 33. THey say that the more the merrier. But too many cooks can often spoil the khichdi…er…broth.

Ever heard of the British National Party? No? Well, let me tell you. It is a far-right political party in the UK. It formed as an offshoot of the British National Front in 1982. It is infamous for being totally against non-whites living in Britain. It believes that Britain is only for its white ethnic groups. Indeed, according to its constitution, the BNP is “committed to stemming and reversing the tide of non-white immigration and to restoring, by legal changes, negotiation and consent the overwhelmingly white makeup of the British population that existed in Britain prior to 1948″.

Now what do you say to that? Racist? The party would be glad to agree. In 1993, its deputy leader, when asked, clarified that “We are 100 per cent racist, yes”. Recently though, the party has stopped being so vocal about racism. Instead it has focused on religion and after the 7/11 London bombings, has directed itself against Islam. It openly criticizes the religion and looks to take advantage of the current public outrage against militant outfits based in Islamic countries to gather opinion against Islamic immigrants to the UK. Even second and third generation Muslims are targeted.

The first reaction to these policies is surely disgust. That is only natural. How could any decent person bring himself or herself to vote for such a party which is so like the Nazi in character? Haven’t we lived through those ages? But their performance at the polls in Britain shows worrying trends. Though the party did not manage to get any candidates elected to the Parliament in the recent general elections in 2005, it did poll 0.7% of the total votes, their best performance in the elections. Though the number seems small, it shows that almost 200,000 people voted for them. That is disturbing.

All other political parties in the country have distanced themselves from the BNP, having nothing to do with it, which is sensible. It remains to be seen what becomes of the party in future. Most probably it will fade out and Britain will look back upon it as a bad dream. If that does not happen, the country could well see itself divided into two camps. Lets hope the British people effect the better option.

Part 1: The Beginning

After facing many roadblocks and three ticket cancellations due to the postponement of our exams, the day of commencement finally dawned. It was the 22nd of September and we, that is to say, my family along with the family of one my father’s colleagues, set off for Sealdah station, from where we caught the Rajdhani Express to New Delhi. The journey was uneventful and the train was punctual, so punctual in fact that it arrived half an hour before its scheduled time. Our connecting train to Haridwar, the Dehradun Jan Shatabdi, was at half past three in the afternoon, so we passed away the time in the waiting hall. Lunch was a totally forgetful incident, with the railway refreshment room serving up totally third-class fare in miserly portions. I cannot help but wonder if this is the face they will show to the world during the 2010 Commonwealth Games.

Another fact I noticed is that while my cell was on roaming, I was only charged for incoming and outgoing calls, while the rest of the services, SMS and even Internet, was free. I had a blast surfing the web at 3G speeds (where available). Add to it the fact that the Champions Trophy was on and it was a positive godsend.

On the Jan Shatabdi, it turned out that the seats had been renumbered and we ended up not getting any window seats, whereas there was a window seat on our tickets. I spent almost the entire journey at the door, not content with just sitting in the aisle seat. Almost everyone in the train were Bengalis and were travelling to Haridwar and as the train had a scheduled stop of only five minutes at the station, people began to have concerns about disembarking in time. As it turnes out, as soon as the train left Roorkee, all the passengers got up, took their luggage and made a beeline for the door. My brother and me didn’t however and relaxed for the next half-hour as the rest sweated it out in the heat with heavy bags in hand. At Haridwar, we ended up passing our luggage to my father through the emergency window and then I attempted a small stunt by going out through the window myself. It was totally uncalled for but went off smoothly.

We put up at the Bharat Sevashram Sangh, a little distance from the station. It was the preferred destination for Bengalis mainly because of the Bengali management and the superb home-like fare they serve. Our rooms were in a new building and were really good. The beginning passed off well.

Part 2: Haridwar Parikrama

A canal headworks in Haridwar

The next day we set off for a local sightseeing tour. Taking the Haridwar bypass, we had a great view of the town to our left and the Ganga to our right. The headworks of the Ganga Canal are located in Haridwar and hence the city is located right beside a network of canals including the main canal, which runs through the most famous place in Haridwar, Har-ki-Pauri. These canals feed the breadbasket fields of North India and have turned the deserts of Rajasthan into cropland

We bypassed Haridwar, drove through the Rajaji National Park and entered Rishikesh. The town is just upstream from Haridwar and is famous for being the place where Ganga exits the Himalayas and debouches onto the plains. It is also home to two magnificent bridges that span the Ganga-Ramjhula, which has been recently erected and its more famous cousin, Lakshmanjhula.

Ram Jhula

Our car stopped just before Ramjhula and we hired a guide to take us on a short tour of the place. We crossed the Ramjhula into Muni-ki-Reti as the left bank of the Ganga is known here. This place our guide said was the property of a late sadhu called Baba Kali Kamli, who had also financed half the cost of the Ramjhula, the other half being paid by UP government. Muni-ki-Reti, as is expected, is chock-a-block with with temples and ashrams. Devotional items of every type can be found here. Of course, there will be the tourist traps. After visiting a few temples, we took a jeep to head north towards Laksmanjhula, from where we crossed over to the other side.

Lakshman Jhula

There is a 13-storey Swarg Niwas temple beside the bridge which has no lifts and one has to climb all the way to the top.

The 13-storey Swarg Niwas temple.

The heat of the day had already taken its toll, though, and we had to give the temple a miss.

We had lunch somewhere between the two towns and headed to the newly constructed Pawan Dham temple, which is a work of art in glass. The interior of the temple is full of glass-work giving it a weird feel.

Interior of the Pawan Dham temple

As the day was getting on, we decided to give some spots such as Kankhal and the Chandi Devi temple a miss as they were a good distance away, and headed to the Mansa Devi temple. We left our car at the entrance and proceeded to the rope-way that was recently built, connecting the town with the temple. The ride was short but it offered great views of the town.

Haridwar town from the Mansa Devi ropeway

Another view of Haridwar

Once at the top, some of us went inside to offer prayers. I stayed outside as I had no wish to get caught in the rush.

Valmiki temple at Har-ki-Pauri

We came back by the rope-way and then went to Har-ki-Pauri to catch the evening aarti.

The clock tower at Har-ki-Pauri

It was a great experience. We returned, tired but exhilarated.

Part 3: Jai Ganga Maa

Our trip to Gangotri, earlier planned to be completed in one day was broken into two. On the first we were to reach Netala, some 90 k’s from Gangotri and 200 k’s from Haridwar. We started at 8 in the morning and by the time we had travelled for a while in the hills, the usual car-sickness symptoms had begun to show. I was sitting in front so I didn’t fell much but my brother and father, sitting in the back, on side-facing seats, had to endure the full G’s of the turns. (They later adjusted well and there were no further problems). But our companions had a little girl and the long rides took their toll on her.

Anyway, we managed to finish off the trip by 4 in the afternoon and put up at a decent hotel in Netala, a few clicks beyond Uttarkashi.

Tehri jheel

On the way, we had had a good view of the Tehri reservoir, caused by the Tehri dam, which had swallowed the whole of Old Tehri, with its populace being shifted to New Tehri, higher up in the hills, in the largest displacement since Independence.

Next morning, we set off early and after passing through some fantastic scenery, arrived in Gangotri by 11. Gangotri is a small village built around the Gangotri temple and consisting of tourist shops and restaurants. The skies were clear and the views of the Himalayas from here were fabulous. Upon arriving, we set off for the temple at once for puja before it closed down for the aftenoon. My parents did the needful while I roamed about taking photos.

Gangotri temple

Looking upstream along the Bhagirathi

The village of Gangotri

Towering peaks at Gangotri

In the evening I was restless as India was playing Pakistan in the Champions Trophy and there was no TV in our hotel. The others roamed about, with me along with them, catching flashes of the match on the TV in some shops and depending on the free SMS service to keep up. (India lost. Oh well.)

The next day, was to us the longest on the trip. It featured a 250 km long journey from Gangotri to Srinagar, the district capital of Pauri-Garhwal. We set off at 6, all of us wondering how we would be able to cope with the trip. After Uttarkashi, we took on a shortcut, which crossed the Tehri jheel to the north. This road was newly built and parts of it were real dustbowls. We finally reached Srinagar at 5 pm with only me and my father having some sort of a lunch in between, the rest putting off lunch to Srinagar.

We put up at the Kali Kamli dharamsala, and were pleased to find non-veg food in a restaurant opposite the road. Having had nothing but pure veg food since we came to Uttarakhand, chicken curry was a pleasant change.

Part 4: Jai Kedarnath Ji

The next day dawned cool and clear. The climax of our trip was just  a day away. We left Srinagar at 8 and crossing Rudraprayag, took the Kedarnath Marg or NH-108. We reached Gaurikund at 12 noon. The highway ends here and Kedarnath is a rigorous 14 km walk away, in which one has to climb 1600m to over 3500m above sea level. We kept all the luggage we didn’t need in the cloak room of the Bharat Sevashram Sansh ashram here, put the bag we needed in the tokri of  a coolie and having brought walking sticks, were off. My mother took a horse but the rest walked. Our destination was Rambara, halfway to Kedarnath, where we were to spend the night.

Jungle chatti, 3 k's from Gaurikund

The walk was exhausting to say the least. The constant uphill trudge left me totally out of breath even with three short breaks in between.

Rambara.

My mother’s horse passed me as I was climbing and I found her waiting at the Kali Kamli Dharamsala when I reached Rambara 2.5 hrs after starting off. The rest of the group arrived within another half hour and we moved into our rooms. I spent the day sleeping off my fatigue, getting up only for a hot plate of khichdi for dinner.

The next day was the climax. We had decided to book horses for the remaining 7 k’s as this included an ever higher grade than yesterday (Walking would have been better, but maybe this was more practical as we were to return the next day). The trip passed off well with us marvelling at the scenery. Every now and then a helicopter would sail over our heads, ferrying those who could afford it from Kedarnath to Phata (a town 20 k’s from Gaurikund).

As we turned a bend and the path leveled out, we had our first view of the Kedarnath valley and it was awesome. The valley was narrow with high mountains on both sides. In front was the village of Kedarnath and behind it rose magnificent snow-covered peaks.The view left us spellbound.

We had pre-booked in the Kali Kamli Dharamsala but were given rooms that seemed as though they had had their last maintenance at least 50 years ago, even though they had better rooms. Still, at that moment we were too excited to properly berate the place. One good thing about the place was that it was right on the Mandir Marg and the temple was a stone’s throw away. Like in Gangotri, we headed right for it.

The temple was on the left bank of the Mandakini, which is little more than a stream here.

Kedarnath temple

We hired a pujari and after buying the necessary material for the many shops just outside the temple, we were led into the garba griha (inner sanctum) of the temple. Once there and after witnessing into what sort of a rolling business the pujaris do here. The place was small and full of people and makes one feel claustrophobic. Even then the ardent devotees, ranging in age from young adults to the very old, do not let their seal ebb. Instead, they seem to enjoy the hardships, thinking that it will bring them closer to the Almighty. In all the chaos its amazing to behold to what level even the most pious of devotees will descend to be the first to complete the puja.

Another view of the temple

Anyway, the puja was done and we came out into the bright sunlight again (I decided then that this was the last such puja for me).

The route to Gandhi Sarovar, the source of the Mandakini

We moped about for a little longer before deciding that we were all hungry and went into a restaurant. We had a standard thali which cost us Rs. 50 per plate (this place is real remote, you see), before heading back to our hotel for a afternoon nap.

We ventured back to the temple in the evening.

Kedarnath tempe at night

It’s amazing how quickly the mercury drops here after the sun sets. It was barely eight and it felt like freezing. We had a quick dinner and went off to bed in those awful, damp rooms.

Morning dawned cold and bright. As I ventured out onto our balcony overlooking the Mandir Marg, sleepy-eyed, and looked towards the temple, the sight blew away the last dregs of drowsiness. The snow-covered peaks stood out in all their glory, with not a single cloud covering them.

The peaks in all their magnificence

The sun shone brightly on them, making their snow glow gold. This was the real reason, then, why people came to Kedarnath. Maybe the person who built the first temple here had been similarly awed and decided that this place, which so bore the hallmark of being God’s creation, had to have a memorial dedicated to Him.

We began our descent at 8, with my father, brother and me walking and the rest leaving on horses. The walk downhill was not tiring at all compared to the uphill toil but it did tear my legs to shreds, because of the constant down grade. Even then, taking a lot of shortcuts and a few short breaks, we reached Gaurikund in 4 hours with my father reaching a bit later. We had a great lunch at the ashram but had to wait for two hours for our car to arrive. Once it did, the ride to Okhimath, our halt for the night, took only two hours.

We put up again at the Bharat Sevashram Sangh, a huge 7-storey building, in Ukhimath. Our room was huge, intended to house 8, so after the experience of Kedarnath, the night passed off comfortably.

Part 5: Jai Badri Vishal

We left at 7 the next morning, taking the shortcut via Chopta, the starting point of the Tungnath trek. The route weaved through forests and meadows and was truly spectacular. We had breakfast at Chopta and carried on. The road wasn’t fabulous and until we reached Chamoli, on NH-58, our speed was restricted. Once on the highway, we could increase our progress rate.

We reached Joshimath at noon. Beyond Joshimath, the road to Badrinath opens only on 5 instances during the day and remains closed for the rest of the day. This is done to restrict traffic on this narrow and landslide prone route. The gate at Badrinath opens at the same times and the vehicles cross in between at Pandukeshwar.

We had lunch here while we waited. After the gate opened, it was smooth flowing as the road was good except for some parts which had witnessed recent landslides. We reached Badrinath at 4 and drove straight past it to reach Mana village, the last settlement before the Tibetan border.

The Badrinath valley is called the ‘Valley of the Gods’ and as we drove across it we could see why. The valley is rugged and has no trees, reminding one of Ladakh. The Nar mountain flanks it on the left while the Narayana mountain maintains a vigil on the right. Beyond the Narayana mountain lay the Neelkanth peak. The effect is awe-inspiring.

We did not spend much time in Mana, which is the village through which the Pandavas are said to have passed in the Mahabharata, on their way to heaven. Returning to Badrinath, we quickly moved into the Kali Kamli Dharamsala. The rooms were new and comfortable. Not wasting any time we went off to see the Badrinath temple.

The area around Badrinath temple

The temple, dedicated to Lord Vishnu, is located on the right bank of the Alakananda and is accessed by a bridge. Our puja was scheduled for the next day and so we contented ourselves with only a darshan of the main idol (albeit with a lot of jostling).

The Badrinath temple at night

By the time we exited the temple, it was night and we headed straight to a restaurant for dinner. The restaurant was great and provided me with the best food I had on the whole trip.

Neelkanth peak aglow with the first rays of sunshine

The next day, my parents went off to the temple for the customary puja while my brother and me kept on sleeping. We had our breakfast after they returned and were off in our car by 11, when the highway opened. It was 320 k’s to Haridwar from Badrinath, which we couldn’t complete in a day, but we wanted to finish off as much as we could today. Originally, Rudraprayag was to be our halt for the night but our driver extended it 30 k’s more to a place called Srikot, just outside Srinagar. We had to drive after dusk, as a result, but the experience was great, partly because the road was great. The journey was great as we crossed four of the five confluences of the Panchprayag. At each the Alakananda joins with one of the five main headwaters of the Ganga. They were Vishnuprayag (Dhauli Ganga), Nandprayag (Nandakini), Karnaprayag (Pindari) and Rudraprayag (Mandakini).

Our rooms in Srikot were tiny, with hardly any space to move around and were not cleaned properly. Still, as it was a matter of one night, we bore the problems without much fuss. The next day was to be our last in the hills. We left at eight.

The confluence of Alakananda and Bhagirathi to form the Ganga at Devprayag

The ride was smooth until we came to the foothills, where we were caught up in traffic jams due to roadworks and the uphill traffic bearing loads of trill-seeking rafters. On one occasion we were right at the head of the queue when a bulldozer was clearing rocks off the road. It was a new experience and sometimes seemed that the ‘dozer would smash the rocks against our car itself.

Anyway, there were no more incidents after that and we reached Haridwar by noon, where we again put up at the Sevashram. The rest of the day was given up to rest. The next day the rest did a short excursion to the Chandi Devi temple across the Ganga and some shopping. I stayed back and had to study a bit for my upcoming exams.

Part 6: Delhi Disappoints

We caught the Dehra Dun Jan Shatabdi, at 6 in the morning back to New Delhi, arriving at 11. We kept our luggage in the cloak room and headed off outside for lunch. The dhabas outside the station provided us, although their prices were huge and portions miserly. We then took the metro to Yamuna Bank, planning to visit Akshardham temple. But arriving at Yamuna Bank, we found out that it was closed today as it was a Monday. Exasperated, we caught the metro back to Chandni Chowk, this time deciding to visit the Red Fort, which again  was closed every Monday.

Laughing at our luck, we returned, grabbing a bite at a Mcdonald’s outlet, to New Delhi. The evening passed in the waiting hall. Our train was the newly introduced New Delhi-Sealdah Duronto Express, the brainchild of present Rail Minister, Mamata Banerjee. We had seats in the Economy 3rd AC, which included the infamous side middle berth. It’s amazing how the addition of a single extra berth can make the AC coach seem like a general coach. Adjustment was the name of the game, and as the journey was short (only 16 hrs non-stop) we didn’t mind too much. We arrived at Sealdah the next day at noon.

It was an epic trip in which we covered more than a 1000 kilometres throughout the Garhwal region (having earlier done the Kumaon region). We visited places that ranged in landscape from flat and hot plains, thickly forested, to arid and cold mountains, with only a few ferns and moss covering the ground. The road trips were long and tiring but the routes were scenic. Our destinations were interesting enough to wipe away the fatigue of the journey. All in all, the trip was successful and fulfilling.

P.S. - I decided on the title for the blog considering the fact that if one looks at a map of Uttarakhand, our three main destinations can be seen as the three points of a trishul (trident) with Haridwar as the stem. Add to it  the fact that our main destination was Kedarnath, another name for Shiva, whose weapon was the Pinaka, a trident, and the aptness of the title is obvious.

Having got the go-ahead from the executive board, the students planned a trip to Jharkhand’s capital, Ranchi, to meet the Governor in order to apprise him of the situation and entreat him to forward the matter to the centre. So the presentation was prepared, an appointment was obtained, four buses were hired and the students went to bed early so that waking up at 3 a.m., an hour before the buses were supposed to leave, wouldn’t be a problem.

I awoke at 2:30 and hurriedly got ready. By 3:15 me and two of my friends were at the gate of our hostel, bubbling with enthusiasm even in that unearthly hour.

We waited… and waited. We had planned to get the best seats in the bus by arriving quickly. But there was no sign of the buses. The rest of the students arrived and we were left cursing ourselves for waking up so early. Our transport finally arrived at 5 and after a mad scramble I was able to get a seat towards the back of the bus. And so, with all of us making the best of the limited seating space available (some final years were still standing), our endeavour was set rolling.

The mood in the beginning was great. Even though most of us were still quite sleepy, we engaged in a game of Antakshari. It was quite fun until the charm wore off and most of started dozing off about an hour into the journey. I for one had decided that I would stay awake no matter what, for this was a journey I had never done before and I intended to make the most of it. After all, it is the journey always matters the same as, if not more than, the destination.

The journey through the Chhota-Nagpur area was great for all the views it had to offer. Traveling through Maoist infected areas had made some of us apprehensive but that fear did not materialize. The trip took a bit more time than expected and we arrived at the Project Bhavan in Ranchi at quarter to one. Quickly, we took our banners and posters enumerating our arguments for the conversion and took our positions opposite the gate of the Bhavan. The press were present and they took a few interviews of the teachers present and a few final year students.

Till then everything had passed off smoothly and the enthusiasm was running high. The Governor had promised to consider the matter and pass it on to the MHRD. But as they say, there can be no success without adversity. Soon, it started to rain heavily and the students gathered under whatever shade they could. Even though there was a bus stop and a few trees nearby, almost everyone got wet. Thankfully, I had my umbrella and six or seven of us gathered under it to keep the rain off us. We didn’t succeed there.

The rain stopped soon but another problem cropped up. Food. We had had some biscuits before embarking and it was now two in the afternoon and all we had were more biscuits. Fortunately, we packed up soon after that and were on our way back by three with only the thought of lunch in our mind.

For some odd reason, our drivers took us along a long detour to reach NH-33, which would take us back to Dhanbad,  completely skirting the town with a few kilometres to spare, instead of taking the direct route back through the town. The road was bad, the route was long and there were no dhabas in sight. In short, it was the beginning of a nightmare. By the time we reached NH-33, it was five. A trip of half-an-hour had taken two. Finally at 6 we stopped at a dhaba, where even a simple meal of roti, dal and sabji seemed like ambrosia to us. We left at 7: 30, contented that one nice sound nap would deliver us at Dhanbad. Little did we know that we had more surprises in store.

After crossing Ramgarh at 8:30, I fell asleep.When I woke up, it was to find our bus at a standstill with two others ahead of us on an empty stretch of the road. Most of us had been sleeping and were equally nonplussed at the unexpected turn of events when we awoke. Slowly, the picture cleared itself. It turned out that one of the buses had run out of petrol and the other had just hit some other vehicle. The first was busy filling up via our emergency reserve and the other was conducting some emergency repairs. We were stationary for over half-an-hour while most of us had no idea where exactly we were (It was just outside Bokaro in fact).

Eventually the buses resumed their journey and we resumed our sleep. Thankfully, there were no more interruptions and the next time I awoke we were in Dhanbad. The time was near 2 a.m! At last we were able to sleepily clamber down from the bus and head off to our rooms for a well-deserved sleep.

The silver lining was that classes were cancelled for the morning of the next day. All in all it was a horrible trip, with only the meeting with the Governor standing out as a positive. Hopefully, the fight for IIT status will be less strenuous after this.

The process had started way back in 2005, when a lean and mean English team managed to hold their own against a rampaging Aussie squad which included the likes of McGrath, Gilchrist and Warne. In their true style, the Australians hit back and the series began to be seen as a momentary lapse in form. The 5-0 whitewash of the English in the 2007 Ashes only confirmed that view. But that series was to be the last of the now familiar complete Aussie dominance. They lost their golden trio to retirement (or to the IPL, it can be said). They lost to India in 2008 in India and were defeated by South Africa at home. The Ashes could have been their redemption. Instead, it turned out to be their Waterloo.

The whole cricketing world had followed the series closely, realizing its importance to the world cricketing balance. And when Michael Hussey was caught at short-leg for a bat-pad, when the jubilation began and when Andrew Strauss, the English captain and the Player of the Series, lifted the diminutive black urn up above his head, the world knew, a knew era in cricket had begun.

The ICC Test Rankings, the only objective view to be had of the current state of world cricket, reflected the situation to a high degree. Australia dropped down to number 4, just ahead of their conquerors. South Africa took the top spot, with Sri Lanka and India close behind. Already, people, including current and former players, are envisaging a new order in cricket. Rahul Dravid, for one, feels that the era of one team dominance has come to an end and the top spot will constantly change hands among the current top three every few months.

What had begun in 1995, when the Australians beat the till-then all conquering West Indies in the Caribbean and kick-started their meteoric rise to the top, was brought to an end last Sunday by a young and raw English team led by an inexperienced but determined captain. The era was a glorious one-in which the Australians showed just how high the level of cricket could rise and how one team could dominate play to such a high degree. Thus, it was with a faint sense of disappointment with which we watched the grand old ship go down all guns blazing. Lets hope this new dawn succeeds in taking cricket to even greater levels of commitment and skill.

We celebrate it with great gusto, with a lot of pomp and show. Almost everybody who is anybody are invited to hoist the Tricolour in their neighbourhoods. The whole nation tunes into Doordarshan to catch the live feed of the celebrations in New Delhi. At a glance one could say that the feeling of patriotism runs deep in our country’s blood. Bur look closer and the conviction is not so certain.

The whole nation waits for it, not because it is the day that, in 1947, first shed the light of independence upon us, but because of the fact that it is a government holiday. The truth maybe shocking, but its true. People wish each other, fly tricolour kites, get free sweets from shops, small children are made to wear tricolour shirts and scarves and sing the National Song, even the news-anchors wear traditional clothes to mark the occasion. But one fact is uppermost in the common man’s mind. No Work Today. That’s the mindset of the people.

The problem with Independence Day is just that-it is only a Day. The patriotic feeling, in whatever degree it is present, lasts only for a day. From the next morning onwards, people leave behind any thoughts of the noble ideals the country’s creators envisaged and grudgingly get back to their daily jobs. The question that now begs to be asked is-why should it be so? The answer is quite simple-years of ineffective governance has left people bereft of hope for the country’s progress. All around are cries of the country’s descent into anarchy-terror attacks, inflation, social crimes and most important of all the apathy of the authorities. India is one of the most corrupt countries in the world, according to popular surveys. Long experience in dealing with lax authorities is the main reason why the patriot in Indian citizens raises its head for only one day in the year.

But there remains hope, as there should be always, for without hope life could not exist. Recent trends have shown India in a positive light. The quality of living is rising and the bourgeois percentage of the population is increasing at a fast clip. We rank among the top nations in the world in the development of new technologies. Our citizens have carved out a niche for themselves in their respective fields throughout the world. This gives us a light-a guiding light, a beacon of hope, and despite all our chains, we step resolutely into another year of freedom, quietly optimistic that in the near future every day will bring with it a feeling of true freedom.

We left on the 3rd of May, from Sealdah station by the Kanchan Kanya Exp. at 7:30 in the evening. It reached Siliguri Jn. at 8:00 the following morning.

Part 1: Gangtok Lay Open Before Us

We booked a private car from Gangtok. Ahead of us to the north, the Himalayan foothills could be seen. The weather couldn’t have been better. It was bright and sunny, ideal for the long road trip to the state capital. As our car weaved its way out of the second largest city in West Bengal, the Duars seemed to spread out before us. The Duars is the name given to the area of north Bengal just south of the Himalayas. It is a thickly forested region, home to many national parks and wildlife sanctuaries. NH-31, which goes through Siliguri towards Guwahati, traverses the region and passes through many of these. We took this road upto Sevok, passing through the Mahananda Wildlife Sanctuary.

We stopped for breakfast at Sevok, located right at the foot of the hils, at the point where the Tista river enters the plains. As with all rivers, it widens to a huge extent at this point. Our restaurant offered a panoramic view of the surroundings. We were even lucky enough to catch a train going over the Sevok rail bridge, on its way to New Mal Jn.

A little way down the road, NH-31 left us via the Coronation Bridge. We would now follow NH-31A till Gangtok. This road is maintained by the Border Roads Organisation (BRO), and is a beauty to travel on. Barring a minor incident in which we had to change a flay tyre after we ran over a thick tree branch, the ride went smoothly. The road is truly spectacular as it winds its way up and down the mountains, passing Tista Bazar, Melli Bazar (where a road leads to West Sikkim), until Rangpo, the entry point of Sikkim. An ornate arch, lying just after a bridge crossing the Rangpo river, welcomes visitors to Sikkim. After crossing the check post, we entered the town. The increased military presence caught our eye at once. Sikkim, a tiny state, borders 3 foreign nations (compared to just one Indian state) and hence the Indian Army keeps a constant presence here.

Till Singtam, we followed the Tista. The road had climbed slowly till now, but the ascent became more pronounced. We reached Ranipul around 12:30, and it was after this small town that the road began climbing in earnest. About 10 kms. from our destination, the hills offered their first view of Gangtok, in all its sprawling glory. It covered the entire west side its hill. The T.V. Tower, located at the extreme north of the town, was conspicuous even then.

We reached our UBI Holiday Home, on Diesel Power House (DPH) Rd. shortly after 1 pm. Our room had a view of the western hills, and if it wasn’t too cloudy, one could see the Kanchenjunga peak. The rest of the day was spent in unpacking and a quiet stroll in the evening around the locality.

View towards the west from Gangtok Ropeway

We had booked a car for local sightseeing the day before and by 10 am we were on our way. First stop was the rope-way. It is a recent installation and extends between two peaks of the Gangtok hill, riding over a col.

And the view towards the east.

It’s not too long, but it offers a great view of the valleys on both sides of the hill. The eastern edge has few houses but the western slope is chock-a-block with them.

After taking a breathtaking round trip, we drove to the nearby Institute of Tibetology.

The Chorten at the Monastery near Institute of Tibetology

The institute, whose main building contained two floors, housed ancient tapestries and artifacts, some dating back to the 11th century, related to the ancient Tibetan kingdom. The upper floor contained important manuscripts of Tibetan history. We then visited the nearby monastery, which contained a huge ‘chorten’. We had quite a lot of fun spinning the player wheels on its sides.

Fine view of the Ranka Monastery

The main Shrine of the Ranka Monastery

Next, we took a ride of about forty minutes, out of the city, to the Ranka Monastery. It has been recently built on the hill opposite Gangtok, facing the west.

It’s beautiful sylvan surroundings makes it an ideal place for its residents, though I could not help but think how the young students could study peacefully here with all the chirpy tourists, including ourselves, around. The monastery has come up as a tourist alternative to the well-known Rumtek monastery. Considering its location and beauty I suspect that it will give the latter a good fight in years to come.

Jorpokhari Waterfall

On our way back, we visited the Jorpokhari water park, which was a theme park built around a beautiful waterfall. The road offered beautiful views of the whole arc of Gangtok city.

Gangtok as viewed from the opposite hill

We had lunch back at our holiday home and set off again in the afternoon, towards the north of the city. It had grown cloudy while we were indoors. By the time we reached our first destination, Hanuman Tok, it was completely clouded over. Hanuman Tok was the highest point on the Gangtok hill and accessed by the Nathula road. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees and we, denizens of the steaming plains, were feeling every numbing chill of it.

A funny incident happened in the temple. We went inside the temple and asked the priest there if we could take pictures. He said yes and I happily went on recording with our video-cam, until I came to focus on the priest. All of a sudden, he began to wave the camera away, saying filming was not allowed. I had no choice but to shut the camera and sheepishly exit the temple, all the while wondering what harm movies could do that pictures couldn’t. Oh well, better leave the question up to you. The view from Hanuman Tok is supposedly spectacular, but due to the cloud cover, we could catch only a glimpse of the far snow-covered peaks.

The two peaks of Gangtok hill viewed from Ganesh Tok

Grumbling, we got back to our car and were whisked off to Ganesh Tok, a temple located to the north and right on top of Gangtok. As is my habit, I completely forgot about the deities presiding in the temple and started filming the views of the place. The temple was higher than even the TV Tower, and we had fun looking over and above the tower to behold a grand view of the city.

A riot of colours at Ganesh Tok

Our day-tour was nearing an end now. We were taken back to the city centre, after passing a few moments at a quaint little waterfall located right beside the main road. The driver dropped us off at the entrance to M.G. Road, which is Gangtok’s main tourist haven. Vehicles are not allowed on this road. It is completely tiled with beautifully decorated medians along it. Extending from one end to the other, beside the road, are tourist shops (or tourist traps, whichever way you see them). We had a quite stroll along the road, and, after a few momos at Metro Cafe (the best place for vegetarian food in the city), we returned to our holiday home. The chores of the day weren’t finished for my father though, who had to rush off to book a travel agency for the next day’s journey to North Sikkim.

Part 2: Journey into the Land Of Gods

This day saw us getting hastily prepared for the long trip ahead. We were ready by 10 and were taken by a taxi to the North Sikkim Taxi depot. Gangtok has in place a system wherein specific cars stick to pre-defined areas ans do not encroach upon other areas. For example, a jeep marked ‘N’ will not be able to enter the city past the North Sikkim depot. Likewise for the East Sikkim jeeps. Only taxis ply in the proper city. This helps in keeping the traffic to minimum.

Travel into North Sikkim requires government permits for tourists as the areas hug the border so closely. The government gives its consent for conducting tourist activities to some private concerns and they manage the permits of their clients. Hence, our permits were ready in time (within one night to be exact). We had another family, also Bengali, but living in Arunachal Pradesh accompanying us as the fare divided between us seemed much more reasonable. Soon we were on our way, perusing our way along the meandering North Sikkim Highway. This road is the only link between the capital and the remote north-eastern parts of the state. Along the journey, I got to know that the state government spends a majority of its budget on roads, but, as the journey clearly showed, even that wasn’t enough to curb the deadly landslides that cripples the area ever so often. Even the capital gets cut off for a month or two during the monsoons.

Just before Chungthang, where the highway ends,  the road was particularly vicious, having been eaten away a few weeks earlier by a landslide. From Chungthang, the road bifurcates, one part going to Lachen and heading off further to Gurudongmar Lake, at a height of 15,000 ft and evidently a place of great beauty, as shown by the eagerness of tourists to brave tough road and weather conditions to spend half-an-hour at the place. We took the road to the right and reached our destination, Lachung, a bit after 5 in the evening, crossing a tall waterfall on the way, aptly called the “Amitabh Bachhan” falls.

The mountains flanking Lachung

The location of Lachung is spectacular to say the least. It is a small town, nestled in a narrow valley along the Lachung river, and walled off on both sides by towering snow-covered peaks. All of us spent the evening spell-bound, silently taking in the fact that this was a place truly in the lap of nature.

Road to Yumthang (you can see the rhododendrons in bloom)

The next morning, we got up real early for it was going to be the climax of our little trip. After a hasty breakfast, we were on our way, heading out of the town towards even higher reaches. The weather was glorious to say the least, the mountains, the meadows, everything was bathed in the bright light of the newborn sun. No one spoke much on the trip, each busy rerouting the sights taken in into their permanent memory. The road passed through a wildlife park, which was covered with colourful rhododendrons at this time of the year. Soon we crossed Yumthang where we were to stop on our way back.

The higher we climbed, the less greenery there was to see. Ultimately, after crossing about 13,000 ft. we left the scrub line and were in the midst of rocks and boulders. And along with the trees was gone any semblance of a metalled road. For long stretches we had to travel over loose rocks. Full marks to the driver, who was a very amiable man, for keeping us together in one piece.

We reached our destination, Zero Point, also called Yumesamdong,  a bit later. It was the highest point on the road open to cars, the path onward destroyed by a landslide. It had even destroyed a bridge and the army had to place a new bridge a few metres from the original point. The air was really thin here. Even running around a bit would set one gasping for oxygen. Sadly, the snow we all expected to see was not there. But the views more than made up for it. We stayed here for about an hour, before starting our descent. Most of us were a bit relieved to get our breath back. Sometime later we were back in Yumthang.

Now this is a place fit for gods, I thought. Yumthang is a narrow valley along the Lachung river, with green hills, just across the river, rising to tall mountains. But on the other side, just after the road, the valley floor curved up stunningly quickly to end at the bases of towering peaks which seemed to be just beyond a hand’s reach. Rivers of ice ran down from the peaks. I could well imagine, what this place, so amazingly beautiful in spring, would look in winter. The valley was carpeted in diminutive purple rhododendrons, that lent a violet sheen to the ground.

Before we could get our heart’s fill, we had to return as we had a schedule to keep. By midday, we were back in Lachung, and after a sumptuous lunch, we were in our car, heading back to Gangtok.  The journey was uneventful, except for a minor repair of the car.

My mother fell sick after we returned to Gangtok, maybe because of the exposure to heights or the Tibetan food we ate in Lachung, which, though tasty, did not have agreed with her palate. Hence, we had to cancel our trip to Nathu-La and Tsomgo (Chhangu) Lake, near the Tibet border, and our later sojourn into Ravangla, in south Sikkim. But we did not mind, for the facilities at our holiday home were more than sufficient to make us comfortable. Indeed, we had a lot of fun roaming around the town and acquainting ourselves with this beautiful town. The honeymoon of sorts lasted the next five days after which we sadly had to say goodbye to Gangtok. A rented car brought us back to the plains of New Jalpaiguri from where we caught the Uttar Banga Express to Sealdah.

It was a fabulous trip to say the least. I had heard a lot of praise for Sikkim before leaving and I believe all of them to be justified. Sikkim reestablishes your faith in nature, especially for an urban citizen. The places are so remote that you wonder how the people go about their life, without the material pleasures we are used to. Like, in Lachung, I saw that BSNL had recently set up a broadband line, to give the residents better connectivity with the outside world. Though I was pleased to see this, I couldn’t help but wonder if this would enhance or ruin the simple lives of the people. Contemplating the amount of tourists already flocking to the state so early in season, I doubt places like Yumthang would retain their unspoilt for long. Gangtok is already on the verge of becoming a Shimla or Darjeeling, due to the lack of resources to manage the burgeoning populace. But I hope that time never comes, for Sikkim in spring has the uncanny ability to make the greatest pessimist break into ravings of admiration at the sight of its beauty.