In Anticipation

(waiting for the rains)

Monsoon is the best time for trekking in the Sahayadris. Though the rain makes the downhill route slippery and a bit tricky to negotiate, it is more than made up by the rain – drenched hills shrouded in mist, the clouds and the numerous small waterfalls and streams that spring up all over.

I went with Odati on two perfect monsoon treks last year – to Manikgad and Surgad. Both were short hikes and just right for a relaxed Sunday – a 3.5 hr amble uphill at Manikgad and a 2.5 hr walk at Surgad. The only patch of slightly difficult terrain was the the last patch at Surgad which is steep and slippery and requires concentration. While the rain evaded us at Manikgad, in Surgad we got caught in a downpour that was full ‘paisa-vasool’ and thoroughly enjoyed it. Both treks had lush greenery and long wavy grass rippling in the breeze.

Both places we had a local guide in addition to the Odati team; apart from showing us the way, they added to overall entertainment levels with their eccentric personalities. I have a sneaky suspicion, though, that these villagers might have a similar reason for agreeing to guide us – not for the money, but to observe these wimpy weird townfolk and have funny stories to tell their families over dinner.

The Maamaa at Manikgad was strong ‘n silent and quite a disciplinarian. On the way up the final portion, whenever we halted to catch our breath, he would stop ahead of us, look down at us and make clicking noises with his teeth to hurry us up – the kind villagers make to hurry along cattle in the fields ! Like all such maamaa’s I have seen, the fact that we were paying him made no difference to his bindaas attitude and behaviour. As we had oodles of time to enjoy the view from the peak, we intended to snooze for about an hour after eating lunch but he would have none of it. He woke us up in 20-30 minutes and herded us down, saying that he was worried it would soon rain heavily. As he had earlier confidently predicted a dry morning when we thought dark clouds heralded rain, we decided he might be right this time too and clambered down the hill lickety-split.

The Maamaa at Surgad had even more impressive weather prediction skills. A lean, stringy weather-beaten guy over 70 monsoons old, he would predict when it would rain down to the last half hour (maybe the MET office should hire him!) and his reading of the clouds was right more often than not. He was as much of a disciplinarian as the Manikgad Maamaa, but his style was to shame you into hurrying, rather than to herd you. Halfway up the hill, when we stopped for 5-10 minutes at a nice meadow, he proudly told us that he could ascend and descend the hill in less than an hour, which was less than the time it had taken us to reach the halfway point; you can bet we walked faster after that.

All these Monsoon maamaa’s interpret suggestions of alternative routes as mutiny and tend to mulishly insist that you take exactly the path they prefer – maybe it comes from a lifetime of being the undisputed head of the family and getting unquestioning obedience. Our Surgad maamaa had the same attitude towards dissent, except that he was also an expert at psychological warfare. When he didn’t want to climb right to the very peak, rather than argument and obstinacy, he used the tell-tales-of-townsfolk-who-would-not-listen-and-suffered-painful-accidents solution. Quite a storyteller, he relished multiple retellings of the tale of women from Mumbai getting stuck at the peak during a downpour, almost falling all the way down while descending and finally having to be lowered down on ropes. He was quite effective too, we convinced ourselves that the hills, the fort walls and the stone relics scattered around were sufficient adventure and there couldn’t be anything better to see at the peak.

By,
Zenobia

What to do at Tawang

....Apart from the usual visit to the monastery and to the Bum La Pass.

Visit the Ani Gompa (monastery for female monks). Unlike the main Tawang monastery whose presence dominates the town and which has bright yellow roofs that are visible from a distance, the Ani Gompa is tucked away discreetly on a hillside away from the town.

Drive around aimlessly over the hills just outside town. Notice army presence, also old bunkers scattered on the hills, realize how close and fragile the border is over here. Then visit the war memorial in the centre of town – it commemorates the soldiers that died during the 1962 war with China.


















Visit Hotel Maa for a meal or a snack – awesome rasmalai and yummy parathas.

Visit the small music shops and ask for their own selection of English / Hindi music. These guys record eclectic mixtures of songs and music styles that make for great listening while travelling. You never know which song is going to play next, the unexpected melodies match the adventure waiting around the next turn.

Just walk around town. Notice the contrast between the expanse of the blue sky, the towering white mountains in the distance, and bunches of tiny red and orange flowers growing on the balconies of the houses nearby.

One of the photographs at the exhibition at Ravindra Natya Mandir in Mumbai captured exactly this scene and prompted this post. If, like me, you haven’t trekked in a while, an hour spent gazing at the photographs at the exhibition and exchanging memories of treks with friends is well worth it. Of course, it will result in a lot of wasted time the next day while you gaze at snaps on Jayesh’ facebook account and schedule your next trek etc.

By,
Zen
(read more posts by Zen at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)

Adventure in High Mountains

The trek promised of adventure from the very beginning….only we never read the signs. For me it was an ill-gotten holiday and by the time I was ready to leave for Chandigarh, Jayesh declared that the team of some 10-12 trekkers had now dwindled down to just 5 guys and me.

Trouble started on our jeep ride from Manali to Kibber. A rocky ride led us to a gateway in the middle of nowhere, welcoming us to Spiti. Nature, as if taking cue from this, also made its presence felt. Just as we crossed the gate, our heads throbbed painfully due to the lack of oxygen in air. And by the time we reached Kibber, the starting point of the 9days trek to Tso Moriri in Ladakh, my condition was so severe that I had made up my mind to abandon the trek.

Acclimatization day: Jayesh puked. I mean Jayesh puked! If that could happen to him, then I didn’t think I had any chance.

Day 1: Bright and fresh with no headaches. Trek begins. Down and up a valley under a hot open sky. It was a long walk to the green Thaltak meadow, our camp. When M didn’t reach even after an hour we panicked. A guide was sent and M came back lips parched, white and dry. He was dehydrated.

Day 2: We took it slow and steady. Just as we neared the base camp of ParangLa Pass at 17500ft, we spied ominous dark clouds on the horizon.

Day 3: The dreaded 1000ft+ climb to cross the Pass. Taking even 10 steps was an effort. Our breathing was labored and headaches returned with a vengeance. Jayesh was struck and had to be carried over by a mule. It took us 4 hours to reach the pass. But when we did, it was to see the most breathtaking sight ever…..a sweeping panorama of snow-covered peaks. We camped at the base of a glacier.


Day 4: We had overslept due to exhaustion. It was 9 in the morning by the time we got ready to cross the stream which was by this time in full flow. M tried to cross but was swept off by the current. The guide grabbed him at the nick of time and hauled him to the other side. This left us with only one option….climbing the slippery glacier and then crossing over to the other side. We held on to a rope, jumped crevasses and gushing rivulets and rappelled down the other side and greeted M like a long lost brother.

Day 5: We got ready at 5 in the morning to cross the river again. The water was bone numbing cold and I lost sensation of legs within minutes. It was then I realized how easily M could have become hypothermic. It was hours of walking and I was on the verge of panic before sensation on my feet returned. The cloud which was hovering in the background caught up with us forcing us to camp in a hurry.

Day 6: We woke up to hysterical laughter from the other tent and peeped outside to see a horrendous sight. What we hadn’t realized was that we had camped in a trough and it had rained the whole night. Now the whole area had become mud slush and our belongings were floating in it. Rain played hide and seek with us as we hurried along the trail fearing mudslides. We went to sleep while a lone wolf howled in the distance.

Day 7: The clouds fleeted in and out. A mare and her filly grazed freely on a grassy knoll. An aggressive looking Changpa shepherd crossed us with his flock of hundreds of sheep carrying rice in pouches on their backs. We camped at Norbu Sumdo, the last site before crossing over to Ruphsu Valley. The wind was howling but it didn’t deter the boys from playing cricket with a rolled up plastic ball. While everybody settled in for the night, I stayed outside gazing up at the trillions of stars and the Milky Way so prominent in the sky. I felt humble and tiny in front of God’s amazing creation.

Day 8: It was a glorious day. The clouds were gone leaving the mountains sprinkled with fresh snow and the sky a deep shade of blue. We had to cross the river one final time before entering the valley. This we did by huddling together to fortify ourselves against the current. A long agonizing walk over a dry, pebbled river bed took us to the exquisite Tso-Moriri…our destination. A herd of kiangs grazed nearby. The Lake mesmerized us as it changed colors along with the sun. From sparkling blue, to sea-green, grey and then back to blue-green again. The water fed by the freshly melting glacier was as clear as glass and the lake appeared divine and mystical.

Day 9: The last day’s walk was a long 24kms along the lake’s shore. Ducks waded in the lake creating the tiniest ripples, clouds gathered and then blew away like a film in fast forward mode creating the most amazing patterns on ground, strong winds pushed us about and yet we walked silently – awe struck by the unimaginable beauty. My left leg was cramped from hip to feet but Korzok, our final destination never seemed nearer. At one point, tired, cramped and dirty I gave in to my feminine urges and cried shamelessly.
We were almost at break point when we reached Korzok in the evening to loud cheers.

Back in Leh, as I scrubbed off 10 days of dirt and grime I was overwhelmed by a desire to go back again. To the barren mountains and snow covered peaks, the beautiful pristine lake, the freedom of the Changpa nomad and the mare grazing on knoll, the cry of a lone wolf and a star studded sky. The hardships and adventure at every turn had enhanced our experience further showing us the reality that is nature….in its full glory.

I had lost a drastic 9 kilos on this trek but in return I gained an experience which can never be repeated anywhere in the world.

All i want is a Roof Somewhere

On popular trekking routes, groups of tents huddled together are quite a common sight at points designated as night halts. Amongst my happy memories of sleeping in a tent is one of discovering my favourite mountain orchestra at Tsokha, a small settlement at about 10000 ft on the route to Dzongri in Sikkim (you can read about this trek here, here and here) . Playing to a musical score set by the forbidding mountains, the wind swooshed and whistled aggressively down the peaks onto the meadow where we were camped; this was offset by the reassuring, gentle tinkle of bells tied around the necks of pack-ponies as they grazed.

Tents are striking from an aesthetic viewpoint - whether the peaks are covered with shades of summer brown, monsoon green or winter white, the bright orange- yellow – purple tents add a dash of colour and their compact shape makes for a neat picture. However, the low roof and compact size tend to make them a bit claustrophobic and difficult to move about in, especially for someone with a large build, i.e. yours truly.

I would much rather sleep out in the open in a sleeping bag - weather permitting, of course, with the wind on my face, gazing at the starry sky and giggling my way to sleep as my companions come up with non-zodiac descriptions of the stars. Never to be forgotten is one young gentleman’s description of two unusually bright and prominent stars of a constellation as ‘Aunty Sharma’s (pause here for effect)…………..earrings’ and the reactions it evoked, half the group cackling with glee and the other more – astronomically - inclined half wincing at the sacrilegious intrusion on their discussion.

While tents, sleeping bags and caves such as the one in Harishchandragad are all a welcome change from mundane city life and have an adventurous element to them, it is on the Himalayan treks that one really gets to experience the entire range of shelters possible.

While trekking with Odati from an altitude of 12000 ft to that of 14000 ft in Arunachal Pradesh (read Anusha’s description of the trek here), we stayed in log huts made by the GREF - General Reserve Engineering Force. Like the BRO (Border Roads Organisation), these corps, unnoticed and unsung, are responsible for building much of the basic infrastructure in the border areas. When they work in remote areas for a short span of time, they often build log huts to stay in. Two of these, in Nagajiji and Dhonk chi phoo, were a boon to us - it was raining and snowing intermittently at both places and the charm of such weather fades very soon if you are directly exposed to it. Having a GREF hut implies not just thick wooden logs between the elements and yourself, but also a roof high above your head that allows you to stand up straight, enough room for 6-8 people to spread out their things comfortably and the added bonus of a log fire to warm you up. Truly the answer to the wish for a room somewhere !

‘All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air,
Lots of chocolates for me to eat
Lots of coal making lots of heat,
Warm face, warm hands, warm feet,
Aow, wouldn’t it be lovely ? ’
(with apologies to Ms. Eliza Doolittle)



(The GREF hut at Dhonk Chi Phoo)

Each GREF hut has its own unique features that you discover only when you enter. The one we stayed in at Nagajiji was big enough to have contained two Bombay-ishtyle 1BHKs in it. There was a big central fireplace near which we huddled to make the most of the warmth, even stretching our frozen feet out dangerously close to the flames. Around the fireplace were poles on which we tied strings and dried all our wet clothes, thus ending up smelling of wood-smoke for the next few days. The GREF hut in Dhonk chi phoo was as big as the one in Nagajiji but had a wall dividing it into two halves, almost like a planned conservative zenana-mardana divide. The wall even had tiny holes that enabled conversations across it !

In the same mountains but at a lower altitude of 10000 feet, we spent a night at a village called Lubrang near the Bhutan border. After a refreshing walk on a path overhung with rhododendron flowers, we arrived fully satiated and satisfied with the trip, prepared to spend the night in a corner of one of the villager’s houses. We were totally stunned when the village headman, who was our guide, invited us to stay in the village Gompa (Buddhist monastery or place of worship). I initially thought I must have misunderstood him, until one of my companions actually spread out his sleeping bag and went to sleep, right inside the sanctum ! In his defense, I must mention that he was unwell and suffering from fever and a bad cold. (As an aside, consider what a title that would make for a book – ‘I snored at the feet of the Buddha’, a bit blasphemous, but definitely attention grabbing!)




(Pictures of the entrance to the Gompa at Lubrang - don't miss our shoes outside the door and the tea kettle kept nearby, also the amazing prayer wheel to the right)

There was something awe-inspiring about us mere mortals being permitted to close our eyes, not in devotion but in slumber, in the presence of divinity. Never had I imagined I would sleep in such a beautiful place, guarded by a statue of the Buddha, surrounded by walls with beautiful paintings and shelves filled with religious items ! The generosity of the village in offering us such hospitality proved that the clichéd ‘atithi devo bhava’ is still practiced in some areas.

Another trek, another shelter – a home stay at village Tolma (altitude approximately 10,000 feet) in the Garhwal Himalayas. Here we stayed in simple rooms in the villager’s houses, the normalcy of it reassuring after an arduous walk in a snow-storm the previous day. Tolma village is defined by Dronagiri mountain in the foreground. T he immensity of the mountain dominates the horizon as it looms over the village like a majestic-but-moody guardian, and the village huddles gratefully-but-carefully by its foot. The early morning has the mountain at its gentlest as the rays of the sun warm its cold visage and a snow plume languidly wafts off its peak. It was lovely to wake up, step out of the room and see a white snow plume stretched out across the blue sky, especially when I knew I had the option of retiring to the sanctuary of the room and snuggling under thick quilts the minute I felt too cold.

The beauty of Tolma was not limited to Dronagiri’s majesty, or the quilts that protected us from Dronagiri’s largesse of icy cool wind blowing off snowy slopes, it was also in the bucket of warm water each of us got for a bath in the makeshift bathroom, and in the nice clean loo that the villagers had constructed specifically for tourists to use. After five days in the wilderness without the pleasures of even basic plumbing, it was a close run thing between Dronagiri and the amenities when it came to deciding which sight gave one more happiness ! Dronagiri eventually won, but only just; quite a typical reaction towards the end of the trek !

No matter how much I relish the experience, after some days of the harsher, more basic existence, my city-bred spoilt side comes rushing to the fore and demands attention. While I love the mountains, I am also used to many amenities of Life in a Metro and start longing for them. Then it’s only the shelter provided by the grimy building where I reside in my dirty polluted Mumbai that I want. As they say, ‘There’s no place like Home’. Amen.

By Zen
(you can read more posts by Zeb at http://entropymuse.blogspot.com)

Spectre of Brocken

Nature has its own way of letting itself be, unaffected by us mortal's doings. Sometimes enough care is taken so that we do carry anything back from it, but only spectacular memories. Some events, when revisited, spur your imagination to think “Why was I not allowed to capture the moment to show it to others?” But such is the power of nature and such are some memories; very personal experiences, very vivid memories, images so strong that even after years they refuse to fade away even a wee bit.

I still feel the chill, still remember the panorama, see the sun break over the horizon behind a thick cluster of clouds, glistening up the tip of Mt. Khanchendzonga – the first of the 8000ers (there are 14 peaks in the world that stand above 8000mtrs) to grace the spectacle.

“Sir, Chai”, he says knocking at our doors holding out two steel cup full of freshly brewed chai and a bowl of popcorn. Popcorn! So early in the morning? Heck, what an idea! But who cares? I illuminate my digital watch, it reads 03:00 am. The date, 23rd May 2000. We zip out of our sleeping bags, initially reluctantly, but fire up immediately after the hot cup of chai. Setting out at 0315Hrs in the freezing cold is unacceptable. But we have taken so much efforts to be here, to see a spectacle unfold in front of our eyes. Through frosted ground we take about 45 minutes to get to the top as others too make their way up. We realise, that dawn there will not be more than a handful of us who will be privy to the drama of nature. Poor others sleepy souls, they will never see this!
The horizon lightens up slowly with a golden hue, anticipation rides high. A brilliant glow appears on the eastern horizon and with spontaneity the sun heads out for a new day. On the western horizon the gloomy, grey Khanchendzonga responds with equal enthusiasm transforming itself into a wonderful spectacle. The summit assumes a vermillion tinge, slowly changing into yellow and then golden. Early in the dawn, nature knows how to announce the best and the top!

All our fingers are on the shutter switch and we get into frenzy; absorbed in capturing every single moment, record the progress of the sun and the light as it progresses over all the summits, marching over the broad flanks of the mountains. We almost ignore the fact that this moment is for us to savour. We want to take this home to show others… some of whom may return here to take more shutters back for others to see. Now, the alternation of such a panorama between the view finder and real eyes seems like a fading idea. Maybe, if we had not taken our cameras, the real views would have embedded in our souls more strongly, that those pictures on the film tend to dilute our imagination today.

Little do we realise that, on our first visit here unguided by any advise or experience, we expose ourselves to shiver and frostbite. The thermometer reads minus 5. The views cast a warm blanket over us. It is so easy to ignore the chill and the waft against such a spectacle. I instantly knew I was hooked. Almost as a family, many summiteers here huddle and queue for a group photo, the warmth of the group extending to the hearts. Its been almost an hour that we stood there, changing views, films and cameras. Between the 2 of us we shoot 150 pics of this marvel. Everyone leaves.

We are the last to descend. Even our guide left for the chores of the day. It’s only two of us now slowly making our way down! The sun is lodged well behind our backs at a perfect angle. With the monsoons on its beck, the valley below is brimming with clouds, almost touching out feet. Elation draws upon us. The eye is still transfixed at the horizon panning across the snow clad massifs of the Goddess of Five Elements. We enter a tuft of cloud, thin enough, that we can see the path and the valley below, thick enough to caress our faces.

Suddenly our eyes catch the shadowy characters walking alongside us. It’s enigmatic. We trace the shadows back to our own feet. The sun behind has cast own shadows on the clouds below. We trace it up to an unbelievable sight. There is a rainbow that appears around our own shadow, a halo! We are ecstatic, ‘unbelievable’ we say! It’s heavenly! There are no words to describe the view, miracle and feeling. Are we on cloud nine, are we in seventh heaven? We don’t know. We pull out our cameras again.
Click….clack…clack. The film does not move. Oops! No film left. My friend clicks! Clack again! He is exhausted of film too. Do we have extra… frisk ourselves for more and return with a handful of retracted films in their cartridges - memories of dawn’s tryst imprisoned in a tiny dark cell, captured for all those dear friends back in the plains. We wished that there was at least one film that teased its tongue out! Or at least one shot left. Frustration!

This was the moment. We decide that we will stay till the sight does, not taking our eyes off even for the distraction of a shutterbug. We are no more disturbed, we are at peace with ourselves. We were our own gods for about 5 minutes till the clouds grew thinner again, exposing the thicket of juniper below. We move on, we wonder ‘why did this happen to us?’ We thought that for all our endurance and efforts, nature chose us minus our paraphernalia. The captured views were for the others; the experience our very own. Was it a coincidence? No, I believe. It was designed such by nature! Such is its power. That was our moment of glory.

We return back home. Everyone loves the pics; we have no way to describe what we experienced. “Maybe, if you go there, you will see it too.” We leave it at that.

Rrrrringg… “Hey my friend. How are you? Do you remember our shadows we saw in the clouds with a colourful halo around us, at Dzongri? It’s called the ‘Spectre of Brocken’”. I conclude!

Time after Time

There’s something about the Himalayas – once you’ve been there, you keep going back. It starts with a gentle tug at your soul at first and tugs on till the time you are overcome with this mad desire to leave everything just to be among the cold mountains. They say that you can’t go to the Himalayas till the mountains call you – that the journey plans you and not the other way round. For me the real journeys have been the four treks that I have done at high altitude….where you can be with the mountains up close and personal. My fifth call is yet to come and I am sorely missing every aspect of the journey…….


It starts from the time you tell your boss that you Have to take a 20 days break and he gives you the go-ahead. The list of things that needs to be carried is by now printed on your mind and with each passing day you strike off the things that you already have. One week prior to the d-day you write down the important things you need to buy. When you finally take out your backpack and put the first film roll in your camera, you know you are ready to go. The mind makes a quick check on the job, family and friends’ front tying up all loose ends. On the d-day the mind finally shuts itself tight…life in the city is forgotten and the journey takes over.

The journey to meet the rest of the group is done with growing anticipation and excitement. You meet the group and the instant bonhomie of like minded people makes you feel at home among strangers. When you reach the Himalayan destination - the base of your trek you fill in lungful of the fresh mountain air, feel the cold crisp air on your skin and slowly start to feel alive after a long long time. There’s a strange excitement on the first day of the trek. Everybody is quiet and quickly gets ready early in the morning. Initially you love the walk, slowly taking in the beauty around. By lunch you can only feel the tremendous pain in your legs. The second day you hobble on your still paining legs and curse yourself for coming for the trek. By the third day, the pain is still there but you do not feel it any longer and you keep walking…. till the time you reach ‘that’ point…where your heart starts to beat the rhythm of nature and life.

Then you know the reason why you came here and why you choose to come here every year…the peace and quiet, the snow covered mountains at an arm’s distance, the bone cutting cold winds, the mesmerizing silence, the freezing water which opens every nerve cell in your body, the tiny exquisite mountain flower, the bluest sky and the wispy clouds and the echoing calls of the birds high above.

Away from the city you finally realize what real beauty or life is. This is where you rid yourself of the false city skin and get in touch with you…the real you.

Standing Still - Time, You & Them

Right at the top of Nane Ghat hill, feeling the wind on my face, I smile to myself. A mirth that bubbles from inside erupts into a sudden guffaw and I look around to ensure nobody is watching me. The silliness of myself laughing alone amuses me further and I chortle with my laughter. It takes me quite a while to settle down following which I head to the shelter- a cave to join my friends. The time on my watch says 7.30 AM. What laughter clubs across the cities attempt to force within a person, I managed with ease sitting atop the hill all by myself.

All my city life, time has been the real taskmaster. In early childhood, mom would say-”Wake up! Time to get up! ”. At school, teacher would admonish “You are late; you better come in time”. As I grew up, my mind rebukes me with thoughts, like “If I am late, I will miss this bus (or miss that train)”. Again in my office, “Time Management Skill” is an important soft skill that any HR manager insists upon. Needless to say, the concerns and pressure related to time has always increased as one grew up. A constant battle to be ahead of time, takes the centre-stage in one’s life and one gets automatically programmed to be “rushed” mentally.

Belying this approach, the villager’s take on time is refreshing. In many a trek, when we approach the locals to confirm the time required to reach the destination, it is amusing to find that their concept of time is so different. Thus, one may hear the destination to be about 2 hours away and yet after walking that much another local will again convincingly project the destination to be another 2 hours further. For the villager the “two hours” represents an achievable target; a close-by destination that can be done in less than half a day rather than time calculated based on distance and average walking speeds.

Sitting atop the hill by myself, reflecting on contrasting lifestyles, I am amused by anomalies in my lifestyle. For the villagers, the sun represents the watch by which they tune their activities for the day. On reflection even we, coming from the city, also ultimately end up letting the sun determine our activities for the day during the trek. The watch becomes a mere representation of time and does not signify a threat. (In the city confines, the watch becomes a threat where the time display makes us feel short on time & very rushed).

The typical urbanite like me feels that sleeping till late in the morning is a luxury and should be done on a holiday or vacation. Yet here I am, on a holiday trip, awake by 6 AM & still feeling amazingly refreshed with no complaints. My mood would have been different had I been woken up at 6 AM in my house during a holiday! (grumpy me!). On a trek, living in the wild, the natural coolness and crispiness of the air combined with the lights of dawn makes one very contended to wake up without complaints in order to bask & feel the warm rays of sun massage every sinew of the body. Again, to hike further or explore (which happens in several trek), makes more sense during the wee hours of dawn. This way, one does not tire as much as one may feel while exploring in the afternoon with the sun beating down harshly. Likewise, in the evening, thanks to an encompassing darkness all-round, one ends up cooking early. Many-a-times eating dinner is an early affair (often as early as 7.30- 8 PM), followed by plain discussions until sleep time. (One might go for a tea or coffee in the night), Doctors have always recommended early dinner and plain rest before sleep which finds few takers in the hustle-bustle of a city. Yet, here in the trek, the body clock adjusts beautifully to the rising and setting of the sun accordingly as one retires early for the night automatically.

We often hear the adage “Time stands still”. The significance only hits us strongly when we are able to watch the sunshine or sunset peacefully. It is the direct contrast to the rushed feeling we are used to, that makes the passiveness of watching a sunrise or sunset even more striking. The peace within, comes from the temporary tuning of the body clock to the universal clock (represented by the sun) and ends up making a lasting impression. Now we know why sunrise and sunsets are so beautiful in the outdoors!