Run to the Hills

He squirmed in his seat as he kept sliding off while the bus rolled over little bumps on the asphalt. Outside the rain drops pattered lightly against the window, merged together with its buddy droplets and ran across the glass in a streak. As the bus moved towards the Kudremukh trek base camp he thought to himself "I hope these joints can still tolerate a 20km trek, otherwise I sacrificed a comfortable bed for nothing."

A small quake, which turned out to be just his friend shaking him awake announced their arrival to the homestay. He looked out into the semi dark dawn but only vague silhouettes were being imprinted on his retina and it took a minute for the rods and cones to work their magic and the view came into focus. In the distance he could now see the line of evergreens standing tall on the hilly terrain with their heads in the clouds. 

After a quick intake of nourishment for the tissues the trip to the coffee plantations on the banks of the Bhadra river began. For the first time he laid eyes on the green coffee beans in their infancy which would ripen and turn red in time and ultimately become part of someone's morning ritual. According to legends a seer Baba Budan smuggled in 7 coffee beans from Africa/Arabia (stories differ in place of origin) in 1670 CE and planted in his backyard which then spread out all over the state.

The muddy waters of the Bhadra rushed past the hanging bridge. It would go on to meet its brother Tunga from the same source (Gangamoola) in Koodli and become the Tungabhadra river, flow past the ruins of Vijaynagar empire in Hampi, meet the Krishna river and finally rest in the Bay of Bengal. According to myth, after killing Hiranakashyap, Viraha Swamy took rest on what is now Viraha Parvata. As he rested sweat rolled down his forehead - the one on the left became Tunga and the one on the right became Bhadra.

Moving on, a 2km trek brought him to Elneeru (tender coconut) falls. The gushing waters tested his muscle strength as the free fall of the water column terminated on his back and the sweet, cold waters tingled his senses.

A bon fire was lit in the evening and as is customary the trek lead Jolly started his horror story. 

Long before there was a national park here people lived in these forests. A couple was hiking in the woods and it had become dark. They saw a house up the road and went up to it to ask for shelter for the night. An old man came to the door with a lamp in his hand and welcomed them inside. The night was chilly and so the old man asked the guy to help him go out and gather some firewood. The house was quite isolated and so the guy told his wife to bolt the door and not open it for anyone other than him. While the guys were outside looking for branches she was lying on the bed listening to music on the radio. Suddenly she heard a knocking sound on the roof. She ignored it at first assuming it to be a cat or something. But the knocking slowly grew louder and more rhythmic. As she listened intently she slowly realised the knocking was in tune with the music being played on the radio! Her mind raced as she tried thinking of ways to react to this but her thoughts were interrupted by knocks on the front door. She hurried to the door expecting it to be her husband but it was someone else asking her to come out of the house. She was terrified and would not open the door. It was well over an hour when she was finally persuaded to open the door and come out. The stranger told her to follow him quickly and not look back but as she was running away she caught a glimpse of the house from the corner of her eye - as the clouds parted for a minute and flooded the roof with moonlight she could make out the silhouette of the old man on the roof with her husband's head in his hand and banging it against the roof!!

Alleged ruins of the aforementioned house on the trek trail

The next day was the day of reckoning as the group set out for the trek at 6:30am. They all reached the starting point by 8am and commenced the ascend. The first phase was through the forest region and soon he came across the first waterfall in a series of 6-7 waterfalls all through the trail. While he was able to keep his feet dry for the first couple of falls the third fall flooded his shoes. As he continued the ascend and turned a bend suddenly a mind-blowing view opened up in front of his eyes. Hills covered with shola-grassland mosaic with clouds floating on top was an exact replica of the Windows wallpaper.

The first resting point was at the 2nd Onti mara (lone tree). The national park boasts of Lion tailed Macaques and Malabar Loris but they never really popped up in sight. The tiny flowers of the Fabaceae  and Orchid family in yellow and purple were scattered across the slopes with tiny bees buzzing over them. He filled up his bottle at the last waterfall before the peak and drank the cold, sweet water as a reward of his efforts. Kudremukh means shaped like a horse but even from a distance it never really looked like a horse, quite like some of the constellations which pick a bare skeleton of stars and assign some intricate design such as Leo to it which is never really what would be your first guess. He reached the peak by 12:30 puffing and panting at the back of the group but with a sense of joy and achievement nonetheless. 

The descent turned out to be tricky with light drizzles making it slippery and the numerous leeches ready to hook on and suck you dry. As his feet throbbed in pain he was reminded of the foreboding at the beginning of his bus ride but he gritted his teeth, reminded himself of the fake Mind over Matter essays that he had written and trudged his way back with his mind flooded with the thought "Never again!". But the feeling was short lived and as soon as he was able to take a hot bath and gulp down a meal he was confident of making this the first of many!

A Patronus

There was a rumble in the sky as a dark pallor on the face of the sky floated in from the west. The faded blue hue was slowly being engulfed by the grey outlines of the incoming water saturated winds. The cool breeze soon picked up speed and started playing with unattended objects on the street. Bits of paper, loose bags and dust were mixed together into a mischievous concoction and designed into playful vortexes engulfing passer-bys with the glee of a child pranking his friends. Mothers and kids ran out to the roofs desperately trying to hold down the clothes put out to dry on the lines but the winds were unruly and snatched away a towel here, a shirt there and flew them like kites without a manja. The wind was however not done with its games and soon moved on to a new challenge and started trying to rip apart the plastic sheet roofs pinned down by bolts on a metal pipe. Nature has hardly ever been known for non-discrimination or a sense of mercy and like always the thatched roofs of the underlings were the first to be blown away.

Oblivious to the dark philosophical take on the situation, Rohan peeked out of the window grinning like he had won a year's supply of candy. He quickly ran out on the roof and leaned over the railing to watch the dust eddies on the road and was ecstatic to watch the clothes flying like kites. The clothes landed some distance away on the road and a few urchins picked it up and ran away. It was a Kal-baisakhi or a Nor'wester which he recalled from his geography lessons and it had totally brightened up his Sunday. He looked up at the sky and immediately sneezed. It always happened. Whenever he looked up at the sky he would sneeze - he had no idea why but he loved doing it.

The first few drops of rain hit him on the cheeks. The drops were really cold and it stung his face but the sensation was amazing. The feeling on his skin was akin to the taste of chilli on his tongue, only on a different sense organ. It soon started raining cold drops like pellets. Rohan crouched down near the roof boundary so that his back was protected but the drops hit his arms and legs from the front. He was shivering and hair on his hands stood on end as his body acclimatised to the cold. Rohan's head was clear of all thoughts solely focusing on the tingling nerves on his hands and feet spreading like electric! Sheer exhilaration! The corrugated asbestos on the edge of the roof was bent in the middle and all water rushed to the dip point and flew down like a waterfall and Rohan was soon running in and out of it. The small snails had come out of the soil in the pot with the bonsai banyan tree. They were slowly crawling out and some started climbing the agarbatti sticks in the soil - a remnant of the daily ritual where every evening Rohan's mom performed the evening puja or saanjh, waved an agarbatti in front of the bonsai banyan and tulsi tree praying to Vishnu and then planted the burning stick into the soil as the wafts of rose scented dhoop rose slowly and then dispersed into the heavens on its way to the Lord. Rohan was soon trying to race two snails, taking them out of the pot and placing them on the floor and making an imaginary start and finish line. Needless to say they both lost and never completed the race. 

Rohan's mom had finally removed all clothes from the line and closed all windows, some half broken and secured with strings and others covered with plastic where the glass had broken as it banged to and fro in the wind. She looked outside the window and saw Rohan out in the rain "Rohan come inside ..you will catch a cold...Rohan, Rohan..."

"...Rohan, Rohan..Hey dude where are you lost?" asked Asha shaking the 30 year old guy lost in his thoughts .." I asked you a question - if you were a wizard what would be your memory to conjure a Patronus?" "Do you know?"

A serene smile spread across Rohan's face as he stood next to the open window and drops of Mumbai rain hit him on his cheeks and he said in a soft voice "Yes. Yes I do"