June 8, 2010
I watch Spiderweb struggle in vain with his keys. He can't get them to part with his steed. I ask him to leave them in. Just as we dismount our steeds, I decide to give his keys a tug to see if I can get them out. I expected a brief struggle but struggle I do not, for the keys slither out with ease. Spiderweb's numb hands cannot interpret perpendicular, for he keeps tugging them at an angle. So devoid of senses is he.
We make a run for the lone tea stall at South Pullu and beg for heat wrapped in any form they might care to offer us. The hosts bring out a stove, some hot tea and bowls of steaming maggie. They warn us to not get to close to the stove. The body temperature needs to rise slowly to allow the blood flow to adapt. Heat ourselves too quickly and we risk blood clots and losing our appendages. We strip our wet socks off and soak in to the heat.
It would appear that I have network now; for my phone is buzzing. Its Beruoist - a friend and a biker extraordinaire, who will also conquer Khardung la in the days to come. I try to speak, but I cannot breathe. Overpowered by fatigue and fear, I only manage to communicate to him that we had a 'rough time' coming down Khardung la and that I would reconnect with him later. I turn to Spiderweb to check if we wishes to join in the conversation; but Spiderweb has zoned out in entirety. His head perched upwards, his feet hanging above the stove, and a bowl of maggie perched in his palms delivering much needed heat to the rest of his system. He will not speak or move for many moments to come.
I have network, but I haven't a clue as to the whereabouts of Motorbreath and Inder. Their phones are unreachable. I call Satyen in Mumbai, inform him of our location, assure him that we are safe and beg him to inform Motorbreath and Inder as to our whereabouts should he manage to get in touch with them. I also ask him to update the online forum with details on our whereabouts so that if Motorbreath and Inder are unable to reach us, who so ever they got in touch with, would have some semblance as to our location and state.
My phone buzzes again and the name that flashes now, ironical as it may seem, makes my blood boil. Its Motorbreath.
Motorbreath: "We've reached Leh."
Me: "Dude Spidey's hands went cold. He had major trouble riding. We barely made it to South Pullu. Why the fuck didn't you guys wait for us?"
Motorbreath: "Arre dude it started snowing so we panicked and since Inder was not stopping I kept following him."
Me: "Screw Inder. He's not one of us. He's never been one of us. You should have at least waited for us. You are carrying all our emergency medical supplies. Why the fuck couldn't you wait at South Pullu at least?"
Motorbreath: "Arre...it was snowing re."
Me: "..."
Motorbreath: "Anyway, we're waiting for you guys at Inder's hotel."
Me: "..."
He hangs up as do I.
And while I would make my peace with them in the days to come, on this day, at this time, I am enraged.
"Motherfucking pussies. They abandoned us to save their skin. They should have waited for us at South Pullu. There's little danger of them being snowed under out here and even if there's trouble, there's an entire army unit stationed there to help them out. What if something went wrong. What if one of us fell. What if we needed help? What if we never made it down? Its common knowledge that the Karizma has been in trouble the past few days. What if it broke down. What if my steed gave up? Did it not make sense for them to be in a location where they could send us help? And why did Motorbreath volunteer to carry the emergency supplies if he was in such a hurry to leave! Fuck! They just kept riding. Even if something DID go wrong, they are too fucking far away to send us help. FUCK THEM! What's the fucking point of riding in a fucking group if those that ride with you won't be there to protect you. FUCK FUCK FUCK! I've spent the whole fucking ride following Motor so he wouldn't fucking get left behind and THIS is what I get in return... WTF! THIS ISN'T FUCKING FAIR!"
No sooner do I think that, I begin to smile. Figment of my imagination or not, the Universe continues to coax me into growing up. And grow up I do. For the next several minutes I will stand at the door of the lone tea stall at South Pullu and cry, my body shaking with fear, humility and the joy of being alive, of finally finding purpose - one of experiencing all that can be experienced and then some, so that one day, when the Universe is ready to take me, I can look it in the eye and say "Go ahead, take me. For I have seen what I wished to see. Heard what I wished to hear. Done what I wished to do. And now that I have lived and loved and admired your grandeur, it is only fair that I make way for others to experience the grand tour. Thank you. And Good bye."
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 29: Khardung la - our descent (part III)
June 8, 2010
Where the mind fails, instinct reigns supreme. For it knows not how to die. It will force me to keep riding. It will force me away from rock and stone, away from the emptiness of the valley and direct me directly into the path to life. It knows that in order for the survival instinct to survive, I, its host, must survive. And it will do all in its power to keep a breath in me.
The mind had since wandered. It looks back to summarize all that is past. It finds nothing for the Universe unceremoniously pissed my past into oblivion. I have no one to remember, none to forget. But perhaps the Universe was kind enough to salvage the joyful experiences. Perhaps I could relish them once more before I sink into oblivion.
"Indeed that was my intent", retorts the Universe.
I look within; to my horror I see nothing but emptiness. I look desperately under the debris, for perhaps a shard of joy. I find nothing.
"...but you have experienced nothing of worth.", completes the Universe.
"Why have you not?", it asks.
I have no answer.
"Was it I who denied you your worth? Or was it you that isolated yourself in a bid to escape me?"
I have no answer.
"Did you really believe you could escape me when it is me you inhabit?"
I have no answer; but I try.
"I thought you were being unfair. I wanted to have nothing to do with you.", I respond meekly.
"And yet your very core struggles to survive today. If you wished to have nothing to do with me, you would have, could have and should have done yourself in many moons ago. You did not. Your grandiose thoughts of worthlessness are impotent in the presence of your noble struggle to survive.
Who said I was fair? Who said I cared enough to be fair... or unfair for that matter? What makes you think any of this is for you or against you? You lament all that you lost. Who said it was yours to begin with? You lament meeting those that deceived you. Who said they wouldn't, couldn't or shouldn't? Was it I who made you believe that your race is moral, objective and ethical?
I will let you access your past, just for a brief moment. Look into it. Do you see what I see? I see betrayal but I rarely see faithfulness, I see lies, but I rarely see the truth, I see selfishness, but I rarely see selflessness. These are traits of your race. They always were, are and perhaps will always be. Why then have you held on to the hope that it will be otherwise?
Why would you delude yourself into believing in finding one that was faithful; one that was truthful; one that was honest. Such a person does not exist and if it does, your race will corrupt it and devour it, just as they did you. It was true when your race came to be, it is true today. You for one, are witness to this. And if you refuse to accept it, your demise is acceptable to the denizens of the system.
You lament so much for you have expectations of me that I care not to satisfy. If you wish to be in a fair, just and morally incorruptible world, find yourself another Universe, for in my domain, this never was, never has and never will be; not because I wish it, but because you, your race evolved to be one that actively encourages it.
But until you chose to remain within my existence, fathom the rules of the game and accept that unfairness is allowable and indeed the norm; immorality is an art; dishonesty a skill; unfaithfulness a necessary evil. For only if you understand the rules of the game, will you be able to play the players; will you be able to game the system, will you be able to derive from it the experiences you desire to experience.
Innocence has no place within me. Kill it, before it kills you. Evolve; learn their ways; survive; experience all that you can experience. And should you deem innocence a virtue (I do not), protect those that still possess it. Your race will corrupt them someday. Make no mistake, they will succeed every time as they have with you. All you can do is delay the awakening. Yes, an awakening it is, to the true nature of my being. What you call corrupt, I call enlightened.
As for the question of my fairness towards your kind; I care not. You, your race are just by-products. By-products that I had no intent to create and nor seek to destroy. Should you continue to exist through my existence, I shall do nothing to prevent it. And should your race be obliterated by a fraction of my being, I shall do nothing to avert it. You do not live because of me; you live inspite of me.
Experience all that you will. For there is no other virtuous virtue than to experience my being. Everything else is unnecessary detail."
30 minutes more to the ride and South Pullu surfaces to the horizon. I will not die today. Live I will to experience the experiences. And before the Universe disappears, I ask it one last question:
"If you do not care, why do you respond to my queries. Why do you teach me?"
As the wind dies down and the snow flakes turn gentle, the Universe whispers:
"All I am is a figment of your imagination. It wasn't me who taught you. It was you. Listen to your heart you have; for I have never spoken..."
Where the mind fails, instinct reigns supreme. For it knows not how to die. It will force me to keep riding. It will force me away from rock and stone, away from the emptiness of the valley and direct me directly into the path to life. It knows that in order for the survival instinct to survive, I, its host, must survive. And it will do all in its power to keep a breath in me.
The mind had since wandered. It looks back to summarize all that is past. It finds nothing for the Universe unceremoniously pissed my past into oblivion. I have no one to remember, none to forget. But perhaps the Universe was kind enough to salvage the joyful experiences. Perhaps I could relish them once more before I sink into oblivion.
"Indeed that was my intent", retorts the Universe.
I look within; to my horror I see nothing but emptiness. I look desperately under the debris, for perhaps a shard of joy. I find nothing.
"...but you have experienced nothing of worth.", completes the Universe.
"Why have you not?", it asks.
I have no answer.
"Was it I who denied you your worth? Or was it you that isolated yourself in a bid to escape me?"
I have no answer.
"Did you really believe you could escape me when it is me you inhabit?"
I have no answer; but I try.
"I thought you were being unfair. I wanted to have nothing to do with you.", I respond meekly.
"And yet your very core struggles to survive today. If you wished to have nothing to do with me, you would have, could have and should have done yourself in many moons ago. You did not. Your grandiose thoughts of worthlessness are impotent in the presence of your noble struggle to survive.
Who said I was fair? Who said I cared enough to be fair... or unfair for that matter? What makes you think any of this is for you or against you? You lament all that you lost. Who said it was yours to begin with? You lament meeting those that deceived you. Who said they wouldn't, couldn't or shouldn't? Was it I who made you believe that your race is moral, objective and ethical?
I will let you access your past, just for a brief moment. Look into it. Do you see what I see? I see betrayal but I rarely see faithfulness, I see lies, but I rarely see the truth, I see selfishness, but I rarely see selflessness. These are traits of your race. They always were, are and perhaps will always be. Why then have you held on to the hope that it will be otherwise?
Why would you delude yourself into believing in finding one that was faithful; one that was truthful; one that was honest. Such a person does not exist and if it does, your race will corrupt it and devour it, just as they did you. It was true when your race came to be, it is true today. You for one, are witness to this. And if you refuse to accept it, your demise is acceptable to the denizens of the system.
You lament so much for you have expectations of me that I care not to satisfy. If you wish to be in a fair, just and morally incorruptible world, find yourself another Universe, for in my domain, this never was, never has and never will be; not because I wish it, but because you, your race evolved to be one that actively encourages it.
But until you chose to remain within my existence, fathom the rules of the game and accept that unfairness is allowable and indeed the norm; immorality is an art; dishonesty a skill; unfaithfulness a necessary evil. For only if you understand the rules of the game, will you be able to play the players; will you be able to game the system, will you be able to derive from it the experiences you desire to experience.
Innocence has no place within me. Kill it, before it kills you. Evolve; learn their ways; survive; experience all that you can experience. And should you deem innocence a virtue (I do not), protect those that still possess it. Your race will corrupt them someday. Make no mistake, they will succeed every time as they have with you. All you can do is delay the awakening. Yes, an awakening it is, to the true nature of my being. What you call corrupt, I call enlightened.
As for the question of my fairness towards your kind; I care not. You, your race are just by-products. By-products that I had no intent to create and nor seek to destroy. Should you continue to exist through my existence, I shall do nothing to prevent it. And should your race be obliterated by a fraction of my being, I shall do nothing to avert it. You do not live because of me; you live inspite of me.
Experience all that you will. For there is no other virtuous virtue than to experience my being. Everything else is unnecessary detail."
30 minutes more to the ride and South Pullu surfaces to the horizon. I will not die today. Live I will to experience the experiences. And before the Universe disappears, I ask it one last question:
"If you do not care, why do you respond to my queries. Why do you teach me?"
As the wind dies down and the snow flakes turn gentle, the Universe whispers:
"All I am is a figment of your imagination. It wasn't me who taught you. It was you. Listen to your heart you have; for I have never spoken..."
Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 29: Khardung la - our descent (part II)
June 8, 2010
"Spidey let's go!", I plead.
"...", is all he has to utter.
"Spidey let's go!"
"..."
"SPIDEY! Let's go! We don't have too much time. The snow will only get worse!"
"..."
Spiderweb is now in full blown panic. His silence reveals nothing, the grave concern in his eyes now metamorphosizing into fear betrays all. Nor have I succeeded in staving off fear. I fear as much. But, so far, my hands sense some and my neurons compute some; and compute I do - we must keep riding.
As Spiderweb makes another vain attempt at amassing heat from the exhaust, my bludgeoned body is slowly giving in as well. It won't be long before there's two of us beaten senseless by the minus. But until then, I must push him to ride on; or we'll both suffer the consequences.
"Spidey!! Let's fucking go!"
He yields, climbs back on to his steed and revs it into motion. The wind has gathered momentum; it now wears the garb of a storm. A merciless wave of snow joins in the orgy - they, the fuckers, we, the fucked.
Our path has nothing of hope to offer. Every inanimate object in our surrounding personifies into a murderous miscreation. Slush and potholes, camouflaged beneath a dense layer of snow, lie in wait for us. Black ice, invisible to our weary eyes, wets itself at the thought of dragging us into its embrace. Slithery snow gathers its kin and slides to the edges, eagerly waiting to take us down in an avalanche.
I will halt our progress on many occassions too; for the snow fogs over my glasses ever so often and I must rid them of the moisture frequently. My tired eyes, now practically blind without the aid of my convexes struggle to stay open as the snow settles into the innards on my eyelids, melting in moments, splashing my eyes from within. Spiderweb, despite his senseless avatar, will heed my every request to halt. We've only got each other now.
The chill now turns its attention to me; it forces itself through the thick of the glove and into my hands. I sense the equivalent of needle pins being pushed into my finger tips. And the chill won't do it one go, no, it will kill my senses in waves, one pin at a time, many pins at many times. The sickening pain will find its way into my now screaming and very nervous system until it gives in.
I see Spiderweb massaging his back a few feet away. It's been giving him trouble since we first began the ride. I can only guess that the minuses are doing to his spinal chord what they've done with his finger tips.
The distance between K-Top and South Pullu, the nearest army base camp is 15kms. We've been riding for over an hour and a half now and South Pullu is nowhere in sight. I have lost all sense of time and space. My head hurts. My neck is frozen stiff. My chest aches as my heart gropes for air. My arms feel like led, I can barely make the bends. My wrist screams for mercy - for every clutch action sends a shooting pain around its periphery - I lost the ability to completely engage the clutch many squeezes ago - I can just about get it half there. My steeds slides at every curve, we have no semblance of traction. She's getting increasing difficult to manage. Her roar has dwindled down to a whimper as she too struggles for oxygen. My feet are wet and senseless as the dampness eats its way through my epidermis.
With panic finally finding its way into the numbness of mind and body, I stand where Spiderweb stands; for I am now convinced we will not make it out of this alive. I can feel neither my hands nor my feet. I can barely hold my attention for more than 5 seconds at a time before zoning out. I've lost my ability to judge the gravity of the situation, or judge gravity for that matter. For I have come dangerously close to riding into the emptiness of the cliff on occassions too numerous to recall. For I have lost my ability to react to being too close to ice and rock. For I have lost my ability to reason. I have zoned into a dream world where no move is too dangerous, no fall fatal. I ride now on pure instinct and should instinct fail me - I will simply throw in the towel. I can't fight this any more. I have no desire to for I am incapable of desire in the hopelessness of our situation. We are deemed to die. I must accept it. I must live with it and I must die with it.
And in my despair, a dampened spirit screams,
"Die, for what have you got to lose anyway."
My enfeebled mind responds with what I feared it would,
"Absolutely fucking nothing."...
"Spidey let's go!", I plead.
"...", is all he has to utter.
"Spidey let's go!"
"..."
"SPIDEY! Let's go! We don't have too much time. The snow will only get worse!"
"..."
Spiderweb is now in full blown panic. His silence reveals nothing, the grave concern in his eyes now metamorphosizing into fear betrays all. Nor have I succeeded in staving off fear. I fear as much. But, so far, my hands sense some and my neurons compute some; and compute I do - we must keep riding.
As Spiderweb makes another vain attempt at amassing heat from the exhaust, my bludgeoned body is slowly giving in as well. It won't be long before there's two of us beaten senseless by the minus. But until then, I must push him to ride on; or we'll both suffer the consequences.
"Spidey!! Let's fucking go!"
He yields, climbs back on to his steed and revs it into motion. The wind has gathered momentum; it now wears the garb of a storm. A merciless wave of snow joins in the orgy - they, the fuckers, we, the fucked.
Our path has nothing of hope to offer. Every inanimate object in our surrounding personifies into a murderous miscreation. Slush and potholes, camouflaged beneath a dense layer of snow, lie in wait for us. Black ice, invisible to our weary eyes, wets itself at the thought of dragging us into its embrace. Slithery snow gathers its kin and slides to the edges, eagerly waiting to take us down in an avalanche.
I will halt our progress on many occassions too; for the snow fogs over my glasses ever so often and I must rid them of the moisture frequently. My tired eyes, now practically blind without the aid of my convexes struggle to stay open as the snow settles into the innards on my eyelids, melting in moments, splashing my eyes from within. Spiderweb, despite his senseless avatar, will heed my every request to halt. We've only got each other now.
The chill now turns its attention to me; it forces itself through the thick of the glove and into my hands. I sense the equivalent of needle pins being pushed into my finger tips. And the chill won't do it one go, no, it will kill my senses in waves, one pin at a time, many pins at many times. The sickening pain will find its way into my now screaming and very nervous system until it gives in.
I see Spiderweb massaging his back a few feet away. It's been giving him trouble since we first began the ride. I can only guess that the minuses are doing to his spinal chord what they've done with his finger tips.
The distance between K-Top and South Pullu, the nearest army base camp is 15kms. We've been riding for over an hour and a half now and South Pullu is nowhere in sight. I have lost all sense of time and space. My head hurts. My neck is frozen stiff. My chest aches as my heart gropes for air. My arms feel like led, I can barely make the bends. My wrist screams for mercy - for every clutch action sends a shooting pain around its periphery - I lost the ability to completely engage the clutch many squeezes ago - I can just about get it half there. My steeds slides at every curve, we have no semblance of traction. She's getting increasing difficult to manage. Her roar has dwindled down to a whimper as she too struggles for oxygen. My feet are wet and senseless as the dampness eats its way through my epidermis.
With panic finally finding its way into the numbness of mind and body, I stand where Spiderweb stands; for I am now convinced we will not make it out of this alive. I can feel neither my hands nor my feet. I can barely hold my attention for more than 5 seconds at a time before zoning out. I've lost my ability to judge the gravity of the situation, or judge gravity for that matter. For I have come dangerously close to riding into the emptiness of the cliff on occassions too numerous to recall. For I have lost my ability to react to being too close to ice and rock. For I have lost my ability to reason. I have zoned into a dream world where no move is too dangerous, no fall fatal. I ride now on pure instinct and should instinct fail me - I will simply throw in the towel. I can't fight this any more. I have no desire to for I am incapable of desire in the hopelessness of our situation. We are deemed to die. I must accept it. I must live with it and I must die with it.
And in my despair, a dampened spirit screams,
"Die, for what have you got to lose anyway."
My enfeebled mind responds with what I feared it would,
"Absolutely fucking nothing."...
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 29: Khardung la - our descent (part I)
June 8, 2010
Despite warnings, we've spent way to much time on K-Top. My oxygen starved brain feels lighter; though not in a good way. Thoughts struggle to find their way into my consciousness. I gasp for air at every step. I am not alone in my labor for the rest labor too. The icy cold has found its way deep within my bone; I shiver to stay warm. We are to descend to Nubra any moment now. Spiderweb suggests we get some tea before we attempt to engage the mighty Khardung-la once more. Its been kind so far; but it would be naive to assume it will continue to do so.
The air grows colder, the snow falls harder. As tea number three finds its way into my system; Motorbreath, now on his second cigarette, or perhaps his third, begins to display the warning signs of Altitude Mountain Sickness (AMS), his pitch higher than usual, his movements troubled. Inder is to return to Leh and we are to forge forward. But a panic striken Motorbreath insists that we head back to Leh as well. I try to reason that either way we have to head down Khardung-la; north or south wouldn't matter. But he argues that he's seen the path down south - he is unaware of the challenges the north holds for us. He will have none of it. He wants to return; he needs to return. That's all he can think off, that's all he needs to hear, his tone getting more desperate with each iteration of the argument.
Spiderweb is on the fence with this one; I can sense his desperation to forge forward, I can sense his fear of what lies ahead, for the environment is getting more violent with each passing second. I am no stranger to this fear. I sense it as well, but I reckon our prolonged exposure to high altitudes is what causes dread in us. I stand my ground; we should press forward after consulting the army personnel stationed at the post. Motorbreath stands his own; insisting we head back and head back now. Eventually Spiderweb gives in to Motorbreath's pleas; "We will head back", he announces. But not without some more tea in all of us. We order another round of tea, Motorbreath lights up once more.
I hear similar pleadings a few feet away from us. A family of three, parents - all of two, and a panicked teen begging them to take her back. The father, apparently unaware of AMS, looks apologetically in our direction for he believes his daughter creates quite the scene. He strikes up a conversation with us even as she continues to plead. I share with him that in my evaluation she's probably suffering from AMS; indeed he confesses ignorance to what it is. With him I share our stock of AMS medication and the advice we received to deal with it - reduce altitude as soon as possible. The medications take 6 hours to kick in and are consequently only useful as a preventive measure. But the father decides to hold on to it for future trips to high altitudes in the days to come. The family makes a hasty exit much to the relief of the now delirious teen.
Moments later, our tea break concludes lazily. We make our way towards the exit; a snow laden surface making it impossible to walk without tripping. We hold on to tables and chairs and grope our way to the cash counter. As we pull out our wallets to settle the bill, the cashier waves us away, informing us that our bill has been settled; a parting gesture from a thankful father. All I can do is smile, my thoughts thanking him in return.
The wind has turned violent. The snow falls denser. And even though its only 15 kilometers to South Pullu, the rugged terrain and the furious weather are going to make us pay for every kilometer we dare to traverse. We wipe away the snow from our steeds, hop on and begin our descent.
We ride with a sense of urgency for many minutes. Inder rides ahead for he is most fearful and determined to exit the clutches of K-Top as swiftly as his steed will permit. Motorbreath falls in second place. Spiderweb and I take third and fourth. He's slowing down now; I ride up to him and halt alongside.
Me: "What's the matter?"
Spiderweb: "My hands are cold. I can't feel the clutch."
I honk in an attempt to get Motorbreath's attention; but he doesn't seem to hear us. He continues riding even as Inder turns a bend and disappears.
Me: "It's ok, we'll catch up with them. They'll wait for us anyway if they don't see us in their rear views."
We wait a while as Spiderweb rubs his palms together in a bid to nurse his fingers back to sanity. A few minutes later we are back on track. Motorbreath and Inder though are out of our sight. "We'll catch up with them", I assure myself.
It's becoming discouragingly apparent to us that the Universe is out of control. Legions of snow are sent in our direction, commanded by an unyielding Universe to pelt our steeds, to slide in under them and drag them into the grime. Our steeds battle for traction with every revolution. The wind joins forces with our adversary, pushing us dangerously close to rock and ice. We haven't been riding many minutes, but Spiderweb stops once again; rubbing his palms in a desperate bid to regain sensation. He regains little and we continue our journey only to halt once again a few minutes out. I suggest he warm his palms with the heat of the exhaust - a naive suggestion I am told later for our numbness would mean our inability to detect heat that would burn our skin straight off. Lacking options Spiderweb yields. The exercise gives us another 10 minutes of riding following which we must stand still again.
His fingers have given in completely by now. He senses nothing. The snow comes in strong; our path laced with deadly flakes masking dangerous pot holes beneath them. We try the exhaust once more but to no avail. Its as cold as the snow that mercilessly beats down upon us. I had hoped that Motorbreath and Inder had sensed something was awry and had waited for us to catch up. They have done nothing of the sort. Its down to Spiderweb and me now, with the former incapacitated by a Universe that threatens to devour our pithy existence...
Despite warnings, we've spent way to much time on K-Top. My oxygen starved brain feels lighter; though not in a good way. Thoughts struggle to find their way into my consciousness. I gasp for air at every step. I am not alone in my labor for the rest labor too. The icy cold has found its way deep within my bone; I shiver to stay warm. We are to descend to Nubra any moment now. Spiderweb suggests we get some tea before we attempt to engage the mighty Khardung-la once more. Its been kind so far; but it would be naive to assume it will continue to do so.
The air grows colder, the snow falls harder. As tea number three finds its way into my system; Motorbreath, now on his second cigarette, or perhaps his third, begins to display the warning signs of Altitude Mountain Sickness (AMS), his pitch higher than usual, his movements troubled. Inder is to return to Leh and we are to forge forward. But a panic striken Motorbreath insists that we head back to Leh as well. I try to reason that either way we have to head down Khardung-la; north or south wouldn't matter. But he argues that he's seen the path down south - he is unaware of the challenges the north holds for us. He will have none of it. He wants to return; he needs to return. That's all he can think off, that's all he needs to hear, his tone getting more desperate with each iteration of the argument.
Spiderweb is on the fence with this one; I can sense his desperation to forge forward, I can sense his fear of what lies ahead, for the environment is getting more violent with each passing second. I am no stranger to this fear. I sense it as well, but I reckon our prolonged exposure to high altitudes is what causes dread in us. I stand my ground; we should press forward after consulting the army personnel stationed at the post. Motorbreath stands his own; insisting we head back and head back now. Eventually Spiderweb gives in to Motorbreath's pleas; "We will head back", he announces. But not without some more tea in all of us. We order another round of tea, Motorbreath lights up once more.
I hear similar pleadings a few feet away from us. A family of three, parents - all of two, and a panicked teen begging them to take her back. The father, apparently unaware of AMS, looks apologetically in our direction for he believes his daughter creates quite the scene. He strikes up a conversation with us even as she continues to plead. I share with him that in my evaluation she's probably suffering from AMS; indeed he confesses ignorance to what it is. With him I share our stock of AMS medication and the advice we received to deal with it - reduce altitude as soon as possible. The medications take 6 hours to kick in and are consequently only useful as a preventive measure. But the father decides to hold on to it for future trips to high altitudes in the days to come. The family makes a hasty exit much to the relief of the now delirious teen.
Moments later, our tea break concludes lazily. We make our way towards the exit; a snow laden surface making it impossible to walk without tripping. We hold on to tables and chairs and grope our way to the cash counter. As we pull out our wallets to settle the bill, the cashier waves us away, informing us that our bill has been settled; a parting gesture from a thankful father. All I can do is smile, my thoughts thanking him in return.
The wind has turned violent. The snow falls denser. And even though its only 15 kilometers to South Pullu, the rugged terrain and the furious weather are going to make us pay for every kilometer we dare to traverse. We wipe away the snow from our steeds, hop on and begin our descent.
We ride with a sense of urgency for many minutes. Inder rides ahead for he is most fearful and determined to exit the clutches of K-Top as swiftly as his steed will permit. Motorbreath falls in second place. Spiderweb and I take third and fourth. He's slowing down now; I ride up to him and halt alongside.
Me: "What's the matter?"
Spiderweb: "My hands are cold. I can't feel the clutch."
I honk in an attempt to get Motorbreath's attention; but he doesn't seem to hear us. He continues riding even as Inder turns a bend and disappears.
Me: "It's ok, we'll catch up with them. They'll wait for us anyway if they don't see us in their rear views."
We wait a while as Spiderweb rubs his palms together in a bid to nurse his fingers back to sanity. A few minutes later we are back on track. Motorbreath and Inder though are out of our sight. "We'll catch up with them", I assure myself.
It's becoming discouragingly apparent to us that the Universe is out of control. Legions of snow are sent in our direction, commanded by an unyielding Universe to pelt our steeds, to slide in under them and drag them into the grime. Our steeds battle for traction with every revolution. The wind joins forces with our adversary, pushing us dangerously close to rock and ice. We haven't been riding many minutes, but Spiderweb stops once again; rubbing his palms in a desperate bid to regain sensation. He regains little and we continue our journey only to halt once again a few minutes out. I suggest he warm his palms with the heat of the exhaust - a naive suggestion I am told later for our numbness would mean our inability to detect heat that would burn our skin straight off. Lacking options Spiderweb yields. The exercise gives us another 10 minutes of riding following which we must stand still again.
His fingers have given in completely by now. He senses nothing. The snow comes in strong; our path laced with deadly flakes masking dangerous pot holes beneath them. We try the exhaust once more but to no avail. Its as cold as the snow that mercilessly beats down upon us. I had hoped that Motorbreath and Inder had sensed something was awry and had waited for us to catch up. They have done nothing of the sort. Its down to Spiderweb and me now, with the former incapacitated by a Universe that threatens to devour our pithy existence...
Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 29: Khardung la - the ascend
June 8, 2010
I awaken to the sound of Spiderweb's alarm; awaken to find that my questions from the night prior have shared the bed with me. They awaken as I awaken. I escape them by drifting back into nothingness; but I know deep down, they await my return. The escape is momentary. They will leave only with answers. And answers I have not.
We are slow to rise that day. Our bodies struggle to cope with the altitude. Fatigue is the norm. We have a brief breakfast at a cozy cafe - Dolphin - not far from where we reside. Cheese omelette and ginger lemon tea for me. The hostess for Motorbreath; who believes he's in love again. I don't fancy her at first glance, but her timid and gentle demeanor grows on me quickly.
The idea of falling in love with a damsel in a far away land, sharing a bed with her, leaving her there yearning for you in her otherwise sorry life while you while your time away with shallow, uncaring city girls, returning to her many years later to profess your love for her and rescuing her of her misery is a fantasy every man dreams of. Indeed we are no different. For the three of sink deep into a reverie, each one mentally painting away her escorts or captioning them in as brothers, distant cousins or fathers, painting in our handsome avatars with plastic smiles and a satisfied sexual disposition, with borrowed images of children to complete the picture. We seem happy in our mental pictures, the plastic smiles seeping through into our respective realities.
We leave unwillingly to pick up our permits from the agent. Inder awaits us. With permits in place, we shift gears and head in the direction of Khardung la - a little to the right, a little to the left, but mostly up.
The initial ascend is a breeze. Flawless tarmac, reinforced unyielding bridges, pristine streams flowing gently beneath, snow flakes dancing amidst the gentle breath of the valley. My questions of being, now familiar bedfellows, float away, intimidated by the cold stare of the valley. I feel liberated, I feel warm, I feel one with the Universe. And even though I believe it to be momentary, I feel blessed for having experienced the oneness before I throw in the towel.
Even as we ascend, a comment from Inder piques my nerves. He remarks that I should click pictures later. The light snowfall has him in palpable panic. I disregard his suggestion asking him to continue without me; I would catch up with them in good time. Spiderweb and Motorbreath though, accustomed to my desire to capture every frame I possibly could, pace themselves to match my ascend, leaving Inder with no choice but to follow along.
25 kilometers into the ride and we've hit South Pullu, an army check post on the road to Khardung la. A small tea-stall offers us some much needed brunch - steaming hot maggie. The snow flakes are getting larger now; they fall quicker. What little concern we have for our safety is dissipated by the encouraging words of a gentleman steering his four wheeled beast down from Khardungla, or K-Top as we had now begun to call it. He warns us against black ice, an ice so pure and so transparent that its practically invisible to the human eye but one that could send our steeds fishtailing into a fatal spin. We are aware of this danger. The narrow width of our path allows for a very small window for error and sliding on its surface isn't on the action plan. Other than that he says, the road is clear. He suggests a slow ascend and riding away from the edge of the cliff, the couple that were already on our must-do.
Just as we are leaving, another group of bikers walk into the stall - some with pillions, most solo. We chat for a while, exchange notes, wish each other luck and thrust forward.
Not far into the ascend we notice icicles adorning the stone; we stop to play with the snow, throw snow balls at each other, pretend to be Jedis with our ice sabres. We pixellate what we can, much to the horror of Inder who insists we get to the top and back as soon as possible and much to our amusement for we stall even more just to cause him more panic.
Once more the slithery snow threatens us; licking our steed bottoms; throwing snow dust into our eyes; blowing harsh cold winds into the crevices of our attire to freeze us, slow us down, dampen our morale, belittle our senses, halt our progress. The air is thinning out. My body is in mild panic, but the adrenalin rush of trying to beat the Universe keeps me focused. The tarmac has all but disappeared now. The brutal environment will have none of it. Snowy grime is all we have to ride on. We skid, we slide, we pee, we pixelate, we skid, we slide, we pee, we pixelate.
I do not know how long its been since we last left South Pullu. Seems like forever. My bones ache. My chest heaves. My arms tremble. My eyes sting. My wrist screams for mercy with each twist of the throttle. I'm tired; I'm exhausted and the road ahead refuses to yield. My mind hasn't the energy for a thought. It struggles to keep pace with its involuntary responsibilities.
We pass several four wheeled motored beasts, both, coming our way and going our way. Some offer us glances of curiosity, some of disbelief, some of respect. With all we nod, honk for the right of way, and pass on to the next.
Minutes turn to hours, hours to eternity, and then, there they were; wooden constructions, a few motors and many jubilant souls smiling under the shade of a grand yellow board, one with an inscription many have coveted to see with their own eyes:
We made it. We achieved that which is seldom achieved. We rode on two wheels from Bombay to Khardung-la, Kashmir, the highest motorable road on the planet; and while we had our differences along the way - we made it as one; we made it our way.
(In alphabetical order)
[ More to come ]
I awaken to the sound of Spiderweb's alarm; awaken to find that my questions from the night prior have shared the bed with me. They awaken as I awaken. I escape them by drifting back into nothingness; but I know deep down, they await my return. The escape is momentary. They will leave only with answers. And answers I have not.
We are slow to rise that day. Our bodies struggle to cope with the altitude. Fatigue is the norm. We have a brief breakfast at a cozy cafe - Dolphin - not far from where we reside. Cheese omelette and ginger lemon tea for me. The hostess for Motorbreath; who believes he's in love again. I don't fancy her at first glance, but her timid and gentle demeanor grows on me quickly.
The idea of falling in love with a damsel in a far away land, sharing a bed with her, leaving her there yearning for you in her otherwise sorry life while you while your time away with shallow, uncaring city girls, returning to her many years later to profess your love for her and rescuing her of her misery is a fantasy every man dreams of. Indeed we are no different. For the three of sink deep into a reverie, each one mentally painting away her escorts or captioning them in as brothers, distant cousins or fathers, painting in our handsome avatars with plastic smiles and a satisfied sexual disposition, with borrowed images of children to complete the picture. We seem happy in our mental pictures, the plastic smiles seeping through into our respective realities.
We leave unwillingly to pick up our permits from the agent. Inder awaits us. With permits in place, we shift gears and head in the direction of Khardung la - a little to the right, a little to the left, but mostly up.
The initial ascend is a breeze. Flawless tarmac, reinforced unyielding bridges, pristine streams flowing gently beneath, snow flakes dancing amidst the gentle breath of the valley. My questions of being, now familiar bedfellows, float away, intimidated by the cold stare of the valley. I feel liberated, I feel warm, I feel one with the Universe. And even though I believe it to be momentary, I feel blessed for having experienced the oneness before I throw in the towel.
Even as we ascend, a comment from Inder piques my nerves. He remarks that I should click pictures later. The light snowfall has him in palpable panic. I disregard his suggestion asking him to continue without me; I would catch up with them in good time. Spiderweb and Motorbreath though, accustomed to my desire to capture every frame I possibly could, pace themselves to match my ascend, leaving Inder with no choice but to follow along.
25 kilometers into the ride and we've hit South Pullu, an army check post on the road to Khardung la. A small tea-stall offers us some much needed brunch - steaming hot maggie. The snow flakes are getting larger now; they fall quicker. What little concern we have for our safety is dissipated by the encouraging words of a gentleman steering his four wheeled beast down from Khardungla, or K-Top as we had now begun to call it. He warns us against black ice, an ice so pure and so transparent that its practically invisible to the human eye but one that could send our steeds fishtailing into a fatal spin. We are aware of this danger. The narrow width of our path allows for a very small window for error and sliding on its surface isn't on the action plan. Other than that he says, the road is clear. He suggests a slow ascend and riding away from the edge of the cliff, the couple that were already on our must-do.
Just as we are leaving, another group of bikers walk into the stall - some with pillions, most solo. We chat for a while, exchange notes, wish each other luck and thrust forward.
Not far into the ascend we notice icicles adorning the stone; we stop to play with the snow, throw snow balls at each other, pretend to be Jedis with our ice sabres. We pixellate what we can, much to the horror of Inder who insists we get to the top and back as soon as possible and much to our amusement for we stall even more just to cause him more panic.
Once more the slithery snow threatens us; licking our steed bottoms; throwing snow dust into our eyes; blowing harsh cold winds into the crevices of our attire to freeze us, slow us down, dampen our morale, belittle our senses, halt our progress. The air is thinning out. My body is in mild panic, but the adrenalin rush of trying to beat the Universe keeps me focused. The tarmac has all but disappeared now. The brutal environment will have none of it. Snowy grime is all we have to ride on. We skid, we slide, we pee, we pixelate, we skid, we slide, we pee, we pixelate.
I do not know how long its been since we last left South Pullu. Seems like forever. My bones ache. My chest heaves. My arms tremble. My eyes sting. My wrist screams for mercy with each twist of the throttle. I'm tired; I'm exhausted and the road ahead refuses to yield. My mind hasn't the energy for a thought. It struggles to keep pace with its involuntary responsibilities.
We pass several four wheeled motored beasts, both, coming our way and going our way. Some offer us glances of curiosity, some of disbelief, some of respect. With all we nod, honk for the right of way, and pass on to the next.
Minutes turn to hours, hours to eternity, and then, there they were; wooden constructions, a few motors and many jubilant souls smiling under the shade of a grand yellow board, one with an inscription many have coveted to see with their own eyes:
 |
We made it. We achieved that which is seldom achieved. We rode on two wheels from Bombay to Khardung-la, Kashmir, the highest motorable road on the planet; and while we had our differences along the way - we made it as one; we made it our way.
(In alphabetical order)
[ More to come ]
Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 28: In-Leh
June 7, 2010
"How the fuck do you not remember the hotel name?", Spiderweb screams in the direction of Motorbreath. All Motorbreath remembers of his conversation with Aman was that the latter booked us a room at a modest Rs 300/- a night. He remembers nothing of the name. Not the first syllable, not in the least, the first letter.
We must have entered Leh well over an hour ago. She holds us in her warm, welcoming embrace as we find our way into her heart. As we refuel our parched steeds, my attention turns towards the city. It's larger than I expected. Its more crowded than I expected. Its more modern than I expected. Its more polluted than I expected. A garden of Eden compared to my home city, but polluted nevertheless; with heavy vehicles pumping out more grime every second of every day. Progress.is.often.not.
We've got network now. Between us we've tried Aman's number a dozen times and counting. It's out of reach with complete disregard for our proximity to his whereabouts. We accuse our network, try a PCO, only to be responded to with a similar tone.
My body shivers. It's not the cold I sense; its fatigue. We have not ridden many miles today, but the terrain and the excitement of the last mile has drained me of all sensibility. Parked on a slope, as we await Motorbreath's exit from the PCO, I lose control of my steed as I try to motion it towards flatter pastures. I'm unable to hold its weight against gravity. My arms are limp. It drops and hits the tarmac with a sickening clunk. All I can do is stand and stare. Spiderweb walks over and helps me get her back up. I need sleep; and from the looks of it, so does Spiderweb.
Motorbreath emerges signaling yet another failure to contact Aman. As we discuss our options, I suggest a hotel Siachen just down the road from whence we came; it looked comfortable. There's no reasonable way for us to know where Aman is at now; we might as well settle in. My shaking hands seem to nod in agreement. Motorbreath's eyes gleam at the name as a revelation hits him; Siachen was the very place Aman was at! We ride down to the spot. As we park our steeds, I come close to dropping mine a second time. "Get some rest before you kill yourself. A pity it would be for you have come so far.", I say to myself.
Spiderweb walks into the lobby asking if a Sardarji had checked in the night prior. I get us some tea in the meanwhile. I figure some sugar in me would help me keep sane until we find Aman. Spiderweb returns; Motorbreath's revelation was a farce. Neither Aman, nor any Sardarji checked into the hotel yesterday. Furthemore, Siachen offers rooms at a much heftier price tag. Wrong on both counts.
We are now down to Motorbreath's final piece of memory ie the rental was 300 bucks a night. I imagine walking into every hotel/motel asking if their rates were commensurate with Motorbreath's memory; I imagine this for 3 seconds; I scream, "FUCK IT! Let's just find our own place!" Spiderweb is way ahead of me. He's already perched on top of his steed and pulling out. He rides by me, points in the direction of a pathway that leads down deeper into the heart of the city. I gulp my tea, hop on to my steed and lead her out very slowly. I do not want to risk another fall today. I fear I do not have the strength to recover.
We ride down several slopes, ride by many motels, not stopping, not questioning. Spiderweb senses my confusion, waits for me to catch up and remarks, "This is the main road. The places here will be too expensive. Lets find something on the outskirts, one which has a view of the valley." I nod, and we continue riding. We notice an exit snaking out of the main road, a small pathway leading away from the bustle of the city with several banners and plates announcing accommodation. We ride into a comfortable looking resort only to find it has no vacancy. We try a few more with the same result.
Spiderweb asks us to stay put as he whirls his steed around and rides down further into the distance. He returns moments later; he's found us a room at 300 bucks a night. "Hot water will be available all day!", he proudly exclaims. After a tough ride under the icy gaze of Leh, a hot water bath sounds divine. Little do we know that in the days to follow, 15 to be exact, we would not have the courage to bathe.
We unpack and unwind. The host is gentle, helpful and well mannered. I'm falling in love with Leh and she knows it; as she continues to seduce me in her embrace. We are allowed to park within the resort's premises; a blessing for we can sleep at ease. I zone out almost instantly but the excitement of being there prevents me from sleeping. I notice the others have met the same fate. We decide to head to the market and discover Leh, for we assume, incorrectly, that this would be our first and last day with her. Tomorrow we must tackle Khardungla, the world's highest motorable road (a contentious claim by most counts). There's also the desire necessity to give our faithful steeds some love. They've taken a severe beating in our quest for adventure; they need a good cleaning and a few repairs. Purchase of essentials such as medication for AMS (Altitude Mountain Sickness), nasal sprays for the sniffles, mittens for an extra layer and anything else we could think off is also on the itinerary.
The steeds come before all else. We head back into the city in search of a mechanic. Not far from our abode, Spiderweb points in the direction of a few steeds; I recognize one instantly, its Aman's! It wasn't here when we rode down this very path not moments ago. The others, I presume, belonged to the Puneris. Aman is finally united with his pack and we are all better off for it.
We decide to deliver the bikes to a mechanic before reconnecting with Aman. We ask many for suggestions on mechanics and they all suggest we head in the direction of the airport; there are many mechanics on that path we are told. A local proclaims he could lead us to the workshop of one of the best hands for Karizmas and Pulsars if we should be so kind as to take him with us. That's two out of three for us, a good metric. We accept and he directs us in a straight line. One wonders why one needs linear directions, but one doesn't question in times of need. We don't have to ride long. A conglomerate of naked Karizma's and Pulsars and Enfields announces the workshop's greasy presence.
Spiderweb hands over his steed to the mechanic who takes it for a spin and returns with his prognosis. The clutch plates are out and the carburetor nozzle needs to be narrowed down to compensate for the low oxygen content at our altitude. Wound up with existing metal, he warns that he will be able to carry out the repairs and replacements only later that night and won't be done until the following morning. As much as our hearts ache to leave the mighty Karizma in the hands of another, we don't have much of a choice. The Pulsar revs without effort and will forgo a servicing at this point. The innards of the R-15 are unknown to the mechanist and so it shall meet a similar fate of ignorance.
Spiderweb leaves his steed behind as we head back towards the market for a much needed meal. As we dive into mounds of noodles and oodles of Coke, sanity returns swiftly. The hostesses running the restaurant are teens or perhaps a shade more. They rock to Britney Spears and dress like the average Westerner. They treat us with kindness and confusion, for they are unaware of the ingredients of a large portion of the menu and are completely incapable of suggesting any specials without having to run in and have a word with the cook, or perhaps their father, or perhaps a convenient combination of the two. They are kind though and willingly bring my phone up to a full charge on a point shared with their elaborate music system. They are pretty and even though I mention this last, I notice this first.
Satyen, the original brains behind the the logistics of this trip, calls in to determine our location and the state of our steeds. I update him on the issues of the R-15 - especially the amber warning sign my dashboard has since continued to display. The warning signal appears in pulses; on off on off on on on; its a message I cannot decipher. Satyen consults another expert and reverts with the prognosis that its probably just a low battery signal. I am to ride without my headlights on during the day (riding with headlights on is a common practice with bikers riding in a group so they can spot each other), avoid the button start and rev at high rpms at low gears to allow the battery to charge until I find a service center that understands the R-15 better and can safely detach the battery and charge it.
We head further into the city and decide to stroll along the market. We must have been there 5 minutes when we bump into two of the Puneris. Pleasantries are exchanged but the tension is palpable. Despite our differences, Vishwas, one of the Puneris, agrees to help us obtain permits to enter restricted areas of our sojourn. We are to hand over the necessary money and documents to Aman, who will meet us later in the day and an agent contact of Vishwas will do the needful.
With bellies full and some semblance of the warmth of Leh, we decide to retire for the day. As night falls, Aman finds his way to our resort to pick up the cash and documents. Our plan for the following morning is to obtain the permits, cross Khardungla by late afternoon and head to Nubra valley. The Puneris, having arrived in Leh a few days prior, have already obtained their permits and will ride to Nubra ahead of us early the next morning. One Puneri though, Inder, is determined not to ride to Nubra despite having permits. He wishes only to conquer Khardungla and return to Leh. Consequently, Aman proposes that he ride to Nubra on Inder's permit with the Puneris, while Inder obtains a new permit with us and rides with us to Khardungla from whence he will return while we forge ahead. We have no reason to disagree.
Aman provides us with the details of the agents and leaves but not before he expresses displeasure over the fact that we picked another resort instead of sharing his abode and associated costs. He believes that we did so simply to make him pay for riding ahead of the pack. I try in vain to explain the events of the day for he is cynical of our intent; he firmly believes that even if we couldn't get him on the phone, we could have tried to access the xbhp online forums where he had posted the details of his whereabouts. Once again, I try in vain to explain that accessing the internet was the last thing on our minds at the time; we just needed some rest. But the cynical mind knows no empathy. He does not believe our intent to be pure and I have no intent to make him a convert. I give up quickly as I sink into the bliss of nothingness, my half shut eyes watching him leave.
June 8, 2010
2AM: I wake up to the eeriness of a deafening silence. The air is still. Perhaps more so because our host advised us to keep the windows shut to keep out the icy cold. I see the cybershot's ion battery charger plugged in, but don't see the familiar red glow of the LED signaling that the battery must be fully charged. The phone battery though is already running low due to excessive camera usage. I decide to swap chargers. As I get out from under my sheets and crawl towards the charging pin, my body goes into panic. The burst of activity sends the heart racing to increase oxygen supply to the muscles in motion. But a body accustomed to a healthy supply of oxygen struggles to cope with the relatively thin air of Leh. Stripped of oxygen, the mind experiences hysteria. Big mistake. Big big mistake. I struggle to breathe, to stay sane. I'm convinced my asthma will kick in any moment now making it impossible for me to suck air into my clamped wind pipe. The stillness of the air aggravates my horror as the four walls of a large room seem to close in on me. The two seem asleep peacefully under their sheets. I'm alone in my misery.
But the asthma never kicks in. The heart copes. The mind settles. I sit still, fearful of movement, and turn my gaze to the silhouette of an uncaring moon just barely visible through an otherwise opaque glass window. In a bid to outpace the body, the mind wanders further than usual.
At 33, with a slate wiped clean, with no semblance of who I was, or what I was; with the freedom of being whoever I want to be being thrust upon my unprepared being; who do I want to be? Can I restart, recover, replenish? But more importantly, do I want to? I once lived with the motive of being the source of happiness and joy to others. I let them all down. They all let me down. Some moved on and out of life itself; others moved into a lifespan detached from mine. Who do I live for now? For what purpose do I live now? And if I fail to answer such a fundamental question, why do I live now? Even in my misery I smile, for I realize I'm asking myself the age old question, one that's been asked many times before. To be, or not to be...
"How the fuck do you not remember the hotel name?", Spiderweb screams in the direction of Motorbreath. All Motorbreath remembers of his conversation with Aman was that the latter booked us a room at a modest Rs 300/- a night. He remembers nothing of the name. Not the first syllable, not in the least, the first letter.
We must have entered Leh well over an hour ago. She holds us in her warm, welcoming embrace as we find our way into her heart. As we refuel our parched steeds, my attention turns towards the city. It's larger than I expected. Its more crowded than I expected. Its more modern than I expected. Its more polluted than I expected. A garden of Eden compared to my home city, but polluted nevertheless; with heavy vehicles pumping out more grime every second of every day. Progress.is.often.not.
We've got network now. Between us we've tried Aman's number a dozen times and counting. It's out of reach with complete disregard for our proximity to his whereabouts. We accuse our network, try a PCO, only to be responded to with a similar tone.
My body shivers. It's not the cold I sense; its fatigue. We have not ridden many miles today, but the terrain and the excitement of the last mile has drained me of all sensibility. Parked on a slope, as we await Motorbreath's exit from the PCO, I lose control of my steed as I try to motion it towards flatter pastures. I'm unable to hold its weight against gravity. My arms are limp. It drops and hits the tarmac with a sickening clunk. All I can do is stand and stare. Spiderweb walks over and helps me get her back up. I need sleep; and from the looks of it, so does Spiderweb.
Motorbreath emerges signaling yet another failure to contact Aman. As we discuss our options, I suggest a hotel Siachen just down the road from whence we came; it looked comfortable. There's no reasonable way for us to know where Aman is at now; we might as well settle in. My shaking hands seem to nod in agreement. Motorbreath's eyes gleam at the name as a revelation hits him; Siachen was the very place Aman was at! We ride down to the spot. As we park our steeds, I come close to dropping mine a second time. "Get some rest before you kill yourself. A pity it would be for you have come so far.", I say to myself.
Spiderweb walks into the lobby asking if a Sardarji had checked in the night prior. I get us some tea in the meanwhile. I figure some sugar in me would help me keep sane until we find Aman. Spiderweb returns; Motorbreath's revelation was a farce. Neither Aman, nor any Sardarji checked into the hotel yesterday. Furthemore, Siachen offers rooms at a much heftier price tag. Wrong on both counts.
We are now down to Motorbreath's final piece of memory ie the rental was 300 bucks a night. I imagine walking into every hotel/motel asking if their rates were commensurate with Motorbreath's memory; I imagine this for 3 seconds; I scream, "FUCK IT! Let's just find our own place!" Spiderweb is way ahead of me. He's already perched on top of his steed and pulling out. He rides by me, points in the direction of a pathway that leads down deeper into the heart of the city. I gulp my tea, hop on to my steed and lead her out very slowly. I do not want to risk another fall today. I fear I do not have the strength to recover.
We ride down several slopes, ride by many motels, not stopping, not questioning. Spiderweb senses my confusion, waits for me to catch up and remarks, "This is the main road. The places here will be too expensive. Lets find something on the outskirts, one which has a view of the valley." I nod, and we continue riding. We notice an exit snaking out of the main road, a small pathway leading away from the bustle of the city with several banners and plates announcing accommodation. We ride into a comfortable looking resort only to find it has no vacancy. We try a few more with the same result.
Spiderweb asks us to stay put as he whirls his steed around and rides down further into the distance. He returns moments later; he's found us a room at 300 bucks a night. "Hot water will be available all day!", he proudly exclaims. After a tough ride under the icy gaze of Leh, a hot water bath sounds divine. Little do we know that in the days to follow, 15 to be exact, we would not have the courage to bathe.
We unpack and unwind. The host is gentle, helpful and well mannered. I'm falling in love with Leh and she knows it; as she continues to seduce me in her embrace. We are allowed to park within the resort's premises; a blessing for we can sleep at ease. I zone out almost instantly but the excitement of being there prevents me from sleeping. I notice the others have met the same fate. We decide to head to the market and discover Leh, for we assume, incorrectly, that this would be our first and last day with her. Tomorrow we must tackle Khardungla, the world's highest motorable road (a contentious claim by most counts). There's also the desire necessity to give our faithful steeds some love. They've taken a severe beating in our quest for adventure; they need a good cleaning and a few repairs. Purchase of essentials such as medication for AMS (Altitude Mountain Sickness), nasal sprays for the sniffles, mittens for an extra layer and anything else we could think off is also on the itinerary.
The steeds come before all else. We head back into the city in search of a mechanic. Not far from our abode, Spiderweb points in the direction of a few steeds; I recognize one instantly, its Aman's! It wasn't here when we rode down this very path not moments ago. The others, I presume, belonged to the Puneris. Aman is finally united with his pack and we are all better off for it.
We decide to deliver the bikes to a mechanic before reconnecting with Aman. We ask many for suggestions on mechanics and they all suggest we head in the direction of the airport; there are many mechanics on that path we are told. A local proclaims he could lead us to the workshop of one of the best hands for Karizmas and Pulsars if we should be so kind as to take him with us. That's two out of three for us, a good metric. We accept and he directs us in a straight line. One wonders why one needs linear directions, but one doesn't question in times of need. We don't have to ride long. A conglomerate of naked Karizma's and Pulsars and Enfields announces the workshop's greasy presence.
Spiderweb hands over his steed to the mechanic who takes it for a spin and returns with his prognosis. The clutch plates are out and the carburetor nozzle needs to be narrowed down to compensate for the low oxygen content at our altitude. Wound up with existing metal, he warns that he will be able to carry out the repairs and replacements only later that night and won't be done until the following morning. As much as our hearts ache to leave the mighty Karizma in the hands of another, we don't have much of a choice. The Pulsar revs without effort and will forgo a servicing at this point. The innards of the R-15 are unknown to the mechanist and so it shall meet a similar fate of ignorance.
Spiderweb leaves his steed behind as we head back towards the market for a much needed meal. As we dive into mounds of noodles and oodles of Coke, sanity returns swiftly. The hostesses running the restaurant are teens or perhaps a shade more. They rock to Britney Spears and dress like the average Westerner. They treat us with kindness and confusion, for they are unaware of the ingredients of a large portion of the menu and are completely incapable of suggesting any specials without having to run in and have a word with the cook, or perhaps their father, or perhaps a convenient combination of the two. They are kind though and willingly bring my phone up to a full charge on a point shared with their elaborate music system. They are pretty and even though I mention this last, I notice this first.
Satyen, the original brains behind the the logistics of this trip, calls in to determine our location and the state of our steeds. I update him on the issues of the R-15 - especially the amber warning sign my dashboard has since continued to display. The warning signal appears in pulses; on off on off on on on; its a message I cannot decipher. Satyen consults another expert and reverts with the prognosis that its probably just a low battery signal. I am to ride without my headlights on during the day (riding with headlights on is a common practice with bikers riding in a group so they can spot each other), avoid the button start and rev at high rpms at low gears to allow the battery to charge until I find a service center that understands the R-15 better and can safely detach the battery and charge it.
We head further into the city and decide to stroll along the market. We must have been there 5 minutes when we bump into two of the Puneris. Pleasantries are exchanged but the tension is palpable. Despite our differences, Vishwas, one of the Puneris, agrees to help us obtain permits to enter restricted areas of our sojourn. We are to hand over the necessary money and documents to Aman, who will meet us later in the day and an agent contact of Vishwas will do the needful.
With bellies full and some semblance of the warmth of Leh, we decide to retire for the day. As night falls, Aman finds his way to our resort to pick up the cash and documents. Our plan for the following morning is to obtain the permits, cross Khardungla by late afternoon and head to Nubra valley. The Puneris, having arrived in Leh a few days prior, have already obtained their permits and will ride to Nubra ahead of us early the next morning. One Puneri though, Inder, is determined not to ride to Nubra despite having permits. He wishes only to conquer Khardungla and return to Leh. Consequently, Aman proposes that he ride to Nubra on Inder's permit with the Puneris, while Inder obtains a new permit with us and rides with us to Khardungla from whence he will return while we forge ahead. We have no reason to disagree.
Aman provides us with the details of the agents and leaves but not before he expresses displeasure over the fact that we picked another resort instead of sharing his abode and associated costs. He believes that we did so simply to make him pay for riding ahead of the pack. I try in vain to explain the events of the day for he is cynical of our intent; he firmly believes that even if we couldn't get him on the phone, we could have tried to access the xbhp online forums where he had posted the details of his whereabouts. Once again, I try in vain to explain that accessing the internet was the last thing on our minds at the time; we just needed some rest. But the cynical mind knows no empathy. He does not believe our intent to be pure and I have no intent to make him a convert. I give up quickly as I sink into the bliss of nothingness, my half shut eyes watching him leave.
June 8, 2010
2AM: I wake up to the eeriness of a deafening silence. The air is still. Perhaps more so because our host advised us to keep the windows shut to keep out the icy cold. I see the cybershot's ion battery charger plugged in, but don't see the familiar red glow of the LED signaling that the battery must be fully charged. The phone battery though is already running low due to excessive camera usage. I decide to swap chargers. As I get out from under my sheets and crawl towards the charging pin, my body goes into panic. The burst of activity sends the heart racing to increase oxygen supply to the muscles in motion. But a body accustomed to a healthy supply of oxygen struggles to cope with the relatively thin air of Leh. Stripped of oxygen, the mind experiences hysteria. Big mistake. Big big mistake. I struggle to breathe, to stay sane. I'm convinced my asthma will kick in any moment now making it impossible for me to suck air into my clamped wind pipe. The stillness of the air aggravates my horror as the four walls of a large room seem to close in on me. The two seem asleep peacefully under their sheets. I'm alone in my misery.
But the asthma never kicks in. The heart copes. The mind settles. I sit still, fearful of movement, and turn my gaze to the silhouette of an uncaring moon just barely visible through an otherwise opaque glass window. In a bid to outpace the body, the mind wanders further than usual.
At 33, with a slate wiped clean, with no semblance of who I was, or what I was; with the freedom of being whoever I want to be being thrust upon my unprepared being; who do I want to be? Can I restart, recover, replenish? But more importantly, do I want to? I once lived with the motive of being the source of happiness and joy to others. I let them all down. They all let me down. Some moved on and out of life itself; others moved into a lifespan detached from mine. Who do I live for now? For what purpose do I live now? And if I fail to answer such a fundamental question, why do I live now? Even in my misery I smile, for I realize I'm asking myself the age old question, one that's been asked many times before. To be, or not to be...
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