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...
one word-- BRILLIANT !!!!
ReplyDelete^^ Thanks bro :)
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