Section 3: The Journey > Chapter 29: Khardung la - our descent (part V)

June 8, 2010

His thin tee and rock solid stance mocks our very core. A member of the armed forces, unfettered by the frost, mildly amused by our intolerance to the freeze. He introduces himself. I forget his name instantly for I can barely remember my own.

"Where's the rest of you?", he asks.
"Rest?", I enquire.
"We were informed four bikers had left Khardung la a few hours ago."
"The two have gone ahead."
"Hmmm. The check post would have seen them pass. Don't get too close to the stove unless you want to lose your limbs."
"Yes, we've been warned. Aren't you cold?" 
"It's not so cold.", he winks.
"You cocky bastard.", is all I can think but dare not say.

We talk of many things. Of the weather, of frost bites, of avalanches, of how its all so much worse this year than ever before, of the fact that our mortal fears weren't unfounded. We were spared for reasons I can only conjecture for the Universe speaks to me no more.

I ask him of the temperature. He points to the ground - I see the snow melts on impact. We aren't in the sub zeros any more, he explains. He lacks the scientific apparatus to put a number on it. He advises we ride further and ride soon, for as day gives in to dusk, the snow will come in stronger. He assures us that it will get warmer as we descend - a fact that we are aware off but thankful nevertheless to hear reiterated. The task will not be as arduous; the remainder of the journey not so precarious. 

From the corner of my eye, I see Spiderweb, still in a trance, beginning to roll his socks back on. He's been listening. Time to roll, his actions beg. My socks are soaking wet. I'd rather not wear them. But the thick interior of my footwear promises to peel off my wrinkled skin. Grudgingly I put my socks back on, slide my feet into my boots, wave my goodbyes, say my thank you's, limp across the snow, slide my key in and hit the button start. The R-15 rumbles to life. The Karizma will take a few tries, but as it purrs back to sanity, it sounds unfazed and resolute. We spend a good 10 minutes shoveling snow off our seats as our steeds breathe in the frigid air.

We resume riding. Our throttle, tired; our minds, empty; our resolve, shaken, stirred, but alive. It won't be long before snow melts into rain, mud turns to tar and our steeds breathe a sigh of relief. I sense a weight lift off my shoulders; part metaphorical, part real, for the drizzle gently washes off the ice from our attire in an act of divine cleansing. Puffs of frozen vapour fall off my helmet and onto my back gently patting it as they move along. The elements applaud our return, it would seem.

Panic left me at the doors of South Pullu. I'm pixellating the pathway once more. I will need these images for the story I tell - as proof to a future dying self - that indeed I was here, indeed I experienced the experience, indeed this is true and not just a figment of a hallucinating dying mind.

I ride up to Spiderweb, ask him to stop. He looks concerned. "What happened?", he asks. I say "I want you to pose at the bend, I want to take a picture.".  He looks stupefied. "What kind of fucktard are you?", I can hear his mind say. He waves his hand gesturing a complete lack of interest in my shutterbug desires and rides on. I'm adamant and reach for the phone to grab a shot, but my cold hands are too slow. By the time I get a shot, he's long gone. Of course I will find him waiting patiently on the other side of the bend, for he will not leave me behind.

25kms is all we have to cover but we ride long. The terrain will not permit haste. Time does not concern us for we do not concern it. We ride, I pixellate while Spiderweb waits and so the journey continues.

We enter Leh city. The Karizma sputters and dies. It's been pushed to its limits. It overheats. I ask Spiderweb to give it a break. But he won't yield. He will keep hitting the button start until his steed reluctantly roars back into motion. He's lost the ride in him. All he needs the terra firma underneath him and a complete absence of gear and throttle. It won't be long now. We make our way to Inder's hotel where Motorbreath and he await our return. Inder has arranged for buckets of hot water to help us nurse our feet back to sanity.

I risk thinking, but all I see are flashes of nothingness. I've lost all the mind I ever had. I've been granted a purpose in return. A purposeless purpose. A checklist of things I must experience. A blank checklist at that, for I am to fill in anything I might set my mind on. I put one on it right away:

Stared death in the face - check.

Many more will I put on this list in the days to come. Most, I have yet to achieve. I notice, its just a list. There's no summary box, no relevance box, no space for grades and comparisons and judgements.

"Experience all that you will. For there is no other virtuous virtue than to experience my being. Everything else is unnecessary detail."

That night, as I sip ginger lemon tea, Spiderweb and I make frantic calls to all our loved ones. We relate our experiences - we receive concerned queries, we respond with "We're OK". And even though those that I love have all the facts of our experience in question, little do they know that I will come back to them a different being. I am what I never was. I was what I never will be.

A lone SMS from a close friend finds its way to my phone. "Celebrate tonight. You deserve it.".
Indeed I do.

"Goodbye my past. It was a pleasure to forget you. - Regards, Alankar Misra, June 8th, 2010."