An incomplete pilgrimage

I was never one for religion, never was, maybe never will be, religious at convenience at the most.

So, when I got an offer to accompany a couple who of friends on a pilgrimage, i wondered, why ?

The most obvious attraction for me was climbing up the 3300 odd stairs up to Tirumala, the humble (?) abode of Lord Venkateshwara, also known as Balaji, and visit one of the biggest tourist attractions Andhra Pradesh has to offer.

So, the intent decided, i signed up for it. And as it turned out, even though I didn't get a chance to say Hi to the One himself, i did meet some interesting people and dug up some questions, the answers to which I will be searching for a while.

We had to catch our bus from Shantinagar bus stand at 10 pm. Signaled an auto rickshaw and told him the destination and got a ridiculous fare estimate. ' I hate these auto's ' , i muttered to myself and let him go.

Another auto i signaled, told him the destination, and with a vigorous nod, he signaled me in. just to be sure, i asked him if he would be charging meter fare. His answer amused me as much as my question amused him.

Bemused, he replied, yes of-course! Why do u ask ? I said that the previous auto guy had asked a ridiculous amount. He then just smiled and said 'Kuch log milke sabka naam kharab kar dete hain'. There was a certain civility in his response and manner that I find wanting in most auto drivers' in Bangalore. I sensed he was different. How different , i was about to find out.

My friend and I started chatting about the itinerary and the route when the driver interrupted us to,ask if we were going to Tirupati, we replied in the affirmative and he began a friendly and all knowing banter about Tirupati, the places to see, what timeline to aim for, how he used to go there twice a,month and how to obtain your fix of nicotine there, if  u need it.

Then, he veered to the subject of our employment, which was strange, but given the friendly nature of his, we answered. In our endeavor to answer him, we slowly went about pronouncing the names of our employers and when we were done, he just nodded knowingly and nonchalantly, he said, ‘Yeah, I work at IndusInd bank’ .

Wait. Did you just say you work at a bank?! My friend and I just stared at each other. Our expressions – ‘Say what?!’

Finally, getting a grip, I asked, (there is no way you could ask this without feeling stupid), ‘Then why are you driving an auto!?’

‘ I got a 3.5L package from the bank, being a vehicle loan executive, itne me Bangalore me kya hota hai?’. Wait, that sounds like me. No, like all of us in the IT industry. ‘That’s why I work at the office from 10 – 5 and then drive an auto from 5 – 11.

It was just plain mockery. Here we were, complaining about the peanuts that we earn, even though our earning is enough to keep us pampered and here is this man, who is working to shifts, in entirely different jobs, making his ends meet and still happy.

Meeting people like these, it changes you, you look at life differently, and suddenly our lives don’t seem to be that bad as we complained, suddenly things were in perspective – people with bigger troubles than ours are more contended. Life isn’t just about CBRs, PS3s, B-twins and a 2BHK, it is about appreciating what you have and being contended with it, not to undermine ambitions, but still living life to the fullest as it comes.

But my embarrassment didn’t end there. When we reached the bus stand, I handed him a 100 rupee note. There was the question of a 3 rupee change; I just wanted to waive it off. Not a good move that, after talking to him for that long, he made sure, our exchange was exact to the rupee. Not only that, he gave me back 11 rupees that he asked me to put in the Hundi at Tirupati, at his behest.

I knew, I had a sleepless night ahead of me, the stiff bus ride was a factor to it, but the chance encounter with Vishwajeet was going to be the real culprit.

We reached Tirupati at 4 a.m. and decided to start the climb while it was still cool, and of course ‘Shubh kaam me deri kaisi J ‘

The climb to Tirumala is on paper a daunting one, 3300 odd steps, never easy. But we were pleasantly surprised, after getting freshened up at the pilgrim center, we started our climb. The first step contains a holy fire from which we took our blessings. Also, we took off our shoes, I had read it somewhere - the climb is best done barefoot.

It isn’t really difficult, the steps are designed for an easy walk, after every 15-20 steps comes flat platform which allows the muscles to relax, and so we powered through.

The interesting thing that I saw was a backbreaking ritual, two women smeared every step on the way in vermillion and the man of the house lighting up camphor cakes on each of the steps. The trio would do this for all the steps. One step at a time.

What kind of belief is this? What faith powers these men and women? Grandma’s and Granddad’s ignoring their throbbing knees and aching backs taking every step with a smile on their faces as vital young men like us catch our breath on the side.  Maybe God really resides here, here in the steps, not up there draped in gold.

As I climb up the vermillion caked steps I notice another group of men, saying they will be climbing the stairs in one go. This got me thinking. The multitude that was climbing the stairs, some climbing out of devout passion to the One, some climbing because their parents said so, some climbing out of habit and some like me, just trying to prove themselves, they are capable to climb 3000 steps.

Which brings me to the question of faith, a question of belief, a question that haunted me as I stood in line to meet the One, the question that tortured me as I left the queue saying it just wasn’t worth it?

I am puzzled behind the motive of it all. Why do people climb those steps when they could have easily reached the temple on a bus, in a car, why do they brave standing day and night in a sea of sweat in the sweltering heat, constantly being battered by waves and waves of humanity (?) trying to force the queue ahead when they know people with wads of money will be allowed to meet Him first.

Most of these people don’t make enough to live properly yet they still believe, yet they still brave all the discomfiture to pay HIM their respects. What do they have to pay HIM respect for? They lead an uncomfortable life, barely managing to piece the bare amenities of life, the lowest rung of our society.

While I was standing in the Queue, I saw VIP cars and people with tourist packages go in and come out after their moments with God while elderly people get pushed around.

This is entirely illogical. I have always been told that the whole point of a pilgrimage was to show God that we are willing to suffer; we understand the pains that we need to go through to obtain the Promised Land.

Then how come money changes it all?  How come people in AC cars get to go ahead and meet him ahead of the people who climb the stairs braving all sweat and sore muscles, and blistered feet, and wait for 16 hours straight after the climb to get a fleeting chance to get to see Him.

As I walked back from the line another line of thought opened up. Maybe these people brave all this inhumanity because it gives them a sense of purpose, a push to go on with their mundane lives, a reason to overlook the difficulty of their existence.

Another reason I heard was, ‘God didn’t want to meet you, so you left the line’. Another old wives tale in my mind. This is a question I will be grappling for a long time; I cannot fathom the logic behind all of this. Maybe I am trying to justify my lack of faith or maybe I am finding excuses, but I believe that if He created me, it shouldn’t be so hard for me to go and meet him. That would just make him a terrible, terrible parent. Not that I claim to be his favorite child or anything.

War and Peace

9^th June, 2012

Paradise Lost. It’s really difficult to ride out, so I had a discussion with Ani, we can’t in good conscience ride to Kargil today. So, much to Ani’s dismay, we had to spend the day in Srinagar. Not a bad idea after all, it is after all paradise on earth. So we decided to check out Gulmarg.

I can’t stop writing this, but it is paradise on earth, over yonder I saw, for the first time in my life, snowcapped peaks, the lower altitudes being covered in pine forests, a glacier snaking its way to the foothill. I wonder if the water gurgling next to the road in the small aqueduct is coming from that glacier.

Climbing up to Gulmarg is a slow affair, being a tourist hotspot, but that leaves you with more time to ogle at the rolling green meadows speckled with the coniferous flora under a bright blue sky…. Stuff out of an artist’s imagination.

Gulmarg, I suppose I would have enjoyed a little more if I would have stayed there for a couple of days, just camp out, and roam around aimlessly in the meadows. It is, in fact, God’s garden, desecrated by mere mortals like us.

Back in Srinagar, we feasted on sumptuous Wazwan. A must have, I simply can’t describe the heavenly feeling of having succulent mutton with rice. This is what I call a vacation. We also bought some wollen gloves and other supplies for the next day.

A big regret that I have is not being able to spend a day in a shikara on the Dal lake, I have grander plans of doing that, some day with that special someone.

One truly interesting thing we did at Srinagar was hunting ‘Rosa Bal’. It is said that the remains of Jesus Christ are buried in a tomb there. But it is a very hush affair and people do not like anyone snooping around for that place for obvious reasons.

Nonetheless Ani’s curiosity led us on a treasure hunt in the back alleys of Srinagar. When we finally found the place, we were kind of scared, people REALLY don’t like strangers in that location and couple of guys walked up to us asking what we were doing, I tried to bluff my way out of it, but they were wise to the act. They let us go with a strong warning ;) Fun Times.

10^th June, 2012

7 a.m. The mountains beckon. We start out for Kargil. On the menu was a delicious ride through Sonmarg and a cold desert in the form of the first mountain pass on the way – the might Zoji La.

Leaving Srinagar, while I am circling the Dal lake en-route to NH1D, there is a building surge of anticipation and urgency that builds up inside. Today’s route will be the first foray into the Himalaya’s, Zoji La Pass and then a descent into Drass and finally Kargil, places of immense significance in our history.

Riding on the road to Sonmarg is both easy and difficult at the same time. The roads are in pristine condition but the beauty of the valley makes me stop and stare every 100 meters. There is not a single vista I want to miss out, wanting to capture every single landscape.

The road snakes through the valley, a white river gurgling by side. Beyond the river are the foothills of continuous chains of mountains towering high above everything else. On the other side are meadows that gradually turn into a continuous green wall of mountains.

The small hamlets that we passed filled me with envy; it is, truly, the stuff of dreams. No modern age distractions just nature. Small green aqueducts, flowing by the side of the road, carrying pristine water straight from the glaciers. A far cry from the water carrying tankers in Bangalore. And this is what aggravates the envy within me, people living, not people trying to make a living. They have a heritage of their own, songs of their own and what people do is for themselves and the society, unlike the life I lead, making money for someone else.

But enough of introspection, riding forward, I anxiously note the location of the last hamlet I passed, the last mechanic I saw, it’s part of riding, that ‘just in case’ element. Soon we reached Sonmarg and after a couple of minutes of swearing at the beauty of the place we halt for breakfast. The mountains around seem to be protecting the small valley, hugging it tight, protecting its beauty from the harsh mountains that lay beyond. Sonmarg has become commercial, but still enchants.

After Sonmarg, the Zoji La starts. And it does announce its presence majestically. We were still riding through green valleys when suddenly after a left turn we are greeted by a wall, white and gray mountains, the sun and greenery suddenly turn into ominous clouds, snow and slush filled trails passing for a road.

The fun begins then, we are greeted by a jam at a bottleneck turn, moving forward we found that there was some blasting work in progress to clear the roads and traffic will be allowed only post 3 pm, this was not good. Zoji La was in a bad mood, dark clouds were already announcing the pain ahead.

Luckliy the soldiers posted there came to aid, during a casual chit chat, they mentioned that there is a small trail that we could take that bypasses the blasting work and hence make good time. Thanking them, we started the trek and man o man, it was true offroading, there was no road, only boulders. Big and small, razor sharp rocks on the road, residues from blasting work which soon turned into heavy slush, ankle deep as soon as we ascended higher into the mountain pass. At one point the entire road was blocked and we literally had to remove rocks and make a path for ourselves.

The top of Zoji La was a nightmare come true, very low visibility thanks to the fog, the rain precipitating all around us and the thin mountain air, riding through ice cold water inside puddles on the road. 

                                      

 But it was beautiful too, there were white glaciers all around us, we were in the mountains! The Himalayas!

Somehow still holding to our senses, we descended from Zoji La, the weather didn’t ease up though so we halted at an army outpost, no warm tea, the head officer said, but we welcomed the opportunity to stay warm for a while and change our dripping socks and gloves. The army men also gave us the information that Drass had clear weather, we had to push through the bad weather then.

Heading out again was a failure, we had to stop at a small shop again just 2 kms from the outpost because of heavy rain. This stop was a life saver though. The owner, a jolly man named Muzzafar had us feast on piping hot maggi, tea and puri’s while telling his ordeal during the Kargil war.

Listening to men tell their war tales, that can’t be described, he told us how he and his family had to flee the village of which only a skeleton remained, to Sonmarg, how everything he had was lost and that when he returned, all he was given was a blanket and a stove to feed himself, and yet he endured, building himself a fine little shop, saving the lives of weary travelers. Heart wrenching. We thanked him profusely and then headed out towards Drass.

Day light was waning, so couldn’t really admire the landscape, but then there isint much to ogle at either, it was just endless mountains of myriad shapes, sizes, colors, playing with clouds, feeding rivers from their glaciers, but then we are going to be seeing this for the rest of the ride, so we powered through to Drass.

A small tea break here and we headed out to Kargil, our stop for the day. Much to our dismay, the road started to deteriorate and to add to our woes, all tourist cabs were scurrying to reach Kargil with no respect for the fact that they constantly trying to run is into the gorge running next to the road!

There was one particular cab that irked me a little too much, so I decided to irk him as well, always blocking the way, however much he honked ;) That was fun!

We reached Kargil around 8, and just crashed into the first hotel we saw, it had been a tough day of riding.

 Some vistas on the way..

The mountains beckon...

6^th June, 2012

Step 1 to getting Leh’d, reach Delhi and pick up your ride. Not as easy as it sounds, with the scorching heat and no idea where the Gati warehouse is, still I got an address, took a cab and pulled out Goog
le maps, and after an hour of circling around, reached the warehouse. I ran into something interesting there while I waited for Puneet to join me. Right across the road was a Gurudwara and a hospital as well and some 20-30 people were holding buckets of cold water and offering refreshment to every parched passerby, at times it did become, to my amusement a competition between the various groups, but that couldn’t undermine the noble work they were doing.

We went into the warehouse, filled up the required forms, anxiously stealing glances at the bike, standing behind a big pillar. Once the formalities were done, we went to the bikes and gave a cursory glance to whatever was visible above the packing; I noticed she was leaning against the pillar, not on the stand. Now Murphy’s Law makes its presence known time and again on trips like these, what can go wrong, will go wrong, and wrong it went; the buggers had broken the side stand during the transport! This was a major disaster!

What was supposed to be a day of rest before we started riding the next day, turned out to be a rabbit chase for a side stand, we went to every possible Honda showroom looking for a side stand but to no avail, in the end, had to settle for a CBZ side stand, not optimal, but it did the job. Once that was done, I headed to Noida, to my aunt’s place where I was supposed to be 10 hours back, but as luck would have it no rest there as well, not with two naughty cousins meeting you after a year.  I slept at around 11, only to wake up 1 in the morning; it was going to be a tough day of riding.

Grandma and grandpa, true to their habits, woke up at that unearthly hour to flag me off and armed with their blessings, I rode out at 2 am in the morning to the fabled land of Leh.

Met up with Puneet at the Rohtak road and we started towards the day’s destination. Amritsar.

I like early morning starts, there is a certain discomfort that comes with it, but the results are invariably rewarding, it is almost poetic, I start riding in the dark, and as the sun inches towards the sunrise, the hues of the sky keep changing dramatically, the chill of the morning air slowly giving way to the warmth of the first ray of the sun. The ghostly outlines of trees and buildings filling up with the colors of North India. Comfortably cruising in three digits, we reached Haryana pretty early and just outside of Jind, we stopped at a dhaba for breakfast, and what a breakfast it was, stuffed parathas stuffed to the hilt, and spicy pickle and sweet curd – it hit the spot.

The place felt like home, green fields all around and a narrow two lane cutting through fields and occasional village.

As the sun climbed up we zoomed forward, but as Mr. Murphy would have it, trouble again. An incident involving a cyclist caused major damage to Puneet’s gear lever, it was totally bent and wouldn’t budge from the third gear. We had to get it fixed for the ride, but considering we were in a small town that probably hadn’t heard the word ‘CBR’ we just got the lever straightened out as much as possible and moved forward.

Riding through Punjab is a beautiful experience, monotonous as well though. The fields are beautiful, but never ending, the canals flowing through highlight the importance of agriculture in the state, there is also a sense of rusticness(that’s not a word) mingled with the modernity of the inhabitants.

Nonetheless, we made good progress and reached a fork where we were instructed by the locals to take a longer route to reach Amritsar via Ludhiana rather than the direct highway, which they claimed to be under repairs, turned out to be good advice. Reaching Ludhiana was a breeze, good roads all along, undivided though. At Ludhiana we got our bikes fixed, I got the side stand and Puneet his gear lever. We even got interviewed by a local journalist who happened to be at the service center!

But the best part was having a late lunch at the McDonalds near-by. You know you are in Punjab when breathtakingly beautiful women are walking around! I still remember a woman in a red sari.

Having gotten our rides fixed the second time in as many days, we headed out again in a slight drizzle, Amritsar was still a good 100 kms away, but the good news was, we had the GT road to ourselves and we sped through, trying to beat the sunlight as much as possible.

We reached Amritsar late in the night, found our hotel and just crashed.

 7^th June, 2012

The Pangs of partition. The plan for the day was to do some quick local sight-seeing and head to Jammu in the afternoon so that we could devote an entire day to spanning the Jammu – Srinagar highway.

So I figured to get my handlebar wobble fixed, I really can’t stand anything being wrong with the bike. So I woke up early and found a service center, they took her in but said it will take some time so we decided we will stay an extra day at Amritsar and cover Amritsar-Jammu in a single day. I don’t regret the decision I made then, for I got to see the flag down ceremony at the Wagah because of it, but in retrospect I could have lived with the wobble. We found ourselves new accommodation for the extra day and headed out to do some local sightseeing.

 


Jalianwala Bagh was an eye opener; I could literally see events unfolding around my eyes, never to entirely grasp the magnitude of inhumanity and atrocity committed at that very location. We then moved to visit the Golden Temple but skipped it so that we could catch the flag down ceremony. Another good decision, the Golden Temple is simply surreal in the night.

Wagah Border. The center of the biggest immigration history has ever witnessed. The biggest bloodbath history has ever witnessed, this is the site where people who coexisted peacefully, murdered, raped and looted each other. Reaching the actual border is a 1 km trek under the watchful eyes and discipline of the BSF, in the distance you can see the trade gate. It’s a very disconcerting feeling, trudging slowly towards the border; you suddenly swap places with the Sikhs and Muslims slowly walking towards their own promised lands.

It was a fight, trying to get a view of the ceremony, being a weekend; the place was jam-packed, sweaty men and women trying desperately to get a look at the proceedings. But the Majesticness and raw passion of the ceremony make up for the discomfiture, each sentry trying to outdo the moves of his counterpart – a false sense of patriotism and awe of the armed forces gets your hair to stand up on despite the sweat weighing them down.

The Golden Temple, I have never been to a temple that has calmed me down so much, the air around the place itself mellows your senses, the gently lapping holy waters of the tank bund and the shimmering temple in the middle of it. I wanted to spend the night there itself, however the constraints of schedule didn’t permit it.

We wrapped up the day with a sumptuous Punjabi meal at ‘Bade Brother Ka Dhaba’. Oh the taste….

Punjab, you have been too good, we will meet again.

8^th June, 2012

Another early morning start to another day of hard riding, we had to tackle the Jammu Srinagar highway. On the way to Jammu we met the first of many, a fellow traveler; he had rented a Thunderbird and was slowly chugging onwards, going solo. Respect.

Reached Jammu in quick time and had a good breakfast. As soon as you leave Jammu the mountain climb begins and there is a stark change of scenery. For the first time in my life, I saw mountains, some of the craziest corners on the ghat section and breathtaking vistas of the valley, it was like the pictures we draw when we are small, endless line of mountains, a river snaking at the foot and the sun above it all. The temperature also fluctuated constantly with the higher levels getting suddenly cold and wet and then within 5 kms you descend down and start sweating again. The tall flowing grass accompanied the road everywhere.

Riding through these ghats, though tiring, it keeps you involved, giving you glimpses of the fabled beauty of the Kashmir Valley. Houses perched on impossible slopes, huge mountains, serene rivers. The mountains mingling with the flora, striking contrast that… but beautiful in the shade.

We were constant attractions, wherever we stopped, dressed in riding gear, men in black and bikes fully loaded, people constantly surprised by our intentions to ride to the roof of the world.

Finally we arrived at the Jawahar tunnel, time for some fun then, living the fantasy that the TV show ‘Top Gear’ planted in my head, riding through the 2 glorious kilometers 8000 RPM, the engine bellowing in all its glory, reverberating through the tunnel.

Coming out of the tunnel itself is a glorious moment, ‘the last view of Kashmir valley’ says the sign, and what I sight it is, an artist’s canvas passing for a sky over fields nestled within mountains.

Srinagar was still 60 kms away. With the sunlight fading away, we had to push, no time to rest and the road constantly deteriorated, the night making it worse, running into potholes all the time.

Mr. Murphy met us again, all of a sudden, it started pouring, with no shelter in sight, I was completely drenched and Puneet was nowhere in sight. Luckily the rain faded away pretty soon and was localized, reached Srinagar soon enough and Ani asked us to reach ‘Zero Bridge’.

It is quite a feeling, reaching Srinagar, though pitch dark, you cannot but feel overwhelmed the military presence, the quaint looking houses and the river glimmering with the lights. Though it is supposed to be the real start of the ride, it feels like a major destination for us, 1000 kms already done, battling all the elements, we just crash on the bed.

Some pics on the way..