Evanston updates

• The place has taught me how to greet ‘Hi’ to one and all without any awkwardness. I’ve always felt sort of ill at ease when people greet me on roads, more so if I’m not too familiar with the person. Indeed, my most hated moment in flights is when a beautiful, well made-up stewardess greets me with an uncomfortable cheerfulness. I’m the sort of person who would look at the person from a distance and silently hope that he/she is looking down or away from me so that I can pretend I didn’t notice him/her either. Having spent some time over here has, however, done wonders to my greeting skills. Everyone does a “How are you doing?” to everyone and everyone replies with a “Fine. How about you?” It has been a revelation. I have mastered the art of greeting everyone. Now I only hope someone doesn’t snub me and my new-found talent with that cold, are-you-freakin’-mad look when I get home.
• More often than not, as I look left and right before crossing the road, a car comes and stops in front of me, waiting for me to cross the road. This, to say the least, is freaking embarrassing for me. I have never enjoyed such respect on any road I have crossed in my life, and it has come as a shock to me. I have even tried to politely decline their offer, indicating with my hand to make them pass first, but they are adamant. I can now finally extend my arms, and feel like a ‘king-of-the-road’.
• I’ve never seen snow before my trip here and had a fairly romantic notion about it. However, it has proved to be more of a nuisance than magnificence. Perhaps it is the cold I’m actually scared of, and I can fall in love with snow again soon enough.
• If I miss anything of the food over here, it is going to be Swiss Miss and the 'Suicide' wings from Buffalo Joe's. The Swiss Miss saved me from the cold i was suffering from and the Joe's wings have become an addiction. (I was surprised my manager had noticed that!) Otherwise, food has been pretty ordinary, in spite of the numerous restaurants that you can find in the small area.
  

...and back!

You might want to read To Vizapur before reading this post.

The place is a beauty - very much untouched by civilization (apart from the ruins of the fort itself). The undulations of grass-covered land offer a vision of tiny hillocks waiting to be explored. There are small ponds of fresh water. For the perusal of the army, we concur. The flag was now in our reach and it now looked certainly insignificant and dull, so much as it had looked magnificent and majestic from down below.

And suddenly, my mind is gripped by thoughts amorous. Quiet, away from civilization, heaven above, the entire world below you - just short of becoming one with nature. The king and his queen. Perhaps, in the midst of a full-fledged war? Sighting heaven is one thing, having it all for yourself is another.

Somehow, the place manages to give me a sense of security and fear at the same time. The place is empty but for a score of cows, buffaloes and bulls grazing all over the place. They seem scared of us and run hither and thither on sighting us. One thought bogging our mind is: how the hell did they manage to come over here? Surely, there must be a way up here, and an easy one at that!

We roam around the place a bit but are unable to find a proper way down other than the one where we came from. Finally, Jaat convinces us that that’s the best way to return, which we do.

The night is falling at a fast pace, as we try to cope with it. Anywhere the path clears up a little, we step up our pace. The path which had proved so convenient in the light now suddenly becomes treacherous. Rocks turn up from nowhere and step in our way, slowing us down. We finally reach the place where we had left the village, but it is quite dark by then.

We see a person in the distance. Human number 3. He offers to lead us down to the Bhaje Gaon, as we heave a collective sigh of relief.

He leads us for quite a distance, explaining us why we should come earlier and not tread on this part the land when it’s dark. We could have been glad he couldn’t see our faces then. He suddenly stops in his tracks and asks for the fees of his service. 100 bucks?? We’ll give you 30 or 40. After a tussle of bargaining, he agrees at 50 bucks. Or so it seems at the moment.

He takes us a little further ahead. He tells us the path from there is very obvious and we should find no trouble in finding the way on our own. We thank him profusely and depart. It’s only after a minute’s walk that we realize we have been cheated. He had taken 50 bucks to lead us to ground and we are as distant from the ground as ever, and the guy is gone!

Our ego crumbling on having treated thus, we have to find the path on our own. By now, it’s completely dark. With no moonlight and no torch of our own, we are finding it difficult to see ahead of 5 meters.

We climb down carefully. With light absent and the slope getting steeper, we have to slither down the slope. We first try to find a footing by feeling with our feet, at the same time holding on to grass, or some plant so that we don’t lose grip, and then take the next step. Our arses are dragged along, and of some they get bruised! The parts where we have to cross the waterfalls prove a bit tricky; the rocks being slippery and it being tough to find a foothold.

After a few minutes of climbing down we realize we can’t proceed further as it is too steep. Actually, it is just too dark to fathom the steepness, and we don’t want to take our chances. One bad step and we could be heading straight to the bottom of the hill.

We debate on how proceed from there. Do we try to find a way, or do we go up there to the village, or do we just spend the night somewhere we find a clearing. By now the last option doesn’t seem so extravagant, and we discuss thoroughly the pros and cons of each one of them.

The main things we took into consideration: a. our safety, b. our energy (we were quite tired by now) c. our hunger (we didn’t have any food, apart from the packet of biscuits left). We decide to try find a way for a little more time, as the village is already quite behind us and crashing on the grass, we’ll use as a last option.

We continue our trials for another two times, making the treacherous climb down. But we are led to disappointment as either bush blocks our way or a steep fall cuts our way. Each time we have to climb up again as it is impossible to spend too much time there.

We have now run out of energy, patience – in fact anything that could keep us going. Sardar comes up with the idea: we go to the village, wake someone up, and ask him to lead us to Bhaje Gaon. He sounds extremely determined and says we’ll definitely reach Pune tonight for sure. Thus, with a renewed zeal we start climbing up.

A 5 minute climb later, Jaat gets the idea of the century - one last try. We should now try moving to the right a bit, as we have been moving to the left a lot until now. Who knows, a path will spring out of nowhere, say hello to us and take us on its back safely down there!

We hardly climb down for another 5 minutes when we realize the futility of our attempt. Beaten by exhaustion, hunger and frustration we finally decide to spend the night there.

We find the perfect place for that. It is a small clearing on the slope – around 10m by 10m, and surrounded by bushes. We can see Bhaje at a distance and the expressway at a further distance. The lights from the distant houses, of fireflies and of a lone person walking with a torch all seem to blend together.

We lie down out of sheer exhaustion. It’s 9:30 pm. When does the sun come out here? No later than 5 30, or 6. That makes it no less than 8 hours! We should sleep.

10 minutes later, Sardar speaks up, as if woken up from a long slumber. “Arre, it is only 9 40!”

It’s going to be a long night, I tell myself. Jaat and sardar are engaged in conversation as I keep quiet and let my mind wander.

Jaat and I cover ourselves in a windcheater that sardar had brought. I feel a terrible need to relieve myself, but dread getting out of the windcheater. Overcome by need, I finally get out and do the needful at a distance. I’m already shivering profusely. I can’t stop myself from shivering as I get under the windcheater.

I fold myself up and start taking long breaths. I realize it’s not entirely due to cold I’m shivering. But of what, I’m unable to figure out.

All of a sudden, ISI lets out a scream. An insect had bitten him and he’s scared if it might be some poisonous snake. I’m too tired to be excited and I thought he was making a fuss out of nothing. I just lay with my eyes closed. After sometimes, the excitement dies down and ISI too is back to normal.

I drift off to sleep in patches. But every now and then I’m jerked awake by the biting cold, especially when touched by a whiff of wind. I change my posture in a futile attempt to make myself warmer.

It’s around 4 when we are woken up by a torch flashing all around us. Human number 4. He is searching for his lost buffalo. We somehow convince him to lead us to the bottom of the hill. He agrees and leads us down. But before long, he succumbs to his more serious needs and leaves us to go in search of his buffalo. We are still nowhere; Bhaje is as distant as ever.

We can’t go to sleep now. It is late anyway, and we should be able to witness the sunrise. We do a reality check, reflecting on our adventure. Our clothes bear the mark of all the slithering and slipping around. Our Bai is gonna have a hard time, I observe. Jaat and ISI have received bruises, while I have been fortunately spared of any. We are hungry as hell and make our food plans that we will set to motion once we reach down there.

The first sign of light and we head down. The way clears up in front of us, and it doesn’t seem so challenging now after what we had gone through a half dozen hours before. The moment we see the stair leading to the cave, we almost hear our own sigh of relief echoing.

To Vizapur

The Plan
We leave Pune around 10:00 am in the local train, reach Malawali in an hour, do some peaceful trekking, come back home before it is dark.

The Execution
We leave Pune at 1:30 pm, on bikes. Isi assures us we’ll reach there in half an hour. Half an hour stretches to an hour and another half an hour more, before we reach the place.

We lose no time in parking our bikes and head straight for the stairs (that ISI told us would lead to the fort). The stairs lead to some caves. We start having some serious doubts as to the existence of a path to the fort from here.

We start asking for directions. The guy points in the general direction to a mango tree and offers himself as a guide. “Guide?” we almost laugh. Not for this trip, buddy. We reach the mango tree in no time, but find no path leading from there. Giving a knowing look at each other, we decide to climb!

The climb is steep, but we are sure that in no time, we’ll find a path leading to the fort. We climb up, holding on to grass with our hands, lest we might slip. In patches, we climb up dried up streams of water that fooled us into believing them they were paths used by people. But alas! a real path is nowhere to be found.

A half an hour of climb later, we reach a grassy knoll. We heave a sigh of relief, but only momentarily as we realize we are lost. Isi decides to call up his friend of experience and asks for directions, which was a bit tricky considering we were in the middle of nowhere. His friend tells us to find a village of half a dozen houses and ask directions from there.

We decide to go ahead and find the village. A 10-minute-walk. No village. We find a house with a cow-shed nearby.

“Is this the village?”
“But he said there were around 5-6 houses.”
“No harm. We can ask for directions anyway.”

The resident of the house - an old fellow - points to a general direction towards the fort and offers himself as a guide. “What is this business with guides,” we wonder before heading off towards the fort.

We have almost forgotten about the village when I turn back on a whim and find the village behind us. We let ourselves feel a mixed emotion of mystery and a minor eruption of joy on discovering the place and decide to head straight over there.

The village is surrounded by hedges all around. “A possible sign of wild animals. They might be doing it to protect themselves from animals,” ISI offers his explanation. Jaat and I laugh at the sardar’s words. A slight tug of fear pulls at my guts, but I’m ashamed of admitting it, and remain quiet.

After walking by the arc of the hedges for sometime, a wave of frustration hits us and we decide to go forth on our own. I offer my theory: if we go around the fort, we are bound to come across a path that leads up there. If there’s an entrance to the fort. I could sense the reluctance with which my theory was received, but as we run out of options, the general consensus is to continue the climb.

We find a path, finally. Guarded closely by overgrown plants and bushes, but surely a pre-defined path. But, right or left, where do we head? All of us offer our own theories, none convincing enough. And right is where we head.

From here, the red flag at the corner of the fort looks enticingly close. A whiff of wind blows, and the flag waves, as if teasing us, inviting us. We’ll reach you in no time, honey.

The path leads us to an old tree. We stop for a few photographs - mementoes for having survived this far.

The path had reached a dead end and our only way was to retrace our steps and head to the left, which was what we proceed to do. We find a packet of biscuits (without the biscuits, of course) and our hopes are revived. “Civilization has, indeed, crossed this path before.”

As the path is now well defined, we walk faster, and with more enthusiasm. The undergrowth beside the path requires us to bend for stretches, or use our hands to clear the way. But the climb is not so steep. You could say we are walking, and not climbing.

And suddenly, a firangi jumps out of nowhere and presents himself as Human number 2 of our climb. He had gone to the fort through some other way and was on his way down now. I feel a sense of loss, as if we are in some sort of a race to the top. This guy had already reached there. I hate him for telling us the way and robbing us of the pleasure of discovering everything by ourselves.

We reach the waterfall in no time, as the firangi had told us, and we start climbing it. The rocks are in place and help us in getting our foothold as we climb up steadily. A torn shoe appears in front of us. We are too tired, and thrilled by the proximity to our destination to discuss the matter of its origin.

We finally find the stairs, again as the firangi had told us, and our collective joy knows no bounds. We are welcomed by a statue of Hanumanji, just at the bottom of the staircase. Water falls from the edge of the wall at the top, washes the stairs. The wall adjoining the stair is thick with moss accumulated over the ages.

Manipur Diary

• If there was anything that dictated the way I lived, it had to be the load-shedding routine. It was complicated, and my attempts to completely decipher it proved futile. Roughly, the current came at 8-10a.m., 2-4 p.m. and according to a complex method, it would be decided whether it would come again at 6p.m. or 10 p.m. which would last till 4 or so in the morning. With the monsoons arriving, one would have expected the situation to improve. It did. An extra half an hour was added to each slot, before and after.
• Each morning, by the time I wake up and finish brushing my teeth, my brother would be back from his two tuitions. At 8, when the load is unshed, I would laugh myself to an episode of ‘Whose Line is it anyway’. A heavy breakfast of rice after that. Lunch (chara wanba) is late. A game of footer with an airless ball in the evening with the kids. Late night: watching TV if the current comes, or read something otherwise. By 9, everyone is sound asleep and I am well alone, awake.
• There are 5 trees growing in our garden bearing 4 different kinds of mangoes. I had stripped a diminutive tree of red cherries of all its fruits, as and when they ripened. Now, the mango trees bore the brunt. Raw mangoes are the best when it comes to beating a post-afternoon-nap-lethargy. Add a few mint leaves, green chilli and salt to taste, and u have the perfect recipe to jerk u out of ur lethargy. Not recommended for those with a penchant for stomach upsets though.
• Books have been a good company for me this vacation. Apart from old Graphiti’s and etc’s, the Illustrated weekly of India’s, and Sputnik’s, I have been gorging on novels, finishing off all that I could lay my hands on. The list includes Two Lives, 2 John Grisham’s, short stories of Anton Chekhov, a Peter Straub ( Mystery), an Agatha Christie, Harold Robbins (one of his better ones), and one romantic novel (some Delinsky), and The Rule of Four. Thanks to W. for providing me with most of the books!
  
• The streets in the city (if u can call it one) are dusty, and clogged with ubiquitous, yet inconspicuous one-ways. They are sure to be missed but for the traffic policewomen stationed at these little alleys. I tried smiling my way through once, but the policewoman stuck to her job!! For an outsider (I felt like one myself) it can be a frustrating experience, finding one-ways where u least expect them. The junctions are manned by incompetent traffic policemen, and more often than not, the roads get clogged due to an extra wave or gesture of the hand.

• Football fever hit the place hard. From my 8 year old cousin to 60 yr olds, references to the ongoing finals were abundant. Dad, a staunch supporter of German football, would be annoyed when players of other teams don’t shoot and pass as the Germans would have. He was quiet when the Germans exited before the finals. My cousin studying in 10^th standard explained why she would watch only England’s matches – Frank Lampard. Her anecdotes on football mania at her school were amusing enough. My 8 year old cousin, who had taunted me for days when his left-handed Nadal beat my right-handed Federer in the French Open finals, would greet me in the morning with his own prediction of the day’s matches. His was an opinion I revered, Sarathi’s in Poknafam was not. He did write a decent book – Nungsibi Greece – but his extravagant use of words (and not much else) left a lot to be desired. One big disappointment during the finals was the failure of the electricity department to fulfill their promise of providing uninterrupted power during the matches. It left a lot of people irritated, and once again, devoid of trust in the department.

Where is Manipur??

"Aap kaun se gaon se aaye ho?"
"Manipur se." An answer which i thought was the most suitable.
"Woh toh Nepal mein hai na?"
"Nahi, Assam ke bagal mein"
"Achha." As if the thing it finally clicked in his head.

I had this conversation with Yogesh, a mechanic (wont reveal where). I have had similar conversations before. Seems like a lot of people are at a loss as far as the north eastern states are concerned. Ive noticed that my friends are either ignorant in geography or plainly indifferent. Have read twice in e-pao about this sometime back.

Maybe it is the way the states are placed. It's indeed difficult for an outsider to distinguish between the people from here, just like the way it is for us to distinguish among mayangs. I don't see anything bad or derogatory in these queries about my "native place", though it may get irritating at times, specially when someone gets persistent and continues asking questions.

One more thing, i have noticed many of the NE people getting offended when called chinkies, slant-eyed and the like. I see no reason to get offended here. It's something to laugh off, rather than go to lengths complaining about racism. As long as u maintain your personal stature and dignity, there's nothing to get offended about. Rather, by getting offended, you are showing a vulnerability. Dont let others cash on your "chinks in the armour".

Screw you guys, im going to Pune!!

I'm going to Pune for my internship at Tata Motors. Feel good because not so much because it's a reputed company as I got it at the last minute, after moving my ass around every place possible. Moreover, it perfectly fits into my plan for this summer!!
Now, it's a bit sad too because i can't chat as often as I can now. Maybe i have to take several week's hiatus from chatting. Weirdo will be missed for sure, but there's nothing i can do abt it. So, i think the best thing is to put my heart into the internship once when i reach there. I haven't done a proper work for a long time :D and i think its high time i did something worthwhile. Possibly the first big job i get after coming here at IIT. I hope to do well. Wish me luck!!
But, screw you guys, im going to PUNE!!!