Saturday 22 February 2014

Amidst the mist

It was sharp 6 in the morning when the bus reached Dehradun bus station. Tara had always wondered how these buses could be so punctual on the road. It impressed her how it never got distracted and always reached its destination – on time. It was one of those spontaneous weekend trips that is expected to rejuvenate the mind. Tara had called Gina in the early hours of the last working day of that week. Early morning call got a Gina still trying to find peace with lack of sleep and a little irritable by a deadline that kept her awake till 2 in the morning. But just that one line – the hills are calling - was enough to get Gina smiling out of the bed. It took them nearly 7 hours to move past the noise of the national capital to the capital of the hilly provincial state. Could slowly see the changing dynamics of street lights and flickers from the shops, malls, building – all playing in tandem with the sharp glares of the moving vehicles. There were no set plans, except the one to come back by Monday morning to walk into our offices set to conquer the world. The monsoon was just fading by. The winter still waiting in close in the backdrops to take stage. As they moved further and further away from the city, their bodies slowly curled up to the chill in the air. The packing wasn't perfect. Gina kept digging in the backpack and finally found a warm warp. The two of them shared the warp, bargaining for their bit of the warmth.

While the loud and eager passengers deboarded the bus Tara found herself cosying up to the warmth of the sun entering through the window. It was like a stroke of orange colour mixed with some yellow on a blue palette. As the morning rays touched her face, her lips parched greedily. Tara looked to her right and smiled finding Gina equally unwilling to just yet let go of her seat. Maybe most other passengers have come back home for the weekend from the hustling bustling of the big cosmopolitan city; maybe they want to run into the arms of their beloved or play with their children; maybe they are hurrying to have breakfast at their large family tables. Slowly both got off the bus with a smile that on their faces that babies have when pampered with their favourite lullaby. The moment Tara touched the ground at the valley, and smelled the fresh morning air, she could hear the bubbling sound of joy somewhere within her. Gina started walking around. This was a known city to them. They had come here a few times before but it was their first time together. After aimlessly walking around a few narrow lanes and their narrower by-lanes they came back to the bus stop. It was as if they had read each others minds – both wanted to go somewhere further up the hills. This is still a city, a growing city – and, their minds wanted to rest in the laps of the hills. But where? Gina remembered reading about Chakrata a few days back. It was another couple of hours uphill. Tara couldn't be happier to be further away from any city, with higher probability of low mobile networks range.

They took the next local bus that goes to Chakrata and found seats beside each other. They wanted to sit at two different window seats but the already overwhelming male population in the bus had them silently agree to sit beside each other. Very few women were there, sitting beside their husbands. Suddenly the gender disparity in the country seemed to come alive. And, it also became evident how foreign they were in their own country. Sitting beside each other helped in being a small team of such “foreigners”. After a few stops, few more women boarded the bus. All seemed like resilient micro entrepreneurs, travelling for their business. Slowly the other passengers started talking to Tara and Gina. They wanted to know where did the two twenty-something year old girls come from; where were they going; what work do they have there? Tara tried explaining that they were on a holiday and everyone disapproved of their choice. Said, there was nothing to see there. But there was one question which neither of them had an answer to – were the two girls travelling alone? Gina, quite innocently had pointedly out that they were together the first time they were asked this question. But soon, she realised she doesn't know the question, they don't have an answer. The different languages spoken in the bus, the different colours people were wearing and the varied conversations people were having made for a contrasting background for the lush green on both sides of the road. There were so many shades of green dancing to the tunes of the blue sky! Tara and Gina were having small talks with other passengers and sometimes with each other but soon both silently appreciated the performance of many greens. The leaves and the flowers on the different branches of the trees, the carpeting grass, the many many plants in many many sizes – performing a ballet just for them.

By the time they got off the bus, they were already mesmerized. They walked across the hilly village roads and talked to everyone on the way. Everyone knew the that the two young city bred girls were not from any of the neighbouring towns or villages. Along with the mixed floral fragrant, one could also smell the curiosity. This was not a known tourist destination. It was, in fact, an army base. Then why were two girls spending their weekend holiday there, all “alone”? Curiosity was not only aimed towards these two not-so-local strangers. Tara and Gina were also curious and a little confused as well. Everyone they met were very warm and hospitable. So there were attempts at knowing each other. For this, the locals mostly asked – what were the two girls doing in this unknown place? And for the local strangers, it was trying to ask a simple question like, “what do you do”? No one seemed to know the answer. There were acknowledging nods, and warm smiles lest the guests felt unwelcome. But there were no answer to that question. Men or women, boys or youth – all were a little frazzled by that question. Some of them were so confused that they asked the question right back and without a blink Tara replied she was a journalist and Gina said she was lawyer unhesitating. However, these answers only confused the interviewers even more. The replies Tara and Gina got in return for their “what do you do” was either “everything” or “nothing”. Both answers were very perplexing to their twenty-something minds. How could anyone do nothing or anything?

That's how two days and a night was flew by. Tara ended the spontaneity of the travel by planning the return well in advance. This heavenly place was around the corner of a small bus stop and only very limited transportation was available. Both of them worked. There had to swipe in their cards and report in their respective offices at 9 AM. There was no discussion on that. There was no spontaneity there. They were both doing something with their lives, something which they both thought was important. They planned to take the last vehicle from the place which starts at four in the afternoon. The end of spontaneity also saw the two almost an hour early at the small stop from where all the vehicles go down hill to the city. They were used to running for flights, and jumping on to trains threatening to leave the platform. But right there they couldn't take any chance of missing the vehicle – the last one from there, the last one that could make them so their important “something” in office on the Monday morning. But they were too early. And the vehicle would most like not leave on time. They found a nice corner around the sidewalks of the hills. There were knee high flat barricades at the edges. They took different barricades a little far from one another. Gina was quick to lie down and start reading the autobiography she was carrying. Tara found a tree branch and converted it into a pillow. Opened her book of plays by a well known contemporary playwright. But she was distracted by the soft winds. Her hand held the book and a few pages flipped by itself. The book also enjoyed the breeze and rested on her bosom which was vibrating softly, swaying with the winds as she hummed. It was one of her favourite songs that kept her company all through her teen years and longer. Not too long, and she heard someone whistling the chorus with her. She eyes moved quickly to look for the one who dared to break into her space. And who would have known this song? Her favourite from her region of the country? Who would know this song here where they didn't even speak her language?

Her eyes didn't have to work too hard to find the alleged perpetrator. He was of average built and very keen eyes. Seeing her move , he had stopped whistling and took three steps closer to her. She half sat up, letting the tree branch fall off the edge. He said in a very composed voice, “You shouldn't be lying like this on the roadside and reading.” Tara didn't like this unsolicited advice. Who was he? And what makes him suddenly stop by to drop some advice? Oh! Was it again about two women travelling alone! Tara sat up defiantly and asked, “Why not?” The man continued in his calm voice, “because it is not common to see girls doing this here and men from the army often harassed the local girls here. They might offend you too.”

There was a caring comfort in his voice. Tara smiled and shifted to her left, making space for him to join her. But she did not explicitly invite him to do so. They exchanged their names. He spoke to her in more than one language. There was a sudden level of comfort found in the cocktail of languages that she was usually used to speaking in the big city. Taking the conversation further, she asked him “What do you do?” And, he said, “I live”. Just as she was about to dismiss him yet another person trying to play around with words, her eyes met his. They were crystal clear but deep with intent. He meant it. He meant what he said and there was no game there. He lived. She couldn't take her eyes of his and he looked straight into hers. There was nothing but sincerity in them. Unmindful honesty. He broke the silence by offering to pick a few marijuana leaves for her from the slope right there. She couldn't resist the idea of tasting marijuana leaves freshly plucked. She nodded and walked behind him. Just as they started talking again, she could hear something from the distance but couldn't recognise the sound. He did. He said in a rushed voice, “The army men are around. They might harass us if they see us together. I must go.” Before Tara could turn back, he was gone. Like he never existed. A few freshly plucked marijuana leaves adorned the ground. She didn't pick them up. The army men walked past. As soon as they foot steps drowned in the silence of the hills, there was a ray of hope that he might reappear. But he didn't.

It was time for the vehicle to leave for the city. They got onto it. Only a few minutes on the road, and Tara was already integrated in the trance of the world outside the small vehicle. With every drop of the drizzling rain, she could hear a whistling sound; with every move of the whistling winds she could hear, “I live”.
Years later, when they was both thirty something, Gina and Tara snuggled in the warm blanket, sipping warm tea as the rain wiped the rather long window pane. They were talking about nothing in particular and pondered about various things in life. Gina , in an attempt to describe love, said, “when you think of someone before going to bed, that's love.” The words fell on Tara like the rain on the window pane. She silently sipped her warm amber coloured tea. Her favourite song was playing on the radio. Memories of a late monsoon afternoon on a hilly roadside came pouring down on her. If thinking of someone before going to bed was love, then she is in love. He was often the first person she thought of when she opened her eyes, and often the last person whose thoughts lingered before she dozed off. Yet, she cant tell a story about it – she doesn't even remember his name any more. She tried very hard but there was only a blurry image of his face, as if the focus on the features were washed away by the rain. She walked on the streets in the rain that day – looking at every face she passed and wondered - “did he look a little like you?”