(This is a story of a group of young officers just out of the academy post training and their adventures in Leh. The post was made some years back on another blog and it is being reposted here)
I’ve been waiting for some one else to do this post. Technically speaking Rjmpb ( given his credentials as group leader) or A ( given his credentials as hard core musketeer) ought to have narrated this story . But Rjmpb is smarting under the rude shock of his first , newly launched blog having gone un-noticed, un-sung, un-commented on, un- complimented and practically un(in) -visible. So I doubt he’s going to comply .
Which leaves me- the other valiant survivor of the Nubra valley mishap to tell the tale. Before I launch into the details of the entire escapade let me brief you on some of the vital protagonists of this particular story. You can of course find a “brief -note”( sigh: sarkari lingo, it enters your system and then destroys whatever else you ever learnt in life) here.
But then since I believe that this little piece is a little ‘coloured’, I’d like to make my own introductions.
The group that went to Leh comprised 12 able bodied ( alright- given Ron’s and Abhishek’s legs and Gokul’s intestines we’ll make that 9 and a quarter able bodied) , mentally resilient( error- again we need to subtract Rjmpb from the list of mentally fit given his unfortunate mental afflictions) and adventure hungry ( again subtract Gokul-the”guide” and yours truly-“the paranoid” from the list) administrators and their spouses.
Fresh out of the second phase of training at the Lal Bahadur Shastri National Academy of Administration
, this motley group had weathered all odds to be on this trip. Adventure, a desire to connect with nature, a desire to stay away from the cadre and extended leave were just some of the reasons why we were all on the trip. Leh was a delight. None of us had been here before and the knowledge that coming back would not be possible too soon meant that we were taking in all the mountains had to offer.
Two days at Leh and I had quite a list of accomplishments to my credit. I had not developed Acute Mountain Syndrome as expected by my paranoid mother, I had survived Khardungla and managed to breathe at an altitude of 15,000 feet , sung at Diskit without engineering a seismic shock, nearly murdered Rjmpb twice ( for the record once at Khardungla and another time at the Panamik sulphur springs), tasted freshly plucked leh berry, dragged the entire group to an open air restaurant in the night in the freezing cold( and survived the consequent onslaught), watched my systolic and diastolic pressure oscillate across various new heights, chased after bactrian camels , eaten copious amounts of Maggi and driven the entire ( well- almost) cantonment at Leh nuts with my demand for a sim card ( regular BSNL sim cards do not work in Leh and the army is kind to its own.)
All in all I was scaling new heights ( metaphorically and literally) and the general spirit of adventure got into me with an added vigour while at the sulphur springs at Panamik . Normally I am the kind who treads very carefully and the entire exercise of waiting for the much talked about AMS to hit me at Leh had catapulted my Blood pressure to astronomical levels. So I am not sure how I agreed to ride that bike. Maybe it had something to do with the sight of my normally quiet roomie riding with aplomb, or maybe it was the fact that the other ladies were being a little more adventurous than me. Maybe it was the mountains. Maybe it was a heady cocktail of the rarefied atmosphere, the smell of sulphur at Panamik, , the sight and smell of double humped Bactrian camels the evening before at Hunder. Maybe it was Rjmpb’s assinine actions with my bag at Panamik.Whatever mental and olfactory cause it was- I agreed to pillion ride on the pulsar ( rented in Leh and driven all across Khardungla to Nubra and Panamik) with the hard core musketeer- A
Now that I survived and have lived to tell the tale I can be all objective about the decision. All said and done on the face of it, pillion riding is a simple art form…all it requires is a little bit of balance and an ability to mount and dismount from a bike. When one looks at the surging populace and the general sale of motor bikes in India, one is faced with the bare fact that riding or pillion riding a bike is a rather simple act and hundreds of people across the world do it every minute.
But then this was not an ordinary person who had agreed to pillion ride. This was me. And as all those who know me will vouch- I am Murphy’s favourite child. And where I am- Murphy must follow. Of course, shielded in the Greater Himalayas amidst the smell of sulphur and bactrian camel I did feel I had left all family ( Murphy included ) at lower altitude and less rarefied air.
A of course was blissfully unaware of my family history at that time. Considering he had driven the bike through the highest pass in the world , Khardungla, a short ride on a straight road could not have been simpler. A’s spirit of adventure was infectious. I had watched him ride across Khardungla on a bike , drive the SUV over some of the roughest terrain, sit on the window of a moving SUV and click snaps, surmount asthma and Deputy Directors of the academy with equal ease. The man was a born conqueror. I would be safe on the bike with him. Besides, we were being escorted by two SUVs which had the other members of the group driving along. Nothing could possibly go wrong.
Except that it did.
We finished an insipid , inedible ,uninteresting breakfast of what was supposed to be noodles and chai and I volunteered to get on the bike. Here again I would like to notify the readers that when it comes to objects that move I generally prefer the four wheeler closed variety. I have inherent reservations regarding those with two wheels which one sits ‘across’ rather than ‘in’. The fear is not an outcome of a mere difference of preposition used but the entire process of how the two different vehicles move is ….a little ….scary. But then I guess when in Leh, I was out to vanquish all my fears……. And so it all began……
A struggled with the helmet and jerked it down in place on my head. I jerked up the zipper of my jacket and I was ready to ride. Passers by may have mistaken me as the creature ISRO was sending to the moon on the Chandrayaan, but A’s enthusiasm and my new found zeal forced me to discard any misgivings or doubts I may have regarding my shape and general look. With the earnestness of one on a mission ,I mounted the throbbing machine. After a brief confused tumble, I remounted, this time landing where I was meant to- on the seat. A methodically informed me where to fix my legs and behind and I dutifully obliged thinking that I had been made to sit on bikes.
My beloved roomie patted me on the back before getting into the SUV. Her last words to me were,”You’ll be fine. Enjoy the ride.”
A stepped on the accelerator and the roar of the bike grew louder. He turned back almost knocking my helmet off with his and asked if I was ready to ride. Hardly recognising the affirmative squeal that emerged from my throat I nodded a yes. The over sized helmet wobbled on my head and the bike surged ahead. After a short discussion with A regarding the positioning of my hands and another discussion to ensure that the helmets quit crashing into each other I allowed myself to take in the landscape around.
The Great Himalayan range towered on either side of the straight road that led to Diskit. Their peaks poked into a bright blue sky peppered with wispy clouds. Along the road a few brambly bushes stood out from the sand. The cold wind blew into face and I felt my hands grow cold. Sunshine poured down on us as we raced across the landscape of the cold desert. Grey and blue shadows danced on the mountains creating hues of unimaginable colours. I began to thank myself for having ventured onto this trip and more importantly the ride. Ahead of us the white innova carrying my roomie and other friends along the road sprinted into the horizon powered by the sound of Himmessh Resshamiya crooning from the dashboard. The hood of my jacket fluttered in the wind flapping against the helmet . This was heavenly. The red Scorpio with the remaining team followed us in close pursuit with the driver and the occupants waving occasionally . Not a soul was visible along the road for miles. This truly was a cold , desolate desert.
A narrated tales of his adventures while bike riding across Tamil Nadu and I chatted occasionally taking care to avoid the helmets from crashing . While cruising along , A generally asked me if I wanted a leisurely slow paced ride or a stomach crunching wild ride. Being the terrified one that I am, I asked him to start slow and then push up the bar. Random thoughts about biking and Leh crossed my mind….the whole atmosphere was exhilarating. I began to think that two wheeled objects weren’t so bad after all. Maybe I could ride across Khardungla this way. Maybe all the way to Leh….heck maybe all the way home.
Suddenly as if tired of the slow , languid cruising that the bike was on, the Scorpio driver stepped up his vehicle and drove ahead of us. In response, A retorted by loudly telling me, ” sit back for now you shall have the ride of your life.
Famous last words…..actually second last words, because as he concluded the sentence with a hastily muttered , “Oh s*@%t!”. The bike wobbled a bit and A leaned across full and peered at the road over the handlebars. Suddenly left without support and completely clueless about what had caused this little halt I waited jerking my hands into my jacket pockets not knowing if I ought to inhale or sit still. The second stretched into nothingness as A refused to rise from the position he was in….continuing to lean across the handle bars muttering some cuss words that I pretended not to hear. I waited for the bike to restart so I could continue on the ride of my life.
From his doubled over state I heard A mutter…. “we have a flat!”
I stared at the red dot racing into the horizon as it grew fainter and the Scorpio vanished into the distance……( to be continued)