Sunday, June 30, 2013

Shire-ee

Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread




Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.



Then world behind and home ahead,
We'll wander back and home to bed.




Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!


Saturday, June 22, 2013

Village shaman

The past couple of days I've had this crippling pain in the hip. It, suspectedly, is a collective result of the past 40 days of unrestrained adventure (and subsequent load lifting).

Volini and Voveran have come to my rescue, or so I thought, until I met Hira Didi, the shaman-next-door. I didn't know she was a shaman, until today. Whenever we vacation out here in Gethia, she visits my family as a regular villager, and thrills us with narrations of village oddities and encounters with the wild (living at the periphery of the jungle her animal sightings are frequent, to our envy), as is the conversational fashion.

But the mention of my condition made her investigative. Then she asked for some salt. Then a leaf, which she went out to fetch herself. Then I was called into the picture, and made to stand facing away from her, at the kitchen door. I had assumed she would be making a paste from Indian herbs - some local remedial recipe - that'd be thereafter wrapped in a leaf and applied to my bum as a fomentation.

What I next felt was the brush of her sickle along my back, with some murmur chants. She stood behind me, holding the leaf with a fistful of salt in her left hand, with the sickle - like a magic wand - in her right. "The handle of this Daranti (sickle) is made of Pahiya," she explained. 'Pahiya' is a tree of this region (with a characteristic flaky bark), whose wood is considered an apotropaic i.e. warding off evil spirits. After the chants got over, she left with the leaf (and the salt in it), with instructions that I don't cross the kitchen line for an hour and a half. Only if she had bones and a skull would it have seemed more transcendental. But shamanistic rituals, I like.

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Makalu BC - part 3 - the trail

Makalu Basecamp, Part 1
Makalu Basecamp, Part 2

 Day 7:
Destination: Yangle Kharka
I leave by 0700. 4 mountain passes to cross.
First views of the big peaks beyond Kongma La.
On snow now. The trail was hard to make out, situation further alleviated by a fog. The descent from Shipton La (4230m) was made memorable by this glimpse at 'Thulo Pokhari' (translates to 'Big Lake') through a window in the fog, which tinkled some primal corner.
Then came Dobato, then Mumbuk, then a hardy hike straight down a stream, and then the thunder of Barun Khola while walking on a thin ribbon of a trail just above the river.
The trail seemed endless. A long rocky stretch brought out all in me. I had been on the trail for 10 hours now, and yet there was no indication of civilization (after Dobato). There were about 6 waterfall crossings involved.

Nearing 1830, I saw the valley floor opening up. Some curious moments, and I found myself crossing the dual bridges at "Yangle Kharka", a place wrongly marked on my map much earlier than it actually was.

I looked around and found the proprietess of a restaurant and asked her for a meal, pitched my tent, and slept long after a reasonable meal of Dal-Bhat.
It should be noted that Yangle is where even hot water has a price.


 Day 8:
Felt amazing waking up in Yangle. Left after a breakfast of Chow-Chow with eggs.
Destination: Hillary Basecamp
The trail is deceptive. It rises and rises and you don't even come to know of it.
Tired is what I started with, and grew even more so with the day. The previous day had sucked out all juice from me.
Found a yak right in the middle of it as it passed through forest. It was huge. Bjork's Wanderlust started playing in my head.


Features abound on this day.  I started in a glacially-weathered valley with waterfalls running off hanging glaciers, then to pasture lands, and then to moraine fields which were void of any green. It is easily the most beautiful of the days, benevolent weather gods permitting.


Yak Kharka had no shacks operating. Made me tense. Then came Langma Le, where I did see somebody, but asleep. Armed with a compass, I went ahead.
By 1400, I found myself unsure of the way. The riverbed opened up into a playground and there were many directions to head into. I had speculations about the trail, but then snowing ensued, and I found myself in a tight corner.
Decided to camp here, and do a recce in the evening. A herd of yaks came to check me out.


 Day 9:
Felt like waking waking up in a dream. The valley that had scared me into submission yesterday looked so beautiful.

Destination: Makalu Basecamp
As per calculations, Hillary BC (or the lower Makalu BC) should be over that ridge, possibly 2 hours ahead. Beyond that, another 5 hours to MBC. Could I do it?

Reached Hillary BC by 0830, had chow-chow, and left for Makalu BC
. By 4PM, I was back, having found myself lost and struggling on the rocks. Then I slept like a sick person through the evening, had dinner, and slept more.



Day 10:
I was lucky to spend the night at the cornermost shack, the proprietess of which had some idea about the expeditions up there. Learning that the summit push was to happen today, I found it coincidental, and was charged to do a reattempt.

Destination: Makalu Basecamp

I set out by 0730, with a Nepali boy who was to show me through the past where I'd got lost yesterday.
It was hard to believe that there was any trail, coz there wasn't. It is just the rocky moraine you walk through for hours, keeping a track of the cairns for directions. Even the physical recovery of yesterday only got me through till noon.
I found myself going crazy trying to figure out the route to the MBC. Sure, I had a map and a compass, but they don't point out the finer details.


By 1300,  I was on the verge of breaking down. Then it started snowing, and I was crouched under a rock for a while, blowing my whistle for any porters to pick up. My camera battery ran out. Horrible feeling.
I did a recce, and started on a trail higher up on the right, that I assumed was the right one; a group of porters made up the same trail soon after, and I was relieved. Their presence provided a great psychological push (besides the fact that they took my rucksack).  In a couple of hours, I got to the basecamp discussing cars and girls (men are predictable), albeit drained of energy.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Makalu BC - part 2 - the trail

Makalu Basecamp, Part 1
Makalu Basecamp, Part 3

Day 3 ( Contd.)
I start from Devrali.
Today's destination: SheduaA friendly tractor guy offers me a lift, but I prefer to get on my feet instead. For the first hour, I'm just walking along the muddy road.
 Few hours in, and I not only find myself on the wrong right trail - the usual trail first leads to Num and then down, but instead I take to a village track - but also caught in heavy downpour. I enter a quiet little Gurkha village, and ask for directions from a villager, soaking more rain and picking off leeches at the same time. Seeing my condition, he politely invites me into his courtyard. I spend the next hour here.

 People are awesome. Not only did the man provide me shelter from rain, and tea, and crispies, but he also volunteered to show me the way down to the river. We make through his beautiful village, Amrang. I'm delegated to a village kid, who leads me out of the village and onto the jungle trail that goes to the river.

 The jungle trail, as it turns out, is in disuse. I soon enter denser forest, where the trail is barely a foot wide.
First nasty when I miss a step and fall down the mountain. Somehow I break my fall to come back up, in single piece.

Leeches. Combined with unknown territory, civilizational void, and looming rainfall, it makes for a stressor beyond anyone's imagination, esp when they are found at every step. These almost had me broken by the time I got to a stream.
I, plucked out about 25 leeches off me, and thrice the number off my shoes.

Finally crossing the raging Arun Khola on this epic suspension bridge. It was 18:30PM and it was getting dark. Shedua, my destination for the evening, was nowhere to be seen/sensed. 
Tired and drenched (of rain and sweat), I continued ascending. Soon,  I decided to camp out in a tiny open patch. But out on a recce, I managed to see a light further ahead, which turned out to be a lodge. That was where my first night on the trail ended.


Day 4:

It was a funny and uncomfortable night. But I was greeted by a rainbow in the morning.
Today's destination: Tashigaon
Thanks to the rains, I could only exit by 08:00AM.
After a few hours of walk, I made it to Shedua, my destination of yesterday's. I didn't stop there and continued ahead.
Some beautiful rustic scenes and the backdrop made my day's worth.

I walked fast, and got to Tashigaon around 14:30. Lucky to have bumped into the caring proprietor of Makalu II Hotel, who led me to the end of the village where all stay and camping is.
Camped on the heli-field at Tashigaon, and had the first appetizing meal in the day (and the last of it as well). Languished, made notes, and nursed my injuries until sleep hit.



Day 5:
Today's destination: Kongma
Left Tashigaon around 08:30, an hour later than planned. While on the trail, I got a chuckle seeing a helicopter land in same place that I was camping  at an hour back.



About 2 hours into the trek, I was fascinated by the huge rock - ideal for shelter. Coincidentally, soon after, a drizzle started, and I ran back under it.

A group of porters was also going up. Here, they finally caught upto me, and chose to continue despite the rain. I was inspired and decided to stick around with them.

Soon after leaving a hamlet after a cup of "Cheeya", all hell broke loose. It was pouring down, and I was caught in the middle of it. The trail soon turned into a water stream. This is how flash floods happen. I ran for shelter under a tree, but that only kept the water away till the volume became overwhelming. I could see the water soaking my bags and clothes, but couldn't do a thing.

The rains abated, mockingly so, after an hour's heavy downpour. I was drenched; so was most of my gear. The ground was still soggy, often yielding. The trail kept climbing up. I was hating every living moment. 
A chorten finally marked end of the climb. I was relieved. A few hundred meters thereafter lay Kongma. 

Rest of the evening was spent in recovery. The porter crowd made it later, and soon the place was abuzz, except for this city boy crawled inside his sleeping bag on a bed at one end.

Day 6:

Trust me, if the Buddhist monks were to set out to find the next Dalai Lama, they might end their journey here. This kid was compacted humanity.
The following morning I climb the ridge atop Kongma, and he followed me!
I decided to spend the day drying (and burning) my clothing. Wise decision.
Later in the evening, I hike to Kongma La, study maps, and make ambitious plans for the coming day.


...Continued 

Makalu BC - part 1 - making a start

Makalu Basecamp, Part 2
Makalu Basecamp, Part 3

Day 1:
A mere two hours in Kathmandu, arranging for a (useless) TIMS permit and making the most priceless purchase of my trip, a compass, and I'm off to Dharan, 16 hours away. This is just the start - from Dharan, it is another 8 hours to Khandbari (via Hilay), from where it is another 6 hours to Num, which marks the real beginning to my trek.
Enroute, I break the established rules of bus travel in an alien country, as also warned against by my Nepali friend/liaison, Kaju, "Don't befriend strangers, or accept food or water they offer" - I do.


Day 2:
Dharan comes too early, at 5AM. Before even rubbing the rheum off my eyes, I find a bus for Khandbari waiting, and hop on. I get an aisle seat, next to an obnoxious teenager, for the first few hours, then find a window seat.
Some horrible roads result in the bus breaking down after Hilay, but it ultimately continues onwards. ("Goodluck Travels," as the bus company is intuitively named)


The bus halts at Tumlingtar for lunch. Tumlingtar is the nearest airfield to start on this trek. This town is situated along the Sabha Khola (Khola ~ River). I love the Thukpa; and keep the enticing fish dish for the return leg.
Khandbari by 14:00. Because the same bus is gonna do another 20km, to end its journey at Mane Bhanjiyang (MB), I stay put. The tarmac roads are far behind; now its only mud.
I finally get to step down, at MB, nearing 3PM. No vehicles leave for Num (still 4/5 hours away) for the day. I'm anxious, but a local elderly helps me get my calm back, and tags me along to the main market. I find a dorm to put up for the night - just a bed and some ventilation, but one which overlooks the taxi union counter down by the road.

It soon starts to rain in MB. I wile away time with the locals.
Later, when the rains recede, I step out. The marketplace is resourceful.
My map shows a temple here, so I ask around for directions. "Only Brahmins allowed," I'm forewarned shortly before my approach to the temple. I find the temple, and Sahdev, the caretaker-cum-priest, who tries to push me into donating money and in turn get a bench dedicated to my name, but I evade.

Night ends with John Lennon's Imagine playing in this little village. I'm stressed as both the zippers of my rucksack are broken, and my co-occupant of the dorm speaks from his bed that there's no repair possible; FML.


Day 3:
Still no transport going up to Num. The rains eat out the roads, so lesser people travel towards Num in this season.
I get a packet of balloons, and dole one each to the kids. Soon the marketplace is a cute sight - kids playing on the road in traffic.
The schools begin at 10:00AM, so at 09:30, all the balloons were seized, and out came uniforms, combs, and ribbons.

I kept inquiring about the taxi for Num; only a handful of people had been waiting, and there was a wait for more.

I exit MB around 10AM. The taxi wouldn't go upto Num, owing to the condition of the roads, but possibly to either Chichila or Devrali.
The road was horrible. The ride was bumpy. That it didn't rain for those few hours was a blessing.

The taxi carried me as far as Devrali, a coupla' hours before Num. So that is where I start from.

...Continued

Monday, June 10, 2013

The triumphant return

I roll back along the Indo-Nepal borders. I'm making it back into India on a Rickshaw and bribing the policeman at the closed border gates using flawless English (as has been advised by the Rickshaw-pullers) to let us - me and girlfriend - through.

That I made it back from Kathmandu with 220 bucks left is amazing. That I made it with a ton of luggage is amazing. That I made it back without diarrhea is amazing. That I tramped down from the MBC is amazing. That I super-tramped solo up to it is even more so. That I didn't die on three separate days I instinctively thought I would is amazing. That I saw the most appealing of village girls is amazing. That I fought a hundred leeches is amazing. That I - sheltered precariously behind a rock - witnessed yaks fighting was amazing. That I walked for days along the Barun River was amazing. That I felt close to my condition in being with nature was amazing.

That I'm blogging this late, lost in laze and in purple haze, is the lesser amazing thing.

Tuesday, June 04, 2013

Exit Ktm

In Ktm, putting up in a hotel. The entire rooftop is littered with "we" - to be more specific, our apparel and mountaineering gear which has been subjected to days of moisture and the subsequent slow rot. There's also the unfavourable-but-familiar stench of rot lingering about everywhere.

In exit mode. In a disarray. Making way out isn't gonna be easy. There's only an hour left. So, lazy isn't the word for the day, as it has been the ones before this, a concept that I've religiously kept to all this while while whiling time here. But this travel I take happily, for it gets me home. Tomorrow, inshallah, I'd be transmitting from my home base.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

mane bhanjiyang

mane bhanjiyang. name doesn't ring any bells, well, it shouldn't. it isn't on any general itinerary. it wasn't even on mine, until i had to make a stopover due to circumstances - general circumstances, nothing thrilling, though. what i ended up with is a lovely family that fed me lovely food, and youth that tried matching to my wits and levels of understanding in people over a few pegs of whisky (not me, i passed). by end of the day, somewhere at the end of civilization, john lennon's "imagine" was playing over phone speakers, a moment i'd have never imagined unless it actually happened. i don't know how these things happen - human dynamics are curious and amazing. i slept with alex turner's "hiding tonight" on repeat, not caring about spending my previous ipod battery, since i managed to lay my eyes on the dorm owner's pc, which i'm using to both charge my ipod and make this post.

now 0545, i head out to my original destination of yesterday's, num, from where the greater challenge begins. i have started to like the people and the culture, but sadly i'm in the last few hours with either, as by this evening i'd be somewhere that doesn't match any version of living. over and out.

Monday, May 13, 2013

Off to the MBC

Whew, my backpack feels heavy - heavier than ever it has been. Just overnight, a few more kilos were added to the burden that I need to keep firm on my back while keeping my feet firm on the earth. As the serious/challenging nature of this trek becomes more evident, I'd keep adding things to my backpack, which in this present state of inexperience and anxiety, is the only thing I could do, since there is no time for a dress rehearsal. "The Thamel List" - stuff that I need to get soon as I get to Nepal - is already a page long, which means one more page to cram into the tiny backpack before I vanish (for a coupla weeks).

In the brief days of planning that a mismanaged and directionless soul like me could do, convictions have changed fast. My poetic take on doing this trek - in a region, and a nation that I've never even been to before - has been modified by the narrations of reality by 'friendly advice' of experts and elders. Polite people have been politely concerned about this whole upcoming ordeal, which is clearly evident in all recent conversations that have descended into survival talk.

I, however, live by the conviction that I have to, can, and will do this - for love, if not for adventure, if not for misadventure, if not for nature, if not for survival, if not for a reality check (or rather a slap), if not for the novelty, if not for the escape, if not for the compensation (to an average, dull life in the urban centers, and to years of misdirected institutionalization), if not for an identity, if not for the ego, if not for the isolation, if not for the companionship, if not for finding myself in losing myself, if not to experience a state of no-mind, if not for the death, if not for a good piece. So it goes.

If anything conveys that this trek - the whole episode - is about moi, then let me assure that I am the least significant part of it - more like the insect on the wall that sits and observes. There's already history-in-the-making regardless of my inclusion into any equation (unless I have already affected the equation in subtle ways - how and when is for explanation later). Wait for the bigger players to take over the thought-space.

I'll be missing the tactile feel of keyboards for a while. My cab is waiting. Goodbye.

Tuesday, May 07, 2013

More young at the Everest

Though I'm not perched atop any [insert geological feature here] that provides a complete survey of the Everest basecamp, I get around to some interesting discoveries, right from my seat in Delhi. India is supposed to make news with the kind of numbers we have up there this season. A brash Colonel-sahib - one with such proximity to the climbing activity scene in this country that revealing his name in this context would ensure a scandal - quipped a few weeks back "Baraat hai apne gharwalon ki ab toh wahan par". But that our media stays away from what could potentially be a bouquet of accounts of daring, survival, adventure, and records - endless hours of inspiration (note: entertainment) - is shameful, and so I search more, and highlight whatever little digging I do.

First are the Malik sisters of Dehradun, Nungshi and Tashi, both 20-year-olds. If they do it, they become the first twins to have scaled the Everest. It hasn't been too long that they got into mountaineering-as-a-sport, starting only after they were out of school, but the pace of ambitions is fast, and so here they are two years later, scaling the Everest. Seeing that they are under the care and leadership of the celebrity climber Mingma Sherpa up there, I think they will. When it comes to mountaineering feats, the memory etched in Dehradun's conscience is of the Bahuguna brothers, both of whom lost their lives attempting the Everest, 14 years separated in time (in 1971 and 1985, respectively). If they summit successfully, the Malik Sisters could become the new memory. And yes, they'll make for awesome photos, too.

Then there's Samina Khayal Baig and Mirza Baig, a brother-sister duo from Pakistan. If they do it, Samina becomes the first Pakistan girl to summit the Everest. These siblings originally come from Shimshal Valley (deep in the extreme Karakoram range in Upper Hunza), with relatively poor background. Mirza - the elder brother, who is a professional mountain guide, and has 12 years of background of mountaineering - could be credited with the stubbornness with which they've taken up this endeavor. Samina is a 21-year-old student of Arts, and the only Pakistani female to adopt mountaineering as a profession. She has been climbing regularly since 2010. She, coincidentally, is doing this as a part of the same group (Seven Summits) as the Malik sisters are. I guess Seven Summits is very supportive of such ambitions.

See: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EQmaurl2V0 [Geo TV documentary on  Samina's ascent of the "Chaashkin Sar", which was renamed to "Samina Peak" after her successful ascent]

Monday, May 06, 2013

Book A Free Man NOW!

If I try tracking one thing I've been consistent with in the years since I got out of college, it is - drumrolls - reading. If you were certain it was either among cycling or trekking, then I won't be surprised. Yes, I have been doing both, but inconsistently. Since my public face is limited (thankfully) to the context of wanderings, one could obviously be lead to think that's what I've been about, only NOT.
Besides the wanderings, are also the meanderings, times which I spend in either thinking about the phenomenology of survival and modalities of morality, or - better - flicking the imagination/mulling switch from 'broadcast' to 'receive', to read a few sincere books instead ['sincere' with the exception of "The Monk who sold his Ferrari" by Robin-something, a book I could gladly see being turned into recycled tissue paper, instead; a book which forces me into Chrome's Incognito Mode (better known as the "P0rn Mode") to search, so that my regular search history isn't polluted].

Where was I... oh, about reading consistently enough to make the fact visible (not that I had it hidden). Well, and in the continuing tradition comes "A Free Man" by Aman Sethi. To show how mature I am at making selection after all these years of reading, I picked it up at seeing the mere mention of Gary Shteyngart among the reviewers. All the more maturity reflected in the fact that I didn't even like G.S. that much, having merely read "A Supersad True Love Story". I didn't like it raving-mad types, but to guess, it was in that aura a general sincere text creates before fading away from memory, that I stumbled into reading G.S. review elsewhere and made a purchase decision based on that.

This book (AFM) had long acquired a "lost" status, it arriving (through Infibeam which-is-generally-cheaper-than-flipkart) at the time Gulmarg happened, and Ma - who was visiting - having kept it somewhere in her caring ways, and then left back. [for some reason she had to hide it so well that the book would've survive even a holocaust] It was only today, when handling a pan-residential search for a pair of binoculars for an upcoming trek in Nepal, that I found it!

I started with the book in the afternoon, and closed it after a few pages. I didn't find it boring, but I found something distracting instead. A perfect opportunity came cloaked inside a social appointment later, that needed me to travel across the city, taking the Metro for an hour's ride to some other adaptation of 'loathsome' that Delhi offers, giving me at least 40 good minutes of read either side. The book started in a very cliched joint session, but soon grew out of that, and - coincidentally - to be about Delhi. I was living and experiencing a city, while reading about someone's fictionalized/experienced version of it; nice. It vividly details on the heart of Delhi, and its fascinating 'mazdoor' populace. The dialog forces you to work a translation in Hindi, which I think is a bother?

Friday, May 03, 2013

The Everest Kids

It sounds nothing short of a Karate Kid story in the making. Only, give that an Indian context, change the title into plural, and use the backdrop of not Karate, but the all-eclipsing-all-encompassing Himalayas.

I'm talking about the Sanawar School's 2013 Everest Expedition. You read that right, school. And everest.

http://www.newstrackindia.com/newsdetails/2013/04/03/19--Sanawar-boys-attempt-to-set-foot-on-Mount-Everest-.html

Our Mr. Miyagi here is Col Neeraj Rana, an ex-Indian-armyman, who after his days in the army, and later heading the HMI Darjeeling, has now set his own pace to how he thinks climbing in India should go. He is presently busy mentoring 7 school boys, all of them from Sanawar School, in Kasauli (Himachal Pradesh), towards summiting the Mt. Everest, world's highest peak (8848m), in Nepal. Right now they've successfully finished a rotation to Camp II, following which they're doing their rest and regular drills between that and the basecamp. What follows is another rotation - to Camp III - following which would come the final push for the Everest summit, which would come around the third week of May.

Mentoring a bulk of schoolkids towards something like Everest, obviously leads the curiosity if any records stand to be broken. Of course, the big one. Of these 7 climbers (yes, I'm not using the term "school kids" anymore), six are 16 years old. The seventh is 15. To put records into perspective, presently, India's youngest Everest summiteer (Male) is Arjun Vajpayee, who did this at the age of 17 years (back in 2011). That means if the expedition manages to put either of these climbers on the summit (here I give the credit to the whole expedition since it is rarely a single-man show once beyond the basecamp) India would have a new record. In case most of them summit, then we'll see a minute-by-minute cascade of records at the Everest summit.

In the meantime, we also have another 16-year-old, Nameirakpam Chingkheinganba, a North-East Indian (and first northeasterner, in case he summits), attempting Mt. Everest. Let's just sit and see in which order the records cascade.

This doesn't come as a surprise. Over 100 Indian climbers are attempting the Everest this year. Not only Arjun's record, but his compatriot, Krushnaa's - the youngest Indian female to summit Everest at the age of 19 - own record will be at stake, as an 18-year-old girl tries for the summit. In the meantime, both these folks themselves are busy writing new ones, eager to see the existing records revised after this season, sans any feelings of jealousy or enmity. No wonder people are calling it the arrival/onset of Golden Era in Indian Mountaineering. Any sort of live commentary would be exciting, but sadly, things are not so well connected during such expeditions, which is why our media hasn't gone crazy over this.

An era to not miss out on.

The two assholes

This is KV


Und this is me, here


Glad that KV and me share the same level of immaturity. Now only if mine lasts till 50 or more. Maybe I'll be doing better assholes, a very rare skill to master.

Thursday, May 02, 2013

Chronos, show me love?

A very agitated day. I achieved the impossibility of existing in the paradoxical situation of picking up both, a cold and heat rash, simultaneously. This compounds the lymph node inflammation that has come unannounced just of yesterday - which, in essence, hints I could have anything - from a throat infection to cancer. So much for taking care of my physical self through unfailing daily regimen; conversely, the incorporation of new elements into this regimen, or the excess of it, could be telling the body to chill the _f_ out.

One thing it proves is, that my life needs two constants - elevation and displacement. I've already been joking to friends that I need to be above my "activation altitude" to function optimally: Back in Feb, when Gulmarg happened, the cold preceding it had me convinced I would have a miserable time. Soon as I got there, all my maladies vanished and I was ultimately the one leading others through knee-deep snows - in sandals. And seems like my body seems compensated for all the sneezing I didn't do through the entire Auli trip (a few months before Gulmarg) where I was on those snowy slopes @2800m in shorts and Nike sneakers. Confounded. Counfounded.

That this coincides with the most epic period of my travel, adventure, dreaming, and acceptance of some tangible identity is the bigger concern. 2013AD, as it has come to be, has been the most epic year in life this far. I got out of slave labour. I was forced out of my ambitions to settle for average education abroad at a premium price. I started thinking big in terms of travel; and doing things towards it. I found love (and neodymium magnets). Lot of things out of my comfort zone that no institutional upbringing could've prepared me for. And in that high had to come these two days, of uneasiness, and medical deliberation.

Align, chronos, align, with what your master desires of you, just for once!