Written as a letter from Tabo, Spiti, September 2014.
This journey of mine where I’m on my own has finally begun. My friends with whom I’ve travelled while in college are all working now, and the limited holidays they receive plus the time involved in reaching the starting point of a trek or something similar has made planning together rather un-enjoyable, so to say. They called me often before, asking me to plan something, upon which I didn’t show great enthusiasm or either disinterest. I didn’t want to dishearten them by saying a plain “no,” for they are friends with whom I’ve shared amazing experiences and adventures, men good at heart and always willing to go out. Then one day when a dear friend called, I in my best effort to make somebody understand something said: “You see, the limited vacation time your job offers makes you want to expect a great deal from any outing, which makes you highly vulnerable to disappointment, frustration and hurry. I dislike my parents’ style of travelling and hardly travel with them for the same reason now. They want to cover as many points or places as possible in the limited time that they have. They come back only with the name of a place or hotel on a list they have — astute observations are rare, and so are the insights into the self. Moreover, you are all in different parts of India now, and arranging a common duration of mutual convenience is highly unlikely. Also, I now feel that it will be a natural progression for me, and also something I have wished for a long time — to travel alone. Unhindered by conflicting decisions or expectations, I’ll be at my best.” My friend laughed at the other end of the phone. It always amused him, the length and breadth to which I would go to explain something — a fact, or I should say a personality trait, for which he sometimes used to tease me. Just before exams he would ask me something and, knowing well enough that we hardly ever went beneath the surface of a subject, my inability to answer made me seriously uncomfortable.
This want to travel alone has also stemmed from other thoughts. We always hear new thoughts and ideas from people or through books and consider them worthy of action, but do we ever get to them? Over the past few months I’ve also learned a great deal — of sustainability, nutrition, the environment, and others. Travelling alone gives me an opportunity to experiment with a lot of them and observe if they fit in my life, their pragmatism, their relevance — for I cannot blindly follow them. Moreover, life in the city was becoming uninspirational, moribund, and anything new that I started, I couldn’t hold for long.
So, from Delhi I took a 22-hour bus ride to Reckong Peo and, after spending the night there, took another 10-hour ride to arrive at my current destination, Tabo. The road condition permits unwilled freestyle dancing, and quite after a sudden nap I’ve found sore arms — from hitting the side of the bus a million times, having the window seat — and a sore neck. No more bus journeys for the next week, for I plan to be on foot.
The people here are the most honest, helpful and kind, that I’ve no reason to fear for myself or my belongings. The cook-cum-manager at my place of stay in Reckong Peo, who was from Jharkhand, put it quite nicely: “This place is like heaven. Even if you forget a million rupees somewhere, when you come back, you will find them at the same place, or somebody else looking for you to give it back.” They are very hospitable and offer you food and drinks at all times.
The last time I was in Tabo — cycling with my friend Tom, it was late September — the place we stayed at was called Millennium Guest House, the former residence halls of the monks of the Tabo Monastery. This monastery is the oldest in Spiti, dating back to 920 AD; its entrance is just a few feet from the guest house. The place is built from mud, wood and stone, and at its centre natural light enters from the top. It’s exceptionally quiet here — in fact, at this time of the year, I’m the only one staying, except for a Belgian woman who manages the library. The large dormitory in which I’m staying can house up to nine people; it’s all for myself, and last night the absolute silence was so overwhelming that my ears rang, like just after a blast. It felt extremely uncomfortable, and at last, unable to sleep any further, I woke — the time being 10:30 PM. There was no light in the room, and only the presence of my bed beneath me, the noiseless wind that stirred a few hairs on my skin, and the faint starlit sky outside (since I wasn’t wearing my spectacles) told me that I was not left alone in space.
Soon, however, the dogs in the street started barking, and like an uncontrollable chain reaction, it never stopped. My ears went from experiencing no sound to an exploding, high-pitched noise, and that too was no tonic for sleep. I ultimately gave up my vague attempts to sleep — turning directions, removing clothes when it felt too hot, moving my blanket, opening or closing the windows. My mind was continuously buzzing like a broken radio. I wore my spectacles and leaned outside the window to see the bright display of starlight. I got off the bed, out of the room, and climbed the stairs leading to the terrace, and did in fact see the clear band of the Milky Way directly overhead. On most occasions when the sky has been clear and worthy of gazing, either it has been too cold or windy to stay for long, or I’ve been too tired to let it sink into me. Tonight the weather was cool, not chilly. I had a nice place to sit and observe, but I was too clouded with a multitude of thoughts and voices floating in my mind. There was appreciation, but no wonder.