Himalayan Journey - II

My exceptionally established talent of sleeping in even the worst of conditions helped me to sail through to Lal Kuan. I discovered that I still had my last-bencher trait when almost like a robot I reached the end of the bus. Thanks to the innocently sleepless night in the train almost everyone dozed off. I wondered how a bus could score over a train in making people comfortable. After spending an hour over this oh-so-important thought, I decided to sleep over the issue and once again gave a splendid performance of my exceptionally established talent. When people woke up, it wasn’t the beautiful view of the valley that was the talking point. It was indeed hunger and breakfast. The leader advised on how it would be to our advantage to skip breakfast. “The more stops we make, more the chances of us being stuck in a landslide,” he said. ‘Certainly a proponent of the Chaos Theory,’ I thought, wondering if someone up on the hills was observing us – with a binocular in one hand and a huge spade in another. It wasn’t long before Puneri delicacies started making rounds in the bus along with the makers’ names - Chitale, Kelkar, Joshi and what not. That was it. With my monstrous diet, even the smell of food was enough to make me hungrier.

“Oh Dear Driver! Your drive’s becoming more and more painstaking,
With this smell and discussion of food the monster inside me is slowly waking.

Lekin is chalti bus mein main kaha se khaana laaunga?
Rok do bus warna iske cushions curtains hi kha jaaunga.”

At around one, I asked the Leader to halt for lunch. “We can have it after an hour, right?” he said. “Nah. See these things on my arm (Oh yes, the lipomas!)? They have begun to hurt and if I don’t have food soon enough, they may start rupturing,” I said with a grim face. In no time, we were silently enjoying the tastiest Chana masala. On behalf of everyone, I secretly patted the lipomas hoping they’d enjoyed their share.

We reached Almora late afternoon. My first shower in about two days of hardcore traveling gave me immense pleasure and privilege to taste, smell and see some of the most interesting things on the bath floor. I stared at the mirror, still wondering – ‘Waiter?’

We took a walk to the sunset point and the Sun took longer than ever to set.

Worse - once it set out to set, it set in no time. Without even discussing the view, we walked towards the seemingly most important feature of any town located on the hill – the Bazaar.

During the walk, one of the fifteen year olds finally asked me, “What’s with those tumors?”
Pretending not to listen, I began to think. ‘Let’s give him a new one,’ the lipomas seemed to be whispering. With nobody around us, it seemed pretty safe.
“Have you ever been to Nagpur?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“I have a rare allergy to Orange Oil,” I said.
“Orange oil? There’s nothing of that sort,” he said with a laugh.
“I know. Elsewhere people don’t even know about it. Orange oil comes from the stem of the orange tree. Come to Nagpur and I’ll take you to a place where they serve the finest corn cooked in orange oil.”
“We don’t have it in Pune. Never even heard of it.”
‘Great. Enjoy,’ I heard the lipomas talking again.
“It’s actually a skin allergy. I was at this corn joint a year ago. Got too close to the pan where he was frying the corn and as soon as he put the corn in the orange oil, some of it splashed all over my arm. It was all orange in no time. You know, the human skin just absorbs orange oil. Mine did too – with not the slightest hint of pain. But when I woke up the next morning….” I just pointed towards my arms and shrugged extravagantly.
“But didn’t you know you had allergy to orange oil when you ate that thing before?” he asked.
“No yaar! Told you na it’s a skin allergy. Thank god I didn’t get massage with orange oil when I was a baby, else….” I laughed and left him thinking.
I heard the lipomas ‘hi-five’ing.

The bazaar turned out to be a total dump and once again only food was on top of everyone’s (including the ladies’) wish-list. The peppy pahaadi food had changed everyone’s paapi pet into a peppy pet. The walk back to the hotel was boring with the jokes of my respectable co-travelers seemingly getting worse with each passing day. I toyed with the idea of telling a little Orange oil joke but decided to keep it to myself.

Early next morning, we left for Dharchula. I amused myself by coming up with alternate theories for the name:
1. A monster might have inhabited the place. Dracula’s cousin – Dharchula.
2. It’s a wrong spelling. It might be Chardhula. A sahib might have asked a dhobi, “Kitna kapda dhula?” “Char dhula.”
3. There might be a view of the mountains appearing like a sharp (Dhar) knife and an Indian stove (Chula).
4. A monster named Dharchula might have inhabited the place. He might have been near the river. Just then he heard a Sahib asking a dhobi “Kitna kapda dhula?” The Dhobi answered, “Char dhula.” Dharchula got angry hearing his name being mispronounced. He used his sharp (dhar) knife to kill them and roasted their bodies over a chula. The fable has materialized in the form of mountains shaped like a sharp knife and a chula.

It took us entire day to reach Dharchula. There wasn’t a view of the mountains in the shape of a knife or a chula. My other theories were just too stupid to even enquire about. Anyway, half of Dharchula is in India and half of it is in Nepal with the violent Kali River separating the two halves.

I was amazed to see pictures of OM Mountain in the hotel. The team leader boasted of the Nepal market as if he had set it up by himself. Once in Nepal, he introduced himself to the shopkeepers as a trader of bags but didn’t buy a single thing. Our trek was to begin next day.

After a hearty meal, I told myself another probable Dharchula monster story and slept.