𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗥𝗢𝗔𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗣𝗢𝗞𝗛𝗥𝗜 - 𝗮 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿-𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 - 4

For the longest time, I had believed that Love was the emotion that had the greatest impact on our lives. That our world depended on the amount of love we received or didn’t receive. That Love (for various things and people) determined our own propensity for life. That Love was supreme. But no. I had been grossly mistaken in my identification of man’s most influential inner element.

The most dominating feeling that we carry in our system is fear. It is what governs our character and actions. It’s what makes us think in weird manners and irrational ways. When fear seizes us, even the moon can look menacing, the wind can feel toxic. Even the most innocuous smile on people’s face can seem devious. Fear is the biggest curse of man.

The seed of apprehension that was sowed in my heart by my own illogical calculations began to grow into veritable fear as Bittu stopped the car at Srinagar to ask people the way to Pokhri. I found a government-run guest house to use the washroom quickly, while Bittu made his enquiries. Upon return, I saw that Bittu was on phone with someone. It was important for me not to look or sound concerned. I had to keep my fraying nerves from showing.

‘Aaj raat ko yahan rukna padega, madam,’ Bittu said categorically after he disconnected the call. ‘Ab hum aage nahin jaa sakte.’

In one stroke my fear died. What it was replaced by, I still don’t know. An emptiness perhaps. Or a numbness that made fear suddenly alien to me.

‘Where do I find a place to halt, if you say this so suddenly?’ I said. The stand-by plan of going to a homestay that Kiran had referred was abandoned after buoyed by Bittu’s confidence at the airport, we had decided to drive straight. I had called the homestay and informed them of my drop of plans to halt. Now, if Bittu suddenly asked me to break journey, where would I go?

‘Why do we need to break here? You said we could go.’ I tried to maintain equanimity.

‘The road ahead is bad. And we have to drive through thick forest, and they don’t permit driving at night. We will be stopped at the entrance to the forest. We have another 100 kms to go to reach your place and I won’t be able to go.’

“But where will I go now? I don’t have a place to stay.’

‘I have a contact. I know some place. I will take you there.’

I should have been rattled by that offer, but I didn’t let the malevolence of the mind take charge of the situation. Letting fear takeover was the last thing I should allow myself to do. I just had to think through and do what could be done.

The only person I could reach out for help was Kiran. She had been such a bulwark throughout. I asked Kiran to speak to the driver, and while they spoke, I felt a very strange calmness descend on me. It is impossible to trace the source of that calmness, but I just felt all the worries melt away. It was a complete submission to the Universe without a dreg of fear or doubt. Earlier, when I had handed myself over, there still were worms in my head. But now, there were none. The surrender was complete, in heart, mind and body and that infused strength of a kind I had not known I was capable of feeling. A sense of fearlessness that comes when you have transcended the final frontiers of fear.

Bittu handed the phone back to me and said, ‘Aao baito.’

He was going to continue the drive, I surmised.

What had Kiran told him? What made him change his mind? I didn’t want to probe anything. I texted Kiran and she said that there was no such thing as night restrictions to drive through the forest. She knew the place as sure as the back of her hand. At the most, we will find wild animals staring into our headlight, and that too would be an experience to remember, she quipped.

The confidence with which she said that added to my strength and I let Bittu take my fate forward. Driving alongside Alaknanda, of which I could only catch a few glimpses in the night, we left Srinagar to proceed to Rudraprayag. And then we had to proceed to Karnprayag. It is after Karnprayag that we must take a detour from the Badrinath highway and enter the forest route of several kilometres that leads to Pokhri.

‘Is everything OK?’ My husband texted.

‘Yes, so far so good,’ I texted back. “Continuing the drive.’

‘Should I talk to the driver’s boss?’ he asked.

‘No, I will let you know if you have to.’ I could feel a feeble sense of worry in his text. Not a person given to panicking easily, his concern meant I was in a vulnerable position, if not in acute danger. It was the first sign of his concern, and my immediate task was to put his worry to rest.

As we ascended the mountains, I saw a full moon emerge from behind the hills and create a deep silhouette of the mountains. The imposing image it presented made me feel as if I was fortified by nature from all dangers. I craned my neck to see the moonlight fall on Alaknanda down below. A mercurial ribbon accompanied me along with the torchlight above. As we left behind the town of Rudraprayag, I saw electric lights below that seemed like Milky way splashed on earth. From the rear windshield, the moon shone in; there was a white aura surrounding us, and in that moment, if there was one emotion that I consciously chucked out, it was fear.

The immensity of the situation still weighing on me, I waited for the miles to fall behind us. We came to a point from where we had to divert, and Bittu looked confused. There was no one around to ask, and I tried to turn my GPS on, but failed due to poor network. There were no vehicles on the road, it was completely deserted, with only the moon for company. But it was enough. It was a sign that I was not alone. It was Karthik Poornima and its full glow was falling on me as if it was there on God’s command.

‘Go, guide the girl through this. Be her escort,’ He must have told the moon.

For some reason, my suspicion and misgivings about the driver and his intentions suddenly felt unwarranted. He was making every effort to take me to my destination. That the route was long-winding, and the drive was arduous was true. But my assumption that every man on earth will be tempted to ruin a woman’s honour or exploit her vulnerability should he find an opportunity was slowly beginning to fray. It was an assumption that I had probably built up from hearsay. There are bad apples, and there are untoward things happening, but to imagine that it would happen to me is ridiculous and self-restricting.

It was an occasion to let go of my invented fears of the world and strap myself with grit and tenacity, and I wasn’t going to squander the chance to do it.

Bittu waited a bit for a vehicle to pass by to ask for directions. Spotting a lone vehicle coming from the opposite direction, Bittu flagged it down and found the way forward. Our next target was to reach Karnaprayag after which we will enter the forest.

At some point again, Bittu needed guidance at a crossroads in what seemed to be the last spot of any human habitation before the forest began, and there was none to ask. The few shops that were there were all closed and there was only a lone jeep parked on the side of the road, and Bittu stopped for a while, wondering which way to go. He got out of the car and paced a few steps up and down, by which time two cops appeared from God knows where. They were policemen on night patrol and seeing us parked with headlights on, they had come forward to enquire and direct us on the right path. These are divine interventions, in my view. Believe it or not.

The night rolled on and the stunning silence of the forest soon encountered us. The only ambient sound that we could hear was that of buzzing insects that makes forests so eerie and enchanting at once, and the bubbling noise of water streaming down once in a while. Thankfully, the roads had been bad only in stretches and not as it was made to sound by Bittu’s friend on phone. Short poles with reflectors lined the edge of the lonely forest path like sentry on watch. The drive reminded me of the song -

‘Sansar ki har shay ka itna hi fasaana hai, ek dhund se aana ha, ek dhund mey jaana hai.. Yeh raah kahan se hey, yeh raah kahan thak hey, yeh raaz koi raahi samjha hai na jaana hai’.

Winding up the road in the complete conviction that the worst is behind me, I read a road sign that indicated that we were 27 kms away from Pokhri. 27 kms on a mountainous jungle road could take long, yet the destination had never felt so close to me. On one side was the hill, and on the other, dark, deep gorges cloaked in thick deciduous trees. I prayed that Bittu did not take a wrong swerve at the turning or nod off on the way, for it could mean plunging to an irretraceable end. Accidents of that kind are not unheard off in these regions.

But then again, anything could happen to anyone, anywhere. Unpredictability is something we must live with, but the only way we can escape its effects is by not getting swept by dreadful anticipation of things to come.

As we approached the road to Pokhri, and saw the distance shrink to single digits, I had a strange thought. Forgive me my sentimentality, but this was precisely what flashed in my mind. The image of Krishna charioteering Arjuna in the battlefield. In an unbelievable turn of thoughts and a sudden spark of insight, Bittu now appeared to me like the Lord Himself, steering me through the long way to Pokhri. A deep sense of guilt and gratitude descended on me as I made my first phone call to the caretaker of Birdsong & Beyond, Kamla, to get the exact location of the cottage. After a few wrong turns in the final stretch, we finally arrived. Kamla and her husband, Ramesh were waiting for us eagerly there.

As I got off the car, I asked Bittu, ‘Aap ne Bhagwan ko kabhi dekha hai?’

‘Nahin’ he said. I could see his face only faintly in the moonlight above us.

‘Mey ne dekha hai. Aap me. Aaj aap mere liye Bhagwan se kam nahi hai. Sahi salamat jo muhe yahan thak pahunchaaya. Thank you, Bittu bhaiyya.’

He said nothing. He must have smiled in acknowledgment or dismissed my remark with a scorn. He might have cursed me for making him undertake this journey. Or might have been just stoic. I don’t know. The moon couldn’t reflect his response to me.

It was well past 11.00 pm. The long way to Pokhri had taught me lessons that I will mull over again and again. It will be food for contemplation for a long time to come. It was a journey that gave me lasting lessons and brought life-changing realisations. About human beings. About the world. About myself. And above all, about our perceptions of reality.

(𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗘𝗻𝗱)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗥𝗢𝗔𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗣𝗢𝗞𝗛𝗥𝗜 - 𝗮 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿-𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 3

Come to think if it, life isn’t all struggles alone. It’s just that we have a strange (and strong) penchant for celebrating the downsides with our sighs and sobs. The good things often get drowned in our hyperventilation and the not-so-good remain highlighted in our hearts.

In the midst of relating the shoe woes and flight plight, I forgot to mention that I got an upgrade to Business class on my journey from Dubai to Delhi. It is an instance that deserves special mention not only because of the extra leg room and special seating, but also because it gave me an opportunity to stuff myself with food, first at the airport lounge and then in the plane itself. I had no apparent reason to eat so much that night, but I did, as if prompted by an instinct that said I won’t get my next meal or beverage till noon the next day.

It was only after Simran redeemed me from my baggage worry that I went looking for a place to eat at 11.30. Not for a minute had my tummy growled with hunger till then. The binge of the previous night had stood me in good stead till I found Dilli Streat in terminal 3.

‘Do you have filter coffee?’ I asked. Nothing else could have rinsed the fatigue of the past few hours that had spun me around. ‘Extra strong, please,’ I requested and got it in a jiffy. I had two of it, duly served in tumbler and davara. If you had asked for a synonym for ‘relief’ in that moment, I would have exclaimed, ‘Filter Coffee’.

What’s more, they had curd rice too on the menu. The tambram in me exulted and I packed some for the journey. I had no idea when and where I would eat next.

Before I take the narrative forward, a slight detour. Let me tell you a little about Pokhri. Where on earth is this? And how did I decide to embark upon this journey to a place which doesn’t sound as familiar as Kulu-Manali, Dharamshala, Nainital or Kasauli?

For this, I must thank Mark Z. But for Facebook, I wouldn’t have connected with Kiran Chaturvedi some years ago. Like many other connections, Kiran too had been in the shadows only, with little interaction between us over the years since we accepted friend requests, but I had made note of her little homestay cottage, Birdsong & Beyond in Pokhri a long time ago. I had put it on my bucket list secretly, with no inkling of when, or whether it would happen anytime at all. It seemed as remote as going to see the Northern Lights, another bucket list item for me.

When my yearning for a getaway after nearly three years of confined living began to gnaw my insides, when life began to get so dreary that stepping out and exploring became an imperative, I decided to reach out to Kiran. All it took were a few text messages and things fell in place soon enough. And the rest is what you are reading in this narrative.

Time now to introduce Bittu into the story. He is the driver who was assigned with the job of driving me from Dehradun to Pokhri by his boss, Vijay bhaiyya. I had contacted them for the journey with Kiran’s reference and it was enough for me to believe that they were reliable. They sounded cordial and courteous over phone and showed exemplary patience through the flight uncertainty.

However, there was a dilemma that I couldn’t easily solve. If I landed in Doon around 3.00, a six-hour journey would mean going in a cab alone with a stranger well past sunset. It didn’t augur well for me; the safety of a woman often lies in the decision she makes, I have always contended. Being rash in the name of freedom and dare can be disastrous. To step on a minefield and not except to be blown to pieces is foolishness. And in some ways, I was doing precisely that. Getting into a vehicle on a long journey through the Ghats in the night! How dangerous it can get, I leave it to you all to imagine. And if we let our imagination run riot, there is no end to where it can take us. So, hold your dark thoughts back and think of propitious things.

Roughly three hours from Dehradun is a place called Srinagar where I could halt for the night if I didn’t want to drive all the way to Pokhri at odd hours. Bittu’s boss, Vijay bhaiyya insisted on it. Kiran, who was in touch with me throughout, offering me advice and directions, suggested a homestay known to her. It was an option that I kept in hand should the need to break journey arise, although it meant extra expenses and more uncertainty.

‘I will see what the driver, Bittu says,’ I said to Kiran. ‘I will meet him at the airport and make a call based on it.’

To believe that one can instantly make a true assessment of a stranger is also foolhardy, but when left with no choice, you only have your instincts to fall back on. The inner voice alone can come to our rescue when all else fails. And trusting it isn’t a choice but the only way to forge ahead.

I wore my in-built people scanner on my eyes as I walked out of the airport looking for Bittu bhaiyya. Soon we met, and my first impression of him was that of a henchman in a political Bollywood movie. The kind who stands behind the villain waiting to carry out heinous crimes at his boss’s behest. I know, that is a creepy description, but our movies have influenced the way we look at our world immensely and I couldn’t escape it either.

I might have been prejudiced, but truth be told, the ghutka-chewing Bittu with a stubble and goatie to boot wasn’t the kind of guy I would have wanted to go with on such a long journey.

But then again, I thought, why would I not want to trust him? Just because the media is full of bad news? Just because people have generally stopped trusting their fellow-beings? Just because people keep reiterating that the world is becoming more and more evil?

Just because I am a woman, am I tagged unsafe everywhere? And if there is one way for me to live, should it be in perpetual fear and worry of what somebody might do to me and my honour? Is fear my fate and dreaming my nemesis?

When the mind is at crossroads, it is hard to take rational decisions. All you can do is play the roulette. Turn the wheel of the mind and see in which direction it stops and follow the course. Consider it the will of the Universe. One can call it calculated risk or a divine sign.

‘Bittu bhaiyya, what do you think? By what time will we reach Pokhri? 9.30?’ I asked.

‘Much before that,’ he said as he loaded my baggage in the boot. I was tempted to read his face for signs of deviousness and mischief, but I resisted it. I didn’t want to get any funny ideas at that time.

‘Do you think we will have to break journey in Srinagar? I mean if you can’t drive all the way in one stretch?’

‘That won’t be necessary. We will reach.’

The optimism in his voice came as a huge relief. Yet that was no testimony to his character. It didn’t vouch for his integrity. He still could be a predator. Gosh, did that thought cross my mind? Sure as hell, it did. I mean, how long and how little would it take for things to go awfully wrong, in a manner we read here and there?

But as I sat in the car, I gave myself a sound reproof and reminded me that without a little trust in men and a lot of it in God, life would be impossible. I decided not to spend the next six hours in fear.

Keeping my husband posted on the developments, and only making a passing mention of my beavering apprehension, I started the journey. The last thing I wanted was to make casual conversations with Bittu. But I wanted a bottle of water, and I asked him to stop somewhere for one.

He stopped in front of a shop and asked, ‘Mey jaake le aaon?’ For a moment, he sounded genuine to me. With palpitating heart, I allowed myself to give him a brownie point.

He returned in a second. ‘Madam, Thanda ya normal?’

‘Thanda.’ Those were crucial moments of trust-building for me.

If he had something on his mind, he had full six hours to execute it. He could afford to be genuine now to win my trust. Clever predators plan it well. Damn! Such gross, uncouth thoughts, but were they not real possibilities?

The drive on the Badrinath Highway was supposed to be a memorable one, lined with stunning views, but it seemed like it would be spent in worries of the worst kind. There was only one thought on my mind – to reach Pokhri by night, safe and sound, without a scratch if I may add. Everything else, the Ganga, the mountains, the views, everything could wait.

We drove past Rishikesh, a place where I had buried a bit of my soul during my visit in 2018; I caught a glimpse of the mighty Ganga and then remembered Kiran’s alert about passing by Devprayag, the point where Bhagirathi and Alaknanda rivers converge to flow as Ganga downwards. This was something I had seen in documentaries and pictures, but the prospect of getting to see the Sangam for real filled me with an unprecedented joy.

‘Bittu bhaiyya, zara Devprayag mey do minute rukhna hoga,’ I said, in what were my first words after the pitstop for water. He didn’t respond, but I presumed he had heard me. We had to reach Devprayag before dusk to be able to capture the sight, and I left that to luck. If I was destined to see the Sangam, I will. But the anticipation of something so spectacular waiting to happen diverted my thoughts from the dicey drive I was on.

In some time, we reached Devprayag and Bittu stopped the car. I got off and took full, undivided five minutes to absorb the divine spectacle several metres below. The clear, light green Bhagirathi, coming from Gangotri and the muddy brown Alaknanda coming from glaciers beyond Badrinath, merging like two souls in love. It was holy communion playing out in front of my eyes.

Two funeral pyres flared on the banks of Alaknanda in the twilight grey, bearing witness to the confluence that formed the mighty Ganga. It was a picture of death and birth juxtaposed. I stood in silent obeisance to the flowing forces of nature, trying to fathom its immensity. The confluence represented the seminal process of creation to me. The stop at Devprayag was short, but solemn.

Bittu waited for me to return to the car and we got going. There was a long distance to cover.

‘Yah kaunsa jagah hai?’ Bittu suddenly asked, a few kilometers down.

‘Kaunsa jagah matlab?’

‘Jahan aap ko jaana hai.’

My heart was in the mouth. Didn’t he really know where I was going? Where then was he taking me?

‘Pokhri. Don’t you know where we are going? Didn’t Vijay bhaiyya tell you? Speak to him if you don’t know how to go there.’

‘No, it’s OK. I will find out.”

Did he say it was OK? Not OK, by me for God's sake!

What the heck was I doing in a taxi with a driver who had no clue where he was taking me? What did he think he was doing?

Darkness had fallen around us by then, and the headlights were on. We crawled our way up, twisting and turning with Alaknanda flowing alongside. The road started getting narrow and there was steady traffic going in the same direction as us. But that was little comfort to me.

The battery in my phone was dying and I pulled the power bank out. The power bank was a last-minute buy on the day of my departure, after a debate over whether I really needed it. Two of them were disposed off by the security people at the airport during our last visit to India. We had absent-mindedly put them in our checked-in bag.

‘How many hours more?’ my husband texted.

‘No clue. Will keep you posted,’ I said. I didn’t want to panic him with sombre details.

It was wait and watch time. I had only my faith to hang on to and Hanuman Chalisa to keep my spirit from deflating. ‘Take me where you want,’ I said silently, handing over my fate to the all-knowing One. At that point, there was little else I could do.

It wasn’t dare and overconfidence that put me in this position, if that’s what one may accuse me of. It was my faith that things will turn out well eventually, my belief that my love for the mountains will prevail over everything, and my urge to piece myself together back in order that made me undertake this trip which became more than an adventure. (𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗱...)

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗥𝗢𝗔𝗗 𝗧𝗢 𝗣𝗢𝗞𝗛𝗥𝗜 - 𝗮 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿-𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 2

FilteCofeeeThey say the desert is also nature. Who can deny that? It is indeed part of all that there is and certainly with a charm of its own but living in a desert for 25 years can blunt one’s love for a nature which is monochromatic. Beige can get insipid over time and the dunes can repeatedly display only undulating lines; or kick up dust and create a dystopian spectacle, at the most. It, however, fails to inspire or induce energy.

In that respect, the sea too is a bit banal, although more sensuous than the desert. Nature, as I love it, as I have absorbed into my bones – the rains and the rivers, the hills and the fields, the woods and the verdant greens – has been a luxury for me for long. A treat that I soak up only when I go on vacations. Those who have spent a good part of their lives in the desert will know what I mean. The desert isn’t opulent enough to fill our heart’s depleted coffers. It doesn’t have the oomph factor that can haunt our dreams.

Nature, for me and those of my ilk, is where there is a dynamic display of the elements. Which is probably why I yearn to return to the mountains time and again, and why they alone can pump lifeblood into my soul when it sags with life’s many encumbrances.

And that elixir was just a few hours away from me, I mused, as I waited for my onward flight at Delhi airport, half-awake (or half asleep). I envied those who could catch some winks seated and positioned in odd ways – head lolling, torso twisted, legs splayed and stretched. Such sleep can happen only to the most blessed, and I for one, did not belong in there. I had to sit it out straight till it was time.

When I dragged myself to the security check again, dreading the ordeal that saps all fun out of a travel, I saw people enough for a carnival there. The line, if straightened, could have touched the Taj Mahal. If I stood at the end of the line that moved ever so slowly, I could forget about the mountains.

Panic began to seize me, as I jumped a stretch, pleading for forgiveness and got a few feet ahead. The phones, the chargers, the hard disk, the power bank, a Kindle device, and what not that I had pulled out of the baggage and clutched close to my chest to be dumped onto the trays. Two hands full of new-age fixations, and after all the declarations, there would still be something that the scanner would detect.

People were losing cool over the slow progress in security clearance, some openly swearing at those who barged in late and pushed their way to the front. It was a scene of utter mayhem and madness. Sweating profusely and panting, I cleared the gate, willy nilly.

The departure gate was at the farthest end, and it was well past the boarding time. Gasping as if I was on the last ounce of oxygen in my lungs, I made a dash to the gate. I am not certain what kept me from collapsing midway. Perhaps, it was my will to make it at any cost. Did I have a choice anyway?

Skipping my last mandatory visit to the washroom and mouth almost gone bone dry, I zipped across and caught the shuttle bus even as the last few calls for boarding was made by the airline staff. I had made it in the nick of time. In an hour, by 7.45 am, I will be in Doon, that jewel of a place made famous by the British and later, by the boarding schools the elite sent their wards to.

A small aircraft, an ATR, there were about 20 people seated in it, and the plane droned it way through thick wads of rain clouds, the frame of the window offering me spectacular views of the cloud collections along with some serious turbulence that kept me belted to the seat. The visit to the washroom had to wait and I wasn’t sure if I could hold it indefinitely. Small thing but big concern.

An hour passed, and the descent began, and the hills began to appear down below. I craned m neck and waited in anticipation of catching my first glimpse of some snow-clad peaks in the far end. I soon realized that the aircraft was going round and round, whirring severely now and then as if the pilot was trying to accomplish something hard. I had a hunch that all was not well but didn’t feel it was anything grave enough to start worrying about not being able to see my loved ones again. The gut feel was not so sinister to make me think of death in a crash. It just said something was wrong.

And then the announcement came. Despite two approaches, the pilot was not able to land owing to thick layers of clouds over the landing space, and keeping the best interests of the passengers, the flight had to be diverted back to Delhi. Damn!

I didn’t want to believe what I had just heard. I checked with a gentleman seated ahead of me to make sure it was what it was, and he explained what had transpired. He seemed to be an aviation expert and said we were in a small plane (ATR), not a Boeing, and hence the difficulty in landing in the circumstances. The details he furnished were informative, but in that moment, my predominant thought was ‘I wasn’t going to the mountains’. At least not yet. It was a crushing thought, and I couldn’t consider any definite course of action next.

Two ladies in the seats behind me were blissfully asleep, without a clue about what was happening to us. It would be interesting to see their faces when they would wake up find themselves back like boomerang in the same place, I thought a tad wickedly.

What next? What next? What next? I spent the return flight, fingers crossed, hoping the airline would put us on another plane. What if they don’t? What if I had no way to reach Doon on the same day where a cabbie was waiting since morning to take me to Pokhri? Where would I spend the night in Delhi? The questions were pressing, but with nothing to do except wait for us to land back in Delhi to even start thinking of a plan, I sat tight, holding my apprehensions at bay. I spared a reverent thought to Murphy and offered a mental namaste. Murphy, the things going wrong guy, remember?

‘Landed?’ asked my husband as soon as the signals came alive after touchdown.

‘Yes, landed,’ I texted. ‘Landed back in Delhi.’ I searched for an appropriate emoji but didn’t know which one would convey my emotion precisely at that point. I punched in a sequence to express my state of mind.

What followed was a series of back-and-forth arguments between the passengers and the commercial staff on the ground, who had no viable solution to our predicament. They had another flight at noon, but there weren’t enough seats to accommodate us all. And there was the possibility of the cloud cover persisting and flight not landing again. They offered to refund our fares, but then, that wouldn’t help me, would it? I had to get to Doon. But how?

Inclement weather never seemed so sinister to me. Wasn’t I sufficiently warned? Of course. But that hadn't deterred me. And the unexpected happened. Will I be deterred now?

The cabbie kept calling, asking what my plan was. If only I knew. I requested him to give me some time before cancelling my booking.

Meanwhile, the husband did his homework back in Dubai and informed me about a Vistara flight around noon, which would reach Doon at 2.45 PM. Which meant a drive past sunset in a cab. I felt a lightning bolt down my spine. It was a chance I had to take. I could either let fear get the better of me, or I could defeat the imagined fright and move forward. It was a call I had to make disregarding all my previous notions about risks and dangers in the new world.

‘Book me on it,’ I said, bucking up my nerve. We had to act fast, for most of my co-passengers were scrambling for a seat in the alternative flight. Thank God for devices and technology, yes, the same ones that hassle me at the security, I got my seat. Collecting my baggage, I went to the check-in counter.

Now, welcome baggage woes.

‘Ma’am, you are allowed only one piece in our flight,’ the lady said. And I had two. I had already paid for the excess in the previous flight. I threw my head up in exasperation. What more do you have in store for me, Lord? Are the mountains testing my love for them, checking how far I would go to get into their embrace?

I gathered all my courage, nerves and reasoning, took a deep breath and put my last penny on my words.

‘You will have to help me out,’ I said and explained the situation and my helplessness to the lady at the counter. ‘You will have to help me out. If you don’t, who will?’

I must have sounded desperate. Her heart must have melted. The lady went to another counter, checked something on the monitor and came back.

‘OK, put them in.’

I could have sunk to my knees and wept in that moment. As I collected the boarding pass, with gratitude moistening my eyelids, I asked, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Simran.’

‘Thank you, Simran. I shall never forget you. God bless,’ I said.

She acknowledged me with a smile; a smile that would stay with me forever. Whoever says kindness is petering out of human hearts is getting it all wrong. There is a lot of goodness out there, still. And you will never know it unless you step out and find them hidden in small places. We need to crave love and kindness and we will find them materializing in unexpected places.

That done, I dragged myself once again to the security check. Action replay for the third time. Thinking about it now makes me nauseous.

Getting on a plane to Dehradun and landing there was only the first phase of my long road to Pokhri. Little did I know that my ordeals were far from over.

All I can say now is that true love isn’t easy. It puts you to test repeatedly and coming up trumps and attaining it takes a lot of patience, grit, faith and commitment. It wasn’t enough that I proclaimed my love for the mountains. I had to prove it. Prove it in no uncertain terms. And in such uncertain times.

(𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗱..)