Udit and Rohit go the Hills

(May 2005)

Udit and his friend Rohit motor along the Himalayan road. In the winters, says the driver of the tourist van, the slopes are covered with snow, and one can ski. He rattles off a list of Hindi films that have had scenes filmed here. Almost instantly, Udit can see in his mind’s eye a young actor scream, “Yaaaaa-hoooooo!!!” and land on his knees, making furrows through the snow, his hair flying in all directions. The road is lined with tall pine trees, and the air is clean and fresh.
They come now to a clearing. There are a number of vehicles, and the hillside calm is mildly challenged by automotive cranks, whirs and honks. From this point on, they must go on foot or horseback to a peak from where they will have, they are promised, a breathtaking view. Being – well, we won’t say sissies, but city-bred, they hire a pair of horses, paying a brisk businessman sitting in a tin booth. They clamber onto their mounts clumsily, getting a foothold on the stirrups after many attempts and cringing slightly at the equine smells that waft up to their nostrils. They are led up the incline by a couple of Pahari horsemen, subdued but skilful. They are not of the talkative tourist guide variety; in fact they barely seem to be comfortable with Hindi, preferring their own mountain dialect.

The view from the summit is, alas, no match for the wondrous description that preceded it. It is, instead, a touristy spot where they can buy or rent any of a number of things – views from a telescope, photographs of themselves in local costume, popcorn, chips, cola.

Slightly weary but with a sense of accomplishment (one more item on the sight-seeing list ticked off), Udit and Rohit clamber back onto their horses. The descent is trickier, the hooved animals having to grip the soil with every step. “Somehow, I’m enjoying myself more now,” says Udit, inhaling a lungful of clear air as the conifers began swaying ever so slightly. As Rohit nods, he is aware of a lilting melody. Closer inspection shows that it is his horseman who is singing, softly, a Pahari tune. “Zor se gaiye, bhaisaab,” Rohit says, nodding encouragingly. The other smiles self-consciously, shakes his head, looks at the ground, looks at his fellow horseman, grins again, then suddenly musters courage and breaks into song, loud and clear. The music seems wedded to the environs, and the hillside reverberates with its joyfulness. The hills are alive/ To the sound of music, remembers Udit, and likewise the city duo is alive to the experience of the hills. Further joy awaits them as their guides branch off on a dirt track to reveal a small shrine shrouded by branches. It is hewn from stone. Its antiquity and beauty are soothing beyond description.

As the party comes closer to its starting point, Udit feels a rush of gratitude for these two men who gave him a glimpse of what he had actually travelled a thousand miles to experience. He tips the horsemen generously though not lavishly. They seem embarrassed, and murmur their thanks.

Udit and Rohit walk off, contented and full of the essence of human goodness. As they get into their van, they see the horse owner emerge from his little booth and stride towards the two horsemen. He puts out his hand in an impatient gesture. The tip, Udit’s offering of gratitude, is produced and placed on his palm.