Writing is a serious exercise? Or
is it?
It is not surprising to see blogs
go dry once the blogger gets involved in a ‘taxing’ job, the caveat obviously
being the serene joblessness college students find themselves in.
These holidays, I finally got the
chance to go on a motorcycle road trip, something that was always on my
wishlist. With information that the
Banepa- Bardibas Highway was now finally open,
I could not wait to get on the road. It was not only for fun but a purpose filled
ride
I
was going to my village to meet my grandparents, whom I had not seen in
quite a while. Further, the road also went through my father’s birthplace and the scene of his early schooling (Khurkot in Sindhuli district);
a place where I had always wanted to go to. Now, I finally had the opportunity,
and riding to Khurkot definitely sounded better than walking for an entire
day, which was the case before the opening of the 'highway'. But most importantly I wanted to feel the power and independence of a bike again.
However,
I had been warned by everyone, including my father [ who usually encourages my madness]
not to take this trip, as it just didn't make sense, to ride alone on an untested route. I was unwilling to listen to anyone and was raring and ready to go.
Early morning plans were ground
to a halt in a perfect Nepali way, by a couple of chores, a promise, a
successful petrol hunt and a punctured rear tyre. After sewing all ends together, I finally
managed to leave Kathmandu around 12: 30 in the afternoon.
A smooth 30 minutes later [
thanks to the smooth road built by the Japs], I landed at Dhulikhel for lunch
with a friend. A quick grab of fried rice and lots of talking later, I left
Dhulikhel exactly at 2. While being cajoled to stay for a few minutes more, I
was more confident than nervous of the ride ahead.
A short change in direction [
Where I was wrongly headed towards the China border instead] put me to a slowly
winding road. Traffic was mild and I was at a constant speed. Every long
stretch of the road was met with a spurt of acceleration on my part, and there
were quite a few ‘races’ with fellow riders. It was scenic, yet uneventful and
yet nothing compared to what lay ahead. A distance of 53 kms was covered in an
hour and half.
I got a call, from my frantic
parents, who were worried that I had not called yet. Well, I had left home at 8
30 and by this time they must have expected me to be someway far ahead. I
patiently explained the situation to them and started ahead. Khurkot was
another 32 kms away.
I was unprepared for what lay
ahead. The strong concrete road gave way to a ‘track’ filled with sand and dust
and lots of excavators and men with yellow helmets. I knew that this section of
the Highway was not yet fully constructed, but I did expect something better.
Knowing very well that turning back was not an option, I forged on.
The road became a fork, with both
options a terrifying slope of red mud. I looked to the one on the right, the angle
was just too improbable, a touch too crazy to be the correct road ahead.
Thankfully, there was a small sign that pointed towards the ‘easier’ version.
I was on a cliff and the view was
great. Or was it? I am not sure, for the cliff was high and the road slippery
and my concentration only on the road. I looked, once, at the view below and
was astounded only to see the sheer drop and my distance from the edge. The
view would have to wait. My focus was on the dirt road ahead.
I saw an excavator on the road
ahead and though it prudent to follow it for the 300 metres to the rise of the
hill. Finally after going through what I thought was the toughest stretch of
biking, I finally stopped for tea. Sipping tea, I looked at the bike, the grime
of dust on its metallic blue frame and the thin layer of dust all over me. My
body ached and I knew that an entire journey lay ahead. Clearly, I had messed
up my calculations, but I was still not done yet.
I asked the shopkeeper how far
Khurkot was and the reply made me shudder. Another 90 minutes was what they
offered. I looked at my watch which read 4 30 in the afternoon. “Impossible” ,
I muttered under my breath and left with a new found resolve.
Perhaps, this resolve helped me
or perhaps the road just got easier but the road ahead resembled the roads of
my village in the Terai. It was an easy ride with a careful eye every now and
then, but still Khurkot seemed remote. Finally around 5: 30 in the evening, I
sensed an increasing chill in the weather. There was a violent gust of air and
I had to work hard to maintain my hold over the machine. Oh, and it had become
darker too.
Finally, I reached Khurkot around
5 50 In the evening. Cold, tired and frightfully dirty; not the way I imagined,
but that was how I reached my grandfather’s native place and the place where my
father had his early education.
I stopped by a shop and ordered
tea. The wind was howling, and I told myself not to think of anything else,
especially not of the journey ahead. I started asking a few people about my
grandfather and suddenly found two ‘cousins’ there. They advised me to stay and
complete the rest of the journey the next day. However, I was in a hurry, to
run across and to come back, and I knew I had no choice but to move on.
So exactly ten minutes later, I
left Khurkot and started on my onward journey. The hills were not far off but
darkness had set it and I was having a difficult time riding the bike, especially
over the sudden riverbanks, that seemed
to be a partial substitute for the road. Somehow, I managed to get on the
hills, a better road and the climb followed.
It was chilly, and cold and I
could feel it; even upto my bones. My fingers were freezing and I could feel a
slight tingling in them. I looked up at the stars and looked around, not a
single light pierced the darkness. I felt alone, I knew I was alone. Various
thoughts crossed my mind; was it a dream? Or was I really riding all alone,
cold in the darkness with no idea of when the destination would arrive.
Sindhulimadi 10 kms. That was
what the slab on the roadside read, and I was delirious with joy. Spirits rose,
and I willed myself to be optimistic. I had already decided to stop at
Sindhulimadi and then head for my village in the morning, and ten kilometers was
really close.
I continued rising up the hill
and the stated distance continued decreasing. However, I was puzzled. As far,
as I know Sindhulimadi was on the valleys and not on the top of a hill and it
was a district headquarter. Hence, despite the loadshedding in place, there was
bound to be a few lights here and there, but there was none. I was all alone.
Finally, it hit me. I had been
reading Sindhuligadi (the fort) as Sindhulimadi. I felt terribly foolish and
wanted to stop for a bit but the chill at the top of the hill was unbearable.
So I continued on, till I reached Sinshulimadi at around 7 20 in the night. It was dark and cold and the water
was freezing, but I got access to food and a fire and after a bit of warmth, I
fell asleep.
Early next morning, I left for my
village, which was now a mere 40 kms away. After the early 5 kms or so through
Sindhulimadi, I was shocked to see the state of the road and thanked my stars
for staying on at Sindhulimadi the previous night. There was no way, I could
have attempted this crossing in the dead of night. However, the road after that
was thankfully much better and I reached my village around 10 in the morning.
I knew the journey was just half complete, but I vowed to return via a different route; an easier one.
