After church today, I decided to drop in on Amit's photography exhibit at the Convention Foyer of the Indian Habitat Center. That should be easy, I've been to the Habitat Center countless times. But wait, where is the Convention Foyer? I walk around the expansive Habitat Center mercifully shaded by the blue open tile-work that is the signature of the grounds. I consult two men with Habitat IDs but they could not give me directions. It wasn't just the language gap, mind you, they honestly did not know where the Convention Foyer was! I came upon two elderly American ladies looking as lost as I was. I couldn't help them, they couldn't help me. We shook our heads in unison and wondered why there was no map. Wouldn't life be easier with a map? I am not looking for a map to life, just a map to the Center; it shouldn't be that difficult! After 10 minutes under 38 degree heat, I find the Convention Foyer at the exact place of Amit's last exhibit. In the absence of a map, why don't they just call it the usual place?
Our weekends always include an afternoon at the club. Rachel does her thing at the gym while David and I are at the squash court. On the way home, Rachel had a hankering for a smoothie. I finagled our schedule for the evening so that she and I could sneak away to Choco La for a smoothie. I made her a solemn promise that she will definitely have her smoothie.
David volunteered to cook dinner and after a trip to the vegetable wallah and the grocery store, we still needed the last few ingredients to get the meal together: red bell peppers, tomato sauce, olives, pickles, liver paste (I know this sounds like a horrid combination but trust me when I tell you that these things make for a sumptuous caldereta!). Before Rachel and I can sneak away, I must get those ingredients so that David can put dinner together.
Ambrose dropped David off at home.
Ambrose took us to Modern Bazaar at Basant Lok.
I got all the ingredients and sent Ambrose back home.
Ambrose came back to Basant Lok.
Finally, Rachel and I can sneak off for her smoothie. I ordered a mango passion fruit granita. Rachel ordered a kiwi and banana smoothie. "Sorry mam, but we have no bananas." So she settled for a mango and orange smoothie. In a few minutes the waiter returns. "Sorry mam, we only had one portion of mango and it was used in the granita. What about a strawberry smoothie?" Rachel hates strawberries. A smoothie was such a simple wish and yet, it wasn't simple after all. I suggested we make a smoothie at home. We'll need mangoes, orange juice, a banana, and yogurt. I assign Rachel to gather the ingredients at Modern Bazaar while I go to the chemist.
After a quick detour to the fruit wallah, we have all the makings of our mango smoothie plus a pineapple for the next day's juice. Home, Ambrose!
David was busily preparing dinner. I love to hear stories of how husbands prepare dinner. Imagine a kitchen with all the counters covered with something--a towel, a pot, a pan, a bowl, knives, plates, plastic bags, etc. And any counter that has nothing on it was splattered with either grease or salt or pepper! And the floor! Bits of cheese are all over the floor! "The cheese exploded!" David announces. "I just picked it up and it exploded in all directions! I've been slaving over a hot stove for hours!"
I was furious! I make dinner 5 nights a week and he never comes home to a kitchen disaster! Then realizing the futility of my frustration, I just gave him a wry smile. So, cooking dinner it is not as easy as it seems, does it? I came to his rescue and tried to organize the kitchen sink which was full of piled up plates and utensils. The water trickled out, literally trickled out!!! What else can go wrong? (By the way, the next day, Ambrose discovered that almost a teaspoon of little rocks was blocking the faucet spout. Go figure!)
I will admit to you that living is India has its perks in the way of the Ambroses and Meenus and sometimes even the Rajus. But it is the little inconveniences that can drive you mad! Why isn't anything as easy as it seems? Why do I wait 3 hours for the computer man, watch him figure out the problem for one and a half more hours only to announce to me that "yes, madam, I need to install the Bridge program" when that is exactly what I told him 6 hours ago? Why does our pressure pump need a slap every other week to make it work? Why does Rachel's air-conditioner only run on temperatures above 26? Why is the key to the balcony door so crooked that it needs manly force to turn it? Why does rain come in torrents inside my downstairs bathroom? Why do my dressing room lights go off after 5 minutes of use? Nothing comes easy!
So when you start to think that we here live a life of privilege and luxury, you are absolutely right. But remember that nothing here comes easy. Remember Sisyphus and his rock? Camus claims that when Sisyphus acknowledges the futility of his task and the certainty of his fate, he is freed to realize the absurdity of his situation and to reach a state of contented acceptance. That is where I want to be, in that state of contented acceptance. There, I feel much better now. I just had to tell someone!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
If I Knew Then What I Know Now
Sleeping bag? Check. Down jacket? Check. Windbreaker? Check. Fleece top? Check. Ski pants? (Yes there was no chance we would be skiing but I packed it all the same just in case we might need the extra layer for warmth.) Check. Hiking shoes? Check. Wool socks? Check. Wool hat? Check. Gloves? Check. Three extra jackets? Check.
D700, D300, 14-24, 24-70, 105, 18-200, 12-24, 70-210? Check. 77mm polarizing filter, 500d close-up filter? Check. 62 to 77, 72 to 77 step up rings? Check. CF cards? Check. Batteries? Check. Solar charger, battery car charger, regular Nikon charger, BlackBerry charger, Mac charger? Check. Mac? Check. My Passport external hard drive? Check. Tripods? Check.
Thus went my three-week preparation for our photo-trek to Chandratal Lake. I'd exhausted all my options on finding someone to carry my equipment on the trek so I resigned myself to having my camera and lenses on my back. Jogi and Shailan, our trek gurus would not be cajoled into allowing me to have my own Sherpa. That would take away from the purity of the experience, Jogi said, from knowing that you conquered all on your own. So okay then, let's go the pure way.
Our summer plans center on Daniel and Rachel. Daniel, having just graduated from university and with a few weeks before his job training was to begin in New York, had time to spare in between. I persuaded him to join me on the trek. For purely selfish reasons perhaps? Could he possibly be sweet talked into carrying a lens or two? In truth, I wanted to share this experience with him. I have always admired his photography, which he decided to put on hold once the demands of university studies came upon him. This was the chance to rekindle his interest. But simply, I was a mom whose son was going out into the big world and I wanted to spend time with him. Rachel was safely in Delhi and David was happy to have some father-daughter time with her. Rachel was waiting to start her summer internship.
We began or trip with a 16-hour bus ride to Solang. You have all seen those movies that show rundown old buses in India? The one where the windows are open to the swirling dust of the streets? Where people are crammed into the bus holding their baskets on their laps? Where men of all ages hang on to the bus as it speeds away recklessly? And where the chickens are piled high on the bus rooftops? Fortunately, we were on the "other" bus! Ours was air conditioned and had cushy reclining seats. It was going to be a long bus ride but it would be bearable. I put our jackets into pillowcases, packed some trail mix and water; Daniel and I were ready.
We made our first stop for dinner. In America, this might be a a truck stop, perhaps a diner. The Indian version was an organized affair with a dining hall preceded by a large room with larger than life size European looking cherubic ceramic statues for sale along with shampoo and cologne, toothpaste and tissues...everything a traveler might need, I suppose?
We got back into the bus to continue our journey. Our next stop was breakfast. I had an omelet sandwich. Imagine that, an omelet sandwich! Why didn't anyone think of that? Back to the bus again and after a few more hours of fitful sleep, we arrived at Solang. We collected our bags and squeezed into white gypsies that took us to our hotel. Our rooms in Solang were spacious and clean; walls were of pine and smelled positively mountainous. The air was clean and cool and did not have the dry and dusty, hot and suffocating feel of Delhi air. This was a great start.
Dan and I unkinked our crooked bodies, stretched out and dozed off. All too soon, we had to pull ourselves away from our warm and cozy beds to shower then join the group for a slide presentation. It was time to learn everyone's name as well. Imagine how confused we were to be in a room with Vivek, Arvinder, Saarthak, Vikram, Ankit, Radha, Shubhra, Neeraj, Sonal and Vibhor (don't be too impressed, I cut and pasted these names from our trek directory). But we had time to get this all down pat so we relaxed and learned what we could from the days presentation.
The next day, we got back into our little white gypsies and headed to our first campsite that would be 8000 feet above sea level. We traversed a two lane rocky road a side of which was the edge of a precipice. In spite of this, we traveled at brisk speed and overtook other gypsies whose drivers were perhaps not as experienced as ours. There were brief stretches of road where we collectively breathe in with the futile hope that it would somehow help in getting the provision trucks by us as we shared these narrow passages.
We stopped at a wide-open field. Although I knew we would be camping for the next seven days, it was still a shock to realize that we would be sleeping under the open skies, surrounded by the snowy Himalayas. Our staff of eight pitched our tents, set up our mattresses (oh dear, this was not the two-inch mattress Jogi and I talked about, this was a thin sheet of Styrofoam!) and threw in our sleeping bags. We were good to go. They pitched the dining room tent, pitched the "convenience" tent and went on to prepare lunch.
Our first hike took us through rolling hills leading to a waterfall. A swift stream traversed our path. We removed our hiking shoes and gingerly crossed one at a time led by Yogi, our smiling and surefooted guide. I was the most cowardly of all waiting to see if everyone made it across before I grabbed Yogi's hand as he steadied me through the stream smiling encouragingly with every step I took. At the other end, everyone stood victorious yet slightly stunned at how the freezing water numbed their toes. The photography that afternoon was uneventful for me. I was bothered by the weight on my back and the altitude was starting to take its toll. That evening I succumbed to a headache, curled up in our tent and skipped dinner.
Everyone fell victim to the altitude; no one was spared. The evening wind howled that night violently flapping our securely anchored tent doors and windows. In the deep of the night I got up and ventured out. Everything was silent, everyone was asleep. A little white dog curled himself into a tiny ball and huddled next to Jogi and Shailan's tent trying desperately to shelter himself from the harsh wind. I looked up at the sky and saw the most magnificent canopy of stars. I have never seen a sky such as this; was that the Milky Way? Were those auroral lights?
We fell into a pattern. Breakfast was followed by a gypsie ride to a higher altitude where we would spend the next night. We stopped along the road to photograph shepherds and their flocks of sheep and goat heading toward green fields for the days meal. We laughed and enjoyed each others company as we bobbled up and down while our drivers navigated the treacherous and potholed roads. As the sun came down, some ventured out to catch the golden light of day, the light all photographers wait for.
Our final destination was Chandra Tal Lake, 14,000 feet in the Himalayas. Crescent shaped, the lake is located in the Spiti district of Himachal Pradesh. A popular destination for trekkers and campers, the lake is accessible by foot only for a few months in a year, from May to August. We basked in the warmth of the day certain that the night would bring freezing temperatures and that we would wake up to a blanket of little flecks of morning frost on our tents. We walked and talked and photographed. We hiked independently and in groups hoping to find the perfect scene or lone flower that would catch our eyes. In the mornings, the water on the still lake was Prussian blue gently changing to emerald green in the evenings. It was magical!
If I knew then what I know now, I would still have gone on this trek.
Eating 24 Indian meals was not easy. There is just no two ways about this.
Yes, I disliked sleeping on inclined and stony ground with just a sheet of foam and a sleeping bag between me and the damp. But it was touching to have friends come and knock on our tent doors to check if the altitude headache was gone. It was nice to be called to chai and meals and huddle against the cold with everyone.
The thought of spending the days with complete strangers was daunting but I discovered the most wonderful group of people: two young boys who quietly watched and listened to the adult (only sometimes) repartee, three architects who had keen and practiced eyes for the beauty in lines and forms, three ladies who braved the elements and passed with flying colors, a merchant marine who could fix anything you broke, a fellow who seemed to be the embodiment of Murphy's law yet triumphed against all odds, a young man so passionate about photography that I suspect he slept with with a camera slung around his neck, and a wise and gentle guru whose only true passion was pressing the shutter.
True, it was tough to learn all those names, but we had a riotous time westernising everyone's name. Thus, Vivek was Vick, Arvinder was Arby, Saarthak was Star Trek, Vikram was Victor, Ankit was Andy, Radha was Rosa, Neeraj was Nick, and Sonal was Sonia. And who could have trouble remembering the name Shoe Bra (Shubhra)? In a few days everyone answered to their western names.
Under the circumstances, it was reasonable to expect our experience to be fraught with unpredictable adventures but we heard nary a complaint from our staff of eight; they seemed almost invisible, only around when food was served and chai was wanted. They set up and packed up camp each day, drove gypsies and cooked meals like clockwork. Could we therefore expect and perhaps hope that India could one day be like this?
The air was thin, the nights were cold, but to be embraced by the Himalayas was humbling. What greater discovery is there than to feel that indeed we are small and insignificant against the beauty, grandeur, majesty and power of God and nature?
Unequivocally, I would still have gone on the trek if I knew then what I know now. I would still have gone because my learning was not just about photography; it was about life, humility and hope.
D700, D300, 14-24, 24-70, 105, 18-200, 12-24, 70-210? Check. 77mm polarizing filter, 500d close-up filter? Check. 62 to 77, 72 to 77 step up rings? Check. CF cards? Check. Batteries? Check. Solar charger, battery car charger, regular Nikon charger, BlackBerry charger, Mac charger? Check. Mac? Check. My Passport external hard drive? Check. Tripods? Check.
Thus went my three-week preparation for our photo-trek to Chandratal Lake. I'd exhausted all my options on finding someone to carry my equipment on the trek so I resigned myself to having my camera and lenses on my back. Jogi and Shailan, our trek gurus would not be cajoled into allowing me to have my own Sherpa. That would take away from the purity of the experience, Jogi said, from knowing that you conquered all on your own. So okay then, let's go the pure way.
Our summer plans center on Daniel and Rachel. Daniel, having just graduated from university and with a few weeks before his job training was to begin in New York, had time to spare in between. I persuaded him to join me on the trek. For purely selfish reasons perhaps? Could he possibly be sweet talked into carrying a lens or two? In truth, I wanted to share this experience with him. I have always admired his photography, which he decided to put on hold once the demands of university studies came upon him. This was the chance to rekindle his interest. But simply, I was a mom whose son was going out into the big world and I wanted to spend time with him. Rachel was safely in Delhi and David was happy to have some father-daughter time with her. Rachel was waiting to start her summer internship.
We began or trip with a 16-hour bus ride to Solang. You have all seen those movies that show rundown old buses in India? The one where the windows are open to the swirling dust of the streets? Where people are crammed into the bus holding their baskets on their laps? Where men of all ages hang on to the bus as it speeds away recklessly? And where the chickens are piled high on the bus rooftops? Fortunately, we were on the "other" bus! Ours was air conditioned and had cushy reclining seats. It was going to be a long bus ride but it would be bearable. I put our jackets into pillowcases, packed some trail mix and water; Daniel and I were ready.
We made our first stop for dinner. In America, this might be a a truck stop, perhaps a diner. The Indian version was an organized affair with a dining hall preceded by a large room with larger than life size European looking cherubic ceramic statues for sale along with shampoo and cologne, toothpaste and tissues...everything a traveler might need, I suppose?
We got back into the bus to continue our journey. Our next stop was breakfast. I had an omelet sandwich. Imagine that, an omelet sandwich! Why didn't anyone think of that? Back to the bus again and after a few more hours of fitful sleep, we arrived at Solang. We collected our bags and squeezed into white gypsies that took us to our hotel. Our rooms in Solang were spacious and clean; walls were of pine and smelled positively mountainous. The air was clean and cool and did not have the dry and dusty, hot and suffocating feel of Delhi air. This was a great start.
Dan and I unkinked our crooked bodies, stretched out and dozed off. All too soon, we had to pull ourselves away from our warm and cozy beds to shower then join the group for a slide presentation. It was time to learn everyone's name as well. Imagine how confused we were to be in a room with Vivek, Arvinder, Saarthak, Vikram, Ankit, Radha, Shubhra, Neeraj, Sonal and Vibhor (don't be too impressed, I cut and pasted these names from our trek directory). But we had time to get this all down pat so we relaxed and learned what we could from the days presentation.
The next day, we got back into our little white gypsies and headed to our first campsite that would be 8000 feet above sea level. We traversed a two lane rocky road a side of which was the edge of a precipice. In spite of this, we traveled at brisk speed and overtook other gypsies whose drivers were perhaps not as experienced as ours. There were brief stretches of road where we collectively breathe in with the futile hope that it would somehow help in getting the provision trucks by us as we shared these narrow passages.
We stopped at a wide-open field. Although I knew we would be camping for the next seven days, it was still a shock to realize that we would be sleeping under the open skies, surrounded by the snowy Himalayas. Our staff of eight pitched our tents, set up our mattresses (oh dear, this was not the two-inch mattress Jogi and I talked about, this was a thin sheet of Styrofoam!) and threw in our sleeping bags. We were good to go. They pitched the dining room tent, pitched the "convenience" tent and went on to prepare lunch.
Our first hike took us through rolling hills leading to a waterfall. A swift stream traversed our path. We removed our hiking shoes and gingerly crossed one at a time led by Yogi, our smiling and surefooted guide. I was the most cowardly of all waiting to see if everyone made it across before I grabbed Yogi's hand as he steadied me through the stream smiling encouragingly with every step I took. At the other end, everyone stood victorious yet slightly stunned at how the freezing water numbed their toes. The photography that afternoon was uneventful for me. I was bothered by the weight on my back and the altitude was starting to take its toll. That evening I succumbed to a headache, curled up in our tent and skipped dinner.
Everyone fell victim to the altitude; no one was spared. The evening wind howled that night violently flapping our securely anchored tent doors and windows. In the deep of the night I got up and ventured out. Everything was silent, everyone was asleep. A little white dog curled himself into a tiny ball and huddled next to Jogi and Shailan's tent trying desperately to shelter himself from the harsh wind. I looked up at the sky and saw the most magnificent canopy of stars. I have never seen a sky such as this; was that the Milky Way? Were those auroral lights?
We fell into a pattern. Breakfast was followed by a gypsie ride to a higher altitude where we would spend the next night. We stopped along the road to photograph shepherds and their flocks of sheep and goat heading toward green fields for the days meal. We laughed and enjoyed each others company as we bobbled up and down while our drivers navigated the treacherous and potholed roads. As the sun came down, some ventured out to catch the golden light of day, the light all photographers wait for.
Our final destination was Chandra Tal Lake, 14,000 feet in the Himalayas. Crescent shaped, the lake is located in the Spiti district of Himachal Pradesh. A popular destination for trekkers and campers, the lake is accessible by foot only for a few months in a year, from May to August. We basked in the warmth of the day certain that the night would bring freezing temperatures and that we would wake up to a blanket of little flecks of morning frost on our tents. We walked and talked and photographed. We hiked independently and in groups hoping to find the perfect scene or lone flower that would catch our eyes. In the mornings, the water on the still lake was Prussian blue gently changing to emerald green in the evenings. It was magical!
If I knew then what I know now, I would still have gone on this trek.
Eating 24 Indian meals was not easy. There is just no two ways about this.
Yes, I disliked sleeping on inclined and stony ground with just a sheet of foam and a sleeping bag between me and the damp. But it was touching to have friends come and knock on our tent doors to check if the altitude headache was gone. It was nice to be called to chai and meals and huddle against the cold with everyone.
The thought of spending the days with complete strangers was daunting but I discovered the most wonderful group of people: two young boys who quietly watched and listened to the adult (only sometimes) repartee, three architects who had keen and practiced eyes for the beauty in lines and forms, three ladies who braved the elements and passed with flying colors, a merchant marine who could fix anything you broke, a fellow who seemed to be the embodiment of Murphy's law yet triumphed against all odds, a young man so passionate about photography that I suspect he slept with with a camera slung around his neck, and a wise and gentle guru whose only true passion was pressing the shutter.
True, it was tough to learn all those names, but we had a riotous time westernising everyone's name. Thus, Vivek was Vick, Arvinder was Arby, Saarthak was Star Trek, Vikram was Victor, Ankit was Andy, Radha was Rosa, Neeraj was Nick, and Sonal was Sonia. And who could have trouble remembering the name Shoe Bra (Shubhra)? In a few days everyone answered to their western names.
Under the circumstances, it was reasonable to expect our experience to be fraught with unpredictable adventures but we heard nary a complaint from our staff of eight; they seemed almost invisible, only around when food was served and chai was wanted. They set up and packed up camp each day, drove gypsies and cooked meals like clockwork. Could we therefore expect and perhaps hope that India could one day be like this?
The air was thin, the nights were cold, but to be embraced by the Himalayas was humbling. What greater discovery is there than to feel that indeed we are small and insignificant against the beauty, grandeur, majesty and power of God and nature?
Unequivocally, I would still have gone on the trek if I knew then what I know now. I would still have gone because my learning was not just about photography; it was about life, humility and hope.
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