Chapter Three
Wrapping up in a reader-friendly style. Do enjoy.
The pick up truck (above)! And that’s one of the cartons, with the “supplies”. This truck took us from the Mashobra Village Market to the Cottage and then to the House. It witnessed failed attempts at lighting cigarettes and successes too! It also earned an entry in my Phone Book under the name: Pick Up Truck, Bughailty.
This beautiful room was where we sat and drank. We also played cards here (we didn’t, most of us did). We also cleared the chairs for some dancing – this ranged from attempts at Ballroom dancing by Ms H and Pralay to attempts at aping Bollywood steps by me and mostly everyone. (We still look at the videos and laugh ourselves silly.)
On popular demand, let me just quickly key in one of the highlights of the trip (lack of photographs, on my phone, made me force myself to not add in these details) – Cooking. We had a kitchen, and we had the raw materials. We had to feed the troops – so we depended on Maggi and Scrambled eggs (sometimes together, sometimes not). We also picked up Channa Daal (lentils/ this one is split chickpeas), Rajma (Kidney beans) and Rice. On the first day we managed with the Channa Daal and the Rice (we managed to forget about the Rice and burnt a decent amount of it because we were skolling our drinks and laughing like hyenas!) for dinner. But on the second night, we procured some very interesting, read scary, looking potatoes. I volunteered (I usually do, ’cause I love being in the kitchen, but I’m always easy-to-annoy and prone-to-a-state-worse-than-PMS if people dirty my kitchen or insist on stirring what I am cooking) to prepare Rajma and Rice. And Ms H and Punjabi volunteered to cook pyaaz waala aaloo (Potatoes with Onions, and lots of spices usually). I do give them credit for washing and peeling those potatoes, but uhmmm who takes three and a half hours to cook potatoes! WHO?! Also, if they had been “cooked”, those three and a half hours would’ve been worth it. Even the constant arguing/ bickering/ fighting/ yelling that Ms H and Punjabi indulged in would’ve been forgotten. But those potatoes were such ummm fine examples of cookery that we started calling each other Aaloo instead of using a profanity. If anyone fucked up, s/he would be called Aaloo! Of course, try saying it like Fuckwit! its more fun that way! We also decided to use the inedible dish as a weapon of mass destruction (if, ever, the need arose). Needless to say, in comparison, the not so perfect Rajma was a hit. Ohhh we are being modest now! Moving on… The Bar, for your reading pleasure.
The Bar ensured (of course, it had to be replenished) lots of laughter, lots of dancing (as if!), lots of singing (I think!) and a lot of Drinking Games!! Well, these games have one objective: Get everyone drunk. I love this objective. Everyone else seems to think they will not eff up as much as the next person and not get THAT drunk. Hah! Fools. We didn’t even need the Bonfire!
On this gorgeous, warm, happy note, we ushered in the New Year! We popped open the Champagne, we hugged and kissed and wished each other. We even received calls and sent messages etc (sadly, these phones work everywhere!). We were Happy and we were now living in the year 2008. Happy New Year to everyone! (Better late than Never eh?)
Chapter Two
After some heavenly chai we indulged in some serious thinking, the result of which was to play a game of dumb charades while we basked in the sun and waited for Bunty to show up. We also demanded breakfast and the aaloo paranthas were eagerly awaited. Sprint was just marvellous at acting out a movie, he jumped, he almost mumbled, he looked hassled and perplexed (which usually looks like he is about to gag or is suffering from an extremely horrid case of constipation). We did manage to guess the movie, and we did manage to get Bubs to act one out too, surprisingly he was pretty good. He did let out a high pitched noise of displeasure though. Such is life in the hills.
Speaking of life in the hills, there is something very strange and excruciatingly slow about the way time passes by there. A lot of conversations would steer to…
“Oye! What’s the time?”
“11:20″
(What felt like) A few hours later: “Arrey! What time is it?”
“11:30″
(What felt like) Eons later: “What’s the time?”
“11:32″
Yes, time didn’t exactly fly in the hills. It slowly, laziliy and very sluggishly crawled… let’s call it, Standard Shimla Time (SST). Accordingly, what seemed like a day’s wait was nothing but an hour’s (maybe two, but then who cares? We were in the hills!). Mr Bunty arrived.
We spoke, “We want cottages! We were promised cottages. We booked them! We told Dhananjay (Bunty’s partner, apparently). He promised us…”
Bunty quickly intervened, ”Woh toh kuch bhi bolta rehta hai“. Roughly translated to, “That fucked up idiot doesn’t know what he’s talking about!”
“But we need the cottages, we cannot stay in this… this… this Dorm” (We spat it out, there, get out of our systems you effing dorm.)
Bunty replied very promptly, “Phir toh main kuch nahi kar sakta“. Roughly translated to, “I’m a complete idiot who cannot help you out”.
After a lot of words profanities words thrown at each other Bunty decided to help us look for a place. A place away from the Karol Bagh (a crazy, overcrowded and super-packed market place in Delhi) of the hills (Shimla), with attached bathrooms and comfortable beds and quilts to keep us warm. Bunty scratched his pointy chin. He thought. And there was silence. Soon, he started suggesting a few places; our phones were out, and we were frantically dialling, speaking, negotiating, begging, and pleading. The nine looked quite animated. It was most entertaining. It also didn’t exactly suit the setting. So, we scampered off… (Let the boys do some “negotiating”)
For me, Day One, was (again) dragging on, luxuriously, lazily and all things sloowwww-ly and gorgeoussss-ly! It was peaceful, very very peaceful, except for a very ill-mannered crow (which would only shut up when Ms H mimicked it). We had devoured the paranthas with extra butter (Utterly Butterly Delicious, Amul!), and now we were trying to nap. Yes, we were napping on the Greatest New Year Weekend EVER! It was perfect. Day One, was dragging on… and just like that, without too much effort, we got some brilliant news. A House was available. A House! with gorgeous comfortable beds and bathrooms with geysers! It had a kitchen we would have to use… and it was situated in a “village”. The total population of the same, my dear friends, was/ is 12 families. Our weekend away from it all was all set to happen! Finally!
Kay and Punjabi felt like negotiating. So the two of them accompanied by Ms H, went with the owner of the House in question to ‘have a look’ and negotiate (they successfully acquired heaters and extra bedding!). The owner was this adorable, polite man called Vishal. Vishal translates to vast, large, big, etc. Surprisingly, I haven’t come across any Vishal who’s been… well… XL or XXL. Anyway, this very sweet man, agreed to help us out. The negotiations were done (no thanks to Sprint, who would happily pay ten times the demanded amount, if it avoids confrontation/ argument/ remote possibility of the other person not smiling!). We got calls confirming this development (while we were perched on a Machan, a very creaky, old wooden Machan held together with rusty nails to be precise. I am extremely proud I survived). We received our orders, and the obedient troops that we were, we marched on to the Mashobra Market to purchase supplies. The soldiers had to eat. They needed food and we were given the responsibility of feeding them. We were up to the task! Sadly, Mashobra market wasn’t. Such is life… We shopped, at least we tried to. The butter was only available in those tiny 100 gram packs, but the cooking oil was only available in 5 litre packs! The vegetables looked mighty sorry for existing and there was no Sprite to be found! So, we somehow found supplies, we bargained for plastic glasses, spoons/ forks and plates! We got a carton packed and then Pralay decided to go look for transportation! And instead of taxis, or cars, or lifts in four wheel drives, we climbed into onto an open pick up truck! It was one of the craziest and also the best decisions we’ve ever made! We pulled on our caps and tightened our mufflers around us, we prepared ourselves with gloves and held on to whatever we could find in this amazing creation.
The trip to the House began: the wind slapped us silly; we announced how we were slowly turning into ice; Snuggie announced her state: uncomfortably numb! I almost squished the sDaarni’s hand – but it was ok as she couldn’t feel her hands anyway! Bubs tried to light a cigarette, unsuccessfully, for half an hour! He squealed and cursed and screamed at the state of his fingers (Note: Don’t EVER try and light a cigarette with a Tokai lighter - the one with a metal wheel mechanism and not a simple button – while standing in a pickup truck in motion, in the hills! in the month of December!) . I took pity on the poor soul (no I didn’t, I just got tired of waiting for a drag) and so I somehow reached my bag and pulled out one of those jet flame lighters (technicality: storm-proof lighters) and inhaled the sweetest tasting Gold Flake Kings ever! Of course, at this point Bubs would have happily murdered me! Damage control: I quickly lit him a cigarette. We smoked and we stared at the hills, the valleys, the pines and the snow. The SNOW! It was beautiful. It was also very scary (the roads were frozen and very slippery). We spotted houses and cottages and oooh-ed and aaah-ed at them. A chant of ”Are we there yet?” could be heard in the entire valley. I guess Kay, Punjabi and Ms H must have heard us for I saw them rushing out of the House, and then rushing back in to get their cameras. We posed. We were proud. We were also in love – with the House.
We entered and surveyed the two rooms and bathrooms. We pulled out Smirnoff Green Apple Twist and took some serious shots. Finally. We then set up the kitchen and the “party area” (say it with a twang! its fun that way!).
Drinks were being made, Maggie was being cooked, the laptop was being charged for some seriously good music (rock and roll bay-h-bee!) and it was just 5 pm. Yes, SST was at work…
To be continued…
Chapter One
Objectives:
To ring the New Year in Style. Period.
To have the Greatest New Year Weekend ever.
Location:
Hills.
Run to the hills.
We ran to Mashobra (9 kms above Shimla).
Group Strength:
9. Nine.
When you plan a lot, the cosmos decides to conspire against you. You plan and plan, exchange over 40 emails (some of us create PPTs for some inexplicable reason!) and well, it doesn’t quite turn out the way you expect it to. Coincidence? I think not.
So, we left Delhi, all 9 of us, packed and well-woollen-ed on the evening of December 29th. We were ready to brave the hill-bus-journey with Avomine and all sorts of motion-sickness medicines in our pockets! We had booked seats in a Volvo (quite a farce, I tell you!), with reclining seats and barf bags and chips and water and a Bollywood film! We were lucky enough to watch – Jab We Met! (I don’t see how it is a “different” love story! How? They are two strangers who meet on a train (wow! how original and fresh!), and due to unforeseen circumstances, they are forced to spend time together and they fall in love. Of course, they don’t really unite, till one of them is in trouble and the other has to come and protect the damsel in distress… Hmmm, I wonder WHAT is so different about this ‘plot’.
Back to business; the eight and I managed the bus journey, despite the worst paranthasI’ve ever tasted in my life! We reached the Shimla bus-stand half an hour before time: it was 5 a.m., the birds were chirping away, the bus stand was bustling with activity, the sun was slowly, lazily rising, and we were FREEZING. It was difficult to stand in one place, it was tough to walk and smoking was turning out to be not so pleasurable as none of us could feel our hands or faces. My nose had turned a startling white! And my hands were slowly turning a very unpleasant shade of blue, which is quite a big deal, as I’ve never seen or heard of an unpleasant shade of blue.
The cabs waited while we slurped on extra-sweet non-mast (mast = amazing/awesome/wow! according to Sprint) chai (tea). After we stuffed ourselves into two cabs (Maruti Omnis), the cabbie tells us (not so politely), “aap saare heavy log ek gaadi mein aa gaye”. The comment roughly translates to, “all you overweight idiots have stuffed yourselves into this cab, and I’m not too pleased about it”. I would have understood his discomfort and unease, but I was too pissed off to care. Our Cab: Me (the cause for concern I’m guessing), Ms H (underweight, very evidently), Pralay: the destroyer (not overweight), Sprint (just tall), and Kay (He took the front seat so…) (I might change his name from time to time, whenever it suits my fancy…). The Other Cab: Bubs (just tall), Punjabi (not even), sDaarni (we tend to ask people to shut up, when they crib about being 50 kilos, Hmph!), and Snuggie (one of those people who crib about being 50 kilos). Hmmm, I get the driver’s point. But he was generally quite a pain. Quite a bitch. Quite. One too many steep turns on winding roads later we reached our destination: Daojidhar Jungle Camp, Bakshi Farms, Mashobra (9 kms above Shimla, Himachal Pradesh). Pralay promptly slipped on the very deceptive frozen muddy road and fell on his posterior, but instead of crying out in shock/ alarm/ pain, he yelled “Oye ICE!!!”. Yes, we were a little worried. The cold is known to have done worse things to people. But he got up and started grinning maniacally. Normalcy restored.
Now, Mr Bunty is an interesting character. He doesn’t mince words. He is very honest, VERY, even about his “business-partner”. He also doesn’t care much about word-of-mouth negative publicity, or about customers, or anything except for School Groups (they MUST be more profitable). He is also quite unconcerned about yelling all sorts of profanities into the phone with 9 people within hearing-radius. All this won’t bother me otherwise, but this Bunty manages said camp, which has two cottages with attached bathroom & toilet. We were eagerly awaiting said cottages post the overnight bus-journey. We were also eagerly awaiting Breakfast. We carried out bags and followed Mr Bunty’s follower, Ram-something or something-Ram (let’s just call him Ram). While we looked out for a beautiful cottage, with spectacular views we walked on. We aaah-ed and oooh-ed at the blue-sky, the bright sun, the pines, and the gorgeous snow-capped mountains in view. And then there was the Dorm – right below the “Dinning Area” (where Breakfast was served) was this shed. This tin-roofed monstrosity with a few broken windows, a lot of bunks and sleeping bags and NO attached bath/ toilet was where we had been dumped. The Dorm ensured the ooohs and aaahs stop. It ensured not just one woman but 4 women scorned.
“Where the eff is this Bunty?”
“Call this Bunty!”
“Tell him we WANT the cottages!”
“Bunty $%@#!&#^&!!!”
And then Ram spoke, “Sir cottages toh doosre guests ko de diye”. Roughly translated to, “The cottages you booked, are currently occupied and will not be vacated before January 1st. Bad luck you sorry Delhi-lot. Huahahahaa! Burn, Delhites, BURN!” EVIL, EVIL MAN.
“Boss, Chai pila do”. Roughly translated to, “Get us some tea. We need to think now, because I am not staying here. No effin’ way!”
To be continued…
