An unforgettable journey to Triund Hill in McLeodganj
As the final year of college approaches the countdown begins. Your entire college life flashes in front of you—the opportunities you missed, the chances you didn’t take and you fear wasting the little time that is left. You desperately want to make each and every moment count. The enormity of the situation looms more heavily on you if you are a girl, born in a conservative Indian middle class family. Because for us fun always comes with so many conditions applied that it is not even funny.
So one day while watching Yeh Jawaani Hai Deewani with my friends, sitting in the dark hall, popping in the popcorns, identifying myself with Naina, I felt a sudden urge to go somewhere, anywhere, away from this concrete jungle and feel free, even if this freedom is ephemeral, transient. As they say, when you want to make things happen, they do happen.
Within a week I along with all of my friends, a group of six, were on board a local, khatara, Punjab roadways bus, en route to Mcleodganj. The journey had begun.
As we all had decided that it is going to be a random, unplanned and a low budget trip, there were a few glitches—we missed our only, non-ac, direct bus from Delhi to Dharamshala (Himachal Pradesh), because our NRI friend turned up late. And despite her many protests, at 6.30 a.m. we boarded another non-ac, ultra khatara bus to Pathankot (Punjab), well aware that Dharamshala is another two hours away. Travelling in a local bus for ten hours, with all the wind in your hair, dirt in your face and an about to burst bladder has its own charm. Especially when you have the company of an amusing bus conductor, who helps you light the smokes against the wild gusts of wind and joins you when you are singing old Hindi songs.
As we approached Pathankot, a beautiful orange setting sun and the verdant fields of Punjab basking in its glory made for a postcard perfect view. Bidding farewell to the conductor bhaiya, we boarded another bus to Dharamshala at around 5 in the evening. Chatting with the locals, we asked them whether, trekking to Triund in an inclement weather was an intelligent thing to do. They had diverse views on this, an aunty cautioned us against trekking while a young Himachali guy of our age encouraged us to keep the plan on. We decided that it was a matter of perspective.
Mcleodganj is another 5 km uphill from Dharamshala and we hired a taxi to reach there as the buses weren’t available at eight in the night.
The Jogiwara road, Mcleodganj’s main market was abuzz with activity when we arrived at 8.30pm. Tourist families and youngsters like us, were eating, shopping, going up and down the winding roads, checking in and out of the cafes and restaurants. There are a number of touristy cute little cafes, where during the daytime one can read a book and enjoy a nice brunch with good music. Makeshift roadside stalls sell local handicrafts; shawls, bags, caps, suit lengths and more, mostly in coarse wool and Kashmiri embroidery. There are hotels, catering to all kind of pockets, since ours was to be a low budget trip, we settled for a hotel where the tariff per night was 1000 rupees. An adventure sports agency assured us that trekking was safe despite the rainy season and after a bit of negotiation our expense per person came to 750 rupees for just the trek, sans the refreshments.
During night it rained heavily. As a toast to our friendship and to the three years of college life, at 2.30 a.m. six of us laid across the street of Mcleodganj, in one straight line, hands and feet wide apart, soaking in the Tibetan downpour. The early morning showers dampened our spirits but the guide assured us that once the rain stopped we could begin the trek and thankfully in a while it did. We were informed that the trek till Triund Hill is nine kilometers, and since we began around 10.30 a.m. we would reach there by 5 in the evening, would camp there overnight and the next morning will begin with our trek back down.
With our backpacks loaded with cameras, necessary clothes, food supplies, water, medicines, torch, etc we began our trek. Since this was my maiden trek I didn’t know what to expect. The trek was excruciating, the muscles I never knew existed were making their presence felt. Every once in a while we would stop to straighten our arched backs and to look around. I realized that I was experiencing nature in its rawest form, the fickle mist would sometimes limit our view of the surrounding hills and the city left behind, but it would soon part to make us realize how far we had come. But before we could exult in pride Ravi bhaiya (our guide) would remind us of the miles that we still had to go. On our way there were a few shops, selling chai and maggi, everything at thrice the market price but in exhaustion and fatigue, coupled with excitement it all seemed alright. Huffing and puffing we reached atop the Triund hill (2842 meters above sea level) in the evening when sun had almost set. The view from the hill top was breathtaking, in front of us was the imposing snow capped Dhauladar Mountain, and folds of other smaller hills of the Kangra Valley.
Our camps were ready and the bonfire was set ablaze. We sat around it, warming our hands and feet, in complete amazement of the world we were in. Although we were just miles away from normal civilization but owing to the lack mobile networks, water pipelines and electricity, it seemed as if we had gone back in time.
Gazing around me I saw the Kangra valley shimmering with manmade lights and bulbs. But as I looked above I saw the vastness of the dark velvet sky, dotted with innumerable stars, glorified by the beauty of a full moon, and in that moment I realized that I was in the lap of nature and wished to stay there forever..
Ritika Rastogi
Image Courtesy [Ritika Rastogi]