Moonings in Manali, and other tales

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Moonings in Manali and Other Tales

Vijay Kumar (~2002)

The overnight bus to Manali is a huge convenience. Leaves Delhi at 7pm and reaches Manali at 10am. On its way back, it leaves Manali at 5pm and reaches Delhi at 9am. It has no scheduled stops, just a few convenient halts, and you can get a few winks of sleep. So you spend your entire weekend in Manali. If you drove, the driving would take up almost all of your weekend.

The five of us stocked up on drinking water, cookies, candy and haldiram before the bus started. By the time the 9:30pm dinner halt was made, the consumables had been tucked away. Dinner was had at a dhaba in Karnal, the land of butter. Rotis came with white butter, so it was just a matter of time before I cast my calorie-conscious shell aside and substituted the butter for the curries. I was to regret it later, of course.

Only the front half of the bus was occupied -- the five of us, a man with his kid, and seven working-class honeymooning couples who wanted to make out right here, right now. We grabbed some empty seats at the back of the bus to sprawl on, and got some sleep. The 5am tea halt woke us up. I think the bus guys like to make halts at dhabas run by their friends. Anyway, this one wasn't open yet, nor was anyone interested in tea. My companions ordered some, and I foolishly drank a little.

Couldn't get much sleep afterwards. The bus travels all morning up the valley of the river Beas. There isn't much altitude involved -- Kullu, 40km from Manali, is just at 1000 metres. But this valley, unlike most valleys which are really gorges, is a wide valley, and therefore has a certain beauty. The morning is magical -- the fog floats on the river, lazy and playful. Near Mandi is a dam -- probably part of the Bhakra-Nangal complex. The water from the sluices glides down and semi-circular slide and neatly spins backwards to form a loop -- it is a very nice sight, standing out in the mist. The river upstream of the dam is fast and full of rapids, and sparkles nicely in the occasional glimmer of morning sunlight. If you are sitting at the back of the bus, you can quietly hum a morning melody.

If life has taught me one thing more than any other, it is -- don't eat too much butter, and if you do don't stay up late, and for god's sake avoid the tea. But from time to time I am a bad pupil, and it was one of those times. Mercifully, another halt approached, and while they didn't have Mylanta, I was able to eat a banana. My full enjoyment of the beauty of the Kullu valley was thus resumed.

Around Kullu, the valley is about 3 km wide, and full of water and greenery and apple orchards and pebbles and more flowing water. A nice morning's drive through it brought us to Manali at around 10 am.

Manali is an unusual hill station. Due to the abundance of free-growing grass, in the 60s it attained worldwide popularity. There is a small permanent population of white settlers scattered around Manali from those days. It shows in the availability of a variety of cuisine as well as other amenities -- from mobike rentals to mueslix, trail mix and other camping supplies.

I parked my companions in a convenient spot and spent the late morning in collecting information and sizing up the adversary, so to speak. At around 11 we proceeded to HPTDC's (Himachal pradesh tourism development corpn, the folks who also run the bus service) hotel Rohtang Manalsu. They have several properties in Manali, but some are located in the ugly downtown while others were a little expensive. Manalsu, located a few hundred yards from the town in a non-crowded and grean locality, had discounted double rooms for around 500, which were a little run-down to be sure. Across the courtyard, Ramanand Sagar's Sagar Resorts had pretty respectable hotel rooms, vaguely priced and on the whole about 2-3 times as expensive. Not pricey at all, but some of us were budget travellers, notably Nitin the student, so we decided in favour of Manalsu.

Given the long list of possible things to do, there were choices to be made. People are rather enthusiastic about para-gliding, but when it turned out that the 2.5 minute glide (accompanied by a pilot) cost 600, they lost their enthusiasm for it. Interest was instead shown in hiking. Sunday was set aside for Rohtang, and Monday for rafting.

The plan was to go to hidimba's temple, right in the vicinity, then walk down to town to Peter's, where Peter supposedly provides sandwiches, trail mix and such for taking out, and then walk in the direction of Solang valley, over hill and dale. The trek was too long for the afternoon, but we could go some distance and then walk back.

Finding Peter turned out to be an errand in itself, owing to the fact that the local landmark (a state bank branch) had relocated itself. When we did find it, it was a disappointment. The place was a grubby little hole with a ton of shredded carrot in the middle and some hippie-type sitting around smoking. Peter himself, a bearded old bania, was totally reluctant to do business with brown-skinned people, even though his fare was hardly distinguished (and cheaper than the cheapest roadside eatery). We left him and proceeded instead to "Italiani's" around the corner, where they serve passable pasta, and the most horrible pizza in the universe.

After lunch it was time to walk. Now we had to finally contend with Verma, the Immovable Object, who wants to halt for tea or aloo-parantha every 5 or 6 yards, and will not shirk from the lowest of stratagem to derail any plans that involve walking. In response to his "abey kya zaroorat hai yaar", we modified our plans to head in the direction of Jogini Falls instead, some 4 km away.

3 km from Manali is Vashisht where you find yet another occurrence of the Great Indian Wonder, the hot sulphurous spring. You walk along the road past Manali, and then make a right and walk uphill for a bit to get there. The path is along a pretty river in a nice valley and everything stinks of diesel smoke, like everywhere else in India. In the middle of the village is some little shack dedicated to shakti-maata or whatever, where you can enter after duly removing your footwear, and where little cubicles are provided with hot- and cold-water taps. Outside, there is an open channel carrying the water from the actual spring which is a few yards away. You can touch the water in the channel, which is boiling hot.

You walk through the village in really narrow (2ft) streets, past cows and kids, and walk along a hill to get to Jogini. The road is left behind, and so is the smell of diesel. Everything now smells of cowdung for a while, and then you are away from the village and the air is actually pleasant.

Every few minutes you pass a local who tells you the falls are just around the corner. And every few yards there is a tiny brook flowing downhill, which makes Sachin very excited. He is sure this must be it, and wants to climb the hill to reach a waterfall. Keeps constantly cribbing about old people who just want to walk along and leave the falls behind because they dread the effort of climbing.

Several little apple archards later we are there. On our left is the road from Manali -- we needn't have come through Vashisht -- and on the right a hill, down which flows a brook. We we were to walk up along the brook, a short steep climb would take us to the foot of a waterfall.

Local people tell us it is not a good idea to climb now -- it is 4 pm, and it could rain or get dark, and it would be hard to make our way down. We decide to walk towards the fall a little and survey.

A short walk brings us to where the climb would begin. The waterfall up there, cascading through steep rock-faces looks enticing. We decide to check out the climb. Four people start off. Verma stands at the foot of the climb, telling everyone how dangerous it looks. We climb gingerly -- now walking, now on all fours. After a bit, I decide to check how easy it would be to climb down. A little climbing down reveals that it is not easy. I announce my finding, and crawl the rest of the way down. KP decides to stop where he is -- he was a few paces ahead of me. Nitin and Sachin want to keep going up, though.

They reach the top, and run around on the edge of a precipice like idiots. The steep grass path down doesn't look too good. We shout at them to come down -- it is getting dark. And then the discover a footpath, and come running dwn, again like a couple of idiots. It is funny seeing the come bouncing along what looked like it would be really tough descent.

This new route looks real easy, so in a flash we are all back up there at the foot of the fall. The volume of water is not much, but the way the fall is perched in a vertiginous place, the overhanging rocks and what not make it a cute thingie. Pictures are taken. A quick descent brings us to the road. We walk along a bit and then find a ride (Verma at work) to Manali. Everyone is hungry, which leads to the humble offerings of the Manalsu being devoured in large measures. Subsequently, Verma and KP ingest a good volume of alcohol. A walk to downtown Manali finds a late evening crowd in the thoroughfare, but little of interest. On the way back Verma, his personality rendered multi-dimensional by distilled alcohol, makes a sport of the autorickshaw driver.

"yaar autowaale kuchh ladki-wadki juTaao".

I-don't-know-all-that is the reply.

"kya matlab, kaise auto waale ho?"

I-am-only-an-autowaala.

"arre hum hamesha autowaale se hee mangaate hain"

no-no.

"abey hum ground floor par hain. stairs par bhi nahin charhna parega" -- Verma's faculties of persuasion are in full flow now.

Back at the shack, a good laugh is had at the ppor driver's expense, and everyone marvels at the new and improved Verma.

I had set up a wakeup call at 7am the next morning, in order to leave for Rohtang early. Verma slept next to the phone, took the wakeup call, didn't wake anyone, and went back to bed. So it was at 8:30 that we were woken up by the arrival of our cab. People dive into bathrooms. We are out by 9:30.

The driver is a punjabi guy who limps in one leg. It seems he has had an accident a few months ago. He is a totally morbid dude, going on and on about recent and not-so-recent road mishaps, the fatalities, and the misfortune of the victims' families. Every once in a while he proudly shows off the locations of these accidents.

Rohtang Pass is 51 Km from Manali. Its altitude is 4000m to Manali's 2000m. So the climb is fairly steep, but the road is in decent condiiton, and wouldn't be unsafe if it weren't for the occasional suicidal driver. The driver has goaded us into renting horrible snowboots, parkas and gloves from a friend of his, insisting that the conditions at Rohtang demand those. As we approach Rohtang, the air gets chilly. There are no trees at these altitudes, since the slopes are covered with snow for a part of the year. There a few small glaciers here and there. Sachin gets totally excited and squealy. A few golden eagles glide past the jeep and into the valley. Every time one goes by, Verma, launches into an elaborate unpacking of his camera. When has an eagle waited for a fumbling Verma?, and the camera goes back where it came from.

Two-and-a-half hours later we are at Rohtang. There is this semi-circular parking lot, crowded with vehicles. As you jump out, you are surrounded by thousands of guys running around with buckets of nes-coffee. Not far behind are the whiskey guys -- "daaroo peelo! daaroo peelo!", or the vendors of bhaturas, biscuits and other Indian weaknesses. People are haggling around to find their soda of choice -- coke, pepsi, mirinda, sprite, 7up -- at exactly the right temperature ("no, this is too cold, I want warmer!"). A thousand mule-drivers, along with their mules, approach you, offering to take you to "the pass" for a small fee. They are promptly hired by the Obese Middle Class Aunties In High Heels, who all seem to have gathered here.

"The pass" is a spot about a hundred yards away. It is a small patch of ground, a few yards across, where some dirty snow seems to have been spread by all the people who are selling all kinds of things.

In that small space, a hundred sleighs jostle. The Aunties slither off the mules and jump onto the sleighs, together with Ankalji, Chunnu and Munnu. The sleigh is pushed from being by a happy sleigh-merchant, who pushes it round-and-round in a small-circle, continuously bumping into other sleighs. On one edge of this circus are a new kind of snowmen. These are not snowmen really, but colourful circular patterns in snow, about two feet wide and five feet high. They have "kuchh kuchh hota hai", "dilwale dulhania le jayenge", etc written on them. The honeymooners can take pictures in front of these, for a small fee of course.

On the other edge of sleigh-ground more coffee, burgers, chowmien, and other Indian delicacies are being sold. Also on offer are corn bhuttas. The whole place is totally littered with heaps of eaten bhuttas. In the middle of one such heap a guy lies on back. A girl straddles his chest and proceeds to kiss him. Their companions ring around them, to take pictures and protect from onlookers.

A sikh child wonders if there is any more snow. There's some, KP points out -- some twenty yards away and a couple of yards high. "but that's higher up", says the child, "so there won't be any oxygen there, no?"

Step twenty yards away from the milling crowd in any direction, and you are in virgin territory. Thinking that there is actually a real, narrow snowbound pass somewhere, we start climbing (the pass, of course, wouldn't be off-road!). Anyway, there seems to be little else to do.

The climb is of varying difficulty. Our horrible boots and heavy parkas make it harder. The air is rarefied, and you run out of breath pretty quickly. We climb a few steps at a time. Verma lingers behind, asking everyone to cease and desist.

It looks like we are yards away from a peak (where there would be great views!), but every peak turns out to actually be an overhanging ledge. After an hour or two, we realise we are at a fair altitude. The people in the crowd down below look tiny. Every once in a while the clowds clear a bit, to reveal great views of the valleys below, sometimes a peak into the mountains beyond Rohtang. In that direction (north), we seem to looking up the mouth of a valley, with a glacier descending from snowpeaks, a frozen waterfall and then a stream approaching directly southwards towards us. It looks like a couple of miles away, and we decide to visit it afterwards.

The weather is not so good up there, with the winds beginning to howl. We decide to come down. Sachin spots some snow on the way down a steep rock face. He wants to take that route down, so that he can slide down the mountain in that snow. That doesn't sound like too good an idea, but Sachin is all excitement. Self and Verma (who has grudgingly climbed up behind us) decide to take the familiar route down. Nitin and KP decide to follow Sachin, albeit at a distance.

The familiar route down is not so easy to find on a mountain -- you are on a kind of rooftop and can't see more than a few yards in any direction. All direction look the same. You gingerly approach the edge and peek over to see if there is a climb down or a vertical rock face.

But as descents go this wasn't the hardest, and after a few backtracks I and Verma were back on terra firma. We went back to the jeep to find the others nowhere in sight. We sip "nes-coffee" and wait.

An intrepid punjabi woman and her two daughters put on a show. Of all the god's wilderness, they choose the middle of the parking lot to do their thing. They are about twenty yards from the semi-circular row of vehicles, positioned and oriented to maximise exposure. First it is the mother, and people look away. Then the daughters, one by one, and it becomes clear that there is an element of deliberation here. The young women are in rather tight denim, and the pulling down of it becomes an elaborate ritual. Shortly, another woman follows their example.

Sachin and his followers return, a good hour after me and Verma, sheepishly describing their second thoughts on their choice of route. We intend to drive in the direction of the valley with the frozen waterfall. Swami the kaam-chor driver conjures up all kinds of bogeys -- entry restrictions, police, army, god. Nonsense, I tell him. It is only a half-kilometer, for god's sake. We drive out. As soon as a couple of hundred yards away from the parking, a row of splendid peaks comes into view. The clouds have thinned now, and the sunlight glitters on the snowpeaks. The views are as amazing as the fact that thousands of people come everyday within a hundred yards of them and turn away.

The road beyond Rohtang -- the parking lot was the pass -- meets a gorge running perpendicular to it. It runs west along the gorge for about 2 km, and then descends into it, winds down and proceeds east along the gorge. A little distance later it crosses a bridge over the stream that runs in the gorge. From there is accessible the lovely valley that we saw, but it is nowhere as close as we thought, and reaching the frozen waterfall will take a day's trek.

We drive west for the 2km of road available to us. Across the gorge are lined splendid peaks, somewhere around 6000m high, towering above clouds and shining brightly with snow. Pictures. Verma's camera is in full flow now. At the end of the 2km is a big green meadow, sloping down into the gorge. Looks like a wonderful campsite, and I want to take a tent there someday.

The drive back is uneventful. 3km down from Rohtang is a pit stop with rows of Dhabas. We instruct the dude therein to saute some potatoes in jeera, and then thrown in some turmeric, salt and lots of noodles and boil. The product is gobbled like nobody's business.

The evening is uneventful -- early dinner followed by curfew, declared by self. The plan in to check out at 6am to go to Kullu, catch breakfast and then do some rafting at 9. I make sure Verma doesn't sleep next to the phone.

The next morning people wakeup more-or-less on time. I send Sachin off to order some packed breakfast -- ten plates of toast. Butter or jam?, he asks. Five each. He decides that ten would be too many, so goes and skips the jam. Of course, when it shows up he realises he is hungry and wants more than just one. Meanwhile, KP has switched off my geyser, contending that saving electricity is a national duty and helps the environment.

Well, we are actually off by 6:30. A whole family from Delhi hitch a ride to the bus-stop, because they don't want to spend money on a cab. Then they ask us where we are going. So can you give us a ride till Kullu then, they ask? The bus to Delhi would be cheaper from there. No, we won't. After dropping them at the bus stop, we are further interrupted by someone who flags us down to tell us that the people from the hotel called him to flag us down. Evidently, the family from Delhi haven't paid all their bills before leaving (although they look like it is one of those LTC, government-pays-for-vacation trips).

The rafting trip is from Pirdi to Jhirdi. Pirdi is 5km downstream from Kullu. Breakfast. I order toast and cornflakes. An hour later the guy comes back to inform me they don't have cornflakes. And if this is toast, I am a monkey's uncle. And they have such execrable apple juice in Himachal.

The rafting dudes -- okay, it will cost you 650 a person. Oh? But your Manali office said 500. did they? Okay, 500 then. And then he says, all by himself -- actually, let's make that 450.

Beas is such a contrast to Ganga, rafting-wise. Ganga moves slower, but rapids are more topsy-turvy. Beas is fast, a succession of easy rapids. Ganga winds through a narrow gorge, blue sky sandwiched between its steep walls. Beas runs through a wide green valley full of apple orchards.

Verma declares he is not interested in paddling, and everyone else must shoulder that burden. He muscles into the "high-sight" position, where he has is supposed to keep his chin on the nose of the raft as it goes down the rapids. That's very thrilling, and even though he is too scared to crouch and will mostly stand at the head of the boat, he declares wants to keep that position for the entire 15 km. Seeing that he is so intent on recovering his costs thoroughly,
the rower turns the raft around every once in a while to give the people in the back a chance to be at the front.

Done in an hour -- this is a fast river. They have some showers at the landing, and a restaurant inside an orchard. We laze around there for an hour, and then eat a huge lunch by the river.

The driver is as usual loath to go anywhere. I coax him into finding us a good spot to spend the afternoon. We head back towards Kullu. Halfway up is the confluence of Beas and Parvati. There you can take a right into Parvati Valley and head upto Manikaran, another pilgrimage of sulphur springs. The valley is supposed to be sightworthy and we intend to drive up a few km and lounge about.

As it turns out, we spend some time at the point where the two rivers meet. In the Parvati stream lies a big boulder with some sort of stamped impressions on it. They look like footprints in muds, except that its not mud but stone, and they are large -- about two feet across and a few inches deep. We take some pictures. Then KP bets Sachin and Nitin Rs 3300 each that they can't ascend and descend the steep hill opposite. They take that up, and I am unable to dissuade. So me and Verma head up the Parvati valley. The Parvati is a wilder stream, its valley is narrow and the sides of the valley are vertical rock faces mangled about in all kinds of ways by seismic activity. I spend a couple of hours looking at all kinds of rocks. I also find a coule of caves inthe moutainside. The rocks around these caves are peculiar. You can peel sharp flints from them, and make stone knives like the kind you read about in school. There are some of those lying around in the caves. Also found is what looks like a petrified piece of a tree-trunk.

Well, we don't have all day, so we head back. Back at Bhuntar it seems that sachin and nitin have reached to top of the hill and are attempting the daring climb down. A bunch of locals have gathered, hoping to see them fall and die. they are occasionally visible, little specs on the slippery hillside, trying to discover a way down. And to cut a long story short, they actually managed to come down in about a couple of hours.

We have arranged to board the Manali-Delhi at Kullu, at 6:30pm. It reaches Janpath at around 9 on Tuesday morning, and at 10 I am back at work.