Day 2 in the Queen of Hills; it was time. Time to pay my respect to the Monkey God - the commander of the Holy Army who wreaked havoc in Lanka. Armed with an aloo parantha and my jhola loaded with sunglasses, sunscreen, and a hat - essential weapons to combat the curse of the Sun. I was ready. Kind of. I had decided to walk to the Jhaku hill. As a respectable young man, I have an image to maintain. I must test my fitness. I went to the starting point - one look at the meandering road, another at Google Maps, and I immediately spotted the counter for a ropeway ticket. Skittishly, I changed directions. In my defence, I had plans for the evening - what if I got too tired and then there were memories of motionlessness. But I still had my pride and hence I only took the one-way ticket. Another reason for taking the ropeway was to make my inner child happy - he remembered the joy of trolleys from Haridwar.
Huddled into a small box of dubious construction, I was on my way to Heaven. The humble trolley pierced through the depths of the blue sky - leaving the mortal realm behind, its small huts and pride. Onwards and upwards into the valley of Gods. I spotted hawks - surveillance beasts, broad and strong wings whizzing past as if they were the gatekeepers of this new world. Our destination arrived.
Green. So much green save for the grey staircase. The air was delicious to breathe. I stood there enjoying it and suddenly the squeal from the descendants of Lord Rama’s army screeched in my ears. I immediately got on alert. I was cautioned by the wise old ones that these monkeys are unlike their honourable forefathers - notorious and whimsical, they will take your things away and mock you. I hurriedly put my metal extension, sunglasses, and cap inside. As I was doing so, my eyes fell on the valley below - filled with houses and houses. I wonder who has taken from whom.
Anyway, I started making my way up. I spotted a few on the path. Heart skipped a beat. I was sure not to meet their eyes. I slowly changed my path to ensure we were a few feet apart. As I walked on - I saw more of them - manicuring, sleeping, fighting, jumping, and breastfeeding. It was like I had stepped into a monkey village. Such a curious sight to behold. I wished I could film it but I needed my metal extension to return back home.
The actual temple was small but the statue behind was a gargantuan orange skyscraper. So majestic that it was visible from the city below kilometres away. If there were ships in the sky, they could probably use it as a lighthouse. I paid my respects and bought some Chana for the monkeys. To honour them and protect myself. It was to be my barter if they stole my belongings. Interestingly, they mostly minded their way if I minded mine. When I threw Chana near them - they came, swiftly collected it with their dexterous hands, and went away. They didn’t ask for seconds or anything. One girl tried to say Hello without Chana and the monkey slapped the air and screamed at her. At the moment I understood the contract. As long as you interacted with Chana, you were fine. Any funny business will bring divine retribution.
I started the descent - throwing Chana at Monkeys along the way. I was still careful around them. Fear was always there. The walk down was as hard on my toes as it was beautiful for my mind. The scenery was so picturesque. I saw flowers. I saw litter. I saw faces flushed with red. Children on their way to school, women out and about for their chores, and dogs taking a nap. I even spotted a few monkeys dozing off. The beautiful slow life of mountains. Sat on a rusty old bench, the heat of the sun against my face, my sweater feeling a bit sweaty, the air still fresh and cold made me sleepy. Suddenly a monkey pulled my sweater as if to wake me up and show me out. Out of their sovereign territory.
Taken aback I immediately stood up and walked towards the Ridge - a vast piece of land with no vehicles allowed. Sometimes government gets it right. I was feeling a bit thirsty. Got myself a bottle of pineapple juice and sat near the stairs watching fellow humans. Suddenly, heard “भोसड़ीके”, a familiar abuse from an unfamiliar hurler. A small Punjabi boy with his family. The mother saw that I heard and gave a tight slap. The small cheeks were flushed with dark red. The child looked at me with scorn - thinking that if I hadn’t heard - he would have been spared. I could not hold my laughter back and just stared at the them as they walked past. When the laugh settled, I felt a bit thin. The aloo paranthas were long gone.
It was time for the infamous Sita Ram’s Chole Luchi. I had seen it in the reels and have been craving them ever since. Whipped out my metal extension and put the location on the maps. And I still managed to lose my way. Well, whatever. Tucked my metal extension back in and lounged about the road - searching for the delicacy. I found a nondescript shop with some Pahadis relishing it. My gut said that we should take a chance. It’s probably a locals-only-know hidden gem. And I am so happy to tell you it was. The spicy chickpea curry and deep-fried leavened bread were a relish. Add to that - old Hindi music was playing. The chef clearly knew how to set a vibe.
Then I spotted a small unassuming barber shop. My beard could use some trimming, so I settled down on an old blue chair. The salon buzzed with local gossip. The jolly uncle, sporting a thick mustache and a Pahadi hat, jumped seamlessly from world politics to health tips, with the occasional bit of misogyny. He spoke with an authority that made each topic sound both significant and a little ridiculous.
I was tired. After a brief nap at the dormitory, I was back at the Ridge. It was almost evening. The crowd had increased. I landed myself near the famous Mayor’s building. A model’s delight. I saw so many women posing in front of the building with their suitors awkwardly bent for the perfect shot. Sometimes I wonder about this mad obsession with clicking our photos. Perhaps it’s a reaction to this world of increasing specialisation where an individual is often rendered insignificant. Look at me, I exist we exclaim in a world overrun with corporations and conglomerates. It’s kind of cute though.
As I sat there, something inside me stirred. Was it the chill, or just a reaction to the couples and groups around? I don’t know. I just put the cap of my hoodie on, turned up the music to full volume, and started walking vigorously around the Ridge. The cold wind whipped against my face. The music was pulsating in my ears. A grin covered my face ear to ear. It was as if I had tapped into a primal energy, my senses heightened and my spirit untethered - a wild, solitary dancer amidst the passing crowd. Pure ecstasy. I felt both connected to and detached from the world around me. I walked round and round until I could no longer.
The day was like a shifting mirror - each moment revealing a different self, a different piece of who I was. In solitude, I could observe and absorb more than I ever could with company, each moment lingering a little longer. The writer in me was definitely happy, but solo travel is still something I’m making sense of - from the loneliness and uncertainty to the freedom and ecstasy. One thing’s for sure, though - my steps were well over 9000!