Breakfast in Bed (9.00 am)
Today I woke a little late (It was weekend after all). Abhishek was already sending desparate messages: "Sir, breakfast kitna baje lagaun?" Very sincere bachcha, this. While enjoying our tea sitting in our room, and looking at the sunshine slowly illuminating the river, we looked at each other with a single thought...
Why not have breakfast in bed? I mean, the river bed?
Abhishek, so instructed, happily set up the table and chairs in a patch of sun close to the water. Food arrived. So did we. Sitting in the sun, in the cold breeze, the small waves lapping at our feet, the Tirthan roaring a foot away, I thought how easily, without fuss, had this bit of heaven come down to us. 10% effort from our side and 90% nature's, I'm sure. We felt really overwhelmed and grateful. Our country has everything, and at affordable levels too. Beauty does not reside only in Switzerland.
We practically spent the whole morning at the table. Panna sat down in the water, as she tends to do whether it is a bathtub, the Tirthan, or the Atlantic Ocean. I thought the river would be cold, but she happily cavorted there. It was only after she emerged that she realised that her legs were practically frozen. The water of the Tirthan originates from the snow-clad peaks of the mountains in the Great Himalayan National Park, and what she thought was relaxing was actually benumbing.
A river crossing (12.00 noon)
She recovered thoroughly after a hot bath and we just chilled (?) in the sun that was gradually becoming warmer. We idly watched another young couple (please note the use of 'another') lay out their picnic stuff not too far from us. The guy was carrying a case like a tennis racket. Panna conjectured that it would be a musical instrument, for serenading the lady. But the case looked too slim to be a guitar and too long to be an ukulele. We never got to the bottom of that mystery. No sound of serenading reached us, at any rate. Maybe he played too badly.
Anyway, while I decided to go up to our room, Panna walked down the river bed till she was almost out of sight. It was a point where the Tirthan splits into three streams and rejoins again. I stopped keeping an eye on her for a while because I started checking out what was happening to the march in Delhi, when suddenly I found she was back just below our verandah, sqealing: "I did it!" Discreet enquiries revealed that she had crossed one of the streams of Tirthan! Well, I was impressed. If we were properly synchronised historically, I am sure Dr Livingstone would have selected her in his team right off the bat.
Stream of thought
While sitting by the river, I was mentally comparing our usual road trips, which involved constant change of location almost every day, to a laid back trip like this at a beautiful place. The former would be tougher to carry out - 26 places in 40 days in our Uttarakhand outing for instance - while logistically this is easier. However, before I came on this trip, I would sometimes get the blues, thinking "So many days, so much money, and so few places to see?". Now half-way through the trip, I realised that what a a trip like this loses in length, it makes up in depth. We are able to absorb the culture of the place, meet people, and get to know their lives. In a pretty place such as this, we are able to look at all aspects of its beauty and make it a part of our inner feelings and not just a place to be outwardly seen. And of course, Osho makes much more sense when sitting beside the Tirthan.
Long haul road trips on the other hand are more about loving change - the changing landscape, the changing people, and a recognition of the stamina that we display in handling this change day in and day out. I think both types of travel now has its place in our lives.
Another fantastic lunch (2.00 pm)
Now please don't be disappointed if we harp on food again, and that too at the same Iry Cafe. We did try another place Moki Cafe, but they refused to serve us sandwiches at lunchtime. This gastronomic apartheid bounced us right back to Iry Cafe, and I tell you, this place is an unexpectedly stylish one even in the backwoods of a small locality in Tirthan valley. We had just ordered a broccoli soup, veg sandwich for me and a French toast for Panna. Not only was the food tasty, but the plating was as accomplished as a starred restaurant. We met the chef later, a young Nepali lad by the name of Kishor (he pronounced it 'Kissor'), whose parents were in Delhi while he was living his dream down here, and he wriggled with pleasure at being applauded. The manager of the place Akash said the chef hardly got to meet customers and be recognised. "It's a big thing for him", he said.
We met a girl named Reethi at the cafe (forgot to take her pic), who was from Tamil Nadu, studying law at Sonipet, in her final year, now holidaying in the Tirthan. She had her laptop open there because there were some submissions pending. She was living at a homestay nearby, working there in a voluntary basis for a few days in lieu of bed and breakfast. Coming from a family of lawyers, she probably felt she had no choice, but she hoped to choose a stream that will give her satisfaction. "I might even practice at the Kullu court", she said, having fallen in love with the Himachal. All the best to her.
Siddu - the local food (8.00 pm)
We walked a bit quickly back to our homestay. The sky had darkened and a chilly wind was blowing. The family with the yappy dog were at the river bed again, having an outdoor lunch. We were feeling pleasantly full. The rest of the day would be siesta, serial and supper, while listening to the song of the Tirthan.
Dinner held a novelty for us, the "siddu", a Himachali dish. A steamed preparation out of fermented atta, it is stuffed with walnut and green peas paste, and served with ghee and green chutney. The trick is to immerse the morsel thoroughly in ghee and chutney, otherwise it feels too doughy. We liked it, a simple dish full of calories.
Tomorrow, we move out, back to Walnut House, our first love, for four more days.
Photo credits: Panna Rashmi Ray
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