Living in Kerala, snow is something you read about in books and see in pictures. You grow up listening to songs about beautiful snow-capped mountains and watch romantic movies where heroes and heroines roll around in ecstatic embrace in the white stuff. Snow somehow seems to be in the realm of fantasy and make-believe, very far removed from the humid clime that God’s Own Country claims for itself.

From early childhood, I had always wanted to see snow. No doubt inspired by all the comics I relished, I longed to build a snowman, throw a snowball at a friend and sled down a slope at breakneck speed. But I knew it would take a lot of effort from my part. Either travel all the way north up the Country to do it or go to Europe or America, if I had to. But I also knew that I would do it some day, whatever it took.

Last year, I went to Hampi with a group of lawyers during the Civil Courts Vacation in April. We enjoyed ourselves thoroughly and vowed to make it an annual affair. So when my friend Madhu decided that this year, our vacation tour would include Himachal Pradesh, it was a Godsend. Finally I would have a chance to see snow.

There were six of us – Nishil, Sajeed, Sidharth, Ramlingam, Madhu and myself, all lawyers. The only tickets we booked were for our journey up to Chandigarh and down from Delhi. We would shape our route as we went on. But the must-see places we fixed were Manali and Amritsar.

The budget was strictly shoestring. No airconditioned traveling, pick the cheapest accommodation we could find. However, spare no expense for food and drink – our only travel vice, so to say.

If we didn’t have three packs of playing cards during our remand in the steaming hot second class compartment of the train to Chandigarh for two whole days, we would have surely been driven mad from sheer boredom. Rummy kept us sane, apart from ribbing each other. The number of bottles of mineral water we consumed en route would have delighted the marketing managers at Bisleri and their ilk no end.

Though I saw very little of Chandigarh, the wide roads and planned architecture of the place impressed me, if only because of how different it looked from my own harum-scarum Calicut. We checked into a hotel there for the night, a place just this side of sleazy.

The next day morning, we arranged for a chauffeur-driven Innova car to take us to the Hills. You couldn’t call this an extravagance, because the rates were far, far cheaper than those we were used to.

Our driver, Prince, amiable as he was, turned out to be driving on this route for the first time, so we had to frequently stop to ask for directions. Testing times for the Hindi speakers amongst us. We quickly found that while some of us were pretty good at it, some couldn’t speak the lingo, even at gunpoint. I passed muster, thank God.

The landscape was fascinating. Sidharth appointed himself our official lensman (having the advantage of being the only guy with a handycam and a digital camera) and soon became absorbed in his task. The only problem was that he disliked any human element in his frames and we had to literally twist his arm to include us in a few snaps. It was a good thing Ramlingam had brought along his camera too - if he hadn’t, no one would believe we had actually been on holiday!

Shimla was the first place where we really began to feel our holiday had begun. We browsed along the lengthy walk called the Ridge, the view from which is breathtaking. To reach the Ridge, you have to take a lift to the top of the mountain. The Christ Church holds your attention, once atop. The town was full of couples on honeymoon, cooing and giggling away. Every other shop was running a discount sale, shoppers scrambling to buy at bargain prices the same brands available in their hometown malls at even lower prices. I didn’t find the place too different from Ooty and Kodaikanal, the hill stations of the South, but it was much neater, much more glamorous. After spending the afternoon there, we decided not to stay the night and pressed on. 

 

Kullu is a small town. Nothing very grandiose about it. The people are a friendly sort. The food is good. It is cold, but not very. The palace of the erstwhile Kullu Kings is situated right in the center of town, on a small hill.

We visited Manikaran, a former temple which is now a Gurudwara, where all visitors are given free food and lodging. The place is famous for its hot springs. The legend goes this way : Lord Shiva and his consort, the Goddess Parvathi meditated here for eleven thousand years.  The mani (gem) of Parvathi’s karan (ear) was lost in the waters of the river here. When an infuriated Shiva opened his Third Eye, various other jewels were recovered along with the original item. The hissing of his snake contributed to the heated waters. No kidding, these springs are really hot. We saw pots of rice being boiled merely by holding them in the waters.

The other highlight of our sojourn in Kullu was a taste of whitewater rafting. It is difficult to describe the thrill of bumping along wildly through the gurgling waters of the Beas, holding on for dear life to a rope on a rubber raft and screaming at the top of our voices, wet to our skins. And who knows for sure whether lifejackets really work?

 

                                                                     Adrift in surging waters

I was disappointed when I first saw Manali. Don’t know why, but I thought I would see snow covering the rooftops there. No go. Manali is a very neat, disciplined tourist town filled as usual with honeymooners and low-budget shops. Our accommodation was top class (at bargain price – off season, remember?). One eating joint I will never forget is the Khyber Bar in Model Town at Manali. We spent quite a few delightful hours there. Great food, good service.

While Sajeed and Nishil, the younger members of the group, had an eyeful of the damsels, attached or otherwise, my mind was only on one thing – where was the snow? Visits to the Hadimba Temple (The Rakshasa wife of Bhima and the mother of Ghatotkacha – he is worshipped there too), the Nature Walk, The Vashisht Temple (Rama’s Guru) et al., did not provide me with any solace.

                                                       A charming Pahadi Hawker, Manali
The next morning, we headed for the Rohtang Pass, the route to Leh. We had heard that it was closed, but proceeded anyway, for that was where the snow was.

The Pass was indeed closed. But at Rani Nala, we finally saw what I had come for. Snow.

At first sight, I didn’t believe it. A big dirty white blob, lying there among the trees like a python with a full stomach.

But soon, more or more blobs began to dot the surface of the land. We slowed down the vehicle and brushed them with our hands. So this powdery substance was snow!

We hired gear – snowsuits, shoes, gloves from the various vendors on the roadside and went on. A few kilometers away, a white expanse of hill awaited us. People galore, skiing, sledding, riding tame Yaks and posing with Angora Rabbits.

My first tentative steps in the surface of my dreams ended in a prat fall. There I lay, exulting in the feel. I rolled a ball in my hands and threw it at Sajeed. I can’t really say I liked it when he threw one, much more well-aimed, at me.

We sledded down the slopes in an old rubber tube – no sleds or toboggans here, what a pity. We gamboled in joy in a wonderful white world, which we had never seen before and which in all probability, we will never see again.
The only jarring note was the number of hawkers who tried to sell us aphrodisiacs - Shilajit, amber, etc. Maybe we all looked like we needed rejuvenation!

 

 

On the Snowy Peak at last!

Sajeed in Snow! - Rani Nala

                                                                Sidharth trying to ski!

 

                                                                         Yours Truly struggling for footing!

We left Snowland happy. The happiness lasted all through the next leg in the heat of Amritsar, where we visited the hallowed precincts of the Golden Temple and Jalianwalah Bagh, peered into Pakistan and rooted for India at the Wagah Border. It continued as we got a taste of Delhi’s underbelly, staying behind the Juma Masjid and its ritz, zipping on the Metro. Even the return journey, playing rummy and guzzling mineral water non stop, didn’t feel much of a hassle.

We had seen snow – and it was worth it.

Back in Calicut, sweating away, I realised I had forgotten something.

I hadn’t built a snowman.