Lonely at the top - Dharamsala. HP

Dharamsala is a city n Kangra district, Himachal Pradesh whuch was formerly known as Bhagsu. The Dalai Lama's residence and the headquarters of Central Tibetan Administration and the exiled Tibetan government are in McLeodGanj, a village within the Dharamsala municipality. When the first permanent settlement was created in the place now called Dharamshala, there was one such pilgrims' rest house on the site, and the settlement took its name from that Dharamsala.

There was silence, more tranquility, as we wound our way up to Dharamsala bus depot. A pahadi chai with sutta as we waited for our next lap of transportation seemed customary, like paying respect. 

I was in hills after a 5-year sabbatical from outdoors. I felt alive already and going further up to McLeodganj in a rickety public van had not even struck my adrenaline yet. Passing through the narrow lanes of McLeodganj was like rummaging through drawers of life tucked away safely, neatly, almost hidden. It’s like, since everything in life was kept so orderly I never realized that in an attempt to have that arrangement I had let it cut into my space so much, that all that was left to walk on was a narrow lane. And so I decided to walk pass and into those narrow lanes, scribbling may way through the trip – breakfast, meals, tea, waits and even the customary novel to the loo had been replaced. 

When Dilli attacked us with it’s desperate sun on way to McLedoganj, I promised a non-anticipatory trip to myself. In modern ways, we say Take it as it comes. With the help of or rather besides scribbling, the biggest change I aimed at was correcting connections especially with people. I was in a group to say so and after Theyyam, McLeodganj deserved a chance as well. But the connections needed to be revived and more so with strangers. The narrow lanes of McLeodganj didn’t seem so narrow after all. Around me I could see clusters of Phirangs, Punjabis, locals and rest of Indians. The transition from daylight to evening had brought about a transformation in the town to an extent that reds and yellows turned to neon and saffron. Life, which was present in murmurs and momos in the noon, had moved to hustle-bustle and continental interactions. 

The energy was high and even higher amongst the locals who average aged 65. It transferred the beauty of life even through peace and candles of Namgyal monastery, even as foreigners practiced Tibetan mantras and rituals. Relationships (any) have proven difficult for me to deal with – to acknowledge, articulate and imbibe was like appearing for board examinations – you either make, break or remain average through your life. The greens accompanied my climb to Triund and as I reached the top the whites of Dhauladhara range opened its arms, hugged me and I hugged it back like no other. The dead wires were feeling life in them, senses had started make sense, and the iris were beginning to show up, just about. I had scored above average.

Asked so many times to choose between mountains and sea, and as many times would let the sea be a close second. For me the mountains symbolised that no matter when I come back I’ll find them there just as they were. I could rely, I could be sure, I could feel secure. I needed to feel stable and I left with that vision of thanking the ranges promising to return, soon even if loneliness was the price to be on top.

At Triund